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motorsportbarbie13 · 5 months ago

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The Princess & The Pilot

In which Lando Norris meets his childhood crush, who just happens to be an actual princess.

Warnings: none Pairing: Lando Norris x BritishPrincess!Reader Word Count: 3.5k or something

(quick note: running late for a meeting this morning but wanted to get this out. I'll update the tag list later tonight when/if I have time. Enjoy the new seriesssss!)

Master List

There must be a foreign power invading London.

That is the only reason you can think that your assistant would be waking you up at 8am the morning after you spent nearly 12 hours entertaining Argentinian foreign dignitaries with your father yesterday. When you had tumbled into bed at 2am after the state dinner the previous night, the last words you had mumbled to Noelle were ‘please don’t wake me up before noon tomorrow.’

This was supposed to be your one day off after attending engagements with your parents four days in a row.

“I’m so sorry, your highness.” Noelle whispers from where she stands at the foot of her bed. You immediately wonder if the palace groundskeepers would be willing to install a set of locks on the doors to your apartments that only you had the keys to.

“Noelle, you’ve been my assistant for how many years now? You can call me by my first name.” You grumble from under the thick cream duvet that you had tugged over your head moments before.

You glare at Noelle but immediately regret it when you see the anxious look on the older woman’s face. This wasn’t her choice, you realized. “What does my father want now?”

Noelle worries at the corner of her lip before holding out her cell phone. “He’s been trying to reach you for an hour now. Insisted I come wake you up.”

“He’s been unable to reach me because he swore up and down last night that I’d get today off from anything family related.” You complain, unable to keep the whine out of your voice.

Tossing off the covers, you swing your legs over the side of your king sized bed before reaching out to take Noelle’s phone from her. You can see the active call ticking away with your father’s name on the caller ID ‘HRH King Edward’

“Good morning Papa.” You expertly adjust your tone, knowing that if your father hears one single hint of grouchiness in your voice you’ll never hear the end of it. “Everything okay?”

“Your brother is sick.” His tone is brisk and you try to tell yourself he doesn’t mean to be short with you. He is literally the King of England after all. You’re sure he’s got a few things on his mind beyond worrying about waking his youngest child up at the crack of dawn.

“Does he need me to bring him something? Soup? Medicine?”

Your father scoffs on the other end of the line. “Don’t be silly.” He scolds. “My doctor has already been in to see him this morning. It’s just the flu, but he is contagious.”

You’re silent on your end of the phone, knowing there is more to come as the news of your older brother being sick didn’t really warrant an early morning phone call.

“I need you to take over the engagement he was going to do today.”

It takes every ounce of royal training for you not to groan. You’d been attending events and engagements all weekend long, standing in for your mother who also was sick with the flu. “Can’t Mike do it?”

Your youngest brother Michael was in his final year at Oxford before he’d go on to do the requisite military training but he was still able to engagements here and there.

“Michael has exams this week, so he is unavailable.”

You nearly suggest your sister-in-law Charlotte take her husbands place but know that would also be turned down as she’s been busy with her new well baby charity and juggling having two young children at home as well. The weight of the expectations of being the second eldest child of the King of England hangs heavy on your shoulders as the sunlight pours in through the curtains Noelle has drawn back. It’s a gorgeous spring day in London, which you know is rare this time of year. You had been planning on spending the day out on the private gardens that are tucked away in a hidden part of the palace not open to tourists reading a book in the quiet.

“What’s the engagement then?” You sigh, resigning yourself to the fact that once again, your family duties were coming before your own personal agenda.

You tried so hard not to be resentful of the weight of who you were and most of the time, you were fine with your station in life. You lived a very privileged, if not somewhat regimented and controlled, life as the only daughter to King Edward and Queen Matilde of the United Kingdom. Your parents, while busy with their own lives and duties, adored you and your two brothers, Sebastian and Michael. They had worked hard when you were younger to make sure that you and your siblings were raised as normally as possible, which hadn’t always been easy.

“You’ll be going out to the Silverstone Circuit in Towcester to meet with some people from the McLaren Formula 1 team. They're the Duke of Dover Awards newest partner and their drivers are doing some laps the track with children from the local schools. They’d like to take you on the track too.”

Your brother had started the Duke of Dover Awards when he had married Charlotte 10 years ago and had inherited the title as the heir to the throne. The foundation awarded hundreds of thousands of pounds each year to kids and teenagers that applied to be recipients of grants to improve their communities, start small businesses, and conduct scientific research. It was your brother’s brainchild and baby and you were shocked that Sebastian had agreed to allow anyone that wasn’t him to go near an event of theirs.

Sighing, you stand and shrug on the silk robe that was hanging form the little hook next to your bed. You were certainly not getting a day off today, now were you? “Okay, sounds straight forward enough. Does Noelle have the details?”

“Yes, Noelle has everything you’ll need. Thank you for helping, little dove.”

Your heart squeezes as the nickname your father has used since you were a toddler. You knew he carried a heavy weight with the crown on his head and expected nothing but the best from himself, and by extension you and your siblings, at all times because of it. He meant well and loved you fiercely, you knew that but sometimes it got lost in the legacy of what it meant to be a Windsor.

“Of course, Papa.”

You hang up and hand the phone back to your assistant. “Papa says you have all the details. Could you have everything printed out so I can read it in the car. Towcester is quite far away, isn’t it?”

“About an hour and a half, if traffic is good.”

You nod, mind jumping into preparation mode. The timeline that had landed in your inbox while you had been on the phone with your father said you needed to be there a little after 1pm, which gave you enough time to get ready. “Can you call Tibby, give her the details and have her pull some outfits for me? I can do my own makeup and I don’t think I’ll need anything fancy for hair, yeah?”

Noelle nods, eyes skimming her emails. “Your brother’s valet says he was planning on wearing jeans and a jumper, so it sounds casual. Natural makeup and a sporty ponytail, maybe?”

“That’s fine, I can do that myself.” Sometimes it chafed at you how much had to go into your appearance. You could never really go out looking sloppy or unkempt because the bad press that it inevitably invited drove your mother crazy. If your father was preoccupied with the weight of his crown, your mother was preoccupied with the weight of what her image meant to millions of people. It was a difficult relationship to navigate and you didn’t always do a good job, so you tried to maintain at least the minimum appearance standards your mother requested just to appease her.

Noelle snaps into action, calling Sebastian’s valet to get some more details on the people that will be present along with any other notes he had thought important. You pad towards your private bathroom to take a shower and get ready for what you assumed would be another routine royal engagement.

And boy, how wrong you were.

“Are you nervous?” Oscar mutters as he comes to lean against the counter in the garage next to where Lando stands, scrolling on his phone.

Lando looks up, confusion knitting his brows together. “Nervous for what?”

As far as he knew, this was just going to be another routine event with some kids and the Duke of Dover, who he'd already met last year during the race at Silverstone. Nothing to be nervous about really.

“To meet the princess!” Oscar chuckles, knocking his shoulder into Lando's.

“Princess?" The crease on his forehead deepens even more. "I thought it was the Duke that was coming. Isn’t it his awards thing that we're partnering with?”

Oscar shrugs. “Zak said the Duke is sick. His sister is coming instead. Apparently she just pulled in as well. Sophie is running around like a chicken with it's head cut off. Something about not being prepared for her."

Oh. A thick sense of anxiety settles in the pit of Lando's stomach. Oh fuck. This changed things. He certainly hadn't been nervous before but now he was, knowing that it was you that he'd be driving around the track instead of your brother.

Like most guys his age, Lando had grown up with photos of you taped to the back of his door and indulged in several...interesting and not very polite fantasies when he was in his teens. In fact, now that Lando thinks about it, you were probably his very first crush. You had been the first princess to be born into the Royal family in two generations and the press had fallen in love with you the day you were born, dubbing you the English Rose that was going to save the monarchy.

Once you reached your 18th birthday and debuted into society, taking your place beside your older brother and parents by working for the family full time while going to university to study international business, the country had fallen even more in love with you. Your family was well loved by the entirety of the Common Wealth but you? You were absolutely everyone's favorite Windsor by a country mile. And that included the British Formula One driver.

"You okay, mate?" Oscar's thick accent shakes Lando out of his day dream.

"Oh, yeah." Lando replies weakly, rubbing the palm of his hand over his jaw, glad he had shaved this morning and put a bit of extra care into his hair.

"Boys!" Sophie, McLaren's head of Public Relations, yells at the entrance of the garage, fists on her hips as she taps her toe glaring at the pair. "The princess is here and everyone is waiting on you."

"Coming." Lando mumbles, desperately trying to tamp down the nerves that are making his stomach do somersaults. This is like a teenage wet dream come true.

Just outside the garage is a group of people clustered around several McLaren sports cars waiting to get started. Lando can see Zak chatting with you from 50 meters away and he loses all ability to think straight when he sees you in person for the first time. You're dressed in dark wash jeans that hug your curves and, much to Lando's surprise, a papaya colored knit jumper. With your hair pulled back in a high ponytail, your delicate features on full display. He couldn't help thinking how much better you looked in real life compared to the glossy magazine photos he used to keep tacked up to his bedroom wall.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Lando, Oscar, and Sophie approaching before Zak does but you don't allow the group to distract you from your conversation with McLaren's CEO. That kind of behavior would send your mother into a tailspin. She hadn't sent you off to boarding school at the age of 12 for nothing after all. But you can't help how your stomach twists when you lock eyes with the boy with the curly hair. A nervous ghost of a smile plays at the corner of his full lips, sending goosebumps exploding over your skin.

"Oh, there they are!" Zak finally notices the drivers and Sophie and moves to introduce everyone. Behind you, Noelle hovers, lying in wait to correct anyone who might break royal protocol when it comes to interacting with you. You desperately wish she would've let you come alone.

Introductions are made and you try your hardest to ignore the way your skin sparks when you shake hands with Lando. Zak explains how the afternoon is going to go and that Lando is going to take you around the track on a hot lap while Oscar and a few other reserve McLaren drivers take the kids out behind.

"Nervous, your highness?" Lando asks as he checks the chin strap on your crash helmet.

The way your stomach dips when he smiles at you has nothing to do with nerves.

"You're about to whip me around this race track at speeds that could kill me, I think you can call me by my first name, Lando." You tease, deflecting the real reason your palms are sweating.

Lando blushes, eyes falling to the ground. "I guess that's true. Just didn't want your lady in waiting to tackle me for committing some protocol crime, I guess."

The laugh that escapes you would send your mother into a complete fit it's so sudden and loud. "She does look like she's lying in wait, doesn't she?" Your eyes dart above Lando's shoulder where Noelle stands, eyes trained on you as if she's expecting someone to attack at any moment.

"She's just a little...protective." You say, voice going soft. "Last year we had a little incident where I was being stalked for several months. The guy thought we were engaged and he somehow managed to get around my protection officers and into my building at 3 in the morning. They caught him outside my door with duct tape, rope and a knife in his bag."

Your eyes go wide with horror as you realize what you've just said. No one in the public knew about that, your parents had insisted on keeping the investigation quiet. The man had been sent to a psychiatric facility with the blessing of his family and charges hadn't been filed in order to protect your privacy. You had no idea why you had just spilled one of your most closely kept secrets to a veritable stranger.

"Well then I'm glad she's here to watch over you." Lando's voice is quiet, like he knows you don't want others overhearing this conversation. "I'd hate to think of anything happening to such a pretty girl."

For several moments, the busy pitlane falls away a bit as Lando's hands remain on the straps of your helmet and he looks at you like he's known you for your entire life. You're used to people staring at you and being under the microscope but the way Lando looks at you makes you want to squirm in the most delicious way possible.

"Okay, you two!" Zak booms, shocking you out of the little bubble that had grown around you and Lando those few moments. "Lets get you out on the track. Lando, please remember this is a member of the royal family, I'd rather not have to leave the country if you injure her."

"What kind of knight in shining armor would I be if I hurt the princess in my charge?" Lando quips, aiming a wink your way before rounding the hood of the low slung papaya colored McLaren.

You can't help the way you snort in response to his flirting, it's so ridiculous but you also can't ignore the way your stomach twists in delight at the way Lando's tongue works around the word princess while he looks at you.

You had to be careful though. Despite Lando being famous and well off in his own right, you were even a step above that and life had taught you that even the most well connected and rich men saw you as the ultimate prize. Who wouldn't want to marry the only daughter to the King of England, even if they had billions. You can't buy a real royal pedigree. Not like the one you had, dating back generations on both sides of your family.

No, you couldn't allow yourself the luxury of lowered walls but you could allow yourself to indulge in a little innocent flirting, because that's all it would ever or could ever be with Lando Norris.

"Zak, can I file a workplace injury claim if I've gone deaf this afternoon from her screeching?" Lando complained as he held out a hand to help you out of the McLaren 45 minutes later.

"I have no idea what you're talking about! Princesses don't screech." You sniff, smile tugging at the corner of your mouth as you yank your hand out of his grasp the moment you're steady on your feet.

Lando snorts now, rolling his eyes, enjoying the color that flushes in high on your cheekbones. He was the one to make you blush like that and it sends a zing of arousal straight to his cock. While you had been in the car with Lando, before he had scared the daylights out of you, he'd been able to overcome the initial nerves of meeting his boyhood crush and had settled into a flirty conversation. The way you two bantered back and forth so naturally was new to Lando and kind of unnerving to him, but in a good way.

"I'm inclined to believe if the princess was driven to 'screech' that it was all your fault, Lando." Zak jokes with a shrug before turning to you. "Thank you so much for coming out this afternoon and filling in for your brother. We got some great shots of you guys on the track and before with everyone together."

You nod, smiling at the group that's now gathered. Beside you, Lando has wiggled his way between Noelle and yourself so he's settled in at your side. "Wonderful. I'm sure they'll be the perfect content you guys all need. Is there anything else you need from me today? Did all the kids get laps on the track and the merch bags?"

Sophie nods, "Yes ma'am, no one left empty handed."

You sigh internally knowing that the day is almost over. You can taste the freedom of the back seat of the Range Rover where you can finally let your mask down for a few extra moments. You loved days like this, busy and filled with lost of interaction with the public but it was also exhausting beyond measure. You knew you'd sleep well tonight, having attended events nearly every night for the past 9 days.

"Good, thank you." Your eyes find the McLaren CEO who stands across from you. "Zak, I assume we'll see you at the awards gala Saturday night?"

Zak nods, "Yes, Oscar and I will be there."

You can't help the bit of disappointment that blooms in your chest when he doesn't say Lando's name. You hate it and ignore it the best you can because it simply isn't acceptable. So instead you lean on your years of training and upbringing to hide your true feelings. "Lovely, I can't wait to see you both again."

As Lando watches your car pull away, he can't help but feel a little disappointed that your time together is up.

"What awards gala was she talking about? Why wasn't I invited? Lando practically whines, turning to Zak once the Range Rover is out of sight.

Zak chuckles "You were invited Norris and you turned it down because, and I quote, 'you don't do boring awards dinners that aren't written into your contract'."

Lando kicks at a rock with his sneaker, feeling a bit foolish. "Well, I guess I'm just going to have to make an exception for this one then."

Zak narrows his eyes, not liking where he thinks Lando's head is going. "Listen Norris, I know your personal life is none of my business."

"And you'd be right in that assesment, Zak." Lando responds cooly.

Zak holds his hand up, "But I'd be remiss if I didn't remind you that whatever I think is going on in your head about the woman that just left the track is probably a bad idea. A princess like her is not able to have a casual relationship like the ones your used to. Just..." Zak pauses, trying to put his advice in the best words possible. "Just be careful, okay?"

"Message recieved loud and clear, Zak." Lando mutters before turning and walking back towards the garages.

#f1 #formula 1 #lando norris #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you

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satsugacafe · 13 days ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐃𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐓𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐎𝐧

➳❥ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: Shunsui, Jushiro, Ichigo, Byakuya, Renji, Hisagi, Gin, Kira, Aizen, Toshiro, Kisuke, Shinji, Zaraki, Unohana, Yhwach, Jugram, Askin, Bazz-B, Ryuken, Uryu, Grimmjow, Starrk, Ulquiorra

➳❥ 𝐀/𝐍: I wasn’t expecting to write to write for everyone, but I also didn’t want to do this in parts. So everyone’s here in one post :)

➳❥ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ content, fem!reader in the smut part, asphyxiation, blood and knife play, manhandling, cunnilingus, blowjobs, fingering, lingerie, rough play, power play, cockwarming, thigh-riding, marking, light bondage, dirty talking, sleepy sex

➳❥ 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭: Non-sexual and sexual things you do that turns them on.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Kyoraku Shunsui

Non-sexual turn-ons:

A playful sense of humour and teasing wit.

Wearing his haori or hat just to mess with him.

Intelligence that reveals itself subtly.

Being affectionate and touchy without needing a reason.

Showing empathy and gentleness, especially with others.

Drinking tolerance can match or outdo his

Sexual turn-ons:

Whispering into his ear while seated on his lap

Flashing glimpses of cleavage, thighs, or the curve of your hip when you pretend not to notice

Lazy, sensual makeout sessions while straddling him on the porch

Being the one to initiate things slowly, then letting him take over

The sight of you stroking the base of his cock while still dressed in one of his robes

Ukitake Jushiro

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Soft spoken encouragements and genuine smiles

Gentle physical affection—stroking his hair, massaging his back

Bringing him food or medicine without being asked

Listening to him talk about history or poetry with interest

Seeing you play with children or his younger siblings

Sexual turn-ons:

Tender, unhurried touches—especially trailing fingers down his chest

Sucking lightly on his tongue when you kiss

Gently guiding his hand under your robes while making eye contact

Being vocal, breathy, but sweet—he melts hearing your moans

Giving him slow, teasing head with your hands stroking his thighs

Kurosaki Ichigo

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Standing up for yourself or others unapologetically

Sparring with him and actually managing to knock him down

Wearing his clothes and acting like it’s no big deal

Brushing your fingers through his hair after he’s bathed

Letting him protect you but also fighting at his side

Sexual turn-ons:

Grinding against him while you’re both fully clothed

Tugging on his hair when you kiss roughly

The look in your eyes when you drop to your knees for him

Telling him how big and hard he feels in your mouth

Riding him while biting your lip and watching his reactions

Kuchiki Byakuya

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Elegance, poise, and self-discipline

The graceful way you move—particularly in formal attire

Quiet loyalty that never needs announcing

Speaking refined, poetic compliments that catch him off guard

Playing a traditional instrument or painting in silence near him

Sexual turn-ons:

Undressing slowly and deliberately in front of him

Moaning softly into his ear as you ride him in his private quarters

Holding eye contact as you suck him off—subtly defiant

Leaving lipstick marks on his collarbone

Whispering your filthy thoughts in a voice soft as silk

Abarai Renji

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Boldness and unfiltered honesty

Sparring or working out together, especially if you show him up

Wearing something tight or revealing without even trying

Cheering him on at his matches or missions

Talking dirty in casual conversation just to mess with him

Sexual turn-ons:

Biting his neck and shoulders while he's deep inside you

Taking control—pushing him back, pinning his wrists

Moaning his name when he hits just the right angle

Tugging on his hair and smirking while you’re on top

The sight of you bent over, looking back at him with a dare in your eyes

Ichimaru Gin

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Playing his game of sly remarks and never flinching

Giving him a mysterious smile of your own

Feeding him something sweet with your fingers

Staring him down until he laughs genuinely

Reading or observing him silently like he’s a puzzle

Sexual turn-ons:

Letting him tie your wrists and whisper what he’ll do to you

Moaning his name when he ghosts his tongue over your sskn

Clenching around his cock while grinning up at him

Giving him a look that says you want him to ruin you

Being playful, coy, and just a little bratty—he loves the chase

Izuru Kira

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Quiet empathy and gentle support

Touching his hair or face with loving patience

Listening to him without judgement

Writing him notes or letters instead of saying things aloud

Seeing you defend him when he doubts himself

Sexual turn-ons:

Stroking his cock softly while looking up at him with flushed cheeks

Running your hands across his chest while kissing his neck

Light bondage or being guided firmly—he secretly likes being told what to do

Soft sighs and moans that escape you as you ride him slow and deep

Letting him worship your body like you’re sacred

Shuhei Hisagi

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Confidence that doesn’t cross into arrogance

Tracing his tattoos with curious fingers

Wearing his sleeveless uniform and mimicking him with a grin

Helping him relax when he's stressed—running your hands through his hair

Admiring his scars or voice work sincerely

Sexual turn-ons:

Scratching your nails down his back while he’s fucking you rough

Letting him pin your arms above your head with just one hand

Moaning shamelessly when he squeezes your throat lightly with his fingers

Riding his thigh until you’re dripping for him

Sucking on his fingers while you grind into his lap

Hitsugaya Toshiro

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Intelligence, especially when it challenges him

Cold weather snuggles—wrapping yourself around him

Running your hands along his chest or collar absentmindedly

Letting him take care of you when you're injured

Playing an instrument or humming to yourself while working

Sexual turn-ons:

Warming his cock between your thighs before sliding him in

Leaving frostbitten kisses on his chest and neck

Gasping when he pushes your legs apart with firm hands

Riding him hard enough to melt the ice under you both

Letting him lose control—he rarely does, but when he does…

Zaraki Kenpachi

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Anyone who can take a hit and laugh

Bloodied lips and challenging stares

Wearing nothing but a haori or his eyepatch

Joking about fucking in the middle of a battlefield

Fighting him and moaning when he slams you to the ground

Sexual turn-ons:

Scratching down his chest while he fucks you brutally

Screaming for more while you ride his cock until your thighs give out

Biting his lip until he bleeds and shoving him back for round two

Taking him raw and wild, begging for him to fill your pussy

Letting him fuck you against a wall with one hand on your throat

Hirako Shinji

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Quirky humour and refusing to take things seriously

Playing with his hair or trying on his hats

Teasing him with clever innuendos

Letting him cook for you and pretending it’s better than it is

Kissing him upside-down just to throw him off

Sexual turn-ons:

Riding his face with slow, shivering control

Moaning his name sweetly when he stretches you open

Light biting and tongue-play—especially on his ears. And his tongue piercing—tell him you like it when you use it on you

Getting on all fours and arching your back for him

Pinning him down and whispering what you want him to do

Aizen Sosuke

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Polished confidence, intellectual curiosity

Subtly challenging his authority with charm

Wearing glasses or reading books on complex topics

Obeying him flawlessly and then seducing him with a glance

Letting him teach you something, and acting too impressed

Sexual turn-ons:

Licking his cock while you whisper how powerful he feels

Spreading yourself open and begging him to “study” you

Moaning his name as you ride him slow, cunt squeezing him rhythmically

Telling him how you want to be rearranged by his cock

Letting him fuck your mouth until your eyes water and you thank him

Urahara Kisuke

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Brainy curiosity and scientific banter

Wearing his hat or clogs and acting like the boss

Fixing his tech for him with a wink

Subtle acts of devotion: tea when he’s exhausted, bandages on his hands

Purring innuendo in his ear while he’s trying to focus

Sexual turn-ons:

Straddling him and slowly sinking onto his cock while teasing his brain

Moaning nonsense while he fingerfucks you with wild precision

Sitting on his face and grinding until you’re sobbing his name

Letting him record your moans while he fucks you from behind. Also letting his try his new gadgets on you

Making him beg for release while you edge him for hours

Unohana Retsu

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Calm confidence, quiet control in a crisis

Precision in combat or healing—grace over brute strength

Obedience without submission; challenge without disrespect

Running your fingers through her hair or over her blade

Speaking softly but firmly, holding her gaze without flinching

Sexual turn-ons:

Letting her take full control—bound, blindfolded, at her mercy

Bleeding lightly beneath her nails as she rides you slow and deep

Moaning her full name while she traces your throat with her blade

Taking her strapon in full, whimpering, and asking for more or when she grinds her pussy on you

Eyes rolling back when she fucks you until you cry her name like a prayer

Yhwach

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Absolute devotion and confidence in your own strength

Kneeling before him without being told, eyes proud and unwavering

Speaking to him without fear, and daring to offer advice

Soft dominance—stroking his hair while he rests against you

Wearing his insignia or colours like a second skin

Sexual turn-ons:

Spreading your legs for him without a word

Taking every inch of his cock while moaning his name

Holding eye contact while he fucks you on his throne

Licking your lips after he cums on your face

Letting him use your body as his reward after war

Jugram Haschwalth

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Quiet authority and strong posture

Wearing long, elegant clothes that match his aesthetic

Obeying his commands with subtle grace and precision

Showing tactical intelligence in a high-pressure situation

Reading or writing near him by candlelight

Sexual turn-ons:

Kneeling between his legs, eyes wide, waiting for his permission

The sound of your moans as he fucks you slow and deep

Cupping his balls while taking his full length into your throat

Letting him bind you to his desk and stroke you with precision

The flushed, ruined look on your face after he’s spent himself inside you

Askin Nakk Le Vaar

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Sarcasm and biting wit delivered with a pretty smile

Watching you experiment with food, drinks, or poisons

Wearing silky clothes that brush against his fingers when you pass

Subtle manipulation that surprises even him

Laughing at his morbid jokes and then one-upping them

Sexual turn-ons:

Sucking on his fingers while looking into his eyes

Licking his cock from base to tip with slow, deliberate flicks

Riding him in lace lingerie while playing with your own nipples

Letting him drip things on your body and lick them off

Playfully threatening to overstimulate him—he’ll beg beautifully

Bazz-B

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Boldness, fire, and being louder than him when you argue

Revealing outfits, crop tops, battle armour that shows skin

Throwing playful punches and getting pinned for it

Cheering him on when he’s being dramatic

Letting him brag and then putting him in his place

Sexual turn-ons:

Groping his cock through his trousers and laughing at his growl

Taking charge and riding him wild until he taps out

Clawing his back while he fucks you against a wall

Sucking on his balls while he tugs your hair

Calling him “hot stuff” while your cunt clenches around him

Ishida Ryuken

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Intelligence matched with calm maturity

Wearing lingerie under a lab coat

Pouring his coffee without asking, quiet domestic gestures

Knowing when to shut out the world and let him have silence

Precision, elegance, and reading medical journals in bed

Sexual turn-ons:

Sucking his cock under his desk while he pretends to work

Letting him finger you with his gloves still on

Whispering dirty praise into his ear with clinical detail

Riding him slow, grinding until he swears under his breath

Guiding his hand over your clit and telling him what you need

Ishida Uryu

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Graceful intellect and sharp wit

Wearing his scarf or coat and fixing your glasses teasingly

Being meticulous in your crafts or hobbies

Challenging his logic just to watch him ramble

Quiet, firm affection—holding his hand while working

Sexual turn-ons:

Licking the seam of his lips before kissing him

Stroking his cock while whispering how proud you are of him

Gasping softly when he kisses your inner thighs

Letting him tie your ankles with his Quincy threads

Telling him he’s perfect while you cum around his cock

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Arrogant smirks, spitfire sass, and biting back

Showing your battle scars like they’re trophies

Tearing your clothes mid-fight and laughing about it

Challenging him with no fear in your eyes

Wearing nothing but a grin and calling him a pussycat

Sexual turn-ons:

Scratching his scalp while he eats you out with zero mercy

Choking on his cock and crying from the stretch

Letting him fuck you over any surface, raw and rabid

Cumming from just how rough he bites your nipples

Riding him while yelling how good he feels—and slapping his chest

Coyote Starrk

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Quiet companionship and non-verbal affection

Dozing on his chest without saying a word

Wearing his clothes and letting him see your cleavage

Soft eyes and lazy mornings in bed

Listening to his silences and responding in kind

Sexual turn-ons:

Slow, sleepy sex where you grind against his cock until he wakes fully

Letting him suck your tits while you ride him

Whispering “please” while you ride him under the covers

Letting him watch you touch yourself while you straddle his lap

Taking him so slowly he shivers—he never shivers

Ulquiorra Cifer

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Existential curiosity and thought-provoking questions

Crying in front of him without shame—he notices

Gently touching his face without asking

Wearing white, black, or green in contrast to his own shades

Showing emotion just for him—never for others

Sexual turn-ons:

Soft moans while you take his cock inch by inch, eyes fluttering shut

Letting him explore your cunt like it’s a mystery

Kissing him without permission and whispering “mine”

Wrapping your legs around him and pulling him in deeper

Crying out his name as you cum—he won’t say it, but he lives for it

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @stygianoir @spellboundsuguru @cookielovesbook-akie @kennys-partner @sovl-society @villainsrtasty @foxycrafterofgreenwood @carnationdoe @darthwhorecrux @kryptoniteforsale

©satsugacafé 2025: no permission to repost, plagiarise, copy or translate my work onto any other platform or this one.

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nebulablakemurphy · 2 months ago

Text

Horn Of Plenty

Summary: The Capitol sends a very special gift for Y/N and Haymitch’s son on his first birthday. Set in the Moves & Countermoves universe, can be read as a stand alone. SoTR Spoliers

Warning: SMUT 18 + ONLY, mentions of trauma

Today is a big day.

Through all the diapers and sleepless nights, they made it. One year of being parents to this perfect little boy. Haymitch is still in awe of him.

“Vanity sent clothes.” Y/N tells Haymitch, watching as he turns to her with their son in his arms. “Cameras will be here later.”

“Surprised she’s not here.”

“She’s got a show,” Y/N inches closer, enough to tickle Everest’s little belly. “High fashion waits for no one.”

The boy squeals, hiding his face in his father’s shirt.

Haymitch smiles, keeping hold of the wiggling child. “On a scale from ugly to hideous, how bad are they?”

“They’re pretty tame,” Y/N shrugs.

I love you. Haymitch has to bite his tongue to keep the words from escaping. He just can’t risk it.

————————————————————————

Y/N’s family joins them for the festivities and cake of course. Though there is only so much a one year old can do, Caesar Flickerman is hosting live from the Capitol. And they’ve sent Everest a very special gift.

“Now, we’ve sent this all the way to district twelve.” Caesar narrates, as the cameras in their living room move of their own accord. “I do hope it’s to your liking.”

“I’m sure it is, Caesar.” Haymitch says, “you know us all so well.”

Everest, in his white collared shirt and powder blue overalls, claps his hands, watching his father remove the lid of the box. The sides fall free, revealing a black rocking horse.

“Oh,” Y/N gasps. “This is beautiful!”

Haymitch wants to play his part, to smile and admire the craftsmanship, but he can’t move. He can barely breathe.

Y/N carefully seats her son on the horse, keeping hold as he begins to rock. Drawing the camera away from Haymitch, to a tight shot of the birthday boy.

‘Oh, Horn of Plenty. One Horn of Plenty for us all. And when you raise the cry, the brave shall heed the call, and we should never falther. One Horn of Plenty for us all.’

The anthem ends only to begin again.

Everest babbles, toying with the horse’s mane.

“He loves it!” Y/N rejoices, and through the camera’s speaker she can hear similar applause in the Capitol.

“Ahhaha! We are so pleased to hear that.” Caesar’s voice booms through the camera speaker. “As much as we hate to see you go, I’m afraid it’s time for our next segment.”

“Of course, we understand, Caesar.” Y/N says. “Thank you all for your generosity and for celebrating Everest’s birthday with us!” She waves. “We’ll see you soon.”

“Bye, bye.” The little boy coos.

“Bye, bye!” Caesar replies, tearfully.

The cameras power down and wheel themselves out the open door, leaving the birthday boy and his family.

“Get him off that horse.” Haymitch demands, slamming the front door closed and turning the lock.

“Why?” Y/N’s father laughs, “surely we don’t need to be so strict about bedtime. It’s my grandson’s birthday.”

“Dad,” Y/N whispers, taking Everest back into her arms. “It’s been a long day.”

“Haymitch?” Madge waves a hand in front of his glossy eyes. “Are you ok?”

“I need a minute, Maysilee.” Shit. Fuck. “Madge. I’m sorry. I meant Madge.”

Too late. Y/N’s mother bursts into tears, clutching at her head.

Madge’s face crumples, “it’s ok, Haymitch. I know you didn’t mean to.” This happens a lot, not with Haymitch, but her mother. Maysilee or Merrilee. I’m whoever you want me to be.

He wishes the earth would open up and swallow him whole.

“They took them all, they took them!”

“Melodiee, please my love.” Y/N’s father sighs, stepping around his daughters to his wife. “Where’s your medicine?”

With the commotion, Everest begins to cry.

“It’s ok,” Y/N forces a smile, looking down at her son. “You’re ok.”

Haymitch moves, as if in a trance toward his son. Oh my baby. My poor, sweet baby. What have I done? Can I spare you? He says nothing, caressing the back of Everest’s head. No, I fear, they will not let me spare you.

One might find humor in the fact that a rocking horse could cause a family to collapse; splintering apart on what should be a happy day.

The Undersees clear out, leaving only Haymitch, Y/N and Everest. Who still needs to be rocked to sleep, despite what the morning may bring.

Y/N sits with Everest in the rocking chair of his nursery. They’d hoped to wean him off of nursing, but tonight he is too restless. And Y/N is too tired to be in this chair any longer than necessary.

She hums and sways until the little hand fisted in her shirt releases. He’s out like a light.

Haymitch watches from the doorway as Y/N eases their son into his crib. Waiting until she closes the door to his room before speaking. “I took it to the other house.”

The ‘other house’ had once been hers. Now plagued with unwanted cameras and haunted horses.

She nods, before taking his face in her hands. “Haymitch, I know that after everything we’ve been through, things can seem worse or bigger than they are. It happens to me too. But if anything, Snow just wanted to rile you up. I don’t think the horse means anything.”

“We got thrown off the chariots. Louella died and I took her body to him using a horse that looked just like that.”

“I know,” Y/N nods, “I hear you.”

“Tributes are drawn by black horses in the parade while the anthem plays.” Haymitch snarls, “Snow wants him for the games.”

“Then we have eleven years to change his mind.”

“Beetee had twelve.” Haymitch’s heart is beating itself out of his chest. “We’re raising a lamb for the slaughter.”

“No,” Y/N stops him. “No we’re not.” She passes her thumb over his cheek. “We can learn from Beetee. We’re gonna play our parts, we’re gonna do whatever Snow says.”

Haymitch knows he should object, this isn’t what Y/N wants. She longs to be wild and free, to storm the Capitol, guns blazing. But he needs her, like air, to breathe. “It’s too late, Y/N. He knows.”

“He knows what?” Y/N breathes.

“That I love-” Haymitch tries to stop it, to stuff the words back down, but he can’t. “You! I love you and he knows.”

“Oh, Haymitch.”

He presses a hand to his mouth to contain the unbidden sob.

Y/N wraps her arms around him. “I love you too.”

He clings to her, as though she will slip right through his fingers. “I love-” he wants to tell her a hundred, thousand times, but the words burn, like acid in his throat.

“I know,” Y/N strokes his hair, the same color as their son’s. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”

He holds her and weeps. For his Pa, Ma and Sid. For Maysilee and Louella and Lou Lou. For Wyatt and Ampert. And for Beetee, who surely lives in unimaginable pain. For Lenore Dove, who despite her own untimely death, surely sent him an angel. “Everyone I love is dead; except for you and that little boy. Everyone I love.”

“I’m so sorry, Haymitch.” Y/N buries her face in the junction between his neck and shoulder. Kissing him and kissing him and kissing him, doing everything she can to ease his pain. “So sorry.”

Even she can’t stop it. He is broken, defeated and tired. I cannot lose you.

“We’ll be alright.” Y/N promises, “I’ll do what it takes to stay right here with you and keep Everest safe.”

He brings her impossibly closer. I cannot lose Everest. “He’s ours.”

“It’s like you’ve always said, if we make the Capitol fall in love with him, they won’t be eager to watch him fight to the death.” Y/N believes that, she has to.

She’s right, he knows she is. But he’s at the point of no return, words cannot calm him.

“Here,” Y/N snakes a hand between them to unbutton his pants. She knows it is wrong, to comfort him this way. To place a bandage over a bullet wound but she can’t stand his tears. Or the sound of his ragged breathing, cannot bear the thought of him in any kind of pain.

Haymitch helps her shuck his pants down around his ankles, knowing they stand no chance of making it to the bed.

“Ask me again.” Y/N pants, against his mouth. Gentle fingers find the waistband of her panties, forcing them to the ground.

“What?” Haymitch can’t think of anything beyond shoving himself inside her, as deep as he possibly can, on the hallway floor.

“It’s real,” Y/N gasps, welcoming the feel of his length stretching her. “Ask me again.”

“I wanted to do something special.” Not now, within an inch of losing his mind.

“This is special,” Y/N assures him. “Ask me again, I want to be your wife.” If we’re running out of time…I want to be your wife.

“Marry me.” Haymitch says, tugging at her bottom lip with his teeth. “Marry me and you’ll never be alone. You’ll be mine and I’ll be yours. I want to be your husband.” He admits, “I want you to be my wife. Marry me.”

“Yes.” Y/N nods.

Haymitch kisses the side of her face, the corner of her mouth, relishing her little whimpers. Rutting against her harder, faster, until he feels the familiar flutter of her walls around him. Milking him dry.

Y/N sighs contently as Haymitch’s arms give out and he rests his full weight against her.

“I wanna do a toasting.” Haymitch tells her.

Y/N yawns. “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, angel,” he smiles, “tomorrow.”

————————————————————————

Haymitch wakes to the sound of Everest fussing in his crib. The noise used to send him sprinting from bed, to see what danger had befallen his son, but he knows better now.

“Sometimes babies cry, Haymitch.” Y/N reminds him, “he’s alright. Just wants a clean diaper and milk. Or to be held for a while; he’ll calm right down.”

Haymitch sits up, stretching both arms above his head. Y/N is sound asleep beside him. He presses a kiss to her head before padding down to their son’s room.

Everest leans against the pristine, white slats of his crib. Peeking out to see who’s come to his rescue. “Dada.”

Haymitch grins. “Good morning.”

Everest squeals as he’s lifted from the confines of his bed.

“Well, kid, I’ve got bad news.”

Everest babbles, shaking about the rattle laid beside him on the changing table.

Haymitch tosses the soiled diaper into the waste basket. “Your mama is still sleeping and we need eggs to make breakfast.”

“Mamamamama.”

“Which means we have to raid one of those wild goose nests outback.”

Everest only smiles as his father dresses him for the day.

“They don’t like me very much, so I’m hoping to distract them with your cuteness.” Haymitch tells him. “Not sure how well it’ll work, given that you look like me and all, but it’s worth a shot.”

#moves & countermoves #haymitch abernathy fanfic #haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch abernathy #haymitch x reader #haymitch fanfic #hunger games fanfiction #the hunger games fanfiction #haymitch abernathy fanfiction #haymitch abernathy x y/n #haymitch abernathy x you #haymitch x y/n #thg haymitch #haymitch abernathy smut #haymitch smut

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yandere-romanticaa · 7 months ago

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I've always liked to imagine this beautiful foxian as the clingy type, as the kind of person who if he could have it his way, you would be glued by his hip 24/7. Day after day, he's always more thankful for the fact that his senses are so much better than that of an average human. He adores your scent and whenever he steps into the threshold of your shared home, Jiaoqiu always power walks towards you, immediately crashing into you and placing his nose deeply into your neck, inhaling the scent with absolute reverence.

As sweet and darling as he could be, you found him impossible to be around. For ages now, you've conducted and plotted the best way to break up with him, to ensure that the most minimal amount of damage is done to both parties.

And then, the absolute worst case scenario happens.

You heard the horror stories about Hoolay, how he escaped, of his sick plan and... And for what he did to Jiaoqiu.

You bite your lip so hard that it draws blood. Tears blur your vision as you inch closer and closer towards the hospital. Each step you take feels as though the grim reaper himself is coming to welcome you into his solemn embrace. You knew that whenever you were about to encounter was going to change your life forever.

You had no idea just how right you truly were.

Stepping into the pure white room felt like a dream. General Feixiao and Moze were there, their faces grim and laced with worry. Feixiao stood over the bed, her back turned to you as Moze hovered in the farthest corner of the room, his gaze locked on you once he sensed you coming. Upon hearing you, Feixiao turned to face you, her face quickly morphing from concern to relief.

"Thank the stars." She says softly.

"Even in this current state, all he would do is chant your name."

And there he was.

Jiaoqiu, your Jiaoqiu, on the bed, broken, bloodied, bruised.... His eyes were covered with bandages while the rest of his body positively reeked of medicinal herbs and incense. His ears perked up as they listened carefully to your footsteps, lightly twitching from left to right. Carefully, he sniffed the air like a frightened animal.

Recognition came over him as he called out to you, his voice hopeful and in pain.

Jiaoqiu choked back on a sob as he sniffled loudly, his arms shooting upright into your direction, which startled both Feixiao and Moze. Before either could react you ran towards him and embraced him, carefully placing the top of his head onto your chest. His arms scrambled all over your body, eager to touch every nook and cranny they could get themselves on as he pressed his nose deeply into you, inhaling both your scent and the air around him.

He sobbed like never before, thanking every aeon in existence for bringing you to him. His grip was impossibly tight to the point where you knew there would be bruises left, but you didn't have the heart to tell him to stop.

Pressing a gentle kiss onto his forehead, you laid Jiaoqiu back onto the bed as he held onto you like a vice.

"Please, please my love, don't leave me!" Jiaoqiu pleaded, his voice hoarse from the crying.

With a sigh you let him hold onto you, like a mother cradling its child. A deep feeling of loss and resignation bubbled in your heart as fear seeped into your heart.

How on Earth were you going to go through with your plan now? There was no way you could tell Jiaoqiu about how you felt, not like this...

With the way things were now, you had no choice to endure the pain, just for a while longer. You would have your peace one day...

But that day was not today.

#i LOVE him!!!!#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yancore #yanderecore #yandere aesthetic #jiaoqiu #yandere jiaoqiu #yandere hsr #hsr #hsr jiaoqiu #hsr x reader #yandere hsr x reader #yandere honkai star rail #yandere honkai star rail x reader #hsr jiaoqiu x reader

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verridaiya · 3 months ago

Text

—Dream Blooms

"I've seen you there, before."

This fic was born from watching Sylus's Abyssal Blossom card and watching my heart break into a million pieces. It hurt, but then I realized you know who hasn't been hurt by it? Sylus.

Based on the prevailing theory/my headcannons that the Abyssal Blossom card was just a dream, brought on by MC's yearning for a normal, quiet life after the events of Beyond Cloudfall chapter 7.

Synopsis: Sylus invites himself over to take care of you while you're sick. You tell him about a pleasant dream of yours and proceed to break his heart. (Or, you dream of something you've dreamt before, and Sylus hears about it for the first time.)

Contains: Spoilers for Sylus's Beyond Cloudfall myth and the Abyssal Blossom card, Sylus x MC/reader, gender neutral MC/reader, angst/hurt (the comfort will come later), current timeline Sylus & MC

Word Count: 1.7k

start | Part 2 >

“I had a strange dream again.”

“Another one, sweetheart?”

Sylus’s voice is a soft murmur above you. You open your blurry eyes to a darkened room and a pleasantly warm body under you, wrapped around you. Your head feels as hazy as the moonlight filtering in from the cloudy night sky through the window. Half-awake and half asleep, you can still feel the sensations of your dream like phantom memories. You hum an affirmation, shaking off the vestiges of a medicine-induced sleepiness.

You’re not quite sure how you found yourself in this position: sprawled out on your couch, nestled between a warm blanket and an even warmer Sylus, breathing in the scent of him through your admittedly stuffy nose. The last thing you remember was you laying collapsed on your bed, trying to convince yourself that you’re not sick, you’re just tired from a long week at the Hunter’s Association, and to muster up the energy to find something to eat. And then, suddenly, there was Sylus, filling your doorway as he had filled every part of your life, your thoughts, and now your dreams.

You’ve been having more of those recently, ever since you absorbed the power of another Aether Core almost a year ago. Reality intertwining with illusions, the people in your life woven intricately into a tapestry of dreams. Fragments of memories, glimpses of things that could never be, or never was. Flashing scales underneath glistening waves. Zayne, in a flowing robe you’ve never seen on him before, but looked so right on him. A silent forest, illuminated by starlight. You would wake up yearning for something just out of reach, hands outstretched to capture the essence of something that slips, incorporeal, through your fingers.

This dream was gentle, though. And this time, your hands didn’t need to reach far to grasp the heart of your dreams.

“You were in it this time, Sylus.”

“Oh?” he says, sounding intrigued. “Do tell, kitten.”

You hear him place something on the coffee table—his phone, probably—his attention shifting solely to you. He carefully moves to his side, extricating himself from under you, a large hand propping his head up so he can fully face you.

The soft moonlight illuminates on his face, throwing it into relief. Silvery hair threaded with shadow, a pale complexion half shrouded in darkness, eyes like banked hearths warming you with its glow. Through the haze of your fever, you can almost envision what you saw in your dream. You lift a hand pat his soft hair, as if searching for something that wasn’t there, before trailing your fingers down the side of his face.

“You had something on your head.” No, not exactly on his head. You can’t quite remember. The you in the dream was certain that the something was more a part of him than anything else. You frown slightly. The more you strain to remember the details of it, the more awake you became, and the more it danced out of your grasp. “Something sharp and twisting. Rough. It was beautiful, though. You were beautiful.”

Sylus stares at you with wide eyes you couldn’t decipher in your current state. There’s a spark of something foreign in his eyes.

“And?” he urges on, his deep voice uncharacteristically eager to your ears. He reaches to grab the hand that was holding his face, pressing it gently to him. His thumb rubs against the back of it in small soothing motions. “Can you tell me more about this dream of yours, kitten?”

You grasp at the cotton inside your head, stuffy from sleep and sickness. It takes so much effort, to tease apart the strands and find the wisps of fading dreams. It doesn’t help that you were also fighting off the drowsiness. You try, though, to give him what he’s asking for, as he always does for you.

“We were standing in a lovely field of flowers. They were breathtaking, Sylus. Such a vivid, dazzling red. There was a black spire in the distance, I think.” The spire had stood tucked away in the backdrop of rolling hills, but it was a small detail your mind was stuck on for some reason.

Thinking about that spire again, your mind can almost conjure a clear image of your dream. A lingering feeling of déjà vu washes over you, settling heavy on your chest. You’ve dreamt this before; you feel this with every bone in your body as an unshakeable fact. You’ve seen this obsidian spire before, this sprawling flower field. You know with startling certainty that you’ve had this exact dream before. But when you try to recall when, the feeling dissipates and leaves behind only a phantom sensation and an absence in your memory you cannot comprehend.

Sylus watches as you shake away the remnants of déjà vu. Your brow furrows. You’ve come to be accustomed to his intense stares through the months you’ve known him, but this one was… strange. It was as if he was trying to look deep into the fabric of your soul, even without the use of the Aether Core in his eye. His face remains a blank and indecipherable mask, leaving you with no indication of what he’s thinking of. You wanted to know what was going on in that unfathomable mind of his.

Longing. Trepidation. Yearning, a yearning that aches and makes you want to answer its call. You become distantly aware of emotions trickling into you that weren’t your own. You didn’t realize you were resonating with Sylus until he severed it, the hand holding yours shifting to catch your wrist instead. He leans down to brush his soft lips against it before letting your hand rest gently on your stomach.

“How about you recover from your fever first before you use your evol, sweetie.” He laughs softly, the red-gold brilliance of your evols intertwined fading from your hands.

“Oh, sorry.”

His presence in your mind and by your side was so natural that you weren’t even aware of when you began resonating with him. It seemed like your body responded to your desires even while your mind lagged behind. That brief glimpse into him enabled you to decipher that emotion in his eyes, though you struggle to make sense of it.

It was hope.

“Never apologize to me. What else do you remember?” he asks quietly, before you can puzzle over it further.

You close your eyes, willing the memories of the fleeing dream forward. The golden light of a setting sun. The crisp cold of mountainous air. The feeling of being the only two creatures in the world. And, inexplicably, the feeling of home.

“We were up in the air flying, somehow, before we landed in that blossoming valley. It was unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. I felt like I was in a whole other world. When I turned around to look at you, I saw you sitting there amongst the flowers. Red, like shining rubies. Red like-” you pause, the words at the tip of your tongue. A silhouette appears in your mind’s eye, before it sinks back into the void.

“Red, like rich wine,” you finish, though you know that’s not what you had wanted to say.

When he said nothing, you continued on. “I decorated you with those flowers. We were so carefree, unworried and relaxed. It was just us, no one else, in the valley that was our playground. I think I was teasing you, or maybe you were teasing me. You said something about seeing the other side of things, something taunting. We ended up play-fighting, rolling around and sending petals up in the air.”

You smile, the warmth of the dream enveloping you.

“It felt so real.” You wanted it to be real, this lovely lush field and this gorgeous, monstrous Sylus.

Monstrous?

Startled out of your reverie, you blink open your eyes. No, there is nothing monstrous about Sylus. Not anymore, not since those first few nights that you’ve met him so long ago. Shaking your head slightly to dispel the thought, you turn your head to glance at him, realizing he hasn’t spoken in a while.

His eyes are closed, brows furrowed and drawn tightly together. You’ve seen this expression on his face before, briefly, when he struggles to heal a particularly nasty wound. His body is so tense when you reach out to him, muscles taut and rigid beneath your fingers. You’re not quite sure he’s even breathing.

“Sylus?”

At your prompting, Sylus sucks in a breath through his teeth and exhales. He opens his eyes and your breath catches. Rich garnet eyes glow in the darkness, twin wine-dark seas drowning in sorrow, regret. Agony.

It is so at odds to the sweetness of your recounted dream that alarm shot through you, temporarily driving away the sleepiness. Seeing the pain in his eyes unsettled you; it didn’t belong on his face at all. Your sluggish brain tries to make sense of what you could have said to have garnered this reaction. Did you say something wrong? Your chest tightens at the thought of hurting him with your words, somehow. You begin to prop yourself up.

Sylus stops you with one gentle hand, pushing you to lay back down. He silently regards you, the silence between you stretching into something delicate.

There are so many things you want to say, to ask and to comfort. Sylus was never one to let his emotions show as openly as they are right now. You want to ask what was wrong, take back your silly little story if all it gave him was pain, even if you didn’t understand why.

But through the jumble of your fever, all that came out of your tired mouth was, “It was just a dream, Sylus.”

He quietly watches you for a few breaths longer. Slowly, he lifts a hand to gently caresses your cheek, holding you as if you were something as fragile as a memory. Leaning down, he brushes his lips against your forehead, soft as a butterfly’s wings, as the petals of a phantom flower.

“You’re right,” he says, with a grief you cannot fathom.

“It was just a dream, sweetheart.” His voice is barely a whisper. “It can be nothing more than a dream.”

#love and deepspace #lads sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #verridaiya's writing -#yay I did it wooo #second ever fic ��#time to write the other parts! which I'm so excited for #there will be comfort I swear #after... one more hurt. just one #I can't help myself #this fic is once again brought to you by: the emotional devastation of beyond cloudfall

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thirteenheavens · 4 months ago

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Hi can you write a s.coups princess treatment headcannon? Also, your work its AMAZING BRO 🥹🥹🥹

Notes: stop anon you’re so cute thank you so much!!I try my best hehe

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.

- Seungcheol loves treating you like a princess. He spoils you with gifts, showers you with compliments, and goes out of his way to make you feel like the most cherished person in the world.

- He's always there to open doors for you, carry your bags, and pull out your chair at restaurants. He wants to take care of you and make your life as easy as possible.

- When you're not feeling well, he'll take time off work to stay home with you and take care of you himself. He'll make you soup, bring you medicine, and hold you close until you feel better.

- Seungcheol loves seeing you dressed up in beautiful dresses and jewelry. He'll accompany you to any event or party, standing by your side with a proud smile on his face.

- He has a soft spot for princess movies and loves watching them with you. During movie nights, he'll hold you close and let you lean on him, offering you snacks and drinks whenever you want them.

- In the bedroom, Seungcheol is a true gentleman. He'll treat you like a queen, making sure your every need is met and your pleasure is always taken care of.

- When you're feeling particularly needy, Seungcheol will give you extra special attention in bed. He'll take his time undressing you, kissing every inch of your body and whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

- He'll make love to you slowly and gently, savoring every moment of intimacy. He'll hold you close, whispering words of praise and adoration as he brings you to ecstasy.

- He loves to pamper you with gifts in bed as well. He'll bring you expensive lingerie and toys to use, all while ensuring your pleasure comes first.

- He'll use his hands and mouth to explore every part of your body, worshipping you like the goddess you are. He'll make sure you come at least once before he even thinks about seeking his own release.

- Afterwards, he'll hold you close and tell you how much he loves you, running his fingers through your hair and gently caressing your skin until you both fall asleep.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.

Seungcheol positioned himself behind you, his hands gently guiding you onto all fours. He admired the view of your body, the way your curves were accentuated in this position.

"You look so beautiful like this," he whispered, his voice filled with desire. "Like a true princess." He ran his hands down your back, his touch sending shivers down your spine. His fingers traced the contours of your body, exploring every inch of your skin with reverence.

"I'm going to make you feel so good," he promised, his lips trailing kisses down your spine. "Just relax and let me take care of you." Seungcheol slowly entered you from behind, his hands gripping your hips as he began to move. He took his time, each thrust deliberate and calculated to hit the right spot.

"That's it, baby," he groaned, his breath hot against your ear. "Take me so well." He started to pick up the pace, his hips snapping against yours with increasing urgency. His hands moved from your hips to your breasts, cupping them gently as he continued to thrust into you. As Seungcheol's thrusts became more powerful, he started to play with your nipples, rolling them between his fingers and pinching them gently. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core, causing you to gasp and arch your back.

"You like that, don't you?" he whispered, his voice low and seductive. "You like being taken from behind, like a good princess."

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tobiosbbyghorl · 11 days ago

Text

IN STITCHES | PSH | PART 2

pairing: grump surgeon! sunghoon x surgeon! reader

WC: 6k

synopsis: A grumpy, emotionally guarded surgeon and a sunshine-hearted resident collide in the high-stakes world of medicine-what begins with spilled coffee and sharp words slowly transforms into stolen glances, quiet care, and a love powerful enough to heal even the deepest wounds.

part 1

The hospital parking lot was already full when they pulled in, the sun just barely lifting over the horizon. She straightened her coat, tucking her hair behind her ears and sneaking a glance at her reflection in the rearview mirror.

“We can’t walk in together,” she said as she reached for the door.

“Why not?”

“Because you’ve got your strictest attending face on and I have ‘I-woke-up-in-my-crush’s-hoodie’ energy. They’ll know.”

Sunghoon leaned back, resting one hand on the wheel as he looked at her. “Then get out first. I’ll follow five minutes after.”

She paused. “You’re not even gonna tease me for being paranoid?”

“I’m being respectful, baby.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Say what?”

“Baby.”

He leaned in just a little, voice dropping into that smooth, amused register that always made her stomach flutter. “Fine. Yeobo.”

She gasped and lightly hit his arm before climbing out of the car, mouthing you’re so annoying before turning to make her escape.

But not before he smirked behind the windshield, eyes fond as they lingered on her retreating figure.

Five minutes later, when he stepped into the hospital looking every bit the composed, cold surgeon again, no one would have guessed he’d just been kissed goodbye in a parked car with a stray piece of pancake syrup still clinging to his collar.

Well—except for the observant nurse at the front desk who raised a brow and said with a smirk:

“You look unusually… rested today, Dr. Park.”

He didn’t respond.

But the faintest smile betrayed him.

Rounds were quiet that morning, but the tension between them buzzed like static in the air.

Y/N stood at the nurse’s station, flipping through patient charts, when she felt it—that prickling sensation of someone watching her. She glanced up to find Sunghoon across the hallway, mid-discussion with another attending, but his eyes were unmistakably on her.

The second their eyes met, he looked away, far too quickly. Like a schoolboy caught staring. Like he hadn’t just kissed her senseless twelve hours ago.

She ducked her head, smiling behind the edge of the chart.

Still, he was back to his usual self—curt, direct, the perfectionist. But now, even in the sharpness of his tone during rounds, there was a gentler rhythm to it when he spoke to her. No one else would notice. But she did.

During lunch break, she found an empty table in the back of the residents’ lounge, picking at her sandwich. He passed by behind her, pausing just long enough to drop something on the table.

Her favorite drink. No words, no glance.

She blinked.

Moments later, a second-year resident plopped down next to her, eyes narrowed in teasing suspicion. “Sooo… when were you gonna tell me you and Dr. Park have a thing?”

She choked on her bite. “We don’t.”

The resident smirked. “You mean you don’t officially.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re glowing. You never glow. You’re like… caffeine and chaos in human form, and today you’re soft.”

Before she could argue, Sunghoon passed the doorway. He paused—just a fraction of a second—and tilted his head toward her with the subtlest smirk.

The resident’s eyes widened. “Okay. Now I see it.”

Y/N groaned and buried her face in her arms.

⸻

Later that day, while reviewing scans together in a dimmed diagnostics room, their fingers brushed on the touch screen. She didn’t pull away this time. Neither did he.

He looked at her, voice quiet. “Lunch was decent?”

She looked up at him, eyes soft. “The drink made it better.”

A pause.

Their gazes lingered just a little too long.

Someone cleared their throat behind them, and the spell broke.

But not entirely.

They both turned back to the screen, acting like nothing happened—but their reflections on the glass betrayed a small, shared smile.

It was a rare Friday night where none of them were on call. One of the nurses was celebrating a birthday, so someone booked out the private back room of a cozy gastropub near the hospital. String lights twinkled overhead, laughter echoed, and the sound of cutlery against plates filled the space.

Y/N arrived first, dressed casually but warm, cheeks flushed from the cold. She was sipping something sweet when Sunghoon walked in—slightly late, still in a pressed shirt, no tie, sleeves rolled up like usual. The second their eyes met, something softened in him.

He didn’t walk over right away. He nodded to a few people, greeted the birthday nurse, made small talk with the chief resident.

But then, slowly, naturally, he found his way beside her.

Y/N didn’t say anything. She just smiled up at him, and he sat down like it was the most natural thing in the world—close enough that their knees brushed under the table.

Their friends exchanged glances.

It was subtle at first—him reaching for her glass to sip it absentmindedly, her nudging his shoulder when he teased her for not finishing her meal. Nothing scandalous. Nothing overt.

Until—

“Okay,” the birthday nurse said, raising a toast. “I just want to thank you all for being my favorite group of overworked zombies. I love you all—even the grumpy ones.” Her eyes landed on Sunghoon, pointed.

He raised a brow but didn’t deny it.

Someone from across the table chimed in, “Honestly, I thought someone would’ve mellowed him out by now.”

Y/N was mid-sip when someone added, “Wait, actually… you’ve been way less terrifying lately, Dr. Park. Suspiciously mellow.”

And then came the boldest one: “Don’t tell me it’s because of her?” Eyes flicked toward Y/N.

All eyes turned.

She froze slightly, glancing at Sunghoon in mild panic.

But to everyone’s surprise… he didn’t flinch. Didn’t deflect.

Instead, he reached out under the table, laced their fingers together, and casually lifted their joined hands onto the table in full view.

“I guess the rumors weren’t as subtle as we thought,” he said, tone cool but eyes impossibly soft.

The room went silent—then exploded.

“What—!”

“I KNEW IT!”

“Pay up! I told you they were a thing!”

Laughter erupted. The nurse threw a napkin in the air like confetti. A resident whooped. Someone actually dropped a fork.

Y/N just leaned into the chaos, covering her face in mock embarrassment while Sunghoon—smug as ever—sipped her drink again like it was just another night.

Later, as the group quieted down and conversations splintered into smaller circles, he leaned into her ear and murmured, “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

She turned to him, glowing. “You planned that, didn’t you?”

He kissed her temple. “Only a little.”

The city buzzed around them, but their world had slowed to a calm hum. The gathering had finally wrapped up, and the streets were painted gold from scattered streetlights and the occasional passing car.

They walked side by side, his jacket now draped over her shoulders because he said she’d catch a cold otherwise. She hadn’t argued. Not this time.

The sidewalk was quiet, their footsteps in sync.

“Still embarrassed?” he asked, voice low, hands tucked into his pockets.

“A little,” she admitted, but she smiled anyway. “You didn’t even blink.”

He chuckled, soft and low. “I figured if we were going to get caught, I’d rather control the moment.”

She nudged him playfully with her shoulder. “Classic.”

Sunghoon glanced over, taking her in—eyes shining under the streetlights, lips slightly chapped from the wind, his jacket swallowing her frame. “You looked happy tonight.”

“I was,” she said honestly, then hesitated. “I think I’ve been happy a lot lately.”

There was a beat of silence between them before he responded.

“Me too,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

They stopped at a quiet corner, just outside her apartment building. She turned to face him fully, hands still tucked in the sleeves of his jacket.

“I meant it, you know,” she said softly. “Back there. Thank you—for letting me in.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. His hand lingered at her jaw, thumb grazing her cheek gently.

“You were patient,” he murmured. “Even when I wasn’t easy to read. You didn’t push.”

“I didn’t have to,” she whispered. “You found me anyway.”

And he kissed her—slow, steady, like a promise.

When they finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers, chuckling faintly. “You still doing that puppy eyes thing?”

She blinked up at him. “Maybe.”

He sighed dramatically. “Fine. I’ll stay over again. But only because I like the way your couch smells like lavender.”

“It’s not the couch you’re staying for and you know it.”

He smirked. “No. It’s definitely you.”

Hand in hand, they climbed the steps up to her door.

The city kept humming—but for now, it felt like just the two of them.

Six Months Later

Spring had settled softly over the city, painting the hospital courtyard in warm gold and gentle breezes. Inside, things were as busy as ever—stretchers rolling, monitors beeping, lives changing. But one thing had definitely shifted.

Dr. Park Sunghoon, the once sharp-edged, no-nonsense surgeon, now paused at a child’s bedside just a beat longer than necessary. He ruffled their hair, smiled when they clutched his finger tight, crouched down to explain procedures in calm, careful tones. His voice had lost none of its clarity—but it carried warmth now. Hope.

He still walked fast, still demanded excellence. But now, he also remembered birthdays. He brought coffee to overworked interns. He laughed, sometimes—low and rare, but real. And every once in a while, he’d hum softly in the hallway when he thought no one was listening.

Y/N was reviewing a patient chart when one of the older nurses sidled up beside her, slipping a piece of chocolate into her pocket like a secret.

“You’ve done something no one else could,” the nurse said, eyes crinkling. “You brought him back.”

Y/N blinked, confused. “Who?”

“Dr. Park,” she smiled knowingly. “He was brilliant before. But now? Now he’s also good. Kind. Human.” Her voice softened. “We thought we lost that part of him forever.”

Y/N’s heart ached a little at that—for what he had to lose to build his walls, and for how carefully they’d been taken down.

She turned slightly, glancing through the glass of the OR observation deck where Sunghoon stood, post-surgery, patiently explaining something to a wide-eyed young patient and their anxious parent. He placed a reassuring hand on the father’s shoulder before stepping back with a nod.

The father shook his hand like it was something sacred.

Y/N smiled to herself.

Later that evening, as they sat in the quiet on-call room with half a sandwich between them, she nudged his knee.

“You’re getting soft, Dr. Park.”

He gave her a look but didn’t deny it. “Only for my favorite people.”

She raised a brow. “Patients?”

He leaned in closer, brushing her nose with his. “You.”

—

It was a rare day off. No white coats. No pagers. Just them and the open sky above.

Sunghoon had told her to dress comfortably—“nothing fancy, just layers”—and drove her out of the city. She didn’t ask questions, just watched him steal glances at her the whole ride, his fingers drumming anxiously on the steering wheel, a small curve tugging at his lips like he was holding back a secret.

They pulled into a quiet town near the mountains, where spring flowers bloomed along the fences and children rode bikes with streamers in their handlebars. It felt like a pocket of time, untouched and slow.

He led her down a quiet dirt path, up a small hill—and there it was.

A tiny, unfinished cabin. Wooden beams, no windows yet, just the skeleton of a home—but she could already picture it in the warm light, filled with laughter and life. Their future.

“It’s not much,” he said beside her, slightly breathless, “but I’ve been working with an architect on and off. It’s not even built yet.”

She turned to him slowly, eyes wide. “Is this…?”

“For us,” he said. “Someday.”

The wind blew gently. She was quiet—processing.

“I know it’s early,” he continued quickly, hands shoved in his pockets. “But when I think about what I want—where I want to rest after long shifts, who I want to build this with, who I want to drink coffee with on the porch before surgeries… it’s always you.”

She blinked, her throat tight.

He stepped closer, pulling a small, velvet box from his coat. Not flashy. Simple. Honest.

“I don’t need to wait to know,” he murmured. “Will you marry me, Y/N?”

For a moment, neither of them breathed.

Then her hands flew to her mouth, eyes brimming. “Sunghoon…”

“I’m not asking for a wedding tomorrow,” he added gently. “Just for a promise. That you’ll build this life with me. That when the time’s right—we’ll already know it started here.”

She didn’t hesitate.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes. You’re already home.”

He slipped the ring on her finger, pulling her into his arms as the sky turned gold behind them. He held her close—tight like a man who’d found his anchor—and kissed her like a vow.

Back at the hospital, the week rolled on like always—cases, charts, rounds. But there was a quiet buzz around them now. Something in the way Y/N hummed while updating files, in the way Sunghoon let his hand linger a second longer on her back when they passed in the hall. Something different.

And of course, Mrs. Kang noticed.

The elderly patient had been in and out of the general ward for months now, recovering from a stubborn heart condition and endlessly entertained by the unfolding drama of her favorite real-life hospital romance.

So when both Sunghoon and Y/N walked in for her morning rounds—Sunghoon holding her chart, Y/N holding coffee, both trying (and failing) not to look giddy—Mrs. Kang narrowed her eyes immediately.

“Well, well,” she said, voice raspy but smug. “There’s a glow in this room that’s not from the IV drip.”

Y/N laughed, ducking her head. Sunghoon rolled his eyes, but the edge of his mouth twitched upward.

Mrs. Kang squinted harder, then pointed at Y/N’s hand. “Hold on. Is that what I think it is?”

Y/N tried to play coy, lifting her hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. But the ring shimmered under the fluorescent lights.

“Hmm?” she said, voice teasing. “Oh, this?”

Mrs. Kang gasped, loud enough to make the nurse across the hallway peek in.

“You sneaky little lovebirds!”

Sunghoon chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “We were going to tell you.”

“Oh, I knew it,” she said proudly, eyes twinkling. “From the way he brought you soup that one night to how you glared at him like a kicked puppy the next morning—I knew it.”

Sunghoon cleared his throat. “She glared at me like that for months.”

“And you loved every second,” Y/N muttered with a grin.

Mrs. Kang reached out, taking Y/N’s hand in both of hers. “You take good care of each other, alright? It’s rare—finding someone who sees all your rough edges and chooses to stay anyway.”

“I will,” Y/N promised, eyes soft. “We will.”

Sunghoon didn’t say anything—but when Mrs. Kang winked at him, he smiled. For real. No restraint. No hesitation.

Just warmth.

And for the rest of her stay, Mrs. Kang insisted on referring to them exclusively as “the engaged power couple” whenever nurses came by.

It happened during lunch break the next day.

Y/N had stepped into Mrs. Kang’s room with her usual tea and a short visit before afternoon rounds, Sunghoon trailing in with a fresh update on her test results. It was supposed to be a quick check-in.

But Mrs. Kang had other plans.

As the nurse came by to check vitals, and a couple of residents lingered just outside the door with charts in hand, Mrs. Kang looked over her glasses at the small crowd, her voice deceptively casual.

“Well, since we’ve got an audience,” she began, tapping her spoon on the side of her tray like a gavel, “I think it’s time everyone knew that my favorite doctors are engaged.”

The room paused.

A silence fell so sharp you could hear the ECG beep.

Y/N blinked, halfway through handing her tea. Sunghoon stared for a beat. The door swung open wider as curious heads peeked in.

The nurse dropped her pen. “Wait, what?”

“They’ve been all smiles and shared glances lately,” Mrs. Kang declared proudly, pointing at Y/N’s hand again. “Look at the ring! You think I’d miss that kind of sparkle?”

Y/N turned a brilliant shade of pink, subtly slipping her hand behind her back. Sunghoon just… sighed. Then shrugged.

“It’s true,” he said calmly, slipping his hand into Y/N’s with the smoothness of someone who no longer had anything to hide.

Cue the chaos.

Gasps. Cheers. One resident screamed. Someone clapped. The pediatric fellow across the hall yelled, “I knew it!” while the neurosurgery guy slumped against the wall like he’d lost a bet.

Even Chief Min passed by, arched a brow, and muttered, “About time,” before walking off with her coffee.

Y/N covered her face with her hand, laughing through her embarrassment. Sunghoon just stood there, smug and soft all at once, thumb brushing across the back of her knuckles.

Mrs. Kang leaned back against her pillows, smugger than ever.

“Told you,” she whispered to the nurse. “I’ve still got the eye.”

The hospital was quieter than usual by the time they slipped away, the afternoon rush of patients and staff finally beginning to taper off. Sunghoon and Y/N found themselves in the small, secluded corner of the hospital rooftop, a spot they often retreated to when they needed to escape the chaos. The skyline stretched out in front of them, the city slowly fading into the orange hues of the setting sun.

Y/N leaned back against the railing, feeling the cool breeze tug at her hair, her heart still fluttering from the unexpected reveal in Mrs. Kang’s room. She glanced at Sunghoon, who had his hands tucked into his pockets, a rare calmness in his demeanor.

He was quieter than usual, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looked out at the city. After everything—the teasing, the surprise, the reactions from everyone—it felt like the world had shifted just a little bit. And for the first time in a long while, it was a shift that felt… right.

“Mrs. Kang really knows how to make an entrance,” Y/N said, breaking the silence with a soft laugh. She glanced at him. “I didn’t think she’d tell the whole hospital like that.”

Sunghoon chuckled, a low sound that seemed to warm the air between them. “She’s impossible to keep a secret from,” he said with a playful shrug. “But I’m glad she did.”

Y/N tilted her head, studying him for a moment. The calmness in his eyes, the softness in the way he stood beside her—he wasn’t the same Sunghoon who had first walked into her life months ago. She’d seen more than just the gruff exterior. She’d seen the quiet tenderness, the rare smile that made her heart skip a beat.

“I think… I think I’m still a little shocked,” she confessed softly. “It’s not exactly how I imagined telling everyone.”

Sunghoon turned to face her, the corners of his lips curling up slightly as he caught her gaze. “Yeah, well, you’ve got Mrs. Kang to thank for that. But… I’m okay with it,” he said, his voice steady but full of a warmth that made her pulse quicken.

There was something different in the way he looked at her now. The walls he’d so carefully built around himself, the ones he’d been reluctant to let anyone past—those walls were crumbling, piece by piece, and it felt like she was the one holding the sledgehammer.

“You know, I never expected to find someone like you,” Sunghoon murmured, his eyes softening, the playful smirk slipping from his face. “Someone who doesn’t just… fit into my world. Someone who changes it.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, and her chest tightened with an emotion she couldn’t quite name. “I never expected to fall for someone like you either,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I guess we’ve been doing a lot of unexpected things together, haven’t we?”

Sunghoon nodded slowly, taking a small step closer, his fingers brushing lightly against hers. The contact was brief but electric, the warmth of his touch sending a spark through her entire body.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, the words coming out like a secret shared between just the two of them. “A lot of unexpected things.”

For a moment, there was only the sound of the wind and the distant hum of the city below. Their hands were so close now, just a whisper of space between them.

And then, without thinking, Y/N closed the distance, slipping her hand into his, the contact familiar but still full of that soft magic that always seemed to linger when they were together.

Sunghoon squeezed her hand gently, his thumb grazing over her knuckles in the same quiet, reassuring rhythm that had become so familiar.

“I’m glad you’re with me,” he said quietly, his voice low but certain.

Y/N smiled, feeling the weight of his words settle in her chest, comforting and soft. “I’m glad too,” she said, her voice full of a tenderness she hadn’t known she was capable of before.

For a moment, there were no hospital corridors to rush through, no patients waiting for answers. Just the two of them on the rooftop, the evening light casting a warm glow over their quiet, shared space. No walls. No barriers.

Just the two of them, letting the world spin around them while they took a breath and simply existed, together.

Sunghoon chuckled softly, the sound rich with fondness. “You know,” he began, a playful glint in his eye, “you never mentioned how memorable our first meeting was.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile spreading across her face. “Oh, I don’t know if it was memorable for you,” she teased, nudging him lightly with her shoulder. “But I do recall that you were the one getting drenched in coffee.”

Sunghoon’s lips twitched, as if he were holding back a smile. “You spilled an entire cup on me. I was pretty sure you were the clumsiest person I’d ever met.”

Y/N laughed, the sound light and carefree. “And yet, here we are,” she said with a shrug, her eyes sparkling. “Guess that coffee spill wasn’t such a bad thing after all.”

The quiet rooftop moment was suddenly filled with the warmth of their shared memories. Sunghoon glanced down at their intertwined hands, his thumb absently tracing circles on her skin. “You’ve had a way of getting under my skin from the very beginning,” he said, his tone lighter now but still tinged with affection.

Y/N grinned, leaning in just slightly, her voice dropping to a more playful tone. “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment. I’d say you’ve gotten pretty used to me spilling coffee on you by now.”

He let out a soft laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget that moment.” There was a beat, and then he added, almost as if it was a secret shared just between them, “But I’m not complaining.”

Y/N leaned back against the railing again, her hand still nestled in his. “Yeah, me neither,” she said softly, looking out at the horizon, a smile still tugging at her lips. “Funny how life works. We start with coffee stains and end up here.”

Sunghoon watched her, his expression softening. “Yeah… funny how life works.”

And for a long moment, neither of them spoke, both of them content in the quiet understanding that had grown between them, the kind of intimacy that wasn’t built in grand gestures but in the little, unexpected moments. Like spilled coffee, and the way their hands fit together so perfectly now.

Three Years Later

The hospital lights hadn’t changed, but time had softened the sharp edges. The corridors still hummed with urgency, the air still smelled faintly of antiseptic, but there was a different kind of energy now—one that came with stability, with growth.

Y/N walked slowly down the hallway, a chart tucked under her arm and her other hand resting lightly over her growing bump. She wore compression socks under her loose scrubs, a quiet rebellion against the swelling in her ankles. At seven months along, she was still stubborn about helping with the lighter patient loads—case reviews, check-ins, post-ops—but everyone knew better than to let her near anything remotely chaotic.

A few nurses passed her with knowing smiles.

“Doc Y/N, you’re glowing more than the fluorescent lights,” one teased.

She laughed, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. “It’s probably just the ten layers of cocoa butter I slathered on this morning.”

She turned the corner into the staff lounge just as her pager buzzed. It was a short message.

ER - Code Yellow. Dr. Park in.

Her heart jumped—not in worry, just instinct. Even after all this time, Sunghoon being called to emergency meant high stakes. She knew he could handle it. He always could. But she also knew that he pushed himself harder than anyone else, always calm, always focused… except these days, his first glance was always to see where she was, or if she was resting.

She sank gently into a chair, setting down the chart. She absentmindedly rubbed her belly, murmuring, “Daddy’s probably elbow-deep in something serious, little bean.”

As if on cue, the door burst open. Sunghoon stepped in, hair tousled, gloves hanging out of his pocket, his expression still carrying the storm of the ER. But the moment his eyes landed on her, it was like a wave breaking.

“You’re supposed to be sitting down,” he said, not unkindly, just soft and breathless from the adrenaline still coursing through him.

“I am sitting down,” she replied with a grin.

He came over, crouching in front of her without hesitation. His hand went to her belly like a reflex, thumb brushing over the side as if grounding himself. “How are you feeling? You were up early.”

“Tired,” she admitted. “But good. Kicked me during rounds again.”

Sunghoon smirked. “That’s my kid.”

She combed her fingers gently through his hair, pushing a strand off his forehead. “Rough case?”

“Teenager. Motorcycle. Lucky to be alive.” He rested his head lightly on her lap for a second. “I hate that I get used to this.”

She held his cheek in her palm. “You don’t get used to it. You just grow around it.”

He closed his eyes, quiet for a beat. Then, “Come home with me after this?”

She tilted her head. “I wasn’t planning on doing a double shift, Park.”

He cracked a smile. “I mean it. Let’s just… disappear for the rest of the day. I’ll bring your favorite dumplings. Foot rub included.”

Y/N laughed, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Deal. Only because our kid might inherit your grumpiness and needs balance.”

“You say that like I’m not the softest person in this room.”

She raised an eyebrow.

Sunghoon stood and helped her up gently, his hand protectively bracing her back. They walked out of the lounge slowly, fingers linked, like the world had shifted around them and they were just walking through the new rhythm—one heartbeat at a time.

Bonus Scene: The Day Park Sungjae Was Born

The pain was something else. Y/N had always known childbirth was intense—she’d walked patients through it, held hands, whispered calm—but nothing quite prepared her for being on the other side of the curtain.

The hospital room was warm, bathed in that oddly sterile comfort only a maternity ward could offer. It smelled like peppermint oil and something floral that someone must have spritzed earlier in hopes of calming her. But all she could focus on now was the squeeze in her lower back and the warm, steady hand that hadn’t left hers since the contractions started.

Sunghoon.

He was by her side, masked up, hair messy, scrubs wrinkled from hours of pacing and worry.

His eyes never once left hers.

“You’re doing so well, baby. Almost there. Just one more push, okay?” he whispered, voice tight but gentle, as if every fiber in him was holding on for both of them.

She gritted her teeth and pushed—hard.

And then—

A cry pierced the room.

A loud, raw, beautiful sound that shattered the tension like glass.

Y/N collapsed back against the pillows, tears already gathering in her lashes as the doctor lifted their son and placed him on her chest. Tiny. Warm. Real.

Sunghoon froze.

His hand trembled as he reached out, fingers barely brushing over the baby’s soft hair. His chest rose sharply, and he let out a breath that caught halfway through. Y/N turned to look at him.

And that was when she saw it—the crack, the shift.

Sunghoon cried.

Not in silence this time. Not behind closed doors. He cried openly, eyes wet and red, voice gone hoarse as he whispered, “He’s so small… he’s

here.”

She reached up, cupping his cheek. “He’s perfect.”

He bent down slowly and kissed her forehead. “Park Sungjae,” he said softly, almost reverently. “You did it. You both did.”

Y/N smiled, exhausted but full. “You’re crying again, Dr. Park.”

“That’s the third time,” he admitted, laughing through his tears. “Wedding, pregnancy, and now this.”

“Wanna aim for four?” she joked weakly, a tease in her voice.

He chuckled, still brushing his knuckle gently across Sungjae’s cheek. “Let me survive this one first.”

Then the baby let out another tiny cry and instinctively grasped Sunghoon’s finger.

His breath hitched again. “Hi, little guy,” he whispered, eyes soft and overflowing. “I’m your dad. And I promise—whatever this world throws at you… I’ll be right here.”

And for a moment, in that room filled with quiet awe and lingering tears, everything stood still—like time had paused just to let them feel every second of their brand-new beginning.

First Night Home

The soft whimpering of newborn cries echoed gently through the apartment, but there was no panic, no urgency. Just soft footsteps, a lullaby hum, and the warm glow of the nursery light casting golden halos on the walls.

Sunghoon gently rocked Park Sungjae in his arms, the tiny bundle swaddled in mint green, resting against his chest like he belonged there all along.

“Shhh, baby. You’re home now,” he whispered, voice low, warm, and endlessly soft. He walked slowly in circles, bare feet padding against the wooden floor. Y/N watched from the doorway, a sleepy smile tugging at her lips as she leaned against the frame.

“You’ve been doing that for thirty minutes,” she murmured.

“I know,” he whispered, not stopping. “He likes it. He stopped crying.”

“You’re wrapped around his finger already.”

Sunghoon turned his head and smiled, tired but glowing. “It’s not even funny how fast it happened.”

Y/N stepped inside, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her cheek against his arm. They stood there like that for a while, the three of them in the soft hum of domestic peace.

Later, when Sungjae was finally fast asleep in his crib, they curled up on the couch with Y/N tucked against Sunghoon’s chest, a blanket draped over them, the soft sound of rain tapping against the windows.

“You’re a natural,” she whispered.

“So are you,” he murmured back. “But I think we made an overachiever.”

She laughed. “He gets it from his dad.”

Sunghoon pressed a kiss to her temple, his hand rubbing soothing circles into her back. “This… all of this… I never thought I’d get here. With you. With him.”

“You’re here now,” she said, tracing his knuckles. “And you’re not alone anymore.”

Time Skip: Sungjae, Age 2½

The hospital lobby was a little livelier than usual.

A giggle rang out across the nurse’s station as Park Sungjae toddled along the hallway with his tiny backpack bouncing and his little fists full of stickers. He was chasing after a nurse, determined to show off the drawing he made of a dinosaur—complete with messy crayon scribbles and hearts.

“He said it’s you,” Y/N called out to Sunghoon, who emerged from the elevator with a file in hand and a helpless smile spreading across his face.

Sungjae stopped in his tracks. “Appa!”

Sunghoon crouched instinctively, opening his arms. “Come here, little man.”

Sungjae ran and crashed into his father’s chest, giggling uncontrollably as Sunghoon picked him up and kissed his chubby cheek.

One of the nurses leaned over to Y/N with a smirk. “Dr. Park’s turned into a giant softie since Sungjae was born. You should see the way he talks to the kids now. You fixed him.”

Y/N smiled. “He was never broken. Just waiting.”

Just then, Mrs. Kang, who had been eavesdropping from her wheelchair nearby, pointed to their hands—matching silver bands glinting in the light.

“Told you they were endgame,” she declared proudly to the other patients. “Now look at them—ringed up, loved up, and with a mini-me who runs this place.”

Sunghoon heard her, glanced at his wife, and smirked. He lifted Sungjae’s little hand and flexed both their rings subtly toward Mrs. Kang.

She winked. “Show off.”

Y/N shook her head, laughing. Sunghoon pressed a kiss to her cheek in front of everyone, uncaring now of being seen, of being known like this.

Together. Strong. Soft. Home.

permanent taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @hoonielvv @rjssierjrie @firstclassjaylee @morganaawriterr @rikifever @daisyintherainsposts @kkamismom12 @pocketzlocket @semi-wife @soona-huh

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kiemiu · 6 months ago

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more boyfriend chris headcanons | ( fem!reader ) fluff + soft hours. established relationship headcanons wc 911 (library) + (request)

boyfriend!chris whose first instinct is to protect you. whenever there's a loud sound nearby, he's quick to pull you into him and cradle your head. if there's someone being creepy nearby and he notices that you're uncomfortable around them, he'll pull you behind him, gently rubbing his thumb against your wrist to soothe your worries, and remind you that he's there and that you have nothing to worry about.

boyfriend!chris who gets cuteness aggression around you. he just can't help it. all you have to do is simply exist around him and he's suddenly squealing like a kid in a candy store. he'll latch onto you like a leach and start swinging you around while nuzzling his head into your neck and 'unintentionally' cooing at you in a baby voice.

boyfriend!chris who is the best gossip buddy. anytime you give him a certain look, he knows he's in for a good tea session. the both of you will sit and gossip about other couples, and people you met in passing for hours. he always has the inside scoop on something, and whenever his ears happen to catch onto some extra juicy drama, you're the first person he'll run to yap about it with. he's actually the biggest gossip, and truthfully most of his friends aren't safe, because as soon as they say "can i tell you a secret? you can't tell anyone else though." he immediately excuses you and his brothers from that statement, cause his ears are yours.

boyfriend!chris who adores your laugh. he's suddenly the biggest comedian whenever he's around you. always cracking jokes, and throwing in one-liners into every conversation the two of you have just so he can hear you laugh. he adores it so much, and some of his favorite moments consist of just the two of you together in the quiet confines of his room, crying laughing at stupid memes.

boyfriend!chris who won't leave your side when you're sick. as soon as he gets word that you're feeling unwell, he's doing everything in his power to help you get back to health. he'll look up every method on the internet to help you, almost to the point it becomes overwhelming. after he sets you up with blankets, medicine, and you're well fed, he'll sit by the side of your bed and will refuse to leave you alone.

boyfriend!chris who loves to play online games with you. he'll buy a nintendo switch just to play your favorite games with you like animal crossing, and mario kart. other times, he'll beg matt to let you use his pc which he does most of the time, but for everyone's convenience, chris ended up buying you a new pc so he could play games with you whenever. he'll play all types of video games with you, going from scary, to adventure, to mystery. he'll play it all, your discord calls probably go up to being 8 hours long with the amount of games you play in one sitting. he'll also def try to get you into fortnite, and will most-likely carry you throughout most matches, he still wouldn't choose anyone else to duo with.

boyfriend!chris who remembers the little things. any allergy you have, your favorite desserts, your biggest fears, all of it is stored in the back of his mind. he could name any fact about you in an instant, he can tell you things that you don't even remember telling him. it's honestly a bit surprising but it always makes you feel seen as his partner. he pays attention to everything you do and say, even the smallest of habits.

boyfriend!chris who makes an effort of making time for you. he always sets aside time for you. he's a busy guy with a full schedule, so whenever he has some free time to spare, he'll plan something for the both of you to do together. he turns his phone off when he's out with you just incase someone tries to cut in on that time. if someone tries to sway his decision of doing something else instead of being with you, he'll shoot it down immediately. always saying something along the lines of "i gotta get back home to my baby."

boyfriend!chris who calls you his wife. before you even started dating he called you his girlfriend, but now that you're actually a couple, he calls you his wife. he always uses you as an excuse, saying things like "ahh, the wife's not gonna like this one." and "my wife said i should be back home by 9 'cause she's cooking dinner tonight." when in reality you never said those things, he just wants to get back home to you. on other occasions he just likes to do it because he fully believes in having that future with you. "happy wife, happy life."

boyfriend!chris who loves you for not judging him. chris always feels like people look at him a little differently from his brothers. he falls under people's scrutiny all the time for being weird, loud, annoying, and as much as he likes to pretend that those comments don't hurt him, they really do. so, you've become a personal safe-haven for him. whenever he starts to feel beaten down by the ruthlessness of people's opinions he always goes to you for comfort. he doesn't feel lonely or isolated anymore knowing that you see him for him.

' 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ' 🥡: @emely9274 @ginswife @chrisstvrns @conspiracy-ash @sturnina @lovetaylorrussellgrr @nervoussagittarius @sacaydia @chrissturnsss @hearts4werka @chrisprincesss @koilaniazul @starsforu @sturn777 @sturniolosiphone @chrisfavoritewhore @sturnsmia @leaningoutthewindow

#sturniolo triplets #the sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo imagine #christopher sturniolo imagines #christopher sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo headcanons #chris sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo

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theskywithin · 18 days ago

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🌙 Excerpt from my Book: Pluto in The Houses Chapter

( link at the bottom of the page )

Pluto in the First House

You wear intensity like a second skin. Even in silence, you speak of storms. People feel your presence before you say a word, because your very being is a portal for transformation. But this magnetism comes with weight. You’ve had to die to parts of yourself just to survive being seen. You are here to reclaim the right to exist authentically, unapologetically. Your identity is not fixed, it’s forged through fire. The more you embrace your depth instead of hiding it, the more your presence becomes medicine for yourself, and for others. You are not intimidating. You are just real in a world afraid of truth.

Pluto in the Second House

You’ve known what it means to lose everything and to realize you were never the things you lost. Your relationship with worth is your sacred battleground, learning to stop equating your value with what you own, produce, or protect. You are here to transform scarcity into security, not by gaining more, but by remembering that you are enough. True wealth lies not in possession, but in self-possession. When you release the need to hold so tightly, life places its treasures directly into your open palms. You are not here to cling, you’re here to trust that what is truly yours can never be taken.

Pluto in the Third House

Your voice has been silenced in lifetimes past, or weaponized into something you no longer trusted. Words have been both wound and wand for you. Now, your soul craves a language that liberates. You’re here to dismantle limiting beliefs, to speak what others only dare to think. But first, you must face the shadow of your own mind, the thoughts that haunt you, the stories you tell yourself when no one is listening. Your transformation lies in rewriting your inner dialogue. When you speak from the scar, not the wound, you become the kind of truth-teller this world aches for.

Pluto in the Fourth House

You were born carrying the echoes of those who came before you. The family secrets, the inherited fears, the silent agreements passed down through blood. Home was never just a place, it was a mystery to solve, a ghost to confront. But you are the cycle breaker. The soul brave enough to dig into the emotional basement and name what was never spoken. Your transformation begins when you stop protecting what hurt you and start creating a home where healing is allowed. You were never here to repeat the story, you were born to rewrite it.

Pluto in the Fifth House

You do not create for applause, you create to survive. Your passion burns with the memory of lifetimes where self-expression was punished or misunderstood. You fear being seen and not being seen. But you are here to turn creation into catharsis, to make art from ache. Your inner child holds both a wound and a gift. When you stop seeking approval and start honoring your own fire, you unlock the kind of power that doesn’t just entertain, it awakens. You were not made to follow the script. You were made to set the stage on fire.

Pluto in the Sixth House

You’ve been the fixer, the helper, the one who quietly holds it all together. But beneath your service is a longing to feel seen, not just useful. You may bury your power under routine, or lose yourself in perfectionism. Your transformation lies in turning daily life into sacred ritual. In healing not just others, but yourself. This is where your soul purges what no longer serves and rediscovers devotion beyond duty. When you stop equating healing with martyrdom, you rise not just as a servant, but as a soul in sacred alignment with purpose.

Pluto in the Seventh House

Relationships are never light for you, they are awakenings in disguise. You attract intensity, depth, and often chaos, because your soul seeks transformation through union. Love doesn’t come wrapped in ease, it arrives as a mirror, often shattering, always revealing. You’ve loved people who pulled you apart so you could find the pieces of yourself you gave away. But this isn’t a curse, it’s an initiation. You are here to evolve through partnership, not dissolve within it. When you stop trying to save or be saved, you’ll discover that real intimacy is not about merging, it’s about meeting, soul to soul, without losing your reflection.

Pluto in the Eight House

You came into this life already familiar with death, not just physical, but emotional, spiritual, energetic. Nothing superficial ever satisfied you, you crave soul-baring truth, even if it hurts. You walk through life as an alchemist, turning endings into new beginnings, turning trauma into wisdom. But your power lies not in control, it lies in surrender. You are not here to hold everything together. You are here to let it fall apart, and trust that what remains is real. You are a guardian of the underworld, a healer of what others won’t touch. When you embrace your own darkness without fear, you become light for those still searching.

Pluto in the Ninth house

You have searched for truth in every corner of the sky, in books, teachers, borders, and belief systems. But dogma eventually becomes your cage. Your soul has known both blind faith and bitter disillusionment. You are here to dismantle inherited truths and step into a spirituality that is not taught, but felt. You’ll learn that truth is not a fixed destination, it is a fire that changes shape the closer you get. Your mind is meant to expand, but not escape. The transformation comes when you stop seeking the meaning of life, and begin living as the meaning itself.

Pluto in the Tenth House

You came here with a mission that feels larger than life. You feel watched, measured, responsible, perhaps even before you knew who you were. There’s pressure to succeed, to prove, to rise. But your soul’s greatest work isn’t just to climb, it’s to transform what you’re climbing for. You are here to dismantle outdated systems of power, starting with the one inside you. When you stop chasing approval and start anchoring your purpose, you become the kind of leader the world rarely sees: one who leads from truth, not ego. You are not here to fit the mold. You are here to shatter it.

Pluto in the Eleventh House

You’ve never quite felt like you belonged, even in a crowd. Your soul remembers exile and revolution. You see beyond the rules, beyond the masks, beyond the systems that keep people small. But isolation is not your fate, it’s your initiation. You are here to transform collective spaces from within. To disrupt not for the sake of rebellion, but for the sake of evolution. The future runs through your veins, but it’s your heart that makes it holy. When you stop hiding behind the intellect and let others truly know you, you’ll find the tribe you were always meant to lead.

Pluto in the Twelfth House

You were born with one foot in another world. The unseen speaks to you in symbols, dreams, and silence. But with this gift comes a shadow, the temptation to escape, to disappear, to numb. You’ve carried the grief of the collective, the sorrow of lifetimes, the ache of endings that never had words. But you are not here to dissolve, you are here to remember. Your soul seeks transformation through surrender, not avoidance. When you stop fearing your own depth, you become a channel for divine healing. You are not lost. You are limitless. You are not broken. You are the place where the infinite comes to feel.

My new book "The Sky Within" availabe here :)) :

#astrology #astro community #astro observations #astro notes #birth chart #natal chart #natal astrology #natal aspects #astrology tumblr #pluto astrology #astrology blog #astrology placements #astrology observations #astro placements

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yandere-daydreams · 7 months ago

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Screening: Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1978).

Pairing: Yandere!Carlisle Cullen x Reader (Twilight).

Word Count: 2.1k.

TW: Wildly Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Medical Malpractice, Blood, Controlling Behavior, Deliberate Social Isolation, Misuse of Prescription Drugs, and Generalized Twilight. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

It might’ve just been the isolation getting to you, but you were starting to think that your doctor wasn’t completely human.

Not that you’d ever say so out loud. At best, it was awful thing to think about a man who’d only ever been kind to you and, at worst, it proved yet another symptom to your ever-developing, ever-worsening illness had cropped up and would need further treatment to correct. You knew better than to say things that would make you seem more sick than you already were, but it was hard to stop yourself from lingering on the idea – especially considering you only had books, sleep, and his company to pass the endless time. Admittedly, it’d been a while since you’d seen another person, but you could’ve sworn he was paler than he should’ve been, to the point of bloodlessness. He never ate or drank around you, but sometimes when he spoke, the light would catch on his teeth in a way that made them look too sharp, too prominent. You might’ve been dreaming, but once, after you took your medicine but just before you fell asleep, you swore you saw him taking the cap off of the blood sample he’d taken a few minutes prior, like he planned to do something aside from—

You heard a door open and instantly, your paranoia was dismissed in favor of more interesting stimuli. In this case, that came in the form of your doctor, Carlisle Cullen, stepping into your bedroom, an inhumanly perfect smile already painted across his inhumanly perfect lips.

…maybe you should tell somebody about your little conspiracy. If only to be absolutely sure that you were really losing your mind.

“Good morning,” he said, and it occurred to you that you hadn’t thought to check the time, yet. Your life existed in three states: alone, asleep, and with Carlisle. Only that last one really mattered – the other two could easily be lumped into the same category helpfully labeled ‘waiting for Carlisle’s next visit’. “Have you been keeping yourself busy?”

“I’ve only been awake for a couple hours,” you explained, shrugging as he took his usual seat in the chair left next to your bed. He was always polite enough to ask about the boring details of your day, and you were always embarrassed enough to skirt around just how little you had the energy for. Most of the time, it was all you could do to pull yourself out of bed and yourself to eat before retreating back into your little safe haven. On a good day, you’d be able to go for a walk, maybe respond to a few of the calls you were constantly missing, but most days weren’t very good. “Reading, mostly. Thanks again for the recommendation.”

The book he’d lent you – a dry historical drama with characters as bland as water and a plot as boring as sin – sat open on your lap, but you’d only gotten through half a chapter before giving up. It was hard to believe Carlisle was only a few years older than you, sometimes. You couldn’t imagine how someone who seemed so young could have such awful taste.

Still, he looked pleased, his pleasantly aloof expression taking on a defined note of satisfaction. “It’s important to keep your mind occupied while your body’s recovering. You wouldn’t want to waste all of my hard work by letting yourself die of boredom, now, would you?”

“No, doctor.” It was stupid to try, but he’d set himself up for it. You couldn’t seem to stop yourself, your heart beating just a little faster as you grasped blindly for the impossible. “You know, there’s this friend of mine who keeps asking when she’ll be able to visit, and I thought it might help pass the time if—”

“You’ll have to find a way to let her down.” Carlisle’s voice was smooth, calm. You did your best not to sulk, but still, he let out a labored sigh, only a touch too professional to roll his eyes. “It’s for the best. It’s good that you stay active, but you know what’ll happen if you overexert yourself, don’t you?”

Vaguely. It was hard to remember the details of your condition, and you weren’t in the mood for another lecture. “I do, doctor.”

“And you’re going to behave your check-up, aren’t you?”

“I am, doctor.”

“And that’s why you’re my favorite patient.” Your compliance was rewarded with a beaming smile, an appeased nod as he pulled his old-fashioned leather doctor’s bag into his lap. “We better make good on that promise before you change your mind, then.”

You didn’t protest. Honestly, you didn’t say much of anything. You never talked during your exam, preferring to let Carlisle go through the necessary motions with as little interference as possible. Instead, he filled the silence with mindless chatter about his children and how they were doing at the local public school, the hospital’s ongoings since you were unofficially discharged, and your favorite – Forks’ particularly colorful smalltown gossip, from the sheriff’s wayward daughter moving back into town to the spike in bear sightings on the local hiking paths. “It’ll be a busy week,” he mentioned, as he finished taking your blood pressure. “You might have some unexpected company, after all.”

At that, you perked up. You met nearly all of Carlisle’s assistants (medical students, you guessed, judging by their ages) by now, and even if you didn’t care for all of them, it was still nice to see someone other than him. Your least favorites were the dark haired twins – the wiry boy who always seemed to be biting back a smirk and the pixie-like girl who always acted like she knew something you didn’t – and you were particularly fond of the blonde girl… Rosemary, or maybe Rosaline. She was nice, compassionate, kind enough to keep you company even when Carlisle wasn’t in the room. More importantly, she brought interesting books – romance and horror, novels like Dracula and Carmilla and Interview with a Vampire, always handing over with a sweet smile and a hushed reminder not to let Carlisle know she was breaking his rules. Looking back on it, you probably shouldn’t have accepted anything she tried to give you. You would’ve hated for her to get in trouble just because she was trying to be nice.

Rather than voicing your overwhelming bias, you watched intently as he slipped the loose cuff off of your arm, tucking it back into his bag and removing something else, something long and silver and sharp. Immediately, your gaze shot back to your lap, your throat going dry in an instant. The next time you managed to spit something out, it was nearly too quiet to be audible. “…is there any chance we could, uh, I don’t know,” You paused, shrunk into yourself. “…skip the phlebotomy, this time?”

Carlisle’s answer was as swift as it was ruthless. An airy laugh, a jagged twist to this smile as he took up the needle properly and turned it over in his hand, looking for defects. It was already attached the glass syringe and, even worse, an empty vial; just a touch bigger than you remembered it being, the day before. “And take that kind of risk? How little do you think of me, (Y/n)?”

“It’s not you, it’s just—I already feel a little faint, and you take one every day, and—” You cut yourself off, inhaling sharply. “I just don’t know if it’s really necessary. Considering how careful you are and everything.”

“You’re right, I am careful. Which is exactly why I have to do this each and every time I come to see you.” He sighed, shook his head – suddenly more of a patronizing, paternal figure than any kind of medical professional, let alone peer. “You understand, don’t you? Without regular testing, your condition may worsen, and if you get any sicker than you are now…” You stiffened as he trailed off, bracing yourself. You knew what came next, what always came next.

“You’ll have to go back to the hospital, angel.”

It was strange, how a voice as smooth and as beautiful as his could be so difficult to listen to.

You didn’t like Carlisle. You hated his condescending smile, his repetitive rambling, his terrible taste in books and his creepy little students. You hated how little he let you do, how he talked about your illness – always skirting around the details, never giving you enough information to know whether you were on the verge of dying or a few days away from making a full recovery. No, when you were honest with yourself, you didn’t like him. Hated him, even.

But you couldn’t go back to the hospital, with its blank white walls and sobbing patients and strange, mind-altering drugs that put your sleep and made you feel like someone was biting into your throat. It’d been a miracle when Carlisle first told you about his domestic services, when he offered to have you discharged in exchange for only the promise that you wouldn’t seek care that didn’t come from him. Arrangements were made, your rent and bills taken over by some nameless, faceless local charity, and for the first time in months, you got to go home. You could live with Carlisle and his once weekly, now daily check-ups. You could live with the fact that you didn’t remember the last time you’d gotten to make a decision for yourself.

And, if you had to, you could live with paying for your freedom in blood, too. As long as it meant you didn’t have to go back to that terrible place.

Once again, you didn’t say anything, but you didn’t resist as he sighed and ran a sterilizing pad over your forearm, the antibiotic strong enough to burn. You clenched your eyes shut, but that did nothing to block out the feeling of a thin elastic band being wrapped around the crook of your elbow, of his needle pushing through your skin and burrowing into the vein underneath it. There was a second of pressure, of knotted soreness, and then, the syringe was gone and you were left feeling just a little colder, just a little more empty than you had before.

Even after opening your eyes, you kept them trained on your lap. You easily could’ve spent the rest of his visit in silence, but metal clinked against glass as he rushed to cap his vial and suddenly, you needed to hear the sound of your own voice. “I think I might be getting paranoid,” you managed, with a breath of a laugh. “For a few minutes this morning, I was able to convince myself that you were… I don’t know, an alien studying humanity, or something.”

“If I was, I’m sure that I would still pick you as the best possible specimen for my examination.” It was hollow comfort, but you smiled anyway, nodding along. Your medication came next, in the form of a small, chalky white pill that you still struggled to swallow under Carlisle’s vigilant gaze. You managed to choke it down, though, and as always, the effects were instant; a sudden clearness, blankness, followed shortly by an exhaustion so thick and so heavy, you couldn’t remember what it’d ever felt like not to be tired. You tried to hold yourself up, but faltered – buckling under your own weight. Carlisle chuckled as he caught you, helping you lay down with a soft squeeze to your shoulder, a feather-light kiss to the top of your head. “Sleep, angel. It’s good for you.” And then, his grin still pressing into your scalp. “And try not to dream about vampires, this time.”

So he did know about Rosalie’s books. Pouting, you shrunk into yourself, letting him drag the comforter over your abruptly immobile body as your eyes eased shut, as he pulled away – a vial of your blood still warm in his hand. It would’ve been impossible to stop yourself from falling asleep, but you managed to stave off unconscious long enough to watch him remove the vial’s carefully applied seal, to unscrew the air-tight cap with the kind of tenderness you’d only seen him use while taking your temperature or petting his fingers through your hair after he thought you were already too far gone to remember. He did a lot of things when he thought you weren’t looking, didn’t he? You’d never really noticed that, before.

Through your eyelashes, you watched him bring the vial to his lips before everything went dark.

#yandere #yandere x readery #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere twilight #twlight #twlight x reader #yandere carlisle cullen #carlisle x reader #they can't stop me from sexualizing that old man #no matter how mormon coded he might be

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imagine-horizons · 10 days ago

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Loving You is Easier Than….

pairing: law x f!reader

Warning: none just fluff - a little one sided, with some angsty law; no established relationship

——————-

“Don’t try to find a reason for somebody’s love.”

Those words echoed in Law’s memory ever since his encounter with the former Fleet Admiral.

His thoughts on love were jaded and broken.

How could anyone love someone like him? The amount of lives he had taken exceeded the number he had saved.

And it wasn’t just the lives that he had taken with his own sword and abilities.

It was the lives he couldnt save. The nightmares of Flevance , and the death of Corazon haunted the deepest recesses of his mind. He would wake up, covered in cold sweat, unable to calm his rapid heart and breathlessness.

He wandered into the library of the Polar Tang , seeking solace in the vast books he had collected over the years. Knowledge always seemed to anchor him to reality. Usually the library was empty, so he was surprised to hear low voices slipping through the crack in the door.

He recognized Bepo’s voice and your voice.

“You sure close attention to our Captain, y/n,” Bepo said with admiration. He was sitting next to you, as you flipped through a book filled with medicinal remedies, marked with sticky notes. To the side , there was another recipe book, and you had a notebook with your own notes, tucked with random scraps of paper and highlighting everywhere.

“He takes care of us Bepo,” you said warmly, as you grabbed a sticky and stuck it on the page , while scribbling a quick note to yourself. “We should take care of him too! Hopefully he won’t mind if I make a few meals for him.”

Your words warmed Law’s heart as he quietly slipped through the door, and lingered behind a shelf listening. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop but a part of him had him hanging on your every word.

“You’re not scared of him? A lot of people are intimidated when they first meet our Captain,” Bepo asked slowly.

“I was a little scared at the beginning,” you admitted, tapping the cap of your pen against your cheek. “But our Captain isn’t actually scary, he’s just prickly.”

Prickly? Law thought dumbfounded. Did you actually use the word prickly to describe him?

“Prickly?” Bepo questioned in confusion.

“Yeah, like a hedgehog. If you pet the hedgehog against the quills, you get poked,” you said in a very as-a-matter-of-fact tone.

“I guess…” Bepo frowned. “I don’t know how our Captain will react hearing you call him a hedgehog though.”

“You better not tell him,” you quickly said. “Hes gonna think I’m crazy! Like some … fan girl.” You felt your cheeks heat up at the thought of the surly, but handsome young Captain.

He was smart, talented, powerful and fiercely protective of his crew - you found that out very early on. You had to squash any feelings because you knew it would just end in heartbreak for yourself.

You always ended up in this position- you always fell for the one you couldn’t have.

“You love him, don’t you?” Bepo asked. Through a gap in the book shelf, Law saw the expression on you face. “How come?

It was the purest expression of admiration that he had ever seen, as you gave your reason.

“No reason, other than it’s because he’s Trafalgar Law.”

….

As you left the library, you stretched out your sore muscles. You had been hunched over for so long, and you had lost track of time , especially after Bepo left. You really wanted to have a collection of recipes ready to make for the crew and your overworked captain, who would skip meals.

A small sigh came out - any one would think you were so love struck, but the truth is: You didn’t care that your feelings wouldn’t be reciprocated- there was something about the Surgeon of Death that made you want to protect him with the same intensity that he wanted to protect his crew.

“Y/N.”

You jumped at the sound of Law’s voice. He emerged from the shadows of the Polar Tang, his stern look softer than it normally did.

“Captain!” You said with surprise.

“It’s late,” he scolded. “You have an early shift tomorrow, remember?”

“Sorry Captain,” you muttered. You quickly ducked your head, as you started to slip past him. But you were stopped by a hand closing over your wrist. It didn’t hurt but you felt the intensity that it radiated, startling you especially with the sudden rare physical contact.

“I was once told - that sometimes there’s no reason behind a person’s love for another,” he murmured. You turned to face him and could see the hurt in his eyes.

The hurt from his past.

“Do you believe that?”

Without hesitation , you nodded.

“Yes, I do.”

The next thing you knew he had pulled you into his arms, your form crushed against his sturdy chest, as he dropped his head against your shoulder.

Trafalgar Law.

Was hugging you.

“C-Captain!” You squeaked.

“Why?”

The word froze you to your core - you could hear the weight behind that one word.

“Why would you believe that people aren’t selfish? That they wouldn’t have alternative motives? It’s so …”

“Stupid?” You whispered. Law didn’t reply, and when he didn’t answer, you gently pulled away slightly so that he could see your face in the ocean light shining through the Polar Tang. Hesitantly, you brought one hand to his face, gently cupping his cheek and he leaned into your touch.

“Because sometimes - there aren’t any ulterior motives. Not everyone is selfish. Because sometimes, there are people out there that are just that easy to love, that it makes people like me, become a little stupid for them,” you said softly.

“You’re not stupid,” Law mumbled. “You are one of the brightest people I know.”

You blushed at his praise and he gently brought your head to rest against his chest once more.

“I heard you talking to Bepo,” he started and you felt your heart stop. You started to pull away, but instead , he held you firmly, stopping you from moving. “I’m… not an easy person to love.” His mouth felt like sand, and his throat dry as he struggled to find the words. “I don’t want to disappoint you, and there might be a day where , you might have to give up on me.” You slowly relaxed in his arms, and he felt your arms wrap around his waist, pull him tighter against you.

“You’re wrong,” you whispered. Your next words had his whole resolve breaking, and the last of his walls break down.

“Loving you, is easier than breathing.”

#one piece x reader #law x reader #one piece fluff #trafalgar law x reader #one piece fanfiction #law x you #trafalgar law #one piece

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delaware-lemme-smash · 2 months ago

Note

Can I request some headcanons for All Might, Aizawa and Nighteye taking care of their s/o when their sick? I have a wicked cold right now and this would be just amazing. Thank you so much for the work you do

Absolutely I can! Hope you feel better!

Characters: Yagi Toshinori/All Might, Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead, Sasaki Mirai/Sir Nighteye

Contents: gn!reader, sickness, medicine

Yagi Toshinori/All Might

Toshinori is a little out of his depth the first time you come down with a bug. He's used to playing the big damn hero, swooping in and saving the day, beating the bad guys, and rescuing innocent civilians. But then the civvies et handed off to paramedics, doctors, family and friends. He's never had to look after someone for more than the few minutes it took to rescue them.

He's been in hospital himself with his injuries after the fight with All For One, which does kind of give him the reverse perspective, but it's not quite the same.

When Toshinori is unsure, Toshinori goes over the top. You'll be sitting on the couch, swaddled in a blanket, snoozing or trying to watch TV to distract yourself from your headache and stuffed-up sinuses. Meanwhile, Toshinori will be trundling in and out of the room, offering you endless cup soft tea, chicken soup, extra blankets, more Lemsip.

It's a little much, and each time you refuse one of his offerings, he sidles back into the kitchen and anxiously calls Recovery Girl.

"What is it this time, Toshinori."

"They didn't want the chicken soup! What do I do?"

"Oh, for the love of... Put them on the phone, Toshinori."

He sheepishly hands the phone to you, explaining who it is. When Recovery Girl finds out you just have a cold and aren't wheezing your last, she's even more exasperated than before. She scolds him to stop smothering you and just let you rest, much to your relief. As nice as it is to have Toshinori clucking around you like a big mother hen, offering you ten cups a tea an hour was getting to be a bit much. You felt bad having to refuse him.

It's much nicer just to have him hold you in your blanket swaddle on the couch, while you watch TV and cheesy movies that don't require any brain power to enjoy.

Please do occasionally ask him for things—soup, more tissues, an ice pack for your head—because it will make him feel needed. Toshi's got a hero complex.

Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead

Aizawa's a teacher, so he's hardly a stranger to people being unwell. Teenagers might be not be the walking disease vectors that little kids are, but a school is still basically one giant petri dish, so he's not going to freak out when you're not well.

Don't worry though, he's not going to demand that you Plus Ultra! your way through your illness.

I know Aizawa comes across as a bit of a hardass, especially when it comes to his students, but he also prizes rationality. And logic dictates that when you're sick, you need rest so that your body has the time and resources it needs to fight off the illness.

He won't expect you to be up and at 'em while you're a snot-riddled Kleenex-fiend or while you're throwing your guts up. If you try to go to work, he'll make you call in sick. If you refuse, he'll do it for you, using his best Teacher Voice to browbeat your boss into submission.

"What kind of strategy meeting do you expect to have when they have a fever of 102?"

It is Aizawa, though, so he will expect you to look after yourself as much as you're able while you're sick. He's not going to be tenderly mopping your brow and telling you what a poor dear you are, or spoon-feeding you chicken soup just because you have a cold.

So, if you're the type to act completely helpless or like a little kid when you get ill, whining all day about how bad you feel, you won't get a lot of sympathy from him.

Also, if you refuse to take any medicine (barring medical/religious reasons) or do anything to relieve your symptoms, it frustrates him, because he sees it as martyring yourself for no reason.

"It's an aspirin, not poison."

He can't really call in sick to look after you—he is basically an essential worker—but he will make sure there is someone nearby who can respond to you in an emergency if you get worse or run out of medicine. And he'll have his phone on and check in with you throughout the day.

When he is home, he cooks or orders in, feeds the cats, tidies away your tissues. He pushes your hair back out of your face, calloused palm feeling for your temperature.

"I'm not used to looking like the well-rested one between us two."

The pair of you lay on the couch like a couple of bugs in cocoons. He in his sleeping bag, you in your blanket burrito, covered in cats.

Sasaki Mirai/Sir Nighteye

Sir Nighteye comes across as so stern and imposing that at first you might be tempted to hide your illness from him. You don't want to bother him with something as small and inconsequential as a cold or a stomach bug. He's a busy guy!

Too bad, Mirai's a very perceptive man even when he's not using his Quirk. If he can put together a plan to dig out a Yakuza gang and spend years being the brains behind All Might, then he can work out that you've got the sniffles.

Much like Aizawa, he's full to the brim with logical, practical advice about how to handle your illness. None of those old wives' tales about putting a slice of onion in your sock 'to suck out the impurities'.

He's a little less slammed than Aizawa, and can delegate to his sidekicks for a day or two while he stays home to keep an eye on you if you're really under the weather.

Despite his stern front, Mirai is a man who cares deeply for the people close to him, and he's not above tending to you.

However, there is one slightly odd thing—he keeps the TV tuned to stand-up at all times. You catch him watching the news on his laptop where he's working away at the kitchen table.

"Mirai, why don't you just watch it on the TV? Also, why has it been tuned to Tokyo Comedy Central for the last two days?"

Mirai looks at you, deadpan, and says solemnly, "Laughter is the best medicine."

Crickets.

"But it hurts to laugh," you protest, the wheeze in your voice clear.

"Very well. Laughter in conjunction with cough syrup."

#delaware-lemme-smash #bnha #bnha headcanons #bnha imagines #Yagi Toshinori #All Might #All Might x Reader #Aizawa Shouta #Eraserhead #Aizawa x Reader #Sasaki Mirai #Sir Nighteye #Sir Nighteye x Reader

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multific · 2 months ago

Text

The Emperor’s Witch

Emperor Caracalla x Witch!Reader

Summary: Summoned by Emperor Geta to heal his sickly twin, you are imprisoned within the palace, and forced to perform a ritual every new moon to cleanse his blood.

The torches flickered against the cold stone walls, casting long shadows as you were dragged through the grand halls of the imperial palace. Soldiers flanked you on either side, their grip strong, though you did not struggle.

Resistance would be pointless.

You had been summoned.

Not with honour, not by choice, but with force.

At the throne stood Emperor Geta, his face a mask of barely controlled fury and desperation. He was younger than you expected, but power sat heavily upon him. His fine tunic was wrinkled, his posture rigid. He had the look of a man haunted.

"You are the witch who can heal the dying," he said, his voice demanding. "You will heal my brother."

You straightened yourself. "And if I refuse?"

Geta took a step forward, fists clenched. "Then you will rot in the dungeons, and my men will ensure you are made to regret your defiance."

A heavy silence fell.

You did not fear him, not truly.

But there was something in his gaze, a desperation so raw it almost hurt to see. His brother was dying. He would do anything to stop it.

With a slow inhale, you nodded. "Take me to him."

Caracalla lay in his chambers, death wrapped around him like a veil. His skin was pale, sweat-slicked, his breath shallow.

The fever had hollowed out his cheeks, his lips cracked and dry. He barely stirred when you approached.

But when his eyes flickered open, you saw something there, something sharp, he was aware.

"Who... are you?" His voice was hoarse, but the arrogance beneath it still burned.

"Your salvation, it seems."

He chuckled weakly. "A pretty witch sent to save me. How poetic."

"Quiet," you murmured. "Save your strength."

You placed your hands upon his chest, feeling the heat of sickness radiating from him.

You knew what you needed to do.

The ritual would not be easy. His blood was tainted, corrupted. It would take time, and many moons to purge the poison from his veins.

You begin your work.

The scent of burning herbs filled the air.

Caracalla has been moved to lay upon a slab of marble, his skin fevered, his veins darkened beneath his pale flesh.

To purge the illness it would take more than medicine.

You stood over him, your fingers stained red from the bowl of sacred oils and crushed roots.

The potion was mixed to call upon the spirits of the moon, to grant you the strength needed to pull the sickness from his body without it latching onto your own.

"Restrain him," you ordered.

The soldiers exchanged glances, hesitant, but Geta stepped forward, telling them to obey. They held Caracalla down, though, in his weakened state, he barely resisted.

He opened his eyes. "What… are you doing?" His voice was rough.

"Saving you," you murmured.

You drew a ceremonial dagger, and with careful precision, you traced the edge over your own palm, slicing just deep enough to draw a line of crimson.

Blood magic required sacrifice. And the strongest magic demanded a piece of the healer.

You pressed your bleeding palm to his chest, just above his heart. "Let my strength be your strength. Let my blood call forth yours."

Caracalla shuddered beneath your touch as you began to chant, the ancient words rolling from your tongue like a song lost to time.

The air grew thick, charged, as though the gods themselves were watching.

Then, the pain began.

His body arched violently, his breathing turning ragged as the sickness was forced from his veins.

The soldiers struggled to keep him still as his muscles seized, his back lifting from the stone as if an unseen force was trying to tear him apart.

Sweat slicked your brow, your own body trembling from the strain.

The sickness did not want to leave him easily, it clung to him.

Caracalla let out a choked cry, his eyes rolling back, his fingers clawing at the stone.

"Hold him!" you commanded.

Geta stepped forward, grasping his brother’s arm, his face carved from stone but his eyes betraying his fear. "It’s working, isn’t it?" he demanded.

You did not answer.

The ritual was at its breaking point, the magic tipping between life and death.

Then in a flash, it was over. The candles blew out as a gush of wind passed.

Caracalla collapsed against the stone, his chest rising and falling in deep, steady breaths.

The silence in the chamber was deafening.

Your knees buckled beneath you, exhaustion crashing over you in waves. You barely registered Geta catching you before you hit the ground, his voice sharp with concern.

"He lives," you whispered, barely able to keep your eyes open. "But it is not finished."

Geta’s grip on you tightened. "What do you mean?"

"The sickness will return… if the ritual is not repeated every new moon."

His jaw clenched. "Then you will stay."

You wanted to argue, to say that your work was done, but as your vision blurred, the last thing you saw was Caracalla’s face. His golden eyes, now clear, locked onto yours.

And just like that, your fate was sealed.

The first few weeks passed in silence.

Caracalla was too weak to speak much, and you had little interest in entertaining him.

The ritual left you drained, exhaustion sinking deep into your bones. Each time, you poured your strength into him, cleansing his blood, and drawing out the sickness.

And slowly, it worked. Every ritual became less and less exhausting.

His fever broke. His voice, once weak, grew steadier. His eyes, once clouded, sharpened.

He began to watch you.

"You never answer my questions," he murmured one evening as you squeezed a damp cloth over a basin. "Why do you help me?"

You glanced at him. "I was given no choice."

A smirk tugged at his lips. "Yet, you do not resent me."

You frowned, dipping the cloth into the water. "Should I?"

"Most would."

You pressed the cool fabric to his forehead. "I am not most."

His gaze flickered with something unreadable.

As the moons passed, Caracalla grew stronger.

He no longer lay in bed, frail and dying.

He walked the halls with you and sat beside you in the gardens. He challenged you with questions, with sly remarks, with knowing glances.

And you let him.

"Do you think I'm cruel?" he asked one night, as you sat beneath the open sky, with the scent of rain in the air.

"I think you are feared."

His lips curved. "And you do not fear me?"

You met his gaze. "No."

Something passed between you then.

A shift. A breath. A truth unspoken.

He reached for your hand, tracing his fingers over your wrist. "You should."

But you didn’t pull away.

The final ritual was the hardest.

It drained you more than you expected and left you shaking, and cold. But when it was done, Caracalla stood before you, unbroken, alive.

He cupped your face, his touch firm yet reverent. "It is finished?"

You nodded. "You are free."

His thumb brushed your cheek. "And you?"

Your stomach twisted. "Geta will release me now. I am no longer needed."

A pause. His grip tightened. "No."

Your breath caught. "No?"

He exhaled sharply. "I will not let you go."

And when Geta came, when he declared your service complete, Caracalla stood before him, determined.

"She stays."

Geta blinked. "What?"

Caracalla turned to you then, his voice quieter, meant only for you.

"Stay. Not as my healer. As my wife."

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

"This is not an obligation," he murmured. "Not anymore."

"Then it is love?"

His breath was warm against your skin. "It always was."

And when he kissed you, in front of Geta, in front of the gods, you knew you had been bound to him long before you ever stepped foot in this palace.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

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