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gf2bellamy · 4 months ago

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surprise — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: garcia and derek go into spencer's apartment, while you're sleeping in his bed. the problem? no one knows you and spencer are dating content warnings: secret relationship , reader also works in the bau a/n: hiii !!! i'm back to my secret relationship roots and i hope you like this <3 bc i had so much fun writing this ( i've been writing it for ages and i'm finally happy with it)

"No, no," Spencer shook his head frantically, his voice almost pleading as Derek maneuvered the car into the parking spot at his apartment complex.

"Why not?" Garcia's voice was full of curiosity as she looked back at Spencer from the passenger seat.

The trio had spent the whole afternoon shopping for your birthday, which was just around the corner. Garcia, as usual, had already gotten everything ready, gifts, decorations, the whole nine yards. She even had a closet near her office packed with presents for you, waiting for the big reveal at the surprise party she was planning to throw.The whole mission was meant to be a fun, collaborative effort, the three of them picking out something special for you to celebrate.

But now, as Derek parked the car and they were all about to get out, Garcia’s sudden idea was making Spencer break into a cold sweat.

"I mean, we can just hang out at your place for a bit, right?" Garcia asked, her tone more like a suggestion than a question. She had already unbuckled her seatbelt, clearly excited about the idea.

Spencer swallowed hard, his fingers gripping the seatbelt. "I don’t know if that’s such a good idea," he said quickly, trying to sound casual, though the nerves were practically radiating off of him.

"I have… stuff to do." His words stumbled, but Derek caught on immediately.

"You've got a date or something?" Derek teased, raising an eyebrow. "Come on, Reid, live a little."

Spencer’s face turned a light shade of pink, but he quickly deflected with a nervous laugh. "No, no date," he replied, but the nervous energy in his tone was giving him away. "I just—uh—need to get inside."

Garcia didn't miss a beat. "Come on, Spencer," she insisted with that gleam of excitement in her eyes. "It’s been forever since we just hung out at your place. You know, a little downtime."

But Spencer’s mind was racing, heart pounding. The last thing he needed was for Derek and Garcia to come upstairs and see you there. He knew you were in his apartment right now, sound asleep in his bed, curled up in one of his sweaters. This morning, you had practically melted into him that morning, clinging to him as he reluctantly told you he had to go.You had been so warm, your face tucked into the side of his neck, holding him like you didn’t want him to leave. He’d rubbed soothing circles on your back, whispering that he’d be back soon, but you hadn't been ready to let go. Eventually, he had managed to peel himself away, promising to return as quickly as possible.

Now, his heart pounded as he watched Derek and Garcia hop out of the car without hesitation. "No, no, no—" Spencer muttered under his breath, scrambling to open his own door. He practically stumbled out, rushing after them, but they were already making their way toward his apartment building.

They didn’t even wait for him. "Of course," he thought bitterly as he hurried behind them. He knew he was too late. There was no way he could stop them now. His only hope was that you were still asleep. And there was a high chance that you were. Spencer knew your sleep schedule well. If he could just get inside before them and shut his bedroom door, everything would be fine.

As they reached the top floor, Spencer’s fingers fumbled in his pocket for his keys. His hands were practically shaking as he yanked them out, quickly jamming the correct one into the lock. Slowly, he pushed the door open just a crack, peeking inside, praying you weren’t—

"Dr. Reid. What are you doing?" Garcia’s voice was laced with amusement as she leaned against the doorframe, watching him with a smirk.Before Spencer could stop her, she pushed the door open wider, stepping inside.

Panic surged through him. His breath caught in his throat.But you were nowhere to be seen. His eyes darted toward the bedroom door. It was closed.

No sign of you.

Spencer swallowed hard, trying to compose himself as Garcia and Derek strolled inside, completely oblivious to the absolute terror he had just experienced. Spencer quickly shut the door behind them, tossing his jacket over the nearest chair, something he never did. Normally, he was meticulous about hanging it up properly, but right now, his priority was making sure nothing seemed off.

Slipping off his shoes, he warily watched as Garcia and Derek made a beeline for his kitchen. As they rummaged through his cabinets, Spencer seized the opportunity. He darted down the hallway toward the bedroom, his socked feet barely making a sound on the hardwood floor. He cracked the door open just enough to peek inside, and there you were, still fast asleep, curled up under the blankets with his sweater draped loosely over your shoulders. A small, involuntary smile tugged at his lips. He closed the door gently, careful not to make a sound, and hurried back to the kitchen before they could notice his absence.

Crisis averted.

He stopped in his tracks, however, when he saw the disaster unfolding before him.

“What are you doing?” Spencer asked, exasperated, watching as Derek and Garcia rummaged through his cabinets like raccoons.

Garcia, mid-bite into a granola bar, waved a hand dismissively. ��Relax, genius, we’re just looking for snacks. By the way—” she held up the granola bar with a raised brow, “—I thought you hated these?”

Spencer froze. He did. He never ate those granola bars.

But you did. You loved them, so he always kept some stocked just for you.

He scrambled for an excuse, clearing his throat. “Uh—I just wanted to give them another try,” he mumbled, avoiding Garcia’s sharp, suspicious gaze.

Derek, now chewing a piece of toast, barely looked up. “Yeah, okay,” he said, mouth full.

Spencer shot him an unamused glare. “Can the two of you stop eating my food?”

“No,” Derek replied, taking another bite, completely unbothered.

Spencer sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You know, most people ask before raiding someone’s kitchen,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words.

Garcia giggled, popping the last bite of granola bar into her mouth. “Oh, come on, Genius. You love us. Besides, you’re acting super weird today. What’s going on with you?”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, and he quickly looked away, busying himself with straightening a stack of papers on the counter

“Nothing’s going on,” he said, his voice a little too high-pitched. “I’m just… tired. It’s been a long day.”

Garcia and Derek just exchanged a look.Spencer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He needed to get them out of here before they found something they weren’t supposed to. Like, say… you.

“Do you think she’ll like my gift?” Garcia asked, peeking at the bag on the counter, her fingers fidgeting with the ribbon.

“Most definitely, babygirl,” Derek answered without hesitation, dusting the crumbs off his hands after finishing his toast. “She’s been talking about it for weeks.”

Spencer, still trying to recover from his near heart attack, nodded in agreement. “Yeah, she’ll love it,” he said, meeting Garcia’s eyes with a small, reassuring smile.

Garcia beamed, clearly pleased with herself. “Oh, she’ll love yours, boy genius,” she added, pointing at Spencer. “You know her so well.” Her voice carried a teasing lilt, her grin mischievous.

“Maybe too well,” Derek chimed in, eyebrows raised as he leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed. His grin was knowing, smug. Spencer stiffened.

“When are you finally gonna ask her out?” Derek asked, his grin widening.

Spencer felt his face heat up instantly. He blushed, but not for the reason they thought. He blushed because he remembered the day it happened. The way his heart had pounded in his chest, his palms sweaty as he rehearsed the words in his head over and over. He’d been so nervous, he’d almost convinced himself to back out.

But then he’d seen you, your smile, the way your eyes lit up when you noticed him approaching, and all his doubts had melted away. When he finally asked, his voice trembling slightly, your reaction had been everything he’d hoped for. Your face had lit up, and you’d nodded so quickly, it was almost comical.

“Yes!” you’d said, your voice filled with so much enthusiasm that it made him laugh. In that moment, all his anxiety had washed away, replaced by a giddy, almost overwhelming sense of relief and joy.

“Aww, how cute!” Garcia practically vibrated with excitement, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she pointed an accusatory finger at Spencer. “He’s blushing,” she sang, her grin stretching impossibly wide.

Spencer groaned, shaking his head in exasperation. “Did you two come into my apartment just to eat my food and make fun of me?” he asked, arms crossed.

“Pretty much,” Derek said, completely unfazed as he made his way back toward the fridge.

Spencer let out a sharp breath, trying to mask his anxiety. He knew you were still asleep, but that didn’t stop the lingering fear that their loud voices might wake you up.

But then, Derek stopped in front of the fridge.His eyes locked onto the calendar hanging there, and a slow, amused smirk spread across his face.

“Look at this, sweetheart,” Derek said, turning toward Garcia, his voice thick with amusement. Garcia leaned in, her eyes widening as she saw what Derek was pointing at. There, on the calendar, your birthday was circled in bold red marker, surrounded by a carefully drawn heart.

Garcia gasped, clapping her hands together in delight. “Oh. My. God,” she said, her voice rising with every word. “Spencer Reid, you are down bad!”

Spencer felt his face burn even hotter. He wished he could disappear into the floor, or maybe just teleport to another dimension entirely. Anything to escape this moment.Because the truth was, he hadn’t been the one to draw that heart on the calendar. It had been you.

He remembered the moment perfectly.

The day he hung the calendar up, you had been standing right there beside him, watching with an amused little smile. Then, without hesitation, you had grabbed the nearest marker, a red one, of course, and went straight to your birthday month, drawing a huge heart around the date. "So you don’t forget."

He had chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped behind you, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist. Then, he had pressed a soft kiss to your temple, murmuring against your skin. "I don’t forget anything. Especially not something like that."

You had giggled. And Spencer had loved making you giggle.

Now, standing in his kitchen, faced with his coworkers’ relentless teasing, he was struck with the embarrassing realization that Derek and Garcia thought he was some hopelessly lovesick teenager who had scribbled hearts around his crush’s name in a notebook.

(Which, if he was being completely honest, wasn’t that far from the truth.)

But what was he supposed to say?Tell them the truth? Admit that the woman he’d been secretly dating for months, the same woman they were here shopping for, was currently asleep in his bed down the hall? Absolutely not.

But then the choice was taken away from him anyway.

Suddenly, the sound of running water echoed from down the hallway, causing both Garcia and Derek to freeze mid-sentence. Their heads snapped toward the source of the noise, their eyes widening as they stared at Spencer.

Spencer stared back, equally wide-eyed, his mind racing. You were in the bathroom, happily brushing your teeth, completely unaware that two of your and Spencer’s, coworkers were standing in the kitchen, mere feet away.

“Spencer Walter Reid,” Garcia gasped, her voice loud enough to carry through the apartment. She clutched Derek’s arm like she was about to faint. “Is there someone here?”

“No, no,” Spencer said quickly, shaking his head so vigorously that his curls bounced. “It’s probably just my washing machine turning on.”

As if on cue, the bathroom door creaked open, and then closed again. Spencer’s heart sank. “Oh no,” he mumbled under his breath, his stomach twisting into knots.

And then, there you were.

You padded into the kitchen, blissfully unaware of the chaos you were about to unleash. You were wearing Spencer’s boxers, which hung loosely around your hips, and one of his Star Wars shirts that was far too big for you, the hem brushing against your thighs. Your hair was slightly messy, and you were still rubbing sleep from your eyes. Then you stopped. Blinking, you finally seemed to register the two extra people in the room.

Garcia. Derek.

Standing there.

Staring.

At you.

In Spencer’s clothes.

Two pairs of eyes stared at you. And you stared back, your own eyes wide, your brain struggling to process the scene in front of you. Spencer, meanwhile, was staring at the ground like it might suddenly open up and swallow him whole. Garcia broke the silence, her voice low and uncharacteristically quiet, something almost more shocking than if she’d screamed.

“Am I… dreaming?” she whispered, clutching Derek’s arm like a lifeline. She looked pale, her usual vibrant energy replaced by sheer disbelief as she took in your disheveled state.

Derek, for once, seemed just as stunned. “I… no, I don’t think so,” he said hesitantly, his usual confidence replaced by uncharacteristic uncertainty. He blinked at you, then at Spencer, then back at you, as if trying to piece together what exactly was happening.

“Spencer,” you hissed, your voice low but urgent. “What the hell is happening?” You tugged self-consciously at the hem of his Star Wars shirt, trying to pull it down further.

Normally, you were the picture of professionalism at work, always impeccably dressed and composed. But here you were, standing in Spencer’s kitchen in his boxers and an oversized shirt, your hair a mess and your face still flushed from sleep.

It was beyond awkward, it was mortifying.

Spencer finally looked up, his expression a mix of guilt and panic. “I, uh… this isn’t—” he started, but Garcia cut him off.

“Oh no, no, no,” Garcia said, her voice rising with every word, her hands flailing dramatically. “You do not get to ‘this isn’t’ us right now. This is happening. This is definitely happening.” She pointed a finger at you, then at Spencer, her eyes wide. “You two. Together. In his apartment. Wearing his clothes. Oh my gosh, this is the best day of my life.”

You froze, your cheeks burning as you tugged self-consciously at the hem of Spencer’s shirt. “Penelope, it’s not—” you started, but she cut you off with a wave of her hand.

“Nope, nope, nope,” she said, shaking her head so vigorously that her curls bounced. “No explanations, no excuses. This is happening. I have been waiting for this moment for years.”

Spencer groaned, running a hand through his already messy hair. “Garcia, please—”

“No,” she interrupted again, her voice rising an octave. “You don’t get to ‘Garcia, please’ me right now. This is huge. This is monumental. This is—”

“A disaster,” Spencer muttered under his breath, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

Derek, who had been quietly observing the scene with an amused grin, finally chimed in. “Man, Reid, I gotta hand it to you. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “This is so embarrassing,” you muttered, though there was a hint of laughter in your voice.

Garcia, meanwhile, was practically bouncing on her toes, her excitement palpable. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun. I can’t wait to tell—”

“No!” Spencer and you said in unison, your voices sharp enough to make Garcia freeze mid-sentence.

“You are not telling anyone,” Spencer said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Garcia pouted, but there was a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Fine, fine. But only because I’m feeling generous. For now.”

Derek chuckled, shaking his head. “Man, this is going to be the best office drama ever.”

You groaned again, burying your face in your hands. “I’m going back to bed,” you muttered, turning on your heel and heading back down the hallway. As you disappeared into the bedroom, Garcia and Derek turned to Spencer. “You’ve got some explaining to do, Pretty Boy,” Derek said, his grin widening.

Spencer sighed, knowing there was no escaping this. “Yeah,” he said, his voice resigned. “I know.”

#criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x you #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fic

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tumble-tv · 5 months ago

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ICE raids are happening.

Any immigrants, no matter how long you have been a citizen of the USA, is at risk of being deported either out of the country as a whole or into what are basically concentration camps. Raids starting in Chicago, Illinois. and spreading to other major cities with high POC and Hispanic populations. The US Immigrations and Customs Enforcement (ICE) and Customs and Border Patrol (CBP) have started raiding homes and families in California.

There are no "protected locations" as of January 21, 2025. Hospitals, schools, and churches are all at risk of being raided, where before these places were deemed safe and off limits to raids.

When it comes to spotting an ICE agent, look for these:

Weirdly neat/well kept hair (shaved heads, side parts, military burs for men; low buns, high ponytails, close cropped bobs for women)

Oversized jacket (long and bulky outerwear makes it easier to hide tools/equipment without being suspicious)

Both hands in pockets

Many undercover agents/cops buy cheap plain clothes off the racks so they aren’t seen in their own clothes. This can make their outfit seem awkward

Sweatshirts with the hood up

Sports apparel (warm up jacket, sweats, etc) with non-sports clothes (jeans, cargo shorts)

Cargo pants/shorts (usually full of items like their badge, flashlight, taser, pepper spray, backup handcuffs, zip ties)

Military or hiking style boots, sometimes chunky sneakers (extra points if none of it matches anything in their outfit)

Outline of a gun in their pants/shirt (easy to see when bending, leaning, or raising arms) (NO NOT SAY ANYTHING)

Overly friendly

Overly inquisitive

“How old are you” and “what do you know about this happening” are both red flags, along with generally odd and personal questions

Don’t fit in

Mismatched pairs in public spaces (usually cops do these things in pairs. They don’t talk to each other or acknowledge each other much, if at all)

DO NOT SAY ANYTHING UNTIL YOU ARE 100% SURE

YOUR BEST BET IS NOT TO SAY ANYTHING UNTIL THE SUSPECT STARTS ACTING OFF AND GETTING PUSHY

COPS ARE NOT OBLIGATED TO TELL YOU THAT THEY ARE UNDERCOVER

COPS CAN AND WILL LIE TO YOU

SCREAM “LA MIGRA” AT THE TOP OF YOUR LUNGS

For protesting:

N95 masks

Respirator/gas mask if you have access to one

Water water water water water (I hate to say it, but disposable one use bottles are best here. If it comes to it, you need to be able to drop and run.) Use for flushing wounds, flushing eyes of tear gas, and of course drinking.

Snacks! You'll be doing a lot of walking and/or running and need to keep that energy up. Trail mix, dried fruit, nuts, granola bars, crackers, jerky/meat sticks, fruit snacks, candy, etc. Think of it like packing your lunchbox for a field trip.

Eyedrops (teargas is a bitch)

Goggles (I bring my old snowboarding goggles)

If you are wearing a t-shirt or have exposed skin, put on fake/temporary tattoos. If you are brought into something and they say you were there, showing a picture of you with the tattoos, show them where that tattoo would be and how there’s nothing there. How would you get rid of a giant flower on your forearm in 2 days anyways?

Wigs fall under the same category as tattoos. The person they're claiming to be you has a blonde bob and you have green hair past your shoulders.It also makes it possible to go with a completely different color without the use of hair dye. This means if they try to arrest you later and try to prove it was you by taking your hair and testing for dye, it won't come back the way they hope. (Thank you @violetrosepetals for this addition!)

Hide your hair. I tuck my hair into my beanie since it’s short. If you have longer hair, try to do the same or tuck it into your shirt. Balaclavas are also a good choice, as they cover both your face and hair.

Power bank

Chargers

Helmet. Any is fine, my personal choice is a skating helmet since they’re rounder and can take more damage, but tactical is also good

Hand sanitizer

Gloves with hard knuckles (tactical gloves). These pack a good punch even if you don't have the correct form. Don't have those? Wrist guards for roller skating/skateboarding work kinda like that too. More of a slapping motion, but still hurt like a bitch. Extra points if they're all scuffed up from use and falls.

Bandanas. Somebody might need one for their face or hair, maybe you need to get dirt off somebody’s face, maybe somebody got injured. They’re great for anything and everything.

Cash (try to stick to cash, your card can be tracked)

Medications if you take them. If you get arrested or happen to somehow be away for longer than expected after the protest, it’s always good to have emergency meds

FIRST AID ALL THE FIRST AID (Tourniquet, Quikclot, chest seal, trauma shears, gauze, bandages, duct tape, and all the usual stuff you’d have in there)

Good shoes. Boots and sneakers are your best choices. Not heels, not platforms, not sandals. Good boots or shoes that won't come off your feet too easily when you run. Steel toed shoes are a great option. Your toes won't be squashed, but also it'll hurt someone a lot more if you start kicking.

Spare socks. Trust me. You can use them to stop bleeding if it comes to it, but also you can put rocks in there and boom weapon. Also if the socks you're wearing get wet.

As much covering clothing as you can handle. Plain jeans, plain hoodie, plain t-shirt, keep yourself as anonymous as possible. Black and baggy is best.

Photocopy of your ID, not your real one.

Sunscreen!

Make sure your clothes have pockets, even if you have a bag. You want everything to be easily accessible.

Do not wear contact lenses. If tear gas is used, that will make everything so much worse. Wear your glasses or go blind. If you have overly unique or identifiable frames, goggles are your friend here. Get some goggles that will fit over your frames, preferably ones that are tinted.

If you use mobility aids, cover defining features. Logos, brand names, colors, stickers, all of it. Take some old plain t-shirt and tie it around your wheelchair’s backrest. Wrap your wheelchair frame in cling wrap, then duct tape, or plain black self adhering medical tape. Cover stickers on your cane or crutches the same way. Electric chair? You have a little more work, but you can do it. Wrap it up. Same idea. Walker? Same thing. Cover. It. All.

If you are bringing a bag, make sure that bag is as plain as possible. No pins. No patches. No keychains. Except maybe a pride flag so people know which team you're playing on.

Scarf or keffiyeh if you have one. They have many uses!

Write a reliable phone number (of someone who is not at the protest with you) on your body. On the off chance you get arrested, that is your emergency contact.

Pocket knife.

Pepper spray/mace/bear spray

if you get tear gassed, shake around first before using water. Most tear gas is more of a powder and water has a high likelihood of just spreading it around. (Thank you @actually-a-bread-loaf for this addition!)

Tennis rackets also work wonderfully for chucking tear gas canisters back at those throwing them. Anybody asks, you're going out to play tennis with friends later. Baseball bats also work! (Thank you @azul-nova-24 for this addition!)

Anything you can throw. Soup for my family.

IF YOU CAN, LEAVE YOUR PHONE AT HOME

IF YOU HAVE TO TAKE IT WITH YOU, TURN OFF LOCATION SERVICES ON ALL APPS AND TURN OFF BIOMETRICS (FACE ID AND FINGERPRINT) SO YOU CAN ONLY UNLOCK YOUR PHONE WITH YOUR PASSWORD

COPS CAN FORCE YOU TO OPEN YOUR PHONE WITH YOUR FINGERPRINT OR FACE ID

MAKE SURE SOMEBODY KNOWS GENERALLY WHERE YOU ARE

If you see a potential or active raid, take pictures and note the time and location. Post online if you can, as well.

You have the right to remain silent. State that you wish to remain silent. Avoid giving information about anybody's immigration status. You have the right to refuse to sign anything before speaking to an attorney. You have the right to refuse searches of your car, your home, and yourself. Schools do not collect a child's immigration status.

I do not want to scare anybody, but this is what life is right now. That man does not care how long you have been a citizen of this country. If you are not a white, cisgender, heterosexual, Christian male, you are seen as less than by men in power. You are not less than. You are a threat to them, and they are scared. Keep it that way.

Even if you're not currently protesting, it's good to know this just in case. Things are happening very quickly, and there is a very high chance of it changing very quickly within the next four years.

Here's the link to my post on what to bring in terms of first aid.

If you cannot attend protests, that’s fine. Do what’s best for you. Even just reposting information helps.

This is an updated version of this post,

Updated January 27, 2025.

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wonsiwon · 1 month ago

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a crown between us. y.jw

synopsis: in the halls of the palace, where secrets are dressed in silk and love is the greatest betrayal, a maid finds herself caught in a dangerous entanglement with the crown prince, jungwon. though bound by duty and royalty, their stolen glances and whispered promises bloom into something neither can escape. but when the queen announces his arranged marriage, everything shatters.

pairing: prince! heir to future throne! jungwon x maid! reader

genre: historical royal romance, angst, forbidden love, smut

content warning: forbidden love, royalty vs. heart, emotional betrayal, class divide, political manipulation, dramatic confrontations, sacrifice, smut.

a/n: hii, i was finally able to upload this small project on which i have been working for several weeks (maybe months). i often run out of ideas or have a mental block to continue writing, so it usually takes me a few days for that inspiration to come back with more ideas. i want to clarify that I tried as much as I could and tried as much as possible that the dialogues had that style of royalty, noble, old-fashioned or dramatic. i hope you enjoy this it really took me long time and I hope you at least like it a little.

i. the garden kiss

your plans that night were simple. finish polishing the candelabras in the east wing, drop off the basket of white linens in the laundry, and finally retreat to your quarters to rest. nothing unusual. nothing that hinted you’d end up with the prince’s lips pressed against yours, hidden behind a bush covered in blooming hydrangeas.

but here you are.

your heart racing, his highness’s fingers barely resting on your waist like even the slightest touch might shatter you. his breath is warm, scented faintly with jasmine tea and unsaid promises, and his eyes… those eyes that never stop looking at you like you’re the most treasured secret in the kingdom.

“milady…” he whispers, pulling back just slightly, his fingers still on your cheek. “do you know how long i’ve longed for this?”

you can hardly answer. because even though it’s been weeks of sneaking off to see him, you’re still not used to how it feels to be kissed by a prince, the prince jungwon, who looks at you like you’re anything but just a servant.

your dress hem is dusty with soil, your hands still a little rough from the day’s work, and your hair is poorly tied with a frayed ribbon. but he never seems to care. he never has.

“my lord… if we’re caught…”

his brow furrowed. just a little. that gesture he made whenever something bothered him, even though he tried not to show it.

“milady…” he says, his voice low, almost a whisper. “i don’t care if we get caught. i couldn’t find you all morning. where were you?”

your hands tremble slightly at how close he is, how being with him like this feels both terrifying and perfect.

“i was… working.” you whisper, eyes falling to the flowers near your feet. it’s hard to look at him when he speaks with that kind of gentleness. “as i’m supposed to.”

he lets out a soft sigh, low and quiet. then his hand lifts to your face, tilting your chin with such delicate care that your breath hitches in your throat. his touch is gentle, too gentle for someone of his status. a prince shouldn’t touch a servant like that.

“working?” he repeats, raising a brow. “don’t you know that seeing you is far more important than any royal duty?”

he makes a dramatic little face, pretending to be offended, but his eyes sparkle with softness. his thumb gently brushes your cheek, and that stupidly charming smile of his doesn’t budge.

“i was about to launch a kingdom-wide search. or worse… interrogate every guard in the castle. do you know how bad that would look in the official records?”

you giggle softly, shaking your head, heat blooming on your cheeks.

“you missed me that much?”

“that much?” he echoes, smirking. “i almost wrote you a tragic letter and slipped it under your pillow. in golden ink, of course. signed: his royal highness, the hopelessly desperate prince.”

you cover your face with both hands, laughing while he leans closer, clearly proud of himself.

“what was the letter going to say?” you ask peeking your eyes through your fingers.

“something like… ‘my heart beats only for you, my radiant flower from the northern wing of the castle.’” he says, lowering his voice with mock seriousness, pressing his forehead against yours. “though… i still have time to write it. maybe it’ll convince you to sneak off with me more often.”

you bite your lip, heart fluttering like crazy. “you’re ridiculous.”

“and you’re enchanting, milady.” he says without missing a beat, whispering so close you can almost feel the smile on his lips. “now give me five more minutes before duty drags you away again, will you?

“actually… “you murmur, glancing toward the dark path. “i’m done for the day. i was on my way to my quarters.”

“to sleep?” he asks, with a look of mild betrayal, like you just insulted him.

you nod, a bit amused, and he immediately steps ahead, subtly blocking your way like it’s a royal obligation.

“milady, i’m afraid i cannot allow that.”

“excuse me?” you raise a brow, trying not to laugh.

“i spent the whole morning without seeing you.” he says, bowing dramatically like he’s putting on a show. “and now you want to simply… go to sleep? without letting me steal at least a few smiles?”

“jungwon…”

“yes, milady?” he responds with that face. that impossibly sweet, infuriatingly charming face.

he takes your hand and gently lifts it to his lips without breaking eye contact. his mouth brushes over your knuckles in the softest kiss imaginable, warm and lingering.

“just five minutes.” he whispers. “i’ll let you go after. though… i can’t promise i won’t steal one more kiss first.”

“just one…” you say, lifting a finger.

“one very long one.” he corrects with a mischievous grin, and before you can protest, he’s already pulling you in, his nose brushing yours, his voice soft enough to make your knees go weak. “i can’t help it, milady. there’s something about you that makes me want to break every rule in the kingdom.”

you fall silent, heart thudding faster than any royal horse could gallop. he leans in a little closer, and just when you think he’s about to kiss you, he murmurs.

“besides… i can’t let you go to sleep without wishing you sweet dreams”

“you’re going to wish me sweet dreams with your lips?” you ask, trying not to giggle. you bite your lip, and of course he notices, he always does. his eyes drop to your mouth, and he smiles again.

“of course.”

and then he does. it’s a soft kiss, sweet, so tender it feels like it was stolen out of a fairytale. and in that moment, you forget the castle walls, the titles, the fact that he’s the crown prince and you’re just a servant.

because right there, between bushes and whispers, he’s just jungwon. your jungwon.

after your encounter with the prince you made your way to the shared servants quarters, tucked away in the quieter wing of the castle. far from the golden halls and polished staircases that royalty walked. your room was small, simple, and lit by a few flickering candles. stone walls surrounded you, cold and silent, but the soft glow and warmth of your friendship with gisselle made it feel almost safe.

the candles were still lit, though dim, their wax spilling over the edges of their holders, pooling like forgotten time. the room was quiet, save for the soft creak of the wooden floor beneath your bare feet. your nightgown brushed against your ankles as you opened the door slowly, breath still uneven.

as soon as you stepped inside, gisselle sat up in her bed, eyes wide.

“finally!” she whispered sharply, sheets rustling as she motioned for you to come closer. “i was about to sneak out and find you. where on earth have you been?”

you closed the door gently and padded across the floor, not to your bed, but to hers. you dropped to your knees beside it, heart thumping, face flushed.

“i saw him, gisselle.” you whispered, breathless.

she clutched your arm immediately, her eyes even wider now.

“was it him? the prince?” she nearly gasped, then caught herself and slapped a hand over her mouth. “good god, what if someone had seen you?”

“no one did. i ran into him on my way back to the quarters. he came to see me.”

“oh my—” gisselle fell back onto her pillow, clutching it to her chest. “tell me, was it tender? did he call you milady?”

your heart skipped at the memory, his voice so gentle, like you were something delicate in his hands.

“yes..” you whispered, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips. “he called me milady. and… it was like a dream, gisselle. i don’t know how to explain it. everything just felt… perfect.”

her eyes sparkled with excitement. she leaned in close, voice dropping to a whisper, like she feared the walls might lean in too.

“i can’t believe it. you’re really living a fairytale.” she grinned. “did he… did he kiss you? like..” she paused, eyes flicking around the room. “like a prince would?”

you swallowed hard. the memory was still fresh, still warm. your fingers brushed your lips without thinking.

“he did.” you whispered, shy. “it was soft. gentle. like he thought i might break if he wasn’t careful.” a laugh slipped out, light and breathless. “i never thought i’d feel like that… with him.”

gisselle gasped, her hand flying to her mouth again like she physically couldn’t contain her joy.

“oh my stars..” she breathed. “you’re not just some servant anymore, are you? you’re the prince’s secret. this is madness. pure, beautiful madness.”

you chuckled, glancing toward the soft candlelight flickering on the nightstand. shadows danced across the stone walls, quiet and warm.

“he’s royal, gisselle.” you murmured, your smile faltering. “if anyone finds out… it could mean trouble. for both of us. for everything.”

gisselle’s expression softened. she reached out and took your hand in both of hers, her touch grounding.

“i know.” she said gently. “but it’s his choice, isn’t it? if he wants to be with you… then who’s to say no? he sees you for who you really are. not just some servant girl.”

you bit your lip, her words comforting, but the worry still lingered like a shadow in the back of your mind.

“but i am just a servant.” you whispered. “and he’s the prince. his family, his kingdom… they’ll never accept it.”

gisselle squeezed your hand a little tighter, pulling you closer.

“forget them, y/n.” she said with quiet conviction. “you’ve got a love story worth telling, and no crown or title can take that from you.”

you sighed, the weight in your chest easing a little. just enough. for a moment, everything felt simpler. you closed your eyes, thinking of him. the way his lips had brushed yours.

“i don’t know what will happen.” you murmured. “but for now… i’ll treasure it. i’ll treasure him.”

gisselle leaned back into her pillow, her eyes warm with affection as she looked at you.

“you’re so hopelessly in love.” she teased, voice soft and fond.

“am i?” you smiled, resting your head against the edge of her bed, gazing up at the flickering candlelight.

she giggled, nudging you gently with her foot under the blankets.

“yes” she said. “and somehow, you’re going to make it all work. i just know it.”

you smiled, squeezing her hand once more. her warmth, her words, made everything feel a little less impossible.

“thank you, gisselle..” you whispered. “for everything.”

she smiled softly, voice like a lullaby.

“always.”

ii. lavender hands

the scent of lavender clung to the air, subtle and clean, as you stood in the linen room, carefully folding pressed sheets into perfect thirds. it was quiet, peacefully, so save for the rustle of fabric and the occasional creak of the old wooden shelves that lined the walls. sunlight streamed through the high windows, casting golden beams across the room like soft ribbons of light.

you didn’t hear the door at first. not until the latch clicked gently, then closed again. your head lifted quickly, heart stuttering when your eyes met his.

“your highness—”

“shh.” jungwon grinned, finger to his lips as he stepped inside. “i should scold you for calling me that.”

you stared at him, wide-eyed. “you shouldn’t be here. if anyone were to see—”

“they won’t.” he said simply, voice soft as he approached you with featherlight steps. “you fold these sheets too quickly. i hardly have time to catch a glimpse of you.”

you sighed, turning away to keep your hands busy. “i have work to do.”

“and i am only here to assist, mylady.” he said, lifting the edge of a sheet beside you, mimicking your folds with little success.

you tried not to laugh, but the way he fumbled the corners and stared at the linen as though it had offended him, it tugged a smile from you.

“you’re hopeless.”

jungwon beamed. “and yet, you are the one who’s hopelessly pretty.”

you turned, sheet half-folded in your arms, eyes narrowing with a blush warming your cheeks. “that’s improper.”

“so is sneaking in here to see you.” he murmured, stepping closer. his voice dropped, lower now, just for you. “and yet, i can’t seem to stop myself.”

his fingers brushed yours as he took the linen from your arms, folding it with surprising care this time. his eyes didn’t leave your face.

“every hour i’m away, i wonder where you are. what you’re doing. if you think of me.”

you looked away, heart racing. “you should be with your court. preparing for—”

“a future that bores me endlessly.” he finished for you. “i’d rather be here. with you. in rooms that smell like lavender. watching you tuck corners.”

you turned back to him, brows furrowed. “jungwon…”

“may i hold your hand?” he asked softly, like it was sacred.

you hesitated. then slowly reached for him, your fingers slipping into his like puzzle pieces long separated.

he let out a breathless smile, as if he’d just been handed the world.

“forgive me.” he said, raising your hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across your knuckles. “but i find you so terribly lovely.”

you couldn’t speak. not with the way his eyes looked at you, like you were something precious.

“you make it so difficult to stay away.” he whispered, his hands moving from your waist to gently cup your face.

he took his time, studying your face with such intent that it made your heart race. his thumb traced along your cheekbone, and you caught the small, soft gasp that escaped him when his fingers brushed a lock of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear.

you laughed under your breath, cheeks still warm where his hand had been. “you’re ridiculous.” you whispered, voice barely louder than the fluttering in your chest.

jungwon grinned, the boyish kind, the one that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made your heart stumble. “ridiculously in love with you, perhaps.”

you nudged his shoulder, trying and failing to look stern. “you shouldn’t say things like that.”

“but it’s true.” he leaned against the shelf beside you, hands tucked behind his back, as if resisting the urge to reach for you again. “besides, you blush every time. it’s very rewarding.”

“you’re impossible.” you muttered, turning to the linen stack again, but you smiled, and he saw it.

you pretended to be busy continuing folding, but he stepped closer, his shoulder brushing yours lightly.

“do you ever think..” he said, voice low. “about sneaking away? just for a day. no titles. no expectations. just you and me and the world outside the gates.”

you tilted your head, the idea painting soft, wild colors in your mind. “what would we even do?”

he brightened. “we’d eat sweet bread from the baker’s cart. get our boots dirty in the fields. maybe i’d pretend not to know how to ride a horse just so you’d help me.”

you snorted. “you’re an excellent rider.”

“then maybe I’ll pretend to get lost. that way you’d have to find me.”

“jungwon—”

“and when you do..” he continued with a playful grin. “i’d thank you with a kiss.”

your hands paused, eyes flicking up to meet his. the air between you filled with something golden and warm.

“i think you just want an excuse to kiss me.” you said softly, smile tugging at your lips,

he leaned in a little, lowering his voice like a secret. “i don’t need one.”

your heart flipped. and maybe it was the sunlight or the lavender or the way he was looking at you like the world had slowed down, but you didn’t stop him this time.

his lips brushed yours in the gentlest of kisses, barely there, like a promise.

when you opened your eyes again, he looked dazed, a little stunned with happiness. “i’ve been wanting to do that since the first time i saw you in this room.” he admitted.

you smiled, shy but radiant. “then you should’ve come to fold linens sooner.”

he laughed, full and bright, the sound echoing off the shelves.

“i’m never missing a laundry day again.” he said solemnly.

you giggled, swatting lightly at his chest, but he caught your hand and twirled you in a slow, clumsy circle, right there in the middle of the linen room, amidst half-folded sheets and sunshine.

“what are you doing?” you laughed breathlessly as you stumbled into him.

“practicing for our secret royal ball.” he said with a wink. “it’ll be just the two of us. dress code: aprons and laundry dust.”

you rested your forehead against his, still laughing. “you’re unbelievable.”

“you love it.” he whispered, brushing his nose against yours.

“i might.” you admitted, so softly he nearly missed it.

he stilled.

“say it again..” he murmured, his voice suddenly shy, like he couldn’t believe he’d heard right.

you looked up at him, eyes round and warm. “i might love you.”

his breath hitched. and then he kissed you again, this time giddy and just a little clumsy, like he couldn’t believe you were really there, saying things like that.

you both dissolved into giggles when your teeth bumped. he kissed you again to make up for it. and again. and again.

“you taste like honey.” he whispered against your lips.

“it’s probably the tea from the kitchens.” you replied, cheeks aching from smiling.

“no.” he said, nose brushing yours once more. “it’s just you.”

and there, in a room filled with nothing but fresh linen and sunbeams, jungwon kissed you like the world had finally gotten something right.

iii.

the room was too quiet.

you could feel it in your fingertips as you poured tea into a cup. your movements steady, but not calm. there was no one else in the chamber. no guards, no attendants. just you… and prince ri ki.

ri ki was the second-youngest of the royal line, born into silk and sharp expectations. where jungwon carried the warmth of spring, ri ki was winter, graceful, exact, and difficult to read. his words always seemed carefully chosen, his presence always perfectly composed. he was the kind of boy who wore velvet like armor and wielded silence like a sword.

he sat at the far end of the long table, posture flawless, gaze unreadable. his gloves rested beside his untouched plate, fingers steepled beneath his chin as if the entire room was waiting for his permission to breathe.

you bowed politely. “will there be anything else, your highness?”

“sit.” he said.

you blinked.

“…pardon?”

he nodded to the chair beside him, not unkindly. “i asked you to sit. not as a command, but a courtesy.”

after a heartbeat of hesitation, you obeyed, lowering yourself slowly into the seat. your hands folded in your lap, your breath held.

the silence stretched.

ri ki turned his head, studying you, not cruelly, not unkindly. just… watching.

“you’ve been spending time with my brother.” he said at last.

your pulse stuttered.

you answered carefully. “he sometimes visits the servants’ quarters. he’s friendly.”

ri ki tilted his head just slightly. “you think i’m such a fool?”

you stayed quiet.

“i’ve seen the way he looks at you..” ri ki continued, voice like polished stone. “i’ve also seen the way you look at him.”

your throat tightened. “i never meant—”

he cut you off raising a hand, not accusing, just tired.

“for it to become something real?” he finished, arching a brow. “it already has. and that’s the danger.”

he leaned forward, his gaze sharpening. “i’ve lived in this palace long enough to know the rules, even the unspoken ones. who’s allowed to look at whom. who’s allowed to want. and who’s not.”

you stared at your hands in your lap, fingers curled too tightly.

he sighed. not cold. not even annoyed. just… older than he looked. like someone who had been watching too long from behind a wall of gold.

“i’m not here to threaten you..” he said finally. “i came because jungwon trusts me. and i trust him. but love, especially his, is no small thing.”

you lifted your head.

“he’s always been brave.” ri ki went on. “but lately, i see something more in him. something… reckless. like he’s standing too close to a fire and smiling anyway.”

you breathed. “and you think that’s me?”

“no.” ri ki looked at you calmly. “i think it’s both of you.”

you swallowed, hard. “so what are you going to do?”

“nothing.” he stood, slipping his gloves back on one finger at a time. “at least… not yet.”

you rose with him. “why?”

he paused, adjusting the cuffs of his coat. “because for once, it doesn’t look like a scandal. or a game. it looks like something real. and if it is… you’ll need more than each other to survive it.”

he met your eyes one last time.

“you’ll need to be strong. careful. and above all… silent.” ri ki nodded once. “take care.”

you stood as well, heart still pounding. “your majesty, you’re not going to tell anyone?”

he turned for the door, then paused. “like i said, im not going to do nothing. but be careful.” he said over his shoulder. “not everyone in this palace will be as kind as i am.”

and then he was gone.

you stood there in the quiet, hands trembling slightly, not from fear, but from the truth that had just been laid bare.

because now, you knew someone else had seen the flame.

iv. mylady

the ballroom was packed.

music swelled from the golden chamber like waves crashing against your skull, strings, trumpets, voices, clinking glasses, laughter that didn’t sound happy, not really.

you didn’t belong there. you were just passing through the corridor when you saw him bolt.

jungwon.

a blur of dark blue royal suit, hair combed back too perfectly, expression unreadable as he walked fast, then faster, then ran. no one stopped him. they were too busy bowing.

you didn’t think. you followed.

and now you were here. in the stables. the royal stables, to be exact. where the scent of hay and saddle leather replaced perfume and wine, and moonlight poured in through high wooden slats.

jungwon was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, crown gone, his white undershirt wrinkled beneath layers of discarded uniform.

his knees were drawn up. his elbows rested on them.

he looked…small.

like a boy.

not a prince.

not someone with the weight of the entire court on his back.

“you’re not supposed to be here.” he said softly, not even looking up.

“you’re not either.” you whispered.

he looked up then. his eyes were red. not crying, but close. his jaw tightened when your gaze met his.

“did they send you?”

you sat beside him slowly. your skirts rustled. “no. i just saw you leave.”

he didn’t answer right away.

you watched his hands. they were shaking. he kept flexing his fingers like he couldn’t get the feeling back into them.

you swallowed. “what happened?”

jungwon let out a humorless laugh. “what han’t happened?”

he leaned his head back against the wall and stared at the beams above, silent for a moment.

“my uncle’s drunk..” he started. “my mother’s furious because i didn’t want to dance with the viscount’s daughter. the duke from glenmare asked me what my plan was for international strategy, and i—I’m eighteen.”

you glanced over. he looked so tired.

“i just wanted to breathe..” he muttered. “but then they said i needed to smile more. and shake hands. and bow. and act like i give a damn about any of it.” he turned his head to you suddenly. “and i couldn’t even find you.”

your throat tightened. “me?”

“you always find me when i need air..” he whispered. “but you weren’t there. i couldn’t see you anywhere in that room.”

you were frozen. you never realized he looked for you like that. you thought you were invisible most of the time.

“i was in the west wing..” you said softly. “cleaning.”

he nodded slowly. “of course.” he sighed and leaned forward again, resting his elbows on his knees.

silence again.

but not uncomfortable. just…settled. after a moment, you reached over and touched his hand. he tensed. then relaxed. your fingers stayed there and jungwon stared at them for a second, then intertwined his with yours without looking at you.

his hands were warm now.

“sometimes i wish i wasn’t the prince..” he said quietly. “sometimes i just want to be jungwon.”

you didn’t say anything. instead, you leaned your head on his shoulder. his breath caught. he looked down, stunned at first, but then his whole body seemed to settle. like your touch reset something inside him.

“you feel like peace..” he whispered.

you shut your eyes. he was still holding your hand. your pinky was twitching because of how close he was. you were just a maid. you weren’t supposed to be here. you weren’t supposed to comfort him like this.

but you were. and he was letting you.

“do you ever think about leaving?” he asked. “just…running off? starting over somewhere they don’t know your name?”

you nodded. “all the time.”

jungwon turned to look at you, really look this time. his lashes were long in the moonlight. his eyes soft.

“would you go with me?” he asked.

you blinked. your chest tightened. “what?”

“if i asked..” he said. “would you come with me?”

you wanted to say yes. god, you wanted to scream it.

but instead, you whispered. “is that what you really want?”

he didn’t answer right away. his gaze dropped to your lips. his face was close, so close you could count every texture of his skin.

“no.” he said finally. “what i really want is to kiss you. right now.”

your breath caught.

“but i won’t.” he added. “not unless you want it too.”

your fingers squeezed his, you looked up at him and you nodded. that was all it took.

jungwon didn’t hesitate. his hand came up to your face, gently cupping your cheek like he was scared you’d vanish if he touched you too roughly. his lips found yours, warm, slow at first.

then he kissed you again. and again, deeper this time.

you moved closer without thinking, climbing into his lap, your knees on either side of his thighs, skirts bunched around you. his hands settled on your waist, gripping like he needed something to hold onto.

he pulled back just barely, foreheads pressed together, breathing hard. “tell me if this is too much..” he whispered.

“it’s not..” you said, voice shaky but sure.

his mouth found yours again, more desperate this time. you felt his fingers slide up your back, warm under the fabric of your dress, holding you tighter. your own hands moved up into his hair, finally messy, the way you liked it, the way no one else was allowed to see.

he kissed you like he’d been waiting forever. like he didn’t care about the kingdom or the rules or the titles.

just you. just this.

when his lips left yours, they found your jaw, then your neck, slow, hot kisses that made your breath hitch. you felt dizzy. not from fear, not from nerves. from how real it all felt.

his hands roamed, careful but curious, tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine, the bare skin where your dress had slipped just slightly off one shoulder. you gasped quietly when he kissed there, slow and lingering.

you rolled your hips slightly, testing the tension between you. he groaned, quiet, breathy, right against your collarbone, and you felt it, the proof of his want pressing up into you through layers that suddenly felt like too much.

“milady..” he muttered, voice low and rough. “are you.. sure about this?”

you nodded, hands tugging at the buttons of his shirt.

jungwon let out a short breath that could’ve been a laugh, but he was too busy dragging his mouth down your throat, kissing a slow path over your skin. your fingers finally got the last button undone, revealing more of his chest, pale, warm, already flushed. he looked up at you as your hands explored him, watching your face like every move you made was the answer to something he’d been aching to know.

“are you quite certain?” he asked again, one hand slipping up your thigh, pushing your skirts higher. l.

you nodded, breath catching where your fingers brushed his chest. “yes… are you?”

a flicker of colour bloomed on his cheeks. “i’ve never… not once. not with anyone.”

your eyes met his, wide and surprised. “nor have i.”

for a moment, neither of you moved.

the stillness between you felt reverent, sacred. not rushed, not impulsive, just two souls baring themselves.

jungwon exhaled shakily, his thumb brushing your cheek. “then we take our time..” he murmured. “we learn… together.”

your lips curved into the smallest smile. “alright.”

his kiss came slowly, deliberately, with every ounce of care he could give. his lips ghosted over yours as though you were something fragile, something royal in your own right. your hands slipped into his hair, anchoring yourself to him as the warmth of his body pressed against yours.

you helped him undo his pants, fumbling a little with the fabric, both of you shaky and flushed. by then he was free, hard and flushed and already throbbing against your thigh. your underwear came off too, discarded somewhere behind you, forgotten in the soft hay.

“i’ve no notion what i’m doing, mylady.” he admitted softly, flushed and breathless.

“nor i…” you whispered back, a nervous laugh escaping. “but i trust you.”

“may i…?” he asked, voice catching.

you nodded. “slowly.”

and he did. you took him in carefully, inch by inch, both of you holding your breath. it stretched and burned a little, but it wasn’t bad.

his fingers gripped your hips as though anchoring himself. “you’re alright?”

“yes.” you breathed. “just… give me a moment.”

“say the word, and i’ll stop.” he whispered.

but instead, you kissed him.

your bodies moved in soft rhythm, unsure but willing, each motion a question answered with breath and touch. his head rested against your shoulder, his voice a quiet sound of wonder each time you rocked into him.

there was no bed. no privacy. just the hay, the moonlight, and the way he held you like this moment might break him.

“sweet mercy...” he groaned, head tipping back against the stable wall.

you couldn’t think. could barely breathe. all you could do was move, slow at first, easing yourself into the stretch, the fullness. his hands gripped your hips, holding you like he didn’t want to let go.

“mylady, look at me.” he whispered.

and when you did his eyes burned into yours.

“jungwon..”

you moved together, slow, grinding, chasing the edge like it was the only thing that mattered. each roll of your hips dragged a whimper from your throat and a quiet curse from his. he kissed you through it, messy, desperate, open-mouthed kisses as your bodies met again and again.

you felt him throb inside you, knew he was close.

“mylady..” he begged.

you came together quietly, holding each other close, his breath mixing with yours. and a moment later, you followed, falling apart against him, your face buried in his shoulder.

neither of you moved for a long time. you both stayed there, tangled in silence.

his breathing was still uneven, lips slightly parted as he buried his face in your hair. one of his hands lay over your back, fingers twitching gently.

your heart thudded slow but steady, matching his. it felt like the world had paused around you. no court. no crown. just sweat-slick skin, shallow breaths, and the press of two people who shouldn’t have had this, but did.

you exhaled first. and then, softly, barely audible, you speak. “ri ki knows about us.”

jungwon didn’t move. he blinked once. then again.

slowly, he pulled back just enough to look at you. his eyes were puffy but his brows drew together with concern.

“…what?” he whispered.

you swallowed. “your brother knows about this.”

jungwon was quiet. his expression didn’t twist into panic, he just leaned his head back against the wooden beam behind him, staring at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling.

“don’t worry about him.” he murmured. “he wouldn’t tell anyone.”

you nodded slowly, fingers still resting lightly on his chest. “i know. but he’s also loyal. to the crown.”

jungwon looked back at you. there was something unreadable in his eyes now. something sharp beneath the softness. “he’s loyal to me.”

you held his gaze. “are you sure that’s enough?”

he didn’t answer right away. outside, a horse shuffled in its stall. the night breeze creeping through the cracks in the stable walls.

jungwon reached for your hand again, intertwining your fingers.

“i’ll protect us..” he said quietly. “i swear it.”

and you believed him.

the morning sun had barely crested the hills when jungwon stepped onto the practice grounds.

his boots sank slightly into the soft earth, dew still clinging to the grass. his tunic stuck to his back with sweat, already, though it was barely past dawn and the guards who usually assisted him were dismissed.

jungwon exhaled through gritted teeth, blade locked against ri ki’s. both brothers stood at the center of the courtyard, boots planted firm on cobblestone slick with dew.

“you’ve gone soft.” ri ki muttered, pushing back with a smirk.

jungwon twisted his wrist, parried, and stepped aside. “i’ve not.” he grunted. “you’re just insufferable this early.”

“speak for yourself, your highness.”

their swords clashed again, fast now, the rhythm sharp, prince to prince, brother to brother.

jungwon’s movements were aggressive. sharp turns. no hesitation. each strike carried more than just training, it carried frustration.

“you’re distracted.” ri ki said after another parry. “again.”

“and you’re irritating.” jungwon bit, swinging low. ri ki dodged, barely.

“not the first to say so.” they paused, swords crossed, faces close. ri ki studied him. “it’s her, isn’t it?”

jungwon’s jaw tightened. “say it again and i’ll knock your teeth out.”

ri ki lowered his sword.

“you truly believe you’ll keep her hidden forever?” he asked, more serious now. “you’ve always been daft when it comes to consequence, but this, this is foolish beyond reason.”

jungwon stepped back, sword still in hand.

“you think i do not know that?” he snapped. “you think i do not wake with dread in my gut each morn, wondering if mother’s already caught wind?”

“then why continue?”

jungwon looked away, silent for a moment. “because she’s the only thing that feels… honest.”

riki scoffed lightly. “how poetic. write her a sonnet then, not an obituary.”

jungwon turned to him sharply.

ri ki’s tone darkened. “she could die.” he said bluntly. “you know what mother is. you know what she’s done. you’ve seen it.”

a silence felt and jungwon’s knuckles were white around the hilt of his sword. he was breathing hard, but not from the drills.

he stared down at the sword.

ri ki continued, his tone cold. “if word of this reaches her, if she senses even a breath of rebellion, she will not speak of it. she will act.”

jungwon’s jaw clenched. “she would not dare harm her.”

ri ki’s gaze did not waver. “she would. and has. you are heir, jungwon. you were not raised to love. you were bred to rule.”

he felt it then. the doubt.

for the first time.

like rot in his lungs.

he’d always believed he could protect you. that if he loved hard enough, held you tight enough, it would be enough.

but what if it wasn’t?

what if he was dragging you into a fire, blindfolded and barefoot?

what if loving you was a death sentence?

ri ki sighed. “mother wants you ready for tomorrow’s.”

jungwon turned his head. “what is it now?”

“you leave by carriage this afternoon. the royal instructors have been summoned. they are to accompany you by carriage through the northern route.”

jungwon looked up sharply. “i was not told.”

“you’re to meet the princess. she’ll be seated beside you during supper.” ri ki said flatly.

jungwon’s heart sank.

“it begins.” ri ki added. “whether you like it or not.”

he gave jungwon a long look before he left.

vi.

the hour was far past decent.

moonlight stretched pale across the marble floors, and the long hall you crossed seemed to echo with silence. torches flickered low in their sconces, their flames casting golden shadows that danced across your path.

your skirts whispered with each step, arms tired from scrubbing, apron dusted with ash from the hearth. your hands were smudged faintly with soot, apron crumpled, hair tucked back loosely.

you moved quietly through the corridor, long and dimly lit, you just wanted to reach your chambers. you rubbed your arms absently, your shoulders aching. only a few more steps until a hand caught your waist.

you startled, breath caught in your throat, but before you could speak, a second hand came around, pressing gently over your mouth.

your back was against the wall in an instant.

warm breath touched your ear.

“hush.” the voice was low, familiar. your eyes widened as jungwon stepped into view.

his tunic was open slightly at the throat, the royal crest gleaming faint beneath the fabric. his hair was slightly tousled, as though he’d been running fingers through it all evening. he said nothing at first. just looked at you.

you blinked at him. “you scared me.”

“forgive me.” he murmured, brows furrowed as he stepped closer. “i did not intend to, i only… gods, i could not wait.”

your back pressed further into the stone as he closed the distance, eyes still searching his.

he looked tired.

“i’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

you straightened. “leaving?”

he nodded once. “just for a few days.” he reassured, his voice quiet in the empty corridor. his fingers curled gently at your waist. “nothing dangerous. just business. royal duties.”

you looked up at him, trying to read past the calm in his tone.

he was dressed simpler than usual, his dark tunic a bit wrinkled from rushing, the crest at his collar half-buttoned, and his hair messier than you’d ever seen it. like he’d run his hands through it a dozen times.

“will you miss me?” he asked, his head tilting slightly.

you shrugged, arms crossed loosely. “a little.”

he huffed a laugh. “liar.”

his arms came around you then, slow, deliberate, like he wasn’t sure you’d allow it. like he needed to be sure.

but you didn’t move away.

you let him hold you.

his arms slipped further around you then, drawing you in. slower this time, gentler. his head dropped to your shoulder, warm breath brushing your skin.

you didn’t move away.

his hold tightened a little, just enough to pull you closer. he didn’t speak right away, just stayed like that, forehead against your neck, fingers curling at your lower back.

“you’re tense.” you said quietly, hand brushing through his hair.

he hummed low in response, then leaned back just slightly to look at you. his eyes searched your face, soft, a bit heavy-lidded.

“am i?” he said with a small smirk.

you raised an eyebrow. “you look like you haven’t slept.”

“maybe i haven’t.”

his gaze flicked to your lips.

you felt your breath catch, just barely, and when he leaned in, reflexively you turned your face, shy, cheeks warming before you could stop it. not out of rejection, but out of memory. of that night. of how close you had been. how bare.

he noticed.

“ah..” he said under his breath, a small, knowing sound.

his hand simply moved to the back of your neck, thumb gently rubbing along your skin as his forehead came to rest against yours.

“you’re shy now?” he whispered, teasing.

you rolled your eyes, cheeks warm, eyes refusing to meet his.

jungwon hummed, gaze dropping to your lips, and he leaned closer. murmuring near your ear. “you weren’t shy last time. you—”

“don’t say it.”

“you begged, dove.”

“jungwon!”

he burst into quiet laughter, pulling you in with both arms now, clearly too entertained.

“you’re never seeing me off again.” you grumbled into his shoulder.

he smiled against your hair.

“too late. i’m already leaving with a memory i’ll take to my grave.”

you pulled back just enough to glare at him, only for him to steal that kiss after all, quick and soft, catching you off guard.

your breath caught and he smiled smugly.

“miss me properly, yeah?”

vii. just for a minute.

the days moved on like they always did.

your mornings began early, before the bells rang. you helped prep the main halls, swept ash from the fireplaces, and kept the west wing windows polished so the steward wouldn’t complain.

gisselle was the one who kept you sane.

she cornered you in the linen room two days after his departure, arms full of folded sheets and suspicion in her eyes.

“you’re quieter.” she said bluntly, dropping the stack on the shelf.

you blinked. “i’m tired.”

“tired, huh?” she echoed, clearly unimpressed. “you’re always tired. this is different.”

you didn’t answer, and she didn’t press. just gave you a look and passed you a basket of fresh towels.

“well, whatever’s keeping you up, tell it to let you sleep. you look like a sad candle.”

“a sad candle?”

“yes. all dim and droopy. it’s tragic.”

you huffed a laugh despite yourself.

afternoons were filled with errands, refilling water jugs, delivering notes between staff, helping the kitchen girls carry bread loaves up to the great hall.

nights were quiet.

gisselle snuck you extra biscuits from the kitchen. you returned her hairpins when she left them scattered across the vanity table. and sometimes you’d crawl into her bed with a sigh and ask if they feed him properly out there. gisselle could only said that he was a prince. he’ll survive.

one week passed. then another.

you did your duties. you kept your head down. you kept that folded parchment beneath your pillow. untouched.

no letters came. but you kept waking before the sun. just in case.

you found yourself, as always, in the same places. tidying the east wing, sweeping the hallways, delivering messages to the royal chambers. and yet, you carried on.

then, one evening as you were passing by the library, before you could even turn, hands were at your waist, lifting you from your thoughts and pulling you.

you barely had time to process it.

“what—jungwon?” you managed, though his name came out more like a question, a gasp, and you couldn’t quite place the confusion or the shock, both because you hadn’t expected him to be back and because, honestly, you hadn’t heard a thing.

he didn’t immediately speak, though his presence alone was enough to unsettle you. you finally turned your head to face him, your eyes searching his.

“when did you return?” you whispered, a bit breathless from the unexpected turn of events.

jungwon’s eyes flicked to yours, and for a moment, there was something unreadable in them. the usual spark was gone, replaced with something deeper, unease, maybe?

“this morning.” he said, his voice quieter than usual. he took a small step back, but his hands never left your waist.

you frowned, noticing the way his brows were furrowed, the tension in his jaw. he was acting different, too still, too careful with every movement.

“you seem…” you trailed off, trying to find the right words. “what’s wrong?”

he gave a half-smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “nothing’s wrong.”

but it didn’t sound convincing.

you tilted your head slightly, studying him, feeling the quiet pull between you as he remained unusually distant.

you watched him carefully, he couldn’t keep his gaze on you. instead, his eyes flicked around, scanning the corridor.

finally, after a few moments of silence, he met your eyes again, this time with a softer look.

“i missed you.” he said simply, already pulling you by the hand, into the familiar hush of the library.

it was quiet. lit only by candles. he let go of your hand then, and you rubbed your wrist out of habit, though it wasn’t sore. just warm. still tingling.

you turned away first, pretending to examine the nearest shelf. “you know i’m still working.”

“then consider this… an unauthorized break.”

you glanced over your shoulder. “what if someone finds us?”

he raised a brow. “then we’ll lie. you were dusting books, and i was brushing up on agriculture.”

“you hate agriculture.”

“exactly. no one would believe it. they’ll leave us alone.”

you snorted, crossing your arms and leaning back against the railing of the spiral staircase. “you’re impossible.”

but your heart was already thudding. you hated the way it did that, loud and reckless, whenever he looked at you the way he was looking at you now.

god how much you’ve missed him.

“you like it here.” he said suddenly.

your eyes flicked to his. “the library?”

he took a step closer, hands tucked behind his back. “you always slow down when you walk past. i’ve noticed.”

“…maybe.” you shrugged, turning back to the shelves. “it’s peaceful.”

jungwon moved slowly then, careful, like he was testing the weight of every step. the candlelight hit the side of his face, softening the sharp lines. making his eyes look warmer than you remembered.

“you looked absolutely beautiful, mylady.”

you shake you head. “i looked completely horrendous.”

his hand reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your cheek. gentle. slow.

“i mean every word when i speak to you.” he said.

you looked away, but he didn’t let you. his hand was careful, lifting your chin just slightly until your gaze met his again.

your lips parted. the breath caught in your throat. and then, just as suddenly, he stepped back. turned away. his shoulders shifted as he exhaled. he moved to one of the velvet armchairs near the tall window and sat down without another word.

“come here.” he said quietly, patting the armrest beside him.

“jungwon…” you hesitated.

“just for a minute.”

you sighed but walked over anyway, sitting beside him. your knees bumped lightly.

it was quiet again. the kind of quiet that felt private. heavy.

he looked at you, something thoughtful in his expression. something almost… hesitant. but he didn’t say anything. he didn’t say what he came here to say.

instead, his gaze fell on the shelves again. “read something to me.”

you blinked. “what?”

“pick anything. i want to hear your voice.”

you gave him a strange look, but reached for a nearby book anyway. you flipped through the yellowed pages until you found something legible and started reading, something about a royal banquet that had ended with someone’s wig catching fire.

he laughed and you glanced at him, smiling without thinking. you didn’t even notice how close his hand had gotten until your fingers brushed against his.

his fingers were long, soft, a little cold. yours were rougher, calloused from cleaning floors and silverware.

he liked your hands. he noticed they always shook a little when you were around him, and he’d never say it out loud, but it made his chest feel warm in a way that almost scared him.

you didn’t dress like the other girls he saw in the ballroom. no jewels, no silks. you wore a faded apron, scuffed shoes, sleeves rolled to your elbows. but somehow, you looked more beautiful to him than all of them combined.

and tonight, as you stood beside him under the library chandelier, face lit softly in candlelight, he couldn’t stop staring.

“why’re you looking at me like that.” you muttered, trying to sound annoyed.

“you’ve a smudge on your cheek.” he said, his hand reaching up your cheek to clean it. and when he did you looked away first, flustered.

he always looked at you like that, like you were something he wasn’t supposed to want, but did anyway.

it was confusing. it made your stomach twist in ways you didn’t understand.

jungwon stepped away slowly, pretending to inspect the books. his hair was slightly messy, soft brown strands falling into his eyes. he was always clean-cut, always neat in public. but in these stolen moments, he looked real.

less like a prince.

you stood in place for a moment, heart hammering, unsure of what to do with the space he’d left behind. the room still felt like it belonged to him, even when he wasn’t touching you.

you turned back to the book, pretending to read. you weren’t following the words. you were listening to him move behind you. the quiet creak of the floorboards under his boots. the way he breathed a little slower now.

“i didn’t think you’d be back so soon.” you murmured.

“neither did i.”

you glanced at him over your shoulder. he wasn’t looking at you, just tracing the spine of a dusty volume like it held something important. like if he focused hard enough, it would tell him what to say.

“did something happen?” you asked, voice low.

he paused. only for a second. but you noticed.

“no.” he said simply. “just… plans changed.”

you tilted your head, confused. “you’re usually kept longer when you travel with the council.”

jungwon let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, but not a real one. more like something tired.

“turns out, not everything goes according to plan.”

you nodded slowly, still watching him. his voice was steady, but something in it felt… off. and he still wasn’t meeting your eyes.

you didn’t ask more. you should’ve. but you didn’t. instead, you took a step toward him.

“well… i’m glad you’re here.” you said and grab his hands with a smile across your face.

and that’s when he looked at you. fully. his eyes soft but guarded, like he was memorizing something.

“don’t say that.” he murmured.

you blinked. “why not?”

he didn’t answer at first. just glanced down at your hands joined like he hadn’t meant for that to happen.

but he didn’t let go.

“you make it harder.” he said, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

you frowned.

he shook his head. “forget it.”

you opened your mouth to ask again, but then he kissed you. thumb brushing the edge of your jaw.

“you talk too much, mylady.” he said softly, teasing, even if his voice sounded far away.

“that’s new.” you muttered, trying not to sound breathless.

he smiled faintly. “you’ve always talked too much.”

you narrowed your eyes at him. “you’re so strange lately.”

“am i?” he murmured, like he wasn’t even listening anymore.

you paused, leaning your forehead lightly against his shoulder. “you sure everything’s alright?”

his hand slid gently down your spine.

“yeah.”

he didn’t look at you when he said it. but his arms stayed around you like he didn’t trust himself to let go.

you didn’t ask again.

and he didn’t say anything else. just held you because maybe he wouldn’t get to again.

viii. the promise that wasn’t for me

the days passed, but jungwon was quieter than usual. he didn’t come around like before, didn’t seek you out like he did in the library that night. you heard his footsteps less often, his voice rarely reached your ears. sometimes, when you passed the great hall or the council chambers, you caught glimpses of him in the distance, always alone, always serious.

you kept yourself busy, going about your chores like always, sweeping floors, polishing silver, and running errands for the steward. it was easier to focus on work when your mind was crowded with questions you didn’t want to ask.

gisselle noticed, of course. she teased you less and watched you more, like she was waiting for you to say something anything about jungwon’s sudden silence.

you wanted to say something. you wanted to ask why he came back only to disappear again, why his eyes looked tired and distant the last time you saw him. but you didn’t have the words. maybe he didn’t either.

sometimes, when the palace was quiet and the sun was low, you found yourself standing near the library, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. but he never appeared. the empty space beside you where he used to stand felt heavier than any silence.

tho this morning the palace was louder than usual.

you had barely tied your apron when the head maid grabbed your arm and thrust a tray of covered dishes into your hands.

“to the golden parlour. now. her majesty is having a private breakfast with a guest.”

“a guest?” you asked, adjusting your grip on the tray. “shall i prepare tea, or—”

“princess navina of esthrene.” she cut in. “do not speak unless spoken to. and mind your posture.”

you offered a tight nod and made your way down the corridor, trying not to roll your eyes.

another one.

prince jungwon had been “introduced” to more noble daughters than you could count. you’d seen dozens. each one laced in foreign perfumes and draped in their kingdom’s finest silk. each one trying, and failing, to draw a smile from him.

jungwon never smiled at them.

you balanced the tray and made your way to the parlour. your chest felt calm. you had nothing to worry about.

he was yours.

even if no one knew it.

the doors to the golden parlour opened with a soft click, and you stepped inside, careful not to let the tray wobble.

the room was warm with gold accents, sunlight filtering through gauzy curtains. the queen sat at the head of the gilded table, elegance in every movement. across from her, a young woman, presumably princess navina, adorned in seafoam silks and delicate pearls. her poise was flawless. she looked composed. polished. untouched.

but it was jungwon who made your breath falter.

he sat beside her. straight-backed in his ceremonial robe, the one with black and gold threading reserved for national announcements or courtships.

when he saw you enter, tray in hand, something shifted. his eyes widened just slightly, lips parting as though caught mid-thought. he hadn’t expected you. not here. not now. and definitely not like this.

he looked down, then back up, expression unreadable again, face settling into calm.

but he wasn’t calm.

you bowed low, eyes on the floor. “breakfast is served, your majesties.”

“set it down.” the queen said evenly.

you obeyed, fingers steady, until you reached him. you didn’t look at him. but you felt him. he didn’t speak. didn’t move. but his eyes found yours. not cold, not warm. something in between. something stuck.

then, as if remembering where he was, who he was, he looked away.

you quickly stepped back to your post. hands clasped behind your back with posture perfect.

“well princess navina” the queen began. “we’re grateful your family agreed to the shortened engagement. a summer ceremony will be most fitting.”

your stomach dropped.

“indeed, your majesty.” navina answered softly. “my mother preferred a spring celebration, but i insisted. i would rather stand beside my husband from the beginning of his reign.”

jungwon didn’t say a word.

“the royal tailor arrives tomorrow.” the queen continued. “the wedding colours shall be gold and seafoam. the announcement will go out by week’s end.”

your heart fell to the ground before the silver tray.

because yes, you dropped it and the porcelain dishes shattered on the marble floor.

the entire room went silent.

you dropped to a bow without thinking, heart thudding against your ribs. “f-forgive me, your majesty.“

the queen didn’t answer right away.

you stayed in position, knees pressed to the floor, hands trembling slightly. the sound of the broken cup still echoed in your ears. it was foolish. you knew better. you were trained better.

but you hadn’t expected that.

you hadn’t expected her.

princess navina sat gracefully at the table, one gloved hand resting in her lap, the other holding a silver spoon just above her untouched plate. she didn’t flinch. didn’t look startled or annoyed. only concerned, the type of calm concern taught in finishing schools and royal drawing rooms.

she was beautiful, of course she was.

her dark hair was swept back into an intricate twist, not a strand out of place. her eyes, soft and almond-shaped, were framed with kohl and intelligence. her dress shimmered faintly with seafoam thread, and the pearl comb in her hair caught the light whenever she moved.

she looked like she belonged there.

next to him.

and that made your stomach twist.

you heard the queen shift in her seat. “get it cleaned.” she said sharply. “then leave us.”

you bowed lower. “yes, your majesty.”

you scrambled to gather the broken porcelain, careful not to cut your palms. jungwon didn’t move. not a muscle. but you felt his eyes on you.

you didn’t look up.

you couldn’t.

as you stood, you caught a glimpse of princess navina watching you. her expression unreadable. curious, maybe. or amused. or nothing at all.

you turned and walked out, heart pounding, cheeks burning, pieces of porcelain rattling on the tray.

you hadn’t cried.

not yet.

but gods, your eyes stung.

you set the tray down in the scullery with shaking hands. no one was there and the silence pressed in around you like a second skin. you stared at the shards, white and delicate, now ruined. like something else you couldn’t name.

you pressed your palms flat to the counter, trying to steady your breath. your reflection in the tarnished silver tray stared back, eyes red-rimmed and wide, lips parted like you might speak if you only had the strength.

you didn’t see jungwon for the rest of the day.

you kept your head down, kept busy, scrubbed the kitchens until your fingers ached. you avoided the golden parlour. you avoided everyone.

even gisselle, who cornered you by the laundry with furrowed brows and folded arms.

“you’re not made of stone.” she said, not unkindly. “you can talk to me, you know.”

but you couldn’t.

that night you lay on your straw mattress, the thin blanket barely keeping the chill away. the quiet was comforting — except for the absence of giselle, who was supposed to be nearby. she had left a few minutes ago saying she needed a bath before bed, wanting to wash away the day’s dirt and tension.

then your door creaked open and you saw him. soaked in rain, his cloak dripping onto your stone floor and hair flat against his forehead. you sat up fast, heart leaping,

your breath caught in your throat. “you can’t be here. someone will—”

“why?” he stepped fully inside, shutting the door behind him. “because if anyone finds out i’m marrying someone else, they’ll know i’ve been sneaking into a maid’s room at night for months?”

“you lied to me.”

“i didn’t lie.”

“you didn’t tell me.” you snapped, rising to your feet.

“i was going to tell you.”

“when?” your voice cracked, raw. “when, jungwon?”

“i didn’t think they’d agree to the shortened engagement.” he rushed out. “it was supposed to be discussed, just discussed. i was going to tell you, but not like this—”

“so you were just going to keep lying to me.”

“i wasn’t lying!” he said, louder now. “i wasn’t ready.”

“you weren’t ready.” you echoed bitterly.

“i was trying to protect you.”

you stared at him. “by marrying another woman?”

“i’m not choosing her. you know that. you think i’d stand at an altar with someone else, knowing what we have?” his voice sounded tired. defeated.

“you already are.” you whispered, voice breaking. “you sat beside her today. you let them plan your wedding.”

“and what would you have me do?” his voice rose. “declare my love for a servant before the entire court? bring scandal to your name? put a target on your back?”

“you already have.”

his face crumpled. “y/n…”

you looked away, blinking hard, throat burning. your voice came quieter this time. “you should go.”

“please don’t do this.” he stepped closer but you backed away quickly.

“go.” you whispered and crossed your arms, not to defend yourself, but to keep from shaking.

jungwon stood in the middle of the room like a storm himself, unwelcome, uninvited, and yet impossible to look away from.

he didn’t move.

he pressed a hand to his face, dragging it down slowly, as if trying to wipe the weight of it all away. “i thought i could buy us time. i thought—i thought if i kept things quiet, i could figure it out without hurting you.”

you turned away, gripping the edge of the small wooden table near your bed, trying to steady yourself. “you should go before giselle comes back.”

he stayed where he was.

“jungwon..” you said again, softer now, tired. “please.”

he looked at you like he was memorizing you, the distance between you was breaking something inside him. he opened his mouth, then shut it. and then, finally, he nodded.

“i’ll fix this.”

you didn’t answer.

you didn’t look back when the door creaked open again. or when it shut behind him.

your knees gave out the second the door shut behind him.

you dropped to the floor, hard, hands hitting the stone as you caught yourself. and then it all crashed in.

you cried.

you cried like it hurt to breathe, like the ache in your chest might never leave. the tears came hot and fast, spilling down your cheeks, dripping onto the floor. sobs tore through you, quiet but wrecking, the kind that left your whole body trembling.

because you loved him.

you pressed your forehead to the floor, eyes squeezed shut, wishing the stone would swallow you whole-wishing you could go back to before, when it was just you and him and a library full of stolen moments.

but those moments were gone.

ix.

the days following were torment. not just for him, but for you too.

the palace didn’t sleep. there were whispers in every hallway, servants sprinting across stone floors with velvet fabrics, golden plates, and endless flowers. everyone preparing for the arrival of the royal guests.

and you?

you kept your head down, hands busy, ears deaf. or at least, you tried. but every time someone said lady navina, it felt like someone dug their fingers into your chest and twisted.

you spoke only when spoken to.

and when you did, you called him, my lord.

the first time it left your lips, the pen slipped from his hand like it had burned him.

now jungwon was looking for you all over the palace.

in the marble corridors, in the garden, in the library where you used to sort the books by color just because he said he liked it like that.

but you were no longer in any of those places.

you had asked to be transferred to the kitchen.

away from the east wing.

away from him.

and still, jungwon kept looking for you.

through the hallways.

through the art gallery.

he even asked about you in the laundry room.

but you ignored him. more firmly each time.

you were never under any illusion, it was never meant to last. you knew he would come. and so he did. three days later, the doors burst open with such force, the very knives upon the table trembled in their place.

the kitchen fell still. not a word, not a breath.

even the head chef, midway through stirring, froze in silence. only the soup dared to continue its boil—blissfully.

“leave. all of you.” jungwon’s voice rang out—clear. commanding. no one moved at first. until he lifted his gaze. “i said leave. now.”

the cook dropped her knife. the helpers rushed to remove their aprons. one by one, they left, confused. you did the same. left the board, turned toward the back door, but his voice reached you before you crossed it.

“not you.”

you halted. and slowly, so slowly, you turned to face him. he came closer, closing the door behind him.

“my lord.” you said, with a curt nod. “if you’ll excuse me—��

“is that it?” he bit out, stepping forward. “are you truly going to keep pretending you don’t know me? that you don’t know what’s between us?”

“i’m not pretending anything, my lord.” the coldness in your voice was worse than any slap.

“don’t call me that. not you, for god’s sake.”

“but that’s what you are now. my lord.”

“no!” he took a step closer, his voice breaking with anger. “not after everything. not after the way you looked at me. not after those nights we spent talking about the world beyond these walls, dreaming of something more than

“that was before your engaged.”

his eyes softened for a second, like your coldness tore him apart. he walked toward you, slower this time, like he was unsure, like every step hurt.

“don’t look at me like that. not you.” he whispered.

“how am i supposed to look at you?” you asked, not with anger, just resignation. “like nothing happened? jungwon, you knew this was going to happen. you chose it.”

“they chose it for me.”

“but you accepted it. and i don’t blame you. you’re the prince. you have a duty.” your voice cracked a little, but you kept going. “i already knew my place. i’m just… a mistake in your story.”

“you were never a mistake!”

“but it seems like one. doesn’t it?”

he breathed heavily. you remained unmoved.

“you don’t understand.” he murmured, turning away and running a hand through his hair. “you don’t understand how hard it’s been to pretend i don’t care about you. how i ache every time i see you and can’t touch you. you don’t understand what it’s like to smile at a woman i never chose while thinking about the scent of your lavender-covered hands.”

you didn’t cry. you wouldn’t give him that.

“i love you..”he let out, almost a desperate secret. “don’t you get it? i’d do anything to give you the truth back, to turn back time. tell me you still believe me.”

“believing you isn’t the problem, jungwon.”

you looked him straight in the eyes, finally.

“the problem is that none of this matters anymore. because you have a duty. a kingdom. a crown. and i’m just a stone in the path to all that.”

“you’re not.”

“yes, i am. and you know it.”

jungwon lowered his gaze. he looked tired. his jaw was tight, eyebrows drawn like he’d been clenching them all day. but it was his eyes. red, a little swollen, like he hadn’t slept right in days. they kept flicking from your face to the floor, like he couldn’t decide where to settle.

“i didn’t expect to stay with you. i’m not that naive.” you added. “but i did expect you to be honest with me. after everything… i thought at least that much, you owed me.”

he closed his eyes, like your words were blades.

“i tried..” he murmured. “i tried to find a way out. i thought that if i postponed the announcement, if i delayed the ceremony… i could find you, explain everything myself. but things moved faster than i imagined.”

“it wasn’t your duty to delay it.” you said softly, eyes down. “your duty was to become king. i was just the mistake you made along the way.”

that broke him. you knew it because he stepped back, like he needed space to breathe.

“you weren’t a mistake.” he said again, firm, with a mix of pain and anger. “don’t say that. you were… the only real thing.”

jungwon looked at you as if hoping you’d interrupt him, say something, anything, but you just stayed silent. the kitchen was heavy with tension.

“say something. anything.” he pleaded, voice barely louder than a whisper.

“what do you want me to say?” you finally asked, still not looking at him. “that i understand you? because i do. that i forgive you? i do that too. but none of it changes what you are now.”

“you talk to me like i betrayed you on purpose.”

“i don’t blame you, jungwon.” you repeated calmly, but it was the kind of calm that only hides exhaustion. “i really don’t. i just… didn’t expect to find out while serving bread and tea.

jungwon shut his eyes tightly. “it hurts when you talk to me like this.”

“and you think it doesn’t hurt me?” you said, finally looking at him, eyes wet but no tears falling. “you were the only thing that didn’t make me feel invisible in this place.”

he stepped toward you again, desperate.

“i don’t want this to end like this. i don’t want you and me to…” his voice broke.

“but it already ended, jungwon.” you interrupted. “it ended the moment you signed the papers. the moment you swore loyalty to someone else.”

he looked at you with a mix of sorrow and fury. not at you, but at himself. for not protecting you. for losing you. for not having the courage to break from what was expected of him.

“if i could go back…”

“but you can’t.” you said, and this time you smiled, a sad resigned smile. “this was your destiny. i was just a pause in the middle of your duty.”

the silence stretched.

“and still, i love you.” he murmured.

that made you tremble. you lowered your gaze. you didn’t want to hear that. not now. not when you had already forced yourself to let him go.

“don’t say that to me, jungwon.” you whispered.

he stared at you for a long time. too long. and for a second, just a second, you wondered if he might say screw it. if he might reach for your hand. pull you close. risk it all.

but he didn’t.

he just looked down. his shoulders dropped a little. then he nodded, once.

“i’m sorry.” he said quietly.

you didn’t answer.

and this time, when he turned to leave, you didn’t stop him. you didn’t even look.

and maybe that’s what hurt most.

x. the bells said I died

the palace glowed as if it were already celebrating a fairytale you never asked to be part of. white flowers climbed the windows, golden velvet curtains hung from every arch, and a thousand scented candles waited to be lit once night fell. the grand ball in honor of prince jungwon’s engagement to lady navina was just hours away.

and you… you walked through it all as if you were just another piece of furniture. invisible. as if you hadn’t woken up before dawn for months to prepare the tea he always said he preferred when no one else was paying attention. as if you hadn’t memorized the sound of his breathing while pretending you were the only one in love in silence.

it was the day before the royal ball. the celebration in honor of the prince’s engagement to lady navina was already filling the palace with decorations. the halls overflowed with white flowers and golden ribbons, and every servant was rushing from one end to the other with trays, fabrics, crowns of leaves, while you just… walked through it all with your head down, pretending it didn’t affect you.

“more to the center, dear, that table must be perfect. the princess wants everything to look flawless.” ordered one of the ladies-in-waiting, adjusting her headpiece with a handheld mirror.

you were about to answer, but gisselle ran up to you, breathless.

“prince jungwon…” she said in a hushed tone, as if afraid someone else might hear. “he hasn’t gotten out of bed. the physician was called. they say he has a fever.”

you froze. “how bad is it?”

“i don’t know. no one is allowed near him. his mother isn’t letting anyone in except for her most trusted staff.” she lowered her voice again. “but he hasn’t eaten. hasn’t spoken. it’s been all day.”

“and navina?”

“she hasn’t even gone to see him. she’s too busy choosing the flowers for the banquet.”

you walked away without a word.

that night, as the sun finally disappeared behind the palace towers, you sat in your chambers pretending to sew. the thread slipped from your fingers more than once, and your stitches were uneven—your mind too loud, too far from the needle in your hand. you hadn’t truly been focusing, not for hours, but you kept your posture straight, lips pressed into a line, like you’d been taught.

across the room, giselle slept curled beneath a soft wool blanket. her back rose and fell in steady rhythm, face turned toward the window.

the only light came from a single candle on your desk. shadows danced along the walls, and every creak of the old stone outside felt louder than usual.

you were about to put down the needle when someone knocked on the door twice. you turned your head slowly, not wanting to wake giselle, you rose quietly, crossed the room, and opened the door just a crack. and when you opened it you weren’t expecting to see him.

prince ri ki was there, slightly out of breath, as if he had run all the way. you slipped into the hallway before he could speak, closing the door gently behind you.

“your highness?” you quickly bowed, trying to keep your voice steady.

he shook his head, glancing over your shoulder, making sure you were alone.

“no time for formalities. pack your things.” he said quietly but firmly. “only what’s necessary.”

“what?” you blinked. “i don’t understand.”

“it’s an order.” he repeated, gentle but serious.

you didn’t ask anything else. you didn’t have the strength to. with trembling hands, you stuffed what little you had into a small bag. giselle was still asleep, unaware of what was happening. you didn’t have time to say goodbye.

you paused for a second at the door, glancing back toward the bed where giselle was still asleep under the thick blankets, her breathing calm.

“don’t worry about her.” ri ki said quietly when he saw you hesitate.

as you followed him, you passed through corridors you were usually not allowed in. ri ki walked quickly but with ease, greeting every guard naturally, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

“can i know where we’re going?” you whispered, trying not to sound scared as you stepped through a back door into the garden.

ni ki didn’t answer. he just kept walking, circling one of the old fountains in the back.

and then you saw him.

jungwon. standing beside the oldest rose bush in the palace. no sign of fever. not a trace of illness. his back straight, his face lit by the moon, and his eyes fixed on you like he had never stopped watching.

“what is this…?” you asked, confused, dropping the bag at your feet.

“no time, milady.” jungwon said, walking toward you. his voice was urgent, different, like he knew every second counted. “we have to go.”

“go?” you frowned, stepping back. “what are you doing?”

“i’ll explain later.” he said, taking your hand. his palm was warm, steady, and that only confused you more.

“there’s a carriage waiting further down, at the north path,” said ri ki giving his brother your bag. “i’ll take care of the rest.”

ri ki looked at him for a long second, like he wanted to say something else. then he simply pulled him into a hug. strong, one arm across his back, the other hand resting on the back of jungwon’s neck.

“you’re going to be okay, alright?” ri ki murmured into his ear, voice trembling. “i’ve got it. you just… live, okay?”

jungwon nodded, biting his lip as he pulled away.

“thank you, brother. for everything.”

ri ki grabbed his shoulders and gave him a small shake, eyes glistening.

“don’t thank me now. thank me when you’ve got a home far away from here, a new name, and… her by your side.” he looked your way briefly before turning back.

you stood frozen, feeling the air shift. you still didn’t fully understand what was happening, just that it was big. too big.

“take care of him, will you?” ri ki said quietly, almost pleading.

before you could reply, he turned and walked back into the garden, disappearing into the mist and shadows of the palace.

jungwon didn’t wait another second.

“quickly.” he said, tugging your hand.

“what—? jungwon— where are we going?”

“trust me.” he said simply, and then started running.

your steps were clumsy at first, stumbling a little from the pace. the mud clung to your shoes, and soon the edges of your white gown were completely stained. the hem dragged dirt, leaves, branches. the cold bit at your skin, but jungwon didn’t stop.

and neither did you. because he didn’t let go.

the bells started ringing before you reached the carriage. one, then another. their echo sliced through the air violently, making you shiver.

taaan!

the sound spread through the valley, from the highest towers of the palace. it wasn’t any ordinary bell. it was the mourning call. the one they rang only when someone of royalty had died.

and then, you heard it. a distant scream from the east wing of the castle.

“prince jungwon is dead!”

epilogue.

the sky had that soft color that appears when the sun starts to set but hasn’t quite decided to leave yet. a shade between gold and peach slipped through the light curtains of the small country house they now lived in. it was one of those afternoons when everything felt calm, like even time itself had decided to pause for a few more minutes.

the kitchen smelled like freshly baked bread and mandarins. lots of mandarins. your daughter, barely five years old, was sitting on one of the high chairs with a wrinkled apron and sticky cheeks from juice. she had peeled four, or maybe five mandarins with more enthusiasm than technique, leaving a messy pile of peels on the wooden table.

“mom, look at this one, it’s weird.” she said with a smile, holding up a slice that, in her eyes, looked like a heart.

“it’s because it has love.” you replied, gently brushing her hair, feeling that warmth that only simple moments can give you.

the back door was open, letting in the sound of the wind, rustling branches. your youngest son came running down the stairs. barefoot, holding a stick he insisted on calling his “royal sword”.

“i’m going with dad!” he yelled, his giggles being contagios.

you barely managed to say “put on shoes” but he was already gone. you watched him run across the garden, where the grass was still wet with dew.

and there was jungwon.

his back turned. hair longer, tied with a leather strap. his body stronger, broader. arms marked by daily labor, broad shoulders under a white linen shirt rolled up to the elbows. chopping wood like he’d done it all his life.

the prince he once was, now just a man. a husband. a father.

“daaad!” the boy yelled, running toward him, barefoot and with mud-stained pants. jungwon dropped the axe instantly to lift him into the air, spinning once as they both laughed.

you stepped onto the porch holding your daughter’s hand. she kept eating mandarins while you tried to wipe the juice from the corners of her lips.

the image stayed with you like a painting: the sunlight filtering through the trees, your daughter playing with mandarin peels, your son clinging to jungwon’s neck, and him, looking at you from the garden as if he didn’t need anything else in the world but that.

you.

jungwon looked at you, and kissed your forehead when you got close. his hand was rough from working the land, but warm. real. your fingers laced with his almost without thinking, like your body did it on its own.

“today’s a good day to go to the lake.” he murmured.

“yeah… today everything feels right.”

you looked around. there were no carriages, no jewels, no titles. there were winters by the fireplace with everyone huddled under a blanket. there were summers running through flower fields, and laughter that disappeared into the wind. there were nights when jungwon held your hand in silence, saying nothing, but with eyes full of gratitude because you chose him. because you saved him.

the sacrifice.

the lie.

the freedom.

all to get here.

the kingdom you built together had no castles. but it was, without a doubt, the happiest one.

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rafedarling · 7 months ago

Note

Drew losing his wedding ring 🤫 but he left it behind at home and y/n finds it inside his laundry basket she goes shit crazy looking for it and since y/n know she plays dumb wanting to teach him a lesson and she’s like baby I’m getting our rings cleaned l tomorrow can you leave your ring on the counter and he’s just rambling and coming up with excuses Intill he finds his ring will Drew continue to lie or confess

cute!!!

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠

pairing: drew starkey x fem!reader

summary: drew, your husband who accidentally leaves his wedding ring in his laundry basket, prompting you, his wife to find it while doing laundry. instead of confronting him immediately, you decides to teach him a lesson by pretending not to notice while teasing him about getting plan taking your rings to cleaned.

warning(s): english is not my native language. fluff, humor, and playful teasing, slight secondhand embarrassment, wholesome, domestic vibes.

au: like, reblog and feedback are much appreciated. discussion can be send through my ask box, please feel free to send in anything. ⭐️ taglist | tagging: @rubixgsworld @rafeyslamb @bisexualcvnt @tracymbcm @maybankslover @anamiad00msday @stuffyownswrld @httpsdrewstarkey @mileyraes @enjoymyloves @akobx @noobmazter69 @victwrvale @xoxohoneymoongirl @xoxosblogsblog @wearemadeofstardust0 @saviorcomplexrry @percysley @littlelamy @winniemoe @emberaurora

It had been a long but pleasant evening, and as you glanced at the overflowing laundry basket in the corner of your bedroom, you figured it was time to tackle it. Drew was lounging on the couch, flipping through TV channels, blissfully unaware of the mischief you were about to stir up.

Laundry had become a bit of a ritual for you both; a chore that came with its own rhythm and quirks. Drew was the “dump-it-all-in-and-hope-for-the-best” type, while you meticulously checked pockets and separated clothes by color. And it was during one of these pocket inspections that you felt something hard and metallic inside the pocket of his jeans.

You pulled it out and froze.

His wedding ring.

Your brows knitted together as you stared at the small band in your palm. Drew was practically married to his ring he wore it everywhere, even in places he didn’t need to, like the gym or while swimming. It had been a running joke between you that he might as well glue it to his finger. So, finding it stuffed in his laundry was unusual, to say the least.

You chewed on your lip, debating whether to call him out immediately or let him stew a little. Then, with a devilish grin across your face. You slipped the ring into the pocket of your pajama pants, decided not to mention it, and returned to the living room. You’d let him sweat it out.

When you entered, Drew was crouched by the couch, pulling cushions off and muttering to himself.

“Babe, what are you looking for?” you asked, keeping your tone as neutral as possible.

Drew froze mid-search, then quickly straightened up.

“Oh, uh… nothing. Just… the remote.” He gestured vaguely to the couch, his voice a little too high-pitched to be believable.

You raised an eyebrow.

“The remote? The one sitting on the coffee table?”

You pointed at the remote, lying in plain sight directly in front of him.

“Oh.” He let out a nervous laugh, grabbing it. “Right. That one.”

You fought to keep a straight face as you handed it to him.

“Here. Anything else you’re looking for?”

“Nope! All good.”

He said it too quickly, his voice strained, as if he was trying to convince himself.

“Mm-hmm,” you murmured, heading back to the bedroom.

Once you were out of sight, you retrieved the ring from your pocket and tucked it into your jewelry box for safekeeping. If Drew was going to lie, you’d at least make it entertaining.

The next morning, you were up a bit late and padded into the kitchen to find Drew already there, nursing his coffee. His hair was adorably messy, sticking up in all directions, and he was wearing your favorite flannel pajama pants the ones you swore made him look cozier than ever. He grinned when he saw you.

“Morning, babe. Coffee?” he offered, gesturing to the pot.

“Yes, please.”

You slid onto the stool at the counter, resting your chin in your hand as you watched him pour. That’s when your eyes zeroed in on his left hand still missing the ring. You couldn’t resist any longer.

“Drew,” you began casually as he placed the cup in front of you, “uh…where’s your ring?”

He froze, fingers tightening slightly on his mug.

“Oh, uh… my ring”

He cleared his throat and quickly recovered, spreading his hands in front of him as if to inspect them.

“Right. My ring. I, uh, must’ve taken it off when I was… washing my hands last night. You know how slippery soap gets.”

You nodded slowly, playing along.

“Slippery soap. Got it.”

He relaxed slightly, clearly thinking he was off the hook, and took a long sip of his coffee. But you weren’t done yet.

“You know,” you said, feigning nonchalance,

“I was thinking we should take our rings in for a cleaning. They’ve been looking a little dull lately. How about I drop them off at the jeweler tomorrow?”

Drew nearly choked on his coffee. “Uh… cleaning?” he repeated, his voice cracking slightly.

“Yeah,” you said sweetly. “You can just leave your ring on the counter before work, and I’ll take care of it.”

For a split second, you thought he might actually combust.

“Oh, uh, sure! Totally,” he said, his voice pitched high with panic.

“I mean, it’s probably… in the bathroom. Or… maybe on the nightstand? Or, uh—” He stopped himself, clearly spiraling.

You tilted your head, giving him your most innocent look.

“Are you sure you know where it is? You seem a little… distracted.”

“I know exactly where it is,” he insisted, though the way his eyes darted toward the ceiling betrayed him.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, I’m not worried.”

You sipped your coffee, pretending to be absorbed in your phone.

“I mean, it’s not like it’s that important, right? It’s just a ring.”

Drew’s head snapped up, his expression stricken.

“It is important!” he blurted out, a little louder than necessary. “I didn’t lose it, okay? I—uh…I just… misplaced it. Temporarily.”

“Of course,” you said, nodding sympathetically.

“That makes total sense.”

He let out a shaky breath, clearly not realizing you were toying with him. Over the next few hours, Drew became increasingly frantic, sneaking off to various rooms to search for the ring. You caught him rifling through the bathroom drawers, peering under the bed, and even checking the fridge at one point.

By evening, he was sitting on the couch, head in his hands. His usual confident demeanor had crumbled, and guilt was written all over his face. You decided it was time to put him out of his misery.

“Drew,” you said softly, sitting beside him, “is there something you want to tell me?”

He looked up at you, his blue eyes filled with regret.

“Okay, fine,” he admitted, throwing his hands in the air.

“I lost my ring. I don’t know how, I don’t know where, and I’ve been freaking out about it all day. I didn’t want to tell you because I thought you’d be mad, and”

You reached into your pajama pocket and pulled out the ring, holding it between your fingers.

“Looking for this?” you asked, unable to hide your grin.

Drew stared at the ring, his jaw dropping.

“Are you kidding me?” he asked, his voice a mix of disbelief and relief.

“I found it in your laundry last night,” you explained, laughing.

“I wanted to see how long it would take for you to confess.”

He groaned, leaning back against the couch.

“You’re evil, you know that?”

“Maybe a little,” you admitted, sliding the ring back onto his finger. “But you deserved it for lying to me.”

Drew pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your hair.

“I’m never taking this off again,” he promised, kissing your temple.

“Oh you better not,” you teased. “Or next time, I might just pawn it.”

He laughed, shaking his head.

“Remind me never to underestimate you.”

“Smart man,” you said, leaning against him with a satisfied smile.

#drew starkey #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey imagines #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey fanfic #drew x reader #drew starkey fluff #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey smut

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pseudowho · 8 months ago

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"--and this is the staffroom," Gojo sing-songed, swinging open the door on your First Day Tour, with you a few steps behind him, "--ah! And that's Nanamin. Say hi, Nanamin!"

A tall, suited blond man looked up from his spot on the sofa as you peered in; at first, he simply nodded to you, disinterested. Then, Gojo spoke again while leading you out.

"--he's not very fun, don't worry-- no sense of humour."

Your final glimpse as the door closed, was of the blond man's irritated scowl.

It was true; Kento clearly didn't make people laugh, for he was either too mean or too subtle to be funny. This was the case, at least, until you. And you had no idea what your laughter did to him.

You had formed an alliance of respect, an easy bond that would have been camaraderie if not for Kento's standoffishness. You felt him hover nearby on joint missions, close enough to lunge to your rescue, but far enough that he could resist your magnetism.

Talking, and surveying the abandoned school, you spoke aloud as you walked down the stairs.

"So perhaps I'll take the East Wing, and you take the We--ergh!"

You reeled back, having walked headfirst into a buckled ceiling. Kento stepped to your aid, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket, and lifting your chin to look at your forehead. He huffed, barely a puff of breath through his nose, wiping dust from your forehead before grumbling.

"You'll be alright. Not much in there, anyway."

You burst into laughter, and Kento electrified, absolutely rigid. You patted his chest, still giggling as you walked away, cooing back over your shoulder in a way that utterly melted him.

"So mean."

You soon learned that Nanami Kento was possibly the funniest man at Jujutsu High. Dry and unforgiving in a way that made your brittle colleagues crumble, you found yourself, instead, choking back laughter every time he crippled one with another savage put-down.

When Yuuji arrived late to a mission, Kento stepped over to him and, poe-faced, pulled up his shirtsleeve to show Yuuji his wrist.

"This," Kento hummed, flat, "is a watch. You can buy one at any good supermarket."

When a waiter slopped coffee over Kento's shoulder, Kento dabbed at it to the waiter's frantic, apologetic bowing. Kento raised a placating hand and insisted to the confused waiter.

"It's alright. I never liked this suit anyway."

When you stood at the staffroom window with him, watching a monsoon in companionable silence, Kento murmured over the rim of his mug.

"Lovely day."

He had timed it just-so, and barely concealed his lopsided smirk when you choked on your tea. Shoko walked in, drenched, looking at you and Kento in dismay. You coughed, opening your mouth to speak, but Kento got there first, firing shots.

"Is it raining?"

Shoko scoffed, sputtering, while you buckled against the windowsill.

Kento grabbed a hand towel and an umbrella, heading to the door. As Shoko reached for the towel, Kento pressed the umbrella into her hands instead, his expression flat, but his voice edged with a feral pleasure that made you come undone.

"You'll need this."

Kento's meanness was tempered only by his self-deprecation, and when you took as good as you gave, you felt his icey facade melt away completely, revealing such warmth.

It was no wonder you were drawn to each other, when the only reason neither of you laughed together, was because you were in a constant stand-off for who could remain poe-faced the longest. Kento always won.

Still, you felt the need to break him; you had cracked smiles, or the occasional chuckle out of him, but nothing more. You knew nothing more than the truest irony would do it.

The day came; you arrived, to your usual staffroom rendezvous, covered in blood. Kento paled, abandoning his book to rise immediately and reach you in three long strides.

"--you're hurt-- we'll go to Sho--"

"Kento. Stop. It's not my blood-- it's Gojo's."

Kento did a double-take, his eyes narrowing in disbelief, so you explained.

"Gojo invited himself to teach me about Curses that are 'above my paygrade', so he took me to one. I told him this Curse was clearly more powerful than it looked, and Gojo told me to step back so he could handle it. Said he'd even do it without his Infinity on. So I stepped back."

Kento's nose flared, barely perceptible.

"...and?"

You took a deep breath. "So, Gojo has a broken nose--"

Kento broke down with a wheeze, before bursting into a rich, deep rolling laughter that split the clouds with sun. His hands clasped the windowsill, his eyes crinkled, and his shoulders shook with wicked, throaty mirth.

You felt yourself becoming drunk off him, utterly intoxicated by his laughter. Kento couldn't stop himself, trembling with schadenfreude to the point of indecency.

Finally, sighing and straightening as if exhausted, Kento wiped his eyes with the side of his finger, and smiled at you with sweet adoration. Laughter still threatened to break through as he begged you.

"Would you-- would you like to go out for dinner? With me?"

You paused, your expression pained.

"Ah...no. No, thank you."

Kento froze, his face beginning to fall. You looked down at yourself, and announced, still deadpan.

"It's just-- I'm covered in blood, you see--"

That sent Kento over the edge again.

You remained content throughout the years of your marriage, for Nanami Kento to be viewed by others as boring and humourless. You found yourself jealously greedy of his rare laughter, anyway.

After marriage, you viewed it as the highest badge of honour to make him laugh like that while he was buried inside you.

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transmutationisms · 8 months ago

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TIME SENSITIVE!

HELP SAMAH TAKE CARE OF HER 6 MONTH OLD BABY

Hey everyone i want to draw your attention to @samah-h, a young palestinian mother who wants to raise funds to take care of her family, including her baby who is only 6 months old.

you might have seen Samah's story around, but recently she has had to create a new GFM campaign. so, please make sure to support her now, and donate at the new link below.

Born amidst the bombing and destruction, Samah's infant son does not have access to infant formula, diapers, and basic healthcare. As these products grow more and more scarce due to the israeli blockade, market prices for them have been soaring at alarming levels. Living in tents under the constant threat of eviction due to war and disease, the situation is dire. They need these funds as soon as possible.

Right now samah is looking to raise the first $5k so that she and her family can cover:

the high cost of living and basic survival needs in gaza

Travel coordination and securing safe evacuation

Essential healthcare for the baby

Infant formula and diapers

Warm clothes and supplies to protect him from the cold

In her own words: “Living in tents is exhausting and filled with daily challenges; we have no clean water, electricity, or proper medical care. Every day we struggle to survive amidst constant bombings and the dangers surrounding us. Your support gives us hope that we can provide a better life for our child.”

This gfm was vetted by @bilal-salah0 so please dont hesitate to lend a hand. Please share and donate any amount you can, this family needs to raise this amount ASAP so that their baby can be taken care of the way he needs.

$10 / $5,000

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orphicsun · 3 months ago

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warnings: caitvi + sub!reader, slight dacryphilia, praise, strap sucking (referred to as a cock once or twice), strap-on sex (r! receiving).

"That's it, darling. Make her feel good." You hear Caitlyn's sweet encouragement delivered straight into your ear. She doesn't stop pounding into your from behind, making the fat of your ass jiggle with each met thrust from behind. She fills you so fucking well and you know it. But so does Vi.

You whimper around her strap. It stretches your lips and you know your throat will be sore after, but it's well worth it; she cums every single time you do this.

"Shit," she swears through gritted teeth. "You're so pretty looking up at me." As if on cue, your eyes glance up to meet hers. You swirl your tongue around the spit-coated tip of the strap, and Vi has to squeeze her eyes shut and groan.

"You're such a tease," Caitlyn laughs, and she plants a harsh smack on your ass.

You're infatuated with these moments and each sensation—the scent of Vi's arousal lingering past the harness that you can inhale each time you take her deep past your lips, and Caitlyn's soft but cold dig into your ass and brand your skin with her crescent-shape nails as she slams a navy-blue toned strap deep inside your weeping cunt.

You can't speak, but you're glad. You would be offering up incoherent, fucked-out fragments of sentences. You would be begging for Vi to fuck your throat until tears gather in your eyes and roll down your red cheeks. You would be crying out Caitlyn's name when she forces your hips back, making you fuck yourself on her cock.

"Mmph.." you moan around Vi, though it's muffled.

She reaches down and gives an affectionate pat to your hollowed cheek. "Shush. Just let us fuck you, baby." Vi doesn't gather your hair up to raise it, but instead playfully ruffles it. "You wanna make me cum, right?"

You eagerly nod. Vi grins and Caityn's hand smoothes over your back. Then, she does lift your hair up. She doesn't hold it harshly, but as she begins to thrust into your mouth, you really feel it.

The action just makes you wetter and needier. You chase what Caitlyn is giving you, moving your hips back against her in a desperate action. You stare up at Vi, and you're an artwork for viewing: struggling to keep up with her hips shoving a dick into your throat, your eyes leaking tears, but they don't leave hers. When she nibbles at the bottom of her lip and her movements grow sloppy, your cunt clenches hard.

"Fuck, yes. Just like that, take it." Vi's grip on your hair tightens involuntarily.

"Open up wider for her so she can fit it all into that slutty mouth of yours," Caitlyn instructs you.

The difference in their voices is large. Vi is breathless and high, and it cracks when she feels the base of the strap rub on her clit. Caitlyn is doing most of the work behind you, but she sounds more organized than you and Vi combined.

"You'd think sucking dick is her job with how eager she is, huh?" Vi adds, letting out a hoarse laugh when you moan in response to her vulgar words.

You're overwhelmed in the best way possible. You crave more of Vi and Cait until you can't take it anymore. You love the way Caitlyn fills you up and thrusts into your pussy in the perfect way, meeting all of your sweet spots. It's nearly overbearing to take that while Vi fucks your face, though.

Then suddenly, Vi's movements turn more into grinding and she tenses up. You hear her moan above you so loudly you almost cum yourself. She continues to move until her clit feels raw and the overstimulation is too much.

The toy leaves your mouth, a string of spit connecting it to you. When it breaks, Vi is down in front of you, her mouth on yours. It's sloppy and loving at the same time.

You whine in protest as Caitlyn pulls your chin back to look at her, instead. You forget how possessive over you she can be, even when sharing you with Vi.

"Now it's your turn to cum."

taglist: @usuck, @s7nburn, @aceywaycy, @hellokittyfeenie, @ruelezz, @abbysbutch, @littlefallenangel111, @prwttiestbunny, @eriiwaiii2. @lonelysapphic, @mars4hellokitty, @jhyoos, @elliesngirl, @moonfloweredprincess, @morticeras, @starryeyedlovergirll, @abbysmeatrider, @ferxanda, @mitskimisfit, @bewareofmyglock, @witzs

want to be tagged? click here

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violetrainbow412-blog · 10 days ago

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Callsign: Heartbreaker [B. F.]

Bob Floyd x fem!reader

wc: 1.3k summary: Jake runs his mouth. You do something about it.

Hangman was, to say the least, a tremendous pain in the ass. He had been annoying the entire squad for weeks since you guys had arrived at TOPGUN, and that night at The Hard Deck wasn't about to break his streak. Maverick had given you the night off, and you all agreed to meet at the bar to relax, share laughs, and, for once, behave like normal young people and not like human weapons ready to take off.

But, as usual, the atmosphere ended up turning in an uncomfortable direction.

“You know what, Bobby? I’ve always wondered…” Jake began with his snake-like grin, leaning his elbow on the bar and twirling his beer glass between his fingers. “How is it possible that someone so boring, so… a glasses-wearing model, made the cut for TOPGUN?”

Bob looked up from his soda, confused, as if he really thought he'd heard him wrong.

"Sorry?"

“Yeah! I mean, just look at you,” Jake leaned toward him, with the enthusiasm of someone who thinks he’s about to say something brilliant. “We have pilots with incredible reflexes, combat instincts, good looks… and then there’s you.”

The entire group looked at him in annoyance. Phoenix snorted. Rooster put down his glass with a thud. No one had the energy for another one of those nights.

“Maybe the filter measures talent,” Bob replied calmly. “Not cheap charisma.”

“God! What a virginal answer,” he let out a husky laugh, taking a long drink of his beer. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way… but I’m curious.”

Suddenly he turned to the rest of the group, his words slurred with some alcohol already on his tongue.

“Do you think if I walked up to the ladies at the bar and asked if they’d sleep with Bob, anyone would say yes? Anyone? Just one?”

Phoenix, sitting next to Bob, tensed.

“Shut up already”

"Come on, I'm talking about science! I'm sure they wouldn't even choose him in a simulation with limited oxygen."

“Yeah, Hangman. You’re not in high school,” Rooster muttered, rolling his eyes.

"I'm serious," he insisted, growing more and more satisfied. "You've probably never been kissed without eyes closed, and I bet no one asked you to a dance in high school. Am I right?"

Fanboy, crossing his arms, decided to intervene:

“Do you have any medical needs or are you just afraid of going unnoticed?”

Jake shrugged in mock humility.

“Nah, I'm fine. I just don't want anyone to get confused and think he represent the standard of what women want.”

Then, with the elegance of a Casanova-like idiot, he turned toward a group of girls sitting nearby.

“Ladies,” he said, pointing at each other with his thumbs, “who would you rather spend the night with: the cowboy with the perfect smile… or Bob?”

The girls laughed, amused by the show, but said nothing. Jake took it as a victory.

“I think you have your answer there.”

He was about to take another sip of his beer when you stepped forward. Without a word, you firmly took the bottle from his hand, brought it to your lips, and downed the entire thing in one gulp. When you were finished, you set it down in front of him with a thud.

The sound rang like a bell.

The group fell silent. Everyone looked at you. Jake raised his eyebrows, puzzled. You stood up slowly, with that dangerous calm that comes before a storm, and walked over to Bob. His eyes widened in surprise.

Once there, you sat sideways on his lap, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He immediately tensed, as if he'd just been thrown into a burning cockpit.

“Hey, what are you…?”

“You have beautiful eyes. Has anyone told you that before?” you asked with a sweet smile, tilting your head.

Your hands gently moved up to his cheeks, as if you were about to fix something delicate. He swallowed, motionless. Then your fingers slid to the gold frames of his glasses.

“Let me get this out of the way, ‘kay?”

You carefully placed them on the table, though your fingers trembled slightly. Not from nerves, but from anticipation. Then you leaned in and kissed him.

But it wasn't a tender or symbolic kiss. It was a kiss with intention. Your lips pressed firmly against his, pushing in without asking permission, as if you'd been waiting for an excuse to do so. It wasn't sweet. It was slow. Deliberate. With tongue.

Bob froze at first. Literally frozen. As if his system was trying to process what the hell was going on. But when you felt him exhale against your mouth, exhausted, you knew you'd broken him.

His hands flew to your waist. He held you awkwardly, and in the next second, he pulled you tightly against him. He sat up straighter in his chair, his lips began to respond more decisively, and his fingers crept up your back as if he wanted to memorize every inch of you through your clothes. You shifted slightly on his lap, searching for a better angle, and you felt him tense even more.

You bit his lower lip. Hard. He gasped, barely audible, and took the moment to slip his tongue in, slowly, uncertainly, but hungry. He touched yours tentatively, then more boldly, and you moaned softly against his mouth.

Your hands tangled in his hair, gently squeezing the back of his neck as you kissed him deeper. He held you more firmly, and your hips moved against him once more, intentionally. He moaned. It was noticeable. And it wasn't from discomfort.

When you pulled away, both of you were breathless. Your lips were wet. His too. The tension was still there, vibrating between the two of you.

Fanboy's eyes were wide open. Rooster choked on his beer, staring at Hangman as if he'd just seen his soul leave his body. Phoenix was smiling as if a wish had just been granted. Everyone else watched in surprise.

Slyly, without moving yet, you decided to speak:

“You’re a good kisser, Lieutenant.”

Bob was completely flushed. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, as if he'd just run ten miles. You retrieved his glasses from the table and, without taking your eyes off him, put them on him yourself. You took your time, adjusting them as if it justified touching him one more time.

Then you calmly climbed off his lap. Your legs were slightly trembling, but you pretended not to. As you passed Jake, you looked down at him—because he was always taller, but never bigger—and narrowed your eyes.

"Keep messing with him and I’ll take him to my room and won’t stop until he’s wrecked and exhausted. Capiche?"

Jake didn't move. His forced smile failed to hide the tension in his jaw. Embarrassment burned across his face.

“Oh, and by the way…” you added without looking back “If you want someone to pay attention to you, stop using teasing people as a flirting technique. You just look pathetic.”

The group tried to hold back, but the laughter was too much. Until Fanboy blurted it out, in a broadcaster's voice:

“And the award for the most insecure pilot disguised as arrogant goes to…!”

The collective laughter was thunderous. Jake said nothing. He turned toward the bar, as if he needed to hide in his own reflection.

Congratulations to Bob were not long in coming.

"Who would have thought the shyest guy could win over the hottest pilot on the team? No offense, Phoenix..."

"Do you want any more of us to keep bothering you, Bob? We can do that. Maybe she'll make good on her threat."

Between whistles, jokes, and pats on the back, Bob could barely contain his smile. His eyes never left yours. They sparkled. As if the world had changed color.

You winked at him, flirtatiously.

And that was all it took to shatter him.

#bob floyd #robert floyd #baby on board #bob floyd x reader #top gun maverick #top gun fanfic #top gun maverick fanfic #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd imagine #top gun x reader #top gun maverick x reader #pilot boyfriend #top gun oc #bob floyd x you #top gun fluff #lewis pullman

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houseofaegon · 1 month ago

Note

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE write jealous bob reynolds

Too Fucking Close ✩ Void!Bob Reynolds

Pairings: Void!Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolt!Reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. use of y/n, fem!reader, dubious consent (void's possession), rough sex, dominance, power play, bob aware during void's control, jealous!void, jealous!bob, possessivenes, emotional aftermath, guilt, dark themes, slight fluff at the end.

Summary: The press tour was hell. Cameras, fans, and a predatory interviewer who got far too handsy—all under the watchful, simmering gaze of Bob Reynolds. You played the part. You smiled. But someone else was watching, someone darker. Void had been caged inside Bob for too long, feeding off his jealousy, his longing, his failure to act. But tonight, he took control—and he wasn’t gentle. He claimed you with feral need, fueled by everything Bob had denied himself. When Bob returned—shaking, terrified of what Void had done—you grounded him. You reminded him it wasn’t just Void you wanted. It was him. All of him.

Author's Note: i need void. need him biblically to destroy me physically, mentally, emotionally, all of the above. he's so he's so he's so arrrrggghhhh smash. double smash. completely sober. take me. take me. oblitaterate me!!!!!!! thank you for the ask!! I'm actually so overwhelmed with the love and support my last bob fics have been receiving and the amount of requests I'm getting, I promise I will be getting to them and writing them as soon as possible!! I've got more fics coming up from your requests and some other's I've been drafting <3 I hope yall like this. feel free to scream in the comments or tags! <3

The press tour had been a whirlwind and fucking exhausting—bright flashing lights, high tensions, shouts from fans, and the sharp bite of too many eyes on you. You'd done this dance before. You'd gotten good at it by now, but something about this one was off. Maybe it was the number of cameras and eyes on all of you. Or the nerves. Maybe it was the interviewer—slick smile, too much cologne, handsy in a way that wasn’t subtle.

His jokes were lame. His touch, constant. Always hovering close. His hand kept brushing your knee, his smile widening every time you tried to politely shift away. Cameras were rolling. You had to keep it together. You couldn’t risk a scene—not with Valentina’s knife-edge patience and a multi-million-dollar PR contract on the line. "I've spent a lot of money on all of you. Do. Not. Fuck this up. Okay? Now, big smiles, everyone. Big smiles," she'd say with a huge grin on her face and her eyes twitching with anxiety.

Fucking bullshit.

But you just smiled through it. Laughed when he flirted, because the cameras were watching. All eyes on you. You knew how to play the game. You couldn't risk it. Couldn't risk having a public meltdown. Couldn't risk Valentina's wrath unleashing on you after spending a goddamned fortune on forcing you, and the rest of the team, to take some PR training.

So you played your part, sat pretty and smiled like the good girl you were. The good soldier. The charming teammate. You laughed. Smiled. Let him touch you without cracking his ribs. But inside?

Your blood was boiling.

One more touch. Just one, and you'd have buried a pen through his eye socket.

But you weren’t the only one at the edge.

Bob sat beside you, deathly still. Not speaking. Barely blinking. His entire focus fixed—not on the cameras, not on the fans—but on him. On the man touching you. Every time the interviewer leaned in, Bob’s knuckles whitened on the mic. His leg bounced with barely contained fury. His eyes? Scorching.

After the panel, the team scattered back to the hotel, and the tension of the day finally started to lift.

"God, this was awful," you groaned, walking down the hotel hallway with Yelena.

Yelena snorted. "Awful? Please. I've had dental appointments more enjoyable than that."

You chuckled, grateful for her presence. "Seriously, though. That interviewer was a creep."

Yelena raised an eyebrow. "You mean Mr. 'Let me invade your personal space'?"

"Exactly," you said, shuddering at the memory.

Yelena smirked. "I was this close to 'accidentally' spilling my drink on him. Or shove a chair leg up his ass. Diplomatically, of course."

You snorted. "Would've paid to see that."

Yelena bumped your shoulder. “You were perfect though. Valentina’s favorite little asset. Good smile, no bloodshed.”

“Barely.”

“You coming to bed or plotting a revenge arc?”

“Bed. Barely.”

As you reached your room, Yelena gave you a quick hug. "Get some rest, babe. Tomorrow's another day of fun and games."

"Can't wait," you replied sarcastically, opening the door. "Good night, blondie."

"'Night, rage princess. I'm down the hallway. Scream if you get murdered. Or text. Whatever works," she blew a kiss and walked away.

You laughed, shaking your head as you entered your hotel room.

The lights were off, but the moonlight painted a pale silver across the carpet. At first, it felt normal—quiet, still. But then your body tensed. Your skin prickled. That deep, primal knowing.

You weren't alone.

Something was wrong.

Your body tensed, a flush of adrenaline rushing hot and fast through your veins. You reached blindly for the lamp on the side table, gripping the base like a weapon, heart pounding. But as your eyes adjusted, you saw it—a figure standing motionless in the far corner. Just beyond the reach of the light.

And then—movement.

A figure stepped from the corner shadows. Tall. Broad. Familiar.

"Bob?" you asked, heart in your throat. "Jesus fucking Christ—you almost gave me a heart attack."

You lowered the lamp slowly, setting it on the side table. Your breath came fast. "What—what are you doing in here? Are you okay?"

Silence.

No movement. Just that same heavy presence. You swallowed hard.

"This a bit, or are you trying to give me an actual heart attack? Because I gotta say, the serial killer act isn't really your usual vibe…"

Then he laughed.

But it wasn't Bob's laugh.

It was rough. Deep. Feral. It rumbled through the room like thunder. You froze.

He stepped forward slowly, each movement deliberate, predatory.

His silhouette was familiar, but not his. The shoulders were too squared. The stance too confident. That glint in his eye—hungry. Possessive.

“Bob—” you whispered, voice trembling.

“No, baby.” He stepped into the light, shadows clinging to his frame like a second skin. “Not Bob.”

Your heart dropped.

He was in black from head to toe. Energy pulsing off him in waves. The shadows moved with him, like they were part of him.

“Void,” you whispered.

He smiled. A slow, dangerous curve of lips. “Correct.”

“Fucking finally,” he muttered, stalking toward you. “I’ve been inside that coward long enough. Watching him drool over you like a kicked dog. Too afraid to touch. Too afraid to speak. He's been wanting to do this for so long. Bob. That pathetic little coward. He dreams about you. Whispers your name when he jerks off in the shower. But he can't say a word. Can't even look at you the way he wants to.

He stopped inches from you. Close enough to feel the heat of his body. “But I’m not afraid.”

Your knees wobbled. He radiated heat, danger, want.

“You think I didn’t see him?” he snarled. “That little fuck with the mic? His hands on you. His fucking eyes. You smiled at him. Laughed. While I sat there, tasting Bob’s rage. Feeling his need. His jealousy.”

Void leaned in, brushing your cheek with his lips. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this. How many nights he’s touched himself thinking about you while whispering your name.”

Your breath hitched.

“But now?” he growled. “Now I’ve got you. All to myself. And I’m going to make sure every inch of you remembers me.”

He didn't touch you. Not yet.

Void just stood there, too close, the shadows pulsing off his body like black heatwaves. The air was thick with him—his presence, his power, that deep, vibrating tension that curled your toes and locked your knees.

“You’re scared,” he said softly, almost amused. “But not enough.”

You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

His voice wrapped around you like velvet, smooth but cutting. “You should be running. Screaming. Calling for help.”

You swallowed, hard. “Why aren’t you stopping me?”

He tilted his head, smile widening. “Because you don’t want to leave, don't you, baby?”

The room darkened—not just metaphorically. The shadows shifted, swallowing the corners of the suite, making the world smaller, pressing in. His power curled through the space like smoke, thick and electric, and it wrapped around you like a lover’s arms.

“I felt it,” he murmured. “Every little flinch. Every time you wanted to slap his hand away. Every time you bit your tongue. You wanted to lose control.”

He leaned closer. Close enough that your lips almost brushed. “You wanted someone to see. And, baby, I saw. Everything. It made me want to rip that fucker's eyes out."

Your hand moved before you could think, pressing against his chest to push him back. But it was like shoving a wall. Solid. Unyielding. Void caught your wrist gently, slowly. His fingers closed around it, strong, possessive.

“And what does the good girl do?” he asked softly, stepping between your legs. “Smiles. Sits still. Takes it. But I see the truth. I feel it. You’re sick of holding it in.”

He leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “You want to be taken.”

You gasped. And that was all he needed.

He snapped.

Void slammed you against the wall in a blur, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he devoured your mouth in a bruising kiss. Tongue, teeth, claiming. His hands were everywhere—rough, demanding—gripping your hips, sliding under your shirt, pushing it up.

Your back arched against him, mouth open, moaning into him as he dragged your clothes off piece by piece. His voice never stopped, never softened.

“Say it,” he growled against your throat, licking over your pulse. “Say you want me to break you.”

You whimpered. “I want—fuck, I want—”

“Say it.”

His growl was feral.

He carried you to the bed and threw you down, following instantly, his weight pinning you to the mattress. His cock, heavy and thick, pressed hard against your thigh. You reached for him, but he grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head.

“Mine,” he snarled. “No one else gets to look at you like that. No one else gets to touch you. I’ll burn this entire fucking planet before I let someone else have you.”

And then—he was inside.

Deep. Hard. All of him.

You screamed.

He didn’t give you time to adjust, hips snapping into yours with brutal precision. Every thrust hit that perfect, devastating spot, your body writhing beneath him, crying out as your wrists twisted under his hold.

“Fucking perfect,” he hissed. “So fucking tight. You were made for me.”

You were already close—your body strung so tight from the tension, the fear, the want—and when he growled, “Come for me, baby. Let me feel it. Let me feel you come undone."

Your orgasm hit like a bomb, ripping through you, leaving you breathless, limp, trembling.

But Void didn’t stop. He fucked you through it. Harder. Faster. Pushing you to the edge again with every punishing thrust.

“You’re not done, baby,” he growled. “Not until I say.”

You sobbed, pleasure bordering on pain, mind white-hot.

And when he finally came—deep, pulsing inside you—he bit your shoulder, marking you, growling your name like a promise.

He finally collapsed over you, breathless. You were his now. And you loved it. Every single second of it.

And then the world came back slowly. The shadows retreated. The heat lingered. Your skin still trembled, slick with sweat, muscles twitching from the wreckage he’d left behind. The room was quiet now—no growling, no ragged threats, no snapping hips. Just breath. Slowed. Softened. Almost… human.

Then his body stilled completely.

“...Y/N?”

It was barely a whisper. The voice was fragile. Barely a whisper. So unlike what had just devoured you whole. He lifted his head—slowly, like he wasn’t sure what he’d see. Not black, not fire. Blue. Soft. Frightened. Aching Bob.

And he looked like he was about to break.

“Shit,” he rasped, his throat dry, lips parted. “I—fuck, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Your heart cracked. He looked wrecked. Pale. Shaking. You didn’t hesitate—your hand rose to his face, gently brushing your fingers along the sharp line of his jaw.

“Hey,” you whispered. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

He blinked rapidly. His body was still buried deep inside you, and now he was aware—completely and entirely. You saw the realization hit him like a freight train. Shame. Fear.

He didn’t relax. If anything, his panic deepened.

His gaze darted down between you—where his body was still inside yours. His breath hitched, like the very fact was too much to comprehend. Like the guilt physically hurt. He was panicking.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Y/N—did… did he hurt you?”

“No, Bob,” you said quickly, shaking your head.

His hands were shaking as he pulled back just slightly, enough to cup your hips like you were made of glass, to look. His eyes scanned your body frantically—your thighs, your neck, your wrists where Void had pinned you down. His fingers skimmed a bruise forming low on your ribcage and he flinched like he felt the pain.

“I didn’t—he—fuck, I tried to stop him. I swear, I tried to stop him—”

“Bob.”

“I heard everything. Everything, Y/N. And I couldn’t move. I couldn’t make him stop touching you—I couldn't protect you.”

“Bob,” you said more firmly, reaching for his face again, forcing him to meet your eyes. “Look at me.”

“I wanted it,” you said softly.

He froze.

“I wanted him. I wanted you. Both of you. I knew it wasn’t just you, and I didn’t care. I didn’t want to stop.”

His jaw trembled.

You stroked your thumb over his cheek, grounding him. “I’ve always wanted you, Bob. Even with Void. Especially with Void. Because he is you. Just the loud, angry part that says the things you won’t.”

Bob let out a choked sound, half laugh, half sob, dropping his forehead to yours. “I’m still sorry,” he murmured. “For not stopping him. For… liking it. For needing you so fucking much I couldn’t push him away. For letting him take over."

You smiled, small and real. “I liked it, too. Every single second. And I like all of you. Even the growling, bitey, wall-slamming part.”

He laughed, broken but warm. His thumb traced the edge of your cheekbone.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured.

“But you’ve got me,” you said, brushing your lips over his. “Now what are you gonna do about it?”

He kissed you—slow and reverent this time. Soft. Grateful.

When he pulled back, his brows furrowed. “He was right, you know.”

You tilted your head. “About what?”

His throat bobbed. “About… how long I’ve wanted you. About what I think about when I… when I’m alone.”

You felt your pulse thrum.

Bob kept going, quiet and intense. “About how jealous I was. Of that guy. Of anyone who got to touch you, talk to you, be near you. I felt like I was going to lose it out there. I did lose it. Void just… finished what I couldn’t start.”

You smiled, slow and teasing. “Well then.”

He blinked, wary.

You arched a brow. “I might have to make you jealous more often.”

Bob groaned, dropping his head to your shoulder. “Please don’t.”

“No promises,” you whispered into his hair.

And for the first time that night—he laughed.

For real.

And then he held you. Finally whole. Finally yours.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

taglist ⊱☆⊰ @uraesthete @abbysbenchpr @sammystarswrite @pey2618 @qardasngan @lunaoieoie @orithyia-eriphyle @amatiswayland @madzzz6958 @all-by-myself98 @dark-silhouette @ghost-ghost-13 @wyvernthekriger @gayfiretruck @watermeezer @lvmxla @novausstuff @mommymilkers0526 @natureartisian @feralgoblinbabe (if you want to be tagged in my future bob/lewis works lmk!<3)

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moon-fics · 1 month ago

Text

Pool Day

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader

Summary: The team decided to request a pool, not thinking it would be made. Now, they have a pool.

A/n: Ugh! I love a good beach/pool episode! But this time, the relationship is established.

When Valentina asked if there was anything the team wanted in the tower, she meant like a training simulator or a chef. So, when Yelena spoke up, saying she wanted a pool, everyone backed her up. No one expected Valentina to actually go through with it because she didn't like them.

So, when Valentine announced the pool was done, everyone was flabbergasted. They were most astonished by the fact that she built it outside where the sun could be enjoyed. However, she said that was the last unnecessary request she'd be entertaining.

Of course, when the first day of summer rolled around, the pool was not forgotten.

---

You sit at the edge of the pool with your legs under the water. You're thankful you had time to buy a new swimsuit. It wasn't the best one you could find, but it'll do.

Yelena has found interest in sleeping on one of the floats. She's knocked out as the float hits one of the walls of the pool. Meanwhile, John is in the shallow area drinking a fruity smoothie. For the most part, everyone is relaxing for the first time in a while.

You sense a presence behind you and immediately turn. You're far too late, as two pairs of hands shove you into the chilly water. Your entire body is submerged, and water enters your nose. You pop out of the water, coughing and wiping your nose.

When you finally look up, you see Alexei and Bob standing where you were sitting. Alexei is hands on knees laughing and pointing at you as if he's pulled off a master prank.

"Is the water nice?" Bob asks. He holds out his hand for you to take. Even after shoving you into the pool, he's still kind enough to pull you back out. You should just take his hand and be thankful for the refreshing dunk. You aren't that type of person.

"Oh, wouldn't you like to know?" You grip his forearm and yank as hard as possible. He doesn't take a lot of effort to pull. The splash from his fall wakes up Yelena, who lifts her sunglasses as Bob pops up from the water.

"'Ey, I don't want any rough housing," She points at you and Bob with a raised eyebrow. "Don't wake me again," She warns and puts her sunglasses back on.

The moment Yelena is back to resting, Bob's arms wrap around your waist. His head rests on top of yours, and water drips from his chin to your nose. He creates a sort of shade over your face to block out the sun.

"I could get used to this," You keep your voice down. Bob hums in response. He sways both of you carefully while he enjoys the closeness. "Did you swim a lot in Florida?"

"Oh yeah, like, every day." He nods without hitting your head. He relinquishes his hold on you and spins you around to face him. "It was either the pool or the beach. I preferred the beach because when the wind is strong enough, the waves get super high."

"That sounds fun," You say. "We should have asked for a wave pool, too." You laugh. Maybe you can suggest it to Valentina as a way to train for water-based threats. Though you doubt she'd accept that answer.

"The last time I was in a wave pool, I got kicked in the head three times," Bob chuckles. His hands move to rest on your waist to keep you near him. "I'm pretty sure they should be banned for how dangerous they are." His face becomes serious as he thinks.

"Oh, you can't handle some waves?" You tease. You already have something in mind and begin floating away from him. His brows furrow, and he watches you get a few feet away. You wind up your arm and roughly glide it across the surface to create a small wave.

It drenches Bob once again, but once the splash clears, he's gone. Before you can react, his hands are on your legs. He efficiently drags you under, but cradles your head before it hits the floor.

You open your eyes, but the water makes everything blurry. All you can see is Bob's outline as it gets closer. His hands cup your face, and his lips press against yours as gently as possible. The kiss only lasts a few seconds due to a lack of air, but those seconds are like a treasure. His lips are all you can feel as your senses are blocked by the water.

When you emerge, you gasp for air, but he doesn't. You chalk it up to him having more experience in bodies of water than you.

Once you catch your breath, he calls your name. You look towards him only to be hit in the face by water. He forgets how strong he is and gets Yelena and John wet.

"Oh, come on!" John groans. He holds up his half drank smoothie that now has chlorine water in it.

"Ok, that's it! No more pool for you two!" Yelena shouts.

#bob reynolds x you #bob reynolds x y/n #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds #bob reynolds imagine #bob reynolds fanfic #robert reynolds x you #robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds #bob thunderbolts #the thunderbolts*#thunderbolts*#lewis pullman

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iydiamartinx · 1 month ago

Text

THE TODD-LER PROBLEM

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader ft. batfam

divider by: cafekitsune & omi-resources word count: 2.9k synopsis: Jason gets hit with a magical regression spell during a mission and ends up… five years old. Still foul-mouthed. Still somehow armed. a/n: Don't ask me how or why I wrote this, it just happened... warning: This is utterly unhinged, its a crack fic

There were many things you expected when you opened your apartment door at 3 a.m.

Your boyfriend, Jason Todd, in full gear. Shrunken to approximately three feet tall. And trying to pick your lock with a paperclip. was not one of them.

You blinked once. Twice. “…Jason?”

The tiny figure looked up, scowling, with his tiny leather jacket zipped to the chin and a modified red helmet under one arm. His helmet was clearly a custom fit because you were almost certain someone on the team had taken the time to resize his gear. Probably Tim. Or Alfred. Or Jason even himself after he’d been cursed into a fun-sized menace.

He tilted his head. “Took you long enough.”

You stared. “You’re three feet tall.”

“Yeah?” he snapped, voice high-pitched but filled with all the rage of a war vet denied his nap. “Well you’re late I've been knockin' forever! an’ I’m cold, and some guy in a sparkly cape turned me into a—” he waved a tiny hand wildly— “a frickin’ gremlin!”

You stared in mild horror.

“I mean child!” he corrected, stomping past your legs and into your apartment like he owned it. “A frickin’ child. I have to use a stool to pee. I’m livin’ in hell.”

“Excuse me—”

He pushed past your legs like an angry little linebacker. “Also, someone tried to feed me carrots at the manor. Carrots. Like I’m a damn rabbit. I had to escape.”

“Jason, are you seriously—”

“—And Alfred was this close to making me take a bubble bath.”

You raised a brow. “You love bubble baths.”

“Adult me loves them. Toddler me has dignity.”

You shut the door with a sigh, already regretting every life choice that had led to this moment. “Fine. One night. But if you pee on anything, I’m calling Bruce.”

30 MINUTES IN...

You stared at the miniature version of Jason Todd standing dead center in your apartment. You still hadn’t gotten over the fact he was now a child.

He stood with his arms crossed. Eyebrows furrowed. Scowling so hard his little nose scrunched up. The resized red helmet was sitting crookedly on his head, and somehow, somehow, he was still wearing a tiny leather jacket like it was battle armor.

“Jason,” you said slowly, kneeling down to his eye level, “where did you get the gun?”

His eyes narrowed, suspiciously smug. “Trade secret.”

“Jason.”

He pouted. “You left your sock drawer unlocked.”

You blinked. “My sock drawer doesn’t have—”

Realization dawned.

You groaned, standing up and rubbing your face. “You hid weapons in my sock drawer?”

“Of course I did,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What if you got mugged doing laundry?”

You turned on your heel, already pulling out your phone. “Zatanna needs to reverse this spell immediately. How is his five year old self more dangerous than his adult one.” You muttered to yourself.

From behind you, Jason stomped his tiny boot. “I am not five! I’m five-and-a-half!”

You didn’t even look back. You just sighed and started texting Alfred for backup.

And possibly restraints.

Or duct tape.

Maybe both.

ONE HOUR IN...

You found him in the kitchen standing on the counter—barefoot, wild-haired, and determined. His tiny arms were stretched high above his head, fingers pawing at the top shelf with the sheer willpower of someone who believed they could reach it if they just tried hard enough.

“What,” you asked slowly, “are you doing?”

“I want Oreos,” he said, like it was obvious.

“There are Goldfish crackers right there,” you offered, gesturing to the open box on the counter beside him.

He looked at you like you’d insulted his ancestors. “I’m not a toddler. I have standards.”

He took them with both hands, giving you a small, pointed sniff of derision—as if your earlier suggestion of Goldfish had been not just offensive, but a personally insult.

Then, without another word, he hopped off the counter and disappeared down the hallway like a sugar-fueled cryptid preparing for war.

TWO HOURS IN...

You finally managed to corral him in front of the television, queued up some harmless cartoon with talking animals, and tiptoed into the kitchen to make yourself a much-needed snack.

When you came back, the cartoon was gone and you found him watching John Wick 3 with unblinking intensity.

You stared in horror. “You are not allowed to watch this.”

He didn’t flinch. “Too late.”

You snatched the remote from the armrest. “You’re five.”

“Five an’ a half!” he shouted, voice pitching up in outrage. “An’ I know all ‘bout vengeance! I lived it! Lemme watch Keanu!”

“No.”

“I will bite you.”

“You already did!”

He smiled. “And I’d do it again.”

You lunged for the remote.

He let out a feral shriek. The sound pierced the air like a banshee’s war cry. There was a flurry of motion, limbs, and one elbow jabbed directly into your ribcage. The remote went flying.

Somehow… you lost.

And there he was, not ten minutes later, curled in a blanket like a smug little gremlin, happily finishing John Wick 3.

You sighed, already pulling out your phone to call in reinforcements.

Alfred picked up on the first ring.

“Please tell me patrol is over,” you whispered, glancing warily toward the living room. “I need backup. Immediate. Preferably armed with sedatives and maybe a priest.”

There was the soft clink of a teacup on saucer before Alfred replied, calm as ever. “Master Grayson and Master Drake should be available in a few hours.”

You groan, “Anyone sooner?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” He said.

You hung up and returned to the living room.

Jason was kicking his feet now, reclined like royalty, humming the John Wick fight music under his breath. Every few seconds he’d mutter something like “yeah, get him, Keanu,” or “double tap, baby,” as if he were part of the director’s commentary.

By the time 300 started, he had risen.

He stood on the couch with all the solemnity of a war general addressing his troops, fists clenched at his sides. Then, with zero warning, he let out a piercing battle cry—“SPARTAAAAAA!”—and began hurling Goldfish crackers across the room like they were flaming javelins.

You didn’t bother trying to stop him.

You just slid slowly down the wall, sat on the floor beside the fridge, and accepted your fate.

THREE HOURS IN...

You were gone for five minutes.

Five.

You’d left him watching Love Island.

He’d finally—finally—fallen asleep, sprawled across the couch. The soft drone of British contestants filled the apartment, and for a precious, fragile moment, there was peace.

Just enough to sneak off for five minutes. That was all the time it took to use the bathroom and splash some cold water on your face in the vain hope that you could survive another hour of this gremlin-sized Gotham menace.

When you returned, Love Island was still playing on the TV and Jason was nowhere in the living room.

“Jason?” you called out.

You heard a noise come from the kitchen

Your stomach dropped.

You rushed in, skidding to a halt just inside the doorway.

The drawer was open.

That drawer.

The one that held the scissors.

The duct tape.

Your spare burner phone.

And, apparently, your last shred of peace.

You turned around slowly—already feeling the weight of regret in your bones.

Tiny Jason stood proudly in your hallway wearing a cardboard chest plate, duct-taped shoulder pads, and your colander on his head.

He raised a wooden spoon like a sword. “I’m Red Hood 2.0,” he declared in a voice that was both too high-pitched and far too serious. “Call me… Lil’ Death.”

You stared at him in exhausted horror.

“…Where’s the rest of the duct tape?”

He gave a wide, toothy grin.

“In mah hair.”

Of course it was.

FOUR HOURS IN...

Alfred had finally sent backup.

It was Damian.

By that point, you didn’t care—anything to give you ten minutes of silence and the chance to remember what breathing felt like.

And for the first ten minutes, it was peaceful.

Too peaceful.

You froze in the hallway, a familiar sense of foreboding slithering down your spine.

Then came the scream.

“YOU LITTLE DEVIL!”

Tiny battle cries echoed from the living room, followed by the unmistakable clang of steel meeting something very much not steel.

You ran in to find Damian standing on your coffee table, sword in hand, while Toddler Jason swung at his legs with a plastic baseball bat wrapped in duct tape and thumbtacks.

“WHAT IS HAPPENING?!”

“He challenged me,” Damian snapped, breath steady as he parried a wild swing with the flat of his blade.

Jason bared his baby teeth, eyes gleaming with chaotic glee. “He tried to steal my Oreos and called me a baby!”

“Because you are,” Damian barked, deflecting another spoon-wrapped strike. “This is undignified!”

“I’m a toddler, you rich goblin!”

You slapped a hand to your forehead. “Jason, drop the bat.”

“NEVER!”

“Damian, he’s five!”

FIVE HOURS IN...

Damian was still on the windowsill, arms crossed, radiating hatred like a heat lamp.

He hadn’t spoken in nearly an hour. Not a single word since the incident—the one where he lost to a sugar-crazed toddler wielding a thumbtack-wrapped baseball bat and unyielding vengeance.

You knew that silence. Knew it too well.

He was plotting something. You just didn’t know what.

Not that you had time to dwell on it—because that was when backup number two finally arrived.

The door swung open and in walked Dick and Tim, both dressed down but wide-eyed, scanning the wreckage of your apartment like first responders to a war zone.

Jason—still pint-sized, still radiating the unholy combination of espresso and anarchy—lit up like a demonic Christmas tree at the sight of them.

“Well, well, look who finally showed up,” he chirped, spinning once in his little leather jacket and cardboard armour. “The Backstreet Boys of Disappointment!”

Dick froze mid-step. “I—what?”

Tim looked at you with the tiredness of a man who’d seen too much. “Is he still feral?”

“Worse,” you muttered. “He’s refueled. He ate three cookies and found my instant espresso jar.”

Dick’s eyes widened. “You gave him caffeine?!”

“I didn’t give him anything! He’s a damn toddler who still retained his lock picking skills!”

Across the room, Jason twirled dramatically and pointed at Tim. “Timmy,” he sing-songed, “wanna play hide and seek? I’ll hide… you seek therapy.”

Tim blinked slowly. “You’ve created a monster.”

You pointed at him with your coffee. “He was with you all when this happened.”

Jason pivoted toward Dick, eyes glinting. “Hey, Disco. How’s that permanent sidekick gig goin’? Still doin’ flips no one asked for?”

Dick narrowed his eyes. “You wanna go, tiny man?”

Jason smirked. “Bring it, Jazz Hands.”

And that’s all it took.

Two minutes later

Jason darted between them like a pinball on fire.

Tim lunged with a blanket like he was trying to trap a wild animal. Jason bit straight through it.

Not metaphorically—actually bit through it.

Dick went in next, trying to cut him off with a broad lunge, but Jason hurled a half-full sippy cup at his face with terrifying accuracy. It burst on contact. Sticky apple juice everywhere.

From the windowsill, Damian observed the descent into madness with narrowed eyes and smug silence. Like an evil cat waiting for the moment to pounce.

He chose his moment well.

With a cry of, “FOR HONOR AND BLOOD!” Damian vaulted from the sill into the fray.

He mostly landed on Tim. But the intent was there.

You stood in the doorway, clutching a first aid kit in one hand and your last shred of sanity in the other. It was unclear which would run out first.

Jason popped up from behind the couch like a goblin jack-in-the-box, eyes gleaming with the unholy thrill of chaos. In one hand, he wielded his modified bat like a sword. In the other, a full roll of duct tape, raised like a grenade.

“I DECLARE A BLOOD FEUD!” he roared.

Tim yelped and ducked just as the tape roll whizzed past his head and smacked into the wall with a dull thunk. “He almost took my eye out!”

“WHO GAVE HIM NEGAN’S BAT?!” Dick yelled, backpedaling fast as Jason swung in his direction with surprising force for someone who barely cleared three feet.

“He made it,” Damian grunted, trying to deflect the strike with a throw pillow.

The swing knocked the pillow clean out of his hands.

In the scramble to dodge the next blow, Dick and Damian collided—feet tangled, limbs flailing—and crashed to the floor in a graceless heap.

“WHO’S THE SIDEKICK NOW, SUCKERS?!” he cackled, arms thrown wide like a gladiator demanding cheers from the crowd.

On the floor below him, Damian and Dick groaned in tandem, still tangled in a heap of limbs and wounded pride.

You stood safely behind the armchair, one hand gripping your phone, filming the chaos. Might as well have some blackmail for later.

“You’re going to regret this when you’re big again,” you warned, deadpan.

“I’LL REGRET NOTHING!” Jason howled, launching himself into Tim’s back like a rabid possum.

Tim shrieked, flailing. “GET HIM OFF! HE’S IN MY HAIR—HE’S IN MY HAIR!”

“He’s like a feral koala,” Dick muttered, as he untangled himself from Damian.

Jason clung tighter, teeth bared, voice giddy with power. “Say sorry for the replacing me and I’ll only ruin your eyebrows!”

“Are we seriously doing this now?” Tim, flailing, shouted, “I didn’t replace you! You died!”

Everything stopped.

For half a second, the air went dead silent.

“TIM!” you and Dick shouted in unison, horrified.

Jason’s response was to let out a piercing shriek of righteous indignation.

“YOU VOTED ME OFF THE ISLAND!”

“WHAT DAMN ISLAND?!”

From the floor, Dick wheezed, “We need to start a support group.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “You’re all weak.”

“I don’t see you winning against him, demon spawn!” Tim barked, still trying to dislodge Jason from his spine. “You surrendered three minutes in!”

“I did not surrender,” Damian snapped.

Tim finally managed to pry him off with a desperate twist and a shove, sending Jason rolling back onto the couch in a tangle of limbs and laughter.

Everyone froze.

Jason huffed, catching his breath where he lay sprawled on the couch. His curls were tousled, cheeks flushed, eyes glittering with unspent mischief. For one brief, shining moment, it almost looked like the storm had passed.

Dick rose to his feet slowly, warily, hands lifted in surrender.

“Okay,” he said, breathless but hopeful. “Can we finally all just… relax—?”

You took a cautious step forward, narrowing your eyes as you noted the look on his face. “Jason. What are you doing now?”

He turned to you slowly, far too slowly, a smile already creeping onto his face.

Dick glanced over, confused, just in time for Jason to pivot on his heel.

“THIS! IS! SPARTAAAAA!!!”

And then his tiny foot shot up and kicked Dick square in the jewels.

Dick dropped like a sack of bricks, letting out a high-pitched strangled wheeze as he crumpled back onto the floor.

“…Who let him watch 300?” Tim groaned, not even pretending to be surprised anymore.

You winced, trying not to look at Dick who was curled into a fetal position.

Jason raised his arms, victorious. “TONIGHT, WE DINE IN—WHAT’S THAT PLACE WITH CHICKY NUGGIES?!”

“…McDonald’s,” Dick croaked weakly from the floor.

Jason nodded solemnly, his reign unquestioned.

“McDonald’s.”

SIX HOURS IN...

You were exhausted.

The apartment looked like a toy store had exploded. There were still thumbtacks embedded in the coffee table, juice stains on the ceiling, and possibly a spoon lodged in the bookshelf. You didn’t want to know.

The others had practically fled—limping, muttering, and swearing.

And Jason? Jason had finally agreed to get ready for bed after a long, drawn-out battle of wills that involved one timeout, two bribes, and exactly ten minutes of him growling about how “Peter Parker wouldn’t last five minutes in Crime Alley.”

Now, he sat on the couch, arms crossed and sulking in a pair of oversized Spider-Man pajamas—the only ones you’d been able to find. His curls were still slightly matted from duct tape, and there was a Band-Aid on his cheek from another brawl he’d got in with Damian.

He glared at you over the rim of his sippy cup.

“This not over,” he mumbled darkly. “I know where you sleep. I’mma get payback.”

“Sure you will, Jason,” you said, trying not to laugh.

“I’ll put ketchup in your shoes.”

You tucked him in on the couch, pulling the blanket around him as he curled up like a tiny, angry cinnamon roll.

He muttered something else under his breath, unintelligible, mostly grumble. “…Night-night,” he muttered, already half-asleep.

THE NEXT MORNING...

Jason woke up full-sized, shirtless, confused, and sprawled across your couch.

He blinked up at the ceiling, brow furrowed, throat dry.

“…What the hell?”

You strolled in, far too cheerful for someone who had survived a toddler warlord just a few hours prior. You tossed your phone into his lap.

You strolled in, tossing a phone into his lap.

“Morning, Lil’ Death. I made a slideshow.”

He looked down at the photos. There he was—pouty, covered in crumbs, mid-battle with his brothers, wearing cardboard chest plate held together with masking tape and colander strapped to his head like a war crown. One had him dead asleep with his face smashed into a pillow, cuddling a stuffed penguin.

Jason groaned into his hands. “Kill me now.”

“I’d rather show Bruce.”

His head snapped up. “You wouldn’t.”

You grinned. “Wanna bet?”

1K notes · View notes

dismalflo · 2 months ago

Text

loving is easy

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ✩ 4.3k words

summary: Being friends with idiots is hard. how long will it take them to realise you and Remus are dating? or a series of events where you become progressively more obvious.

cw: fluff, steamy makeout towards the end but no smut, established relationship

Somewhere between late night study sessions and early morning conversations, you fell in love. To your amazement Remus fell in love with you too, his honeyed words and soft touches taking on a new meaning. What started as quiet, timid affection bloomed into an all consuming devotion. Happy and safe.

At the start, you both decided to keep it quiet, nurture it by yourselves with no interruption. But time has a way of slipping past unnoticed, and now the two of you are in deep, and no one else has caught on. It’s not as if you’re hiding, exactly; you and Remus just prefer the intimacy of privacy. And honestly, there’s a quiet thrill in watching how long it takes your friends to figure it out.

The great hall.

The smell of toast and tea lingers in the air as you trudge through the double doors of the Great Hall, hair still mussed from sleep and jumper slightly askew. It’s far too early for the kind of noise James Potter is making, voice echoing off the high stone walls as he waves his hands dramatically about something you don’t have the energy to decipher.

“…and I told her, I don’t care if you hexed my quill, I’m still not going to that—”

He cuts off mid-sentence, eyes flicking past Sirius to you. His mouth snaps shut like a trap. Sirius glances behind him, curious about what could possibly silence James of all people.

You offer a sleepy wave as you shuffle closer, barely catching the way Remus’ head lifts from his folded copy of the daily prophet. His gaze finds you instantly. A slow smile tugs at his mouth, and his shoulders visibly relax, as if just seeing you settled something in him.

“Morning,” you murmur, sliding onto the bench beside him, bumping your knee lightly into his under the table. He shifts just slightly, his hand coming to rest on your thigh in a gentle squeeze, grounding and familiar. You hide a small, content smile behind your cup of tea.

Across the table, Sirius raises an eyebrow over his plate of eggs. “You look like you got hit by a bus.”

You open your mouth to retort, but Remus beats you to it, not even looking up from his paper. “Leave her alone, Pads. Some of us don’t spend an hour in front of the mirror every morning.”

Sirius scoffs, flicking a crumb at him. “Jealousy is a disease, Lupin.”

James is still watching you—narrowed eyes, brow slightly furrowed, as if he’s trying to do complex equations in his head. You glance his way, and he startles like he’s been caught.

“You alright?” he asks, eyes flicking briefly to Remus, then back to you. “You look—well, not great.”

You blink at him over your tea. “Cheers, James.” you deadpan, “I’m just tired.”

He opens his mouth to say more, maybe apologize, but Lily slides onto the bench beside you with a rustle of parchment and the kind of purpose only she can manage this early in the morning.

“Did you start the Transfiguration essay yet?” she asks, nudging your elbow meaningfully. “Because McGonagall will have your head if it’s late again.”

You groan, resting your temple against your palm. “Started it, yeah. Finished it? Not even close.”

Lily sighs, long-suffering but fond. “Library after lunch.”

You nod, and the two of you slip into an easy rhythm—first the essay, then weekend plans for Hogsmeade. Remus stays quiet beside you, content to listen, a soft, knowing smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

At some point, without saying anything, he sets his paper aside and starts assembling a plate. Two slices of toast, a spoonful of marmalade, a soft-boiled egg, a handful of your favourite fruit. He doesn’t announce it or fuss, just places it gently in front of you, brushing a few stray crumbs off your sleeve with ease.

By then, James and Sirius have resumed their conversation, judging by the rising volume. Lily spots Slughorn across the way and excuses herself with a quick goodbye, already halfway across the room before you can respond.

You turn back to your tea, only to pause. The plate of food wasn’t there before but it’s exactly what you would’ve gotten for yourself. Toast arranged neatly, marmalade on the side. You glance sideways. Remus is already reading again, pretending not to notice your looking.

Under the table, your hand finds his. You link your fingers, gentle and grateful, and when you squeeze, he squeezes back. It’s warm, steady.

You lean in slightly, just enough so he can hear you over the breakfast chatter.

“Thank you,” you murmur, thumb brushing along the back of his hand.

Remus doesn’t answer right away, eyes still on the paper; but the smile tugging at his lips is unmistakable. Quiet. Fond. Yours.

“It’s nothing,” he says softly, in a way that means everything.

You open your mouth to say something more, because it's not nothing and Remus is the sweetest boy you know, but Sirius cuts in from across the table, dramatically dropping his fork and fixing Remus with a mock-offended glare.

“Why don’t I ever get breakfast made for me, Moony?” he demands, gesturing wildly at your plate. “You’ve known me longer. I’m charming. Handsome. A delight, really.”

Remus doesn’t even look up. He just turns a page.

“Because you’re a right wanker,” he replies, so evenly it takes a beat to register.

Sirius gasps, clutching his chest like he’s been wounded. “The audacity! James, did you hear that?”

James snorts into his tea. “Hard to miss. He’s not wrong, though.”

“I’m hurt,” Sirius insists, turning to you with wide, dramatic eyes. “He used to be so sweet. So gentle.”

You glance at Remus, one brow raised. “Did he?”

The infirmary.

If Remus had to pinpoint the worst part of the full moon, he doesn't think he could. The way his body is violated and his mind succumbs to bestial madness is high up there. Or maybe it's the way his mind is tormented month-round, collapsing from exhaustion afterwards and being plagued with worry for the next. A vicious, never-ending cycle. This time, he thinks, it's waking up the morning after the full moon.

Though he can tell it was a particularly bad one, it’s not the aches and pains. It’s waking to you, curled in an armchair at his bedside, asleep. Remus hates that you worry so much, that it affects you. Your neck is at an awful angle, and there's a faint crease between your brows, even in sleep.

He exhales, the breath barely more than a rasp, and your lashes flutter in response. You shift, not fully awake at first, and then, like something clicking into place, you sit up straighter, eyes flying open.

"Remus," you say softly, already pushing yourself to your feet and crossing the space between the chair and the bed. Your hands find his arm gently, carefully, as though you're afraid even your touch might hurt. "You're awake."

He tries to offer a weak smile, but it falters before it can fully form. "Unfortunately."

"Don't say that," you murmur, frowning as your hands glide down to check for injuries, the kind that bandages don't always catch.

“I’m fine, dove,” he lies, out of habit more than belief.

You ignore him. “Let me get you some water,” you say, already moving toward the small table where a pitcher and glass had been left. You pour it, return, and sit beside him on the edge of the bed, holding it to him with steady hands.

He accepts it, grateful but quiet, sipping slowly. When he’s finished, you set the glass back on the nightstand with a soft clink.

His brow furrows. “Why are you here?” he asks, voice hoarse but laced with genuine confusion. “You usually come after I’ve woken up.”

You hesitate, brushing a bit of hair away from his damp forehead. “You… woke up early. Just for a little while.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“I know.” Your hand stills against his temple. “It wasn’t for long. James came to get me. Said you were–” You glance away for a moment, mouth tightening. “You were in pain. And saying my name. Over and over. Apparently Sirius and Madam Pomfrey had to hold you down to get a calming draught in you.”

Remus goes still. Shame rolls through him like a fresh wave of fever. He looks away, down at the rough wool blanket, his hands balled in the fabric.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, the words bitter on his tongue. “I shouldn’t have– I didn’t mean to wake you. You didn’t have to come.”

“Stop being silly,” you say, almost fondly, but there’s a steel thread beneath it. You reach for his face again, gentle but firm, guiding his gaze back to yours. “Of course I came. You think I’m going to stay in bed while you’re in pain, calling for me?”

He starts to respond, some garbled protest forming in his throat, but you cut it off by leaning forward and pressing a quick, sure kiss to his lips.

It’s warm. Soft. Gone before he can even react.

He blinks at you, stunned.

“I’ll always come,” you say simply, your fingers still resting at the edge of his jaw. “You don’t have to be sorry for needing someone, Remus.”

Silence settles between the two of you.

You don’t say anything, and neither does he. It’s not awkward. shifting just slightly on the mattress, curling one leg up under you, you begin brushing the hair from Remus’ forehead again—gentle, patient sweeps of your fingers, like you have all the time in the world. His hair is still damp with sweat, a little tangled, but you don’t seem to mind. You just keep smoothing it back, over and over, letting him rest in the rhythm of it.

Remus closes his eyes. Not to sleep but just to relax. The silence swells around you, filled only by the quiet sounds of the castle waking up; distant footsteps, the occasional creak of old wood, and your even, steady breaths.

Eventually, his voice slips through the hush, barely more than a whisper. “Where are the others?”

You smile faintly. “James is with Regulus. Doing God knows what. Hopefully sleeping.” You roll your eyes, affection bleeding through the exasperation.

That gets a faint huff of a laugh from Remus, which quickly dissolves into a wince. He presses a hand to his ribs.

“And Sirius?” he asks.

You glance toward the door. “Went to get breakfast. Said you’d need something solid, not just Pomfrey’s apparently sad excuse for toast.”

Just as you say it, the door creaks open and Sirius steps inside, a paper bag tucked under one arm and two cups in his hands. The scent of butter and cinnamon trails in with him.

“Speak of the devil,” you murmur.

Sirius pauses when he sees the two of you. You're still perched on the edge of the bed, one hand resting lightly against Remus’ temple, the other curled in your lap. Remus’ eyes are open now, glassy with exhaustion but softer than they’ve been in days. The two of you are close and something about the look on your faces makes Sirius stop mid-step.

Then he just clears his throat and steps forward, saying nothing about it. “Brought food.”

He places the bag and drinks on the nightstand with uncharacteristic care, glancing once more between the two of you. His gaze lingers on Remus, searching for signs of deeper pain or unease, but seems satisfied by what he finds.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he says softly, stepping back. “See you later, Moons.”

There’s a quiet fondness to it.

“Thanks, Pads,” Remus says, voice rough but genuine.

Sirius nods and slips out the door with barely a sound.

Sirius finds James exactly where he expects: sprawled on one of the beaten-up sofas in the Gryffindor common room. Less expected is Regulus, curled under James’s arm, head tucked into his shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. James looks half-asleep, fingers lazily combing through Regulus’s hair, while Regulus is clearly pretending he hadn’t just dozed off.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “For Merlin’s sake,” he mutters, stepping over the hearthrug. “Is there something in the Gryffindor water this year? Everyone’s getting domestic.”

Regulus lifts his head just enough to shoot him a glare. “You sound like you’re sixty.”

“And you look like you’re two seconds from sucking your thumb,” Sirius shoots back, dropping down onto the coffee table with a dramatic sigh. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, then looks squarely at James.

“You’ll never guess what I just walked in on.”

James, ever patient when Sirius is in a mood, lifts a brow. “Tell me.”

Sirius jerks his chin toward the entrance of the common room. “Remus is awake. Looks like hell, obviously, but that’s not the point. The point is…” He pauses for dramatic effect, glancing meaningfully between the two of them. “Y/N was there. Sitting right beside him. Touching his face. Whispering. Very softly, I might add.”

James frowns. “So?”

“I’m just saying,” Sirius drawls, “it was very couple-y.”

James lets out a soft laugh and shakes his head. “No way. They’ve been like that for ages, they’re just friends, mate. Remus would’ve told us if they were dating.”

Sirius nods, like that settles it.

Regulus snorts into James’s shoulder.

“What?” Sirius narrows his eyes.

“You two are incredibly dense,” Regulus says without looking up. “They are dating. It’s obvious.”

James and Sirius look at each other, then back at Regulus in perfect unison.

“No offence, Reggie,” Sirius says, raising a brow, “but they’re our friends. I think we’d know.”

“You think you’d know,” Regulus says flatly. “But you don’t. Because Remus is private and stupidly noble, and your friend is just as bad. Do you really think he’s going to announce it over breakfast? What would he even say—‘pass the marmalade, I’m in love’?”

James blinks.

Sirius blinks.

Then they both burst out laughing, as if Regulus is mental.

The black lake.

With the summer months fast approaching, and a week passing since the full moon, the warm weather has called for a relaxing day on the shore of the black lake. You're laid out on a blanket with Remus sat beside you, your head resting on his thigh.

With closed eyes, you can picture the peaceful look on Remus’ face as he reads with his fingers twirling in the ends of your hair.

The sun is warm where it filters through the branches above, casting soft, dappled patterns across your skin. Somewhere behind you, someone splashes into the lake with a shout, followed by a chorus of laughter. But it all feels far away.

You sigh, content, eyes still closed. “If I die right now,” you murmur, “tell Madam Pomfrey I went happy.”

Remus huffs a soft laugh, the vibration of it echoing down through his thigh. “Bit dramatic,” he says, though there’s affection in it.

“Mmm,” you hum, noncommittal. “We’ll see what you say when it happens.”

Another beat of silence. You think he’s gone back to reading–until his fingers pause, then still.

“Everyone’s out of the dorms tonight,” he says casually, “some ravenclaw party, or something.”

You open one eye, peering up at him. “You planning to go?”

Remus shakes his head. “No. I thought maybe… you’d want to come up for a bit. To mine.” His voice dips a little lower. “Just us.”

“I’d love to,” you say simply. “You and me. No interruptions. I’ll finally have you all to myself.”

Remus’s eyes soften. He sets the book aside, turning his full attention to you. “You already have me,” he murmurs.

Your only response is to wiggle your eyebrows suggestively, the grin on your face unmistakably wicked. Remus gives a soft, breathy laugh and shakes his head. “Minx,” he says, voice full of fondness.

You're just about to respond–something equally teasing on the tip of your tongue–when there’s the familiar thunder of approaching footsteps.

Before either of you can move, Sirius throws himself down onto the blanket with a loud oof, landing half across your legs and knocking Remus slightly off balance.

“You’re the worst,” you mutter, even as you’re giggling.

Sirius groans dramatically as you swat at him, your hand smacking against his shoulder with no real force.

“You love it,” Sirius replies, grinning like the absolute menace he is.

Before you can retaliate with some biting remark, a familiar voice calls out from behind.

“Y/N!” Lily’s voice rings clearly through the warm air, her red hair catching the sunlight as she approaches. “You coming to the greenhouses? Marlene’s already started without us and Dorcas is claiming all the best pots.”

You sit up with a groan, shoving Sirius more forcefully this time. He rolls onto the grass with a theatrical oomph that earns an eye-roll from Remus.

“On my way!” you call back to Lily, brushing grass off your legs. You turn to Remus, eyes softening, your hand brushing his wrist. “Later?”

He nods, that quiet little smile playing on his lips. “Later.”

Sirius waves lazily from the blanket, still lounging, and you hear him shout a cheerful “See you later, Y/N!”

The two of you start walking toward the greenhouses, and once you’re out of sight, Sirius suddenly sits up. Remus catches the shift in his mood, the way he straightens, a more serious look crossing his features.

Then, as if deciding to finally ask whatever's been on his mind, he looks at Remus, his voice quieter than usual. "You two are friends, right?" he asks, a slight edge of curiosity in his tone.

Remus, who’s watching you walk away, doesn’t hesitate. "Yeah. Of course." He’s telling the truth, you might be his girlfriend but you were his friend first and you're his best friend now.

There’s a brief pause, and Sirius nods slowly. He makes a soft sound, tapping his fingers absently on the grass, clearly stewing in his thoughts. Remus knows he’s trying to find the right words, the ones that aren’t too blunt but also get at whatever Sirius is really thinking. After another long stretch of silence, Remus sighs, deciding to make it easier.

“Spit it out, Pads. You're not very tactful.”

Sirius huffs a small laugh, a little awkwardly, before shifting on the blanket. He rubs the back of his neck, clearly conflicted. “I was just thinking,” he starts, “You… fancy her, don’t you?”

The question hits Remus like a sharp poke to the ribs. He looks over at Sirius, surprised at the bluntness, then immediately thinks Oh. He can’t help but chuckle lightly, thinking Sirius has finally put it all together–that he and you are already together.

“Well, yeah,” he says nonchalantly, his gaze drifting back to you. “I do.”

Sirius, however, just stares at him for a moment, blinking in confusion. “You… do?” He asks slowly, his brows furrowing in disbelief. “So, why are you not doing anything about it? Do you need help telling her?”

Remus freezes for a second, eyes narrowing. The warmth in his chest from the thought of you is still there, but now it comes with a pinch of amusement. He opens his mouth to respond, but then quickly closes it. Sirius really has no clue, does he? Remus can’t help but laugh softly, shaking his head.

“I don’t need help, Pads,” Remus says, his voice an easy mix of affection and slight exasperation.

Sirius scoffs, “If this is some mopey werewolf bullshit, I don't want to hear it. You deserve to be happy, Moony.”

“I am happy,” Remus stresses, “I’ve done all I need to.” he nods at Sirius, hoping that the boy can read between the lines.

“Okay.” Sirius sighs.

The dormitory.

The evening sun casts its last golden rays over the horizon as the two of you find yourselves alone in the quiet of Remus's dorm room. The noises of the day have faded to a dull hum, and it’s just the two of you now–no distractions, no interruptions.

Remus’ heated touch is wandering, hands gripping whatever part of you he can get to. His mouth is warm on your neck, doting but rough, anything else you were thinking of doing tonight quickly erased from your mind. One of your hands is buried in his hair while the other drifts upwards to his neck and jaw.

“Rem,” you sigh, breathless and lightly pulling his hair to move his mouth upwards.

A breathy laugh comes out of him, before he captures your mouth with his own. You sigh into his mouth, and he takes it gladly, his hands moving down to your hips shifting you closer in his lap. His eager kissing is warm, acting like a man starved.

You shift your hips, wanting to be closer, feeling him against you. It elicits a groan from one of you, that gets swallowed between you. Remus’ grip on your hips becomes firmer, working to guide you in your efforts grinding against him, and your moans become more frequent for it.

“Fuck,” he pants, pulling back to look up at you, his grip on you not faltering. He shifts a hand to toy with the hem of your top. “Can I take this off?”

“Please.” you reply breathless and he smiles at you planting a kiss to the corner of your mouth before moving your shirt up and over your head.

Remus moves in again, his mouth mean as it skims across the top of your breasts. It's bliss.

Neither of you notice the door opening until a scandalised gasp echoes through the room. “Bloody hell!” James squeals, immediately throwing a hand over his eyes and turning around so fast he nearly maims himself on the doorframe. “I’m blind! I didn’t need to see that!”

Remus scrambles to wrap a blanket around your shoulder as you shift to move off his lap. Once the blanket is secured, Remus’ hands grip your waist tightly and he looks at you, eyes pleading, begging you not to move.

Sirius lingers in the doorway, eyebrows shooting straight into his hairline as a wicked grin stretches across his face. “Well, well, well,” he whistles, arms crossing as he leans casually against the frame. “When you said you’d done all you need to, I didn’t think you meant you were shagging her. I thought you were a gentleman, Moony.”

Remus, who’s gone a shade redder than any of the Gryffindor banners, pulls the blanket tighter around your shoulders and groans. “Can you both just– piss off?!” His voice cracks halfway through the sentence, and he sounds more desperate than angry.

You stifle a laugh against his shoulder, only mildly mortified but mostly amused.

Remus shoots Sirius a glare, ears flushed pink. “That–that was me telling you she’s my girlfriend, you sod.”

There’s a long pause.

Then, in perfect unison, James–still hiding behind his hand–and Sirius both shout;

“What?!”

“Alright, alright,” you interrupt, amusement clear in your voice despite the heat in your cheeks. You’re still tucked against Remus, the blanket barely doing its job, and your shirt’s rumpled on the bed behind you. “This is really fun, guys, but could you maybe turn around so I can put my shirt back on?”

James lets out a garbled sound still shielding his eyes. Sirius sighs but obliges.

“What the fuck,” Sirius mutters, and James echoes it softly, bewildered and still shell-shocked.

You grin as you press a quick kiss to Remus’ lips, gentle, grateful, and a little teasing. He’s still beet red, poor thing, but the moment your lips touch his, some of that panic in his eyes melts into warmth.

Then, with a deep breath and no small amount of dignity, you swing your legs off his lap and slip your shirt back on. Remus helps you straighten it without thinking, hands ghosting over your sides like he can’t not touch you, even in the middle of the world’s most embarrassing interruption.

Once decent, you move to sit beside him rather than on top of him, though you don’t go far. Your knees still touch. Always.

“Alright, you can turn around now,” you call lightly, brushing your fingers through your hair.

James turns slowly, eyes still suspiciously squinted like he’s worried he’ll see something scarring again. He takes in the scene, both of you sitting side by side on the bed, fully clothed now but clearly together, Remus still flushed and you not bothering to hide your smug little smile.

“So…” James begins, narrowing his eyes, “when did this start?”

You glance at Remus, who looks as though he’d prefer the full moon over this interrogation.

“Be honest,” Sirius adds, crossing the room to drop dramatically into the armchair by the window. “If you say, like, last week, I will riot.”

Remus sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “October.”

James blinks. “October last year?”

You nod innocently. “Started with studying. Got a bit… distracting.”

Sirius makes a sound like he’s just been betrayed. “You mean to tell me you two have been together for months and didn’t say anything?”

“It’s not like we were hiding it,” Remus mutters.

James gestures wildly. “You were definitely hiding it!”

You exchange a look with Remus, who just shrugs helplessly.

Sirius groans, dragging a hand down his face as if it's all too much to bear. And then, with the weariness of a man forced to admit defeat, he mutters:

“For fuck’s sake… Reg was right.”

Remus smirks, finally relaxed again. “You gonna be okay, Pads?”

“Absolutely not,” Sirius says, already slumping further into the chair. “You’re disgusting.”

But he’s grinning.

James just shakes his head, still in awe. “Next time, just tell us.”

You reach for Remus’s hand, lacing your fingers together, and smile.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

masterlist <3

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xo2dee · 3 months ago

Text

🗨️ 40 CHIPS

PAIRING: Dante/(Fem)Reader. WARNINGS: MDNI/18+ ONLY. Vaginal Sex, Creampie, Chair Sex. WORD COUNT: 4,688. SUMMARY: Either his luck really was that bad, or he just liked to let you win all the time.

A/N: i've never played strip poker or poker itself so if you see any inconsistencies mind ur business,,, also had dmc 5 dante in mind writing this

DMC MASTERLIST

On rare occasions, there were nights you got Devil May Cry to yourself, and there were nights you got Dante to yourself. And on some of those rare nights, you got both in one sweet, little wrapped present. On those particular nights, you and Dante liked the up the scales in your relationship and have a little friendly competition of a game between you two to see who would come out on top for the night. Such was a night, and you and he were at it again playing a dangerous game to see who could come out on top of the other and got the ‘prize’ the other was promising.

And in your favor, you held the cards for the winning hand.

Tensions were high, your eyes glazed over in determination as you stared over your choice of weapon for the night against your opponent as he chose his next move very carefully. It was a game of chance and skill all wrapped into one, your hand a winning one as you held the ultimate dealbreaker within your fingers while your opponent continued to slip and fall and take the hits you were so careful to deal out. For once he was off his usual slight above you, his eyes squinting over his own weapon as he watched you carefully before lying down his next hit for you to counter.

And once again, he missed his mark as you dodged and laid down your next attack. His eyes quickly darted over to what you had done, then you watched the defeat cloud his eyes as he groaned and hung his head down when he understood what it meant. Jackpot, indeed.

“C’mon, babe, cut me some slack,” your boyfriend grumbled, falling back into his chair with a sigh as he eyed your winning hand of cards laid across from his.

You only shrugged with a smirk, though you couldn’t but feel like he was holding out on you. Or if his luck really was as bad as he was always complaining it was. “There’s no possible way you’re this bad…”

Dante scoffed, sitting back up straight as he grabbed at the back of his shirt with a wink, “I can still come back from this.”

A laugh escaped you, pulling another pile of chips toward you as he removed his shirt, “Right… all I’ve taken off is two socks.” One of your legs kicked up to show him the missing clothing, the rest of your clothes still on your body as Dante was only left in his pants and two folds away from losing the game of Strip Poker. The entire thing had been your idea of course, an excuse to get Dante as naked as possible while you remained as clothed as you could before you got the winning prize from him. He was too eager to play a round of Strip Poker, a cocky smirk on his face telling that you’d lose and he’d be happy for you to take your clothes off for him… Yeah, he ended up eating those words the first time he had to fold and took his coat off, claiming he’d ‘get back at you’… To which, you were still fully clothed while he only had his pants and boxers left.

The sound of him shuffling cards brought your attention back, giving the each of you a new hand before he squinted at you in suspicion, “Have you been holdin’ out on me?”

“Not really,” you flipped your cards over in your hand and held back your grin, eyeing him from over top of your cards with a suggestive raise to your brow, “maybe your luck isn’t as good as you think…” And then you laid down your hand – a straight royal flush within your hold as you grinned full of teeth and victory watching his eyes bulge as took in the symbols along the corners of your deck.

And another piece of his clothing was coming off.

“Damn,” he rubbed his hand across his jaw, immediately folding his hand as he scooted his chair back enough to begin unbuckling the belt of his pants, “this is my last piece of clothing too…”

You blinked, raising an eyebrow as he began shimmy off his pants, “Don’t you still have –”

The sound of his belt buckle clanging against the floor silenced you, and then sitting up straighter to peek over the edge of the table let you see the beginnings of his happy trail and that was too prominent and his hips were too visible for him to be wearing anything else… Leaving him to be completely stark naked… And he was just sitting there with a new hand continuing to play like you hadn’t just stripped him naked and beat him in a landslide victory of Strip Poker.

Dante scratched his chin, looking up towards the ceiling fan that you turned off before glancing at the window in confusion, “…Do you feel a draft?”

You could only gawk, wondering he’d been walking around the entire day in leather pants without any underwear before you voiced that question while your hardest to not peek up over the table to see the rest of his exposed skin, “Are you not wearing any underwear?”

His index finger came up to rest against his lips, “Shhh, pretend I am – we can keep playing,” Dante started to reach forward to shuffle the deck once more, a grin on his face as you felt your panties grow damp once you realized the victory you had won. “I can still come back.”

“Nu-uh,” you jumped forward, snatching the cards out of his hands and then pulling the rest of the stack of chips towards you in your winnings, “I don’t think so. Don’t be a sore loser, Dante.” You shifted in your seat before pressing your feet fully on the ground, discreetly rocking your hips along the chair’s seat to warm yourself up for what you had planned.

Dante seemed none too aware of your rising arousal nor the slight rocking of back and forth you were doing, holding up both of his hands in a gesture of peace as he relaxed in his seat, “Whatever, I fold, I fold…” his arms crossed over his chest, further enhancing the size of chest as you watched a bead of sweat trail down into chest hair and furthering down onto his abdomen, “So what’s this ‘huge prize’ you want?”

It was like picking up your cards and seeing a straight Royal Flush again, your win on the horizon as soon as he asked the question. But it wasn’t like Dante didn’t have a clue – he wasn’t stupid, he knew exactly was turning the gears in your mind the moment you asked him if he wanted to play Strip Poker. Of course, he could’ve been wrong and you were planning to make him walk around the Devil May Cry in nothing but an apron… though you held no such plans when you had Dante baring all and stuck in a chair across from you. And if you chair broke again… well, you’d just get him a new one.

You gave a small smirk, mischief alight in your eyes as you propped your elbows on the table and folded your hands together, “You.”

Dante shrugged, holding out his arms as he presented himself to you before you quite literally felt the heat begin to emanate off of him, “I’m all yours, babe.”

Sliding your chair back from the table, you mentally patted yourself on the back for wearing a skirt for the day… Just something about the way of Dante being naked and you completely clothed that made your stomach flip as you felt your underwear grow more and more damp. Raising one finger in the air before tapping it your nose, you told him, “I’ll give you one free pass of clothing I’ll take off.”

A lone eyebrow arched up, eyeing your body of what he could see as seemed to actually contemplate the answer before clicking his tongue, “Do I get to choose?”

You thought about it before shaking your head, having your own ideas for how the rest of the night would go as you slid your hands up into your skirt and pulled your panties down before kicking them over to him. He caught them with ease, peering at them in his palm as his eyelashes fluttered and the skin along his chest started coloring into red while you slowly sauntered over to him with clenched thighs and a smile. And in return, you got the pleasure of watching his Adam’s Apple bob with the long and loud swallow he made once he realized you were in one your moods again.

“Are those good enough?” you asked, prying them from his grip and tossing them into the pile of his clothes that lied on the floor.

“That’ll do, Captain…” Dante mumbled after a moment, eyeing you up as you held back the snort at seeing his cock completely hard and already leaking with precum before you’d even touched him. A side-effect you learned from him being half-demon; apparently everything was heightened, down to his bodily reactions (and his damn bounce back time) so much he was practically ready to go within seconds for anything. However, that never deterred him from prepping you for sex and you weren’t sure how many minutes you’d spent sitting on Dante’s fingers or face before you got to actually sit on his dick. And half the time you didn’t even need to get so riled up when you’d get so wet and horny from just being around watching him stretch his arms up and his shirt rode up to expose some of his stomach… Well, maybe you did actually, the dick size was not something to take lightly.

Wasting zero time you straddled him before latching your mouth onto his, eating up his surprised groan with your tongue as one of your hands knotted into the back of his hair and the other began a soft trek down the front of his body to his cock. Overwhelming Dante’s tongue, your fingers passed by the hair dusted along his chest, the firm, knotted row of his abdominal muscles, the prominence of his happy trail, and then you were coiling what you could of your fingers around the sheer girth of his cock. He grunted in your mouth at the squeeze, your fingers twirling of what you could in his locks as you gave slight tugs to each way you were twisting your wrist around his cock.

Feeling your own body begin to burn at the lack of attention, you sped things up a fraction as you decided to scoot into Dante close enough to begin rubbing your clit along his underside of his cock. The friction made your eyes cross beneath your eyelids, your throbbing clit twitching at the attention as you rolled your hips harder to later him up with your own wetness as well lubricate the inside of you for the squeeze you knew was coming. You weren’t in the mood for prolonged foreplay, your skin on fire and your lower abdomen doing its own acrobatic routine the entire time you were teasing him in the game and watching his clothes come off. Dante would understand later that you were in for something quick and hot rather than usual slow and passionate rounds you two were used to doing.

When you lifted your hips up and began to angle his dick to where your opening was, he grunted against your mouth and pulled away a few inches as a string of saliva connected you both before breaking. “No foreplay?” Dante asked with a knotted brow, his hands drawing patterns of what they could in your hips bones as you sighed and ran your thumb across the top of his cock’s slit.

“Dante, you’re literally leaking…” you laughed breathlessly when you watched his lips purse the longer you swiped along the head of his cock. A fast shower and grower he was, you were starting to believe he had been aroused for a while. “How long have you been imagining this?”

He paused, his fingers drumming a rhythm on your hips as he actually sat there and thought about it for a moment. Meanwhile, you were still hovering over his dick ready to take him in. “Since I started losing.”

So… since the start of the game basically. A lighthearted scoff escaped you, slightly petting the back of his head before you kissed the corner of his mouth, “You’re impossible.”

“Impossible –” Dante started to say with a breathy chuckle, only for it to immediately get lost in a choke when you took that initiative and started to sink down onto his cock with a grin on your face at his reactions.

You took him slow into you, but it still did slightly sting no matter how wet and ready you had gotten for him as someone with Dante’s size was bound to keep you on your toes. Inch by inch you slid him into you, biting your cheek and practically holding your breath the entire time as it was a few more moments before the entire brute of him was pushed inside, a gasp falling from your lips as you felt your walls stretch, constrict and throb once you got him where you wanted him. You winced a bit as you sat your ass onto his thighs, hearing him let out a choked noise as felt you the muscles of your pussy contract and flutter around the new welcomed intrusion. You wiggled a bit before sighing in content and how fucking good it felt having his hot arousal inside of you again and how full you felt with him inside of you, Dante sharing the same sentiment as you watched his eyelids flutter and a soft, whining moan drop out of his mouth.

Impossible. “And yours,” he finished his statement from before, and you got the satisfaction of the watching the tendons in his neck bulge forward whenever he dropped his head back with a louder groan through harshly clenched teeth when you suddenly clamped around him. The fingers he had on your hips quickly flexed away from you too, stopping himself from applying any pressure into your skin in case he accidentally squeezed too hard. You moved forward to press a kiss to his Adam’s Apple, relishing in when he suddenly bucked into you for the sensation and you heard an expletive leave him in a choked pant. “Fuck – I’m… You feel so –”

Overran by the fog clouding your mind you rolled your hips once while biting gently onto his Adam’s Apple, pulling him inches out of you before rolling back down until he bottomed out in you with a soft moan. The tapping of his fingers was back onto your hips, his sign for you to continue since he had gotten adjusted to feeling you around him as you complied to his request. With your clit and cunt throbbing and feeling him pushing against your walls so hot and insistently, you began to move your hips rhythmically against his and enjoying at how he seemed to become literal putty in your hands every time it happened. You could already feel your body beginning to hum in delight from each way his cock slid along inside of your pussy, speeding up a bit as you watched his expression fall apart into pure pleasure in such a short amount of time.

You lifted yourself up off him, lethargically pulling him out of you and the slow slide of his girth making you grip him harder while biting your lip to keep from whining out. Once he was back out and his tip kissed your folds, his thumbs started to rub circles into your body before you buried him back inside of you at the same pace yet that time the stretch was tighter as you clenched up to get a better feel of his heat. The action of you pushing him back up into the hilt of you let a breathless moan fall out of you and a grunt from him, you tossing your head back once more with your eyes fluttering while his lips kissed at the spot underneath your chin.

Dante clenched his teeth and a hand shot up to grip your breast with a hiss pushing through the cracks of his teeth. No doubt he was fighting against himself with the scrunching and releasing of your soaked, hot cunt around his cock combined with your words, the atmosphere brewing once more as you became hot with arousal and wanted to roll your eyes back at how he felt inside of you. He groaned roughly, fingers digging into your breast as he spoke roughly with a hint of a whine, “Hand – Please –” Dante panted, and you understood the words enough to understand what he wanted.

The hand you had placed on his shoulder trailed down teasingly until you were at his pert and pink nipple, pinching it in-between two fingers with various twists as Dante pelvis began to jerk up into you from below. You started to move faster then, bouncing on his cock instead in delicious rolls as he pulled back far enough to watch himself disappear into you with a groan, watching your folds open to accommodate him and stretch as far as it could once he was into the deepest part of your cunt. One of his hands moved from your hip to slightly press down onto your lower abdomen, the act causing you to release a louder whine for him as it began to feel like his cock was nudging up into your skin there and into your guts.

“Mmm, Dante,” you sighed out, taking him out until only his swollen cockhead inside of you before quickly sheathing him back into your warm, soaked, plush cunt with a smooth roll. The continuous action coaxed more of the lewdest and loudest noises from him, God – “You feel so good,” you moaned out, nails digging into his hair while you pulled and tweaked at his nipple before you pulled him back to kiss at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, just like that – fuck.” A raspy grunt escaped his throat at your words, his teeth biting at your lip as your hearing tuned into the sound of your ass smacking against the skin of his thighs and the distinct noise of your cunt slapping with your juices with every dive of his cock. He was borderline looking like he was about lose his goddamn mind, and that was only fueling your desire to ride him faster and harder enough to point you actually did end up breaking the chair again. It was already beginning to squeak and whine from all your movements, and you knew if you got any more aggressive it would collapse underneath you both mid hip roll.

“Not gonna last long, babe,” he admitted, a clumsy buck of his hips up into yours making him hiss as you curled your hands back into his hair to rear his head back far enough for you to mark up his neck once more.

Dante’s words enflamed you, your cunt clenching and throbbing as a hard curl of pleasure panged down into your clit from his little confession. It had seemed he had thrown all composure out for time being in favor of bowing to your will and doing anything he could to feel that level of euphoria again. You made up your mind, the specter burn behind your naval too much to bear while your need to have him completely burst into you furthered your speed and aggression.

You pulled away from mouthing at his jawline from him, fluttering your fingers around his torso and abdomen drawing into the hairs you could feel all around him as you switched to bouncing on him instead. You were delighted in the way he suddenly reared his head back with a curse, neck stretching harshly as you tried your hardest to push him into cumming before you did that time. You wanted – no, needed to watch it; wanted to see him finally fall apart as he came inside of you.

As hard as you were trying to as well, you could feel your own release on the cusp so you had to speed it up before you lost the little one-sided game you were playing with him. You mapped your hands back up his chest, the sounds of your sweaty skin slapping obscenely loud before you used one hand to pull his chin away to look at you and used the other to pinch at his hard nipple again.

The thought of him cumming inside of you was embarrassingly enough to unravel you, the ball of pleasure inside of you brimming to its near once more and your pussy fluttering each time you sank back onto his cock in a hard bounce. You swallowed before opening your mouth, a breathy moan leaving you before you goaded him on again, “Dante, are you gonna cum?”

Your breathy question and the louder and filthier your mouth got earned you the noisy groan you had been wanting, one his hands sneaking down to take two fingers to your swollen clit and begin rubbing away at it in those mouthwatering circles. It caused you to squeeze around his cock once more and in result his hand faltered from its ministrations as it sent pleasurable spikes up in his spine from how sensitive he was getting fucking you. You knew what he was doing though; he was trying to make you cum again before he did.

Ever the gentleman.

Incapable to help himself he began to snap his hips up in time with yours, panting needily as his cock throbbed when your pussy clenched from the sudden support. He groaned while those calloused palms drifted from the respective areas up to squeeze your breasts once and then slide back finding purchase on your ass and gripping into the flesh there. Desperate to fulfill the burning fire at his base, he began to guide you along, pushing you up and down in time with his thrusts to bring you both closer to completion.

“Oh, God,” you gasped, falling back down atop of him and hiding your face in the crook of his neck to muffle your increasing cries and moans. That coil was twisting inside you, uncomfortably tight and fueled by your own teasing the entire day before you could feel it begin to unravel as you continued on.

In response to your comment he tried to pick up the pace, slamming into your pussy from below while he kept you in place. “Shit –" That was all Dante managed to croak out, too busy choking over his own whines and groans while he felt that hotness growing at the base of his cock. The twitch it gave inside of you was hint enough he was ready to come undone and spend himself inside of you.

You could worry about the repercussions afterwards.

It was so hot – so fucking hot – and everything smelled just of him, your frontal lobe losing all other thoughts but just Dante pleasuring you so fucking good and about to make you cum from all his whining. God you were right there; so fucking close, but you wanted him to cum first.

Your squeezed your eyes shut and threw your head back whenever your hips instinctively rocked faster and twisted harder onto him as your brain decided to settle on you just reaching that sweet, sweet bliss. The air around you two was blistering, his cock so hard and so hot inside your trembling you nearly couldn’t hold on any longer. Yet, you had to give him what he wanted –what you wanted as well – before surrendering to that euphoria.

You could barely hold onto him any longer, every part of your bodied slicked with sweat and your limbs beginning to fail you as you tried to hold on for a moment longer. You met his eyes once more and almost toppled over at how hard he was watching you move over top of him and possibly remembering every expression you made to his mind for his own want.

It was too much. You needed it.

“Cum inside of me – Now, Dante.”

You got the satisfaction for a brief second to watch his eyes roll back at the last words before your head lulled back from the harsh release of his orgasm. He groaned louder than he had before, hips jerking upwards in you ruthlessly as he spurted out everything he had into your pussy that so greedily took it and contracted around him with each pulse of his cock to bring more out of him. His cum was almost seemingly never-ending as each sudden stab of his hips in you had another stream of it filling up your cunt in thick, warm bursts. The new heat in you had you moaning once more in debauch contentment as you felt it gush up through you and completely coat your insides with his warmth until you felt like you were literally being stuffed full.

Dante jerked a few more times trying to calm himself down until he groaned again whenever you suddenly came all over his sensitive cock. As always, Dante cumming inside of you alone was enough to make you cum.

The prolonged moan that left you was all but a whining variant of his name and the octave enough to raise hairs on the back of necks. The coil in you unraveled fast, the pressure behind your naval falling away from you as if the wind had been knocked out of you and in consequence your bones and muscle tendons tightening up as you rode through it. His hips were slightly thrusting into you all the while your cunt clenched around him to find purchase for ground as the sounds of your gushed pussy and his ministrations grew until you were writing away from his touch as you began to throb in the aftermath of cumming. It was so much, and yet at the same time, not nearly enough of him.

You shook for a bit as you finally finished, hands placed back on his chest as you heard his heavy breathing come through your conscious first after pulling through the boisterous noise of your heartbeat hammering in your ears. You gave a sigh as you lifted off of him to free yourselves both of any possible overstimulation, wincing when he seemed to pop out of you and biting your lip when you felt your cunt already gap open from the loss of him and the telling of his cum beginning to slide out of you in a slow stream.

With your limbs relaxing and your eyes fluttering with the blinks of clarity, you suddenly fell forward onto his body and to your surprise his arms caught you and curled around your back as you laid there for a long moment. In the massive rush of hormones and emotions you two lied there with time losing meaning to you both if only for few moments, breathing rapidly in an embrace with your eyes glazed unaware of the surroundings for a long while until Dante took a rather long inhale and exhale and then laughed under his breath.

“Remind me to manipulate your deck next time we play again.”

The words made you pause, your brain taking a few seconds to catch up with what he said before you pieced the puzzle together on what he said. No fucking wonder you won way too easily. Leave to Dante to shit himself out of luck that way you’d get riled up enough to nearly break his chair while fucking him.

“You can’t be serious…” you groaned with your cheek squished against his chest, your body jostling as he started into a full-blown laugh.

“Oops, did I say that out loud?”

#{🩸} nee fics #dante x reader #dante x y/n #dante x you #dante dmc #dante devil may cry #dante smut #devil may cry #dmc smut #dmc x reader #dmc

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