#and i know he made mistakes and to me - in the end his made his decisions for his mental health and i hope he is doing good

[sincerelyneo]

training wheels | z.cl

“it’s not like i’m asking to be your wife”

💿now playing: training wheels by melanie martinez

❯ summary: When your jerk of a boyfriend dumps you for being a virgin, the last thing you expected was to find comfort in your roommate, Chenle. But here you are, and now you're asking him to take your virginity…

❯ pairings: chenle x fem!reader

❯ genre: roommates to lovers, smut

❯ words: 4.9k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, loss of virginity, protected sex, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, slight innocence kink, fingering, pet names, very fluffy sex, swearing, reader uses she/her pronouns, basically just 4kish works of chenle coaxing you through it.

“It’s not me, it’s you.”

Jeong Jaehyun may have been your first boyfriend, but you’re pretty sure that’s not how that line is supposed to go. At least, that’s not how they say it in the movies. And still, here you are—sitting alone at the little bistro downtown, thirty minutes after he ended things and walked out.

Jaehyun’s made it painfully clear he’s done with you. But, there’s still some small part of you that expected him to come back, apologise, maybe even beg you to forgive him, say he made a mistake. He doesn’t. So you pay for the drink you’ve barely touched and decide to make your way back to your apartment.

The breakup doesn’t hurt in the traditional sense—you weren’t necessarily in love with Jaehyun. He was sweet, sure, and hot enough. But there was always something missing. Maybe that’s why, every time things started to get physical and he wanted to take his pants off, you freaked out and pulled away. Left him hanging. Blue-balled him, as he so charmingly put it. His words, not yours.

What stings is everything he said before he left—because it was honest, and it’s going to follow you into every relationship after him.

"It’s normal for a guy to wanna fuck his girlfriend, Y/N."

"I’ve waited three months."

"If you’re not ready, I’m not interested."

Yeah, you’ve changed your mind, you think he’s an asshole. 

The words circle your mind until you get to your apartment. Your heels click dully against the hallway floor as you fumble with your keys, a sigh escaping before the door even opens.

Chenle, your roommate, is on the sofa. His legs folded underneath him like a child and a deck of playing cards are spread out on the coffee table. Solitaire, probably, knowing him.

He doesn’t look up when you come in, just says, “You’re back early.”

You toe your heels off in the entry way and shrug off your coat, letting it fall onto the back of one of the bar stools as you make your way through the kitchen to join him on the sofa. 

“Yeah,” you mumble, voice scratchy from the cold. “Dinner ended early. Jaehyun decided to break up with me.”

That gets his attention. He glances up, blinking, a three of hearts dangling between his fingers. “Woah. Fuck me. Seriously?”

You nod. “Yep. He said—and I quote—‘It’s not me, it’s you.’”

Chenle lets out a short, incredulous laugh, dropping the card onto the messy pile in front of him. “Damn. What a fucking asshole.”

You flop down beside him, curling your knees up under your chin. “He’s not wrong,” you say, quieter now. “I mean... he kind of had a point.”

Chenle tilts his head at you sceptically. “No chance. Look, I’m no Casanova or anything, but even I know the line is supposed to be ‘it’s not you, it’s me.’”

You shake your head and laugh, defeated. “That’s what I thought too.” Then, a sigh drags itself out of you. “Except... the reason he broke up with me is because he doesn’t think dating a virgin is worth the hassle. That he’s tired of waiting, so he just... left.”

“So... because you didn’t want to sleep with him, he decided you weren’t worth dating?” He asks, leaning back against the couch now, arms crossed.

You glance at him. “Pretty much.”

Chenle doesn’t know what’s more shocking—the fact that you (his pretty little roommate who’s sexier than sin and sweeter than sugar) are still holding onto your v-card, or the fact that your asshole boyfriend, who he never really had a valid reason to hate before, didn’t think you were worth the wait. 

Well, he’s glad he’s got a reason now.

He hums, thinking. “What a dick.”

“I don’t know,” you say softly. “I mean, maybe he’s right. Maybe something is wrong with me. Maybe I’m broken.”

Fuck no. He’s making you erase that thought, asap. 

Chenle straightens, shaking his head. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Y/N. Wanting to wait—or not wanting sex at all—doesn’t mean you’re broken. That’s just... your decision. A good guy would respect that.”

You chew on the edge of your thumbnail, gaze dropping to the floor. It’s a bad habit you can’t quite kick, especially when you’re feeling small.

“It’s not like I don’t want to have sex,” you say eventually, voice so quiet it's almost like you’re confessing something shameful. “I do. I just...I keep dating guys who’ve, like... been with lots of girls. Guys who know what they’re doing. And I don’t. And it makes me feel...” You trail off, cheeks burning and your throat tight. “It makes me feel embarrassed.”

The words hang there, raw and a little pathetic, and you hate how small they make you sound.

Eventually, Chenle shifts beside you, nudging your knee lightly with his. “You know that’s bullshit, right?”

You shrug, because it doesn’t feel like bullshit when you’re the one living it. When you’re the one with the anxiety that won’t let you get past a makeout session with some light petting. 

Chenle huffs a breath, raking a hand through his hair. “Seriously, Y/N. Anyone who makes you feel like you're not enough because you haven’t ticked some box yet is a fucking idiot.” 

That gets a quiet laugh out of you. You finally glance up at him, and his face is serious, sincere in a way that Chenle usually hides behind jokes and sarcasm. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. 

“You’re not less because you’re waiting. You’re not less because you’re nervous. And you’re definitely not less because you’re a little unsure about what you’re doing.” His voice drops a little, softer now. “You deserve someone patient. Someone who makes you feel good about yourself. Not some dickhead who’s counting down the days like it’s a fucking chore.”

You duck your head, a bitter laugh escaping you. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who’s... an adult and still completely clueless.”

Chenle leans in a little, catching your eyes with his own. There’s no teasing there, no judgment—just something warm. 

“Everyone’s clueless the first time. That’s the whole point. You’re not supposed to be good at it. You’re supposed to figure it out with someone who gives a shit about you. Not some guy who’s just trying to get his dick wet.”

You snort at that despite yourself, and Chenle grins, pleased with himself for making you laugh, even if it’s just a little. After a moment, you tilt your head, studying him. 

“Were you... clueless your first time?”

Chenle lets out a bark of laughter, throwing his head back against the couch dramatically. “Oh, hell yeah.”

You smile. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious. It was... honestly, it was embarrassing as fuck. Blew my load in, like, two minutes.” He squeezes his eyes together and shivers at the memory. “The girl was very polite about it, though, but yeah. Mortifying.”

You snort, the mental image almost too hard to believe. In the years you’d been Chenle’s roommate, he’d probably had one situationship—max. You knew he wasn’t exactly a player, and he didn’t fuck around a lot. Christ, he spent his Saturday nights playing solo solitaire on the coffee table.

But still... he was hot. And hot people could always fuck... right?

“Oh my God,” you giggle, covering your mouth. “Two minutes?”

“If that,” he says, eyes crinkling again. “Might’ve been one and a half. I’m a little generous with myself. Male ego and all that.”

You laugh so hard your sides ache, and Chenle’s grin only widens. He likes seeing you laugh—loves it, actually. He thinks he’d like to make you laugh more often. It’s so pretty, the sound, the way your whole face lights up. Why on Earth that asshole you were dating didn’t want to wait longer to hear all the other sounds you’d make is completely beyond him.

When the laughter dies down, the quiet that settles between you isn’t heavy—it’s soft. Comfortable. It gives you a moment to just look at him. And something stirs in your chest, something you can’t quite name.

You and Chenle hadn’t been friends before you moved in together, but he’s always been so nice, so funny, so good to you. Even now, the fact that he’s willing to embarrass himself just to make you feel better… It’s trust.

It’s attractive.

Before you can second-guess it, the words slip out:

“Would you... would you be my first?”

“What—” he gapes at you and his voice cracks halfway through the word. He clears his throat, trying again. “Y/N, you…you can’t just ask stuff like that.”

Your heart stutters, nerves spiking—but before you can backpedal, you see the pink blooming on his cheeks, the way his hands flail a little uselessly in the air before he scrubs them through his hair.

“It’s not—I’m not saying no,” he rushes out. “It’s just—holy shit, Y/N.”

You blink at him. “Why are you freaking out more than me?”

Chenle groans and slumps back against the couch, covering his face with both hands. He’s freaking out because, despite all his confidence, he’s not sure he’d be any better now than he was as a clueless teenager losing his virginity.

Sure, he’s not totally inexperienced, but... this is you.

The girl across the hall he may or may not have jerked off to once or twice. The girl he thinks is so fucking pretty it physically hurts sometimes. The girl he’s definitely got a crush on. The girl who’s a virgin.

Fuck.

He’d be lucky if he lasts a full minute inside you.

“Because it’s you. And this is...we’ve established is a big deal to you. And I don’t wanna—I don’t know—ruin it or make it weird or...” He trails off, peeking at you through his fingers.

You chew on your lip for a second, then scoot a little closer, tugging gently at his wrist until he drops his hands and looks at you properly.

“I’m comfortable with you, Chenle,” you say quietly. “I trust you. I won’t feel embarrassed, I promise. Not with you.”

He flushes, looking like he might actually combust right there on the couch. His cheeks are pink, the tips of his ears even worse, and his hands keep fidgeting—picking at a loose thread on his sweatshirt, tapping against his knee. He keeps opening and closing his mouth like he wants to say something but can’t figure out what.

Finally, he manages, “Y/N, you’re upset after the breakup. I don’t want you to feel, like... pressured or anything. I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow and regret it.”

Translation: I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow and regret me.

“I won’t, I swear I won’t,” you say, sitting up to meet his wide, nervous eyes. “Look, it’s not like I’m asking to be your wife, Chenle. I’m not asking for a relationship or anything crazy. I just...” You pause, feeling your cheeks heat. “I want to get over this stupid hurdle. And I trust you.”

Something flickers in Chenle’s eyes then. His fidgeting stills all at once, and before you can react, he moves, shifting his weight and hovering over you on the couch, palms braced on either side of your body.

His pupils are blown wide, dark and stormy as they fix on you. His voice drops, “I’m not a fucking tick box either, Y/N. I’m not a hurdle for you to just get over.”

Your chest tightens, and your heart skips like it doesn’t know how to beat properly anymore.

“I know,” your voice trembles. “You’re kind, Chenle. I know you won’t laugh at me or make me feel like shit about it after. You’re the only guy I know who fits the bill for this.”

He brings one hand up, brushing a knuckle against your cheekbone—barely there, like he’s scared you might vanish if he touches you too hard.

“No, you don’t know,” he murmurs. “I’m saying, if we do this... I’m the only guy who fits the bill. Ever.”

Your throat tightens at that, and your cheeks flush from the heat of his palm, which is now cupping your jaw.

“Chenle—”

“I don’t want to be something you regret,” he says. “But I also... I don’t think I can say no to you right now. So you need to take this offer off the table.”

Your hands slide up under the hem of his sweatshirt, fingertips skimming the warm skin of his waist. He shivers under your touch. “I don’t want to take the offer off the table,” you breathe. “I want you.”

That’s all it takes. He kisses you.

It’s not rushed or hurried—it’s careful, like he’s asking permission with every brush of his lips against yours. His mouth is warm, breath a little shaky, and he tastes like that mint gum he’s always chewing. You’d never been kissed like this before, all teeth and tongue and so much aching need. You don’t want him to stop. 

Especially when his hands find your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, and he drags you closer, slotting you between his thighs. You can feel him already, hard against you through the thin barrier of your clothes, and it sends a dizzy rush through your blood.

You find yourself clutching at him—his sweatshirt, tugging at the hem, slipping your hands beneath to find hot skin. And God, is he solid. His stomach jumps beneath your palm, muscles tensing when your fingers splay across his ribs. You want to touch all of him. You want to learn from him.

He makes a soft, broken noise—somewhere between a moan and a plea—and pulls back just enough to breathe, just enough to speak.

“Easy, baby,” he says, eyes heavy-lidded. “You gotta slow down.”

You barely register the words—too consumed by the way that pet name sounds coming from his mouth, in that rugged tone, directed at you. It makes your whole body throb.

You bite your lip, still tugging at his sweatshirt. “But I want you. Now. All of you.”

He exhales, forehead now pressing to yours, eyes darting down to your lips, then back up like he’s trying to ground himself. 

“And you’ll have me,” he says quietly. “Every fucking bit of me. Just—let me have this. Let me take my time. Let me enjoy you.”

The words sink in slowly and they make your chest tighten. You blink up at him, breath catching. “I thought… I thought guys just wanted to get themselves off during sex.”

He cups your cheek, thumb brushing across your flushed skin, lingering at the corner of your swollen mouth before he lets it rest gently against your pouty lips.

“Maybe,” he murmurs, “but not every guy has the prettiest fucking girl underneath him.”

Your breath stutters.

“I’d be a fucking idiot,” he goes on, voice curling beneath every syllable, “if I didn’t put my mouth on your pretty pussy and watch you cum.”

You let out a whimper from the back of your throat—half shocked, half desperate.

“Bet you’d be so fucking hot,” he muses, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip again, slower this time. “Bet I wouldn’t be able to look away.”

Your hips shift involuntarily at his words, heat pooling low in your belly. The way he’s looking at you—like he’s already burning the view of you eager and squirming beneath him into his memory—makes your body vibrate with anticipation.

"Lele..." you whisper, breathless and unsure where the hell that nickname just slipped out from. Something about being this exposed, this vulnerable, has clearly made your brain foggy.

He just smiles, leaning in with his lips ghosting over the corner of your mouth, deliberately not kissing you. “You said you trust me, yeah?”

You nod, but his eyebrows raise, the demand clear in his expression. He wants the words. 

“Yes,” you breathe. 

“Then let me take care of you,” he whispers. “Let me teach you. Let me show you what it’s supposed to feel like.”

You gasp softly as he trails his hand down your jaw, then your neck, so attentively until his fingers skate lightly beneath the hem of your dress.

“Can I...?” His voice is almost a growl now when he asks, fingertips hovering just above your thighs, teasing at the edge of the fabric. 

You nod with a shaky breath. “Yes.”

He peels your dress off carefully, until you’re beneath him in nothing but a pair of black panties. When his eyes drop to your bare chest, he exhales slowly, chest rising like he’s trying not to worship you too hard, too fast.

"Fuck," he groans, sucking in a breath. “You’re gorgeous.”

Your arms instinctively twitch to cover yourself, but he catches your wrists gently and presses a kiss to each one before guiding your hands back to your sides.

“Don’t hide from me,” he demands. “Let me see you.”

And somehow, with the way he says it—all soft and awed—it’s easier. Easier to let him see. Easier to let him lean in and kiss along your collarbone, down the slope of your shoulder, into the valley of your breasts. 

And that’s when you thread your fingers into his hair, encouraging him to sink lower until his mouth trails over your sternum, then your stomach. His kisses so soft that they make your thighs clench.

“Still okay?” he asks, glancing up with burning eyes and a pair of his own swollen lips.

You nod, whispering, “Please, don’t stop.”

And he doesn’t. 

His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, and he tugs them down steadily, steady enough that you could stop him if you wanted him to, but you don’t. You lift your hips instead, offering yourself up.

“I still can’t believe you asked me to do this,” he says, getting the fabric completely off. “You could’ve had anyone.”

“I didn’t want anyone else,” you whisper. “Just you.”

“Good,” he breathes. “Because you have no idea what you’re doing to me—lying here like this, letting me be your first. Letting me be the one who gets to see you like this. Taste you.” He pauses, jaw tight. “Fuck—you’re so pretty.”

You want to clamp your legs shut at that, but you already know there’s no way in hell he’s letting that happen. Instead, you let him lean in, his mouth brushing a kiss to the inside of your bare thigh. Then another—higher. And another.

Until you're trembling. Until a whimper escapes you. And he just grins against your skin.

“You’re already shaking,” he says with a smirk, licking a leisurely stripe along the apex of your thigh. “I’ve barely touched you.”

You nod, cheeks burning. “I—I can’t help it.”

“I know, baby,” he says, and then he’s kissing higher again, closer to your cunt, until his breath is ghosting over where you’re aching for him the most. “That’s what I like about you. So innocent. So fucking eager.”

You’re trembling now, fingers fisting the back of the sofa, eyes snapping shut just as his mouth drags closer and his tongue licks a stripe along your pussy—languid and unhurried like he’s savouring every second.

“I’ve thought about this, you know?” he says, voice tight. “Thought about what you’d taste like. What you’d sound like when I finally got my mouth on you. Every day since you moved in.”

Your breath stutters, and a helpless sound slips from your lips. “E-every day?”

That makes him smile, eyes flicking up to yours. “Yeah,” he breathes. “And that sound—fuck, I could live off it.”

And then he dips lower. His tongue barely brushes where you’re soaked for him, but your back still arches off the sofa with a gasp anyway. You can’t even think—you’re just feeling. Overwhelmed. Burning.

He hums against you, satisfied. Like this was always meant to happen—his hands anchoring your hips, his mouth wrapped around your clit, sucking and lapping at you with skill, whilst his eyes stay locked on your face.

You’re completely falling apart beneath him, thighs shaking as he takes his time putting his tongue to work. Every choked whisper of his name tumbles from your lips without permission, and when your hands fly to his hair, fingers threading through the strands, he groans.

It’s low and guttural, and the vibration of it against you makes you cry out.

“Yes,” he pants. “I can feel how close you are. You’re shaking so bad, baby. You gonna cum for me already?”

You nod, frantic, breath hitching. “Yes, Lele—please,” you moan. “Please don’t stop.”

He wouldn’t.

One hand holds you open, steady, while the other slips down past your thigh until a single finger slides into your dripping pussy. You pant at the intrusion, eyes wide, and when he sees your pupils dilate, he starts to move—slow at first, then deeper, working you open until he’s knuckle deep and you tremble under his touch.

Then his mouth is back on you. Tongue circling, dipping, coaxing. Worshipping. And you’re not sure when the sob catches in your throat, only that it does—and that he hears it.

His thumb brushes along your hip, grounding you. “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.” The finger inside you curls just right, and his voice drops: “Give it to me, baby. Let me have it. Let me see you cum for me, yeah?”

Then his mouth is back on your clit. It’s a steady rhythm but not as gentle now. But still, it’s matched to the overwhelmed, wild beat of your panting.

“I can feel it,” he says against you. “You’re so fucking close.”

You nod, whimpering. “I can’t—I—”

“Yes, you can,” he urges. “Cum for me, baby. Let go.”

It crashes into you—your orgasm—ripping through you like it’s both too much and still not enough. You cry out his name, fists tangled in his hair, and he doesn’t stop. Not until you’re spent and shaking, breathless, and sinking back into the cushions like you’ve melted into them like a puddle.

Only then does he ease off, his mouth softening against your skin. He presses one last kiss to your thigh before drawing his hand away. You’re still gasping when he rises over you, arms braced on either side of your head. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead. “You did so well for me.”

You blink up at him, but a tear slips down your cheek without you meaning it to. He catches it with his thumb, frowning gently.

“Hey… are you okay? Was that too much? Did I hurt you?” 

You shake your head. “No. Just… no one’s ever done that for me before.”

Relief washes over him, and he leans down, brushing his nose against yours. “They should have. They fucking should have.”

“But if they had,” you sigh. “I wouldn’t be here now—asking you to fuck me.” Your hand trails down his chest, pawing at that sweatshirt again. “Please, Lele. I need you inside me. Now.”

His own breath catches, a sharp inhale trying to hold himself together, but the look in his eyes is pure wreckage.

“Jesus, Y/N,” he groans. “You can’t say shit like that to me or I’ll end up having a repeat of my first time.”

You grin. “That’s rich coming from the man who said he wanted to watch me cum with his mouth on my pussy.”

“Fuck, don’t repeat that back either,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “Seriously, baby, you have no idea how hard I’m trying not to cum in my pants right now.”

You tilt your head, voice teasing. “You could always take your pants off and cum on my stomach instead.”

“Y/N,” he growls. “What happened to my sweet, innocent girl who was too scared to show me the prettiest tits in the world two seconds ago?”

“Oh, so what? You’re the only one who gets to have a dirty mouth in this relationship?”

His brow lifts, eyes narrowing in amusement. “This relationship, huh?”

You freeze. “No—I—that’s not what I meant—”

He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, then leans in, lips padding against your skin as he nibbles softly at your earlobe. “Yes, it is. If we go any further, that’s exactly what you meant. I’m the only man for the bill ever, remember?”

You whimper, and he smirks, victorious.

“Glad we cleared that up.”

And then he’s moving—finally stripping off that damn sweatshirt in one fluid motion, revealing warm, flushed skin and lean muscle that shivers under your stare. Without another second, his mouth slams back onto yours before you can compliment him, kissing you hard and rough until your lips are pouty and swollen all over again.

When he breaks the kiss, it’s only to shove his pants down and fumble with his boxers, his breath ragged as he slides a condom over his cock. Then, he peppers kisses along your cheek until his forehead rests against yours.

“You’re sure about this?” his voice shakes as he breathes against your lips. “Tell me now if you’re not.”

“I’m sure,” you whisper, arms winding around his neck, pulling him close—pulling him in. “I want you. I want this.”

Chenle curses softly at that and shifts between your legs. His hand slides behind your thigh, gently parting you as he lines himself up with your pussy.

“Then I’ve got you,” he says. “I’ll take care of you. Just hold on to me, yeah?”

And you do—fingers clutching at his shoulders, heart hammering in your chest because this is happening—with him. When he finally pushes inside, it hits you all at once. The sharp, stretching ache of it. The fullness.

You can’t help but wince, a quiet hiss escaping through clenched teeth.

His thumb reaches up to stroke your cheek, his voice immediately soft. “You good?”

Tears sting at your eyes, but you nod anyway, adjusting slowly, breath by breath, until the sting eases and you feel the pain turn to something else—something good.

Only then does he move.

You gasp, arching into him, nails dragging down his back as he builds a rhythm that’s toe-curling. His lips find your neck, muttering your name, and you moan back eagerly because of how good it feels—how good he feels. 

“Fuck, you feel like heaven,” he groans, forehead still pressed to yours. “So tight, so wet—shit, baby, you were made for me.”

You whimper, clutching him closer, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. “Faster,” you beg. “Please, Chenle—I need more.”

His mouth crashes into yours again, this time messier, hungrier. He pulls back just enough to look down between your bodies, watching the way he disappears inside you. A strangled sound leaves him. 

“Look at that,” he pants. “Taking me so well. Fuck, you’re perfect.”

You can barely breathe—your whole body slick with that tension curling tighter and tighter in your belly as he begins to thrust harder, deeper. The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room. And still, his hands never leave you—one cupping your face, the other gripping your thigh.

“You okay?” he asks between thrusts. “Still with me? Still good?”

You nod feverishly, tears pricking your eyes again. “So good. So fucking good, Lele.”

He groans, leaning down to kiss you again—slower now, gentler, and it’s all so tender, so intimate. 

“I’m close,” he whispers against your lips, barely holding on. “But I want you to finish first. Come on, baby. Cum for me again—let me feel it.”

You moan, hips rocking up to meet his. “I can’t—it's too much—I—”

“Yes, you can,” he insists. “Just let go, baby. You know, you’re safe with me.”

And something about that—you’re safe with me—snaps the final thread.

You fall apart beneath him, moaning his name as your orgasm hits you, harder than the first time. You convulse around him, body trembling, vision blurring—and he follows with a ragged, broken curse, burying himself deep as he cums hard inside the condom, forehead pressed to yours, eyes squeezed shut.

For a moment, the only sound is the echo of your breathing. Then he exhales slowly, his thumb brushing gently over your damp cheek. “You okay?”

You nod. “I’ve never felt anything like that before.”

He smiles. “That’s how it should be. That’s how it’s going to be.”

He doesn’t move right away.

He stays there, inside you, wrapped up in you. But when he finally, carefully pulls out, you whimper softly at the loss, and he murmurs, "I know, baby, I know," like it hurts him too.

He takes care of the condom quickly, tossing it into the bin. Then he’s back—pulling the throw blankets from the sofa over your bodies and curling in beside you. Bare skin to bare skin. Your face presses to his chest, and you can feel the rapid thud of his heart beneath your cheek, slowly beginning to calm.

He kisses the top of your head. Then again. And again. Like he can’t stop.

“I meant it,” he murmurs into your hair. “That’s how it’s going to be. Always.”

Your fingers find his under the blanket and tangle them together. “You took care of me,” you say.

He nods, chin brushing your crown. “Of course I did. You said you trusted me.”

[my-body-likes-you-in-control]

Raj's Break

I adjusted my sunglasses as I stepped out of the taxi, the warm tropical breeze ruffling my shirt. Before me, the Azure Sands Resort loomed—a sprawling paradise of palm trees, infinity pools, and cabanas dotting the shoreline. I smirked, rolling my shoulders. Finally. After months of nonstop training, I deserved this: a week of sun, expensive drinks, and maybe a little harmless flirting.

The lobby was sleek and airy, all white marble and soft ocean hues. A cheerful attendant beamed at me from behind the desk.

"Welcome to Azure Sands, Mr. Desai!" she said, sliding a keycard toward me. "Your orientation starts in thirty minutes at the Sapphire Lounge. Mandatory for all guests!"

I frowned. "Orientation?"

She blinked. "Oh! Did your booking agent not mention? Azure Sands is famous for our Body Harmony Experience."

"The what?"

"It’s our core policy!" she said brightly. "Everyone swaps bodies for the duration of their stay. Temporary, of course—unless…" She leaned in, lowering her voice. "Well, if you get intimate with your old body before the swap reverses, the change becomes permanent. But that’s very rare." She winked.

I exhaled sharply. What the hell had I signed up for? But a quick glance around the lobby reassured me—most guests were in peak physical shape, just like me. If I ended up in some other fit guy’s body for a week, so be it. I could still relax.

The Sapphire Lounge was packed, guests murmuring with excitement as a staff member explained the process. I slouched in my seat, arms crossed, until—

"Raj Desai, you’ll be paired with… Charlie Mercer!"

A petite woman with short, tousled brown hair shot up from her seat. "What?"

The staffer paled, tapping frantically at their tablet. "Oh—oh no. There’s been a mistake. Charlie was marked male in the system—this has never happened before!"

My pulse spiked. "You’re joking."

Charlie crossed her arms. "Yeah, no. I didn’t sign up to be some guy."

The staffer stammered apologies—the system couldn’t be reversed. The swap would happen automatically at dawn. As compensation, our drink packages were comped.

Great. Just great.

The next morning, I blinked awake—and immediately registered two unfamiliar weights on my chest.

No. Not weights.

Breasts.

I groaned, sitting up and running a hand through long, silky hair that definitely wasn’t mine. My hips were narrower, my frame lighter. My fingers—smaller, manicured—flexed in front of my face.

Okay. This was happening.

By the time I made it to the pool, I’d adjusted. Mostly.

The way people looked at me now was different. Men’s eyes lingered. Their smiles came easier. And I, despite myself, leaned into it.

"That’s a strong swimmer’s build you’ve got there," I teased a guy doing laps, resting my chin on my palm.

The man—tall, broad-shouldered, clearly relishing his borrowed form—grinned back. "Thanks. First time I’ve ever had the stamina for it." He flexed slightly, and I laughed.

"Enjoy it while it lasts."

I still felt weird about the flirting, though. I was straight. Wasn’t I?

Then—I saw myself.

Or rather, I saw Charlie.

My own body—my face, my dark hair, my lean but toned frame—was lounging by the pool, surrounded by a group of fit guys. But the way Charlie carried himself was… different. I had always been quick to laugh, to gesture, to fill silence. Charlie, though? She was relaxed. Quiet. A small smirk played on her lips as she listened to the others, her arms crossed behind her head, biceps flexing under the sun.

Damn. I look good.

Then a woman approached—tall, confident, her fingers brushing Charlie’s arm as she laughed at something she said. Charlie didn’t lean into it, but she didn’t pull away either. Just gave her that same calm, knowing smile.

My stomach twisted.

Oh, this is weird.

The woman’s hand lingered on Charlie’s bicep, her thumb tracing the curve of muscle. Charlie’s expression didn’t change, but there was something in the way she held herself—like she was savoring it.

I should’ve looked away.

I didn’t.

Over the next week, I tried to relax.

It wasn’t easy.

Sure, Charlie’s body was in great shape—lean, toned, with an effortless grace that turned heads—but I missed the solid weight of my own muscles, the familiar strength in my limbs. Worse, I missed the way people looked at me before. Now, the attention was different.

I’d attempted flirting a few times—testing the waters—but every interaction left me unsettled.

At the bar, a guy with sun-bleached hair and a lazy smirk had leaned in, eyes flicking over my borrowed form. "You here alone?"

I had stiffened. "Uh. Yeah."

"You look like you could use some company." The guy’s fingers brushed my wrist.

I had yanked my hand back like I’d been burned. "Not—not into guys."

The stranger had laughed, not unkindly. "Could’ve fooled me."

That was the problem.

I was fooling them.

Because Charlie’s body was attractive—just not in the way I knew how to work with. And the few women I’d tried talking to either weren’t interested or weren’t gay. Not that that mattered, I wouldn’t have known what to do without my equipment anyway.

So I waited. Counted the days. Tried not to think about the fact that my own body was becoming something of a legend. But everywhere I went, whispers about my old body followed.

"That’s the girl in Raj’s body. Holy shit, have you seen her move? Like she was born in it."

"How the hell does someone get arms like that? Dude’s carved out of marble."

"Whoever’s in there now? They’re owning it."

Flattering. Annoying, but flattering.

Then, a few days later, I heard something new.

Two guys at the poolside bar, voices low but carrying.

"You hear about that girl in Raj’s body? Word is she fucked her old self to lock in the swap."

I choked on my cocktail.

"No way," the other guy snorted. "Why would the original owner agree to that?"

"I dunno, man. Look at her." A nod toward the pool deck, where Charlie—my body—lounged like a king, a half-circle of admirers around her. "I’d do what she wanted, and I’m not even gay. Besides…" A pause, loaded. "You really think whoever’s in there is giving that body back?"

My stomach twisted.

I looked across the water.

Charlie—my body—was stretched out on a lounge chair, biceps flexing as she reached for a drink. She laughed at something a woman said, the sound deep and effortless. The way she moved… it wasn’t just comfort.

It was ownership.

And for the first time, I wondered—

What if she doesn’t want to switch back?

The rest of the week passed in a strange, suspended tension.

Charlie and I never spoke—never even came close. But our eyes met sometimes, across the pool or in the dim glow of the resort’s evening parties. Every time, it sent an odd flutter through my stomach, a sensation I couldn’t name.

Why did it feel like this?

It wasn’t attraction—at least, not the kind I recognized. Maybe it was just the surrealism of seeing myself from the outside, watching my own body move with a confidence I’d never quite had.

Charlie would smirk, slow and knowing, like she was privy to some joke I didn’t get.

And every time, I was the one to look away first.

Meanwhile, if I was struggling, Charlie was thriving.

She’d abandoned shirts entirely, strutting around the resort in borrowed swim trunks—first board shorts, then, by midweek, a tight navy speedo some guy had lent her ("Lost a bet," the guy had muttered, eyes glued to Charlie’s thighs).

My body had always turned heads, but Charlie wielded it like a weapon. She lounged poolside, biceps flexed behind her head, abs on full display. She laughed louder, moved smoother, drew crowds without even trying.

And the women—god, the women.

I lost count of how many times I saw Charlie slip away with someone different: a brunette with a sharp laugh one night, a redhead who bit her lip when she looked at her the next. Each time, my jaw tightened.

Was she using protection?

The thought lodged in my brain like a splinter. It shouldn’t matter—it wasn’t my body right now, technically—but the idea of Charlie carelessly risking… me… made my skin prickle.

On the last night, the farewell party was in full swing, the air thick with salt and the scent of rum cocktails. I leaned against the bar, nursing a mojito and watching the crowd. A redheaded guy—some finance bro who’d clearly never been this jacked before—was mid-rant to me about how unfair it was that the swap was ending.

"I mean, I’ve been hitting the gym in this thing every day," the redhead said, flexing an arm that looked like it could crush coconuts. "I can’t just go back to being… me."

I smirked. "Yeah, well, tough luck."

"Maybe I should try and convince the guy in my body to stay swapped. I mean, I’m rich—I’m not gay, but I think I could do with one night to keep this," the guy grumbled, then perked up as his gaze flicked over my shoulder. "Oh damn. Speaking of unfair…"

A shadow fell across the bar. I turned—and there she was.

Charlie—wearing my body like it had always been hers—stood there in a fitted black tank top, shoulders broad, biceps flexing as she rested a hand on the bar. She didn’t say anything at first, just gave the redhead a slow, knowing look.

"Mind if I steal her?" she asked, voice smooth.

The redhead blinked, then grinned. "Oh, hell no. Go for it."

Before I could protest, Charlie’s fingers—my fingers—closed gently around my wrist. "Come on," she murmured, leading me away from the bar with effortless authority.

My pulse jumped. This is weird. This is so weird.

We stopped near a quieter stretch of the pool, the water reflecting torchlight in rippling gold. Charlie leaned against a palm tree, arms crossed, studying me with an amused tilt to her mouth.

"So," she said. "Charlie, right?"

I exhaled. Okay, we’re still keeping this up.

"Yeah," I said, forcing a casual shrug. "And you’re… Raj."

Charlie grinned—my grin, calm and confident. "Nice to meet you, Charlie." She let her gaze drag over me, slow and appreciative. "You’re cute."

My face warmed. Jesus.

"Uh. Thanks," I muttered, taking a sip of my drink just to have something to do.

Charlie didn’t seem bothered by the awkwardness. She just shifted closer, closing the space between us with an easy confidence that left no room for protest. "So," she said, voice low. "How’ve you been enjoying your vacation?"

I shrugged. "Fine. Relaxing."

"Just fine?" Charlie arched a brow—my brow—and smirked. "Come on. You’ve been here a week. What’d you do? Lounge by the pool? Flirt with strangers?"

I snorted. "Maybe a little."

Charlie’s hand brushed my waist, casual but deliberate, fingers warm against the thin fabric of my sundress. "Good. That’s what this place is for."

I swallowed. The way she touched me—like she knew she could, like it was the most natural thing in the world—was doing things to my head.

"What about you?" I asked, desperate to shift the focus. "How’s… Raj’s body treating you?"

Charlie chuckled, low and rich. "Oh, you have no idea." She rolled my shoulders, the muscles shifting under smooth, sun-kissed skin. "The ladies? Wild for it."

I watched, transfixed, as she flexed an arm—just slightly, just enough to make the veins stand out.

"I mean," Charlie continued, voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur, "can you blame them?"

My mouth went dry.

No.

No, I couldn’t.

I took a slow sip of my drink, watching Charlie over the rim of the glass. The music pulsed around us, laughter and whispered conversations blending into the humid night air. I hesitated, then decided to just say it.

"So." I said. "Heard a rumor about you."

Charlie tilted her head, the corner of her mouth quirking. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice. "Word is, you got so comfortable in that body, you decided to make it permanent. Had a little... encounter with your old self."

Charlie let out a laugh—deep, rich, my own damn laugh—and shook her head. "Please. As if the original owner would ever let this go."

Charlie shifted closer, her arm brushing against my shoulder. "You cold?"

I blinked. "What? No. It’s like eighty degrees out."

"Hm." Charlie’s hand slid around my waist anyway, pulling me in with an effortless confidence that left no room for protest. "Just making sure."

I should’ve pushed her away. Should’ve laughed it off, made a joke, something. But the warmth of my own body—the solid weight of muscle, the familiar scent of my cologne—was weirdly intoxicating.

Before I knew it, we were back in Charlie’s villa (my villa, technically), the balcony doors open to let in the ocean breeze. Charlie stretched out on the bed, arms behind her head, watching me with that same confident smirk.

"You’re staring," I said, crossing my arms.

"Am I?" Charlie’s gaze didn’t waver. "Just appreciating the view."

I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t leave.

Somehow, I ended up beside her on the mattress, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin. Charlie’s fingers traced idle patterns along my arm—light, teasing, possessive in a way that made my breath hitch.

"What are you doing?" I asked, voice dry.

Charlie just smiled. "Enjoying my last night in this body." A pause. Then, softer: "Wanna wake up still feeling close to it."

I didn’t answer.

But I didn’t move away either.

Damn, my body wasn’t even registering as mine anymore.

And right now, that woman was spooning me, her—my—thick arms wrapped possessively around my waist. Her chest pressed against my back, the light dusting of hair tickling where the silk of my bra didn’t cover. I should’ve been tense, should’ve been fighting this, but her hands were too good at melting my resistance.

For an hour, she’d been lazily dragging her palm up and down my side, slow, hypnotic strokes that made my breath deepen. Then, without warning, her grip shifted. A firm, knowing squeeze around my breast, her thumb brushing over the peak until it stiffened beneath the fabric. A soft noise escaped me—her—and she pulled me closer, lips grazing my neck in a way that sent a shiver down my spine.

Her hand drifted lower, teasing the waistband of my panties, tracing the lace edge with a maddening lightness. I held my breath, thighs tensing, until—

There.

A single finger slipped inside, pausing as if savoring the warmth before moving with deliberate, torturous slowness. In. Out. Then her thumb found my clit, circling with an expertise that made my toes curl. It was effortless for her. Natural. Like she’d been touching this body her whole life.

I came with a gasp, hips jerking against her hand, but she didn’t stop. Just kissed my shoulder and kept going, working me through the aftershocks before peeling my panties down and replacing her fingers with her mouth.

By the time she was done, I was a trembling mess, sweat-slick and boneless against the sheets. She left me there, dazed, while she stood and walked to the bathroom. When she returned, she was naked—my body, tall and lean, but the way she carried herself was all her.

She climbed back onto the bed, her gaze steady, voice low.

“I’m going to fuck you now.”

No question. No hesitation. Just fact.

I should’ve said no. Should’ve pushed her away, reminded her—reminded myself—that if we did this, the swap would be permanent. But the words died in my throat. There was something about the way she looked at me, the absolute certainty in her touch, that unraveled every last thread of resistance.

When she pushed inside, it wasn’t frantic or desperate. It was controlled. Dominant. Every thrust deliberate, like she was savoring the way my pussy clenched around her cock. And when her rhythm stuttered, her breath hot against my ear, she murmured, “I’m going to cum, ” calm and confident, like it was a promise.

Her fingers tangled in my hair, gentle but firm, as her hips snapped forward one last time. I felt it—the pulse of her cock, the heat spilling inside me—and with it, the finality.

This was it.

No going back.

[mingiswow]

Of Kings and Queens

Pairing: elf king!Bang Chan x afab!human reader

Genre: fantasy, romance, smut

Word Count: +7k

Summary: Chan is the King of the elfs and some of his soldiers made you, a common human, a prisioner, and Chan it's not happy about it.

Content Warning: mentions of poverty, mentions of food, reader wears dresses, I think that's it

Smut warning: porn with plot, soft loving sex, implied first of reader, tit sucking, oral (reader recieving), piv, Chan calls them baby a few times. big dick Chan, soft in love Chan

a/n: it's been a while since I wrote anything (or have been active) but I've missed here so much and I had this idea (and others) stuck in my brain for days and had to write, so yeah, I hope you guys enjoy it and I'm happy to be back I guess?

⚠️ English is not my first language, so sorry in advance if there’s any mistakes

The sounds were loud outside, to the point of waking you up. The loud thud and clinging of the chains that held your arms in place finally making your dizzy and unsure mind fully wake up. Where were you? What was happening? Your memory was fuzzy, you couldn't remember much before waking up in that cold cell.

You heard noises coming closer. Steps. Voices.

“You trolls did not hurt them, did you?” the deep voice spoke and you wondered if it was about you, because if it was the soreness and the purple and blueish in your skin announced that they, whoever they might be, hurt you. “Oh you barbarians, what I've told you to do?”

“‘m sorry, m'lord but they attacked us, we had to attack back” one of them answered.

“Ah! I see… a civilian attacked you” there was silence for a few seconds and they stopped walking. “I'll see for myself how they are and pray for the magic tree that they are not badly hurt. Now, leave” steps left and steps got closer.

You took a deep breath in as the steps got too close for comfort. A shadow hovering the entrance of your cell.

Then a man stood in front of it. Tall. Strong. Confident. Warm. He held a soft smile, as he opened the cell and entered, leaving it open. Instinctively you cornered yourself like a mouse trapped by a cat.

“No fear, human, I will not hurt you” his voice was deep and velvety, so warm for a man that sparked so much fear in you, you almost wanted to give in. Almost. He squatted to be at the same eye level as you. “I am sorry for my men. They… they tend to get a bit carried away sometimes”

If it was a normal environment for you you'd leave a smart ass remark. But that wasn't the case. You ate your answer down as you shivered in your little corner.

The man sighed and dropped his head down. “How about some introductions? My name is Chan, I'm an elf, right now you are in the elf realm and…” he came closer, you shrank even more, but that didn't stop him from coming even closer to take the chains off from your wrists. The old metal fell in the ground with a clinging sound. “And I’m sorry my men put you here and, you know, hurt you. Do you remember what happened back in your village?” for the first time in the evening you answered him, simply by shaking your head no. “I can help you with your wounds and bruises, but only if you allow me, ok?”

You looked at him still hesitant, who was this man and why was he helping you? And out of nowhere? 

You weren't sure if you wanted to trust him. your instinct wanted to, wanted to give in, to finally give yourself to someone else to take care. But your reason was telling you no, telling you it was a trap, you'd end up dead in the best case scenarios. 

“Your majesty?” another one of the elves came looking for him, he was dressed in clothes similar to the man in front of you, so you deduced he mustn't be a soldier like the ones that hurt you.

“Yes?”  he turned to look at the man and then, just then, it hit you. The title. Your majesty. He wasn't a random man helping you, he was the king of the elves himself. Your mind, already fuzzy and blurry, became even more confused.

Your eyes started to blur and head spin and you knew that feeling all too well. Soon everything became pitch black before you could listen to the two men call for you.

The cold breeze that flowed through the opened windows to your barely covered body made its pores bristle and you curl yourself even more in the soft fur duvets. A smile plastered on your lips.

Chan, who sat in an armchair by your side, watched your reactions and admired your soft features. Your body was covered in old rags that he could barely call them clothes, the fabrics made probably out of old potato and flour sacks hardly covered your body and that made him think of how cold you must be in the cold hard winter was right now in the human realm. Your legs were covered in bruises, the purple marks starting to turn yellow around it, some scars adorned them too, yet he wondered if they were as soft as they seemed. Your arms weren't in a different state as your legs, bruises and scars making them look like a galaxy, the plush skin seemed to scream for help. He promised himself to punish his men after he tended you and your wounds, they didn't have the right to hurt a civilian this badly. 

He then stopped at your precious face. Oh your face. He swore he never saw something so calm yet fierce in his life, deep down he knew you were strong. Your eyes seemed to claim for him even closed up, the way they would slightly tweak while you were sleeping like you were about to wake up at any given moment. Your lips held a soft smile of happiness, half parted, so delicated. 

Chan didn't know what was about you, if it was something about humans that he didn't know, all he knew was that he was so drawn to you, more than he had even been to anyone else before. He wanted to protect you, give you everything you wanted.

“Are you going to be creeping out the girl until she wakes up?” Chan turned to the door where Felix, one of his counselors and right hand man, stood, arms crossed and a smirk in his lips. He  might be under the rules of Chan, but they still were childhood friends.

He entered the room carefully so as not to wake you up.

“There is something about her, Felix, I can quite pinpoint” the youngster held a laugh. “Do not laugh please, I am quite lost here”

“Have you heard about…” when Felix was about to say something you murmured on the bed, calling their attention.

You moved slowly, stretching your limbs lazily, a happy squeaky sound coming from your mouth. Your eyes opened as slow as you moved, but as soon as you saw the two men you instantly cornered yourself on the headboard of the giant bed, covering your frame with the covers. Your eyes left the men and wandered around the place where you were. The place was a giant bedroom, bigger than whatever entire place you've ever been on, walls decorated with beautiful pastel wallpapers and hanging plants. Big part of it was of windows that went from the ground to the ceiling. 

You were lost in your thoughts while admiring the place you were in that you did not notice Chan speaking to you “Miss?” you turned your head back at the men, locking eyes with the king. “Are you alright? You passed out back in the cell and we thought best to bring to one of the royal rooms” you nodded. You wanted to thank him so badly but the voice didn't seem to want to leave your mouth. Not yet. “Everything must’ve been a lot for you to take in, why do not you take a bath and change into a new set of clothes? I'll make sure the maids get something comfortable and suitable for you” you nodded again.

Chan and Felix bowed slightly and left the room. Soon a few female elves came into the room and took you to the bathroom next door, the place was already ready for you. The bath was running warm with bubbles, the water cloudy with what you assumed was milk and some flower petals. The smell invaded your senses, making you feel relaxed at least a little. Three of them stood on guard by the side of the bath, a little far. You looked at them, expecting for them to leave but they just stood there.

“Are… you gonna be… here?” your voice was low, hoarse, your throat definitely hurt, but you were happy that you managed to speak for the first time in you don't know in how long.

They nodded. “We don't see nudity as you humans folks” the smallest of them spoke, her voice low pitched, almost annoying. “And it is standard procedure for us to accompany the King's guests in their baths”

“What an odd procedure”

“Don't be pressured by our presence here, miss, we are here only to be sure you have a pleasant bath and if you need anything else we can serve your needs” another one of them said, bowing.

Hesitantly, you took your clothes off, standing nude, they didn't seem a bit unfazed by that indeed. You entered the bath and instantly relaxed when you felt the warmth of the water hugging your body. Just then you took your time to take a look at your bruises and wounds, they would for sure leave more marks than you already had in your skin. The thought made you shiver a little. 

The bubbles started to move as if they were alive and you got scared, moving uneasy in the bathtub. 

“They are enchanted to heal the more superficial of your wounds” the smallest one answered and you looked at her with widened eyes. How was that possible? “Did you forget we have magic in the elf realm?”.

To be really honest you knew nothing about the elf realm or the other realms really. You never went to school, your family was very poor and going to school was for rich kids. You worked and helped your family ever since you were a kid, making baskets to sell at the market, helping at the bakery, at the local market, at the farms picking fruits, you name it. So all you knew that there were other realms besides the human and other creatures, often you'd meet some of them.

Besides not knowing how you ended up in the King's cell, all you remember was his men going to the human realm to collect some stuff for the King and when they couldn't find or when people didn't have they threw a tantrum and that involved you, that at the wrong place at the wrong time and tried to protect a kid.

You looked back at the maids and just nodded, going back to enjoying your bath.

When you got back to the room there was the most beautiful dress you ever laid eyes on. It was made of some fabric you never saw in your life, it was soft yet light to the touch, a light shade of green, the bodice embellished with thousands of little crystals that changed colors depending on how light hit them. The skirt was flowy and had a few layers to it and to complete the look, the back of it had a flowy cape that wasn’t much longer than the skirt. There was also a pair of low heels shoes, matching the dress color. Your eyes sparkled seeing those garments, you never dressed anything so fancy in your life.

“Let me help with your hair, miss” another maid said entering the room and you nodded, sitting in a chair in front of a dressing table. After a few minutes your hair was dried and half put back in tiny braids. “The King is waiting for you at the dining room, miss”

“Where is the dining room?” you asked a bit shy, voice still hoarse but a bit better than before. 

“Want me to take you there, miss?” you nodded shyly and she smiled. “Dress yourself and I will take you there”.

You quickly put on the dress, carefully not to ruin the ethereal fabric, put on the shoes and took a look of yourself in the mirror that stood next to the dressing table. You looked absolutely stunning, looking like a real princess. Never in a million years you imagined yourself to be dressed like that, but you also never imagined yourself in the elf realm as well. 

You turned yourself to the maid and nodded, signaling you were ready to go. She nodded back and turned on her heels and started walking down the hallway. 

The walk wasn't long but the closer you got, the more nervous you'd get, the further you seemed to be. You only seemed to finally arrive at the destination when you saw two large doors being guarded by well dressed men that greeted the maid and you. You returned the greeting with a bow before stopping in front of the doors. 

“Here you are, miss, the dining room, I'll leave you now, have a wonderful evening” you thanked her before she left and turned back to the doors that before you could process anything or even take a deep breath, the men opened them revealing you.

Inside the room there were four men, two of them which you recognized as the King and the man that was with him in your room when you woke up. Their heads turned towards you as the doors opened revealing you. And in that moment you just wanted that a hole opened in the ground and swallowed you, you never had any attention towards you, wonder this much.

You felt like your feet were glued to the ground, you couldn't walk, you wanted to walk inside the room, but you were stuck in your place. 

Chan seemed to notice your uneasiness and came to you. He held his hand so you could hold it. You hesitate for a bit before accepting it. He took it to his lips, kissing it gently, the action brought shivers down your spine, no one ever treated you like this, this gently, this kindly.

You started to walk by his side, hand still in his, a heat forming to your cheeks. 

“Kind sirs, this is the human I was talking about, miss…” he looked over at you, you still haven't introduced yourself to him.

“yn, my name is yn” your voice came lower than intended but you managed to speak, which you were glad.

“I see little birdie can speak finally” the one that was in the room with Chan spoke with a sly smirk.

“Felix!” the King scolded him, who just laughed. “This little menace of a man is Felix, one of my counselors and right hand man” he gave a little wave. “The one on his right is Minho, also one of my counselors and the head of the knights” the man gave a little bow, his face closed, unreadable. “And last but not least is Jeongin, he is the head of the royal guard”.

“Welcome to our realm miss yn” he said sweetly and you bowed. 

Chan pulled a chair by his side and signaled for you to sit in. He wanted to tell you how gorgeous you looked, how beautiful that dress made you look, even more than you already were. He wanted to shower you with compliments and give you everything you wanted but he held himself, he was a king after all, he had to keep his composure. 

“Did you enjoy your bath, miss yn? How did you like your dress?” he asked and called in some maids that brought in the food.

“I just felt weird having people watching me bathe, we don't do that in the human realm. And the dress is very gorgeous, thank you” you looked over to your hands as you played with your fingers before looking at him again. “Actually, thank you for everything, you didn't have to do anything. Really”.

“You do not have to thank me for anything, it is my duty as the King to keep the peace between the realms” 

“Nevertheless, thank you for your generosity, as you may have noticed I'm not the most… privileged person in my realm, or any realm really,” you left a light chuckle, “I've never been treated so kindly by anyone, I'll be forever grateful for that” Chan smiled, his eyes closing and you noticed he had the cutest dimples in his cheeks. He seemed really young and well presented for a king, who usually were old and ugly out of stress. At least that's what you've heard and saw out of the human king.

The conversation was cut when the maids started to bring an infinite amount of food, your eyes sparkled with the sight and the smell. You didn't know where to look, there was so much food, much more that you ever saw in your life, more than you've ever seen even produced at the bakery. Chan noticed your excitedness and thought it was the cutest thing he saw. You looked like a child seeing candy for the first time, and you probably were seeing that much food for the first time also.

Everyone waited for the King to lift his hand and give his nod, allowing them to serve their plates. You were still a bit shy so you waited for them to serve themselves first, noticing how much everyone was going to put in their plates. As soon as everyone had their plates full, you grabbed a few things, not wanting to look like a starved person, even though you were, and the growling sound of your stomach snitched you. 

When the first bite touched your tongue it was out for you. You lost the game you were playing against yourself. You started devouring the food, eating it like you haven't eaten in months. The chicken tenders, the mashed potato, the whatever it was that orange sauce you never saw in your life, everything was entering your stomach in a rush, as if they would escape you.

After a while you then noticed pairs of eyes watching you amused, shocked, enchanted even. Just then you realized you were hunched over the table and eating like an animal. You slowly stopped eating and got back to your normal position, wiping your mouth clean with the back of your hand. Minho handed you a napkin while the other left soft amused chuckles. The heat in your cheeks got back, the warmth burning them out of embarrassment. 

“I see you enjoyed our food. I am glad” Chan said between a big smile. You nodded shyly, head instinctively going down, your lap suddenly more interesting. “No need for shyness miss yn, please enjoy as much as you want, we have plenty of it as you can see”. 

The four men got back to their own eating and so did you, this time being more careful with your manners, trying to copy them. 

Chan and his friends spent the whole dinner talking to each other, almost not acknowledging your presence there if it wasn’t for the king’s stolen glances from time to time. He couldn’t take his eyes out of you, you were so concentrated in the food, enjoying it like it was your last meal on Earth. So naturally beautiful without even trying. The green of the dress really did complement your complexion and made you glow. He was hypnotized by you. 

When the dinner and silverware were taken out, the three men said their goodbyes and left the room, leaving you and Chan alone. 

There was a moment of awkward silence before he cleared his throat, calling your attention. 

“How about we take a walk in the garden?” he asked, his dimple shyly appearing.

“I’d love that”.

The sun was shining high yet the weather was enjoyable and warm, a soft and cold breeze would blow from time to time making the trees and flowers dance swiftly around the two of you. The smell of the flowers hugging you in a calming and welcoming manner, making you feel as if you were wrapped in a soft blanket of them. Making you feel like… home.

Chan and you walked side by side in silence, enjoying each other's company. You noticed how he would look around then look back at you for a while then look back at the sight of the breathtaking garden of his castle.

“So… miss yn, do you have someone to go back to?” you looked at him, head tilting to the side, not sure what he meant with his question. “I mean, do you have a family, parents, siblings, perhaps someone special” the last part came out almost sheepishly out of Chan, he was so curious that he couldn't hold himself. He wanted to keep you to himself.

You denied with your head. “My dad died when I was younger and my mom died not long ago and me and my siblings quite don't talk to each other anymore, each one following different paths” you sighed. A moment of silence falling, Chan's heart squinting thinking you were remembering your lover. “And I don't have any one special, I'm just a farm girl, I have nothing to offer, I don't even have where to live” you shied your face away, suddenly ashamed of yourself.

How a homeless loser like you ended in a daydream like this? You felt like you didn't deserve all that. Chan had been nothing but a sweetheart all this time, offering you his place, his magic, his food, his people, his wealth, and what did you offer back? What did you have to offer back? You felt your heart sink down and break in a million pieces. But better break now then after the damage was done.

“I do not think you have nothing to offer” Chan said, stopping his walk so he could look at you properly. 

“I never went to school, so I'm not smart, I’m not delicate or refined like the girls from the human realm, all I can do is bake some bread and pick some fruits” you looked back at him.

“Well, then since you have no one to come back then, why don't you stay here with me some more days and we can prove that you have more to offer than you think?” the king said nonchalant, like he was offering you a glass of water.

You opened and closed your mouth several times but nothing came out, you were at a loss of words. For the first time in your life you didn't have a smart remark or a sassy answer to give. 

“So what do you say, miss yn?”

“I honestly invited you to stay here with me to spend time with me, if I knew that after I taught you how to ride you were going to spend most of your days here, I'd never taught you” he heartily laughed, his hands crossed on top of the door of the stable where you brushed the horsehair with so much care and love. 

You turned over to look at the owner of the voice and smiled widely. 

It was approximately three weeks since you decided to accept Chan's crazy invite. And it was the best thing you ever did. Not only were you living a princess’ life, but you were being taught so many new things by Chan, his employees and friends. You were taught how to read - still working on this one -, taught how to paint, how to play archery, play chess and how to ride the horses. And on top of all that, you were really getting to know Chan, and he was getting to know you. 

“Are you free for a ride today, good sir?” you asked.

“For you? Always” you felt your cheeks heat and just nodded, not knowing how to respond to his flirtatious answers.

A thing you've learned about the king was that he was flirty, and you didn't know if it was just a joke between acquaintances or if he really was flirting. All you knew was that he made you weak in the knees, flirting or not. He had a power over you that you had yet to see something so strong and powerful. Many nights you caught yourself dreaming about him, waking up soaked in sweat and panties drenched. You felt so bad. So dirty. How could you think these things about the man that so kindly took you in? Took care of you? Helped you?

“Ready?” his voice took you out of your trance. 

“Ready”.

You two hopped on the horses and rode down the hills that surrounded the castle, enjoying the view and each other's company. The weather was, as always, breezy and warm, the leaves of the trees making their dance as if accompanied you. You just stopped when you arrived by the river, the horses drinking the crystal water as you decided to rest a little at the shadow of the trees.

“The view here is really beautiful” you said looking to the horizon, admiring all the land below, the little houses from the villages looking like tiny mushrooms.

“Not as you” Chan said, his smirk making its infamous appearance. 

“You should stop doing this, Chan” you said before you could control yourself.

“Doing what?’’

“Flirting”

“Why?” he took a step closer. You didn't retreat.

“Because… Because you make people confused with what you mean” another step.

“Why are you confused?” he licked his lips and looked at your eyes like he was looking right into your soul.

“Be-because you keep flirting and I don't know what you want” he was so close that you could swear that he would be able to hear your heartbeats.

“I thought I was being very open about my intentions” he was then practically glued to you, a few centimeters from your bodies to touch. He leaned to your ear so he could whisper and just his breathing made you shiver. “Can I touch you?” his question caught you a bit off guard but you nodded nonetheless. He circled his arm around your waist and finally pulled you close to his body, glueing you to him. The action ripping a squeal from you. “I hope this makes it very clear”.

He looked down at your lips as if asking for permission, to which you nodded. But when he was leaning to kiss you, the horses started to neigh, announcing the arrival of someone else.

“Sir, I'm sorry to bother, but we have a problem” it was Jeongin, his face was red, almost scared. 

Chan, who had let go of your body quickly with his friend's arrival, instantly was on top of his horse ready to go back to the castle.

The two men left you behind, running fast with their horses. You decided to stay a little more at the clearing by the river. You had packed a few things with you, so you were good for a few hours at least while Chan dealt with his problem. 

The sun was setting when you set your feet back at the castle, ready for a long bath. But when you arrived at your room you found Chan sitting in your bed with the most desolated face you've ever seen these past few days.

“Chan?” you asked and his head turned up, looking at you, a faint smile appearing. “Everything alright? Why are you here?” he lifted himself and hugged you, his nose nuzzling in your neck, smelling your scent, the smell of your skin addicting yet calming to him. 

“I needed you” he hugged you tighter and you returned the hug, hugging his waist.

“I'm here now, sh…” he sighed. “Wanna talk about what happened?” he denied, still buried in your neck. “I know a way I can help you relax” he finally left your neck, puzzled.

You reached for his mouth, leaving a soft peck on his chapped lips. He blinked a few times before grabbing you by your waist and bringing your body close to his, hands flush against your plush skin.

“You cannot do that and expect me to accept just that” you giggled.

His other hand grabbed the nape of your neck and finally brought your face against his, colliding your lips together. He guided the kiss, slow, gentle, the plush lips moving like a melody and its lyrics. Hands dancing a freestyle dance against each other's bodies. Chan asked for permission to deepen the kiss by gently licking your lips, which you gladly permitted. The kiss started to get more urgent, tongues dancing a beautiful tango inside your mouths, sparks flying from your insides.

He started to gently pull you two to the bed. He fell sat when he felt the mattress hit the back of his legs, breaking the kiss. The king looked at you, smile planted on his lips, dimples deep. Your cheeks burning from both the action and shame. He gently caressed your sides until his hands were on your waist, pulling you to his waist. He was always so gentle and careful with you, as if you were gonna break, made of glass. 

Chan helped you straddle his lap, hands wandering your barely covered by the dress legs, the soft skin shivering under his calloused touch. All so soft. All so new to you. 

You grabbed his face between your hands and started to kiss him again, addicted to his taste and his air. He instantly and gladly retributed the kiss, one hand squeezing your thigh, the other bringing you closer to him by your back, holding you by the base of your neck, the grabbing a little tighter there, making you feel tingles all over your body. 

You kept just kissing for a while, enjoying each other's presence, body, touch. But it was when you grinded a little in his lap and left a little whine that he lost his composure. Chan broke the kiss, hugged your waist and turned your bodies over, laying you both in bed, him hovering over you. He fixed your hair and placed a peck on your lips.

“I want to take this further” he nuzzled in your neck, smelling the faint musky smell that was already starting to get out of your pores. He loved that smell. “Will you allow me?” he asked,  muffled by your neck, almost as if he was ashamed to look at your face and you melted at him, his softness. You grabbed his face between your hands again, putting the strands of his longish hair behind his ears and caressing the points of his elf ears, they were so endearing to you.

You deposited a soft kiss on his lips, and smiled, nodding. The smile that left the king's mouth was one of the most beautiful you've ever seen and you wished your brain could take pictures and capture that moment forever. 

Chan kissed you again, this time more urgent, hard, as if you were going to run away at any minute, slip away from his hands like sand. His tongue fought with yours but it always won, dominating and guiding the kiss. Not that you complained, you were loving it, your body responding to every stimulus, heating up fast, tingles running down your skin through your bloodstream. 

He started to slip under your dress, caressing and squeezing your thighs, taking a sigh from you. 

“Can I take your garments off?” you nodded, incredibly hot already.

He started to slowly - too slow for your taste - take the piece of fabric out of your body, leaving you with your chest exposed to him and underwear. Chan admired the sight in front of him, you, sprawled in the bed, half naked, all just for him. He looked at you, eyes already dark and dilated, pleading, and you nodded, grabbing his hands and bringing to your chest. When his fingers felt the soft skin under them he left a deep sigh, his dick growing impossibly hard under his pants. But he needed to be patient, he didn't know your limits and he didn't want to scare you away.

“You are perfect, yn” he whispered, more to himself but you could listen. “I'll take care of you tonight”.

The king lowered himself and kissed your lips quickly, hands still on your boobs. His lips started to go down, to your chin, neck and finally to your chest. He gave a long lick at the valley of them before assaulting the left one. He licked, sucked and grazed his teeth. You were completely lost in the new feelings.  And you couldn't control the whines that left your body, even when you tried to cover your mouth with your hands, embarrassed. 

“Do not hold it, baby, let it all out I want to hear how good I make you feel” the way he spoke to you, his husky voice, the nickname, everything made you even hotter and the tingle between your legs stronger and a loud moan left your lips. Chan left a satisfied smile between sucks and licks.

He kept his assault on your chest for a while, making sure to give both of them enough love but also he could enjoy the little shy whimpers you left. But when he decided he was done, he lowered himself, kissing your tummy until it reached the waistband of your underwear and he removed slowly, excruciatingly slowly. Then you were completely bare in front of him, but you couldn't care less, all you wanted was for him to give what you wanted. And what you wanted was for that fire inside to stop.

Chan looked over at you and the scene was perfection to him: you bare to him, chest raised up with heavy breathing, head thrown back, mouth agape, legs squeezed together trying to get some friction. You were a sight to behold and he was glad you were only his. 

He gently opened your legs, positioning himself in between them, knees on the ground, as if he was about to pray to the most beautiful goddess. He softly and slowly touched your vulva with his index and middle finger and you squirmed, legs trying to close between his broad shoulders. He started to spread your own wetness all around and you couldn't control your own sounds, the feeling was too much, too good, too overwhelming. You grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

“Sh… It is alright, baby, I am here, I will make you feel good, ok? Do you trust me?” you nodded rapidly and let go of his wrists. “Good girl, now I will touch you, ok? Do as much noise as you want, I want to know that you are feeling good” you nodded again and took a deep breath. 

Chan touched you back but this time you were more aware and prepared. His fingers started slow and caressing all the extension of your vulva, spreading the juices and making you more wet than you already were. After a little doing this he concentrated his touch in your clit, making irregular shapes and movements in the little bundle of nerves, making you jolt your hips off of the bed. A louder moan flying off of your lips. He held you down by your tummy and kept his movements, going slow before adding speed. You were so sensitive that these mere movements were making your legs twist and shake. But he wasn't not even close to satisfied. He lowered his fingers to your hole, teasing the entrance a little before entering it with just one first. It was all so overwhelming for you, you felt like you were melting in his hands, a fire burning in your stomach, your legs giving in, you couldn't feel them anymore. You were completely at his mercy and you were loving it. 

He was fucking you with his finger slowly, carefully. His middle finger knuckles deep inside your gummy walls and all he could think was how it would feel around his dick, that was leaking precum pressed inside the confinements of his clothes. The king took his finger out, earning an annoyed moan out of you, making him chuckle before he inserted the finger back together with the index, stretching your walls deliciously. There was pain but it was completely wrapped by pleasure. You couldn't stop moaning and whining, and Chan loved your noises, he wanted to record those so he could listen after. 

The man couldn't hold himself and his promise of making it easier for you to handle and joined his mouth to the party. He wanted to taste you so bad. And he did not regret a single second of it. His mouth ate you like he was a starved man. His lips sucking your clit, licking it, flicking it, making it their own little personal toy. All that while fucking your hole with his fingers. You felt so overwhelmed, heated, your cheeks, your chest, everything burned, but especially your tummy, it felt like it was about to explode at any moment. 

Chan kept fucking and eating you until he felt your walls squeeze his fingers and he felt you tremble entirely, a loud crooked moan leaving your lips and he knew you had came for the first time in the night. He retreated his fingers and mouth from you, earning a whine that made him chuckle, letting you breathe and recover from the orgasm. He laid by your side on the bed, his breathing as erratic as yours. 

After a while recovering, you turned to the side to look at him. “Chan…” you called him, hand going to his chest. “I want… more” he chuckled at your sudden shyness. He turned to his side so he could look better at you, putting a strand of your sweaty hair behind your ear. 

“Can you handle it today?” you nodded, a gleam in your eyes, something he had never seen in anyone before, maybe because he had never been with a human before you. “I swear you will be the death of me, miss yn”.

He rolled on top of you, making you giggle. His smile prodding from his lips, his dimples deep on his cheeks. He kissed your lips slowly, tongue entering your mouth with expertise now, an explorer who already knew the territory. You responded without hesitation, already expecting that kiss. Hoping for it.

You started to try and take his shirt off and he understood what you wanted, separating from you and unbuttoning his shirt and taking it off, making his torso naked in all its glory. His chest chiseled and well sculpted that you couldn't help but bring your hands to feel it under your fingers, the muscles tensing under your curious touch, your short nails grazing from top to bottom, making him shiver and bite his bottom lip. 

“I think you are too dressed up” you said in a burst of confidence, taking a sincere chuckle out of him. 

“I think too, why don't you help me?” you nodded eagerly, lifting from your place on the bed and staying on your knees on the edge of it. Chan lifted from the bed and waited for you to do your job. 

You carefully grabbed the waistband of his jeans and opened his button, slower than he wanted though. When you pulled his dress pants down you almost gagged with the size of the volume in his briefs, for how long was he holding his penis this hard. You finally pulled his underwear down and he hissed from having his member finally free. The thing was rock hard, bouncing a little, in all its glory. It was big, thick, slightly curved upwards. You were so static looking at it that Chan had to break the spell it had on you by lifting your head by your chin and making you look into his dark eyes.

“Like what you see, baby?” you nodded and he kissed you again, hungrily this time, pushing you back to the bed.

He kept kissing you while his hand went to his dick and started to tease you, rubbing his dick to collect your wetness. You whined into the kiss and rubbed yourself into him, wanting more friction. Chan broke the kiss and glued your foreheads, as if he silently asked for permission, for which you nodded. 

Slowly and gently Chan started to invade your hole, just his head entering, the stretch burning from inside out. He was so gentle with you, letting you get used to the feeling of his thick cock inside of you, so different from his fingers. Hurting yet so delicious. 

You gently tapped his arm after a while when you thought you were good to go. He slowly started to move and he could swear your face was the sexiest thing he ever saw. He had barely done nothing and you already had your head thrown back and eyes rolled back. You left a loud moan when he finally put everything in, giving again time for you to get used. He knew that if your walls kept pulsating around him the way they were he wouldn't last long, but he needed to bear it. For you. The moment was all about you. 

You pulled him to lay on top of you, arms hugging him close to your chest, hands playing to the tips of his pointy ears, making him even more sensitive than he already was. “Move” you whispered lowly in his ear, your breath, the sensuality and neediness in your voice making him shiver down his spine despite the droplets of sweat already forming there.

He let go of your embrace to get in a better position to both move and see your face while doing it, he wanted to see it all, he wanted to imprint in his brain the moment he made you his. He finally moved, taking a bit of his dick out before putting it back in slowly. Your mouth opened but not a sound came out. He did it again. And again. Every time taking more of it out before putting it back in. His swaying and rolling. His movements calculated to be both slow and strong. When he felt you were more comfortable he started to move faster and deeper, earning sweet little sounds from you. 

You were basically limp in his arms, surrendered to the moment. He was making you feel so good, all of you was his now, your body , soul and heart. If you thought you had a silly little crush on the king before, now it was more than proved that it was more than a crush. Being able to give yourself fully to someone was something that you never thought you were able to do, and then there you were. 

You felt the burning in the pit of your stomach start to grow again and Chan felt your walls starting to flutter around his member. He was holding himself for a while, wanting to cum with you. He moved one of his hands to your clit, playing with it and it was your end, your second orgasm coming like a non-ending wave washing over you, legs shaking and trembling, eyes rolling back as Chan held you in place and helped you ride it down. 

Before he could overstimulate you, he took his dick off and started stroking it, coming seconds after in your belly, the white spurts painting your complexion. 

He grabbed his shirt and cleaned it from you, discarding the piece of clothing on the ground and laying by your side. He hugged you and brought you to lay your head on his firm chest. 

Both of you stood laid like that for a while, just enjoying each other's presence and listening to each other's labored breathing to calm down. Your fingertips drawing abstract shapes on his chest, his hand caressing your arm while he would eventually leave little kisses on the top of your head.

“I think I cannot let you go back” he finally confessed after a while. You turned to look at him.

“And I think I don't want to go back home” you answered. “I don't even have a home to go back to” you confessed.

“Then it is decided, you will stay here at our realm and become my queen”

“But I'm a human? Won't they be against it?” you lifted yourself a little so you could look at him, crossing your arms in his chest.

“That is a they problem, I am their king and I made my choice” he pinched your nose. “I will cut whosoever head is against us” you laughed at him, giving him a peck on his lips.

“I like you very much Chan” you admitted, going back to lay in his arms.

“I like you very much too, miss yn”.

Masterlist

[sugarlywhispers]

b.katsuki + quirkless!gf gets attacked by villians

☆— fem reader, suggestive -not completely smut but something similar- emotional sexual tension(?) idk, man🙈

☆—a/n; so, in between the new fic that's draining my mind lately lol i have finished this little piece i have had in my draft for A WHILE🤭 i wanted to make it part of the Fuckin' Marry Me Series, however i liked the way it went like this, so i'm not gonna change it. you're free to decide if you want to imagine it in that world tho😉

Bakugou Katsuki is… surprised. Very much so.

He honestly thinks he has never been this surprised before.

There you are, looking tough and proud and brave –so fucking hot if he has anything to say about it. When you shouldn't. 

Don't get him fucking wrong, he does believe that women can be brave and all. Fuck, there are a bunch of Heroes that are women who are fearless and deadly. The prime example of that is Mirko, his third favorite hero after All Might and Jeanist. But if his experience with civilians, mostly women, has taught him something, it’s that they aren’t so… strong, mentally and emotionally, after the incident happens. And this is not him fucking judging, fuck you. This is more statistics. And commonly, women would be ones going through a harsh fucking breakdown if they had gone through what you just did.

Here's what happened.

You and Bakugou had been together for almost a year already and it had been… fucking magical.

Yes, he will fucking describe it like that because, damn, you had shown him how good it feels to be loved and cherished, and fuck, he isn't a fucking coward, he will admit that he is head over heels in love with you. You both had been so enraptured inside a bubble of love, cutesy bullshit and all annoyingly gorgeous pink, that Bakugou really didn't see the big fucking storm coming.

His day began as hectic as any other day at his agency. But it was close to the afternoon, while he was revising a new case outside the city with Deku that he received that phone video call. It was from an unknown number. Normally, he would ignore it. But he accepted it this time, don’t ask him why.

The image that appeared on his phone's screen made him mad –real mad– and completely terrified at the same time.

You were kneeling on a dirty floor, tied up, hands and legs behind your back, tape over your mouth. You looked angry, with tears streaming down your face and sweaty. That infuriated Katsuki even more.

"If you want her back, you know what to do Dynamight," a fucking distorted voice said before ending the call.

It didn't take much for him and Deku to find the fucking bastards, hiding in an old abandoned factory not so far from the city. To summarize it, they were stupid brats beginning their careers as villains, now, of course, continuing it in jail. Dynamight had captured others from the same group when they attacked a technology corporation, so they wanted their stupid little friends free. That's why they kidnapped you.

The biggest fucking mistake they could ever have done.

After that, while you were being treated by the nursing team, Dynamight and Deku were watching the camera records around the place and at the entrance of the factory, and they were… impressed. They were watching how you gave them hell in trying to make you cooperate and enter the factory. You were kicking, screaming, scratching, insulting them with a colorful language that not even Katsuki knew you were able to speak. Even though you were Quirkless, damn, you did give them a fight. It was even clearer when you kicked one of them in the balls so hard that both heroes heard the painful kick.

Fucking ouch!

So, back to the present, he is very surprised as he looks at you entering the apartment with your head held high. Not one tear, no breakdown, no fear in your eyes. Just annoyance. You still sigh because it's been a hell of a tiring day.

"Do you… Do you need my help to…" He can't finish the sentence. What he means is if you need help to bathe or shower. You said on the car ride back home that you were going to get one as soon as you crossed the entrance door to the apartment.

It's not like he hasn't seen you naked already, you have had lots of fun already together, but he knows that during these events people tend to prefer privacy. Isolation even. But when he asked you in the car if you needed to be alone, you said you wanted him to stay with you. 

So he is gonna stay the night… and all nights you ask of him.

"I'm fine, Katsuki," you smile, so bright and so cute it's a harsh contrast to how messed up you look with your hair tangled, some cuts over your face, and some parts of your clothes torn.

It hurts his heart seeing you like this. A constant pressure over his chest he can't soothe away, no matter how many times he repeats in his head that you are safe.

He looks down at his hands as he says, "I'm sorry."

"What for?" You chuckle gently as you walk closer to him and grab one of his hands, fingers interlacing with his. "If I remember correctly, you saved me."

He exhales a small sarcastic snort through his nose, "The reason they fuckin’ got you in the first place was because of me."

You shake your head, still smiling and looking at him like he's the most perfect man on earth, which Katsuki knows he isn't.

You're looking into each other's eyes when you say, "You think I didn't know what I was getting myself into when I accepted that first date?"

Bakugou Katsuki is out of words. He doesn't know how to answer back, because the only thing he wants to do is kiss you so strongly it might hurt you. Hug you so strongly that it may combine both bodies into one. So he stays still, holding back his need for you, while you stand on your tiptoes and kiss his cheek before walking towards the bathroom. He takes a deep breath. Fuck. He loves you so fucking much its driving him insane.

He was going to talk to you, to make you see how dangerous it actually was to be with him. He was going to convince you to break up, for your safety. Fuck! If he had been two minutes late today, he doesn't want to think of what could have happened.

But he can’t. Bakugou Katsuki is such a selfish bastard that he can’t tell you to break up with him. He wants you. He needs you. Katsuki fucking loves you so much he can’t breathe without you. So he won’t.

Katsuki shuts his eyes.

This never should have happened. He should’ve seen it coming, yet he didn’t, and that scares him to death.

The thought of losing you makes his chest ache like it’s splitting open. 

So he makes a silent vow, a determined promise: Never again.

He’ll train harder. Watch closer. Be better. Protect you from everything and everyone.

No matter what it costs him, he’ll keep you safe.

Because you’re his entire world. Because he loves you with every fiber of his being, and he’s never giving up on you. Not to fear. Not to fate. Not to anyone.

He is so concentrated stirring the soup in the oven a couple of hours later, he doesn't hear you when you enter the kitchen. He realizes you're there when he sees you jump to sit over the counter through the peripheral vision of his eyes.

"That smells good," you comment, a soft and delicate curve of your mouth in the form of a smile that makes him go weak on the knees for you, as you move back and forth with your little bare feet. You're so freaking cute he wants to bite you.

He smirks when he finally sees how you're dressed. It's one of his t-shirts that are so big on you it functions more as a dress. He wonders if there's something else underneath. Or not. This last idea makes him hungry, and not specifically for food.

That's also when he notices the purple and reddish marks on the inside of your thighs and along your legs. He feels his blood boil like the soup he's done cooking. He should have killed those bastards.

Katsuki takes a deep breath before turning off the oven and walking til he's standing between your open legs. Your eyebrows are up, kind of surprised by the sudden proximity, but it is not unwelcome.

He doesn't say anything as he starts to drop down to the floor until he's kneeling, eyes still locked on yours. His mouth then starts a slow and gentle path from your shin, pecking your skin as he ascends to the inner side of your knee, coincidentally kissing around each mark this dreadful day has left on you. Always softly, doing his best in never putting too much pressure to make it hurt again, but enough for you to understand that he is sorry you got each and every one of them.

Your breathing quickens, eyes never leaving his face. A face that shows how concentrated he is now in his task, with his eyes closed as his mouth climbs towards your inner thighs. A small noise, almost like a breathed moan, leaves your mouth when his tongue touches your skin.

His breath brushes against your skin, warm and reverent, and the sound of it nearly undoes you. His hands, calloused but careful, anchor themselves at your hips as his lips reach the tender flesh of your inner thigh. There’s a tremble in his touch, but not from hesitation. You recognize it immediately. It’s restraint. Every part of him is tensed, like he is being extremely conscious of every move of his. You know then, he doesn’t want to scare you away, and that thought warms your heart.

“Katsuki…” Your voice is a breath, half plea, half warning, but he just shakes his head against you.

“I know, Firefly,” he murmurs, the rumble of his voice caresses your skin, softened by guilt and affection. “I know you’re hurt. I’m not gonna push. But let me take care of you, please…”

Bakugou Katsuki never begs. But he does. For you, only for you.

He leans in again kissing the spot just above the last bruise, and then another, slow and deliberate, as if he’s memorizing every mark this day has etched into your body. Every kiss is an apology, every breath he draws is laced with the fury he holds back. Not at you, never at you. But at the world that dared touch you like this.

You reach for him, threading your fingers through his messy hair, grounding both of you. He exhales, a low sound that vibrates against your thigh, as his eyes close for a moment. Enjoying your touch. Like your touch is all he needs to survive.

When he finally looks up, red eyes meeting yours, the heat there is unmistakable. But so is the tenderness, the love that rarely expresses out loud, yet it’s unquestionable that he feels for you.

“You tell me when to stop,” he says, voice thick. “I’ll go slow. I’ll stop. I’ll just hold you. Whatever you need me to. But I need to show you… Need you to feel it. That you’re still here, that I’ve got you.”

And with that, he travels back up your body, peppering kisses along the way until he’s hovering over you, foreheads touching, breath mingling. His hand cradles your cheek, thumb brushing gently beneath your eye, and for a long moment, all he does is look at you. Eyes so focused on you, you can feel the burn, but his body still.

“Let me make you feel safe again, Firefly…”

[whispersleo]

The joyous wyvern - the free book

You can find it in this drive folder!

Hello! Today I’m very excited to finally share this final project in my editorial design specialization: a children’s storybook album, inspired by the dialogue in The Wake written by Mary Kirby, where Illario talks about the time he went with Lucanis to hunt wyverns as children. I must mention that I took the liberty of introducing my own headcanon about their ages, with Illario being the oldest, because Lucanis strikes me as having a very clear "younger brother" behavior.

For this project, I’ve poured blood, sweat, and tears into it. I ended up doing absolutely everything myself when my classmate, who was supposed to help me with the layout for her part of the team project, just decided not to, but I feel content enough with the result to share it. Originally in Spanish, I translated and edited it into English so more people can enjoy it!

There’s a lot I’d like to say, I’ll be posting some sketches, the development process, the designs, and my usual notes [here], and I can answer any questions you might have about the project in the editorial area (or anything else about the project really), but for this post in particular, I just want to give you full, free access to this illustrated book and thank you because this has been on my mind and occupying my time for the last six months.

First, thank you to everyone in this amazing fandom who has supported my creative projects, whether by leaving kudos on AO3, liking my posts here on Tumblr, leaving comments, sending messages, or any form of support! You motivate me to create every day, make me feel welcome, and it’s so nice to be here.

Thanks to @woundedsoul12 for being the first person to welcome me to the fandom, read my works, and be vocal with me about it! In the beginning, I was so afraid of writing again, of making mistakes in some way, and I was very shy about showing what I was doing, but thanks to you, I’ve been able to gain confidence. Without your support, I don’t think I would have decided to keep creating for this fandom. You’ve allowed people to get to know me and have been incredibly kind about me and my work. I owe you so many thanks, I hope you never change, you’re an amazing person!

Thanks to @theheartmold for getting me interested in Illario as a character. Without your posts sharing your interest in the character, your analysis, and your overall enthusiasm, I honestly wouldn’t have been interested in reading Tevinter Nights or The Wake. After two playthroughs in the game, you made me decide to sit down and see that Illario had MUCH more to offer than his tragic portrayal in Veilguard. Maybe I don’t interact much with you, but I definitely wanted to let you know that without your posts, this illustrated story and in general, my content about Illario Dellamorte wouldn’t exist. You introduced me to my new favorite character, thank you so much!

And again, thanks to EVERYONE who has ever interacted with my work and with me as a person! Who has liked my art, fanfics, whatever! I hope you can now enjoy having this book that I give you with so much, so much happiness and love!

[cheftsunoda]

secrets are no fun (unless shared with everyone)

part six

extremely wordy

lewis hamilton x !sister reader

max verstappen x hamilton reader

part one here

part two here

part three here

part four here

part five here

ayana hamilton, the younger sister of seven-time world champion lewis hamilton, has seemingly achieved everything she could ever desire— a successful career as a music producer and artist, been all around the world, has a supportive family and a loving husband—however, that’s a secret that no one, not even her brother, knows about—her husband is also an f1 driver. lewis has always made it his mission to prevent ayana from dating a driver— but is it technically considered dating if they are married? ;)

fc : tyla

—

It started with my phone vibrating violently on the marble kitchen counter.

Three missed calls from Solana.

One from my publicist.

And a text from Carmen that just read

'Babe- don't look online just yet.'

So, naturally, I did.

I opened Instagram and saw it.

A blurry, long-lens photo of me and Max, not a tabloid rumor or a gossip item this time, but undeniable proof. Me tucked into his chest on a balcony in St. Barts. A kiss at the corner of my jaw. His hand across my belly. The caption didn’t need to say much.

EXCLUSIVE: Max Verstappen’s Secret Wife and Their Baby on the Way — Close Source Confirms It’s Lewis Hamilton’s Sister-- Ayana Hamilton.

Underneath, the watermark: Provided by Jos Verstappen.

My knees buckled. Literally. I had to sit down.

I stared at the screen, heart thudding, the walls of the apartment suddenly feeling like they were pressing in.

Max’s footsteps came from the hallway a second later. “I just got off the sim—what happened?”

I didn’t say anything. I just turned the screen toward him.

His eyes scanned the headline. His jaw locked so tight it looked like it hurt.

He didn’t say “What the fuck?” or “How did they get this?” or even “Are you okay?”

He stood still.

Too still.

He mumbled.

“He crossed the line.”

I’d seen Max angry before. At races, at strategy decisions, in traffic.

But this was different. Quiet. Controlled. Dangerous.

He pulled out his phone, thumb moving fast over the screen.

I stood slowly. “Max. Don’t call him when you’re this mad.”

“I’m not mad,” he said evenly. “I’m done.”

He pressed the call button.

I could hear it ring through the speaker. Once. Twice.

“Max,” Jos answered, tone neutral, like he didn’t just nuke our privacy.

“How could you,” Max said, calm but sharp. “How could you do that to her? To us?”

There was a pause. “You weren’t being honest. I had a right to—”

“You had no right,” Max cut in, voice rising. “You sold your son’s life to a gossip rag for what? Control? To punish me for not dragging Ayana through a public circus like you dragged my mom? Like you dragged me?”

My throat tightened.

“You think leaking our private life would scare her off? Embarrass her?” Max’s voice broke a little. “She’s stronger than you’ll ever understand.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. And then—

“You’re making a mistake.”

“No,” Max said. “I’m protecting my family. And that means keeping them far from you.”

He hung up. Just like that.

He turned toward me, eyes burning — not with rage now, but with something that cracked my heart open.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should’ve cut him out months ago. I thought maybe if we stayed quiet, he'd stay out of it. I was wrong.”

I crossed the space between us and buried myself in his chest. “This isn’t your fault.”

He held me tighter than ever. Then we heard the door. Lewis walked in like a storm — sunglasses still on, hoodie pulled low, phone in his hand. He didn’t say hello. Just marched straight into the kitchen, laid the phone face down, and looked between us.

“He really did it,” he said.

Max nodded once. I watched Lewis carefully. There was something unreadable in his eyes, some quiet calculation. But instead of saying “I told you so,” or unloading his own fury, Lewis stepped forward and looked Max square in the face.

“You’re not walking away from her, right?”

Max blinked. “What? No.”

“She’s pregnant. And I know the last twenty-four hours just exploded, but if you’re in this for real, Max…” Lewis paused. “Then I need to know you’ll fight for her harder than anyone.”

Max didn’t hesitate. “I’d give everything for her. You already know that.”

Lewis looked at me, then back at Max. And finally, finally, he nodded. Not a small one. A full, deliberate tilt — the kind of unspoken approval that meant more than words ever could. Then he pulled me into his chest, and I nearly cried.

“You’re not alone in this, Ayana,” he whispered. “Whatever happens next, I’m here. You’ve got me. And you’ve got him.”

He looked at Max again.

“Just don’t make me regret it.”

Max reached across and gripped Lewis’s hand.

“I won’t. I swear to you."

And in that room, beneath the storm of headlines and betrayal, we found something stronger. Family. Chosen and blood. United. And ready to face whatever came next.

—

It was late — that heavy kind of late where the city outside the windows had gone quiet, and the only sounds inside were the occasional soft clink of a mug or the rustle of fabric as someone shifted on the couch.

I was curled up in my favorite oversized cardigan, knees tucked to my chest, a mug of peppermint tea going cold in my hands. Max sat close beside me, one arm draped across the back of the couch like it belonged there. Solana was perched on the edge of the coffee table, in leggings and a hoodie, eyes wide and thoughtful. Lewis leaned against the kitchen island with his arms crossed, quiet but present. My phone sat on the coffee table. Still open to the email from Vogue.

‘We’d love to offer Ayana a full cover profile. Her story, in her words. No restrictions. Print and digital. Let us help her take back the narrative.’

It had been sitting there for two days. But now… it was time.

“I think I want to do it,” I said softly, voice steady even though my chest felt like it was caving in a little.

Solana was the first to react — her hand shot up immediately. “YES. Finally. It’s time the world hears your version, not Jos’ nasty leak or the tabloids stitching together guesses.”

Lewis’ eyes didn’t move from me. “You sure?”

I nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it nonstop. Every time I see another headline or some tweet with ten thousand likes from someone who thinks they know me… it just—” I sighed. “It’s exhausting. And now that I’m… carrying this baby, it feels bigger than just me. I want to own the story before it owns me.”

Max reached for my hand, threading his fingers through mine. “I’ll support you no matter what you decide. But if you do this, I want it to be on your terms. No filters. No fake narratives.”

I squeezed his hand. “Exactly. I don’t want to hide anymore. I want to talk about the music, the marriage, the baby. And I want to talk about what it means to love someone in this world who people think I should never have been with.”

Solana let out a soft “mmm” like she was already planning the visuals. “You in a sheer custom gown with your belly barely showing, candles everywhere, soft lighting… You and Max holding hands in one shot, but the focus is on you. Centered. Empowered.”

Lewis finally moved, walking toward us with the kind of calm that always meant he’d been processing something deeply.

“If you do this…” he started, then looked at me with that older-brother stare that never softened, “you need to be ready for every reaction. Good, bad, cruel. Once it’s out there, it’s out there. No take-backs.”

“I know,” I said.

“I’ll stand behind you no matter what,” he said. “But just remember: the world will try to define you the second you give them something to hold.”

I looked at him, at Solana, at Max — at the family I had built and fought for and bled with.

“They’ve already tried,” I said. “But this time? I get to speak.”

Max kissed the back of my hand. “You were born for this.”

Solana reached for her phone like she was already texting a stylist. “We’re manifesting an iconic shoot. Pregnancy power. Music royalty. Married to a four-time world champion? Oh, the girls are going to SCREAM.” I laughed for the first time all night.

The story wasn’t breaking — I was telling it.

—

ayanaaa

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ayanaaa : gettin lost in u

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—

We left before sunrise, the city still asleep beneath the soft amber haze of streetlamps and mist. Max didn’t say much — he just tossed our bags into the back of the convertible, handed me a decaf coffee, and drove.

He always knew when I needed silence more than reassurance. And right now, I didn’t want words. I just wanted air. Stillness. Something that didn’t ask me to explain myself or perform or brace for impact.

We drove for hours along the coast, the ocean to our right turning bluer with every mile, cliffs and wildflower-covered hills rolling past us like scenes from a movie I didn’t want to end. My curls whipped around my face, my hand trailing out the window, catching the breeze like I could bottle it for later.

By the time we pulled into the tucked-away little cove, the sun was high and warm. It was hidden between rocky cliffs and overgrown brush, no signs, no luxury yachts — just sand and water and a peace I hadn’t felt in weeks.

“This used to be my hideout,” Max said, killing the engine. “Before F1 got loud. Before the world started watching.”

I turned to him, raising a brow. “And now you’re sharing it with me?”

He shrugged, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You are the world I want to disappear with.”

God, this man.

We kicked off our shoes and walked barefoot down the winding path, bags slung over our shoulders, silence stretching golden between us. The sand was soft and pale, the waves calm and endless, glittering in the sun like someone had poured champagne over the horizon.

Max laid out a blanket and sank onto it, legs stretched, arms propped behind him. I joined him a beat later, leaning back against his chest, his arms wrapping instinctively around my middle. My hands rested over his, just above the place where a new life had quietly started to grow.

It was still surreal sometimes.

Not just the baby but the fact that we’d managed to hold onto this… us.

“I keep thinking about the Vogue interview,” I murmured after a while, watching the clouds drift lazily above us. “How much I should say. How much I want to say.”

Max didn’t respond right away. He just rubbed small, slow circles into the side of my arm, like he was tracing thoughts into my skin before speaking them aloud.

“You don’t owe anyone your full story,” he said softly. “But if it helps you to tell it, if it gives you power back — then do it. But only if it’s for you. Not for the headlines. Not for their forgiveness.”

I turned in his arms, resting my chin on his chest so I could look at him. “A part of me is tired of hiding. I want to say it. All of it. The love, the fear, the mess, the joy. I want them to know it didn’t just happen to me — I chose it.”

He smiled gently. “Then say it. Loudly. Clearly. And know I’ll be right there when you do.”

Later, we walked along the shoreline, waves crashing around our ankles. I let my skirt get soaked, laughing as it clung to my legs, and Max reached for my hand, swinging it playfully between us.

We found a tide pool full of tiny, glinting shells. I crouched down to inspect one, and Max watched me like I was the most fascinating thing in the world — not anyone’s sister or secret. Just… me.

That night, after the sun slipped beneath the horizon and painted the sky in rose and indigo, we lay tangled on the blanket under a thousand stars. No noise. No cameras. Just the ocean breathing steady in the dark and the feel of Max’s heartbeat under my cheek.

“Whatever happens next,” I whispered, “don’t let me forget this. How quiet the world can be. How simple.”

He kissed the top of my head, his hand on my stomach. “This is ours, Ayana. The noise can’t take it.”

—

I woke up before the sun, my body buzzing with nerves long before my feet hit the floor.

Today wasn’t just another shoot. It wasn’t another press obligation or fashion moment or music roll-out. This was it — the day I stopped letting the headlines speak for me. The day I chose to show up in every form I’ve ever been: wife, sister, daughter, artist… and now, quietly, a mother-to-be.

The Vogue team had taken over a private estate in the hills above Cannes — stone walls wrapped in ivy, gardens blooming in wild disobedience, glass-walled rooms washed in soft morning light. The kind of place where stories were meant to be told.

I was already in the makeup chair when Lewis arrived. He slipped through the door in sunglasses and a navy hoodie, greeting the crew with quiet smiles, then came to stand behind me. He didn’t say anything for a while — just looked at me in the mirror.

“You ready?” he asked, voice low.

I looked back at my reflection — skin glowing, curls pinned in soft loops, my cheekbones a little sharper than usual, but my eyes steady.

“I think I’ve never been more ready for anything,” I said, and meant it.

He smiled then — proud, soft. “Let’s make them listen.”

His eyes darted down to my exposed stomach and I watched as his smile grew.

"You're showing." He said and on instinct I reached for my growing bump.

"I guess I am." I said with a small smile.

Solana arrived next, wrapped in a cherry-red trench and a silk headscarf. She immediately took over a corner of the dressing room, talking to the stylist about fabric and lighting and “emotional texture.” Leave it to her to make vibes a tangible art direction.

Then Max.

He slipped in without fanfare, dressed down in a soft sweater and jeans, hair still slightly wet from his morning shower. He caught my eyes from across the room and gave me a look — gentle, grounding, full of the quiet pride only he ever gave me. Just because I was his.

The shoot began with wide garden shots — the kind of romantic, painterly scenes Vogue loved. The gown they put me in was custom: sheer and golden, made of layered silk and hand-sewn crystals that caught the light with every movement. It wasn’t maternity-wear, not exactly.

I stood barefoot in the grass as the photographer adjusted his lens. I could feel Lewis watching me from just off-frame, arms crossed, head tilted. Solana had climbed up onto a stone bench and was directing angles like she was running the set herself. Max stayed back, just behind the cameras, hands in his pockets, eyes never leaving me.

“This is your power pose,” the photographer called. “You’re not looking at us. We’re just lucky to be here.”

I turned my face toward the sun. I let the wind take my dress, the light bathe my skin. And for a moment — I didn’t think about the headlines, the leaked stories, the judgment. I thought about the baby. About Max’s hand on my belly the night before. About my music, my future, my truth. This was my moment. Not stolen. Not handed to me. Claimed.

The interview came later, indoors, where the estate’s library had been transformed into a soft-lit studio with velvet chairs and cameras hidden behind warm lamp glow. The writer, a soft-spoken woman with kind eyes, let me speak freely.

“First of all,” she began, voice warm, “thank you for doing this. We know it’s a rare thing for you to sit down in front of the camera.”

I smiled. “It’s a rare thing for me to stop moving.”

We both laughed, and then she gently leaned in, recorder balanced on her knee.

“Let’s start here,” She said. “You’ve been a successful producer and artist for nearly 6 years. But most of the world only recently started calling you by name. Was that by choice?”

I nodded. “Absolutely. I love being behind the curtain. I always have. When your brother is Lewis Hamilton, you learn early what public life takes from you. I didn’t want the spotlight — I just wanted the music.”

“But now the spotlight is very much on you,” she said. “Is it uncomfortable?”

I thought for a moment. “Sometimes. But I think what’s shifted is... I’m choosing it. And that makes all the difference.”

She flipped a page in her notebook. “Let’s talk about the headlines. The ones about Max. The secret relationship. The secret marriage. And now... a baby on the way.”

My heart fluttered, but I didn’t flinch. Not anymore.

“Yes,” I said simply. “All of that is true.”

“How did it start?”

I smiled to myself, glancing down. “It started quietly. We met at an event in Monaco, and I don’t know what I expected, but... he was calm. Gentle. A little intense, but in a way that felt safe. He didn’t care who my brother was. Or what I did. He just asked me what I loved. And then listened.”

She tilted her head. “When did you know it was real?”

I looked toward the window for a moment, the memory still soft and gold in my mind. “After a long studio session, I was exhausted and stressed, and he just sat on the floor beside me while I mixed a track. Didn’t talk. Just sat there, doing nothing, like being next to me was enough. I think that’s when I knew.”

She smiled. “And marriage? That was in Vegas?”

I laughed lightly. “Yes. After the Grand Prix. It was impulsive, but it didn’t feel reckless. It felt... like we were finally doing something for us. Not the press. Not the teams. Not the families. Just us.”

She hesitated, then asked gently, “Were you scared to tell Lewis?”

I nodded. “More than anything. He’s my best friend. My anchor. And I knew how the optics would look from the outside — Max and Lewis haven’t always been easy to put in the same sentence. But Lewis loves me more than he hates the drama. And he saw the way Max treats me. That was enough.”

A pause between us.

“And Jos?”

I shifted slightly. “I won’t speak much on that. I’ll just say this: not everyone has the emotional capacity to understand a love that doesn’t benefit them. Max has made his choice, and it’s not conditional.”

“Was the pregnancy planned?”

I exhaled, a smile tugging at my lips. “No. But it’s the best surprise I’ve ever received.”

She waited a beat. “And now? What are you most afraid of?”

I blinked at the question. I wasn’t expecting it. But I didn’t shy away.

“Losing myself. Or more honestly — being misrepresented. I’m not some dramatic headline or backroom scandal. I’m a woman in a powerful position, who dared to love someone unexpected, dared to protect that love, and dared to build a life on her own terms. I just don’t want to be flattened.”

“And what are you most proud of?” she asked.

I didn’t even need to think.

“That I kept choosing love. Even when it was hard. Even when it cost me quiet. Even when it wasn’t ‘smart.’ I kept choosing it. And it kept choosing me back.”

Silence followed. Not awkward, but reverent. Like the moment deserved room to echo.

Then she smiled.

“I think the world’s about to meet the real Ayana Hamilton.”

I smiled back, hand drifting gently to my stomach.

“About time.”

—

After the interview, the crew drifted out, the photographer hugging me goodbye, the writer thanking me for my honesty. But I barely heard them. My head was spinning—not with panic, but with clarity. I turned to find Lewis, Max, and Solana waiting across the room. My people.

Lewis stepped forward first. He opened his arms without a word and wrapped me in a hug so fierce and silent I felt tears sting the back of my throat again.

“I’m proud of you,” he whispered against my hair. “That was everything.”

Solana pulled me into her arms so tight. “My best friend is Vogue cover material and carrying F1 royalty. I’m sorry, is anyone else doing it like you? I’ll wait.”

She made me chuckle and pressed a kiss lightly to my cheek and twirling me towards Max. He didn’t say much. He just came up behind me, pressed his hand gently to my back, and kissed the top of my head.

“You did it, liefde,” he whispered. “And the world heard you.”

And for the first time since everything exploded — the marriage, the baby, the leaks — I felt… calm. No more hiding. No more waiting to be found out. This was the beginning of the story we were finally writing ourselves.

—

By sunrise, the world knew. The Vogue piece had gone live at midnight sharp. The images, sun-drenched, golden, untouchably soft, flooded every feed. My name, my words, my story. Not speculation. Not rumor. Me. It was everywhere.

On my phone screen, the notifications blurred into a constant vibration. Mentions. Shares. Headlines.

Ayana Hamilton Steps into Her Power.

Secret Wife. Soon-to-Be Mother. Producer Royalty.

I wasn’t hiding anymore. And it seemed… people didn’t want me to. Some posts praised the quiet strength in my words. Others dissected every quote about Max, every emotion on my face, every layered meaning behind lines that had taken me months to live and minutes to say. Most were kind. Some weren’t. But I’d made peace with that.

Lewis sent me a text first.

'You did what only you could do. You told the truth and made it art. Proud of you always. Love you more than words, A.'

Solana called after sunrise, yelling joyfully down the line while her assistant shouted about streaming numbers for the album.

“Girl, you shut the internet DOWN. Like… Vogue.com CRASHED. You made history and looked fine doing it.”

But I didn’t feel chaotic or overwhelmed. I felt… still. The kind of quiet you get when the storm finally passes and you realize you’re still standing. And then I turned — and saw Max in the doorway of our bedroom, barefoot, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, holding a mug of coffee in one hand and his phone in the other.

“Morning,” I said softly.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just crossed the room slowly, set the tea on the nightstand, and knelt beside the bed. He placed the phone down and took my hand.

“I read it twice,” he said quietly. “Then again out loud.”

“Too much?”

He shook his head, eyes on mine. “It was perfect. You were perfect.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “People are going to have opinions.”

“Let them,” he said without hesitation. “They don’t get to define you. They never did.”

I studied his face — the quiet tension in his jaw, the pride that softened it, the subtle emotion that clouded his eyes.

“You’re crying,” I whispered.

“No,” he said, with the smallest, sheepish smile. “I’m just sweating. From my… eyes.”

I laughed, and he leaned forward, resting his head against my stomach. His palm followed, splayed gently over the small swell.

“You told the world,” he murmured, lips brushing the fabric of my shirt. “And you didn’t hide me.”

“I never wanted to,” I said softly, threading my fingers into his hair. “But I wanted it to be ours first.”

He looked up at me. “Thank you for letting me be yours. Even when I didn’t deserve it. Even when it got hard.”

I smiled, eyes full. “You always deserved it. We just had to fight for it.”

And then, with the world still spinning loud outside, articles updating by the minute, paparazzi likely camped outside the gates — we stayed there. In the center of our chaos. In the quiet.

—

maxverstappen1 started following ayanaaa.

ayanaaa started following maxverstappen1.

—

ayanaaa and vogue

liked by maxverstappen1, lewishamilton, sza and 14,975,467 others.

ayanaaa : the whole story told my way—thank you @/vogue.

maxverstappen1 : The love of my life. I am so fucking proud of you. You will be the best most beautiful mother on the planet. I love you now and forever.

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lewishamilton : The proudest big brother and future uncle there ever was. Much love for you, Max and the little munchkin.

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danielricciardo : I knew before any of you !!!! but seriously so happy for you both and so excited to be an uncle:)

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username : oh my maxiel heart

sza : actually i knew firsttttt

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lando : oscar owes me 50 buckssss

oscarpiastri : for what??? minding my own business, not snooping and waiting for them to tell me on their own terms?? scuse me.

liked by author and maxverstappen1

oscarpiastri : Huge Congrats to you both!

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lando : YAY BABY VERSTAPPEN-HAMILTON!! hopefully i am retired from the track by the time they make it to f1

liked by author and maxverstappen1

username : this baby is part hamilton, part verstappen- everybody is cooked.

sza : my beautiful angel—i am beyond happy to be on this journey with you. you are already the best wife and i know you will be the best mommy! so excited to be an auntie. love you guys!

liked by author and maxverstappen1

kaliuchis : Congrats on motherhood beautiful!! Much love

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victoriaverstappen : so so excited!! best sister in law ever.

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yukitsunoda0511 : Congratulations Big Daddy!! and Ayana:)))))

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username5 : YUKI

username14 : the fact that she would date and MARRY her brothers rival in secret for so long just does not rub me well

lewishamilton : Good thing she is not your sister and it isn't your life! Leave please.

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redbullracing : Congratulations to you both!!

liked by author and maxverstappen1

scuderiaferrari : Congratulations!! Working on tiny newborn merch rn.

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ayanaaa : not so sure big daddy will like that

liked by maxverstappen1, yukitsunoda0511 and redbullracing

maxverstappen1 : big daddy sounds a lot better coming from you than yuki

liked by author and yukitsunoda0511

yukitsunoda0511 : :(((((((((

maxverstappen1 : and baby will support their uncle and their dad

liked by author and lewishamilton

alexandrasaintmleux : you look so stunning—we all started planning the baby shower already!!

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charles_leclerc : Congratulations to Mama, Papa and Uncle Lewis!

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—

p6 complete:) next part will be the finaleeee

hope you guys have enjoyed and leave me ideas for next series:)

tag : @klauslovemepls, @omgsuperstarg @msliz @samanthaofanarchy , @mayax2o07 @goldenstrawberryx , @hannahmotors10 @alireads27 , @1800-love-me , @htpssgavi @cmgmikealson , @babygirl-4986 , @star73807-blog , @glow-ish , @just-tingz-virgo , @majapapaya4@lina505 , @hc-dutch , @lost4lyrics , @angelluv16 @dilflover44

[setaretjd]

In His Arms, Until Down (Sukuna X Reader)

In the past, the King of Curses and his former lover—back when Sukuna was human. A sorrowful, romantic tale.

English isn't my first language, so sorry if there are any mistakes!

Kneeling before him, blood dripping down your face, his expression twisted into pure disgust.  

*"What are you doing here?"* Sukuna spat.  

You stared at the monster before you, the scent of the man you once loved still lingering—but he looked nothing like him anymore.  

Desperation cracked through your voice.  

*"Please… don’t tell me this isn’t you."*  

His fists clenched as he glared at you in fury.  

You were the only fragment of his humanity that remained—the girl with **(your hair color)**, who once hid behind the rocks just to spy on him when he bathed.  

The one he called family, the woman he wanted to marry—the one he'd run from the fields every day to meet on that hill at sunset.  

The one who made rice balls for him, who let him rest in her lap as he ate them.  

But now, you stood before him drenched in blood, hoping the man before you was still the lover you once knew.  

Coldly, Sukuna turned to Uraume.  

*"Get her out of here."*  

You screamed.  

*"I’m going to die!"*  

His gaze snapped back to you, confusion flickering across his face.  

Breathless, you continued.  

*"The doctor told me—I don’t have much time left. I’m dying from tuberculosis."*  

Wild-eyed, you gasped for air. For the first time, Sukuna truly focused on you.  

He grasped your chin with long, sharp fingers.  

*"Explain."*  

You swallowed hard before speaking.  

*"After you disappeared, everything fell apart. They said you were dead. My family's wealth burned away with my illness. They wanted to force me into marriage but—"*  

You coughed violently, blood staining your lips. Sukuna could barely stand the sight of it—the way his body still felt weak before you infuriated him.  

Gripping his kimono, you pleaded,  

*"But I killed him! The man they tried to make me marry. I threw away everything—wealth, security—because all I ever wanted was you. It was foolish, but I wanted to believe that old man’s words—that you were still alive."*  

Looking into his eyes, you screamed,  

*"So don’t you dare tell me this isn’t you, Sukuna! You can't treat me like this—not when we’ve loved each other since childhood."*  

Sukuna pulled his kimono free from your grasp and stepped toward his temple.  

*"Give her a room,"* he ordered Uraume.  

*"Watch over her."*  

As Uraume caught you before you collapsed, Sukuna simply stood there, staring.  

He had watched from a distance for years—seen the news of your impending marriage, the sudden death of your parents, the tears you shed when you heard of his supposed demise.  

But your illness—your looming death? He hadn’t known.  

And he refused to accept it.  

He didn’t understand why, but something inside him decided—he would make you a curse.  

Even if, in the end, he had to kill you himself, he wouldn’t allow you to die like this.  

You were the only memory of his past life that remained.  

You were probably the most beautiful part of it.  

Every night, after you fell asleep, he would visit—watching over you until dawn.  

He hated it, but his body moved against his will. His hand would reach for yours, and despite the disgust clawing at his soul, he would press his lips to yours.  

And the more he did, the more he wanted you.  

The scent of your hair intoxicated him—even more now than when he had been just a foolish, greedy young man.  

You were the only one who had ever made that monstrous, four-eyed creature feel both agony and joy.  

But then the inevitable came.  

Even through the walls, Sukuna could hear your blood-choked coughs.  

As Uraume laid you down, trying to help, Sukuna entered the room and commanded,  

*"Leave us."*  

He sat beside you, his massive hands lifting you gently into his arms.  

You sobbed, trembling.  

*"No… please, no. I know what you’re about to do—but please, don’t."*  

He didn’t care.  

His finger brushed against your forehead, ready to imprison you forever within this world.  

But through your tears, you grasped his hand weakly.  

*"If there’s even the smallest part of you that still loves me, don’t do this, Sukuna. You know this isn’t what I want."*  

For the first time, Sukuna’s voice cracked into a near-shout.  

*"And what about me? Do you think I’d just let you go? Just like that?"*  

Gently, you cupped his face, smiling despite the pain.  

*"Sukuna, just this once, I wanted to be selfish—like you. I wanted to spend my last moments with the one I love. So please… let me go."*  

Somehow, in a way that defied every instinct, Sukuna surrendered—giving you control over both his mind and heart.  

He couldn’t resist you. Not now.  

Not ever.  

Even as a monstrous god, his body craved you.  

*"You’re even more selfish than I am, Y/N."* Sukuna whispered.  

You gave him a weak smile.  

*"Finally… you said my name."*  

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you kissed him.  

*"I don’t want this to be our goodbye kiss."* Sukuna murmured.  

Resting your forehead against his, you whispered,  

*"It’s not. We’ll find each other again. I’m in your fate, Sukuna. After this life, find me again."*  

He hesitated, desperate.  

*"Just let me turn you into a curse—"*  

You silenced him, tracing a delicate finger across his lower lip.  

*"Shhh… no. I won’t let those memories disappear with it. The only reason I’ve survived this long is because of the life we shared back in that village."*  

Sukuna pulled you closer, lying back with you in his arms.  

Your body was weak now—far too fragile. It made his heart, the one he thought he had long lost, ache with something terrifying.  

He held you through the night—until the first rays of dawn touched the horizon.  

Until your body, lifeless, lay still in his arms.  

Sukuna buried you atop the hill where you had spent so many days together. He swore to visit you each day.  

He refused to burn your body—to let its beauty fade completely.  

Even if your soul remained trapped there forever, he had to be selfish.  

In time, people would come.  

They would honor you, pray to you. Your shrine became a sacred temple, one of Japan’s holiest sites—  

The woman the King of Curses had once loved.  

Legends grew around you both—stories of devotion, suffering, and longing.  

But Sukuna knew the truth.  

You would be born again.  

And he would find you.  

So he waited—until the day he could feel your warmth in his arms once more.  

"Thanks for reading this one-shot! If you enjoyed it, please let me know. If you didn’t… maybe keep it to yourself because I’m on my period and not feeling great today—show some understanding! 🤣" 

[regretismyconstantcompanion]

Albus sat in stillness, letting the silence settle between them, not as a barrier, but as something necessary—sacred, even. He did not rush to fill it. Instead, he let Harry’s words echo in the warm hush of the room, each one cutting with a clarity that Albus did not try to deny.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, deliberate.

“I don’t believe he loves me now,” he said, eyes fixed on the flickering firelight. “Not truly. Whatever remains in him… it’s a memory of love, perhaps. Twisted. Possessive. Not the kind that heals or frees, but the kind that clings to what it once had, to what it lost.” He paused, his fingers curling faintly in his lap.

“But I do believe he loved me once.” There was no wistfulness in the statement, only quiet certainty. “In 1899, I felt it. Whatever else you may say of him - whatever else I must admit of myself - I will not pretend that what existed between us in that summer was a complete fabrication. I was there. I knew it. I felt it. And I loved him in return. For all the wrong reasons perhaps, but the feeling itself, it was real. I know it. I felt it. It wasn’t just manipulation. At least not at the beginning. It became that, yes. But in the beginning… it was real. We were young, brilliant, burning with dreams we didn’t yet know were poison. And for a time, he loved me. I was his equal in mind and in magic, and he made me feel seen in a way I never had before. That was what made it so intoxicating. So dangerous.”

Albus inhaled deeply, eyes flickering as if he could still see the boy he had been in the firelight. “He was the first person to look at me not with awe, or fear, or pity but as an equal. And I was vulnerable. Bitter. Brilliant. Grieving. He didn’t shrink from my darkness, and I mistook that for intimacy. For love. But for a time, it was love. And if nothing remained of it in him now, I’m certain he would have killed me already.”

His tone hardened—not with cruelty, but with bitter clarity.

“He should have. That’s the simplest truth. It would have been kinder. More merciful. But instead, he’s kept me here. Alive. Exiled. Hidden. I believe it’s his way of holding on to something—power, memory, or maybe some final shred of guilt. Perhaps he wants me to witness what he’s become, to see what I failed to stop… what I helped shape. If anything remains in him, it’s not love—it’s… a possession of what once was. A ghost he wants to keep in a gilded cage. Control, dressed in memory.” He swallowed thickly. “He sees me as something that belonged to him once. A mind he matched. A heart he moulded. I think… I wonder if perhaps he wants to see if he can still shape me, even now, in the ashes.”

Albus turned then, finally meeting Harrys eyes. The firelight danced across the tired lines of his face, and in his gaze was a deep well of understanding—of himself, of pain, of consequence. “You’re right,” he said softly. “It wasn’t the kind of love your parents knew. What they gave was unconditional. Selfless. What I shared with Gellert… it was a love warped by ambition and hunger. It wanted to possess. Not protect.” He took a slow breath, considering the boy—no, the man—before him. “And I’ve wondered, more times than I can count, whether it would have been better if he had ended it. If I hadn’t been left behind to live in the ruins of my mistakes." There was one thing Albus did not say aloud, though it passed through his mind like a cold wind: Harry would have killed me to save me. Out of mercy. That’s a darker thing than he realises. Or perhaps he does. Perhaps he knows it too well already.

Albus Dumbledore was sitting on the couch, staring into the fireplace that was across from him. The crackling of the flames was the only sound breaking the silence in the cottage that was nestled in the Scottish Highlands. It was isolated, miles away from even the nearest village. He had chosen it for that very reason, desperate for solitude even if it wasn't something that had been forced upon him. He had lost the duel against Grindelwald. He had known that had always been a possibility. There were equals after all and had known each other painfully well. They had spent that summer duelling, friendly but pushing each others boundaries. They had grown and changed and become more powerful but their tendencies had lingered. The fight had lasted well over an hour but in the end, Gellert had just gotten the better of him and managed to disarm him and send him flying backwards. His only minor consolation was the fight had left them both panting and injured. But it had been clear who the winner was. There was no backing out of the agreement they had made. His time in Nurmengard had been brief. A chance to recover from the duel before Gellert gave him an ultimatum. He could remain free if he agreed to leave Hogwarts and retreat from the Wizarding World. Albus had already known he would leave the school, for certainly he had lost that right when he had failed his students and the Wizarding World as a whole. He had agreed, knowing Gellert wasn't giving him a choice and not agreeing would result in either his death or being imprisoned in Nurmengard forever or the deaths of those he cared about. And so here he was, over a year after the duel. Staring into the fire, sitting beside a cup of tea that had long gone cold. Books had been removed from the overflowing bookshelves, scattered around the room. Some had been read, some he hadn't even yet opened. Plain parchment piled up on the desk. Few knew where he was and so letters came rarely. He had picked some of the fruit and vegetables he grew in a small garden he tended to. Perhaps he would make some jams and chutneys if he could find the strength and motivation. It came sometimes, mixed in with the heavy weight of despair that seemed to fill his waking hours. He had failed. He had let down the wizarding world and now he banished just beyond the world he loved so much. He knew what was happening there, of course. He did his best to learn of Gellerts ongoing plans and rise to power. Without him there, there was nothing to stop him. He knew the few Ministries that still existed moved against him but it wouldn't take much for them to fall. Everything would be lost then and Albus knew he was powerless to stop it. @johamfated

[mycadences]

"Elain sucked in a soft breath that whispered over his skin. His shadows skittered back at the sound. They'd always been prone to vanish when she was around."

vs

"Her breath curled in front of her mouth, and one of his shadows darted out to dance with it before twirling back to him. Like it heard some silent music."

This tells me EVERYTHING I need to know. The same action, but two completely different reactions from Az's shadows, who "kept him company, as they always had, as they always would."

All quotes were taken from Azriel's BC.

SJM was being very obvious when she wrote those lines.

She made sure that we know Az's shadows are important to him, that he considers them his eternal buddies, and then we are shown how his shadows reacted by distancing themselves from Elain, in contrast with how they danced and sang around Gwyn and were noted by Az himself to be curious about her.

Az's interaction with Elain was called "a mistake" while being with Gwyn made something restless in him settle and calm down his shadows. We were given a little sprinkle of foreshadowing for their mating bond with the beautiful singing that followed him and which his shadows sang back in answer.

Finally, Az ended his POV with something sparking in his chest at the thought of Gwyn's joy and smiling over it, comparing the image of her teal eyes lighting to a thing of secret, lovely beauty.

[filmbyjy]

Hiiii can I make a niki request? Where him and reader are trying to bake a cake or something and they end up burning the kitchen down🤣🤣

a/n: now that is funny, jay would definitely just look at the kitchen and be like "bruh." also i do apologise that it is quite short

we burnt that?

jay has always reminded both you and ni-ki to be careful in the kitchen. you were both never great at cooking or baking. if you even thought about picking up a knife to cut something, you'd feel a spatula smacked right onto the back of your hand.

"no." jay would say. it was a simple rule that jay always told the other boys.

"(name) and ni-ki aren't allowed in the kitchen." he'd warn them. usually they'd follow but today they made mistake.

all 6 of them had their own schedules at HYBE, outdoors or some pop up store. they seem to have forgotten...

"okay, what do you want to make?" you had asked your dearest best friend. ni-ki looks over your shoulder, reading the cook book. he points right onto the sweet chocolate cake.

"that seems simple. we have all the ingredients at the dorm already, perfect!" he says.

and so the cake baking journey starts. it was simple really, you had followed the steps in the book. they gave detailed and simple instructions that even a toddler would understand. ni-ki easily stirs up the bowl. you had opened the bag of flour, it rips completely open and you were covered in it. it goes dead silent and ni-ki slowly looks up at you.

soon enough, the both of you fell into pits of laughter. he points out the flour in your hair. honestly, if anyone was in the dorm, they'd probably think you and ni-ki were dating. of course, you two did have feelings for each other but were you two going to cross that line? who knows.

"let me help, oh god." he reaches out to swipe the flour off your face. it causes you to sneeze and he flinches a little. "okay, ew. snot."

"fuck you? you made me sneeze."

"uhh, no? the flour did." you reached out to smack ni-ki. he laughs.

"okay! i'm sorry. let's continue baking and finish it before they others get back. jungwon says that they're finishing their schedule in an hour."

"your fault." you stuck your tongue out teasingly and ni-ki does the same.

with haste, both you and ni-ki managed to finish the batter and pour it right into the cake tin. ni-ki makes sure that he sets the timer to 15 minutes before going over to where you had sat.

"you do realise that you're still covered in flour."

"no shit sherlock. i don't have a shirt to change into."

"well, you can lend mine. you should go bathe too since it's in your hair. you look like a grandma still."

"thanks. you said you'd grow old with me." you had sarcastically said.

"and i will but not when i'm still young and good looking." ni-ki smirks. you gave him a sarcastic smile and then a middle finger.

"shirt and towel, please."

"yeah, yeah." he goes over to his bedroom and hands you a shirt and towel. "do you need shorts?"

"yeah, sure." he hands you some shorts and you were on your way to the bathroom. you had quickly taken a shower and once you were out, ni-ki stays frozen.

"you look like you've seen a ghost." you say as you squeezed your hair dry. ni-ki steps closer to you and you stepped back. "earth to nishimura riki. hey." you had waved your hand in front of him.

"you look really..." he trails off. you were about to say something when you felt the cold wall right against your back. "stupid." he grabs your towel and covers your head with it. you snatched the towel and groaned.

"yah, nishimura. don't do that." he laughs. "stupid."

"why? felt your heart racing? i know, you like me too much." he sticks his tongue out and you start to chase him.

it seems though, both you and ni-ki did not hear the alarm ringing. the both of you were too blissfully enjoying each other. at some point in time, ni-ki trips and falls onto the couch. you fall right on top of him. you were up close to him. the tension felt undeniable at this point, ni-ki leans in.

just as you barely felt ni-ki's lips right on yours, you heard the keypad numbers beeping. you and ni-ki looked up at the door, not moving an inch from your position.

"we're home!" jungwon says as the door unlocks. jake, sunoo and jungwon stopped in their tracks. they were about to question the position you and ni-ki were in when they smelt something bad. something burning...

they turned their heads to the side and there, the black smoke erupting from the oven. sunoo gasps first.

"jungwon get the manager." he says. jungwon runs to get their manager. jake looks around for the fire extinguisher and sprays it right on the oven. he also turns on the the hood to allow the black smoke to go away.

once it was settled, he sighs. he stares right at you and ni-ki.

"never bake ever again." jake warns. both you and ni-ki nodded, too afraid of how angry jake looked right now.

✎ᝰ. lesson learnt: never bake ever

✎ᝰ. lesson learnt for the other boys: never leave you and ni-ki alone ever again

and yes, jay has banned the both of you from completely coming into the kitchen. at least though, both you and ni-ki were finally and happily dating.

[killmeleatherface]

It Had To Be You

Part 4

Dr Michael Robinavitch x f! resident (turned attending) OC

This is part 4 to my ongoing series.

Here’s the last part

AN: guys I need to tell you that I am literally writing everything on my phone. Everything!! Editing, formatting, finding pictures. I also just started writing and using this format a couple weeks ago so please forgive me. I’m so jealous of all the other creators in this fandom who have really well put together layouts, with borders, gifs and alt text. I literally don’t know how to link or make a Masterlist or tag yall so if anyone would be willing to help out, I’d appreciate it and be grateful 4 u 4ever. Love yall, you keep me inspired!!

TW: age gap relationship, babies, pregnancy, cheating, fighting, yelling, kissing, medical setting. Let me know what else I’ve missed!

—

“Please, Andi, talk to me. Please.” Robby follows you into the break room. You’re trying to ignore him, no matter how hard he’s persisting. You haven’t responded to a single call, text, or peace offering.

You still ignore him now.

“You dyed your hair.” He says to the back of your head. He’s trying to incite you with anything.

You did dye your hair, back to black. Well, not back to black, more as you had time to dye it black again. You’d had box dyed black hair until your third year of medical school where you officially gave up on touching up your roots and let your natural hair have its time. As long as you’d known Robby you’d had your natural dark brown and honey toned hair.

“There’s a strawberry filled donut I stashed for you in the fridge. I know strawberry is your favorite.”

It is.

He sits down at the table behind you now. He’s never done this before and he’s grasping at straws. He’s never had to try so hard for someone. He’s never tried so hard to regain control of a situation. Coming to the end of the chapters on the novel he’s currently working through called ‘How to Not Force Your Sub To Do What You Want When You’ve Fucked Up’

It’s almost cute. Fuck these hormones. And you were barely into your second trimester. You’re so, so insanely mad at him. He kissed someone else! And not just someone else but his ex girlfriend someone else. And okay, she did kiss him first. Ugh, were you softening that much? You were so lost. You were so sad. You needed someone. But you didn’t wish to need someone. You couldn’t help it.

“Do you want me to run to that good Chinese food spot up the street and get your usual? Egg drop soup, cashew shrimp and steamed rice?”

Somehow that sounds both outrageously delicious and nauseating.

He’s wearing you down, you didn’t know how much more you had to fight it.

This was Michael Robinavitch. Yes, he made a mistake. A huge mistake. And it really freaking sucked. But this is also the same Michael who’s made you fall in love with him, inside this hospital and outside in restaurants, parks, movie theaters, your apartments. He brought you chicken noodle soup on your seldom sick days. He’d buy tickets for the upcoming horror movie he knew you’d be dying to see and would take you on a date night even if it meant seeing a 2 hour long movie starting at 9 pm when he had to be up at 5 am. He’d truly do anything to make you smile, making you happy, make your head spin, make you laugh, make you cry. He’d single handedly touched every single crevice of your being and never let go. He was a part of your being, whether you wanted him to be or not.

He finally stands up out of his seat when the last doctor leaves the room and walks toward you.

“Andi, I’m begging you. I have no idea how clean this floor is but I will literally get on my hands and knees and beg you to talk to me. I promise you I’ll do it.” He says as he slowly starts bending to his knees. He has a bad knee that still bugs him sometime so he does some slight wincing as he descends.

Who knows if it’s the baby hormones, the exhaustion, the loneliness, or just the plain fact that you’ve loved this man for almost a decade and you’re now carrying the child you made when you were hopelessly and endlessly in a rose tinted magic bubble.

Yup, definitely the pregnancy hormones.

“Michael, stop. Get up. You’re embarrassing yourself.” You turn around to face him. He quickly comes back up to eye level with you.

“Andi, please. I will go to the ends of this earth for you to forgive me. Actually I know that will take time and I’ll do whatever I need to do so, but at least, right now, let me back in. I will say it in as many languages as you understand, I’m sorry.” He’s close to you. You can tell he’s trying his damndest to not touch you. He’s fighting hard against his basic instinct to grab hold of you and pick you up and hold you and never let go. But he knows he can’t.

Your arms are crossed and you’re giving off cold signals. He can read you like a medical chart he’s seen a hundred times before. You both know you can’t hide your feelings to each other. It’s been way too long, you’ve been a part of each other for who knows how long before you realized it yourselves.

“Michael.” You say, uncrossing your arms and leaning against the counter.

“Okay.” You finally say.

“Okay? Okay? Okay! Okay!” He repeats as if it’s the first time he’s ever hearing this word.

“I have an OB appointment upstairs today. I wasn’t going to say anything, but if you can make it, you can come.” You offer. It’s small, you know, but it is his baby you’re carrying after all.

He lights up with this. “Yes. Yes of course I’ll be there. Thank you.”

—

“Theres your baby!” The ultrasound technician decrees, pointing to the grey screen in front of her. Robby is at your side admiring it.

“Looks like you’re about 12 weeks, but baby is big. Congratulations again!” She says gliding the wand over the cold gel on your belly.

She presses a few more buttons on the machine and takes the wand off, wiping your belly with a towel and help you sit up. She reaches behind the machine and rips paper, coming back up with 3 white squares, offering them to you. She smiles and says, “Well, here’s pictures for the happy parents! Make sure you make your next appointment before you leave and take your prenatal and drinks lots of water.” She pauses as she says the last part, recognizing you’re both still in black ER scrubs. “Andrea, when you’re forcing yourself to be on your feet for 8+ hours at a time, against doctors orders, at least wear compression socks and keep your blood sugar up.” You smile and both say thanks as she steps out of the room.

You both sit there in silence, Robby standing up to come next to you.

“That’s our baby.” He whispers, almost to himself.

“Here, take one.” You say as you’re ripping the bottom ultrasound picture off, handing it to him. He immediately reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet, stashing it away in there.

You really had a baby growing inside you. I mean, you saw the pregnancy test, and later the blood test. You want this. It’s just a shock. You have a living being you’re responsible for keeping alive. You’re going to be a mother.

“Listen. I don’t know what your plans are tonight, but I would really like to take you to dinner. It’d be nice to talk, outside of work, I mean.” Robby says.

You don’t want to say yes, but you are starving, which has been a rare occasion the last 6 weeks. It’s a peace offering you decide to take.

—

You end up at your favorite diner a few blocks away from the hospital. Pancakes and waffles both sounded perfect to you and Robby happily obliged.

After you’d gotten your plates of food. Robby a turkey burger with no cheese and fries with no salt, you sat in silence again, the only sound that of plates and silverware.

“Thank you for letting me come today. I really appreciate it. I can’t believe that’s ours” he finally says, wiping his mouth.

“Yeah, I know. I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around that myself.” You offer. You’re trying, too.

“When did you find out?” He asks.

You’d been prepared for this, telling the story to your mom. You just hadn’t been as prepared as you thought.

“I, uh, not so long story short, found out the morning I left.” You say, finally looking up at him. He stills.

“You knew…you knew you were pregnant before you decided to leave the state without notice?” He leans back in disbelief.

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. It’s the truth and you both know it.

“Fuck!” He screams. The tables around you look at the two of you, but you just smile back. Whatever he had keeping himself together all this time broke.

“Michael, you need to calm down. People are looking. You don’t need to make a scene.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Fuck it. I need to go anyways.” He moves out of the booth to stand up. He slings his backpack over his shoulder and digs out his wallet, throwing three twenties on the table.

You’ve barely touched your food, but you’re suddenly not hungry anymore. You look up at Robby and for once, he can’t make eye contact with you. He puts his wallet back in his pocket and starts walking away.

Wow, he’s really leaving.

You think about staying, but something changed in you after seeing that sonogram and you want to turn over a new leaf. So you pick up your bag and follow him.

You catch him outside the diner with his hands in his pockets looking up at the sky. He either doesn’t notice you or chooses to ignore you. Either way you sidle up next to him.

“Michael.”

“You really took off knowing my baby was in you and you didn’t even tell me.” He takes beat. “Actually, what was the plan there? Stay in Oregon forever? Never talk to me again? Never tell anyone about the baby? It’s really fucked up.”

Shit. While you weren’t clueless to how you were making others feel, hearing it put in the blunt way Robby puts everything makes you feel like the asshole.

“I don’t know. Of course not. I panicked.” You offer.

“You panicked?! We’re supposed to be getting married, telling each other everything, and you panicked?” He’s losing it.

“Hey! You don’t get to yell at me. I’m not the only one to blame here. You did cheat on me if you haven’t forgotten.” You start to talk away when he has no response.

“Wait, Andy, wait.” He calls and follows up to you.

“Stop. Stop. Okay, can we agree we both fucked up? Me a little more, but you were also irresponsible and hurtful too.”

You think about this. Were you? Or was he just trying to make himself feel better? Whatever. You we’re tired. Of working, of being pregnant, (although you loved that little baby more than anything in the world already), of fighting, of standing. Man, your feet hurt. You should get compression socks.

“Okay.” You state.

“I’m gonna make you a one time deal. And you either take it or you don’t, up to you, but it’s all or nothing.”

He looks at you to continue.

“1. You tell me everything that happened up to and during that day with Collin’s.”

He winces.

“2. We’re delaying the wedding for now. I don’t care what our friends or family say. I just…I can’t marry you right now.” You say looking away, hoping the tears won’t come.

“3. From now on, it’s complete and total honest. Total transparency. No matter what. Even when I’m mean, or crying irrationally, or anything else caused by these stupid hormonal imbalances.

And 4. We’re going to start dating again. I know that’s weird and I know we’ve known each other forever, but I deserve it. You’re gonna wine & dine me. You’re going to woo me, you’re going to sweep me off my feet.

Deal?”

In all honesty you think he would’ve agreed to sell his soul to the devil if it meant you were back in his life.

“Okay I have a question. Is that allowed?” Robby asks.

“You may ask, yes.”

“Are you still moving in with me? After your place sells. I mean that was the plan.”

Ugh, you were hoping this part would come later, or somehow never at all.

“Actually, my dad bought me a place. Well, he bought a place and I’m going to rent from him…”

“Your dad bought you another place? I thought you wanted to do the next one yourself so you could finally establish your independence. It used to be a dream of ours to invest in our own place to make our own.”

“Well, Michael, things change.” Guess you’re still not 100% ready to be nice to him. You can start tomorrow.

Robby seems hurt by this. But what are you supposed to say?

You were supposed to look at new places together. Somewhere to buy and start a life together, right before the wedding. Somewhere you’d pick out paint colors and bathroom tiles. You wince at the idea now. Oh well, maybe someday?

“Oh. I see. Alright then. Um, deal.”

“Do you want to come up? Have some tea? Talk some more. I need to get off my feet.” You offer.

This is new territory for Robby. He’s usually in control. In any other circumstance he would’ve had you bent over his knee begging for mercy a half hour ago. Now, he’s like a lost teenage boy, not knowing if he should make the next move. It’s like he’s continuously short circuiting.

But he also doesn’t want to give up.

“If I come up there I want you to know it’ll just be to talk. Nothing else.” He says out loud as if he’s promising both of you. As if he had a chance.

—

You’re laying on your couch in silence, feet propped up, per Robby. But you don’t fight it by any means. You are beat and want to rest. Your head is laid back on your sofas arm rest when Robby’s footsteps approach, baring a steaming mug.

“Here, no sugar, lots of lemon.” He hands you the mug that you smile and take, immediately bringing to your lips to blow on.

“Okay, ask your questions. Let’s get this out of the way.” Robby turns to face you on the couch, arm resting on the top, in a way that makes him try to seem relaxed.

You know what he means, but you’re not prepared. You don’t want to hear all the details of whatever was going on with Robby and his ex. But also, you may go clinically crazy if you keep swirling the scenarios around in your brain.

“Michael, just tell me. From the start to what happened the day I left. I’m too tired to wonder.” You offer, finally taking a sip of your tea.

He sits up, turning to put his mug on the coffee table. He leans forward and puts his hands on his knees, rubbing his face up and down.

“Okay. But I want to start and just say it, uh, it’s not as bad as you think.” He looks at you.

“How do you know how I bad I think it is?” You squint your eyes.

“Andi, I know you. I love you. I’m insanely in love with you. I know what you’re thinking, trust me.”

Without reply from you, he continues on. He’s nervous. So nervous in fact that he stands up with a startling force and begins walking behind you.

“I guess I’ll start the first time Heather texted me. It was a few months ago and it was at work about work. And then she’d text me be safe and have a good night on my way home. And then she accidentally texted me before bed one night and that went on a few nights. Nothing on my end, I swear. You can look at my phone, everything is still there.” He’s pacing now.

“I didn’t think anything of it, and then she started talking to me about her divorce from Alan. She’d just talk and I’d listen, I guess I figured she needed a shoulder to cry on. And then she started bringing us up, me and her. It really caught me off guard and I immediately told her there will never be an us again and I left. I told her she really crossed a line, I swear. That were coworkers and that’s it, that’s all we’ll ever be. That was, uh, the night before you left.” He stops.

The night before you left? You think back to having a day off and cooking Robby his favorite meal. The day was unusually light at the Pitt and he had texted you around 4 that he thought he’d actually be home on time. You were elated and immediately went to the specialty grocery store 30 minutes away. It wasn’t often you guys could have a special night in where you could actually relax. And stay awake. You wanted to celebrate, even though you had no idea about the already developing celebration in your belly. Actually the smell of the raw steak you were cooking made you gag that night and that’s what prompted you to take a pregnancy test the next morning. It turned out to be an eventful night for both of you, even if it was without the other.

And then he didn’t end up coming home until you were fast asleep that night. Steak and asparagus in Tupperware, gone cold hours before. Half burnt candles that caused wax to melt all over your hand carved wooden table. You didn’t care. To be more specific, you had stopped caring around 10 PM that night when the only text you received was at 8:30 PM with a simple “Sorry.”

Robby is looking at the ceiling, still standing still. You realize his eyes are closed shut and he’s trying not to shed a tear. As you’re looking at him he brings his head down and opens his eyes, beginning to walk but stopping a few steps away from in front of you.

“That night I was crushed. I hadn’t done anything and thought I might have mislead her and felt terrible. You know, I don’t know if I’m allowed to say this, but I’ll always have a sort of soft somber spot for. She was with me when Adamson died and then our baby. And before you say anything, it’s not a spot of love or yearning, because I will never feel anything close to that unless you even come close to leaving again. It’s more a spot of incredibly fucked up trauma that you shove in the back of your mind and feel bonded over in a weird way.” He stops, looking at you. He wants an answer. And the truth is, you get it. You hadn’t been at the Pitt when he and Heather were together, but what happened between them radiated for years. You know it crushed him, and it’s allowed to. Everyone is allowed to love and experience loss and be hurt and grieve. It’s totally normal. You can’t be mad at him for having feelings.

“I get it.” You offer.

“And then I don’t know, she overheard me tell someone the wedding is getting closer…or was. And that must have freaked her out because that’s when she kissed me by the lockers. Which I guess you saw and…know the rest of. But go ahead, ask me anything you want. Look at my phone. Do whatever you need to do or say or scream, I’ll take it.”

This man was bearing his soul to you. He was broken and offering whatever shards of himself he had, no matter how hurt he was. He stopped, looking up at the ceiling, forcing his eyes shut. You realized he was trying not to cry.

Robby never had a reason to lie to you. In fact, he was brutally honest. About wanting to be with you, but not wanting to risk each others jobs. About quietly loving you from afar for as long as he had to until it could be out loud. He told you when you’d made a mistake at work, big or small. He wanted you to learn. He didn’t believe in keeping his words quiet, especially with you. From the day you started working with him, until the day you stood before you, you’d never had an actual reason not to trust him. Yes, you had questioned yourself about him the weeks before you left, but now you knew it was baseless accusations.

You go to put your legs down on the ground and put your mug on the coffee table. You stand up and something falls out of your pocket. The sonogram. The little bundle of two people. Something you’ve wanted and hoped for, for so many years. And so many years you had wanted it with this man. It was all happening, just not the way you’d hoped.

Something in you clicks right there in your living room. Michael made a mistake. You also made a mistake. You could’ve been hurt, you could’ve been in an accident. He was your fiance, and before that, your partner for years, when you left without a trace. You fled the state with his child in your belly and his ring on your finger. You finally realize that you hurt him too.

You walk around to the back of the couch and stand in front of Michael. You reach your arms out and wrap them around his waist, and he tenses instinctively. He wasn’t prepared for the touch from you. You squeeze him harder and he responds by relaxing and wrapping his muscular arms around your head and shoulders.

“Okay.” You say to his chest. You nuzzle your face into his shirt and breathe deep, relishing in the familiar scent of citrus, an oaky wood and laundry detergent.

“Okay?” He asks.

You pull back and look at him, really look at him, and put your hands on his chest.

“Let’s start over. We’ve both fucked up and we’re starting fresh. Right now we promise mistakes forgiven and put behind us.”

Robby pulls you back to him and kisses the top of your head.

“Okay.” He says.

[al-1-na]

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟎 ~ 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐢𝐠... 𝐒𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚‧｡⋆

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚‧｡⋆

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Rafe x Reader

𝐂𝐖: Size kink, rough sex, size comparison, degradation praise mix, light choking, overstimulation, manhandling

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Rafe proves just how much bigger and harder he is than you can handle.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚‧｡⋆

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚‧｡⋆

It started with one smart little comment.

You’d joked that his hands made yours look like a child’s. He’d smirked. You teased about how your thighs barely wrapped around his waist. His jaw ticked. Then you whispered—too cocky, too bold—that maybe he wasn’t as big as he liked to act.

Big mistake.

Now you’re folded in half, spine nearly bent off the mattress, gasping as Rafe bullies the last inch of his cock inside your dripping, quivering heat.

His voice is low and mocking at your ear. “Still think I’m not that big, baby?”

You can’t answer. You can’t even breathe. He’s stretching you so deep you swear he’s kissing your damn cervix. Every thick inch of him pulses with heat inside you, and your poor, battered walls clench tight around his shaft, like your body is fighting him—like it knows it’s too much.

But he doesn’t stop.

No. Rafe grabs both your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head like they’re nothing. His other hand holds your thigh open, fingers digging in so hard you’re sure there’ll be bruises in the shape of him. He likes that. Marking you. Owning you. Taking you like he’s never gonna let you forget.

He drags out of you slow, slick, a sticky string of arousal connecting his cock to your needy entrance before he slams back in, hard enough to shove the breath out of your lungs.

“Say it,” he growls, nose brushing your cheek. “Say I’m too big for you.”

You sob something half-coherent, fingernails scraping down his back, body shaking with the force of his thrusts. He’s got you locked down, completely caged, his weight pressing you into the mattress like he owns your whole damn soul.

“You wanted big,” he pants, snapping his hips forward with another brutal stroke. “So take it. Take every last inch, sweetheart. Stuffed full of me like the little toy you are.”

You’re drooling now, incoherent, legs trembling where they’re thrown over his shoulders. He’s deep. He’s never-ending. It feels like he’s touching parts of you no one else has ever even gotten close to. Every vein of his cock rubs right against your walls, turning every thrust into a near-religious experience.

Your orgasm crashes through you hard and messy—so hard you scream, legs kicking, thighs trembling. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow. He keeps pounding into you like you didn’t just shatter underneath him.

His fingers wrap around your throat—not tight, just enough to keep you right on that edge. His eyes are wild, pupils blown with lust. “You’re gonna come again,” he snarls, voice like gravel. “Come again on this big—thick—cock.”

You whimper. It’s too much. Too big. Too deep.

But you do.

Again. And again.

By the time Rafe spills inside you, your body is wrecked, twitching, dripping his release down your thighs as he finally pulls out with a slick, wet pop. You blink up at him, mind fuzzy, lips parted.

He just smirks.

“Told you I was bigger than you could handle.”

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚‧｡⋆

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @notkiaralol @rcsbabydoll @cokewithcameron @psychocitylights @favzcarpentr @fatheriimaginedyoutaller @alwaysherother @mavericksice

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧:)

[jammatown919]

Not to make everything about Yasammy but I'm noticing some things here that kind of feed into my whole "Kenlynn and Yasammy will be majorly contrasted in season four" thing. Honestly, I'm realizing that they're kind of already being contrasted.

In these moments we see, whether it's because she fell out of love or because she's so preoccupied that there's no space in her mind for her relationship, Brooklynn is pulling away from Kenji. More than that, she's taking his presence for granted while failing to maintain emotional closeness. She's perfectly comfortable walking into his place, helping herself to food, being around him and in his space, but she's not engaging with him. She's locked in on what she's doing, and she knows he's there, because he's always there, but she doesn't pay attention to it. It's secondary. She'll give him a hello, snatch his chips, interrupt him to ask about her jacket, and not really think twice about heading for the door.

When he breaks up with her, she seems surprised. She never expected that, because she didn't see how their relationship was deteriorating, because she wasn't thinking about it.

And he seems to give her a choice. "I can't be with you if you're not going to be with me". There's an "if" in that sentence. She had one last chance to prove to him that she wanted to fix things, and she chose another priority. She left and she stayed away. And most importantly, she left for herself.

With Yaz and Sammy, things are similar, but just different enough.

When Yaz leaves Texas, it's not for selfish reasons. Yes, she wants to work on her PTSD, but that's not the reason she goes so far away. She explicitly says that she thinks this is a good move for her relationship. She recognizes that there's a problem, and she's actively trying to fix it, even if her methods are a bit misguided.

She's thinking about Sammy this whole time. Her contact picture for Sammy is still them together. While they aren't in each other's space and don't have many moments of contact, when they do talk, Yaz is present. Sammy's phone call gets her full attention. She picks up on something being wrong because she's listening. While Brooklynn is often there but not present emotionally, Yaz is often not there but still present emotionally in the event that her and Sammy do end up on the phone.

And again, the reasons for this are different. Brooklynn is prioritizing things over Kenji. Sammy is part of Yaz's priority. She's trying to get better on her own because she thinks it will help both of them. While it kind of had the opposite effect, she was trying and she was trying for herself AND for Sammy.

In season three, Yaz beings to prioritize Brooklynn over Sammy, but she's still not completely ignoring her relationship. She wants to be on the same page. She's actively trying to work things out. She hasn't become passive the way Brooklynn did in her relationship. Even after the split, she's thinking of Sammy. Looking for her. Sending her a message through Kenji.

Yaz and Brooklynn have made similar mistakes for different reasons, and now Yaz has the same choice that Brooklynn did.

She can stay away and more or less give up the way Brooklynn did. Or, when she sees Sammy again, she can try. She can show Sammy that she wants to do better.

In season four, I think Brooklynn and Kenji are going to have to talk about how they can't be together again. It's been too long, too many chances were missed, and by now Kenji has definitely fallen out of love.

But Yaz and Sammy aren't in the same place. Unlike Kenji choosing himself when he broke up with Brooklynn, they broke up to protect each other, because their argument had escalated too much and the circumstances weren't allowing for a productive conversation. They're still in love, were reluctant to separate, and clearly miss each other. Sammy cries when she thinks too much about being separated.

Their talk is going to look very different. Their talk is going to be about how they can move forward together.

And this is how the show can make up for contrasting Yasammy with Bengia throughout season three.

The subtle signs that Brooklynn's fallen out of love with Kenji are...kinda neat.

She barely greets him when she stops by, and she's not looking at him when he's talking to her.

No heart or cute nickname on her phone, just a basic pic of him.

No background photo of them (possibly just removed, though).

I dunno. I think it's over over.

[ephemeralinstance]

solas + art and music

It's so moving to me to see how attached Solas is to his art and music. In the Inquisition, it was probably unwise of him to do the frescos and reveal his knowledge of this ancient elven art form, but he just couldn't stop himself. In the intervening time, it seems clear that the music room is his favorite room in the Lighthouse, and despite all the burdens on him he's found time to compose music and fill it with new frescos. Even in his little Minratous hideout there are paintings on the walls and a lute on the bed: the art and music are so essential to him that he brings them everywhere he goes.

No doubt these things have a special weight at a time when he knows that he's being pursued even by his old friends; that everyone sees him as a monster. He holds on to his art and his music because he has to remind himself that he is still a person, even if no one else sees him that way: he appreciates beauty and creates it, he is more than just the burdens he carries and the terrible things he has to do to achieve his goals.

One reason it's so sad to think of him alone in the regret prison through the whole game is because there seems to be no way to for him to make art and music in the prison. We find a symbolic palette used to represent reflection, but we don't find any art that he's made and there's no sign of any music. His art and music were the last thing that he'd been holding on to as a reminder of his personhood, and that too is gone now, and he's left with nothing but the contemplation of his regrets. The prison itself seems designed to strip away everything else that he is and reduce him down to his mistakes.

I hope that whatever happens in the end he eventually finds himself in a place where he can do art and create music again and remember that he is more than his mistakes and his burdens. Maybe hundreds of years from now people will travel to the Black City (now returned to gold) and find it filled with frescos he's made, strains of his music on the air, and they will finally be able to remember him as more than just the Dread Wolf.

[mashtatosworld]

little star

summary: the fast paced reunion with your ex-fiancé brings gifts you never expected. only now, it's time to tell everyone about your newest arrival - and the reactions are mixed

You sink back into the seat, the gentle hum of the radio muffled under the weight of your thoughts. Jiyong is still smiling, staring at the scan like he’s just found the secret to life.

"Our baby girl," he murmured gently, running a thumb over the grainy image of your baby. "So pretty and perfect."

“She barely has a face yet,” you mumble, poking a hole in the haze of his dreamy certainty.

He doesn’t even look away. “Still pretty. Look at that nose. She has my nose.”

You lean closer to stare at the picture more intently. “How can you even tell? It’s tiny.”

“Exactly,” he teases, turning to you and tapping the end of his small nose. You roll your eyes but there’s warmth creeping into your chest despite yourself.

When he carefully slips the photo into the back of his clear phone case, you freeze.

“What are you doing?”

He glances up at you. “What? I wanna see her. All the time.”

“But… people will see it,” you say slowly, each word a heavier weight than the last. You were still adjusting to the idea of bringing a little human into the world.

A human that was half him, and half you.

Especially since it had only been a few months since your unexpected reconciliation with your ex fiancé. A heated reunion that sealed your fates together.

More than any engagement ever could have.

His brow furrows slightly, not in annoyance, but in quiet confusion. “Well, yeah. Of course. I mean - we’re going to tell people eventually.”

Eventually.

That word unravels in your chest. Until now, the pregnancy had felt like something that belonged only to you two.

Sacred. Private. Safe.

But now - now it was suddenly about everyone else. Parents. Friends. The media. The judgment. The reminders of what went wrong last time.

Your silence stretches a little too long.

Jiyong picks up on it immediately. “Hey,” he says softly, “what’s wrong Jagi?”

You exhale shakily. “I just… I haven’t thought about all that yet. Telling people. The fallout. We didn't work out the first time. What if they think this is some mistake?”

His eyes soften, and he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours.

“We will work out,” he says with unwavering confidence, “We were always going to. And if they still don’t get that... well then fuck them. We don’t need to prove anything to anyone but ourselves.”

You press your lips together, your mind racing - but it slows for a moment when he lifts your joined hands and kisses your knuckles gently.

Then he adds, as if it’s the most casual thing in the world, “They’ll figure it out soon enough anyway, when we get married.”

Your eyes widen. “Married?”

He pauses, confused by your shock. “Yeah…?”

Your heartbeat stumbles. “You can’t just drop that in between ultrasound photos and baby dreams, Ji.”

He smiles softly, thumb brushing over your fingers. “Sorry. I just… I already lost you once. I don’t want to waste time pretending I don’t know what I want anymore.”

The sincerity in his voice punches through your defences, but it also stirs the old ache in your chest. You remember the ring you once wore, the promises that were made - and then broken.

He sees the hesitation in your eyes and doesn’t push. Just leans back in his seat with a deep breath, eyes fixed out the windshield.

“She’ll look like me,” he says eventually, quieter now, “but she’ll have your laugh.”

You glance at him.

He smiles to himself. “It’s my favourite sound in the world.”

Something inside you eases at that.

“I think she’s going to be trouble,” you say.

He grins. “Of course. She’s ours.”

And for the first time since the scan, the corners of your mouth lift too.

Not because everything’s figured out. But because you won’t have to face it alone.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The moment you push the front door open, you’re met not by Jiyong, but by cardboard boxes. Everywhere. Stacked waist-high, snaking a trail from the front door through the hall and into the living room like a precarious maze.

You have to step carefully, your overnight bag bumping into them as you navigate your way in.

"Ji?" you call out, eyebrows raised.

From the middle of the living room floor, his head pops up, eyes wide like a kid caught opening their presents early.

He’s surrounded by torn packing tape and bubble wrap, cradling a small nightlight shaped like a cloud.

“I’m sorry!” he blurts, voice riddled with guilt. “I wanted to wait until you got here to open them, I swear. But I got too excited.”

You try to stifle your grin. “What even is all this?”

He gestures grandly, like he’s unveiling a masterpiece. “Baby stuff!”

You step over a box labeled “organic muslins” and sit yourself on the couch opposite him, quickly joined by Iye, who jumped out from one of the empty boxes.

“And this Jagi,” he says, dramatically patting a much larger box, “this is the big one. The stroller. Top-rated. Smooth ride. And folds like a dream.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

“Yep. I read all the reviews.” Jiyong says proudly whilst pouncing to tear into it like he’s on a game show. “Our baby deserves the best.”

Your fingers trail unconsciously over the subtle swell of your stomach - still new, still surreal, even at eighteen weeks.

You still hadn't told anyone yet, not your friends, not your parents.

And you know it’s starting to show, your body quietly giving you away.

Yet you keep stalling.

Waiting.

Afraid.

But Jiyong - he’s already ten steps ahead, racing toward fatherhood with open arms and a stubborn heart.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Jiyong swears loudly when a piece of the stroller snaps out of place and narrowly misses his face. He'd been trying to construct it for nearly an hour now.

“This thing is a scam,” he mutters, wrestling with the wheels like it’s personally offended him. "I hate it."

You giggle, leaning back and watching. It was throughly entertaining watching him trying to build it. There was a lot of angry grunting and kicking from him, enough so that the stroller had proven its resistant quality to damage.

“Thought you said it was top-rated.”

He grumbles something under his breath, but when he finally gets it assembled, he stands triumphantly, wheeling it in a proud circle. He nearly flattens poor Zoa in the process, who yowls and bolts under the table.

"I love this thing!" He exclaims, pushing it around the room and circling the couch you were sitting on.

You shake your head, but your chest feels full in a different way.

Watching him strut around the apartment with the stroller he fought to piece together. To see his excitement bloom in real time felt like the future was becoming something tangible instead of terrifying.

You wanted this.

And- more importantly - you wanted it with him.

Your gaze softens as he brings the stroller to a stop before you. “I mean… just imagine,” he says with a satisfied little flourish, “Our baby, lying in here, with my nose.”

You nod, quiet for a beat. “And your giant head.”

Jiyong's mouth drops open in offence before it couldn't help but break into a grin. Then suddenly he’s beside you, kneeling, his hands gentle against your belly, like it’s sacred. He rests his forehead there, closing his eyes.

“I can’t wait to meet you,” he whispers.

You reach down, brushing your fingers through his hair. For the first time in weeks, the idea of telling people doesn’t feel so daunting.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Despite your gradual acceptance, you weren't rushing into sharing the news.

And he was growing restless.

It had been eating at Jiyong for weeks - no, months - this secret he was dying to scream from the rooftops.

You were halfway through your pregnancy now, and he was practically vibrating with the need to share it with the world.

Every time he looked at your growing bump, or caught your reflection smiling at your belly, he had to stop himself from blurting it out to the next person who walked by.

And you knew he was carrying a ring in his pocket, just waiting for the moment to propose. But he had wanted to ask your parents permission first. Like he had done the first time.

Except that meant telling them why your ex fiancé was suddenly asking to marry you, again, after years of being separated.

But one evening, after he had spent two blissful hours convincing you - worshipping you, with your legs pinned to the bed beneath his arms and barely able to speak in the aftermath of his lustful devotion, you finally caved.

You decided to do it all at once. Rip the band-aid clean off.

The plan was to throw a surprise party. Only it wasn’t for an engagement or anniversary. No one knew what it was for exactly, but the guesses came quickly when the invitations went out.

Everyone assumed it was a hasty engagement celebration.

You and Jiyong had been inseparable again for months now, after all. And they knew you two moved fast in your relationship. Always had done.

But the truth was so much bigger.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You spent the entire morning cramming all the new baby things into the guest bedroom, transforming the apartment from chaos into something resembling normalcy.

Zoa and Iye lazily wandered through the apartment with pink balloons tied carefully to their Chanel collars, batting together when they walked too close to each other.

And everything was pink.

The flowers, the cupcakes, the candles, even Jiyong’s hair. He’d dyed it again “for the occasion,” and you’d rolled your eyes but secretly loved it. It made the whole reveal feel real.

Inevitable.

Soon enough, guests trickled in - both your friends and family, all wide-eyed and curious.

There were murmurs, and eyebrows raised at the suspiciously themed party. The way you kept your oversized jacket wrapped tightly around you didn’t help, nor did Jiyong’s barely contained smirk.

Finally, someone asked what everyone else had been too polite - or too nervous - to say.

“So… what is this?”

All eyes turned towards you two.

You took a shaky breath, then pulled your jacket open just enough to reveal your bump, now round and undeniable. “We’re having a girl,” you said casually, like it was the weather. “Surprise!”

The room exploded.

You didn’t stay to watch the reactions.

The instant the first gasp left someone’s mouth, you turned on your heel and bolted, leaving poor Jiyong to handle the aftermath of shock, screaming, and chaos.

You ducked into the guest bedroom, firmly shutting the door behind you.

Your chest rose and fell too fast as you took it all in - diapers stacked in a basket, the half-assembled crib, a tiny mobile with stars and moons that dangled silently above your head.

This room would soon be a nursery for your newest arrival.

It felt like the walls were closing in.

You sank onto the floor with a great exhale, heart pounding.

A soft kick nudged you and you smiled faintly, one hand automatically falling to your belly. She had probably sensed your panicked state.

“Sorry I woke you,” you whispered to her. “Eomma’s just… a little scared. About you. No, not you - just telling people about you. That’s all.”

You leaned your head back against the wall, feeling like the weight of the world was pressing on your chest.

“You’re a big deal, you know,” you murmured. “You’re gonna change our lives.”

Another soft kick. Like she was saying, I know.

A smile broke through the anxiety. “I love you already. And so does your Appa.” You rubbed slow, comforting circles over your belly. “That’s all that matters anyway.”

You sighed gently, then softly, you dared to ask, “Do you love me too?”

A flurry of rapid kicks met your question and you laughed quietly, tears pricking your eyes at the sheer sweetness of it. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Then came the knock. Gentle and hesitant.

“Jagi?” Jiyong’s voice was soft, almost sheepish. “Can I come in?”

You looked toward the door and smiled.

“Yeah,” you called.

He slips in quietly, gently shutting the door behind him like he's trying not to startle the baby - though she’s very much awake, doing somersaults in your belly.

His hair is slightly messy, his shirt untucked, and there's an unmistakable gleam in his eyes, somewhere between pride and exhaustion.

“Did they hurt you?” you ask, narrowing your eyes with a playful edge, though part of you is genuinely concerned. You had heard a lot of shrieking.

He huffs a short laugh and drops onto the floor beside you, “No. Daesung and Youngbae tackled me onto the couch, actually. Out of excitement.”

You smiled at his words. That sounded about right.

He pauses, grin faltering just a little. “Your mother though… looked like she wanted to hit me.”

You wince with a knowing sigh. “Yeah… I expected that. She probably will, eventually.”

Jiyong shrugs but doesn’t push it further, letting the subject drift away as he leans back against the wall beside you. After a moment, he turns his head toward you with curious eyes. “Who were you talking to before I came in? I heard you.”

You glance down and smile softly, hand resting on the prominent rise of your belly. “We were having a conversation.”

He raises his brows, and when you gesture to your bump, his whole face breaks into the kind of smile that makes your chest ache in the best way.

“Ohh,” he says, leaning down immediately, palm sliding against your stomach, “you’ve shown Eomma our trick?”

A sharp little kick meets his touch, and your eyes narrow suspiciously. “What trick?”

He laughs, a little sheepishly now. “I’ve been talking to her. Every night. But you’re usually asleep.” He rubs the spot she kicked, like he’s greeting her. “It’s the only time she responds to me.”

You gasp softly, turning toward your belly. “Hey! You’ve been leaving me out already?” You tut loudly, “Are you two going to team up against me when you’re here?”

Another shift. This time it felt more like an elbow than a foot. And you purse your lips, “That better be a no.”

Jiyong grins, eyes soft, and presses a kiss to your belly. Then he lifts his head, bringing his face close to yours, his voice low and full of emotion. “This is the team. Right here. You, me, and her.”

You nod, heart full, and he kisses you deeply - like a seal on a promise.

But after a moment, you pull back just slightly, squinting at him. “So. Be honest. What was the damage?”

He tries to play it cool with a shrug, but you’re not buying it.

“Jiyong.”

He exhales, giving in. “Okay… mostly everyone was happy. And the rest?” His voice sharpens just a touch, protective. “I hope they see themselves out. Quickly.”

You nod, satisfied enough with that answer, and lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder, his arm wrapping instinctively around you.

Outside the door, the muffled sounds of life and questions and clinking glasses continue. But in here, it’s calm. It’s safe.

It’s just the three of you - your little family.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Even though the secret was out and the collective gasp had passed, you finally felt yourself settle.

It wasn’t immediate, but little by little, you started to enjoy being pregnant - really enjoy it.

You let Jiyong dress you for the first time in months, trading oversized hoodies for stretchy bodycons and flowing dresses that framed your growing bump rather than hiding it.

And he was obsessed.

Every outfit turned into a mini photoshoot, clogging up his camera roll. Every day brought a new chance for him to rave about how “glowing” you looked, or how “tempting” you were - even when you didn't feel like it. You’d roll your eyes but your cheeks would burn.

And baby shopping became a weekly ritual. Though, you'd have to reel him back in when he would come close to buying the whole store.

“Jagi, we need this,” Jiyong declared, holding up a cream onesie with little strawberries on it.

You shrugged. “But we already have several just like that."

“Well we don't have this one yet." he said, keeping it firmly in his grip. "Oh- OH! They have matching family sets!"

He dragged you towards the clothing rail, picking up a size for himself and one for you too.

“And look how tiny these are!” he cried out again, cradling a pair of baby Chanel sunglasses with his bottom lip out. "And before you say it, yes. We need it. I need it. This is why I made all my money."

You were laughing too hard to stop him, and just like that, he was at the counter, black card out and swiped before you could see how much he'd racked up.

You tried to snatch the receipt, but he tucked it in his back pocket with a smug, “Appa’s got it.”

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

But then came the text from your parents.

They wanted to meet for lunch. Just the three of you.

You agreed, even though your stomach twisted in a way that had nothing to do with pregnancy.

You knew what this was: the talk. The part where they expressed all the concerns they hadn’t gotten the chance to during the surprise party chaos.

Jiyong offered - insisted - on driving you to the quiet little restaurant they'd chosen.

“I should be there,” he said, leaning against the doorframe and watching as you got ready.

“I need to do this,” you said gently.

His brows pinched together. “Well I don’t think you should do it alone.”

You smiled, smoothing down your top and then rested a hand on your belly. “I’m not really alone, am I?”

He looked at your bump, then at you. His expression softened into that familiar, warm smile. He nodded in acceptance.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The lunch started stiff.

Formal.

Like a job interview neither party wanted to be at.

You couldn’t help but notice how your parents’ eyes kept flicking to your belly - rounder now, unmistakable. They weren’t angry exactly. Just… stunned. Still trying to catch up.

You cleared your throat. “Before either of you says anything negative… I just want you to know - I’m happy.”

Your mother looked at you, then finally nodded. “We know. Though, that doesn’t mean we’re not concerned.”

You took a slow breath. Here it comes.

“Jiyong spoke to us,” your father said carefully. “He asked if he could marry you. Again.”

You glanced away, nervous. “And?”

Even though you knew you'd marry Jiyong with or without their permission, and that he was simply doing it because he knew it was important to you.

“Are you not rushing into this?” your mother asked. “I mean, you two were engaged before, and that didn’t end well.”

You exhaled sharply. “I don’t think we can get any more committed than this,” you said, gesturing at your belly.

“Exactly,” she said. “Y/n, this is serious. What about your career? Isn’t that why you broke up before? Because he wouldn’t slow down, and you wanted to go your own way?”

“And what happens if he starts making music again?” your dad added. “More world tours? With a baby? Or you? If you want to get back to your own work?”

You swallowed hard, voice quieter now. “Then we’ll figure it out. Maybe the breakup was necessary then. But it taught me one thing - I don’t want to be without him. Baby or not, we would’ve found our way back.”

You stood up then, eyes stinging, heart pounding.

They didn’t yell.

They didn’t argue.

But they also didn’t smile. And that somehow felt worse.

You left the restaurant, the lump in your throat somehow feeling bigger than your baby bump. They weren’t angry.

Just... disappointed.

And that hurt more than you thought it would.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You don’t go straight home after the lunch.

The conversation with your parents weighed heavily on you, sitting like a knot in your chest that no amount of deep breaths seemed to loosen.

You needed a moment - just a moment - to walk, to clear your head, to feel like your own person again before you have to recount it all to Jiyong, who you know will take it hard on your behalf.

So you wander.

A quiet street, a breeze that rustles the edge of your coat.

And then you see it.

A little store tucked between a florist and a café. Pastel-striped and a golden bell hanging over the door. You pause outside the window where a display of delicate baby clothes were presented on cream wooden hangers. Soft cardigans, floral bibs… and then your eyes fall on a tiny hair clip.

Something about it makes you stop.

Really stop.

The simplicity. The sweetness.

The way it makes you feel - something light and warm, something that doesn’t immediately fold in on itself with guilt or nerves.

You open the door.

Inside, the air smells like baby powder and chamomile tea. You walk slowly, tracing your fingers across tiny knit hats and miniature socks. And for the first time, you're not just watching Jiyong plan a future.

You're letting yourself step into it too.

By the time you step back outside, bag in hand and clip tucked safely inside, you’re already dialling his number.

He picks up on the first ring. “Jagi?”

“Can you come get me?”

A pause. “Wait - where are you? I’m still where I dropped you off.”

You blink. “You waited there? This whole time?”

“Yes.”

You laugh quietly, touched and a little speechless. “Okay… I’m coming back now.”

When you find him, still parked in the same spot, leaning back with the radio playing low, he immediately straightens up at the sight of you. His eyes scan your face like he’s bracing for bad news.

You slide into the passenger seat and buckle in, silent for a moment.

“Well?” he asks carefully.

You shrug, looking down at the little clip in your hands. “I couldn't eat anything. It was… tense. But they’ll come around eventually. I think.”

He watches you for a moment, then exhales, nodding like he’s holding in a thousand words he doesn’t want to force on you. He glances at the rearview mirror, then starts the engine.

“Well,” he says with a small smile, “shall we get some McDonald’s?”

The fast food had been your latest pregnancy craving. You nod, playing with the clip between your fingers. “You read my mind.”

As the car pulls away, you feel a soft thump from inside - baby girl, giving her two cents.

You grin. “Someone’s woken up.”

Jiyong reaches over and places a hand gently on your belly without taking his eyes off the road.

“She must’ve smelled the fries already.”

You laugh, your hand covering his.

The day hadn’t gone how you hoped. But right now, in this car, with him and her - this felt like enough.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

3 years later:

It was Diva’s first ballet recital.

You and Jiyong were a mess.

She, on the other hand, was unbothered, twirling in front of her mirror, blissfully unaware that only two tickets had been allowed per child.

You opened the front door and sighed the moment you saw your parents standing there, holding presents wrapped with bows and pink paper.

“You guys too?” you asked, stepping aside to let them in.

“Of course us too,” your mother said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You gestured toward the sofa, where Jiyong’s parents were already perched, perfectly content, cooing over baby Jemi in her carrier. Your father and Jiyong’s dad exchanged polite nods, and within moments your parents were crouched next to the baby too, lost in grandparent mode.

You left them to it and ducked back into the bedroom, where Jiyong was now focused on Diva’s hair, tongue between his lips as he tied the last loop of her bun.

It was… not bad, actually.

You smiled and stepped in to pin up the soft baby hairs at the nape of her neck with clips. One of them being the clip - the very first thing you ever bought for her, years ago in a quiet moment of hope.

Pink and simple and suddenly so significant.

Jiyong glanced at you, then at Diva, a quiet smile forming.

“You excited, Princess?” he asked her quietly, carefully lifting her from his lap. You knew he was trying not to have another breakdown like he had that morning.

But you didn't tease him, because you were feeling just as sentimental as your emotional husband.

Diva nodded, turning around to face him and playfully standing on his legs. He held her hands, balancing her as she leaned back, giggling when he let her nearly touch the floor just before he pulled her back up again.

You reached for her cardigan and quietly passed it to Jiyong.

"C'mon then, or else we'll be late," you mumble with a smile, "We've now acquired a crowd of fans to also take with us."

He adjusted Diva's arms and slipped the little cardigan on, buttoning it one by one. “You know we’re so proud of you,” he told her, lips thinning as he willed them not to wobble.

You nodded quickly, tears threatening already. “So, so proud,” you added, your voice cracking slightly.

“Don’t cry, Eomma!” Diva giggled, stepping closer to you so she could wrap her arm around your leg.

You laughed, blinking back the tears as you brushed the stray hairs away from her round cheeks. “You’re just so pretty and perfect."

“I know,” she grinned, kicking her leg out and tilting her head up at you.

You both burst out laughing.

"Come here you," Jiyong suddenly grabbed her, smothering her cheek with kisses as she loudly protested in between her laughter. Then you both took a hand each, and led her out to the living room.

The moment the grandparents saw her, it was over.

“Jia!” they gasped in unison like she’d just descended from the heavens. She gave a little bow, and they clapped like she’d gave them a show stopping performance.

It had been like this from the moment she was born. Every concern, every hesitation - vanished.

She had marched into their hearts with a tiny fist in the air and stayed put ever since.

Soon, you were all off to the recital - somehow managing to sneak the entire extended family into the back row.

Jiyong clutched his phone, aiming it at the small stage, already misty-eyed before the curtain even lifted.

The moment Diva stepped out, in her tutu and tiny ballet slippers, he burst into full-blown tears.

“Ok, ok, I got it,” you whispered, taking the device from him before he dropped it.

“She’s dancing,” he croaked. “That’s our daughter. Our baby. She’s - ”

“I know,” you said, squeezing his hand.

On stage, Diva spotted her audience and beamed. She gave an exaggerated twirl and kicked her leg just like at home. She even held up a little heart with her fingers toward the back row.

The grandparents, all four of them, were holding Jemi and giving her enthusiastic thumbs-ups.

She lit up even more.

Your little star.

Your Diva.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

someone requested the reactions to expecting diva and pre-diva content! i love these requests. i swear i read and write them but im just slow 😭 im sorry i have over 55 drafts currently oops

anyway hope you enjoyed this one!

love always,

mash xxx

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @breakmeoff , @emmiesoverthemoon , @rafesbunniebby , @ricecake9999 , @fleabagspurplewife , @sylviavf , @ldydeath , @wonyluvi , @deliciousmagazinequeen , @heartubeatusalon , @imminsugasgf , @steponupbabe

[queenclacker]

I think people who think I hate Neil or Andrew really don't read my posts likes no the fandom hates Kevin so I focus on Kevin I break apart his character but I love Neil he's the reason I continued with the book Andrew is cool I enjoyed him but Neil was the reason I loved the books but Kevin Kevin caught my eye and the hate he had was so weird to me like he's traumatized but is a diva they take everything away from his character and take the quotes out of context like when he says "the age consent is 16 in Virginia" he meant it as they couldn't do anything if jean didn't want to do something he's rational he knows all their tricks cuz he lived there the longest Kevin knows how to survive them he knows the horror and how far they will go how far the moriyamas are will to go to keep it all under wraps for fuck sakes he killed his own blood because he made a mistake live like do people read with their eyes closed Kevin knows he lived it and people love to call him a coward but Kevin learned the game he knows how to stay alive because dying isn't on Kevin's agenda him dying would mean all his suffering was for nothing his mother's death will be in vain Kevin living is the biggest revenge Kevin surviving is the only way he can win mad Kevin loves to win.

As for Neil running is how he survived and true strength is facing the horrors but that's now strength for Kevin leaving the nest and surviving is his true strength Neil isn't perfect Neil is flawed and abused his analogies are wrong but they work for him not for all characters.

For example Andrew being off his meds and finding a family is his goal that's his desire and dreams.

Jean admitting he was being abused and harmed is his salvation going to the torjens is the way for it.

But not Kevin Kevin is meant to survive and shine being back his mother's sport to it's true path the path that titsuji ruined and kengo , Kevin's strength comes from him going to wymack and staying with the foxes but they are so horrible to him yes but they don't abuse him Kevin wants his father he wants his mother Kevin is meant for the stars for the game.

Jean and Neil are pawns in the game Kevin was forced into the role of pawn but the queen can return it the pawn reached the end of the board the queen is the strongest piece because it can do what the king's can never do move in ways the king can't the queen rose up and high the queen won and that's the most important part of Kevin.

Kevin and Thea or Kevin and.. who gives a shit Kevin's plot is freedom winning getting the revenge by going back to what he originally was.

Neil plot is mafia and blood

Jeans is recovery

Andrew is freeing his mind and body

Jeremy his family

But Kevin his plot is the game his plot is what it is for a reason