#and it's a stretch but it's how I feel that this kinda feels like an extension of that general dismissal of aroace experiences

[mihsella]

That other side of you.

Minors DNI!!

Summary: Void has been growing desperate, seeing how you and Bob fucked whenever you guys wanted to. He also wanted his turn with you, he wanted you to know how good he could make you feel.

Warnings: Shameless smut, vaginal sex, fingering, oral sex, dom and sub undertones (i think), rough sex, overstimulation (if you squint), small reference of substance abuse.

A little bit of cute romance Bob for like two lines lol!

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You had been dating Robert Reynolds for a while now. Ever since you first saw him, you felt pulled towards him, that weird gravitational attraction that you only get once in your life. His dark messy hair, his deep blue eyes, his charming good-boy smile, they melted your heart since day one.

You loved how he was when you two got intimate. He was soft, delicate, yet somehow desperate, almost submissive at times. He could be at your feet whenever you wanted him too, begging you to touch him, begging you for more. And you loved him like this, you loved how desired he made you feel.

You knew about the Void, he had told you about him after your first night together, expecting you to leave like everyone else did. But you? You stayed. You can't deny you were scared at first, you knew how hard it was for him to control it, to control him. Nevertheless, ever since he joined the Thunderbolts, things were actually looking brighter. Bob came into peace with Void, and Void came into peace with Bob. They even talked to each other and Bob even allowed Void to manifest himself and do everyday things. And whenever he did, he was surprisingly normal. You just chatted and kept him up with everything, he became like another friend to you, another version of the puppy eyed boy you loved.

You were already accostumed to seeing Bob speak to himself, you knew he was talking to Void. But lately he seemed jumpy, uncertain. Whenever he spoke to himself he made sure to leave the room, it was like he didn’t want you to hear him, to hear them. It wasn't until one morning, when you were sipping coffee, that your boyfriend approached you, eagerly sat down, and said;

"I want to talk to you about uhm....something."

"Oh, what is it babe? Everything ok? …..Is it something at work?" You asked shyly. His recent demeanor had you worrying that he may had relapsed, or had problems dealing with Void again.

"No, its just uhm. Its about Void" He said, fidgeting with his hands and avoiding your eyes.

"Oh. Is he making you upset again?" You asked, eyes widening.

"No, its not that its just. You know how he has feelings too and needs too, right? Like he is kinda human after all….I guess. And, you know, uhm, we are like at some level the same person, so if I like something or need something he tends to feel the same way. That's why I let him take the lead sometimes, and talk to you, and go for walks, and eat and stuff" He is jumpy, shy, acting like the first time he ever talked to you. You must admit it, Bob was extremely timid, but now, he looked almost ashamed.

"I know that baby. I get that and I've told you I'm ok with that. I understand." You look deep into his eyes, stretching out your hand over the table to grab his. You knew he was insecure about his "condition”, yet you had never seen him this way.

“It’s just well, he had this idea, well I guess we had it cause I agreed and all. You know I love you so I guess he loves you, so…”

“So…?”

“So….ugh how the fuck do I say this…god” He brought his hands to his head, and furrowed his eyebrows. “Uhm…well..”

“Bobby, babe, you know you can tell me anything. You know I am willing to help you as long as it means you can control him and you guys can be at peace.” You looked at your boyfriend sincerely, you were truly willing to do anything for him.

“Well, he wants to…uhh…..he wants to fuck you”

“Oh” Your cheeks turned red. “I…I don’t know what to say” You can’t say you hadn’t thought about it before. About knowing how this other side of your boyfriend was, how he would touch you differently, feel you differently. But it was always just a fleeting thought. You never thought Bob would allow something like this.

“I mean if you don’t want to it’s fine”

“No no… I’ll do it” You smiled at him.

“Oh thanks babe really, I can’t thank you enough. This guy, you know, he was driving me crazy” He stood up, reached over and kissed your forehead, cupping your face in his calloused hands. “I love you so much” He smiled, his eyes brightening.

“I know” You smiled back.

He reached for your lips, pulling you into a soft, delicate kiss. And suddenly, he stopped. His eyes, still blue, turned somehow dark, like if a fog had taken over. He pulled away, smiling, he was still Bob but, not your Bob. He smiled cockily, confident, and looked straight at your lips. “Hey there”

You stood up, now aware. “Void..?” You looked straight into his eyes.

“In the flesh, baby” He pulled you into a long, deep kiss. His lips grazed yours roughly, he was desperate, hungry. His tongue exploring every single part of your mouth. His hands were everywhere, he grabbed your hair, cupped your face, touched your waist. It was so different from Bob’s delicate kisses, yet just as delicious. You replied back, putting your hands on his torso and sliding down, keeping up with all that he was giving you. He was so rough, so desesperate, you felt your whole body aching for him, that familiar feeling building up between your thights.

Sloppily, in between kisses, you made your way towards your bedroom. Clumsily tripping over stuff as you did. You got to your bedroom and he stopped, looking into your eyes “You are so beautiful”. He hugged you and held you up as he kissed you, slowly moving towards your neck. His hot breath against your skin made you feel otherworldly, you felt his desire in every single kiss. You moved your hands towards his shirt, trying to take it off without breaking the kiss. He looked down at you and smirked “Pathetic..” He cockily took his shirt off with just one hand, and took yours off just as easily. (God, has he been practicing this??) In a couple of swift movements you were completely naked, and him in his in underwear, his torso glowing under the sunlight.

“so fucking pretty for me…” He whispered, out of breath as he laid you in the bed. He climbed over you, his eyes locking with yours as he trailed kisses from your face, to your neck, and then to your torso. “So, so fucking pretty” He said as he took his mouth to one of your breasts. He kissed it, sucked it, ran his tongue in slow, torturing circles around your nipple. Grabbing your other breasts with his free hand and pinching that nipple as he sucked. A moan escaped your lips as you felt his tongue in your breasts, alternating between each one, kissing and grabbing, making you feel so sensitive. You were sure your breasts were already sore when you felt him start trailing his kisses down, his hot lips grazing through your skin. “I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good baby, you’ll forget you’re even dating goddamn Bob”.

He got to your clit and started kissing it, so slowly, yet it felt like so much. You looked down, into his sweet dark eyes, he looked beautiful. His long hair framing his face as he looked straight at you, face buried between your thighs. He went slowly on your clit, he wanted you to beg him, to make him know how hard you wanted him. “M…more”

“What was the baby?”

“More… please” You whined. You felt pathetic, writhing under this man. You felt his tongue slide through your folds, teasing them before he went all in, alternating between sucking and kissing your clit, and sliding his tongue through your folds. You moaned and whined, you felt it through your body, his tongue was hot against you. You felt yourself get wetter, you needed him, all of him, everywhere.

Almost as if he heard you, he suddenly added a digit into you, expanding and pumping. You couldn’t keep up with everything, his finger reached deep, into that sweet spot your boyfriend would always reach. Instinctly, you reached down, grabbing his soft hair and pushing him deeper towards you. He looked at you and smiled, he was so fucking cocky and you hated it, yet he made you feel so good, so used.

He inserted another digit and you felt your boyfriend’s cold rings against your entrance, his fingers curling as his tongue kept torturing your clit. Your moans were almost pornographic at this point. Loud, whiny, pathetic sounds came out of your mouth. “Those sounds baby, keep making them.” He said as he smirked at you, fingers pumping in and out of you mercilessly. You felt the heat quickly building up, like you were about to spill in any minute. “M’gonna…gonna cum..” you managed to get out in between your moans. He smiled, and started sucking harder on your clit, keeping the same pace with his fingers. You quickly felt your core tensing, and with a moan came undone into his hands, breathing heavily and writhing from the pleasure. Your mind was foggy, and you saw stars.

“So good for me baby, aren’t you? Such a good girl” He took his hands towards your waist, and started trailing them through thighs, kissing them and caressing them. “That was so much..” You said, still slurring on your words. “Oh but it wasn’t enough for me baby.” You heard the smile in his words as he took off his boxers, carelessly tossing them to the side.

He climbed on the bed and aligned himself with your entrance, sliding his cock through your folds. You were so sensitive that it already felt like too much, and he hadn’t even entered you yet. He looked at you, grabbing your face as you felt him go in, causing you to moan. You were so wet for him that it just slid in, no pain. You were already used to your boyfriend’s dick yet seemed to always forget how utterly big he was.

He gave you a moment to adjust to his size, and started pumping into you slowly, his eyes praising you as he did. You felt him him hitting deep into your core. Slowly, torturing you, making you feel each and every trust. He slowly kissed your neck, leaving marks all over you as he steadily increased his pace. You felt how much he filled you, overwhelmed by how his cock felt against your folds, and how his mouth was nibbling the skin of your neck. “I’m gonna fuck you dumb” he shamelessly whispered against your ear as he quickly started on a pace, going harder and faster into you. You were already so sensitive and now just felt completely cockdrunk. You couldn’t control the moans that were escaping you, and couldn’t even keep your legs straight, going limp under him, completely vulnerable to his touch.

He took notice of your reaction, and moved his hands towards your waist, pinning you down into the bed as he mercilessly fucked you. Each thrust leaving you out of breath and making your mind foggier. You could only feel him, it was so overwhelming yet so good. You could only feel him going faster, harder, giving you everything he had. You closed your eyes, unable to handle everything he was giving you. “Open your eyes, I want you to see this” he said, as you looked up and saw his hair framing his beautiful face.

His pace quickly became erratic, small moans escaping his lips as you felt that familiar feeling growing inside of you again. He kept holding down your waist as you whimpered, choking out every single time he hit that spot. He looked down on you, mouth open as he fucked you. Then, with one last long thrust, he came undone into you, filling your insides so perfectly. And so did you. Feeling your mind go completely blank and your body get overpowered by that heat, legs shaking with one last, loud moan. He collapsed on top of you, rolling over as he took deep breaths.

He looked at you. Your mind still foggy and fucked out of comprehension. “God, now I know why Bob loves you so much” He said as he cupped your face in one of his hands. Leaning in to kiss your forehead, and smiling as he looked into your eyes. You smiled back, catching your breath.

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This is my first fic here!! Taking any recommendations or prompts. Lowkey thinking about doing a sub!Bob fic. Tell me your thoughts!! Love you guys!! <3

[botanicsoul]

Don’t Meet Your Heroes

Pro Hero | Izuku Midoriya x Fangirl (Fem) Reader

-> I will NEVER stop writing menace Izuku because there is absolutely NO WAY someone that nice, that polite, that sweet is not secretly a freak. You don’t save the world with a smile and then go home and knit. No—you choke your girl out while she wears your merch and thank her for letting you. —Anyway, enjoy🥳

ི༘𑁍࿔̥̊ ི༘𑁍࿔̥̊ ི༘𑁍࿔̥̊ ི༘𑁍࿔̥̊ ི༘𑁍࿔̥̊ ི༘𑁍࿔̥̊ ི༘𑁍࿔̥̊ ི༘𑁍࿔̥̊ ི༘𑁍࿔̥̊ ི༘𑁍࿔̥̊ ི༘𑁍࿔̥̊ ི༘𑁍࿔̥̊ ི༘𑁍࿔̥̊ ི༘𑁍

You didn’t expect much when you walked up to the table—just your hero crush smiling at you for five seconds before you moved on like everyone else.

But when his eyes lifted and locked onto yours, time stretched. You offered him the homemade fanart you’d printed on glossy paper. “It’s silly, but… I wanted you to sign it.”

His freckled cheeks went pink, and he gave you that smile. “It’s not silly at all. It’s cute.”

His fingers brushed yours when he took it. “Hey… mind if I ask something kinda bold?”

You blinked. “Yeah? What’s up?”

He scribbled something in the corner of the poster and slid it back. A phone number.

“Text me. If you want to talk more. Or… I don’t know. Grab a coffee?”

Your heart practically launched out of your chest.

Of course you texted him.

Coffee turned into dinner. Dinner turned into your back hitting his apartment mattress—staring up at him, wide-eyed, wondering how the sweet, bashful hero who wore a cardigan on your little date now had your legs pinned wide open… your wrists bound above your head with his utility belt.

At first, he kissed you like you were fragile. Hands shaky. Voice soft. Whispers of “you sure?” between every breath.

But the second you moaned his name and rocked your hips into his?

A switch flipped.

And suddenly the man above you wasn’t the one who smiled for cameras. He fucked you like he’d been starving. Like he’d been good for too long and now he needed to ruin something sweet.

He rutted into you slow and deep—possessive, gritting through every thrust like he hated how much he needed it.

“You thought I’d be gentle, didn’t you?” he muttered, slamming into you hard enough to make the headboard crack.

“Thought I’d blush and stutter while I fucked you?” He leaned down, lips dragging along your jaw. “No, baby. I earn my rewards.”

Your legs shook. He was everywhere—biting your neck, sucking marks onto your chest like he wanted the world to see, you were a moaning mess while he’s choking you just enough to make you dizzy.

“You moan like you want the whole city to hear you,” he growled. “You like this? Being fucked by your favorite hero like a filthy little fan girl?”

You gasped, nails digging into your palm.

He chuckled low, voice dark. “You’re soaked. Can feel it drip down my cock every time I pull out.”

“Please—” you barely got the word out before he was on you again, teeth gritted like he was holding back something brutal.

He paused, just to thrust harder. “I’ve saved lives, baby,” he snarled into your neck, “but I’d let the city burn if it meant I got to come back to this cunt.”

Your body snapped tight, your orgasm crashing into you with no warning—and he felt it.

He growled, rough and wrecked. “Good girl. Fuck—milk it. Soak me. Show me how much this pussy loves me.”

And when you finally went limp, body shaking, eyes glassy? He leaned down and kissed you like he hadn’t just destroyed you.

Then he pulled out, slowly, watching his cum leak from your pussy onto the sheets.

He groaned. “Next time I fuck you, wear my merch.”

You blinked up at him, fucked-out and blinking.

He grinned, all teeth. “The one that says Property of Pro Hero Deku. I wanna see it when I make you cum on your knees.”

[cameronsbabydoll]

sexist! rafe cameron who thinks it’s kinda of funny and amusing when you dream about doing things like work or school and treats it almost like a child playing pretend.

you’re sitting on the couch, cross-legged in your little pajama shorts, laptop open, blue light reflecting in your glassy eyes while you ramble about your online classes.

“so if i finish this program by december, i might be able to intern at that place in charleston next year! they emailed me back!” you beam, proud of yourself.

your voice is light, sweet, excited—like a kid showing off a crayon drawing.

rafe doesn’t even look up from his phone at first.

just hums low in his throat, almost like he’s cooing.

“mm. yeah? that’s cute, baby.”

you blink, still smiling but confused.

“what?”

he finally lifts his eyes—lazy, unreadable—and grins like he’s indulging you.

“i said it’s cute, watching you pretend you’re gonna work in some little office with your name on a desk. adorable.”

you feel your stomach drop a little.

“it’s not pretend…”

he chuckles under his breath, sets his phone down, and stretches one arm along the back of the couch.

“you think i’m gonna let my girl clock in and out like some minimum wage intern? wear slacks and call other men ‘sir?’”

“c’mon, baby. you weren’t made for that.”

you pout a little, trying to explain—something about passion, fulfillment, wanting to be taken seriously—and he just watches you.

like it’s entertaining.

like he’s watching a toddler play dress-up in her mom’s heels.

“you don’t need a job. you need someone to keep you fed and fucked and away from men who think a degree makes you special.”

you stare at him, throat tight, laptop still open in your lap.

he taps the bottom of your chin, voice soft but mocking.

“school’s not gonna teach you how to make me a plate. or keep my house clean. or stay in your place.”

and then he kisses your forehead, like he's proud of you anyway.

“you’ll learn, though. you’re a smart little thing—when you’re not pretending to be grown.”

[hoosurdaddy]

Bookstore dreams.

Pairing: Joe Goldberg x reader.

Trigger warnings: smut, joe himself, power dynamic, dirty talk, breeding kink, dom/sub.

Note: I kinda went off the rails and lost the storyline sorry.

Request.

—

A thrill ripples through you as you stand outside Joe Goldberg's bookstore, an old independent shop tucked away on a quiet corner of the city. You double-check the resume tucked under your arm, nervously smoothing your button-up shirt and pencil skirt. This job interview could be your chance to break into publishing - if you can impress the reclusive, mysterious owner...

You push open the door, a small bell tinkling to announce your arrival. The scent of old books and espresso envelops you. Behind the counter, a tall, dark-haired man looks up from his laptop, almond green eyes meeting yours from behind thick-rimmed glasses. Your heart skips a beat. It's Joe Goldberg himself.

"Hello, I'm here for the interview for the editorial assistant position," you say, stepping closer. Joe regards you silently for a long moment, his gaze intense and unreadable.

"Come with me," he says finally, voice deep and smooth like dark chocolate. He leads you to a small office in the back, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his button-down shirt. You feel a blush rising to your cheeks as you sit across from him.

The interview begins and Joe fires off question after question, his piercing eyes seeming to bore into your very soul. You stumble over your words at first, flustered by his close scrutiny. But gradually, your confidence grows as you discuss your passion for literature and your eagerness to learn the publishing business.

As you talk, you notice Joe's eyes flick down to your lips, then linger on the swell of your breasts before quickly darting away. A flicker of excitement ignites in your core. Could he be attracted to you too?

"Well, your qualifications are certainly impressive," Joe says when you've answered the last question. He leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "But I have to wonder...do you have what it takes to work closely with me? I expect complete loyalty and dedication from my employees."

His voice drips with implication. A shiver runs down your spine as you imagine what other tasks he might expect you to perform in private. But your curiosity and desire have been piqued.

"I assure you, Mr. Goldberg, I would be completely devoted to you and this job," you reply, holding his smoldering gaze. "Whatever it takes."

A slow, wicked smile spreads across Joe's handsome face. He rises from his chair and rounds the desk, looming over you. You swallow hard as he leans down, his lips nearly brushing your ear.

"I look forward to seeing how far that devotion goes," he murmurs. His breath is hot against your skin, making you squirm with building arousal. "Welcome aboard."

Your heart pounds as you realize you've just been hired by more than just a bookstore owner...you're about to work intimately with a dark, possessive man who will stop at nothing to claim you completely.

—

Your first day at the bookstore is a whirlwind of excitement and nerves. You can hardly focus on the endless stacks of books and papers Joe piles onto your desk, too distracted by the way his ass looks in those tailored dress pants when he bends over to shelve a book. Or how his shirtsleeves ride up to reveal strong forearms when he's typing away on his laptop. Every time you catch a whiff of his intoxicating cologne, you feel your panties growing damp.

Around lunchtime, Joe strides into your office without knocking, looking impatient. "Come with me," he commands, not even waiting for you to respond before turning on his heel. Your heart races as you follow him through the store and up a creaky wooden staircase. He leads you into what appears to be a small apartment, sparsely furnished but tidy.

"In here," Joe says, jerking his head towards a closed door. When you open it, you find yourself in a luxurious bedroom with a king-sized bed piled high with plush pillows and comforters. The walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

Joe locks the door behind you and turns to face you, his green eyes glinting with lust and possession. "I've been thinking about you all morning," he growls, crowding into your space until you're backed against the edge of the bed. "About all the things I want to do to this hot little body."

He grasps your hips and yanks you against him. You gasp as you feel the hard ridge of his erection pressing into your belly. "J-Joe," you stammer breathlessly, your hands coming up to rest on his chest. "We shouldn't...not here..."

But even as you protest, you find yourself arching into him, seeking more of that delicious friction. Joe makes a sound low in his throat and captures your lips in a searing kiss, plundering your mouth with his tongue. His hands roam your curves possessively, cupping and squeezing your breasts through your thin blouse.

"I've been waiting so long to get my hands on you," Joe groans against your lips, tugging your shirt from the waistband of your skirt. "To finally claim what's mine."

He makes quick work of the buttons and tugs the blouse off over your head. Then he reaches behind you to unhook your lacy bra, baring your breasts to his hungry gaze. "Fuck, look at you," he rasps, palming the soft mounds. "Perfect."

He ducks his head and latches onto one rosy nipple, suckling greedily. You cry out at the burst of sensation, tangling your fingers in his dark hair. His hand creeps up your thigh to slide under your skirt, pushing your panties aside to delve between your slick folds. "Jesus, you're fucking drenched," he groans in approval.

Two long fingers thrust inside you, making you buck and moan. Joe works them in and out while his thumb finds your clit, rubbing firm circles. "That's it, baby," he croons wickedly. "Let me feel this tight little pussy squeezing my fingers. I can't wait to sink my cock inside you."

Your head falls back as pleasure builds at the base of your spine, coiling tighter and tighter. Joe's lips trail up to your ear, nipping and sucking on the sensitive lobe. "Come for me," he demands huskily. "I want to feel you come apart on my fingers like the desperate little slut you are."

His filthy words send you hurtling over the edge into oblivion. You convulse against him as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over you, crying out his name.

As you slowly float down from the high, Joe strips off your remaining clothes with quick, impatient movements. Then he sheds his own clothes, revealing a lean, muscled body marked with scars and tattoos. His thick, heavy cock juts out from a nest of dark curls, flushed a deep red and leaking at the tip.

He pushes you down onto the bed and spreads your thighs wide, positioning himself at your entrance. "Beg for my cock," he orders, voice rough with need. "Tell me how badly you want me to ruin this pussy."

"Please, Joe," you whimper, writhing beneath him. "I need you inside me. I need you to fuck me hard and fill me up with your cum. Please fuck me like you own me!"

A dark, satisfied grin spreads across his face at your wanton pleas. "Good girl," he praises, before thrusting forward to bury himself balls-deep in your aching cunt.

You both groan at the sensation of finally being joined so intimately. Joe pulls back slowly before slamming into you again, setting a relentless pace that has the headboard slamming against the wall. The obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the room along with your cries of pleasure.

"Yes, yes, fuck me harder!" you wail, wrapping your legs around his hips to pull him deeper. Joe complies with a snarl, jackhammering into you with brutal force. The bed creaks ominously under the strain.

"Take it," he growls. "Take my fucking cock like the greedy little cumslut you are. This pussy belongs to me now."

You're teetering on the brink of another orgasm when Joe suddenly pulls out. You whimper at the loss, but he flips you over onto your hands and knees, pushing your shoulders down to raise your ass in the air. He slaps your cheek hard enough to sting, making you yelp.

Then he's back inside you in one powerful stroke, pounding into you from behind. The new angle has him hitting that secret spot inside that makes stars explode behind your eyes. "Oh fuck, right there!" you cry out, pushing back onto his pistoning cock.

"That's it, fucking take it," Joe grunts, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he rutting into you like an animal in heat. "Gonna fill this pussy up with my seed. Breed this cunt and make it mine."

The vulgar words push you over the edge into mind-blowing ecstasy. Your pussy clamps down on him like a vice as you come screaming his name, milking his cock for all its worth.

Joe buries himself to the hilt one final time and roars as he finds his own release, pumping spurt after spurt of hot cum deep inside you. He collapses on top of you, crushing you into the mattress as you both gasp for breath.

As the sweat cools on your skin and your racing hearts start to slow, Joe props himself up on one elbow to gaze down at you with satisfaction. "Welcome to your new job," he murmurs with a lazy grin, brushing a damp tendril of hair from your face.

You return his smile weakly, feeling deliciously sore and well-used. This is going to be one hell of a working relationship.

[b1eedthefreak]

Hihi! <3 I hope this isn't overwhelming you with how many requests you might be getting, feel free to ignore, but a fic with softdom Daryl?? Like. Kinda fluff/smut where he's lowkey kinda scared of hurting you so he's real soft and careful. Thanks and have a great morning/afternoon/night <3

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. Gentle

⌇daryl dixon x reader

⌇summary: the group is away on a mission to woodbury, the prison feels quieter than usual. you and daryl stay behind to guard the inside of a near empty cell block, comfort turns to smut.

⌇warnings: softdom!daryl, smut, emotional intimacy, oral (f receiving), gentle pace, praise, light teasing

⌇word count: ~6.3k

a/n don’t worry your request doesn’t overwhelm me whatsoever!! every request i get is just motivation for me to keep writing :D i hope you enjoy this and i’m sorry for the long wait <3

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The prison always felt cold. The usual buzz of activity was replaced by an eerie stillness that seemed to seep into every corner of the building. The groan of the metal doors, the chatter of the group, it was all absent, replaced only by the occasional footstep, the murmur of distant voices outside the walls. Most of the group had gone on a supply run to Woodbury, leaving behind only a few to guard the grounds. When the pairs had been chosen, you and Daryl had volunteered to stay behind, to keep watch inside.

Not that you were complaining.

It wasn’t often that the two of you had the entire prison to yourselves, and, for once, the silence felt like a welcome break from the chaos of the outside world.

Now, hours into the shift, there was nothing urgent to tend to. No walkers at the gates, no kids running around causing a ruckus. There was just the faint sound of the wind outside, the occasional rustle of a loose paper in the hallway, and the distant echoes of your footsteps as you moved about.

You were settled into your cell, your back against the wall with your legs tucked beneath you, an old paperback novel resting in your hands. It wasn’t a good book, just some cheap pre apocalypse thriller that had seen better days, its cover peeling and pages yellowed, but it was enough to pass the time.

You were halfway through a chapter when a shadow loomed in the doorway.

“You’re readin’ again?” Daryl’s voice cut through the stillness, low, with that teasing drawl of his. He leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, his crossbow slung across his back and his sleeves rolled up, revealing the familiar muscles in his forearms.

You looked up, a soft smile curling at the corners of your lips. “Didn’t think you’d sneak up on me this time.”

“I ain’t sneakin’. I just walk quiet,” he muttered, his voice still rough, though there was an underlying fondness to it. “Didn’t know guard duty included romance novels.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “It’s not a romance novel. And it’s not even a good one.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, but you could tell he was intrigued. “You coulda asked for something better.”

“I didn’t think you’d have anything else on you,” you teased, patting the empty space next to you on the cot. “So, you gonna keep standin’ there or come keep me company?”

Daryl didn’t answer right away. Instead, he walked into the cell, his boots making soft thudding sounds against the concrete floor. He sat beside you with a quiet grunt, still a little stiff, but somehow relaxed in your presence. You leaned into him immediately, tucking your head into the crook of his shoulder, your body naturally folding into his.

The warmth of his skin seeped through his shirt, comforting and solid. The faint scent of leather, sweat, and outdoors—the unmistakable smell of Daryl, wrapped around you like a blanket. You could hear the slow, steady beat of his heart beneath his ribs, and it grounded you in a way that nothing else could.

The silence between you stretched comfortably, not awkward or heavy, but peaceful. He didn’t say anything at first, but you felt him relax next to you, his body sinking into the cot with you. One of his hands brushed against your waist, just resting there for a moment, like he wasn’t sure if he should touch you more.

You shifted slightly, feeling the soft weight of his hand on your side, and you moved just a little closer to him. His breath hitched, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, you felt him lean his head against yours, his face softening into the motion as if he were savoring it. You let out a soft breath, content.

But as you shifted again, turning slightly to face him, the space between your bodies became charged with something new. His hand was still on your waist, but now his fingers twitched slightly, just a hint of hesitation in his touch.

“Daryl…” you whispered, your voice soft but filled with intent. You wanted him to hear the depth of the craving that had built in your chest for so long now. “I need you.”

He stiffened just slightly at the words, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your pulse race. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his voice barely audible when he answered. “You sure?” The concern in his tone was palpable. “Ain’t… ain’t tryna hurt you.”

You didn’t miss the tenderness in his words. It always came out like this with Daryl, like he feared even the slightest chance that he might break you, that he might do something wrong. You could feel the weight of it on him, that quiet vulnerability that he never showed to anyone else.

You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his, and gently placed it over your chest, where your heart thudded steadily beneath your ribs. “I want you,” you said, your voice firm now. “All of you. Just like this.”

The words seemed to settle into him, and you could see the tension in his body start to ease. He nodded slowly, a small, almost shy smile curling on his lips. “Alright sweetheart.”

He moved carefully, like every action had been measured, every moment drawn out. He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours with a slow, deliberate kiss. It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t desperate. It was just a kiss, a gentle press of his lips to yours, tasting you like you were a rare thing that needed to be savored.

His hands moved next, caressing your body like it was a treasure he was afraid of breaking. They trailed over your waist, your stomach, the curves of your ribs, and up your chest, pushing your shirt up slowly. His fingertips grazed your skin, causing goosebumps to rise in their wake.

“God,” he muttered against your lips, breaking the kiss for a moment to look at you, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “So fuckin’ soft…”

You closed your eyes, a shiver running through you at his words, at the heat in his voice. “Touch me more,” you whispered, your voice quiet but insistent. “I want to feel you.”

His hands obeyed, pulling your shirt over your head in one smooth motion, revealing the soft curve of your chest, the sensitive skin of your breasts. His eyes darkened as they traced the shape of you, and you could see the reverence in his gaze. He leaned down, placing a soft kiss over your collarbone, his mouth moving slowly down the path of your neck.

You felt the burn of his lips against your skin, and your breath hitched as his mouth moved lower, trailing kisses over your chest until he reached your breasts. He didn’t rush. There was no hurry in his movements, no desperate urgency, just a quiet, lingering tenderness.

When his mouth closed around your nipple, you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair as he suckled gently, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud. The sensation sent jolts of heat through your body, and you arched your back into his touch.

He groaned softly, pulling away to look up at you. “Feel good?” he asked, his voice rough, his breath shallow.

You nodded, your chest rising and falling with each breath. “So good, Daryl.”

He smiled softly, clearly pleased with your response. You reached for him, your hands trailing down his chest, feeling the roughness of his skin, the lean muscle beneath his shirt. As your fingers dipped under the waistband of his jeans, you felt the heat of him, the pulse of his desire.

Daryl’s breath caught in his throat as you touched him, but he didn’t rush you. He let you explore, guiding your hand slowly, patiently. When you finally slid your hand inside his pants, he sucked in a sharp breath, his hips bucking slightly at the contact.

“Easy baby..,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp.

But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he guided you back to the cot, gently lowering you onto it. His hands were slow, his motions careful, but his eyes… they were full of need, full of desire, and that vulnerability you so loved.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good,” he whispered, his voice filled with both tenderness and something darker, something possessive. “I won’t hurt ya. Promise.”

And as his lips met yours again, deeper this time, more desperate, you knew that he meant it. He would take his time. He would make every moment count. Because with Daryl, it was never just about the sex, no, it was about everything that came before and after, too. It was about the care, the attention, the worship.

And when he finally entered you, slow and deliberate, you gasped, your body stretching to accommodate him, filling you completely. Every inch of him was like fire, but he moved so gently, so cautiously, that the burn was pleasurable, a slow, intoxicating heat that spread through your body.

He kissed you through every inch of it, every soft, slow thrust, every whisper of praise that fell from his lips. “So fuckin’ tight,” he groaned. “You feel so good baby…”

You held onto him, your body shaking with each move, but you were anchored in him, in the tenderness that wrapped around you like a warm, safe embrace.

When you both reached your climax, it was a slow, overwhelming release. It wasn’t frantic or rushed. It was full of lingering touches, quiet whispers, and shared breaths.

Daryl held you through it, never pulling away, even when the waves of pleasure slowly ebbed. He kissed your forehead, your temple, your shoulder, and pulled the blanket around your bodies. Holding you close, as if he never wanted to let you go.

And as the night settled over the prison, you knew that it wasn’t just the walls that felt warmer. It was the love between you, the reverence he treated you with.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

❀ ⋆｡˚ ˚｡⋆❀

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[bettelaboure]

⊹Stolen peck?⊹ | Choi Seung-Hyun

third part in series "Course in Chemistry"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

⊹ Pairing: Choi Seung-Hyun x Reader

⊹ Warnings: mature language, sexual tension, teenage awkwardness and embarrassment, light discussion of intimacy and consent, some emotional sensitivity around academic self-worth

⊹ Summary: the reader reluctantly agrees to be tutored by awkward and quiet Seung-Hyun, she fullfil her side of the deal to be the one teaching him life’s more intimate lessons

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

“There’s a lot more to attracting girls than just looking good and throwing out some lazy flirtation,” you said, arms folded. “Sure, that works on some people, but if you want to really be seen — like, remembered — you need more than surface-level charm.”

Seung-Hyun swallowed. “How much more?”

“Kissing, for example.” You leaned forward slightly. “If you’re good at it — and I mean really good — a girl will lose her breath and assume that what you’ve got going on with your mouth is just the beginning. Trust me on that. And I’m going to teach you.”

“Kiss you?” His voice cracked at the end, eyes wide.

You nodded. “Unless you'd rather keep practicing on your textbooks.” Honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if he had.

“N-No. I just... I don’t know if it’s a good idea. I mean, I don’t even know you that well. What if you, like, have some disease? And I didn’t even take a mint, and I kinda don’t want my first kiss to be—”

You cut him off with a quick kiss. A single second. He jolted back like he’d been electrocuted.

“What the hell, Y/N?!”

“You didn’t die, did you? Sit the fuck back down.” You rolled your eyes.

“You kissed me without asking!”

You raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? That was barely more than a preschool peck. And what did you think this deal meant? I’m not about to hand you a fucking textbook on kissing, flirting, or sex. This is your part of the deal — like the grammar drills are mine.” He opened his mouth, but shut it again. He knew you were right.

“If it makes you feel any better,” you added with a smirk, “my first kiss was in first grade. Some kid with a runny nose smeared his snot all over my cheek. Be grateful you didn’t get that.”

He laughed, and some of the tension drained from his shoulders. “Sorry, I was just… surprised.”

“It’s okay.” You patted the spot next to you. He sat, more relaxed this time.

“So… was it okay?”

You snorted. “You mean that blink-of-an-eye moment where our lips barely touched? Yeah, sure. I’m Niagara Falls.”

He laughed, hand dragging nervously through his hair. The silence between you both stretched for a few beats before you spoke again.

“I’m going to kiss you again. And this time, longer.”

He looked at you and nodded, slowly.

“Relax. And for the love of God, breathe, Seung-Hyun.”

You shifted closer. His breath ghosted over your face, warm and shaky. You hadn’t expected to be nervous — it was just a kiss — but something about this felt strangely intimate. No tongue. No grabbing. Just… a kiss.

You pressed your lips to his again. He froze, but softened a little under the pressure. He was trying, but not responding. You pulled back.

“Now I want you to kiss me back this time.”

“How?”

“Just do what I did. Mirror it. Your body knows what to do — it’s instinct.”

You kissed him again, slower this time, giving him space to respond. This time, he did — hesitantly, but sweetly. He was picking it up. Fast.

“That was good,” you said softly. “Visual learner, huh?”

He shrugged. “I guess, when it comes to… physical stuff.”

“Figures.” You didn’t know anyone who’d learned to dance from a textbook.

“Ready to move on?”

He nodded.

“Okay. This next one’s like a middle school make-out. Nothing intense. Just follow my lead.”

You explained: kiss for a few seconds, pull back slightly, tilt left. Repeat. Then tilt right. It was a pattern. One he could follow.

He leaned in slower this time. He was watching your mouth, and this time, you could see he wanted it.

Your lips met again, and this time it felt… right. Natural. He responded in rhythm. No overthinking. Just instinct. His hands stayed stiff at his sides, though. You noticed.

Without speaking, you reached for one and guided it to your mid-back. His fingers spread automatically. Warm. Steady. The pressure of his palm pulled you closer.

There was a subtle taste of apple juice on his breath, barely there — like a memory lingering.

You let yourself melt into the kiss. His confidence grew. You felt his hand press firmer against your back. Your body leaned in naturally, mouth beginning to part, ready to go further—

—and then your phone blared, violently yanking you both back into reality.

You scrambled for it, saw the name: Jae-mi. Perfect timing.

“I need to…”

“Yeah. It’s okay,” Seung-Hyun said, straightening his shirt with shaky hands.

“What?” you snapped, answering the phone.

“GUESS WHAT THAT BASTARD YOUNG-BAE DID!” Jae-mi screamed. “You know how I got the whole drama club to vote for me for ‘Best Student’ in the yearbook? Well, guess what, he’s screwing the lead actress and telling everyone I had HERPES in sophomore year. HERPES, Y/N!”

You blinked, stunned. “Are you sure?”

“Yes! I have no votes now! They’re all voting for him! My life is over!”

“I’ll be there in fifteen,” you sighed, already grabbing your bag.

“Hurry!”

You hung up. “I have to go,” you told Seung-Hyun.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Girl drama.” You gave him a small smile. “I’ll see you next time.”

—

“So… how was it?” Jae-mi was relentless the next day as you sat on the bleachers.

“How was what?”

“Smart and awkward — Seung-Hyun.”

You smirked, thinking about his flushed cheeks, his warm hands. “It was fine. We didn’t do much.”

Jae-mi raised a brow. “What did you do?”

“Kissed.”

“Like a makeout?”

“Kinda.”

“Tongue?”

You snorted. “Does he look like he can handle tongue?”

“Fair point.” She hummed and went back to her textbook. “When’s your next session?”

“Tomorrow evening.”

—

You stared at the cover of the book on the desk. Your stomach twisted.

“A 7th grade English book?” you said slowly.

“I think it could help.”

“For a 7th grader.” You glared. Was this a joke?

“I talked to Mr. Kim,” Seung-Hyun said. “He gave me some of your test papers—”

“You what? That’s a violation of my privacy!”

“I was trying to help! And I think I found the issue. You’re fine with future tenses. It’s the past and present that trip you.”

You stared at the book again. It looked childish in your hands. Weak. You hated how it made you feel — stupid. Small.

“I don’t want it.”

“Y/N, stop being stupid. It’s just a textbook.”

His words slammed into you. Did he even hear himself? You looked away, blinked hard.

People always said you were dramatic. Overreacting. But something about this just hurt.

“Can we do something else?” you asked, quietly.

He hesitated. “This… this was the plan.”

“I’ll just go, then.” You got up, grabbed your bag. But he followed.

“Wait!” he said quickly. You turned.

“What?”

He looked nervous again, shifting, hands gripping the ends of his sleeves. “What about your part of the deal?”

You stared at him. His flushed cheeks. The way he couldn’t meet your eyes. Maybe you did need to burn off the sting. A distraction.

You put the bag back down. “Okay,” you said softly. “Come sit.”

He did.

“What... what are we doing?”

“Tongue.”

His throat bobbed again. “Oh. Okay.”

You scooted closer. “I’m going to kiss you.”

He was ready for it this time.

When your lips touched, you immediately tasted mint. That little shit planned for this.

He kissed you back gently, awkwardly. One hand hovered uselessly, the other gripped the headboard. You pulled away.

“I don’t know what to do with my hands,” he admitted.

“That’s okay.” You took one hand and placed it on your back. The other, to your cheek. Warm. Steady.

“You okay with touching me?”

“Do you not want to touch me?”

“I-I…” He exhaled. “I do. I want to know.”

You nodded. “Then trust me.” You leaned in.

This time, when your lips met, neither of you hesitated.

You leaned in again, and this time, Seung-Hyun didn’t hesitate. The nerves were still there—you could feel them in the slight tremble of his fingers on your back—but he kissed you like he was listening. Not just to your words, but to your rhythm, your breath, the way you tilted your head and parted your lips like an unspoken invitation. He took it.

Your lips met and lingered. You deepened the kiss slowly, coaxing rather than commanding. His lips softened under yours, no longer stiff with uncertainty. When you parted your mouth just slightly, he mirrored you. His tongue brushed against yours—a little clumsy, hesitant, but there—and you let him feel what it meant to truly kiss someone, not just perform it.

You reached up and threaded your fingers into his hair, letting your nails gently graze his scalp. He shivered under the touch. Encouraged, he pulled you just a bit closer, hand pressing into your lower back, holding you like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. He was learning fast. His other hand, the one cupping your cheek, shifted slightly, thumb brushing against your skin with something that felt almost reverent.

You smiled into the kiss. He tasted like mint and something inherently boyish, like the vague sweetness of fruit and chapstick. You tilted your head and deepened the kiss again, letting your tongue slide over his just briefly before pulling back enough to breathe. His eyes were wide, his lips slightly swollen and parted, pupils blown with surprise—and something else. Want, maybe.

“Good,” you murmured, voice husky from the intensity. “That was good, Seung-Hyun.”

He looked like he was trying to find air. “You’re... You’re really good at that.”

You gave a short, amused laugh. “I’ve had practice.”

He swallowed hard, eyes flicking down to your lips again. “Can we... do it again?”

The question came out shy, almost embarrassed, but the way he looked at you told you he wasn’t asking just for technique. You didn’t answer with words—just leaned in and kissed him again. Slower this time. Deeper. His mouth responded in kind, more confident now, his hand exploring with more intent, spreading heat wherever he touched. His fingers flexed on your back like he couldn’t decide if he should pull you closer or hold still and memorize everything.

This kiss lasted longer. You felt yourself sinking into it, melting into the way his body molded to yours, his mouth moving with increasing ease against yours. When he kissed you this time, it wasn’t just copying—it was intuitive. He was getting it.

Eventually, you pulled back again, both of you breathing heavily. There was a beat of silence between you, charged and thick.

“You okay?” you asked softly.

He nodded. “Yeah. I just... I didn’t think kissing could feel like that.”

You smirked. “That’s because you’ve never done it right.”

He laughed, eyes bright, cheeks still flushed. “I’m starting to think this tutoring thing might be the best decision I ever made.”

You raised a brow. “Don’t get cocky. We’ve still got work to do.”

His lips quirked into a crooked smile, one that made your chest feel unexpectedly tight.

“Then I’m ready for the next lesson.”

You kissed him again—slow, deep, unhurried. You wanted him to feel it, really feel it. The way a kiss could pull someone under like a current. And he was feeling it.

This time, Seung-Hyun didn’t just react—he responded. His hands were more assured now, one at your waist, the other still cradling your cheek. His tongue moved cautiously, but with intent, matching your rhythm. The room felt smaller, warmer. His body pressed against yours and you let it, your knees nearly brushing.

That’s when you felt it—something shifting between you, not just metaphorically. He flinched slightly, as if even he only just noticed it, and you felt the sudden tension in his muscles.

Your lips broke apart, barely a breath away from his, and your eyes fluttered open.

His eyes were already wide, panicked. He realized you’d noticed.

You bit back a grin, but the slight twitch of your mouth gave you away.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, pulling back suddenly. “I—I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t—shit.”

He pushed off the bed so fast it almost made you fall back, stumbling across the room and fumbling to adjust his sweater lower. His face was beet red.

“Seung-Hyun.” You laughed, sitting up properly.

“I’m sorry!” he yelped, waving his hands like you were accusing him of something criminal. “I didn’t plan for that to happen! I swear!”

You couldn’t hold back the chuckle that bubbled up, genuine and amused but not unkind. “Relax. It’s literally a natural reaction.”

He shook his head frantically, already halfway to the door. “I’m gonna go splash cold water on my face. Or jump off the balcony. Haven’t decided yet.”

“Seung-Hyun—” You stood up, crossing your arms with a smirk, but your tone was softer now. “Hey. Come on. Don’t be dramatic.”

He turned back slightly, cheeks still burning. “You’re laughing at me.”

“I’m laughing because you’re cute when you panic,” you said honestly.

That only seemed to make it worse.

“God. Kill me.”

You stepped forward, stopping a few feet from him, still giving him space. “Look. It happens. Like… all the time. You’re a teenage boy and we were making out. What did you think was gonna happen?”

He opened his mouth to answer but clearly had no idea how to justify himself. You watched the gears in his brain try and fail to spin fast enough.

You shrugged, casual. “I’m not grossed out. I’m not offended. You’re fine.”

He groaned and hid his face in his hands. “I’m never going to recover from this.”

“Seung-Hyun, it’s just a boner. You didn’t confess your love to me or trip in front of the whole cafeteria.”

He peeked at you through his fingers.

“…That’s not comforting.”

You laughed again, walking over to pat his shoulder gently. “Go. Splash water. Breathe. Then come back and we’ll talk about boundaries next time so you don’t sprint across the room like I lit you on fire.”

“Noted,” he muttered, still dying inside.

“Also?” you added, smirking as you turned toward the door. “If you ever want to try kissing like that again… I don’t mind.”

You could practically hear the steam rising from his ears as he fled down the hallway.

Taglist: @redhoodedtoad @mirahyun @sherrayyyyy @sherxoo @dilfismz @breakmeoff @janie-osuih @forevervibezzzz1 @kuinnoa @juliskopf @maskedcrawford @szonyix6277@ldydeath

[rueclfer]

evergreen

𖤓 part xii. | series m.list | prev | part xiii.

touya’s phone is swiped out of his hands and onto the floor by a dirty wet rag. his head whips to the other side of the room to find you staring right back at him, white knuckled with another rag in hand.

“if i stopped caring, this would be easier for the both of us?” you repeat, taking stepping closer, “are you fucking kidding me?”

he’d be lying if he said that there wasn’t something surging through his body as he watches you storm over to him, abandoning your caddy of cleaning products. was it fear? excitement? attraction?

you throw the rag down against touya’s chest. he watches it fall onto the ground between his legs before snapping his gaze back up to you.

he says nothing for a moment, and instead adjusts himself on the bench of the wooden lunch table. you watch him lean back, cross his arms across his chest, and prop his ankle over his knee with nothing but a smug smile on his face.

he couldn’t bite back the smirk- not even when you looked like you were ready to kill him at this moment.

“i said what i said.” he shrugs.

you lunge at him.

this isn’t you. you’re not the type of person to get into physical altercations. you both know that. last night you couldn't even look at touya after the embarrassment of crying in front of him, but now you wanted to throw him into the ground.

your venom usually comes from your tongue, not your fists, but there's been something brewing inside of you since the summer started and now that you’re here with a two week grounding at your grown age, you’ve come to the conclusion that you have nothing left to lose. 

“it’d be easier,” you grab him by the collar of his shirt, balling the fabric in your fists as you push him into the table, “if you knew how to be honest and communicate instead of being a fucking coward and tip-toeing around the conversation we’re going to eventually have to have anyways.”

you hated how his eyes were gleaming. it was obvious he was enjoying himself, and seeing this reaction out of you may have been the highlight of his summer so far.

“we had that conversation, didn't we?” he cocks his head to the side with a lazy smile.

you shake him a little- tugging him back and forth before digging the edge of the table into his back again.

“stop looking at me like that,” you scold, "take me seriously."

“and there’s that scowl,” he mutters.

the more heat that prickles up your neck, the tighter you grip onto his t-shirt.

“can’t you be fucking normal and have a conversation with me? a serious one? or do you drop off the face of the earth and suddenly lose all of your comprehension skills?”

“well, fuck, sweetheart. when you’re screaming in my face and manhandling me like this, you make it kinda hard to concentrate.”

“you’re impossible,” you scoff, throwing him away from your grasp.

you stand up straight and take a step back, huffing out a breath of annoyance.

you and touya look at each other in silence. you watch him readjust his wrinkled and stretched collar while he watches the blood pool back into your hands. you still have that scowl on your face, and for a second you look like you’re a kid again- post tantrum, pouty, and ready to take your frustrations out on him when you don't get your way.

“there really is nothing?” you exasperated “you grew up and this is just the way that you are now? you turn seventeen and decide that nothing matters to you anymore?”

“seventeen,” he repeats, “is complicated and nothing that i want to talk about.”

not even to me?

there’s still a part of you that still feels bonded to touya no matter how many conversations you’ve had with yourself about letting him go. as if the feeling of being kids together will never leave you, even when he’s sitting right in front of you as living proof that it’ll never be that again.

“would you have ever reached out if you didn’t end up here this summer?” the question slips out of your mouth. you weren’t sure if you really wanted to know, but judging from the flash of shock on his face, you probably already knew the answer. “since you said you didn’t have a choice.”

touya presses his lips together into a tight line.

“yeah,” he sighs, “probably. eventually. i think.”

you slowly nod your head, “and what would you say?”

he blows out a long breath of air through his teeth and shifts himself in his seat, the wooden bench suddenly becoming uncomfortable.

“that i’m sorry? i guess?” he says under his breath.

all the time that had passed, and he still couldn’t get a grip on his words. something about his uncomfort with being vulnerable was comforting for you in a way, like it was the first nostalgic moment you’ve had with touya all summer.

“right,” you scoff, backtracking towards your side of the cafeteria. “nothing like the present, touya. five years later and i’m still waiting for that apology whenever you’re ready. or an explanation. or literally anything to make this summer less shitty than it already is.”

“lotta pressure for a guy like me, don’t you think?” he chuckles, standing up and grabbing his phone off the ground.

“call it accountability. we’re both adults now aren’t we?”

clearly, he thinks to himself, watching you grab your caddy and head towards the exit.

“have fun with the bathrooms,” you call out, throwing your middle finger over your shoulder before the door slams shut behind you.

a/n: drops this and runnnssss!!!! y/n: *screaming at touya spitting in his face about to break his jaw* touya: whoa *blushing* lmmmmaaaooo hi everyoneeee this is the slowest burn i've ever slowburned i need to move shit aasssaappp like 12 parts in and they haven't even had the TALK yet im abt to start losing it and make them makeout sloppy style behind the grimy bathroom shed

tags: (i think im capped out for tags so no longer accepting ppl for taglist sawwwwwyyyyyyy)

@iluv-ace @bitchyfestivalbouquet @redr0sewrites @babylambdietcoke @bnhabadass @hanmastattoos @1ndee @starsryi @nesrynsblog @twoplayergaymers @suksatoru @ita606 @pookiebear16 @fictionalcharactersownmyheart @in-the-marina-trench @haruhi269 @itgetzweird08 @ilophilia @chimimon @emluvs-sugu @punishblue @whorror-complex @akumakitsune21 @maddie-rose-1 @ixeyi @commonmisery @ggriwm @exselily @kryscent @starrmage @vannyinthestars @burnishingbagels @soobhns @kaybug88 @lantsovheiress @0skullyard0 @albakugo @sleepyk0dyz @blu3-l0v3r @bakugouswh0r3 @kaldurahms-lover @thoughtswithbbg @slothsmoths @reocidal @multi-write @stoned-anime-babe @i-simp-to-much @satansdaughter123 @haunted4love @annybah @linmabbe @boreaswrites @lostsomewhereinthegarden @hearts4heidi @makaroni-and-chez

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

I'm slowly savoring the absolutely delicious dish that is Princess Stan fic and the "turned into gold" scene can't leave my imagination.

So sorry if it was asked before, but was it confusing for Dragon Ford? Because I'm imagining that for a first several moments he's even reassured because his little twin is feeling so right, so shiny, so precious. He smells right and he shines as he always should... And then as he realises what happened he's horrified because for some moments he was welcoming this turn?

What I'm hearing is you'd like a Ford Pov of the gold Stan scene :)

"Fine, but make it quick, I'm trying to gloat here." Bill said, making the rage and fire in Ford's chest burn brighter. How dare the demon claim to be his Stan's relation in any kind of way. His Stan was His, and their parents were only of dim importance to that fact.

His Stan stretched his mouth out, bringing a hand up to massage it while trying to look at the demon perched on his shoulder. Another reason to crush him into pieces, no creature like Bill should be able to touch his Stan.

"What do I get out of you sticking to me like a barnacle? You just gonna yap-" his Stan was cut off as the demon's arms came up and wrapped around his mouth, making Ford and his Stan growl.

When he got his claws on Bill, the demon would regret treating his brother so carelessly.

"You see, thats the kicker here," Bill sighed, sitting down on his Stan's shoulder like a common seat, completely disregarding the respect his Stan deserved, "the job description was kinda vague, but it boils down to 'making you happy' and 'granting withes' which, lame? Why should I waste my time making you happy? Your misery makes me happy enough."

His Stan's happiness was like the rarest pearls. Ford had been trying for weeks to get the barest of his Stan's smiles, and he treasured each one like diamonds. Bill's words were an insult to life itself.

Before he could start telling the demon that in detail, his Stan tapped the arms around his mouth, making Bill groan.

Good.

"Look, you're already so needy. What is it now."

"Why on earth would I want you to grant any of my wishes?" his Stan asked, looking annoyed as he eyed Bill, "You already said you were a demon king-"

"THE demon king, brat"

The urge to tear Bill limb from limb was almost impossible to control. His Stan? A brat? The moment he could he was going to rip the demon's tongue out for daring to call him something so awful.

His Stanly ignored it, continuing on like Bill hadn't insulted the best thing to walk the castle halls.

"-A demon king, why would i trust you to do anything?"

Exactly, Ford nodded, eyeing Bill and slowly moving the claw not holding his Stan closer, judging the space over his shoulder and how well he could pinch something so small.

"You'd obviously twist everything I wanted around, like when people say 'I wish for my weight in gold' then-"

Bill snapped his fingers, and before Ford could blink his Stan went silent. He was still leaning on Fords claws, still eyeing Bill, still looking distrustful. Everything was the same, except that he was now solid gold.

Ford felt his heart stop in his chest, the dread and panic hitting him so hard, he hardly registered Bill disappearing in a cloud of pink smoke.

My Stanley, he cooed, gently reaching out with his other claw to brush through his brother's hair. It clanged against it, leaving the smallest of scratches.

Gold was very soft after all, and Ford was very, very big.

MY STANLEY! Ford roared, claw twitching before he straightened it out, terrified to put the barest of pressure on his brothers too still form. Gold was so so soft, and Ford knew, deep in his heart, that his Stan was made of it from the tips of his hair down to his toes. Just like he knew where every object of his hoard was and what it was worth, he knew his Stan was right here, unmoving and worth more and less than he every had been.

Some darker, primal part in him trilled in delight at his brother's new from. Like this, his Stan looked just as precious on the outside as he was on the inside. Like this, his Stan couldn't try sneaking out, couldn't wander off or away. Like this, Ford wouldn't have to worry about food, or water, or keeping him warm. He'd stay right where Ford put him.

Forever.

Ford crushed that part of himself. He snarled as he ripped it to shreds and burned the pieces to a crisp. His Stan might be difficult, but he was precious because he was Fords brother. His twin brother, who was loud and funny and made Ford feel safe and loved. The best of friends, together wherever they went.

His Stan couldn't be any of those things like this. Not with how he was slowly cooling in Ford's claws, stiff and lifeless.

MY STANLEY! he roared again, leaning in as close as he dared while he inspected the golden statue in his claw. No heart beat in its chest, no air moved in its lungs. The light from above shone down and reflected off of the curves and folds of his brother's hair and clothes in a shimmering display as Ford turned him delicately in his claw.

How beautiful.

How horrifying.

He was going to shred Bill to pieces.

FIDDLEFORD! Ford roared, carefully standing on his hind legs and rushing towards the treasury doors, FIDDLEFORD!

Fiddleford could help, or Emma-May. They'd been studying curses this whole time, so his servants friends had to have some idea of what to do. Ford's thoughts scrambled and snarled at each other, only agreeing to hold his Stan cupped in his claws, so his poor brother couldn't be damaged any more than he already was.

They'd fix it, or work on fixing it. Something. Anything.

Otherwise he wasn't sure he'd be able to control what he did next.

[kireistrawberryjayla]

"𝓕𝓵𝓸𝓾𝓻, 𝓚𝓲𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓼 & 𝓛𝓪𝔂𝓵𝓪"

Trope: Jake house husband?!! X readerbread winner!??

Summary- After a rough dinner with her judgmental family, you and your husband Jake return home for a cozy weekend together—full of healing, cuddles, and cheesy romance. As a house husband, Jake showers you with affection, late-night kisses, and pancakes, while your dog Layla does her best to keep you both humble. Between laughter, a little spice, and messy baking, you find peace in the life you've built after heartbreak. A soft domestic slice-of-life with love, healing, and lots of whipped cream../づ~ 🍓

Warming: if you don't like it not my problem, just whine and sulk idc but not in my comments love 💓 byeeee!!!𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 shit here guys hahahaaa....

Ummm just so you know this fanfiction is kinda messy idk why i feel like that but please message me if something it wrong

🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐🫧𓇼𓏲*

Morning light spills through the curtains, golden and warm, as the world outside slowly begins to stir.

But in here, wrapped up in soft sheets and the comfort of a familiar heartbeat, the world feels quiet. Safe.

You blink your eyes open, greeted by the sight of messy dark hair and a sleepy smile. Jake’s arm is already around you, pulling you close before you can even roll over.

“You always wake up before the alarm,” you mumble, voice raspy with sleep.

“Only when I get to see this pretty face first,” he says, grinning. His voice is low, teasing, a little too cheesy for six in the morning—but it makes you smile anyway.

He leans in, peppering your face with soft kisses—your forehead, your cheek, your nose—before finally landing on your lips. You let out a soft giggle, pushing lightly at his chest.

“Okay, okay—calm down, Mr. House Husband.”

He gasps, hand to his heart. “Is that how you see me? Just a hot man in an apron?”

“Well, you do make good pancakes.”

Jake sits up and stretches, the sheet falling off his toned chest as he yawns. “Speaking of pancakes… I already started breakfast. You’ve got an early shift, right?”

You nod, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Double shift today. Emergency ward. I won’t be back until late.”

“Then you’re getting the works. Pancakes, scrambled eggs, and coffee exactly how you like it. Doctor’s orders.”

You hear a bark and turn your head just in time to see Layla trot into the room, tail wagging excitedly. She leaps onto the bed like it’s her kingdom, crawling straight into your lap.

“She missed you,” Jake says, standing to head toward the kitchen. “And so did I.”

You lean down to cuddle Layla, pressing a kiss to her soft fur. “Aww, well I missed you both my babies.”

----

Back then, things weren’t this soft. This easy.

It started in college—well, it almost started there. You met Jake during your second year, when you were overworked, burned out, and trying to survive med school with no sleep and too many expectations.

He was the campus barista. And a college dropout.

“I’m not a failure,” he’d said once when you were studying at the coffee shop late at night. “I just didn’t belong in a place that made me feel like one.”

You didn’t know what drew you in at first—his quiet confidence, his warmth, his silly jokes that somehow made your long nights bearable. It started as casual conversations. Then weekend study breaks. Then you started waking up in his hoodie.

Your parents found out when you brought him home for your birthday dinner. They didn’t say much at first—but their looks said enough.

“He’s not on your level.”

“He doesn’t have a future.”

“He’s not one of us.”

Still, you stayed. Through the whispers. Through the tension. Through the storm.

And then… the two lines on the pregnancy test.

You were scared. So was he.

But he didn’t run. He didn’t even hesitate. He held you and said, “We’ll figure it out. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Marriage wasn’t your parents’ idea of a solution. But after seeing you stand your ground, with Jake at your side and a fire in your eyes, they backed off. And you guys got married

The miscarriage came quietly. A bleeding that wouldn’t stop. A room full of doctors where you were the patient this time. Jake held your hand the entire time. He didn’t cry—not until you were asleep and he thought you wouldn’t hear.

You both grieved differently. But you grieved together.

Now, months later, your apartment smells like pancakes and coffee. There’s a dog snuggled in your lap, and a man in the kitchen who looks at you like you’re his entire world.

You’re not whole yet. But you’re healing.

-------

You hear the sizzle of something on the pan and the occasional hum of Jake singing to Layla, who’s now curled at the foot of the bed. You smile to yourself. This—these mornings, this peace—it almost doesn’t feel real sometimes.

“Breakfast is served, m’lady,” Jake announces, reappearing with a tray in hand. Pancakes stacked like a tower, eggs fluffed to perfection, and a perfectly brewed cup of coffee that smells like home. He sets it down beside you, then leans in with a soft kiss to your temple.

“Eat before it gets cold,” he says, ruffling Layla’s ears. “You need energy to go save lives today.”

You try not to laugh with a mouth full of syrupy pancake. “You act like I’m some kind of superhero.”

Jake looks at you with eyes that leave no room for doubt. “You are.”

There’s a pause—warm, but heavy with something unspoken. You don’t have to say it. He already knows. Some mornings still ache with the weight of what could’ve been. Some mornings you wake up and your hands drift to your belly, like they remember before your mind does.

Jake gently brushes a crumb from your lips, then slides next to you on the bed, pulling you into his arms.

“I know you’re tired baby,” he murmurs. “I know it still hurts. But I want you to know… you never have to carry it alone.”

You nod against his chest. His hoodie smells like fabric softener and safety.

And for a moment, the world stops spinning.

Flashback – One Year Ago

The bathroom floor was cold. You sat with your back against the wall, the test still clutched in your shaking hands.

Two lines. Clear as day.

Your fingers trembled. You weren’t ready. You didn’t even know how Jake would react. All the voices in your head—your parents’, society’s, even your own—screamed doubt.

You called him anyway.

He showed up in ten minutes, hair messy, shirt half-buttoned, panic in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked the moment he walked in.

You didn’t speak. You just handed him the test.

His eyes widened.

And then…

He smiled.

Not big. Not loud. Just soft. Steady. Reassuring.

“Ohh my love, it's okay,” he said, kneeling in front of you. “We’ll figure this out. I’ve got you.”

You broke then—right into his arms.

You didn’t know it then, but that was the first time you realized: love isn’t always about grand gestures or perfect plans. Sometimes, it’s about the person who kneels on a cold floor beside you and whispers, you’re not alone.

----

You’re halfway through your commute, coffee thermos in hand, when your phone buzzes. The early sunlight streaks across the dashboard as you reach for it during a red light.

Jake [7:42 AM]: “Don’t forget you’re amazing. Also Layla misses you already.”

You smile despite the tired in your bones.

You [7:44 AM]: “She probably just wants my toast crumbs.” “Also thank you, cheesy man. I love you.”

Jake [7:45 AM]: “I love you more. Come home safe, Doctor Hot Stuff.”

You laugh quietly and tuck the phone away as the light turns green. Your heart feels lighter—even if the day ahead promises to be long.

The hospital is already buzzing by the time you walk in—nurses moving with purpose, pages beeping, and the thick air of urgency hanging everywhere. You change quickly into your scrubs, tie your hair up, and get to work.

But between rounds, somewhere between chart updates and check-ins, your thoughts always drift.....

Flashback – A year ago

It started as a cramp.

You’d brushed it off at first—probably something you ate. But by the time Jake got home from grocery shopping, you were curled up on the bathroom floor again. This time, it wasn’t a pregnancy test in your hands. This time, there was blood.

“Y/N?” His voice was sharp, full of panic the second he saw you. He dropped the bags, rushed over, scooping you into his arms without a second thought. “We’re going to the hospital. Right now.”

You barely remember the car ride, only the sound of your name being called through waves of pain and the trembling in Jake’s hands as he held yours the entire time.

At the hospital, the world became a blur—bright lights, cold walls, hushed voices. You were wheeled into a room, and Jake was told to wait outside.

He paced the hallway like he couldn’t breathe.

His hands shook as he called your father’s number—despite everything, despite the coldness and judgment—because in that moment, nothing else mattered but you.

“Mr. Y/L/N,” he said, voice rough, barely steady. “It’s Y/N. She’s in the hospital. We—we lost the baby.”

There was silence on the other end.

Then your father’s voice, quiet. “What hospital?”

They arrived forty minutes later. Your mother in pearls and panic, your father in a coat he clearly grabbed without thinking, no matter what he still loved you a lot. Jake stood when they entered the waiting room, unsure if he should speak first. He hadn’t seen them since the wedding.

Your father’s eyes were red-rimmed, and your mother’s lips trembled when she looked at him.

“Where is she?” she asked, voice tight.

“They’re keeping her for observation,” Jake answered. “She’s asleep.”

Your mother sat down slowly, as if her knees were about to give out. For a moment, nobody said anything.

Then your father looked at Jake—really looked at him. The bags under his eyes, the blood on his shirt from when he caught you, the way his hands clenched into fists like he was holding himself together.

“You did the right thing,” he said quietly. “Thank you… for calling.”

Jake just nodded, swallowing hard.

Later that night, when they were allowed into your room, your mother walked straight to your side. She smoothed your hair, tears slipping down her face. “My baby girl…”

Your father stood at the foot of the bed, silent but shaken. You were still asleep, unaware they had come. But Jake never left your side. He sat there, holding your hand, as if tethering you to the earth.

It was the first time your parents saw him not as the dropout or the disappointment, but as the man who loved their daughter enough to break, to beg, and to stay.

You stirred in your sleep, eyelids fluttering open slowly. The room was dim, quiet except for the rhythmic beep of the monitor and the faint rustle of someone shifting beside you.

Your head ached. Your body felt heavy. And then it hit you.

The emptiness.

You gasped, sitting up suddenly, hands flying to your stomach. “Jake?”

He was already there, springing up from the chair and leaning over you in a heartbeat. “Hey, hey, it’s okay darling, I’m here. I’m right here.”

You looked into his eyes, and just like that, it all came crashing back.

“The baby…” Your voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

Jake nodded slowly, his own eyes wet. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

You felt Jake’s grip tighten. He didn’t speak. Not even as you sobbed into his chest, not even as the machines beeped around you like a cruel reminder of everything slipping away.

You felt it again—that unbearable pressure in your chest. The grief, the guilt, the disbelief. But before the sobs could take over, you felt something else.

Your mother’s hand wrapped gently around yours. You turned your head and blinked in surprise.

“Mom?” your voice trembled.

She looked like she’d aged ten years since you last saw her—like her heart had cracked the same way yours had. “Sweetheart, we’re here.”

Your father stepped closer. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there quietly, his expression unreadable. Then he reached out and placed a hand on your shoulder.

“We’re sorry,” he said. “For everything.”

Your mother nodded, squeezing your hand. “We should’ve been there sooner. Not just today. For all of it.”

You didn’t know what to say. Part of you wanted to scream, to ask why it had taken so much pain for them to finally look at you like their daughter again. But the other part—the exhausted, broken, bleeding part—just needed the comfort. Even if it came late.

Jake stayed beside you the whole time, letting you lean on him, his thumb brushing small circles into your wrist.

That night, no one left the hospital. The four of you stayed in the room in silence—each processing the loss in your own way. And though nothing could undo what happened, the walls between you and your parents had begun to crack.

Grief had a way of doing that—stripping away pride and expectations, leaving only what mattered: love, even if bruised.

-----

You blink back the sting in your eyes as a nurse hands you a chart.

“Doctor Y/N? Room 307—new patient just came in.”

You nod. “On my way.”

You slip the chart under your arm, straighten your posture, and move.

But inside, a part of you still carries that night. A part of you always will.

And yet—you keep going.

Because love didn’t end with the loss. It stayed. It grew. In Jake’s arms. In your laughter with Layla. In the quiet mornings. In the healing.

That Evening

You unlock the door with a tired sigh, shoulders heavy and feet aching. The house is dimly lit, golden light spilling from the living room, soft music humming in the background. Layla’s nails click excitedly against the floor as she rushes to greet you, her tail wagging like it’s been years instead of hours.

“Hi, baby,” you murmur, kneeling down to scratch behind her ears. “Did you miss me?”

“She waited by the door for like an hour,” Jake’s voice floats in from the kitchen.

You smile without lifting your head. “Sounds like someone I know.”

He appears a second later, drying his hands with a towel, his hair a little messy, apron still on. “Guilty.”

You stand, and in an instant, his arms are around you. Tight. Warm. Like he’s been holding his breath all day.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes.

You nod, but your face gives you away. He sees it—the exhaustion in your bones, the sadness that still lingers under the surface. Without another word, Jake gently takes your bag and sets it aside, then guides you to the couch.

“I made dinner,” he says softly. “Nothing fancy. Just what I thought you’d crave after a day like this.”

You smile, a little shy. “You made kimchi fried rice?”

“And miso soup. And your weird obsession: cold sliced fruit.”

You let out a breath of laughter. “You really are trying to win ‘Husband of the Year,’ huh?”

He winks. “Nah, I already won the second I married you.”

You don’t reply. Instead, you press your face into his chest, letting him hold you in that quiet, safe way only he can. Layla hops up beside you both and curls into a ball.

And just like that, you’re home. Really home.

You’re curled up on the couch, legs tangled with Jake’s under the blanket. Layla’s snoring softly at your feet, and the low hum of the TV fills the space. It’s peaceful—one of those rare quiet evenings where the world feels distant.

Then your phone rings.

You glance at the screen and feel your stomach drop. Dad.

You exchange a quick look with Jake before answering. “Hello?”

“Y/N,” your father’s voice comes through, calm but with that usual formality, “there’s a family dinner this Friday. Your brother just signed a major deal, and we’re having a small celebration at the house.”

“Oh.” You hesitate. “That’s... nice. I’ll check with my schedule”

“Bring Jake,” he adds, cutting you off gently. “It’s important.”

Your eyes flick toward your husband. He raises a curious eyebrow but doesn’t ask anything yet.

“I’ll... let you know soon,” you say, and hang up before the silence stretches too long.

Jake tilts his head. “Family thing?”

You nod, rubbing your temple. “My brother closed a big deal. They’re having a dinner to celebrate.”

He says nothing at first. Then quietly, “Do you want to go?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “They’re trying, I think. But I also know how it gets... especially when it comes to you.”

He doesn’t flinch, but you see the flicker in his eyes.

“Hey,” you reach for his hand. “You don’t have to go if it’s too much.”

He squeezes your fingers. “You’re my wife. That’s your family. I can handle a few snide comments.”

You smile, even though your heart’s heavy. “You always say that.”

“And I always mean it.” He leans over, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Let’s show up and remind them why you chose me.”

------

Jake stands in front of the mirror, fussing with the collar of his shirt like it’s personally offended him. “Do I look like a decent househusband or a desperate ex-boyband member?”

You stifle a laugh, walking over to fix the slightly crooked button. “Ohh no, my baby looks absolutely perfect.”

“I still think Layla would’ve been better company for this dinner.”

At the sound of her name, Layla trots over with her leash in her mouth, tail wagging hopefully.

Jake bends down and pets her head, voice full of mock drama. “Sorry, princess. It’s an invite-only event, and sadly, they didn’t include VIPs like you.”

Layla lets out a small whine, flopping dramatically onto the floor.

"She’s going to hold a grudge,” you murmur, grabbing your coat.

“She always does.”

-----

The house hasn’t changed—white pillars, manicured lawn, an air of constant formality. Jake steps beside you just before you reach the door.

“You ready?” he asks.

You nod. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Your mother greets you with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re late.”

“Sorry traffic,” you reply simply.

Jake offers a polite nod. “Good evening, Mrs. Y/L/N.”

She gives him a once-over before stepping aside. “Dinner’s in the main hall.”

As you walk in, the murmurs begin. A few relatives smile at you with forced politeness. Others don’t bother pretending. Your brother stands near the fireplace, glowing with pride, surrounded by a cluster of uncles and family friends.

“Y/N!” he calls, genuine warmth in his voice. “You made it!”

You hug him. “Congrats. Heard the deal was huge.”

“Thanks. And Jake—glad you came too, man.”

Jake gives him a handshake, trying not to seem awkward. “Proud of you.”

The evening moves slowly—champagne glasses clink, dinner is served, and conversation circles around business, vacations, and children. You cling to Jake’s hand under the table.

And then it begins.

“So, Jake,” your aunt says, eyes sharp and too interested, “what are you doing these days?”

Jake smiles patiently. “I take care of things at home.Cooking, errands. Layla’s got a lot of energy, so—”

“A househusband,” she interrupts, lips curving just slightly. “How modern.”

Someone laughs softly. You can’t tell who.

“I suppose it’s easy, not having to work while your wife plays doctor,” another uncle adds.

Jake opens his mouth, but you cut in sharply. “He runs our entire household better than half the companies represented in this room. Don’t mistake care for weakness.”

The table goes quiet for a beat.

But the silence is shattered when she speaks.

Your cousin Minseo.

She’s always been jealous—of your career, your marriage, your spotlight. And she picks her moment with poison precision.

“I’m surprised you even showed up,” she says with a sugary smile. “After everything... I mean, some couples don’t recover from something as devastating as a miscarriage.”

The entire table freezes.

Your fork drops against your plate. Jake’s hand tightens in yours, jaw clenching.

You feel like the air’s been knocked from your lungs.

“Minseo,” your father says sharply, but she only shrugs.

“I’m just saying, it must be hard—losing a baby and being the breadwinner.”

You stand up, slow and calm but shaking on the inside.

“Excuse us,” you say, taking Jake’s hand.

You don’t wait for their reactions. You walk straight out of the dining room, out of the house, out of their judgments—because tonight wasn’t about celebrating.

----

The door shuts behind you with a soft click. You don’t even take off your shoes. You just stand in the entryway, staring at nothing, your hand still wrapped tightly in Jake’s.

The silence stretches.

You feel numb.

Jake sets the keys down and gently untangles your fingers from his. “Y/N,” he says softly, “come sit.”

You follow him wordlessly to the couch, where Layla perks up and whines softly, sensing something's off. She curls up by your feet, resting her chin on your ankle.

Jake kneels in front of you, his hands warm on your knees. “Talk to me.”

You shake your head, blinking fast. “I’m fine.”

He just stares at you, quiet and calm—like he’s learned not to push, but also not to let you slip too far.

“They always do this,” you whisper. “Every time they look at you like you’re not good enough… and now this.”

Your voice cracks.

“They brought up our baby, Jake. Like it was gossip. Like it was some… some stain I’m supposed to cover up.”

You don’t even realize you’re crying until Jake’s thumb brushes your cheek, catching the tear before it falls too far.

“You don’t have to carry this alone,” he says. “You never did.”

“I just wanted to be enough for them,” you breathe, “and I still couldn’t protect you from them. Or our baby.”

“Don’t,” he says, a little sharper now. “Don’t say that. You didn’t fail anyone. You loved with everything you had. You still do.”

He moves beside you on the couch, pulling you into his arms. You let your body fold into his chest, your fingers curling into his shirt.

“I hate that it still hurts,” you admit into the fabric.

“It’s supposed to,” he says softly. “Love like that doesn’t just… disappear. But we’re healing. Together. Day by day.”

You nod, tears wetting his shoulder. “I’m so tired, Jake.”

“I know,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Let me carry it with you.”

Layla shifts closer, one paw resting on your leg as if she’s promising the same.

And in that small, quiet living room—with heartbreak behind you and healing ahead—you finally allow yourself to feel it all.

Grief. Anger. Love. Safety.

Because you were never alone in this.

The next morning. You wake up to the smell of something sweet—cinnamon, maybe vanilla—and the sound of a soft playlist humming from the kitchen.

The sunlight sneaks through the curtains in golden streaks. while the other side of the bed is warm but empty.

You sit up slowly, the ache from last night still sitting in your chest, but it’s… softer now.

Then you hear it.

A loud clatter from the kitchen followed by Jake’s panicked voice, “No! Layla, that’s not for you—drop the pancake! that's for my baby”

Layla barks at Jake kinda in an angry way, definitely trying to say, "Bruh, i was your baby before her"

"Oops, I mean you're my baby too but~"Jake said.....

You can’t help but laugh.

You swing your legs over the bed and shuffle toward the kitchen.

Jake is standing there in his cozy checkered pajama pants and one of his oversized hoodies, flour dusting his cheek and syrup on the counter. Layla’s sitting obediently nearby with the most innocent expression ever—even though there’s pancake batter on her nose.

“Oh good, you’re up,” Jake says, grinning when he sees you. “Don’t judge the chaos. This is all part of the master plan.”

“What plan?”

He lifts a tray dramatically. “Weekend breakfast in bed for my wife. But the wife is now in the kitchen, ruining my big reveal.”

You giggle, heart already lighter. “I think the wife prefers breakfast with the chef anyway.”

He leans down to kiss your forehead. “I figured after last night… you deserved to start today with sweetness.”

You sit at the table, watching him plate everything. Cinnamon pancakes, fresh berries, hot coffee in your favorite mug, and a tiny vase with a single daisy.

“You really did all this?”

“I bribed Layla with peanut butter to stay out of the kitchen. Failed miserably.”

Layla wags her tail like she knows exactly what she did.

You both sit and eat, warm and quiet, like the outside world doesn’t exist. You don’t realize how much you missed feeling peace until it fills you again.

This, this was home, your home , your actually true fucking home and you wouldn't trade it for anything

Umm i hope you liked this, ahh it was definitely a very messy story i wrote idk if i personally like this so I hope it was good or at least okayish, but okayyy ahhh byee myyy babiesss MWAHHH..

Taglist:- @xo-iceprince-xo @morganaawriterr @sugarhoonie @firstclassjaylee @enhaflixer @tasnemluvs @honestlyatomicpanda @hhyvsstuff @skepvids @beigerin @tinyteezer @giraffeass @velv3ts @seiamor @blvengene @starry-eyed-bimbo @ilovbeshotaro @river-demon-slayer @starsunoo @nishimurarikisfinestan @i03jae @greentulip @naevis-hung-up @academiq @rikidaze @en-dream @kittyyy003 @haechology @univershoon @riribelle @jiiyen @elegancefr @daniellesyellowhands @sunooqvrlsx @justsvstuff @xeee334 @jungcatwonie @starbyeol1512 @right-person-wrong-time @kirakun @rairaiblog @unstableqi @wonuziex @yurisblooming @yyawnjun @pluggtalkk @mydearyeseo @yurisblooming @elairah @heeambi @songbirdseung @jayhoonvroom @cutehoons02

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

can i request mick and autistic!reader having sex for the first time?

Take care of you||Mick Schumacher x autistic reader

MDNI +18

Summary—It’s your first time with Mick and he’s everything you need him to be. Gentle, patient, and endlessly reassuring,

Warnings— smut (18+): Includes penetrative sex, oral touch, and sexual praise.First time sex: Depicts emotional vulnerability and a slow, gentle pace. Shyness and reassurance: Reader is shy and neurodivergent, needing lots of emotional and sensory support. Autistic representation: Includes sensory sensitivity and regulation, communication of boundaries, and grounding techniques. Soft dom / service top dynamics: Mick is entirely focused on reader’s comfort and pleasure. Aftercare focus: Includes bathing, dressing, cuddling, emotional check-ins, and affirmations.

A/n— this is kinda self indulgent because it’s how I wished my first time was

Mick’s hands were so big, so warm against your skin that it made your breath catch. You were stretched out beneath him, heart thudding, nerves buzzing excitement and fear tangled up tight inside you. You wanted this. You wanted him. But still, you couldn’t help the tiny tremble that ran through you when he kissed your shoulder.

He noticed immediately.

“Hey,” Mick murmured against your skin, voice low, almost a purr. He lifted his head, eyes dark and soft as velvet. “You alright, love? Need to slow down?”

You shook your head quickly. “No — I’m okay.”

Your voice cracked a little, but it was true. You wanted more. You needed it.

Just… carefully. Gently.

Mick’s thumb brushed over your cheek, grounding you, his smile easing the tightness in your chest.

“Good girl,” he whispered, kissing your forehead. “You just tell me, yeah? We do this however you need.”

You nodded, cheeks burning.

Mick kissed you then slow and deep, giving you every chance to pull away, but you clung to him instead, fisting your hands in his hair. You could feel the low rumble of his chest when he groaned into your mouth, his hips shifting, pressing against your thigh. He was hard, and the realization sent a shock of heat right through your belly.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Mick muttered. His hands skimmed down your body, pausing just above the waistband of your underwear.

He looked up at you again, waiting. Always waiting.

“Please,” you whispered, hips tilting up in invitation.

That was all he needed. He stripped the last of your clothes off with careful hands, leaving you bare under his gaze. He didn’t rush he took his time just looking, touching, like you were the most precious thing he’d ever seen. Every place he touched your thighs, your stomach, the soft curves of your breasts he kissed afterward, murmuring soft praises against your skin.

“So soft… so perfect for me…”

When his fingers finally slipped between your legs, you gasped, body jolting. He froze immediately.

“Too much?” he asked, brows knitting with worry.

“No—” you gasped, “Just— just good.”

His smile then was pure sunshine. He kept his touch feather-light at first, just enough to make you ache, his thumb circling slow and careful until you were gasping, your hips lifting off the bed without even meaning to.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he praised, voice rough. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

You nodded frantically, too close to coherent words.

When he finally lined himself up against you, he kissed your forehead again. “You sure?” he asked, holding himself back even though you could feel him trembling with the effort.

“I want you,” you whispered.

He pushed in slowly, achingly slowly, giving you time to adjust to every inch. You clung to him, burying your face in his neck, breathing him in.

It was overwhelming the stretch, the heat but in the best way. And Mick was everywhere, surrounding you, holding you, whispering in your ear.

“That’s it, love. So good for me. So perfect around me…”

Once he was fully seated inside you, he didn’t move at first. He just held you, one big hand stroking up and down your spine.

“You feel incredible,” he rasped. “Let me know when you’re ready, yeah?”

You nodded after a few moments, rocking your hips slightly.

He groaned, low and wrecked, and started to move.

Each thrust was slow, deep, gentle. Like he wanted to memorize the way you felt around him. He kissed your neck, your shoulder, your jaw, grounding you with every soft touch, every whispered word of praise.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart. Taking me so good.”

You whimpered, overwhelmed but safe, loved so deeply you could hardly breathe.

When you started to shake, your nails digging into his back, Mick pulled you even closer, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I got you,” he whispered, hips moving a little faster now. “I got you, love. Let go for me. Let me take care of you.”

You shattered with a sob, pleasure crashing through you in waves and Mick followed you seconds later, burying his face against your neck, gasping your name like a prayer.

Afterward, he didn’t move for a long time. He just held you, stroking your hair, humming under his breath. When you started to come down, blinking up at him dazed and shaky, he smiled down at you, nothing but pure adoration in his face.

“Was that okay?” he asked softly.

You smiled, feeling warm and safe and loved to the bone.

“Perfect,” you whispered.

Mick kissed you again, sweet and lingering.

“You’re perfect,” he corrected, nuzzling your nose.

And he stayed like that wrapped around you, whispering how proud he was, how good you were until you drifted off, safe and warm in his arms.

You must have drifted off for a little while because the next thing you felt was Mick’s hand brushing gently over your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice warm and low. “Still with me?”

You blinked up at him, a little floaty but grounded by the soft calluses of his fingertips, the steady weight of his body half-draped over yours.

You nodded.

Mick smiled, slow and easy. “You did so good, love. So, so good for me.”

You flushed, still shy under the praise, and Mick leaned down to kiss your cheek.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” he said softly. “Then I’ll get you tucked in all cozy.”

He moved slowly, carefully, always watching your face for any sign of discomfort. He helped you sit up, pulling the soft sheet around your shoulders so you wouldn’t get cold. You were a little shaky your body still trying to process all the overwhelming sensations but Mick was right there, steadying you with a hand on your back.

In the bathroom, he ran warm water in the tub, making sure it wasn’t too hot, checking it against your skin before helping you step in. He stayed right there, kneeling by the side, sleeves rolled up, gently cupping handfuls of water to pour over your skin.

“Just relax, sweetheart. You don’t have to do anything.”

He washed you with the gentlest touch, like you were something fragile and precious no rough scrubbing, no rushing. Just warm water, soft soap, and his big, careful hands.

Every few minutes, he whispered little things “You’re safe.”

“I’ve got you.”

“You’re amazing, you know that?”

Once you were clean and calm, he wrapped you in a huge fluffy towel and carried you back to bed like it was nothing, his arms strong and secure around you.

He helped you into one of his soft shirts way too big on you and tucked you into the bed with layers of blankets, just the way you liked it.

Then Mick climbed in beside you, pulling you into his chest without hesitation.

You could feel the slow, steady rhythm of his heart against your cheek.

You breathed him in salt and warmth and home.

His fingers traced slow, lazy patterns on your back, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room.

“You’re safe, love,” he murmured again. “I’m right here. Not going anywhere.”

You felt the sting of tears in your eyes not from sadness, but from how good it felt. How seen you felt.

“I love you,” you whispered, voice cracking.

Mick’s arms tightened around you instantly, like he could feel every little fracture in your heart and wanted to hold them all together.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he said fiercely. “More than anything.”

[grimsonandclover]

Bot drop + Sneak Peaks

Thought it would be fun to share some little lines from my current drafts... sorry it's been a content desert from me— I have a tiny bit of writers block right now :( I also meant to release more for the anniversary in terms of fics, but hopefully I'll be able to finish those soon! I've got a lot to share so hopefully you enjoy these little sneak peaks that I love sharing. I'm like a kid showing you the worms in my pocket and the stickers covering my arms.

Attention Seeker sub!Patrick Zweig x dom!user

He wants your attention, he wants your rage.

Sanctuary sub!Patrick Zweig x dominatrix!user

Patrick hires a dominatrix. He knows he's pathetic, but maybe you can give him some use.

Endure - Patrick Zweig

He couldn't look at it, at those walls holding his pain in its pores. Patrick could hear them spoken back like an echo and covering his ears did nothing to stop them. The words like water seeping through the cracks in his fingers, pouring and absorbing into him until they became everything he is. His whole body the voice of his father across the table. Even now at thirty-one he's never been wrung dry.

First time blurb - Art Donaldson

Art's barely caught his breath, going back to sloppily kissing your neck as his hips start again. You don't even know what to say, moaning at the friction and force again. The overstimulaiton is making Art whine into your neck but he just can't stop.

Mixed Feelings - Tashi Duncan

If you asked Tashi Duncan how she identified, the answer would be simple: "I'm a goddamn tennis player." That's the only thing she's ever worried about, really. Rackets and practice and tennis sets and shoes and coaches and tropheys and wins. So, when she's asked how she identifies, that's what comes to mind. Not gender or political stance or, god, sexuality. That's never been something she's cared to give thought to.

Linette - Art + Tashi

She looks up, smiling politely and shaking the hand of the man she's heard about in passing. Of the two Jones siblings, Uncle Alwyn is considered the 'normal, tolerable' one. Their mother, whom Art called Granny, passed away when Art was 10. Her portrait, taken in her early twenties, hangs proudly over the mantle facing the dining table. Linette always says it feels like even now she can hear her mother criticize her cooking from there.

I'm Your Biggest Fan! - Patrick Zweig

Patrick's finger is on the dial button of his mom's contact when he reaches the nearest motel. She's the only one with a semblance of a soft spot for him, just big enough to let her son get a place to sleep. Before he presses it though, cigarette dangling between pouting lips in the motel parking lot, he spots you. He tries to push down the idea that you followed him here.

Secretary - Art + Tashi + Patrick

“So, because your broke ass couldn’t afford to take my sister on a honeymoon, I have to suffer through the Rich Dad, Poor Dad audiobook through my breakfast? God, one book isn’t going to magically cure you from your inability to not spend your entire paycheck on ugly fucking shoes for your ugly fucking collection, Gary. I’d rather down a bottle of pills than sit through this, you don’t even have the proper inflection. It’s like listening to a dyslexic preschooler learn to read.”

S.O.S. - Art Donaldson

Art rubs his eyes, vision adjusting to the light in the dark. Stretching arms and legs out in the bed, he groans. "Are you kidding me?" "Sorry..." You mutter sheepishly to the kind of grumpy blonde. You didn't think it would wake him up; you are wearing earbuds and have mastered the art of masturbating quietly (at least, you think so), but maybe it is a little too bright. Art's always been a light sleeper. A glance back at the screen says it's midnight. Like the grandpa he is, Art goes to bed way earlier than you do. Morning practice and all that.

And They Were Roommates! - Tashi Duncan

“I don’t know how to do my makeup like yours because my mom never let me do it growing up. She was kinda a bitch– not that I think women should be called bitches.” You lean back, catching yourself on the arm of the sofa you’re sitting on before you fall sideways. She has to understand you don’t think that. “I don’t. I think it’s wrong. But I do still say bitch, like heyyy bitch. But not you’re a bitch. Oh my god, I didn’t mean that you are one, that was an example–” Before you can go on, your hands wrapped around hers as you continue defending yourself from the non-issue and swaying from side to side on the couch like it’s moving, Tashi interjects. “Babe, she doesn’t think you think she’s a bitch.”

Monday - Patrick Zweig

The material peels from him differently than it used to. He’s gained a little weight since you bought it, filling it out more than he probably should, and it’s tight to his skin when his arms pull the shirt over his shoulders and head. Patrick stands shirtless in front of the mirror, shirt in hand, and tries to see the big changes. His stomach has softened a little, the lines in his arms not as harsh as they used to be. Maybe he’s been sampling too much at work. Maybe he got used to how you’d feed him.

The Book Club - Patrick Zweig

"Me? Joining the book club? I don't read." He shook his head, pursing his lips to the side before slowly sipping from his favorite mug. "Last time I read was probably, what, third grade?" By then, Patrick learned he could get the kid next to him to do the book reports.

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged when any of these are released fully!

[meathunt]

Hello!

I want to say I love your vampire dads au

Elias being sweet while Thomas is firm but gentle or (coaxing?) With his methods is something I enjoy (sorry if I might have mixed up between names)

.I think reader were a human before their turning and I think you mentioned them being turned twice? As like Thomas marked them once and elias marked them also so that would make them have two sires or am I wrong?

. If you don't mind I want to ask for scenario about reader , when they wake up and everything is cleared for them like pain is bearable and no more frogynes? Or their headache? , what would their reaction be knowing they got fully turned into vampire and is probably in their fledgling phase and their reaction to discovering they consumed blood from their sire and that they would have to feed from them for while , would reader get scared and get fussy with them or except it because they feel same around their sires's?

. Sorry if it's too long also English is not my main language so I lack in some terms and tried to explain as best as I could 😅

- anyways keep your passion and hard work and thank you for drinking our crocodile tears with your amazing writing lol

-R

Thank you! Hope you keep enjoying my works!!! Well you are right but also wrong! I will explain kinda what happened in reader's process of turning and siring in another post as i will probably make it a bit long haha. When i write it you can find it here! Now for the scenario :] ---

You felt too warm in the position you were laying down at the moment, rolling to the other side in search for a cooler place to keep sleeping.

The bed felt very nice from under you, firm but not hard, and the blanket that you were currently hiding your face in was so wonderful, the fluffy material softly caressing your face.

It was very soft huh....

 ....

You are pretty sure you didn't own anything this nice, even if you did you are pretty sure it would be one small blanket.

But now that you felt more awake you could recognize that almost everything around you was way out of your budget. From the pillows and blankets around you to the soft fluffy clothes you were wearing at the moment.

You slowly sat up from the bed, now noticing that it mostly looks like a bedding made of multiple pillows, blankets and few plushies here and there.

But the most notable detail of it all was that you didn't recognize any of it, no windows to get a feel of what time it was. You woke up fully now, and for the first time of what you feel have been months, you really felt awake, fully conscious, actually aware of your surroundings, slow panic rising as your situation fully set in.

Your last clear-ish memory was drinking yourself silly in some bar, after that is just some blurry scenes that make you nervous the more you try to figure out what actually happened, the more you feel panic rising inside you, unconsciously fidgeting with the blanket in your hands. A whimper on the tip of your tongue, but you hold it back, deciding to put a pin on it and come back later, for now you have to figure out where are you.

You go to stand up from where you were sitting and almost instantly feel your legs give out from under you. Well that’s strange, you go to stand up again feeling how you struggle to maintain balance when you finally stood up, you stretch a bit, feeling your bones pop with the action. Some parts of your body feel a bit sore when you go to walk to the door, having to take it slowly, stumbling a bit on the way as your legs feel a bit weaker, opening and looking into the corridor. Well, now you can clearly say you are not in your house, or somewhere you could really afford, even the light features in here look way out of you budget, you walk out of the room, deciding that exploring the place is your game plan for now.

After some minutes you are almost sure you are completely alone in the house, you haven’t heard anyone around for a bit, and if you are being honest you haven’t heard anything, the house being strangely quiet.

While walking aimlessly and judging the decoration of the house you are currently in you encounter what could only be living room, and while very comfortable you note the lack of technology in here, not even clocks to give you a clue of what day or time it is. You note that there is a door to the balcony, but before you can open it a hand grabs you by the shoulder.

“And where do you think you are going Sunshine?”

His voice almost made you jump out of your skin, turning around to see a burly man towering man over you made you stop breathing for a second, how did this mountain of a man managed to sneak up on you is a mystery.

“U-uhm.” You tried to figure out who he was but nothing came to mind, but as you looked into his eyes full of care and just happiness to see you, you are a bit shocked so you really don’t react until he is practically in front of you and immediately going to carry you, but before he could really get comfortable you stopped him “Hey, hey! It’s okay, I can walk!”

He visibly tenses by your words and immediately looks into your eyes, even when he towers above you and could possibly force you if he chose to, you don’t feel in danger, his eyes don’t look angry, but a bit more hurt, a bit more inquisitive, like he’s not used to you denying him things.

Before any of you could say or do anything else another person stepped into the room “Oh cutie, you should let Papa carry you, after all you can barely stand on your own”

Huh? What was he talking about-

You go to take a step back but just as if in command your legs fail you, if not for the man in front of you that with inhuman speed held you and settled you against his chest you would have probably be on the ground and most likely hit your head.

“Love, let’s go take a sit at the sofa, seems our little one has many questions in their little head” Thomas says as he is already on his way.

Elias carries you no problem as you try to make sense of what even is going on. You stay on Elias’s lap even when he already took a sit, and you don’t make a move to get off because you are almost sure he won’t allow it. You don’t want to acknowledge that it also feels just right, like you will be safe here.

You all stay silent for a bit, them waiting for you to ask something, and you trying to think of what to ask first, who are they? Where are you? How did you get here?

You look up at Thomas, trying to decide as your mind is flooded by questions, but even if you feel some kind of connection with him your mind also raises an alert. He doesn’t seem as strong as the man holding you, but you still think you won’t be able to take him in a fight. But as you focus more on him that sense of wrongness grows, you can’t put your finger on why, he looks like a common rich dude, maybe softer.

But then it clicks, his chest.

His chest is not rising. That almost instinctive rise and fall from the chest is just not happening, he’s not breathing, and since he entered the room he hasn’t being doing such a simple, common thing. And then your question comes immediately to mind “…what are you?”

Thomas smiles at you, a smile that has too many teeth, sharper than any humans would be.

Elias strokes your back as you almost instinctually nuzzle on his chest in look for comfort, even if you really didn’t realize you were doing it. --

Almost two hours after they answered all the question you had.

Vampires, fucking vampires.

You didn’t want to admit that it was the only thing that actually made sense with the meager memories you had, that it was reasonable once they answered all of the questions. You were freaking out, internally, mentally you were freaking out about all the new findings. Because physically you weren’t.

Somewhere in the talk Thomas decided to take you from Elias’s arms and take your place, no you were laying on his chest while in a cuddle pile between him and Elias. And you were angry, you wanted to shout and scream and cry about what fate brought to you, about the things you just figured out you lost, about the life you will never get back and weren’t able to properly say goodbye to.

That you were able to get mad, even when Elias’s hand strokes your back in a comforting manner, and the purring from Thomas chest wasn’t relaxing you further into his hold.

And as Elias brought his wrist to your mouth and you immediately closed your eyes, you tried to convince yourself that as the irony smell hit your nose you didn’t latched onto the source like a kid with ice-cream, and as it flowed inside you and you felt tears burning in your eyes that it was disgust what you felt instead of warm comfort as the liquid settled in your stomach.

And that the vibration of your chest was contained hiccups instead of a happy purring escaping you after realizing that your captors, caretakers, will never be far from you.

[fic-girlie]

Claimed by the Sun

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x f!reader

Summary: You were just a common woman in sun-soaked Dorne, never expecting the attention of Prince Oberyn Martell. But the moment his eyes found yours, everything changed. What began as a night of raw, consuming pleasure unfolded into something deeper—something tender, possessive, and entirely unforgettable. In his arms, you became more than a passing desire. You became his.

Warnings: 18+ explicit smut, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, p in v sex, swearing, language, dirty talk (kinda?), reader has longer hair

A/N: Hey everyone! I just want to say thank you for the support and the positive responses! Requests are open, so if you have any ideas that you would want to read, feel free to share them with me! :))

The warm Dornish sun beat down on the palace, casting long shadows that stretched across the courtyard. The day was winding down, the heat of noon giving way to a more gentle warmth as evening approached. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine, carried by a soft breeze, and the low hum of the palace was quieter than usual. There was no rush to return to the palace halls or resume duties; the quietude of the garden held you in a trance, coaxing you to remain just a moment longer.

You weren’t supposed to be out here. Not in these gardens. You were a servant—nothing more—but something about the way the sunlight filtered through the trees, the way it cast golden patches on the stone paths, made you feel as though you could be more, if only for a fleeting moment. You didn’t belong in this world of luxury, yet for now, you indulged in the peace it offered, walking through the lush, green paradise, letting the beauty of the world surrounding you swallow you whole.

Your fingers brushed against the rough stone of the old palace wall as you walked, your thoughts drifting, when you heard the sound of footsteps behind you. Your heart skipped a beat, and you instinctively slowed your pace, glancing over your shoulder.

There, standing just a few paces away, was Oberyn Martell. The Red Viper.

You had heard whispers about him for as long as you could remember—the charming, dangerous man who wielded power like a sharp blade. His reputation was not something easily ignored, and yet, in this moment, there he was, watching you as if you were the only thing that mattered. His gaze locked with yours, intense and unwavering.

He wasn’t smiling, but the corners of his lips lifted ever so slightly as he stepped closer. The way he moved was fluid, purposeful, like a predator circling its prey, but there was no threat in his approach, only an unnerving calmness. The air between you grew thick as he closed the distance, his presence so commanding that you could feel your breath hitching, and your heart beating faster in your chest.

“Enjoying the gardens, are you?” His voice was soft, but it carried and undeniable weight. His words were both a question and a statement, as if he already knew the answer.

You turned slightly, looking up at him. The sunlight made his features sharper, more defined, but it was his eyes—the depth of them—that drew you in. Dark, almost too dark, but not cold. There was a warmth there, something hidden behind the intensity that left you wondering if there was more to this man than the stories told.

“I… I come here sometimes,” you stammered, the words catching in your throat. “It’s quiet. Peaceful.”

Oberyn’s lips quirked upward at the corners, amusement flickering in his gaze. “Peaceful?” he repeated, the word rolling off his tongue. “In a place such as this, one would think there are more… exciting ways to pass the time.” His gaze shifted over you, lingering on your features, before it returned to your eyes. “But then again, I’ve always been drawn to quiet moments myself.”

You swallowed, trying to steady your breathing. He was closer now, just an arm’s length away. His presence felt like a storm gathering, the air charged with an energy you didn’t know how to handle. He wasn’t just looking at you—he was studying you, his dark eyes tracing the curve of your jaw, the way your hands clasped together, the subtle tension in your posture.

For a fleeting moment, you could have sworn his gaze softened, as if he was seeing something that no one else could. And in that moment, your own defences crumbled, just a little. His eyes held a knowing that unsettled you, a strange connection that you couldn’t place but didn’t want to ignore either.

“Do you always roam these halls unnoticed?” He asked, his voice now a low murmur, as if the question was more for himself than for you.

You stiffened slightly, suddenly self-conscious of the unspoken truth in his words. You were, in the grand scheme of things, just another face among many—a servant who would never be seen by those who mattered. But with Oberyn Martell standing before you, the truth felt too stark, too real. “I’m… nothing,” you said quietly, barely above a whisper.

He took a step closer, his gaze still locked with yours. “Nothing?” he repeated softly, almost as if he was tasting the word on his tongue. “I think you’re something.”

You felt a shiver run through you at his proximity. The way he looked at you was unlike anything you had ever experienced—intense, intense enough to make your heartbeat quicken. His eyes darkened slightly, and his voice lowered further. “What’s your name?”

For a moment, you hesitated. A part of you wanted to retreat, to vanish back into the shadows of the palace, but the warmth in his gaze held you in place. “It doesn’t matter,” you said quickly, though you weren’t sure whether you were convincing him—or yourself.

A slow smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I beg to differ.” His voice was rich with amusement. “It matters very much to me.”

Your breath hitched in your throat again. His words were spoken with such conviction that they felt like an invitation, though you couldn’t understand what it was you were being invited into. The tension between you just grew, thick and unyielding, as if the very air around you were charged with some unspoken force, pulling you in.

“I’ve seen you here before,” he continued, his voice soft but carrying an undeniable weight. “Walking alone. You always seem to be searching for something, though I’m not sure you even know what it is yet.”

His gaze deepened as he took another step closer, his presence enveloping you. It was as if the entire garden fell away, leaving just the two of you standing at the edge of something intangible, something dangerous. “Are you searching for peace?” he asked, the question lingering between you like a challenge. “Or something else?”

You stood there, frozen, unsure of how to respond. The words seemed to have left you, your throat tight as if you were choking on the gravity of the moment. But Oberyn was patient, watching you closely, waiting.

Finally, you spoke, though it came out quieter than you intended. “I don’t know what I’m searching for,” you confessed, the truth slipping from your lips before you could hold them back. “I just… I don’t want to be invisible anymore.”

His gaze softened just slightly, and for a moment, there was a quiet understanding between you. “Then you shouldn’t be,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I see you.”

The words sent a wave of heat rushing to your cheeks, and though you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything more, you felt something shift in that moment—a fragile, unspoken bond that neither of you could deny.

You didn’t know how long you stood there, bathed in the golden Dorne light, heart pounding in your chest. Time stretched and twisted around his presence, each second dense and charged, filled with the weight of his gaze. His words clung to your skin—I see you. You wanted to ask what he saw. You wanted to believe it was more than just a whim, more than a passing curiosity. But your throat was tight, and the only sound in the garden was the gently rustling of leaves and the distant call of birds.

“Tell me,” he broke the silence, his voice low, laced with amusement, “do you really wander into the gardens when no one is watching?”

You shrugged, the gesture small. “Only when I need to breath.”

He nodded, as though he understood too well. “Palaces are beautiful… but they can feel like cages. Even here.”

Your eyes lifted to meet his. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve only ever lived in the shadows of one.”

A pause. Something softened in his expression. The tension between you shifted from charged to intimate—like two secrets leaning toward each other.

“I don’t believe you belong in the shadows. You belong in the light,” he said simply.

Your breath caught. His hand reached out, slowly, deliberately, and his fingers brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was light—barely there—but the effect was immediate. Your skin prickled where his fingers had been, as if he’d left heat in his wake. Your heart thundered in your chest, and you knew he felt it. Knew he saw everything.

“I saw you earlier today,” he continued, his voice low, reserved for you alone. “On the edge of the marketplace, near the fountain. You were laughing.”

Your eyes widened.

“I wondered then how someone could be so quiet and still have a laugh like that.”

You weren’t sure what startled you more—that he remembered, or that he’d noticed you at all. You hadn’t seen him that day. You’d been balancing baskets of linens, sharing a joke with the other women before the bell called you back inside.

“You… noticed me?” you asked, and the question sounded too small for the weight behind it.

His smile was slow, wicked, but warm. “I notice many things. But not all of them stay with me.”

A long silence followed. You could still feel where his fingers had brushed against your skin, the ghost of his touch more vivid than it should have been.

“You don’t speak like a prince,” you murmured.

He arched a brow. “And how should a prince speak?”

“Like you’re used to people bowing.”

He grinned, eyes gleaming with something sharp and playful. “I’d rather they look me in the eye.”

You were about to speak, to offer some uncertain reply, when he leaned in just slightly—not touching, not quite—but his closeness made your breath still in your chest. His voice dropped, low and silken, brushing against your skin like silk.

“You’re still looking at me,” he said.

You swallowed. “So are you.”

His smile widened, eyes alight with interest and something deeper—something like hunger. “Then we understand each other.”

You didn't know what came next. You only knew that if he stepped even closer, you wouldn't move away. You would lean into it. Let yourself fall into whatever this was. Even if it was fleeting.

The wind shifted, and he straightened slightly. But his gaze never left yours.

“I'd like to see you again,” he said. It wasn't a question. It wasn't even a suggestion. It was a truth spoken aloud. You didn't answer with words. You didn't need to.

Because in that moment, he smiled, and turned away. And as he walked down the stone path, you knew—without doubt—that this wasn't the last time he'd find you in the gardens.

Not even close.

——

The world felt quieter after he left.

You stood rooted in the garden, your fingers still curled together. The space around you still full of him—his voice, his heat, the scent of sun—warmed spice a d citrus that clung to his skin. Your chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, like your body wasn't sure whether to relax or remain poised for something more.

Oberyn Martell had seen you.

He had looked into your eyes like you were a puzzle he was suddebly very eager to solve, and even now, with him gone, the weight of that gaze lingered on your skin like a mark. Not cruel. Not possessive. But focused. Intent. As if he had taken a pice of you with him.

You sat on the edge of the stone fountain, trying to slow your racing thoughts. Around you, the garden swayed softly in the warm breeze—pale pink blossoms trembling against tangled green, vines creeping along old stone walls that had seen centuries pass. You'd always loved this place, because it made you feel small in a way that didn't hurt. It reminded you that the world was bigger than your daily tasks and your silent life among silk-clad nobility.

But now... now it felt different. Like it had been rewritten in a language only Oberyn knew, and he'd whispered the first words of it against your skin.

Your thoughts spiralled. He'd seen you in the market. You pictured it—what you'd worn, what you'd said, who had made you laugh. It was a small moment, insignificant to you. And yet he remembered it. A laugh. Your laugh.

Why?

And what had he meant, I'd like to see you again?

It shouldn't mean anything. You were a seevant. A common girl whose name he didn't even know. You should have dismissed it as flirtation, as one of those idle distractions men like him pursued between wars and political games.

But your heart told you not to.

Because something in his voice hadn't been light. Something in the was he spoke to you—looked at you—had suggested a different kind of hunger. Not the kind that faded with the next hour or the next face. The kind that lingered in shadows and sunlight alike. You'd never been someone worth lingering over before.

Your fingertips found the edge of your skirt and twisted the fabric in thought. You couldn't pretend you hadn't wanted him to step even closer. You couldn't pretend you hadn't felt that wild, reckless pull in your chest—like something tethered had snapped loose inside you.

He had noticed you. Not just your face. Not just your figure.

You.

The girl who took linens down from balconies and swept dust from corridors and tried not to be seen.

And now you weren't sure if you could return to that kind of silence.

——

Later that night, when the palace had grown still and your tasks were finished, you found yourself wandering again. Not because you meant to see him—surely he had more important places to be—but because your body moved before your thoughts could catch up.

The garden was darker now, bathed in moonlight. The air cooler, scented with crushed herbs and orange blossoms. It should have felt safe. Familiar. But every sound now felt more vivid—every shadow more alive.

You traced the path you had walked earlier, past the stones that held the heat of the day, past the low wall with vines curling over the edge. You paused beneath a blooming tree, the petals pale in the dim light, and tilted your face to the sky.

You stood still beneath the orange tree, your fingers curling gently at your sides, the night air brushing againat your skin like a whispered secret. Moonlight danced across the courtyard in silvery ribbons, pooling at your feet and catching in the folds of your dress. The world is hushed around you—no footsteps, no voices, only the soft rustle of leaves and your breath, slow and uneven, caught somewhere between apprehension and anticipation.

And then—

“You came back.”

His voice didn't startle you. Somehow, you'd already felt his presence, the way the air shifted just moments before he spoke. Like the garden itself had gone still to welcome him.

You didn't turn around right away. The words hang in the space between you, heavy and knowing. A confession. An invitation.

“I didn't think you'd be here,” you said softly, your voice barely carrying across the space.

“But you hoped,” he replied, and when you do finally look over your shoulder, he's already stepping closer.

He was't dressed in finery tonight—no gold-threaded embroidery or jewels, no signs of his title—but there was still something regal about him. Something commanding in the way he moves, slow and sure, like he's never once questioned whether he belongs wherever he walks. He wears deep wine-coloured linen tonight, sleeves rolled to his elbows, throat bare, dark hair kissed by the breeze. And those eyes—deep, dark, burning even in the moonlight—locked onto yours as if you were the only thing worth seeing.

“I said I wanted to see you again, “he said. “And I do not often say things I don't mean.”

You turned to face him fully, the silvery glow of the night wrapping around you both, pulling you closer without a single touch.

“You still don't know my name,” you whispered.

He stopped a few paces away, far enough that you could retreat—but close enough that you feel the pull of him like gravity.

“No,” he murmured, “but I'd like to learn it from your lips.”

Your breath hitched. There's something so unguarded in the way he said it—no teasing, no seduction laced into the syllables—just simple, raw sincerity.

You glanced down at your hands, now clenched in front of you, and then back up at him. “It's not a name that belongs in a prince's mouth.”

He tilted his head to the side, and the expression that crossed his face was unreadable at first. Thoughtful. Sharp. And then it softened into something that almost startled you: gentleness.

“I don't care what name you were given. I care how it sounds when you speak it aloud.”

You gave it to him, hesitant but unashamed, and when he repeated it, his accent wrapped around the vowels like a caress.

He said your name like it was a secret. Like it was a prayer.

It left your lips dry, your throat tight, your chest rising and falling with the weight of the moment. You've never heard your name spoken like that before. You never thought it could sound like something precious.

He stepped closer.

The silence between you stretched again, but this time it hummed. His hand lifted slightly, not touching, just hovering near your arm, as if asking permission without saying a word. Your skin prickled beneath the weight of his attention, your heartbeat a wild, winged thing in your chest.

“You don't speak like a servent,” he said quietly.

You blinked. “And you don't act like a prince.”

He smiled, and it's slower this time. Deeper. There's something in it that unravels you, that sinks into your stomach like warm honey and heat.

“I've never cared for rules,” he said. “Especially the ones written by men who have never looked a woman like you in the eye.”

You should have looked away. You should have stepped back. But instead, you took a step forward.

Now you were close enough to see the few graying strands at his temples, the faint lines around his eyes, to smell the mix of citrus and spiced wine on his skin, to feel the subtle warmth radiating off his body. Your breath mingles with his, and the garden vanishes around you. There is only him. Only this moment.

“Why me?” you asked, because the question's been clawing at your insides since this morning. “You could have anyone.”

“I don't want anyone,” he said without hesitation. “I want the woman who thought no one was watching her, and laughed like the world didn't matter. I want the woman who looked at me like I was just a man—and not a title.”

Your chest tightened, not with fear—but with the aching, terrifying possibility that he means it.

“You still think you're nothing?” he asked again, softer this time.

You shook your head, your voice quiet. “I don't know what to think anymore.”

He reached out, and this time, his fingers graze your jaw—just barely, just a whisper of touch, but enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“Would you like me to show you?” he asked.

You didn't answer. You couldn't. Your body was already speaking for you, inching closer until the tips of his fingers brushed your skin again and stayed there.

He didn't move to kiss you. Not yet. He was waiting—for you.

And in that pause, in the aching silence between breath and desire, you felt the shift.

You weren't just being looked at. You were being seen.

But you had never meant to be seen.

And now, here you were, standing in his garden in the dead of night, your breath shallow in your chest, your pulse loud in your ears as he looked at you again—like he still hadn’t had his fill.

The torchlight flickered over the angles of his face. The strong line of his nose, the shadows beneath those dark eyes that held something deeper than lust. Curiosity, yes. Want, clearly. But something else, too—something that felt like recognition.

You weren’t sure what to do with that.

“My thoughts were filled with you,” he spoke up again.

You blinked, your voice barely audible. “Why would you think of me?”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His gaze travelled slowly down your body and back up, lingering—not in the way of a man surveying something to possess, but in the way someone stares at a mystery they intend to solve.

“Because I couldn’t stop wondering what you looked like up close,” he said. “What you sounded like. What you would taste like if I had the nerve to ask.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Heat rose to your cheeks, a tremor running down your spine as the weight of his attention pressed into you.

He reached for you slowly, as if trying not to startle a bird with its wings half-spread. His fingers brushed yours first—just a touch—and your hand twitched instinctively, but didn’t pull away. His hand turned, palm up, waiting.

You placed yours in it. His grip was warm, strong. Confident without pressure.

“You don’t need to say anything,” he said. “You can leave, and I’ll think of you anyway. I’ll wake with you in my mouth, even if I never get to taste you.”

That did something to you.

You didn’t move for a moment—just stood there, his words like fire licking across your skin. But then you stepped into him, your chest brushing his, your free hand rising to touch his shoulder. You felt the subtle shift in his breath. The way he steadied himself.

And then he leaned in—slow, slow, slower than any men you’d ever known—and pressed his mouth to yours. It was not a princely kiss. It was not rushed or hungry. It was reverent.

His lips moved over yours like a vow. He tasted of wine and warm night air. His thumb stroked the inside of your wrist, grounding you, anchoring you to the present moment as your body lit with quiet fire. You didn’t even realize your other hand had slid to the side of his neck until you felt the heat of his skin, the pulse under your fingers.

He deepened the kiss, carefully, until your breath shuddered against his. Then he pulled back, eyes flicking between yours.

“Come,” he whispered, voice rougher now. “Let me take care of you.”

You nodded once.

You followed him, barefoot over cool stone floors warmed by the heat of late evening. The soft rustle of your dress echoed faintly between walls carved with Dornish patterns—spiralling suns, climbing flowers, ancient sigils etched into polished sandstone. The torches along the hallway burned low, casting golden shadows that danced across your skin and his as he led you towards the place you had never imagined you’d be.

It didn’t feel like being taken somewhere. It felt like being brought home.

His chambers were not gaudy or ostentatious. They smelled of myrrh and citrus, with breezes filtering in through silk-draped arches that opened to a private balcony above the garden. A low fire crackled in the hearth. Candles flickered from high niches. The bed was broad and built low to the ground, draped in layers of woven fabrics and bare skin-toned silks that pooled around the corners like water.

But none of it compared to him.

He stood in the middle of the room, turning slowly as if inviting you to take him in. His mouth was parted, eyes tracing your form not with hunger alone, but wonder. No one had ever looked at you like that before.

“Oberyn…” you started, uncertain what you meant to say—whether it was a question or a warning or a plea.

He crossed the space in two quiet steps. His hand rose to your cheek again, thumb brushing just beneath your lower lip.

“You can say my name as many times as you like,” he murmured. “Or say nothing at all.”

Your lips parted again, but this time for him. He kissed you softly, then with more weight, your bodies pressing closer, melting into one another like the sun into sand. His hands didn’t rush. One slid into your hair, the other curved around your lower back, pulling you closer without urgency. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss as his tongue slid past your lips, coaxing a low sound from your throat you hadn’t known you could make. He responded to it with a quiet hum of pleasure.

When he pulled back, his voice was low and warm. “You feel too far away.”

And with those words, he reached for the sash at your waist. But slowly. Studying your face. Making sure. You didn’t stop him.

The knot loosened beneath his fingers. Your dress gave way, slipping from your shoulders like a sigh. The fabric whispered down your arms, down your hips, until it was puddled at your feet. You stood there, bared to him, the candlelight drawing gold across your skin.

You felt the flutter of nerves—uncertainty and vulnerability threading through the air between you—but he looked at you as if you were something ancient and holy, something long awaited. His hands didn’t go to your breasts, or between your thighs. Not yet. Instead, he traced the curve of your waist, the dip just above your hipbone, the inside of your arm.

It wasn’t lust alone in his eyes. It was reverence. “You are,” he murmured, “the most exquisite thing I’ve ever touched.”

The words should have sounded rehearsed. Prince-like. But they didn’t. They felt raw, spoken from some place below language. They made your heart stutter.

And then he undressed.

He pulled his tunic over his head in one smooth movement. The sight of him—bare-chested, firelight rolling over every muscle, every little scar, the slope of his collarbone, the trail of dark hair down the centre of his stomach—stole the breath from your lungs.

He stepped closer again. “Lie back for me.”

You did.

The sheets beneath your skin were warm, soft, and when he joined you on the bed—his body beside yours, hands roaming with quiet curiosity—it felt like something elemental. Something inevitable. One hand slipped under your knee, guiding your leg to bend, to open, and his mouth followed in the space that was left. But he didn’t go lower. Not yet.

He kissed your throat, your collarbone, the curve of your breast—lips and tongue and breath combining in an intoxicating pattern that made you arch into him, your hips shifting without thought. His hand came up to cradle your ribs, fingers splaying over your side, holding you with that same impossible mix of gentleness and control.

And still, he didn’t rush.

You’d never been touched like this—like a story he meant to read one line at a time, savouring every word, every sound you gave him in return.

He kissed lower.

And lower still.

Until his mouth reached the place between your legs, and your thighs trembled around his shoulders. His breath met the heat of you, his mouth hovering just long enough to make your skin tighten with anticipation. You felt the press of his thumbs spreading you gently apart, opening you to the slow glide of his tongue, the first careful pass of it dragging through your fold like he was mapping you—learning every part of your body with reverent intent.

Your hips jolted, a startled gasp slipping from your lips. But he only murmured against you. “Shh. Let me.”

And you did.

You let your head fall back into the pillow, legs open around him, your fingers fisting the sheets as he began in earnest.

Oberyn was deliberate. Thorough. A man who knew the art of pleasure not as conquest but devotion. His tongue was soft at first, teasing, coaxing your body into response—then firmer, more focused, flicking and curling just right, like he was reading your body’s cues in real time. When he found the spot that made your thighs quiver, he circled it slowly, the again, just a little harder, like he was testing how much you could take.

You whimpered, breath hitching as your spine arched. “Oberyn…”

The sound of his name on your lips made him groan low against you, and the vibration made you see stars.

One hand slipped beneath your thigh, lifting your leg over his shoulder, opening you further. The other rested on your stomach, grounding you. Holding you still. You could feel the calluses on his fingertips where they pressed to your skin, just above your navel—a firm reminder of his strength, of the quiet control beneath the tenderness.

When he sucked your clit into his mouth, gently at first, then with slow, rhythmic pressure, mouth relentless in purpose.

“You taste,” he rasped between strokes, “like the gods made you just for this.”

Your breath came in short, helpless pants. You were soaked, trembling. All the heat in your body had pooled between your legs, every nerve ending alight.

It built fast. Too fast. You didn’t know how to tell him you were close, how to warn him, but he already knew—he felt it in the way you moved, the way your thighs began to quake, the way your voice cracked when you tried to speak.

And he didn’t stop.

He held you in place with hands like silk-wrapped iron, tongue working you with wicked precision until the heat inside you snapped—your back bowed, mouth open in a silent cry as your high tore through you like a wave crashing on sand.

He stayed with you through it, mouth never leaving you, letting you ride it out, drawing every last tremor from your body until you were panting, boneless, shaking under him. When he finally pulled away, his lips were wet, his eyes bright with something between pride and awe. He kissed the inside of your thigh—once, twice—then moved up your body, slow and fluid, like a panther stalking something already his.

He kissed your lips again. You could taste yourself on his tongue, but you didn’t care.

He rested his forehead against yours for a moment, catching his breath. “You are,” he whispered, “everything I hoped you’d be.”

You blinked up at him, dazed. “You’ve… thought about this?”

He smiled against your mouth. “From the moment I first saw you.”

His cock pressed hot and hard against your thigh, and your fingers slid down instinctively, curling around him. He groaned into your neck, hips twitching into your hand.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured. “I’ll give you anything.” You looked into his eyes—dark, molten, full of promise. “Please,” you whispered, spreading your legs again beneath him. “I want you.”

He rose onto his knees between your thighs, gaze dragging slowly down the length of your body as if memorizing you all over again. His chest heaved with every breath, muscles carved in the amber glow of the candlelight. You watched his hand wrap around the thick length of his cock, his thumb smearing the bead of precum over the tip as he stroked himself once—twice—his eyes never leaving yours.

He wanted you to see him. To feel how much he wanted you.

Your thighs fell even wider beneath him, shameless now, your body pulsing with the aftershocks of your first orgasm, already greedy for more. Oberyn leaned over you again, his hips settling low, the heavy heat of him dragging along your slick folds. You both hissed at the contact.

He kissed you—slow, deep, his tongue stroking into your mouth in rhythm with the rock of his hips. You could feel the weight of him sliding through your wetness, teasing your entrance but never pushing in.

Not yet.

He grinned against your lips when you whined softly into his mouth. “So impatient,” he whispered. “I haven’t even given you what you really need.”

His hand slid between your bodies, guiding himself to your entrance, rubbing the thick head against your fluttering hole. Your breath caught, legs tightening around his waist.

“Breathe,” he murmured, mouth at your ear. “It’s going to be slow. You’ll feel every inch of me.”

And you did.

He pushed forward, the broad crown stretching you open in a slow, relentless glide that made your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth fall open around a broken moan. The stretch burned in the best way, just enough to remind you he was bigger than anyone you’d taken before—but you were so wet, so ready, your body welcomed him with trembling need.

“Gods,” he grunted, voice gravel and silk. “You’re so tight. Perfect. Fuck, look at you…”

You forced your eyes open, dizzy with the sensation of being filled, of his body inching deeper with every push of his hips. You looked down between you and saw the way your body took him, saw how far there was still to go. Your breath shuddered.

He stilled once he was fully seated inside you, hips flush with yours, the length of him throbbing deep in your core. His arms braced on either side of your head, his eyes drinking you in.

“You feel like heaven,” he whispered. “And you’re mine now, aren’t you?”

You nodded, unable to speak, your entire world reduced to the way he filled you—aching, stretching, claiming.

He began to move.

Slow, dragging thrusts that pulled almost all the way out before he pushed back in, making your toes curl, your hands claw at his back. He rolled his hips deliberately, angling each stroke to hit that perfect spot inside you, and when he found it, you gasped—hips jerking, nails digging patterns into his skin.

“There,” he rasped. “There it is.”

He set a rhythm that felt like worship, like he wasn’t just fucking you—he was learning you, reading your body with every pass of his hips, every cry and sigh he coaxed from your lips. His name fell from your mouth like a prayer.

The slick sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, obscene and beautiful, and he drank it in with the hunger of a man starved. His hands roamed over you—one tangled in your hair, the other gripping your thigh, pressing your leg up to open even further to him.

“You take me so well,” he groaned. “So deep. So fucking sweet around me.”

You could feel the edge building again—faster this time, hotter, your walls fluttering around him as he kept moving in and out of you with slow, devastating precision. He felt it too.

“Let go for me,” he whispered. “I want to feel you fall apart on my cock.”

Your head fell back with a cry, and then it crashed over you—your second high tearing through you with a force that made your vision go white. You clenched hard around him, your body seizing, helpless under the wave.

He swore under his breath, a litany of desperate, beautiful sounds as your orgasm milked him. His rhythm faltered, hips jerking, and he leaned into you, teeth grazing your neck.

“Do you want me to come inside you?” he asked, voice tight and desperate. “Want me to fill you up, make you mine?”

You nodded, gasping. “Yes—yes, Oberyn—please…”

With a ragged groan, he thrust once—twice more—and then spilled into you, thick and hot, his hips shuddering against yours as he buried himself as deep as he could go. He held there, panting against your neck, one hand fisting the sheet beside your head, the other cradling your thigh like he couldn’t bear to let go.

He stayed inside you for a while, the weight of his body a grounding warmth atop yours. His breath slowed gradually against your neck, the rise and fall of his chest finally settling, his lips soft against your skin. Neither of you spoke. Words would have felt too sharp in that moment.

Eventually, Oberyn moved—but only to shift beside you, his cock slipping out of you with a wet, aching drag that made you shudder. He hissed quietly, cupping your thigh, his palm warm as it slid along your skin. You winced slightly at the emptiness he left behind, the tender pulse between your legs, but he was there—already pulling you into his chest, already reaching for a nearby cloth to clean the mess between your thighs with careful, reverent strokes.

“I didn’t mean to break you,” he said, voice low, laced with amusement but tinged with something gentler. “But gods, you are perfect.”

You buried your face in his shoulder, letting yourself be held. “You didn’t,” you murmured. “Not broken. Just… undone.”

He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. You felt it against your cheek, and it made your heart flutter more than you expected. He leaned down and kissed the top of your head—slow and sweet, a quiet contrast to how fiercely he had just taken you.

“I like you like this,” he said, fingers tracing your spine. “Soft and warm and stretched around me.”

Your face flushed, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you pressed closer, the intimacy of it all sinking deeper into your bones. You hadn’t expected this. Not from him. You’d thought he’d see you—just once—and then vanish like smoke. But here he was, tangled up with you in silken sheets, his hands gentle, his mouth tender, as though your body was something sacred.

“Are you always like this afterward?” you asked quietly, your fingers absently drawing circles on his chest.

He looked down at you, eyes dark but soft. “No,” he said simply. “Only when it matters.”

The answer silenced you.

He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, gaze lingering on your face. “You think I saw you by accident?” he asked. “You were sitting by the fountain with sun on your shoulders like a goddess. You looked back at me and didn’t look away. That was no accident.”

Your throat tightened. You hadn’t known what he saw in you—still weren’t sure—but the way he looked at you now, like he knew you, like he wanted you beyond the thrill of a night—it made something shift in your chest.

Oberyn pulled the blanket over your bodies, wrapping you in silk and warmth, His hand settled low on your stomach, possessive and gentle, as he kissed your temple.

“Sleep, sweet thing,” he murmured into your hair. “I’ll still be here in the morning.”

And you believed him.

Because in that moment—wrapped in his arms, his scent in your lungs, the weight of him still lingering inside you—you were no longer just a woman he’d seen today.

You were his.

[bacchuschucklefuck]

class swap design masterpost for convenience (from top to bottom: bard!riz, cleric!gorgug, sorcerer!kristen, barbarian!fig, artificer!adaine, and rogue!fabian)

[cyanide-sippy-cup]

Been avoiding the show because FUCK Amazon but. I said I'd post it so I'm postin it.

[leonsliga]

I love that thomas and manu ship themselves. with a lot of other duos, it's just wishful thinking (totally fine) but their friendship? god <3 so real. the pictures, the "we've been married for 15 years", the interviews... why so romantic if not romantic lol in another universe, they are 100% together

Right? Everything’s so easy and natural with them. And while I don’t mind a bit of wishful thinking myself, the bond Manu and Thomas have is so authentic and genuine that it’s hard not to get a least a little sappy about them. And there’s just. so. much. lore. Even setting aside the iconic decade partners Instagram post and Thomas saying they’ve been married for 15 years, we’ve had so many moments that just really only make sense with them. Like when Thomas named one of his colts Manuel because he was born on Manu’s birthday, or how, during Bayern’s dominant 2012/13 season, Thomas would train with Manu during matches to keep his reflexes sharp. Or, well, just about any of what they said about each other here:

And, along those lines, sometimes they say things that just have such old married couple undertones that it’s genuinely hard to interpret them any other way, like the time reporters asked Manu if he would go golfing with Thomas at the DFB training camp and he replied with “I can’t golf. I could carry his luggage or whatever.” Or the time Thomas was asked about Manu’s perfect match against Porto back in his Schalke days and he immediately remembered his platinum blonde hair from back then. And then of course there’s the time Manu said Thomas was more than a teammate for him (aka Neuller heritage).

We also can’t forget when the two were decorating Bayern’s Christmas tree in 2015 and Thomas asked Manu if he holds onto the ornament baubles as tightly as he would a match ball (translation: Thomas wanted Manu to hold onto his baubles tightly 😏). Or how, when asked about whether or not Thomas would like to be Bayern’s official captain one day, Thomas was quick to reply, “I hope not. I’ve always tried to take responsibility in the team, but Manu is very welcome to remain my captain until the end of my career.” (in case you needed more proof that these two were robbed).

But that married couple-ness isn’t just in their words; it’s in their actions too. Take any of the times they’ve held hands during matches, or all the loving face cradling, head rubs, and head pats. And of course, the hugs. The many, many hugs. Especially from the side, so Thomas can grab onto Manu’s waist.

Also, I refuse to let any of you overlook that time Thomas gave Manu a full-on neck message in the tunnel (which, I might add, Manu was so unfazed by that it’s hard not to wonder if this had happened before).

And while we’re at it, talking about niche Neuller moments and all, there was that time they might very well have kissed behind a poorly-timed German flag back in 2010. And all their other Euro 2012 qualifier shenanigans that same year.

Fast-forwarding a bit to the 2012/13 season, and we were in for a treat; we had Thomas pulling a Luis Suárez and going in for a little nibble on Manu’s arm. Because not even the great Thomas Müller is immune to the cute aggression Manuel Neuer inspires.

Also, what about the time Manu got absolutely piss-drunk during the treble celebrations that same season and decided he needed to hug Thomas IMMEDIATELY? Or how we got the closest thing to an actual kiss we might ever get when Thomas kissed him on the cheek here?

Honestly, 2013 was Bayern’s year in more ways than one, because not only did it bring us the treble, it also brought us this iconic verse in the Neuller gospel:

But let’s get back to the way they talk about one another, because it doesn’t matter what the situation is—they always back each other. Before the 2014 World Cup even started (and Manu all but fingered him during the post-win festivities), he was already convinced Thomas would be the key to their success—a sentiment that carried over to club level, where he insisted Thomas was the linchpin in Bayern’s attack.

With Manu, it’s often the little things that speak volumes, like trusting in Thomas’ fitness, his ability to influence a match, and his importance for Bayern. He’s quick to remind everyone that Thomas always stands up for the team, that he’s dangerous regardless of position, and that his constant communication is a game-changer. As Manu would put it, “we (Bayern) need Thomas”.

Even when Thomas fell out of favor at Bayern for a time, Manu rushed to his defense, reminding everyone that “he’s a mature player who doesn’t buckle so easily”, and, despite dealing with a lot of criticism, Thomas remained important for the squad and was always in demand (in one way or another). Put another way, he had faith that Thomas could handle it.

For Thomas’ part, he has no problem casually reminding everyone that he thinks Manu is the number 1 goalkeeper in the world, that he makes a good striker, and, even though there are many good goalkeepers, Manu is special—just a step above the others and superb on the ball.

When his mans was shafted for FIFA World Player of the Year in 2015, Thomas knew just what to say: even if Manu didn’t win, he was the FIFA World Player in his heart. In fact, his decade partner was pretty much the reason Thomas felt so confident going into Bayern’s 2020 Champions League tie versus PSG; after all, in his words, “we’ll still have Manuel Neuer between the sticks”, a sentiment he echoed after they won.

And let’s not forget about that time a reporter asked Thomas to weigh in on the debate of who should be Germany’s number 1: Neuer or Ter Stegen. Thomas’ answer was immediate: “It’s a difficult decision, of course, but Manu has always been my goalkeeper. That’s why I’m standing by him.” Long story short, they’re always in each other’s corners, and they make no secret of it.

The point is, even when they make mistakes, they’re each other’s most fervent protectors. If the world is against them, then at least they still have each other and always will. Take Manu conceding against Gladbach, a team many would consider to be our goatkeeper’s kryptonite; Thomas was quick to remind the media that he’d saved Bayern’s points plenty of times in the past, and that this time, he just didn’t have as much to do before the goal and was probably a bit cold at the time.

Then you’ve got Manu on the other side of the things, supporting his husband’s rights and his husband’s wrongs, speculating that his red card (yes that one) was because he didn’t see Tagliafico and pretty much already had his foot up, aiming for the ball.

Hell, even when Manu was out of commission for a majority of the 2022/23 season (due to his nearly career-ending injury), Thomas visited him in rehab every day, no doubt for emotional support (and so he could tell his husband his best dad jokes). Although Manu was away from the squad physically, he was there in spirit; Thomas made sure of that, posting Manu’s autograph card from that season above his locker:

But it’s more than sticking around in each other’s darkest moments; they celebrate each other’s achievements too. Whenever Manu wins anything (and I mean anything), guess who’s first in line to congratulate him. It doesn’t matter if it’s World’s Best Goalkeeper, best goalkeeper of the 2019/20 Champions League season, FIFPro World 11, or even his DFB Pokal performance, Thomas will be posting about it (and probably already has). It doesn’t even have to be football-related, like when Manu was awarded the Bavarian State Medal for Social Merit for his charity work. Hell, even when Manu was one of the 3 FIFA World Footballer of the Year finalists, he was overwhelmed with pride (chill babe, the results weren’t even in yet). But by far my favorite instance of these two celebrating each other’s victories actually came from Manu: when he made sure the squad celebrated Thomas’ milestone 500th win with Bayern and refused to let him even try to be modest about it.

Honestly, let’s face it: we could make an entire separate post about all of the Neuller content that came out of Thomas’ 500th win. We had Manu running the length of the pitch to celebrate Thomas’ goal in that milestone match, Manu’s comments in his post-match presser, Thomas’ special thank you to Manu after the fact, the “married for 15 years” comment, and a new Neuller ad where Manu gave Thomas a special anniversary gift…there was so much content that it was almost overwhelming. We were so well fed that week 🥹

Also, speaking of Manu’s comments in his post-match pressers, I’m pretty sure at least a good 1/4 of Manu’s love language is praising Thomas in them, as you can see here, here, here, and here. The rest is him basically reciting his glorified wedding vows to anyone who will listen (and physical touch, duh).

Then you’ve got Thomas turning every Instagram story he can into him gushing over his Schnapper’s skills:

And he has no problem following Manu’s lead either, waxing poetic about his man in post-match interviews.

For as much praise as they heap on one another to the press though, they’re also no strangers to openly flirting with each other as well, if you couldn’t tell from that video from the Audi FCB Tour at the beginning. So, in that spirit, lovely people of the jury, I present to you exhibit A, where Manu told Thomas he’d “given himself a present 😉” after his 400th Bundesliga appearance (whatever tf that means).

Alright, now onto exhibit B: Thomas posting a picture with his two dogs and Manu asking “who’s more handsome”, only for Thomas to answer, “you, dog 😀”. Get a room you two!

Oh, you need more evidence, you say? Well, I’ve got you covered. Have a pic of Thomas brazenly checking out Manu’s ass, because not even he can resist the biggest bakery in Germany.

What’s that? You still need more? Well, aren’t you demanding! But don’t worry, there’s more blatant homoeroticism to come, because here we have exhibit D, where Thomas called doubles tennis with Manu “a dream come true”:

Actually, speaking of doubles tennis with Manu, I’m pretty sure this clip was the inspiration for the movie Challengers. The DFB has yet to confirm this of course, but I have no doubt that that confirmation is coming any day now 😉

Anyways, Neuller is so real and so powerful that at one point Bayern just caved and started funding some club-sanctioned dates. Usually they’re chaperoned (because Bayern might be a little homophobic with it—either that or they don’t trust Thomas not to try and conquer Manu any time they’re left to their own devices—it’s a toss-up really) by the likes of Basti, Mats, or even half the squad (see: 2022 Audi Summer Games). But not always. Sometimes we get Schafkopf dates (because they’re literal senior citizens and their date nights are just them playing cutesy little card games like the old bitties they are).

But anyways, back to our regularly scheduled shipping nonsense, because we still have exhibit E to go through: one day Thomas decided to make Manu’s goalkeeper training a little extra special by showing up shirtless (pretty sure the point of goalkeeper training is to keep him focused, not distract him with your lean, muscular body, Thomas, but I digress):

And lastly, I believe this gem deserves at least an honorable mention:

Let’s take a minute for Manu’s “Schnapper” nickname as well, which, although it may not be one that originated with Thomas, I think we can all agree he’s made it his own. After all, he uses it pretty much every time he talks about him.

As a brief little side note though (I feel like a lawyer giving my closing statements atp 😅), I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the fact that Thomas literally follows a Neuller fan account. Whether it’s intentional on his part or not, it’s still a fun addition to the lore.

So, in conclusion, if not romantic ship, why romantic ship-shaped? 🥺 I’m with you; in another universe, perhaps one not so distant from ours, they got married and grew old together, settling into a house in the mountains, surrounded by horses and doggos. I’m just glad they found each other in this universe at least, because, as it turns out, a Schalker and a Bayern Ultra make one hell of a dream team ❤️

They didn’t know it yet, but they’d go on to coparent the most dominant and successful club in Germany