#Little by little the universe is balancing itself | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pathologicalreid · 16 days ago

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come a little closer | s.r.

in which you and Spencer have sex for the first time since his release from prison, and more importantly, since Cat told him what happened in Mexico

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: mentions sexual assault, spoilers for season 12 of cm, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, crying during sex, cockwarming, explicit consent, not really softdom but reader has spencer take the lead, read with care word count: 2.65k a/n: this bad boy has been in the works for MONTHS. please tell me if you like it i'm so desperate for affirmation. (also this is the last kinktober post of margotober)

His hands on your waist were becoming firmer in their placement as Spencer continued pressing his lips to yours, expertly slipping his tongue into your mouth as he managed to take your breath away.

This could be as far as you went, and you would be content with that. After prison, after Mexico, you were grateful that he let you in at all. You were sleeping in the same bed at night, he was home for the month, teaching forensic psychology at a private university in the district. “Are you okay?” You whispered against his lips.

You were sat on the edge of the bed, and he was standing between your legs. “Yes,” he responded, continuing his motions.

In the past few weeks, you have found yourself in this situation three times. The first two times he had called it off, being too overwhelmed by fractured memories of his time in Mexico. The last time, you asked him to stop when you got stuck in your head, too anxious to remember that you were supposed to be enjoying it.

Today, you were tired. Too tired to think about anything other than the feeling of his lips on yours. You couldn’t control the whimper that escaped your throat as he gently tugged at your bottom lip with his teeth.

He pulled away slightly, eyes studying your face quickly before he asked, “That was good right? The noise?”

Your chest ached at the recognition that he had been left with so much self-doubt that he didn’t even know if what he was doing was right. Nodding confidently, you peered up at him through your eyelashes, “Yeah, that was good. I liked that,” you assured him.

It felt like the first time. As if you hadn’t had sex together multiple times and spent the past several years learning what the other liked. “What do you want me to do?”

“Take the lead,” you implored, looking at him. You couldn’t tell him what to do, at the very core of your actions, this was about him. This was about what he needed to do. You could always tell him to stop, but if he asked you to change something, you’d move heaven and earth to make him comfortable.

You just wanted to make him feel comfortable. The way you could feel his heart pounding in his chest, made you wonder if he was going to call it off. You had to bite your tongue from asking if he was alright, you needed to trust that he would tell you if anything was wrong.

Surprising you, he deftly slipped his hands beneath your t-shirt, pulling the soft fabric off of your torso in one quick movement. He used the pads of his fingers to lightly skim your bare body, causing goosebumps to spread across your skin. You kept yourself quiet, looking up at him as he studied you with wonder in his gaze, “You’re so pretty.”

If you hadn’t been hyper-aware of your surroundings, you might’ve missed the compliment. “I love you,” you breathed, chest tightening in a nauseating mixture of adoration and nervousness.

“I love you too,” he responded easily to you, his large hand placed firmly on your ribcage while his other planted itself on the mattress, maintaining his balance as his head craned forward to kiss you.

Your hand shook as you thumbed the hem of his shirt, moving your lips against his as you waited for him to cue you. The catch there was Spencer could spend hours kissing you without needing anything more. Your other hand rested softly on his collarbone, a non-sensual location where you were still touching him, but it wasn’t an intimate touch, at least, not in a sexual sense. It was an intimate touch in the sense that you were using the soft pressure of your palm to reassure him that you were here.

Spencer’s hand on your side gently pushed your back down to the mattress, once the fabric of the sheets was touching your skin, you eyed him curiously as he took his shirt off of his own volition. Better food and a considerably less stressful living situation had brought him back to life, and the haunted look that he came home to you with had faded over the months.

He stepped back from the mattress, and before you could figure out what he was doing, he took your thighs in his hands and moved you so your body was entirely on the bed, and you thought that the laugh that came from you as he moved you would be the end. Clamping your hand over your mouth, you looked up at him with wide eyes. “I’m sorry,” you whispered to him, mortified.

Shaking his head, Spencer smiled and climbed up on the bed with you, “No,” he breathed, hovering over you, “Do it again.”

This time a nervous laugh bubbled through your throat, “What?”

He dropped a soft kiss to your lips before pushing himself back up on his arms, “I just want this to feel normal. It’s sex, there’s no need to be so procedural about it.”

You stared up at him while nodding, “Okay,” you affirmed, reaching a hand up and fiddling with the hair at the nape of his neck. There was no procedure available to you. There was no pamphlet that could readily guide you on being intimate with your formerly imprisoned boyfriend after a serial killer let him know that she had arranged his sexual assault in a foreign country.

The best thing you could think to do was let him take the lead. He was the one who had initiated this, and you were more than willing to follow.

Spencer deftly pulled your underwear and shorts down together, guiding your legs out of the extraneous fabric before he paused. His arm looped around your leg, effectively hugging your calf as he rested his chin on your knee, heady eyes looking at you before he spoke, “Oh, angel,” he murmured, “My memory never does you justice.”

Your stomach flipped at his words, your hips adjusting on the sheets as he detached himself from your leg and returned to his station above you, this time with you fully nude beneath him. “Then it’s a good thing I’m right here,” you murmured, giving him a slice of comfort with a double meaning.

His hand skimmed down your chest, resting his palm on your lower belly before he looked back up at you, brown eyes meeting yours, “May I touch you?”

Breathlessly, you nodded, “Yes,” you told him, verbalizing your answer. Reinforcing your response as his hand slid further down, cupping your heat with his hand, his index finger slipping between your folds.

He didn’t break eye contact with you as he gently rubbed you, his unpracticed hand quickly gaining confidence as your lips parted and your breath quickened. You hadn’t considered how quickly your orgasm would build up, but for as long as it’s been for him, it’s also been for you.

His finger slid into you slowly, his eyes watching you carefully with every slight movement, and a soft moan escaped from your throat at the sensation of his finger knuckle deep in you, feeling miles further than your own fingers could ever reach. Lifting your head up, you brought your mouth to his, moving your lips slowly against his, moaning into his mouth as he withdrew his finger, slipping it back in with ease. There were no words that you could find that would accurately explain the amalgamation of emotions that were rushing through you right now, but the way you were kissing Spencer portrayed them perfectly.

Spencer hummed against your lips, delicately adding a second finger to his ministrations, the stretch of your pussy around his hand causing your back to lift off the bed. He started thrusting his fingers in and out of you, a gentle but firm pace that took away your ability to focus on kissing him, letting your head drop to the pillows.

“Oh, Spencer,” you breathed, the knot building in your lower belly causing your head to spin. “Spence,” you panted his name, “You’re gonna— ah.” You screwed your eyes shut for just a moment before opening them again, meeting his as you whispered, “Please, please, please.”

Your incessant begging only came to an end when your orgasm finally took you under the influence of dopamine, walls clenching around his fingers as he worked you through the waves of pleasure coursing through you. “You’re so pretty,” Spencer mused, his words taking you slightly by surprise as his hand withdrew from your cunt.

You sighed dazedly up at him, reaching up a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, “I love you,” you whispered, looking up at him with wonder in your eyes.

The lopsided smile he gave you was all you needed to know that all was well, and the kiss that he dropped on your lips elicited the same feeling. “I love you too,” he muttered against your lips, keeping himself propped above you.

Parting your lips with curiosity, you struggled to find the words to ask him. “I want… Can we…” you tried, but everything fell short as your eyes searched his desperately.

Spencer took his lower lip between his teeth, and you knew that if he called it off, you would be more than happy with the progress that you’d made. You’re surprised when he responds, “I need you to say it. I need you to ask.”

“Would you like to have sex with me?” You asked him, there was a tentative note in your voice that seemed to bring him comfort. A sort of cumulative blanket of uncertainty over the moment that you were sharing.

Spencer nodded in response “Yes,” he said, giving you a verbal answer.” He didn’t take another moment to think about it before he moved off of the bed, your eyes followed him curiously as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and underwear, dropping them both to the floor in one fell swoop. “Yes,” he repeated.

With every ounce of self-control in you failing, you eyed his cock. Standing at attention, the tip was leaking pre-cum and he looked almost painfully hard, your lips gaped at the sight, “Oh.”

Finding his way back to the bed, he held himself above you, not touching you at all as his head tilted to the side, “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Yeah, I am,” you looked up at him. “It’s just been a while,” you breathed, letting your nerves show through in the hopes that it would ease both of your minds.

He smiled softly at you, understanding clear in his expression, “We’ll go slow, okay?”

His use of the word we made your chest tighten, a recognition of your nerves as much as his. “Okay,” you breathed, opening your legs slightly wider for him and placing your hands on either one of his shoulders.

Biting on your lower lip, your eyes flittered down to where his hand was positioning his cock at your entrance, the soft skin of his tip swiping over your clit as he found his mark, pushing just the tip inside, and giving the both of you the time you needed to adjust. You moved your gaze back up to his face, studying him intently as you did so. As sure as he seemed, you wouldn’t put it past him to push through something if that’s what he thought you wanted.

“Take your time,” you whispered, trying to reassure him without it being overbearing, your breathing hitched when he pushed in more. Somehow, at only about half of his length, he felt impossibly deep in you.

Making eye contact again, Spencer watched your expression, “I’ve got you,” he said, dropping soft kisses to your lips, one after the other.

You nodded, keeping your eyes on his to the best of your ability, “I’m okay, we’re okay.”

Your words gave him the confidence to push into you, fully sheathing himself inside of you, and breaking eye contact. His head dropped into the crook of your neck, groaning against the soft skin as you tried to adjust yourself with the sheer amount of pressure between your legs.

Taking a deep breath, you froze at the realization that tears were falling onto your skin, the nearly inaudible drip of them on your neck and the pillow behind you spreading an icy feeling through your veins. “Spence,” you whispered, combing your fingers through his hair while you felt his dick twitch inside of you.

He didn’t respond, not verbally at least, producing a low hum.

“How are you doing?” You asked him softly, trying to stop your walls from clenching around him while he was clearly having a moment. “We can stop if you need to,” you murmured, continuing to play with his hair.

Slowly, he pushed himself up on shaky arms and kissed you, tasting of salty tears and bitter coffee. As his lips coaxed yours open, he moved his hips, gently filling you as he did so.

Tears pricked at your own eyes as you realized that he was being as gentle with you as you were with him. It had been six months since you last opened up to each other like this.

“I missed you,” he muttered, pulling his head back so that he could watch where your bodies were joined, his shaft covered in your slick as he thrust in and out.

You already knew that he’d missed you while he was away, but he specifically missed this. The feeling of baring your soul to another person, and this time around it all felt that much rawer. It broke your heart while simultaneously putting it back together. “I missed you too,” you whimpered, forcing the words out while he found a steady rhythm.

His thrusts were still slow, but they were hard, pushing himself as deeply into your cunt as he could go. “You’re so good for me,” he said, grunting as he kept moving, “Fuck it’s— Can I cum in you?”

Nodding frantically, you met his eyes again. “Yeah,” you breathed, a sharp moan torn from your throat as he moved up, changing the angle ever so slightly as he continued fucking into you. “Oh,” you gasped, as your eyes rolled back at the sensation of him spilling himself into you, his sloppy thrusts sending you over that same edge.

You couldn’t make sense of whatever he was mumbling while his hips stuttered to a stop, leaving himself firmly planted inside of you. He rested his head on your shoulder, his body lying on top of yours.

Once you remembered how to breathe, your hands made their way back to his head, fingers combing through his hair. “Are you alright?” You asked him, seeking out a final confirmation that he was, in fact, okay.

He hummed in response, “I’m great,” he said, “I’m really really… in love with you.”

Startled, a light giggle escaped your lips, “I’m really really in love with you too,” you responded, mimicking his intonation.

“You’re so perfect for me,” he murmured, coveting you in a way that made you feel like the luckiest girl in the world. As far as you were concerned, you were the luckiest girl in the world.

Sighing, one of your hands fell to his arm and you closed your eyes, ready to fall asleep like this, with him still tucked into you.

Your other hand remained up, playing with his hair, “You’re gonna make me sleep,” he said, a half-complaint, really.

“That’s okay,” you whispered, knowing that eventually someone would get up and turn off the lights, but right now, you’d rather stay with him. Right now, that was the only thing that mattered to you.

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solxamber · 28 days ago

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Trash Novel Chronicles: I Want to Retire - Idia Shroud x reader

You write a novel that reads like a dumpster fire and while trying to delete the draft, you accidentally get isekai’d into it. Now, as the villainess you have to get Idia Shroud on your side as well as survive high society. You have your work cut out for you.

Series Masterlist

You’ve lived a life. A noble life, full of honor, glory, and caffeine-fueled late-night writing sessions.

You're an aspiring author.

An aspiring author who, unfortunately, just created the most stupid novel plot of all time.

At least, that’s how it feels. You sit back, staring at your screen, utterly defeated as your latest creation flickers mockingly before you.

You’ve named it: "The Battle for Genius Prince Idia’s Hand" (working title, don’t judge). And wow, it’s a mess.

Here’s the breakdown of your disaster:

You’ve got your heroine—a girl so sweet she’s practically made of sugar, like one of those cookies that look good but crumble the second you bite into them. Naturally, she’s fighting for the affection of your male lead, Prince Idia, who is a socially awkward, genius mechanic prince (because you thought it’d be fun to make him hot and bad with people).

Then there’s the villainess. Ah, the villainess. She’s smart, sharp-tongued, and has enough sass to level a small city. Her entire personality? Sabotage. And she’s also after Idia—because apparently, that’s the only thing women in this story care about. (You regret this immensely.)

But oh no! Plot twist! Idia gets kidnapped by some unnamed evil force (you’ll figure it out later). The heroine? Well, instead of rescuing him, she falls for some Bland Prince. You don’t even know why. You think his name might be Greg. Or Gerald. Honestly, he’s that unremarkable.

Meanwhile, the villainess doesn’t even care anymore about Idia. Instead, she’s full-on dedicated to ruining the heroine’s new, bland romance because… well, that’s her whole schtick.

It’s… awful.

You sit back, hands in your hair, groaning aloud. “What is this? Who would even read this?”

You glance at your notes. They’re a chaotic mess of random scribbles: “Idia = genius, but hates people,” “Villainess needs more fire,” and “Heroine? Too boring. Spice her up. Maybe dragons?”

Yeah. This isn’t working.

You slump in your chair, utterly defeated. The characters are good, great even! But the plot? Oh, the plot is a dumpster fire. No, worse. It’s a flaming dumpster floating down a river of bad decisions. You can’t believe you spent hours writing this.

That’s it. You’re scrapping the entire thing. You’ll keep the characters, sure. But the story? Gone. Deleted. No one needs to suffer through this mess.

Determined, you crack your knuckles and reach for the keyboard, ready to hit the big red “DELETE” button on your disasterpiece.

“Say goodbye to this trash heap,” you mutter, “and hello to some actual good writing.”

But, alas, the universe has other plans.

Just as your finger hovers over the delete key, the worst possible thing happens. Your elbow, as if possessed by the forces of chaos itself, nudges the precariously balanced coffee cup on your desk. The liquid inside, which you had so carefully placed right next to your laptop like a ticking time bomb, tips. In slow motion, you watch the dark, caffeinated doom spill over the edge and land directly onto your keyboard.

“No, no, no, no, NO!” you shout, lunging forward, but it’s too late.

The coffee floods your keys like a tidal wave of misfortune. Your laptop makes a sickening little noise, a soft bzzt, and the screen flickers ominously. You sit there, frozen in horror, watching your computer sizzle as if it’s been cursed by the gods of terrible life choices.

And then—just when you think it couldn’t get worse—it gets worse.

There’s a small, but very real, spark. You flinch back, because nothing good ever comes from sparks. The screen flickers violently, the keys start to buzz, and then—before you can even process what’s happening—you feel it.

ZAP!

Electricity courses through your body. Your vision flashes white, your muscles seize, and in one horrifyingly comedic moment, you realize you’re being electrocuted by your own laptop.

You’d scream if you could, but all you manage is a high-pitched whimper before everything goes black.

Dead. You’re dead. Killed by your own coffee and a poorly thought-out novel. Fantastic.

You blink your eyes open, your head pounding like you’ve been hit with a ton of bricks—or, more likely, an electrical charge. Slowly, your vision clears, and you find yourself… staring at an unfamiliar, ornately decorated ceiling.

Where the hell are you?

You sit up with a groan, and that’s when it hits you: the bed. It’s massive, plush, and absurdly luxurious—definitely not your usual ratty mattress. Panic sets in, and you scramble out of bed, only to catch your reflection in a nearby mirror.

It’s not your reflection.

Oh.

Oh, Shit.

Staring back at you is her. The villainess. The sharp-tongued, drama-fueled antagonist of your novel. The one with a penchant for ruining lives and stealing the spotlight. The one you made up.

You gasp, gripping the sides of the mirror. “No. NO.” You stare at the dark hair cascading over your shoulders, the perfectly arched brows, and the terrifyingly intense smirk that seems to have a life of its own. “Why am I her? Why this of all characters?”

You step back from the mirror and slap your cheeks, half hoping that’ll wake you up from this fever dream. It doesn’t. You’re still stuck in the body of the villainess, and with each passing second, reality—or whatever twisted version of it this is—sinks in deeper.

“Of course,” you mutter, throwing your hands up in frustration. “Of course this is my life now. I write the dumbest novel in existence, and this is what I get.” You pace in front of the mirror, ranting to no one in particular. “Who even thinks it’s a good idea to make me the villainess? Me?! I didn’t sign up for this!”

After a few minutes of thoroughly berating yourself—and by extension, the cosmic forces that brought you here—you finally stop, resting your hands on your hips.

“Okay. Fine. FINE. I’ll play your stupid game, universe.” You throw one last glare at your reflection. “But I’m not tormenting the heroine. Nope. She can have her stupid one-sided rivalry for all I care. I want nothing to do with this mess.”

The decision made, you shake your head and take a deep breath. “Alright, what’s next?” You glance around the villainess’s extravagant room, trying to figure out your next move. And then, a lightbulb goes off in your head.

Prince Idia.

In your novel, he’s socially awkward, reclusive, and definitely doesn’t deserve to get caught up in this disaster. He’s just collateral damage in your sorry excuse for a plot, and honestly? You feel kinda bad about it.

You snap your fingers. “That’s it. I’ll find Prince Idia. Save him or something. Maybe I can even get a reward for rescuing a royal!” You’re feeling pretty good about this plan—much better than sticking around and causing drama with the heroine, at least.

With a dramatic flourish (you are still the villainess, after all), you head for the door, ready to track down Idia and redeem yourself in whatever twisted way you can manage. Who knows, maybe this whole situation won’t be as bad as you thought.

Or… maybe it’ll be even worse. But you’ll cross that bridge when you get to it.

After what feels like hours of arguing with your stubborn, uptight butler—who is absolutely convinced that your decision to head straight for the abandoned palace at the edge of town is the worst idea you’ve ever had—you finally break free.

“If anyone was kidnapped, that’s where they’d be!” you shout over your shoulder as you march toward your carriage, ignoring his protests about "safety" and "reckless behavior."

Butler or not, you’re on a mission. And after a bumpy ride to the palace, here you are, standing at the entrance, waiting for the traps or menacing guards to pounce.

...Nothing.

It’s strangely anticlimactic, actually. You push open the door, expecting maybe a cackle or some ominous fog. But no, just dust and an eerie silence. You frown, stepping cautiously inside.

“What kind of royal abduction is this? Budget cuts?”

Just as you’re about to chalk this whole thing up to a monumental waste of time, you hear it—a low curse, followed by the distinct sound of tinkering. You freeze, listening closer.

Definitely someone messing with something.

Your hand instinctively reaches for your trusty gun (bless past-you for deciding guns belonged in this novel), and with practiced ease, you pull it out and slam open the nearest door.

"Hands up!" you yell, pointing the barrel directly at—

A very, very scared Prince Idia, crouching beside what looks like a half-assembled mechanical gadget. His wide, shocked eyes meet yours, and he lets out a startled yelp, nearly knocking over the tools scattered around him.

"Wh-What the hell?!" you blurt, lowering the gun slightly. This was not the daring rescue scene you imagined.

Idia flinches, awkwardly raising his hands. “I—uh, I don’t know who you are, but how did you even find me?!” he stammers, looking at you like you just kicked his favorite gaming console.

"How did I—? Are you kidding me?" You gesture dramatically with the gun, still in shock. "I’m one of the people you were supposed to choose from! Remember? The whole ‘Battle for the Hand of Prince Idia’ thing?”

He blinks at you, deadpan. “Oh… Oh, no,” he mutters, more to himself than you. “Absolutely not. I’m not going back. I staged this whole thing for a reason.” He crosses his arms, stubborn. “I’ll just stay here with my gadgets. You can go back to… whatever you do.”

You stare at him, flabbergasted. “What do you mean you staged this?” You glance around the dusty, decrepit palace. “This is your brilliant escape plan? Hiding out in the palace equivalent of a haunted IKEA?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, it’s quiet, it’s out of the way, and no one bothers me here. I didn’t get kidnapped, okay? I just—didn’t want to deal with all the royal court nonsense.” He shrugs, as if staging a fake kidnapping is the most logical thing in the world.

“You do realize that Ortho is still at the palace, right? Your little brother? Alone? Without you?” You raise an eyebrow, watching the slow dawning horror creep across Idia’s face.

“Yeah, so?” He huffs. “He’s the Crown Prince now. I’m sure he’s fine—"

“Bro,” you interrupt, “have you seen high society? Ortho’s gonna get eaten alive. Not to mention the other princes aren’t just gonna let him waltz around with a crown on his head without making his life miserable.”

Idia’s eyes go wide, his brain clearly working overtime as the realization hits him like a ton of bricks. “Oh… Oh no. I didn’t think of that.”

You nod sagely. “Yeah. Big oops.”

He stares at the ground, looking like he’s physically shrinking under the weight of his own bad decisions. And then—something unthinkable happens.

“Help me,” he says, his voice desperate. He looks up at you with pleading eyes. “Please. I’ll—I’ll make you anything you want, build you gadgets, whatever you need! Just help me navigate high society while I… hide in the shadows or whatever.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “Are you… Are you asking me to pose as your fake fiancée?”

Idia flushes crimson, his hands flailing. “N-No! Well, maybe? Yes. I mean, yeah, but it’s not like I want to—" He groans, burying his face in his hands. “Just… ugh. Yes. Please.”

You cross your arms, tapping your chin. “Hmm. Fake engagement, huh? Alright, but only if you give me a beach house when this farce is over and Ortho officially takes the crown.”

Idia looks up at you, blinking in surprise. “A beach house? That’s your condition?”

You smirk. “Hey, I know what I want. So, do we have a deal?”

He hesitates for a moment, but then sighs, defeated. “Fine. You get the beach house. Just… make sure no one talks to me. Or atleast, you have to handle almost all the talking.”

With a satisfied nod, you extend your hand. “Deal.”

Idia, still red-faced and awkward, shakes your hand. You can’t help but wonder what sort of chaos you’ve just agreed to—but at least you’re getting a beach house out of it.

Sneaking Idia back to your manor wasn’t the most glamorous affair. He insisted on wearing a cloak, “for dramatic effect,” even though the streets were practically empty.

"You know, for a guy who's supposed to be a genius, you're real bad at blending in," you deadpan as he stumbles over his own cloak.

"It’s supposed to make me inconspicuous," Idia mutters, pulling the hood down further. "People see a cloak, they assume you’re some weirdo and leave you alone. It’s basic stealth mechanics."

“Uh-huh. And tripping on it helps too?”

“Shut up.”

Once inside the manor, you sit him down to discuss the details of how you’re going to spin this whole ‘rescue’ thing. Idia, now a little more at ease, starts fiddling with some gadget he pulled from one of his cloak’s hidden pockets. You can't tell if he's actually paying attention, but you figure you’d better get started.

"Okay," you say, leaning in like you’re about to hatch the greatest scheme of your life. "We need a story. Something grand. Heroic. Full of intrigue, mystery—"

“Or we could just say I, uh, got lost?” Idia offers halfheartedly. “And you happened to find me by accident. That sounds more plausible.”

You shoot him a look. "Idia, this is high society. No one ‘just gets lost for 3 months.’ We need something more exciting. Like, I fought off a band of rogue kidnappers—"

“Did you now?”

“And there was this epic battle—"

“With what? Your sense of direction?”

You glare. “Focus. We need an alibi."

Idia sighs. “Fine, whatever. Make it sound cool, but not too cool. If it’s too impressive, people will start thinking I owe you something.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I already have an idea of what you owe me,” you say, smirking.

His eyes narrow in suspicion, but you move on.

"Alright, so I 'bravely' tracked you down to the abandoned palace—"

"Because obviously that's where I'd be hiding," Idia interrupts sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"—and I singlehandedly defeated a gang of ruthless kidnappers, saving you from a life of captivity. You, overwhelmed by my gallantry, are forever in my debt—"

Idia snorts. "Forever in your debt? Yeah, right. You're more likely to find me dead than in your debt."

“Just go with it. It’s a good story.”

Eventually, you both settle on a suitably ridiculous tale where you, after days of tireless investigation, heroically rescued him from an evil plot to overthrow the royal family. It's unnecessarily elaborate, full of conveniently absent witnesses and a dramatic escape from a non-existent dungeon. The whole thing’s so ridiculous, you almost feel bad for making anyone listen to it.

“Right,” you say, standing up. “Now we just need to sell this at court.”

When you arrive at the palace, Idia hangs back while you step forward, playing your part as the "heroic rescuer." Ortho’s the first one to spot you, and when his eyes land on Idia, they widen with shock and excitement.

“Brother!” Ortho shouts, practically flying over to tackle Idia in a hug. “I knew you’d come back!”

Idia, not really one for public displays of affection, awkwardly pats Ortho’s head. “Yeah, yeah, don’t make a big deal out of it,” he grumbles, though you can see the tiny smile tugging at his lips. “I was, uh, working on some top-secret stuff. Y’know, important genius-level projects.”

Ortho beams. “That sounds just like you!”

You have to hold back a snicker. Yeah, real “top-secret.” Like avoiding social interaction at all costs.

Soon, you’re ushered into the royal court. The king—who clearly knows something is up—doesn't look remotely surprised by the "revelation" that Idia was never actually kidnapped. But, because royal politics are weird, he plays along.

“So, Prince Idia,” the king says, raising an eyebrow, “I suppose you’ll want the Crown Prince title back now that you’ve returned?”

Idia freezes, panic flashing in his eyes. "Uh, absolutely not. Hard pass. Nope. Ortho’s got it handled, right? He can keep the whole… crown… thing.”

Ortho nods eagerly from behind him. “I’ve got it covered!”

The king sighs but nods. “Very well. And what about you?” He turns to you. “Surely, a brave soul such as yourself deserves a reward.”

Here it comes. You’ve rehearsed this with Idia, but now that you’re on the spot, you can’t help the dramatic flair in your voice as you clasp your hands together and say, “All I ask… is for Prince Idia’s hand.”

The king looks thoroughly amused, while Idia, beside you, is turning a very interesting shade of red.

“What?” Idia hisses under his breath. “That was not the line.”

You grin, leaning closer. “Yeah, but you have to admit, it’s funnier this way.”

To his credit, Idia doesn’t collapse on the spot, though he does look like he’s reconsidering his life choices.

Meanwhile, from across the room, you catch the third prince—your so-called "male lead"—glaring daggers at you. He looks like he's about to burst a blood vessel, while the heroine next to him is scandalized beyond belief.

“B-but Idia’s hand was supposed to be won!” she protests, clearly flustered.

You tilt your head innocently. “Oh? Not satisfied with the third Prince?” you ask, batting your lashes at her.

Her face goes red, and the Bland Prince—whoever he is—looks equally scandalized.

Next to you, Idia quietly high-fives you behind his back.

“Nice one,” he whispers.

As you both walk away from the court, Idia glances over at you, his usual sarcasm softened by relief. “You know, I really thought I’d end up hating this whole scheme, but you’re not bad at playing the part.”

You chuckle, nudging him. “Told you it’d be fun. And now I get a beach house, so it’s a win-win.”

Idia sighs but can’t hide the smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t make me go to any more parties, okay?”

“Deal.”

You’re sitting across from Idia in the study, supposedly "spending time together" to prove to the world how deeply smitten you both are. In reality, though, you’re plotting out your beach house retirement plan, while Idia is hunched over his latest gadget, muttering like a mad scientist.

"Okay, so if I tweak this—boom, self-repairing AI drone. Easy. The idiots at court would never get it," he whispers to himself, eyes glued to the wires and gears he's fiddling with.

You’re busy doodling floor plans of your dream beach house, adding an extra pool for fun. “Yeah, totally, sweetheart,” you mumble, pretending to listen. This fake relationship thing is going swimmingly.

That’s when the door flies open, and in waltzes the male lead—of course he doesn't knock. The guy practically drips entitlement as he saunters in, admiring himself in the reflection of a spoon he’s for some reason carrying.

Without missing a beat, you and Idia scramble to look like actual lovers. You slide closer to him, casually tossing an arm over his shoulders, and he—already flustered—just stiffens like he’s been caught in a trap.

“I see you two are enjoying each other’s company,” the male lead says, not even looking up from his spoon reflection. “I came to invite you to the tea party. You know, with all the nobles. The whole ‘Idia’s too traumatized to socialize’ excuse isn’t gonna fly anymore. It’s been three months.”

Idia’s eyes widen, and you can practically hear his soul leave his body. You give him a reassuring nudge.

“Don’t worry,” you whisper. “I’ll do all the talking. You just have to sit there, sip tea, maybe nibble on a pastry, and nod at Ortho. I’ve got the rest covered.”

Idia doesn’t look convinced, but he nods anyway. “Sure, sure, as long as I don’t have to, like, interact.”

The two of you arrive at the tea party, and the moment you step into the garden, you realize you're absolutely screwed. It’s not a tea party at all—it’s some weird medieval Olympics with archery targets set up, and a bunch of nobles are taking turns shooting arrows while their wives cheer them on.

“What… is this?” you whisper, horrified. “Why are there archery targets at a tea party? Is this... a misogyny power trip?”

Idia looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. He’s already backing away slowly, trying to make his great escape, but you grab him by the back of his cloak before he can bolt.

He shoots you a look like you’ve just committed the ultimate betrayal. “This... is not a tea party. You said tea and pastries. Where are the pastries?!”

“I didn’t know!” you hiss back. “I thought we’d just sip tea and gossip about whose cousin married whose horse!”

Before either of you can make another move, the heroine spots you and immediately latches onto your arm, dragging you to the tea table. At the same time, the male lead grabs Idia and hauls him over to the archery side.

"Wait—no—uh—" Idia stammers, but he’s already been thrown into the testosterone-fueled chaos of nobles trying to outdo each other.

Thinking fast, you impulsively declare, “I’ll be the one doing the archery! For my fiancé, of course. You know, because those thugs that kidnapped him? They had bows too!”

Idia, catching on, immediately puts on his best terrified expression. “Y-Yeah! Bows! I’m… I’m still traumatized! Please don’t make me relive it.”

The crowd collectively gasps, and you inwardly pat yourself on the back. Nailed it.

Somehow, despite knowing absolutely nothing about archery, you end up winning the whole thing. Turns out, none of the nobles have actually seen a bow before. You didn’t even hit the bullseye—you just got the arrow near the target, which was apparently enough to impress them.

The prize? A complex-looking mechanical device, something straight out of Idia’s dream workshop. You look at it, completely clueless, before handing it over to him.

“Uh, here. I have no idea what to do with this.”

Idia stares at the device, his eyes wide in disbelief. “You’re… giving it to me?” He looks touched but also suspicious. “You’re not gonna ask for some crazy favor in return?”

You shake your head. “Nah. It’s all yours. Consider it a thank-you for not leaving me to deal with this disaster alone.”

He blinks, clearly not used to receiving gifts without strings attached. “Well… uh, thanks. And… good job on the archery. You, uh, really sold the ‘traumatized fiancé’ bit.”

Before you can respond, the rest of the nobles start talking about "true love," and you can practically feel the heroine’s eyes boring holes into you. She’s fuming, glaring at the male lead—who, by the way, didn’t win—and looks like she’s about five seconds away from tearing out her hair.

You shoot her a smug grin, thoroughly enjoying her frustration. Idia, who’s been watching the whole thing with mild amusement, lightly bumps you with his elbow.

“Thanks for… you know, saving me from whatever that was. And for giving me this… thing,” he says, holding up the device.

“No problem,” you reply, smirking. “I think we’re pulling off this whole ‘smitten lovers’ thing pretty well.”

Idia snorts, trying to suppress a smile. “Yeah, well, if you keep dragging me to ‘tea parties’ like this, we’re gonna need to come up with a better plan. Preferably one where I don’t have to socialize with archery-obsessed nobles.”

“Deal,” you laugh. "Next time, I'll find a real tea party."

"Please don't."

You’re lounging on a comfy chair, lazily chatting with Ortho, who’s happily explaining some new contraption he and Idia worked on. You’re half-listening, more focused on sipping tea and enjoying the rare moment of peace in this chaotic castle.

That is, until Idia suddenly appears in front of you, looking unusually determined. He stands there, awkwardly shifting his weight, before thrusting his hand out in front of you.

Without thinking, you blink up at him and, in your confusion, place your chin on his outstretched palm. You give him a questioning look, waiting for further instruction.

Idia’s face immediately flushes a deep red. “W-What are you doing?! That’s not—I didn’t—gah!”

Ortho’s trying not to laugh, but it’s clear he’s barely holding it together.

“What?” you ask innocently. “You held out your hand, so I thought…”

Idia runs a hand through his hair, clearly flustered, before spluttering, “I—no, I was asking for your gun!”

“Oh. Right.” Without hesitation, you hand him the trusty weapon you always keep on hand, because at this point, you’ve learned to never question what Idia needs. It’s always better that way.

“Thanks,” he mutters, grabbing it like he’s on a mission and rushing off to whatever secret lair he retreats to.

You glance at Ortho, who’s giggling to himself. “Do you think I should be worried about that?”

“Nah,” Ortho says with a cheerful shrug. “He’s probably just making modifications. He’ll be fine!”

The next day, your luck runs out. Just when you were hoping for another peaceful afternoon, the heroine arrives for a surprise visit, dragging along her little posse of noble followers. You’re seated in a stiff parlor chair, forced to endure the barrage of small talk and fake smiles, feeling as if the universe is punishing you for all the nonsense you wrote in that novel.

One of the heroine’s cronies leans in with a sickeningly sweet voice, “Oh my, Lady Heroine, I just love your new gown. You look positively radiant. Unlike some people who seem to… dress for comfort, I suppose.”

You shoot her a withering glare, but it’s hard to focus when the heroine herself joins in, adding with a falsely sympathetic tone, “It must be so difficult for you, pretending to fit into high society. I can’t imagine how exhausting it must be, keeping up appearances.”

You’re just about to snap back when, suddenly, the door bursts open. In comes Idia, holding your gun, looking both determined and completely out of his element. For a brief, terrifying moment, you wonder what kind of chaos he’s about to unleash.

Before you can ask, he walks straight over to you and hands it to you, his expression serious. “Here. I finished the modifications.”

Your jaw drops as Idia starts rattling off a list of improvements. “So, I increased the firepower by 30%, added a cooling mechanism so it doesn’t overheat, and now it’s got an auto-targeting system that can scan multiple threats at once. Oh, and I swapped the trigger to be more responsive, so you won’t have any lag—”

You can’t help but notice how animated he looks. His usual deadpan expression is replaced by a lively spark in his eyes as he talks about all the intricate details. He’s completely in his element, and you find yourself enchanted by the way he speaks. It’s rare to see him so passionate, so alive.

The moment is shattered when he finally notices the others in the room. His face drains of color, and he gives a forced smile that screams I don't want to be here. Without another word, he turns on his heel and flees the room. But you notice something strange—he had been holding your hand the entire time. His grip, tight and warm, leaves a lingering sensation even after he’s gone.

You’re left holding your newly modified gun, your face heating up as you process what just happened. The heroine's entourage are all staring at you with wide eyes, as if they’ve just witnessed the most romantic moment of the century. Even the butler, who’s usually the epitome of professionalism, is grinning like he’s just uncovered the secret to eternal happiness. The maids nearby are giggling behind their hands, clearly entertained.

You glance down at the gun, then back to where Idia disappeared. Great, you think to yourself. How am I supposed to survive this?

As if reading your mind, the heroine gives you a smug smile. “It seems your fiancé is quite… attached. How charming.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the sudden rush of blood to your cheeks. “Yeah, he’s a real romantic,” you mutter sarcastically.

But even as you try to brush it off, your thoughts keep returning to that sparkle in Idia’s eyes, the way he had held your hand, and the way his enthusiasm had made your heart skip a beat. Maybe this royal con is going to be more complicated than you expected… but also, maybe not as bad as you feared.

Dragging Idia to get fitted for the imperial ball is like trying to drag a cat into a bathtub. He’s actively resisting, feet planted as you haul him toward the tailor with all the enthusiasm of a man being led to the gallows.

“Why do you keep doing this to me?” he groans, leaning back so far you think he might just throw himself on the floor in protest. “An angel loses its wings every time you make me do this. Do you want heaven to be wingless? Is that what you want? To singlehandedly destroy heaven?”

“I’m aiming to open a black market for wings, yes,” you say, deadpan, yanking him forward. “The profits will be incredible.”

“You’re a menace,” he mutters, shuffling along behind you, still resisting like a particularly stubborn mule. “Just put me in a broom closet with a bag of chips and leave me there. I don’t need to go to this ball. No one wants to see me.”

“I do,” you quip. “I’m dragging you into society, one unwilling step at a time.”

By the time you actually manage to get him dressed, you feel like you’ve aged five years. But when you take a step back to admire the result, it’s worth it. Idia looks stunning, even if he’s fidgeting like his clothes are secretly made of fire ants. He’s basically the human version of a rare collectible: usually hidden away, but absolutely jaw-dropping when you finally get to see him.

“Alright, Prince Drama,” you say, exhaling, “I’m going to get dressed. Try not to set anything on fire while I’m gone.”

When you return, you immediately notice something’s up. Ortho’s whispering something to Idia, and whatever it is, it’s causing a nuclear-level blush to spread across his face. He’s stiff as a board, and when he turns around and sees you in your ball attire, he goes straight from “mildly panicked” to “catastrophic system error.”

Without warning, he chucks a flower at you. Just full-on throws it like it’s a projectile weapon.

“Here,” he croaks out, his voice cracking halfway through.

You blink, catching the flower mid-air with one hand. “Uh, thanks? Were you... trying to plant this on me?”

Idia’s face somehow manages to get even redder. “No—I mean yes—I mean—” He looks around for help, but Ortho just gives him an unhelpful thumbs up from the corner.

You grin, deciding to help the poor guy out. “Why don’t you pin it in my hair instead?”

His hands shake as he fumbles with the pin, and you’re pretty sure he’s using every ounce of self-control not to stab you in the scalp. You bite your lip, trying not to laugh, but the whole situation is just too funny. Especially when Ortho gives you a conspiratorial wink from behind Idia’s back like he’s this close to winning a bet.

The ball itself is, as expected, a social hellscape. You and Idia survive by sticking together like conjoined twins, fending off the waves of nosy nobles and fake smiles. You can practically see the stress radiating off of Idia, his expression one of pure misery.

And then, the king makes his grand address, signaling the start of the first dance. You feel Idia stiffen beside you.

“Oh no,” he mutters, “Oh no. This is where it all goes downhill. I’ll trip, I’ll break my leg, and then they’ll throw me in the royal dungeon for embarrassing the family.”

“Relax,” you say, squeezing his hand. “It’s just one dance. I’ll lead, you follow. Easy.”

“I hate this,” he mumbles as you drag him onto the floor. “I hate everything about this. I should have just set myself on fire and gotten out of it that way.”

But despite his protests, you manage to lead him through the first few steps of the waltz. To your surprise, he’s not completely hopeless. He stumbles a little at first, but with you guiding him, he starts to get the hang of it.

“You’re doing great,” you say encouragingly.

“Stop lying,” he grumbles. “I’m one misstep away from taking us both out like a bowling ball hitting pins.”

The music continues, and with every turn and spin, you notice the room around you fading into the background. For a moment, it’s just you and Idia, navigating the intricate steps of the dance together. He’s still anxious, but he’s keeping up, and more importantly, you can tell he’s starting to trust you. He’s letting you take the lead, and for someone like Idia, that’s huge.

From Idia’s perspective, this entire ball is a waking nightmare. He’s completely out of his element, surrounded by people he’d normally go to great lengths to avoid. But then there’s you. You’re handling everything with this... ease, this grace that he can’t even begin to comprehend. You’re not just dancing with him, you’re actively navigating the minefield of court politics like it’s no big deal.

And you don’t need to do this. This isn’t your problem—it’s Ortho’s succession, not yours. But you’re here, by his side, going all out to make sure Ortho’s future is secure. Idia’s heart twists in his chest. He doesn’t get it. You’re way too cool for this. Too cool for him. You wink at him mid-spin, and he feels like his brain’s short-circuiting.

"Oh no. I like them. Like, really like them. And soon, they’ll be gone. This whole engagement is just for show. After Ortho’s investiture, we’ll go back to our separate lives, right?"

He swallows hard, trying not to freak out, but it’s too late. He’s in way too deep.

After the dance, you lead him off the floor and start mingling with the other nobles, making alliances and doing your whole “political mastermind” thing. Idia stands awkwardly to the side, trying to blend into the wallpaper, but his eyes keep following you. You don’t have to do all this for Ortho, but you are. And that’s... that’s really cool. He admires you, he can’t help it.

And then—oh no. The lower nobles. They spot him and beeline toward him like sharks smelling blood. Before he can make a break for it, they swarm around him, throwing party invitations at him like confetti.

“Prince Idia, you simply must attend our garden soirée next week,” one of them gushes, eyes sparkling.

“And our evening gala!” another pipes up. “You’ll be the guest of honor, of course!”

Idia’s face goes pale, and he shoots you a look that screams, HELP ME.

You swoop in like a knight in shining armor. “Ah, yes, well, unfortunately, Idia can’t attend. He’s... uh... allergic to sunlight.”

The nobles stare at you, blinking in confusion. Idia stares at you too, his expression a mix of disbelief and amusement.

“Allergic to... sunlight?” one noble repeats, frowning.

You facepalm. Smooth. “I mean... it’s a joke! Ha! Obviously! What I meant to say is... uh...” You scramble for an excuse. “I need a nap.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I—uh—can’t sleep without him,” you blurt out. “It’s, uh, a couple thing.”

The nobles blink at you again, thoroughly bewildered.

You grab Idia’s arm, muttering, “We’re leaving,” and make a quick exit, practically dragging him behind you.

As soon as you’re out of earshot, you let out a groan. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I said that. ‘Allergic to sunlight’? Really?”

Idia is doubled over laughing, completely losing it. “You what?!” he howls. “You need a nap? And you can’t sleep without me?!”

“Shut up!” you say, cheeks burning. “I was trying to save you!”

“You saved me? More like doomed me!” He wheezes between laughs, clutching his stomach. “Oh man, you are terrible at this. You make me look good, and that’s saying something.”

You glare at him, but his laughter is so infectious that you can’t stay mad. And honestly? He looks free. Unbridled, even. It’s the first time you’ve seen him laugh so openly, so without reservation, that it almost makes you forget how embarrassing the situation was.

Almost.

It's finally time for Ortho's investiture, and to say you feel unprepared would be an understatement. Not for any political reason—you've long since mastered the art of navigating court intrigue. No, the issue is far more personal, far more heart-wrenching. After today, once Ortho is declared Crown Prince, Idia will no longer have any excuse to stay in the spotlight. He'll retreat, back into the shadows, probably even fake his own kidnapping to get out of any future public events. And you?

You'll finally get that peaceful beach house you’ve been dreaming about.

But the thought doesn’t feel like a reward. It feels bitter. You don’t want that beach house—not if it means losing Idia. The man who’s wormed his way into your heart with his sarcasm, awkwardness, and hidden kindness.

But you know he’s not someone you can tie down. Idia doesn’t do well with permanence. And as much as your heart begged to hold on to him, you also know he’d likely slip through your fingers if you tried.

So you do what any self-respecting person would in this situation: put on a brave face, slip into your formal attire, and prepare to smile your way through heartbreak.

When you walk out to greet Idia, he’s already dressed in his formal robes, looking every bit the reluctant royal. His eyes widen slightly when he sees you, but he says nothing, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.

You muster up the strength to smile and reach for his hand. “Ready?”

He nods, but neither of you can meet the other’s eyes.

From Idia’s perspective, today should feel like a victory. He’s been planning for Ortho’s investiture for months, and now that the day is finally here, he should be feeling nothing but relief. But no—he’s filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. It’s not about Ortho. His little brother is brilliant, and Idia knows the kingdom is in good hands.

No, what he’s not ready for is letting you go.

If someone had told him a year ago that he would care about someone—want someone—so desperately, he would’ve locked them up in a mental facility. But here he is, standing on the precipice of his worst nightmare.

You, who shine in every public setting, who effortlessly charm everyone around you, are going to move on. He knows he can’t tie you down with his reclusive lifestyle, his constant desire to escape from the world. How could he? You’re everything he’s not—bright, resplendent, beloved. He can’t ask you to give up your life for him.

But when you come out and take his hand, his heart skips a beat. Neither of you are able to look each other in the eye, but the gesture says more than any words could.

The investiture itself goes off without a hitch. Ortho’s speech is flawless, full of the hope and wisdom of a ruler who will no doubt lead the kingdom into a golden age. You’re so proud of him—of the boy who’s become like a little brother to you.

But even as you smile and clap with the rest of the court, you feel a heaviness in your chest that has nothing to do with the political spectacle unfolding before you.

A few tears slip down your cheeks, and you don’t even know if they’re from the overwhelming pride you feel for Ortho or the quiet heartbreak you’ve been trying to suppress all day.

Before you can wipe them away, Idia silently hands you his handkerchief. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at you, and that just makes the ache in your heart a little worse.

You take it with a quiet, “Thanks,” dabbing at your eyes, and you both stand there in tense silence, watching as the formalities continue around you.

Once the investiture concludes and the guests filter out, you and Idia retreat to a balcony to catch your breath. The sky is darkening, and the cool evening breeze does little to soothe the heaviness you feel in the pit of your stomach.

Idia breaks the silence first. "I've, uh... already arranged the beach house. It’s in your name now."

You blink, looking over at him. His voice cracks slightly, and when you finally turn to face him fully, you realize that he looks like the very picture of heartbreak. He’s not meeting your eyes, staring out into the distance as if it’ll keep him from falling apart.

You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Idia... do you want me to leave?”

He freezes, still not looking at you. "I... I want you to be happy. I mean, that's the whole point, right? The beach house, everything—you’ve been wanting that for ages."

“I didn’t ask if you wanted me to be happy,” you say quietly. “I asked if you want me to stay or go.”

The silence between you stretches, heavy and suffocating. You hold your breath, waiting for him to answer. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“I... I don’t know what I’m gonna do if you’re not here anymore.”

That’s all the confirmation you need. Before he can say anything else, you step forward, cupping his face and pulling him into a kiss. For a split second, he stiffens, shocked, but then he melts into it, his arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go.

It’s everything you needed and more—sweet, desperate, and filled with all the words neither of you have been able to say. When you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against his, both of you breathing heavily.

“Come with me,” you whisper. “To the beach house. We can... we can figure everything out from there.”

Idia lets out a watery laugh, one that’s half-disbelief, half-relief. “You really want a shut-in like me hanging around your dream house? You’re gonna get sick of me in a week.”

You smile, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “I don’t think I could ever get sick of you. So... what do you say?”

He hesitates for a moment, then gives a small nod, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “Yeah... okay. I’ll come with you.”

And just like that, the weight that’s been pressing down on your chest all day lifts. It’s not the end—it’s a new beginning. One where you and Idia don’t have to part ways, where you can move forward together.

As you both stand there on the balcony, holding each other close, the world feels a little less daunting, and the future a little brighter.

The grand hall is slowly emptying out, nobles drifting away after offering their congratulations to Ortho. You and Idia maneuver through the lingering crowd, dodging overly-friendly dukes and avoiding eye contact with barons hoping to extend the festivities.

Idia clings to your arm like a cat being dragged to the vet, mumbling, “Please tell me we’re not about to be emotionally ambushed again.”

You smirk. “Relax. It’s just Ortho.”

“Yeah, that’s what you always say before things get sentimental and I have to deal with ‘feelings.’”

You spot Ortho standing near the dais, still wearing the ceremonial robes from his investiture. Despite the long night, he looks bright-eyed, waving cheerfully at some departing courtiers. When he catches sight of you two, his face breaks into the biggest grin, and he hurries over like an eager puppy.

“There you are!” Ortho beams, practically glowing with excitement. “I was worried you left without saying goodbye.”

“Us? Leave without saying goodbye?” you tease. “What kind of villains do you think we are?”

“Exactly the kind who would sneak away in the middle of a banquet,” Idia mutters under his breath. “And you know what? That plan still sounds great.”

Ortho rolls his eyes fondly. “You’re impossible, brother.”

“Only when I’m awake.”

“Anyway,” you cut in, shooting Idia a playful glare before turning back to Ortho, “we wanted to talk to you before we go.”

Ortho’s smile falters, just a bit. “You’re leaving already?”

You nod, squeezing Idia’s arm. “Yeah. We’re heading to the beach house.”

Ortho tilts his head, curious but not upset. “You’re moving there?”

“For a while, yeah,” you explain gently. “Idia and I need a break from all the court politics. But don’t worry. We’ll visit you. Often.”

Idia shifts beside you, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh... It’s not like I’m leaving forever or anything. Just... you know, temporarily escaping society.”

Ortho laughs, but there’s a softness in his gaze now. “I get it. I don’t blame you for wanting to leave all this behind for a bit.”

You take a step closer, voice lowering. “And hey... I know you’ve got a lot on your plate now. But we’re still family. If you need anything—anything—we’ll be here for you.”

Ortho’s grin returns, full force. “I know. I’m really glad you two have each other. Honestly, I was worried for a long time that Idia might never find someone willing to put up with him.”

“Gee, thanks,” Idia deadpans. “Glad my personal development arc has been so inspiring for you.”

“But seriously,” Ortho says, his expression softening again. “Thank you. You’ve done more for us than you had to. I know you could have just... gone back to your world or left things as they were. But you stayed. And you helped him.”

Oh no. Not this again. That suspicious prickle starts in your eyes, and you blink rapidly to fend off the tears. Not now. Not in public.

“You’re not... making me cry,” you insist, even as your voice wobbles. “This is just... allergy season.”

“Oh no, it’s happening,” Idia groans dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please don’t cry. If you cry, Ortho’s gonna cry, and if Ortho cries, the nobles will definitely blame me.”

“Shut up, you big baby,” you sniffle, swatting his arm before pulling Ortho into a hug. “Come here, you. Group hug, now.”

Ortho barely has time to react before you’ve wrapped him up in your arms. He laughs, squeezing you back. You reach out blindly and grab Idia’s sleeve, yanking him into the fray.

“Wait—wait, what—!” Idia stumbles forward, sandwiched awkwardly between you and Ortho. “This is... I don’t...”

“Shhh,” you whisper, patting his back. “Feel the love.”

“This is emotional ambush!” Idia protests, voice muffled against your shoulder. “I want it on record that I was forced into this.”

“Noted,” Ortho says with a laugh, hugging both of you tighter. “But you’re not getting out of it.”

For a moment, the three of you just stand there, huddled together in a ridiculous knot of limbs, nobles glancing your way but tactfully avoiding comment.

Idia mutters into your ear, “This... this is basically treason against introverts.”

You grin. “Consider it penance for being emotionally stunted.”

“You’re both the worst,” he grumbles, but his arms stay wrapped around you.

Eventually, you pull back, wiping your eyes with the heel of your hand. “We’ll be back soon, Ortho. I promise.”

“I know.” Ortho smiles warmly, giving you one last squeeze. “And when you do, I’ll make sure you never have to attend another dull court event again.”

Idia perks up at that. “Oh. Now that’s what I call incentive.”

With one last shared laugh, the three of you break apart. Ortho steps back, standing tall and proud in his new role, though his smile still holds all the warmth of a little brother seeing his family off.

“Take care of him,” Ortho says quietly, glancing meaningfully at you.

“I plan to,” you reply, meeting his gaze with a small, reassuring smile.

“And you,” Ortho adds, looking at Idia. “Don’t screw this up.”

Idia gapes, indignant. “I—why does everyone assume I’m the one who’s going to screw it up?!”

You and Ortho exchange amused glances before both of you answer in perfect unison:

“Because you will.”

Idia groans. “Yeah, okay. Fair.”

With that, you bid Ortho one final goodbye, tugging Idia along before anyone else can rope you into small talk. As you leave the grand hall and step out into the cool night air, the weight on your shoulders feels a little lighter.

Idia sighs in relief. “Well, that’s over. Time to hibernate for the next decade.”

You chuckle, lacing your fingers through his. “Hibernation in the beach house?”

“Hell yeah.”

And with that, the two of you set off into the night, leaving the court behind—for now.

Oh, what happened to the heroine and the male lead, you ask? Let’s rewind a few months before Ortho’s investiture—back when they were still blissfully unaware of the elaborate downfall that awaited them.

You knew that the heroine and the male lead would try to make a spectacle of themselves during Ortho’s rise to power. The way they pranced around, flaunting their superficial charm and good looks like they owned the place—it was insufferable. And, of course, they were always scheming in the background, hoping to secure power and glory for themselves. You couldn’t stand it.

So, you set up the perfect trap.

It began at a lavish gala, one of those unnecessarily extravagant events where nobles gathered to network, gossip, and throw subtle insults at each other. You arrived fashionably late, as any proper duchess would, with Idia reluctantly in tow, mumbling under his breath about how every social event felt like “one of those long quests with zero rewards.”

“The rewards are emotional, Idia,” you whisper, linking arms with him.

“Yeah, emotional damage,” he mutters.

You suppress a smile, but your mind is elsewhere. Tonight is the night. You had planted the seeds weeks ago, a few well-placed rumors, some whispered insinuations, and a letter you’d accidentally left behind in a well-trafficked corridor. It was all coming together like a beautifully chaotic symphony, and now, the climax.

You spot the heroine first, her radiant smile masking the venom beneath. She’s making a grand entrance, arm-in-arm with the male lead, who, as always, looks like he’s stepped straight out of a romance novel. His hair is perfect, his jawline sharp enough to cut through glass. But you know better. They’re both so predictable.

“They’ve arrived,” you murmur to Idia.

He gives you a blank stare. “Yeah, cool, I’m just here to not die of social exhaustion. Whatever you’re planning... don’t tell me. I don’t wanna be involved.”

“Suit yourself,” you reply with a grin.

You watch them mingle, waiting for the right moment. And there it is—the heroine, attempting to cozy up to the king, laughing a little too loudly at one of his mediocre jokes. You slip through the crowd, making your way to where a certain nosy noblewoman is holding court. A noblewoman known for her love of gossip and her even greater love of ruining people’s lives with it.

Perfect.

You lean in, feigning concern. “Oh, My Lady... I probably shouldn’t say this, but I heard the strangest thing about the heroine. You won’t believe it.”

Her eyes gleam with curiosity. “Do tell, my dear.”

“Well,” you drop your voice to a whisper, “there’s talk that the heroine and the male lead are involved in some... unsavory business dealings. Something about embezzling funds from the royal coffers for their own gain? I don’t know how true it is, of course... but it would explain some things, wouldn’t it?”

You leave the rest unsaid, letting her imagination do the rest. The best part? It’s all technically true. You had orchestrated it so well, the heroine and the male lead had no idea that their “private” meetings and “innocent” financial maneuvers were anything but secret.

She gasps, her fan snapping shut. “I knew there was something off about them! Oh, the gall! I must inform the king immediately!”

And just like that, the gossip spreads like wildfire. Within minutes, the entire room is buzzing with scandalous whispers. The heroine and the male lead notice the shift, the way people start looking at them, and for the first time, they’re on the back foot. They try to smile, but their unease is palpable.

You sit back, watching the chaos unfold, sipping your wine as nobles begin to distance themselves from the pair, shooting them suspicious glances.

Idia sidles up next to you, looking around at the suddenly tense atmosphere. “What... what did you do?”

“Who, me?” You bat your eyelashes innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He gives you a side-eye. “You’re terrifying.”

“You knew that when you asked me to be your fake fiancée.”

The next day, official inquiries are launched into the heroine and the male lead’s finances, and though they try to clear their names, it’s no use. The damage is done. Their reputations are ruined beyond repair, and they’re forced to withdraw from court life entirely. A fitting end for their ambitions.

Which brings you to the present...

It’s a peaceful morning in your beach house, and you’re sitting on the veranda, enjoying your coffee while the sun rises over the horizon. The sound of waves crashing against the shore is your only company, and for once, there’s no looming political intrigue or royal drama to worry about.

That is, until Idia stumbles out of the bedroom, his hair a messy blue cloud, his eyes half-closed with sleep. He groans as he sees you, one hand on the wall to steady himself. “Why are you up so early? It’s like... the middle of the night.”

“It’s 10 AM,” you reply with a laugh.

“Exactly,” he grumbles, shuffling over to you. Without another word, he flops down beside you, his head immediately finding its way to your neck. He nuzzles into you, muttering something unintelligible, and you chuckle softly, patting him on the cheek.

“You’re such a big baby in the morning,” you tease, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

Despite being married for the past two years, Idia’s face turns tomato-red every time you do something affectionate. He blushes furiously now, burying his face in the crook of your neck to hide it.

“Y-You’re unfair,” he mumbles, voice muffled. “Saying stuff like that... it’s embarrassing.”

You grin. “But you’re so cute.”

“I’m not cute. I’m a grown man. And you’re a villain for making me get up before noon.”

You laugh, running your fingers through his messy hair. “Maybe, but I’m your villain. So deal with it.”

Idia groans dramatically but makes no effort to move away, too comfortable where he is. You continue sipping your coffee, enjoying the moment of peace, when he finally speaks again, a little softer this time.

“Y’know... you really did a number on the heroine and the male lead. They’re still laying low, huh?”

“Maybe the rumor I spread was truly a masterpiece,” you say with a smirk, remembering how perfectly everything had gone according to plan.

Idia snorts. “A masterpiece of destruction, maybe.”

You chuckle, pressing another kiss to his forehead. He sighs contentedly, the two of you basking in the quiet comfort of your shared life. It’s moments like this that remind you just how far you’ve come together, from court intrigue and scandal to peaceful mornings at your beach house.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

For the next part,

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #idia x reader #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud x you #idia shroud #idia #idia x you #trash novel chronicles

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evilminji · 9 months ago

Text

You know what would be both Cool(tm) AND Pants Shittingly Terrifying? Eldritch Space Whale Danny!

Except NOT! Because he's not a whale! Just snoozing and Giganto-Fuck-Off HUGE!

Imagine it! Danny. Joint Custody Child of The Ancients Of Time And Space. Space is SALTY AF because their BITCH OF AN EX has used his FUCKING POWERS, AGAIN, to CHEAT. Clockwork how DARE YOU.

You knew he'd be our Son in advance!

YOU SNUCK IN AND STARTING BONDING WITH OUR CHILD BEHIND MY BACK!

YOU [REDACTED]!

Danny? Sitting off to the Side as a Sentient Everything and Nothing made of galaxies and starlight, howls expletives at their Ex, who is being... REALLY snippy back? WOW, Clockwork. I mean, JESUS, man. Danny's from "oh bless their heart" Nowhere, Midwest. And even HE thinks that last one was both backhanded and cold af.

......he should take notes. *continues to eat his popcorn*

Anyway! APPARENTLY, Space Parent has taken him in the divorce. With much huffing. Tucked under their arm Like The Football(tm). And honestly? This is kinda hilarious, so he's cool with it. Byyyyyy~ Clock Dad! See you on weekends~☆!

*Exasperated Time Noises*

It's pretty cool! He learns a lot. Learns he's probably? Gonna be SOME variation of Space Ghost. Might even take over Space's... well, EVERYTHING, should the unforeseeable occur. So obviously, gonna have to learn The Family Business, as it were!

Which?

UNSPEAKABLY HYPED, YES PLEASE.

SPACE AND STAR STUFF! HECK YEAH!

Unfortunately? Still a Halfa. Bleh, squishy need to eat and sleep. Why they get in the way of Hyperfixation? Why no more space dust? Nooooo, don't drag him away from the controls! He can still learn! Sleep is for quitters! Cowards! *whining in Give Me Back My Blorbos, You Monsters*

But, no. He apparently has to "take care of his body" and "not burn out". Eat "real food". A protein bar counts! He probably ate one of those! Give him back his STARS! He doesn't CARE if he sounds like a toddler! That's DIRECT ACCESS TO THE SECRETS OF SPACE ITSELF! He'll BITE, so HELP HIM-! *Is scruffed like a cranky infant being carried off to beddy bye*

Injustice! D:<

But, none the less, body's require sleep. He shovles down his food, washes up, and flops down in his bed. In the nice lil cozy "Safe For My Half Apprentice Who Is Also My Adopted Son" corner. He passes out in that corner. Starts to float, as he has done countless times before, when agitated before bed. Floats OUT of that corner.

That Safe Little Corner.

IN THE CENTER, THE BEATING HEART OF SPACE.

You know... the place ALL OF SPACE connects too. Where Universe Form and Die. The Grand Recycler. Dust to Dust, from the ashes of old, to the creation of new. Where PORTALS are randomly assigned. So that the Omniversal Ectoplasmic Levels may always be balanced at near to perfect levels, allowing free flow of Souls through the various Reincarnation cycles.

Space, of course, doesn't MANAGE the Ectoplasm itself. Nor the Souls! Different Ancient for THAT, but they DO manage the PORTALS. We live in a SYSTEM after all. Everyone has their "departments" as it were. So really, it's quiet... Danny? Honey? Awful quiet back there! You, uh, fallen asleep, Starlight?

*empty room*

(O.O)

*inhale* AAAAAAAAAAA-!!!!!!!

Meanwhile! He be Snoozin'! And Ghostin'! Ghost Snoozin'! Is extra comfy, cause he weightless and got not booooones~☆!

But! He? Is not a child anymore! Has learned to... for lack of a better term, Let Go. To finally ACCEPT his Death. His inhumanity. His Amortality. Death no longer holds him, can no longer let him go. He is... not immortal. He is disowned, by his own doing and his own choice, at his timeless moment of Ending.

When Life let go of his hand and Death kindly offered theirs, he did not take it.

And that's okay.

It took awhile. Talking to older ghosts. Most vague and vast, near formless. Because it's... it's scary. And it's all you know. All, really, you've EVER known. Inherent to your identity, even after you leave that part you behind.

You are "human". "Martian" or "Xy'xeruian", something else, and you never question it. Even when you've left behind everything ELSE. Your name, your eyes, your history and skin. Yet you fly around and pretend. Still alive, still human.

But is that YOU?

Or just the form you found your start in?

And like? It's okay if it IS! Sometimes, yeah, you ARE. You look down deep and find a "don't know what you were expecting, buddy" sign stapled to a mirror. But more often? It's that last hurdle. The final step in Letting Go.

Everyone mourns at their own pace.

And they are the ghosts of who they were.

It helped. Mourning for the kid he was. Who was fourteen and wanted to be an astronaut. Who died and will never have a grave. The longer he exsists, for he can't technically be called Alive, the more painfully young that child seems.

It was okay.

To cry for Danny Fenton.

Then? To let him go. Let his memory, be memory. And his Past be the grave that child rests in. Loved dearly and remembered, but no longer binding his soul.

He doesn't have to wear that face anymore.

No tributes to the Dead.

He got? Kinda... BIG. Like REALLY big. Spiraling, serpentine, cracking ice, and burning galaxies. Like a fourth dimensional dragon, of ice and stars, somehow forcing its way into a three dimensional space. Atop it all, between two vast, impossible horns? Made of glacial ice coating the warping hearts of black holes, who's shape themselves seem to shift in unknowable ways? There burns, like comet trails, with super novas, compressed to decorative gems beneath glittering morning frost, a Terrible Crown.

He? Thinks? He MIGHT have wings.

He can't tell.

Because APPARENTLY he's a fuckin tesseract! Oh, no, sorry. He might me a Zone DAMNED PENTERACT!!! Is THIS what he gets for hanging out with Clockwork all the time? He just liked the quiet! Now his "true form" is PHYSICALLY PAINFUL for most people to look at!

Clock Dad WHAT THE HELL?!

(You see, now, why Space broke up with him? An ASSHOLE)

So! Danny stays, usually at least, in his "Hi, yes, I am Normal Human Man" Ghost form. But NOW? Now it PINCHS. Because it's TOO SMALL. But hey, that's fine! It's not like he has an ingrained habit of transforming when super tired and stressed! To float sleep for Maximum Restfulness(tm).

Ha ha!

Why does that feel like foreshadowing?

BECAUSE IT IS!

Danny? Snoozing! Space? Has LOST THE BABY! Portals? Have done a Jood Gob in Portalling, something they are vaguely sure they are supposed to be doing! Yay them! They have no brain cells but still enjoy helping! They moved a thing! That's helpful right? Yay! Probably!

And on DC's planet Earth?

They? Just choked on their fuckin coffee. One moment? La dee daa~ oooh~ look! Stars! Deep space! Oh, hiiii~ Watchtower! The NEXT? *every alarm in the building starts LOSING ITS SHIT* Giant World OBLITERATING SHAPE completely takes up the screen.

From near PLUTO.

There are NO WORDS TO DISCRIBE HOW FUCK OFF BIG THIS THING IS, MR. PRESIDENT. It will eat our nukes and LAUGH. Call! EVERYBODY!!!

Obviously? Superman. I mean really, OF COURSE Superman. Frankly, all the Supers. Because we would like to KEEP having a planet, thanks. Only? The more reports that come in? The more everyone is getting "oh fuck. This is a Workd Eater" vibes.

A massive, massive, Sleeping Titan of a Planet Destroying World Eater.

That MIGHT BE MAGIC.

*highly stressed Everyone noises*

And WORSE? Superman? Can't TOUCH it! Oh sure, at FIRST he could! But then he apparently pushed too hard in just one spot! And it felt POKED AT. So now, after flicking superman HALFWAY BACK TO EARTH to make him stop? No one can physically touch it!

But! There is hope!

Because? The creature is GREEN. Bright, luminous, Lantern Green! And Earth's Lanterns have already sent for back up. Combined? The were able to move a... hand? Paw? Something. But! With the combine forces of several nearby sectors of Lanterns? They promise the power to either relocate the creature or at least hold it in orbit until FURTHER forces can be deployed!

They refuse to harm the creature until it proves actively hostile, as it could have been seeking a place to nap and chosen one inconvenient to established planetary life. Frankly? Earth doesn't CARE where you relocate the giant Eldritch Space Dragon. Just NOT IN OUR BACKYARD, PLEASE.

....YES WE ARE SURE! We don't CARE if the scientific community of our planet is begging you to set up an area for them to place an "observation satellite"! No giant Eldritch Space Dragons in our solar system! It might WAKE UP!

Naturally, about half way THROUGH this Highly Delicate Operation?

Danny Wakes Up.

@hypewinter @hdgnj @lolottes @babbling-babull @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter @mutable-manifestation

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #danny phantom #minji's writing

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cyberrose2001 · 1 month ago

Note

I hate TF One sentinel so much.

I fucking hate him.

I hate him so much I wanna see this mech a whimpering teary mess underneath me after overloading more than he can take.

I want him overstimulated and trembling. venting hard as he is forced to cum again. Tied down and obedient to no one else but me. Him on his knees begging for release.

I hate him so much I wanna see him pathetic and whipped for pussy or spike. Hell make him whipped for both. Go wild.

TF:One Sentinel Prime x Human Reader

okay so i had a couple ideas but this is the one i went with. essentially sentinel using you to make his dick look bigger so he can stroke his ego, but keeps it a secret. to which you find pathetic and of great value (aka to keep living it up rich giant alien robot style)

also go easy on me!! slowly learning how to write for the universe (as alot of people probably are)

Warnings: TF:ONE SPOILERS, Cybertronian/Human, Dom/Sub Elements, Humiliation/Degradation, Bondage, Face Sitting/Cunnilingus, Cream Pies, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation

Word Count: 1707

18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

For a species that's so highly advanced compared to your own, you'd think there would be far more disunities. After all, this planet wasn't made for you. But despite this Olympic-sized hurdle, most of the Cybertronians seemed curious about you. A little human, freshly birthed compared to the universe's timeline itself, bought to Cybertron by their ventures.

It's taken a lot to get used to. But the primal urge associated with human nature seems omnipresent, as you have learned.

Sentinel Prime. The lord and master of Cybertron had his curiosity peaked. He initially took you in as a novelty, a mere collector's item to show off as a display of acceptingness between Cybertronians and Humans—a symbiotic relationship between two species.

At least, that's what he tells them. Yet another lie for him to cover up for the masses.

"You're such a fucking sellout, Sentinel."

A liar he may be, but his trembling form and the whines of your name speak truthfully. And with all the queries of your purpose on this planet, one thing is sure.

Sentinel Prime can't get enough of human nature.

And you're determined to squeeze every last drop of that precious information.

In the lavish and very private penthouse of his tower overlooking Iacon City, Sentinel Prime kneels before you on the berth. Though at eye level, the balance of power remains clear. Ropes of golden silk tie his arms behind his back, connecting to the ones adorning his thighs, keeping them embarrassingly wide open. He can't count how often he's been in this position before, but he learns something new about your little fleshy body each time.

"Yeah, I know." Sentinel wriggles against the ropes despite having no intention of escaping from them, "B-But I have an image to upkeep, you know that."

"Oh, an image! I see," Gripping the kibble on his chin, you pull him closer, to which he flinches, "Because the only image I see is you popping a boner over a little fleshy like me. Now, wouldn't that cause a stir, hm?"

Sentinel grits his dentae, his faceplates heating up at the proximity. He says nothing, knowing that he could dig himself a deeper hole. But he's already too deep, so much so that he could be tried in court for inappropriate relations with organic species. Or worse, he could have the title of 'Prime' stripped away from him.

But he can't deny it. He's so turned on by your soft skin pressing against him that it almost makes him sob, spike standing erect right in front of you. Deliciously throbbing and angry, ripe for your taking.

"On your back, I mean it." You push against his chassis, and he flops backward, grunting as the winds knocked out of him. Your little form climbs atop him, but you don't stop at his spike. You keep climbing until you're standing on his chassis.

"Wh- What are you doing?" Sentinel questions, his voice strained. He watches as you straddle his face and push your cunt against his intake, a pleasant surprise to Sentinel.

"I'm gonna put that lying tongue of yours to good use," You moan, wiggling your hips against his glossa, "Ever tasted human pussy before? Because it's about time you did."

Sentinel grunts as you grind your hips against his face. Though tiny, you're still enough to take his breath away. The sweet, earthly, deliciously human scent fills his olfactory sensors, and he dives in with the first lap at your folds. It's new to him, soft and plush against his glossa. He doesn't even need a second taste to confirm that he's already addicted.

A soft gasp leaves you as Sentinel essentially makes out with your pussy, moving from opened-mouthed kisses to flicks at your clit. You sit down further on him, causing his glossa to push into you forcefully. The ridges massage along your walls and make you see stars, filling you perfectly, making it hard to believe you had no trouble taking his spike. But you won't tell him that. It's far too much fun to humiliate him and make him putty between your thighs instead.

"Is that the best you can do, Sentinel?"

The Prime whines into your flesh as his glossa works double time, "Pfflease..." He takes a breath before he laps at your clit again, rubbing and grinding with the help of your hips.

"What was that? I can't hear you." Your dominant side gets the better of you, and you deviously shift your hips up, hovering just shy above his saturated dermas, "Say it again."

"Please- I can't- I need you to fuck me-" Sentinel whimpers, wincing as his spike painfully throbs. It's all getting too much for poor Sentinel, "I need your valve-" He cranes his neck in a poor attempt to lick at you once again but whines when you pull away from him entirely.

"I can't believe you, Sentinel. You can hardly wait five minutes? How disappointing." You lean closer, "But I won't say no. I hope your spike can perform better than that tongue of yours."

You slide back down his frame, smiling at Sentinel's soft, frustrative growls. You straddle him again, his spike standing tall between your thighs. It only reaches past your navel, and a thought occurs as you gaze upon the pretty biolights.

He must have the smallest one on Cybertron; no wonder his ego's so big.

And no wonder he prefers to fuck a human and keep it a secret.

"You're so hard for me, Sentinel, aren't you?"

"Y-Yes. Only you." Sentinel heaves his chest, still worked up from eating you out. He watches tentatively as you line yourself up, the weeping tip of his spike just pressing against the threshold. He arches his back against the restraints as his spike is engulfed in your heat, biting back a sob of relief.

"Good," You press your hips down agonisingly slow, hands pressed against his abdomen for support, "Keep still, or I won't let you finish."

You sink the rest of the way, planting your ass on his pelvis. The unrelenting fullness causes a shaky breath to whistle past your lips, but you suppress a moan. Sentinel whines, already trembling against the ropes. He tries to roll his hips up into you, but a taut squeeze of your walls halts him in his tracks.

"Do you not listen? I said stay still." You growl through your teeth. Rolling your hips forward, you create a rhythm that has Sentinel crying out. He has no control, not with his servos tied behind him, nothing to grab onto as you start to bounce ruthlessly on his throbbing spike. His helm lulls back in pleasure and hopelessness as he's forced inside you again and again.

"Ah- Ah!! Y-Y/n! I'm gonna-" Sentinel mewls, clenching his optics shut, his chest heaving once again on the cusp of an embarrassingly early overload.

You keep bouncing despite your breathing becoming laboured, fueled by the desire to see Sentinel come undone and beg for your mercy, "Yeah? You gonna cum, Sentinel? Show me how much- guh- how much you love human pussy?"

"Y-Yes! Oh, Primus yes-" Sentinel gasps, arching his back struts as you slam down on his spike, "I love it- ohhn- I love your organic valve so much-"

A raw, sinful cry wracks his frame, shuddering as he pumps his transfluids into you. The warm, suspiciously glowing fluid leaks and spurts out, causing a shiver down your spine.

"My oh my, Sentinel, that was fast." You moan softly, slowly circling your hips, "Not only are you pathetic, but you're pathetic and don't last long in bed."

Sentinel whines wearily at the extra stimulation, "Sorry- nghh- I just can't help it- AHhn!-"

You don't let him finish his sentence. Instead, you lift your hips and slam your hips back down, sending transfluids all over his pelvis. You work yourself up to a back-breaking rhythm, determined to keep your promise to make him beg for mercy. You watch in fascination as Sentinel starts to thrash against the restraints, and how he bares his dentae at you, how that disgustingly handsome face belonging to a mech at your mercy begins to contort in overwhelming pleasure.

"F-Fuck, Sentinel-" Double entendre. You keep going, fingers digging into his hip plating to prevent being thrown off. The wet, sloppy noises of metal meeting flesh spark a deep heat within the pits of your stomach.

He keeps thrashing against you as he cries and howls your name, his hips pressing into the berth to try and escape the overstimulation. He tries to form words, but all that leaves him is an incoherent babble of pleads and whines for you to stop. He overloads again, crying and tugging at the restraints, another gush of warmth spilling into you.

"C'mon, Sentinel-" You moan, your thighs trembling from the workout of holding the mech down. Your cunt aches at the prolonged stretch, but you're determined once again to draw one last overload from him. You reach down and start to circle your clit, hoping to breach your orgasm, "G-Gimme one more, and I'll stop."

"P-Primus below-" Sentinel clenches his optics shut as your pussy strangles his spike, his hips stuttering. The tightness of your walls lurches him forward as he shoots another load into you.

"Fuck yes!" You give him a show of your own and arch your back, finally reaching your orgasm. You cry out and clench down, causing more trans fluid to spill out from you. A soft, exhausted whine leaves you once you're left in the afterglow.

What a mess. Layers of sticky trans fluid coat your thighs and Sentinels' pelvis, the dull throbbing of an overworked spike still seated inside you. It's a horrific sight to walk in on if anyone were to, but maybe they should, if only to expose Sentinel for the filthy fleshy fucker he is.

Looking up, you're met with a shamelessly erotic mess of the Prime. His faceplates painted blue, his glossa lulling out of his intake, the heavy heaving of his chest plates—the face of a liar couldn't be more irresistible.

You chuckle to yourself, whipping out a small data pad and snapping a picture.

"How's that for an image, Sentinel?"

#transformers #transformers x reader #transformers one #tf one #tf one spoilers #tf one sentinel prime #tf one sentinel prime x reader #tf one x reader #tf one sentinel x reader #tf one x human reader #transformers x human reader #valveplug #asks

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lostwords-found · 3 months ago

Text

Oh no. Oh fuck. I am relistening to some of the earlier Protocol episodes, and I have a horrible, terrible, no good very bad suspicion about Gerry.

I could, I want to emphasize, be completely wrong! I could be wildly, hilariously, off the mark. But--hear me out. This is going to take some explaining about what I think is going on in the bigger picture worldbuilding stuff; hopefully it'll be coherent, but fair warning, it may get a bit long.

First: there have been a lot of cases that have boiled down to trying to keep only the "good"/desirable/etc aspects of things or events or people, and discard the "bad"/unwanted, right? We saw this happening very explicitly in episode 23 with Alesis Newman, and way back in episode 2 with Daria the painter, but a number of episodes have presented variations on a similar theme.

Two variations in particular that I've been thinking a lot about are the violinist in episode 4 and the gambler in episode 9. The violinist can play his violin beautifully, but he wants to be rid of the price in flesh and blood that it demands. Similarly, the gambler wants the rewards of rolling high on his magic dice, but wants to be rid of the misfortunes that come with rolling low. Crucially, both episodes make clear that in this type of balance--something unwanted for something wanted--you can't just make the unwanted piece vanish. It has to go somewhere, it has to happen. But you can make it happen to someone else, somewhere else. And when that's how the game works, one of the major questions for players who want to get ahead then becomes: "how do I make the bad stuff stay happening somewhere else, and keep reaping the benefits of the good stuff that balances it out?"

Here's where this gets wildly speculative and from here on I freely acknowledge that I may be talking out my ass:

I think the Magnus Institute was investigating that question. I suspect a great many alchemists before the Institute, probably going back to the times of Albertus Magnus, were investigating it as well. I think the Great Work they were attempting -- the "universal transmutation" alluded to in episode 21 as the Magnus Institute's aim -- was the exact opposite of Jonah Magnus's own "Great Work" in TMA. In other words, I think they were probably trying to make the world an eternal paradise, rather than an eternal hell.

But if you're getting rid of all the "bad" stuff, all the suffering and misfortune, it's got to go somewhere.

I think they were sending it through to other worlds.

I'm not going to get into all the reasons I think that right now, because that's a whole essay in itself, but basically--the Leitners in TMA? The artifacts? All the little bits and pieces of evil given physical form, that never had a clear origin point in the world where they caused so much suffering for so long? We've all been worried about them winding up here, post-Archives... but I think this is where they came from in the first place. I think they were sent away in the hopes that an increase in "bad" in other worlds would lead to an increase in "good" in this one. Remember all those books Albrecht von Closen found in the tomb in the Black Forest in TMA, that Jonah Magnus later stole and let loose on the world? Remember that Albrecht found a mysterious coin along with them dated 1279? Albertus Magnus died in 1280; I strongly suspect he sent those books from the world of Protocol to that of Archives shortly before his death, much as the world of Archives sent the tapes away centuries later. But I think Protocol's world kept sending things away, kept trying to export "bad" and import "good". Remember all those happy, laughing volunteers bringing strange and sinister items to the charity shop on Hill Top Road in episode 7? "All for a good cause."

Okay so. Now. With that bit of hypothetical framework for Protocol's worldbuilding in place, let's next go back to Alesis Newman of episode 23. Her expressed wish is to create a new her. "Someone better. Someone the pain can't touch." Someone who can be everything Alesis wishes she could have been. Someone "free of all (her) mistakes."

But increasingly it sounds like what she actually wants isn't to create someone new. It is to create someone who is only a part of her current self. Someone who, she says in one of her last few posts, will "just be the good parts of me."

And if that's the case, if what she's really trying to do is make someone who holds only the "good" parts of her, someone who can be happy and strong and perfect and loved by everyone forever... what happens to the bad parts of Alesis Newman, as she currently exists? What about the parts of her that feel pain and fear, the parts of her that make mistakes, the parts of her that she rejects?

One might assume, from the experience she narrates, that those pieces of her are simply being destroyed. But that doesn't line up with the suggestion we've seen from earlier episodes that there has to be some kind of balance maintained in these bargains. What she actually says is happening to her--and what the forum members have apparently told her will happen, through this process--is that she and this "new her" are "becoming one... and then two."

I don't think the "bad" parts of Alesis Newman are dying. I think they're also going to become a "new her"--they're just going to go somewhere else, somewhere the new, happy, strong, perfect version of Alesis Newman never has to see them.

Still with me?

Okay.

Now let's talk about Gerry. Let's talk about the smiling, laughing, irrepressibly happy Gerry Keay we meet early in Protocol. Gerry who seems to have everything that the Gerry Keay of Archives was denied.

Gerry who underwent tests at the Magnus Institute as a child, and who, per the static over his and "Gee Gee's" words, holds a few more secrets about what went on there than he let on to Sam and Celia.

Back when I first heard Gerry's appearance in episode 8, it sure felt like a narrative gut punch: This is who he could have been in Archives, if not for the presence of the Fears. This is what Jon and Martin's final decision threatens to destroy--for this safe, happy version of Gerry, and for everyone else in his world.

I'm now suspecting it might be significantly worse than that. I think the Magnus Institute might have done to Gerry Keay something similar to what Alesis Newman later did to herself: made him New. Kept only the good parts--ensured a happy, comfortable, good life for him. In which case, all the bad stuff--all the parts of Gerry Keay that would ever have to suffer from bad luck, to feel pain and fear and misery...

...well. They'd have had to go... somewhere else, wouldn't they.

Which would suggest I had the causality the wrong way around the first time I heard Gerry's appearance in Protocol: maybe it's not "Gerry has a happy life in this world because he didn't have to suffer everything that the Gerry Keay of Archives did."

Maybe it's "Gerry in Archives had to suffer everything he did because Gerry in Protocol was made to always be happy."

#in which seldon is extremely fucking normal about the magnus protocol #takes a *deep* breath and hits post #tmagp speculation #<-please let me emphasize the 'speculation' part it is entirely possible i don't know wtf i'm talking about #tmagp gerry #tmagp alesis newman #tmagp magnus institute #tmagp albertus magnus #tmagp #the magnus protocol #tmagp 23 #tmagp 8 #tmagp spoilers #the magnus protocol spoilers #pondering magpods

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inkspiredwriting · 2 months ago

Text

payback

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

A/N: This was a request. As always, feel free to say if you liked it, even if you didn't, please tell me.

Warnings: none

Five Hargreeves was not a man easily rattled. He'd seen the end of the world, faced off against assassins, and outwitted time itself. But there was one person in the universe who could consistently throw him off balance, and that was his wife, Y/n.

It was a lazy Saturday morning, the kind where the world felt slow and peaceful. Five and Y/n were lounging in the living room, the sunlight streaming through the curtains, casting a warm glow over everything. Five had his nose buried in a book, his usual brooding expression softened in the comfort of home.

Y/n, on the other hand, was in a mischievous mood. She had been plotting a little prank for weeks, ever since Five had teased her relentlessly about a minor kitchen mishap that had left their kitchen covered in flour. He’d insisted on calling her "Flour Queen" ever since, and she figured it was time to get a little payback.

"Five," Y/n said, her voice deliberately serious as she folded her hands in her lap.

"Mmm?" Five replied, not looking up from his book.

"We need to talk."

Something in her tone made Five pause. He looked up, brow furrowing in concern. "What’s wrong?"

Y/n took a deep breath, putting on her best somber expression. "I’ve been thinking a lot lately, and… I think we should get a divorce."

Five blinked, his brain momentarily short-circuiting as he processed her words. "A… a what?"

"A divorce," Y/n repeated, keeping her voice steady despite the laughter bubbling up inside her. "It’s just… I don’t know if I can do this anymore."

Five’s book slipped from his hands, landing on the floor with a thud. He stared at her, his usual composure cracking. "Y/n, what are you talking about? Why would you want a divorce?"

Y/n bit her lip, struggling to maintain her serious expression. "Well, for one, you never help with the dishes."

Five blinked again. "The dishes?"

"Yeah, and you’re always leaving your socks everywhere. And don’t even get me started on your time travel obsession. I just… I need more in a marriage, Five."

Five’s eyes widened as he frantically searched for words. "I… I can do the dishes! And… and I’ll put my socks away! We can talk about time travel less—wait, is this about the flour incident? Because I was just joking, Y/n. You know I love you more than anything!"

Y/n pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. She could see the genuine panic in Five’s eyes, and it was almost too much to bear. But she wasn’t done yet.

"It’s not just that, Five," she continued, her voice wavering just enough to make it believable. "I just feel like… like you don’t appreciate me anymore."

Five stood up, moving to her side with a desperation she hadn’t seen since the apocalypse. He took her hands in his, his grip firm but gentle. "Y/n, that’s not true. I appreciate you more than anyone. You’re the only person who’s ever made me feel… human. I can’t lose you. Please, let’s talk about this. We can work it out, I promise."

Y/n could barely hold it together now. The sight of Five, normally so calm and collected, practically pleading with her was both heartbreaking and hilarious. She took a deep breath, deciding it was time to end the prank before Five actually had a meltdown.

"Five," she said, her voice softening, "I’m just messing with you."

Five froze, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "What?"

"I’m kidding, Five," Y/n said, unable to keep the smile off her face any longer. "I don’t want a divorce. I was just getting you back for all the ‘Flour Queen’ jokes."

For a moment, Five just stared at her, processing what she had said. Then, as realization dawned, his expression shifted from shock to something between relief and exasperation.

"You… you little—" Five started, but he was cut off by Y/n’s laughter.

She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest as she giggled uncontrollably. "You should’ve seen your face! You were so serious!"

Five let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his heart still racing from the scare she had given him. But as Y/n’s laughter filled the room, he couldn’t help but smile. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

"You’re evil, you know that?" he muttered, but there was no real anger in his voice.

"Maybe a little," Y/n admitted, looking up at him with a playful grin. "But you deserved it."

Five shook his head, still in disbelief that he had fallen for her prank. "I really thought you were serious."

"I know," Y/n said, her smile softening as she reached up to touch his cheek. "But seriously, Five… I love you. And I’m not going anywhere."

Five’s heart swelled with affection as he looked into her eyes, filled with warmth and mischief. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers. "I love you too, Y/n. But if you ever scare me like that again, I might have to time travel just to get even."

Y/n laughed, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him. "Deal."

Five sighed, finally relaxing as the tension melted away. He knew that life with Y/n would never be boring, and honestly, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

They spent the rest of the day together, the earlier scare quickly forgotten as they settled back into their usual rhythm. Five couldn’t help but chuckle every now and then, still amazed at how Y/n had managed to pull one over on him.

As they curled up on the couch that evening, Y/n resting her head on Five’s shoulder, he glanced down at her, a smirk playing on his lips. "You know, I was this close to agreeing to anything just to make you stay."

"Good to know I have that power," Y/n teased, poking him in the side.

Five chuckled, pulling her closer. "Just don’t abuse it too much, alright?"

"No promises," Y/n said with a wink.

And as the evening sun set, casting a warm glow over them, Five realized that he had found something far more valuable than anything time travel could offer—a love that was playful, strong, and endlessly surprising.

#five hargreeves imagines #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves x you #number five imagine #number five x reader #the umbrella academy #number five #number five one shot #five hargreeves

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transmutationisms · 6 months ago

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can u elaborate on posture being a lie

As Beth Linker explains in her book “Slouch: Posture Panic in Modern America” (Princeton), a long history of anxiety about the proximity between human and bestial nature has played out in this area of social science. Linker, a historian of medicine at the University of Pennsylvania, argues that at the onset of the twentieth century the United States became gripped by what she characterizes as a poor-posture epidemic: a widespread social contagion of slumping that could, it was feared, have deleterious effects not just upon individual health but also upon the body politic. Sitting up straight would help remedy all kinds of failings, physical and moral [...] she sees the “past and present worries concerning posture as part of an enduring concern about so-called ‘diseases of civilization’ ”—grounded in a mythology of human ancestry that posits the hunter-gatherer as an ideal from which we have fallen.

[...]

In America at the turn of the twentieth century, anxieties about posture inevitably collided with anxieties not just about class but also about race. Stooping was associated with poverty and with manual, industrialized labor—the conditions of working-class immigrants from European countries who, in their physical debasement, were positioned well below the white Anglo-Saxon Protestant establishment. Linker argues that, in this environment, “posture served as a marker of social status similar to skin color.” At the same time, populations that had been colonized and enslaved were held up as posture paradigms for the élite to emulate: the American Posture League rewarded successful students with congratulatory pins that featured an image of an extremely upright Lenape man. The head-carrying customs associated with African women were also adopted as training exercises for white girls of privilege, although Linker notes that Bancroft and her peers recommended that young ladies learn to balance not baskets and basins, which signified functionality, but piles of flat, slippery books, markers of their own access to leisure and education. For Black Americans, posture was even more fraught: despite the admiration granted to the posture of African women bearing loads atop their heads, community leaders like Dr. Algernon Jackson, who helped establish the National Negro Health Movement, criticized those Black youth who “too often slump along, stoop-shouldered and walk with a careless, lazy sort of dragging gait.” If slouching among privileged white Americans could indicate an enviable carelessness, it was seen as proof of indolence when adopted by the disadvantaged.

This being America, posture panic was swiftly commercialized, with a range of products marketed to appeal to the eighty per cent of the population whose carriage had been deemed inadequate by posture surveys. The footwear industry drafted orthopedic surgeons to consult on the design of shoes that would lessen foot and back pain without the stigma of corrective footwear: one brand, Trupedic, advertised itself as “a real anatomical shoe without the freak-show look.” The indefatigable Jessie Bancroft trained her sights on children’s clothing, endorsing a company that created a “Right-Posture” jacket, whose trim cut across the upper shoulders gave its schoolboy wearer little choice but to throw his shoulders back like Jordan Baker. Bancroft’s American Posture League endorsed girdles and corsets for women; similar garments were also adopted by men, who, by the early nineteen-fifties, were purchasing abdominal “bracers” by the millions.

It was in this era that what eventually proved to be the most contentious form of posture policing reached its height, when students entering college were required to submit to mandatory posture examinations, including the taking of nude or semi-nude photographs. For decades, incoming students had been evaluated for conditions such as scoliosis by means of a medical exam, which came to incorporate photography to create a visual record. Linker writes that for many male students, particularly those who had military training, undressing for the camera was no biggie. For female students, it was often a more disquieting undertaking. Sylvia Plath, who endured it in 1950, drew upon the experience in “The Bell Jar,” whose protagonist, Esther Greenwood, discovers that undressing for her boyfriend is as uncomfortably exposing as “knowing . . . that a picture of you stark naked, both full view and side view, is going into the college gym files.” The practice of taking posture photographs was gradually abandoned by colleges, thanks in part to the rise of the women’s movement, which gave coeds a new language with which to express their discomfort. It might have been largely forgotten were it not for a 1995 article in the Times Magazine, which raised the alarming possibility that there still existed stashes of nude photographs of famous former students of the Ivy League and the Seven Sisters, such as George H. W. Bush, Bob Woodward, Meryl Streep, and Hillary Clinton. Many of the photographs in question were taken and held not by the institutions themselves but by the mid-century psychologist William Herbert Sheldon. Sheldon was best known for his later discredited theories of somatotypes, whereby he attributed personality characteristics to individuals based on whether their build was ectomorphic, endomorphic, or mesomorphic.

[...]

Today, the descendants of Jessie Bancroft are figures like Esther Gokhale, a Bay Area acupuncturist and the creator of the Gokhale Method, who teaches “primal posture” courses to tech executives and whose recommendations are consonant with other fitness trends, such as barefoot running and “paleo” eating, that romanticize an ancestral past as a remedy for the ills of the present. The compulsory mass surveillance that ended when universities ceased the practice of posture photography has been replaced by voluntary individual surveillance, with the likes of Rafi the giraffe and the Nekoze cat monitoring a user’s vulnerability to “tech neck,” a newly named complaint brought on by excessive use of the kind of devices profitably developed by those paleo-eating, barefoot-running, yoga-practicing executives. Meanwhile, Linker reports, paleoanthropologists quietly working in places other than TikTok have begun to revise the popular idea that our ancient ancestors did not get aches and pains in their backs. Analysis of fossilized spines has revealed degenerative changes suggesting that “the first upright hominids to roam the earth likely experienced back pain, or would have been predisposed to such a condition if they had lived long enough.” Slouching, far from being a disease of civilization, then, seems to be something we’ve been prone to for as long as we have stood on our own two feet.

#hps

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redroomreflections · 23 days ago

Text

Let's Make A Movie

Natasha Romanoff xfem!reader

The Loud House Universe

The one where they make a tape ;)

Warnings: bondage, strap use, penetration, things only married couples do of course /s ;)

w/c: 2.9k

Making a sex tape was never on your list of things to do. It's just one of those ideas that fell into your lap. The idea of being able to watch and replay your time with Natasha became more enticing the more you thought about it. When you brought it up to her she'd been weary of your requests but on board. She had stipulations though. You couldn't show her face, and it could only be viewed in the bedroom. That was all well and fine. If anything, those two rules were a turn-on. Oh, and she wanted to top you.

It couldn't be a manufactured moment. It needed to be organic and real. It had to be raw and unhinged.

So, you waited. It didn't take long. Your sex life was great so it wasn't like you had to wait for her to initiate anything. The opportunity presented itself within a month. You were in the tower this time, the high-security building feeling more private than your own apartment somehow. You had been in the midst of a heavy makeout session when she reached for the camcorder. You were a little embarrassed by how fast you'd set up the camera but it had paid off.

"Is it recording?"

"Uh-huh."

Natasha hummed, taking the camera from your hands and moving away to get the right angle.

"You have a minute to get naked, baby," She teased.

"What happens if I don't?"

"Then I don't get to fuck you and you don't get to fuck me"

That was an empty threat, she would let you fuck her either way. Still, you complied and stripped, the cool air of the room making your nipples perk.

"On the bed," She commanded.

You moved to lay back on the bed, looking up at her with anticipation. You were already wet, pussy clenching at the sight of her. knowing that the camera was there somehow added to your heightened senses.

She was dressed down in a tank top and underwear, and her hair was wild. Her makeup had smudged slightly, her lips swollen from kissing. Her green eyes looked black, her pupils blown. She was beautiful. She set the camera down and crawled on the bed, kneeling over. She stroked your neck with one hand, managing to keep her balance, as she pulled you in for another kiss. You could taste the vodka on her tongue.

Her kisses were aggressive and possessive. She kissed you like it was her only chance. Like the world would end in a second. Like it was her last meal. Her hand gripped the side of your face as her other moved down to play with your nipples. it would be a lie to say you weren't already wound up. Natasha kneaded and pinched, noting how your kisses became sloppier as you struggled to breathe through her ministrations. She gave your nipple one last tug before traveling further down, running her fingers along your ribs, then your hip bones, finally dipping a single digit into your dripping heat with no warning.

"Shit, Nat," You whined, head falling back onto the pillows.

"God, baby. You're so wet already."

Natasha was the most observant woman you'd ever met. She could tell if your day was off or if something was bothering you with just one look. The same skills translated to the bedroom, or at least, the porn studio. You smiled in your head at the inside joke.

"What's funny?" She asked as she took her finger from your pussy, collecting your juices, before swirling it over your nipple.

"Nothing. You're just driving me crazy."

"Good." She said before dipping her head to take your nipple into her mouth. She flicked the nub with her tongue before biting down softly.

"Fuck," You hissed, bucking your hips up into her.

"Easy, sweetheart. We're gonna take our time tonight."

The promise of a drawn-out night made you clench. She chuckled, her breath tickling your breast. She switched breasts, sucking the other nipple into her mouth. She wanted to tease you. Wanted to see how needy she could make you. It was hard for her to not give in and fuck you herself. She knew she'd cave eventually.

"Mmm," You moaned, your hand going to the back of her head to get her closer. She suckled your breasts, licking, biting, and pulling at them. By the time she was done, they were hard and swollen.

She moved her head lower, licking your skin until she got to your belly button. You were a mess of arousal and her spit, your pussy aching for her attention.

"You want my mouth?" She asked, lips trailing even lower.

"Yes."

"Where? Be specific."

"I want your mouth on my pussy."

"I think I have other ideas," She said.

You were confused at first until she began to move her mouth up again. Your disappointment must've been evident because she chuckled, kissing the tip of your nose.

"Don't worry, baby. I'll give you what you need. But not yet. You can handle a little more teasing, can't you?"

You nodded and she grinned, "That's what I thought." She leaned over to the nightstand, rummaging through it before pulling out a few items.

"You're tying me up?" You questioned.

"Only for a little bit."

She moved the pillow you'd been leaning against, moving it off to the side.

"Hands up," She ordered.

You followed her directions, lifting your arms above your head. She bound your hands together, securing them to the headboard.

"Comfy?"

"Yeah,"

She kissed you again, softer than the previous ones. It was tender and loving. When she pulled away, her expression was one of pure adoration.

"What do you say, if you need to stop?"

"Red."

"Good girl."

Natasha's fingers trailed down the valley of your chest and stomach, stopping just shy of your throbbing pussy. She spread your legs and positioned herself between them. She lowered her head to your left thigh, peppering it with kisses. Then she nipped at the flesh.

"Ow!" You squeaked.

She did the same to the other thigh. Then the next. The bites got harder each time. Soon enough, there was a ring of teeth marks on your thighs. They stung, and you were sure they'd leave bruises.

"You're marking me up, Tasha."

"I know," She said. She moved down to your thighs and positioned them so that you were open just enough to place the vibrator between them. Then she tied your ankles.

"Are you gonna fuck me with that thing?"

"Yes. But I'm not done yet."

"Not done with what?"

"With you," She answered.

She placed the vibrator on the first setting and held it against your pussy, making sure to press it against your clit. The feeling made you gasp. She moved the toy up and down, slowly.

"Wait, wait, Nat, fuck, wait," You begged. She had the decency to wait.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine it's just..." You breathed.

She removed the toy and kissed the side of your head.

"Thank you," You sighed.

"Do you want to stop?"

"No. Not yet."

"Okay,"

Natasha kissed the corner of your mouth. It was so innocent. She kissed your cheeks, and then your forehead, and the tip of your nose. Her lips brushed against yours as she spoke, "I'll try to be easy. But I'm not promising anything."

"Okay,"

She pressed the toy against your clit again. The vibrations were soft, but you were already sensitive.

"Oh God," You groaned.

"Too much?"

"No, keep going,"

Natasha moved the toy from your clit to your entrance. She pressed the toy inside you. The stretch was nice and you clenched around the object.

"Shit," You arched your back. With your legs and feet bound you couldn't move as much as you wanted. She removed the toy to place it at your clit again, readjusting your hips, before allowing the vibrator to rest there. Your hips twitched.

"Fuck,"

"Good?"

"Mmmhm," You nodded.

She kept the vibrator at a slow pace, watching as your eyes fluttered. She loved seeing you like this. Helpless.

"You look so pretty, baby,"

You were too busy concentrating on the pleasurable sensations to respond.

She reached over to the nightstand, taking the camcorder in her hand to get a closer look. Her rule of keeping your faces out of it had gone out of the window. She wanted to capture everything about you that made you sexy.

"Open your eyes," She whispered.

You listened, opening your eyes and staring up at her. Her hair was mussed and her lips were plump and shiny. Her breasts heaved with every breath she took.

"You're so beautiful," You told her.

She blushed, smiling, "Flattery will get you nowhere."

"You're the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen,"

"Sweet talker," She said. She directed the camcorder to your face, focusing on your lips. Then she directed it to your breasts hard and shiny with her saliva, the toy, and the apex of your thighs.

"How are you doing?"

"Feels good, Tasha,"

"You look like you're having a good time,"

Your only response was a nod.

"Can I go harder?"

"Please."

She turned the vibrator up. The sensation was overwhelming. Your toes curled. You didn't know what to focus on. The toy, her stare, or the camera.

"Jesus, Tasha," You cursed. The sensations felt overwhelming yet so damn good.

"How many times do you think I can make you cum?" She asked.

"Fuck, Tasha. I-I don't know,"

"I think I can get at least three."

"Shit, I-" You couldn't finish your thought, the orgasm hitting you out of nowhere. You hadn't realized how close you were.

"Oh fuck, Tasha." You moaned. Your thighs tried to close but they were tied down, your pussy pulsed, and you arched your back, the toy only pressing into your clit the more you bore down.

"God, look at you," Natasha murmured.

When the pleasure finally subsided, you were a panting mess. You couldn't speak, not that you could even if you tried.

"Are you okay?"

"Uh-huh."

"Did you like that?"

"Mmm."

"You came so hard, baby." She placed the camera down again. "Can you give me another one?" She pushed the toy back to your entrance, thrusting it into you.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, Nat." You were hypersensitive, but the pleasure was worth the ache.

"Does it hurt?"

"A little,"

"I can stop,"

"No, please don't,"

"What's the magic word?"

"Please,"

"Good girl," She praised.

Natasha was rough, her thrusts unrelenting. She was focused on nothing else but the way you moaned and squirmed, the way you cried out. Her nails scraped against your belly, digging into your sides.

"Fuuuuck," You keened.

"God, you're so perfect, baby."

You couldn't even respond, you were too consumed with the ecstasy. She reached for the camera again, recording your flushed and sweaty face.

"I love you," She told you.

"L-love y-you too," You gasped.

"I'm gonna make you cum again. Are you ready?"

"Yeah,"

She thrust the toy in and out of you.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," You chanted. Your thighs trembled and your hips jerked, but she kept them in place with her free hand.

"Open your legs," She demanded as you struggled against your restraints. You did as told and she repositioned the toy. She turned it up to the highest setting.

"Tasha, Tasha, oh God,"

"Just let go," She urged.

Your eyes squeezed shut and your jaw fell open. Natasha's voice was distant as the blood pounded in your ears. It was too much.

"I-I-I'm gon-gonna,"

"Go ahead, baby."

You came. Your vision went white, your body seized, and you cried out.

"Shit, baby," Natasha cursed.

The waves of pleasure hit you again and again. It felt like an eternity before the high began to fade. She allowed you to come down this time, watching as your chest heaved, before she placed the camera down again.

"What's your color?"

"G-green."

"Good. Can I get another one? I'll be gentle."

You were exhausted, but the thought of her bringing you to another climax was too tempting.

"Yes,"

Natasha removed the toy from your entrance. You felt empty. She crawled over you, straddling you, reaching down to expose her clit. She positioned herself just above your pelvis bone.

"Ready?"

"Mmmhm,"

She rubbed her clit against you, grinding her hips. It wasn't about getting you off this time. She needed to chase her own orgasm. And, well, you had to admit that it felt really fucking good.

"F-fuck," Natasha moaned. Oh, how you wished you could touch her. She spread her wetness over you, her juices mingling with yours, as she dripped.

"You feel so good, baby,"

Her hips jerked and stuttered, and you could tell she was close. She placed her hands on your shoulders, effectively pinning you down, as she used you for her pleasure. She rutted against you harder, faster, her clit catching the right spot, and she came.

"Shit," She gasped. Her mouth was parted, her head falling back. She rode out her orgasm before her body collapsed. She buried her face in your neck, still breathing heavily.

"You're amazing," You praised, "So good. So pretty."

Natasha smiled, kissing your shoulder, before laying her head on you.

"Are you going to untie me now?" You asked.

"In a minute." She breathed. It was almost like something else entirely came over her. "You're like my doll." She mused.

"Am I?"

"Mmm, my favorite plaything." She said. "I could just fuck you all night if I wanted. Make you come until you beg me to stop." She leaned up, planting a kiss against your lips. Then another one. And another.

"I would let you, if you wanted,"

"That's good. Cause I'm not done." She said, "I'll never be done with you. You're mine."

"I am," You agreed. She reached up to untie you, massaging your wrists.

"Turn over," She demanded.

You were exhausted.

"It'll feel good. I promise."

You rolled over onto your stomach.

"Are you okay?"

"Green,"

"Good,"

Natasha positioned her body against yours, her breasts resting on your back.

"I'm going to fuck you so good," She whispered. You could tell by her fumbling around that she'd gotten the strap. A rare occasion for her to wear it. You guess for your sex tape it would be appropriate.

For the next few minutes, Natasha treated you like a doll. She used her strength to position you, your face resting against the pillows, as she forced you to arch with your ass in the air, perfectly ready for her. She rubbed the toy against your wet slit.

"Ready, baby?"

"Fuck, please."

"Mmm, that's a good girl."

Natasha thrust into you. You were a bit overstimulated. Her thrusts were rough and the angle allowed her to hit deeper. You didn't know if you'd be able to handle it. But she promised you would feel good. You trusted her.

"Fuck," She cursed, "You're so tight, sweetheart."

"Tasha,"

"I got you."

She thrust harder. Faster. One of her hands moved to grip your hip, the other tangling in your hair.

"Shit, shit, shit," You whined. The slight ache had turned into something new. You felt so full and hot. The pleasure was so intense that you could feel it at your fingertips.

"You take me so good, baby. So fucking good."

"Fuck,"

"You look so beautiful, all tied up and fucked out,"

"Mm,"

She opened your ass cheeks, never stopping her thrusting but to spit on the puckered hole.

"Tasha,"

"Shh, I'm taking care of you,"

Natasha's finger probed the area before pushing in. The feeling was new. Her thrusting became softer and the pace slowed but never stopped.

"Does it feel good?"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, feels so good, Tasha. Oh, fuck."

"I knew you could handle it,"

She used her other hand to take control of your hips, all you could do was grab onto the sheets, as you laid open-mouthed.

"I'm gonna make you cum again."

"Yes,"

"Yes what?"

"Make me cum. Please."

Natasha leaned down to rest against your back. Her breath was hot and the added weight made you feel pinned. It was the last push you needed. Your body seized and you cried out. Your eyes fluttered, but she didn't stop.

"Tasha, wait, it's-"

"It's okay. I'm not done."

The pleasure was blinding. It hurt. But it was the most satisfying pain. Natasha pulled her finger out, changing hands and reaching down to rub your clit.

"Shit, fuck,"

"Good?"

"Mmhm,"

"Are you going to cum again?"

"Mm, I can't."

"You can," She insisted.

Her movements were sloppy, and you were sure the bed would collapse soon.

"Cum for me," She begged.

"Fuck, Nat, oh God, I-I'm-I'm-fuck, fuck,"

You came. Your orgasm is more intense this time. Your hips moved of their own accord, not knowing whether to push her away or keep her close. Natasha's thrust never faltered.

"One more, sweetheart. Come on."

"Tasha," You sobbed, "I can't,"

"Yes, you can,"

Her thrusts got slower, shallower.

"Breathe," She said, leaning over to whisper in your ear. Her thrusts slowed. She ground into your ass, drilling the cock into you, while her fingers toyed with your clit.

"That's it, baby. Just let go."

Your body went rigid, and a scream caught in your throat, as the orgasm ripped through you. You collapsed. Your legs gave out. You couldn't think. Natasha fucked you through it as she sweet-talked you.

"I know baby," She said. "I know your pussy feels so good right now. It's what you needed." She eventually slowed her hips.

"Thank you," You slurred, barely able to stay awake.

"No, thank you," She laughed.

Natasha pulled the cock out, undoing your restraints.

"You were so perfect."

"I feel drunk." You sighed. She leaned over to kiss your back, rubbing your ass cheeks, and pressing her thumb against your hole. She wanted more but she knew tonight this was your limit.

"Tasha,"

"I love you."

"Love you, too,"

(if you know how many times Natasha made R cum you get a cookie)

#natasha romanoff #black reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #black widow x female reader #natasha x you #natasha romanov #theloudhouseau #natasha romanoff smut

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a-pastel-edgelord · 5 months ago

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Despite all the commonly held beliefs about him, Atsumu is not a bad guy. He knows this because he hasn't moved from his spot at his desk once today. And sure, maybe his eyes wander over to you and his mind keeps conjuring vague questions about how your day is going—regardless, he's not going to budge. He may end up burning a hole into his math work sheet from his staring, but it's a small price to pay.

He's taken you for granted. After you got a boyfriend. Little ole you, who never quite changed from being a snot-nosed brat in his mind until all of a sudden you couldn't hang out. The space you used to occupy (somewhere between Suna and Samu) is conspicuously empty. It's not right.

You don't eat lunch together anymore: instead, your stupid boyfriend (he's in Kita-san's class, and not even that good-looking by the way) collects you and off you skip to some obscure corner of the school where you guys probably make eyes at each other over your bentos. You don't walk home with him and Samu these days, no it's Whatshisname doing it in their place while holding your hand and calling your name with sugary familiarity. Like that guy knows something he doesn't. Well, jokes on your boyfriend because Atsumu knows how ugly you are when you cry or how spine tingling your whoops of glee are, or how your eyes absolutely sparkle when you eat something you like. Atsumu is willing to bet a month's worth of Osamu's cooking this scrub doesn't even know what your favorite café order is.

Fuckin' ridiculous.

But what's Atsumu supposed to do about it?? If you like this guy seriously, it's the least he can do to not get in the way of you being happy.

Are you happy? You deserve it, more than most people, in his opinion. Life hasn't been super fair to you, so the least it can do is give you someone who treats you well. Yeah, maybe it's just the universe balancing itself. This thought sustains him for a little while as the days pass.

Until he misses a spike serve in a particularly spectacular fashion. The ball ricocheted off the wall and out of the open gym doors. He rounds the corner of the gym, snatching up the wayward ball, only to look up at a sound. On the other side of the chain link fence that separates the gyms from the fields is your boyfriend with his tongue down the throat of the captain of the soccer team.

A grin, all teeth, cracks across his face. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears as blood rushes to his brain. His breath becomes shorter, and he checks himself before he starts hyperventilating. Atsumu Miya is not a bad guy, really he's not. After all, who wouldn't be happy to get what they want?

#hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #reader insert #atsumu x you #atsumu didnt realize maybe he had feelings until it was too late #and to be fair!!#he was willing to accept the L #alas this fucker in 3rd fumbled the bag and now atsumu gets to be the hero #what a win #inarizaki x reader #im doing aran next because yeah #ive been atsumu in this situation and it is in fact delicious #friends to lovers #call this a first love situation #atsumu x reader #hq atsumu #atsumu miya

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ybklix · 27 days ago

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𝔩𝔦𝔎𝔢 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔡𝔬

⭒˚‧♱ pairing: ceo!seochangbin x fem!reader ⁺‧₊˚ ♡ summary: Your new boss is quite interesting, so the night lends itself to a few drinks and the discovery of never-before-explored bodies in such an inappropriate but magnetic act. ₊ ⊹⋆ 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 — 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: MDNI, smut, dom!changbin, sub!reader, dilf!changbin, oral sex, praise, deepthroat, fingering, sir kink, pet names (some dreg), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, choking, spanking, tit slapping, unprotected sex, creampie, cheating, adultery, implied age gap. word count: 7.5k

♬⋆.˚ like lovers do by hey violet

(𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 '𝟮𝟰) - 𝔴𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔬𝔟𝔢𝔯 ₊˚🕯️♱‧₊˚. 03: lover

movie inspo: the housemaid (2010)

You didn’t have to feel ashamed, even though a part of you did, you were young and the job was temporary while you tried to establish yourself and get a better one, besides, you would live there for a while and you would stop bothering your parents in the meantime since you still lived with them, your siblings would stop bothering you telling you that you were already an adult and you should look for your own life and stop depending on your parents, stop bothering you while they rubbed on your face their orderly and balanced life.

It was not a desperate action, it was a decent job with excellent pay, only that the thin stigma of it all made you somewhat nervous, you were naive, young and had a lot to lose if you did not start working now so your best option for the moment was to accept the offer of practically a stranger in whom you trusted, Kang Gahyeon, a housekeeper who had been working practically all her life for a particularly rich family, the Seo.

Gahyeon was an acquaintance of the housekeeper of your former female professor at your university in your senior year. You met your teacher casually one night and, among certain confessions you told her that life was being hard on you and she somewhat embarrassed suddenly blurted out that a wealthy young family she knew needed a nanny to stay at home to take care of their little 6-year-old daughter as the wife was very pregnant of 35 weeks; that if you were interested she could pass on the contact to you as she knew you had experience babysitting children as you used to do it as a little extra job while you continued with your studies.

You thought about it for a while and then agreed without further ado, then you met Gahyeon, who gave you the general details of the family and the kind of work involved; you really thought you would be a simple babysitter, but in your teacher’s vague words, she forgot to mention that the whole job was as a housemaid.

You overthought it again, maybe because just thinking about it seemed slightly humiliating, serving rich people while wearing a uniform, something too old-fashioned to be real, you hadn’t even taken the time to think that there are still such jobs, that people still dress and are disciplined before with much more wealth and social status people. But you felt trapped and the pay was so tempting, even though part of you thought it was logical that it was since you didn’t know what kind of people those with so much power really were.

You accepted naively, with a six-month contract, at least the time needed while the mother-to-be focused on taking care of the babies and you helped them with the little one. You accepted, even when your mother told you that you could wait and look for a better job offer that did not resort to the old systems, which were still very much in place today, of social oppression. You called her an exaggerator, telling her that Mrs. Kang claims that the Seo are nice, somewhat cold, but they are decent. You took the job believing it would be a bit of your beginning of independence and adulthood.

And there you were, in the huge, beautiful mansion in the hills that would be your sort of home for the next few months, or at least a spacious room next to little Dahae’s room.

You stood still in your place, watching Mrs. Seo with surprise, Seo Haeun, doing yoga and pelvic floor exercises with the help of a young instructor. You fixed your gaze on her big and notorious uncovered pregnant bump, it looked like she was going to explode and it was true in a way, Haeun was expecting twins. She ended up tired and panting as the yoga instructor helped her to stand up and then she sat on the couch catching her breath as Mrs. Kang stood beside her to pass her water to drink.

You watched her, with your hands clasped together in front of your body, Haeun was beautiful, she was one of those women whose huge belly and big breasts made her look even prettier, her hair was straight, dark, silky mid-length, her eyebrows straight, small and youthful heart-shaped face, big eyes, button nose and round plumpy lips, she was like a little doll, the kind of beauty you want to keep just to yourself. Haeun was a model, but overseas. She sipped from the water as she stared at you, standing in front of her from a distance.

You introduced yourself to her, saying it was a pleasure.

“Welcome” she said to you, handing the glass of water to Gahyeon, “Well Mrs. Kang recommended you, you must be good. She will tell you what to do and show you around. Dahae should be here at 1:30 for you to meet her, take care of her, and help her with her homework. You can go to see your room and change your clothes.”

She was direct, her tone and expression were monotone, and you saw the slight sheen of sweat on her forehead and breasts one last time before following Gahyeon to your new room. She handed you your uniform clothes, all black and white, skirts and dresses; you bit your lip still unsure if wanting to serve a rich family was the kind of job you were looking for... but you were already there.

“Do I have to wear heels?” was what you said with a smirk as you saw three pairs of black silhouette heels, and then you saw the exact same shoes on Mrs. Kang.

“The clacking of the heels is what keeps them alert to know every place you’re at and that you’re not loitering where you shouldn’t.”

Minutes later you were ready, looking at yourself in the mirror with a blank mind, thinking that at least the uniform was tailored for you, the skirt fit your silhouette and was just mid-thigh length. This would be your new life, a distraction, and a new beginning.

You helped Mrs. Kang cook and at exactly 1:25 p.m. you went outside the house to wait for the little Seo girl who arrived seven minutes later in a black car accompanied by serious men dressed in suits that looked like bodyguards.

You smiled at the sight of the little girl who was looking down at the ground and had no expression. Her eyes were just as big as her mother’s but the rest of her face looked different, maybe she looked like her father. Dahae almost overlooked you but raised her gaze as she walked near you.

“Hi, I’m Y/n, I’ll be your new babysitter” you told her cheerfully, gently touching her shoulder so she could give you her backpack.

“Nice to meet you, Y/n. I’m Seo Dahae” the little girl replied, in a monotone tone, and continued her walk home as if nothing.

You followed her somewhat hurriedly and confused, the girl had a warm and kind look but her attitude was completely cold and distant.

“You can change and get ready to go downstairs to eat with your mother, okay?” you said, following her to her room.

“Okay, thank you, Y/n. I can change by myself.”

You smiled at her, feeling like you were looking at and talking to a small adult, her appearance was innocent because she was small and she was a child... but there was something about her that made you insecure, she was serious, quiet and so far you’ve only seen her blink as if she was disconnected to her childhood. You left her backpack in her room.

“I’ll be outside if you need anything and for us to go downstairs together.”

You didn’t think she would be a difficult child, after all, she was just a child, plus you thought growing up with money was a somewhat different experience than what you knew in your childhood, evidently.

The day was normal, after lunch, you cleaned up, and you helped Dahae with her homework, took little orders from Haeun, and watched from afar her little routine like a pregnant wife who spent all day at home. At dinner once again it was just Haeun and his daughter at the table while Gahyeon blurted out a little comment on the air saying that Changbin will be late tonight.

You knew little about them, it really didn’t cost you anything to google their faces or occupations but you were so immersed in your mild embarrassment that you decided not to and played the little game of seeing their faces for the first time in person. You knew that Gahyeon had been working for the Seo’s for a while now, she first worked for the parents of your new boss, Seo Changbin, she practically raised Changbin and was his nanny and as soon as he got married, she followed him to his new home, now working for his family, having a long history with the Seo.

You had dinner in the quiet company of the slightly old housekeeper woman, cleaned everything up, and were ready to end your day when the sound of the doorway alerted Mrs. Kang’s senses.

“He’s here.”

Was all she said and walked out of the kitchen. You blinked in confusion, hesitating whether to follow her but the ideal was to do so, so you hurried your pace behind her but Gahyeon was already standing well to the side of the entrance of the house.

“You don’t always have to greet me, Mrs. Kang, it’s late, you can go to rest” you heard a man’s voice and saw him pass by as soon as you stood next to your co-worker.

The man did not notice your presence and continued on his way, Mrs. Kang went after him and you followed her again.

You fleetingly saw the man’s back, wide arms, gray suit, and short black hair, quickly deducing with obviousness that it was your boss, Mr. Seo Changbin.

You followed her into the living room, where you finally appreciated your boss fully. He sat on the couch, sighing slightly wearily as he unbuttoned his suit jacket.

“Daddy!” happily exclaimed Dahae who was watching some TV before going to bed, rushing over to hug her father.

You were surprised for a second as it was the first time in the day you saw Dahae smile, sound, act, and look like a real six-year-old. You knew immediately that her relationship with her mother was slightly cold and distant. Changbin smiled broadly reciprocating his daughter’s hug and giving her a resounding kiss on the cheek.

“Hey, there, what are you doing up this late? You have school tomorrow,” he said tenderly.

“Daddy, have you met Ms. Y/n? She’s my new nanny, I like her, she’s nice.”

Dahae settled her little body next to her father as a confused expression formed on his face. You blushed at the little girl’s confession, you were happy to be able to like her.

“Y/n?” Changbin looked around in confusion.

And there you were, standing at Mrs. Kang’s side. He caught your gaze and before you could say anything your co-worker stepped forward to speak.

“This is Y/n, sir. Your new employee.”

Changbin grimaced a little as he heard Gahyeon speak formally to him and refer to him as sir, when he thought their relationship was already closer for all the years she worked for him.

“Nice to meet you. I am Dahae’s father, Seo Changbin. I hope you feel comfortable in the house.”

“Nice to meet you, sir” you replied shyly almost in a whisper.

Submissiveness and excessive modesty made you blush a little, usually you were a submissive person, you pleased others and tried to always be as nice as possible and at least now you would earn money for that.

Changbin gave you a small smile and you saw the details of his face, alluring sleepy eyes, straight nose, and featherly lips. He also watched you thinking that he had never had another maid this young before, most of them had been ladies with children in their thirties. He sighed, interrupted his thoughts, and went on to say:

“Now that Dahae has a babysitter, I’d like you to accompany her to school and pick her up.”

You nodded, biting your lip slightly nervously.

“Okay, sir.”

“Alright, little one, let Y/n take you to bed. I’ll go upstairs with your mom” he said again tenderly looking at his daughter and then turned to you again, “Mrs. Kang you can rest now, good night. Same to you, Y/n, as soon as Dahae falls asleep.”

You nodded frantically and approached the little girl, also approaching Changbin and breathing in his strong manly scent of exquisite perfume. You held out your hand and Dahae took it.

“Good night, daddy.”

“Sweet dreams, my girl.”

Changbin pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, acting disinterested but as soon as he had you close he took the opportunity to see you in full view, from the exposure of your legs to your slightly tousled hair bun. You felt his gaze and got nervous, thinking maybe the skirts were a little short.

You finally finished your first day, took a shower, and fell into your bed, tired of wearing heels all the time. You checked your phone before you fell completely asleep, messages from your mom asking if work was treating you well and from your best friend telling you if Seo Changbin was more handsome in person.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The next morning you took Changbin’s breakfast to his office where he was comfortably reading the newspaper and then playing the piano for a while. Once again you felt a heavy gaze on you, but you thought you were paranoid.

He only said a soft “Thank you, Y/n.” And he would follow you with his gaze until you walked out of there.

You liked Changbin a little bit… you felt that attraction of which you thought only you felt it. You couldn’t help the fact that it crossed your mind that he was handsome… and if you didn’t know how to control it, and if he didn’t have respect for his wife, something fatal but avoidable could happen, but it was just a silly and passing thought, affairs between a boss and his maid were so typical, but you weren’t like that. You were there to respect them and for the job.

After Haeun and Dahae had breakfast, Haeun kissed her husband goodbye with a kiss and a simple “Have a good time at school” to her little daughter, and you walked her to the car to drop her off at school.

“I’m glad you could drop Dahae off, usually boys did that but… they were boys, nothing like the warmth of another girl for her” Changbin commented as he checked his phone.

You didn’t have much to say and that Changbin could tell, you were of few words.

Dahae was in between the two of you, still it was inevitable for Changbin not to observe your serene face looking out the window, your neck adorned with a thin golden necklace and your chest slightly uncovered by the illusion of cleavage given by your open buttons of your white blouse, he couldn’t help but lower his gaze down to your chest and watch the calmness of your breathing until he lost his sight on your thighs and how your skirt was lifted up. He didn’t want to accept what was happening to him but he was beginning to feel and think it more and more.

They dropped the little girl off first as Changbin changed the direction of travel, usually they would drop him off first but now it was the perfect excuse to have some time alone with you. You got out of the car to walk Dahae to the school entrance where a teacher was receiving them, but then you felt Changbin’s presence beside you, squatting down and waving goodbye to her.

You both got back into the SUV, you tried to fix the length of your skirt and he did nothing but stare at you again; questions flooded his mind, you looked so young, so pretty… why would you work being a simple maid.

He cleared his throat and said:

“I hope you liked your first day.”

You turned to look at him and smiled, it hadn’t been bad, but you had no choice either. You weren’t crazy, but you felt a certain tension in the air, his muscular presence made you nervous, the way his suit fit him drove you slightly crazy, fitted to his strong proportions.

“It was nice.”

“So… how old are you? You look young…” he spoke, staring at you. You answered, not sounding nervous and suddenly he blurted out something that somehow made you tingle.

“And do you have a boyfriend?”

“No” you answered unsure, there was really no one in your life, other than another friend with benefits that… now that you thought about it you missed him.

Mr. Seo left you breathless and slightly aroused, but now you lived under his roof and had no privacy… you wondered if Han Jisung would like to have a fuck again, you needed distraction as you felt out of yourself, plus the good feeling of an orgasm.

He smiled happy to know you didn’t have someone waiting for your caresses, he believed you, your look was so docile and sincere it drove him crazy.

“I was asking out of curiosity, you are very young and now you are practically living in my house maybe you like to go out, I don’t know” he excused himself, “I also hope you are doing well with Haeun’s friends today, anything let me know.”

You had completely forgotten. Mrs. Seo’s birthday celebration with her close group of friends. Tomorrow you would accompany them to their home in the mountains to take care of Dahae and work for them, on Seo Changbin’s wife’s real birthday. Mrs. Kang had told you in whispers that as much as Haeun takes care of herself since her dream was a natural childbirth and as much as she loves to conceive Changbin’s children, millionaires from her womb, she felt slightly insecure about her appearance so she didn’t go out much and ideally would just bring her friends home.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

It was certainly a long day, her friends were not equally as decent as Haeun, you felt their slight dismissive glances and the comment behind your back of, “She looks so young, are you sure she's doing a good job?” “I could never have a maid that young hanging around with Chan in the house.”

Haeun answered them with, “She’s nice and gets along well Dahae, plus Changbin is never home, he just comes in to sleep.”

Then they proceeded to judge her because her husband was never home.

You found it amusing how you were suddenly a threat, yes you found your boss attractive, but he was still your boss and you literally just washed his wife’s clothes.

But the real day came which changed everything. Seo Haeun’s birthday, she asked to be in privacy and intimacy in the house near the mountains with her small and dear family; honestly, you were not contemplated on the trip, you started to work on Thursday morning, and weekends were your days off but you barely had two days working so your official break started next week and Haeun took the opportunity for you to go with them and help them a little bit watching Dahae.

Once again, a driver took them there as Haeun claimed that Changbin was too exhausted to drive. You didn’t talk much to Dahae’s parents, you did more with Dahae herself. You took orders of them, took care of the little girl, prepared food for them and felt the tension, sensing the double intentions of Changbin’s closeness as he asked you what you cooked and if you needed help, gently pressing his body to yours, you had liked it, but you had to stop him right away. It wasn’t appropriate or right.

You continued as if nothing, trying to forget what was going on while you started reading a book acting indifferent, while they enjoyed their activities as a family, singing happy birthday to Haeun, eating cake and then opened a lot of gifts that were already in the house, it felt like Christmas, or at least seeing them from afar smiling under the warm light, as a family while she opened gift after gift.

But night came, you put Dahae to bed, read her a story and watched over her sleep for a while until you could go to the guest room, where you again had time for your tormenting thoughts, you got rid of your uniform and made yourself comfortable in your panties, no bra and a small white top loose to your body and breasts. You washed your face with cold water, thinking it was what you deserved after biting your lip and lightly fantasizing about your boss, a handsome millionaire, married and family man. You remembered again his closeness, the light touch of his body as he gently put his hands on your elbows while you chopped vegetables and he gently rubbed behind you, Changbin was crazy and you thought you didn’t know what the fuck was happening to you.

On the other hand, having their little privacy gave Haeun a hormonal burst with an uncontrollable urge to have sex, she was so horny that her husband got ready, drank some of his favorite wine, and lay down next to his wife who was wearing a sexy silk nightgown. Haeun was already feeling insecure, it was awkward to kiss her husband, for her it felt that way, with a huge bump in between, still she found a way to stroke her husband’s cock to get him hard, she was already so aroused and wet, ready to take him so once she felt Changbin’s throbbing penis in her hand, in one swift movement, Haeun slid his cock inside her making her cry out softly, Changbin moaned at the surprise where he felt his member being embraced by his wife’s walls and she began to ride him, turning her back to him.

“Babe, turn around, I want to see your pretty face” Changbin moaned, stroking his wife's back under her clothes.

Changbin couldn’t help but think for a moment of his maid’s young body. Haeun moaned in excitement, feeling her husband’s cock fill her completely but slowly her gasps of excitement were turning to pain, she was starting to feel uncomfortable in addition to the slight embarrassment she had about her physical appearance, ceasing to enjoy sex and creating a huge insecurity that Changbin didn’t want to fuck her like that, but that wasn’t it, both their minds were getting busy.

Changbin noticed Haeun’s behavior, she was suddenly moaning in pain and her movements were small, soft and inconsistent, ceasing to stimulate him sexually, it wasn’t working for either of them, so Haeun, worried and frustrated pulled out of her husband, lying down beside him grievingly.

“I’m sorry” she said, almost on the verge of tears.

Haeun adored Changbin, and loved pleasing him but felt sexually useless once her belly started to grow and grow. She also adored the idea of starting a big family and the desire to carry on the whole Seo dynasty, but her initial plan was only another child at a time, not two which she was unexpectedly burdened with.

“It’s okay, honey, it’s okay” Changbin comforted her, admiring her beautiful and slightly swollen face, but now he was sexually frustrated, his penis was flaccid but the sensations were at the surface, “You can use your mouth...” he whispered to her.

But Haeun refused, she already felt uncomfortable with her body so she was indisposed to more sex. She slept, but Changbin couldn’t, he stared up at the ceiling, naked... hesitating whether he should give himself and seek pleasure tonight or go to sleep.

He stood up, washing himself a bit, evading the thoughts and went back to the room, sitting on the couch while watching Haeun sleep, then started drinking more and more wine getting slightly drunk, but very conscious of his actions.

Changbin sighed and acted slowly on pure impulse, he put on his expensive silky robe, took another clean glass, and walked to your room, psyching himself up that it would only be a one-night stand... that you would extract some of his frustration out of him if you accepted... or he just wanted to have a conversation with someone different, all the time it was all about his work and business, then he would come home and exchange at most 100 words with his wife and then go to sleep, he wanted some fresh air for a second.

It was a cold night in mid-October, the wind was blowing and branches from a dry tree were banging and scraping against your window. After your little crisis, you decided better to enjoy the small comforts of being a guest in the Seo house, your own relaxing bathroom with a bathtub in it, so you immersed yourself in the warm water, relaxing your body and enjoying your solitude, but what you didn’t know was that you were not alone at all.

Changbin entered your room stealthily, making a minimal noise which you suddenly became aware of and immediately thought of Dahae, since the rooms were in the same hallway and maybe she couldn’t sleep.

“Dahae, is that you? I’m in the bathtub” you raised your voice.

Seconds later there was no answer and you sighed, you were with your back backward to the half-open bathroom door, and you thought maybe it was nothing more than a simple sound. But what you didn’t know was that it was your boss, secretly peeking through the half-open door, seeing a bit of your naked body enjoying the bathtub.

Changbin’s body and every one of his senses began to react, he caught a glimpse of your round breasts and soft nipples in the water. He sighed and placed the wine and glasses on a small table in the room.

You were startled again by a noise, which could be heard nearby, and suddenly you felt the fear of a presence in the room. You got out of the bathtub and dried your body, quickly put on your bathrobe and somewhat frightened you went out of the bathroom to the bedroom, 99% sure that it was just your imagination and you were just checking out of curiosity, but you gave a little jump of impression when you found Changbin standing in front of the window drinking a glass of wine, watching you with a dark look and wearing only his underwear with a loose, silky and open purple robe.

You looked at him confused and almost swallowed nervously at the sight of his exposed semi-naked body, the smoothness of his muscular, worked abdomen and his lower body only covered by black boxers.

You were speechless and clung to your bathrobe as underneath you were naked.

“I can’t sleep… let’s have a drink.”

He came dangerously close to you with the empty glass and the bottle of wine in his hands, his eyes on the target, almost seducing you slowly.

You watched him, not wanting to tell him he had to leave. Changbin poured the wine into the glass, swirling it gently and passed it to you. He watched you expectantly, waiting for you to drink it and you did.

“You’re a good girl, I can tell,” he said, happy, handing you more of the wine.

There was no need for so many words in such a heavy atmosphere and tangible tension, you wanted to touch him, to get closer to him… and it was obvious he was dying to do it too.

“And you don’t talk much… why, darling?”

You became agitated at his comment alone and said, “I don’t have much to say…”

“Well I want to know everything” Changbin smiled at you tenderly as the bathrobe looked big for your shoulders, “Everything about you…” he whispered, returning to his game of seduction, but it was you who had him seduced and captivated, “Oh can we not talk too much…”

Changbin was so hard and aroused, the silence overwhelmed him and your submissive posture had him trapped. He took the glass from your hands and you caught his gaze, seeing him with bright eyes that you were about to throw it all away and say yes to everything, at least tonight.

“Let me see…”

Changbin murmured, completely lost in desire, tugging at the knot of your bathrobe to remove it slowly and gently, enjoying the sensuality of your body being exposed, the bareness of your shoulders and then the garment opening completely revealing your silhouette, until dropping the garment to the floor.

You bit your lip so fucking aroused, enjoying the strong gaze of your boss on your naked body. He began to caress you, finely tracing a path with his fingertips: from between your breasts, down your abdomen, your mons pubis, your thighs and your inner thighs, tickling the skin of the outer lips of your pussy, almost making you gasp.

“You are so beautiful.”

He babbled, letting himself go as he never had before, almost gasping for breath, appreciating your body and the expressions on your face at the same time. His hand came up, massaging your breasts. Changbin licked his lips, finding your breasts supremely soft and squeezable, your nipples so pinchable, hard and appetizing, responding to every stimulation he gave to them.

A moan escaped your lips as you enjoyed his hand all over your breasts, treating them gently, squeezing them hard, touching them as he pleased.

“Fuck” he gasped, excited, his cock throbbing after hearing your first soft moan, “You like that, sweetheart?”

You felt an infuriating tingling in your pussy that burned inside you. Your face was red, and your breasts and nipples were sensitive to his constant stimulation.

“Y-yes” you answered with difficulty.

He smirked smugly and in one swift movement put the glass and bottle of wine back on the small table to return again to you, your still in place and stunning naked body.

“Would you kiss me, sweetie?” he hissed sizzlingly close to your face.

You nodded without breaking eye contact and rushed at him until you joined your lips in the most passionate and forbidden kiss.

Changbin grabbed your ass and pulled you close to him, feeling the softness of his marked pecs press against your breasts and the stiffness of his cock against your body. You put your arms around his shoulders and hugged him, deepening the act. Both of you were slowly losing your sanity more and more. Changbin kept massaging your ass until he suddenly started to spank it hard, making you moan between his lips and the sound of your skin being slapped hard became present, you were starting to become more intensely aroused.

He tugged gently on your hair, pulling you away from him and leering at you.

“Are you going to be a good girl? Answer me.”

Changbin gave you another spank, exciting you further and you moaned in an audible squeal.

“Shh, sh-sh. We have to be quiet” he spoke again.

You nodded feeling your bottom burn with pain, “Yes…” you replied and the word hung in the air because you didn’t know how to refer to him, whether with honorifics, whether to call him by name, he noticed.

“It drives me fucking crazy when you follow my orders and call me sir” he blurted out suddenly with a half smile.

Your ears turned red, there was some humiliation but it made you so excited.

“Yes sir” you crooned softly, causing Changbin’s cock to throb in desperation.

“Get on your knees” he ordered you quietly in a thick voice, “And use your mouth.”

You looked him in the eyes for a few short seconds and obeyed his command, your folds slick and your nipples hard, you replied once more, “Yes, sir” only to see his satisfied face.

You sighed half-heartedly, eagerly pulling down his boxers, releasing his hard, slightly thick cock with its red tip. You were about to take it in your hands, but Changbin came up with something better:

“Ah, ah, just use your mouth, princess,” he said again, “Don’t use your hands. Put them on your thighs.”

You raised your eyes to look at him with big pleading eyes, your mouth salivated and you positioned your face so you could lick his length with just your mouth, feeling his throbbing cock on your tongue. Changbin moaned in pleasure, seeing your submissive position, your hands almost digging into your thighs, only using your mouth to grab and stimulate his erection. He grabbed you by the hair.

“Look at you…you’re a good girl gone bad.”

You looked at him again, it was harder that way, just using your mouth, you tasted him, you wanted to play with his soft glans and seeing you so helpless, made Changbin take the base of his cock and guided it into your mouth, he moaned, self-pleasuring himself in your cavity, resenting the softness of your cheeks and pushing himself deeper and deeper until he reached your throat. You whimpered with his cock in your throat, about to move your hands, but remaining submissive and obeying what he said was igniting every part of your body. Your tears began to flow, you clenched your thighs in desperation as your pussy still throbbed for action.

“Ah, fuck, you take my cock like a fucking slut” he moaned, grabbing your hair and starting to gently thrust into your mouth, “Touch yourself, your little whore, fuck.”

You looked up at him again in supplication and your trembling hand began to caress your dripping pussy. Changbin continued to fuck your mouth, thrusting in and out of your throat, pounding your tract, leaving you sore and drooling as with your fingers in your vagina you tried to recreate the rhythm of his ramming. He continued to cum in you, shooting his cum into your mouth and abruptly pulling his member out of you, holding it in his hand as he gasped and let out a small shot at the corner of your lips, but you managed to get yourself overstimulated.

“Come here, stand up and sit on the bed” he ordered you.

You obeyed him, taking small embarrassed and excited steps to the bed, you were a mess, eager to have an orgasm.

“Yes, sir” you provoked him, sitting down and lightly caressing your breasts, looking innocently at him, inviting him to come closer.

Your boss undressed completely, dropping his robe to the floor and approached you with his eager erect cock. Changbin wiped your face and kissed you sweetly again, exploring your cavity, tasting a bit of himself and as you parted for lack of air with swollen lips, he practically pushed your body so that you fell back on the bed, in contrast to his warm and nice kiss.

Changbin positioned himself on the bed, spreading your legs and appreciating your shiny, swollen, used pussy, quickening his pulse.

“Look at this fucking pussy, fuck, ahh” he moaned, engrossed at the sight of your cunt, slapping your vulva in moderate force, making you stir from the excitement and the impact on your sensitive area.

With his left hand, with his soft, manly thumb he attended to your clit, while his right hand brought it to your entrance, inserting three fingers into you slowly, you bit your lip holding back a moan and Changbin waited for you to adjust to the sensation to start playing with your entrance roughly, his hand taking in intense vibrating motions and abusing your cunt, making you squeal and wallow in pleasure. He smiled, seeing how much you were struggling to keep from making so much noise and what could be heard were your soft sighs and the splashing of his fingers in you. You couldn’t take it anymore, you cum once… twice… making a mess and Mr. Seo still kept stimulating you, until he stopped before bringing you to a third orgasm, he appreciated your anatomy again and rubbed his cock in your folds ready to truly feel you.

“You’re so wet, baby fuck, this pretty pussy is ready to be fucked, mmh.”

He pushed into you, stretching your entrance, making you arch your back and enjoying every inch inside you. He began to fuck you hard, manipulating your body to his pleasure, bringing one of his hands to your neck and the other roughly covering your mouth so that only airy choked moans came out of you. You were beginning to see stars, you had never felt this used, dirty and well fucked as your boss was doing it to you… who began to short your breath with a strong hand on your neck. Changbin had never felt this powerful, not even with all the fortune in the world… possessing your body was a completely different experience, which brought him to his most intense orgasm. Turning you into a pair of lovers.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── By Sunday afternoon you were back at the mansion, there kept being complicit glances between you and Changbin, you were in shock… unable to believe that you had completely given in, it was so wrong, but the connection with Changbin had felt so good.

Returning to your normal life as a maid you rarely saw Changbin again; you gently asked Mrs. Kang if she might know where he was to which she replied maybe in his office. You managed to slip away from Mrs. Kang’s side for a moment and seeing no one around, you took off your heels and walked quietly to his office, you didn’t know what you might say… but something in you wanted to see Changbin again, alone.

His door was half open and you peeked your head in to catch a glimpse of him on a hectic phone call, you admired him, finding him so attractive when he raised his voice and realized he was always working.

You went back to hiding in the wall, stopping yourself and wondering what you were doing… you looked like an immature, deluded little girl. But you weren’t so silly, you knew exactly why you were sneaking back out and looking for him again, you needed him again.

You stopped hearing his voice and out of curiosity you wanted to peek out again, you almost bumped into him as he was about to leave his office. You looked up to see him.

“You were looking for me?” he said in a smug tone and a half smile.

You shook your head frantically, scared looking at him with your docile eyes wide open, making him chuckle at the sight of you with that expression, being caught, your heels in your hands.

“Come here” he said again, holding you tightly by your forearm, pulling you inside.

You almost whimpered at his rough grip but he released you at once, closing the door.

“What is it you were looking for?” he spoke, defiantly, “You must be here and coming back because you want something… what do you want?”

Changbin moved dangerously close to you, almost pushing you into the door.

“What are you playing at…?” he muttered through his teeth.

He was already pinning you against the door, it was driving him crazy the way you were acting like a frightened little creature about to be devoured. His nose brushed yours and his right hand began to caress your thigh, slowly moving up to under your skirt. Your breathing began to hitch, you were so anxious and excited for your boss.

“Use your words. Now. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

Your whole body flipped. You wanted him to come back to make you exhausted and sore, to make you whimper and make a mess. His left hand went around your neck, and his thumb played with your lips, gently dabbing it on your lipstick. You were about to speak, but a loud push from the door interrupted you.

You both separated, stepping away from the door and from each other. Mrs. Kang appeared without knocking and struggled with the door.

“Mr. Seo. Dinner is ready.”

She observed your full body with a cold gaze and noticed that you were not wearing your shoes, the uneasiness of your body, and Changbin’s amused expression. Kang Gahyeon had been working for rich people for decades. It was impossible not to know their every secret and move. She was the real eyes of the house. She was already getting suspicious of the tension between you and Changbin, and she didn’t like it at all.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You were impatient. You’d be lying if you claimed you weren’t waiting for Mr. Seo, but you were already naked on your bed hoping to see him come through your door. You got all ready for him, or at least you fixed your hair, putting it in a nice cute bow and subtly did your make-up, thinking if you should wait for him with a baby doll or completely naked.

Time passed and he didn’t show up, so without realizing it you fell into a sleep, but fifteen minutes later, he finally appeared, wearing his pajamas, white sleeveless t-shirt tight to his body, and blue soft silk pajama pants. Changbin saw you asleep, with your face towards the ceiling, he smiled tenderly and gently pulled off the sheet you were covering your body with, revealing your naked body. He licked his lips and the urge to touch you came over him again, caressing your body finely with the back of his fingers, tickling you and causing you to open your eyes slowly, meeting Changbin’s strong silhouette.

You smiled at him. Thinking he had come to see you… but once again doing so with his whole family around was so risky, but you wanted to convince yourself that the walls of the mansion were thick and you couldn’t be heard.

“You were sleeping, princess” he whispered to you.

You grabbed his hand that was still caressing your abdomen and sat up in your bed, denying.

“I’m awake now” you replied cheerfully.

“Were you waiting for me, little angel?”

The nickname made you shy and Changbin bent his body to be at the level of your face, delicately taking your lips to kiss them, gradually raising the temperature of the situation, taking advantage by grabbing your breasts, squeezing them, and slapping them from time to time leaving you sensitive, sore but aroused, you whimpered a little as his left hand circled around your neck and the other went down to your moisten vaginal lips, stimulating you and inserting two fingers into you, then he pulled your face away from him as he pulled your neck, leaving you missing his lips and looked at you with a perverse smile as he controlled the pleasure of your core.

You whimpered in delight at the pace of his fingers inside you and his thumb caressing the rest of your pussy. On the other hand, Changbin almost cum in his underwear at the sweet sound of your moans and your soft sensitive core receiving his fingers, ecstasy came over you and you took it, collapsing in your first orgasm on his fingers, but he kept stimulating you. Changbin released your neck and began kissing you, moving his mouth down your body, sucking your already sensitive breasts, filling you with a pleasurable wave of pain, he kissed and gently licked your abdomen, still penetrating your insides and exciting you again, until his face leveled with your exposed, swollen pussy, to begin playing with it with his mouth.

“You taste so fuking delicious, fuck” he babbled, licking all over your vulva and sucking your clit.

You moaned, biting your lip to keep from doing it so loud. Changbin savored your first orgasm and more of your fluid coming out of you, you were on the edge, unable to feel anything but pleasure, unable to think of the guilt you should be feeling, to think and stop him, both of you couldn’t stop playing with each other, exploring each other’s bodies secretly.

When Changbin sensed your frustration and overstimulation, he turned your body quickly, to fuck your pussy as he delighted in ramming into your ass, he covered your mouth to hold back the loud grunt that was about to come out of your mouth as you felt him inside you and he lost himself completely in you, satisfied by the sensation of your dripping center consuming his cock. You both sighed and he began to pound into you hard and steady, letting that room hold every gasp and steamy sigh, playing with each other like lovers do.

It was a bad idea to think that no one could hear you, because in the darkness lurked the one woman in the house who knew absolutely everything. The floor of Dahae’s room was above her room, as soon as she heard footsteps she did not hesitate for a second to go and see, so that in the end she confirmed and witnessed the grotesque act that was taking place in your room. An act of infidelity, passion, and lust, coming out of your room the sounds of the moans of both of you and your skins colliding that upset her gradually. The lady who raised Changbin felt disgusted for him, rejection, and contempt for you… she knew that the infidelities of a rich man towards his wife was something almost inevitable, but she never got to think it of Changbin. But she wasn’t going to allow that to go on in that house or outside of it. She had to get rid of you now or expose your little secrets.

𐙚TAGLIST: @rylea08 @hann1bee @iovecb97 @armystay89 @lolareadsimagines @lailac13 @ayyonoona @do-you-remember-summer-127 @wildtokay @korthbum @oddracha @hyune-sssne @velvetmoonlght @shadowhunterathene @compersian @binniesbabe @strayywayy @mallielovssyou @isabel-018 @paborachaslvt @tirena1

#𝔴𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔬𝔟𝔢𝔯 ☾#𐙚wen writes♡₊˚⊹#stray kids smut #skz smut #seo changbin #stray kids #skz #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #seo changbin smut #changbin smut #changbin x you #changbin x reader #skz x reader #skz x you #changbin skz

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unadulteratedsoulsweets · 2 years ago

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A DC X DP IDEA #4 You’re worth is more than a penny.

Imagine dis…

We all read and saw fanfictions about either Jason, Constantine, Bruce, or even Jazz raising Danny when he became younger due to Clockwork’s interference, but what if we reverse the roles?

Alfred Pennyworth was raised by Phantom.

It was early 1900 in England where it is common for children were being sold like cattle for a penny. Among the rows of yelling parents who are willing to sell a few of their children for a few pounds to help themselves or the younger ones at home, one parent was loudly exclaiming that his child is merely worth more than a penny. A nameless child with skin and bones as a body, at the tender age of 6 years old he already knew the horrors of child slavery. Some were never seen again like the ones he saw outside playing tag and others return to their parents in a body bag. He also knew that no one would want a skinny child like him so he waited for the inevitable beating at this man’s house, He refuse to call that man his father nor that dingy four-by-four wall home.

Suddenly a distinguished gentleman walked past him and he was just in awe at what he had sawed. A young man that seemed like in his early 20s has a face of youth yet has an air of maturity around them. Wearing the cleanest pair of white waistcoats and black trousers, shaggy black hair, and striking blue eyes.

It was obvious that he was an errand boy looking around for new workers, his mind supplied.

The man looked at him with raised eyebrows and couldn’t help but think that this person may buy him out of this man’s clutches and put him to work that may or may not end his life.

The older man who saw the interested look of the errand boy tried to advertise him as his worth is merely a penny.

…

Danny was merely taking a break from his kingly duties after months, years, and centuries have passed since his adventures as Danny Phantom. Visiting a newly made dimension in the eyes of the king of Infinite Realms, he made his way through the early 1900s for some sight-seeing, with the insurance from his advisers, court, family members, and consorts (Tucker & Sam) he went and enjoyed the view and contemplating that why does Clockwork give him his farewell in a form of a cryptic message such as a father of a bat needs saving from his unexpected fate, as well this universe felt like something interesting is bound to happen.

Being the High King of the Infinite Realms the realms itself chose him as their champion and king through countless rights of ascensions throughout the years.

Seeing that child slavery is still a thing at this point in time made him want to turn around and go to another realm less depressing than this time and come back later when they abolished slavery.

Though he caught an eye on this thin scrawny little boy who is nothing but skin and bones that the tiniest gust of wind will push him on the brick pavement, the boy’s parents however saw him taking interest and tried to get rid of the boy seeing that he was nothing but an extra mouth to feed due to his “responsibility” as a parent and tried to sell him for a penny.

Danny weighed the pros and cons in this situation, raising a mortal child may be both rewarding and satisfactory but the fact that he cannot break the ancient rules to make him immortal that was placed by the Realms themselves to uphold the balance between the living and the ancient realm, but he can bend it to an extent, so that if he can extend longevity in his lifespan to at least reach a century or so.

Added to the fact that Clockwork gave a message to protect him.

Bought the boy for a penny and carried the child towards the disguised horse carriage.

Now, how to explain to his family that he acquired a mortal child?

…

The nameless boy widened his eyes in surprise as the “errand” boy actually bought and carried him gently towards a clean carriage that looked like is owned by a king.

After making him sit beside his employer, his employer began asking him questions.

Such as his age, and name. likes, dislikes, and many other confusing questions.

At the mention of not having a name his employer began to frown, looks like he has made his new employer furious and he hasn’t even begun to earn his keep.

After a tense silence, his employer declared that HIS new name would be Alfred Pennyworth, as the word Alfred means counsel as he stated that he can see his future and that he would counsel different men who wish his advice, and Pennyworth, as his father is a fool for selling him for a penny as he is worth more than that.

At the time the nameless no…, At the time Alfred didn’t know what is the warm feeling on his chest that made him long for this man’s approval. He may be naïve or far too trusting for putting his trust in a man he met for a few minutes but at the time his only thought was he had his own name that he owns.

When the carriage stopped his employer carried him out of the carriage, and what greeted him is something he would never forget.

An endless green sky stretches along the horizon, A large black castle that reaches the sky that has growing vines all over its walls, at the front an entire estate dedicated to different and extinct plant life to flourish, and rows and rows of servants lined up and dressed in the fanciest clothing for maids and for all genders bowing ever slightly greeting and welcoming back their master in unison.

He looked behind him and around him for the master of the house but when he couldn’t see one, he turned his attention to the one who bought him as he is quite sacred for upsetting for not greeting the master in his own house.

But as he turn to the man for a plea for help he caught the small smile that his employer gave him and nodded towards the directions of the servants.

That was the time he learned that the man who bought him and gave him a name is his supposed master.

…

The next few days were confusing to the young Alfred Pennyworth, as he expected to be working on the animal shed or any menial tasks yet he was treated like a prince.

Free to learn what he desired, learning skills that he would never think of learning, free to eat anything his heart and stomach desired, free to have a soft bed to sleep on as well as having toys to ensure that he was not bored, given a wide variety of possible hobbies to take his mind off things. Gained and learned philosophies around the realms as well as had great teachers in teaching him essential things in morals, science, and more. Most importantly gained a family that he never thought he would even have.

He learned how to walk silently as a ghost, be swift in terms of movements waster no action, be present like a shadow, and use any weapon at hand, one’s body is a weapon itself. Discipline thy self in any temptation known to man, to integrate oneself to be unknown, eyes and emotions betray your mind be mindful of your facial and body movement as a single doubt will get someone you love to perish, but most importantly learned his new family’s motto.

Family is family.

Simple yet a powerful motto. No matter how cruel the man who brought and gave him a new life and purpose, the man who he saw as father, maybe in making decisions to ensure that the Infinite Realms stay balanced throughout the entire realms. How ruthless are his aunts and uncle to make sure that everything in between stays in the center of the balance as too much of the brings chaos

When Alfred was merely a teen he was given a blessing by his father, to be able to live a long life while maintaining his morality. One day he may die which is true, but it will be a long time before the reaper takes him to his next adventure.

Spending time with each member of the Nightingale family are memories that will be kept deep inside his heart. His mother Sam, taught him the wonders and secrets of flora, his other father Tucker, taught him how technology is used both in hope and destruction, His uncle Dan taught him about being an impenetrable wall in both mind and body, His older aunt Jazz taught him how to read his opponents in combat as well learning the beauty of human brain, His aunt Ellie who taught and showed him the wonders of the world in terms of the scenery, delicacy and culture, His grandfather Clockwork, taught him to be a cryptic as well moving on and forward as bad things are as natural as breathing and to move on is to let the time run its course.

Last but not least his father Danny, the High King of the Infinite Realms the man who he owes his entire being and life. The man whom he respects and wishes to turn out like him, the man who is proud to call his father. Taught him a multitude of things that one would not expect from a king, Be a Gentleman. A firm handshake combined with looking the other person in the eye carries with it respect, dignity, and strength, Honor Your Father and Mother, Respect Women, Be a Man of Integrity, Take Responsibility, and Work Hard, among the advice he gave and taught to him that they put into his life through action and words.

When WW2 came to his dimension he asked his father to be able to go back as it is still integrated into his blood to fight for the country that he was born into. As well as making a name for himself, to prove to the world his worth is more than a penny, to prove that all of their learning is not to be put to waste.

With the approval of his family, he set out to make his name.

S.A.S. Armed Services, fighting in 15 different operations between ages 18 and 20. A skilled medical and front liner soldier who was decorated. He later joined MI5, as well the secret forces of the Queen and later being knighted by her majesty

…

In this present time, we all know the current Alfred Pennyworth, the kickass ninja butler who is a mystery to the Batfam and has a lot of skillsets that are both surprising and expected to the Batfam. The butler who dared to out Batman the Batman. The butler is willing and dared to ground Batman for not taking care of himself. The butler carries a shotgun out of defense and we are pretty sure he is hiding a hidden bazooka somewhere in the manor. The butler who cooked delicious food and the one who raised Bruce Wayne

…

Working for the Wayne is not set to be permanent but the moment his ward Bruce Wayne becomes a hero just like his father and brings in his own version of a makeshift family he cannot help but stay for the sake of his ward that he saw as a son.

His family was there every step of the way.

Looking at the long dinner table that is filled with food with his ward/ son and his children he can't help but look fondly at the scene in front of him.

This is why he would not eat with the rest of the Batfam, the ambitious dinner or just being complete brings him back just when he was just a little boy looking at his father for guidance.

…

The Bat family are known to be good sometimes great detectives as they were taught by the greatest detective in the world, despite their wit and intelligence they still could not figure out their grandfather/ butler.

Having no presence before WW2 is common, as many orphans joined the war to bring acknowledgment to their names and presences. So when a glowing green letter made its way towards the kitchen counter, just as Alfred took a moment to look when he immediately snatched the said letter and ripped it open to see the contents.

Now mind you this was a never occurrence as Alfred Pennyworth is the epitome of calmness and neutrality so when he tore a letter like a kid who was given his first Christmas present all noise seemed to stop to look at the wide-eyed butler.

Alfred kept reading the said letter with wide eyes ignoring the shocked look of the people around him. Immediately telling Bruce that he will be going on an immediate 2-week vacation without even concealing his own joy in his voice and quickly turned around to pack a suitcase worth.

The entire Wayne’s both adopted and not are now invested what could the letter possibly contain that Alfred Pennyworth himself becomes a kid just by reading it?

Tailing the said butler was hard, following his quick steps which indicate impatience from the patient butler as well as a small smile that indicates fondness immediately became their new case.

Stopping at a large mansion surrounded by plant life that has a gothic aesthetic to it. As Alfred entered the gate he was tackled by a small black-haired blue-eyed child immediately followed by three teens and one large buff young adult.

All of them are hugging and exclaiming joy as Alfred reciprocated each hug with enthusiasm for his age.

Who are they and how does Alfred know all of these people?

…

PS: If someone out there wanting to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so don’t forget to tag me though.

#dc #dc x dp #dc x dp prompt #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #danny phantom #ghost king danny #infinite realms #dp

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thegnomelord · 8 months ago

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you have me thinking about pregnant sex with gaz 🥵🫶🏼

Fuuuck dude your Kirby looking ass is unlocking kinks I didn't even know I had

CW:NSFW, MDNI FTM Gaz/domtop Mreader, pregnant sex, quick and rough.

Gaz loves you with all his heart. You're the love of his life, his lighthouse and his anchor, the father of the children growing inside him (yes, children, a healthy pair of twins Gaz feels is the universe's apology for him not getting pregnant the first time)

But by god he's ready to kill you in a hundred different ways.

Ever since his bump started to show you've been treating him like he's made of glass. Which, in of itself, isn't a bad thing — he loves it when you spoil him like he's your king, preening under every praise and leaning into your soft touches, the soft and loving kisses he rewards you with enough for you to continue to feed his gluttonous need for you as you roll your hips to push your cock into him in long even strokes, spooning him from behind so your hands can rub and caress his growing stomach, making love to him like you have all the time in the world.

But he's so god damn horny! There's always a lick of heat burning under his skin and the slow and careful way you fuck him just doesn't scratch his itch. He talks to you about it, but you're still hesitant to be rough with him, especially as he enters his second trimester and his stomach continues to grow to the point he doesn't fit into his pants anymore and Price forces him to desk duty.

It's the lack of action that wears down his quickly dwindling patience. He tries to distract himself with exercise but that's hard to do when there's two tiny humans using his organs as punching bags and making him go to the bathroom every 5 minutes.

So he nearly pounces on you when you return to your shared room in the evening, but you're faster than him, unknowingly calming his nerves with your warm embrace and kisses. "Hello papa." You hum into his neck, your hands naturally falling to massage his bump. "Did you lot miss me?" And that loving look you give him reignites his need.

"Do you even have to ask?" Gaz growls and pulls you down by the collar into a demanding kiss. Using your distraction he pushes you until you tumble down onto the bed, quickly taking his position in your lap. "You-" Kyle grins down at you wolfishly, his hands on your shoulders keeping you laying down, "- are going to let me do this an' anything you say will be used against you."

"Sir," You say, breathless, your eyes just as dark and dilated as his, "I just got really hard."

"Good man." Gaz purrs and kisses you. It doesn't take much to get you two out of your clothes, your sweat slick skins rubbing together as he rides you. The position is a little awkward as he uses your bent knees to balance himself, his stomach pressing against your abdomen as he rides you. He's huffing and puffing like a racehorse, already losing steam even as his cunt flutters around your cock.

"Come on daddy," He moans and rocks his hips, "Put another one in me," He urges you on, and you don't know what comes over you but you grip his hips firmly and thrust up the next time he lowers himself onto your cock, forcing the most beautiful sounds out of his throat.

"Oh- fuck, yes, yes, yes!" He groans, gripping your knees in a white knuckled grip as he bounces on your cock. He looks so handsome like this, eyes closed and mouth open to moan freely as his belly gently bounces with your thrusts. You can't keep your hands off it, something about seeing him heavy with your young has you harder than you've ever been.

Your kiss is just as desperate as his had been when you finally push him into an orgasm, the clenching of his hole pulling you down into your own orgasm. "God, that was so good lovie." He whispers against your lips, his eyes going wide when you don't stop and buck your hips into him again.

"Said you wanted me to put another one in you." Is all you say as you roll your hips, your cock somehow still hard. His cunt flutters around you, wet and sloppy with his slick and your cum mixing between you two.

You really are the love of his life.

Taglist: @dead-end-stuff

#gnome's tea break #gnome correspondence #cod mw2 #x reader #male reader #top male reader #trinkets from the hoard #kyle gaz smut #kyle garrick x male reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x male reader #cod modern warfare #cod mw3

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luimagines · 4 months ago

Text

Sacrificial Dues

Another Commission!

They asked for a human sacrifice to the one and only Fierce Deity. The events are as follows. Enjoy!

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

It was at dawn, at the waking breaths of the earth when there was a shift of change in the air. It happened every now and then, but the air itself tasted different. Sweet. Sour. Acrid. Strange. It was strange. It was personal.

He had no name that he would have assigned himself. He was created with a purpose. His only job was to see it through. The humans however were less enthralled with the concept.

They had called him The Fierce Deity, a being worthy of praise or of contempt depending on who you ask.

He was fine with either, knowing that so long as no one was in his way to protect the humans from themselves and of other threats that sought to do them harm, he could handle any indignity that the universe threw at him.

The way the humans looked at the way he worked was one of curiosity and reverence. The occasional unease trickled through the humans every now and then. More often than not, his presence was often followed by a surging sense of foreboding. The humans knew that wherever he went, violence was sure to follow.

Due to their misconceptions, they often sent him gifts for mercy- in vain hopes that his blade would never come against their people and to buy his peace and protection from the threats to them and their land.

The Fierce Deity would have done so regardless. It was his purpose. But the reason for his existence didn’t dictate that he shouldn’t accept the gifts and he wasn’t inclined to correct the people if it meant that they would give their continued cooperation.

He was on his way to pick up the leftover gift when the stench in the air all but disturbed his very sense of balance. The humans were waiting for him. As in, multiple humans.

They had never bothered to wait for him before.

Cautious, he approached the no doubt fearful group. And it was a group. There were at least five individuals. Most appeared to be male (although he never considered himself very good at telling the humans apart from one another), but there was one in a bright, white gown that no doubt held significance to the humans he protected, but one he never bothered to learn.

All the humans bowed low to the ground at once, save for the one in the dress and waited until he stood in front of them to speak. They were all shaking, but only the one in the dress dared to look at him. Intriguing. The Deity noted this with a hidden grin. He favored the brave.

They were striking in appearance, adorned with many fine metals and jewels that were meant to accentuate their appearance. It worked. The god found himself fascinated by the particular shade of their eyes and the lines of their features.

“Oh great and mighty Fierce Deity.” One of the humans spoke with his face to the dirt. It had halted his blizzard fascination with the mortal they deemed worthy of being in his presence. “We have little to give. A famine has desecrated our lands and there is nothing of substance for Your Grace.”

The Fierce Deity stayed silent, for there was little he could do or say about the matter.

The human continued. “In hopes of mercy and time for the land to heal and produce, we offer the most beautiful of our people to you. They are yours to do with as you see fit.”

He stared at the pitiful man in the dirt by his boots. The deity… was perplexed to say the least. He had no need for the humans to sacrifice to him to begin with. It was never part of his duties or his vows or purpose.

The human in question, now that the context was beginning to dawn on him, was tied by the wrists and no doubt tied by their ankles as well.

Anger churred dangerously in his gut before he found the will to speak. He tried to cause as little fear in the humans as he could but this warranted the terror he’d produce in their hearts. “Are they a willing sacrifice?”

He may not be the most benevolent creature, but he wasn’t cruel. Ruthless, yes. Many a time. But cruel? He was built to protect, not destroy. The very thought made his blood boil. After all this time, had they thought so little of him? After everything he’s done for them?

His words had shaken the mortals to their core, giving the rope around his “sacrifice’s” wrists a deeper, far more twisted meaning. He raised his hand to the hilt of his sword before the mortal in question stepped forward, putting them between him and their captors.

“I am willing.” They said, swallowing the last of their fear, meeting his eyes at last. He could see their shoulders shake with the strength and force they exuded to keep their tremors hidden from his gaze. The Fierce Deity was trained to notice such subtleties in body language on all fronts, but once more, he admired their courage.

“Very well.” He rolled his shoulders, hoping to quell the unease and fury coiling around in his stomach. “And what am I to do with a human sacrifice?”

“Whatever you see fit.” Came a reply from the dirt before the sacrifice could answer for themselves. “A slave, a companion, a meal, a lover- just have mercy on us and our village.”

He growled.

The mortals flinched at the inhumane sound, attempting to burrow themselves into the ground as it was. Even his steely-eyed sacrifice had turned their gaze away with a wince at the otherworldly portrayal of rage.

“I may have to reconsider our arrangement.” He took a step back but took a breath to calm himself. Desperation drives even the most sane ones to madness. He will do himself no favors if he exudes punishment when they feel as if they have run out of options. Instead, he reaches a hand toward the adorned jewel among them, forcing his touch and demeanor into a more gentler tone. “Come. No harm will come to you… or your village.”

No matter how much he wanted to personally rain hell fire for this subordination.

A life is a life and should never be used to curry favors.

The thought nearly had him growling once more at the back of his throat. He managed to quell the instinctual response for the sake of his impromptu guest, but he will have to have a heavy handed conversation with such village dwellers when he returns from his patrol.

Hesitantly, the mortal thrust into his care placed their hand in his, allowing their trust (and their very life) to be put into the palm of his hand.

“...Thank you.” Their near impossibly quiet voice was a gunshot through the tense atmosphere. He had thought they would be braver, more robust and forthcoming, but perhaps that had been in the moment of fear. And frankly, in comparison to the other mortals that had dropped to the earth at the sight of him, there was little contest between the two parties.

All the other mortals had all but fainted on the spot, relief filling every fiber of their beings as they went back to his domain. Once they had traveled a fair distance away from any more prying eyes, the Fierce Deity turned on his heel and took out his less impressive blade. A simple dagger, but just as sharp and deadly as his double helix sword.

He held the blade up and his… pet? The word felt infinitesimally wrong. Tossing the descriptors aside for now, he noticed that they had closed their eyes at the sight of a weapon in his hands. Their head had turned away and once more their shoulders shook with the effort they exuded to keep a calm facade.

He cut the ropes around their wrists.

It fell away at once.

Their head snapped to their wrists, taking in the weight of his actions. The Fierce Deity also took in the exposed flesh before him. Gently, he cradled their hands, looking at their abused wrists that had been rubbed raw from the coarse material that had bound them. He would need to find a salve for them. The skin was red and angry, flaking at certain parts to show that damage had taken place, but there was no blood. It would heal, unlikely to even scar.

Their breath had hitched under his consideration. He gently returned their hands to their sides. “Are you injured anywhere else?”

“You’re not going to kill me?” They blurted in response, clutching their wrists close to their chest. “I thought… I thought you’d-”

“I am not the cold hearted killer as you humans love to portray me.” He says in a not so quiet voice despite his best attempts. “I get no pleasure from the destruction of the innocent.”

Anger returned to the edges of his skin. It was bubbling with unrestrained energy at the implications of this so-called sacrifice. The mortal rubbed their wrists, following at the same slow pace he had kept them at despite his subconscious shift in speed. It was only when he had noticed they had begun to fall back did he remember his previous question and intent.

Groaning inwardly, he turned once more and stopped in front of the mortal. “I don’t like to repeat myself, but I am inclined to admit this was my own folly. However, for future reference, do not test my patience. I had asked if you were injured elsewhere.”

The mortal stood frozen to the earth before slowly lowering their head at long last. “...My ankles are also tied up.”

Inwardly, the Fierce Deity cursed, but that would have been very ungentlemanly behavior toward this poor soul. Scowling over this morning's events wasn’t beneath him however, so he lowered himself to the dirt and lifted the hem of the dress. “Excuse me.”

They squeaked, but made no move to stop him as he pushed the silken material aside. He reached in, taking their leg in his hand and pulled it towards him. His hands were rough and calloused from constant use and abuse from his battles and training regiment but their skin was nothing of the sort. It was soft, almost as silken as the dress they donned. He kept his gaze low, not wanting to appear too wanton but the skin contact was inciting reactions he hadn’t known he was capable of experiencing.

He made no comment about it and said nothing to give away the thoughts in his head.

The Fierce Deity pulled the leg closer to him- until it was pulled taut against an opposing force. The rope. Leaning closer so that it would be easier for the both of them, he once again took up his dagger and reached for the rope within the fabric.

Their hands landed on his much larger shoulders to keep their balance as he quickly did away with the physical limitation to their mobility. Afterwards, he cut away the knot found at the base at their leg, right where they said it would be. His fingertips lingered for a moment longer.

They would have to apply more salve to the irritated skin than he initially guessed but their shoes (also adorned in a higher fashion to match the rest of the gown and jewels) had protected much of their flesh as it was.

Slowly, hoping to not startle this already shaken individual, he moved to the other side and repeated the process of gently moving the gown away and reaching for their leg. To his surprise, they cooperated quickly and allowed him to take the knot away from their other foot.

Once the job was complete, he detached himself quickly. No need to entertain strange and primal thoughts.

“Come.” He spoke again, leading them deeper in unknown territory. Since they were now free from their bonds, they were able to move at a much faster pace- however his stride was not easily matched by anyone and the Fierce Deity found himself needing to slow down in order to keep them close.

He may not live in the most dangerous part of the land (his very presence is enough to keep even the more foolish monsters at bay) but that didn’t mean that threats weren’t watching them both from within the shadows among them.

“Oh.” They exclaimed quietly to themselves when they had arrived at his home. They seemed surprised, although he could not fathom why. He looked at them and as if on cue, they were rambling to explain themselves. “I didn’t think you would have lived…. Like this.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I have never needed much. What were you expecting?”

“Not a hut.” Came their honest reply. “I thought… a palace would have been more suited to you. Somewhere big and grandiose… not… Well, not this.”

He chuckled, startling his companion once more. “You humans know so little about me. Your assumptions are amusing.”

They laughed in return but it was stunted and weak. They were still nervous. “If… I may be so bold… what happens to me now?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? The Fierce Deity sighed and closed the distance to the front door. Opening it, he gestured to his guest to follow him in. “I do not intend to cause you harm. You need not fear for your safety or your life. However, I have no need for a servant or a slave…. And I do not enjoy the taste of human flesh.”

He added that last part in jest, hoping to dispel any lingering reservations about his violent nature. It didn’t appear to stick as he had hoped, then again, his voice was unnaturally stoic. “I will give you the choice to leave if you wish. There isn’t anything for you here.”

“...May I stay?”

Once more, this mortal had left him perplexed and intrigued. He had noted before that their braver had kept their head up even as he, with all the wrong assumptions in their head, had approached them. He was willing to bet that they had more courage than all the sniveling fools in their village had to offer.

“Why stay? I have nothing for you.” Aside from protection of course, but that was a given due to his nature.

Shocking him once more as their gaze reached his eyes, they spoke. “I have nowhere else to go. I came here willingly, knowing that I would never be accepted back in my village. If I return, I will be shunned and exiled for failing my task to please you.”

Something stirred within him once more at their words. “...I see.”

Interestingly, he had noticed that he had spoken more in this instance, in their company, than he had in many, many years. It was nice. Enjoyable even.

“Then you may stay.”

#legend of zelda #loz fanfic #fierce deity x reader #fd x reader #fierce diety #Fierce Deity #fierce deity link #link x reader #i think i have all the tags covered #human sacrifice #I guess it applies?#let me know if it's missing something

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marvelstoriesepic · 1 month ago

Text

Latte (He)art

Pairing: Barista!Bucky x Coworker!College!Reader

Summary: Your sweet coworker at the café you work at part time is the only thing able to brighten your day. So it’s only practical that he always ends up in the same shift as you.

Word Count: 7.8k 🐻☕🧋🍪

Warnings: Reader having College stress; mentions of a single mother (not reader); some coffee is spilled; Bucky is a sweetheart; Bucky is worried

Author’s Note: This little piece is written for @elixirfromthestars writing challenge. I actually planned to write this a month earlier but life got in between lol. Here it is now. I dearly hope you enjoy what I made of your lovely prompt.

🤎Coffee Cup🤎 “So we’re swapping our cups, and after a while, we’re swapping a glance. And I can think nothing better than starting the year with a drop of romance.” -Anthony Lazaro

Masterlist

The windows of the coffee shop receive more of your attention than the assortment of pastries you’re supposed to prepare to showcase behind the counter.

It’s fifteen minutes before Bucky’s shift starts and your belly flutters at the thought of seeing him again.

The early morning sun filters through the windows, offering a soft glow that casts warm beams of light to sweep across the floor and catch the glistening frosting on the cinnamon rolls. Their sweet, spiced aroma laced with hints of vanilla and brown sugar wafts through the air.

However, your gaze is more drawn to the street outside, scanning the road for a short mop of chestnut hair.

You like to snag shifts before the classes of your day start, relishing in the early morning hours and being satisfied with getting some work done before studying. But in the two and a half months since you started working at ‘Barnes Brown Beans’, you had come to recognize Bucky seems to prefer working in the morning as well. So, he actually may be the main reason.

Also, you’re usually, coincidentally - or so you tell yourself - paired with him anyway.

You’re grateful for this job. The shop’s close proximity to your university makes it an easy commute and the wages are fair. That’s a blessing in itself. But more than that, it was George and Winifred Barnes, the owners, who initially made it easy for you to love this job.

Winifred had greeted you with sweet enthusiasm at your job interview for a part-time job, making you instantly feel more at ease. After asking a few routine questions and warmly assuring you that the position was yours, she shifted the conversation to your studies with genuine interest and asked if you were good with balancing work and university life - a mother's worries.

It didn’t take long for her to start gushing about her children. She explained to you how her son, Bucky, had been helping out at the coffee shop ever since high school. Instead of pursuing college, like many of his peers and his best friend Steve, he chose to stay in New York to help manage the family business. “I’m sure you two will get along well” she had said with a kind of knowing grin you couldn’t make sense of.

She even shared with you that his little sister, Rebecca, always had a burning passion for studying architecture abroad. Unfortunately, the Barnes simply couldn’t afford a college education for both children, so Bucky decided to step up, taking on more responsibility at the shop so his parents wouldn’t be overwhelmed and relieving them of some stressful work, allowing his sister to follow her dreams.

She spoke with so much love and gratitude she held for her son, it almost made you tear up. She mentioned that Bucky never once showed resentment or regret for the path he chose.

Instead, he took pride in his role, and you could see it too. During your brief time working with him, you noticed how he carried himself with a quiet determination. There is genuine joy in the way he treats customers, always kind and attentive, and he always puts so much care into every small detail of his work.

He also loves to tell you about the exams his sister passed, and the friends she made; pride in her success evident when he speaks about her.

You admire him. He’s selfless, hardworking, and full of heart.

So it’s just logical that his parents gave him so much responsibility early on and made him part of the management.

You don’t mind that one second though, because he takes his authority incredibly seriously and usually shows up for his shifts earlier than he needs to.

It’s why your gaze is drawn to the panes of glass at the front once again.

You got in at 7 today, getting enthusiastically greeted by George - as he told you to call him on your first day - and tasked with the usual morning routine. So, as he disappeared into the small office room at the back of the shop, you had started prepping the food equipment and putting it on display.

The shop wouldn’t open until 8, so you still had some time to breathe before the morning rush would start, but you always feel some kind of gratitude at the way George lets you handle yourself at the front while waiting for Bucky to arrive at 7:30 to help out.

Admittedly, you didn’t get that much done yet, caused by the thought of seeing Bucky walk in through the door at any minute.

You saw him just 4 days ago at your last shift, but the giddy anticipation is all the same and you only have three and a half hours with him today before you have to leave for your classes.

The buttery, sweet, and slightly nutty smell of the freshly baked croissants you’re currently rearranging wafts from the trays and reaches your nostrils, but gets ignored the second you hear keys jiggling outside, and your attention snaps to the door.

“Morning doll!”

Bucky’s smooth voice comes through the door with him, cheerful as always as he greets you with a charming smile, and your chest flutters. A rush of cool air hits your exposed skin from outside, but his grin is warming you back up quickly.

You fumble with the croissant in your hand, but recover in time and throw him a smile of your own, hoping you’re able to mask the excitement you tried to hold in all morning.

“Morning, Bucky,” you greet him back sweetly, turning your attention back to the pastries, pretending to focus on your task at hand.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as Bucky pulls off his coat and then makes his way over to you, hovering over your shoulder, while putting on his apron. You try to hide the way your hands get a little clammy in the see-through gloves you’re wearing while touching the food.

You tend to the fruit danishes, their glossy, golden crust filled with rich cream cheese and topped with plump raspberries, blueberries, and apricots.

Carefully placing each in its designated spot, you only manage to breathe a little easier when you feel Bucky move over to the coffee machines, their steady hum filling the quiet space as Bucky busies himself.

“Smells amazing, doll,” he calls over his shoulder and you can hear the grin in his voice.

You let out a soft laugh, glancing at him briefly before putting your head back around. “Didn’t make them, Bucky,” you explain, tone playful but modest.

Brewing coffee and clinking mugs are the only sounds you hear before Bucky’s hum reaches your ears. “Maybe you should,” he states, teasing laced with a hint of sincerity. “Bet they’d be gone in seconds.”

You’re grateful that Bucky isn’t in your line of sight because you feel heat creeping up your neck, coloring your cheeks. Your laugh is a little breathless, a little more insecure than you intended.

A few weeks ago you had casually mentioned your love for baking when Bucky had asked about your hobbies, and ever since he loved to bring it up every once in a while.

“I don’t know about that.” You try for nonchalance, but the blush doesn’t leave your face.

“Gotta give yourself more credit, doll,” he replies easily, his words wrapped in that effortless charm of his. You hear some more clinking of cups as he makes one for himself, just like every day. “Want coffee?”

He asks every time. You decline, like every time. Though he never fails to ask.

And it never fails to make your morning feel just a little bit brighter.

****

Watching Bucky create his latte art has become one of the highlights of your day. There is something mesmerizing in the way he moves, pouring the steamed milk with such precision and focus as if each cup would get graded by an artist.

You’ve noticed how much care he puts into it, the way he pauses before finishing, always needing it to be perfect.

You can tell when Bucky isn’t quite satisfied, like right now, as he holds up the cup that looks flawless to you. But there is a twitch of his mouth, a slight hesitation in his hand as if he’s debating whether to start over or risk making it worse with one more pour.

It’s adorable, really. To you, they all look perfect, but he holds himself to a standard that’s somehow both admirable and endearing.

Today, Bucky was the one already there when you arrived at 8 am, along with the first customers of the day.

The scent of fresh coffee had filled the air as you stepped inside, a soft murmur of conversation around you setting the tone for the morning rush.

He was stationed behind the counter, together with one of your coworkers, Peter. It didn’t escape your notice that Bucky caught your eye immediately, flashing you that warm, easy smile even before acknowledging Mr. Nakajima, a frequent visitor.

It was a small gesture but it excited you nonetheless.

Mr. Nakajima, or Yori as you’d heard Bucky call him, now sits in his usual corner, peacefully sipping his tea; his quiet presence a constant in the shop.

The older man always seems content to watch the people go in and out of the shop, observing the ebb and flow of the crowd, wrinkled hands wrapped around his cup as if savoring the warmth.

Bucky often took time to sit with him when things were slow, sharing long and comfortable conversations that seemed to be meaningful. There is something about the way Bucky treats Yori that tugs at your heart.

It seems, that right now Bucky is comfortable with leaving Peter and you to attend to the ebbing crowd as he makes his way to Yori's table and slowly lowers himself in front of him.

You deliberately turn away although there isn’t much to do for you right now since the morning rush is over and Peter attends to the only customer in the shop right now. So, you mindlessly wipe down the counter, not because you’re not interested, but if you spend any more attention on the guy you might get overwhelmed by the awe he arises in you.

The way Bucky smiles when he talks to the old man, the way his face lights up with that blinding, heart-stopping grin - it has a dizzying effect on you. And the laugh he lets slip every so often, low and full of warmth, makes it hard to concentrate on any coffee orders.

Bucky stays at Yori's table for a while. Every now and then you make out his face turning in your direction, lingering a little but you stay focused on your work.

“Y/n?”

The sound of Peters's voice makes your head snap over to him, blinking in expectation.

“Sorry, uh, you seemed a little distracted for a sec,” Peter says with a shy laugh, scratching the back of his neck, eyes flickering not so subtly over to Bucky.

Alright, maybe you have looked a few times. Whatever.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumble, doing your best to ignore the knowing grin spreading across Peter's face. Thankfully, a girl around your age approaches the counter, saving you from the growing awkwardness. You flash her a smile and focus on her order.

More customers start to stream in, the café again beginning to buzz with activity. Bucky, noticing the crowd building up, excuses himself from Yori’s table with a friendly pat on the old man’s shoulder. He steps back behind the counter, his easygoing demeanor never faltering as he joins in beside you. You share a quick smile.

Working with Bucky always makes it fun in some sense, time slipping by too quickly. Before you know it, it’s time for you to head out for your first class of the day.

You step away from the counter, untie your apron, and grab your things, already feeling reluctant to leave Bucky’s side.

“Already time to go?” Bucky asks, turned in your direction, his voice carrying that familiar deep drawl. There’s a slight disappointment laced in his tone, that doesn’t escape you.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “first class is-“

“History,” he finishes for you, without missing a beat.“I remember.”

You hadn’t expected him to recall such a small detail about your schedule, surprise registering on your face. But you quickly push out a smile, nodding at him, your heart doing a little somersault.

“Hold on,” he insists quietly, already moving to snap up a to-go bag and carefully placing a croissant inside. With a casual grin, he holds it out for you to take. “On the house.”

This isn’t the first time Bucky has given you something to go, insisting you take it as a gift. But it never gets easier to accept his small acts of kindness. You hesitate, not making a move to take the bag and Bucky’s smirk only deepens, playing the same game you’ve had before.

“Take it, doll,” he drawls, dangling the bag in front of your face with a playful glint in his eye. “Can’t let you go to class hungry, now can I?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes with a smile tugging at your lips, and snatch the bag from his hand with mock annoyance. “Fine, but this is the last time,” you warn, rather weakly it seems, considering the way Bucky leans against the counter with his arms crossed, smirking at you in an amused manner.

“You know it’s not. Can’t fault me for taking care of you, doll. You haven’t eaten anything all morning.”

His words are casual, but the way he says it, the unspoken concern that lingers, makes giddy warmth rise in your stomach, spreading to your face and heating your skin.

You hope it’s not that obvious, so you just sigh again, dramatically, and exaggerate an eye roll as Bucky lets another cup get filled with coffee, eyes remaining on you, a chuckle fleeing his lips.

You make your way to the door of the shop, knowing you’d just pay him back by slipping some money into the tip jar when you’re in earlier than him.

“And no leaving dollars in the tip jar, sweetheart,” Bucky calls out behind you, the smug amusement clear in his voice. “Ma told me about that.”

Busted.

You turn you head with a faux helpless look, which only sends him into a fit of laughter, the sound rich and full, echoing through the shop, and your heart bursts, ignoring the people standing in the line wearing looks between confusion and annoyance. Laughing quietly yourself, you let the warmth of the moment fill you up, then quickly slip out the door before the flustered grin on your face can betray you any further.

With the door closed, the sounds of the café seal off behind you and you find yourself lingering just a second longer than the last time.

****

“Girl, I’m telling you, that’s nothing! I accidentally made a girl’s latte with cow's milk although she’d ordered oat. Chased her down the street like a lunatic, I mean she could have had an allergy and whatnot. Turns out it was just a preference and she didn’t mind. Talk about embarrassing.”

You chuckle along to Gina’s story, dusting the cappuccino in front of you with a sprinkle of cinnamon, scents mingling together.

Regina - or Gina as she prefers - is always someone you enjoy working with together. She’s incredibly open-minded and carries that vibrant energy you need to get through the day. She’s got a few years on you but never fails to make you laugh.

While brewing coffee and selling them, she loves to tell you about her little boy, Nikita. You’ve seen pictures of him on her phone and he’s adorable with puffy cheeks, dark curls, and dark green eyes. He must have those from his father.

You know she is a single mother and you admire the way she takes it with pride, finding peace in her situation and insisting that she and Nikita are better off without his father.

You’ve also come to find out that 'Barnes Brown Beans' wasn’t the only job she had but that George and Winifred are so much fairer than her other boss, being supportive and trying to give her shifts that accommodate her schedule so she could pick up Nikita from kindergarden early enough to still have time with him every day.

Another thing that makes this job so valuable.

Earlier was a brief lull in the crowd, allowing you and her to chat. The conversation had drifted into the realm of embarrassing work stories. You shared one of your own, recalling how, in your first week, you had prepared a to-go coffee. You felt that nervousness that comes with starting a new job and as you tried to slide the cup over the counter to the customer, your aim had been far too enthusiastic. The cup sailed past the edge, spinning gracefully through the air before landing in the trash bin.

You hoped that perhaps nobody really saw what happened besides the slightly perturbed man in front of you. But since you shared this shift with Bucky and he always seems to have an eye on you, of course, he was a witness. You remember the way his laugh had erupted, uncontainable, filling the air behind the counter. He had leaned against it for support while you stood there, cheeks burning.

He didn’t make you feel bad though, helping you remake the coffee and almost sheepishly adding that the same thing happened to him once. Only, in his case, it was a porcelain cup. And it didn’t land in the bin. The image of it crashing to the floor, shattering into tiny pieces as coffee splattered everywhere, was enough to make you feel a little less embarrassed.

“Something funny?”

The familiar voice catches you off guard and you look up from the register. Sure enough, Bucky is strolling up to the counter, hands casually tucked into his jacket pockets and that handsome grin on his face that always causes your stomach to do flips.

“Bucky?” you ask, a soft, confused laugh escaping you. You feel your heart jump in excitement and try to tone it down. He wasn’t supposed to come in for a few more hours, and you had already resigned yourself to the disappointment of missing him today. You’d seen the shift schedule last week and the realization was like a cloud casting a shadow over your mood.

So, seeing him standing in front of you only makes a smile stretch wide without even thinking.

“I think you’re a little early,” you assess, voice light as you ring up the girl standing at the counter. Handing her the cappuccino, you glance back at him, the small transaction barely registering as your attention stays fixed on Bucky.

His grin only widens as he shrugs with a kind of faux nonchalance, letting his gaze sweep across the room. His smile stays in place, even as he steps aside for a middle-aged man approaching you.

“Couldn’t stay away,” he teases with that signature edge of playfulness that always gets to you.

As you start to prepare the man’s coffee, you can feel Bucky’s gaze on you, watching your every move. It’s a weight you’ve grown fond of - his silent observation that makes you more aware of yourself, in a good way.

You flash him a quick smile before refocusing.

“Also had to know how that exam went,” he adds casually, leaning in just a little, but you’re aware of that curiosity his voice always carries when he asks you about college. Or anything about your life, really.

You huff out a small laugh, ringing up the man’s order and sliding his coffee across the counter before turning your full attention back to Bucky. “Wasn’t as hard as I thought it’d be,” you answer him, a hint of relief in your tone since you had been stressing about this exam for weeks. “I think I did okay.”

Bucky leans against the counter now, propping himself up in that relaxed way of his, eyes never leaving yours. You’re glad you get to talk to him, glad that Gina attends to the only current customer right now and you have a second with Bucky, but the unknown power his gaze holds over you threatens to overwhelm you.

“What’d I tell ya, doll? Of course, you did great. Smartest girl I know.”

You snort, but your heart races. He always seems so sure of your success, having this confidence in you, that you feel you lack sometimes and it makes warmth pool in your gut. “Well I guess I’ll have to thank you, then,” you reply, smile present and voice light but the gratitude is real.

His scent - a mix of something warm and clean, almost earthy, and his cologne - cuts through the usual aroma of coffee beans and pastries. It’s grounding and you have to remind yourself to focus as you move toward the coffee machines.

“Do you want coffee?” you throw over your shoulder, fingers already hovering over the buttons.

Bucky straightens up in your peripherals and you make out the shake of his head with that soft smile on his face. “Don’t wanna keep you from work. I’ll make it myself, thanks doll!”

The door to the café swings open and three girls walk in together, laughter filling the room as they make their way over to you. Bucky’s movements snap your head back to him as he casually slips behind the counter, stepping up to the coffee machines and you head back to the register, keeping awareness of his presence as always.

Since Bucky’s shift doesn’t start yet, he stays lingering behind the counter and engages in conversation with Gina when he notices you getting busy again. From where you stand you can hear snippets of their conversation - Bucky asking about Nikita and when he gets to see him again.

You never realized they are that close but the thought of Bucky caring about that little boy instantly heats your skin. There’s a softness to imagining him in that role, and you can easily picture how good he must be with kids.

After all, you’ve seen it before - the way his face lights up when he catches sight of children toddling along beside their parents, the way he bends down to their height, engages them in little conversations that always leave them giggling or grinning from ear to ear. It’s endearing and really no wonder that every child he talks to seems to adore him.

But what really tugs at your heart, what causes a flutter deep in your chest, is the subtle way Bucky’s attention keeps drifting back to you.

Even in the middle of his chat with Gina, you can feel his gaze lingering on you. There is a quiet fondness in the way he watches you go about your work, always wearing that soft expression.

It’s not like he’s checking if you’re doing your job right - nothing about it feels critical or scrutinizing. Instead, it’s as if he’s simply enjoying observing you, absorbing the way you move through your tasks, as though he’s eager to learn all the little details that make up your routine.

And surprisingly, it doesn’t make you as nervous as you might have believed. If anything, there is something soothing about his attention, like a silent reassurance you never knew you needed.

Occasionally, throughout your shift, Bucky strikes up conversations with familiar customers - frequent flyers whose names he already knows by heart. You catch bits and pieces of their easy small talk, but even then, his eyes always find their way back to you.

And every time you meet them, your heart swells with hope that perhaps the reason he came in early for his shift might be you.

****

Your week has been nothing short of overwhelming and frustrating - packed with assignments, papers to write, and facts to memorize. To top it off, a fellow student had yelled at you for breaking his pen, and you still remember that disappointed glint in your professor's eyes after failing to give him satisfying answers in class.

It feels like you are constantly juggling everything at once, and somehow, the balance has tipped entirely.

Sleep has become a rare luxury, replaced by caffeine-fueled study sessions that stretch into the early hours of the morning.

As you walk to the café for your afternoon shift, a heavy sigh escapes your lips, the exhaustion settling in your bones.

You rarely work afternoon shifts, but this one fits perfectly behind your friday classes and you have been too swamped the rest of the week to pick up any shifts at all.

Your pace is slower than usual, feet dragging slightly on the pavement. There is no real need to hurry today. Normally, your steps would quicken as you approached the café, that familiar, sweet sign with its three big B’s always managing to lift your mood.

But today the excitement isn’t there. Not when you know Bucky has the day off. Without him there, the urgency to get to work just isn’t the same.

But, thinking about it, it might be for the best that Bucky is not around today. You can’t imagine you look all that appealing right now, with dark bags under your eyes - the kind that no amount of concealer could hide. Your skin has that worn-out, dull shimmer to it - the kind that no amount of caffeine could mask.

You catch a glimpse of your reflection in a shop window as you pass and wince slightly. The fatigue shows in your features, and for a moment, you’re thankful that this day won’t include the possibility of Bucky catching sight of you in this state.

You’re partly relieved to have a shift where you can simply focus on getting through it without feeling self-conscious. There is no need to hide how utterly drained you feel because you really couldn’t care less how your appearance would affect your customers. You just need to make it through these few hours, go home, and hopefully, finally get some rest.

You pull open the door, gathering what little composure you can muster. The all-known blend of rich coffee, baked pastries, and warm, cozy air greets you as always, along with the chatter from the packed room. It’s busy, as expected for this time of day, but the environment surprisingly helps ground you as you weave your way through the crowd, slipping between patrons.

Your eyes catch Winifred at the back, her beaming smile a quick but comforting sight before she disappears behind the office door with a wave.

Side-stepping two men chatting near the line, you get a clearer view of the counter and freeze - feet refusing to continue.

Thanks to the work schedule you know who your coworkers are today. Peter was assigned, as well as Wanda, a nice, but slightly odd girl with a thick accent and laser-like focus on her task.

You had prepared for them both. But it isn’t Wanda standing next to Peter behind the counter.

It’s Bucky.

Your heart jumps into your throat and you’re not sure if it’s because of the surprise of seeing him or because of how unprepared you feel in this exact moment. You didn’t even check your hair in a car window before entering.

He’s here - on his supposed day off - laughing with a guy on the other side of the counter as he works the espresso machine, his movements smooth and practiced; no surprise there. His presence is so casual and effortless that you find yourself thinking your tired eyes might have looked at the wrong day on the schedule and perhaps you aren’t even supposed to work today. Though Winifred wasn’t at all surprised to see you.

Your head spins at the simple thought and yet a ripple of warmth shoots through you at the sight of him, making you momentarily forget just how drained you are.

While every fiber of your being wants to feel self-conscious about your tired eyes and the imperfections on your skin, craving to stay hidden between the line of people, the longer you watch him work, it gets overtaken by something else.

That same old lightness that seems to follow him wherever he goes and sticks to you when you’re near enough, soaking into your veins and filling them with energy. You can practically feel them fizzle.

You would have liked to linger in this moment just a little longer, but it’s cut short abruptly when he spots you. His polite smile brightens instantly, eyebrows moving up slightly as his eyes lighten up.

You flash him a smile in return, though you can feel it wobble at the edges, probably more sheepish than anything else. Maybe it even comes off as a grimace with the exhaustion weighing on you, but you quickly break eye contact and resume walking.

For a moment, you make out Bucky’s hand pausing mid-motion, hovering above the counter before he slides a to-go cup to the waiting guy on the other side.

Passing by, you can feel his gaze trailing after you, burning softly against your skin, a quiet but intense presence that follows you even when you’re not looking.

You busy yourself with dialing in for the shift, wrapping your apron around your waist, doing your best to shake off the fatigue and the flutter that Bucky’s unexpected presence elicits in you.

From behind you, you catch the sound of his voice, though it sounds a little distracted, asking the next customer to repeat their order.

You glance back, quickly greeting Peter as you pass, but your focus is drawn to the pastry case, where a small woman waits for service. You keep your hands moving, bagging up her choice of pastries - two croissants and four scones - but make out Bucky’s head turning in your direction a few times.

You steal a glance at him from the corner of your eye, noticing the slight furrow in his brow as he works. He’s a little slower now, less sure in his movements than when you first walked in. It’s subtle, but you can tell his focus is slipping. Something about his energy has shifted.

Minutes pass and the three of you stay busy with the steady stream of customers. You remain behind the pastry case, preparing the treats for the eager crowd. In between transactions, you notice Bucky taking a step in your direction, hesitating each time like he wants to step closer but keeps pulling himself back at the last second.

He returns to the register every time, tending to the next person in line, but there is an urgency in his movements now. His hands got quicker again, fingers tapping impatiently against the counter as he waits for the coffee to brew and his gaze falls back to you every so often but you avoid it.

Another few minutes tick by and you begin to settle into the rhythm of the shift when a sudden shout rings out from the front.

Your head snaps up, eyes locking onto the group of people stepping back from the counter hastily, startled by the splash of coffee that arcs through the air.

The cup that had caused the commotion clinks against the counter, slipping in Bucky’s hand and his other one shoots out to hold it steady before it can meet the ground alongside the coffee that was in it moments before.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” Bucky exclaims, his voice thick with frustration as he shakes his head at himself, wiping the spilled brown liquor from his hands. He quickly puts away the cup and apologizes again to the man it was meant for and the crowd of people who got startled.

The customer, a guy who looks to be in his mid-twenties, holds up his hands in a placating gesture, clearly not bothered by the accident. His jacket sleeve is stained with coffee, but he brushes it off with a casual shrug. “No worries, man, really. Nothing happened, you’re good!”

Bucky doesn’t seem to relax. You can see the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders are still tight as he remakes the drink with stiff, almost mechanical precision. You’ve never seen him so rattled but then again, he has been unfocused ever since he saw you.

Work continues steadily for the next half hour, with the rush of patrons finally starting to taper off. The café gradually empties, the throng thinning out until only a handful of people remain, some of them sitting in booths going on with their conversations.

You catch sight of Bucky leaning in closer to Peter, murmuring something you can’t quite make out. Peter nods, and without another word and a small pat on Peter’s shoulder, Bucky steps back from the counter.

This time, his hesitation is gone as he strides over to you.

He stops beside you, eyes on your profile. “Hey,” he speaks softly, voice low.

You finish helping a boy, thanking him for the tip before turning to Bucky with a small smile.

“Hey,” you reply, voice matching his softness but quieter. You turn your attention to the young girl in front of you, requesting a cookie. Reaching for a bag to tuck the treat inside, you continue the conversation, though your eyes stay focused downward.

“Didn’t expect to see you here today,” you comment, sensing his gaze on you.

“Yeah, uh, I took Wanda’s shift,” Bucky responds, his voice a little more tentative now. You notice him shuffling slightly beside you, standing up straighter.

He offers no further explanation as to why he picked up the shift, and you don’t feel the energy to ask about it. For some reason, the simple act of bagging a cookie while talking to him feels like a juggling act your tired brain isn’t quite up for.

So all you manage is a noncommittal hum in response.

The girl leaves with her cookie and Bucky stays beside you, solid and unyielding in his gaze. It presses on you like a weight as the moments pass.

Your stomach flutters uneasily when you realize there’s no line left to distract you, no excuse to stay busy.

You move automatically, reaching for the paper bags, rearranging them with a bit more force than necessary, trying to give yourself something to focus on, something other than Bucky’s eyes burning into you.

“Are you okay?” he asks finally, slowly and lowly, as if the question is something private meant only for you. It is. You feel the shift in his tone, the way he leans in slightly as if he needs a sincere answer to his sincere question.

It pulls your attention to him and you reluctantly lift your head, your heart twisting at the sight. Bucky gazes down at you with an expression far more serious than you’ve ever seen. His blue eyes, usually filled with a glimmering light when he looks at you, hold an amount of concern that seems to have an impact on his stiff muscles.

“I’m fine, Bucky,” you declare gently, smiling at him in hopes it’ll reassure him, though even before the words have left your lips completely, you felt it wasn’t entirely convincing.

Bucky studies you a moment longer. His eyes trace your features, dark brows hanging low, but you don’t take your words back.

Then, after a pause he lets out a long drawn sigh, hanging his head in defeat. He obviously doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t push it. The concern in his eyes remains but he lets it go, stepping back from you slowly.

He walks over to the coffee machines, deliberately trying to feign casualness. He grabs a cup and turns the familiar button after checking if Peter needs some help at the register, the whirring sound of brewing coffee filling the brief silence between you.

“You want some coffee?” he asks, like clockwork - just as he does every time you work together.

Without thinking, you open your mouth to decline, as usual. It’s almost muscle memory at this point, your automatic response. But then, mid-through, you pause. Another shot of caffeine can’t hurt. You can use the energy to get home safely without passing out after this shift.

The cup fills, steam rises, and Bucky turns to you when you take too long to answer.

You hesitate for a beat, then shift your gaze away, feeling a little awkward. “Yeah, I’ll take one,” you decide, stepping beside him to grab yourself a cup, eyes not moving to him.

But before you can reach for one, Bucky’s hand wraps gently around your wrist, halting you. The touch is light, but enough to make your pulse quicken. “Hold on,” he remarks, his voice filled with concern rather than confusion. “You never want coffee when I ask.” His intense eyes search your face again.

“If you always expect me to say no, then why do you keep asking?”

Bucky doesn’t respond immediately. He just keeps looking at you, quietly pleading for honesty. “That ain’t the point,” he softy counters but his voice carries insistence. “Something’s wrong.”

You sigh. God, you’re tired. You really need that coffee and you’d certainly feel terrible for getting annoyed at Bucky. He’s just trying to figure you out. He cares. That thought alone presses against the wall you’ve been trying to maintain all day.

Gently, you pull your wrist from his loose grip, and he lets his hand fall back to his side, though his gaze doesn’t waver.

“Nothing’s wrong.” Damn, that came out hollow. “I’m just a little stressed,” you add when he starts to shake his head, “and I could use a cup. It’s just coffee, Bucky.”

You see the muscles in his jaw tighten and his hand comes up to run through his hair.

“It’s not just coffee, darling,” he sighs. There’s a pause in which he assesses you again, then he continues. “Alright. Don’t take this the wrong way, doll. You know you’re a beautiful gal, but… you look like you’re about to drop dead.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. It looks like tiredness comes with an attitude, because your mind foregoes the part where he called you beautiful, only hearing the other side.

“Well.” You draw out the word. “If you don’t want me to drop dead, then let me have some coffee.” There is a bit of edge to your tone you hadn’t exactly intended, but you’re too tired to smooth it out. You also don’t wait for him to respond, quickly reaching for another cup and pressing the button before Bucky can grab your arm again.

Bucky stays quiet for a moment, watching you with those piercing blue eyes that seem to see right through your walls. He doesn’t look angry - just worried.

As the coffee pours you hear him take a breath. “Alright,” Bucky says quietly, almost under his breath. “I’m sorry, Y/n,” he adds after a short pause. Firmness, sincerity, and perhaps an amount of regret are all wrapped in his tone.

He used your name. You haven’t heard him say your name since the first time working here. And never with that much conviction.

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just… worried.” His voice softens even more, it sounds almost pleading and he takes a quick glance back at Peter, who was busy attending to the few patrons mingling about, before refocusing on you, his hand brushing over his hair. “I’ve seen you stressed before. Like when you kept going on about how worried you were for that exam. I watched you go through the stuff you had to learn in your head while remaining so incredibly focused and sweet during work. I admire that, Y/n. I must’ve told you a thousand times you’d ace it, but you wouldn’t believe me.” He chuckles lowly, sheepishly, and he licks his lips, before continuing. His gaze leaves you, mind seemingly far in his memories.

“Or your first day here. You were so nervous about making a mistake. You asked so many questions, were so interested in everything. I kept thinking about you all day. Every day, really.” He took another deep breath. It comes out a little unsteady and his eyes quickly flicker over to you, not quite meeting your own, but still searching your features.

“But this… this is different, and- I don’t know. I don’t like it. Hate it, honestly. Seeing you like this.”

His words hit you deep. The genuine concern and sincerity in his tone make your chest tighten, throat closing up and you feel yourself losing your breath as he takes a small step closer, eyes now fully on yours again. The nerves in his voice that had been there are gone now. Because he’s sure of what he says next. It’s clear in his tone.

“But, sweetheart, even through it all, you still manage to be the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. Drop dead gorgeous, honestly.”

You let out a surprised huff of laughter, partly because it’s easier than acknowledging and processing the meaning of his words. Heat creeps up your cheeks and all you feel like doing is bolt out of the door at the other end of the room but your feet are rooted to the spot. Perhaps, the floor would just give away and you’d fall deep down into the unknown.

That still would be kinder than standing in front of Bucky right now after his heavy confessions, feeling too vulnerable under his soft gaze.

You’re not able to meet his eyes, dropping your head. You know he is still looking at you. You don’t have to feel it to know it. That gentle expression, the reassuring smile - like he’s silently conveying that everything’s okay.

“Let me make you feel better, yeah?” Bucky’s voice is barely above a whisper, gentle, yet filled with intent. He gives you a moment, letting his earlier confessions sink in, before taking hold of the now full cup that is meant for you. Your eyes widen slightly when you see him grab the can of freshly steamed milk, an almost eager smile tugging at his lips.

“Are you pulling your latte art on me?” you ask with a light laugh, some of the tension in your chest loosening. There is a little bit of a teasing note in your voice now, your heartbeat beginning to slow.

“Sure am, doll!” Bucky grins proudly, lifting the cup higher. His brow furrows in concentration as he carefully pours the milk with a steady hand, his tongue briefly poking out as he narrows his eyes to get the design just right. You had seen him do this many times before but never for you.

The precision and dedication he’s giving to something as simple as your coffee makes your heart swell. You’re the one watching him now with a soft smile, utterly mesmerized by how serious he’s taking it.

You take a glance at the other cup - the one Bucky had made for himself and an idea hits you. Steam still rises from the liquid inside, the scent of fresh coffee meeting your nose.

You look around the counter, spotting the milk pot Peter had just set down and, without a second thought, you pick up Bucky’s cup, ready to return the favor. You lift the milk and begin to pour.

“What are you doing, doll?” Bucky’s gaze stays fixed on the cup in his hand, but his smile is beaming, curiosity lacing his words.

“I don’t think I need to tell you that,” you retort, your voice playful as you guide the milk with careful precision, weaving your hand in the practiced motions until you’re satisfied with the design.

Bucky’s chuckle is warm and soft and for a moment, it feels like the world shrinks down to just the two of you, the quiet intimacy cutting through the noise of the ebbing café.

Bucky finishes his work and sets the milk pot back down. There is a slight hesitation in his movements as he hands over the cup for you, a touch of nervousness creeping into his stance. You smile up at him and offer the cup in your hand to him. His hands are a little clammy as they touch yours. You swap coffees.

Your mouth falls open as you take a glance down into the cup. In the creamy white foam, a delicate rose is perfectly etched, its petals spiraling gracefully outward. Surrounding the rose are tiny, intricate hearts, floating around the bloom. The detail is so mesmerizing that all you can do is stare at it.

“This is incredible, Bucky,” you breathe out, voice filled with amazement. When you look up, he’s already watching you. He’s breathing deeply and his smile is in place. But there is also something in his eyes he doesn’t try to hold back - pure adoration, shining clearly like he just can’t hide it anymore.

He holds his own cup carefully, as if it’s something precious, something fragile, as if even the tiniest movement would mess up the heart in white swirling in his cup. Though, you feel like the simple heart pales in comparison to the masterpiece he’s created for you.

“It’s beautiful,” you say quietly, a hint of shyness in your tone. You feel a tiny amount of embarrassment but Bucky just keeps smiling, so warm and incredibly fond, that any hint of insecurity melts away.

“Learned it for you,” he admits it softly, his words slipping out like a secret he’s been holding onto for too long. Your heart skips a beat, eyes widening slightly before you look back down at the cup, tracing the design over and over again with your gaze.

“I love it, Bucky. I love these little hearts,” you address admiringly, almost dreamily.

Bucky is beaming above you, and although he shakes his head softly, his smile never leaves his face. He takes in a deep breath, seemingly needing to compose himself and looks down at his own cup, at the heart in it.

“Well,” he vocalizes, affection surrounded by a playful edge, “my heart’s bigger.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes playfully. “Don’t flatter yourself, Barnes. It’s the only thing I know how to do.”

He chuckles, that vibrating sound, that always makes your chest feel lighter. “I can teach you,” he offers, his bright blues looking deeply into your eyes, so full of affection that it makes your breath catch for a second.

And in that second - because that’s all it takes - everything shifts. For the better. Always for the better, because it’s hard to feel anything negative when Bucky smiles at you the way he does.

“you deserve

the kind of love

like hot coffee between your lips

that loves you gently

but makes you bold

and gives you life between the sips”

- a.b.

#elixirscafe #barista!Bucky #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fic #college!reader #marvel bucky barnes

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