#(this is for the post. there is smut in the fic)

[the-bar-sinister]

Smut fic on AO3 always seems to have a way lower kudos to hits ratio than non-smut fic; because a larger percentage of people reading feel ashamed to attach their screen name to a kudos on an adult fic.

Which is a shame, really.

If you're posting smut, never let yourself be disappointed in the number of kudos.

[chuluoyi]

𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍

- sylus x reader

when your husband went away without so much as a proper notice, you thought you wouldn't forgive him so easily. but he tries everything to capture your heart back: spoiling and indulging you… little do you know that he expects a reward in return

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—rotten fluff, domestic bliss, explicit smut, cunnilingus, fingering, mating press, taking elements from sylus' card night of secrecy, secret times approaching dusk and spoilers! from myth beyond cloudfall

note: my first sylus x mc fic! with this i'm spreading the soft!sylus agenda and that spicy 4-star approaching dusk has destroyed me :') loosely based on this post

Sometimes, you do wonder... does Sylus really think you're that easy to placate?

On one chilly morning, you woke up only to discover your hunk of a husband gone... and in his side of the bed, a sticky note.

Your eyebrow twitched as you read the audacious message scrawled on it:

Hey, kitten. I need to leave for a few days. There are things I have to handle on my own. Take care of yourself while I’m away. I’ll come back soon.

That was it. No clear explanation, no further details. Just those vague words in such short notice. The day before, he’d seemed like his usual self, not a hint of this sudden departure in sight.

It irked you. It made your heart clench at the same time. Because even after marrying you, Sylus remained elusive, playing his cryptic games. It was beyond you how he didn't even stop to consider how you were left worrying about him while he drifted in and out of his dangerous world without a second thought.

You understood the reality of your lives—that you were a hunter and he was the Onychinus leader, and that to be with him meant you had to walk that fine gray line between light and dark.

And you'd already made your choice. You had accepted it—accepted him—wholly. Even when your marriage had been a rushed affair and registered under false names to protect both your identities.

Things couldn't go on like this. You had to teach him a lesson too.

As your irritation simmered into determination, a devious plan began to take shape in your mind—a way to spite him just enough to make your point crystal clear.

Two days later

Sylus was done with his dirty business faster than he thought, and to appease you, he had come bearing gifts.

The precious little thing that is now his wife, of course he missed you too. But your safety was a price he wasn’t willing to gamble. If going away to take care of those pests meant your peace would be unperturbed, then he would leave without hesitation.

However, as he stepped inside the base, his relief quickly turned to unease. The space was eerily empty, the usual hum of activity conspicuously absent.

Normally, you’d be at the center of some commotion, locked in a spat with either Mephisto, or Luke and Kieran. But now—

“What do we do?! She’s gone!”

Sylus immediately rushed to the source of the ruckus, thinking something bad had happened to you. He found his henchmen standing in a tight, anxious circle around the coffee table.

“What happened?” he demanded.

Without a word, they stepped aside, revealing the object of their concern: a single note lying on the table.

He snatched it up, scanning the words. Then, he let out a sharp exhale of relief, a smirk began tugging at the corners of his lips.

Catch me if you can.

Typical. Absolutely typical. And maddeningly you.

. . .

That night, you had a very strange dream, it felt almost felt like stepping into the pages of an ancient tale.

You were a fallen princess wrongfully accused as a sorceress, who began consorting with the fearsome fiend from the Abyss.

The sorceress and her dragon. Together, you were an infamous pair, a dark legend whispered across generations. Your union had ignited Doomsday itself... and yet, amidst the turmoil and destruction, the sorceress fell in love with the dragon... deeply and irrevocably.

The dragon, in turn, was utterly bewitched by his little witch. He indulged your every whim, no matter how mischievous or perilous, and though he rarely spoke of his true feelings, he always found ways to show his affection.

The lucid dream felt as though it might go on forever, but you were pulled from it by the soft brush of lips against your forehead. The warmth lingered, blurring the lines between dream and reality, until your eyes fluttered open.

“Sylus...?” His features, fresh from your dream, now materialized in your reality. It took you a few seconds to realize that he had come here—

“Morning, sweetie.” His voice was rich and smooth, with that familiar, mischievous edge. A smirk curled on his devilishly handsome face as he leaned in, garnet eyes gleaming with playful intent. “Caught you now, hmm?”

The haze of sleep vanished in an instant, and you were suddenly wide awake. In a flurry, you shoved him away and turned your back on him, trying to regain some semblance of control.

You’d left the N109 Zone for one of his safehouses in suburban Chansia City, thinking it would take him some effort to track you down. Clearly, you’d underestimated him.

“Oh. The kitten is in a bad mood, it seems.” Sylus’ gaze lingered on you, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Well, what do I owe the ire for?”

“...”

“Silent treatment, huh? The lady of the house is getting better at our little games while I was away.”

“...”

“Remember, sweetie, there’s no divorce in our relationship, hmm? If you’re tired of me, keep taking naps.”

You felt the weight shift as he rose from the bed and stalked away. The door clicked shut, leaving you in the silence of the room.

You wanted to resent him for coming and going on his terms, for never offering even an apology. Yet, no matter how much you tried, a part of you remained hopelessly tethered to him. The part that couldn’t ignore the reminder of the dragon from your dream—captivating, powerful, and infuriatingly hard to resist.

You love him, really you do.

. . .

When you didn’t come down for breakfast some time later, Sylus barged into the room once again, and this time he came up with a different approach.

“My lady,” he began, his voice sickeningly low and sweet, but his eyes gleamed with a touch of mischief. “You haven’t had breakfast yet. Please come down.”

You shot him a look, unamused, and decided to play his game as you crossed your arms together. “What if I don't want to?”

His smirk only grew, his tone dripping with mock formality. “And what must I do to change your mind?”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but notice his persistence. He had chased you here, given you more time to sleep in, and now stood before you to get you to eat. You felt your resolve beginning to soften—maybe just a little.

“Carry me there,” you said with a hint of defiance, lifting your chin high, daring him to follow through.

Sylus tilted his head, failing to restrain his snort. “As you wish, my lady.”

He placed his arms around you effortlessly, one hand beneath your knees and the other supporting your back, lifting you into a flawless princess carry. You instinctively put your arms around his neck, and he turned to you.

You opened your mouth, ready to fire off a sharp retort, but before you could, he dived in—

Smooch!

—and planted a bold, wet kiss on your lips. You, wide-eyed, punched his chest in retaliation. “Sylus!”

He chuckled, entirely unfazed. “Careful now, sweetie. Wiggle too much, and you’ll fall.”

He carried you downstairs, effortlessly navigating each step with you still in his arms. Once there, he gently set you down onto the dining chair, and that was when you noticed the table.

Salad, slightly burnt toast, scrambled eggs, milk—simple dishes by all means, but the thought the big, bad Sylus making them?

Wait. When you arrived last night, this place was a dusty shell, and the refrigerator had practically nothing—

“You cleaned the place?” you asked, your tone laced with surprise as your turned from the spotless room to him.

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Why is that so surprising? I can cook and clean just like everyone else.”

It sent a wave of warmth through your chest. He’d prepared food and cleaned the place knowing you’d be hungry and uncomfortable with dust all around.

You huffed, trying to hide how your heart fluttered. “No, your cooking skills are questionable at best.”

As if to prove you wrong, Sylus disappeared into the pantry and reemerged with a tray of warm, freshly baked dough that filled the room with a heavenly aroma.

“You are... baking?” You approached him, mystified at the sight of your husband, who usually at the scene of crime, behind the counter and started frosting the cupcakes.

He set the frosting bag down and picked up a cupcake, holding it to your lips with a teasing smile. “Here. Open up.”

Dutifully, you nibbled on the cupcake, and the sweetness immediately spread into your mouth. “It's tasty,” you mumbled, blinking at him. His eyes crinkled with satisfaction as he gestured toward the tray.

“Go have some more.”

Grinning, you grabbed another cupcake and eagerly took a bite. Munching away, you missed how Sylus’ gaze softened, his bright red eyes focused solely on you.

He couldn't resist pinching your full cheeks at that moment.

“Sy-wus!” you protested, glaring at him. His laughter broke free that instant, warm and unrestrained.

Utterly funny, utterly precious—that’s what you were to him.

Indignant, you scooped up some icing from the cupcake and smeared it right across his face. The stunned look he gave you was priceless, and before he could react, you burst into a fit of giggles and bolted out of the kitchen.

But as you reached the base of the stairs, a strong arm caught your waist from behind, halting your escape. You squealed in surprise, “Noooo!”

Sylus leaned closer and pressed you to his chest, his voice rumbling in your ear. “Ha. Did you really think you could get away that easily?”

He lifted you up with one arm and brought you back to the kitchen, setting you down on the counter and trapping you in place with his arms braced on either side. His eyes sparkled with mirth as he leaned in, and with a grin, he bumped his frosting-smeared nose against yours, leaving a sticky smudge.

“This is unfair!” you protested, still caught in a fit of giggles as you looped your arms around his neck for balance. Sylus chuckled along with you, his gaze steady and warm, never leaving yours.

Being with Sylus in the kitchen like this, savoring simple meals and smearing each other with frosting, it made you realize that you craved this domestic bliss more than you thought.

As the laughter subsided and you both settled into the quiet, your expression softened, all your previous grievances forgotten. The tenderness in your eyes said everything you didn’t need words for, and Sylus could see it clearly—you adored him, just as much as he adored you.

The one who gazed into his jewel-like eyes, embraced his burning soul and sang to him in the night wind... is once again in his arms. A part of him was almost sentimental at the thought.

Instinctively, he closed the distance between you, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours. But as they were about to meet, he paused, as if hesitating, leaving you puzzled.

Then, without a second thought, you chose to abandon all senses. You seized the moment—yanking him to you and capturing his lips, claiming him for yourself.

Suck, suck, bite, suck— You were relentless, and you didn't really know why. At first, even he was taken aback, but then his hand slipped behind your head, fingers threading through your hair as he deepened the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours in an intoxicating rhythm.

“Mmm...” You sneakily began to undo the buttons of his shirt one by one, your fingertips grazing his warm skin with each deliberate motion. Feeling it, Sylus broke the kiss just enough to smirk, his voice husky. “Getting bold, aren’t we?”

But before you could respond, his hands trailed down your sides, firmly pulling you closer, leaving no space between the two of you. His gaze burned with desire, as if daring you to keep going.

Then, without warning, his lips began their descent, grazing your jaw softly before trailing down to your neck and chest, leaving a trail of warmth and shivers across your skin. The feeling was intoxicating, even as his hair tickled you, making it hard to focus on anything but him.

“Ahh,” you couldn’t help but sigh, pressing him closer.

His lips left wet marks on your neck, and he whispered, “Now tell me... what made you so upset that you left home?”

When you didn't answer right away, one of his hand slid beneath your blouse, unhooking your bra and grazed your skin.

“You... keep coming and going as you please...” you stammered, feeling him begin to cup and squeeze your breasts, your breath growing erratic.

Sylus bit down on the skin at the nape of your neck, and you almost gasped.

“It's almost as if— Mmm—” The way he fondled your chest made the space between your legs grow warmer. “—you wouldn’t... miss m-me at all...”

How untrue. He stopped his ministrations, and the steel behind those eyes you loved so much met your gaze once again.

His wife was a mess of sweat already. He swiftly hooked your thighs around his waist and claimed your lips once more. With effortless movement, Sylus guided you to the long recliner in the room, laying you down there, still lost in the heat of the kiss. His hand intertwined with yours, pinning you to the soft surface.

“So...” he rasped, breathless against your lips, “You’re upset that I didn't miss you when I was away...”

His other hand worked to unzip your skirt. “But don’t you know? I... was worried about my wife getting into trouble when I wasn’t with her too... That’s why I was in a hurry to go home...”

Sylus pulled away, both of you panting for air, and he took a moment to savor the sight of your glazed eyes.

“But then I couldn't find her anywhere.” His voice was low and taunting, trailing his fingers on your belly. “I made it back as soon as I could, just like I told you and you are the one who misbehaved... Don’t you think I deserve something as a compensation?”

It took you three solid seconds to realize that the lower half of your body was now exposed. Your husband parted your legs and settled his face between them, pressing a kiss on your knee.

“So I believe at the very least... I deserve this.”

He dived straight for your clit then and you let out a loud gasp.

“Ngh! Aaah...!” You let out incoherent moans as he devoured your folds, lost in the cloudy haze of pleasure. It didn’t take long to unravel you at all. Ticklish, hot, wet— all in all, it felt like a sin, but you just had to get this heavenly taste.

Sylus felt how you were this close to get your orgasm, so he moved faster, licking and sucking your clit, while adding a couple of fingers to bring you to the peak faster. You unconsciously moved your hips against his face— too far gone to be thinking anything else, grasping the leather of the sofa and pulling his hair—

“Ahh— S-Sylus!” And then you came hard, screaming his name, feeling how much it was— were you squirting?

You didn't know, didn't care either, as it was the sight of his ruby eyes that grounded you. You were spent, spread on the sofa (most probably ruined it, even), your chest heaving to catch your breath.

Sylus let out a low rumble as he wiped your juices off his lips with a thumb and tasted it, looking so sinfully sexy like a forbidden fruit while at it.

“You said... I wouldn't miss you.” He traced one finger on your face with such tenderness. “Now, I'm going to show you, and you'll be judge of it. Are you sure you don't want me to stop?”

If you said no, he would comply. That was the kind of person he was and you knew it. Sylus had always looked out for you since the very beginning, no matter how nonchalant he made himself to be.

“No.” You met his eyes, your voice steady. “Show me.”

It was the only affirmation he needed. He began unbuckling his belt and pants, keeping his unclouded gaze on yours, and soon he too was bare before you.

He was thick and long, and while you had taken him many times, it was never fully easy to ease the intrusion. His tip was already slick with precum, and he spread it along his length.

“You know the rule,” he murmured with a meaningful smile. “If it becomes too much, you scream, and I'll stop.”

He positioned himself at your entrance, sliding in slowly. The sharpness of the stretch seeped into you bit by bit, and you couldn't help but moan his name.

“—!” A sharp hiss escaped you as he fully sheathed himself inside, hitting that sensitive spot. Had your eyes deceived you, or was there a slightly noticeable bulge in your belly from where he was?

Sylus noticed it too, but he folded your knees and made sure your eyes were kept on him. His gaze intense and filled with something deep, something possessive. The room seemed to narrow, your entire focus consumed by him as he settled in close.

“Ah, hah, ahhh!” You couldn't stop moaning beneath him as he started thrusting into you. The feeling of him so deep inside, coupled with the way you tightened around him, sent waves of blind pleasure through you.

Sylus’ eyes darkened, his jaw clenched as he watched you squirm under him. Your skin glistened with the heat of the moment, and the sound of your breaths, frantic and needy, filled the room. His control slipped, just a little, as he pushed deeper, his movements faster, chasing the release that quickly building within both of you.

“Sylus—!” you almost wailed, gripping and nails digging into his back, and he growled, knowing full-well that he was finally losing it.

Just like that he shot his cum straight to your womb, his own body shuddering, thoroughly rutting into you. You groaned, tears falling from your lashes as you too reached your climax.

Full, too full... Yet you knew that you wouldn't have it another way.

. . .

It felt warm and comforting.

Your eyes fluttered open hours later, and the first thing you noticed was Sylus' sleeping face, and that you were now in the bedroom.

He looked so vulnerable like this. You couldn’t help but be drawn to how serene and unguarded he was, a side of him that only you got to see.

Even in his sleep, his arms were wrapped around your waist, as if to protect you from anything that might disturb your rest.

Your lover... and then husband. He was rough around the edges, sometimes didn't make any sense at all, and often reckless enough to burn himself playing with fire.

But just like the inseparable pair of dragon and sorceress in your dream, you knew you’d stay by his side until the very end.

Sylus was easy to read sometimes, and you couldn’t help but smile at your earlier doubts about him. How could you not see just how deeply he was attached to you?

Out of a playful surge of affection, you tapped his nose, and he grunted softly but didn’t wake, instead nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, seeking more of your warmth. It was cute, how he was so worn out that he sought comfort in your embrace.

You pressed a soft kiss to his forehead then, vowing with everything you had that you’d never let him go, and that with him by your side, you would definitely made this life you shared a happy one.

Several weeks later...

“Thank you, miss!”

The boy bowed his head with a wide grin as soon as you handed him the red pocket money for Linkon New Years. You waved at him, smiling warmly as he skipped away, clutching the envelope in his hands.

The festive occasion inspired you to pay a visit to a nearby orphanage, driven by a desire to share more of the joy and blessings. You brought small gifts and red envelopes, hoping to bring a little light to the children’s lives and make the celebration even more meaningful for them.

Of course, Sylus tagged along too. He was the benefactor, after all.

“Sir, thank you for your generosity.” The headmistress approached Sylus, who looked effortlessly sharp in his red suit, and gave his hand a shake. “The children are really happy with the cupcakes and pocket money.”

He merely chuckled and pointed at you with his chin. “Thank her, my wife is the one with the idea.”

You joined the conversation shortly after, and it didn’t take long for the topic to shift from the orphanage to your personal lives.

“So, do the two of you have plans to start a family soon?” the headmistress asked, her tone warm and curious. “Both of you are still young, and you're so good with kids. Having children of your own might bring even more joy into your lives.”

You mustered a polite laugh, the words to gracefully deflect her comment forming on your lips, when—

“Soon,” Sylus interjected smoothly, his arm slipping around your waist, pulling you closer. “Very soon, in fact.”

You blinked at him, startled by his bold declaration, while the headmistress’s face lit up with approval. You nudged him discreetly.

As soon as the headmistress went on her way, you turned to him with a frown. “Why would you tell her that?”

Your gaze met his, clear and utterly clueless. Sylus snorted, so tempted to pinch your cheeks, but settling instead for a tender pat on your head.

“You'll see soon enough, sweetie,” he replied, his tone laced with playful mystery.

Epilogue

It was the dead of night when a sudden wave of nausea overtook you. Stumbling out of bed, you rushed to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before retching up the contents of your stomach.

Your body trembled as you stood, dizziness threatening to topple you. Leaning heavily on the sink for support, you rinsed your mouth, trying to steady yourself. The effort left you shivering, your legs almost buckling beneath you.

Before you could even comprehend the blur in your vision, a pair of strong arms got a hold over you. “S-Sylus...?” you murmured faintly.

Without hesitation, he lifted you into his arms securely as he carried you back to the bedroom, his expression shadowed with concern.

As he settled you onto the bed, he held you close, pressing your face against his bare chest that peeked from his unbuttoned shirt. “Take deep breaths,” he urged softly, his voice grounding you.

You inhaled shakily, letting the familiar warmth of his scent calm your frayed nerves. Slowly, your breathing steadied, though the nausea still lingered in the back of your throat.

“Is it the first time?” he questioned, smoothing your hair. “Have you thrown up before?”

You shook your head. “No... I get dizzy spells but that's it... This is the first time.”

Nausea, dizziness, vomiting. It wasn't hard to piece together what it was. Amidst your dazed thoughts, the realization hit you, and you turned to your husband almost in wonder. “Sylus... a-am I...?”

Sylus broke into a smirk, ruffling your hair. “Told you. I know your period is late.”

Your heart skipped a beat—and it was the only thing you could hear in that moment. The thought that a baby would enter your lives left you briefly speechless.

“Yeah, at the rate we're going, it’s like we’re bunnies,” you quipped sullenly, trying to regain a sense of control as you leaned into his broad chest.

You really thought he would poke fun at you for your highly possible pregnancy, but instead you were taken aback when he pressed a fond, lingering kiss to the side of your head. His arms tightened around you, his soft chuckle reverberating through his chest.

And when you found his gaze again, his jewel-like eyes softened into such an extent that made your heart soar.

“Well, aren’t I the luckiest man— having this fair lady be the mother of my child?”

[taintandviolent]

Tangled ; Eddie Munson x Reader

summary: One lazy summer day, Eddie discovers something new about you when his rings get tangled in your hair.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 1.5K | female reader, established relationship, smut, use of pet names (princess, sweetheart, baby, etc.), light praise, no use of y/n, hair pulling kink, soft dom Eddie if you squint, fingering, p in v, doggy style.

a/n: this was an anon request! I hope you enjoy, wherever you are! divider by @/strangergraphics!!

fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

It started out innocently. Really. It did. 

A warm, summer breeze drifts through the trailer. The two of you sit on his mattress, sheets strewn about, and your bodies snuggled together like the lovebirds you are. Wayne’s out of town, so you’ve been spending as many nights at his house as you can, sleeping in his bed and waking up in his hot, bare arms. You wouldn’t trade that feeling for the world, if anyone offered. 

Today, you’re lazily thumbing through a copy of Teen Beat. He’s sloppily sketching out ideas for his next campaign with his left hand, and absent-mindedly, the ringed fingers of his right hand play with strands of your hair, twirling them around his digits. A sudden pain erupts over your scalp, sending a bolt of electricity right to your core. Feeling sudden resistance, Eddie panics, pulling his hand away, which pulls your hair harder. He’s snagged a knot on one of his rings; specifically, the pig. 

“Shit-shit-sorr–!” 

As he yanks away, you tilt your head back to lean into him, a lewd, high-pitched moan falling from your mouth. So lewd, that Eddie freezes mid-pull, and looks at you, brows high on his forehead. You immediately clap your hand over your mouth, as if that could take it back. 

“What… was that?”

“Ummm… I… it hurt.” 

He smirks, his full pink lips spreading across his teeth. “That didn’t sound like it hurt, princess.”

In one strong movement, Eddie has you on top of him, straddling him. Like a serpent, his hand slowly slithers up your spine, to the nape of your neck and into your hair. He makes a fist in the soft tresses and tugs softly, not enough to hurt, but enough to elicit another reaction from you.. The reaction is similar; your eyes roll back in your head, and your thighs squeeze his as you try to clamp them together. A desperate little whining sound comes from your mouth, and Eddie, beneath you, is absolutely beaming. 

“Someone likes their hair pulled, I see.” He has that dominant, theatric voice he uses in campaigns. Damn him.

You scramble, trying to defend yourself. “I do not! It's just… I was…” 

“Uh-huh, you were uh-huh.” He teases and tugs again, a little bit harder than before. This time, you bite your lip, your hands finding and gripping his bare shoulders. 

“Eddie, stop…!” You plead, though it sounds as fake as it feels. He’s too smart to believe that. 

The look in his pretty, chocolatey brown eyes says everything; he’s not going to let up until you admit it. He grips your hair at the back of your skull, tugging it tight and pulling your head back slightly. Your jaw drops, your eyelids fluttering shut. Between your legs, you can already feel the telltale throbbing, the damp heat accumulating. His voice is low and lusty, something he knows is a weakness of yours. He could get you going just by talking, but when he uses that particular voice… you’re done for. 

“Sweetheart, c’mon… look at you. You’re practically coming undone just like this. You know you don’t need to be shy around me…” He pulls again, and you whimper. 

“Eddie….” you mewl, squeezing your eyes shut tightly. You feel his free hand tap your jaw a few times, bringing you back to him. He knows that you close your eyes to avoid dealing with things – another way you can’t weasel out. 

“Ah-ah. Eyes on me, baby.” 

You lock eyes with him, and your resolve crumbles. He’s giving you that look, the one that oozes mischief, playfulness and hunger, the one he gives you right before he pounces on you, tackling you to the bed. 

You take a big breath, and say it all in one breath. “Okay, fine, that felt really good and it turned me on. Happy now?” 

“Immeasurably.” 

Eddie brings your body closer to him, guiding you right to his waiting lips. You’re glad you’re already on your knees, because the kiss that he plants on you is enough to bring you there if you weren’t. It’s loaded with a newfound hunger; he loves finding out things about you. Even though you two have been dating for a few months now, he always thinks you’re like a little puzzle box, spring loaded with secret compartments that hold more untold secrets. The hair pulling was one of them. 

“Let’s put it to the test, shall we?” 

He drums out a little rhythm on the fullness of your hips, urging you up off him. You flop over backwards onto the bed, onto your elbows, and watch him as he crawls on all fours towards you. As he does, he frees his swelling erection. Only clad in a pair of plaid boxers, he doesn’t have much to shed. Neither do you, for that matter, as you’re in a cute little nightgown and nothing else. Eddie pushes the satin up your thighs, revealing your glistening cunt. 

“Sweetheart, sweetheart…. Look at this.” He runs a single finger along your slit, and your body shudders. “Such a mess.” 

Though he doesn’t need any help getting himself hard, one hand wraps around his cock, pumping it slowly in and out of his fist as he gazes over your body. There’s something so… domestic about the way you’re looking at him, waiting for him to fuck you. He exhales through his nose, smiling, and leans forward to press a kiss to your bare stomach. His finger ghosts a path down your tummy, all the way to the soft mound between your legs. Gradually, he teases your entrance, spreading your arousal over your folds until you’re coated in it.  He brings his thumb down over your clit and traces it in tight circles, pleasuring you until your thighs start to quiver – his favorite thing. Quivering like a scared little bunny in his hands… drives him crazy. You blindly reach for his forearm, feeling for the warm skin. God damn guitar players…. Their stupid nimble fingers….

“Turn around, pretty girl,” he hums.

You’re more than eager to complete his request, flipping over onto all fours. You lower yourself back down onto your elbows and in doing so, stick your ass up for him to admire. Tenderly, Eddie reaches forward to gather all your hair into a ponytail before giving it a firm tug. Your whole body spasms with pleasure; your cunt throbs and your back arches up into a tantalizing curve. 

“Fuck,” Eddie grunts from behind you, lining the leaking, flushed tip of his cock up with your waiting slit. The head nudges your folds, twitching against them in anticipation. You brace yourself, taking fistfuls of the sheet below you. “Ready, baby?” 

You nod against the mattress.

“Words, princess. We talked about this.” 

“Mhm…. please fuck me, Eddie. I wanna’ feel you…” 

That’s all he needs. He sinks himself inside of you, until his torso is pressed against the firm curve of your ass. The feeling of his cock is always enough to get you off – it always does. But when Eddie tightens his fist around your ponytail and yanks it hard, you let out a moan that is loud enough to rattle the trailer’s windows. He finds his rhythm easily, rutting his hips furiously against your ass and keeps a firm grip on your hair, almost using it as leverage to pull into you. 

“Fuck, fuck… oh my god…. Oh my god, Eddie!!” 

He pulls harder, and a melange of pain and pleasure erupts at the crown of your head – you swear you’re seeing stars at this point. 

“You like that, baby? Huh?” Eddie asks, breathlessly. 

“Yeaaaah…!” A pressure builds above your sopping cunt, feeling white hot. The room is filled with the sounds of skin against skin, and the wet, slick sounds of your cunt as Eddie buries himself inside you. The air is heavy with the scent of sex and you’re breathing it in deeply, each of your breaths laboured and loud.

“Fuck yeah, baby… oh fuck…” 

Eddie thrusts hard, burying himself to the hilt and pulls back out, admiring the way your pussy clenches around him like it’s trying to pull him back in. His cock aches, you know it does, because the few seconds spent away from your cunt, you can hear him stroking himself, nudging your entrance with the cockhead. He’s trying not to come. He’s edging himself. Something he only did when he was really worked up. 

“I’m gonna’... Eddie, I’m gonna’ come… fuck me.” 

Wasting no time, Eddie sheaths himself back inside, and presses his stomach against your back, angling his lips next to your ear. He pulls hard on your hair, and you bend your neck back, screaming out in ecstasy. Hot, erotic tears prick the corners of your eyes as Eddie pulls, fucking into like his life depends on it. When he finally speaks, it’s a hissed whisper, and sends a chill down your spine. 

“You like that, huh? My good girl likes her hair pulled, doesn’t she?” 

“Yes, yes! GOD! YES!” 

Your cunt clenches around him like a vice, warm and slick, as your orgasm washes over you. Eddie feels it – but he doesn’t stop thrusting. He chases his own orgasm, humping you feverishly, and in doing so, pulls another screaming two orgasms from you. He laughs breathily as his thrusts slow, hips rolling against the curve of your ass. You can hear the smile in his laugh, and collapse against the sheet. 

“I learn something new about you every day, princess. Every damn day.”

[changbunnies]

Devourance (18+)

♡ Pairing: Dracula / Nosferatu!Hyunjin x Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: vampire au, dracula / nosferatu au, 1800s au, human / vampire relationship, horror themes, reincarnation, soulmates, smut

♡ Word Count: 3.9k

♡ Summary:��Hyunjin has crossed oceans of time to find you– the one who's blood calls to him, who beckons for him in the dead of night, who yearns for his touch against all conceptions of what one must and must not desire. The ancient Vampyr has an appetite for you; an appetite that won't ever be sated.

♡ General Warnings: reader has depression (referred to as melancholy), reader is a lucid dreamer, usage of vampire abilities (invading dreams, shapeshifting, heightened senses), hyun's true form is very Creature Vampire so. still sexy if ur a monster fucker like me but some of y'all may not like that lmao

♡ Smut Warnings: does having sex with someone inside their dream count as somnophilia? idk !!, outdoor sex (kind of; it's a dream so they're not really outside lol), wet dreams, pet names (my love, my heart), referenced biting and blood drinking, unprotected piv, creampie

♡ Notes: originally, when i was planning my late kinktober fics, this was strictly a dracula au (as i love the 1992 movie and have a beautiful copy of the book sitting in my horror novel collection <3) but i saw the nosferatu remake in theaters and it rotted my fucking brain lmao so this became a blend of both ! i hope you enjoy it, cause i had a blast writing it <3

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

It starts as a dream; a waking one, so vivid and lucid that the line between conscious reality and imagination blurs, all perception of time and space bending and warping to what your subconscious mind feels most safe and familiar.

Your hands clasped together, a deep breath before you close your teary eyes, your souls desires laid out in a whispered prayer– "Come to me."

Who are you asking for? Who will heed your call? A friend you wish to have, but have yet to obtain? An imaginary prince charming who will right all the wrongs of your life with his presence alone? God himself? Death?

You do not know– all you know is that you are desperate for an escape from the melancholy that permeates your life, seeping its way into every crack of your porcelain heart, as thick and murky black as tar. It sticks to you, wraps itself around every cell, clinging to you in a loveless embrace.

Even in your dreams you cannot escape it; so often you hear tale of joyous dreams. Dreams in which you stand upon the altar, waiting to be wed to the love of your life, dreams in which you share a dinner with one you admire, or dreams in which you have coveted all that you desire.

You are regaled with recollections of dreams full of simple pleasures; warm and nostalgic, dreams of playing in the front yard as a child, with your mother's freshly baked bread wafting to you from the open window. Dreams of early school days, where one's only worry in the world was what they'd play when they got back home.

For some, dreams are entirely nonsensical; there is often no clear purpose, nor story, nor concrete feeling– but it is pleasant in its own right, and entertaining to recall the absurdities in which you found yourself in the middle of.

You do not experience such simple pleasures.

While for others, dreams are a pleasant escape from everyday life, a blissful end to an arduous day of work, your dreams are an extension of your reality. They offer no comfort, nor joy, nor escape from your bleak, mundane existence. You are ever as aware of yourself whilst asleep as you are while conscious, feeling every emotion just as strongly as you do in the light of day.

You wish you could say you have adapted to life with your melancholy, or learned to be at peace with it, or that you don't mind having no escape. But the truth of the matter is that your dreams being not a safe haven as they should be tolls on you, made worse by the fact that even in the sanctuary that should be your mind, you are utterly alone and miserable.

So there you stand in your waking dream, wishing for a change. A mirror of your reality, your status within your dream reflects the state you were in before falling to sleep. You are in your bedroom, as pitch dark as you left it when blowing out the candles, the only illumination coming from the moon shining through your balcony doors.

You stand in the middle of the room, hands clasped and eyes closed as you whisper your prayers, the same lily-white chemise you wore to bed draping your body. So perfect a recreation of your surroundings, that were it not for the fact that you so vividly remember adhering to your sleep routine and laying your head against the pillows, you might not even be able to say that this was a dream at all.

And though it is just the confines of your mind, and you are certain no one but God can hear you (if he will listen, and hasn't yet turned his back on you), you plead. 

"Come to me. A guardian angel, a spirit of comfort, a spirit of any celestial sphere– anyone, anything. Please, hear my call."

There is naught in the room but silence when you are finished; you are as alone with your thoughts as you ever are. You take a breath, blink away building tears, readying yourself to try again– and then, to your greatest surprise, there is a response.

For the first time in all your many dreams, a voice answers you– soft, an indistinct whisper akin to your own, but you hear it echo in the silence of your bedroom. Your eyes shoot open, a soft gasp leaving your parted lips as you look around the room.

Slowly, you lower your hands, taking an unconscious step forward, closer to where the voice calls to you from your balcony. You cannot yet discern what the voice is saying, nor can you see their figure, but you watch breathlessly as the lock on your balcony doors seems to unlatch itself, a sudden gust of wind pushing it open.

The air is cooler than you'd expect for a late spring's breeze, but you do not shiver or shrink away from the sudden chill; instead, you tentatively take another step, following the unfamiliar, beckoning voice. The voice becomes clearer the closer you step to the balcony, and though you see nothing out of the ordinary before you, you feel them.

No, to say you do not see them is not right– invisible in your mortal gaze, yes, but the moon casts their shadow on your wall, your curtains billowing with the steady breeze capturing their inhuman silhouette. And surely it is merely a trick of shadow that makes the figure appear so inhuman– because how else can you grapple with so foreign a creature standing before you?

You rationalize the impossibly tall silhouette as the moon elongating their shadow, the sharp and pointy length of their nails having simply become exaggerated, the unnatural point of their ears the result of a penumbra trick. Their figure vanishes with each fall of your curtains, reappearing with each rise; but their shadow ever lingers, eerie black against your ivory walls.

Their shadow serves as a reminder, you think– that even when you cannot see them, they will be there. Watching, beckoning, waiting; the voice, once so indistinct and otherworldly, is now crystal clear in your ears. Soft but luminous, it calls you as you take another cautious step closer.

"You," the voice starts, and though soft, it is an aching rasp– reminiscent, you think, of when one has fallen ill, or of times when one's throat has grown stiff from disuse. You have no further time to ponder if this is the man's– creature's?– natural inflection; for in just a few more careful utterances, their tone smooths, the soft voice becoming silken.

"You," the male voice repeats, smooth as satin and utterly mesmerizing, "I have heard you. And I answer in turn– come to me."

The shadow moves along your wall then, creeping closer to you; it feels as if it envelops you, embracing you with a blissful warmth you've never before felt. It clings to you with each step, but it does not feel like the melancholic tar you are accustomed to; it is a gentle ribbon, guiding you further with promises of sweetness you have so long craved.

Holding now to the railing of your balcony, you look to the gardens below. There you see him, standing amongst the tall, twisting trees and blooming lilacs. He gazes up at you, eyes black as a void, and yet they still shine in the light of the moon.

And just as a void promises to, his look swallows you whole. You lose yourself in the dark, hypnotic pool of his eyes, stumbling forward almost blindly, with one simple thought– you must go to him.

You are before him in an instant, though you have no recollection or understanding as to how. Did you walk off the balcony and fall below? Did you turn back and trek through the house to make it to the gardens? Is this the absurdity of dreams that normally eludes you, or is a greater power at work?

The answer seems of little importance; bewitched by the man standing before you, you find that logic and rationality hold no value. He is here, perfection and beauty embodied wholly– the answer to your prayers; that is all you care to know.

Your hand trembles, your utmost desire now to reach out and feel him beneath your fingertips, to confirm that he is not just a figment of your dream– that there really was someone in this world who could hear you from beyond, and cared enough to respond to your call.

Hair as black as his eyes, a few long strands falling over his perfect cheekbones, while the rest is tucked behind his normal, and not at all pointed, ears. He has full, plush lips shaded in an enchanting, muted red, with a little mole under his left eye and utterly flawless, pristine skin.

He is ethereal, and radiant, and he is here for you– and while his eyes hold a darkness you have never before seen, his smile is impossibly tender. He takes your trembling hand in his own, and you can feel his nails poke your skin as he closes it around you.

They are long, yes, but not as long and pointed as his shadow would've led you to believe them to be. There is a part of you that decides you were correct to think his features were simply exaggerated and warped by shadow, though the deep recesses of your heart and mind know this isn't true.

Whatever he is, whoever he may be– he is not of this world, you know that for certain. For who else in the world could hear you? Who would have the power to meet you in your mind? A trickster, an angel, a devil? It matters not, you decide; for perhaps, in some ways, you are not of this world either.

Perhaps you have always felt melancholic, twisted, and odd, because your destiny did not reside with your fellow man– perhaps it lied here, with this creature who wears the mask of the beautiful sort of prince charming you've yearned for.

His shadow was the truth of his being, you innately know, and yet it gives you no fear. He squeezes your hand, a reassurance, while the other rises to cup your cheek in his palm, a tender rub of his thumb along the skin where he holds you. His gentle touch is ice cold, but it spreads warmth through your body regardless– because oh, how you've longed for the companionship of another.

"You are for me," he whispers as he inches closer, your noses on the precipice of touching, "and I, you. Do you believe in destiny?" He stares at you, observing you closely as he awaits your answer. You swallow, heart quickening as you hold his gaze.

"Yes," you utter softly; for in the depths of your soul, you feel it– the immutable pull that tells you this is where you must be. Beside him, in his arms, at his side for all eternity– and he will love you, this you know true; because even down to the very marrow of your bones, your body says it is so.

He has searched for you for an age; not someone like you, no. You. Only you. And his delight to finally have heard his beloved's call, and to answer– it is an unparalleled joy, one that he expects you to share. For even in your mortal life, your blood sings for him just the same as it did those many, long centuries ago.

You were promised to him then, as you are now– and he will have you, just as he did then. First in sleep, as you are now, but someday soon he will find you in the physical world once more. He will hold you in his arms, your reunion as joyous as it is profane. Rejoice, as you join him back to your true home; the castle, your castle, where every moment was spent in unholy exuberance.

"Do you remember?" he asks, voice honey-sweet, "remember how we once were?"

You do not, not really– your mind has no recollection of the man before you. But your soul remembers, has carried the weight of centuries of love and longing with it all this time, waiting for the moment all the feelings harbored within could finally be unearthed.

"I know you," you answer, truthfully; because while this is your first meeting in this life, you recognize him all the same. In the deepest recesses of your memory, he is there, gazing upon you with the same reverence he does now. He holds you close, kisses you tender, his touch along your skin slow and gentle, his name a whispered prayer on your lips.

Hyunjin.

His eyes light up when you call his name, a smile growing on his perfect lips. Hyunjin would know you anywhere, and there was never any doubt you were his love– but all the same, it is a great relief to hear his name fall from your lips again after so many years spent longing for it.

He kisses you then, doing his utmost to relay the depths of his passion, while also holding the carnality he feels for you at bay– the last thing he wishes to do is overwhelm you with his appetite too soon. You are his affliction, his every desire, he must have you; and he can only pray that you will not deny him, or yourself, the pleasure– but only when the time is right.

"You will be mine once more," he says; a statement, not a question, between kisses to your lips, "as I am eternally yours." Your nerves tingle, blood alight as you return his affections, meeting his lips with urgency.

"I will have you," he continues, almost breathless as his lips begin to trail down your neck, "Will you swear it? That again, we are for no one but each other?" His breath tickles your skin, the points of two sharp teeth touching the sensitive pulse point. You shiver as his fangs linger there, closing your eyes as your heart thunders in your chest.

Hyunjin can not truly drink from you here, not in the confines of your dream, but his teeth against your neck serve as a reminder– that your blood is his greatest temptation. Should you promise yourself to him once more, he won't be able to resist you– as there is no taste sweeter than the blood of his beloved.

"I swear," you whisper your promise; for you will never fear him, nor can you deny the ecstasy that comes when he drinks from you. “ever-eternally, I am yours.” 

He is a beast of nightmares, a plague set upon the world, a ruinous omen of death, your immortal Vampyr; and you are safe in his hold. For he loves you and needs you too greatly to cause you any harm– an affection that contradicts his nature, but what a welcome contradiction it is. 

When you meet his gaze once more, his eyes burn with desire; it has been an agony, truly, to have such carnal desire for you all these centuries. And he could do naught with his desires but wait– wait for the day you would return to this world, and pray that your body and soul would still sing for him the way it once had. 

Hyunjin could have taken concubines, could’ve shared his castle with any great number of men or women– but they would not have been you. None can sate him the way you can, none can spread such flames of passion through his icy veins, none can make his eternally still heart feel as if it beats. It is not a vain promise when he says you are the only one for him– he means it with every fiber of his immortal being.

Your heart and soul, now free from their sepulchre, burn with need. He can hear the erratic thump of your heart, the blood rushing through your veins, can smell the arousal pooling between your legs. You desire him, just as he desires you– and he decides then that the time is right; there is no need to be cautious and careful with his affections.

You want him, and he wants you– and you will have each other, now and forever.

Hyunjin kisses you once more, hungry and urgent. He pulls your body flush to his own, holds you tightly as the wind rolls quickly past you. You realize, when you pull away to catch a breath, that your surroundings have shifted. Now in the center of the estate’s hedge maze, he lies you down on the stone bench beneath the grand statue of Mnemosyne.

You shiver against the cold stone, but he warms you with another kiss. His tongue meets your lips as his hand dances around the bottom of your chemise, lifting it up just enough to expose your lower half. His hands find your thighs, the points of his nails digging at the soft flesh as he squeezes you in his palms. 

It elicits a needy sound from deep within, one that you almost don’t recognize as your own. You feel the sharp points of his teeth with your tongue, while he spreads your legs apart to make more room for himself between them. He tugs your panties away with haste, and there is no shyness to be had when he separates to look at the way you glisten under the moonlight for him. 

He takes a moment to stare, licks his lips before looking back up to meet your eyes. You hold his gaze as he frees his cock from his trousers, swallowing as you look down for just a moment, and then back up to him. You are both eager, it is clear– and he will have neither of you wait any longer; you have both waited long enough. 

“I will have you,” Hyunjin repeats as he grabs your hips, lifting your bottom up from the stone bench and aligning you with himself. His thighs support you, while his feet stay firmly planted on the grass and stone below. You wrap your legs around his waist, and he removes one of his hands from your hips, using it to find leverage on the stone as he leans over you. 

You can feel his cock pulsing against you, excitement and anticipation building exponentially in your gut. “Mine again,” he whispers as he captures your lips in another kiss, “You are mine, my love.” 

He presses inside you as slowly as he can manage to, and you gasp, hands reaching out to cling to his arms. Thick and full, you let out a shuddering moan when his cock is sheathed fully inside your wet heat. He moans with you, the centuries of building need finally melting into the pure bliss he’d been longing for. 

But he refuses to rush– his thrusts are slow and fluid, precise and calculated, searching for the spot he knows will bring you utmost euphoria. You let out a high-pitched moan, followed by a curse, when he succeeds; and he smiles before he grits his teeth, determined to bring you to the heights of pleasure.

“Hyunjin, oh, please–” you whimper, nails digging into the fabric of his sleeves as he picks up his pace. He wanted to drag it out longer, truly, he did; but the mind is a powerful thing, and even whilst in a dream, the pleasure that you both feel is entirely real. 

And how much longer can one who has held centuries of lust and yearning hold back? Especially when the object of his every desire is moaning and begging for him so sweetly?

He could never resist you– not then, and especially not now. And long has he craved to hear his name spill from your lips like this again; so much so that the sound of it sends him into a frenzy. 

“Again,” he utters, equal parts desperate plea and urgent demand, “call to me, say my name.” You oblige easily, his name falling from your lips in a tantalizing mantra; and you feel his cock throb violently with each salacious whimper, his every thrust laced with desire and urgency.

He releases his grip on your hip, moving his hand to your center and pressing his thumb on your clit. Your breath catches, eyes rolling back as he rubs your clit in steady, practiced circles.

“Cum for me, my love,” Hyunjin urges; he is on the precipice of release himself, and he needs you to fall apart with him– it is the only way he can truly be satisfied. Your thighs tremble, whimpers broken by harsh breaths; and you let go of his arms, reach up to his face and pull him down into a desperate, needy kiss. 

He moans, and if his flesh were mortal, he is sure that goosebumps would’ve risen over every inch of his body. His thrusts lose their fluidity, becoming quick and choppy as he chases the high your body promises him. You clench tighter, toes curling and body quivering as you finally cum, your every moan of pleasure captured by his lips. 

His hips still as his own high takes him, his cock fully pressed inside, his cum spurting in long, sticky spurts. Your kisses are breathless, impassioned, but no longer urgent– they are soft promises of love, of eternity together in bliss.

You smile at him when he pulls away, and he looks at you just as tenderly as he had before, stroking your cheek and indulging in the heat it offers his thumb. You’ve never felt so relaxed, happy and at peace– but just then, you feel a sudden jolt.

It is a sign that your consciousness is returning to reality, and you will soon find yourself back in your bed, with the morning light shining on you from your balcony. Hyunjin, an invader in your mind, feels himself being pushed out– for he can not stay by your side beyond the bounds of your dream just yet. 

There is fear and uncertainty that peaks within you as you fight to stay asleep just a moment longer– but he is quick to calm you, kissing you one last time before you the sun’s rays shine down on you.

“I will find you again in the waking world, my heart,” he says, squeezing your hand in his before he starts to fade once more into shadow, “this, I promise.”

You rise with a start, blinking rapidly and lingering, unshed tears falling from your eyes as you raise your hand to your heart. Just as expected, it is morning now– the late spring sun is bright and warm, and birds chirp in delight as they welcome the dawn of a new day.

You frown, feeling the erratic thumb of your heart beneath your fingertips as the melancholy claws its way back around you, reminding you that it has not left. Your inner thighs are sticky and wet, you realize a short moment later, and for the first time, you blush.

And then you giggle– and the melancholy, though ever present, now has a weaker grasp. You wonder, as you rise from the bed and prepare for your day, how long it will take for Hyunjin to find you. Days, weeks, months? 

You hope it is soon– but if it is not, you know what you will do. Every night, when you blow out the candles and fall asleep, you will call to him. You’ll invite him back into your mind, greet him with a soft kiss, and revel in his tender touch.

You will make love, you will smile, and you will talk of the future with greater enthusiasm than you have ever known– for he is your destiny, your truest love, your one and only immortal Vampyr. Ever-eternally.

[pennyellee]

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 '𝟐𝟒 - 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐬

a/n: welcome to my little reading corner! This post is my love letter to the fics and authors that stole my sleep, left me clutching my heart, or made me shed tears. These are the stories that left their mark on me last year. New or older, re-reads or first times. I hope you’ll find something here that speaks to you as deeply as it did to me. And if you have a recs to share or a favourite trope to gush about, my comment section is always open or jump here to tell me! Let’s keep celebrating the beautiful chaos of what this fandom can bring. Love you fairies. PS: I cannot wait to dive into the projects I have started on my own ♥

𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 @sailoryooons Namjoon x female reader; werewolf au - absolutely astonishing, amazing rendition of the trope, kept me in the world from beginning till the end, an unmissable gem; i've found it difficult to find good namjoon!werewolf content on this app for a long time and this just embodies everything and even more that I was hoping for.

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐛𝐲 @personasintro min yoongi x reader; zombie apocalypse au - I actually revisited this fic and it was just as perfect as when I read it the first time, heck, if I wasn't sucker for Min Yoongi then, this made me crush on that man even more.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐛𝐲 @solecize jungkook x reader; friends to lovers, inspired by stardew valley - beautiful, beautiful and beautiful, cutest fic ever, i was rooting for them so much and I just might go and re-read this now as this was so touching to read.

𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 & 𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐛𝐲 @lostberet min yoongi x female reader; racer boyfriend; smut - HOT, HOT, HOT, did I say HOT?

𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍’ 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐊! 𝐛𝐲 @lovieku fuckboy!jungkook x female reader; fwb - I actually re-read this today, or yesterday, whenever, depends on when I post this, and the way the narrative flows is so captivating, and I love me some miss grande inspired content, naturally fell in love with this fic

𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐈 𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐲 @hollyhomburg polyamory bts x reader; omegaverse au, mafia au; dom-sub dynamics - like what do you mean that I cannot marry this fic, tsk, i want to, i need to, so many sleepless night because i just wanted know what happens next; to confess, i did avoid this fic, and now i can tell that this is just the kind that you avoid and avoid and then you're completely soft and fluffy for it. such complex themes being incorporated into the narrative in a way that's going to tight your aorta enough for you to cry and cry and then it will release and you'll feel the dopamine and excitement flowing through your body. bravo.

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 & 𝐋𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐲 @ktownshizzle dad yoongi x teacher female reader - when i say that this fic slapped me you won't believe why, but it did. Cutest, emotional, and just so captivating to read. ps: capybara capybara capybara capybara capybaraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

𝐚𝐦𝐲𝐠𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐚 𝐛𝐲 @chaoticpuff17 yandere yoongi x named mc; mafia au - Becca the queen has always a way to characterize the shit out of her yandere male characters and MIN YOONGI is something here! I perceive this masterpiece as a good reinvention of fics with named MCs coz we gradually forgot about that it seems. Becca to the whitehouse pls!

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐲 @angelicyoongie yandere ot7 x female reader; soulmate au - as someone whose academia expertise became the study of narratology, I propose this to be a new submission to the field because this narrative structure is illegally good. Excellently crafted, scenes are gradually built upon from chapter one till the very end, and the end makes your heartbeat faster and in unison the oc (ain't gonna spoil).

𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐲 @97kuu jungkook x reader; smut, friends to lovers au - car sex became underrated trope and we should all learn and f*cking worship this smut area, pleaaaseee, I love car sex smut, I need to read about it more often and this fic is just chef's kiss.

𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐛𝐲 @hueseok jungkook x reader; inspired by purple hearts - since the movie came out I was waiting who will jump to do a fic with the boys inspired by it and this one did not disappoint. Remarkable, amazing rendition, and I wish I could read it again and again for the first time.

𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐲 @chaoticpuff17 yandere namjoon x female reader; mafia au, forced marriage - words will never be enough to talk about how this fic has my brain occupied for years. it holds a special place in my heart, as this was the first ever bts mafia fic i've ever read. hence, i am doing annual re-read. sometimes even several times a read. covid times were rough and i'm glad we all had something to hold space for at the time. this fic it is for me, a sanctuary, albeit its themes, and subsequently its sequel 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧

until we meet again fairies. love, p.

[diamonddaze01]

PEDAL TO THE METAL (series masterlist)

🏁 IT'S LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO! 🏁

Welcome to the world of F1, where the cars go fast, the stakes go higher, and the drama never lifts off the throttle. Seventeen rules the grid—from precision strategies to podium glory. Whether it’s navigating a hairpin turn or a tricky love confession, the tension is always at maximum revs. So tighten your harness and adjust your visors—this isn’t just a race; it’s the ride of a lifetime.

🏁 N O T E S : this has been in the works for far too long, and i owe it to @ylangelegy for yanking it out of my head and putting it on paper. i hope you love my magnum opus as much as i love writing it <3 without further ado, welcome to pedal to the metal !

🏎️ in the cockpit: ferrari driver!jeonghan x journalist!reader

𖦹 track: humor, fluff, angst, smut

🏆 qualifying results: read the teaser here! 🏁 race results: read the full fic HERE (part i) and HERE (part ii) 🚥 sprint results: [on the record] [off the record] [bad for business]

📝 post race analysis: jeonghan's not used to someone who pushes his buttons as easily as you do, and you're not used to someone who challenges you as quickly as he does. maybe it's time to go full throttle, both on and off the track.

🏎️ in the cockpit: ferrari driver!soonyoung x publicist!reader

𖦹 track: humor, fluff, angst, smut

🏆 qualifying results: read the teaser here! 🏁 race results: read the full fic here! 🚥 sprint results: read associated drabbles here!

📝 post race analysis: a ferrari driver who loathes media day, a publicist who’s one press conference away from losing it, and enough tension to power the entire grid—because apparently, managing his PR disasters isn’t in the job description for falling for him.

🏎️ in the cockpit: mclaren driver!mingyu x strategist!reader

𖦹 track: humor, fluff, angst, smut

🏆 qualifying results: read the teaser here! 🏁 race results: read the full fic here! 🚥 sprint results: read associated drabbles here!

📝 post race analysis: when the fastest driver on the grid has a habit of ignoring orders and the loudest strategist in the paddock has zero patience for his antics, the result isn't what everyone expects. but one thing's for sure: everyone hears the team radio.

🏎️ in the cockpit: aston martin driver!seokmin x f1 vlogger!reader

𖦹 track: humor, fluff, angst, smut

🏆 qualifying results: read the teaser here! 🏁 race results: read the full fic here! 🚥 sprint results: read associated drabbles here!

📝 post race analysis: for the first time in his life, seokmin realizes he wants something he can’t just reach out and take.

[yorit1]

Elphaba was feeling flirty; she felt like texting Glinda.

‘Hey, Glinda, are you Google?’ Elphaba texted.

‘Oh no, please don’t say it’, Glinda texted back.

‘Because you’re everything I’m searching for,’ Elphaba texts.

Elphaba waited for a response from Glinda.

Five minutes later, Elphaba received two texts back from Glinda.

‘I hate that these work on me.’

‘Come to the bedroom.’

Elphaba walks quickly to their bedroom. There, she sees Glinda in her best pink lingerie. At the sight of Glinda, Elphaba feels herself growing wet.

“On the bed now, ELphie,” Glinda says in a commanding voice.

Elphaba gets on the bed. Glinda takes off her glasses, and Elphaba looks at her beautiful eyes. Glinda is the most beautiful woman Elphaba has ever seen, and she cannot believe she is lucky to have her in her life.

Glinda leaned in and passionately kissed Elphaba, showing her how much she wanted her.

“I’m gonna strip you off and then take care of you since I’m everything you’ve been looking for,” Glinda said.

Glinda kissed down Elphaba’s neck, and as she unbuttoned Elphaba’s shirt, she kissed down between her breasts, then down her stomach. Glinda unclasped Elphaba’s bra and took one of her tits into her mouth. Glinda sucked on the nipple and licked the pebbled nub. Glinda released the breast and took the other boob into her mouth, sucking the nipple and lavishing the pebbled nub.

Elphaba’s moans were music to Glinda’s ears. Glinda loved that she was bringing pleasure to her Elphie.

Glinda moved further down to Elphaba’s pants and worked on taking them off. With Elphaba only in her panties, Glinda smirked.

“Now you are all mine, and I can do it with you as I please,” Glinda said.

“Please, Please, Glinda,” Elphaba begged.

“Anything for you, baby girl,” Glinda said,

Glinda took off Elphaba’s panties and lowered herself so that she was facing Elphaba’s cunt. Glinda licked across her wet slit. Her labia was wet and prepared for what Glinda wanted to do to her. Glinda licked across Elphaba’s clit and sucked it in her mouth.

Glinda took one of her fingers and placed it at Elphaba’s entrance she placed her finger in Elphaba’s cunt, feeling how tight she was.

“What a good girl you are, Elphie. The best girl for me,” Glinda said.

Elphaba moaned out her enjoyment. Elphaba caressed the soft skin on Glinda’s tummy and up to her lingerie covered breasts.

“You want this off, Elphie. Okay, I’ll get undressed, too,” Glinda said.

Elphaba reached over and kissed Glinda as she unhooked her bra. Elphaba kissed Glinda’s breasts. She took one tit into her mouth and sucked on the nipple. Next, she took the other one into her mouth and sucked it.

“You are so good for me, Elphie, yes, just like that,” Glinda said, showing her appreciation.

Next, Elphaba took off Glinda’s panties. She kissed her revealed clit and took it into her mouth. Glinda sucked it and made sure to bring pleasure to Glinda. Elphaba released her clit from her mouth.

Glinda stood up, went to their drawer, and removed the strap. She put the strap on herself and positioned herself between Elphaba’s legs.

“I’m going in now,” Glinda said.

Glinda slowly slid in. She slid in smoothly so that she was hip to hip with Elphaba.

“Is this good, baby?” Glinda asked.

“Yeah, more, more Glinda,” ELphaba moaned out.

Glinda thrust in and out, bringing each of them pleasure. Glinda continued thrusting in and out of Elphaba. She took Elphaba’s clit between her fingers and played with it. Glinda was close and could feel that Elphaba was close, too. Glinda lowered her head and kissed Elphaba. The kiss was passionate, and they showed each other how much they wanted and loved each other. Glinda felt herself about to climax and decided to take Elphaba’s nipple into her mouth she sucked on it as she thrust into Elphaba. Glinda was coming, and so was Elphaba. They came in unison, their juices streaking between them.

Glinda took off the strap, lay next to Elphaba, and kissed her.

“I’m everything you’ve been searching for, huh? I bet I performed marvellously today to show you that I am everything you’ve been searching for,” Glinda said.

Glinda kissed Elphaba softly and laid her forehead against hers. She looked into Elphaba’s eyes. Glinda thought she was the lucky one to have Elphie in her life. Elphie was everything that she was looking for. She understood Glinda in a way that no one else had before. She could see her whole future with Elphaba staring her in the eyes. It was a glorious future. One with more fantastic sex than they just had. With more love and support and more of Elphie’s beautiful eyes looking at her with so much love.

“Of course, you are everything I’ve been looking for. I finally found someone who loved me unconditionally. Who loved me for who I am. Who is also fantastic in bed, which is a huge plus. Who has a big heart and is always willing to help anyone in need. Who appears vapid and superficial at first glance but actually has a huge heart. With those big doe eyes looking at me, I can’t help but be head over heels for you. You, Glinda, are everything I’ve been searching for,” Elphaba said.

Glinda hugged herself to Elphaba, feeling everything that had just happened between them. She decided to look into Elphaba’s eyes.

“Thank you, Elphie you are honestly the easiest person to love. I don't know why many people think you are so hard to love. You helped me find my real self. Who I was always meant to be. I love who I am when I’m with you. You are the best of me. Always look at me like that. Please never stop believing in me. Your belief in me is so invigorating. If it weren’t for you, I’d probably still not admit to myself that I was a lesbian. I love who I am when I’m with you,” Glinda said.

“I love you, Glinda, with my whole heart,” Elphaba said.

“I love you too, Elphie,” Glinda said.

Glinda softly kissed Elphaba and laid her head on her chest, listening to her heartbeat. She was reassured of Elphaba’s love for her and that Elphaba was still there with her. Listening to Elphaba’s heartbeat, she was lulled to sleep, feeling her heartbeat at the same rhythm.

[aerynwrites]

Give

King!John Price x Fem!Reader

A/N: It's FINALLY here holy shit y'all. sorry for the delay, it was just slow going mainly bc i got stuck on the smut lmao. SO, i just decided to post the bulk of the story now and then post a second smutty part later. I hope you all enjoy, and as usual I love to hear what you guys think!! Comments, reblogs and such are greatly appreacited. Also: this fic was inspired by the song Give by Sleep token as well as the song Kingdom of cards by Bad Omens! Word Count: 7.6k (oops) Warnings: Arranged marriage, mentions of past abuse to reader, reader's father is abusive, hurt/comfort, soft john price, mentions of consummation, fluff, just so much fluff.

The room is eerily silent, the complete opposite of what you expected on a day like this.

Your wedding day.

Your mother had stepped out once the handmaid that was provided to you had finished helping you with your dress - panicked when she couldn’t find the veil that she was passing down to you. Your father had entered as soon as your mother had left, and you dared not break the silence first. You know what will happen if you do. 

But you can’t stop the way you fidget, wiping your hands down the front of the bodice of your dress, tugging at the fingers of your silk gloves. You hate wearing gloves, they itch and they are too warm - but your father insisted, hand raised threatening above his head when you almost muttered a complaint. 

So. You’re wearing the gloves -

“Stop fidgeting,” your father bites, standing abruptly from the armchair in the corner to storm over to you. 

The flinch that jolts your body is instantaneous, shying away from the storm of a man approaching you. The only reason you don’t shield yourself is because even you know he won’t do anything. Not today at least. 

Can’t risk marking up the wares. 

But it doesn’t stop him from gripping your arm like a vice, his nails digging into your skin beneath the delicate fabric of the ornate gown. You choke down the whimper, but fail to hide the fear you know is present in your gaze as you stare up at your oppressor. 

“You will not ruin this for us,” he all but hisses. “I understand that decorum is a foreign concept to you, but if you so much as think about sabotaging this - me - I will-”

“I found it!” Your mother calls from the other side of the door, her voice shoving your father away from you like a storm would a willow branch. 

She breezes into the room with an elegance you could never hope to match, a beauty you could never achieve - at least according to your father. She smiles at you, and you don’t fail to notice the way she takes in your shrunken appearance, the tense in your shoulders, before her eyes flicker to her husband. 

She knows. She’s known the whole time - for she bears the scars too. 

Her smile becomes tight, but she doesn’t say anything, just comes to you with the veil raised in her hands. It’s floor length, the back so long it trails even past your dress train, the lace details so intricate you can’t imagine how long it took the original creator to tailor it. it has a front piece as well that drapes in front of your face, falling to just above your collar bone where it will stay until your future husband unveils you. 

The king. 

You have to fight the shudder that threatens to run through you at the thought. You’ve only met him once, and at the time neither of you knew you would end up wedding one another. The King rules over the land, but there are many territories, many clans - his the most fearsome of all. You’d heard whispers through your childhood of the ruthlessness of the capitol city in which the King resides. Its citizens were born and bred to fight - knights and soldiers trained to kill. 

Your father’s words ring in your ears as your mother fixes your veil to your head, fussing with the fabric. 

‘If you even think about sabotaging me…’

Any sane person would. They would probably try to run for the hills when they found out they were to wed the ruthless King, a king that has never lost a battle, a King whose Kings-guard have a reputation of gutting those who dare defy him.

But not you. Little did your father know that you would do everything in your power to escape him. 

For even death must be a better sentence than your life back home.

——

Every woman you’d spoken to back home always talked about their nerves on their wedding day. Some from fear, some from joy or just pure excitement. Some of them talked of the way they got sick just before walking down the aisle or the way their hands hook or their palms sweat. 

You don’t feel anything. 

It’s just pure numbness. As if you are outside of your body watching as the doors to the massive temple open wide, all in attendance standing immediately. You can see the King, your future husband standing on the dais in front of a priest, the incense from the thurible curling around them both as your father all but marches you down the aisle. 

You can’t feel your feet or your hands, you can’t even register your intakes of breath. The only thing that runs through your panicked mind is that at least your future husband is handsome.  You remember having a similar thought when you met him all those years ago at a kingdom wide celebration here in this very city. He was easy to spot, sitting above the jousting ring, crown atop his head, surrounded by his three kings guard. 

He takes up the whole room even now, commanding it with his very presence as the priest introduces him to the crowd - to you.

“King Johnathan Price, third of his name, King of…” you zone out again, instead focusing on the very man being heralded.

He lacks the armor he usually wears, exchanging it instead for rich garments of silk and other fine fabrics. A long purple cloak, the collar adorned with fur of what appears to be a wolf, hangs from his shoulders, held together with a heavy golden chain decorated with the sigil of his house. 

The crown still sits atop his head, golden and gleaming, each crevice and gemstone polished to perfection and nestled amongst chestnut colored locks. Only when you approach the dais do you notice the grey starting to pepper his temples and beard. 

This is also the moment that you seem to come back to yourself, your soul being sucked back into your body as you and your father come to a halt at the bottom of the stairs and piercing blue eyes capture your own despite the veil. 

He smiles, a soft gentle thing that makes your lips turn down in a frown, the action only further deepened when the priest says something about your father relinquishing your hand and soon two strong arms wrap around you too tightly for a loving embrace.

“Remember what I said,” he says lowly, and to onlookers it looks like a father telling his beloved daughter goodbye. But you know better. 

“Do not disappoint me.”

And then he’s placing a kiss to your glove covered knuckles before placing your hand in the much larger calloused one before you. 

The steps up the dais are a blur until you’re standing face to face with your fate. The priest rambles on as the king takes your other hand in his own, holding them between your bodies and all you can think about is how warm his hands are and how much larger he is up close. Your ears are ringing so loud you almost miss the prompt from the priest to say the scripted words, but your father’s threat echoes loudly in your mind and you speak the words automatically, your voice mixing with the rumbling baritone of the man before you as you recite them together. 

The priest then sprinkles a fragrant oil on your joined hands, waves the thurible around as the crowd chants some vague prayer to bless your union. And then the words you didn’t realize you were dreading until the moment they are spoken into the air. 

“You may kiss your bride.”

A hush falls over the crowd as the king releases your hands to reach for the edges of your veil. He lifts slowly, and you swear you stop breathing as he places it delicately over your head, finally revealing you to him. 

And he gives you that soft smile again, the one that’s so contradictory to the stories whispered in your ears. His eyes crinkle gently at the corners as his hands come up to cradle your face, again touching you like delicate porcelain as he dips down to press his lips to your own. 

His lips are soft, softer than you ever imagined, and his hands are so warm against the skin of your cheeks, and you feel something jump in your chest and-

It’s over so fast. 

The crowd erupts in cheers as he pulls away, giving you one last reassuring smile before you both turn to face the crowd and his hand drops to take your own before raising them both above your heads in rejoice as you both descend the dais. 

Rice and flowers and the like are thrown your way as you leave the temple, and once again your body works on it’s own set of instructions, following the kings lead and the attendants ushering you both through a maze of hallways until soon your seated at a large table in an even larger dining hall and the celebration has truly begun. 

Food, more than you’ve ever seen in a place at once is piled onto the tables, music floats merrily through the room, entertainers flooding the center of the floor to vie for their King’s attention. Only when the food has been served, the wine poured, and people start eating does anything manage to catch your attention. 

And once again, it’s those damned hands. 

One comes to settle atop your own that sits rigid in the table, fork held tightly between your fingers as you have yet to even touch the food set before you. 

“Are you alright?”

His voice is like a siren song, yet also reminding you of rolling thunder, a comforting lull that soothes the nerves that must have come crashing down upon you as the weight of today’s actions finally catches up with you. 

You turn to look at the king - no - your husband, and you have to fight the burn at the back of your eyes. 

Bright blue stares back at you, brows creased with worry as he gazes at you, and you’re suddenly aware of another set of eyes on you. You can feel them burning into the back of your head, and you can’t help but steal a quick glance, only to see the seething gaze of your father looking back at you as he gestures silently to your plate. 

Oh gods…you look down to your plate, then to the kings, and you’re just now realizing his Kings-guard is also sat at the table with you, two on your side and one on his left, and they’ve all finished at least Half their plates and you haven’t even touched yours-

“Forgive me, my King,” you rush out, sitting up straighter, and immediately moving to pick up a piece of fruit - you think it’s a strawberry but you can’t be sure, not past the buzzing in your head. “I did not intend to appear ungrateful. I’m merely…nervous that’s all.”

His brows furrow further, and that must have been the wrong thing to say.

“I just meant…I’m excited, the nerves stem from joy I assure you-”

Soon the King is abandoning his utensils all together, reaching over to take your hand in both of his own, as that concerned look never leaves his face. 

“It’s alright,” he says softly, that smile coming back to his face when he sees you relax slightly at his words. “And please, call me John,” he chuckles a little, “We’re married after all. No need for the formalities.”

You nod, “Of course, my King - John-”

“Aye, dinnae listen to him, lass,” an accented voice speaks from your right, and you startle slightly when the guard next to you leans in ever so slightly, blue eyes gleaming with mischief. “He’s full’o himself, call him ‘my King’ all ye want-”

A rough shove from the man on his right stops him in his tracks, and you can’t stop the way your eyes widen at the pure casualness of the interactions. 

“Cut it out MacTavish,” the man grumbles, leaning forward to address you now, “Apologies, your majesty, but this one-” he jerks a thumb towards the one you now know as MacTavish, “never knows when to shut his mouth.”

You go to speak, only to be cut off by John.

“Leave my wife be,” he says sternly before turning back to you. “Sorry about them,” he apologizes needlessly, “they’re…” he trails off and this time it’s you who gives him a smile, a real one. 

“It’s alright, I…” you pause, “thank you. For checking in with me and…thank you.”

You turn back to your meal before John can respond, missing the way his brows furrow again at your words as you finally start eating, trying and failing to ignore the way his earlier words made your heart stutter and you can’t tell if it’s good or bad.

My wife. 

——

The celebration went on for what feels like days, music and more entertainers and more gifts from more lords and ladies than you could name. They served dessert, and then the dancing began and John had even asked you out to the floor for a dance. It was one you knew the steps to, thank the gods, and by the end of it both of you were smiling so wide even you couldn’t deny the way the earlier trepidation seemed to melt off of you. 

That was until the night started to draw to a close. It was slow, but soon guests were retiring, coming up and giving their well wishes and goodbyes before leaving. With every guest that left it felt like a second closer to your perceived doom. 

You aren’t a fool - you aren’t some naive maiden - you know what happens on one's wedding night. You know what’s expected of you as a woman - as a queen now. And that thought is made all the more terrifying when your father and mother come up to bid their own farewells. 

Your mother is first, and John is chivalrous enough to give you some space, although he never quite leaves your side, just steps a few paces back as your mother envelops you into a hug. You can’t stop the tears in your eyes as her arms wrap around you, as you know this will be the last time you see her for a while, your fathers territory being many months away. 

“I love you more than the entire world, my star,” your mother whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek as she pulls away, hands coming up to cradle your face in her gentle grasp. “You will make an excellent queen.”

You pull her into one last hug before your father is impatiently tugging at you, though not in an obviously rough manner - he must keep up appearances after all. Even the large smile he wears as he pulls you into him is fake, full of deep seated hatred and loathing for a daughter he only ever saw a nuisance, a means to an end. 

His grip is crushing, and you don’t miss the way his fingers dig into your sides again, his breath disgustingly warm against your ear as he pretends to whisper his goodbyes, but instead whispers words you would never dare repeat. 

It feels like an eternity before he lets go, and he only does so because another hand settles on your shoulder, tugging you gently. 

“I fear it’s time for us to retire for the evening,” John says, voice tight as he gazes at your father in a way that makes you suspect he isn’t as stupid as all the others your father has fooled in the past. 

Your father bows, all reverence and kind smiles and posterity. 

“Of course, my King.”

And then you’re gone, being whisked away from the only life you’ve known into an all new and terrifying unknown one. 

——

Your footsteps echo loudly in the hallways as you follow John through what feels like a maze. This castle, just like the capitol itself is massive, larger than any you’ve ever been in. If it wasn’t for John, you feel like you might get lost in the twists and turns forever. You try to remember where he’s leading you - this is your new home after all, you will need to learn your way around. But with each turn and door your pass through it just gets more confusing. Did you turn left or right before or after the door-

“Don’t worry,” John speaks up, breaking the tense silence that had befallen you both, “you will learn your way faster than you think.”

You turn to him then, surprised that he caught on to your internal intentions. But he’s perceptive, that’s at least one thing you know about your new husband. 

You try to return the small smile he gives you as you nod, looking around once more. 

“I have no doubt I will learn my way eventually,” you agree, letting out a small sigh, “It’s just so…big. I’ve never seen a palace so magnificent. I can’t even begin to imagine what all the rooms hold…”

A small chuckle meets your ears, the sound surprising you slightly as you turn to look back at your husband as he speaks. 

“Well, I would be happy to give you a proper tour tomorrow. I have a feeling you may enjoy the library the most,” he says, eyes twinkling in the dim light of the sconces lining the hallway. 

You do perk up at that. “A library?” 

John hums, nodding. “Yes I…” he clears his throat, and if you didn’t know any better you would think that he appears almost…nervous. “I noticed the multiple trunks of books among your things as the servants were bringing it in this morning. I’m almost worried that our selection of books might be too small compared to your own.”

You shake your head, another real smile tugging at your lips. “I highly doubt that,” you say softly, “And I…I will be most happy with anything you deign to show me. You are most kind.”

John only hums again, and another silence envelops you, this one much more pleasant. Only when you take a few more turns does he speak up again. 

“Here we are,” he says, gesturing to a large wooden door a few paces away at the end of the hallway. There’s another door that you passed a few steps back, both of them having a guard posted outside of them. The same guards that shared dinner with you earlier. 

As you approach the door John directs you too, the guard standing outside stands straighter, nodding gently to you and the John, “your majesties.”

John smiles at him, returning the gesture as he addresses him, “Garrick,” he reaches up placing a hand upon his armored shoulder, “Go join MacTavish will you? Make sure he doesn’t need any help patrolling.”

The guard hesitates for a moment, eyes flicking to something behind you both before John speaks again. 

“Don’t worry,” he assures him, “Ghost is back there.”

The guard, Garrick, you try to remember nods, offering a curt bow before taking his leave and walking in the direction you and John came from. The clink of his armor fades until it’s just you and the King again, and you only realize you’d lost yourself again when gentle words greet your ears, this time in the form of your name. 

You look up from where your eyes had fallen to the ground to see John standing in the doorway to the room, holding the door open and looking at you gently. A clear invitation to enter. You clear your throat, offering a small apology as you enter, eyes flitting about the space.

It’s a large bedchamber, clearly your own if your things placed neatly about have anything to say about it. The four poster bed is larger than any you’ve ever slept in, gauzy fabric draped prettily from the ceiling and down around the tall wooden posts. Furs, dozens of them adorned what was no doubt a feather mattress, made up to perfection. A fire roars in the fireplace across the room from the bed, a table and two chairs sitting off to the side of it near a stained glass window. A yewer of  wine and two glasses sits atop the table, and if your stomach were roiling you’d make a beeline for the substance. 

By all accounts the space is warm, welcoming even, leagues better than the single hard mattress in the tiny room of your old home. But all your eyes can seem to focus on is the bed, and the towering presence behind you. And as the solid wood door clicks shut behind you, it feels like the tolling of the bell, the final nail in your coffin as your spirit seems to leave your body once more. 

You can hear John talking, voice soft as he rambles about how he tried to have the servants place your things in the best places, have them organized. You think he also mentions something about how the nights here get cold so the fires were always going. He eventually walks over to the table by the fireplace, pouring two glasses of wine, all while you struggle to breath, your eyes only leaving the bed when he calls your name again, somehow even softer this time as he offers you the second glass. 

You walk over instinctively, taking the glass in your gloved hand, giving a wobbly smile as he taps his glass with your own before taking a small sip. 

You follow his actions before you take a sip of your own. But the wine is good - it’s slightly spiced and warm and if you are to face the coming moments then you need all the courage you can get - and before you know it the wine is gone and you're turning back towards the bed. You notice a small dressing table off to the side of the large armoire and walk to it on unsteady feet. 

John is speaking again, but you can’t hear him, not over the rush of blood in your ears or the breath stuttering in and out of your lungs as you reach up to pull the veil from your hair. You drape it across the table delicately, hands trailing over the fine embroidery before your hands fall to the laces of your dress. 

Let’s get this over with.

You’re just thankful the dress laces in the front, at least you could do that by yourself. But as you tug at the strings, you find you can’t - your hands shake and the damned gloves…

You yank off the delicate silk, ignoring the raised white scars that glare back up at you as you try and manage to succeed this time in tugging the laces loose. The bodice of the dress loosens around you, the weight of the gown pulling it down slightly, the only thing holding it up being the sleeves on your shoulders. You reach up, still shaking to pull those down next, when warm calloused hands stop you. 

He’s calling your name - he’s been calling your name but you couldn’t hear him over your own panic. But you hear him now, and the sound of it falling from his lips along with the grounding warmth of his hands holding your own brings you back to yourself. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, and you notice now that he’s standing before you, having turned you away from the dressing table to face him, blue eyes swimming with confusion. 

But you’re the confused one, your brows furrow as you look up at him. “What am I…?” You pause, looking down at yourself and then back to the bed behind you. “The…the consummation. I thought-”

Strong hands squeeze your own, and you look back to the man before you. He’s still dressed, you finally notice, and he’s looking at you like a delicate piece of glass, that you might break at the gentlest breeze. 

And maybe you would.

“Do you want to?” He asks, question sincere, brows raised slightly as his thumbs brush over your knuckles. 

The question startles you. Never had it even occurred to you about wanting this or not. Of course you didn’t want this. You just met this man - this man who is constantly contradicting every horrible thing you’ve heard whispered about him. This man who is a stranger but has been so kind. 

You’ve never been asked what you want. 

You shake your head, convinced this is a trick. Like one of the cruel ones your father would play on you - asking you a question that only had one right answer and then punishing you when you got it wrong. 

“I…” you trail off, fighting with yourself. You want to tell the truth, something screaming inside you that you can trust him while the other, the years of experience tells you otherwise. 

The latter wins out. 

You swallow thickly, eyes falling to the floor, unable to look him in the eyes as you lie. 

“Yes, of course. It’s my duty to-”

He squeezes your hands again, this time dropping one in favor of reaching up to cup your cheek, urging you to look at him once more. 

“Love,” he breathes, voice gentle, “You’re shaking like a leaf.” 

He takes a deep breath, as if stilling a rage inside of him as he takes in the sight of his broken bride before him. 

“I didn’t ask about your duties,” he practically bites the word. “Do you want this?”

Gods, you can’t do it. You can’t look at him and his kind eyes and remember his soft smile and feel the way he holds you so gently and lie to him. Your lower lip wobbles, and tears burn at the back of your eyes as you internally prepare for the consequences of your next words. 

“No.”

It’s whispered so softly that if he weren’t standing so close to you, there’s no way he would have heard it. But he does, and his hands are pulled from you so quickly that your eyes slip closed, prepared for a strike or a harsh word or something. 

But it never comes. 

Instead a tense silence falls over the room before his hand is taking one of yours in his own again, and your eyes open ever so slowly. 

“That’s it then,” he says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “I’ll send for your handmaid, she can help get you ready for the night.”

You can’t stop the shake of your head, mind refusing to accept that this is it. That he is just going to leave you be. 

“I don’t…I don’t understand.”

John smiles, and you don’t miss the flicker of sadness in his gaze. Pity, maybe?

“I won’t start our marriage off by forcing myself on you. I don’t…” he looks away then, “I’ll wait. until you’re ready.”

You speak the next words before you can think. 

“And if I’m never ready?” 

John smiles, leaning down to place a gentle kiss to the back of your hand, either ignoring or choosing not to acknowledge the multitude of scars adoring the skin beneath his lips. 

“I’ve waited this long,” he says simply, “Forever doesn’t seem like much longer.”

And then he’s gone, slipping from your bedchambers just as a handmaiden takes his place. 

——

The same handmaid as the night before is the one to wake you, Ilora if you remember correctly. She says that the King has requested you join him to break your fast, as she’s already searching through the armoire for something for you to wear. It's a somewhat silent affair as she helps you get ready, tying your corset, brushing your hair. She even offered you a pair of gloves when she sees you staring at the ones from yesterday, but you decline. 

He’s seen them anyways, and if he hadn’t it was bound to come out at some point. 

Maybe the conversation will come easier over tea and sweet rolls. 

You follow Ilora as she leads you through the still winding passages of the castle until you eventually come to a door that opens into an open courtyard. It’s still confined by the castle walls but the ceiling is open, allowing sunshine to pour down onto the cobbled pathways that wind between a multitude of flowers and bushes and even fruit trees. 

It’s like a tiny paradise hidden within the walls, sequestered away from the grim stone walls of the building itself. Birds chirp happily, flirting from one branch to the next; and you even spot a butterfly, bright blue and fluttering so prettily in the air before you. It makes you halt in your steps, watching the rhythmic beat of its wings as it floats in the gentle breeze around you. 

You reach up before you can stop yourself, fingers held poised as you reach for the small creature. It flutters about for a moment before settling onto your offered hand, and you can’t stop the smile that splits your lips as its wings beat lazily against your knuckles. 

Soon, another presence joins you, and a familiar hand reaches up to mimic your own, a calloused finger tracing the delicate wing of the insect. Your eyes leave one color of blue only to find another, surrounded by familiar crows feet at the corners of his eyes as John gazes softly at you. 

“Pretty as a painting,” he murmurs softly, his words making the butterfly take flight, continuing on its earlier journey. 

“It was beautiful,” you agree, watching the winged creature until it’s out of sight. 

John only chuckles, reaching over to place a hand lightly on your back. 

“I wasn’t talking about the butterfly, love.” 

His words and the meaning behind them make heat rush to your cheeks, and you look at him in surprise before dropping your eyes to the floor when you catch his playful grin. 

“Come on then,” he says, breaking the tension, “let’s eat,” he turns back to your secret, “Thank you, Ilora.”

Ilora offers a small bow at the dismissal and takes her leave as John leads you a few steps further into the courtyard to reveal a stone table laden with food and only two chairs. Once again you’re slightly taken aback by the abundance of food. Yes, you were a daughter of a noble house, your family was wealthy, your father a lord of some land. But you never saw this side of that life - the life of luxury. Your father made sure of that. 

John must take your hesitance for nervousness rather than curiosity, because he smiles that warm smile and places that familiar hand on your back to urge you closer. He doesn’t force though, never pushing you if your feet did not want to go. He merely encourages, like trying to placate a scared animal. 

Maybe you are one. 

“I figured you may want to break your fast away from the prying eyes in the dining hall,” he says simply, moving to pull out your chair when you finally concede to his invitation. 

You nod politely, eyes still scanning the vast array of food before you until John takes his seat in the chair across the table. “Thank you,” you say softly, eyes flitting to the attendants that seem to come from nowhere, pouring your drink, placing silverware, and even placing a napkin in your lap before retreating once more. 

A silence befalls you both then, and you can’t help but want to shrink under the awkwardness of it all. It’s as if neither of you know what to say - what do you say to your husband or wife that - until less than a day ago - was a stranger to you. 

Thank the gods John speaks first, your throat to dry with anxiety to do so.

“Do you like blueberry tarts?” He asks, hand already reaching for one of the flaky pastries in the center of the table, “they’re our baker’s specialty,” he chuckles as he leans to place one on your plate when you offer no refusal. “If you don’t, I’m sure you will after you try this.”

You snag the olive branch offered to you, smiling as you pick up your fork. 

“I do,” you say, cutting into the delicate treat, “They’re…They’re my favorite, actually. But we…”you trail off, remembering how once your father found out your affinity for the tarts, they had all but disappeared from the tables during meals. 

You clear your throat, “the ingredients were hard to find where I’m from,” you lie smoothly, avoiding  John’s gaze. “So they were a luxury.”

You look up when he doesn’t respond right away, and find the usual upturn of his lips absent in place of a scrutinizing gaze. Not a harsh one, but one that made it clear he was studying you, watching for…something. 

But it was gone as quick as it came, that pleasant warmth back in full force. 

“Well,” he says, placing a pastry on his own plate, “I’ll make sure there’s never a shortage.”

And on the meal went. 

Conversation flowed easier after that, John picking up on when you were unsure of a particular dish or food, explaining it to you and watching in utter amusement for whether you would like or dislike a particular one. He’d let out a particularly hard laugh when you’d tried a rather odd looking dish, promptly trying and failing to spit it out in as ladylike a manner as you could. 

Blood pudding he called it - making you let out a disbelieving laugh at the withheld information, playfully tossing your napkin his way. 

He’d caught it easily, offering you a much sweeter fruit to wash the acrid taste from your mouth. 

It felt like the morning lasted forever, and truthfully, you never wanted it to end. It’s…nice, talking to someone without the fear of reprimand or a strike for saying the wrong thing. And John he…he listens to you. Truly listens and seems to enjoy the things you talk about. He asks you questions about yourself; your favorite food, your favorite color, things you like to do to pass the time, places and things you wish to see.

And he listens to all of it, seemingly absorbing every word as if he’s a man in the desert dying of thirst and you’re the oasis he’s been searching for.

It goes on like this for the rest of the day, the rest of the week, and soon weeks bleed into months and it seems like your past gets further and further behind you as this future you and John start to build gets closer.

He shows you the library like he promised, and it’s where you find yourself spending most of your time when separated from John. The first few weeks you both are nearly inseparable, claiming he wants to spend time getting to know his wife. But a kingdom cannot run itself and eventually he has duties and things to tend to, which you respect. 

It doesn’t mean you don’t miss him though. 

It’s a shock when the feeling first hits you. It’s the third day in a row of only  seeing him in the morning to break your fast together. It’s late, and you are as usual, sitting in the armchair you claimed in the library. You’re reading a romance novel, one that you confessed guilty to John early on that you enjoyed reading. Most people back home (your father) hated them - claimed they were undignified, unfitting for a lady to fill her head with stories that would never come true. 

John had hundreds of novels shipped in over the next fortnight. 

The one you’re reading now is a short one, a cliche about a knight and a low born woman. But it’s sweet, and when you get to one particular part, you find yourself looking up from the page, chuckling lightly to yourself and wanting to share it with John. 

But he isn’t here. 

And as you look up and notice the darkness outside the windows, the only light being the fire a few feet in front of you, you feel a pang in your chest. A longing you’ve never felt before, never thought you’d feel in your lifetime. 

You miss him.  

And on this night, it appears as if he misses you too. Because, like a siren's call, as soon as you stand, marking your place in your book to retire to bed, the door to the library creaks open. You expect one of the guards, probably Kyle, as he too seems to be fond of the library, having found him in here on several occasions when he was off duty. 

So, when you look up from where your book sits on the side table, you are surprised to see John slipping into the room, hair tousled, and looking as if he had just come straight from the stables. Riding boots caked in mud, light armor still adorning him. When he spots you, it’s as if the world itself falls from his shoulders, he sags beneath the relief and walks to you with sure even steps until he’s less than an arms length away. 

“John, what are you doing?” You ask, looking down at his muddy boots and back up to the weary expression on his face. “What’s…is something wrong?” 

He pauses for a moment, a flicker of something flashing in his eyes before it's gone, and those piercing blues are softening and crow's feet appear at the corners as he reaches for you, taking your hands in his own gently. 

“Nothing, love,” he says, that nickname that’s become more frequent making your heart flutter. “Just missed you, is all.”

His admission makes warmth spread through you, like warm honey on freshly baked bread. And you can’t help but lean into him, relishing in the way his hands move to wrap around your waist. 

“I…I missed you too, John,” you tell him softly, as if the words will scare him away. 

But they do the exact opposite, they make the man beam brighter than before, fingers squeezing your sides gently as he steps ever closer, eyes falling from your own down to your lips. 

Your breath hitches as he inches closer, and you can feel the heat of his words as he speaks, air brushing over your lips. 

“Can I kiss you, love?”

You haven’t kissed since your wedding day. Not other than the chaste ones he’d press against your knuckles or your cheek on occasion. He’d respected the vow he spoke to you on your wedding night, never pushing you, never forcing you. He waited. Waited until you made the decision. 

The nod you give him comes quicker than you thought it would, and his lips are on your own in an instant. They’re warm and slightly chapped from the ride he no doubt went on today, but to you it’s…perfect. It’s warm and gentle and all consuming, and even though it isn’t heated or rushed or rough you suddenly understand the passion that all those romance novels wax poetry about. 

He doesn’t dominate you or control it in any way, he moves with you - coaxing you at times perhaps, smiling against your lips when you let out a small whimper. His hands never stray far either, only moving to wrap further around your or caressing up and down your spin, maybe toying with the hair at the base of your neck before finally coming to cradle the apple of your cheek in his calloused palm.

Only then does he pull away, and you flush at how breathless you are, the embarrassment only soothed when you see he is just as affected as you are. He rests his forehead to yours, eyes fluttering closed as his thumb brushes softly against your cheek. 

“Maybe I’ll have them move my desk in here,” he says after a comfortable silence. “That way even if I have things to tend to, I can still spend some time with you.”

You pull away from him only enough so he can see the smile on your face; and the next day when you come to the library, John is sitting at his desk, right next to your arm chair. 

———

Another thing that has changed for the better is your dreams. Nightmares used to be a constant for you before the wedding, waking up in cold sweats, fear making your very bones ache. But after the first few nights in the castle…they disappeared. Once you realize that the danger you used to live amongst  each and every day is no longer present, it’s as if your body finally allowed you to rest. 

Maybe that’s why this one is so much worse. 

You’d been lulled into a false sense of security, your body's survival instincts failing you, telling you that you were safe when you should know better. It’s the very thing he screams at you as he strikes you down in this hellscape. The bitter words he spits upon you as blood splatters across the stone flooring, as the toe of his boot meets your stomach again and again. 

You naive, stupid girl - you’re nothing! 

You want to scream out at him, tell him that it’s not true, that you are something and that someone loves you and cares for you. But the words are stuck in your throat like tar, and copper floods your tongue and any and all protests crumble like ash in your mouth as you see his guard raise the whip above his head. 

You wake up screaming. 

Throat raw, the taste of copper still coating your tongue and making you gag as you fight against the furs and blankest tangled around your legs. It’s pitch black, the fire having died out to nothing but embers. So when a pair of hands finds you in the dark you can’t stop the wail that slips from your lips.

He’s come back for you. He’s come to take you away-‘

“It’s me, love stop-” the voice is muddled, far away from your panicked mind. 

You fight the grip on your wrists, only stilling when one lets go to cup your cheek. Calloused hands, warm…they speak again.

“You’re safe, it’s me. Love, it’s me…”

“John?” 

His name is but a whimper on your lips, and when he assures you that it is him, you fall apart like glass when it meets stone. Shattered into a million little pieces. 

But he catches you, he catches and holds each and every piece of you as you sob in his arms, tears soaking the skin of his neck where you hide your face, fingers clutching desperately at the thin cotton of his shirt. He holds you so softly. Always soft, always gentle. His hands run up and down your back, over your shoulders, through your hair as he shushes you softly, cooing reassuring words into your ear. 

And when you finally do calm, sobs ebbing away into ugly sniffles and hiccups, he still doesn’t let go, shifting instead to lay back against the pillows with you tucked into his side as he pulls the covers around you - a safe cocoon against the world - against the things that still haunt you. He only stops speaking, stops humming some small random lullaby he had started up, when you begin to speak. 

He didn’t pressure you, didn’t ask - he’s never asked. The whole time you’ve spent together, and you know John is a perceptive man - he knows things. You assume he’s worked most of it out himself; yet, he never once asked you. Even now, when your screams no doubt jerked him from his slumber, or when you cried into him like a terrified child. He never once asked. 

So you tell him on your own. You tell him of your childhood, of the hatred your father held for you, of the cruelty he subjected you and your mother to. You told him of the scathing words and the nights sent to your room without supper and maybe even days without anything but a simple loaf of bread and some water. You tell him of the things you swore you’d never tell anyone, of the blood and torment and beatings and the whip. 

And in the darkness of your bedchamber you pull away from his embrace, slipping your shift from your shoulders as you tell him about the scars. He’s seen the ones on your hands but…as he traces the jagged angry marks on your back, your ribs, your stomach in the darkness…you can practically feel the rage radiating off of him like the sun on a hot summer’s day.  His hands shake, fingers trembling as they trace over the evidence of darkness, of pure evil. You tell him everything, until the tears finally prevent you from saying more and he’s tugging your shift back up your arms and turning you back to face him and kissing them away with a reverence you never imagined possible for you. 

“You will never come to harm here,” he swears, voice terrifyingly calm and steady. “And if you do, gods help the man to do it, for I’ll hunt him down and slay him where he stands.”

 He pulls you tighter then, lips pressing against the crown of your head as arms wrap around your waist, soft words urging you back into slumber. 

And despite everything….you sleep, and dream this time of warm hands and kind words and a future worth living for.

[chxnsgirl]

창빈 ─── let me take care of you

♡ pairing ៸៸ gym trainer!changbin x afab!reader genre ៸៸ angst, fluff, smut ៸៸ cw ៸៸ vanilla , praise kink (if u really really squint), oral (f. rec) , shower sex , there's also a link hidden in the fic c; ♡ synopsis ៸៸ literally no plot just smut a/n ๑ here's a lil bini fic since someone requested this ! [ 3.2k words ] ♡ masterlist

smut below the cut - minors gtfo.

another day, another gym session.

except this wasn’t just any gym session—it was with changbin, your personal trainer, and quite possibly the most attractive man you’d ever met. you first crossed paths a few months ago when you decided it was time to pull yourself out of the post-breakup slump and hit the gym again. changbin had been scanning for potential clients when he noticed you, and from that moment, your fitness journey took an unexpected turn.

from the start, you found him absolutely captivating. his physique was the stuff of admiration—a flawlessly sculpted body that practically exuded strength and confidence. but it wasn’t just his physique; his face was just as alluring. full lips, a radiant smile that seemed to light up the room—it all worked together to make your heart skip a beat.

still, it was more than just his looks that drew you in. changbin’s kindness and patience stood out. he truly understood the challenges you faced, encouraging you every step of the way with unwavering support. and given your single status and lack of intimate company for months, he was the only person who had come to know your body as well as you did—albeit in a very different way.

but lately, things had begun to shift. each training session seemed to carry a weight that went beyond fitness. the tension between you had been growing steadily, layer by layer. subtle touches lingered a second too long. his warm, tender smiles felt more personal. and the compliments—sweet, sincere, and unexpectedly intimate—hung in the air like a charged whisper, leaving you wondering where this might lead.

you had just wrapped up a grueling workout and were now easing into your stretches with changbin by your side. today’s session had been particularly intense, focusing heavily on lifting, and you’d pushed yourself harder than ever. the ache in your muscles was proof of your effort, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. clearly, changbin was proud of you too.

“you did great today,” he praised, his voice warm and encouraging.

he knelt beside you, helping guide your leg toward your abdomen as you stretched. his touch was firm but careful, his movements precise, yet you could sense the restraint in him. his eyes flicked to your form briefly, but he quickly refocused, clearly trying to remain professional. it wasn’t easy, though, considering the snug spandex leggings that clung to every curve of your lower half and the sports bra that, while functional, accentuated your breasts, which were pressed against the fabric with every deep inhale you took.

“thanks,” you replied breathlessly, switching to your other leg. changbin shifted to adjust his position, his pelvis hovering just above your ass as you lay flat on the mat. the closeness of his body, combined with the strength in his arms as he pressed your leg toward your torso, sent a wave of heat surging through you.

it settled deep in your core, and you fought to push the feeling away. determined not to let your thoughts spiral, you turned your head and focused your gaze anywhere but on him, desperately trying to ignore the way his touch and attention was making you feel.

as changbin adjusted his position, his touch lingered just a little longer than necessary. his hands were warm and strong, holding your leg securely as he leaned in to guide your stretch. you could feel the tension in the air thickening, subtle but undeniable. the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the musk of your workout, making your senses hyperaware of his proximity.

“relax into it,” changbin murmured, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. his breath brushed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine despite the heat coursing through you.

you exhaled slowly, trying to follow his instruction, but the pressure of his hands and the way his body was aligned with yours made it difficult to focus. as your muscles stretched and lengthened under his guidance, your thoughts began to wander to places they shouldn’t.

his hands moved slightly, adjusting the angle of your leg. the contact was innocent enough, yet it sent a spark straight to your core. his thumbs pressed gently into your thigh, massaging the tension there, and you couldn’t suppress the faint hum that escaped your lips.

“you okay?” he asked, his tone low and careful, though there was a hint of something else in it—a slight rasp that betrayed his own composure.

“y-yeah,” you managed to reply, your voice unsteady.

but changbin didn’t move away. instead, his gaze flickered down to you, his dark eyes studying your face. “you’re holding tension here,” he said, his hands sliding down slightly to work at the tight muscles in your hips. the motion was slow, deliberate, and his fingers pressed firmly yet gently, igniting a slow burn deep within you.

your breath hitched, and you couldn’t help but glance up at him. his face was so close now, his lips parted slightly as though he was about to say something more. but no words came. instead, the moment seemed to stretch endlessly between you, the space between your bodies almost nonexistent.

you could feel the heat radiating from him, the firmness of his hands, the way his body hovered just above yours. and then, as though caught in some invisible pull, your eyes locked. the air crackled with unspoken desire, and suddenly, all the restraint from earlier seemed to crumble.

changbin’s hands stilled against your body, and you felt his grip tighten slightly, as if grounding himself. his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, and he glanced away for a moment, exhaling deeply. “i-i don’t… we shouldn’t…” he began, his voice low and uneven, though it lacked conviction.

you reached out instinctively, your fingers brushing lightly against his arm. “it’s okay,” you whispered, your voice soft but steady. you leaned up slightly, your body arching toward him, driven by a pull you could no longer resist. “i don’t mind, if you don’t.”

and in an instant, you two were in the back of the gym, messily making out inside the employee showers. you had the curtain covering you both as you kissed each other, as well as the water running so nobody could hear the sinful noises of you two claiming each other.

the water was cascading down both of your bodies, getting your workout attire drenched. changbin let out a moan as he pressed you against the tile wall, grinding his length against your thigh.

you eagerly tugged his shirt off, wanting to see more of him.

in the haze of passion, your hands trembled slightly as you pulled changbin’s drenched shirt over his head, tossing it onto the wet floor without a second thought. the sight of his bare torso under the dim, steamy light took your breath away—every muscle, every defined line glistening under the cascade of water.

your hands roamed his chest, fingers tracing his abdomen before sliding up to his broad shoulders. his skin was warm beneath your touch, and he shuddered as your nails lightly grazed him.

“god, you’re so beautiful,” you murmured, your voice breathy and full of awe.

changbin’s lips found yours again, this time more urgent, more fervent. his hands gripped your waist firmly, pulling your soaked body flush against his. you gasped into his mouth as the rough texture of the tile wall contrasted with the heat of his touch. his hips pressed into you, and the friction sent waves of pleasure coursing through your core.

he broke the kiss momentarily, his forehead resting against yours as his hands slid up, fingers brushing over the fabric of your sports bra. “are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice husky but tinged with care.

you cupped his face, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “i’ve never been more sure,” you whispered, pulling him back into a searing kiss.

his hands moved with purpose, tugging at the hem of your sports bra. you raised your arms, helping him remove it, and the cool air of the shower hit your exposed skin before the warmth of his hands replaced it. his palms cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your hardened peaks, drawing a gasp from your lips.

the steam swirled around you both, cloaking the scene in a veil of intimacy as changbin’s lips left a trail of kisses down your neck and collarbone. the sound of water hitting the tiles mingled with your quiet moans and his deep groans, creating a symphony of passion that seemed to echo in the small space.

your fingers fumbled with the waistband of his shorts, eager to feel more of him. he let out a shaky breath as you pushed them down, your touch exploring the contours of his hips and thighs. you could see the outline of his thick, hard cock through his briefs, and your core ached so intensely you could feel a heartbeat between your legs.

the tension that had built between you for weeks was now unraveling, every kiss, every touch, bringing you closer to a point of no return.

changbin’s hands slid down to your hips, gripping them firmly as he pressed against you. his breath was hot against your ear as he whispered, “you have no idea how long i’ve wanted this.”

you smiled against his lips, your fingers threading through his damp hair. “then show me,” you whispered, and with that, he captured your mouth again, his fingers curling under your leggings and yanking them down as well as your panties without hesitation.

you blushed, feeling bare and exposed in front of him. it had been a long time since you had been bare before a man, and changbin could sense your anxiety. “you look fucking gorgeous,” he growled, yanking them off your legs fully before kneeling in front of you and lifting one of your legs over his shoulder. you responded with a tiny gasp, realizing what he was preparing to do. changbin's dark eyes locked with yours as he knelt before you, the water cascading over his sculpted frame. his hands slid up your thighs, strong yet gentle, as if reassuring you of how much he wanted this—wanted you. the heat of his breath contrasted with the cool tile against your back, and the intensity of his gaze sent shivers down your spine.

“you don’t have to be nervous,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing but laced with hunger. “let me take care of you.”

before you could respond, he leaned in, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh. the sensation was electric, a mix of tenderness and desire that left you trembling. his lips moved slowly, trailing upward, each kiss stoking the fire coursing through your body.

when his mouth finally reached your core, your breath hitched. his tongue was warm and deliberate, exploring you with a confidence that left no doubt he knew exactly how to drive you wild. your hand flew to his hair, gripping the wet strands as your head fell back against the wall, a soft moan escaping your lips.

he moaned against your cunt, his tongue swirling and flicking over your sensitive flesh with relentless determination. the wet sounds of his mouth on your skin were just barely audible, driving you to new heights of pleasure. he savored every inch of you, the scent and taste that he had craved for so long.

a sharp cry escaped your lips as he wrapped his lips around your clit, suckling and lapping at it with fervent desire. his face was buried between your thighs, his breath hot against your skin as he devoured you without restraint. your body arched and quivered under his skilled touch, each wave of pleasure building higher and higher until it consumed you completely.

“bin…” you whimpered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the running water.

he growled in response, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through you. his grip on your leg tightened as he pulled you closer, his mouth working you with an intensity that made your toes curl. the sensations were overwhelming, the combination of his touch, the warmth of the water, and the way his tongue moved against you unraveling you completely.

your free hand pressed against the tile, trying to steady yourself, but it was no use. the tension building in your core was too much, too fast. “oh my god,” you gasped, your voice breaking as his name tumbled from your lips like a prayer.

changbin glanced up at you briefly, his eyes smoldering with desire as he watched you come undone above him. his lips curved into a small, cocky smile before he doubled down, his tongue and lips moving with a precision that left you breathless.

your body arched involuntarily, the sensations overwhelming as the pleasure built to a crescendo. your grip on his hair tightened, and with one final, broken cry of his name, the tension snapped, waves of ecstasy crashing over you. your legs trembled, and the one leg you were using to keep yourself standing in the shower was barely holding you upright.

as you came down from the high, your chest heaved, and your legs trembled. changbin stood slowly, his hands steadying you as he cupped your face and kissed you deeply, letting you taste the passion you’d just shared.

“you taste so fucking good,” he whispered against your lips, his voice rough and breathless, as if he’d been just as affected by the moment as you were. you two made out again, lost in the shared taste of each other, until you broke it. “fuck me,” you panted, your voice soft and breathy.

“please, fuck me.”

changbin’s breath hitched at your words, his hands gripping your hips tighter as if grounding himself. he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes burning with desire yet softened by a hint of hesitation. “you want it?” he murmured, his voice low and rough, barely audible over the water.

you nodded, your lips brushing against his as you whispered, “please, changbin.”

something in him shifted, the tension and restraint he’d been holding onto dissolving. his lips captured yours again, this time with a hunger that left no room for doubt. his kiss was fervent, his tongue sliding against yours as his hands roamed your body, every touch igniting a new wave of heat.

with a slow, deliberate motion, he freed his thick, pulsating cock from its confines. it was girthy and heavy, throbbing with an almost painful urgency that sent shivers down your spine. just looking at it made you nervous for what was to come, but also filled you with a primal desire you couldn't deny. the veins along its length were prominent and promising. you could feel the heat radiating off of it, making your own body flush with anticipation.

with a fluid motion, he lifted you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he pressed you against the tiled wall. the water cascaded over both of you, amplifying the intensity of every sensation. you could feel him, hard and ready, pressing against your core, and the anticipation made you gasp.

his lips trailed down your neck, leaving a heated path of kisses as his hands gripped your thighs to steady you. “you’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, his voice dripping with reverence and need.

“bin…” you whispered, your fingers threading through his wet hair, tugging lightly as your hips rolled against him, seeking more.

he groaned at the friction of his cock grinding between your slick lips, the sound deep and guttural, as he adjusted his position.

one hand slipped between you, and you shivered as his fingers teased your entrance, his touch deliberate and confident. “i need to feel you,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

“then do it,” you urged, your voice trembling with need. “i’m yours.”

his gaze locked with yours for a fleeting moment, the intensity in his eyes sending a fresh wave of heat through your body. slowly, he entered you, the stretch and fullness drawing a gasp from your lips as your nails dug into his shoulders.

his thick length filled every inch of you as he pushed deeper and deeper. the weight of him pressed against your skin, the sensation almost overwhelming but also intoxicating. his fat cock stretched you to your limits, each movement sending electrifying sensations coursing through your body. you could feel every ridge and vein as he plunged into you, claiming you completely.

“fuck,” he groaned, his forehead pressing against yours as he stilled, giving you a moment to adjust.“you feel incredible.” he moaned breathlessly, his brows knitted together as he fought the urge to cum right away.

“so do you,” you breathed, pressing a kiss to his lips before rolling your hips against him. the movement sent a shiver through him, and he began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, building in intensity.

lost in the moment and completely overtaken by his desire, changbin's grip on your hips tightened as he began to lift you effortlessly, moving your body up and down on his cock with a strength that made you feel weightless. his motions were powerful and unrelenting, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through your body as if he was claiming every inch of you.

the sounds echoing in the steamy shower were shamelessly erotic—your bodies colliding with wet, rhythmic slaps, punctuated by the increasingly loud moans spilling from your lips. it was such a stark contrast to the tentative quiet you’d both maintained when you first slipped into the shower, and yet now, the tension between you had unraveled into something raw and untamed.

you couldn’t help but glance down at him, the sight alone making your head spin. the way his strong arms supported you, his muscles flexing with each movement, and the determined, almost primal look on his face as he drove into you—it was intoxicating. the intensity of it all made your walls flutter around him involuntarily, earning a deep groan from his lips that only fueled your desire further.

your back arched against the tiles, the sensation overwhelming as waves of pleasure coursed through you.

your body tensed as his cock repeatedly hit your g-spot with relentless force, causing a deep pit to form in your stomach and your clit to pulse uncontrollably. the pleasure was overwhelming, almost bordering on pain, but you couldn’t help but crave more of his intense thrusts. after a few more thrusts, you were trembling, your core fluttering with impending release.

“changbin… i’m so close,” you gasped, your voice breaking as the tension in your body built to its peak.

“me too,” he rasped, his lips brushing against yours as his movements grew faster, more erratic.

with one final thrust, the tension snapped, and you cried out his name as the pleasure consumed you, your body trembling in his arms. he followed moments later, his groan vibrating against your neck as he held you tightly, riding the waves of ecstasy together.

the water continued to cascade over you both as you clung to each other, your breaths mingling in the steamy air. changbin pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his voice warm and tender as he whispered, “i’ve waited so long for this,”

you smiled, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw as you replied, “so have i.” and as the water continued to fall around you, you knew this was for sure the start of something between you two.

tags: @ritsmith @bluesungology @jeonginsleftcheek

©chxnsgirl do not repost, translate, or copy my works in any way, shape, or form.

[blkbbyprincess]

freaked’ out! arcane!vi x blk! reader nsfw

an: (i hope this was okkk! i tried my best to fulfill most of the request in this fic, but i will probably end up continuing this in headcannon form soon to pull it together a little more since this one was a little rushed bc of school. but other than that, i hope you all enjoyy!!)

the notorious aroma of freshly smoked loud mischievously drafted throughout the corridors of your home, curling around every piece of furniture and every surface, leaving a fragrant path that led straight to your room upstairs.

if anyone were to take a whiff of your environment right about now, they’d assume you were indulging yourself in a leisurely escape in the comfort of your space; but what they wouldn’t know is that you and vi were actually going round for round by blunt and by orgasm.

to be specific; you were riding vi crazy like a cowboy on a horse; gripping onto your black, suade kuromi comforter in right front of your closet mirror with red leds to create the perfect slutty vibe.

“fuckk- you’re so beautiful mama.” vi breathed out- taking a long inhale of your shared blunt as she watched as you struggle to bounce up and down on her gorgeous red siliconed cock; which matched with her red and black shadow the hedgehog boxers that she remembers you giggling at before pulling them down minutes prior due to the heavy amount of weed in your system.

she couldn’t keep her reddened eyes off how good you were fucking yourself on her; how good you looked with your curls sticking to your forehead all because of how bad you’ve been craving her all week, and how bright your golden hello kitty nipple piercings glistened in her face while you quivered going up and down on her cock.

“mmhmm, thankk youu thank y-youu.”

she couldn’t tell if you were thanking her for being filled up so full by her, or the compliment. you were too fucked out and fucked up to care as you were jumping up and down like a bunny; covered in her sweat and yours; desperately climbing towards the relief of your release.

your breasts intimately bumped up with her smaller ones; brown nipples finding their way brushing past her pink ones occasionally with each unsteady bounce on her strap as your arms loosely wrap around her collarbones; hands finding their way to her upper back unintentionally tracing her tattoo occasionally.

with her shirt pulled up between her teeth; struggling to keep quiet; vi watched every movement of yours while on top of her, like how your lengthy deep brown coils jumped up and down freely along with every jolt and jump you made on her. or how beautifully your melanated skin glistened with an almost translucent- glow in sweat even in the absence of bright light.

she often gets lost in thought at the fact that she’s seriously won the lottery; like big time. she still isn’t sure to this day how she managed to win your heart, but she is thankful in every way when she gets to be reminded over and over again every night that you’re truly a gem.

her diamond.

“woah, slow it down baby don’t hurt yourself ‘m not goin anywhere.” she snickered as she flicked the last of the roach into the nearby ashtray. vi wasn’t dumb, she knew when you have had enough, you’d stop; but she just liked to toy with you to rile you on and hopefully encourage you to go a little quicker so she can see your womanly arousal dripping down the toy; staining the fabric of the harness.

“can’t ‘ts too mhhmm good.”

you continued to rapidly rise and drop your body; completely disregarding vi’s warning, looking down at the space in between you and vi, watching closely at how her strap went inside of you and out repeatedly at your will; all while ferociously biting your bottom lip until it started to draw a small amount of blood.

you began to giggle to yourself at the thought that you were so cockdrunk; you could care less about a little bleeding that you would have freaked out about on any other occasion. nonetheless; you threw your soft, coily locs backwards out of your face to get a better look at your frame in the mirror to your left.

you radiated with utmost confidence, fully aware of your power and with a thrilling sense of control, you were well past ready to show vi a real good time- completely at your command. in a surprising twist, you let go of her, your fingers gliding teasingly down her neck to her v-line, before delivering a gentle push to her abdomen.

“baby, what ‘r yo-.”

without even fully registering what was happening due to the effects of the weed, vi’s head and the back of her torso had already touched the mattress

she briefly expressed concern on her face as you began to actually slow down and stop; only for you to start back up again, but this time you weren’t bouncing aggressively on her cock; you were grinding on it.

you wanted to make sure that you pushed up into her soo good, that she could swear she was feeling your pussy forreal. you began to slowly drag your clit over the base of the toy; leaning into vi’s face and gently intertwining your hands into her hair before removing them to grasp your perfectly crafted brown titties and squeeze them right in her face; giving her quite a show with nipple piercings included.

“g-gods _______, don’t do this to me, y’know i wanna touch y-you.”

“beg for it and i may.”

she hated begging; but for you, she’d become the best one the world’s even seen, so without hesitation she pleaded with you at her very best.

“please, please let me touch you ma, i’ve been real good.”

you put a finger over your lips and tapped in while pretending to think for a couple seconds while hovering over her scarred ones. since she was going to mess up what you had planned at first, you decided to ask her for a small favor in return; something you were sure she’d feel for certain later.

“only if you let me strap you next time.”

vi deadpanned at you for a moment before expressing a twinge of playful annoyance.

“fine, but you’re fuckin’ freaked out, y’know that?” she said with a giggle before sitting up and removing her strap out of you. vi wastes absolutely no time sliding her harness down from her waist and letting it fall off the side of the bed with a clunk. you observed her movements carefully; eyeing her facial expressions and body language, hoping she wasn’t pissed off at you for suggesting such a thing.

she stood on both of her feet and cupped your pretty little face before going in for one sloppy kiss; pushing some of her weight on you, letting you fall on your back with her now topping over you.

“mmmh, you smell so sweet, like a cupcake baby.” she said in the kiss as she started to pinch and grope your breasts; sliding her fingers down to your nipples to play with the sensitive gold metals punctured through them. the sweet, sugary smell of your perfume intoxicated her lungs and coerced her to squeeze every inch of your body and lean into you more, almost as if she were trying to get herself to share the same scent on her body.

she was finally about to get the reaction she had been hoping for all night when she began to guide her hands through your curls from the back of your head and run her hands through them; catching onto yet another scent of what smelled like warm coconut and mint. a satisfied expression masked her face when she realized she was drawing moans and whimpers from your throat; vibrating on the tip of her tongue just from breathing in every inch of you so intensely and intimately.

vi slid her tongue out of what felt like the deepest part of your throat and dragged it down your neck, kissing and leaving bites that were sure to show up later in deeper hue. you groaned at the absence of her wet muscle inside of your mouth; but she wouldn’t leave you dissatisfied for too long, she knew better.

she didn't intend to tease you; it was just hard for her to get past how breathtaking you looked right in front of her. it wasn't unusual for you to be stunning, but she couldn't help but admire how your beautiful, glowing brown complexion stood out against her slightly tanned one when your hands were intertwined during the kiss. it completely changed her perspective on the saying "the darker the berry, the sweeter the fruit," because before meeting you, she never realized just how sweet that fruit could really be.

she looked up from where she marked your body with cute little pecks from her lips near your belly button, and saw the eagerness in your expression just from how you were involuntarily biting your lip again.

“already so needy to get eaten, don’t worry baby i didn’t forget.” she grinned as she kissed her way down a little further making her way towards your gooey, aching heat; making sure to squeeze at the fat of your thighs before delivering a light slap at your ass making you yelp at the unpredicted action of hers.

“i-i don’t think she can wait n-no longer baby.”

vi knew exactly what you meant by she; obviously referring to your sweet pussy, so to play along with this new title you’ve given your goods, she pulls herself up from where she was on the lower end of your body, and slid her way towards your right ear to whisper real close-

“i think she can, she won’t mind if i take a little more time with you first right?”

[achilles-rage]

Bad Thing Turned Good

summary: you hate your friend’s brother, buck. you think he’s smug, and egotistical, and too attractive for his own good. the tension snaps, however, when you find yourself at a bar with him and maddie.

word count: 2.8k

a/n: thank you to @bookishbuddie for requesting buck and hate fucking!! this got away from me, and is definitely longer a short little drabble, so i thought i’d post it as a full length fic instead!! this idea stems from this post, and i think the fic will make more sense if you read this, since i couldn’t find the words to explain it again during the fic lol. anyway, enjoy<33

warnings: smut, reader is sort of a bitch lol, no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

MDNI - 18+ only!

“I wasn’t aware you were gonna be here,” you mutter as you walk into the bar to meet Maddie, coming face to face with Buck as he turns to face you. Your lips are downturned into a frown, and your face scrunches in disgust when he gives you his usual smug smirk.

“Come on, you say that like it’s a bad thing,” he teases, holding his arms out as his eyes travel down your body. He’s not sure why you hate him so much; he’s never done anything to you, but that doesn’t stop him from still trying; desperate to finally make a smile grace your pretty face.

“Oh, it is. If I knew, I wouldn’t have shown up,” you huff as you swat one of his arms out of the way, walking around him and towards the bar.

You’ve been friends with Maddie for a few months; ever since you started working at dispatch, and while you quickly became friends with everyone that works with her husband, Buck just irks you in a way you can’t describe.

“No?” he pesters as he begins to follow you, his long strides helping to quickly catch up to your smaller ones.

“Definitely,” you say with a shake of your head, stopping at the bar and leaning against it as you wait for the bartender to come over to you. Your fingers are angrily tapping the countertop, and you try to keep your eyes ahead of you as Buck stops beside you and angles his body towards you, eyes locked on the side of your face.

“Because I think you still would’ve come. Just to give me trouble.” you shrug, frowning indifferently as you think about his words.

“Maybe you’re half right,” you reply before telling the bartender your order. You can see from the corner of your eye that the smirk is back on Buck’s stupid face, and you finally turn to face him once the bartender looks away, your eyes narrowed.

“Are we finally agreeing on something?” he jokes once your attention is back on him, leaning closer to you and bending down just enough that his face is level with yours. You scoff, rolling your eyes. Why is he always like this, you think?

“Fuck off,” you snap just before the bartender slides your drink towards you. You turn on your heel and walk back to the table Maddie has saved for you, but not before telling the bartender to add your drink to Buck’s tab. It’s the least he can do for pissing you off, you think with a silent laugh.

You spend the next hour or so talking with Buck and Maddie at your table, trying to keep your annoyance more hidden than usual around your friend. You know she’d be upset if the two of you didn’t get along, so you don’t do much more than roll your eyes or shoot him the occasional glare.

You almost catch yourself letting your guard down around him as you all talk, because you don’t really hate him. He fucking gorgeous; you’re not blind. And tall, and muscular, and has the most beautiful blue eyes you think you’ve ever seen. You try not to think about that, though, because you know guys like him. You’ve been scorned by one too many Bucks, and you’ll be damned if you let it happen again.

Finally, Buck does another thing to remind you of what he’s really like, which is much different than what anyone else sees him as, and you watch from your table as he flirts with a beautiful woman. His signature smug smirk is still on his face as he talks to the woman; leaning in close to her and letting his eyes travel down her body, and it makes your blood boil for some reason.

As Maddie finishes her story about a call she got at work the other day, you down the rest of your drink, then excuse yourself to get another drink with a small smile.

When you walk up to the bar, Buck suddenly pulls you against him, hands squeezing the fat of your hips as he grins widely.

“This is my gorgeous girlfriend that I was telling you about!” he says to the woman in front of you, who gives you a friendly smile. You look up at him with a confused expression, brows furrowed and mouth slightly agape as you process his words. Girlfriend?

The rest of the conversation between Buck and the woman is tuned out completely as you stand there in his embrace, acutely aware of Buck’s hand rubbing your back soothingly as his other hand remains firmly planted on your hip. 

When the woman finally walks away, and Buck’s hands are still on you, you turn in his grip, swatting his hands away as you take a step back.

“What the hell was that?” you hiss, eyes narrowed as you look up at him. You try to ignore your heart hammering against your ribcage; your true feelings threatening to bubble to the surface because his touch felt so good.

“Just wanted to see if me calling you my girlfriend would make you mad,” he asserted with a smirk, eyes travelling down to your chest as you cross your arms.

“If I were to ever actually be your girlfriend, I’d kill myself,” you retort, practically seeing red at the motive behind his actions. Like playing with women’s emotions is merely a game to him.

“Seriously?” he says, raising his brows as he looks at you with slight surprise mixed with his usual smugness, although there’s a hint of sadness that flickers behind it for a split second, not that you can see it in your rage driven haze.

“Seriously,” you confirm in a low voice, narrowing your eyes further. You see the way his smirk finally falls, and it makes yours grow. Finally, you seemed to have gotten to him.

“Because I think you just like me, and that pisses you off,” he states as the smirk returns to his face. He felt how you melted into his touch a minute ago. It was subtle, but he was sure he felt it, and he can also see the lust in your eyes, hidden deeply behind the rage and annoyance.

“Why the hell would that piss me off?” you say, voice getting louder as you throw your arms up. You don’t even have the mind to think that that was the complete opposite part of his sentence that should’ve pissed you off; too focused on arguing with Buck. The air surrounding you is palpable, and neither of you can take your eyes off of each other; completely oblivious to those around you.

“You tell me, sweetheart,” he says with a tilt of his head, stepping closer to you and running his tongue along the inner side of his teeth. 

“Maybe because you’re fucking infuriating?” you exclaim, uncrossing your arms and pointing a finger to his chest.

Your outburst only seems to egg him on more, and he chuckles lowly, leaning in closer to your face.

“Oh, I’m infuriating?” he asks, raising a brow.

“Yes,” you seethe, your eyes darting down to his lips for a split second as he licks them.

Without another word, he smashes his lips to yours, one hand moving to the side of your neck while the other pulls you in by your hip. His lips move sloppily, yet hungrily, and for a moment, all you can do is stand there with wide eyes.

After a moment, though, you melt into the kiss, lips meeting his with equal fervour as your hands move up to grip the fabric of his shirt that’s covering his chest. Your back arches into him as he tilts your head up into the kiss, effectively deepening the kiss and allowing him to feel your plush body pressing against him.

When he finally pulls away, it takes a second for your eyes to open and focus, and when they do, he’s pulling you to the bar bathroom vehemently, a hunger in his eyes so intense that your knees go weak.

You follow, looking down from his broad back to your fingers intertwined between you two, and for a split second, you feel a little bad for leaving Maddie at your table so you can sneak off with her brother. What you don’t notice, however, is that she’s watching you two from the table, a small smirk on her face as she sips on her drink. She’s been waiting for you two to give into each other since she intentionally introduced you months ago.

As soon as the door is closed and locked, Buck has you pinned against the wall, pressing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to your neck and slotting a knee between your legs. 

“Buck-” you whimper as his leg comes up to meet your dripping cunt, pushing against you in a way that has you gripping his shirt tightly and pulling him closer.

You’re not even sure what the next words out of your mouth were going to be; you’re not sure if you want to push him away or rip his clothes off, but before you can think further, he cuts you off with a growled “just shut up, for once.”

You oblige without any hint of resistance, resting your head against the cool wall behind you as he moves further down your neck and towards the part of your chest that’s uncovered by your shirt.

Finally, he trails his hands down your plush middle and unbuttons your jeans before dipping one hand under the waistband of your jeans and panties and finding your clit with ease. You let out a loud, shuddered moan, pushing your hips forward to get as much friction as you can as his fingers move in rough circles. 

“God, sweetheart, can you ever hide what you’re feeling?” he teases, condescension laced in his tone as breathy moans tumble from your lips.

“Fuck me,” you whisper to yourself as he pushes two of his fingers past your glistening folds and curls them up to hit that spot inside of you. You let your eyelids flutter shut as you grab onto his biceps, trying to ground yourself as he moves his fingers quickly in and out of your greedy pussy.

“Is that a request, baby?” he says with a chuckle, pulling back from your neck to watch your face twist in pleasure with a smirk.

“What? N-” you begin to say, opening your eyes and looking up at him through hooded lids. your words are cut off by his lips on yours again, kissing you slower and more passionately; a harsh contrast from the way his fingers are working you, making the pit in your belly grow bigger with each passing second.

He continues to fuck you with his fingers, pace fast and rough as his thumb rubs your clit. He keeps his lips on yours, greedily swallowing each pretty moan and whimper that you let slip. He feels oddly possessive of you in this moment; he doesn’t want anyone else in the bar to be able to hear the sounds made for his ears only. 

He senses that you’re nearing the edge; your grip tightens on his biceps as your moans get breathier and more high pitched, and he lets out a quiet groan when he feels you clenching around his fingers. 

As you’re about to fall over the edge, he pulls away completely, holding your hips in place as they buck, eagerly chasing the pleasure. He breaks the kiss to watch the way your brows furrow, smirking as an unsatisfied groan leaves your lips.

“That’s payback for being such a bitch to me,” he purrs, then flips you around and pushes your chest against the wall, making you bend forward at the hips as you put your hands out to catch yourself.

He pulls your jeans and panties down to your knees, then unbuttons his own pants and pulls his leaking cock from his boxers, stroking himself a few times before rubbing the head of his cock through your dripping folds.

You let out a soft whimper, which turns into a louder moan as he pushes into you, not giving you a chance to adjust before he’s fully engulfed in your warmth. He pulls almost all the way out before snapping his hips forward again, hips meeting yours forcefully as he feels you stretch around him.

“You still hate me, huh, sweetheart?” he asks in a condescending tone, his thrusts hard and deep as he pulls your hips back to meet his. 

“Yes,” you manage to get out, your words and thoughts quite literally being fucked out of you as your body lurches forward from the force behind Buck’s actions. You feel like you can’t breathe properly as he splits you open, his cock brushing against the spot inside of you that has your head dropping in pure ecstasy.

“It doesn’t seem like it. Look how eager you are for my cock. How desperate you are to be filled,” he pants, trailing one hand up your side before wrapping a muscular arm around your soft middle and pulling your back up to meet his chest.

“Fuck you,” you hiss, your voice cracking as a strangled mewl cuts off your harsh words. 

He chuckles at the way the words die in your throat, then digs his teeth into the side of your throat, right where your shoulder meets your neck, biting down on the skin and eliciting a sharp cry from your lips as you try to hold yourself up on shaky legs.

He keeps up his rough thrusts as he pushes you against the wall, his chest still pressed to your back as his hands move down your arms and then bring your hands up to the wall above your head, the feeling of the cold wall against your palms causing a shiver to run down your spine.

“Feels so good to get the attitude fucked right out of you, doesn’t it, baby?” he drawls after a moment, letting his hands come back down to your hips, but not before bringing his right palm down to spank your ass harshly.

When you don’t respond right away, too focused on pushing your hips back against his in a desperate attempt to chase your quickly approaching high, he stops his thrusts, keeping himself buried to the hilt as his gravelly voice whispers in your ear; “if you want me to let you cum, you’re gonna answer me. Does it feel good to be fucked like this by me?” 

“Yes!” you practically scream, your head dropping as he continues with his thrusts and your ass and thighs meet his hard body with a loud slap. “Yes! I’m gonna-” you continue, your voice getting quiet and desperate as you clench around him.

“Let go, baby. Cum on my cock,” he demands, and in a few more thrusts, you’re cumming around him, coating his cock in your juices as he spills into you with a low moan. He keeps himself buried inside you as he empties himself, balls twitching as he paints your walls with his seed.

When he finally pulls out, he brings his fingers down to your pulsing cunt, pushing his cum back into you, and then brings his fingers up to his lips to taste your mixed releases on his tongue.

Before any more of his release drips from your poor, abused cunt, he pulls your panties and jeans back up, then flips you around to face him and buttons your jeans back up before doing up his own pants as you watch him in a daze.

“Now, you’re gonna sit like this for the rest of the night. Teach you to not talk to me like that.” All you can do is nod at his words, struggling to catch your breath as he firmly holds your face in his hand.

“Good girl,” he whispers with a wink, a smirk appearing on his face as he leans down and gives you a chaste kiss. 

He’s gone in an instant, leaving you with shaky legs and a racing heart as you stare off into space in front of you, blinking slowly. You’re not sure what happened has even happened, although you can tell that it has by the pool in your panties. 

You move slowly over to the sink, washing your hands and splashing some water in your face to snap you out of your haze before you finally exit the bathroom, being met once back at your table with Buck’s familiar smirk as he sees the state that he’s put you in.

You’ll be his soon. He just needs a little more time.

notes: likes/comments/reblogs would be much appreciated if you liked this<33

click here for my masterlist!

click here to be added to my taglist!

click here to read my request rules!

taglist: @officiallyalbino @wanniiieeee @dreams-encapsulated-in-glamour @buckandeddiesverison @catkight @tatyhend @emilysuperswag @kulteule @korosevren @nyx3028 @sporadicmakerwerewolf @sherlocksbaby2323 @essienoe @p14th0mps0n @celestixldarling @brooke0297 @zelfanswhenshecan @avengersgirllorianna @bingbongsupremacy @nishinoyahhh @alyssanicole01 @outof-spite @supernatural-bangtanboys @x0xchristine @pear-1206 @swanshells @tpwkstiles @lulubelle14 @cannibalhellhound @odetolocksmiths @rafecameronsloverrrrr @charlie-winchester94 @hollandxxmix @evysian @starbyun92939798 @maxinish @uhmidkmuch @theking-mustdie @daeswash @911varietyposts @superlock-in-the-tardis @lilsquatch7898 @hufflepuff-spidey @starboygf @wnbweasley @damndirtylitch @eva-tts5 @alexxavicry @sammiejane22 (if you interacted with my taglist post and are not on this list, make sure your blog is visible in searches or i can’t tag you!)

[heylittleriotact]

To Die as Lovers May - Chapter 3

Emmrich and Amina scramble to figure out what happened to her, and what to do next.

Under the cut and on ao3

“What do you mean I’m ‘dead’?” She frowned, her nose wrinkling as a thought came to her. “Are you corpse-whispering me?!” Panic rippled through her, icy terror carving through her already disconcertingly cold veins. 

“No! I’m–” He looked as unhinged as she felt.

“Oh Emmrich - what happened? What is happening?!” She held up her hands in front of her face, as the realization that something was horribly, horribly wrong crashed around her. “I’m–”

“-I don’t–” 

“-dead?!” She wailed, one hand splaying over her heart, the other searching her own neck for the steady familiar rhythm of her pulse. When she found no such thing, her eyes widened so much that the whites were visible all the way around her faded irises, and she let out a mortified yelp. 

She faced him with desperation written on her face, frightened tears gathering in the corners of her pleading eyes. “Emmrich, what happened to me? W-why am I l-like this?” She wrapped her arms around her named form, hugging herself and shivering violently. “W-why am I so co-cold?”

She hadn’t felt fear like this since the day the battled Elgar’nan: gripping, ruthless. It strained against the carefully cultivated bonds of rational thought that were the only thing keeping her from becoming hysterical - bonds that were rapidly fracturing.

All she had were questions upon questions and the vile, chilling confirmation that she lacked a pulse, and Fade take her - had she ever felt this hungry? 

Emmrich studied her, compassionate sympathy replacing the anguished horror that dominated his features only moments earlier when she came to with him holding her, screaming like a man possessed. 

His warm fingers wrapped around her upper arms and he rose to his feet, bringing her along with him. 

“Before we turn our minds to finding the answers to your questions, let’s try to get you warmed up, darling.” He reached across her and nudged the tap with his fingers, finally stopping the flow of water into the overflowing bathtub. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he drew his hand through his hair and cast a brief, assessing glance around the flooded room and wordlessly decided it was a problem to deal with later before he turned his attention back to her. “Right. Are you able to walk, or would you like me to carry you? I think I can if you wish, but I expended a great amount of—“

He was exhausted, she realized then: his eyes were bloodshot and swollen and his face was pallid - almost green. 

Amina wriggled her toes against the wet stone floor, marking their responsiveness and deemed it adequate. “I think I can walk - everything seems to be… to be w-working as it sh-should…” 

Well. Except my heart…

He slipped his arm under hers, holding her by her waist in case she faltered. “Thank you, Manfred.” He accepted the fluffy sage green towel that the skeleton was holding out for him, his glittering eyes averted respectfully from Amina. 

“Rook is… okay?” 

Emmrich draped the towel over Amina’s shoulders and patted her down, drying her off as best he could. “We’re not sure, I’m afraid,” he admitted solemnly.

At this, Manfred hissed in a such a way that communicated his deep concern about this revelation.

“Fear not, Manfred. We’ll get to the bottom of this and set everything right in no time.” Emmrich’s voice was heavy with fatigue, but still carried that spark of optimistic surety she was eternally taken with. 

He was saying those words aloud not only for Manfred’s benefit, but for his own… and hers.

“Now I want you to go to your room and stay there until I come and get you, do you understand?” He waited for Manfred’s confirmation before squeezing the lad’s bony shoulder and guiding Amina out of the bathroom, keeping her as close to him as he could.

Even though he was soaking wet too, and likely a bit chilly himself, Emmrich felt wonderfully warm against her: like a dark river stone left to sit in the summer sun for hours. Heat positively radiated off of him with such intensity that Amina wondered if he had a slight fever. 

As they slowly made their way to their bedroom at the end of the hall, Amina’s mind raced: if she was medically dead as she appeared to be by all definitions, but she was simultaneously conscious and sentient - herself as far as she could tell - then she was… she was technically undead. Like Manfred. Like the Lich Lords…

But Manfred was a wisp possessing remains, and the liches were the sanctioned powers that ruled the Necropolis. She was something else. Something accidental. Something unnatural.

Emmrich closed the door behind them and sat her down in one of the emerald damask armchairs before the fireplace. Flames roared to life in the hearth with an absent-minded movement of his fingers, and he moved for the large trunk of spare blankets at the foot of their bed. 

Amina caught him by the wrist, her fingernails clinking against gold. 

“This is… this is lovely, Emmrich - thank you, but… would it be too much trouble if…? I think I would be more comfortable laying down. Will you hold me? Keep me warm?” 

She winced as soon as the words left her mouth as the gravity of what she had just requested settled, crushing her under its brutal immensity: she wasn’t just asking her fiancé for a sweet cuddle to ward off the stinging nip of an autumnal breeze: she had just propositioned him to climb into bed with a corpse. 

Appropriate contact between the living and the dead was strictly enforced in Nevarra: there were few things more shameful than it becoming public knowledge that one had dallied with a corpse: it was damning to one’s livelihood, social circles, and overall reputation if they were suspected or openly accused of necrophilia; and if such things could be proven, the penalties were incredibly steep: if one avoided execution, they would almost certainly be commuted to imprisonment for the remainder of their lives.

The relationship between the living and the dead - and by extension, the undead - was sacred to Nevarrans, and the moral and ethical matters of consent and power dynamics rendered any sort of romantic or sexual contact with bodily remains - regardless of their status - completely off the table. 

Her throat tightened painfully at the realization. The comprehension that those laws now applied to them: that Emmrich couldn’t touch her, kiss her, or make love to her until this was sorted out… maybe never again…

“Never mind.” She said abruptly, speaking before Emmrich could find words as he blinked and his mouth hung open slightly because he had clearly had the same damning epiphany. “This… this is fine.” She tore her stinging eyes from his and rubbed her arms, staring into the fire, its orange flames blurring together as tears welled for the second time since she woke up in Emmrich’s arms, lungs full of water, feeling physically worse than she ever had in her life. “Can I have a blanket please?” She murmured to the fire. “Maybe like… three, actually?” 

His footfalls filled her ears - so loud - as he came around the front of the chair instead of going to the blanket-trunk. 

Unable to look at him, she stared at his bare feet now blocking the warm glow of the fire, a tear rolling down her cheek. 

Then he was pulling her to her feet again, and scooping her up into his arms. 

“What’re you–?”

He was carrying her towards the bed. “There have traditionally been special provisions extended to the liches of the Necropolis when it comes to matters of flesh and relations with the living,” he explained with a measured calmness that would have her doubting that he had been a grief-ravaged heap on the bathroom floor only minutes earlier had she not witnessed it herself. How did he do it? So effortlessly put other people ahead of himself? Manage his emotions so capably? “Because liches are undead but retain their naturally born souls housed inside their own remains, they are considered capable of decision-making in matters of bodily autonomy and consent. For all intents and purposes, they are held to the same standards in that arena as the living by precedence of our laws.” 

He had mentioned this provision before - back when he was still pursuing lichdom and she had asked if they would still be able to continue their relationship. 

“But I’m not a lich,” she pointed out, looking up into Emmrich’s face as he placed her gently on the bed and began pulling the sheets and blanket over her. “At least I don’t think I am. I’m... I’m… we don’t know what I am.” 

“Well you’re most certainly you - I would be able to detect a difference in your metaphysical resonance if you were possessed by a spirit.” He hauled the covers all the way up to her chin and tucked the blanket around her. 

Satisfied that she was properly tucked in, he left her side to flip open the trunk at the end of the bed and pulled out an assortment of carefully folded woven blankets, waving them out, and spreading them over her one at a time. 

“I have seen no evidence that you are entirely dissimilar to a lich: your soul - your essence - is retained within the flesh and bone of your own deceased body. The only variation appears to be your physiology and the fact that lichdom is obtained through performing a deliberate rite, and this was obviously unintended.” 

He went to his side of the bed and began undressing, wicking away sodden layers of clothing, leaving them in a wet pile on the floor - unusual for him - then methodically removing his many rings and bracelets, storing each with care in the glass topped, velvet lined box on his bedside table. 

When he was finished and he was standing in the firelight, as naked as she was, he regarded her from the edge of the bed for a moment before saying, “So if it pleases you and puts your mind at ease: do I have your consent to join you in bed, dear?”

“Y-yes.” Amina breathed through the fresh tears in her eyes, feeling an odd stirring in her chest that was so very different from the beating of her heart. “Yes, of course.”

With a thin smile, he slid under the covers alongside her without hesitation, enveloping her instantly with his divine warmth as he wrapped himself around her slight form. 

“There,” he murmured into her hair, cradling her head against his chest. His heartbeat roared in her ears, so steady and calm despite everything that had happened. “No laws broken.” He pulled back, lifting her chin with his fingers so she was looking at him over the surface of her pillow. He placed his lips against hers and she heard his heart rate increase; felt his body stiffen slightly at the unfamiliar sensation of frigid lips that were usually the same temperature as his. His thumb - so alive and warm - swept over her chin tenderly. “Besides, I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.” 

He winked, then smiled for her. For her. He was trying so hard to comfort her. Bring her some measure of peace to help her through this nightmare. 

“Emmrich, it's not a joke - this is dangerous. If it gets out that I’m…” she couldn’t say the word she meant to say. “Like this you know what will happen.”

In her many years with the Watch she had never encountered an undead being like herself. Emmrich had been with the Watch considerably longer and even he was at a loss for an explanation for her condition.

And what did the Mourn Watch do when they discovered an unexplained magical phenomenon? 

They studied it. 

It wouldn’t come from a place of personal malice: just one of detached cruelty often seen in academic circles where the ends justified the means when it came to committing morally dubious acts in the noble spirit of advancing knowledge. 

Her freedom and autonomy would be stripped from her, and she’d end up housed in a windowless ‘living quarter’ in the bowels of the Necropolis to be observed, studied, prodded, and vivisected by her colleagues in an effort to glean what was responsible for the miracle of her undeath. 

“Surely Myrna and Vorgoth wouldn’t–” 

“I’m Unsanctioned Sentient Undead, Emmrich - no different than Johanna after her failed attempt at lichdom. Unintentional or not, I’m an affront to the natural order of life and death by the order’s definition. A sin against nature. My fate is extermination or becoming a lab rat if we can’t undo this…” her voice shook when she uttered the truth aloud and Emmrich’s deep hazel eyes softened further.

“Come now, darling. You mustn’t think like that.” He rested his forehead against hers, and she flinched away but he dragged her back to him, running his nose along the side of hers. Long fingers slipped into her damp hair and began combing through it gently, his breath baptizing her like a hot summer wind. 

He seemed completely unphased by her current state. 

She didn’t know why, but it made her eyes fog up yet again.

“You are not a ‘sin against nature’. You are a good person who has encountered an inconveniently timed spot of trouble in the line of duty, and we’re going to get you out of it.”

“What if we can’t? What if I’m stuck like this? Maker’s breath - what if I start decomposing?!” 

The spiral of ‘what if’s’ and hypotheticals had started again, and tight panic gripped her throat once more. 

“We’ll keep an eye on the condition of your body and take appropriate measures as needed in order to offset florid decay.” 

He said it with the ease of a seasoned embalmer assessing a fresh corpse on his preparation table: strangely comforting given the circumstances. “However, it’s of utmost importance that you remember something as we work together to find a solution, dear.” His eyes wandered over her face, and he could practically hear the wheels turning in his mind despite his assurances: he was already mulling over theories; coming up with strategies. 

“What do I need to remember, Emmrich?” 

“That you are still you, darling Amina.” His gaze paused when he caught her eyes. “The fact that you’ve unwittingly transitioned into a different state of being does not change that.” He gathered her face in his hands and kissed her again, his lips lingering longer this time, and her fingers wrapped around his thin, bare wrist as she allowed herself to finally touch him - this living person - for the first time with her unliving hand: a cardinal offense by the rule of the Law, but one that brought her such comfort in its simple intimacy. 

“I love you, dear - please know that my feelings towards you remain unchanged. I will do whatever it takes to make this right… everything in my power.” He peppered a few more gentle pecks over her cheeks, his lips leaving a burning trail wherever they touched. “Everything will be all right.” 

She didn’t know how badly she needed to hear those words until Emmrich spoke them, and feeling fortified by them, she shifted closer to him, the shame of coercing the man she loved into deviant behaviour lessening somewhat: he was only keeping her warm - it wasn’t as though they were having sex. This was a benign kindness, and nothing more.

Warmth flooded her as her chest pressed against his, and precious heat flowed into her flesh, worrying at the cold, chipping it from her tense muscles and relaxing them. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t imagine this is particularly comfortable for you,” she mumbled sheepishly into his shoulder.

“Never mind that.” His arms wrapped around her and held her tightly to him. “Is it helping?”

It was - the consistency of his warmth enveloping her was making her feel much better, and it seemed that once that heat infused deeply enough into her flesh and fat and muscles, she could retain it somewhat - for how long she couldn’t be sure, but as they maintained their embrace in the quiet, calmness of their bedroom, she found that she felt more at peace than she had all evening - even before she died.

Nodding, she gave herself permission to rest her hand on Emmrich’s waist, feeling his smooth, soft skin against hers.  

“That’s marvelous, darling. I’m so relieved to hear it.” His tone was pleasant, bordering on cheerful. There was no lie: his heart was lightened by this improvement.

“You seem disarmingly at ease with all of this,” she remarked. “Not… not that I’m complaining, but I was surprised enough when you agreed to share the bed with me. But this?” She flexed her arms around him, squeezing him tighter. “And the kisses? Aren’t you even slightly put off by the fact that I’m, uh - technically dead?”

“Darling,” he admonished. “Firstly, you aren’t ‘technically dead’ - you are undead. Secondly, a disciple of higher learning quickly discovers that the most important virtue one can possess when they wish to delve into the mysteries of the world is keeping an open mind. It is - and will be - an adjustment, I grant you, but one doesn’t spend as many years preparing for lichdom as I did without having to periodically revisit their definition of ‘strange’.” 

The corners of her mouth lifted for the first time in a wan, somewhat misty smile. 

He had worked so hard for lichdom only to turn it down forever at the last moment when Manfred’s life hung in the balance - literally on the table. She had never wanted lichdom for him in the first place, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate the staggering amount of study and work that had gone into his preparations for it. Once considered, it made perfect sense that the prospect of stripping nude and embracing his undead fianceé in bed was not a daunting one to a man as wonderfully bizarre as Emmrich Volkarin.

“I’m lucky then, that I’m your sort of ‘strange’.” 

“You always have been.” He smiled down at her, stroking her hair gently, every touch delivered with the singular, deliberate aim of calming and comforting: it was working. “I do think we should still see Myrna and Vorgoth come morning. I have reason to suspect this… transformation had something to do with the creature we encountered today.”

She opened her mouth to remind him that in case he’d already forgotten, she was undead, and therefore bringing her around other Watchers was likely a poor decision, but he continued speaking.

“We needn’t tell them of your condition, don’t worry. But it’s our duty to alert them to the existence of such a being. Though I’ve never heard of anything comparable to it existing before today, we cannot rule out the possibility that there are more of them in the deepest reaches of the Necropolis, and we know firsthand how dangerous they can be - particularly if my suspicions are correct and it has infected you with some sort of contagion or other vile thing: there could be an epidemic if more appear and care is not taken.” 

Amina rolled her face into the pillow, hiding it as she groaned. “Fine.” She agreed begrudgingly. “But we don’t mention anything about me: I didn’t get bitten. If they ask, we overwhelmed it before it could properly attack us.” 

“I’m still not keen on your insistence that we hide this from our superiors, but I’ll go along with it for the time being.” 

“Thank you.”

“How are you feeling, dearest?”

Humming quietly, she lost herself in the placating rhythm of his hand stroking her hair over her back. “I’m not sure,” she admitted.

“Well we’ve clearly established that your heart is not beating, therefore blood is not circulating through your veins and arteries, robbing you of the ability to regulate your body temperature. We’ll keep that in mind in the morning when selecting your clothing in the morning. And with your permission of course I would like to examine you properly tomorrow. Are you experiencing any other notable symptoms?”

“Remember when I alluded to the fact that I’d prefer to avoid a fate where I become the subject of a necromancer’s crowning dissertation?” 

“Seeing as my dissertation was completed roughly around the time you were learning to walk, you have little to fear from me in that regard, my dear.” 

He was trying to help. Trying to learn whatever he could that would set him on the right path to cracking this. Guilt and shame filled her at her own obtuseness: who better to solve a puzzle like this than Emmrich? He literally lived for this sort of bizarre mystery.

“I’m ravenous,” she admitted. “I don’t understand why - I only missed dinner. But it’s not just typical I-haven’t-eaten-in-a-few-hours-I-could-do-with-a-snack hunger: it’s that deep, hollow sort that nags at your brain and hurts your stomach.”

Emmrich looked hurt at her words. “Why didn’t you say so, darling? Let me fetch you something–” he made to get out of bed but Amina hauled him back over the sheets with ease, trapping his lithe form against her. 

“No - please stay. I’ll be fine to wait until breakfast, and I just want to lay here with you. I’m more tired than hungry anyway.” 

“Very well, but if you change your mind in the night, you mustn’t hesitate to wake me, darling: I think the fact that you have an appetite at all is a very good sign indicating that at least some of your mortal physiology has remained intact and maintains function.” He shuffled slightly, the luxurious sheets slipping over his legs as he wrapped them around hers. “What else?”

“I feel… overstimulated. My hearing is all keyed up and everything sounds so much louder than it usually does: I can hear your heart beating from here as clearly as if my ear was pressed against your chest.”  

“Fascinating…”

“Please tell me you're not going to refer to every aspect of my suffering as ‘fascinating’ for the duration of this nightmare.”

“Sorry dear.” His voice was sheepish and he pressed a kiss to the side of her neck.

“Aside from that, I’m utterly exhausted - everything hurts, and I feel as though I haven’t slept in days.”

“Then let’s rest for the night, darling. Close your eyes and hold tight to me - I promise I won’t leave your side.” 

He waved a hand and the flames of the fire receded but did not go out completely, casting the room in an insubstantial but warm glow. She thought she heard him gasp at something, but he evidently didn’t feel the need to elaborate, instead adjusting himself so he was curled around her, his head resting atop her silent heart. 

Doing as she was told, Amina closed her eyes and carded her fingers through Emmrich’s soft hair. Silence - or as close to it as was possible - filled the dim room and Amina wondered if Emmrich’s own exhaustion had at last won out. 

“Darling?” 

His voice was tentative and vulnerable - drained by the immense emotional weight of the evening. 

“Yes, love?”

“I know that you’re frightened and upset by this unexpected complication, but…” His voice was a whisper so soft and low that she doubted she would hear it under normal circumstances. “When I saw you at the bottom of the bath under all of that water… still and silent and clearly gone… I–” his voice hitched and he took a moment before going on. “I’ve never felt more helpless in my entire life, and even though it’s not ideal, I find myself utterly relieved that you’re here in my arms right now… in our bed. In our home. I can’t help but feel selfish because of it, and yet…” His tears carved hot tracks over the curve of her breasts as he spoke into the dark. “I’m so glad that you came back, Amina - so glad that tonight was not the end…” 

A soft sob slipped from him, and he sniffled, pressing his nose against her chest, fingertips digging into her skin as if she might be torn from him at any moment. 

Shushing him gently, she continued to soothingly work her fingernails over his scalp. “I understand, Emmrich. Finding me like that must have been awful.” She winced at the desperate and audible groan of hunger from her belly - what awkward timing. “Just try to rest now, all right? We can talk more in the morning. I promise I won’t leave your side either. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Emmrich let out a trembling sigh and removed his hand from her for long enough to wipe the tears from his face before replacing it. “Right you are, dearest.” He concurred, his voice still uneven. “We have much to do, come the dawn.” 

“I love you, Emmrich… thank you for loving me.”

“I love you too, darling – I suspect there is nothing in the world that could make me cease loving you.” 

She smiled again at that, then let her head sink into the pillow, drifting off to the sound of the steady beat of Emmrich’s strong, healthy heart filling her ears, lulling her into a sort of trance before her mind went dark and still, and thoughts were no more. 

[bunnis-monsters]

We hit 500 views! As promised, I’ll be uploading the 2k megalodon post today!

Fern x Reader fic will come out tomorrow

Werewolf fic will come out Wednesday/Thursday

Bee hybrid fic will come out within the next 2-4 weeks(have to finish writing it, and kofi members get to see it first, but y’all will see it sooner than planned. Originally y’all wouldn’t have seen it until late March or early April)

Get us to 500 subscribers before Friday and you’ll get even more treats! I have a yandere!Angel corruption smut fic in my drafts that I’ll post as soon as Faith gets 500 subscribers!

500 subscriber goal rewards

1. Yandere!Angel x Reader smut(as soon as we hit 500)

2. Yandere!Elf Prince x Princess!Reader smut (the day after)

3. Yandere!Vampire x Reader smut (2nd day)

4. Monster Brother Part 1 (1-2 weeks after kofi members see it)

5. Hybrid shelter part 1(1-2 weeks after kofi members see it)

My friend doesn’t understand the power in the monster fucker community. She’s a Minecraft YouTuber and invited me to film a series with her.

If y'all get this Minecraft video to 500 views and within a week I'll post

1. A 10k word dragon prince x reader fic in February

2. 2k megalodon hybrid fic once it reaches 500 views

3. Werewolf going into rut for the first time after taking heat suppressants all his life 2k word fic

4. Fern x Reader part 3

5. Bee hybrid smut fic, 5k words

If y’all can get her to 500 subscribers as well, I’ll post even more.

Hurry up guys, the clock is ticking!!

[cherrysolo]

madi’s masterlist ♡˚₊‧⁺ ₊ ⊹

♡ = smut

☆= fluff/angst

☆ﾟ lu with a ballerina! gf

☆ lu with a clingy! gf

☆ you belong with me

☆ lu with a gf that journals

☆ sick lu and reader takes care of him

☆ lu and reader have an academic argument

☆ lover

☆ lu with a similar gf in college!

part 2

☆ luigi with swiftie! gf headcanons

☆ sweet! bf lu leaving reader and she finally sees him again in court

☆ call it what you want

☆ lu with a left brained partner

☆ all too well

☆ pissed! lu

☆ lu with a humanities major gf

♡ snow on the beach

♡ virgin! reader and virgin! lu

i will update periodically as i post more fics! i hope you all enjoy <3 keep sending requests

[scrollonso]

Cinnamon — Strollonso (7) (prev)

Fernando: I'm at the front.

Lance checked his phone when a text from his boyfriend — that's what they were, right? — lit up the screen, smiling to himself as he threw down the pen in his hands to reply.

Lance: I’m almost done. I’ll be out soon. 💚💚💚

Shoving his phone into his pocket, Lance continued to close up the Aston Martin building. He was doing it later than his father usually did today — at 7:00 pm rather than the usual 5:00 pm as his father had to attend business elsewhere.

Organizing files, putting things away, and then shutting off the lights, Lance locked the building up for the day before walking outside, slipping his phone out so he could text his boyfriend again.

It came naturally, running a business like this. He was practically a trained dog for it.

Before he could click on their chat, a pair of voices were heard and Lance looked up, seeing his boyfriend and a man who was standing far too close for his liking engaged in a conversation.

It was only when the man took a step forward, placing his hand on his boyfriend’s arm did Lance's lips purse, tucking his phone away.

There wasn’t a specific feeling Lance could identify in that moment, but a tight pressure built in his chest. His fists clenched, and thats when he understood— jealousy. He's so embarrassingly jealous over practically nothing.

There was absolutely no reason for him to feel this way — he trusted Fernando. He knew him. Still, the idea that someone was touching his boyfriend — someone other than him —was fuelling a kind of anger he rarely experienced.

Lance began to surge forward, needing to put an end to it when Fernando's following actions had his heart feeling light. He watched dutifully as his boyfriend tilted his head, staring at the guy’s hand on his arm intensely for a second before taking an obvious step back. A small breath of air left Lance's lips, loosening the ache in his throat.

The guy’s hand fell away, and his smile dimmed momentarily. Watching Fernando's stance, Lance could tell he was starting to get uncomfortable. Fernando's eyes flickered back to the main entrance of the building where he expected Lance to walk through, and he nodded his head, talking less and less to the stranger before him.

Lance took this opportunity to make his way over, a smile on his face. As he got closer, he could hear their conversation more clearly — realizing the guy was talking about something Lance was familiar with, having an entire shop dedicated to cars.

“So, I was just wondering if you could help me pick the next car for my collection? Maybe we could grab a bite now if you’re free! I know this great dinner place a five-minute walk from here,” the guy suggested.

Before Fernando could talk, Lance spoke up instead.

“Hi, Fer.” Lance stood beside him, his smile widening as he looked up at him, his arm wrapping around Fernando's waist. Enjoying how the older man instantly relaxed into the hold, and warmth filled Lance.

Fernando's hand went straight to Lance's back, his fingers twisting around a the fabric of his formal jacket.

Lance turned his head back to the guy before them, whose eyes flicked between the two of them before returning to Fernando's face, completely ignoring Lance.

“So, are you free? I’m confused about—” the guy continued.

“I own Aston Martin,” Lance interrupted. He might as well get business out of this unpleasant situation. “I can assess your interests and find a vehicle that—“

“I wasn’t asking you. I was asking him.”

“Excuse me?” Lance scoffed, incredulous. No way he was being spoken to like that. Not after this stranger was shamelessly flirting with his man.

The guy’s tone made Fernando straighten up. “I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to help you,” Fernando said simply, his voice flat.

The guy’s demeanor changed instantly, shock infiltrating his features. His soft smile was replaced with disgust. Aimed at Lance. Lance shifted on his feet, his fists clenching again as he tried to take a step forward so he could sock this cunt right in the face.

The only thing stopping him was Fernando's grip on his waist, unrelenting, forcing him to stay still.

“Listen here—“ Lance began, and was cut off.

“What? Why?” the guy asked, confused, still ignoring Lance as he only directed his attention to his boyfriend.

“Apologize.” “Apologize?”

“Yes.” Fernando repeats in a condescending tone. “Apologize to my boyfriend.”

When the stranger stays silent, his mouth agape, Fernando sighs as if he’s bored and turns to look down at an equally shocked Lance. “Are you finished?”

“Mhm,” Lance hums quietly, and his boyfriend nods, moving his hand from his waist and slipping it into Lance's hand instead. He firmly grips it, dragging them both towards his car.

“Hey!” Lance exclaims, looking over his shoulder at the stranger. “I haven’t hit him yet!”

“It’s time to go home, Lancito.” Fernando said monotonously. “Come on,” Fernando dragged his boyfriend to the passenger side, opening the door before setting his hands on Lance's waist.

Before he could protest, Lance was easily lifted into the air and set in the seat, and Fernando reached across his body to buckle him in.

“I’m mad at you.” Lance said once the click of the seatbelt had been secured. Fernando sighed, resting an arm at the top of the car as he peered inside towards his boyfriend.

“Why?”

“You let that ugly creature touch you.”

“I moved away.”

“Still,” Lance huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and looked away. “You should’ve done more.”

“Like what?”

“Kill him.”

That had Fernando cracking a small smile, and he raised his free hand to cup Lance's jaw, gently turning his face so they were staring at each other again.

Lance stared into his boyfriend’s eyes intensely, trying to keep the frown on his face. He wasn’t mad, not really. Just a bit annoyed. Not at his boyfriend but at the dumb fuck who—

His thoughts were cut off when Fernando leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss against his lips. Brain short circuiting, Lance's eyes closed instantly and he was arching into the delicate touch, wanting to deepen it.

Fernando entertained him for a few seconds before pulling away, staring at him again.

“Happy?”

“No,” Lance scowled. “Fuck me and I will be.”

“We’re in front of your dad's company.”

“Sexy. Now take your pants off.”

Fernando pulled away fully, laughing to himself as he slammed the passenger door shut in his boyfriend’s face. With a slacked jaw, Lance watched as his Fernando rounded the car before getting into the driver’s seat and hopping in.

“You’re mean,” he told Fernando once he had settled in.

Fernando shrugged, starting the car. “You like it.” As much as Lance wanted to deny it, he couldn’t. He lived for Fernando's mock rudeness — loved it, in fact.

Lance squirmed in his seat as Fernando began to drive them back to Lance's house. The thought of being home and alone with Fernando's had Lance even more restless, fisting his hands on his thighs to try and subside the burning pleasure inside his body.

It didn’t help when Fernando reached across the console to set his big hand on Lance's thigh, holding him down firmly halting any movements.

His hand was so uncharacteristically large that it could easily circle majority of the surface of Lance's thigh, and that very idea of Fernando being much bigger and stronger than him — in every way besides height — only made his breath catch in his throat.

Instead of saying something, Fernando teased Lance by rubbing small circles on the inside of his thigh using his pinkie. Looking over at his boyfriend, he could see the almost lazy way Fernando was presenting himself. His free hand — the one not currently torturing Lance — was set easily on the steering wheel. He looked so composed, so bored, and it only served to make the situation more enthralling.

“Fer,” Lance whined softly, unable to take anymore. If the growing tent in his jeans served to prove anything, he didn’t know what could.

“What is it, Lance?” Fernando asked, feigning confusion. “Did you forget something at the shop?”

“No , you fucking—“

Lance's words cut short when Fernando pressed his hand against the younger boy's boner and a desperate pant left his mouth as he shut his eyes.

Trying to cope, Lance held his breath until they finally reached his house. Clicking off his seatbelt, Lance made quick work of turning to Fernando and yanking his shirt close, sealing their lips together in a burning kiss. Moaning in his mouth, Lance started to climb into his boyfriend’s lap when Fernando stopped him with a push to his chest.

Whining, Lance pulled away and stared desperately into his eyes.

“I still have some papers left to grade,” Fernando murmured, and that had Lance heating up even more.

“But—“

“Will you be a good boy and wait for me? It won’t take that long.” Lance sighed, nodding his head and let Fernando go — watching him pull out his own school bag as he did so. Before he could get far, though, Fernando pressed a soft kiss against his mouth as a thank you before they both exited the car.

“Will you be fast?” Lance sadly asks.

Fernando nods, and they enter the house. Slipping off their shoes, Lance grabs Fernando before he can fully retreat into one of the spare rooms he'd been using for wodk.

“Give me a goodbye kiss.” He demands.

“I just kissed you in the car, Lance.”

Lance frowns. “Yes, but that wasn’t to say goodbye.”

Instead of arguing, Fernando leans down and gives Lance what he wants knowing if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be left alone long enough before his boyfriend is whining at his office door wanting to come in and makeout some more. After a quick kiss Fernando practically runs to his makeshift office, leaving a pouting Lance behind as he shouts after him.

“Hey! That wasn’t a proper kiss you cheater!”

A couple hours had passed by and Lance decided it was time to check out what his boyfriend was doing.

Innocently, of course. He had even ordered takeout and just wanted Fernando to eat. Nothing more, truly.

Pushing open the door to his office, Lance sees Fernando slouched on a comfy chair with his — practically useless — glasses pushed to the top of his head, pushing back his hair in a way that does something to Lance's stomach.

As Lance walks towards him, food in hand, he takes his time observing his boyfriend.

Fernando is leaning forward on the desk, his left hand cupping his head while his right plays with a black pen. Lance can see how focused he is on marking what he assumes is another assignment Lance didn't do, the small furrow in his brows lighting a smile on his face wondering what made him confused to the point where he's unsure on how to assess it. Fernando shifts his glasses back in place, most likely trying to work again.

"I seem to be lost, professor." Lance says out loud once he’s close enough, and Fernando is finally aware of his presence with a startle, looking up before a small smile crosses his features.

He easily puts away his pen, gathering up the papers on the desk and shuffling them into a neat pile. The entire action is so studious it makes Lance want to fuck him in that chair.

"What brings you here, Mr. Stroll" Fernando asks formally, playing along, and Lance rounds the desk just as he leans back in his chair, swivelling it in his direction as he approaches him. His legs spread just slightly, and Lance feels that action deep inside of him.

"Oh, y'know." Lance says airily, a shrug to his shoulders. "I was just around."

"Around?"

"Getting dinner," He clarifies, shaking the takeout bag in his hand softly to show him. "And I thought of you."

"Thinking about me after class?"

Lance sets the food on the desk before crawling in his lap, his knees on either side of Fernando's thighs as his arms wrap around his neck. His boyfriend’s own hands settle on his waist, stroking up and down in a caress.

Lance had changed into embarrassingly short shorts and a tight tiffany green shirt, his exposed skin being touched so delicately it made him shiver.

"You are my favourite professor." Lance whispers against his lips, brushing his own over and over again in a caress not yet making full contact.

"You're a tease." Fernando says, tilting his head up trying to connect their lips.

Since Lance was on top, he realized the small amount of power he held over his boyfriend. Though, it quickly dissolved when Fernando's right hand leaves his waist and pushed up his glasses so they sit on the top of his head, cupping the back of Lance's neck in a firm hold and pushing his face down so it can finally meet his.

Fernando moans into his mouth, most likely tasting the small dessert his boyfriend had eaten earlier and Lance shifts closer, fully settling into his lap. Fernando's left hand travels down to Lance's thigh, fingertips pushing up the fabric just enough to mess with him.

It's only when they pull away — Lance's hands cupping Fernando's face does he talk again.

"You missed me." Fernando says simply.

"I brought you dinner."

"You wore these short little shorts, and interrupted me just to bring me dinner?”

"You're my professor." Lance deflects, not so subtly making him let out a soft laugh.

"Ah, you wanna continue playing." Fernando nods, understanding what his boyfriend wants. They occasionally role played — though majority of the time it involved Lance begging his boyfriend to do something dangerous, the fear eliciting pleasure. Never before had it been just a version of their reality in a different font.

Fernando gives his boyfriend’s neck a small squeeze before settling both hands on his thighs again. Lance moves back just slightly so he can look down, seeing the contrast in their size. His hands are so large that they fill the expanse of his thighs, even squished together making him shiver.

"So you came here to... what? Bring me dinner and leave?"

"I dunno." Lance shrugs innocently. "Maybe get a grade or two."

"And you think dinner is enough for a grade or two?"

"What else could you want?"

Fernando takes his time checking him out, fingers tracing the column of his neck before slipping into the top of the shirt and pulling at it enough to separate the fabric from my chest.

"You shouldn't be doing that," Lance whispers. "You're my professor."

"You're the one who came here looking for a free grade. Shouldn't I get something in return?"

"I brought you food." Lance's hands fall to his shoulders, fingers curling in the fabric as he continues his feather like touch where he wants him the most.

"I would like to eat something," He nods, and a smirk lights his features when he reaches down under Lance's thin shorts and palms him fully, his fingers most likely feeling the damp underwear.

"My, Lance." He taunts. "Are you wet for your teacher? Does the way I lecture you turn you on?"

"You're not being fair."

"Aren't I? You decided to come meet me during the night, wearing these short fucking shorts and this cute little innocent expression hoping I'd eat your fucking dinner and grade you an A. I don't think you're being fair."

His fingers hook into Lance's underwear, yanking the fabric to the side so he can access his dick. As soon as Lance feels him give him a quick, rough stroke, his eyes growing hazy as he slumps forward.

He can see the way Fernando is smiling at him, watching his every emotion with exert attention and it heightens every feeling.

"Fernando," he whispers.

"So now we're on first name basis?"

"Put your fingers inside of me."

"I bet you'd like to be fucked in this room. The very idea of someone walking in on you acting so desperate turns you on, doesn't it?"

"You're being mean."

He laughs in his face at that, his smile widening as he continues his teasing down below. He's playing with his wetness, spreading it around, swirling his fingers yet not giving him enough to become satisfied. Fernando is busy gathering his boyfriend’s pre-cum on the tips of his fingers to care how Lance feels.

"You're supposed to be nice to me," Lance whimpers. "I brought you dinner. I was nice to you."

"You want me to fuck you," He states simply. "Don't try and twist shit around."

"But—" Lance is cut off when Fernando slips two fingers inside of him, knuckles deep, knocking the air out of his lungs. He instantly slumps against him, unable to keep himself up feeling the shallow fucking of his fingers inside of him.

Fernando's laughing again, the sound close to his ears as he shivers against him and shuts his eyes.

"Aw, look at how sensitive you are," Fernando murmurs softly against his boyfriend’s ear, lips brushing against the shell. "You're practically drooling all over me."

Lance can't respond, too deep into the pleasure as he curls his fingers with every thrust, hitting a spot inside of him that has Lance pushing his hips against him for more.

Fernando's other hand wraps around his back, anchoring Lance to him as his fingers play with his hair, pulling it away from his face so he can watch his boyfriend intently.

He's murmuring pretty words to Lance that are drowned out by the noise of his fucking.

Look how pretty you are.

You practically jumped in my lap at the idea of getting fucked.

I wonder what grade you'll earn if I fuck your hole.

Only when he slips his fingers out, bringing them up to Lance's face does he open his eyes and blink away the haze.

Fernando is opening and closing the two fingers that were inside of his boyfriend, watching the wetness string together in fascination.

Something about the way he’s so wet turns Fernando on, and he's always taking time to play with it, feel it, look at it and show Lance in attempts to embarrass him. It seems to work when his face flushes red, and he try to scramble off Fernando's lap.

But Fernando doesn't let me get far, instead twisting him around and pulling him back against his chest so he’s sat facing away from him.

He forcefully pulls his legs open so they lay over his thighs, his other hand cupping Lance's jaw controlling where he looks as he lowers his lips to his ear again and shoves his fingers in his face so he can see them once more.

"You see how wet you are, baby?"

Lance can only nod, swallowing roughly.

"I want to spread you on this desk and eat you."

A mewl sounds Lance's throat and he’s squirming in his lap, wanting to close his legs desperately as he clutched the ends of his shirt.

"But you'll be mean to me." Lance whines.

"But you like that," Fernando says feigning innocence. "You like how mean I am, the words I call you. You like the way I toss you around and fuck you the way I want."

"You're going to fuck me? He— here?" Lance look around, imagining a lecture hall with all the empty chairs and the amount of people who could fill them if they were there. That thought has him closing his legs for an entirely different reason — would Fernando continue if someone happened to walk in?

Instead of answering, Fernando decides to shove his right hand back under his pants, pushing it off of Lance, fully leaving him in his underwear.

His left hand works on his top, rifling up the material so he has better access to his chest. Lance is shaking in his hold at the feeling of fingers entering him again as Fernando plays with his nipples, twisting and panting in his boyfriend’s hold while his hips betray him and seek more.

Lance clutches desperately onto Fernando's wrist when he starts finger fucking him faster, the action too much to bare and Fernando pinches his nipple in retaliation.

Even if Lance wants to close his legs, Fernando starts to fuck him faster until he’s nothing but a broken mess slumped against him, his small pants turning into the smallest of cries.

The sound Lance is making down there has him flushed red — precum dripping down to coat his holes giving the allusion that he really is wet. Wet like a girl. Fernando continues on with his taunting as he presses a kiss to the side of his head over and over again.

"Ah— Fer... Fernando I'm—"

Fernando shifts his fingers just slightly, hitting somewhere deep inside of his boyfriend that causes the pressure in his stomach to build intensely on a new level.

"Please... please..."

"I hope someone does walk in just so they can see how desperate you are. Do you think they'll stay to watch the show? Or maybe they'll take out their phone to record you cumming all over my lap and replay it in the privacy of their own home."

"But I'm yours," Lance whimpers uselessly.

"Aw, you are mine, baby. You think I'd share your pussy with anyone else?"

His words untangle the last knot inside of him and Lance cries out his orgasm, shivering and shaking and plastering himself to Fernando's lap as he rides it out.

He’s left jolting every now and then, his hands still holding onto Fernando's wrist as he gently eases out of him to go back on his dick, gathering the new cum that spilled out of his tip so he can showcase his cum again.

It's stringing to his fingers, to his dick, creating a gigantic mess and Lance purses his lips together in a tight line, not wanting to make a sound as he shifts in his lap so he’s sideways.

Fernando brings those fingers to his mouth, sucking his boyfriend’s cum off of him and he wants to cry. Instead, Lance presses his face against his chest, curling his hands into his sweater inhaling him in.

"You let that man touch you," Lance tells him. "I wanna burn this sweater."

"I'm sorry, baby. I'll make it up to you."

"How?"

Fernandi grab a fistful of Lance's hair, twisting his head up enough so that he can lower his head and kiss him. He’s eating at his mouth, slanting his face to deepen it as his teeth nip and suck and taste him.

His boyfriend looks disheveled and soft, all sweetness and trust as he leans into him as if Fernando is his anchor. Lance's moaning into his mouth, curling against him tighter and he shifts his hands to adjust his boyfriend in his lap so he remains secure.

It feels like minutes upon minutes until they’re forced to break for air, and then Fernando is standing up with Lance in his arms and pushing the takeout bag he brought him to the side, settling him on the edge of the desk.

It seems like the coolness of the wood affects Lance since he shivers again, letting out a small breath of air. Fernando pushes apart his legs, standing in between them, and places his hands on his thighs rubbing up and down in soothing motions, hiking up the fabric of his shirt with every stroke.

Lowering his head so they’re eye level, Fernandk whispers , "Would you still like me to fuck you, Lance?"

His eyes darken, lids lowering as his lower lip curves into an adorable pout.

"In here?"

"Mhm..."

He takes his answer as a sign to hook his fingers in his boyfriend’s belt loops, pulling Fernando impossibly closer to the space between his legs before hurrying to unzip his jeans. Lance only stops when Fernando covers his hands with his own, sending Lance a sweet smile which halts his movements entirely.

"Slow down, baby." Fernandk says kindly and — like a good boy — he does, doing as he says.

Finally, when his jeans are unbuttoned and unzipped, Lance slides back on the desk and spreads his legs further, tilting his hips in his direction.

Fernando easily takes the lead, pushing down his jeans and boxers enough to pull out his dick and bring it near the boy before him.

Fernando watches in shuddering movements as Lance reaches down between his spread legs, grasping the damp fabric between his fingers and pulling it down his legs so his boyfriend can have easy access to where he wants him the most.

The action is the hottest thing Fernando had seen him do, that combined with yanking up his shirt to his waist has Fernando holding back a groan.

With a step forward, Fernando pressed the tip of his dick to his entrance, his other hand holding down his shaky thigh keeping Lance plastered to the desk.

He easily reached behind his boyfriend, grabbing a bottle of lube and pouring it on his dick.

Fernando takes this moment to watch his boyfriend watch him, his eyes directed to the space between them, his lower lip rolled into his mouth as a means to hold off his pretty sounds, his eyes widening just enough so that Lance can see how fucking precious he is.

After what feels like centuries does Fernando move again, moving his hips slowly and pushing into him, pausing so Lance can adjust to his size. Lance lets out the cutest noise — a muffled cry as his head falls forward to press against his boyfriend’s chest breathing heavily.

"You alright, mi sol? You okay?" Fernando breathes out, stroking his thigh in kind movements.

Lance gives him a jerky nod, urging Fernando to continue with a tilt to his hips. Fernandk nods back, pressing a kiss to the top of his head before giving Lance another inch.

The process continues until he’s fully inside of Lance, hips flushed together and the only thing that separates them is the minimal amount of air.

Lance's forehead is still pressed against his boyfriend’s chest, his hands still curled into his sweater while Fernando's are resting on his hips, holding him close.

"Talk to me, Lance. Tell me how you feel." Fernando urges, pressing kiss after kiss to his hair. Lance is  breathing heavily, his body jerking and every minuscule movement from him has Fernando holding back a moan.

Slowly, in lethargic form, does he lift his head and look up at his boyfriend, his face tired and skin damp.

"Can you record me?"

Fernando pauses, looking down at his lover not sure if I heard him correctly.

"What?"

His fingers curl tighter into his sweater, a flush growing on Lance's pretty face. "Will you record you fucking me? Just so I can... just so I have something."

Fernando removes his hands from his legs, cupping his face in his hands to make sure he didn't accidentally fuck something loose in his head.

"You want me to record you getting fucked?"

Lance nods, looking painfully shy and Fernando's heart expands at the desolate look in his eyes — as if he’s scared that Fernando will judge him.

"Grab me your phone, baby."

"You won't record with yours?"

Fernandk shakes his head, stroking Lance's hair and pressing a kiss to his lips.

"I care for you so much, Lancito. So much. And I know you trust me, of course I trust you, too. But this is something private. And if you want your body recorded, it'll always be on your phone so you know where it is and you have it safe. Do you understand?"

Lance smiles. "I understand, Nando." And then he’s reaching for his pocket, slipping his phone out and handing it to him in shaky movements.

Fernando takes it from Lance easily, looking at him once again just to confirm that this is what he wants and he nods making Fernando type in his passcode and press the camera app.

Lance lays back down on the desk, shivering with need when Fernando let out a small groan at his movements and press record, positioning the phone so that his entire body is focused.

Lance's shy at first, bringing up his arm to cover his face which is fine with Fernando since this is going at his boyfriend’s pace.

When he feels secure with everything, Fernando lets out a breath of air before grasping onto Lance's waist with his free hand and sliding him all the way to the edge of the desk so he has a better hold on him.

"I'm going to move, sweetie." Fernando murmurs in warning, and when Lance nods he starts to thrust inside him. In and out and in and out until he’s crying out again.

Lance's back arches, lifting off the wood thrusting his chest near his boyfriend and Fernando slides his hand up, yanking up the top of his shirt so he can access them.

Fernando immediately cups them in his hands, squeezing roughly, strumming his thumb up and down his nipple before giving it a sharp pinch.

Lance squeals, bringing his knees up making Fernando take his hand away for a second to send a sharp slap to the inside of his thigh.

"Put your legs down." Fernando says roughly, trying to hold back his orgasm as best as he can. Lance complies immediately, sending his boyfriend a pout making Fernando grip his face in his hand, squishing his cheeks together while he continues to thrust.

"You're a fucking brat." Fernando hisses at him, and instead of apologizing Lance smiles, making Fernando lean down and kiss him roughly.

His hand slides to his neck, fingers curling around Lance's throat not squeezing but letting him know that he would be taking the lead.

It's hard to record him and kiss him at the same time but Fernando makes it work, and when he’s done he pulls away to a dazed Lance holding onto his sweater trying to yank him back.

Instead, Fernando continues to create distance between them, slowing down his movements and fucking him nice and deep, jolting his body with every thrust.

Lance gasps every time, mouth parting, eyes glazing, and his fingers start to grow lax on his body.

"Fer," Lance's moaning again, begging his boyfriend to speed up. Fernando can tell he’s close to the edge, close to reaching another climax which is why he wants to draw it out as punishment.

"What is it, baby?" Fernando taunts. “Am I not fucking you the way you want?" Lance shakes his head, going to say something when he gets cut off. " Too fucking bad."

That earns Fernando a charming little tantrum as Lance yanks at his sweater, squeezes his legs around his boyfriend to pull him closer, arches his back to shove him in deeper.

Fernando scowls down at Lance knowing what he’s doing, but it soon turns into a smile as an idea forms in hid head. Clasping under his knee, Fernando spreads his leg enough so he can bury himself further into him and fuck him like that.

Lance's whining and whimpering, squirming and clawing at Fernando's chest when his boyfriend forces his eyes to open, hanging his head and letting out soft moans as he lets himself reach an orgasm.

Lance's cries echo across the room, no doubt reaching every crevice of the house and Fernando lets out a curse.

"Fuck— fuck, Lance... you're such a fucking brat. Look at how pathetic you are dripping all over my cock... Fuck , baby you're so sweet."

Fernando's cum spills into him, and with his hips tilted Fernando was able to fuck it deep into Lance's hole. The idea to plug it closed filled with his cum enters his mind, and he has to grit his teeth before he does something about it.

Fernando lets himself ride it out, slowing down his thrusts before setting his phone down so it's leaning against the takeout bag, pointing in his direction.

With a groan, Fernando pulls out of him and heaves out a breath, and Lance sits up and looks at his boyfriend incredulously when Fernando sits back down on the chair and leans his head back to catch his breath.

"But... but I didn't—"

"Since you decided to be in charge, sit on my fucking dick and make yourself come."

Lance's mouth gapes open as he looks down at the spot between his legs, one that is currently dripping full of his cum and he notices from my peripheral vision that Fernando is smirking to himself.

With a glare his way, Lance does just that, slipping off the desk and crawling into his lap once more. Pressing his forehead against Fernando's shoulder, he looks between his legs and grasps his boyfriend’s dick in his hands, stroking it a few times on purpose making him hiss at the sensitivity before aligning it with his entrance and sinking down.

Lance's face turns to press into his neck, small pants leaving his mouth again as both of his hands grasp Fernando's shoulders for stability.

Fernando is doing nothing to help him, his hands laying on the armrests as Lance grinds in circles on his dick. All in hopes of cumming one last time.

His eyes squeeze shut, his cries muffled, and Lance turns his head so his mouth is at Fernando's jaw, biting his chin in retaliation for doing this to him as he takes one hand off his shoulder and shove it between them, grasping his dick.

Instead of getting angry, Fernando laughs at his boyfriend’s visible frustration, and he starts murmuring things that make Lance want to cry.

"You need to cum that badly? God, you're pathetic."

"I want to hit you very very badly," Lance tells him in a whine, for the first time wishing he'd shut up.

Fernando flickers his eyes from Lance's face to his body, noticing the pathetic fucking he’s currently doing and smiles to himself.

"Do you need my help, Lancito?"

"I need you to stop talking."

"Aw, I thought you needed me. Was that a lie?"

Lance lets out a noise deep in his throat akin to a growl, and clasps a hand over Fernando's mouth so he stops. When he doesn't fight Lance on staying silent, he finally allows himself to take it slow and fuck himself thoroughly on his cock, stroking his dick at a pressure he likes and pressing his face back against his neck.

Breathing him in, Lance starts to moan when his orgasm starts building up again, feeling himself grow slack and exhausted and Fernando lets out a sigh, feigning annoyance before he can feel his hands grab Lance's waist and finally help him fuck himself on him.

Lance keeps his face hidden, his hands going under Fernando's sweater and clawing at his skin to punish him further. Fernando then tilts his hips and slams him down roughly in retaliation.

Lance cries out, Fernando's hand knocking his own away as he gives his boyfriend a rough stroke and finally, finally is Lance able cum all over him.

"There you go, baby." Fernando says in a soft, sweet voice. "You look so pretty, Lance."

Lance feels exhausted, staying slumped on him trying to breathe properly again as Fernando rubs his back, kisses the top of his boyfriend’s head over and over again, strokes his hair and whispers the sweetest words to him.

Fernando hugs him to his chest, keeps him secured there until Lance is able to sit up, wincing at the friction with Fernando still inside of him.

"I'm going to pull out, alright, baby? Just give me a second."

Fernando easily lifts his boyfriend off of him, setting Lance down on his thighs seeing the mess of cum all over him. He easily reaches for the tissue box on the desk, cleaning himself thoroughly and tucking himself away before grabbing another and doing the same for Lance.

After helping Lance back into his clothes, Fernando cups his face in his hands and presses a slow, soft kiss to his lips.

"Are you alright, Lance? Talk to me. Tell me how you feel."

"I feel good, Nando. Don't worry."

He kisses Lance again, this time a bit more firmly before pulling away and murmuring, "I already told you before. I like worrying about you." Lance smiles tiredly at him, hugging him — needing the comfort of his arms.

Lance can hear Fernando fumble with his phone before a sound chimes signalling the end of the recording. Setting his phone back down, Fernando rubs his back again.

"Let's eat in a bit, alright?” Lance can only nod slowly, movements lethargic.

"Will you still kill him, Nano?"

Fernando laughs. “I’ll think about it.”

A few hours later the silence between them was bromen when Fernando shut his laptop with a click, standing from the chair in his makeshift office. He glanced over at Lance, who sat curled up on the couch, looking smaller than usual in the oversized hoodie he changed into — complaining about feeling icky in his other clothes. His eyes were half-lidded with exhaustion, but he smiled faintly when Fernando held out a hand.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Fernando murmured. “Let’s go eat.”

Lance took his hand without hesitation, letting Fernando pull him to his feet. He leaned against him as they walked through the quiet apartment, their footsteps soft on the hardwood floor.

The house smelled faintly of coffee and books — the scent of late nights and quiet moments, a sanctuary that had become their secret world. Fernando grabbed the takeout bags from the kitchen counter, balancing them with one hand as he kept his other arm securely around Lance.

“Back to your room?” Fernando asked gently.

Lance nodded, his cheek resting briefly against Fernando’s shoulder. “Yeah.”

They made their way down the hall to Lance’s room, slipping inside and closing the door behind them. Fernando set the food on the desk, unpacking the food lance had bought earlier. They ate in comfortable silence, sitting side by side on the bed. Fernando passed Lance a water bottle, brushing his fingers over Lance’s hand as he did.

Lance leaned into him, the weight of the day slipping away with every gentle touch. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed this — the quiet, the closeness, the feeling of being cared for. “You’re too good to me,” Lance murmured, resting his head on Fernando’s shoulder.

"No, Lancito," Fernando pressed a kiss to his hair. “You deserve it.”

They sat there for a while, the room dimly lit by the bedside lamp. Eventually, Lance set his plate aside and curled into Fernando’s side, closing his eyes. “You’re falling asleep on me,” Fernando teased, running his fingers through Lance’s hair.

“Can’t help it,” Lance mumbled. “You make me comfortable.”

Fernando’s chest tightened at the words, a surge of protectiveness washing over him. He tilted Lance’s chin up, kissing him softly, lingering for a moment before pulling back.

“I should go,” Fernando whispered, his voice regretful.

Lance’s eyes fluttered open, sleepy and affectionate. “Stay.”

“I can’t, cariño. Your father might come home early.” Lance sighed but nodded. He sat up, watching as Fernando stood and grabbed his jacket.

At the door, Fernando turned back to him. “I’ll text you when I get home.”

“Okay.”

Fernando leaned down for one last kiss, lingering at the doorway. “Sweet dreams, Lancito.”

Lance smiled softly. “You too, Nano.” As the door clicked shut, Lance lay back on his bed, pulling the blanket up to his chin. The room felt a little emptier without Fernando, but his warmth lingered.

And for now, that was enough.

Lance woke to the soft hum of voices downstairs. The late morning sun streamed through his window, warming the blankets tangled around his legs. He blinked groggily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before glancing at his phone — no messages from Fernando yet, but that wasn’t what caught his attention.

It was the familiar deep laugh coming from the living room.

Lance’s heart skipped a beat. His dad was home.

Throwing the covers aside, he scrambled out of bed, barely stopping to slip on pants before dashing out of his room. His footsteps echoed in the hallway as he rushed down the stairs, the sound of his father’s voice growing clearer with each step.

When he reached the bottom, there he was — Lawrence, standing in the living room with a wide grin on his face, talking animatedly on the phone.

“Dad!” Lance’s voice was bright with excitement.

Lawrence turned, his eyes lighting up as he saw his son. “Lance!” He was quick to mute the phone, setting it aside as if the conversation meant nothing in comparison to his son.

Without hesitation, Lance ran across the room, throwing his arms around his father. The hug was tight, warm, and filled with all the unspoken things Lance hadn’t been able to say since Lawrence left on his business trip.

“I missed you,” Lance mumbled against his father’s shoulder. It was true, even though growing up made them drift apart, it was never enough to stop Lance from missing his favourite man in the world.

Lawrence chuckled, holding him close. “I missed you too, kid. How’ve you been?”

“Good,” Lance said quickly, pulling back to look at his dad. His heart ached with guilt at the lie — he hadn’t been good. He’d been sneaking around with Fernando, breaking promises, and keeping secrets. But in this moment, all he wanted was to feel like a kid again, safe in his father’s arms.

“You’ve grown,” Lawrence teased, ruffling Lance’s hair like he used to when Lance was little — like he still does despite the similarity in their height. “What are they feeding you at school?”

Lawrence beamed, the weight of the past few months lifting from his shoulders as he took in the view of his son. For the first time in a while, Lance felt a pang of guilt — he knew how much his dad loved him, how much he wanted to protect them. And yet, Lance was hiding one of the biggest parts of his life from him.

“So,” Lawrence said, his attention still fully on Lance, “what do you say we catch up over lunch? Just the two of us?”

Lance’s stomach twisted. He hadn’t expected this — hadn’t prepared for the possibility of being alone with his dad so soon after Fernando’s departure.

But he smiled, nodding quickly. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Good.” Lawrence clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Go get ready, then. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

Lance nodded again, his heart pounding as he made his way back upstairs. As he passed by his room, his phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Fernando:

Good morning, Lancito.

How did you sleep?

Lance stared at the message for a long moment before typing back a quick reply.

Lance:

Morning.

Dad’s home.

I’ll text you later.

The café they went to wasn’t far from home, a cozy little spot Lance remembered from when he was younger. His dad used to take him and Chloe there on weekends, and stepping inside now felt oddly nostalgic.

Lawrence chose a table near the window, and they sat in comfortable silence as they waited for their food. Lance sipped at his iced coffee, trying to keep his nerves in check. His father seemed relaxed, though, and that made Lance feel a little better.

“You’ve grown up a lot, you know,” Lawrence said suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice was warm, affectionate. “I’m proud of you.”

Lance looked up, surprised by the unexpected praise. “Thanks, Dad.”

Lawrence leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I know I’ve been away a lot lately. Business has been… complicated. But things are finally settling down.”

Lance nodded slowly, unsure where this was going.

“I’ve got good news,” Lawrence continued, his eyes lighting up with excitement. “We’re expanding the team — new facilities, new investments. And Aston Martin wants me to spend more time at the main building instead of overseas.”

Lance blinked. “Wait — you mean, you’ll be around more?”

“Exactly.” Lawrence smiled. “I’ll be home more often, working closer with the team. And I want you to be involved, too.”

Lance’s heart skipped a beat. “Involved? How?”

“More appearances at events, more behind-the-scenes work. You’ve always loved racing, and I'm trying to work some things out with buying Williams next season. We can build something together.”

Lance stared at his dad, a mixture of emotions swirling in his chest. He’d always wanted to spend more time with his father — to be closer to him. But now, with everything happening with Fernando, the idea of being under his dad’s watchful eye made him uneasy.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” Lance admitted, setting his coffee down. “That sounds amazing.”

Lawrence chuckled. “It is. And it’s about time we did this, don’t you think?”

Lance nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Definitely.”

Their food arrived then, giving Lance a moment to gather his thoughts. As he picked at his sandwich, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of his secret pressing down on him. His dad was offering him a chance to be closer, to be part of something important — and yet, Lance was hiding one of the biggest parts of his life.

“I know things haven’t been easy for you,” Lawrence said, breaking into his thoughts. “But you’ve handled everything with maturity. I’m proud of the man you’re becoming.”

Lance swallowed hard, his chest tight with emotion. “Thanks, Dad.”

Lawrence reached across the table, squeezing his son’s hand. “We’ve got a bright future ahead of us, Lance. I’m excited to see where it takes us.”

Lance nodded, his smile faltering only slightly. “Me too.”

But as they finished their meal and left the café, Lance couldn’t shake the feeling of dread settling in his stomach. His dad was home, everything was changing — and somehow, Lance had to figure out how to keep Fernando in his life without destroying everything his father had planned for them.

When Lance and Lawrence returned home, the house was peaceful, with a soft hum of life that Lance had missed while his dad was away. His heart felt lighter after their lunch, though a part of him was still weighed down by the growing complexity of his secret life with Fernando.

Lawrence gave his son a warm clap on the shoulder as they walked through the door. “Think about what we discussed today. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

“I will, Dad,” Lance promised.

Lawrence gave a nod, satisfied, before heading to his office. As soon as he was out of sight, Lance sighed in relief, letting himself collapse onto the couch. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out to see a group chat lighting up with messages.

Charles: Lance!!!!! Clubbing! Tonight! Don’t try to say no.

Esteban: Yea, we’re dragging you out if we have to.

Jessica: You’ve been MIA lately, Lance. Time to make up for it. xx

Zhou: Don’t worry guys! The club DOES play Beyoncé for anyone who wasn't sure.

Lance chuckled, shaking his head. His friends never let him get too lost in his thoughts for too long. He’d been avoiding them lately, wrapped up in his secret relationship with Fernando, but now he realized how much he missed them.

Lance: Fine. Where are we going?

The responses came instantly.

Charles: We’ll pick you up at 10.

Esteban: Dress nice. No excuses!!

Lance smiled at the screen, grateful for his friends. He shot a quick glance toward his dad’s office, making sure he wasn’t coming back out, before texting Fernando.

Lance: Going out with Cha and the others tonight. Don’t worry about me.

Fernando’s reply came quickly.

Fernando: Be careful, Lancito. I’m always worrying.

Lance’s heart gave a little flutter. He grinned at the message before heading upstairs to get ready.

At exactly 10 p.m., a car pulled up outside the Stroll house, and Lance slipped out quietly, his dad already aware of his plans. Charles was in the driver’s seat, with Esteban riding shotgun. Zhou and Jessica waved from the back, grinning at him.

“Finally!” Charles said as Lance slid into the car. “Thought we’d have to break in and kidnap you.”

Lance laughed. “Sorry. It’s been… a weird day.”

“Weird how?” Jessica asked, leaning over the seat to look at him.

Lance shrugged. “Family stuff.”

Esteban shot him a knowing look. “Well, whatever it is, forget about it tonight. We’re going to have fun.”

As Charles pulled away from the house, music blaring through the speakers, Lance felt a rush of excitement. For the first time in weeks, he was going out without worrying about anyone finding out his secret.

For now, he could just be Lance.

The night started harmlessly enough.

Lance had agreed to join Esteban, Charles, Jessica, and Zhou for a night out at one of the trendiest clubs in town. He hadn’t been out in ages, too preoccupied with balancing classes and… well, Fernando. His friends had teased him about it all week — how he was turning into a hermit, how he never had time for them anymore.

So, when Jessica texted him earlier that day, he couldn’t find a reason to say no.

The club was packed, the music thumping so loud Lance could feel it in his chest. The lights pulsed in time with the beat, casting neon colors over the crowd. For the first time in weeks, Lance felt like he could let loose. The drinks were flowing, and with each one, the tension in his shoulders eased.

Charles and Zhou were in high spirits, dancing with anyone who came near. Jessica was at the center of it all, laughing as Esteban twirled her around. Lance found himself smiling, grateful to be surrounded by familiar faces.

“Come on, Lance!” Charles shouted over the music, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the dance floor.

Lance went along, laughing as he stumbled into the crowd. He let himself get lost in the moment, moving to the music, the bass vibrating through his body.

But as the night wore on, the alcohol hit harder, and his mind began to wander.

Fernando.

No matter how hard he tried to focus on the music, on his friends, his thoughts kept drifting back to his professor. To the way Fernando had kissed him before he left his office that afternoon, slow and lingering, like he didn’t want to let him go. To the way Fernando always seemed to know exactly what Lance needed, whether it was a reassuring touch or a whispered word of encouragement.

Lance’s chest tightened. He missed him.

Before he realized what he was doing, he found himself sitting at the bar, phone in hand. His fingers hovered over Fernando’s contact.

He shouldn’t.

Fernando had told him to be careful. They needed to keep things discreet.

But Lance couldn’t help it. The drinks made him bold, made him reckless. He gave in, typing out a message.

Lance: Miss you, Nando. Wish you were here.

He barely waited for a response before calling.

Fernando picked up after the second ring. "Lance?"

"Nando!" Lance slurred, grinning. "I’m out with my friends. Este, Cha... uhm. Nando who are my other friends? Zhou, and Jess. You know them, right?"

Fernando chuckled softly. "Yes, sweetie. I know of them." He's well aware of who all his students are. "Are you drunk?"

"Maybe a little." Lance giggled, leaning his head on his hand. "I just wanted to hear your voice."

Fernando’s heart softened at the sound. "It’s late, Lancito. You should be heading home."

"But I want to tell you about my day!" Lance protested. "We had this crazy exam, and Cha, he's silly y'know, Nando? Uhm, well, Cha said I was acting distracted — and, well, I was, because I was thinking about you."

"Lance," Fernando sighed, a smile tugging at his lips. "Where are you?"

Lance glanced around the crowded club, squinting at a sign. "Uh… somewhere near downtown? I don’ really know, Cha's big brother drove us here."

Fernando shook his head, already grabbing his keys. "Stay where you are. I’m coming to get you."

Lance beamed. "Really?"

"Of course," Fernando said softly. "I’ve got you."

By the time Fernando arrived, Lance was standing outside the club with Charles and Esteban, swaying slightly on his feet.

"Your ride’s here," Charles teased, nudging Lance.

Lance lit up when he saw Fernando approaching. "Nando!"

Fernando caught him as he stumbled forward, wrapping an arm around his waist. "Let’s get you home."

As they walked to Fernando’s car, Lance leaned heavily against him, his voice soft. "I missed you."

Fernando pressed a kiss to Lance’s temple. "I missed you too."

Once they were in the car, Lance sighed contentedly, resting his head on Fernando’s shoulder. "I’m glad you came."

Fernando smiled, starting the engine. "I always will, Lancito. Always."

Fernando’s house was quiet, a comforting contrast to the chaos of the club. Lance stumbled through the front door, leaning on the smaller man for support, still giggling softly.

“Y'really didn’ have to come,” Lance murmured as they entered the living room, his voice quieter now.

Fernando smirked, closing the door behind them. “Yes, I did. I couldn’t leave you like that.”

Lance let out a content sigh as Fernando guided him toward the bedroom. The moment they crossed the threshold, Fernando began undressing him. Lance stood still, letting Fernando pull his shirt over his head before helping him out of his jeans.

"You take such good care of me," Lance whispered, his voice soft and sincere.

Fernando smiled, gently brushing a hand through Lance’s hair. "Someone has to."

Once Lance was down to his boxers, Fernando helped him into bed, tucking him under the covers with a care that made Lance’s chest ache. Fernando quickly undressed, his shirt and pants hitting the floor in a careless pile before he slid in beside him. The bed dipped as Fernando settled next to him, his arm instinctively wrapping around Lance's waist, pulling him close until there wasn’t an inch of space between them.

Lance sighed contentedly, resting his head on Fernando's chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The sound was soothing, grounding him in the moment — in the warmth and safety of Fernando’s embrace.

“I love this,” Lance whispered, his voice quiet but filled with meaning.

Fernando kissed the top of his head, his lips lingering against Lance’s soft hair. “I do too.”

Lance shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to look at Fernando. His sleepy, glassy eyes held an unusual vulnerability, the alcohol still lingering in his system loosening his tongue.

“No, I mean… Nando, I love you.”

The words hung in the air between them, soft but unmistakably clear.

Fernando froze, his heart skipping a beat. His mind raced as he processed what Lance had just said. It wasn’t something he had expected to hear — not yet, at least.

Lance’s smile wavered, a flicker of nervousness passing through his eyes. “Do you not—?”

Before Lance could finish, Fernando shook his head quickly, his expression softening as he reached up to cup Lance’s cheek. His thumb brushed over Lance’s cheekbone, a tender touch meant to reassure.

“No, no, Lance, it’s not that.” Fernando’s voice was low, full of emotion. He leaned up, capturing Lance’s lips in a kiss that was slow and meaningful, a silent promise conveyed through the press of their mouths.

The kiss deepened naturally, their movements slow and deliberate, savoring each moment. Lance melted into it, his fingers threading through Fernando’s hair, pulling him closer. Fernando’s hand slid from Lance’s cheek down to his waist, fingers tracing the curve of his hip before slipping under the blanket.

As their lips parted, Fernando gazed into Lance’s eyes, his own dark with affection and desire. “I love you too,” he murmured, brushing his nose against Lance’s before kissing him again, more insistently this time.

Lance moaned softly into Fernando’s mouth, his hands wandering over his shoulders and down his back, mapping the familiar planes of his body. His heart was racing, but it wasn’t from nerves — it was from the sheer thrill of hearing those words back.

Fernando rolled them over gently, his body pressing Lance into the mattress. Their kisses grew more heated, lips and tongues tangling as their hands roamed freely. Fernando’s fingers skimmed along Lance’s sides, tracing the muscles there, his touch lighting a fire beneath Lance’s skin.

Lance arched into him, craving more of that contact, his body responding eagerly to every touch. His hands wandered lower, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of Fernando’s boxers, pulling him even closer.

“Te quiero tanto,” Fernando whispered against Lance’s lips, his Spanish accent making the words sound like music.

Lance shivered at the sound, pulling Fernando down for another kiss. “I want you,” he whispered between kisses, his voice breathless and needy. “I want all of you.”

“You have me,” Fernando promised, his voice hoarse as he kissed his way down Lance’s jawline and along his neck, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin. “You’ve always had me.”

Lance grinned, his eyes fluttering shut as he nestled back into Fernando’s arms — lightheartedly shutting down any advances as he registered just how sleepy he was. "Good. Now I can sleep happy."

Fernando chuckled, holding him close — more than satisfied with ending his night like this. "Sweet dreams, Lancito."

And as Lance drifted off, Fernando knew he would never let go of this moment — or of the boy in his arms. Not without a fight.

Lance jolted awake, heart pounding as the sunlight streamed through the curtains. He sat up quickly, the covers slipping down his bare chest, and groaned when he realized his phone wasn’t on the nightstand. “Shit,” he muttered, scrambling out of bed and searching frantically for it.

Fernando stirred beside him, his eyes fluttering open. “What’s wrong?”

“My phone’s dead,” Lance said, grabbing it from the floor where it had fallen. “And my dad was expecting me home last night.”

Fernando sat up, running a hand through his hair. “Calm down. We’ll get you home.”

Lance nodded, biting his lip as he plugged his phone in to charge for a moment. When it didn’t turn on immediately, he groaned in frustration. “I’m so fucked," and Fernando didn't bother to scold the boy.

The drive to Lance’s house was quiet, tension thick in the air. Fernando occasionally glanced at Lance, who was nervously tapping his fingers on his knee. As they pulled up in front of the Stroll mansion, Lance finally let out a shaky breath. “Thanks for driving me.”

Fernando reached out, squeezing Lance’s hand. “Anytime.”

Lance leaned over, pressing a quick kiss to Fernando’s lips. “I’ll see you later.”

“Text me,” Fernando said with a smile, watching as Lance opened the car door.

“I will,” Lance promised.

As soon as Fernando’s car pulled away, Lance took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He walked up the steps to his house, heart pounding. His key slipped in the lock, and he quietly stepped inside, hoping to sneak past without anyone noticing. No such luck.

The moment the door shut behind him, his father’s voice boomed from the living room. “Lance!” Lance froze, wincing at the sheer volume of Lawrence’s shout. His father stormed into view, his face red with fury.

“Where the hell were you?” Lawrence demanded, fists clenched. “I waited all night, and you didn’t bother to call!”

“I—” Lance opened his mouth to explain, but Lawrence cut him off.

“And what the fuck did I just see outside?” Lawrence’s eyes blazed with anger. “You kissed him. Your professor. Do you have any idea what kind of scandal this could cause? Have you forgotten who we are?”

Lance’s stomach dropped. He hadn’t realized his dad had seen. “It’s not—”

“Don’t you dare tell me it’s not what it looked like,” Lawrence snapped. “Because it damn well looked like you’re messing around with some man who could ruin your career before it’s even started. With a man who's career I could ruin if I decided to bring light of this.”

Lance’s hands balled into fists at his sides. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, really?” Lawrence crossed his arms. “Then what is it? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve been sneaking around behind my fucking back.”

“It’s not your business who I’m with!” Lance shot back, frustration boiling over. “I’m an adult, Dad. You don’t get to control every part of my life.”

“You’re my freshly nineteen year old son,” Lawrence hissed. “And you’re making a damn fool of yourself.”

Lance took a step forward, meeting his father’s gaze. “I love him.” That stopped Lawrence in his tracks.

“You what?”

“I love him,” Lance repeated, voice steady. “And nothing you say is going to change that.”

"Jesus Christ, Lance." Lawrence stared at him for a long moment, chest heaving, before shaking his head in disbelief. “You’ve completely lost your mind.”

“No, I haven’t,” Lance said firmly. “For the first time in my life, I know exactly what I want. And I’m not going to let you take it away from me.” Lawrence’s expression hardened, his jaw tightening as he took a step closer to Lance.

“You’re not going to let me take it away?” Lawrence’s voice was low and dangerous. “We’ll see about that.” Before Lance could react, Lawrence reached out and snatched his phone from his hand.

“Hey!” Lance protested, lunging for it, but his father stepped back.

“You’ve clearly proven you can’t be trusted.” Lawrence’s tone was cold as he slipped the phone into his pocket. “And I’m not about to sit by while you throw your future away for some fling with a grown ass man who should fucking know better.”

“It’s not a fling,” Lance argued, frustration boiling over. “I love him.”

“And I’m your father,” Lawrence snapped. “And as long as you live under my roof, you’ll do as I say.” Lawrence turned on his heel, grabbing Lance’s car keys from the hook by the door. “Your car privileges? Gone. Your phone? Gone. And as for school…” He pulled out his own phone, already dialing. “We’re fixing that right now.”

“Fixing?” Lance’s chest tightened with dread. “Dad, stop it, what are you talking about?”

Lawrence gave him a cold glance as the call connected. “Yes ma'am, yes it's Lawrence. I need to speak with Ms. Sally Kornbluth immediately. It’s urgent.”

“Dad, no!” Lance’s voice rose in panic.

Lawrence held up a hand to silence him. “Yes, of course i’ll hold.”

Lance took a step forward, desperation clawing at him. “You can’t do this.”

“Fucking watch me.”

The call reconnected, and Lawrence’s expression softened into polite professionalism, though his tone remained firm. “Good evening, Sally. I hope your day has started off better than mine. I'm calling regarding my son, Lance Stroll. I need to make some changes to his class schedule… Yes, that’s right. I’d like all his in-person classes switched to online immediately. He's found himself in quite the predicament and if he wants to graduate on time and with honours it'll only be possible if he begins learning from our home.” Lance’s stomach dropped as he watched his father’s plan unfold, powerless to stop it.

“Thank you,” Lawrence continued. “And I’d like his access to extracurricular activities suspended for the time being. Yes… Yes, That will be all. Thank you so much for your time, Sally.”

As he ended the call, Lawrence turned back to Lance, his expression unreadable. “You’re grounded. No car, no phone, and no more in-person distractions. You’ll focus on your studies from home.”

Lance’s fists clenched. “You’re trying to control my life.”

“I’m protecting you from yourself,” Lawrence said coldly. “Now, go to your room.”

Lance stared at him, anger and heartbreak swirling in his chest. “You don’t understand.”

“I understand more than you think,” Lawrence said, his voice softer but no less firm. “Now. Go.” With a final glare, Lance turned and stomped up the stairs, slamming his bedroom door behind him. Lance fell backwards onto his bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind spinning with frustration and helplessness. The silence in the house felt suffocating, broken only by the occasional creak of floorboards or the faint hum of distant traffic.

His phone? Gone. His car? Gone. His freedom? Completely taken from him.

The weight of Lawrence’s words replayed in his mind. “You’ll do as I say.” Lance clenched his fists. He hated how powerless he felt, trapped under his father’s control like he was a kid again. His chest ached with the desperate need to reach out to Fernando, to explain everything, to hear his voice — but there was nothing he could do.

He glanced at the window. No phone. No car. I’m stuck. He had thought about climbing out earlier, but Lawrence had been one step ahead. The window was now locked from the outside. Even if he managed to sneak out, his father had likely alerted the house staff.

The doorknob rattled, and Lance sat up abruptly as Lawrence stepped inside without knocking — just one of many priviliges he would come to realize Lawrence felt as though he no longer deserved. “Dinner’s ready,” Lawrence said curtly. “You’ll be eating with me.”

“I’m not hungry,” Lance muttered.

“That wasn’t a suggestion, Lance.” His father practically growled, "get up and come downstairs." Lance glared at his father but stood anyway, following him downstairs like a prisoner on a leash.

The dining room was painfully formal. The table stretched between them like a chasm, both of them sitting in tense silence as the kitchen staff set their plates down. Lawrence watched Lance carefully. “You’re not speaking to him anymore.”

Lance’s grip on his fork tightened. “You can’t control that.”

“I can, and I will.” Lawrence’s voice was cold. “I’ve spoken with the head of his department as well as with Ms. Kornbluth again. They’ve agreed to monitor your activity. Any attempt to contact him through university channels will be flagged and will result in him losing his job automatically.”

Lance’s heart sank. “You had no right—”

“I have every right,” Lawrence cut him off. “I’m not going to let you ruin your life for some—” He stopped, his lip curling. “Some pathetic affair.”

Lance slammed his fork down. “It’s not an affair! I love him.”

“That’s enough.” Lawrence’s voice was a low growl. “You don’t know what love is.”

Lance stood abruptly, his chair scraping back. “I know more than you ever will.”

Lawrence rose too, his towering figure intimidating as he loomed over Lance. “You will not defy me again.”

Lance’s chest heaved with emotion, but he held his ground. “I’m not a kid.”

“Then I expect you to start acting like a man,” Lawrence snapped. “And forget about him.”

Lance shook his head, his voice steady despite the anger simmering beneath. “I won’t.”

Lawrence’s expression twisted, his frustration boiling over. His shoulders sagged as he ran a hand through his hair, his composure slipping. He looked at his son — really looked at him — and something in his eyes softened with a hint of desperation.

“You are just a boy, Lance,” Lawrence whispered, his voice trembling. His eyes glistened, and he blinked rapidly, fighting the tears that threatened to spill. “You are my boy.”

Lance froze, the weight of his father’s words hanging heavy in the air.

Lawrence’s jaw clenched, and his voice broke slightly as he continued, “And that man… that man is closer to my age than yours. Don’t you see how wrong this is?”

Lance’s chest tightened, but he shook his head again, his heart pounding. “It’s not wrong. I’m not a kid, Dad. I know what I’m doing.”

Lawrence let out a bitter laugh, wiping a hand over his face. “You think you know what you’re doing? You have no idea, Lance.” His voice cracked, revealing the pain beneath his anger. “I’ve spent my entire life trying to protect you from people who would take advantage of you. People like him.”

“No one’s taking advantage of me,” Lance said quietly, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “I love him. And he loves me.”

Lawrence stared at his son, a tear slipping down his cheek. He quickly brushed it away, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“You think this is love?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “You’ve barely lived, Lance. You don’t know what love is. You don’t know what it means to build a life, to face the consequences of choices like this.”

“I know more than you think,” Lance said softly. “And I know that keeping me locked away isn’t going to change how I feel.”

Lawrence shook his head, pacing the room like a man trying to outrun his own thoughts. “You’re too young to make a decision like this. You don’t see the danger—”

“The only danger,” Lance interrupted, “is you tearing me away from the person I care about.”

Lawrence stopped pacing, his shoulders slumping in defeat. For a moment, he looked older, worn down by the weight of fatherhood and fear.

“I just… I don’t want to lose you,” Lawrence whispered.

“You’re not losing me,” Lance said softly. “But if you keep this up… you will.”

Lawrence’s gaze lingered on his son for a long moment before he turned away, retreating toward the door. His hand hovered over the doorknob, trembling.

“You’ll understand one day,” he said, voice low and filled with sorrow. “When you have a child of your own.”

With that, he walked out, leaving Lance standing alone, the echoes of their conversation hanging heavy in the air.

Hours passed, the house dark and still. Lance sat on his bed, staring at the dead phone his father had confiscated earlier. His mind drifted to Fernando — to the way his arms felt like home, the way his voice softened when he said Lance’s name, the way he made him feel seen. But now, Lance was alone. Trapped. Helpless. Cut off from the one person who made him feel alive.

He lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His chest ached with longing, and anger simmered beneath the surface, but what could he do? His father had locked him in a cage, and all he could do was wait. A quiet knock on the bedroom door broke the silence, followed by the soft creak of it opening. Lance sat up, surprised to see his sister, Chloe, standing there, one hand resting on her belly.

“Chlo?” Lance blinked in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

Chloe gave him a tired smile as she stepped inside, closing the door gently behind her. “I heard what happened. Mom called me.”

[bellafarella]

♡ BUDDIE: new fic posted ♡

To New Beginnings

Collection: Almost 100 Days of Buddie

Series: Buddie Fillers

Summary: After an awkward first date, Buck and Eddie think they’ve ruined everything between them until New Year’s Eve comes around.

Notes:

Hi friends! This is for week 6 (which was last week 😭) of the Almost 100 Days of Buddie collection. This fic takes place in canon but Eddie doesn’t go to Texas and Chris finally comes home.

POV switch between each asterisk (*)

I hope you enjoy this & that 2025 brings you everything that you want! ❤️

✨ BUDDIE CANON 2025 ✨