#trying not to force these things and take my time

[lijojo]

when all of your dates are addicted to you

premise: after a bad encounter with a witch, anyone you date is cursed to become obsessed with you. as you search for this witch, you’re forced to deal with the consequences of your own actions. however, that proves to be difficult when they just can’t get enough of you. (yandere! honkai star rail x reader) (modern au) continuation of "when every man you date becomes obsessed with you" but is capable of being a standalone read nsfw, dark content minors dni

"from now on, any man you date will forever be enamored with your very being." 

you launch out of bed in a cold sweat. it takes you a moment to come back to reality and remind yourself where you are and that you are safe. for now. 

you’d spent the better part of a week chasing down that witch. you’d spent countless hours lingering at the same street you first saw her, hoping you’d see her again. but even when you asked the neighboring shopkeepers, nothing came up. it was as if she never existed. 

but you know she’s real because things just keep getting worse.

the breaking point comes on a random saturday morning when dan heng shows up at your door. of course, you’re not reckless enough to open the door without checking through the peephole first. however, you almost let out a gasp when you find that he’s trying to peep back. 

you cover your mouth, hoping that if you’re quiet enough, he’ll leave.

he doesn’t.

“i know you’re in there.” 

you feel sick to your stomach. you had some experiences with pesky exes, but none of them ever showed up at your door like this. 

“what…what do you want.” your voice isn’t as stable as you’d hoped, but it’s loud enough for him to hear you. 

“can we talk?”

“we can talk like this just fine.”

“i meant face to face.”

“no, i think i’m good right here. see? i can even hear you sighing through the door.” 

“...please.”

the two of you stand at an impasse for what feels like forever. you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place: either you open the door and talk to him or you just let him stand outside your door forever. however, you know that dan heng is too rational to try something and you know that dan heng is too persistent to give up until you open that door. 

so you open the door.

dan heng smiles immediately. it’s soft and hasn’t changed since you two dated—

“whoa!”

you raise the knife the moment he comes an inch closer. “try anything, and i’ll cut you.” 

although you had once dated, you know that dan heng’s different now. he might’ve been rational then, but you don’t know about now. of course you wouldn’t open the door empty-handed.

he raises his hands in surrender. “i just want to talk.”

“what do you want?” 

“i just miss you. i know that i scared you a little bit back when we first met each other again, and i admit i got a little ahead of myself, but i genuinely mean it when i said i wanted us to start over.”

you move the knife a little closer, squinting your eyes. “and?”

“you never answered me back then.” 

“well, the answer is no.”

“can’t you at least think about it?”

you put a finger on your chin, looking as if you’re really thinking about it. one second passes.

“okay, i’ve thought about it. still no.” 

your words cut dan heng sharper than your knife. he looks down at his feet, dejected, which astounds you. you’d never seen him this emotional, not even when you broke up with him. 

“i know i was a shitty boyfriend. half the time you didn’t even know how i really felt about you and that’s my fault. i’m sorry i scared you, this isn’t like me at all. but, i don’t know, when i saw you again, i felt as if i had to at least try.”

dan heng reaches out a hand to caress your cheek. his touch is soft and careful and full of adoration. the old you would’ve gotten flustered, not used to this sudden initiation of affection. but now it just makes you sick to your stomach. 

you jerk your knife towards him but he just as quickly pulls away.

“i love you,” he whispers softly.

you shut the door in his face. 

“i just don’t know what to do anymore,” you mutter exasperatedly. “i’ve tried reporting to the police, but they just say that there’s nothing i can do. ‘there’s no concrete evidence that they’re an actual threat,’ they said. so what am i supposed to do? sit around?”

gepard hums in understanding, serval glancing at him in anticipation. 

you’d told serval about your situation—that some creeps had been bothering you no matter how many times you tried to tell them off. you didn’t tell her about the witch, though. you were scared she wouldn’t believe you. or perhaps, there was still a small part of you that still didn’t believe in curses.

either way, when she offered to enlist gepard’s help, you were hesitant. but gepard was a police officer known for his unwavering righteousness, and you’d known him for almost as long as you’d known serval. you’d been alone with him countless times, if he was going to show signs, he would’ve done so already. 

still, it doesn’t stop you from asking serval to accompany you in asking him. just in case. the moment he shows something, you’ll call it off. 

“hmm, that sounds quite troublesome,” gepard muses. “i’m sorry you have to go through that. i’d love to help, what can i do?” 

you fiddle with your fingers, still a little unsure. but when you think back to what’s been going on, you don’t really have that many options. 

“i…i was hoping you’d stay at my place, just for the time being. i have a spare bedroom you could use. these guys have been following me around and i just don’t feel safe going outside anymore. i’m scared they might try something one of these days. you don’t have to do much, just… live with me for a bit, and when you’re free, run errands with me.”

gepard takes a moment of silence to think about it. you’re observing him like a hawk: any twitches, secret smiles, anything.

“that sounds good, as long as you’re a good roommate,” he says with a little smile. “after all these years, you’re like a little sister to me. i know how scary this has been for you, and i’d rather you feel safe in your own house, at least.” 

you let out a sigh of relief. “thank you, thank you so much.”

even if he can’t perform any legal action, his strength and experience as an officer alone might scare them off at least for a little bit. you’d known for gepard for so long. he was a kind person. 

and if things changed, well, it was better to be with the monster you know than the monster you don’t.

right now, you’re sitting on a bench at a popular local park. the sun’s out, and there are families playing nearby. it’s so peaceful, you almost forget who you’re meeting. 

who am i kidding, you’re shaking. 

at some point in time, when all the unsolicited texts and calls got too much, you finally caved in and answered. the two of you bickered back and forth, and you were almost about to hang up until he gave you an ultimatum. today, you came to this park to see him on the one condition that after this, he won’t bother you again. you don’t necessarily believe him, but you need to try something. 

you’re spooked by the sudden chatter of a passing couple. they look to be in a honeymoon phase, fingers intertwined. there’s an aura of corny bliss surrounding them. 

you glance at them from the corner of your eye, enviously watching as they pass by without a care in the world, completely indulged in each other’s presence. you remembered a time where you chased a feeling like that, to be wholly and unconditionally loved by someone. you hunted it down day and night, seeking validation from men and throwing them away the moment they gave the smallest sign of disinterest. you thought that this was the solution to finding your perfect someone, to fill this hole in your heart. it never did. 

however, no matter how much you miss the absence of someone’s company, you have bigger things to worry about. 

“i hope i didn’t keep you for very long, but you did come earlier than scheduled.”

dr. ratio doesn’t hesitate to take a seat beside you, a little too close for your liking. his arms are crossed and he isn’t quite looking at you. 

there’s an awkward silence. and this time, you don’t want to try to fix it. 

it’s a while before any conversation starts.

“is there something wrong?” dr. ratio starts “from what i remember of our first date, you and i were having natural conversation. i walked you back to your place, and we even slept together. don’t all of those details describe a successful date? but you won’t even reply to my texts, i’m confused.”

you blink at him incredulously. this is the most he’s spoken to you about something other than work. in person, anyway. 

“i don’t know why, but from the moment i saw you, i didn’t feel as if i was myself anymore. my heart started pounding, my face felt warm, and i felt so nauseous i thought i was going to throw up. even when you’re not around, i can’t stop thinking about you. i can’t even focus properly unless it’s about you. i’ve looked in every book, researched for hours, but i don’t know what’s going on. i just want answers.” 

he looks at you earnestly. there isn’t any haughtiness or ego to him.

you purse your lips, eyebrows furrowed as you squint at him in contemplation. 

“here’s what i think, dr. ratio.”

“veritas, please.”

“it’s obvious you haven’t dated before. in fact, it’s so obvious that even a child could spell it out. your date etiquette is awful and your personality is even worse.” you’re venting at this point. there’s no use in having a long, drawn out monologue to someone who won’t listen, but all this pent up stress is getting to you. “clearly, no one’s ever said no to you before. but here’s the thing, dr. ratio, i don’t like you.” 

dr. ratio grimaces. “what do i have to do to get you to like me?”

this guy just won’t take a hint. you’re so angry, you can’t even control yourself. you yank dr. ratio by the collar, staring at him from such a close distance you can feel his sharp breaths brush against your nose. 

“absolutely nothing. you hear me?” 

it takes you a moment to snap out of it. you let go of him instantly, surprised at yourself. oh my god, what did i just do? 

“um… sorry,” you murmur, though you’re not sorry at all. if anything, you’re trying to placate him in case you genuinely did provoke him. “if that’s all, i’m going.”

just as you get up to leave, dr. ratio grabs your wrist and tugs so hard that you almost tumble into him. 

“hey—”

“i don’t quite believe that,” dr. ratio hisses. “you can’t leave without answering my question.”

“i don’t have to answer anything. now let me go—”

“not until—”

“let go of her.”

the two of you turn to see gepard standing between you. unlike his usual calm demeanor, he’s glowering at dr. ratio menacingly. without looking away, he digs through his pocket to fish out his police badge. 

“hands off.”

dr. ratio squints at the item, as if carefully accessing it for any sign of in-authenticity. “you called the cops on me?”

you inwardly let out a sigh of relief. having gepard hang around in the area was a good idea. you’re grateful dr. ratio didn’t notice him until now.

“of course she did,” gepard spits back. “you’ve been bothering her nonstop for weeks now. let her go or i’ll have no other choice but to arrest you.” 

dr. ratio’s finally silent. eerily silent. his face is devoid of any emotion as he simply stares at you. you don’t know what he’s thinking when he finally lets go and walks off without another word. he doesn’t even look back at you. 

the moment he’s out of sight, you deflate, falling onto your knees. “oh my god.”

“are you alright?” gepard immediately reaches out to catch you. “are you hurt?”

“i’m okay,” you say, at least physically. 

you don’t exactly know what just happened, but you’re glad it’s all over now. 

at least, that what you thought. when you get a call from an unknown number the next day, you’re scared that it’s dr. ratio. 

you hold your breath as you answer it, ready to lay it into him for forgetting his promise.

but it’s not him.

“how did you get my phone number?”

“you gave it to me,” phainon answers softly. yeah, right. you’re sure as hell know you didn’t.

“what do you want?”

phainon sniffles through the phone. from what you hear, it sounds like he’s crying. 

“i don’t know. but ever since that night, i’ve been… feeling so different. i can’t control myself anymore and i don’t know what to do.” 

you stand there, a bit overwhelmed.

“please. i don’t know what to do.”

you’d been hearing that a lot recently. when you think about it, if this curse was actually real, then it’s not phainon’s fault that he’s feeling like this. it’s yours. though you’re not responsible for how exactly these men handled these feelings, it’s your fault that they exist. you should’ve never taken this situation so lightly in the first place from the moment you realized something was going on. 

first it was dan heng, then it was dr. ratio, now phainon. they’ve been telling you about are all these new flood of emotions they can’t explain. if you can’t find the witch, you can at least try to learn more about the nature of this curse. 

you quickly grab your things, sending a text to gepard and serval in case something happens. if they don’t hear back from you in two hours, they’ll call the police. 

phainon’s apartment is the same as ever. you shuffle uncomfortably at the front door as you knock. there’s a rustling sound behind the door the instant you make contact. 

when phainon finally opens the door, you don’t have the chance to react. 

he swallows up whatever you were going to say, pulling you into a greedy kiss. his hands gently clasp onto your cheeks, pulling you close. 

you press your hand onto his chest to push him away, but he only moans at your touch. 

“what took you so long? i missed you so much.” 

“phainon—”

he pulls you into a tight embrace, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. it’s a bit ticklish.

“do you know how worried i was when i woke up and saw that you were gone? i thought something had happened to you. i was waiting for you to come back, but you never did.”

you awkwardly pat him on the back. “that’s my bad.” 

“that’s okay, you’re here again, that’s all that matters.” you feel him decompress a bit. “since you’re here, does that mean that you want to actually want to keep seeing me?”

you recall the offer he made you when you first slept together. the look he sent you, wrapped up in his bed sheets. despite being the first to declare that he wasn’t looking to date someone, he’d been the first to fold and change his mind. 

“um, that’s not what i’m here for.”

he pulls away and looks at you, perplexed. “then, what is it?”

“i have a couple questions to ask you.” 

he smiles, pleased. “are you curious about me? ask away, i’ll tell you everything.” 

you stand there, feeling weirdly embarrassed. you’re reminded of when dan heng was at your door, and you can’t help but feel as if the roles have been reversed here. 

“how… how do you feel about me? what do you think of me?”

phainon doesn’t miss a beat to reply. “i…this might be a bit off topic, but i used to be really bad at expressing myself,” he starts. “i used to bottle up my emotions, thinking that genuinely feeling them would only bring about bigger problems. so i just ignored them until they went away. but they didn’t. except, i couldn’t really fix that. i’d spent so long hiding how i felt that suddenly showing them felt too overwhelming.”

he slides his hand down your arm to gently take your hand in his, caressing his thumb over your knuckles. 

“but with you, it felt easy. i mean—the first time i cried in three years was when i realized that you were gone. when it comes to you, i feel like i could freely express how i felt and properly process things without having to fear for blowing things out of proportion. you… you have a calming effect, you know?”

you furrow your brows. “when did it start?”

he pauses for a second, thinking. “i don’t know. when you first stepped into my apartment? when i first kissed you and realized i could finally breathe? i don’t know. why don’t you want to come inside?”

after all that you went through? hell no. 

it’s like he can tell what you’re thinking just from looking at your face. “please? i miss you. we don’t even have to do anything.”

you can tell that being around phainon any longer won’t get you anywhere. but it seems as if you had gotten something out of this conversation. phainon’s infatuation with you stems from a desire for some kind of safety net to rely on, and you don’t think you’re equipped with the right emotional tools to handle that. besides, you don’t know when phainon might snap, so you need to be out of here quick. 

“no, i can’t. i have errands to run. i was just stopping by,” you lie. “...do you remember what you said to me that night?” 

“we can just fuck each other, i’m fine with that. as long as you don’t see other men. i feel like i would hate that. i think i’d get angry enough to kill someone.” just reminiscing on his words brought a shudder to your spine. 

“did you really mean it?”

phainon stares at you for a moment, before breaking into an apologetic smile. “no, i didn’t. i’m sorry i scared you, i got so wrapped up in my emotions i didn’t even realize what i was saying.” 

you nod. you don’t know if you believe it yet, but you’ll have all the time in the world to think about it once you’re gone.

“okay. i’ll be going now. it was nice seeing you.”

“um, wait!” 

you barely pause in your steps. 

“will you come by again?”

this time you’re the one offering an apologetic smile. “we’ll see.”

with that, you take your leave. this time, phainon doesn’t stop you. 

around this time of day, gepard’s still at work. he said there’d been a robbery nearby, and he wouldn’t get back until dark. so you’ll have the place to yourself. 

by the time you’re close, it’s raining. but underneath the shingles, where it’s dry, rests a velvet box and a note on your doorstep. 

i heard you were looking for a witch?

on the back is a location and a name. 

the location brings you to a somewhat high-end restaurant. it looks too fancy to be anything you could’ve ever ate at with your current paycheck. 

inside the box was a dress (there wasn’t even a tag, so you can’t even return it). you took a moment to appraise it before deciding to wear it. you might not want to, but if this person has something you want, you shouldn’t try to get on his bad side. 

aventurine smirks when you take your seat across from him. it’s a candlelit dinner, a stark contrast to the clubbing scene where you first met. 

it seems as if aventurine had already ordered for the both of you. your stomach’s in knots, so you don’t even bother to look at the food while aventurine takes it upon himself to dig in. 

“it’s not drugged, you know. i’m not that much of an asshole,” he says in between bites. “though, if that’s your thing, then i can pull some strings.”

you scowl in disgust. “i’m not here to eat. i’m here to talk about the witch.” 

then, as if it couldn’t get worse, aventurine laughs. he laughs so hard he almost chokes on his food. it takes a while before he stops coughing and gasping for air, taking a napkin to wipe his mouth politely as if nothing every happened.

“oh, the witch? she’s out of town.”

you look at him incredulously. “you’ve got to be kidding me.”

he shrugs, nonchalant. “can’t say i am.”

“you’re lying.”

“no, i’m not. think about it, you haven’t told anyone about her, have you. sure, they know you’ve become some kind of stalker-magnet, but that’s it.” 

“so you know how my curse works?” you try to pry.

“no, not really. all i know is that you have this weird magical pull to you. she’s not really one to explain herself.”

“you know her?”

aventurine reacts dismissively. “you could say that, sure.”

“”but you don’t know where she is.”

“nope. like i said: doesn’t explain herself.”

“when is she coming back?”

“didn’t i just tell you?”

you lean closer, now fully engaged in the conversation. “then, are you under the same curse?”  

aventurine leans closer as well, clasping his hands together and using it as his own personal chinrest. he’s clearly smug, as if he’s just showed off his trump card but hasn’t yet used it to its full potential. 

“hmm, i think i’ll let you figure that out. but i’ll say this: i actually like you. a lot. so let’s just keep seeing each other like this, okay? i’ll answer any questions you have, and i’ll even let you know when the witch comes back. do we have a deal?”

you glare at him warily. you really don’t want to see him, but he’s the closest thing you have to finally getting rid of this curse. “meet each other like what?”

he taps his chin. “dinner once a week, how about that?”

“every other week.”

aventurine huffs and crosses his arms. “fine, every other week. but i get the feeling that soon enough you’ll be begging to see me everyday,” he replies with a wink.

you don’t dignify that with a response. instead, you finally pick up a fork and eat. 

the food’s good.  

living gepard has been peaceful. he’s quiet, clean, and thoughtful. however, you never would’ve guessed that he was a night owl. through the ungodly hours of the night, you can hear him shuffling around. whenever you actually get out of bed to ask him what’s up, he answers dismissively before going back to whatever he was doing. 

one day, you wake up from one of your nightmares again, the witch’s words plaguing you. you feel antsy and oddly vulnerable, so you opt to leave your room in hopes of finding gepard working out in the living room or something (odd, i know, but he’s always been extremely disciplined). 

just as you’re heading to the living room, you hear something. it’s as faint as it is unusual. at first, you think it’s a ghost. but upon further inspection, it’s gepard. 

curious, you follow the noise. it’s coming from gepard’s room. 

you’re only about five seconds away from his door when you hear it. 

the soft whisper of your name. 

there’s a soft glow of light coming from behind gepard’s door. it’s left ajar just enough that you can see the tiniest glimpse inside just from where you’re standing. 

and when you look in, you’re horrified. 

gepard’s muttering your name under his breath. in his fist is a pair of panties that you’d only just tossed into the laundry basket hours ago, wrapped around his erect cock as he pumps himself. 

his face is fully flushed, his eyes closed in concentration as he continuously pleasures himself to the thought of you. 

you’re absolutely paralyzed in shock. you’d practically known gepard since high school, he was like a big brother to you. the same guy who was so focused on protecting the people that he never even considered dating anyone. 

“i love you so much,” he murmurs under his breath with a small groan. the crotch area of your panties is stretched over the head of his cock, a prominent wet spot soaking through. if you hadn’t known, you would’ve just figured it was your regular discharge. 

you cover your mouth in horror. 

suddenly, his pace quickens. with another call of your name, he finally cums. 

and when he opens his eyes, he’s staring right back at you. 

[lianmendes]

⋆˙⟡ bob reynolds/sentry/void fic recs ⋆˙⟡

welcome to my directory of all the bob reynolds stories I love! all writing credit belongs to each individual writer, and if you resonate with any story, make sure to show that author some love by commenting, reblogging, or both! reader discretion is advised, so be sure to check the warnings. this list will be updated regularly. updated: 7/21/2025

ʚɞ literally their entire masterlist is a gold mine - @em1i2a3

ʚɞ dear april pt 2- @buckysfaveplum

as much as bob found a makeshift family among new york’s newest heroes, he couldn’t help but remember the one person who had always been his hero.

ʚɞ miss possessive - @shortnspidey

It’s clear to anyone watching that you and Bob like each other. But whether it’s fear of rejection or comfort in the familiar will-they-won’t-they tension, neither of you dares to make the first move. Then comes the night of the charity gala, pushing both of you to your limits. Will it finally be the moment one of you breaks the stalemate, or will you keep pretending not to notice what’s right in front of you?

ʚɞ bed chem (pt 2 to miss possessive) - @shortnspidey

Thanks to your ever-so-helpful teammates, the charity Gala is long forgotten. Now, all you and Bob can think about is getting back to the tower, to finish what you started, with every intention of making up for lost time… over and over again.

ʚɞ bob's super strength drabble - @lovebugism

the one where bob reynolds has a way of ruining everything but you

ʚɞ pushing daisies - @noncrush

Bob can't touch you. You try to make it work with him anyway.

ʚɞ my person - @scarletmika

Neither you nor Bob ever dared to fully cross the line of friendship or more, walking it like a tightrope instead. All it takes is one undercover mission for that tightrope to snap.

ʚɞ the color of sin - @webslinger-holland

This is Bob’s first field mission, tasked with going undercover alongside you at a high-profile party. The objective is simple: blend in, retrieve intel, and stay invisible. But when the mission forces you into close quarters—and even closer excuses—the lines between cover and craving blur fast.

ʚɞ a real page-turner - @swordgrace

keep reading, don't let me distract you.

ʚɞ bob reynolds relationship headcanons - @caitlinsnicket

ʚɞ rushed farewell- @munsonify

bob bids you an unexpected goodbye before you head off on a weekend long mission

ʚɞ kiss me forever - @scarletmika

Bob never expected to fall in love with a Goddess, or have her fall in love with him, too. But even when you're capable of showing him the entire galaxy, you're the only thing he wants to be looking at.

ʚɞ hostage - @stargrillzz

He confesses how much he wants to keep you close — maybe too close — and for the first time, he lets himself be vulnerable.

ʚɞ the quiet things that remain - @brookghaib-blog

Bob and Y/N used to be the best of friends, he went to Malaysia to be better, only to leave her just with a ghost in the past and unresponded messages and calls. And return, but never to her. Never to the love she didn't had the courage to announce.

ʚɞ 'cause it feels like cpr - @nghtwngs

ʚɞ golden boy - @athenaluthor

Riding your Golden Boy. Somewhere along the lines, Sentry takes over and has his way with his girl.

ʚɞ the complete knock pt 2 - @sunsburns

you’re only here to try and understand why bucky’s suddenly gone off the rails and joined a new team, leaving you, sam and joaquín in radio silence. the last thing you expected was to find comfort in a stranger. a kind stranger named bob.

ʚɞ only one - @homiesexuallaj

jealous bob

ʚɞ nightmares - @writingonwings

Bob had been exceptionally good at keeping his nightmares on the down-low. But a particularly bad night can throw the entire tower into chaos.

ʚɞ oh, scaling all your shadows - @swordgrace

after being pulled back from one of the latest missions to recuperate, you take advantage of the time alone with your boyfriend.

ʚɞ truth be told - @thereoncewasagirlnamedjane

Four times Bob lets his true feelings for you go unaddressed, and the one time he doesn’t.

ʚɞ home is where the heart is - @ilovemilestellersmoustache

Wanting to feel more included Bob decides to help on a mission but in efforts to protect you he injures himself leaving him with amnesia. Your boyfriend not remembering isn’t the biggest problem because he’s always going to find you again, even in a hundred lifetimes.

ʚɞ when you don't know why Bob doesn't like you, but a relapse forces you to find out. - @mahmahmahmysharona

ʚɞ a favor - @https-bobreynolds

bob has been having trouble getting sleep, so he asks his crush teammate for a favor.

ʚɞ darkness - @callsign-swan

When Bob wakes up, he's not Bob. He's a mass of darkness with terrifying power. But he's not doing anything. Just laying there. And only you can help.

ʚɞ a chemical reaction - @abbysbenchpr

bob gets a little in his head sometimes when it comes to you.

ʚɞ seasons - @abbysbenchpr

three times you and bob are almost walked in on and the one time you are

ʚɞ sweet treats and side effects - @houseofaegon

When Yelena kicks off her next move in the Thunderbolts prank war with a bag of questionable aphrodisiac chocolates, you agree to help her “prank” Bucky Barnes into a very inconvenient eight-hour erection. Unfortunately, Bob Reynolds gets there first.

ʚɞ going over easy - @angel-eyes05

two of the same. after breaking through inital barriers, you and the sentry appear to be inseperable, a pull almost forcing you two to each other. the strength of that pull has been getting pretty testy recently, and the two of you begin to wonder who you are to the other.

ʚɞ yawn - @delopsia

As the storm rages on, you wrap yourselves in each other.

ʚɞ honey & glass masterlist - @pagesfromthevoid

ʚɞ touch starved bob drabble - @eyelessfaces

ʚɞ admiration - @ang3ltine

Being recruited by Valentina as part of the new Avengers (z) team was never part of your list of agendas. Yet here you were, doting on an awkward brunette.

ʚɞ wet cat void drabble - @gay-dorito-dust

ʚɞ home is in your arms - @coffee-with-bucky

There was no place you would rather be than in his arms. 

ʚɞ by the roots - @lewmagoo

ʚɞ destiny or not - @scarletmika

As The Darkhold foretold Wanda Maximoff's destiny, The Book of Vishanti foretold your own. You just didn't know how much of that destiny was intertwined with Bob Reynolds, until the day you met him in the vault.

ʚɞ so high school - @pagesfromthevoid

ʚɞ the good side - @cosmictheo

bob loves you so much that he slowly begins to transform into a house-husband for you. and he loves it.

[waitineedaname]

one thing about me is that i am an absolute freak about collecting canon details, particularly when it comes to characterization. and I was thinking about how people portray bingqiu's sex life in a wide manner of ways, and on one hand I can't really blame people for it, since SQQ is notoriously unreliable as a narrator, especially when it comes to his own sex life. at the same time though, it got me curious: if you look past SQQ's biased perspective, what's actually going on in those sex scenes? what actions are they both taking, what do they seem to enjoy, who's initiating? so, I decided to do a close reading of their sex scenes + any extras alluding to their sex life! I'm putting Maigu Ridge aside because that's a whole other can of worms and I don't think it's fair to either of them to treat it as reflective of their normal sex life, plus Binghe doesn't consider it their first time anyway. but all scenes in the extras are free game!

being me, I of course made a spreadsheet, but it's hideous and only meant for note taking purposes, so I'm not going to share it. but I am going to write up my findings here! under the cut since it gets quite long, but here we go: bingqiu's canon sex life!

the first thing that stands out to me is that SQQ initiates more often than you'd think! even if he claims he's only having sex for Binghe's sake, he's often the one taking the first step. in the Bingge vs. Bingmei extra, he's the one who suggests "exploring together" after Bingge leaves, he's the one who take's Binghe's pants off, he's the one who initiates the first sexual act (attempting to jerk Binghe off). perhaps most famously, in the Deep Dream extra, he initiates pretty much every step of the process -- pulling Binghe down and kissing him, undressing Binghe and pulling his hand to his own chest, flipping Binghe over to straddle him. in the Honeymoon extra, he offers to grant Binghe one request (which leads to the binding cables suggestion)

perhaps connected to SQQ often being the one to initiate, Binghe is extremely cautious about pushing him past his boundaries, especially early on. he's very nervous during the Bingge vs. Bingmei extra because the memory of Maigu Ridge is still weighing on him heavily, and he watches SQQ's expressions very closely to make sure he's feeling good. the one time he's not watching his face in that extra is when he's pushing in, at which point he checks in verbally to make sure SQQ feels okay -- when he looks up and realizes SQQ was lying and is in pain, he's absolutely distraught and immediately tries to pull out. making sure SQQ feels good is extremely important to him, he doesn't want him to be in pain or doing something he doesn't want to do. in the Deep Dream extra, he's holding himself back and behaving cautiously because he doesn't want to push him too far, and it isn't until SQQ explicitly expresses his desire that he says he might not be able to control himself. in the RPF/ass wine chapter, he says he would never force SQQ to have sex, and when SQQ initially turns down his suggestion to try things out from the books, he's disappointed but doesn't push it. again, it says he's very cautious when they have sex. a quote from that extra that I think sums it up nicely is:

Luo Binghe had never made any requests of him when it came to these matters. Because of his lackluster skill, he was always cautious in the extreme, and he even somewhat capitulated to Shen Qingqiu. Now he had finally acquired some instructional materials and found a bit of self-confidence, hoping to try them out together, only for Shen Qingqiu to toss a basin of cold water over his head...

in general, he follows SQQ's instructions closely, and the only times he doesn't really listen to him are when it's the heat of the moment and SQQ is asking him to slow down. his number one rule for sex is that SQQ has to tell him if it hurts, no matter what, which shows how important it is to him that SQQ feels good. once their relationship progresses, it seems like he gets a little more confident about cajoling SQQ into sex -- he complains when SQQ turns him down about the binding cables, and he acts pitiful to convince him to let him lay down a white sheet on their wedding night -- but to me, that just seems like he's gotten better at knowing what SQQ likes. after all, SQQ straight up says in the questionnaire extra that what makes his heart race the most is when Binghe cries and begs for something!

on that note, SQQ is very weak to Binghe's tears and is especially obsessed with how cute he finds him. when Binghe is all bashful while SQQ takes off his pants in the Bingge vs. Bingmei extra, SQQ scratches under his chin because he thinks he's adorable. his heart melts every time Binghe cries, especially when what Binghe is whining for is something romantic. when Binghe says he doesn't want to turn out like Bingge, he cradles Binghe's head to his chest and pets his hair while comforting him

I've joked that SQQ needs to embrace the dom/sub potential in their relationship, but after doing this close reading, it's clear to me that he's already gentle domming Binghe and doesn't realize it. he frequently points out Binghe's obedience as one of his good traits, he likes it when Binghe cries and begs, his idea of how to best please Binghe is to praise him for improving. Binghe, similarly, really enjoys being the sub to SQQ's dom. he follows SQQ's instructions closely when he's giving him directions, he says what makes his heart race the most is when SQQ pats his head/gives him instructions/scolds him/hits him, when he's told about S&M he bashfully says he'd enjoy anything SQQ did to him. clearly, this is a dynamic they both enjoy, they just haven't put words to it

I'd say they need to be taught about the idea of a service top/dom bottom, but even that doesn't capture the full picture because those top/bottom roles aren't set in stone! we all know about Binghe offering to bottom and SQQ turning him down, but on my close reread, it became more clear to me that SQQ is not entirely opposed to the idea -- he just didn't want their first real time to involve him topping. he's moved by the suggestion because he knows it's motivated by Binghe's desire to not hurt him, and he notes that there will be other opportunities in the future, meaning he's not completely ruling the idea out! in the Questionnaire extra, when SQH asks how they decided who tops, SQQ genuinely has to think about it for a second and then says it just kind of happened and it was because Binghe looked pitiful. so he could definitely be persuaded to top! Binghe probably just needs to exploit those tears, and SQQ will fold immediately lol

those are the broad themes in their sex scenes, but here's a few more assorted details about their habits in sex in case anyone wants to throw these in their fics for flavor:

Binghe loves having his mouth on SQQ <3 yes that means (bad) kissing, but also lots of licking and biting. he licks his throat, bites his nipples, kisses and bites his earlobes, bites his shoulder, kisses his eyelashes and cheeks. he wants his mouth on whatever inch of skin he can get to lol

SQQ also really likes kissing him! he complains that Binghe doesn't know how to kiss, but frequently he kisses all over Binghe's face -- he kisses away his tears on his eyes and cheeks, and he kisses all over Binghe's face when he's overwhelmed in the Wedding extra. actually, I want to include that quote because SQQ is never allowed to act like he doesn't enjoy sex with his husband ever again:

Their limbs were intertwined, both of them sticky with hot sweat. Luo Binghe's waist and back shone with moisture, and Shen Qingqiu nearly couldn't hold on with his legs alone, so he hooked his arms around Luo Binghe's neck to stop himself from sliding down. This drew them even closer, until the space between them was practically nonexistent, and he left a smattering of passionate kisses on Luo Binghe's face in encouragement.

as seen in this quote and other scenes, when SQQ is overwhelmed his impulse is to cling to Binghe, usually by clinging to him with all his limbs like a koala but sometimes by just grabbing his arm or grabbing his hair. he complains when Binghe says he wants to be deeper in the ass wine chapter, but clearly he also wants to be as close as possible!

despite SQQ's requests to do it from behind, they both prefer face to face (SQQ asks to turn around in the ass wine chapter) and their favorite position seems to be SQQ straddling Binghe's lap. in fact, that's often the position SQQ puts himself in when taking charge! when Binghe tries to pull out in the Bingge vs. Bingmei extra, SQQ flips them over and sits on him, which is also the position they end up in when he's taking the lead in the Deep Dream extra. they also end up like this in the Wedding extra!

this seems to be the position that's the most pleasurable for SQQ, since that's the point when he starts feeling really good in the Bingge vs. Bingmei extra and in the Wedding extra. their sex does frequently hurt at first due to Binghe's size, but in these two scenes he ends up described as "drunk on lust" and crying out in pleasure, so he's definitely enjoying himself more than he lets on! he's also feeling really good in the ass wine extra.

Binghe does, in fact, know what lube and prep is. he sticks his fingers in SQQ's mouth in the Wedding extra to lube them up, which isn't the most effective method, but in the Bingge vs. Bingmei extra, his fingers are mysteriously lubed up when he starts fingering SQQ. this wasn't something SQQ thought of! Binghe seems to know more about safe sex practices than SQQ lol

Binghe is not the only one crying during sex. while his tears are usually either crocodile tears or due to intense emotions, SQQ is also often crying due to pain or being overwhelmed

SQQ often tries to bite back any noises, and Binghe extremely pleased whenever he gets SQQ to the point of being actually vocal

those are all my relevant notes! do with this knowledge as you will. obviously people can do whatever the hell they like, but if you're like me and a freak about getting canon details as accurate as possible, this is the closest summary I could make of what bingqiu's sex life is like, separated from SQQ's biased narration!

[cheftsunoda]

norbi’s intuition — po5

pregnancy blurbs

pato o’ward x !wife reader

(a/n) : ok so no one requested this or asked for it but i had a dream and i just know pato would be the best dad and yes so hush and enjoy

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norbi knows!

You’d barely been awake ten minutes when the nausea hit. No warning, no reason, just a wave of dizziness followed by the unmistakable sprint to the bathroom.

It’s been like this for a few days now—waking up sluggish, struggling to eat, your body aching in odd ways. At first, you chalked it up to post travel fatigue, maybe even just the come down from the high of the honeymoon. You and Pato had spent two uninterrupted weeks in bliss, hopping between quiet beaches and noisy street markets, finally alone after months of wedding chaos. But now he was back to work, and you were… well, not quite yourself.

You don’t tell him how off you’ve been feeling. He’s been glowing with happiness lately—eyes crinkled at the corners every time he looks at you, that ridiculous newlywed grin still firmly planted on his face. You didn’t want to burden him. Maybe it was just something hormonal, or you needed more sleep. You didn’t know.

But Elba knows. Or at least, she senses something.

She shows up at your door on a warm Wednesday morning with a box of pastries, her usual sunshine energy, and Norbi trotting behind her like he owns the place. You’d always gotten along with her, even before you and Pato were married, but now that she was officially your sister, things felt… deeper. Like she was yours just as much as he was.

“Let me take care of you today, hermana,” she says, already kicking her shoes off and heading to the kitchen. “You look pale.”

You open your mouth to protest but Norbi barrels into your legs with the force of a small, fluffy linebacker. “Norbi!” Elba scolds, laughing, but the corgi is relentless.

He keeps following you around the living room, nudging at your side, headbutting your stomach every time you try to sit down. It’s cute the first time. The second time, you laugh and scratch behind his ears. By the fourth time, you’re frowning.

“Elba,” you murmur, half laughing. “What is he doing?”

She glances over from where she’s chopping strawberries. “Hmm?”

“Norbi keeps… headbutting me. Like—my stomach.”

Elba straightens, a knowing look beginning to form in her eyes. “Dogs are weird like that. Super intuitive.”

You blink. Your hand falls absentmindedly to your stomach. Norbi nudges again, tail wagging, gaze fixed on you like he knows something you don’t.

The pieces slide into place so slowly you can almost hear the click. Your heart thuds, then quickens, a little spark of fear and wonder blooming all at once.

“Elba…”

She’s already smiling.

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taking the test!

“Elba…” you whisper again, but it’s swallowed by the strange quiet that settles between the two of you. Norbi sits down at your feet, eyes still fixed on you.

Your sister-in-law walks over, wiping her hands on a tea towel. She doesn’t say anything at first—just cups your face in her hands gently, the way she’s always done when she knows you’re overwhelmed. There’s no teasing in her voice when she says, “Do you want me to go grab a test?”

You nod before your brain can catch up. Your mouth is dry. Your hands are trembling. The idea has cracked open a door in your mind and now it won’t close. Suddenly it’s not just Norbi’s weird behavior or your nausea. It’s the way you cried during a jewelry ad two nights ago. The headaches. The smell of coffee making you gag. The timing.

“Elba—wait—what if it’s nothing?”

“Then it’s nothing,” she says easily. “But if it’s something… I’m not letting you go through this alone, okay?”

And just like that, she grabs her keys, clips Norbi’s leash back on, and presses a kiss to the top of your head before heading out the door. You stand there frozen, a hand on your stomach.

She’s gone for less than an hour.

When she returns, it’s with a pharmacy bag and a bottle of electrolyte water and a croissant because, in her words, “if you’re about to pee on a stick, you need something comforting to hold after.” She also casually mentions she called and made a doctor’s appointment for tomorrow morning—“just in case, hermana.”

You stare at her, caught somewhere between love and panic.

“I’m your sister now, not your child,” you mumble, teasing.

“I can multitask,” she grins.

The test is on the bathroom counter.

You sit on the closed toilet lid, knees bouncing, the house silent except for Norbi’s little tap-dancing paws against the tile. Elba waits outside, giving you space but close enough to be there if you need her.

And then…

Two lines.

Clear as day.

Your breath catches. Your vision goes a little blurry. For a full minute, you can’t move—can’t think. The test shakes slightly in your hands as you open the door.

“Elba?” you whisper, voice tight and uneven.

She turns around instantly, and the look on your face must be all she needs to see. She gasps before you even speak.

“Oh my God.”

You nod, eyes wide, hand over your mouth.

She doesn’t scream—but she does rush forward and wrap her arms around you so tight you can barely breathe. “You’re gonna be a mom,” she whispers, voice cracking. “Hermana… oh my God. Pato’s gonna—he’s gonna lose his mind.”

You start to laugh, somewhere between a sob and a gasp of relief. And Norbi, sweet and small, just curls around your legs with a satisfied little huff like finally, someone listened to him.

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doctors visits & plans to tell pato!

You don’t sleep much that night.

Elba insists on staying over—even brings you one of Pato’s oversized hoodies from the laundry basket when she notices how tightly you’re clinging to his pillow. She pulls the blanket over the two of you on the couch, Norbi snoring softly at your feet, and holds your hand until your brain finally lets you rest.

The next morning, it’s raining lightly. Not enough to be gloomy—just that soft, silvery drizzle that makes the world feel hushed and intimate. Elba drives while you sit in the passenger seat, hands folded over your stomach like some part of you already knows. You don’t talk much during the drive—just exchange small smiles, nervous glances, and quiet little affirmations.

“You’re okay.”

“You’re not dreaming.”

“I’ve got you.”

The clinic is quiet and warm, and the nurse who checks you in gives you the softest smile when she sees your last name.

“Mrs. O’Ward?” she says, and you blink like you forgot it was yours now. Elba squeezes your arm gently.

The tests confirm it.

You’re pregnant.

Everything feels louder and softer all at once—your heartbeat, your breathing, the doctor’s voice as she goes over timelines and healthy habits and appointments. Elba’s hand is on your knee the entire time, grounding you. She doesn’t cry until you both get back to the car, and even then it’s the quiet kind of tears—the ones that slip out when your heart’s just too full.

You rest your forehead against hers for a second, giggling tearfully. “I’m pregnant.”

“I know, hermana. You’re gonna be the best mama. And Pato—Pato’s gonna cry like a baby. We need a plan.”

You go back to the house in full planning mode, barefoot in the kitchen while Elba paces with Norbi trailing behind her like a fuzzy assistant. She’s throwing out wild ideas—balloons, skywriting, a mariachi band—while you make tea and try to calm your heartbeat.

“No, but imagine if we had a tiny racing suit made with ‘Baby O’Ward’ embroidered on the back?” she gasps.

“Elba,” you laugh, “he’s going to sob.”

“Exactly. We’re not aiming for calm. We’re aiming for emotional devastation.”

She gets deadly serious and pulls out her phone, muttering something about Etsy rush orders and baby helmets. But in the end, the two of you settle on something simple and perfect.

A small box. Inside, a tiny pair of racing gloves—the same orange and black as Pato’s—and a onesie that reads Future Pit Crew.

You tuck the positive test beneath the onesie.

And on top? A tiny note in your handwriting that simply says—

Coming March 2026. I hope they have your smile.

Elba helps you wrap it, tucks it under her arm, and grins at you like she’s bursting with your secret.

“Tonight?” she asks.

You nod.

“Tonight,” you whisper.

—

He gets home just after ten, smelling like the garage—oil and sunshine and that earthy scent that always clings to him after a day at the track. His hair’s a little messy, his smile tired but real the second he sees you curled up on the couch.

“Mi amor,” he breathes, already walking toward you. “You didn’t have to wait up—”

“I wanted to,” you interrupt, heart thudding. “Also… someone left you a gift.”

Pato stops mid-step, eyebrows furrowed, and only then notices the small, neatly wrapped box on the coffee table. “What’s this?”

Elba appears in the hallway, trying and failing to act casual, Norbi in her arms like an accessory. “Oh, I’m just here for emotional support. Proceed.”

You roll your eyes fondly and pat the spot beside you. “Open it.”

Pato raises an eyebrow at you but obeys, kneeling in front of the couch instead of sitting—always dramatic, your husband. His fingers are careful as he peels the paper back, and your stomach flips when he lifts the lid.

First, the gloves. He blinks, confused. Then, the onesie.

You watch the moment it hits him—how he freezes, breath catching in his throat. He lifts the fabric like it’s sacred, hands suddenly trembling. And then he sees the test beneath it.

He doesn’t say anything.

Not at first.

You swear the world slows down as he picks up the test, reading and rereading the lines like they might vanish if he looks away. Then his gaze falls to the little note you left on top of the onesie.

Coming March 2026. I hope they have your smile.

His lips part.

His eyes flood.

And then Pato looks at you like he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

“Are you serious?” His voice is barely a whisper. “You—you’re—?”

You nod, eyes stinging. “We went to the doctor this morning. Elba came with me.”

At that, Elba finally loses it. She makes an unholy squeaking sound from the hallway and wipes at her face with her sleeve. “I told you he’d cry!”

Pato turns back to you, and you don’t even have time to say another word before he’s pulling you into his arms. He buries his face in your shoulder and holds you like he’s scared you’ll disappear, whispering over and over again.

“A baby… we’re gonna have a baby…”

When he finally pulls back, tears streak his cheeks, but his smile is blinding. He presses his forehead to yours, hands still on your waist, eyes locked to yours.

“I love you,” he breathes. “I love you so much. You’re gonna be the best mamá.”

Norbi barks then, scrambling into both of your laps, and Pato lets out a laugh. “Even Norbi knew before I did? Wow.”

You giggle, wiping his tears. “He was trying to tell me. You just weren’t home yet.”

Pato cups your stomach gently, like it’s made of glass. “I’m home now,” he whispers. “And I’m never leaving.”

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telling everyone the big news!

You decide to tell his parents first.

The next morning, you and Pato drive over with a pastry box and your secret wrapped tight in your chest. You’re both buzzing with nerves, hands clasped across the center console. Pato keeps glancing at you like he’s holding in a thousand emotions. Elba offered to come too, but you both agreed this moment needed to be yours.

His mamá opens the door, and before she can even greet you properly, she’s pulling you both inside, muttering about breakfast and your terrible timing.

“You two need to eat more. Marriage doesn’t mean skipping meals—”

“Mamá,” Pato cuts in, and you can hear the wobble in his voice already.

She stops mid-sentence and stares at him, eyes narrowing. “What?”

Pato smiles and looks at you. You nod once, the tiniest signal.

He pulls the same little box out of his jacket—the one you gave him just the night before. She takes it, eyes flicking between you both in confusion, but she opens it without question.

You don’t know what you expected—shock, maybe. A soft gasp. But instead, her hand flies to her mouth, and her eyes go wide with disbelief, tears springing instantly to the surface.

“No… no.”

She looks up, and Pato just nods.

“You’re going to be abuelos,” you whisper.

Pato’s dad, standing behind her, grabs the box to see for himself, and then they’re both exclaiming and hugging and crying and Pato is crying and you’re laughing and somewhere in the chaos, his mamá puts her hands on your belly and whispers a blessing, tears on her cheeks.

“Elba knew, didn’t she?” she mutters.

“She practically knew before I did,” you laugh.

They insist you stay for breakfast, and Pato doesn’t stop smiling once—not even when he nearly burns the toast trying to make you decaf coffee. His dad immediately starts suggesting names. You’ve never felt more loved.

—

The next day, you’re at the garage.

It’s supposed to be a casual visit—team lunch, a few sponsor meetings. Nolan and Christian are already poking fun at Pato the second he walks in with his dopey grin.

“You look like you haven’t stopped smiling in twenty-four hours,” Nolan snickers. “What happened, she let you win an argument for once?”

“Is he glowing?” Christian mutters. “Why is he glowing?”

You roll your eyes, but Pato’s too giddy to be offended. “Actually,” he says, slipping an arm around your waist, “we do have something to tell you guys.”

That gets their attention.

You pull a small envelope out of your tote bag and hand it to them.

Nolan rips it open dramatically, like it’s a game. Inside is a photo from the ultrasound the doctor gave you, with the words Baby O’Ward. March 2026. written underneath.

He freezes.

Christian gasps.

And then—absolute chaos.

“SHUT UP.” Nolan shrieks, nearly dropping the photo. “ARE YOU—YOU’RE—YOU’RE HAVING A BABY?!”

Pato nods proudly, already getting hugged and jostled. Christian just stands there in stunned silence, eyes a little glassy, before he comes over and hugs you so gently like you might break.

“Congrats,” he murmurs. “You’re going to be such good parents.”

Meanwhile Nolan is on the floor fake-crying. “I knew something was up! You were acting all pale and mysterious! My instincts were right!”

“You thought she was hungover from the beach,” Christian deadpans.

“Whatever! I still called it!”

You and Pato laugh, and Nolan jumps to his feet and grabs both your hands.

“Can I be the cool uncle? Like—‘get them their first go-kart’ kind of uncle? Please. I need this.”

Pato looks at you. You grin. “Only if you don’t try to teach our child to drift in a golf cart.”

“No promises,” Nolan says, eyes gleaming.

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morning sickness!

The morning sickness doesn’t always wait for morning.

Sometimes it’s 3 a.m., and you’re halfway through what should be a peaceful sleep when your body decides to revolt again. Other times, like today, it starts before your feet even touch the ground.

You try to sneak out of bed quietly, hoping not to wake him, but the second the bathroom light flicks on, you hear movement behind you.

“Mi amor…?” Pato’s voice is groggy, thick with sleep, but concerned.

“I’m okay,” you call out weakly, though you’re definitely not. You barely make it to the toilet before the wave of nausea hits again.

Pato appears in the doorway moments later, hair mussed, eyes still adjusting to the light, shirt hanging off his shoulder. He doesn’t ask questions—just kneels beside you and rubs soft circles into your back with one hand while holding your hair back with the other.

“You’ve got to stop treating me like a sick puppy,” you mumble between breaths, trying to laugh, trying not to cry.

“You’re not a sick puppy,” he whispers. “You’re a warrior. But even warriors need someone to hold their hair sometimes.”

You groan, leaning into him. “I look disgusting.”

He kisses your temple. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen dry heaving into a toilet.”

“Wow. So romantic.”

You feel his smile against your skin.

When the worst of it passes, he helps you up slowly, his hands gentle under your arms, like you might collapse. He brushes your hair away from your face and grabs a cool washcloth, pressing it to your forehead.

“Come back to bed,” he murmurs. “I’ll get you a ginger candy and that tea you like.”

“Did you just offer me ginger candy?” you ask dramatically. “Who even are you?”

“I Googled stuff,” he shrugs, leading you back to bed. “It said peppermint gum, ginger, and small meals. Also, apparently, if I rub your feet it helps.”

You blink at him, already curled back under the blanket. “You read pregnancy forums?”

“I read so many pregnancy forums,” he says, already pulling on a hoodie and shuffling toward the kitchen. “I’m basically a midwife at this point.”

You laugh softly and burrow deeper into the pillows.

Fifteen minutes later, he returns with a steaming mug of your favorite tea, two saltine crackers, and the ginger candy you always pretend to hate but secretly tolerate.

He climbs in beside you, wrapping you in his arms like he’s trying to become your entire blanket. “You okay?” he murmurs against your shoulder.

You nod.

“Even if this sucks,” you whisper, “I’m still really happy.”

He places his hand low on your stomach, thumb brushing there like a quiet promise. “Me too.”

And when you drift back to sleep, nestled against his chest, you swear—just for a moment—that you can already feel the tiniest flutter of something growing inside you.

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seeing the baby for the first time!

You hadn’t thought you’d be nervous.

You’d already confirmed everything—blood tests, little symptoms piling up one by one. Morning sickness had made it hard to forget, and Pato’s been doting on you like a man possessed: cooking, reading articles, rubbing your back when you fall asleep during the middle of a movie.

But today is different.

Today, you’re going to see the baby.

The waiting room is quiet, cool, the kind of sterile comfort that makes your palms sweat. Pato’s knee bounces a little beside you, his fingers laced with yours. He hasn’t stopped smiling all morning, but now his grin is softer, a little quieter. The air between you is thick with anticipation.

“You okay?” you whisper, looking up at him.

He nods, swallowing. “Yeah. I just… I didn’t think I’d be this nervous.”

You squeeze his hand. “Same.”

When your name is called, he jumps up like it’s a race start. You laugh and follow him in.

The room is dim, the monitor flickering to life beside you. The gel is cold on your stomach, and Pato winces in sympathy even though you barely flinch. His chair is pulled as close as possible to the table, one hand still holding yours, the other resting protectively on your leg.

And then—

There it is.

Your baby.

Small, shadowy, perfect.

You blink, stunned, as the shape comes into view. The little curve of a back, the outline of a head, tiny flutters that the technician labels as movement.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until Pato reaches up and brushes your cheek with his thumb.

“Oh my God,” he whispers. “That’s our baby. That’s ours.”

And then—

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

The sound crackles through the speakers, strong and rhythmic. The heartbeat.

Pato gasps.

He covers his mouth with one hand, completely still, as though the sound knocked the air out of him. His eyes are wide and wet and locked on the screen like he never wants to look away.

“That’s their heart?” he whispers.

You nod, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “Yeah.”

And then—quietly, reverently—he leans down and kisses your stomach.

“Hola, mi corazoncito,” he murmurs. “I hear you.”

You can’t hold back the tears then. Neither can he.

The tech finishes up, handing you a black-and-white photo—grainy and blurry and absolutely perfect. Pato takes it with both hands like it’s made of gold.

The second you’re back in the car, he holds it up to the light.

“They have a head,” he says, completely awestruck. “Like, a real baby head.”

You laugh through your tears. “Yeah. They’re real.”

He looks at you then, his eyes soft, overwhelmed with a love too big for words.

“So are you.”

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pato’s new obsession!

You’re laying on the couch, legs stretched out and a cozy blanket thrown over you, the evening sun pouring in through the windows. The house smells faintly of roasted garlic—Pato insisted on making dinner tonight, which means there’s a bit of a mess in the kitchen and approximately four types of pasta on the stove for “options.”

Your belly, now unmistakably round, is resting gently under your hands. You’ve gotten used to the weight of it—the way your body has shifted, softened, made room for something more. It still stuns you sometimes, how real it all feels now.

And Pato?

He hasn’t stopped staring at you for fifteen minutes.

“You know,” you mumble, not looking up from your phone, “you’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” he asks, eyes wide and completely fake with innocence.

“Staring like I’m some kind of miracle.”

“You are some kind of miracle.”

You roll your eyes, cheeks heating. “You saw me throw up into a grocery bag last week.”

“And you still looked hot.”

You laugh, but it dissolves into a sigh when he kneels beside the couch and gently pulls back the blanket to reveal your bump. He leans in like he’s greeting royalty, one hand cradling your stomach as if it might float away if he’s not careful.

“Hola, mi vida,” he murmurs softly, voice low and reverent. “You’re getting so big. You’re making mamá so tired.”

You run your fingers through his hair, heart aching in the best way.

Pato presses a kiss just above your belly button, then another. And another.

“You know they kick when you talk,” you whisper.

He lights up. “Yeah?”

“Mhm. They know your voice.”

As if on cue, a tiny thump presses outward against his palm.

Pato gasps, eyes wide. “Did you feel that?! Did you feel that?!”

You nod, laughing. “They’ve been doing it all day.”

He presses his cheek against your stomach like he never wants to move. “You’re already fast. I knew you were gonna be a driver,” he whispers, then looks up at you. “What if they have your laugh?”

“What if they have your chaos?” you counter.

His whole face softens. “Then we’re in trouble.”

You giggle and brush his hair back, and he just rests there, curled around your bump like it’s his whole world. Which, honestly, it kind of is.

Later that night, you wake up to find him asleep beside you, arm draped protectively over your stomach, his hand resting exactly where the baby last kicked. You reach down, gently tracing the curve of his fingers over your belly.

“Hey,” you whisper softly to the baby, smiling in the dark. “He loves you so much already.”

And you swear you feel them kick in response—like they know.

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gender reveal!

The sun is just starting to dip below the horizon when you arrive.

Elba had insisted on planning the gender reveal herself — “You two deserve magic, not stress,” she’d said, waving off every offer to help. She told you only two things: dress comfortably, and don’t be late.

So now, hand-in-hand with Pato, you step into her backyard, expecting maybe a few balloons, something Pinterest-worthy but casual.

Instead, you’re greeted by something entirely Elba — soft fairy lights strung between trees, woven lanterns glowing amber in the branches, and a simple white sheet hung up at the edge of the garden like a projection screen. There’s a blanket laid out for the three of you, cushions and fuzzy throws and a thermos of hot cocoa already waiting.

Norbi runs out to greet you first, naturally, tail wagging furiously.

Then Elba appears, radiant and grinning, a little remote in her hand.

“Okay,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and bouncing on her toes. “You two sit. Don’t talk. Don’t peek. Just trust me.”

You and Pato glance at each other, already teary, already holding hands too tight.

You settle onto the blanket, and he wraps his arm around your shoulders. Your other hand rests instinctively on your bump, where the baby is doing a slow roll inside you, almost like they know.

Elba dims the lights, and a soft instrumental track starts playing through the little speaker beside you — something calm and sweet, piano and strings. Then, the projection begins.

It’s a short video. Elba must’ve stitched it together herself.

It opens with a clip of your wedding—your first dance, slow and swaying. Then a photo of the ultrasound. Pato holding your bump while you both laugh in the kitchen. A clip of Norbi barking at your stomach like a tiny guard dog. And then…

The screen fades to white.

Words appear in soft script:

“We can’t wait to meet you…”

And then, with a gentle burst of color blooming across the screen—

pink.

Soft and slow, like a sunset washing over the world.

“It’s a girl.”

You don’t even realize you’re crying until Pato’s wiping your cheeks with his thumbs. He’s crying too, eyes wide and full of light and awe.

“We’re having a daughter,” he whispers, stunned. “You’re having our little girl.”

You throw your arms around him, laughing and crying at the same time, and he holds you like he’s never letting go. His hand finds your bump again, protective and tender, and he whispers something in Spanish so quietly it’s just between the three of you.

Elba tiptoes over with tissues, already crying, too.

“I didn’t want it to be too loud or big,” she says softly, kneeling beside you. “I just wanted her to feel loved before she even gets here.”

You reach out and pull her into the hug. “She does. She already does.”

The three of you sit there until the stars come out—Pato talking to your bump in whispers, Elba stroking your hair, and Norbi curled protectively at your feet, guarding the little girl none of you can wait to meet.

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picking names!

The house is quiet.

The kind of stillness that only comes late at night, when the world feels like it’s holding its breath. You’re curled up in bed, legs tangled with Pato’s under the blanket, your head resting on his chest while his fingers trace lazy circles on your back.

It’s been a few hours since the gender reveal, but neither of you can sleep.

Every few minutes, Pato whispers something—“She’s really in there,” or “I still can’t believe it,”—and each time, you smile against his skin.

“You’re really stuck with three O’Ward girls now,” you mumble, half-laughing.

“I’m the luckiest man alive,” he says without missing a beat, kissing your forehead. “My whole heart is in this bed.”

You’re quiet for a long time after that. Just breathing together.

And then—

“Have you… thought of names?” you ask softly, eyes still closed.

He exhales slowly, thoughtful. “A few. But I wanted to wait. I wanted to see her. Know her.”

“Me too,” you whisper. “But… we could make a list. Just see what sticks.”

Pato shifts a little so he can look down at you, his hand now resting over your bump like it always does when he’s thinking. “Okay. Go first.”

You hum, tapping your fingers gently against his chest. “What about something Spanish? Something that feels like home?”

He smiles. “Sí. I love that. What about… Camila?”

You tilt your head. “Camila,” you repeat, trying it on. “That’s beautiful.”

“She could be Cami. Or Mila.”

You grin. “Mila O’Ward. That’s dangerously cute.”

He chuckles. “Too powerful. We’d be in trouble.”

You close your eyes and let your fingers trail down the curve of your belly. “What if we gave her a name that feels soft? Something gentle, like… Luna.”

Pato lights up. “Luna,” he repeats, in that warm, reverent tone he always uses when he talks to your bump. “That’s perfect. She already feels like the moon to me. Always with us, even when we can’t see her.”

Your eyes sting, and you press your face into his shoulder. “That might be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever said.”

He laughs softly, kissing the top of your head. “So… Camila? Luna? What else?”

You talk like that for over an hour—sifting through names, laughing at the dramatic ones, swooning over the sweet ones, saying each out loud like you’re introducing her to the world.

And in the end, it’s the simplest one that stays with you.

A name that came up casually, half-whispered by Pato as your eyes drifted closed.

“Sofía.”

You hum. “Sofía,” you repeat, sleepy, smiling. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

He just presses his lips to your forehead and pulls you closer.

“Hola, mi Sofía,” he murmurs to your bump. “We can’t wait to meet you.”

And for the first time that night, she kicks. Soft. Sure. Like she agrees.

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race day chaos!

The sun is already high over the paddock by the time you arrive, hand in hand with Pato, bump soft and round under the flowy white dress Elba insisted you wear.

It’s been months since the world found out you were expecting — and yet, nothing could’ve prepared you for the kind of celebrity your bump would become.

The second you step foot near the Arrow McLaren garage, it begins.

“She’s here!” Nolan shouts from across the way like you’re royalty. He jogs over, sunglasses crooked on his face, carrying what is very clearly a pink sippy cup. “I got this for Sofía. Or for you. I couldn’t decide.”

“Please don’t tell me that has Gatorade in it,” you say, smiling.

He shrugs. “Okay, I won’t.”

Christian is right behind him, holding out a portable fan and a little folding stool. “In case you get tired, sit. You want water? Snacks? I stocked the fridge. Elba texted me a list.”

Pato is grinning the entire time like he’s so proud this is your life now. His hand never leaves the small of your back, always guiding, always protective. Every few steps, he drops a kiss to your temple or your shoulder, as if reminding himself that you’re here, you’re safe, and you’re his.

Even the engineers are in on it now — one of them hands you a headset already labeled “Mamí O’Ward,” and another has a garage chair reserved with a pillow and a printed-out sign that says Baby On Board — Do Not Touch Unless Offering Snacks.

You sit for a while in the garage, headphones on, watching Pato in the car during FP1. He keeps glancing back over toward you during pit stops, giving you little thumbs-ups, and you know he’s only half-listening to the engineers because the other half of him is focused on whether you need water or shade.

At one point, the commentator team comes by to do a feature. You’re asked a few questions, and you can’t help but smile the entire time.

“Yes, she kicks when she hears Pato’s engine,” you say proudly. “She’s already got good taste.”

And when Pato finishes the session, he doesn’t go to debrief first.

He comes straight to you.

Helmet off, suit peeled halfway down, sweat damp on his brow — and still, all he wants is to press his forehead to yours and whisper, “She okay? You okay?”

“We’re perfect,” you whisper back.

Then he drops to one knee, presses both palms to your bump, and murmurs loud enough for only you to hear, “Papa did good out there today, didn’t he, princesa?”

She kicks.

He gasps.

And Nolan, of course, ruins the moment by running up behind him and yelling, “She kicked! I saw it! That counts as approval!”

Later that evening, you and Pato sit quietly on the edge of pit lane, the track glowing under the golden hour sun. He rests his head on your shoulder, hand on your bump, and just listens as Sofía shifts gently beneath his palm.

“She’s gonna be so loved,” he says softly.

“She already is.”

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baby shower brought to you by nolan and elba!

You should’ve known Elba wouldn’t do anything halfway.

From the moment she declared, “I’m planning the baby shower and you’re not allowed to lift a finger,” you had a feeling it was going to be something special — but nothing could’ve prepared you for this.

The second you step into the garden of her home, hand in Pato’s, you freeze.

There are flowers everywhere — soft blush, creams, golds, and sunset pinks spilling out of vases, floating in arrangements from the trees, and tucked into delicate garlands wrapped around chairs and lights. White linen tents flutter in the breeze, and golden fairy lights twinkle like magic even though the sun is still out.

In the center of it all, a sign written in elegant calligraphy reads—

“Welcome, Baby Sofía — You Are So Loved.”

You barely make it five steps before Elba rushes over, dressed in soft pink with gold jewelry sparkling at her wrists, grinning like the proudest tía-to-be in the world.

“Surprise!” she squeals, throwing her arms around you carefully, then stepping back to look at you — and the bump. “You look like a glowing angel.”

“I’m going to cry,” you murmur, completely overwhelmed.

“That’s the point,” she smirks. “Now come on, we have everything — mocktails, sweet tea, a whole dessert table that looks like a Pinterest dream, and Pato’s favorite empanadas. Also, Nolan’s in charge of games, so… I apologize in advance.”

That earns a groan from Pato.

The afternoon unfolds like something out of a dream.

There are sweet treats labeled “baby’s first cravings” — your favorite snacks, personalized. The drinks are themed “Mama’s Mocktail Bar”, and Elba even set up a corner with a photo wall made entirely of roses and Pampas grass.

Christian shows up in a pink button-up and immediately declares he’s starting a betting pool on whether Sofía will be a future racer, engineer, or CEO. Nolan, naturally, is wearing a shirt that says “Funkle” (Fun Uncle) in glitter letters.

One game involves everyone decorating baby onesies. Pato gets way too into it, carefully painting racing stripes and the McLaren logo on his. Yours is simple — just a tiny crown and the words “Papá’s Pit Crew” — and he kisses you the second you finish it.

Later, everyone gathers in a circle for well wishes.

You sit beside Pato, his hand wrapped around yours, his other protectively over your belly. And one by one, your closest friends and family speak.

Elba starts.

“I’ve known this baby before she even had a heartbeat,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “I knew the moment my brother fell in love with you that someday, you’d create something magical. And you have. Sofía is going to grow up knowing fierce love, gentle care, and joy that bubbles up from the kitchen table all the way to the track.”

You’re crying before she even finishes.

Pato wipes your tears with the softest touch, then leans in to whisper, “You know I love you, right? More every single day.”

When the speeches are over, and the cake is cut (three tiers, with delicate flowers and a tiny race car topper), you steal a quiet moment alone with him under the fairy lights. Your bump rests between you as you sit together on the swing at the edge of the garden.

“She’s so lucky,” you whisper.

“She’s ours,” he whispers back, brushing his lips over your temple. “And that makes me the luckiest man on the planet.”

You go home with your heart overflowing, cheeks sore from smiling, and arms full of tiny pink onesies, handmade letters, and soft little blankets stitched with love.

And when you crawl into bed that night, wrapped in Pato’s arms, bump nestled between you, you swear you can already feel your daughter dreaming right along with you.

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finishing up the nursery!

It’s late afternoon, and the whole house glows with that warm, honey-colored light that seems to exist only in moments you’ll never forget.

The baby monitor is charging on the dresser. A tiny pink cardigan hangs neatly on the corner of the crib. There are soft little clouds painted across one wall, and the mobile above the crib sways gently in the air conditioning — tiny stars and moons dangling over where your daughter will sleep.

You’re sitting cross-legged on the plush rug in the center of the room, folding baby blankets into the bottom drawer of the changing table, while Pato stands by the wall, concentrating far too hard on sticking the last gold letter onto the name sign.

He steps back proudly, hands on his hips, and gestures dramatically. “Sofía O’Ward. Look at that. Centered. Balanced. Gorgeous.”

You glance up and tilt your head. “Mmm. Slightly crooked.”

Pato gasps. “Lies. That’s art.”

You laugh and rest a hand on your belly. “She’s going to come out and instantly judge our symmetry.”

“She gets that from you,” he says, grinning, and then crosses the room to crouch beside you.

You’re surrounded by tiny socks, folded burp cloths, a pile of baby books, and a white stuffed bunny Pato couldn’t resist buying during a grocery run.

He picks it up now and brushes it against your bump. “Your mamá picked out everything in this room. The wallpaper, the color of the crib, the little cloud shelves. And I just nailed things to the wall and tried not to mess it up too bad.”

“You built this whole dresser.”

“You helped.”

“I watched and fed you strawberries every time you cursed.”

“Exactly. Dream team,” he says, beaming.

You smile softly, leaning your head on his shoulder as he wraps an arm around you. “Can you believe she’ll be here soon?”

He exhales slowly, his hand finding your belly. “Every time I walk in here, it hits me all over again.”

You both go quiet for a moment, just breathing, surrounded by soft colors and hope and the rhythm of tiny kicks under his palm.

Then Pato whispers, “This room’s never gonna be this clean again.”

You laugh, head thrown back. “She’s gonna destroy it.”

“She’s gonna live in it,” he says, eyes full of wonder. “First laugh, first steps, sleepless nights and storybooks and lullabies.”

“And diaper explosions,” you add.

He grins. “Worth it.”

You sit there for a while longer, legs tangled together, the room golden and quiet around you. Eventually, Pato presses a kiss to your temple, then to your bump, then lies back on the rug beside you and just… stays.

Later that night, when the room is darker and quieter, you stand in the doorway for a moment — just looking. The name sign. The crib. The soft pink light on the monitor. Pato’s sweater draped over the rocking chair.

And something in your chest swells so big it feels like you might float away.

She’s almost here.

And everything is ready.

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labor and delivery!

It starts just after 2 a.m.

At first, it’s subtle — a tightness low in your belly, like the quiet gathering of a wave before it breaks. You shift under the blanket, trying to get comfortable, but the pressure returns stronger. And then again.

You lie there in the silence for a moment, hand resting on your bump, heart beginning to race.

She’s coming.

You know it. In your bones.

You turn toward Pato.

He’s fast asleep beside you, one arm flung over your waist, face tucked against the pillow in that boyish way he sleeps when he’s completely at peace. You almost hate to wake him.

But this is it.

You press your hand to his shoulder, gentle. “Pato.”

He stirs but doesn’t fully wake. “Mmm?”

“Pato,” you whisper again, softer now, but firmer. Your voice shakes. “It’s time.”

His eyes blink open instantly.

You see the words register in real time — the sleep fading, the realization blooming. He sits up in one motion, wide-eyed and breathless. “Wait��now? Like now now?”

You nod. “I think so. I’ve been timing them… they’re five minutes apart. Getting stronger.”

He’s already out of bed.

He stumbles once pulling on sweatpants, muttering “okay okay okay” like a mantra as he grabs the hospital bag. He checks his phone, the charger, the car keys, then spins around and sees you still sitting at the edge of the bed, breathing slowly.

And suddenly, he slows.

He drops to his knees in front of you, hands on your thighs, eyes wide but soft. “Are you okay? Are you scared?”

You nod, swallowing hard. “A little.”

“I’ve got you,” he says, voice breaking just slightly. “We’ve got this. We’re gonna meet her.”

Your next contraction hits hard and fast — you grip his hands tightly, eyes squeezing shut, a quiet whimper escaping your lips.

Pato presses his forehead to yours and breathes with you. “In, out. I’ve got you. One breath at a time, amor. Just like we practiced.”

When it passes, you let out a shaky laugh. “She’s gonna be here soon.”

He kisses your forehead. “We’re about to meet the love of our lives.”

You both stand slowly, and he wraps his arms around you from behind, one hand over your belly as if he can cradle all three of your hearts at once.

Twenty minutes later, you’re in the car, seat reclined, windows down to let in the cool air. Pato drives with one hand, the other holding yours across the console. His knee bounces with nerves, but his thumb rubs soft circles into your palm with steady focus.

At a red light, he glances over at you and whispers, “You’re doing so good, mamá. I’m so proud of you.”

You bite your lip, holding back another tear, and whisper, “She’s going to have your eyes. I just know it.”

He grins, eyes bright. “And your bravery.”

—

The hospital room is quiet but charged with something electric — anticipation, love, the steady rhythm of your breathing.

Pato sits beside you, his hand never leaving yours. His eyes are wide and bright, soaked with emotion he’s trying so hard to hold together. Every now and then, he brushes a damp strand of hair from your forehead or presses a gentle kiss there.

Elba is right there too — calm, steady, and fierce. She holds your other hand, whispering encouragements in Spanish and English, reminding you of your strength. “Eres una guerrera, amor. You’re doing so amazing.”

The contractions come hard and fast now. You grit your teeth, gripping both of their hands like lifelines. Pato leans close, voice soft but urgent, “Almost there, mi amor. You’re so strong.”

You close your eyes, breathing in sync with Elba’s quiet counting, the steady beat of Pato’s thumb rubbing circles on your palm.

Then—

The moment arrives.

The room fills with sounds—the doctor’s calm commands, the midwife’s reassuring words, the tiny, perfect cry that splits your heart open.

They place her on your chest immediately. Skin to skin.

You open your eyes just in time to see Pato’s face — tears streaming down, wide grin breaking through the exhaustion. “She’s here,” he whispers, voice cracking. “Our Sofía.”

Elba leans in, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Look at her. Look at what you made.”

The baby’s tiny fingers curl around your thumb. You marvel at the softness, the smallness — a whole universe contained in such fragile beauty.

Pato presses his lips gently to your forehead, then to the top of your daughter’s head. “Hola, princesa. Welcome to the world.”

You laugh through tears, voice raw but full of wonder. “We love you so much.”

Elba wraps an arm around both of you. “Family,” she says simply. “We’re all here.”

And in that quiet hospital room, surrounded by love so big it feels like it could lift you right off the ground, you know — your life has just begun.

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[mn-pegasus]

I have no visual.*

My internal audio synthesis is a perfect match to the real world. This is not perfect pitch but rather some other shit. It means I read my friends messages in perfect recreations of their actual voices, and I can play a song in my brain, or even isolate part of a song in my head, stripping it down to just vocals or a single instrument, etc.

At any given time there are two audio tracks.

I have 3 channels. One is always in passive use. Two channels can process language (poorly) or music or general sounds, thoughts, ideas, numbers. The third is just numbers. It’s all math in that one.

When I was younger I was really good at math in school because I could use all 3 channels for numbers. Too good, my teachers would tell me off for not showing my work because it was faster to pull all resources and spin it in my head than to write the numbers down until the point where they got really super big.

It is a similarly discordant experience. I don’t necessarily get to choose which audio channel is in focus. Sometimes one takes precedence in the middle of a thought. The numbers are just processing whatever the hell. Often, one track will be a coherent thought and the other will be an environmental analysis. As I’m typing this I’m also passively reading all the miscellaneous text in my environment. Packaging, posters, etc.

*I can kind of get a sort of pseudovisual but it’s. Odd. You know when you stare at a light source and then you close your eyes there’s an afterimage? Or those optical illusion things where you stare at it for a while and then blink really fast and see a color that doesn’t exist to a couple seconds? It’s like that. Through the combined forces of all 3 channels I can create a sort of afterimage ghosting visualization. It flickers. There’s no meaningful color information, just essentially a depth mapping of whatever I’m trying to “see”.

The numbers are usually quiet unless I choose to pull them out of the void. Always passively running but non-obstructive to the two audio tracks.

Okay so some people can’t see objects in their imagination and some people don’t think in words and some people hear their thoughts like a voice and others don’t. I get that

But how many distinct channels do most folks have playing at once? cause my normal range is 2-4 and I though that was just what thinking was LIKE but CBD brings that down to just 1

[applecaviar]

🐦‍⬛MINE🐦‍⬛

Your back slams against the wall, Sylus' hard body pinning you there as you tremble. The metallic scent of blood lingers heavily in the air, a reminder of the violent scene that unfolded just moments ago in the meeting room down the hall.

His breath is hot on your neck as he leans in close, lips nearly brushing your skin.

"Tell me kitten, which part did you like the most? His hand slides down your side, fingertips grazing the curve of your hip through the blood stained fabric of your clothes. Your body reacts instinctively to his touch, a shiver running down your spine. You're nervous, palms sweating and breath coming faster now. You can't help but lean into him slightly, drawn to his words.

"Watching the life drain from his eyes? Seeing the pool of red spread across the floor?" His other hand moves over your ribs until it rests just below your breast. You can feel the weight of it, the strength coiled in his arm.

"Or was it when I lost control?" His hand drifts higher, over the curve of your breast, feeling your nipple stiffen beneath the fabric of your shirt. "Watching me snap his neck like a twig, knowing it was because of you? Or maybe..." his hand on your hip slides lower, gripping your ass and squeezing. "You liked seeing the monster I am, and knowing I'd destroy anyone who dared to touch what's mine? "

"Sy..."

"You smell like adrenaline and fear... and something else..."He inhales deeply "Arousal, perhaps?"

His tongue flicks out, tracing the curve of your earlobe. Your breathing grows heavier, chest heaving against his. The adrenaline from the fight mixing with a dangerous, forbidden excitement.

His lips ghost over your racing pulse before he pulls back slightly, eyes still locked with yours. "So tell me, sweet thing... what was it? What part of watching me lose myself in bloodlust made your panties damp and your nipples hard?"

Your breath hitches, a soft moan escaping your lips as his smile widens, revealing a flash of white teeth in the dim light. The sound echoes in the tense space between you, an admission of your body's reaction to his proximity.

"Are you scared, kitten?" he asks, his deep voice dripping with mocking amusement.

"No"

He leans in again, breath hot against your ear as he whispers a single word, "Wet?"

You try to look away, embarrassed by the admission that hangs heavily in the air between you, but Sylus won't allow it. He grabs your chin firmly, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he forces you to meet his eyes.

"I'm going to ask again, sweetie," His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, a teasing caress that makes your tongue dart out to wet your mouth. "Are. You. Wet?" Each word is punctuated with a puff of hot air that makes you shiver.

Your heart pounds wildly in your chest as you inhale, trying to gather the courage to admit the truth. His eyes bore into yours, seeing straight through the walls you try to put up against him.

"Yes." It's a whisper that feels loud in the charged silence between you. His eyes flash with triumph and his grip on your chin tightens just slightly, pulling you impossibly closer.

"Good girl, honesty is always rewarded in my world, kitten. Never forget that."

"Now let's take care of that need, shall we?" His hand slides down your belly, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your pants. A louder, needier moan escapes your lips, a clear invitation that he takes as the green light he craves, wasting no time in yanking both your pants and soaked panties down your thighs.

Before you can catch your breath, he grabs two handfuls of your ass, squeezing the firm globes as he lifts you effortlessly off the ground. Your legs instinctively wrap around his head as he pins you harder against the wall, his evol keeping you suspended and secure.

He doesn't waste any more time before diving in, his mouth latching onto your bare sex. A gasp turns into a drawn out moan as his tongue parts your folds. Your back arches sharply, fingers scrabbling against the wall behind you for something, anything to hold onto.

His tongue swirls and flicks, lapping up your arousal like a man starved. Looking down, you find him already gazing up at you, his crimson eyes burning with lust. Without breaking eye contact, he drags his tongue flat across your engorged clit. The lewd, deliberate motion makes the sensitive bud move with the slow stroke. It's too intimate, too obscenely intimate to watch, and you feel your cheeks flush a deep, burning red.

He seems to relish your flustered reaction, his tongue circling your clit with maddening slowness. He's determined to make you witness every sinful motion, every lap and flick. Your fingers tighten in his hair as your hips buck involuntarily, seeking more of that devastating pleasure.

Your nails dig into his scalp as you press your head back against the wall, the cool surface a temporary respite from the inferno Sylus is stoking between your thighs.

"Sy-lus!" Your voice wavers, the two syllables drawn out into a needy, breathless moan of his name.

Sylus pauses, his lips parting from your pussy "Mmm, you taste divine, sweet and so wet, all for me." He flicks his tongue against your puffy clit, making you jolt and cry out. "You're going to take me so good, kitten. So fucking good."

"Don't stop, please don't stop, Sy..." 

"Beg for it. Beg for my help." His eyes flash with dark intent, daring you to give voice to your deepest desires.

And beg you do. "Pleaseeeee," you keen, the word dissolving into a high, breathy wail. Your hips undulate shamelessly against his face, smearing your dripping arousal across his lips and chin.

"You are my good, obedient girl," he praises, "You'll be rewarded as such, sweetie. Just keep your eyes on me, I want to watch you watch me eat this sweet cunt."

You obey, keeping your gaze locked with his as he leans in and once again drags the flat of his tongue slowly up your slit. The obscenely lewd motion makes your clit throb and pulse, the engorged bud glistening with your juices. He laps at you like a man savoring a fine wine, relishing every drop of your essence.

His lips close around your clit, suckling the sensitive nub as he looks up at you. The sight of his mouth on your most intimate place sends a jolt of electric pleasure up your spine. His eyes burn into yours as he releases your clit from his lips, only to flick the tip rapidly, making it bounce. It's all too much, and yet not nearly enough.

He plunges two fingers into you, pumping them in and out as he suckles your clit again. The slick, wet sounds of him finger fucking your cunt fill the room, mingling with your moans and cries.

Your thighs quake and tremble, muscles tightening as your climax builds at the base of your spine. Your eyes remain locked with his, the intensity of his gaze only heightening every sensation. You feel the heat coiling tighter and tighter in your core and he can see it in your eyes too, he can feel the way your walls start to flutter around his plunging fingers. He knows you're on the brink.

With a last, slow drag of his tongue over your slit, tracing the path where his fingers disappear into your heat to the swollen bud of your clit, he sends you hurtling over the edge. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, nails digging into his scalp as your cunt clenches and spasms around his fingers.

He presses his fingers as deep as they can go, curling them just right and your release gushes out of you, drenching his face. He moans against your pussy, the vibrations intensifying your climax as he drinks down every drop of your pleasure.

His fingers continue to pump lazily, helping you ride out the waves of your high. "You're going to do this so many more times tonight, kitten" He laps up your release, savoring the taste of your climax on his lips. "Until the memory of that bastard's touch fades from your skin"

[myfictionaldreams]

SUB BUCKY PLS I BEG LUKE THE FILTHIEST SUB BUCKY EVER IM TALKING LACTATION OVERSTIM BEGGING PLEASE I NEED DEPRAVED SMUT

⁀➷ Ruined Soldier

✧ Pairing | Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

✧ A/N | I have been saving this one, omg, thank you so damn much for sending this! Much love! And this also concludes my 15k celebration posts! Thank you to everyone else who has sent the requests, y'all are the best!

✧ Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, slight dub con, femdom, sub!bucky, begging, overstimulation, ruined orgasms, cockwarming, lactation kink, post-orgasm torture, praise kink, degradation

✧ Words: 787

15k celebration masterlist | my main masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

The Winter Soldier. Bucky Barnes. Ex-assassin, ex-military sergeant. A man renowned for his skill, strength and capability.

And yet there he was, in the middle of the bed, whimpering pathetically as he gave all control to you.

You can feel Bucky trembling beneath you, his big, muscular thighs shaking, his abs clenching every time your thumb flicks over the head of his cock. His chest is flushed, face buried into the soft swell of your breast, licking greedily around the taut, swollen nipple as milk leaks from you, smearing across his lips, down his stubbled chin.

“Fuck, please, Doll,” he begs against your skin. His voice is raw, his words cracked, nearly sobbing with overstimulation.

“Language,” you half-heartedly chastise, tightening your grip on his cock just enough to make him jolt. His hips twitch like he wants to thrust, but he knows better.

You haven’t let him move in ages.

Bucky moans into your breast, tongue still swirling, suckling, trying to ground himself. But there’s no escape for him. Not when he’s cockwarm inside you, tip just resting in your heat, trapped and desperate, unable to thrust or finish, held in place by the firm pressure of your thighs caging him.

“You take you could take it, soldier,” you purr. “Said you wanted to be good. Is this you being good?”

He whines. “I am good. I’m trying-please, I just need-just let me-”

He’s shaking again, tears brimming in his eyes as he looks up at you, pupils blown wide. 

“I am letting you, baby,” you smile sweetly. “I’m letting you feel every second of it. You’re the one falling apart.”

His throat bobs as he chokes on a sob. Your wetness is coating the base of his cock, and your fingers work him ruthlessly, tight, slick strokes just to the edge of unbearable.

“Do you want to cum?” you whisper, lips brushing his ear.

He nods frantically. “Please. Please, I need to.”

“No,” you breathe, grinning as you release him right at the edge. His cock jerks, twitching and pathetic. No climax, just the terrible drop or another ruined orgasm. The fifth one tonight.

“Please!” he chokes out, falling against your chest again like it’s the only place he can breathe. “I can’t- I can’t take anymore-”

“You can, Bucky,” you coo, stroking his hair, your voice like silk. “You’ve done so well already. Look how good you are for me. Look how needy and you’re such a pretty mess.”

He's practically vibrating now, the strain in his thighs, the metal hand clutching the edge of the headboard so tightly it’s dented. His human hand stays on your waist, holding you like you're the only thing tethering him to earth.

You grab his chin and force him to look up at you. His lips are red and wet, a droplet of milk still clinging to the corner of his mouth. His eyes are glassy, brows drawn, face flushed with desperation.

“You love this, don’t you?” you taunt softly. “Being used and all milk-drunk.”

He nods frantically.

“Then say it.”

“I love it,” he gasps, sucking in air. “Fuck, I love it. I love when you use me, I love your tits, I want to cum so bad, please, please, please, just let me cum inside you. I need to.”

You sink fully onto his cock. Bucky screams.

It’s a strangled, choked sound, half-sob, half-praise. He’s cumming the second you take him, deep inside you, body jerking, teeth gritted, hands clutching, entire body spasming from the force of it. 

You don’t move, you just hold him and let him orgasm. Let it pour out of him, leaking from between your legs in hot, thick spurts.

He sags forward, sighing in relief.

And then your hand moves again. “N-No,” he stammers, eyes wide, whole body twitching from how raw he is. “I-I just-please, I just came-”

“I know.” You can’t help the smug tone. “But you didn’t think I was done with you, did you?”

He opens his mouth to protest, but you slide forward slightly, grinding your hips down, and he shouts out again, louder this time, hands scrabbling against your back like he can’t decide whether to hold you or push you away.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I can’t, it’s too much–”

“You wanted this,” you remind him, stroking his milk-slicked jaw. “You said you wanted to be ruined and wanted to be my pretty little fucktoy.”

And he is. Shaking, red-faced, fucked out and swollen and helpless. Bucky Barnes, the deadliest soldier on earth, reduced to nothing but a trembling mess underneath you. Sobbing with need, begging for mercy from one person who won’t give it. 

Not until you’ve had your fill. And tonight, you’re hungry.

[messylxve]

CINEMATIC ACCIDENTS──CLARK KENT!

2025!clark kent x reader 1.9k fluff

!spoiler-free for superman (2025)!

prev part ; next part

You just couldn’t shake it, no matter how hard you attempted to push it from your mind, it managed to float up from the deepest concaves. 

You hadn’t seen Superman since…that moment, yet you still felt that unfamiliar unrest within you. How your stomach churned from a bad stomach ache even though you hadn’t eaten anything all day. Or maybe like a fluttering that never wanted to stop. No matter how much you needed it to. 

A part of you however, a very very small part, leaned toward it. It rested right next to the memory, revelling in it, forcing you to live through it every time you let yourself get distracted. Forcing you to relive the way it felt, his breath mixing with yours, his warmth reaching out for you. The way he looked at you with a sense of freedom; as if his superhero persona melted away as he allowed himself to lose himself in you for the first time. 

Forcing you to wonder about the what if’s. What if you never pulled away like you always do. What if you let him–

“Is anybody home there?” 

It was a fantasy. A spur of the moment. Nothing more than that. 

You looked up to see Lois standing in front of your desk—for how long, you didn’t know. “I’m sorry, repeat that?” 

“Would’ve thought I was talking to one of Jimmy’s girls with the way you’re lost in the clouds,” she laughed. 

You frowned at that.  “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It means,” Lois started, leaning on your desk, “I think something’s troubling you or, someone?”

Your eyebrows shot up, throwing your hands up in mock defence. “Wow, invasive much,” you joked. A terrible veiled attempt at diverting the subject. 

Lois saw right through it and you knew she did, but ever so stubborn, you stood your ground. Even though everything in Lois’ face told you she wasn’t believing it. 

“Right, if you insist,” she hummed, rising from your desk and giving it a quick knock. “Don’t forget the meeting in five.” 

You watched as the woman walked away from you, travelling across the room to where Clark stood over the printer. Your gaze lingered on him, sparking a sense of familiarity within you that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. Before you knew it, he was meeting your gaze. He didn’t wave, but he smiled softly. 

You only pursed your lips in a half smile. Not hostile, but maybe glaring down the guy whenever you saw him was harsh. And starting to get a little old. 

It didn’t last long, though. You broke contact first, pushing yourself away from the desk and gathering your things. 

“C’mon,” you spoke to Jimmy, pulling his chair away from the intern perched on his desk. “We don’t need Perry blowing a fuse over you being late. Again.”

He followed in stride with you, blowing a sigh of relief that you pulled him away from a conversation he got himself into for what felt like the fifth time this month. 

“I hear Perry’s looking to pass out a movie review again,” he chuckled.

“Oh god,” you groaned. “I might actually lose it if he chooses me.” 

The boy laughed, holding the meeting room’s door open for you. “Place your bets now.” 

The meeting went slowly as it always did, mostly spent with you and Jimmy passing notes back and forth until your name was mentioned. 

“The mayor was very pleased with the Superman anniversary piece, so good job.” 

“Thank you sir,” you nodded quietly, your face going warm with pride. 

“You worked hard this week, so I’ll let you take it easy. You and Clark will do the movie review…” he stopped to check his notes. “Always...You... Showings on Thursday. 7pm.  If anyone else has questions, my door is open as is my email.” 

Clark did not miss the way your left eye twitched when he looked at you with a very trying smile. 

Everyone has their faults and flaws and you certainly had yours—something your mother consistently reminds you of. What you had wasn’t arrogance, or selfishness—no, you were just plain stubborn. Any hill you had that someone wanted to knock you off of was a hill you wished to die on. Why? Because if you didn’t defend yourself, you found no one else would. 

And of course there were the few times where your stubbornness took reins over small petty things like whether or not you’d consider yourself friends with Clark Kent. 

A few months ago, anyone would’ve noticed your change in demeanor around the man. From your sudden loss of patience to the deadpanned expression you’d never usually give to Lois or Jimmy. But as of lately, there was the slightest change in air that some definitely notice, urging them to push you into being friends with the man now. 

‘Give people an inch and they push you a mile,’ you found yourself saying often. And of course you being you, you instinctively planted your feet to the ground. So no, you didn’t have a legitimate reason for not liking Clark. But you’d never admit that outloud, much less to yourself. 

Thus making tonight, sitting in a theater with him, alone, for at least 2-3 hours your absolute hell. 

The two of you stood outside the theater, the line extending farther back than you’d like. Each of  you sat in a painfully felt silence, either one waiting for the other to say something, but neither actually doing so. (You because you were much too stubborn and Clark because he didn’t know what to even say to someone who didn’t want to be there. 

So you only shuffled forward as the line grew only a tiny bit shorter. 

With a sigh louder than you intended, you threw up your hand, checking the time on your watch. 

From beside you, Clark cleared his throat, his eyebrows dipped down as he searched for his words. “Um, had I known Perry was assigning me to this I would’ve declined…I know this isn’t exactly how you’d like to spend your evening.” 

Looking up at him, you saw how he looked at you with his bright blue eyes, disappointment clear in them. Suddenly the Clark in front of you wasn’t the man who stole your article opportunities with his dumb dopey smile, but the man who gave you credit for his work. The man you offered you a tissue in the break room. The one who walked out with you so late at night. 

Fuck, now you felt bad. 

A small part of you wanted to strangle the man because ‘how dare he look so sad while you’re being so mean’.

You sighed. “No…I’m just being overdramatic…I’m sorry.” 

Clark blinked at you, almost shocked by your unprompted apology. “You’re sorry.” 

“For being rude,” you pushed out, testing the waters even more.

You pursed your lips together as you wrinkled your nose, practically forcing out words as if they burned.“I…don’t hate you…Kent.”  It came out more like a question if anything

When you finally finished, you let your hands plop down at your side, looking up to the man for his response. What you didn’t expect was a grin that slowly spread across his lips. 

“That was um, that was painful to watch, if I’m being honest.” 

“You know what,” with a huff, you turned away and crossed your arms. “I don’t even know wh–,” 

“Wait wait,” he chuckled, grasping onto your forearm before you could fully turn around. “Thank you. I- I should be the one apologizing, for letting my work overshadow yours. Multiple times. It wasn’t fair to you.”

It was like your brain stuttered, unable to process everything at once. You felt his hand touching you first, a wave of what felt like misplaced familiarity washing over you when you felt the soft warmth of his palm. Like reliving a dream you never knew you had, connecting it with a foggy memory. Reminding you of something you couldn’t put your finger on. 

The both of you stilled at Clark’s sudden confidence. But just as quickly as it happened, it ended, Clark dropping your hand and you pulling it away. 

Then his words caught up to you. 

“...thank you. I appreciate it.” 

Clark nodded, but the moment never quite faded, a newfound tension lying between you two. 

The line shuffled forward a little bit more, the pair of you closer to the ticket booth. 

“So,” Clark coughed in an attempt to revive the conversation and save the two of you from the soul killing silence. “Do you know much about this movie?” 

“Not really,” you trailed off. “Honestly it seems more like a cash grab with big actor names to me.” 

Clark hummed, finally approaching the ticket booth. “I guess we’ll see.” 

“Stop laughing at me, you’re so mean!” 

“I mean it’s kinda funny.” 

The chill of the night hit the two of you like a brick wall as you walked out of the dimly lit theater, both of your laughter spilling out into a mostly empty parking lot. 

“What part of me crying at a bittersweet movie is funny Kent?” 

The man grinned, suppressing his own laughter. “The part where you said you wouldn’t like it. Or maybe the fact that it wasn’t even the sad part you were crying at.” 

“It doesn’t have to be sad to cry,” you defended. “She thought she didn’t have anything worth loving. Then he went and listed every single trait he loved about her! That’s worth a few tears, Kent. If you disagree then you’re just heartless.” 

Clark smiled. “Well then who am I to disagree?” 

You realized it grew surprisingly dark as the two of you reached the parking lot. Clark looked to you, the same thought running through his mind. 

“It’s kinda late and dark,” he started, scratching the nape of his neck. “Do you mind if I walk you home? Peace of mind ‘n all.” 

You looked up to him, allowing a slow and rare smile to slip on your face. “I’d like that, yeah.” 

What you thought would’ve been a long and treacherous walk with him, bearable at best. You were unknowingly smiling the whole way through, even when the two of you stopped outside of your apartment building, smiling stupidly at each other. 

“I must admit, Clark, my night wasn’t absolutely terrible.” 

Clark only smiled, a highly pitched hum escaping him as he bit back a laugh. 

Your eyebrows dipped down in confusion. “What?” 

“No no, that’s just the–that’s…you called me Clark.” 

“That’s your name isn’t it?” 

He nodded his head, a rare teasing smile finding him. “It is. You just don’t call me Clark that often. It means you’re warming up to me, finally.” 

“Whatever,” you sighed exaggeratedly. “Don’t get used to it. I can decide not to like you whenever I want.” 

“Mhm,” he hummed, as you began into the building. “Good night.”

The whole way to the elevator you wore the same smile, letting your purse swing back and forth as you waited happily. But when the remnants of your laughter wore off and you were left alone in the silence, you became self aware of everything. Your giggle, your smile, the fluttery feeling in your chest. 

“Oh no,” you groaned, your smile dropping. “No no no.” 

The worst part wasn’t that you realized you liked Clark. 

No, it was that like a 13 year old schoolgirl, you realized you liked Clark. 

“Well fuck me.”

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[he4rken]

Can I request mafioso and 1x x reader (preferably GN neutral but if that’s tough you can do make reader.) with the reader being somewhat stalkerish, as in watching them and following them, or just writing notes of them. however, reader seems to be rather shy about admitted they do it, but to them it’s a way of showing affection.

this is presumed that they are already in a relationship or at least in a way they both are aware of the mutual romantic feelings!

( thank you if you do answer this request, if you wish not to it is perfectly alright ! ^o^ )

— the anonymous magician requester ! !

THEY CALL IT CREEPING, I SAY LOVING | stalkerish reader

— Woah my first anon that has a name... A magician too!! How joyous! I tried my best on keeping it as close to your request as possible. The reader is always gender neutral on standard unless it got specified otherwise, anon! Not tough at all.

It should be noted that they're all leaning towards being in a romantic relationship.

WARNINGS: stalking behavior from the reader

Please know that behavior like this is not normal and can be displayed more extremely! Seek help immediately if this is happening to you or someone you know!

MAFIOSO

— In a way, I feel like Mafioso would be very aware of your behavior? He isn't blind for starters, obviously he will catch you conveniently almost always being near in a place he is, scribbling stuff down, anything! He knows.

— But honestly he just kinda shrugs it off. Maybe you just want to know where he usually goes, set up a little surprise in a place he likes to visit. Your writing can be easily also shrugged off by you just writing down the names of the places, nothing much of concern.

— I mean, you were always a bit held back, shy, in short terms. Words aren't your best suit so call him pleased! You're doing everything silently to surprise him, how adorable.

— Oh boy was he so wrong.

— You sure were.... Taking forever. Same old, same old. Following close behind, watching, sometimes writing. He actually was scratching his head at this point. At some point even his men took notice, asking if they should do something about it. Which in return Mafioso shrugged off, saying "that's what they usually do, don't mind them."

— But it just kept happening again and again... And again. He's sure he doesn't go to that many places? What were you doing? Writing even? What are you trying to achieve here?

— Like every normal person should do is obviously ask what you were doing, but was Madiso considered a normal person? Definitely not! So what does he do instead? Snoop around when you aren't there and obviously read through whatever you have written down.

— And woah there, you had an entire journal! So obviously the smartest move is to flip through it, read a few pages, put back to where it belonged and just pretend nothing happened, right? Not really.

— Practically every page was about him. Written down where he was on what day, what he was doing, quite literally everything. Actually is that even a picture? Okay, well, ignore that. All this time you were writing about him and that's rather weird! Even for Mafioso himself.

— Everything was up to date, even his interests! However you found out about his conflict with a certain gambler is one he doesn't really want to think about. At least you were being tactical...? Last thing he would ever have considered is that his beloved was digging for any information about him, catch him almost pleasantly surprised though also midly weirded out by it.

— Is he gonna bring this up any time soon? Probably not. It's not like you, out of all people, had any malicious intent with information you collect. It's just rather concerning with how far you went with it already.

— Maybe he'll bring it up or just kinda attempt to force it out of you if possible. In a way you have to admit you've been practically stalking him and your shy demeanour is not gonna be your saving grace, at all.

— He'll let it go for a while, perhaps sometimes look straight at you when you are following close behind cause he knows! And he's definitely gonna drop subtle hints here and there.

1x1x1x1 (you guys know the drill, all pronouns but it/its were used)

— I personally think it's very difficult to say how 1x1x1x1 specifically feels about getting stalked? There isn't much you can get out of her, really. And the most you can get out is already written out with their history with Shedletsky. Obvious enough but that's all you deserve to know.

— But getting watched? He isn't paranoid by all means but it reaches every type of level of annoyance the moment he notices you following them practically everywhere. Worst case is that you're also writing something down which furthermore annoys them, what are you doing?

— Compared to Mafioso who blindly shrugs it off, 1x1x1x1 would and will confront you on sight after she has caught you for the fifth time.

— 1x1x1x1 has more tolerance with you, obviously, but can you please not be up their ass for a whole hour? Even though they didn't necessarily mean to go ballistic on you, sometimes enough is enough and he rather rudely tells you to do something else than following them around like a lost dog while sometimes even writing down something.

— They know you are just as terrible as being "loving" towards their partner, while for 1x1x1x1 it's simply because she fuels on hatred, positivity is kinda nonexistent within them, for you it's genuinely just cause you're very reluctant on openly admitting something towards him. And that's fine, they don't need you to throw hearts around or words that are supposed to affect them, she's fine about knowing you do like him a whole lot, that's all she needs.

— But perhaps on an accidental discovery on whatever you have been writing down for who knows how long, they're actually baffled.

— Oh, okay. You're like, weird weird and he's together with you, okay. Give her a moment please.

— Practically you wrote down everything they hate, which might as well be quite literally everything cause there probably isn't something they can grow to like per say. Till they get whiplash again when you wrote down saying they tolerate a few things specifically, well excuse you?

— Really all the contents were just about 1x1x1x1 and they're kinda just very... Off about it? They trust you to an extent but the fact you got out of your way to get information even he hasn't told you yet at all rises more suspicion than anything.

— 1x1x1x1 is more likely to actually question you about it. You have a voice and you can clearly use it, even if you kinda stutter off it won't change anything that you did, in a way, stalk them despite the fact he's noticed you multiple times and you continue to do so.

— Overall it just creeps them out, for someone who has quite the shy personality you do something so bold you can barely think those two belong together in one sentence.

— He just doesn't want you to be up her ass, which can be rather difficult with what you do. 50/50 they get used to it, they probably grow to ultimately hate it.

[em1i2a3]

Spiral Cities

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

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

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

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

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

Word Count: 6,436

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you stiffened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because you had never sounded so small.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sentry stilled.

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

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

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

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

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

“…Okay.”

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

There you were.

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

You looked at yourself.

And then you looked at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look at yourself,” He whispered.

Your eyes flicked to the mirror.

And oh–there it was.

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

You were gorgeous.

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

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

Your breath hitched.

He licked his lips, his gaze molten.

“Will you do that for me, sweetheart?”

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

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

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

Sentry looked completely undone beneath you.

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

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

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

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

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

The moment your core brushed his lips, he growled.

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

There was no hesitation or easing in.

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

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

“Fuck–Sentry–”

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

And still–he didn’t stop.

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

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

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

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

And God–he loved it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You did.

And you gasped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And still–it wasn’t enough.

Not for him. Not for you.

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

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

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

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

And fuck—he was hard.

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

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

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

And then–you sank down.

Agonizingly slow.

Both of you gasped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he could feel all of it.

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

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

You turned your head to the mirror–and gasped.

The sight was dizzying.

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

You looked ruined.

You looked divine.

And you were only just beginning.

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

He moaned.

A raw, broken sound.

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

And you did.

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

You did it again.

And again.

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

The mirror only made it worse.

Worse and better.

You couldn’t stop looking.

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

And Sentry was fucking watching it too.

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

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

You could feel him everywhere.

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

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

Sentry was losing his mind beneath you.

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

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

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

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

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

You did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That did it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[angel-writes-skz-here]

Dove

Prince! Hyunjin x Handmaiden! Reader Synopsis: In a world of social class separation you're thrust into the world of the elite. Becoming a handmaiden isn't easy, and it's even harder when hunger takes precedent and changes the course of your life forever. Warnings: SMUT, talks of virginity, unprotected p in v, fingering, cunnilingus, pet names, mentions of SA (not from Hyunjin and not super! detailed), angst, fluff, cheating-ish, reader is a bit of a damsel. A/N: This has to one of my favorite pieces I've ever written. Please leave a comment if you enjoy it! Forgive any mistakes! As always, comment to be added to the taglist! Thank you for your support and love! Xoxo 💋

Life in the palace isn’t all it’s cracked up to be; especially when you’re a servant. How does one become a servant? Well in your case, you were caught stealing from a local market, sent to prison and right before you were about to lose your hand in front of a crowd of onlookers, one of the guards from the palace offered to buy you and give you a job. It was that or lose your hand. Part of you wondered how bad life would be with one hand in prison, but you ultimately chose the latter.

That’s how you wound up meeting Prince Hyunjin and his family. You became a servant of the family, playing multiple rolls of servant, entertainment, whatever was requested of you, really. You were particularly useful with the horses, having grown up around them.

Working for Prince Hyunjin was interesting, the longer you stayed at the palace, the more and more Hyunjin was in need of assistance from you specifically.

It was simple, get him food, fetch his swords or his bow, let him shoot an apple off the top of your head, normal things like that.

Hyunjin would tease you when you first started working for his family.

“I wouldn’t feed this to my dog,” he’d grumble, even though the food was exquisite and by the end of the meal the plate was so clean, if you hadn’t plated the food yourself, you’d think nothing was there.

“This is how you make a bed? My God, have you ever slept in one?” Even though the bed was pristine.

He’d jump out at you from behind a corner, startling you when you had things in your hands. As much as you hated to admit it, you found him very attractive despite his rich and snobby exterior.

“Refill my wine,” he’d say as he ate dinner. One night you couldn’t help but freeze, the way he looked so regal and stylish in his suit as he sat and ate with the guests that night.

“Hello? Anybody home?” he’d tease. He wasn’t ignorant, he knew he was good looking, and as weeks turned months, Hyunjin became bold, very bold. You’d notice he’d walk around the palace more often than not without a shirt, or in an undershirt if he had to be clothed. You’d catch him working out outside, watching the way his back muscles flexed as he moved, many times catching you and winking, forcing your face to turn a deep shade of crimson before you would scurry off and try to avoid him the rest of the day; which you weren’t successful at.

He even made sure you heard when he was fucking one of his concubines at times. He’d ask you to stand outside the door as you’d hear him moan and groan, the sound alone causing your thighs to squeeze together and mind to wonder what he looked like. Was his skin flushed? Was there sweat on his brow and were his lips swollen from harsh kissing?

By the time he was finished and she left, he’d smirk at you and wink, noticing your red face; a soft laugh leaving him, his smile making your knees weak.

“You can leave now,” he’d say simply, voice smooth as butter. You’d practically run off to the servants’ quarters before anything else could be said; Hyunjin laughing again in response.

Over the next few months you grown used to his teasing, used to his affairs, even nights where he asked you to wait outside or was solo and simply wanted to tease you.

But one evening, after a particularly long day with few breaks, a dinner party ensues. You were forced to work it in many positions and as well as the palace did treat you, considering your circumstances, you weren’t allowed to eat the food from parties. However, your hunger gets the better of you that night. You’re pouring drinks, Hyunjin’s eyes watching you closely.

Actually, you had begun to notice his eyes on you more frequently the last few weeks.

If he caught you with a stall boy while out with the horses he’d call you inside, or if you were speaking with the male gardener, he’d suddenly need your help with his uniform or some odd task that had to be done right then. Anytime you spoke or were around other men, Hyunjin would notice and interrupt it- if he could.

He noticed one of his guests kept running through his wine like it was going out of style, and you had the wine pitcher closest to him and you were simply doing your job.

Hyunjin watches as you pour the glass, the man speaking to you, complimenting you on your dress and causing you to giggle. You weren’t rude, you would talk with guests if they spoke to you, but Hyunjin’s fists would ball up when he noticed it. Something you didn’t pay much mind to.

As the guests retired to the garden for the evening you made your way into the kitchen. You were prolonging your stay in the kitchen, over washing some dishes. Everyone left the kitchen as they were relieved for the night and you quickly strolled over, picking a few rolls up from the leftover food and placing them in your pocket. You knew it wasn’t allowed, but hunger demanded it, besides they’d just throw the food out anyway. Why should you go to bed hungry when there’s an over-abundance of food?

As you leave the kitchen you bump into the very prince who had been jealously watching you.

“I need you outside my door tonight,” he smirks.

“Hyunjin, please,” you whine, the way his name rolls off your tongue is like music to his ears, “I’m exhausted,” you whine, the color drained from your face, hair slightly sweaty and sticking to you.

“You work for my family,” he reminds you as he backs you up against the wall. Tension high between you, his gaze predatorial. That’s when he hears it.

The sound of your stomach growling. He quirks a brow but brushes it off.

“I need you, y/n. Like it or not,” he sasses.

“No, I’ve done more than my fair share today.” You buck up to him causing adrenaline to run through your vein. No one ever dared to stand up to the prince; it intrigues him. He leans in, lips to your ear as the cool wall behind you presses against your dress.

“I need you to hear me, want you to hear me,” he chuckles as he can see the tension in your body. Your face turns a deep shade of crimson as he backs away.

He laces your hands together, gently pulling you with him to his room. He positions you outside, before opening his door being met with a squeal that could shatter ear drums as he chuckles and runs into the room, shutting the door behind him; causing you to jump at the loud slam.

You hear the usual noises, moans, whimpers, high pitched “oh yes’s” from the girl. Listening to him was torture, but knowing you’d never be with him was even worse. You were a servant and him a prince, it would never work.

It couldn’t.

Your worlds demanded a certain way of life.

He never took a relationship seriously from what you gathered, he’d go from one girl to the next without so much as a second thought, the only constant girl he seemed to keep in his life, that was close to his age, was you. The girls he brought to his room were either concubines or girls from the street who would count themselves lucky to spend one night of their life in his bed.

You’d also noticed he never once took another princess to room when they’d visit. You figured it was simply due to either respect or them being heavily guarded.

While you wait your stomach starts to cramp, hunger taking over, and you slip a piece of bread from your pocket and cram into your mouth trying to eat quickly so no one see’s. You swallow the buttery goodness and quickly take out the second piece doing the same thing.

You’re finishing up the last bite as the door opens and you swallow the food, a sharp pain going down your chest as the girl smiles at him, kisses his passionately and turns to leave in her robe, scowling at you. Hyunjin watches her walk away with a smirk.

“Good night, Prince Hyunjin,” you say, face still a light shade of pink from the way he was watching you.

“Good night,” he says quietly, a look on his face you hadn’t seen before, though you aren’t exactly sure what to call it or why he was sporting it.

-

The next morning as your helping prepare breakfast in the kitchen when the King calls you out into the throne room. You walk in, Queen Reina by his side along with one of the other servant girls who you never really got along with. A pit grows in your stomach.

Hyunjin is wielding his sword playfully in the corner, but when his eyes meet yours, he furrows his brow and stops putting all his attention to the matter at hand.

“Y/n please come forward,” the king booms. Hyunjin quickly puts his sword in his belt and stands behind you, a look of pure confusion on his face. You can feel yourself shaking as you step forward.

“It’s been reported that you stole bread from the kitchen last night,” he mentions and your heart starts to beat out of your chest.

“Is it true?”

“I um, your majesty we had worked so hard yesterday, we didn’t get a meal break,” you begin to try to reason with him as Hyunjin steps beside you, a sense of injustice brewing inside him.

“I’m sorry your majesty I just needed some food, the dinner was over, I was so hungry I couldn’t help it. I beg of you, please don’t fire me.” You drop to your knees, sorrow over taking you, the floor cool beneath the fabric of your servant’s dress.

“So, you took the bread?” He asks once more. You sigh.

“Yes, your majesty. I took the bread,” you say defeated, eyes cast to the floor.

“Take her away.” The king says simply and the guards seize you. You don’t fight, you don’t yell or scream, but you catch sight of Hyunjin’s face, a look of worry displayed across it.

-

The dungeon is cold, damp and dark, torches are used to light the way.

“How long will I be down here?” you ask and the guards don’t answer. They simply throw you in a cell and leave you alone. There’s a no window and no direct light; the room is dark except for the faint light of the few wall torches a couple feet away. You sit on the floor, holding your knees to your chest, sobbing.

 You aren’t sure how long you’re down there, a few hours? A few days? The guards have brought you food a few times, never answering your questions about how long it’s been or what day it is. All you know is time creeps by ever so slowly, and you sleep off and on.

“Y/n?” you hear a familiar voice call out. Your heart thrums in your ears as you get up, slowly, making out Hyunjin’s face in the light.

“I can’t come stand outside your room tonight.” You sass as you walk over to the bars. Was he your first choice for company? No. But he’d have to do.

“That’s not why I’m here, smart ass.” He jabs at you. You roll your eyes, not in the position to continue to sass him.

“How long have I been down here?”

“It’s been a few weeks; you’ve been asleep for most of it.”

Weeks?

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ve been keeping track of it.” He says simply.

“Why?” Your brows furrow together in thought.

Hyunjin’s face looks as if he got caught with something he shouldn’t have.

“Do you want out of here or not?” He snaps.

“What? You’re gonna break me out?” Your voice is a mix of sarcasm and condecesion.

“No, but I’m here to ask you to trust me.”

You snicker at his words, before looking at his face, his expression never changing.

“Wait your serious?” you ask as you see his face go deadpan.

“Yes, I’m serious. I’ll talk to my father at dinner. Here, I brought you this.” He pulls out a delicious looking pastry with a few other little treats.

“Eat so you don’t pass out. I know you haven’t had consistent meals.” He grumbles the last part. Your fingers touch through the bars, a slight spark being felt between the two of you, though neither of you will admit it. You practically scarf down the treats as you watch him retreat to the light, to society, to his life.

Do you trust Hyunjin?

You really don’t have much of a choice.

-

That night at dinner Hyunjin does as he promised.

“You’re fond of her aren’t you, boy?” the king asks with teasing amusement lacing his voice.

“She’s special, yes. She’s been very good to us, puts up with all my teasing, never complains. And you did work the staff incredibly hard for that party, father.” Hyunjin reasons. The king nods, looking over to his wife who silently agrees with her son with a head nod.

Hyunjin had started talking to his father about this the very day you were taken down to the dungeon, he didn’t try very hard the first day, but after two or three days of not seeing you, he began to miss you and started worrying about your safety, asking the guards if you were ok. Some telling him you were fine, some ignoring him. One only had a wicked smile on his face that made his stomach turn at the thought of what was happening to you.

He had even started timing some of their encounters with you. If he noticed a guard go in, he’d wait, out of sight of course, to see how long they took. There was a man in particular who seemed to take his sweet time, being gone for thirty minutes to an hour each time he went down. Hyunjin’s blood boiled, but he had no proof of his worst fears.

“You won’t let this go until I say yes, will you?”

“No, I won’t.”

The king sighs, finally taking the time to have the conversation with his son.

“So, what do you propose we do to make sure this doesn’t happen again. After all, if you’re pleading her case, I assume you have a suggestion.”

Hyunjin takes a deep breath, his heart rate increasing, palms slightly sweaty.

“Make her my handmaiden, she’ll work for me, and me only.”

“No,” his father says.

“Father, please. I’ll make sure she stays out of trouble, eats properly so she won’t steal food, dresses the part and takes care of the horses. She’ll help me train, she’ll help me do everything.  I’ll take full responsibility for her. Like she’s a,” Hyunjin grimaces inwardly referring to you in this manner, but he knows how his father see’s you deep down, “like she’s a dog,” he pursues his lips.

“Oh, now boy, she’s not a dog to you, she’s a play thing. Something you want to conquer. Believe me, you’re my son and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” He laughs as Queen Reina just closes her eyes, trying to pretend she didn’t hear that.

“But once you’re done with her what am I to do? Hmm? Trust that she’ll be obedient when she’s proven she’s a thief? More than once, I might add.”

“I won’t tire of her, father.” Hyunjin replies. The King snickers at his son, sure that he’s ignorant of what he’s saying.

“I tell you what, I’ll let you do this, but if she gets into trouble or you do tire of her, it’ll be her head. She is yours to take care of. You will feed her, clothe her and prepare an area for her sleep. She will be your full responsibility.” The king admonishes.

Hyunjin gulps, his adams apple bobbing up and down.

“Yes sir, I’ll fetch her myself.” He kisses his mother’s cheek before walking out of the room and dashing down the hall, a smile on his face.

-

Down in the dungeon you’re blissfully unaware of the news, asleep on the damp, cold ground.

“Y/n!” he calls hanging the torch on the wall by your cell as he uses the key that was hanging up just outside the door to unlock it. He steps in, crouching down when he sees you’re asleep. His heart melts at what’s happened to you, how poorly you’ve been treated the last few weeks.

“Y/n,” he gently shakes you. You startle, wrestling with him, afraid it’s another guard.

“Woah, hey, hey, it’s me, y/n!” he steps back from you as you try to scratch him.

“Hyunjin?” you call, voice wrecked with fear.

“Holy shit, what have they done to you?” he asks himself.

“Come on, I’m getting you out of here,” he slowly approaches you again and you go to stand but you fall to your knees, crying out in pain.

“You can’t walk?” he asks, but really more so says it to himself. He decides to pick you up bridal style. Your face lays against his shoulder as he looks down at you in the dim lighting, a softness to the moment. He leaves the torch on the wall, following the other few to the open door. Your eyes squint at the bright light, and the closer you get to it, the harsher it becomes, and you hide your face in this shoulder hissing at the way it burns your eyes. You wrap your arm around his neck, trying to shield yourself from the natural light.

He closes the dungeon door with his foot. He ignores the stares from others as he walks with his head held high down the hall.

“Belmont, open my door please,” he asks his valet. The large man runs before him, opening the door. Hyunjin nods his head to the man signaling that he can leave as he lays you down on the bed.

You feel something plush underneath you, Hyunjin’s warmth and security gone. You peek at him as he shuts the door, closing the curtains mostly, only letting in a bit of sunlight to help you adjust easier. It’s only then when he looks at you on the bed that he sees your dirty beaten-up frame. Bruises engulf your arms, legs, and he can only imagine what horror lays beneath your torn, dirty dress. Your bottom lip is busted, a bruise on your cheek and your hair matted and obviously dirty.

He leaves the room momentarily, coming back with a team and hot water for a bath. Hyunjin instructs them that are to help you. You don’t want to be alone with them, but you don’t want him to see you either.

“I can bathe myself.” You interrupt as he talks to one of the girls.

“You can’t even stand.” He says as he walks over to you and you throw your legs on the side of the bed, bracing yourself to stand. You stumble, falling into him, his arms wrapping around you and his eyes peering down at you concerned. You push yourself off him.

“I can bathe myself, Hyunjin, I’m not helpless.”

“Then let them help you into the tub.”

“No, just leave, please,” you beg him in a firm tone. He looks between your eyes, noticing the fear hidden in them.

“Everyone out, the bath is warm, your assistance isn’t needed,” he calls out over his shoulder, though his eyes never leave yours.

The door shuts behind them, the two of you stand there.

“Do you want me gone too?”

You nod, sliding the top of your dress off your shoulder. You limp over to the tub, bracing on it.

“Just knock on the door when you’re finished then,” he says, hesitant to leave you, eyes raking over you one last time. You nod to him and he leaves, closing the door and standing outside of it. You disrobe, catching a glimpse of your bare figure in his mirror. Bruises litter your body, one in the shape of a hand print on your hip, a reminder of how the guard held you as the horror of your nightmares became a harsh reality. You step into the tub, the warm water enveloping your body and you shiver at how good it feels on your sweaty and damp feeling skin. The room is silent except for the sound of the water moving as you move to wash yourself. You dunk your head, wetting your hair.

Once you finish washing yourself and your hair, you step out, but you notice you don’t have any clothes.

“Hyunjin?” you call on the other side of the door, hands covering your body.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t, I don’t have anything to wear.”

“Shit,” you hear him curse.

“I’ll be right back.”

Hyunjin has Belmont stand guard at the door, and he runs down to the seamstress. Little did you know when Hyunjin first began talking to his father the night you were taken in, he had planned to make you his, to take care of you, and he’d had the seamstress working on a couple of designs, ones that would be comfortable and still stylish for you to wear.

“Ah, Ms. Victoria,” he smiles as he walks in.

“Yes, Prince Hyunjin?” She looks up from her pattern momentarily to greet him.

“Are any of my designs finished?”

“Most of them. They’re hanging up over here.” She says as he abandons her current project to point them out, “Whoever this girl is, I hope she knows how much you care for her. Your father still doesn’t understand why you had silk and satin garments made for a woman.” He explains.

“He’s probably put it together by now.” Hyunjin mumbles as he looks at the pieces, noting the robe he had made for you too.

“Thank you, Victoria, they are beautiful.” He smiles as he kisses her cheek warmly.

“One of a kind,” she winks and he smiles bidding her good day before he rushes back up to the room.

“Here, put this on,” he says as he opens the door just enough to hand you the robe. Your eyes grow wide as you take it from him. You slip it on, the feeling of the silk gliding over your skin is deliciously smooth and comfortable. Never in your life had you worn something so comfortable or expensive. It fits like a glove, as if it was made for you.

“Can I come in, now?” He asks hesitantly.

“Yes, I’m covered.” You answer and the door opens, Hyunjin’s eyes falling to your bruised up legs. The room is thick with tension and Hyunjin’s face goes from angry, to worried, back to angry. You shift uncomfortably under his gaze.

As if breaking out of a trance, Hyunjin snaps his attention to your face. He grabs a hair brush from his table, and motions for you to sit on the bed. He gently sits behind you, your heart racing as you can’t see him. He begins to run the brush through your hair softly.

You wince every few strokes, his fingers cradling the hair strands delicately, like a work of art.

“Sorry,” he whispers as he feels it tug. You bite your lip, the sudden care and tenderness foreign and strange to your senses. Emotionally you’re terrified, why is he being so kind?

“The robe is comfortable,” you rasp out, “Thank you.”  

“Good, it’s yours,” he says simply. You turn around, causing Hyunjin to shrink back.

“What? No, I can’t,” you begin to get up and move away from him.

“You can and you will. You work for me now, and I’ll dress you however I please,” he says matter of factly.

“Wait, what do you mean I work for you now?” You ask as you gently move your body back to the bed to finish the last section of hair.

“You won’t answer to my mother or father, you’ll answer to me. If you need something, you tell me. If you want something, you tell me. If they ask you to do anything, you don’t unless I say so.”

“I’m not a dog Hyunjin,” you sass him.

“No, but I am your Prince. Your time is mine while you work and it’s valuable. Too valuable to be divided up amongst the family. Like it or not, Dove, this is the deal. It’s this or you’re head on a platter.” He says with finality as he brings the brush down your locks one last time.

“He wanted to kill me?” you ask, fear evident in your voice.

“Ultimately, yes. My father says he has no use for criminals. But I took care of it.”

He leans in close to your ear, “You’re safe now. You don’t have to worry about him or anyone else. I promise.”

You stand up from the bed, noting your now smooth hair in the mirror.

Hyunjin stands up, coming up behind you.

“Do you want to eat up here or down stairs?”

Hyunjin notes the tension in your body as you think of facing anyone else right now.

“We can eat up here,” he offers gently.

“You should go downstairs,”

“I’m not leaving you,” he whispers into your hair before placing a tender kiss to the crown of your head.

What is his angle?

-

That night after dinner Hyunjin begins turning down the bed while you change into the set of pj’s he’d had made for you.

“I guess I’ll report for duty in the morning, you say as you head towards his bedroom door.

“You’re not sleeping down there with them. One of the girls from the kitchen told my father about the bread, you’ll stay up here with me.”

“But there’s only one bed” you mention as if it’s not clear.

“So, we’ll share.”

“I, uh,”

“I promise, I’ll stick to my side, unless you ask me not to.” He holds up his hand like he’s swearing an oath with a sly smirk on his face.

You tug on your bottom lip, still nervous but you nod; slowly padding over to the bed.

“Good night,” you say quietly as your head hits the pillow. His back is to you, but you can feel the heat coming off his body.

“Good night,” he whispers back before blowing out the last candle that left the room bathed in gold.

That night, the room is dark, except for the light cast of moonlight from the window.

Hyunjin can feel your shifting beside him as he wakes up, noticing your small movements.

“Y/n?” he asks, voice laced with sleep.

“Y/n?” He calls again as he hears small whimpers come from you.

Your movements get bigger, indicating your nightmare is getting worse and he begins to shake you.

“Y/n! Wake up.” He says and your hands grasp on to his forearms holding him back as your chest heaves up and down and you look around the room; your breathing being the only sound in the room.

“Where, what,”

“Shhh, it was just a nightmare, Dove. You’re ok.” He says as he notes your shaking body. The tears that well up in your eyes spill over and down your cheeks. Hyunjin pulls you into him, wrapping his arms around your terrified frame.

“I’ve got you, you’re ok. You’re safe.” He whispers as he gently rocks you. You grip onto him for dear life, trying to get the nightmares of the guard to leave your mind.

“What was it about?” he asks after a few minutes.

“Nothing, it’s nothing.” You whisper.

“Tell me.” He coerces.

You sigh, “It was just something that happened while I was, down there.” You admit.

“What was it?” His tone is light, not pushy, but adamant to know.

“One of the guards, he would,” your grip on Hyunjin gets significantly tighter.

“He would,” you repeat but the words are stuck in your throat behind the lump that’s forming.

“Did he hurt you?” his voice is vulnerable- gentle, but with an edge of something you can’t name.

“Yes,” is all you can choke out as you hide your face in his neck, tears silently streaming down your face, soaking his night shirt. His hand goes up to your hair, stroking it softly.

“He isn’t going to hurt you again, ok? I promise.” He whispers as his eyes shut, feeling your intense emotion. The two of you stay like that until you can calm down, finally able to lay down, and your eyes flutter closed.

-

Over the next few weeks Hyunjin allows you to rest, to rejuvenate and heal. He starts you out slow, cleaning up around his room, helping the kitchen staff again, after a stern explanation that if there are any issues with you, they are to speak with him because you no longer work for the family but for him only. And before you know it a month has passed and physically, you’re better.

Mentally, you’re still scarred. Your heart rate picks up anytime you see the guard around the palace. Hyunjin tried for weeks to get you tell him who it was, but you half lied and said you weren’t sure, that you couldn’t see his face.

You knew, not because you knew his face, but his smell. It was musky, dirty, earthy and smokey. It was something you could pick out in a flat minute, considering he was the only one who seemed to smell that way specifically.

Hyunjin would still tease you, though it was lighter, and he’d try to make you laugh, but you’d keep it to a minimum, because in the eyes of the others you were a princess. A servant princess. You seemed to get special treatment with where you slept, which was in Hyunjin’s bed, you got special food, food he would specifically request you eat with him, and your clothes were fine and comfortable, not itchy or thick. They were beautiful in color, not dull and lifeless. You were obviously his favorite, and that made working with the others difficult.

Two months later you’re now resuming all your normal duties. The morning sun beams in through the window, waking you from your slumber. You don’t feel Hyunjin’s body heat pressed to your back, so you fling the covers off, make the bed and get dressed for the day.

You walk along the small creek out to the horse stables, the morning sun warm against your skin.

“Good morning, Duchess,” you smile as you approach Hyunjin’s beautiful white horse. You pet her snout, her head dipping lower into your palm.

You smile, being around horses is the one familiar thing about your job, you’ve loved them since you were little, and your father, before he passed, worked as a farmer, and had saved up enough money to buy one for you for your ninth birthday.

You open the gate, allowing her to roam out in the field while you clean her stall. You grab the feed, pouring it into her feeder and refresh her water. You could get lost watching her run; and for a moment you do.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” you hear a voice ask and you jump clutching your heart.

“Morning, Dove,” Hyunjin winks with a chuckle as he rests against the back of the stall.

“You scared me,” you say as you start to calm down.

“My apologies, I thought you heard me come up.”

“No, you didn’t,” you grumble to yourself. Hyunjin only chuckles. He watches Duchess as she returns to the stall, making her way to Hyunjin. You watch his interaction with her, how he’s sweet, caring, gentle and yet in control. The way she trusts him completely, and how he trusts her.

“She’s always been a docile creature,” he says without looking at you.

“Would you like to go for a ride?” He peers up at you through his lashes.

“Oh, no, I uh, I have chores,” you back up instinctually.

“Not if I say you don’t. If you want to go for a ride, let’s go.” He says as he grabs a saddle blanket and places it on her back.

“Really I shouldn’t.” You politely try to decline.

“Fine, then I’ll make it your job. Let’s go. This is your chore. Saddle the horse and hop on.” Your eyes grow wide, heart pounding against your ribs. You step up to the horse, Hyunjin holding the saddle out for you. You take it from him, and hoist it up on the horses back, as you start to cinch the straps, you feel his body heat come up from behind you, his breath in your ear. Your body stiffens; the only sound being heard is his breath and the soft distant singing of a morning bird.

He doesn’t say anything, just watches your hands as they cinch the straps.

“There,” you say as you check the tightness of the straps, ensuring the horse isn’t in any discomfort.

“Good,” he murmurs in your ear, a slight shiver going down your spine. You move over so he can mount the horse first. You mount up behind him, holding onto his waist. Hyunjin smiles to himself as he feels your arms go around his waist.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Ready.” You breathe out, your nerves a wreck. He clicks his tongue, signaling for the horse to go forward. She begins to trot, tension between the two of you rising silently.

For the beginning of the ride, you’re silent, looking around at the scenery. Flowers, wild animals, trees and rivers cover the land as you ride through it. Hyunjin is in no rush.

“Where are we going?” you ask quietly as feel Duchess begin to slow down and take a turn down a woodsy path. You can hear the sound of water rushing. He guides the horse through a shallow river, the sound of rushing water getting closer with each step.

Hyunjin only smiles at your question.

After a few more feet you come upon the most beautiful waterfall you’ve ever seen. Hyunjin stops the horse a ways away, tying her to a tree with plenty of grass and just enough slack to drink the water from the river.

He holds out his hand to help you down, the water loud in your ears as it cascades down the waterfall. He silently leads you along a short path, ultimately leading you to a path that takes you behind the water, a small area where the two of you are concealed from the world. It’s like a fairytale. He’s found a way to hang up torches, for lighting and the water is softer now.

You’re mesmerized by the beauty of the place and by how comfortable it is. It’s like a little oasis away from the rest of the world. Hyunjin watches you, a genuine smile on his face, as he sits down on the ground, arms resting on his bent-up knees.

“It’s gorgeous.” You murmur to him.

“I know, I found it years ago on a trip with my father. I got a little lost while we were headed to a camp site, found this place and I’ve been coming back whenever I just need to get away.

“Get away?” you snicker as you go to sit by him.

“Get away from what? Hyunjin, your life is perfect. You have money, food, servants that wait on you hand and foot. Sure, being a King can’t be too easy but, come on, you’re still a Prince, still learning.” You nudge him with your elbow, but he purses his lips.

“Do you know how lonely it is?” he asks, finger tips scrapping against the rock underneath him, eyes on the ground.

“Yeah, I’m surrounded by people, who if given the chance, would slaughter me, take my money and run.” He scoffs.

“You have friends,” you try to encourage him but he looks you dead in your eyes, almost intimidating you.

“Like who?”

“I uh, I don’t know their names.”

“Let me save you the time, I don’t have friends, I have allies. Well, my father does. I’m just part of the deal because I’m his son. Everyone else, works for me or lives under me in the kingdom.” He shrugs it off as he stares at the water.

“Not to mention, the way my father rules, is not the way I want to rule.” He says as he sits back on his hands.

“What do you mean?” you ask, genuinely interested.

“You haven’t been down to the city since you arrived, have you?”

“No.”

“It’s gotten worse since you arrived. The famine. The lack of rain has withered crops; crime has gone up because people are stealing food just to survive. And it makes me sick watching my father throw these lavish parties,” Hyunjin stands up and starts to pace.

“He throws these lavish parties,” he repeats and waves his hands in the air, “And instead of figuring out a way to give the food out the those who need it, he just throws it all away. Like that night you took some bread for yourself, do you know what he did with all that left over food?” he asks, voice slightly raised in passionate anger.

“He just tossed it out like it was bad. He imprisoned you for doing what anyone in your position would have done and it wasn’t right. And I couldn’t stand to know you were down there every night when you should have been with me.” He says all too quickly and you look at him with brows raised.

“I mean,” he tries to backtrack.

“In the sense that you shouldn’t have been imprisoned at all. I, uh,” he fumbles as he looks for the right words.

“I could have used you that night to help wash my sheets and be productive,” you note the blush creeping up his neck, “But no, my father had to be hard ass and stroke his own damn ego that ‘he’s king’ and put you in the dungeon.”

You feel a tinge of disappointment as he explains away his faux pau.

Hyunjin shakes his head in frustration. You get up, walking over to him, hesitantly putting your hands out to touch his arm, to try and ground him. He looks down at you, your heart beating fast.

You give him a small smile.

“I don’t know that I ever thanked you for getting me out of there,” you mutter, “So thank you,” you smile and Hyunjin’s face is twisted, but the emotion can’t be read.

He’s holding himself back, the way you look in the low light, the way it’s just the two of you and the way he’s opened up to you, it causes something in him to snap. But he can’t. He knows better.

“It was no problem.” He says as he cups your cheek, studying your face. Eyes, nose, cheeks and lips. Those lips, just slightly darker in color than your face, plump and sweet. A silent plea echoes from them to be kissed.

He stares into your eyes for a moment, the two of you lost in time.

“We should, um, we should get back.” You whisper. He exhales sharply, stealing one last glance at your lips before nodding.

“Yeah, probably. I know there’s a meeting my father was desperate for me to attend,” he whispers.

He leads you out from behind the water and you both walk back to Duchess.

You hop on the horse first, Hyunjin lifting a brow at you.

“Can I?” you ask sheepishly.

“You know how to ride?” he smirks with an amused tone.

“I’ve been around horses my whole life, until we had to sell ours for money anyway.” You pout slightly, the memory of your horse popping into your mind.

“How long ago?”

“About two years ago.” You sigh as Hyunjin unties the horse from the tree.

“What was it?”

“A Black stallion.” You smile at his memory.

“Black? What was his name?” Hyunjin’s voice holds an air of curiosity.

“Shadow, I got him when I was nine and he was just a little colt. He was a gift from my father, Alaric, the year before he passed.” You frown as Hyunjin mounts the horse behind you, his hands wrapping around your waist, electricity shooting through both of you.

“I’m sorry about your father.”

“It’s fine, that was 14 years ago.”

Hyunjin rests his chin on your shoulder as you begin your journey back to the palace.

-

Hyunjin had you with him all the time. While you couldn’t talk so freely as you did weeks ago at the water fall, you still were spending time together. He had you help him sword train, once he made sure his teacher taught you how. He claimed it was for his and your safety, God forbid you ever need it.

Days were spent battling, fighting, sometimes playing around like children. Laughter was becoming a more common occurrence throughout your days, feeling less like work and more like you were actually making a friend.

One afternoon, with the palace particularly slow, Hyunjin had you in the practice room, fighting with your swords.

“No, you have to watch both places or you’ll lose your head,” he instructs using the blade to show you how it could easily go from your left hip to the right side of your neck, the blade barely touching your flesh.

You tense as you feel it, looking between the steel blade and him.

“Again,” he announces. This time, you make quick work of your feet using your sword to get leverage, knocking his sword out of his hand, pushing him to the ground and straddling his waist, blade to his throat.

You smirk down at him, before suddenly your blade is being flung across the room and Hyunjin has you pinned against the floor in a flash. Your eyes are wide as you look up at him.

“What the hell?” you ask as you struggle under his grip.

“Unless you kill the enemy, they can always over take you. Never underestimate them.” He sternly says. You huff frustrated, but nod mentally noting what he’s saying.

“Ok, now let me up,” you wiggle under him, but Hyunjin’s face is suddenly soft, dominant, but soft. You notice his gaze travel from your eyes to your lip’s multiple times. He begins to lean down, hair falling in his face and your heart starts pounding, lips mere inches from each other-

“Prince Hyunjin your father has requested,” the woman trails off seeing the sight before her, “Your presence in his room,” she says slowly backing away.

“My apologies,” she says, bows and then leaves the room. Hyunjin huffs, letting you up off the floor.

He leaves without a word, leaving you standing there wondering what in the world just happened.

-

One afternoon the next week you walk into the art room to see Hyunjin working with clay. The room is bathed in a sweet yellow glow from the afternoon sun, paintings and clay works litter the room. Almost all of them Hyunjin’s.

He’d requested that you bring him wine and make sure his cup stayed full. He was in his normal outfit; an undershirt and comfortable pants and you can’t help but internally drool at the way his shoulders catch the sunlight. The definition in his arms, the way his body is so beautifully sculpted, you could stare at him for hours.

“Earth to y/n,” he waves his clayed hand.

“Huh? Oh, um here. Your- Your wine.” Hyunjin chuckles as he notices the pink dusting on your cheeks and ears.

“Thank you,” he says as he goes to pick up the glass but sighs.

“Would you mind?” He flits his eyes to the glass you just filled on the table.

“Oh, um yeah, sure.” You say nervously. Cautiously you bring the cup to his lips, both of you staring at each other intensely. You gulp slightly, his gaze ultra focused as the cup touches his lips. He takes a large sip, putting his hand up to signal that he’s finished.

You take the cup away, eyes not leaving his until you have to look down at the little table beside him to set the beverage down.

“What are you making?”

“A vase,” he answers simply.

You watch as his hands move up and down the wet clay, sculpting and moving the clay around to form the lips of the top of it. His hands mesmerize you, and Hyunjin can feel your gaze burning holes into him.

“Come here,” he instructs and your brows go up. Your feet carry you over as he stands up and offers you the stool.

“Sit,” he smiles. You oblige, taking a seat as you watch him sit down behind you, his legs on the outer portion of yours. His hands gently clasp yours and bring them to cool, wet clay. Hyunjin starts moving your hands helping your form the clay in the right shapes at the right places.

You notice how he takes two fingers, his middle and his ring finger, and dips them into the clay shaping it appropriately. The sight causes you to bite your lip coupled with the feeling of his body heat behind you. Your head begins to swim as you dare to glance at him over your shoulder, his eyes already on you. His eyes are strong and steady, his lips slightly pouted, his breathing a little quicker than normal in your ear. He moves your hands expertly as the two of you stare at each other, the moment thick with anticipation, and charged with an energy that’s overwhelming.

Hyunjin leans in, slow, calculated and cautious, lips barely touching yours before his eyelids close and his lips brush yours softly. Your own eyes widen for a moment, unsure of what you should do, that you simply give into what you want to do.

Your lips move with his, steady, unhurried, like he’s savoring every last second of this. Your hands are now laced together, his over yours, covered in clay as the vase has been forgotten. Hyunjin tilts his head a little, deepening the kiss, tongue brushing your bottom lip.

But as if a truck hits you, you pull away, jumping up and away from him. He looks at you startled as he notices the look of fear on your face.

You clear your throat, visibly shaken by the encounter before simply dashing out of the room and away to cleanse your hands of Hyunjin’s touch and the clay.

-

That night you’re getting changed for bed and Hyunjin enters the room as you slip on the gown. The two of you hadn’t spoken since the encounter in his art room. Come to think of it, you hadn’t seen him the rest of the afternoon.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says quietly, not quite looking at you.

“You didn’t, but I think it’s best if I sleep in the servants’ quarters tonight.”

“What? Why?”

“Our relationship boundaries are beginning to get muddy; we need to keep this professional.” You go to step around him to the door but he catches your arm gently.

“Says who?” he asks quietly, eyes burning into yours. You open your mouth to speak but the words don’t come.

“It’s the way things are meant to be,” is all you muster up.

“That’s bullshit,” he says as he cups your face.

“Don’t go down there, just stay,” he whispers desperately, “please,” he begs. Your jaw ticks as you search his eyes, something real and raw behind them.

“Are you asking me, or giving me an order,” your voice shakes ever so slightly with genuine inquisition.

“I want you to choose to,” he says simply.

“I choose what’s appropriate.” You breathe.

“What’s inappropriate about me wanting you to stay here tonight? All we ever do is sleep.” He points out. You sigh, realizing he has a point. You pull yourself reluctantly out of his grip and walk over to the bed.

You pull back the blankets and slide into bed, Hyunjin watching as if you’ll disappear if he looks away. He slides in next to you, both of you looking up at the ceiling.

“You cut your hair,” you mumble. He hums in response.

“Why?”

“Do you not like it?” he asks.

“No, I just wondered why the sudden change.”

“Honestly,” he begins as he turns on his side to face you. You glance over at him, “I felt like a new man, like something in me had changed and I wanted to reflect that.” He searches your face for your reaction but you give him none.

“What changed?” you ask.

“My courage, my willingness to help others, my belief in what is right.” You nod at him, a small pursed lip smile appearing on your face.

“I think it makes you look handsome and strong.” You say as you tentatively lift your hand to run your fingers through his shorter hair. His eyes flutter closed, the feeling something familiar, a memory of something his mother used to do for him when he was little.

For the first time since you’ve shared a room with Hyunjin, you fall asleep in his arms.

-

Neither of you can speak about that day, it’s been two weeks and you won’t utter a word about it, but something you have noticed is that Hyunjin has been gone more since that day, coming and going at random times, early in the morning and late at night, in the middle of the day and suddenly during archery lessons. Yet you never see him come back with anything.

You also notice a certain guard hanging around with an all too sickeningly familiar earthy scent. You catch him watching you, a stone-cold look on his face as your eyes meet and he doesn’t look away, rather he smirks like the cat who ate the canary.

He knows you’ll never tell of what he really did to you in that cell.

One evening he finds you alone, it’s late and the servants are tucked into bed. Hyunjin had requested a small snack and you prepare it for him.

“Hey pretty girl,” his voice is slimy, sticky and gross. You freeze, fear striking you.

“Miss me, baby?” his smile is venomous as he corners you against the table. You don’t speak, you want to yell but you’re frozen.

“What’s a matter, hmm? Don’t you remember how good I made you feel,” he chuckles as his hand comes to your waist. You shudder, his skin like poison. His hands grip you forcing you to face the table as he hikes up your dress. You don’t move, you can’t. As you feel your underwear get moved to the side, you hear a voice.

“Get the hell away from her!”

Hyunjin.

There’s a thud on the floor and a pair of hands comes around you.

“No, please, please,” you whimper. He turns you around and immediately you’re met with his chocolate brown eyes. They scan you in a frenzy.

“Did he?” he trails off.

“No,” you breathe as you cling to him.

“How’d you know?”

“You never take this long.” He simply says.

As promised Hyunjin does take care of it, telling his father what he saw, you agreeing to speak of it and confirm the story. The man loses his head the following day.

-

One evening you’re straightening up the bedroom when the door flies open.

“Dove! Come quick!” Hyunjin grabs your arm and pulls you to the hallway.

“Hyunjin!” you squeal with a small giggle.

“What’s going on!”

“Just come on, I have something to show you.” He pulls you out to the horse stable, Duchess is eager to see you. You stop momentarily to pet her.

“Hey, girl,” you smile as you kiss her muzzle.

“What is it you want to show me?” you look at Hyunjin who is grinning from ear to ear.

He guides you over to see the stall next to Duchess and clicks his tongue. A black stallion comes into view. You audibly gasp. It looks just like the horse you had as a little girl, just like the horse you sold only a few years ago.

“Hyunjin he’s beautiful.” You smile.

“Dove, does he look familiar?” He asks in your ear; a cocky smirk present on his face. Your heart thrums in your ears now, too scared to ask and be disappointed. So, all you do is look up at him, the question ever present in your eyes.

All Hyunjin does is smile at you, wide and bright.

“Shadow?” you ask quietly as if saying his name will make the world crumble. Tears prick your eyes as the horse flicks his ears towards you and neighs. Your hands go up to your mouth, covering the way it hangs open. Tears fall and you throw yourself into the prince’s arms.

“How did you- I can’t believe- what?” you can’t decide what question to ask first. And Hyunjin chuckles at your reaction.

“Come on, let’s go for a ride.” He says and you go up to your horse, embracing him, tears still slowly falling.

-

The two of you ride out to the waterfall tying the horses up and escaping behind the water. Hyunjin grabs the spare blanket for the two of you to sit on. As you go into your own little world, he sets the blanket down.

“You haven’t stopped smiling,” Hyunjin mentions as you two brace against the back of a rock and watch the water.

“How’d you find him? When did you find him,” you ask unsure of which question you want the answer to first. Hyunjin pulls you into his lap, an amused look on his face, you gasp as your legs go on either side of him as he peers up at you.

“I put the word out that I was looking for a specific horse, and it just so happened the afternoon we spent in the art room, there was a lead, but it wasn’t the one. The horse was too young to be Shadow, and for the next few weeks we were running into horses too young or too old, we ran into only a few with the right age and only one had gotten a horse from a man named Alaric. So, I made an educated guess and took my chances.” He smirks.

“I made him a very rich man, and got the horse,” Hyunjin says. Your smile is bright, and Hyunjin’s heart is full and content.

Your emotions get the better of you, gratitude and passion mixing together; your hands come up to cup his face, and you lean down, softly molding your lips to his. His hands rest on your waist, as his lips move with yours in sync.

Slowly, they move up your sides, and your hands rest on either side of his neck, hips softly grinding into his, moans being exchanged between the two of you. Your breathing gets heavier; desire grows between the two of you as you get lost in each other. Tongues dare to tango, dipping into each other’s mouths.

Your foreheads rest together, one another’s breath fanning the other.

“I’m sorry, I um, thank you,” you pant, “for getting him back.”

“Don’t be sorry, Dove. I wanted to,” he pants back. You pull back from him.

“Why do you call me that?” you ask. Hyunjin laughs to himself.

“Because you remind me of a dove,” he says as he slots a strand of hair behind your ear.

“There’s a peace about you, a certain hope you carry despite the shit you’ve been through. There’s an innocence about you; you want to see the good in all people do and who they are. You don’t demand the luxuries in life, only the simplicity. Money doesn’t mean much to you, possessions aren’t what matter most. There’s a freedom in that.” He smiles and your heart swells at his words. You lean down and kiss his lips again gently.

“That’s my thank you,” you say sheepishly, face dusting pink.

“You’re welcome,” his hand rubs circles into your back as the moment begins to feel domestic.

“We should get going, it’s getting late,” you whisper to him as you notice the light outside is dulling. You stand up, but he pulls you back down, lips crashing together fervently.

You melt into the kiss, his hands resting on your hips, the ones he gently nudges for you to move.

“Hyunjin,” you breathe as he claims your mouth in another desperate kiss. His fingers start to bunch up the dress to your waist.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” He breathes before his tongue claims your mouth again in yet another fiery kiss. You only whimper in response, feeling the dampness of your panties stick to you.

Your breathing becomes heavy as his hands ghost over the damp patch, a smirk evident on his lips.

“I haven’t even touched you,” he teases as you grind your hips down onto hardening his length, earning a guttural moan from him.

“Nor I, you.” You sass him with the same cocky smirk. Hyunjin only chuckles before turning you over on your back.

“I wanna taste.” He groans as your hand goes to his pants, squeezing lightly. The rock is cool against your back through the thin cloth as Hyunjin moves down between your thighs, discarding your underwear. His eyes lock with yours as his tongue dips into your folds, finding your clit. He strokes it languidly with his tongue, teasing you.

A gasp escapes your lips, eyes fluttering closed as your mouth hangs open. You force your eyes open, noting the beautiful man between your legs and the water cascading behind him. You moan as he moves his tongue with more precision, his own sounds muffled against your wet cunt.

“Oh god,” your back arches off the slightly damp rock.

“So sweet,” he groans as his eyes roll back in his head, sounding as if he’s the one getting off just by tasting you. His cock starts to ache, causing a wet spot on his pants, and hips desperate to grind, but he focuses on you.

His fingers tease your entrance, your hips rolling as he inserts them, feeling the wetness from both you and his tongue. He hits the spot perfectly, causing you to cry out brokenly in slight discomfort, hands going to his hair. You breathe through it, trying not to make him stop.

You lay there, slowly feeling him stop and you prop yourselves up on your elbows.

“What’s wrong?” Worry is etched into your features as you look at him.

“Y/n,” your brows shoot up. He hasn’t used your name in a while, “Are-are you a virgin?” Your face heats up and body squirms away from him.

“I-um, I well,” you stutter and his face softens.

“You’re bleeding,” he shows you his finger, slick with the red liquid.

“Shit,” you whisper to yourself, hiding your face in your hands.

“I wish I knew. I would’ve been more careful,” regret laces his voice.

“Let’s just go,” you sigh, frustrated, but his hands go to your hips.

“Do you want to leave or do you think I don’t you?” You dare to meet his eyes, something about them soft, yet possessive all at once.

“I um,”

“Because I want you, all of you.” He whispers as his forehead rests on yours. His lips dip down for a testing kiss; one you return and he smiles.

“I’m not as experienced as your other girls,” you tell him between kisses.

“If I wanted them, they’d be here.” He says honestly, his hands going to remove his pants.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whimper, feeling a slight pulse between your legs.

“Just feel, baby. I’ll take care of the rest.” He promises as he lines himself up. He looks to you again and with a nod of your head slowly pushes in. You wince at the stretch, sucking in a sharp breath, hands flexing besides you.

“I know, I know. You’re doing so good, breathe for me.” He whispers, a hand caressing your face gently as he continues to push in.

“Fuck,” you breathe, a stray tear escaping the corner of your eye. Hyunjin leans down to kiss it away.

“Almost there, you ok?” he asks.

“Mhm,” you whimper as he bottoms out inside you.

“Fuck you’re so tight, so warm,” he groans in your ear. He stays still, allowing you to adjust to his size and the feeling.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks after a moment.

“No,” you squeak out, desperate for something to ground you.

“Kiss me,” you plead and his lips find yours instantly.

“I’m ok,” you say against his lips and he begins to move, slowly rolling his hips, causing you to gasp as you feel every inch of him against your walls.

Your arms go around his neck, the pain more intense than before.

“It’ll feel good soon, I promise.” He whispers in your ear.

“You’re so beautiful,” his words are gentle, voice soft, “Your smile is the most beautiful portrait I’ve ever seen,” he smiles.

“The way you’re so gentle,” he groans, feeling your walls flutter, “with any and every one, it steals my breath.”

“You have my whole heart,” he confesses. “It’s always going to be you, Dove.” Hearing the words and slowly feeling the pleasure sink in to your core, you let out a small moan and Hyunjin smiles as he kisses the skin below your ear.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers, causing your walls to yet again flutter around him, causing him to moan. 

“Feeling better?” he asks chocolate orbs looking into your y/e/c eyes.

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes closing as his hand snakes down to find your clit. You gasp, hips jolting as the area is hypersensitive now.

“Gonna make you feel so good, Dove,” he smiles as he kisses your lips, hips moving faster, harder and his fingers circling your clit.

“Fuck,” you squeak out, lips separating from his, eyes shut tight.

“It’s tight,” you whimper.

“I know, it’s normal. Just feel it,” he reassures you. You nod feeling your body go rigid.

“Let go for me, let me have it,” he moans, hips hitting harder, skin slapping against skin, your nails digging into his shoulders as your eyes clamp shut and your walls clamp around his cock.

“Oh god, yes, yes, ah,” your back arches into his body, head against the rock beneath you. He continues his thrusts, dragging out your high. He stills as he cums, moans and groans leaving him as he gasps for air. He smiles lazily before connecting your lips once more.

“You did so good,” he praises you blush under his touch.

“That was um,” you search for the words, “nice,” you smile and Hyunjin chuckles.

“Just nice?” he quirks a brow.

“It was the best thing I’ve ever felt,” you admit and hide your face, earning a laugh from him. Like saying the words without saying them. Uttering promises without actually uttering them.

He lays beside you for a moment, holding you close.

“I meant what I said,” Hyunjin says, feeling a tinge of guilt, “You have my heart.” He looks down at you and you look up at him.

“Hyunjin,” you sigh, “You know your father would never approve.” Hyunjin raises his brows.

“It’s not about his approval. Quite frankly I don’t care what he approves of. He thinks right is wrong and wrong is right.” He says before kissing the top of your head.

“I’m honestly in love with you.” He whispers, eyes holding an air of raw vulnerability. Your breath catches, eyes casting down from him.

“I love you too.” You smile, daring to let yourself believe in this. Hyunjin’s smile is bright. There’s a comfortable silence that falls between you, the only sound being the rushing water. You squeeze his waist tightly, finding a sliver of comfort in the moment.

“I think we should get back.” You whisper, noting the little bit of light seen through the water. Hyunjin stands up helping you get dressed before retrieving his pants.

“Are you ok to ride?” You nod as you slowly get up, legs a little wobbly, feeling him drip down your thighs.

“When we get back I’ll have a contraceptive made for you,” he smiles as you nod and follow him out to the horses.

-

Upon your return that night you put your horses back in the stable, and another servant, one who works for Hyunjin’s father, runs out to grab him, whispering to him.

“Take care of Duchess,” he calls out and you wave him off. You move with a bounce in your step, the moment shared between you special, one you’ll remember for the rest of your life.

“He loves me,” you giggle to yourself as you put Duchess and Shadow in their stalls and take off the riding gear.

“He really loves me,” you say to yourself as you pet Shadows snout. You give it a soft kiss before walking inside the palace.

You head around the corner to the throne room stopping in your tracks when you hear the kings voice boom.

“Wonderful the wedding shall set for 3 days from now.” Your breath catches, and you catch sight of the prince and some random girl you don’t recognize standing before the king.

What?

Your heart feels as though it stops. You watch as the woman beams up at Hyunjin, rising up to kiss his cheek. Your stomach twists and you feel sick.

He just told you he loved you, so what the hell is going on? He just told you his heart was yours, not two hours ago. Was it all a lie? Was it the heat of the moment?

You will yourself to walk away, tears stinging your eyes as you race up to his room.

Back down stairs you don’t see the way Hyunjin’s face is less than enthused.

“Thank you for keeping good on your promise to marry my daughter,” the woman’s father says.

“I only did this so you’d give me the horse.”

“You got the horse, didn’t you?” the man laughs like he’s gotten a sickening victory.

“Yes, now if you’ll excuse me, I need to bathe, it’s been a long day.” He says and bids goodnight to his future bride.

-

You’re pacing the room as the door opens and you freeze as he walks in.

“Mind helping me with a bath?” he smiles, walking up to you. You search his eyes.

He quirks a brow at you.

“What?” he smiles, hands resting on your hips. You jerk out of his grasp and walk out of the room without a word to get the water. You retrieve it from the cistern and heat it, carefully bringing it inside to the bathtub.

Hyunjin watches you meticulously. You were fine when he left you in the stables, giddy even, but now, he can’t read you. It’s as if you’re closed off once again to him.

“It’s ready,” you say professionally.

“Undress me,” he smirks, thinking this will crack your sudden cold exterior.

“Yes sir,” you say monotone, walking over and slipping his top off over his head. He smiles as you glance at his toned stomach. Your gut twists, heart aches and anger burns. You clench your teeth, and pull his pants and underwear down leaving him completely naked.

You stand to the side, not looking at him as he walks by you. His face twists in confusion as he sits down into the tub.

“Why don’t you join me?” He smirks, trying to get you back to normal.

“No thank you, I’ll bathe on my own.” Your words are cold and unfeeling.

You come up behind him, washing his shoulders and arms with the sponge provided. The room is silent, except for the sound of the water splashing as you dip your hand into it and let it drip off.

You wash over his chest, his head near your breasts, and your hand travels down his abdomen where Hyunjin suddenly grabs your hand.

“What’s going on?” he asks, eyes locking onto you. Your heart thunders maddeningly.

“You’ve barely spoken a word since I came in, and you’re,” he trails off for a moment, “Different.” He finishes.

“I’m doing my job,” you say simply.

“No, something’s off with you,” he turns his head to look you in the eye. You look at him, jaw tight, face stoic.

“I’m fine, we need to finish your bath.”

“Not until you talk to me, Dove.” The name hits your heart like a dagger, his tone firm but kind.

“Please stop calling me that,” you ask quietly.

“Why? It didn’t bother you before.”

“Well, it bothers me now!” You snap, voice raised and your eyes close immediately in regret. An awkward silence filling the room.

“I apologize, but I ask that you would use my name and not some nickname you think is cute to tease me with.”

“Dove,” he trails off as he attempts to take your hand, but you drop the sponge with a ca-plunk and walk out.

“Bathe yourself then, since you can’t even seem to remember my name.”

“Y/n!” he calls after you, but he hears the door to his room slam and then silence.

Hyunjin hops out of the tub and grabs his clothes following after you.

His hair is dripping as he races down the palace hallways, desperate in search for you. His father happens to be walking down the hall and stops him.

“Calm down, boy. You’ll be married soon enough. No need to rush off to her chambers yet. But I don’t blame you, she’s a beauty.” He smirks and Hyunjin pushes his father out of his way. He looks around the courtyard once outside and the thought occurs to him where you must be.

The stables.

He dashes across the yard, breathing hard as he the wind pushes against him.

He stops short, catching his breath. He approaches once he’s calmer, hearing the faint sound of crying.

“Y/n?” he asks and the sound suddenly stops.

In the stall, your horse is down in the hay, you’re against him as your tears spill over. Hearing your name and the voice you’ve come to know well, you hold in your tears, hand over your mouth to keep from making more noise. The stall opens, Shadow picking up his head to see who it is, but rests his head once he sees Hyunjin.

Hyunjin comes face to face with you, eyes red and swollen, tear streaks down your cheeks, nose red from the obvious crying. His heart breaks, aches, and he walks over, desperately wanting to hold you and make the pain go away. He attempts to pull you into his lap and you fight him, resulting in him catching your hands and pulling you into him anyway.

“Hyunjin, let me go!” you struggle, but his grip is strong. If looks could kill, he’d be a dead man by now.

“Tell me what’s wrong and I will.” You scoff with a sarcastic grin.

“I was stupid, that’s what’s wrong. I never should have fucking trusted you,” you bite as you yank your wrists from his grip, getting up and walking out of the stall.

“Wait, what do you mean, what did I do?”

“As if you don’t know.” Hyunjin feels the pit in his stomach grow.

“Dove,” his voice desperately pleads.

“I’m not your goddamn Dove, anymore!” Your voice booms at his brows raise as he takes a half step back.

“Why don’t you go call your future bride that,” you seethe and he looks as though he’s been stabbed through the heart. His face turns down a bit.

“It’s not what it looks like,” he begins, but your anger is in full force now.

“Really? Because it looks like you just took my virginity, something precious to me, told me you loved me and that I ‘have your heart’ and now you’re getting married! How is that NOT what it looks like, Hyunjin? Why the hell didn’t you tell me? Why did you even take me out there today?” Tears are brimming your eyes as your anger and betrayal mix.

“No! I meant every word, y/n I swear I did,” his voice cracks as tears well up in his eyes, “No one else makes me feel the way you do, no one else my heart skip a beat with a single glance. No one else sees me the way you do, as Hyunjin. No girl in this entire universe is you.” He cups your face, eyes desperate for you to believe him, but you don’t.

You can’t.

“I’ll have my things moved out of your room in the morning. It’s time I go back to my place in the servants’ quarters.” You say, voice broken and defeated as you leave him to go back to the stall.

“Y/n,” he calls after you, “Please, we can figure this out.”

“There’s nothing to figure out,” you call back to him.

“I don’t love her,” he tries.

“You apparently don’t love me either or you would’ve told me about her before you,” you cringe at your words, “we, did anything.” You shut the stall door and sit across from your horse, heart broken into a million pieces.

Hyunjin sighs, walking away, leaving to yourself for the night.

-

The next morning the palace is buzzing with activity. Flowers, decorations and pieces of clothing flow through the place like a river, all of it a constant reminder of your heartache.

You make your way to Hyunjin’s room, grabbing your things with the help of Belmont, when Hyunjin walks in, hair disheveled and chest rising up and down like he’d been running. The two of you look at him.

“Good morning, Prince Hyunjin, I’ll be out of you way in just a few moments. I’m gathering the last of my things.” You give him the biggest, fakest smile you can muster and from the corner of your eye you can the sympathetic look from Hyunjin’s personal security.

“Belmont, give us a moment, please.” He says and the larger man nods, putting your things on the bed and walking out. Hyunjin shuts the door behind him, and rests his head on it as he exhales.

“Don’t do this,” he says without turning back to you.

“Prince Hyunjin,”

“Stop! Stop calling me that! It’s Hyunjin, don’t put my damn title before my name like, like, like you’re some kind of,” he stumbles on his words.

“Servant?” you ask, tone bitter.

“In case you’ve forgotten, that’s exactly what I am. Which is why this needs to happen. We both forgot my place and now that you’re getting married lines will be clear.”

He walks over to you and with his hands cupping your cheeks, his lips brush onto yours, deeply, passionately, full of love and devotion. Your lips move together in sync, and just as you start to lose yourself in the kiss, there’s a knock on his door, pulling you back to reality.

The two of you separate.

“Please, don’t go. I want you, I need you here, with me. I- I can’t function without you, Dove.” Your eyes close, heart breaking all over again.

“I told you; I’m not your ‘dove’ anymore.”

“You’ll always be my dove,” he whispers to you before the knock gets louder.

“No, she will be.” You say, a crack in your voice, betrayal etched into the edge of your words.

“She won’t,” he protests.

“Prince Hyunjin?” a female voice on the other side of the door calls out. You see the despair on his face.

“Oh my god,” you barely whisper. You pull out of his grip, grabbing your things and opening the door.

“Oh, hello,” she greets you warmly. She’s blonde, bright smile, with a beautiful body and eyes as blue as the ocean.

“I apologize, I was helping the prince talk through some of the options for your wedding gown.” You smile bitterly, dying inside.

“Oh, and you are,” she trails off.

“Y/n, a handmaiden of the prince.” You smile and she looks you up and down, not loosing her smile, but you can see the way her eyes shift.

“I’m Meredith.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, my future princess,” the words taste bitter leaving your lips.

“I’ll be on my way,” you smile, abandoning the few belongings on the bed and racing down the hallway.

The servants’ quarters are nothing compared to the luxury you’d been used to. The beds are lumpy; the room is cold at night and blankets scratchy.

The girls all look at you like you’re a rat, and when you return you notice pieces of your clothing litter the room. You look around at the way the expensive fabric lays strown across the floor, some girls walking by you, giggling to each other as they throw you dirty looks.

You’re left in the room alone, the door behind you shut, and you lay down your things in the small wardrobe provided for each palace worker.

You let more tears fall as you pick up pieces of the luxury fabric and squeeze them in your hands. The clothes weren’t really what you were sad about, but seeing them torn up, was like confirmation that whatever you had with Hyunjin was really over. Torn to shreds by fate and lies.

You’re angry with him, yes. But more so you’re angry with yourself, you knew better than to believe your life could be more than working for someone above your social class. You knew better than to believe someone like him could or would really make it work with someone like you; still you dared to believe for something different.

Something better.

-

The next night you’re back in the scratchy, ill made dress for a party with the King, Queen, Prince and his new bride and her father. You’re constantly refilling cups, the woman’s father running through wine like it’s going out of style. You notice the dirt on his shoes, and how his hair has recently been cut and his appearance over all tidier.

All night your eyes flit to him, his face oddly familiar, while Hyunjin’s flit to you as his future wife sits next to him. Your eyes widen when you finally recognize the man.

He was a family friend years ago. Your father stopped mentioning him a couple months after your horse was sold, you had over heard your father telling your mother how he didn’t want him around you. He didn’t want him to ever be near you or the family again, as to why, you weren’t sure.

Hyunjin quirks a brow at you when he notices the look on your face. Your eyes flit to him, and you shake your head. Your heart thrums in your chest as you try to keep yourself steady. Throughout the night you notice Mr. Landsone’s eyes on you, dragging slowly over your body, his hand itching to touch you when you were near.

“That’s a lovely dress,” he rasps.

“Thank you,” you smile sensing the drunken behavior.

“Y/n’s my best girl,” Hyunjin suddenly speaks up. You catch the look his bride to be throws at him.

“Excuse me?” she asks.

“She’s my best girl,” he repeats, looking Meredith dead in her pupils, “She’s always on top of things. However, I’m not sure why she’s dressed this way, y/n, what happened to your other garments?” Your face flushes as you step back.

“They were, um, not fitting to serve wine in my Prince.” He cocks a brow, not believing your words.

“Go change, I want to see it on you.”

“I can’t,” you answer all too quickly.

“Why not?”

“I’m needed here,” you sigh and suddenly the king beats on the table like a toddler.

“If the Prince is telling you to do something you insolent girl, you do it! Now GO!” He yells in front of everyone, causing them all to look at you. Your face heats up even more and you set the wine pitcher down. You return to the servant’s quarter’s.

As you sit on the bed taking a deep breath, the door opens, revealing none other than the prince himself.

“What are you doing down here?”

“Where are you other clothes. I had them made for a reason,” he trails off as he opens the wardrobe, seeing none of your finely made clothes in there.

“The other girls, they,” you trail off, attempting to explain what happened.

“Why did you leave your things unattended?” He asks, slight irritation in his voice.

“I can’t stay with them all day, Hyunjin! I would’ve had to leave at some point, so if it wouldn’t of been then it would’ve happened some other time.” Your voice raises to him.

“I know you haven’ t had nice things before, but when you have them you take care of them!”

“Maybe that’s why I don’t want nice things! Because when you have them, someone can steal them away from you! Someone can damage them, misuse them, and there’s nothing you can do about it because it’s done. Nice things only lead to getting hurt!” your voice booms through the small brick laid room. The two of you stand in silence, tension thick between you. Hyunjin realizes you aren’t just talking about the clothing anymore.

“Come to my room tonight,” he says quietly before walking out, not giving you time to answer.

-

You knock on his door, Belmont standing beside the door. Hyunjin opens it, no shirt, pants low on his hips. He moves to let you in, and before anything else can be processed, his lips are on yours. His mouth tastes of wine, his body warm.

“Stop, Hyunjin, stop!” you push him away from you.

“I want you,” he says and attempts to kiss you again.

“Stop it!” you duck and run behind him, staring at him in fear. When he sees it he softens and sobers up some.

“I don’t want to scare you,”

“Then don’t!”

“I need you, dove, please.” He begs.

“My answer is no. Call your fiancé.”

“I don’t want her.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t marry her!”

“Be my mistress,” he suggests and you scoff.

“Hell no,”

“Y/n,” he sighs, “You’re my servant, and my future wife’s handmaiden, if I tell you to do something you will do it.” His voice is firm, and your heart breaks yet again.

“You would do that to me? You would fucking rape me?”

“It’s not rape,”

“The hell it isn’t! I’m saying no! I’m saying I don’t want to, and you would threaten me over that?” your eyes narrow at him.

“You’re no better than that damn guard.” He stumbles over to you, backing you up against the wall.

“I’ll never be him.” His voice is strong, commanding, dark.

“Make me do this,” you pause briefly, “And you will be.”

Your chest rises and falls as you look between his eyes. You see something broken, something desperate. Desperate for control, maybe. Desperate for you?

“Fine,” he breathes.

“Stay the night with me then. No sex, just, sleep.” He asks.

“Hyunjin, that’s not a good idea.”

“I’m begging you; I miss you. I want you; I don’t want her.” His voice cracks, emotions threatening to spill over as his palm cups your cheek.

“I can’t. I have to go downstairs.” You whisper after leaning into his touch.

“Y/n, please, tell me how to fix this.” He begs before dropping to his knees, arms around your waist and his head to your stomach.

“I have to go,” you whisper and peel his arms from around your waist. You walk out, letting the door slam, and about a foot away from the door, you hear him yell, frustrated and partially drunk, causing Belmont to rush in. Part of you is desperate to return to him, stay by his side, but you can’t.

For once, you have to come first.

-

Back down in the quarters you’re getting ready for bed, most of the other girls still cleaning up around the palace. You’re pulling back your blankets when the door creeks open.

“Hyunjin, I told you,” You turn to face him only to be met with the face of Mr. Landsone.

“Can I help you, Mr.?”

“Y/n, don’t act like you don’t recognize me,” he smiles wickedly. Your heart rate increases rapidly, palms sweaty.

“You grew up, very very pretty. But of course, you were always pretty.” His words are venomous as he reaches out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, eyes landing on your chest in the cheap thin fabric you would call a night gown.

He groans, seeing your nipples through the fabric, his hand reaching up to grope you.

“Don’t touch me,” you tell him, desperate to move, but he has your legs pinned to the bed.

“But you’re so pretty. I bet you sound pretty too,” he chuckles as hand makes contact against your will.

“Stop, please stop!” you try to move his hand but he pushes you against the bed. Your legs flail as he moves the fabric up to your waist, trying to pin you down with one arm and free himself with the others.

Next thing you know the door is once again opening and Hyunjin walks in.

“What the fuck!” he yells and lunges at Mr. Landsome, knocking him to the ground. You pull your feet up on the bed, body trembling with fear and adrenaline.

You watch as they scrap, Hyunjin landing punch after punch to the man, ultimately knocking him out cold. You watch as his shoulders rise and fall with his heavy breathes. Hyunjin’s eyes find you, your body trembling on the bed.

“You’re trembling, Dove.” He whispers as he comes up to you. Despite the earlier interaction, you see the man you’ve come to know as Hyunjin again and throw yourself into his arms.

“I’m here, I’ve got you,” he says as you sob into the crook of his neck.

“How the hell does this keep happening?” you ask, voice unsteady.

“I don’t know,” he sighs.

-

Back in his room, you’re laying beside him, fully clothed, the whole night making your head spin.

“What were you doing down there anyway.”

“I sobered up and wanted to apologize. I never, ever should have spoken to you like that. I shouldn’t have scared you or insisted anything from you. I’m sorry. I was wrong for that.” He says as he turns to his side.

“I just miss you,” he says quietly, “And I was drinking,”

“Yeah, I know, I could taste it.”

“I’m sorry, I swear it’ll never happen again. If that’s who I am to you when I drink, I’ll never have another drop.”

You give him a pursed smile, before rolling on your side, facing away from him.

His hand tentatively comes to your waist, and you tense at first, but the feeling of his protection, his presence is too good. You slide back against him and his arms wraps around you even more, the two of you falling asleep.

-

The day of the wedding arrives, you and Hyunjin hadn’t been able to see each other, due to the insanity of wedding planning.

“Y/n, would you hand me the headband please,” Meredith asks.

You purse your lips and hand her the flowered headband. Hyunjin had instructed you to help Meredith despite your initial resolve. He made you a wedding gift to her. Claiming it was because he trusted you so much and knew you’d be the best fit for the job.

“You never told me how you came to be engaged to the prince,” you mention as you look at her through the mirror, helping her center the head piece.

“Apparently, he was desperate for some old horse my father had. Why he even cared about the thing I’ll never understand, but my father told him he could have it for a small price and if he promised to marry me.” She smiles, “And he took him up on his offer.”

Your breath catches, stomach twisting, and you feel sick.

“The black stallion, right?”

“Yeah, that’s the one,” she smiles.

“Guess I have a horse to thank for my fortune now,” she smiles as she stands up.

“How do I look? Like a future princess?” she asks and you force a smile.

“You look beautiful,” she smiles bright.

“Ok, would you make sure Hyunjin is getting ready, I don’t want to be late.” You nod and excuse yourself.

Once out of her sight you dash down to Hyunjin’s room, not even bothering to knock on the door.

He’s shirtless, looking for his top.

“Are you ok?” he trails off.

“For a fucking horse?” you shriek in surprise and anger.

“What?”

“You decided to marry her so you could give me Shadow?” your voice is loud, emotional.

“You talked about how much you loved that horse, when I found it, I couldn’t leave him.”

“Hyunjin, I love Shadow, but not as much as I love you.” The words tumble out before you can stop them and your hand goes over your mouth. He stares at you wide eyed.

“I love you too,” he whispers and he pulls you into him, his lips connecting to yours, the moment surreal as he gets ready for his wedding.

“You still have my heart,” he whispers as your foreheads rest together.

“Don’t do this,” you plead.

“I have to.”

“Give the horse back, talk to your father, how is he ok with this?” you ask, desperation clear in your voice. Its not as if Hyunjin’s marrying a princess.

“I don’t know, he was thrilled with the idea for some reason. You are not returning Shadow. I’ll figure something out, ok? With you being her handmaiden, I’ll make sure you’re treated well and safe. Just give me time.” He promises and kisses the back of your hand.

You sigh and nod, leaving him to get dressed.

-

The wedding goes off without a hitch, the couple says their I do’s, kisses each other, and the party is on. That night you’re not a worker at the party, you’re a guest. Hyunjin had replaced your wardrobe, and Princess Meredith had given you her room now that she’d be in Hyunjin’s full time. It wasn’t the best-case scenario, but it’s the best of a bad situation.

Through out the reception you notice fleeting glances from the new princess to the Queen, who for better or worse, doesn’t seem as interested. You notice the Queen get up to leave, a smile thrown your way as she exits, and as you sit next to the princess, she excuses herself not a few minutes later.

You glance over at Hyunjin who’s already looking at you. He gives you a small smile, one that’s apologetic.

After a few minutes you excuse yourself to check on the new princess and as you round the corner you hear voices whispering to each other in an argument.

“You can’t keep doing this.”

“I’m married now, it’s not like he won’t have mistresses, who’s to say I can’t?” you recognize Meredith’s voice all too easily. You peek around the corner, seeing her and Queen Reina.

“Meredith, I mean it. Stop doing it in public. I will send for you later.”

“It’s my wedding night, Reina, I have a duty to perform,”

“You actually think he cares about that? My dear you were a transaction.” The other woman giggles.

“I will send for you, and I expect you there as soon as possible.” She smirks and kisses the princess, causing your eyes to nearly pop out of her head as you whip back around the corner.

You give the two a minute to separate before appearing around the corner.

“Y/n,” Meredith says, obviously startled by you.

“I just wanted to be sure everything was ok. You hadn’t returned and God forbid something happen.” You smile politely as you curtsey to the queen.

“Queen Reina, you look beautiful as always.”

“Thank you, y/n,” her smile is warm and genuine.

“We’re fine, we’ll back in a moment, please head back and enjoy the party.” Meredith smiles.

“As you wish, princess.” You bow once more, and leave their presence the new found information in the back of your mind. The rest of the night goes well, less glances between the two women as the night goes on.

As you walk with the couple to their room, Meredith speaks up.

“Y/n, if you get any messages tonight, please bring them to me immediately.” You nod curtly.

“Yes princess. Good night,” you smile as you turn the nob on your door, the two of them entering their room at the same time.

“What the fuck!” you whisper scream once the door is shut. One pair of eyes isn’t enough, though.

You need proof.

You sit down at the vanity, running a brush through your y/h/c hair when a knock is heard upon your door. You open it revealing a guard.

He hands you a piece of paper.

“For the princess,” he says. You nod and thank him before shutting the door. Her name is scrawled on the front of the note. You open it, reading the contents.

“You looked beautiful today. Come, let me show you how much I want you out of that dress and on my face”

Your hand covers your mouth as the words are right there in black and white.

You tuck the note into your robe pocket and compose yourself. You step out across the hall and tap your knuckles against the door.

Meredith answers, face flushed, her lingerie on.

“Yes?” her eyes sparkle, an anticipation on her face.

“Um, the Queen has requested your presence immediately.” You smile.

“Was there a note?” She asks, eyes flitting down to your hands that are clasped together.

“No, I’m sorry. Only word was sent for you.”

“What would my mother want this late?” Hyunjin comes up behind her, shirtless. You bite your lip, holding back a smile.

“Who knows. But I shouldn’t keep her waiting.” The princess grabs her robe and flees the room. Once she’s out of sight, Hyunjin practically pulls you into the room and shuts the door.

His lips are on yours before you can tell him.

“Hyunjin,” you mumble against his lips. A soft moan escapes you as his tongue enters your mouth.

“God, I’ve missed you so much,” he says breathlessly.

“Hyunjin, I need to tell you something,” you say against his lips. His forehead rests on yours.

“What?”

“Do you want out of this marriage?”

“Of course I do.” The pads of his thumbs brush your soft cheeks.

“I think I found a way out for you.” You beam and he pulls away from you. You pull the note from your pocket.

“It’s from your mother, to your new wife.” You whisper, careful of any listening ears.

His eyes scan the note, mouth parting slightly.

“Are you sure this from my mother.”

“It’s her handwriting exactly! Not to mention I caught her whispering to Meredith earlier talking about how she would send for her and then kissed her! Hyunjin, this is it! This is your way out! All we have to do is catch them.”

-

Weeks go by, and to your surprise, the Queen isn’t so bold anymore. No late-night messages, no secret meetings you catch. You’re starting to wonder what’s going on.

That is until, two months into the marriage you catch Meredith with the King. You’re searching for her through the back halls of the palace, a place where debauchery has become prevalent, and you notice her, face against the wall, the king behind her, both of them struggling to stay silent as he thrusts.

“Reina wants to see you tonight,” he tells her.

“And you don’t?” she asks, tone smug.

“We both do,” he smiles and you turn around, darting off down the steps back to the door in the wall.

-

A few more weeks goes by, and as your bringing fresh sheets to the prince and princess, you hear shouting coming from inside the room.

“No, Meredith I’m done. I’m fucking done.”

“Hyunjin!” she cries and your curiosity gets the better of you.

“You’re a fucking slut.”

“As if you aren’t fucking my handmaiden.”

“I’m not! How many times do I have to tell you; I have been faithful in this bull shit marriage!” he screams and your eyes go to Belmont who has the smallest smirk on his face.

“What are you happy about?”

“Implosion,” he says simply and you nod. You carefully knock on the door hearing their argument come to a halt.

“Fresh sheets.”

“Speak of the devil!” she says before opening the door.

“Y/n, come in,” she says, face slightly red from anger. You walk in, both their eyes on you.

“Tell me the truth, have you been sleeping with my husband?” Your eyes widen and you look to Hyunjin.

“What? No, I would never dishonor you like that, my lady.”

“Then why the hell did her name fall from your lips when we made out last night!” You gasp, heart hammering.

“I told you; it was an accident.”

“You were thinking of her!”

“Yeah, well, you fucked both my parents so who’s the bad guy here?” The words come out of his mouth and time stops. No one on planet earth moves. The truth had come out.

“What the hell are you even talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. My mother ‘needing’ you late at night, my father taking walks with you in the garden early in the morning, fucking you in the gazebo I can see from my window! I’m not stupid Meredith. I just didn’t realize you were such a whore.” He spits. Her eyes grow wide.

“You have no proof of anything.” He scoffs at her words.

“You won’t even deny it?” He shakes his head.

“You can’t divorce me without proof, which you have none of.” She smiles like she’s won. A beat of silence passes

“If you gave me a son, all of this could have been avoided.” Meredith whispers.

“That doesn’t explain you fucking my mother.”

“That was just for fun,” she smirks.

You finish the sheets, jaw tight, and as you’re about to walk out, Hyunjin grabs you by the arm and possesses your lips passionately in front of his wife. She gasps as you melt into the kiss, caution thrown to the wind as you melt into it, missing the way his lips felt against yours the last few weeks.

“Fuck I’ve missed you,” he whispers.

“Me too.” Hyunjin’s eyes flit to Meredith, who looks furious.

“There, now I’ve cheated on you.” He smirks.

“I’ll have her fucking head for this, don’t think your father has forgotten what she did.” She bites and goes to leave the room. Hyunjin presses her up against the wall, seeing nothing but red.

“If you so much as utter her name I swear to God, I will find a way to make you pay,” his hand wraps around her throat, cutting off just enough air to make her squirm. Her eyes are fearful as she looks between the two of you.

“Do you understand me? You hurt her, I hurt you, worse.” He seethes as his hand grows tighter.

“Hyunjin, let her go,” you say hands flying to his arm that’s holding her.

“Hyunjin! Let her go!” you shout as you pull on him and he releases her, watching her fall to the floor, gasping for air.

“You will ask my father for the divorce.” He says as he stands over her.

“Today.” He demands and she nods.

-

That night, the conversation ensues.

“You want to divorce my son?” The king asks. She simply nods.

“Why?”

“Your majesty I’m not happy like I wish to be.”

“And you know I don’t love her.” Hyunjin chimes in, bored and annoyed.

“Then so be it.” The king takes out a divorce sheet and stamps his seal upon it, both Meredith and Hyunjin signing their names.

“There you have it, the two of you are-” Hyunjin turns in your direction before the words are even said.

“Come here, Dove,” he says as he jogs over to you in the corner, a shit eating grin on his face, kissing your lips in front of everyone in the room. A soft moan is heard as his lips mold to yours and your arms wrap around his neck. You embrace one another and he picks you up, spinning you around. You squeal in surprise and smile happily.

“Marry me,” he says as he cups your cheeks again.

“What?  You just got divorced.”

“I don’t care, marry me. My heart is yours, Dove. It has been and it will be forever.” He breathes, his smile still wide and bright.

“Yes,” you smile and his smile deepens even more.

“Yes?” he asks with surprise.

“Yes!” you giggle and he hugs you again, the embrace warm and sweet.

-

The wedding day approaches quickly; your dress intricately designed with luxurious fabric and stones. The palace was reeling from both the divorce and engagement announcement in the same night, let alone having to plan a wedding in four months. You smile to yourself, in the mirror, Meredith now working as your handmaiden.

“I’m glad you’re happy,” she says genuinely.

“I’m glad you are too,” you say as you both glance down at her growing belly.

“Seems we both got what we wanted.” She smiles as he fixes the crown on your head.

“You have a legitimate boy and I have the man of my dreams.” You sigh. Funny enough, you and Meredith actually would get along now that she wasn’t attached to Hyunjin. She still had her throuple situation with the King and Queen, and even helped plan the wedding as soon as she knew her status at the palace was safe.

“Just like you, all I ever wanted was out.” She says as she stands behind you.

“I know what you mean.” You turn around to hug her.

“Ready to get married?”

“I’ve been ready,” you both giggle as she walks with you out to the courtyard.

-

You step up to aisle, seeing it lined with people from the kingdom, allies and guests from all around. Hyunjin stares back at you, his smile radiant. Meredith walks down the aisle ahead of you, standing to the side as you begin your decent down the aisle.

As you walk, you think of your first few days at the palace, how scary it was, how confused you were, how you got lost at least four times just from trying to come back from the bathroom.

To now, where you’re happily marrying the love of your life, Prince Hyunjin.

“Y/n, my sweet Dove,” he starts his vows, “my heart has been yours since I seen you walk through those doors. The longer I spent with you, the harder I fell. Your laugh is infectious, your joy is radiant and your presence can not be replaced. I thank God everyday for placing you by my side and I thank you for choosing to stick by me despite all we’ve been through. You’re the girl of my dreams, the only one who ever seen past the crown and title, and I can’t express how much I love you. I’ll never chose anyone else.” He smiles and you feel a tear escape down your cheek, for once happily, and Hyunjin’s thumb comes up to swipe it away.

“Hyunjin, our journey hasn’t been easy, there’s been twists, turns, social issues and screwed up plans. But at the end of the day, we found each other, it was always you, no matter how hard I tried to fight it, no matter how hard it tried to be sabotaged, it was always going to be you. Thank you for never giving up on me, or us, and for seeing me as the person I am. You’re my knight in shining armor. The love of my life.”

“Prince Hyunjin, you may kiss your lovely bride,” the man says and he pulls you in for a deeply zealous kiss, causing you to giggle against him. The crowd stands up and cheers and the two of you walk down the aisle officially husband and wife.

-

After the party the two of you are alone in the bedroom after your baths.

“Princess y/n,” he smiles as he comes up behind you in the mirror, only in his pants.

“Prince Hyunjin,” you smirk as you turn around in his arms, his lips on yours in an instant. Its heated, needy, desirable. You pull him over to the bed, pushing him down on to it, straddling his waist. He quirks a brow at you, watching you closely as your lips reconnect.

Your hips grind down into his, soft sounds of pleasure being released from both of you. Hyunjin moves your gown up until it’s completely off your body and lost on the floor. His hands come up, caressing your breasts, softly rubbing his thumbs over your nipples, causing you to whimper in pleasure.

“God the way you sound makes me so hard,” he groans as his lips move to your neck.

“I love you,” you whisper to him as he marks your neck.

“I love you more,” he smiles against you.

“Then show me,” you challenge and suddenly your flipped on your back, Hyunjin smirking devilishly.

“With pleasure,” he says before his tongue licks up your bare wet cunt.

You moan as his tongue flicks over your clit. Hips jolting as he brushes over just the right spot with the right intensity.

“Shit,” you breathe. Soft moans continue to erupt as he licks up and down, side to side and even does figure 8’s with his tongue, moaning and groaning into your pussy.

He gently inserts a finger into you, softly curling it as he pumps slow.

“Fuck,” you gasp as your hips roll. Hyunjin chuckles against you as your face twists in pleasure.

“Feels so good,” you whimper as your hips lift from the bed, belly beginning to get tight.

“Hyunjin,” you moan as he inserts a second finger, hitting the spot a little harder now, causing your head to spin and your teeth to grit slightly.

“I’m close,” you squeak as he picks up the pace, bringing you over the edge.

“Fuck, yes, don’t stop!” your mouth opens in the shape of an ‘o’ and you silently cry out as your orgasm crashes into you, causing your body to shake. Hyunjin groans as he tastes you, tongue dipping into you.

“So good,” he says, teasing your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Ah,” you hiss soft whimpers still falling from your lips.

“Hyun, too much, too much,” you quietly squeal, hips betraying you by rolling against his mouth.

“Fuck,” your hands fist the sheets, looking for something to ground yourself with as your legs lock up around his head. The pleasureable pain courses through you as your heart beat escalates, signaling another orgasm is close.

“Fuck, I’m gonna,” you gasp as your body arches off the bed and your second orgasm approaches.

You gasp as Hyunjin kitten licks your pussy clean, softly moaning and groaning at your taste. He holds himself over you, palming his cock through his pants. He watches you for a moment, face flushed and chest heaving.

“You’re amazing,” he smiles, lips and chin slick with you. You bring his face down to yours, tasting his tongue and yourself.

“Get on your back,” you instruct and he looks down at you.

“Someone’s bossy,” he teases but complies with an excited smile. He removes his pants, cock achingly hard, and lays back. You straddle his waist. He smirks, hands going behind his head.

You line him up at your entrance, slowly sinking down onto him. Both of you groan as the feeling. The stretch is sweet, feeling full of him. Your walls are tight around his cock. You tease him by squeezing your walls tight, causing him to hiss and let out a sharp laugh.

“You’re going to be the death of me, woman.” He smiles, bringing you closer to him for a kiss as your hips grind.

“Fuck, keep doing that,” he breathes, head falling to your shoulder. You begin to ride him, soft and slow at first, teasing both yourself and him, building the anticipation.

“Fuck,” he curses as you begin to move faster and harder, arms around his neck, nails digging into his skin.

“Your cock feels so good,” you whimper into his hair.

“You’re doing so good baby. Keep going, you’re gonna make me cum, fuck don’t stop, please.” He pleads, voice wrecked and breathing labored.

Your legs start to tire, but you don’t stop, your release close and you can feel him twitch inside you.

His hand comes between your bodies, finding your clit. He rubs harsh tight circles causing you to let out a broken gasp.

“Cum with me,” he says into your neck.

“One,”

“Two,”

“Three, fuck,” his hips jolt up into you as he cums, your walls fluttering around him, milking him dry. Your body locks up, head thrown back as you scream and ride the third wave of your orgasm.

The two of you still, breathing erratically as you look into each other’s eyes.

“You are a goddess,” he smiles. You giggle in response, placing your hands on either side of his face kissing him, hips teasing him slightly.

He grunts at the over stimulation.

The two of you get cleaned up before cuddling in bed together.

“I love you” you say as you look up into his eyes.

“I love you more,” he smiles and kisses your forehead.

-

Five years later

You’re in the nursing chair as your daughter attempts to latch onto you, successfully doing and you smile down at her. Hyunjin walks in, your little boy in tow.

“How are my two favorite girls doing?”

“We’re good,” you smile as you look down at your little girl.

“Hey sweetie,” he smiles and kisses her head.

“You need anything?”

“I could use a chilled cloth for my feet, they’re still pretty swollen.”

“I’m on it,” he says and kisses the top of your head.

“Keep your mother company while I’m gone,” Hyunjin says to your son and he nods his head, coming to sit on the other side of you.

“What is she doing?” Your son asks as he points to the latching baby.

“She’s eating. You ate like this once too.” You say as you move some of his dark hair out of his eyes.

“Really?” You nod as Hyunjin comes back in promptly with a warm wet cloth and lays it on your feet.

He looks up at you, love struck, undying devotion the only present emotion.

“There, that should help.” He smiles as you rock your baby.

“Thank you, Hyunjin,” you smile up at him lovingly.

“Anything for you, Dove."

Tags: @breakmeoff @thelovelybireader @crystal005 @velvetmoonlght @hwangjoanna @lezleeferguson-120

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[p1astr81]

꩜ i never break my promises ـــــــــﮩ٨ـ

spiderman!oscar piastri au

Oscar dove in through your window, rolling onto the floor. He groaned in pain, chest heaving, clutching his stomach.

You jumped up from the couch, scolding him immediately. “Jesus, Oscar! I have a front door-“ you paused, seeing the blood seeping through his suit. “shit, shit, shit.” you ran your hands through your hair as he yanked the mask off his head. “Shit!” You gasped, seeing the gash across his cheek. His face was screwed up in pain, eyes squeezed shut. “Okay. Stay- stay there I’ll- fuck,” you breathed, already off to the bathroom. You made a mess of the cabinet under the sink, fumbling to find everything you need.

When you returned, he’d pulled himself to sit up against the wall.

“I need you to take your suit off.”

Oscar managed a breathless laugh. “No foreplay?”

You glared. “Don’t try and be funny. I’m trying to stop you from bleeding out.”

He grinned despite his body thrumming in pain. “Feisty.” He quipped. The suit was peeled from his body until it hung loose around his hips.

Leaning in closer to inspect the wound, you poked and prodded at the surrounding skin, earning a hiss. “Jesus christ,” you breathed. “Lay down for me, yeah?” You were up and off again, running a hand down your face.

He groaned with every moment, pain igniting throughout his entire body with every shift.

You returned just as he settled.

“Is that a sewing kit?”

“A suture kit.” You corrected.

“What? Why?”

“Because my idiot boyfriend gets into fights and then refuses to go to a hospital when he gets hurt.” You weren’t looking at him, but the annoyed smile on your face was meant for him. Though, he could see right through it—right to the fear and concern in your eyes.

Another weak laugh, followed my a loud hiss as you poured saline solution over the wound. “Good thing I have a doctor at home.”

“I’m a med student. It’s not the same thing.” He knew the irritation in your voice came from a place of love.

“Close enough.”

You just shook your head. “Okay, this is going to hurt.” You warned him before stabbing the needle through his skin.

Every time he hissed or cursed or flinched, an apology would follow right after.

He was panting by the time you were covering the wound in ointment and bandages.

The gash on his face wasn’t as bad. All it needed was a bit of ointment and a bandage.

“‘M sorry.” You apologized again once you were done.

He sat up, wincing as he did. Grabbing your face with his hands, he forced you to look at him. He kissed you, soft and slow like he was reassuring you that he was okay. “The only person who should be apologizing is me. I’m the one who keeps getting blood on your floor.” His laugh wasn’t so breathy this time. “And I scare the living shit out of you every time, and don’t try to argue, because I know you and I know I’m right.”

You sighed, eyes dropping to the floor. “I just wish you weren’t so reckless. and I know you try not to be, but every time you leave I can only think of the worst, and I hate that every time come through that window bloody and bruised it’s a fucking relief because the alternative is-“ you couldn’t even finish, too choked up. You just collapsed into him.

His hands were tangled in your hair immediately. “I know.” His dull nails scratched your scalp. “I think the worst part about doing this is that it scares you.”

It was your turn to give a weak laugh.

“But I’ll always come home to you. I promise.” He grinned. “And I never break my promises.”

[stickyspeckledlight]

Sat on this for awhile, so here’s my take.

There are a lot of different kinds of yans, so to just talk about which type of yan I’d be scared of the most would be a little disingenuous I think, since a “type” of yandere is just that, a “type,” so talking about a “type” doesn’t exactly mean just discussing “yandere.” And I think you and Ven said it best on the holstery: yandere is about love and yearning. I mean, can’t spell yandere without “dere(-dere),” and more or less translate to lovesick anyway. And after microwaving this in my brain for a couple of days (crossing my fingers hoping there ain’t no metal), I think that core of what makes a yandere a yandere is actually what scares me the most.

Circling back a little, lots of yandere relationships/dynamics tend to have the Yan Character and Darling character—yan loves darling, depending on the story darling may or may not love them. Usually though, I think it’s safe to say this dynamic shifts to where the darling character actively rejects the Yandere character in one way or another (intentionally or not), and that tends to act as the catalyst for the yan snapping or going mask off. I’d dare say this is the typical base dynamic you can expect from most yan fics. This dynamic hinges on two primary things:

Yan wants to be with darling BADLY and very close; in essence, they desire a dependent relationship (both on their end, and darling’s end one way or another)

Darling does not feel as strongly, which means they end up doing something which violates the yan’s desire for an extremely dependent “togetherness” and causes them to lash out

Which is why I think you putting “yearning” as a core of yan is just plain right and accurate, and I have to say thanks because I never quite thought of that word with yan (I just associated it with ‘lovesick’…prob bc I admittedly enjoy writing the unhinged angles of yan the most, lol). Thinking of the dynamic in this way, you could say the yan’s “yearning” is the fuel, and the “violation” of that “yearning” for the darling is the spark. And I don’t say this “violation” is just rejecting a yan’s confession, or trying to get away from them. A “violation” can be anything on a yan’s end, and a lot of the time it’s just the fact that darling lives in this ONE place whereas the yan is either always traveling or going places—for example, notice how many Chrollo fics establish the baseline situation where Chrollo is taking darling with him to wherever he travels. Even if the darling never would’ve rejected him (and that SLY bastard knowd manipulation like the back of his hand), a single aspect of darling’s daily existence needs to be infringed upon in order to satisfy his needs—his yearning. No matter how the darling and his relationship might’ve been before, his own desires mean that he will have to badly damage their existing relationship for him to even begin starting the relationship HE wants, not even mentioning whatever else will be inflicted upon the darling on the journey to that point.

Of course, not every yan is like this—hurting or forcing their darling in order to be with them the way they want. You can have soft or distant yans who just don’t have the heart do even do all of that. So what about the above I’ve talked about, have been rambling about, relates to what I’m scared of most with yandere?

The yearning. The deep, deep, strong yearning that’s able to turn the dearest of love into something that may encroach. Even when a yan might resist that…it’s always resistance—even if it never comes to pass, those are the emotions and actions that come along to them about a person they supposedly love. It’s a part of them. And it scares me most of all because yearning isn’t something you can see. It’s not something you may even be able to control at all! To me, I find it deeply unsettling that no matter what I might be doing or saying, there might be someone who sees all of that and loves it. Loves the good, the bad, and the ugly—to the point they want to take things farther and farther, up until that dependence they so desire. Yearning of that level is unfathomable to me, and also deeply disturbing…because if yearning can go that deep, what else can they make run deep?

What exactly/what traits in a Yandere character makes them feel truly scary to you guys?

For me, it's when you can't really guess what is going through that character's head — a certain flavor of ‘unpredictable’, so to say. Irrespective of how that character usually behaves around a love interest or what their entire personality is like. Thoughts are most often reflections of how one feels so, the more obscure someone's thought process seems, the likelier the chances of them being emotionally unorganized.

This is especially scary when the character in question is someone who's very personable, energetic and/or has a sweet personality. It's so fun poking at a character who seemingly has a sunshine-esque demeanor but manages to house an infinite potential for being unhinged just by the way no one can seemingly guess what they're thinking.

[formulafanfics13]

Hiii I’m with another Lando request (very niche and self indulgent again) but stay with me: Lando with a girlfriend who is obsessed with the ocean. I beg it would be so cute!! Like she spends 99.9% of their holidays on the beach, not even bothered about tanning or photo ops or anything but like always collecting sea shells, forcing Lando to go swimming with her, laying in the sand etc. at first it probably seems a bit full on, always having sea themed nail designs, her whole bedroom wall being decorated with various star fish and shells and mermaid core things but he quickly learns to love it and is always like showering her with pearl/ shell jewellery, brings her postcards of the sea whenever he is away without her for f1, plays sea sounds for her to sleep and stuff. Thanks again your absolute legend 🩵💙🐬

she belongs to the sea - LN4

Masterlist

Summary: You were always a little much when it came to the ocean. Sea salt in your hair, starfish on your walls, your bathroom stocked with shell-shaped soaps and your shelves full of mermaid-core trinkets. You weren’t trying to be aesthetic. You were just in love. With the sound of waves. With the drag of wet sand between your toes. With the moon pulling the tide and whispering, come back, come back. Lando didn’t get it at first. He thought you were just quirky, or maybe sun-crazy. But now? Now he keeps seashells in his luggage and sends you ocean postcards from every F1 city he lands in. Because you don’t just belong to him. You belong to the sea.

Warnings: pure fluff, obsession with the ocean, beach holidays, seashells and pearls and mermaid vibes, affectionate lando, emotional support beach boyfriend, softness

You’re not normal about the ocean. You never were. Even as a kid, you were the first one in and the last one out, sandy feet, tangled hair, seaweed caught in your swimwear, grinning like Poseidon kissed you on the forehead.

You collect shells like other girls collect designer bags. You leave wet bikinis draped over furniture like sacred relics. Your nails are always ocean-themed, holographic blue, tiny waves, sparkles that mimic seafoam, pearl decals shaped like barnacles.

Your bedroom wall? Covered in starfish, driftwood, and vintage postcards of tropical islands you’ve never been to. Your curtains are sea-glass green. You fall asleep every night to the sound of crashing waves, and Lando had to beg you not to name his cat “Neptune.”

When you told him the sea made you feel “small in a good way,” he tilted his head like you’d just spoken another language.

Now he gets it. Because he’s seen you on the beach. Every holiday Lando plans includes water now. Not pools. Not bathtubs. Not spa resorts. The ocean.

He books cliffside villas in Santorini. Beachfront bungalows in Bali. Airbnbs in Sicily with stairs that lead straight into the tide.

He doesn't even ask anymore. He just sends you the location with a 🌊 emoji. And every time, you squeal. Every time, you pack three bikinis and a pair of flip-flops and say “I don’t care what we do as long as I can swim.”

You don’t tan. You don’t take photos. You don’t bring books. You move.

You’re in the water the second your toes hit the shore. You drag him in with you, splashing and kicking and diving like you were born there. You chase crabs. You collect shells. You scream every time a wave hits your chest and then beg him to go in deeper.

Lando used to hate sand in his ears. Now he lies next to you, half-buried, smiling like he’s found religion. You trace sea glass along his shoulder. He wraps his hand around your ankle to keep you from drifting.

When he’s away for race weekends, you get packages. Little white boxes with blue ribbons. Inside? A pearl bracelet from Monaco. A postcard of the Miami coastline. A handmade shell necklace from Japan. A tiny message that just says, For my ocean girl. I miss you.

You hang every card by your bed. You wear the pearls even when you're swimming. You whisper his name into the tide and swear it carries across continents.

He calls you at night, exhausted and jet-lagged, and asks what the sea was like today. You tell him it was warm. Salty. Soft. He closes his eyes and imagines you there, skin golden, hair damp, salt clinging to your thighs like lace.

“I wish I was with you,” he says.

You press your phone to your cheek like it’ll bring him closer. “Me too.”

He pauses. “Did you play the wave sounds?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Sleep to them, okay?”

“I will.”

“Love you.”

“I love you more.”

You hang up, close your eyes, and let the sea carry you away.

When he finally comes home? You’re waiting for him in a bikini. He drops his bag. Smiles like he’s seen a ghost. “You ready to swim?”

You grin. “Always.”

[serelume]

All In {Gojo x Reader}

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen 

Pairing: Gojo x Reader

Rating: +18

・❥・ The first time he goes in raw, Gojo loses it. You feel too good – too tight, too wet – and there’s no way he’s pulling out now.

He told himself he’d take it slow.

Tease a little. Make you beg.

Maybe stretch things out long enough to enjoy the full, aching sweetness of finally having you – skin to skin, breath to breath.

But the second he pushes in bare, all of that burns to ash.

"—fuck," he groans, forehead pressed to yours. "You’re gonna ruin me."

You’re so warm. So wet he nearly didn’t have to guide himself in. Just the blunt head of his cock pressing against your cunt and you were already pulsing, dragging him in inch by inch like your body had been waiting for this as long as he had.

And the fact that he’s inside raw? No barrier. No latex. Nothing but slick heat and your tight little body gripping him like a vice…

It’s too much.

His hands grip your thighs, spreading you wide around his waist as he tries – really tries – to keep still. To savor it. But your hips buck instinctively and he sinks in deeper with a low, wrecked sound, breath catching in his throat.

You whimper. Nails dig into his back. “Satoru–”

He stills.

"Say it again," he breathes, like he's half-delirious. "Say my name like that again."

“Satoru – please – ” You’re already trembling under him, voice thick with need.

And that’s it.

His restraint snaps like a damn curse seal.

He pulls back halfway and slams back in, forcing your cry into his shoulder as he starts to thrust – deep, hard, messy. Not polished or pretty like his usual charm – just raw.

“You feel that?” he pants into your ear. “No rubber, no spell, nothing between us. Just me – inside you – fuck, you’re so fucking tight.”

Your legs lock around his waist. Every thrust hits that perfect spot, slick building between you both in obscene, wet sounds that echo off his bedroom walls.

He shifts, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand. The other stays firm at your hip, holding you still while he drives into you like he owns your body now, like he’s claiming every fucking inch.

"You were made for this,” he growls, sweat dripping from his brow onto your chest. “You hear me? Fucking made for me."

“Too much,” you gasp, but your hips are chasing his now, grinding up with every brutal stroke.

“I know,” he breathes, eyes wild now. “I know, I’m trying – trying not to cum too fast, but you – shit.”

You tighten around him on purpose and he chokes, hips stuttering, head dropping to your neck as he groans long and broken.

"Don’t do that unless you want me to lose it," he growls, voice a ragged edge. "You want it raw? You want me to fill you up?"

Your answer is a gasp and a desperate nod. "Yes – inside – please."

He snaps. No more teasing. No more flirting. Just primal, relentless need. His thrusts get rougher, faster, deeper – desperation in every movement now, cock swelling as he gets close.

And then– 

"Fuck – take it – " he grits out, and cums hard, burying himself as deep as he can go, pressing into you with every last pulse of heat spilling inside you.

You feel it. Every throb. Every twitch. Every drop.

And he stays there – panting, dazed, trembling – like he’s still not entirely sure he deserves to have you like this.

“…how,” he rasps after a long silence, voice hoarse, “how was I expected not to lose control?”

You laugh, breathless, dragging fingers through his sweat-damp hair.

“I didn’t want you to,” you whisper.

He huffs a smile against your neck, cock still buried inside you, warmth still leaking out with every twitch of your walls.

“Good,” he mutters. “Because I’m not done yet.”

_____________

𐙚 MASTERLIST 𐙚

[cxtoriminx]

Gen Narumi ❤︎ Sweet Distraction

Summary: You get fed up with Gen ignoring you while playing his game. So you decide to give him a little distraction. (un)fortunately for you, he doesn't appreciate being pulled from his gaming.

song: favorite by isabel larosa wc: 3,600 tags: cockwarming, slight overstim, f receiving oral, doggy, unprotected sex, creampie, gen being a torturous tease because you messed with his game

writer's note: hi horny babes! gosh i'm FINALLY posting on this side blog after having it active for over 2 years. 'bout damn time lmao. don't know why i suddenly decided to get my lazy ass moving and post something. i think narumi just really brought it out of me. hope you enjoy! and hopefully i can get back into my writing groove. fingers crossed ps, i know the Kn8 tags are so overloaded with smut right now. i'm usually one to complain about there not being any cute fluffy fics to read. but i just had to get this out of my system. i literally wrote it in like a day. that's probably a record for me loool

“Hey, Gen,” you say, trying to get your boyfriend’s attention. However, it would seem that he's entirely absorbed by the video game he has been playing for the past four hours. 

At first, you didn’t mind. You just lay behind him on his bed, feet pressed against his back as you read a book, scrolled through your phone, took a nap. 

But then, you got bored. 

You don’t usually mind him breezing the day away with his gaming, but you feel like you haven’t seen him in days, what with him being busy killing kaiju and all. And here he was, finally having a free moment, and he was spending all of it playing his games. 

“Geeen,” you call again, still not receiving even a hint of acknowledgment. You kick him gently in the back, but it doesn’t sway his attention in the slightest. 

“Ugh, hey, jerkface,” you say, getting fed up with his ignoring you. You sit up and scoot close to him, pressing your chest to his back and wrapping your arms loosely around his shoulders. “Put the game away for a bit. I miss you.”

“When I level up,” he mutters, finally giving a response to your efforts. “I just have to defeat this dragon.”

That was the last thing you understood before he began murmuring about experience materials and runes and whatever the hell else. 

You groan and look up at the screen, watching his tiny character approach the massive, reptilian creature, the music intensifying and their battle beginning. You’d think he’d have enough of fighting monsters with his job. 

He continues his muttering, verbally working out his mental math about how many materials he’ll need to get to his desired level. You let out a heavy, perhaps exaggerated sigh.

“Gen, you’ve been playing for hours,” you say, threading your fingers into his hair and rubbing his scalp. Still no reaction. “Give your poor, helpless brain a break. I don’t think the thing can handle much more rot.”

“After this,” he says, his voice monotone. You squint and lean over to get a look at his emotionless face. 

“And then you’ll give me attention?”

“Mhmm,” he hums mindlessly. 

“And then we can toss your gamestation out the window?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure…” 

Just as you suspected, he’s giving automatic responses, not hearing a word you’re saying.

You untangle yourself from him and flop back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. This was not quite how you expected to be spending your evening. 

You thought you might watch a movie, maybe play a game together. You even thought you might convince him to get outside and take a walk with you. Or you’d drag him out. Whichever worked best. 

You thought that he’d at the very least be a bit pent up. It’s been a while since you two have had a long enough moment together to satisfy your sexual needs. 

Come to think of it, it was over a week ago. And neither of you even got the chance to finish as a Kaiju emerged, forcing him to leave and take care of it. By the time he’d returned, you were long passed out, and he was too exhausted to even consider waking you to pick up where you’d left off.

You turn over onto your side to watch him, his fingers skillfully jumping around and pressing buttons. Your legs squeeze together as you imagine how it’d feel if they were inside of you instead of on his controller. 

Great. Now you’re bored and horny.

“Baby,” you say softly. He actually perks at your calling this time, though his eyes don’t leave the screen. “I need you.”

His fingers genuinely falter for a fraction of a moment, but he recovers quickly, getting back into his practiced button smashing.

“Okay, Princess. In justa bit.”

Well, at least he heard you that time. You feel a little bit of triumph in having gained a smidge of his attention this time. But it still wasn’t enough for you. You need his eyes on you, if just for a second. And that’s when you get a lovely idea.

You climb off the bed and stand just behind his periphery before stripping down to nothing but your underwear, a small shiver running through you from the cool air. Surely this will get his attention.

You come to stand beside him, half naked, arms crossed beneath your breasts, and desiring. 

“Gen.”

“Yeah,” he replies half-mindedly.

You don’t say anything more, waiting to see if he’ll turn to you on his own. When he doesn’t, you decide he needs a little extra guidance.

“Look at me, dork,” you say, a small grin creeping its way onto your lips. It takes him a moment, his head turning slightly while his eyes are still attached to the tv. But then they finally flit over to you.

And they don’t leave.

His mouth drops open and his face flushes, like this is the first time he’s ever seen you. 

“Y-Y/n! What-”

A dramatic and sparkly fwoom comes from the tv, the sound signaling the death of Gen’s beloved dragon slayer. Which also means he just failed the battle he’s spent the last several minutes fighting. 

Oops. You didn’t mean for him to look at you for that long.

“Awww, dammit,” he says, dropping his controller onto the bed and rubbing at his eyes. You stand there awkwardly for a moment, beginning to feel just a liiittle guilty for his failure.  

“Ahh, sorry. I didn’t mean to distract you that badly.”

His hand runs down his face, stopping over his mouth as he gazes back at you, his eyes dragging over every inch of you like he’s trying to commit the image to memory. 

“You want my attention that badly, huh?”

Well, with the way he’s looking at you now, you’re starting to wonder if you do. But you nod anyway, shoulders straight and head high. 

“All the people in the world, and you want my attention.” His hand moves to rest below his jaw, revealing the infuriating smirk on his lips.

“Don’t go getting egotistical about it,” you huff, averting your eyes from his heated maroon gaze. He lets out an amused hum and reaches for you, tugging on your arm. 

“Okay, Princess. I’ll give you what you want.”

There’s a hint of mischief in his voice, but your suspicion is wiped completely from your mind when he pulls you down to sit on his leg and attaches his lips to your collarbone, all in one fluid motion.

You gasp as he shifts under you, pressing his muscular thigh against you. His mouth trails down your exposed chest, his mouth latching onto your nipple while his fingers play with the other. You let out a hiss and smack his arm gently when his teeth nip at the sensitive flesh. 

“Watch your teeth,” you scold. He laughs darkly.

“Easy now. You wanted my attention, didn’t you?”

You groan in annoyance, but arch into him when his lips return to your breast, his tongue flicking over the bud. He trails a row of kisses from your chest to your neck, nibbling on the skin just below your ear.

His hands grip your waist tightly, guiding you to grind against his thigh as he kisses and bites along your neck. You moan at the friction, his thigh pressing so roughly against your clit. You can feel him growing hard against your knee through his sweatpants. 

You carefully press your knee against him, earning a low groan and a tight squeeze to your ass.

“You’re so beautiful,” he sighs into your ear. 

He pulls away from your neck to look at you, his deep red eyes studying you with love and affection. He moves to kiss along your jaw, slowly making his way to your lips. He finally puts his mouth to yours, his tongue swiping over your lower lip before taking it between his teeth. 

You squirm in his lap and tug on his shirt, breaking your kiss just long enough to pull it over his head. You run your hands over his bare skin, feeling the toned muscles beneath it. His hand snakes over your body, coming to rest near the junction of your thigh, where his thumb runs back and forth over the soft skin.

You hold in a cry when he presses his thumb right against your clit. You pull away from his lips and rest your forehead against his as you pant heavily, his thumb rubbing your clit in sweet circles through your panties.

“Someone's worked up,” Gen teases quietly. You don’t reply, you just lift yourself onto your knees a bit, giving him enough space to slide his hand into your underwear. 

“Very worked up,” he says as his fingers find your entrance, slicked and desperate. You groan and grip his shoulders as he slips a couple of fingers inside of you, the slender digits reaching as far as they can at this angle. “All this for me.”

“Come on, your turn,” you say as you pull on the band of his pants, and he gives you a childish pout.

“You’re so impatient.” 

“Don’t give me that,” you snip. “I have plenty of it to be with you.”

He just gives you a smirk, and you gasp as he pulls his fingers from you suddenly. You glare at him before standing to allow him to remove his pants. 

The moment he begins to pull them down, you see just how hard he is. Looks like you were right to assume he’d be pent up. 

His cock is rock hard, his tip flushed bright red and already leaking precum. Your pussy clenches at the sight of it.

“You’re one to talk about being worked up. Looks like you want it as much as I do.”

Gen says nothing as he grabs you by the waistline of your panties, making you step closer. He places light kisses over your stomach, his hand between your thighs, and his knuckles running over your sensitive clit. He pulls down the fabric, letting it fall to the floor around your ankles. His eyes darken at seeing you, fully naked and desperate before him.

“Come here,” he beckons, guiding you back onto his lap, your hips hovering above his own. He takes his cock in his hand and swipes it back and forth between your entrance and clit, coating himself in your wetness and giving you a little jolt every time his head passes over the sensitive nerves.

“Look at me,” he says, his free hand giving your ass a hard squeeze. He drags it up your spine and to your neck, where he tangles it into your hair before pulling you into him, pressing his lips to yours. At the same time, he drags the head of his cock down until it catches at your entrance, begging to be let in.

You lower yourself onto him, slowly, carefully, inch by inch until he’s completely inside of you, your hips flush with his. He groans into your mouth, both of his hands coming back down to your ass, squishing and tugging before giving you a gentle smack. 

He pushes his tongue into your mouth and gives a small roll of his hips, the actions already bringing you close to the edge. Maybe you’re more pent up than you thought. 

“You made me lose my fight,” Gen says, pulling away just enough for his words to be muffled by your lips. His statement surprises you He’s still thinking about that?

You open your eyes to find him already looking back at you. His gaze drops down to the bed, his hand leaving you to reach for his controller, discarded beside you. 

“As punishment, you’re going to sit right here, unmoving, until I beat this dragon.”

You freeze as you watch him pick up the controller and proceed to restart his game. The absolute audacity of this man.

“Are you friggin’ serious?” You ask, unbelieving of his words. His eyes come back to yours, and you find the look he gets whenever it comes to his games. That same look whenever Hasegawa or Kikoru pokes fun or threatens to throw away his console.

“Deathly.”

He certainly is. 

“You begged for my attention. This is how I’m deciding to give it to you. Beggars can’t be choosers, right?”

You set your jaw, wanting so badly to tell him off. But instead, you shift around on him, somehow making his cock reach even further into you, and press your bare chest to his.

“You are unbelievable,” you mutter, tucking your arms under his and resting your head on his shoulder. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“And I love you,” he says against your ear, sending a chill through you. You can practically hear the smile in his voice.

You hear the music from his game pick up and know that he’s re-entered his dragon battle. Okay, you can do this. Not move while your boyfriend's cock is buried balls deep inside of you until he wins this fight, which will take… umm… How long will it take? 

You suddenly regret your uptaking of his challenge, realizing you don’t know how long it will be before he wins. If he’s figured out a strategy, then 5, maybe 10 minutes. But if this is going to be a trial-and-error fight, taking many deaths and resurrections to complete, you could be here for a while.

It’s only a couple of minutes later that you hear that dramatic fwoom again, confirming that you were right to be nervous.

You feel his cock throb inside of you, and you muffle a whimper on his shoulder.

20 minutes and 3 magical death sounds later, and you’re ready to combust. From sexual desire or annoyance, you’re not quite sure.

You try your best to keep still, you really do. But god, the way his cock is filling every inch of you, his head pressed so firmly against your cervix, it feels almost impossible to do so.

And with every flinch and jolt of his muscles as he plays his game, you feel your patience slip away. You have to admit, his focus is otherworldly. The fact that he’s buried so deeply inside of you and hasn’t missed a beat with his game is as impressive as it is infuriating.

“Gen,” you practically whine against his neck. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, not taking his eyes off the screen for a moment.

“Almost got it, Princess,” he mutters, his voice raspy. 

You curl up into him as much as you can, head in the crook of his neck, and your arms wrapped tightly around him. Your pussy squeezes around him involuntarily, and Gen lets out a hiss, the first indication he’s given to how much you’re affecting him right now. It takes every fiber of your being not to start bouncing on his lap right then and there.

“Mmm, good girl,” he whispers, giving you a soft nip on the shoulder. His cock twitches inside of you, and you shudder, almost losing your resolve. 

“Keep doing that shit and you won’t be calling me that for much longer,” you grit, earning a short, amused laugh. 

You try to focus on his action figure display, on the music, the sound effects, the shapes you draw on his back, the clicking of buttons, anything other than the throbbing cock inside you.

You’re about to just give in and start grinding in his lap, ready to accept whatever consequence there may be, when you hear the dragon roar and the music stop. And this time, it’s not followed by that obnoxiously whimsical death sound.

Gen defeated the dragon. 

You turn to look at the screen to confirm your hope, and, sure enough, the dragon is dead. You let out a relieving sigh and turn back to your boyfriend.

“You’re done?”

“I’m done,” he replies, pausing his game and tossing the controller to the side before gripping your hips. “And now.”

Before you can stop him, he’s flipping you over onto your back, a yelp escaping your lips as you smack into the mattress. His cock slips out of you through the change of position, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing.

“What the hell?” You gasp as Gen props himself over you, his eyes level with yours, cold and emotionless.

“Did you learn your lesson in distracting me from my games?” He asks. Despite his lack of a smile, you can still hear the mirth in his voice.

“I still got what I wanted, didn’t I?” You tease, but soon, your smirk drops away, replaced by a look of sincerity. You raise a hand to brush his hair away from his eyes, letting you see his handsome face. 

“I’ve just missed you. And you’ve barely looked at me since I got here.” Gen’s cold facade fades, and his gaze softens, a crease forming between his eyebrows.

“I’m sorry, Princess,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ve missed you, too.” 

“Hmm, have you?” You ask, your grin returning. Gen pouts, making that face that always reminds you of a cat.

“I… may have gotten carried away,” he admits. He presses a gentle kiss to your lips, nibbling your lip in that way he loves to. “But that doesn’t mean I haven’t.”

His lips trail along your jaw and down your neck, sucking and biting as he goes. Keeping himself propped with one arm, he drags his other hand down your side and to the apex of your thighs, cupping his hand over you.

“Let me make it up to you,” he pleads, dipping his fingers into you. You arch into his hand as his fingers pump and curl inside of you, his palm grinding into your clit. 

You clench around his fingers, already so sensitive from having sat on his cock for so long. Gen’s lips detach from your throat when he scoots himself down your body, stopping to kiss down your navel.

He hums happily as he positions himself between your legs, watching with keen interest how easily his fingers slide in and out of you.

“So wet for me,” he says with awe, and you whine in response. He dips his head down, giving your clit one long lick. You flinch with the jolt of pleasure it sends through you. “So pretty.”

His lips seal over your clit, his tongue flicking the nerves as his fingers continue to expertly massage your inner walls. It isn’t long before you’re cumming, your muscles tightening around him. 

He works you through your orgasm, his fingers never stopping and tongue never relenting. It isn’t until you entwine your fingers into his hair and tug that he finally breaks away, a satisfied grin on his face.

He rolls you over onto your stomach before grabbing your hips, helping you to your knees. He takes his cock in his hand and slots it between your thighs, the head brushing over your overstimulated clit. 

His tip catches at your entrance, and he licks up the back of your neck before sliding his cock inside of you in one swift motion. 

You press your face into the pillows, muffling your cry as he slides out and thrusts back in quickly, filling you up completely. 

“You feel amazing. So tight,” he sighs, watching himself disappear inside you. “So deep inside you.”

He leans over you, his chest flat against your back as he ruts into you like an animal in heat. You can tell by his stuttering thrusts that he’s already close.

His hand drags from your hip back onto your clit, rubbing harsh circles over it. You almost yelp, the pleasure being so much it borders on pain.

“Too much, babe!” You cry, grabbing for his hand in an attempt to stop his ministrations.

“I’m… close. Wanna feel you cum around me,” he moans, his breath against your ear. 

You grit your teeth as he continues his motions, his cock thrusting deep into you and his finger trying desperately to draw another orgasm from of you. His efforts are rewarded when his dick hits just the right spot, making your muscles suddenly spasm around him.

Your pussy clenches and throbs around his cock, begging him to spill everything he has. 

“Shit,” he gasps and his hips come to a stop, flush against your ass. His cock twitches, pouring out every bit of cum it’s kept stored for the past week. You moan and grip the sheets, relishing the feeling of it filling you.

He lays you down on your side, keeping you pressed against him, his breathing hard and ragged. His cock, somehow still hard, remains inside you, keeping his cum from spilling out.

He pulls you closer, kissing your shoulder as you both catch your breath and return from your high. He makes a move to pull out of you, but you grab his arm, stopping him.

“Don’t move for a minute,” you say. “Too sensitive.”

“That so?” He asks with a light laugh. His hips hump forward, grinding his dick into you and making you gasp and squeeze his arm, your nails digging into his skin. He hums in amusement. “Hmm, I like you sensitive. Maybe you should sit on me while I play games more often.”

You groan, thinking about how torturous it was to sit on his dick, unmoving. But… denial aside, it was a bit nice. Certainly better than being bored and ignored. You sigh in contemplation.

“I think we can find a compromise.”

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