#Direct Hedging

[allaboutforexworld]

Hedging: Forex Trading Strategy Explained

Hedging is a crucial forex trading strategy that aims to minimize potential losses by taking offsetting positions in the market. This strategy provides a safety net against adverse price movements, allowing traders to protect their investments and manage risk effectively. In this article, we will explore the concept of hedging, how it works in forex trading, its various techniques, and the…

[geekyforex]

Learn Why Direct Hedging Is An Essential Tool In Forex Scalping Strategies

Throughout this article, we will delve into the core principles of direct hedging when Forex scalping and highlight how it can mitigate risks associated with short term trading.

[divine-crows]

Using Cartomancy to Understand your Witches Compass

This is a method I've been doing to uncover archetypes, symbolism, and mythologies/stories (some of my own making, some are not). If you are personally attuned to divination, this may be a fun exercise for you!

I'd like to note that I'm not an authority by any means over the subject of the Witches' Compass, I'm still exploring and learning how it fits into my life. However, I'm really passionate about the subject so I'm quite eager to share this idea I've been working with.

[Process explained under the cut. Warning! This is a lengthy post]

There are probably more correspondences to the cardinal directions than I'm even aware of, and there are multitudes of ways you can correspond each element. I highly recommend finding a firm understanding of how you generally perceive each cardinal direction, that way you have a basis before you start.

First, a list of things I recommend for this exercise, but they aren't necessarily required:

Have a preexisting idea of what each Cardinal Direction means to you. For example, I meditated on each direction and got an idea of which senses and emotions were evoked by each direction.

Take advantage of how the time of day can be associated with the Compass.

Have an understanding of how the elements connect to your cards and what symbolism they possess.

Now, moving onto the exercise itself:

1. Select a deck from which you can work with.

Tarot. Playing cards. Whatever you feel will take you on this journey without hindering you with preconceived notions. In my case, I selected a playing card deck I consecrated for divination.

2. Select four cards that represent each element along with 'beginnings'.

In my case, I used the ace card and then meditated on each card until I felt pulled to ascribe a direction to each one. You may feel pulled to rely on predetermined associations when it comes to ascribing directions-- go ahead and do that if it feels fit.

3. Take the card you associated with "East", this is the first card you will be starting with. Meditate on what symbolism behind the card means to you and how it empowers the cardinal direction.

If you're working with unfamiliar symbolism, don't shy away from taking a day to research the hidden meanings behind each card. You may also ascribe any preconceived feelings or notions towards this cardinal direction while you meditate on this card.

4. When you feel like you've sufficiently connected to both the card and the cardinal direction, place it to the east. Place the others in one of the cardinal directions.

Since the other cards aren't the focus, it shouldn't matter how accurately the others are placed. However it's desirable to attempt some accuracy if it doesn't pull away from your focus.

5. Now, this is when you will invoke the Compass:

I am not one for consistently opening the compass the same way every time, but for this excersize specifically I felt it nessicary to start with rhythmic humming and chanting. Moving clockwise, I invoked the spirits of each direction. I used an "open arms" gesture as I spoke to better connect me to each spirit (a symbolic way of welcoming each one). When I finished invoking each spirit, I would bend down and place a hand on each card, imagining the spirits of that direction standing guard over their respective card. I also find it helpful to imagine myself as the center of a Compass, and the circle I walk is the bounds I traverse.

6. Stand/sit at the center (whichever is more comfortable for you) and state your intentions with this working:

In this instance, I had said something to the effect of "I ask the spirits to facilitate my exploration of the East direction." And then I specifically asked the spirits of the east to "help me better connect with the direction of the East through symbolism and mythos."

7. Close your eyes and let yourself be taken on a journey. While waiting for the journey to begin, imagine the aspects of the cardinal direction, and imagine sensations and feelings you associate with it.

How this journey looks will vary greatly from person to person based on their beliefs, notions, and ideas of the unseen world. For me, I was approached each time by a different Goddess who shared with me a pivotal story that shaped them, but for you it could be a wide variety of possibilities.

8. After your journey is done, write down what you experienced. I personally like keeping my compass open for this portion because I feel that it helps me recall better. After you're done thank each cardinal direction for it's part in the exercise, and then close the compass when you feel ready.

I strongly recommend taking the rest of the day to do other things. I found it was easier for me to fully understand and digest the experience when I split each component of the exercise into dedicated days.

9. Repeat with each cardinal direction, moving in a clockwise direction.

So after your work with East, you will delve into South, then West, and finally North.

Concluding Statement

I think that just about covers everything! I took heavy inspiration from the exercises created by Ian Chambers in his book "The Witch Compass" so I definitely urge you to read his work if my exercise did anything to help you open your eyes to the nature of your compass.

I myself am nearing the end of my cycle on this exercise (I'll be honest I'm waiting until winter solstice to fully harness the energy of the north for my final journey), and it definitely has given me a robust understanding of how each facet of the compass can represent me as a person.

I hope this idea can be as helpful to you as it was to me! Feel free --as always-- to share any ideas you have for exercises that can supplement this one or ideas that can work alongside mine!

[witchblade]

kinda sorta funny to think about dragon age doing the "repressed warrior man that killed an entire innocent family" twice in two separate games

[anathematic]

Sometimes I think I could have a good conversation with Achilles about gender, about our relationships to gender and presentation. He could tell me about Skyros and its court; I could tell him about family gatherings. Who knows, who doesn't, who can't. I could ask if part of him wanted to be caught out when he picked up the shield and spear, if he had decided it was time to stop living like this. We could talk about our mothers' fears and the femininity they enforced on us. I'd ask how long it takes after you stop pretending to not react when someone says 'girls', or if there's always a moment of 'oh shit do they mean me do I need to react to that now'. He might ask if my mother ever said she was glad I came out, dangerous or not, and I'd say yes. I think we'd probably lose the plot after that; we've both fought water, in a manner of speaking, but I've never fought a river and he's never fought a utility company as far as I know. There would be a lot of explanations. But before then, I think he'd get it.

[tap1rs]

man I just spun those wheels again and got the assassin's death.

[whatever-you-can-give-me]

yknow. i’m glad stampede took off because it deserves it but it IS funny that it taking off involves the influx of the no-fun crowd who think (contrary to the entire history of art and literature) that incest is too ickynasty to be viable as a fictional topic. because tristamp is so extremely aware of the inherent incest subtext of trigun that it’s barely subtext anymore.

[librarynpc]

I think its actually awesome how most of the west's reaction to "oh, this region was purposefully destabilized by western governance by flagrantly ignoring local history and geopolitics" has been "fuck it let's do that again but slightly differently this time"

[geekyforex]

Learn How To Use Direct Hedging As An Effect Risk Management Strategy

We will explore the core concepts and how to manage risk with direct hedging. 

[flippyspoon]

How have I come up on writing two scenes in my Spirk fics already clearly inspired by "It's a Wonderful Life" - I don't remember every writing like Wonderful Life homages in fic before...this some spooky @are-are-kay influence (she aint' here but she loves Spirk and that movie and I think she might have put a chip in my head the last time I saw her).

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[doctormohansamira]

Samira's direct honesty is something I find so fascinating about her as a character. She's the most empathetic doctor in the department, but she really isn't soft in the way one would typically expect of a character like that.

She asks Santos how thick her skin is, then provides blunt, direct feedback without being concerned about how to say it "nicely". When her patient with the butt injections from a guy on Tik Tok asks how bad it looks, she admits freely and without hedging that it doesn’t look great. She gets deeply offended at the claim she’s lying: both Whitaker and Pugliesi accuse her of it, and she points out to both of them that what she said was totally true – she gave him a morphine-like drug that binds to the same receptor to treat his symptoms. But most interestingly is the way it manifests in her relationship with Robby.

She tells Dana directly that just because Robby's having a bad day, there's no need to take it out on her. She defends her treatment choices, even when Robby is getting mad about them. The one time we see her not being vocal about something she knows? When Robby's working on Leah.

We see Samira initially helping there. But then after she puts in the IO, the next time we see her, she's working with Abbot on a different patient. The time after that, she goes to help Langdon. And when Langdon asks how Robby's doing with Leah, she doesn't answer out loud and instead shakes her head. She knew full well Leah wasn't going to make it. And later, she goes back to Robby's side and asks if there's anything she can do, more softly than we ever heard her say anything else, still not telling him that she thinks he should give up and go help someone he could still save. Robby is in so many ways the exception in terms of Samira's reactions to things.

It's such a cool example that highlights the differences between them. I'm usually more focused on the ways in which they're the same, but there are also these crucial differences. In the cases where we see Robby doing the "unnecessary tests" and spending too much time that he berated Samira for, he's often more motivated by the families than the patients due to his own Adamson trauma, whereas Samira is patient focused – wanting Joyce to feel safe and comfortable when she's terrified of intubation, trusting Nandi when she's scared her symptoms are being dismissed – and less concerned with the families. Her exception is Pugliesi, who is in some ways to her what Joyce was to Robby – she is absolutely, legitimately concerned about doing no harm and treating his symptoms. However, she's also reacting very strongly due to her own personal experiences losing her father and visceral reaction to the idea of someone rejecting help.

Robby's reaction to Joyce feels so similar – in contrast to so many other patients, he's not talking to her wife and trying to make her feel better. He's angry at the thought of any delay, driven by the idea that maybe they could have saved Adamson if they'd moved faster.

They're just so similar, but they're approaching their work through very different traumas, and it's all so fascinating.

[the-mortuary-witch]

GRIMORE IDEAS

INTRODUCTION:

A book blessing.

Table of contents.

ABOUT ME:

Your current path.

Your personal beliefs.

Your spiritual journey.

Superstitions.

Past lives.

Favourite herbs/crystals/animals/etc.

Natal chart.

Craft name.

Astrology signs and their meanings.

Birthday correspondences (birth tarot card, birth stone, etc).

Goals.

SAFETY:

Fire safety.

What not to burn.

Toxic plants and oils (to humans, plants, and animals).

Crystals that shouldn’t be put… (in sunlight, in water, etc).

Things that shouldn’t be left in nature (glass, salt, etc).

Potion safety.

How to incorporate blood in spells.

Smoke safety.

Wound care.

Biohazards.

Spirit work safety guide.

CORE CONCEPTS:

Intention and how it works.

Directing energy.

Protection.

Banishing.

Cleansing.

Binding.

Charging.

Shielding.

Grounding.

Centering.

Visualization.

Consecration/blessing.

Warding.

Enchanting.

Manifestation.

Meditation.

What makes a spell work.

Basic spell structure.

What not to do in spells.

Disposing spell ingredients.

Revitalizing long term spells.

How to cast spells.

What to put in spells.

Spell mediums (jars, spoken, candle, and sigils).

Spell timing.

Potion bases.

Differentiating between magick and mundane.

Common terms.

Common symbols.

Intuition.

Elements.

Basic alchemy and symbols.

Ways to break spells.

Laws and philosophies.

CORRESPONDENCES:

Herbs and spices and their uses and/or properties.

Crystals and their uses and/or properties.

Colours.

Liquids and drinks.

Metals.

Salt and their properties.

Numbers.

Tarot cards and their meanings.

Elements.

Trees and woods.

Flowers.

Days.

Months.

Seasons.

Moon names, phases, and their meanings.

Zodiacs.

Planets.

Incense.

Teas.

Essential oils.

Directions.

Candle colours and their meanings.

Animals.

Symbology.

Bone correspondences.

Different types of water.

Common plants.

ENTITIES:

Deities you worship.

Pantheons.

Pantheons and deities closed to you.

Common offerings.

Epithets.

Mythos.

Family.

Worship vs work.

Prayers and prayer template.

Deity comms.

Devotional acts.

Angels.

Demons.

Ancestors.

Fae.

Familiars.

House, animal, plant, etc, spirits.

Folklore entities.

Spirit etiquette.

Graveyard etiquette.

Boundaries.

Communication guide and etiquette.

Spirit work safety guide.

How entities appear to you.

Circle casting.

Servitors.

Mythological creatures (dragons, gorgons, unicorns, etc).

UTILITY PAGES:

Gazing pages.

Sigil charging station.

Altar pages.

Intent pages.

Getaway pages.

Vision boards.

Dream pages.

Binding page.

Pendulum board.

Throwing bones page.

Divination pages.

Mirror gazing page.

Invocation pages.

Affirmation/manifestation pages.

Spirit board page.

OTHER PRACTICES:

Practices that are closed to you (Voodoo, Hoodoo, Santeria, Brujeria, Shamanism, Native practices).

Wicca and Wiccan paths.

Satanism, both theistic and non-theistic.

Deity/entity work.

Religious paths (Hellenism, Christianity, Kemeticism, etc).

Animism.

TYPES OF MAGICK:

Pop culture Paganism/magick.

Tech magick.

Chaos magick.

Green magick.

Lunar magick.

Solar magick.

Sea magick.

Kitchen magick.

Ceremonial magick.

Hedge magick

Death magick.

Gray magick.

Eclectic magick.

Elemental magick.

Fae magick.

Spirit magick.

Candle magick.

Crystal magick.

Herbalism.

Glamours.

Hexes.

Jinxes.

Curses.

Weather magick.

Astral magick.

Shadow work.

Energy work.

Sigils.

Runes.

Art magick.

Knot magick.

Music magick.

Blood magick.

Bath magic/rituals.

Affirmations.

DIVINATION:

Tarot cards.

Oracle cards.

Playing cards.

Card spreads.

Pendulum/how to use one.

Numerology.

Scrying.

Palmistry.

Tasseography.

Runes.

Shufflemancy

Dice.

Bibliomancy.

Carromancy.

Pyromancy.

Psychic abilities.

Astrology.

Auras.

Lenormand.

Sacred geometry.

Angel numbers.

Ornithomancy.

Aeromancy.

Aleuromancy.

Axinomancy.

Belomancy.

Hydromancy.

Lecanomancy.

Necromancy.

Oneiromancy.

Onomancy.

Oomancy.

Phyllomancy.

Psephomancy.

Rhabdomancy.

Xylomancy.

TOOLS:

Crystal grid.

Candle grid.

Charms.

Talismans.

Amulets.

Taglocks.

Wand.

Broom.

Athame.

Boline.

Cingulum.

Stang.

Bells.

Drums.

Staffs.

Chalices.

Cauldrons.

Witches ladder.

Poppets.

HOLIDAYS:

Imbolc.

Ostara.

Beltane.

Litha.

Lammas.

Mabon.

Samhain.

Yule.

How to celebrate the Sabbats.

Esbats.

Deity specific holidays.

Religious holidays (Christmas, Easter, Dionysia, etc).

Celestial events.

ALTARS:

Basics of altars.

Travel altars.

Deity altars.

Spirit altars.

Familiar altars.

Ancestor altars.

Self altars.

Working altars.

Sabbat altars.

SELF-CARE:

Burnout prevention.

Aromatherapy.

Stress management.

Coping mechanisms.

Meditation techniques.

THEORIES AND HISTORY:

Witchcraft history.

Paganism.

New age spirituality.

Cultural appropriation.

Thelema.

Conspiracy theories.

Cults.

Satanic Panic.

KJV.

Witches in history.

Cats in history.

Transphobia in witchcraft circles.

Queerness in witchcraft circles.

OTHER:

Recipes.

How to get herbs.

Foraging.

Drying herbs and flowers.

Chakras.

Reiki.

Witches alphabet.

Runic alphabet.

Guide to gardening

Your witch tips.

Resources.

Other tips.

List of spells.

Cryptids and their lore.

What is a liminal space?

How to start a dream diary. 

Recording/writing rituals.

Wheel of the Year. 

[ahqkas]

Could you do one with the batboys having a S/O that gets lost easily and finds them at the most random places? Like they get lost in the mansion one day trying to find the kitchen and they somehow end up outside, que the batboys "mildly" panicking because their S/O has been gone for an hour. Please and thank you 🙏

♯LOST AND FOUND

— gn!reader, mention of reader’s hair in bruce’s & dick’s

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THE WAYNE MANOR WAS A LABYRINTH—an elegant, sprawling maze of hallways, grand staircases, and secret rooms. it didn’t matter how many times you visited; no amount of “turn left at the portrait” or “take the second right after the library” advice ever stuck with you. you had been in this house dozens of times, and yet, somehow, you still managed to find yourself in the strangest, most unexpected places.

today was no different. you’d innocently set out in search of the kitchen, craving a snack while your boyfriend was busy with his family in the batcave. alfred had mentioned fresh-baked cookies earlier ( your favorite kind ) , and the thought had been enough to motivate you and set you off on your own. armed with directions you thought you’d memorized, you’d confidently strode off down the hall.

and then . . . nothing looked familiar.

at first, you thought you’d missed a turn. then you became certain the house had grown a new wing overnight because the rooms and corridors you passed were entirely unfamiliar. determined not to call your boyfriend for help—again—you kept walking, convinced the kitchen had to be just around the next corner.

somehow, “just around the next corner” turned into a venture outside, where you found yourself on a cobblestone path surrounded by perfectly trimmed hedges. the late afternoon sun painted the sprawling grounds in hues of gold, but the idyllic scene did little to soothe your rising exasperation.

“this isn’t the kitchen,” you muttered to yourself, looking around in disbelief.

. . . BRUCE WAYNE !

meanwhile, bruce was beginning to notice your absence. he’d glanced at the clock more than once, each glance sending a ripple of unease through him. you’d left nearly an hour ago, and the mansion, while vast, wasn’t that confusing—well, not to him, at least.

setting down his pen, he leaned back in his chair, a faint crease forming between his brows. he told himself not to worry. you were probably fine. maybe you’d gotten distracted by something or decided to take a walk. but after another five minutes of no sign of you, his patience wore thin. where were you?

he stood abruptly, striding out of the study and calling your name as he began his search for you. his footsteps echoed through the hallways, and as each empty room passed, his worry grew.

“couldn’t have gone far,” the batman muttered to himself, though his mind raced with increasingly unpleasant scenarios. what if you’d fallen somewhere? what if you were stuck in one of the secret passages? scared, alone, with no way to return to him? yeahhh, that frightened him just right.

his search eventually led him outside, where he spotted you—utterly unharmed, but clearly annoyed as you stood in the middle of the garden, hands on your hips, muttering something he couldn’t hear.

“there you are,” bruce called, his voice a mix of relief and exasperation as he hurried toward you.

you turned, startled, but your expression softened when you saw him. “oh, hey. what’s up?”

“what’s up?” he repeated, stopping in front of you with a look that was both amused and incredulous. “you’ve been gone for an hour. i thought something happened to you.”

“oh,” you said sheepishly, glancing around. the time didn’t mean anything out here. “i got . . . a little lost.”

“a little?” his lips twitched, fighting a smile as he took in your surroundings. “you’re in the gardens. weren’t you looking for the kitchen?”

“i was!” you insisted, throwing your hands up in defeat. “but somewhere between the portrait gallery and the second staircase, i made a wrong turn, and well, here we are.”

bruce shook his head, his expression softening as he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “you could’ve called me, you know.”

“i didn’t want to bother you,” you admitted. “besides, i thought i could figure it out on my own.”

he sighed, his thumb brushing lightly against your temple in an affectionate gesture. “you’re never a bother. next time, call me. or alfred. i don’t like the idea of you wandering around this house like it’s a corn maze.”

. . . DICK GRAYSON !

you had zero sense of direction.

inside the manor, dick was finishing up his workout when he realized something was off. you weren’t in the gym with him. you weren’t in the living room, the library, or even his old room you two used whenever you decided to spend the night in the manor.

initially, he wasn’t too worried about your well-being. it wasn’t uncommon for you to explore the manor and its grounds when he was busy. but after twenty minutes of calling your name and finding no sign of you, his easygoing demeanor shifted into mild panic. it was like you’ve been swallowed by the ground, no traces or proof that you were here.

“maybe the kitchen,” he muttered to himself, retracing the path he thought you’d take. but the kitchen was empty, the dining room too.

“alfred?” dick called out, jogging into the study. “have you seen [name]?”

alfred, ever calm and composed, shook his head. “not recently, master grayson. though if [name] was attempting to navigate the manor alone . . .”

“don’t remind me,” he groaned, running a hand through his hair. he knew you had a tendency to get lost—easily—but this was next level. his mind raced through the possibilities. were you stuck somewhere? had you wandered into one of the less-used wings? where could he find you?

finally, on a hunch, he headed outside, his heart skipping a beat when he spotted you standing near the fountain, arms crossed, glaring at the house like it had personally offended you ( and let’s be real, it kinda did ).

“there you are!” his loud voice carried across the lawn as he jogged over.

you turned at the sound of his voice, relief washing over your face. “dick! thank god. i thought i’d end up living out here.”

he stopped in front of you, hands on his hips, catching his breath. “do you have any idea how long i’ve been looking for you? you’ve been gone for an hour.”

“it hasn’t been an hour,” you countered, though you glanced at your phone and winced. “. . . ‘kay, maybe close to an hour.”

“what happened?” he asked, his exasperation softened by the amused smile creeping onto his face. as much as he was worried sick about you for the past half an hour, he wouldn’t miss the opportunity to tease you relentlessly after he made sure you’re more than okay.

“i was trying to find the kitchen, and then one wrong turn led to another, and somehow . . . you gestured at the sprawling green around you. “ . . . here i am.”

he pinched the bridge of his nose, torn between laughing and pulling you into a hug. “you do realize you could’ve called me, right?”

“i didn’t want to interrupt your workout,” you said sheepishly. “plus, i thought I could figure it out on my own.”

dick shook his head, stepping closer and resting his hands on your shoulders. “you’re something else, you know that?”

“hey, at least i didn’t wander into the batcave this time.”

“don’t remind me.” he chuckled, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “next time, just call me, okay? you’re too important to go missing for an hour without me knowing where you are.”

as you walked back together, you couldn’t help but feel a little grateful for your terrible sense of direction. after all, it gave dick another excuse to keep you close—and he wasn’t about to complain.

. . . JASON TODD !

it should have been simple—just follow the directions your boyfriend had given you: down the hall, past the grandfather clock, first left. there’s the kitchen.

easy, right?

wrong.

somewhere after the grandfather clock, you’d gotten distracted by a painting. then a turn you thought was the right one deposited you into a hallway filled with suits of armor, which definitely didn’t lead to the kitchen.

“okay,” you muttered to yourself, looking around for any sign of familiarity. “i can figure this out.”

spoiler: you couldn’t.

what started as a confident stride through the manor became a journey through increasingly unfamiliar territory. at one point, you ended up in a library you were pretty sure wasn’t the main one, and at another, you swore you saw the same suit of armor twice.

then, somehow, you found a door leading outside.

now standing in the middle of the garden, you let out an exasperated sigh. “this is fine. completely fine. i’ll just . . . enjoy the fresh air until i figure out where i am.”

back in the manor, jason was starting to get worried.

you’d been gone for nearly an hour. the kitchen wasn’t that far, and he’d walked you through the directions at least three times. at first, he figured you’d gotten distracted by something, but after calling your name a few times and not getting a response, a knot of unease formed in his chest.

“babe?” he called, heading toward the kitchen himself. it was empty.

a quick search of the living room and study turned up nothing, and his patience wore thinner with each passing minute. “you’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair as he checked another hallway.

by the time he reached the garden door and spotted you standing near a hedge, staring at a rosebush like it held all the answers to the universe, he was caught somewhere between relief and exasperation.

“there you are,” he called out, striding toward you.

you turned, startled by his voice, before breaking into a sheepish grin. “oh, hey, jay. what’s up?”

“what’s up?” he echoed, stopping in front of you with a look of disbelief on his face. “you’ve been gone for an hour. i thought you fell into one of bruce’s secret tunnels or something.”

“i didn’t mean to!” you protested, gesturing at the manor. “i got lost. again.” not an unfamiliar situation for you.

he pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a long sigh. “how do you even manage to get lost this badly? the kitchen is literally the easiest room to find.”

“well, not for me,” you replied, crossing your arms and letting your eyes set into a light glare. “this place is like a maze. and in my defense, your directions weren’t super clear, either.”

he raised an eyebrow. “not super clear? i told you to turn left after the grandfather clock.”

“okay, but what about the painting next to it? was i supposed to pass that too?”

“you don’t take directions like suggestions,” he said, a teasing smirk creeping onto his lips despite his earlier frustration.

you huffed, but before you could respond, he pulled you into his arms, holding you close.

“seriously, though,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “i was starting to think something happened to you.”

your expression softened as you wrapped your arms around him. “i didn’t mean to worry you. i just . . . have the worst sense of direction.”

“yeah, no kidding,” he teased, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “but next time, just call me, okay? you’ve got my number, and i’ve got a built-in gps for this place.”

. . . TIM DRAKE !

TIM HAD GIVEN YOU DIRECTIONS to the kitchen before he went to work in the cave, but between the hallways that seemed to stretch forever and the identical-looking doors, you were hopelessly lost within five minutes.

“okay, past the piano room, and then . . . left? or was it right?” you muttered to yourself, trying to backtrack.

your stomach grumbled in protest. the kitchen wasn’t supposed to be far, but every turn you made seemed to lead to another unfamiliar wing of the manor. you wandered through a corridor lined with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the expansive grounds. one window was cracked open, and a soft breeze tugged at your curiosity.

“maybe the kitchen has a garden entrance?” you reasoned aloud, stepping through the side door.

before you knew it, you were outside, standing near a hedge maze that seemed like a metaphor for your situation at that moment. “great,” you muttered. “lost inside and outside. perfect.”

you plopped down on a bench near the maze entrance, deciding to take a breather before figuring out how to get back. the breeze was nice, the gardens were peaceful . . . maybe this wasn’t so bad.

meanwhile, in the batcave, tim was focused on a particularly stubborn piece of tech when he glanced at the clock and realized you’d been gone for an hour.

an hour. to get to the kitchen.

at first, he brushed it off, assuming you’d gotten distracted by something—probably a painting or one of the endless wayne family heirlooms like you always did.

but when you didn’t answer his texts and a quick check of the kitchen proved empty, he started to worry.

“alfred?” he called, jogging up the stairs. “have you seen [name]?”

“not since they went looking for the kitchen,” the old butler replied, though there was a faint twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

tim sighed, running a hand through his hair. “they’re lost again, aren’t they?”

“quite possibly.”

your boyfriend set off to search, his worry growing as he checked room after room. the library, the sitting room, even the game room—all empty. “where are you?” he muttered, glancing out a window just in time to spot a familiar figure sitting outside near the hedge maze. relief washed over him, quickly followed by exasperation.

he made his way outside, his footsteps crunching on the gravel path as he approached. “there you are,” he said, his voice a mix of relief and incredulity.

you looked up, startled, and then gave him a sheepish smile. “hey, tim. uh, fancy seeing you here?”

“you’ve been gone for an hour. the kitchen is inside the house.”

“i know,” you said quickly, standing up. “but i got a little turned around, and then j thought maybe there was an outside entrance, and—”

“and you ended up here,” he finished for you, gesturing to the hedge maze. “why didn’t you call me?”

“i didn’t want to bother you,” you admitted, your voice small.

he sighed, stepping closer and resting his hands on your shoulders. “you’re never bothering me. especially not when you’re wandering around like a lost puppy.”

“hey!” you protested, though you couldn’t help but smile at the affectionate teasing in his tone.

tim shook his head, a soft grin tugging at his lips. “come on, let’s get you back inside before you decide to explore the maze and I have to send out a search party.”

[em1i2a3]

Spiral Cities

Pairing: The Sentry/Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: Sentry wants to show you how special you are after you admit an insecurity to him.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Fluff, Angst (reader is self-conscious about their body, there are mentions of stretch marks but there’s nothing specifically described in relation to the readers body apart from that)

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up friends), Mirror Sex, Sentry is a little feral in this y’all he really loves his partner and definitely has no trouble showing it in a variety of ways lol, Face Sitting/Oral Sex (fem receiving), *AHEM* “Riding Sentry into the sky”lol, Praise Kink, Breast/Nipple Play, Overstimulation.

Author’s Note: Oop oh boy, I dropped another Sentry smut fic because there are so many requests just for Sentry smut with no actual request lol so I’m making these ones off the top of my head y’all I’m trying my very best to make things unique to each one-shot lol, trying to please everyone here. I was a little drowsy on allergy medication when writing this so if it seems incoherent…Now you know why lol, Hope y’all enjoy <3

Word Count: 6,436

It started slow, just like everything that involved Sentry did. Soft and unhurried, like the rest of the world could wait, and often…It did.

Time never moved quite the same around him, not when he was present, and not when he wanted you.

He had been stuck in a debrief for hours–and unfortunately it wasn’t the type he liked. It was the kind of debrief that drained him in ways no battlefield ever could. Not because they were tense, but because they were infinitely dull. Diluted language, endless strategic euphemisms, self-important suits hedging every sentence with words like perhaps and potentially, as if the outcomes of reality were mere suggestions and not the direct result of his actions.

He had saved lives today. Contained something that shouldn’t have been out in the first place, prevented mass casualties, and held everything together with the tips of his fingers basically with the force of his will, and yet they wanted to talk about restraint protocols. About the exact number of inches he had hovered above the evacuation perimeter. About how much force he had used to knock a cosmic entity through six layers of reinforced shielding. It was always him being too much, or too fast, and it was a constant criticism of his help.

He didn’t lose his temper though, he rarely did nowadays, he learned how to control himself, how to calm himself down when his adrenaline spiked and how to mute his thoughts when they started turning dark, when they started blaming him and taking the criticisms to heart. Now he just clenched his jaw until it ached. Or he thought about how his skin itched with the residue of all that energy he had burned off, and the remaining energy that was begging to be held, to be burned off, to be grounded–in touch, in breath, and in the soft curve of someone’s shoulder,your shoulder specifically, beneath his mouth…

That was what he needed. The burn of connection. The steadying warmth of your body against his. Not out of lust–though that was always there, thick and humming under his skin like lava–but out of need. Primal, grounding need. You were the only thing in the world that made him feel real after missions like this. The only thing that reminded him he existed beyond his power and that he did everything he possibly could and that he did amazing.

Typically, you would've been there with him. Sitting to his left, arms crossed, boots planted wide, eyes narrowed in that said ‘please get to the point’, as you mentally filtered all the bureaucratic white nose before beaming your interpretation into him like a helpful little translation device because he would be digging around in your mind trying to find entertainment in something other than the criticisms.

But you hadn’t been on this mission and protocol barred non-deployed team members from attending the review, even if you were part of the post-op intelligence team. Even if you were the only person who could talk him down without a damn sedative.

By the time he left the debrief, every molecule of him wanted to be held, touched, felt, and seen. So he went to your room.

——————

You were stretched out across your bed when he got there, legs tangled loosely in your grey fleece blanket, the glow of your tablet casting soft light across your features as you absentmindedly scrolled through shaky camera footage of him cutting across the clouds. It was recent–maybe from a few hours ago–captured by some trembling civilian hand from the top of a rooftop parking garage. The frame shook every time the sonic boom hit, but even through the pixelation, he looked golden. Blinding. Like a streak of lightning with a heartbeat. You watched it on loop. Not out of worry. Not even fascination. But the way people might watch someone they love on stage–knowing how much it cost to shine that brightly, even if no one else did. You could see it in his posture. The clenched fists. The micro-stutters in his flight path. The way he moved just a little too fast–like he was coming down from something bigger than adrenaline.

You paused the video just as he disappeared into the clouds, and the door clicked open. You looked up immediately, seeing him in the doorway. His shoulders were taught beneath the cling of his long-sleeve training top, and his eyes were glowing a honeysuckle gold, like he was powering down from the events you had just been watching on the screen of your tablet moments ago. He shut the door with a nudge of his boot and peeled the shirt off in one slow motion, fabric clinging to the static across his skin. It made a quiet crackle as he threw it to the side, and your eyes dipped–automatically–trailing down the plane of his chest, the stretch of muscle across his stomach, and the heat still radiating from his skin. He looked flawless as usual, making his way towards you with all the intentions of a man starved.

He climbed onto the bed slowly, his weight sinking into the mattress immediately, his thick thighs spreading as he crawled up you, eyes fixated on your body. You sat up just enough to make room, but it didn’t matter–he was already settling over you, caging you in with one knee between your thighs and an arm braced beside your head.

Without a word, his hand slipped between yours and the tablet, plucking it from your grip, locking it with a firm flick of his thumb before letting it float lazily across the room–gliding it like a feather until it landed on your desk. And then he collapsed into you with a long sigh.

You could feel the air knock out of your lungs as his full weight sank onto you, his skin boiling hot against your, while he took in a deep breath. He buried his face into the crook of your neck with a low, rumbling hum–like the sound a storm might make before it breaks, a distant thunder rolling just beneath his ribs. You felt it more than you heard it, vibrating into your chest as his arms locked around you.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the hollow of your throat, lips lingering for a moment so he could breathe you in. The soft mint from your body wash, the warmth of your skin, everything came crawling into his senses and invaded him quickly as he pulled back and continued to give these small wet kisses along your neck.

”Bad day?” You asked, your voice a gentle murmur. He nodded, the faint stubble on his jaw grazing against your skin.

”Is it that obvious?” He murmured, the words vibrating against your neck. You giggled gently and leaned your head back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers trailing lightly along the nape of his neck.

“Your face gives a lot away…I hope you didn’t look like that during your debrief.” That earned a breathy laugh from him, barely more than a puff of air against your cheek. He tilted his head, nosing gently along the line of your jaw before peppering small kisses up to the corner of your mouth.

“I definitely did. Since you weren’t there to distract me.” You hummed quietly, a wordless sound that vibrated softly into his lips–just as he kissed you. It was slow at first, but there was tension in it. A controlled hunger, like he had been thinking about this moment for hours–tasting it in his memory, craving it in silence. His lips parted yours with gentle insistence, and the kiss deepened as he tilted his head and cupped your face, his thumb brushing beneath your cheekbone. He kissed like a man trying to melt into you. Tongue gliding against yours with heat, breath hitching slightly each time you made a soft noise in the back of your throat. He tasted like mint and adrenaline, like the kind of man who carried entire cities on his shoulders and still wanted nothing more than to rest his weight on you.

Then he pulled back just enough to murmur, “Come here,” before his hand slid down your body–warm, wide palm dragging over your hip and under your thigh. With a twist of his core and a slow, fluid shift of weight, he rolled the both of you over until you were on top of him, straddling his waist, your legs splayed over his hips.

His hands immediately found the back of your thighs, squeezing them, grounding himself in your softness.

But you stiffened.

Your breath hitched, and your palms flattened against his chest–not to push him away, but not to pull him closer either. Your body went still above him, like a pause in a melody, the silence suddenly thick between you.

“Sentry…No.” You shook your head gently, your voice quiet but firm. There was no anger in it. No blame. Just a small, aching boundary traced in the sand between breaths. His golden eyes flicked up to yours immediately, still glowing faintly in the low light, soft concern knitting his brows together. He didn’t move beneath you, didn’t press or prod–just laid there beneath your body, warm and waiting.

A heavy silence hung between you before he spoke again, voice gentle.

“…Why don’t you ever want to be on top?” He asked, not accusing. Not annoyed. Just…Curious. Maybe even hurt, but hiding it behind his reverent restraint. “I loved seeing you up there. When you did it that one time–fuck, you looked beautiful. You felt incredible.” You inhaled sharply, and your hands slid up to brace on his chest, fingers curling just slightly against his skin–his warmth, his strength. You couldn’t meet his eyes.

“I just…” Your throat tightened. “It feels like I’m on full display. Like I can’t hide the things I don’t want you seeing.” Sentry blinked slowly, then sat up, his palms rising to cradle your face in both hands. His thumbs traced the corners of your mouth, the apples of your cheeks, like he was afraid you might vanish if he didn’t hold you steady in his gaze.

“What don’t you want me to see?” He asked gently, voice barely more than a breath.

You hesitated, something raw shifting behind your eyes. The words were quiet. “The stretch marks. The way everything moves when I’m up there. How I can’t breathe sometimes ‘cause I’m overthinking how I look, and I know it shouldn’t matter, but it does. Especially when you look like you.” He stilled. Not in judgment. Not in disbelief. But in heartbreak.

Because you had never sounded so small.

Sentry sighed, and let his hands slide down to rest just above your hips, his thumbs drawing slow, grounding circles into the fabric of your shorts. His voice was low when it came.

”Y/N…I wish you could see what I see when I look at you…” He leaned up slightly and placed a kiss against your clothed chest, right where your heart was beating, “You think I’m the one who looks like a god…But you’re divine. You’re the only thing in this world I look at and feel safe. And it’s not because of what you hide. It’s because of what you are…” You tried to look away again, but he caught your chin gently between his fingers and tilted your face back toward his. There was no demand in his touch, only awe..

”I don’t care how ‘everything moves’ when you’re up there…I want to kiss every inch of your body. I want to worship it…And your stretch marks? They’re stardust…Lightning scars. Signs you’ve changed and grown and lived. If anything, I should get on my knees and thank every line for existing, because they’re yours and they’re a part of you.” You gulped hard.

His words sat heavy and glowing in the space between you, like they’d dropped molten into your chest and made it impossible to speak. No one had ever said something like that to you–not with that kind of raw, aching conviction. Not without it sounding like they were trying to convince themselves, too. But Sentry wasn’t trying to convince anyone, he was just stating facts, a worshipful truth.

You opened your mouth to say something–anything–but nothing came out. Just a faint, trembling breath. You could feel it hitch in your lungs as your fingers trembled slightly against his chest.

Sentry exhaled softly and slid his hands down to your thighs again–broad and warm–pulling you closer, until your body was practically glued to his. Your chest pressed against his bare skin, your heartbeats syncing like twin pulses caught in the same golden current. His arms locked around you protectively as he held you there, one hand splaying across the small of your back, the other sliding up to cradle the back of your head.

His voice, when he spoke next, was warm and low, like lightning pressed into velvet.

“I love every part of you,” He murmured, “And I want you to love every part of yourself too.” You let out a slow, shaky exhale. Your cheek rested against the curve of his shoulder, skin to skin, heart to heart. His chest rose and fell between you, warm and strong, and the scent of him–ozone, mint, and the faint burn of atmospheric heat–wrapped around you like gravity.

You let your body melt into his just a little more, your lips ghosted over the slope of his shoulder, letting it linger there for just a moment longer than necessary, before whispering, “Okay…I’ll be on top.”

Sentry stilled.

Then he pulled back just enough to look at you. His expression flickered from awe to absolute tenderness, like he was going to pass out now that you actually wanted to do this again.

“I want us to be in front of the mirror,” He said gently, nodding toward the standing mirror angled near the bedside. “So you can see yourself.”

Your brows lifted. Not in doubt, but in quiet, vulnerable surprise. “Yeah?”

He nodded again, his hand rising to cradle your cheek, thumb stroking lightly beneath your eye. “It’ll show you what I see…”

There was something in his voice that melted you. No teasing. No performance. Just truth, low and warm and aching with how much he adored you. You bit your bottom lip, heart skittering in your chest like a moth in a jar. And then you gave a small nod.

“…Okay.”

With a fluid, weightless ease that only he could manage, Sentry shifted the both of you down the bed. He moved you like something precious, something meant to be carried. He turned and laid flat against the mattress, golden eyes flicking toward the mirror. You were straddling his hips now, fully in his lap, and the reflection hit you all at once.

There you were.

You were kissed by the lamplight. The gentle curve of your waist could be seen slightly from your shirt riding up with your thighs splayed open over his hips, and his large hands rested just below your ass like he couldn’t help but touch you–ground himself in the weight of you.

You looked at yourself.

And then you looked at him.

He was already watching you through the reflection, his expression molten, lit with a hunger so thick it curled around your spine like smoke. His lips parted slightly, breathing shallow.

“Take your top and shorts off,” He murmured, voice rough and low, like thunder rolling behind silk.

Your fingers trembled slightly, but you didn’t hesitate.

You peeled the shirt off first, the cotton sliding over your skin and dropping to the floor beside the bed. Your breasts were bared to the open air, nipples tightening under the weight of his gaze. You leaned back and slowly slid your fingers beneath the waistband of your sleepshorts, dragging them down your hips, and shifting them down your knees before shimmying them completely off you, before returning to your previous position.

You hovered over him again, your core brushing faintly against the bulge in his sweatpants, heat pulsing between your thighs. His eyes dropped low and he bit his lip hard, chest rising and falling like he was trying to keep himself from exploding.

One of his hands came up slowly, deliberately, and cupped your breast. Large, warm, steady. His thumb rolled your nipple in a slow, practiced motion, just enough to make it tighten under his touch, to draw a soft little gasp from your lips. You arched your back into his hand, then you brought your own up to his wrist, holding it there gently, feeling your breath hitch again–this time from the burn that pulsed deep in your belly. The tenderness of his grip, the worship in his gaze, the way his golden eyes flicked between your reflection and your face–it all tangled inside your chest.

“Look at yourself,” He whispered.

Your eyes flicked to the mirror.

And oh–there it was.

His hand engulfing your breast like it was something holy, your nipple pinched perfectly between his fingers. The way your mouth had parted at the sensation, how your breath caught and chest trembled. You watched it all–watched yourself respond to his worship like you were meant to be adored. And for the first time, maybe…You didn’t wince.

You were gorgeous.

“See?” He murmured. “You’re fucking breathtaking.” He gave your breast another gentle squeeze, then released it, only to bring his other hand to your waist. His palm slid over the curve of your hip, grounding you in place.

“I want you to sit on my face,” He said, low and rough now, his restraint fraying with every heartbeat. “I want to drown in you while you watch yourself…”

Your breath hitched.

He licked his lips, his gaze molten.

“Will you do that for me, sweetheart?”

There wasn’t a hint of ego in his voice. Just aching devotion. Like this wasn’t just desire–it was need. Worship. The kind that left gods on their knees.

You nodded, your voice a whisper. “Yes…” He grinned–slow and bright, a little breathless already from the weight of anticipation–like he couldn’t believe his luck, like you’d just handed him the sun wrapped in silk.

“Well come on up here then…” He instructed, burning gold. You swallowed and slowly began to shift up his body, bracing yourself on the mattress as you crawled forward. Each movement was careful, deliberate, thighs trembling slightly. And his eyes never left you. Not once. Not even to blink. Like he might miss something if he did. He watched every shift of your hips, every stretch of your legs as they slowly bracketed his head. And when your knees planted firm on either side of his jaw and your core hovered just above his mouth, you felt the air shift.

Sentry looked completely undone beneath you.

Golden eyes glazed, lips parted, arms sprawled out like he was about to be blessed.

You hovered just out of reach, breath shallow, your thighs trembling from effort and nerves. He brought his hands to your hips, strong and steady, thumbs brushing soothing circles into your skin, and then he began to guide you lower.

“Sentry…” You whispered, hesitating, your voice barely a breath. “I don’t want to crush your face.” His laugh was low and guttural, and he shook his head with a grin so wide it made your chest ache.

“You won’t crush my face,” He replied gently, “Trust me, I want you to. Please. Sit. Down.” You let out a shaky breath and looked at yourself in the mirror. At the way you hovered, naked and vulnerable but wanted. How his hands looked like they were sculpted just to hold you. How his mouth opened beneath you, lips glistening with need, and his chest heaved like he was about to die of thirst.

Your breath quivered as you began to lower yourself down, still watching your reflection in the mirror–the way your thighs framed his face, the way his glowing eyes tracked every inch of you like you were descending from heaven itself.

The moment your core brushed his lips, he growled.

His hands flew to your hips–not rough, but firm–holding you steady, anchoring you in place like you were something that might fly away if he didn’t hold tight. One hand slid to the small of your back to keep you from tipping backward, the other spread wide across your thigh, grounding. And then…He devoured you.

There was no hesitation or easing in.

His mouth latched onto your core like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

You gasped–a soft, breathy sound that left you the moment his tongue parted your folds, licking up the wetness that had already begun to slick your thighs. His tongue worked in deep, hungry strokes, curling and flicking and dragging against your heat with such precision, you immediately buckled forward and braced yourself on his forearms. Your hands gripped tight to the solid muscle of him–his arms flexing beneath your touch as he groaned and pulled you harder onto his mouth.

“Fuck–Sentry–”

Your voice cracked into a breathless moan as his tongue rolled over your clit, slow at first, then faster, teasing it with short, practiced flicks that had your hips grinding into his mouth instinctively.

And still–he didn’t stop.

You looked at yourself in the mirror–and the sight nearly undid you.

Your thighs were spread wide over his face, your body trembling with every breath, your hips moving in slow, desperate circles as you rode his mouth like you were meant to. His light brown hair fanned beneath you, his jaw flexing with every lick, every groan that vibrated directly into your core.

Your mouth had fallen open, eyes wide, chest sheened with sweat, breasts rising and falling with every sharp breath. You looked ruined, but you couldn’t look away.

He buried his face deeper, tongue slipping inside you, licking into you like he was starving for your taste–like your pussy was the holiest thing he’d ever known and he wanted to drown in it. His nose brushed your clit as he moaned again, and your thighs shook, your nails digging into his forearms hard enough to leave marks.

And God–he loved it.

He sucked your clit into his mouth, slow and wet, then swirled his tongue around it like he wanted to worship it. Your breath hitched, hips stuttering, and he grunted when you ground yourself harder against his mouth.

“Oh my god–” You gasped, voice trembling, wrecked. “Fuck, please don’t stop–”

His only answer was another deep, feral groan–vibrating through your clit like lightning.

You could feel how wet you were. Hear the obscene, slick sounds of his mouth as he ate you with single-minded obsession. Your arousal was dripping down his chin, painting his cheeks, and still he kept going–licking, sucking, moaning into you like your body was a commandment.

You rolled your hips harder, chasing every delicious flick of his tongue, and he let you–let you take what you needed–his hands still holding you steady, flexing against your thighs as you moved above him.

“Look at yourself,” He rasped suddenly, voice muffled against your core, but low and sharp and devastating.

You did.

And you gasped.

Your own reflection met you, flushed and wild, hair sticking to your damp temples, thighs trembling around his head, mouth slack and open as you moved with reckless, breathless rhythm–grinding down onto his tongue while he held you in place and worshipped.

You looked like a woman unraveling–gorgeous and completely undone.

His tongue flicked your clit again, then sucked it deep between his lips, his moan loud and broken–and you screamed his name.

The orgasm hit you so fast, so hard, it stole your breath. Your hips locked and bucked, your body tightening above him as your thighs clamped around his head and your voice fractured into a string of desperate, feral moans. And still–he didn’t let go.

His tongue slowed as your orgasm ebbed, but he didn’t stop–not until the last tremor ran through your thighs and your fingers unclenched from his arms. You were twitching still, little aftershocks jerking through your muscles as your hips tried to pull back on their own. But he held you just a moment longer, mouthing at your slick folds, as though kissing a wound he didn’t want to let close.

Then, finally, when you whimpered and tried to squirm off his face, he gave your hips a gentle squeeze.

“I’ve got you,” He murmured against your skin, the words vibrating soft and wet against your inner thigh. Carefully, he helped you rise from his mouth. His hands never left your skin as he eased you down his body, guiding you gently back to where you started–straddling his hips, your thighs once again bracketing his waist. Only now, everything was different. Your body was still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm, your skin damped with sweat and slick, with every nerve ending glowing with tension.

Sentry on the other hand looked like he was about to break. His chest was heaving, glowing eyes locked onto your face as you settled directly over the thick bulge in his sweatpants. You could feel him twitching beneath you–hot, hard, throbbing so you rolled your hips forward slowly, dragging the soaked heat of your core against the fabric, and he let out a strangled noise that sounded like it had been ripped from somewhere deep in his chest.

“Fuck–” He hissed through gritted teeth, his fingers gripping your hips tighter. “Sweetheart–” You leaned down and kissed him before he could finish, swallowing the rest of his groan with your mouth. Your lips were slow, but your body was already shifting against his, hips grinding in a gentle, deliberate rhythm that smeared your slick across the length of him. He moaned into your mouth, lips parting beneath yours, and you tasted yourself on his tongue–tangy and hot, a reminder of how thoroughly he’d worshipped you moments ago.

And still–it wasn’t enough.

Not for him. Not for you.

You pulled back just enough to pant against his lips, your breath mingling with his, and his eyes fluttered open, molten with desperation.

“I want you to ride me now,” He whispered, voice rough with need.

You nodded, your voice hoarse but sure. “Okay.”

That single word made him shiver beneath you. His hands slid down to the waistband of his sweatpants and boxer-briefs, and together–quick, frantic–you pushed them down just enough to free him.

And fuck—he was hard.

So hard it almost hurt to look at. His cock sprang free, red and flushed at the tip, already leaking precum. Thick and veined and glistening with precum. You stared for a beat, then slowly reached down and wrapped your hand around the base of him. He twitched violently in your grasp, the head already slick as you smeared his arousal down the shaft with a slow pump.

“Jesus Christ–” He gasped, bucking into your hand, “You’re gonna kill me–”

You smirked, then lifted your hips and dragged the head of him through your folds, coating him with your wetness, watching as his head tilted back against the mattress, and a long, low moan tore from his throat. Your hand trembled as you lined him up with your entrance–his cock hot and heavy in your grip, glistening with your slick. He looked devastating beneath you, golden eyes locked to your face with a desperation that you had never seen on him before. You hovered for a breathless moment, your thighs shaking, the head of him teasing at your entrance. Your walls fluttered in anticipation, already aching to be filled, already soaking him, ready for more.

And then–you sank down.

Agonizingly slow.

Both of you gasped.

The stretch was obscene, burning and perfect. He was thick and you felt every ridge, every pulsing inch as your body opened around him. His cock dragged against your inner walls, and the sensation made your vision blur for a moment.

“F-Fuck,” you whimpered, your fingers digging into his chest for balance, your nails leaving faint crescents in his skin. “You’re so deep…Oh my god–”

Sentry’s eyes closed as a moan tore from his throat like it had been locked behind his ribs for hours. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you steady, but he didn’t force you–he just gripped you like he needed you there to survive.

”My god…You’re so tight…Always feel like heaven to me.” He whispered. You dropped another inch, and he cried out again, hips jerking up slightly before he caught himself.

“Sweetheart..,Please take it all…Want to feel all of you, I need it–”

Your knees trembled as you sank fully down, seating yourself to the hilt, his cock stretching you open so deep it punched the air from your lungs. Your walls throbbed around him, pulsing as it fluttered from the intensity of being filled so completely.

And he could feel all of it.

His hands splayed across your waist, his thumbs brushing the slope of your stomach like he was trying to memorize the curve of you around him. His chest heaved, a fine sheen of sweat blooming along his collarbones. His golden eyes fluttered shut for a moment, jaw tight with restraint.

“I’m gonna lose my fucking mind,” He whispered. “You’re perfect. You were made to ride me…Fuck, look at yourself, baby.”

You turned your head to the mirror–and gasped.

The sight was dizzying.

You, perched on top of him, sunk down to the base, your thighs spread wide around his hips. Your body trembling with the afterglow of your first orgasm and the new lust that burned within you. Your breasts heaved with every breath, nipples stiff from the air and the heat of his gaze. And your expression–fuck, your expression. Mouth parted in a gasp, eyes half-lidded with pleasure, hips already beginning to grind forward.

You looked ruined.

You looked divine.

And you were only just beginning.

You braced your hands on his chest and rolled your hips once–slow and deep. His cock dragged against your walls, and your whole body shivered.

He moaned.

A raw, broken sound.

“Just like that,” He whimpered, “Ride me, baby. Ride me like I’m yours.”

And you did.

You lifted your hips slowly, feeling every inch of him slip from your soaking core until only the head remained inside–and then you dropped again, taking him all the way in with a slick, wet sound that had you both gasping.

You did it again.

And again.

Your rhythm picked up, your hips rising and falling with a desperate grind that had your clit brushing his pelvis with every thrust. Your mouth fell open, and soft, breathless moans poured from your lips as you fucked yourself on him, as you used him, as you gave yourself over to it completely.

The mirror only made it worse.

Worse and better.

You couldn’t stop looking.

You watched the way your body moved–how your tits bounced with every slam of your hips, how your stomach rolled, soft and lovely, how your thighs shook. You watched the way your mouth opened, the way your brows pulled tight, the way you gasped when he hit that perfect spot inside you again and again.

And Sentry was fucking watching it too.

He stared at the mirror, jaw clenched, his eyes glowing bright gold like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing–what he was feeling.

“You’re…Fuck, baby, you’re so beautiful…Watching you like this, it’s too much, I could die like this,” He panted. “You’re taking me so fucking well…” You let out a strangled moan, grinding your hips harder.

You could feel him everywhere.

Your thighs trembled, slick and glistening in the lamplight, as you bounced on his cock with building desperation–every drag and drop punching breathless moans from your chest. He felt too good. Too thick, too deep, too much. Each time you sank down onto him, it was like being split open and filled at once, your body giving way for his with a needy, perfect stretch that left you shaking.

Your skin was flushed, shining with sweat, your hair wild and sticking to your temple. And in the mirror, you looked like a dream–your body riding him, open and raw and radiant, flushed with ecstasy. Your breasts bounced in rhythm with your thrusts, your belly rolled slightly with each grind forward, your thighs flexed around his waist as you moved in time with your own mounting pleasure. There was no hiding. There was only you, him, and the way you came apart in his lap–beautiful and real and fucking divine.

Sentry was losing his mind beneath you.

Golden eyes burning, mouth slack, sweat beading at his hairline. His hands gripped your hips like lifelines, fingers flexing and spreading, dragging you down to meet every upward thrust. You were both panting now, the slap of your skin and the wet sound of your soaked core riding his cock filling the air between your breathless moans.

“Feel so good…” He moaned, his hips bucking up into you now, meeting your grind with his own rhythm, “Take me so well…I can’t hold back.”

“I don’t want you to,” You gasped, slamming down harder, your voice breaking on a moan as he bottomed out again, the pressure of him grinding right into your sweet spot. “I want to feel everything. All of it…Don’t stop…Please.”

He let out a strangled, broken sound–half moan, half growl–as his hands slid down to the curve of your ass, grabbing you firmly and guiding your rhythm with desperate precision. You met him thrust for thrust, your hips rolling down to meet every upward snap of his, and the angle was just right now–his cock brushing that aching, fluttering spot deep inside you that had your whole body shivering.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he gasped, head thrown back against the pillow, his chest heaving. “You’re gonna make me cum just watching you, fuck…Look at you, sweetheart, look at what you’re doing to me–”

You did.

Your gaze flicked back to the mirror–and the sight nearly undid you.

Your body was bouncing in his lap, each grind forward rippling through your hips and thighs. His cock was buried inside you, his hands greedy on your skin, and you looked like sin and salvation all at once–eyes half-lidded, mouth parted, riding him like you were born to do it. It was overwhelming, like watching a fantasy you never knew you had–only now you were living it, feeling it, trembling on the edge of something volcanic.

“I’m gonna…Fuck…I’m close–” you moaned, nails digging into his chest, your rhythm picking up with frantic need. “I’m so close, Sentry, please don’t stop—”

“Never,” He panted, fucking up into you hard now, his cock slamming into you with wet, messy precision. “Cum for me, sweetheart. Let me feel it. I wanna feel you fall apart on my cock.”

You cried out, loud and broken, hips slamming down faster now, clit dragging against his pelvis with every thrust. The heat was blinding–your orgasm barreling toward you like a golden wave, your whole body tense and twitching with the effort of holding it back.

He saw it–felt it–and slowed you down, just barely.

“Breathe, baby,” He whispered, guiding your hips in slower, deeper rolls. “Let me feel all of it. Let me feel you cum slow…Wanna feel your pussy milk me, nice and tight…”

That did it.

Your body seized, every muscle tightening as your climax tore through you like wildfire. You let out a scream of his name, hips jerking wildly as your core clenched around him in fluttering, wet pulses. You were shaking, gasping, sobbing his name as he kept fucking up into you–deep, slow, deliberate thrusts that kept your orgasm stretching on, spiraling through you like a current.

And then–with one last desperate grind forward–you pushed down as he thrust up.

“F-Fuck…” He gasped, his entire body going rigid beneath you. “I’m gonna cum–”

You collapsed forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pressing your chest to his as you whispered, “Do it…Please…Cum inside me…I want to feel you.”

His moan shattered in your ear, low and primal, as he came.

Hot, thick ropes of cum flooded your core, spilling deep inside you as his cock twitched and pulsed, his hips jerking helplessly beneath you. He buried his face in your neck, groaning into your skin as he held you tight, his hands trembling on your waist.

You both stayed like that–trembling, breathless, wrapped in each other as the aftershocks passed.

The air was thick with sweat, love, and the scent of sex.

Eventually, he pulled back just enough to press a kiss to your cheek, then your nose, then your lips. His hand cradled the back of your head, thumb stroking your jaw as his voice–low and wrecked–rumbled against your mouth.

“I told you,” He whispered, voice still trembling, “I told you that you looked amazing up there.”

You let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh, your body still twitching around him as you nuzzled your nose against his. “You’re always right.”

He smiled–bright, lazy, golden–and pulled you tighter into his chest, holding you flush against him, cock still buried inside you, your bodies slick and glowing with afterglow.

“Never doubt me again,” He murmured with a playful little growl.

You both laughed–soft and breathless–your foreheads pressed together as the mirror reflected your bodies still tangled in each other, golden and flushed and whole.