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abbotjack · 3 months ago

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(18+ only) nsfw alphabet– jack abbot .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚

pairing : jack abbot x afab!reader

18+ MDNI—warning : dominant!jack, slow burn, public sex (on-call room/supply closet), praise kink, overstimulation, restraint/control, emotional repression, soft but possessive aftercare, rough sex with emotional weight. It's all smut so read at your own risk!

a/n : I fear I went a little too feral with this because why is this like 3,500 words. Also all of these are just my opinion! Maybe I'll do one for Robby next idk. But if you enjoyed this perhaps consider giving me a follow so you can stay up to date on newer stuff!

♡ A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Jack doesn’t say much after sex—he never has. But that doesn’t mean he leaves you hanging.

He moves like muscle memory: wipes you down with slow, practiced hands; helps you into his T-shirt without breaking eye contact; presses a kiss to your knee like it wasn’t just shaking against his shoulder minutes ago. His hands tremble a little, sometimes—not from the sex, but from the way you look at him after. Like you see through all of it.

And when you fall asleep against him, spine curved to fit his body, he doesn’t move. Not for hours. Not even when his arm goes numb. He just lies there, heartbeat still ragged, staring at the ceiling like he’s waiting for the world to end.

But when he does finally breathe—deep and full, like it hurts—he buries his face in your hair and says the one thing he never lets himself say out loud.

“Don’t go.”

You’re already asleep.

He’s glad.

Because if you heard him? He’d never be able to pretend it didn’t mean everything.

♡ B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His : His arms. Thick-veined, corded with muscle, scarred from combat and trauma and living too many lives. When he wraps them around you, it feels like armor.

Yours : Your hips. He grips them when he’s losing it, when he’s fucking you deep and saying your name like a warning. He’d die with his mouth on that soft skin just above your hipbone.

♡ C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Jack doesn’t just cum—he surrenders. He tries to hold back (he always does), but when it hits, it’s like a dam breaking. His whole body tenses. His voice breaks. He spills deep, possessive, groaning into your mouth or your cunt like he needs to be inside you to survive. There’s always a pause afterward—like he’s shocked by how much he needed it.

♡ D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He has a photo of you—nothing explicit. Just you in his bed, back turned, bare shoulders peeking out from the sheets, sunlight catching the curve of your spine. You were still asleep when he took it.

He told himself it was just the light. Just the moment.

But that photo? He looks at it more than he should. Especially on the nights where he’s on call and his body aches . He opens it, zooms in—not even to jerk off. Just to breathe. To remind himself there’s softness waiting for him somewhere.

But sometimes, after a night that’s been too long and a shift that took too much, he’ll sit on the edge of his bed, phone in one hand, the other wrapped tight around his cock. And he’ll stare at that photo, jaw clenched, thinking about how warm your body felt under his palms, how you sighed when he kissed the back of your neck.

You’ll never know about it. He’ll never show you. It’s not porn. It’s not even explicit.

But it’s the dirtiest thing he owns.

Because it’s real. And it’s you.

♡ E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Jack knows bodies. Intimately. Years of military life, adrenaline-fueled hookups, flings that burned fast and left no ashes. He knows how to make someone come hard, fast, and quiet. He knows pressure points, pace, rhythm. He knows what makes a body break—but not what makes one stay.

And then came you. And suddenly, none of that mattered. He learns you.

Because this isn’t just sex anymore—it’s a goddamn reckoning. Jack touches you like he’s afraid it might be the last time. Kisses you like he doesn’t know how to stop. Every time he fucks you, it’s a war between instinct and emotion. Between everything he knows and everything he’s terrified to feel. He’s experienced, yes. But with you? He’s learning all over again.

♡ F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

You, facedown, pinned under his weight, your legs spread, his hand wrapped around the back of your neck. Not choking—just anchoring. He likes knowing you’re there, fully his, every inch of him pressed to every inch of you. But he also loves when you ride him—loves watching your body take him, he is so greedy when it comes to you.

♡ G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Not in the moment. Jack is intense. Serious. But afterward, when your cheek is on his chest and your fingers are tracing the scar near his ribs? He softens. He smirks. Says things like “Didn’t know you could make that noise” just to watch your face burn.

♡ H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Jack keeps it neat. Always has. Military habit. Something about order, control—even in the most private parts of himself. It’s never been about looks; it’s about function. Clean. Trimmed. Routine. No fuss.

But it’s not bare. Never has been. That’s not him. And after you told him—quietly, shyly, your fingertips brushing his lower stomach—that you liked it, the way it felt against your thighs, the way it looked when you were on your knees? He started letting it grow just a little longer.

Not much. Just enough for you to feel it when you're grinding down on him, slick and panting, your body flush to his. Just enough that when you tug his pants down and your fingers slip into the waistband, they brush coarse hair and your breath catches.

He noticed that sound.

Didn’t say anything. Just… didn’t trim as short next time.

It’s a quiet thing. A choice he makes without ever acknowledging it. Jack wouldn’t tell you that your preferences have changed his habits—but they have. And he likes the way your eyes drop when he undresses, the way your touch lingers there.

It’s one more thing that belongs to you. Even if you’ll never hear him say it.

♡ I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Jack doesn’t do soft—at least, not like other men do. He doesn’t light candles or lay rose petals on the bed. But he holds your face in both hands after sex like he’s trying to memorize it. He strokes your lower back long after you’ve stopped trembling. And when he pushes into you slow, deep, deliberate, with his forehead pressed against yours, he says your name like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. He kisses you. Slow. Starved. Like a man who knows exactly how far he's fallen but refuses to stop.

♡ J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn’t do it often—not because he doesn’t want to, but because he can’t. Not when you’re not there. Not when all it does is remind him of what he’s missing.

But when he does? It’s always in the dark. After a shift. Alone. With your scent still lingering in his sheets and his body aching like hell. He pulls your shirt from under his pillow—the one you left after staying over, the one you said he could keep. He fumbles for it one-handed, already hard, already leaking. He buries his face in the cotton and groans against it like he’s ashamed of how much he needs you.

♡ K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Jack doesn’t talk about what he likes. He shows it. Quiet control. Firm hands. A mouth that worships. He loves being in charge—not because he wants to own you, but because he wants to take care of you.

His biggest kink? Obedience, but only when you choose it. When you’re writhing beneath him, wrists pinned, whispering “Please, Jack” like he’s the only one who can give you what you need.

Also? Praise. He doesn’t say it often, but when you clench around him and cry out and break, he grits his teeth and growls it into your neck :

“That’s it. You take me so fucking well.”

“Good girl. Just like that.”

You come harder when he says it. And he knows it.

♡ L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Jack wants you at his place. Always has.

His apartment isn’t flashy, but it’s his. Clean. Controlled. Quiet. And the bedroom? That’s where he lets go—not of control, but of everything else. That’s where he fucks you like it’s the only time he’ll ever get to. Where he strips you bare one piece at a time, lays you out on his dark sheets, and takes his time learning every inch of you all over again. Pressing you into the mattress with the kind of weight that makes you gasp, slides into you so deep and slow it feels like your spine lights up.

“My bed. My rules. My fuckin’ girl.”

And when he makes you come—back arched, his name bitten into your tongue—he kisses you like it’s the only thing that’s ever made sense.

That’s how he prefers it.

But sometimes? He can’t wait.

You know that look in his eye—the one that says I need you now. The one that burns across the ER. The one that makes you pause in the stairwell because he’s following too close, and you know what’s coming.

→ The on-call room

He locks the door behind you like he’s done it before. No words. Just hands. Rough. Skilled. Urgent. He lifts you onto the cot, pushes your scrub pants down, and slides his fingers between your thighs while your back hits the pillow.

“Already wet for me?” he whispers, voice dark and quiet, body crowding yours.

You nod, breathless. He kisses you like he’s starving and fucks you like he’s trying to keep you there forever. One hand over your mouth, the other gripping your thigh to keep you open, filled, silent.

But you’re not silent. Not when he whispers, “You gonna come for me, sweetheart? Just like that?”

You always do.

→ The supply closet

It’s tighter. Dirtier. The fluorescent lights hum above your head as he shoves boxes aside, pulls you into the corner, and pushes you against the shelving. His knee presses between your thighs, spreading you open. His mouth crashes into yours like a mistake he’ll make a thousand times over.

He hikes your leg up and thrusts in without preamble. You both groan. You’re still in your coat. His ID badge brushes your chest every time he slams into you. It’s ridiculous. It’s filthy. It’s perfect.

“Gotta be quick,” he pants, forehead to yours.

You claw at his back. You come with your eyes rolling and your voice cracking.

And when he pulls out, kisses you fast, and adjusts your scrubs for you? You swear he almost smiles.

♡ M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You. Always you.

The way you say his name like it’s a dare. The little sigh you make when you stretch first thing in the morning. The curve of your waist when you’re standing in scrubs and not even trying. He notices everything, even if he pretends not to.

But what really undoes him? When you touch him without needing anything. Just… because you want to. Your fingers grazing his jaw. Your mouth on his shoulder. Your hand slipping into his lap during a silent moment.

“You want something?” he’ll ask, low.

You’ll just smile.

“Just you.”

And that’s it. That’s all it takes.

♡ N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Jack draws hard lines. Nothing humiliating. No hardcore degradation. No making you feel small—he’s seen enough of that in the world and he won’t recreate it in the one place that’s supposed to feel safe.

Another limit? Emotionless sex. He’s done it before. He’s lived in it. He won’t go back.

With you, it has to mean something. Every time.

♡ O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He eats pussy like it’s the first thing he’s tasted in days. Slow at first—just his tongue flicking softly against your clit, building you up. He likes to tease, to wait for your thighs to shake and your hips to roll up into his mouth before he gives in.

But once you’re begging? He gets filthy. Hands pinning your thighs wide, tongue fucking you until you scream his name. And when you come? He groans like it’s his orgasm too.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Give it to me. I’ve got you.”

He loves how wrecked you get. How sensitive. How breathless.

And he doesn’t stop after one.

♡ P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Jack doesn’t fuck like a man in a hurry.

He takes his time—too much time sometimes. Because when you spread your thighs for him, when your hands reach for his body like you need it to live? He doesn’t rush. He watches. Studies. Breathes through it like he's grounding himself in the moment.

That first thrust is slow. Deep. Intentional. His forehead touches yours as he pushes all the way in, until your breath hitches and your fingers curl against his back.

“There you go,” he murmurs, voice low and ragged.

“Nice and full, huh? I’ve got you.”

He pulls out just as slow. Watches your face. Feels your cunt clench around nothing.

Then he does it again. And again.

And again.

He keeps that pace—not teasing, not soft. Just controlled, the kind of fucking that makes your thighs shake long before you come. He’s punishing in how patient he can be. Like he knows exactly how close you are, and chooses to keep you right there—hovering on the edge, dizzy, begging.

“You want it faster?” he asks, breath warm against your cheek.

“Then say it. Say you need me.”

And when you do—when the words finally break out of your throat—his hands grip your hips harder. He pulls out halfway and slams back in so fast and deep your back arches off the bed.

That’s when you see it. The crack in him.

Because when Jack loses control, he loses it all the way. His rhythm turns punishing. Relentless. That perfect control unravels in a blur of heat and friction and need. He presses you down into the mattress, fucking you with his whole body, like he’s trying to anchor himself inside you.

You moan. Sob. Shake.

He doesn’t stop.

Not until your voice is raw and your body is wrecked and he’s buried deep, groaning into your neck.

♡ Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Jack doesn’t chase quickies—but he doesn’t pretend he doesn’t think about them either. Not when you look at him like that.

Not when your palm rests on his chest for a second too long while passing in the hall. Not when you whisper something filthy against his neck just before rounds, smile innocent, and walk away.

He holds it together better than most—years of training, war, ER chaos. But you? You’re the thing he can’t regulate. And every so often, when the tension coils too tight and the shift won’t give him space to breathe, he takes what he needs.

He’s careful about it. Deliberate. And it’s fast—but not careless.

♡ R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Jack calculates risk like breathing—it’s instinct, wired into him from years of surviving things most people can’t imagine. He doesn’t leap into anything he can’t control.

But you? You make him want to.

He won’t take dumb risks—but if the room’s empty, the door locks, and your body’s on his mind all shift long? He’ll fuck you up against that wall with one hand over your mouth and the other gripping your thigh like he’s daring you to say stop.

♡ S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Jack lasts long. He wants to feel everything. Wants to see how many times he can make you come before he even thinks about finishing.

He can edge himself for what feels like forever, holding back even as his arms tremble from restraint. If you beg? If you plead? He’ll give in—but it’s never just once. He’ll take you again, slower. Or rougher. Or with your legs trembling and your voice breaking as you say his name like it’s the only one you know.

“You done?” he’ll ask, lips brushing your jaw,

“Or do you want one more?”

Spoiler : it’s always one more.

♡ T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Jack never went in for toys. Not because he’s opposed—but because he never needed them. He knows your body. He knows what works. His fingers. His mouth. His cock? That’s always been enough.

But when you brought a small vibrator into bed one night—nothing dramatic, just something quiet and simple—he didn’t blink. Just watched you lay back, already flushed, already wet, the toy pressed between your thighs while you looked up at him.

He didn’t say anything.

Just took it from your hand. Gently. Calmly. Pressed it back to your clit while he slid his fingers inside you and watched. Watched your body respond. Watched your eyes flutter. Watched you break apart.

“That’s it.”

His voice low, steady.

“Stay right there.”

He didn’t tease. Didn’t narrate. Just kept his eyes on you and held the toy in place while you came, legs shaking, breath stuttering.

Now? It lives in his nightstand. Just one. That’s all he needs.

He only pulls it out when he wants to take his time. When he wants to hold you down, watch you tremble, keep you on edge for so long that by the time he finally fucks you, you’re already half undone.

♡ U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Jack is brutal.

Not with his words—but with his restraint. With how long he can edge you. How calmly he can keep his voice as your hips grind against him, slick and desperate, and he still doesn’t give you what you want.

“Not yet.”

“Hold still.”

“You wanted this—now take it.”

He doesn’t tease to humiliate—he teases because he loves watching you need him. Watching you squirm. Watching you crack.

And when you finally come?

He leans in, mouth at your ear, and whispers :

“Told you I’d get you there.”

♡ V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Jack’s not loud—but he’s not silent either.

He breathes heavy through his nose. Grits his teeth when you moan his name. Curses under his breath when you tighten around him and drag your nails down his back. “Fuck. Just like that.”

He groans—low, deep, like it’s being pulled out of his chest. Sometimes? He growls your name into your neck right as he comes, rough and almost pained.

♡ W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Jack keeps a spare toothbrush for you at his place. He pretends it’s not a big deal.

He also bought new sheets after the first night you stayed over, because he remembered you said his were stiff and too clinical. The new ones? Dark. Soft. Worn-in. The first time you curled up in them, naked and flushed from three rounds, he just watched you for a second and quietly said :

“These work better, huh?”

You never asked him to change a thing.

He just does. Quietly.

Because you’re not a fling. You’re home.

♡ X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Thick. Heavy. Cut. Not absurdly big, but enough to stretch you open and make you feel it for hours.

Veiny. Warm. You can see it pressed against his thigh when he’s rock hard and pacing across the bedroom trying to hold it together. You’ve touched it over his jeans before, and he hissed through his teeth and growled, “Don’t start what you can’t finish.”

The first time you saw it? You went quiet.

“You okay?” he asked, cocky but concerned.

You just nodded and whispered, “Yeah. I just... need a minute.”

He smirked.

♡ Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Jack has a high sex drive—but he’s disciplined. He won’t beg. He won’t whine. He’ll just sit there, quiet and still, his cock hard in his jeans, watching you stretch in a way that drives him insane.

But when you give him the slightest sign?

When you reach for him first, or whisper that you need him, or crawl into his lap? He’s on you in seconds.

And when he’s had you once? It’s never enough. He’ll take you again. Slower. Rougher. Messier.

♡ Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Jack doesn’t fall asleep after sex. Not right away. Maybe not for a while.

His body stays there—solid, warm, wrapped around yours like armor—but his mind? Still on. Still pacing. Still waiting for the next thing to go wrong.

He’s not used to staying. Not used to being held. Not used to feeling safe enough to let his eyes fall shut.

So he watches you instead. Lets his fingers trace the length of your spine, barely there. Memorizes the shape of your body where it melts into his. Listens to your breathing like it’s his new heart rate.

And when you shift against him, soft and sleepy, murmuring something only half-formed?

He exhales, slow. Anchors you closer. Not possessive—protective.

“I’ve got you,” he says. Quiet. Almost to himself.

Eventually—if your weight stays against his chest, and the room stays dark and still—he’ll fall asleep.

But not because he’s tired. Because you are.

And because you let him stay.

#jack abbot #dr abbot #jack abbot x reader #the pitt #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt x reader #the pitt 2025 #shawn hatosy #smut

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missadangel · 3 months ago

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⊱AMOR MEUS AETERNUS⊰ I Masterlist

(Marcus Acacius x Ofc)

little preview is under the information!!

Summary: You are an assistant to a costume designer on a busy movie set, where the pressure is high and the work is exhausting. One difficult evening during a lunar eclipse, you suddenly spot a man in a Roman military outfit materializing out of nowhere. At first, you think he’s just a drunk or a bit off his rocker. Unbeknownst to you, he is General Marcus Justus Acacius, who has time-traveled from 205 AD to 2025. authors note: It's a bit of a romantic-comedy-drama stuff because Marcus doesn't know that he traveled to 2025, LMAO poor baby (and you know I'm a hopeless romantic). I'll explain in more detail in chapters why he ended up here and what led him to meet the reader, but I'm avoiding spoilers. And the reader will help him get back to his time but accidentally travel to ancient Rome because of something; i can't talk more, lol. Wait for the episodes, please thank youuuu. if you wanna be tagged lemme know! every chapter will be its own warning and music theme Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Ofc!Reader (Her name is Rose and her hair is dyed) Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI, Smut Warnings: Harsh, cold, grumpy Marcus, and the reader is NOT innocent a little bitchy, Lucilla is mean, Lucius is a jerk(but falls in love with reader), its Septimius Severus' era but Geta and Caracalla are the prince of Rome, time travel, modern-ancient era travels, falling in love, slow burn, rough sex, smut, sex, oral sex (both f&m receiving), all sex, dirty talk, gladiators, battle, war, violence, blood, ancient time language, fluffy, injury, forced marriage, arranged marriage, sexism, haters to lovers, first love, angst, vestal virgins, vestal priestesses, age gap; reader is 25 Marcus is 45, reincarnation my masterlist

Little preview from chapter 1....

-------This wasn’t the first time you’d encountered someone like him. He had to be one of those extras, probably underpaid and known for causing trouble on set. He likely hadn’t bothered to change out of his costume and was relishing his small role in this odd setting.

“Look, man, I don’t want any trouble, but I really need you to take off that costume. I’m responsible for the outfits, and if anything happens to it, it’ll come out of my pay, okay? Didn’t anyone give you a heads-up about this?” You stepped closer, but he just froze like a statue, clearly sizing you up.

Taking another look, you noticed the armor under his robe was totally different from anything you’d ever seen. Were they filming something new without you? That couldn’t be right—or worse, what if he’d swiped it? Great. You reached out for a closer look, but before you knew it, he grabbed your wrist, spun you around, and shoved you away like it was nothing.

“Aaaah!” You winced, clutching your sore wrist, glaring at him in frustration. “Are you out of your mind? Get those clothes off right now! Can’t you hear me? Are you deaf or what?”

The guy sighed as he wiped his sword with the hem of his robe and sheathed it as if he were doing it every day. He did it with such flair that even a top-notch actor would be impressed.

“I see you’ve been really getting into character. Nice job!” you quipped with a hint of sarcasm. “But like I said, I need to grab the costume. So, come on, take it off.”

"What kind of shameless woman are you to demand that I undress?"

What the hell was that? The accent, thick and unfamiliar, rolled off his tongue in a way you had never encountered before. It felt like a whisper from another age, as if echoes of ancient times were woven into each word he spoke.--------

ao3 link

I. Sol Invictus

II. Tensio

III. Amor Primus

IV. Matrimonium

V. Confessio

VI. Memento

VII. Praeterita

VIII. COMING SOON

#fanfiction #fanfic #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal #pedro pascal gifs #pedro pascal fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #general marcus acacius #marcus acacius #gladiator ii #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius x reader #gladiator 2 #gladiator ll #general acacius #gladiator movie #angelwrites

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okwonyo · 2 months ago

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DON’T MAKE NO SENSE ⸝⸝ 𝗎𝗇𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗂’𝗆 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎

🍵 best friends and a little bit more

❪ 𝖶𝖧𝒾𝖲𝖯𝖤𝖱𝖲 ❫ ｡ enhypen pining over fem ! rea ⠀──⠀ fluff bsf2l ◜◡◝ mention of alcohol skinship kissing

REBLOG FOR A SMOOCH

분지 ܃ not everyone’s is as hot at jake’s .. >//<

HEESEUNG

before meeting any of you properly, people are already sure that you are taken. of course, they assume that you are each other’s lover without having to check twice. for the sole reason that they often get a sight of the two of you together at parties— where he acts like your boyfriend.

there is a very simple explanation to that ; guys hit on you a lot and he doesn’t like to witness this at all. so he decided, on his own, that he would be your fake boyfriend in order to protect your from any other men that thought of talking to you. you don’t complain, he is a very good boyfriend plus boys do tend to bother you too much.

for instance, tonight a random man is talking to you and won’t get the hint. therefore, your knight in shining armor steps in. he takes off his jacket as he walks towards you then puts it on your shoulders. he rests his hands on your waist after, pulling you closer, and under the stranger’s widened eyes, he leans down to your ear, kisses your cheek, “is he bothering you, sweet angel?”

JAY

you met him in kindergarten, when you were both two apples tall and half. as long as you remember, he has always been by your side. he has always been the one to jump in when you fell on the ground and started crying in the sandbox. he has been the one to defend you against mean middle schoolers. he was always the one guiding you through the crowded high school halls.

your best friend has always been protective of you. since the beginning of your friendship, he has felt as if he needed to take care of you— to make his own heart feel at ease. his habits has only grown more and more intimate as the time passed by. he cooks lunch and dinner for you because he knows that sometimes you forget, he drives you anywhere you need like your personally chauffeur, he pays for most of your stuffs.

he is really beyond happy to do the most ridiculous things for you, as long as he can take care of you. “i can do it on my own—” you start as he starts kneeling down. he cuts you immediately, taking your shoelaces between his fingers, “i know, but let me take care of you.”

JAKE

it originally started as a drunken game, a silly thing that would never happen again. the first time it happened was a party, under the heavy influence of alcohol, your friends decided to make you all play seven minutes in heaven. and of course, due to the sadistic universe, the bottle had to point to your best friend when it was your turn to spin it. it is not a secret that you made out for the entirety of the given time in that closet.

you both agreed to never do it again, that it was just for the fun of the game. but the feeling of his tongue in your mouth didn’t leave your head for weeks and he couldn’t stop biting his lower lip— in hope that it would feel the same as when you sucked his lower lip that night. it was obvious, at the way your eyes would dart to each other’s lips that you wanted to kiss again.

he lets his desire win after a month, and he thinks he deserves a prize for waiting that long. he kisses you during what is supposed to be a study session and you let him do it, you kiss him back with as much passion. “fuck,” his sighs into your mouth. “i missed you so much.”

SUNGHOON

as everyone else in the world, he feels attacked whenever anyone that isn’t him goes over his phone— or even when they do something as simple as peeking over his shoulder while he is on it. although he has absolutely nothing to hide, no one is allowed to touch his phone.

though, when he is asked about it, he can’t really explain why you can do it. it’s just different, okay? everything related to you is slightly different than when it’s related to others. “gimme your phone,” you don’t ask, but order and he obeys. he gives you his phone without hesitation, without asking you why.

has it gone as far as your face is saved in his face id, perhaps, but there is nothing wrong about that. he is too busy staring at your face to notice that you are going into instagram, down to his private messages. at the grin you make when you see a message from a girl he denied to like multiple times, he speaks, “i’ll block her.”

SUNOO

sometimes, he really does tell himself that you are very lucky that he likes you a lot. because there are some things that you make him do that are almost inhumane, that feels likely pure torture in a sense. but, he accepts to carry all your stuffs.

at this point, he has become your walking purse or shelf. you drag him in every shops you pass by and makes him hold the loads of clothes you bought. you make him hold your purse when you don’t want to anymore. you put your lipstick in his pocket to find it quickly.

now it’s a reflex, a natural instinct. whenever you are holding something— a drink, a paper, your phone— if he notices that you are strangling a little: he holds it for you without any hesitation. you’ll end up making him do it, anyway. and loves serving you.

JUNGWON

you never knew the existence of ‘friendship anniversaries’ until he came into your life. there is no one you know that is invested in the matter, who is so eager to celebrate the beginning of your friendship and the continuation of it with so much enthusiasm.

he shows up at your door around six in the afternoon, well dressed in a suit that hugs his waist, hair perfectly styled and his cologne making you feel butterflies in your stomach, “hi, pretty girl,” he greets you with a bouquet of flowers in hands. it’s so ridiculous, so lovely that it makes you blush each time.

you walk around all the pretty places he drags you to with the flowers by your side. there is always a moment of the night where someone asks you if you date is going well— obviously assuming that you are lovers. you both share a shy look, each year.

RIKI

your best friend used to not be a huge fan of physical touch. there was a time in your friendship, during middle school mainly, where he was unable to give you a hug without feeling forced to. and even when he did give you a hug, he would barely want to touch you— making the embrace comedicaly awkward.

but ever since he passed puberty, he has grown to love physical touch more and more. he picked up your gentle way of showing affection: through hugs, through touch, but only with you. and he gets very, very annoying when he wants it, when he wants to cuddle, “come here,” he whines.

you sigh, closing your laptop and putting it on your nightstand. he beams as he observes you laying down. the tall man gets comfortable, a little bit too comfortable. he entangles his long legs with yours, wraps his arms around your body and rests his head against your chest. you sigh, “i miss your middle schooler era.”

taglist ( open )

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bleue-flora · 1 year ago

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Been thinking about this again. About c!Sapnap wearing the mask and taunting c!Dream, knowing it’s importance. For someone who believes c!Dream doesn’t have any attachments and doesn’t care about him, he sure does take a lot of effort to take something for no other reason than c!Dream’s attachment to it. Because it’s not like he needed the armor, he already had some. If c!Dream truly doesn’t have attachments then it doesn’t matter what armor and mask he wears to terrorize the server. C!Sapnap just didn’t want to give him back what belonged to him, what he longed for - a piece of himself, his persona, his mask.

And I keep thinking about c!Tubbo and c!Tommy in theory wearing c!Dream’s armor in the disc finale - wearing the mask. And the utter disrespect that comes with, but also how powerful they must have felt wearing the face of the monster that haunted their dreams.

So, if in the finale c!Dream’s helmet, that he takes off for c!Tommy, represents his mask, does that mean that when c!Sapnap puts on c!Dream’s armor, Nightmare, he is putting on and stealing c!Dream’s mask? - Because I’m not gonna lie that really puts a new perspective on that betrayal… Furthermore, when c!Techno brings c!Dream armor in prison, did he make him a mask and bring it to him… and then take away the mask later? - If so, again that’s kinda screwed up. Though you could argue that perhaps he made c!Dream a mask for the jailbreak so he had one to face the server with and then because they were trying to not seem like allies he took it back, knowing that c!Dream would get another one. Which also begs the question, did c!Punz make c!Dream a mask for after prison or is he simply handing over one of c!Dream’s masks?… When c!Tommy in the minecart skirmish stole c!Dream’s armor, was he taunting him with his own mask? - Because oof that’s some serious violation and disrespect…

In other words, if you think that c!Dream’s helmet in the finale represents the mask (which I’d say is implied by c!Tommy) does that same logic apply across the board or is it just for that moment? And if it does apply to rest of the lore, wow does that have some implications…

#oh it just…. haunts me at this point thinking about all the implications and scenarios…#This disrespect.#yeesh I’m just out here per usual making every character look terrible aren’t I…. oops.#I mean they did this to themselves really what do they want from me? how can I make them look good when they through a man into a torture #and said yea this is justice… this is fine I see nothing wrong with this whatsoever.#honestly Ponk just getting a tour not even visit the main cell and seeing how bad Dream is gets concerned about the inhumane conditions #meanwhile Sapnap visits sees Dream is so distressed he’s not even talking and throwing bundle into lava and stuff and he’s like yea #I need to kill him if he gets out and ‘he’s not my dream anymore’ - yea no duh that’s what isolation in a tiny box tends to do to someone.#the real question is how long he hasn’t been ‘your’ Dream and at what point where you going to do a damn thing about it….#dsmpblr #dsmp headcanon #dsmp #c!dream and c!sapnap #c!sapnap #c!dream #staged finale #honestly no wonder Tubbo put the armor in the vault thoogh I doubt he want to wear the mask or let anyone else…#wait does that mean when Tommy bad Dream’a armor on and killed him Dream was basically staring at himself as he was murdered…. damn… brutal #some good symbolism there actually to have Tommy become the monster while he wears the mask #hmm… ya know actually I wonder if you combined it with the idea that the dreamon was apart of the mask… like whoever puts on the mask #is corrupted… sure works for Tommy and Sapnap… interesting…course that would be ‘the’ mask so I guess when he makes others after prison #they aren’t possessed… maybe that’s why he didn’t go after Tommy…#dreblr #clingy duo #disc duo #c!dream and c!tommy #c!tubbo #c!tommy #helmet = mask canon #this is fine

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omgthatdress · 7 months ago

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Oh god it gets worse

Okay, before I go any further I should give a little disclaimer that there's nothing wrong with doing a Christian-themed line of dolls. Toys and stories as a way to teach faith are nothing new and can be perfectly appropriate ways for kids to learn.

However the Life of Faith dolls are a unique kind of fucking horrible because they are obviously American Girl knockoffs. Instead of meaningfully engaging with the difficult themes of history like the AG dolls did, they present a disgustingly white-washed, pretty, frilly, and pleasant view of history that straight up ignores the dark stuff.

So the Life of Faith dolls are based on the Elsie Dinsmore stories which were published between 1867 and 1905. They're about a deeply faithful little girl who grows up on a plantation. In the books, when Elsie turns 18, she marries HER FATHER'S BEST FRIEND, because, to quote Wikipedia, "He has been her knight in shining armor who constantly helps her when other people are cruel to her; he has loved her for a long time." Yeah we call that "grooming" today.

Yeah, that's pretty sickening. But there IS a girl who escapes slavery in this series lemme see how that gets addressed....

WAIT YOU'RE TELLING ME SHE ESCAPES FROM THE SAME BEAUTIFUL PLANTATION THE OTHER GIRL WAS RAISED ON?! So when Elsie came of age she would literally own Laylie. Seriously did no one see the conflict in this?! Did no one involved in all of this stop for a moment and think, maybe we're not presenting a fully accurate view of history?

What really galls me is the playing Robin Hood stuff. While enslaved children did find ways to play and have fun, their lived were still dominated by the grueling, demeaning work they had to do. And they would not be given luxurious playthings like bows and arrows and green silk capes. And they didn't have frilly pretty dresses and elaborate hairdos.

I know the dolls are Christian and they all come with a little Bible but like.... Are we just gonna ignore the whole "slaves weren't allowed to read" thing?

While all the other dolls come with lots of dresses and accessories, Laylie only has the one dress and her Robin Hood accessories.

So yeah we're just skipping over the whole Civil War and Reconstruction. Violet is Elsie's daughter still growing up on the plantation like always.

So moral of the story, when you're trying to teach kids about history, maybe try a book series that wasn't written by this lady:

Because you actually can write stories about faith and being Christian that DON'T involve romanticizing slavery.

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invoncible · 4 months ago

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ok but hear me out mark and a magical girl reader that’s it that’s the imagine

MARK GRAYSON & magical!reader ✧˚.

— im def hearing you out on this one anon — my inbox is open for any kind of invincible requests :P

for someone who's fighting tactics are just.... 90% brute force, mark was fascinated by you a little a lot

you can make the world around you bend to your will with elegant swooshes of light

you had a hold on the hero scene in general, but you had something different on mark... except he was the last one to realize it

rex always teased that you were some fairy tale legend, but that's literally what you were. something out of a storybook

"you're embarrassing me." rex grimaced as he cast a sideways glance at mark. "haven't i taught you to be a better flirt than this? you're just staring at them."

mark shook his head, heat rising to his face as he snapped out whatever trance you had him in. "uh. yeah, okay."

"'yeah, okay' what?" the redhead jabbed a finger into mark's face accusingly. "go talk to 'em, what's the worst that can happen?"

what's the worst that could happen? a lot of things. at least in mark's eyes.

but once he finally mustered up the courage to ask you out, he realized he'd been worrying for nothing

the whole magic thing was your brand, so he figured he'd match your energy when he tried to sweep you off your feet.

it was halloween, and you went in a variant of your hero costume. it passed more or less for a fantasy getup, like you were a magical royalty or something like that

mark thought he was so clever going as a knight in shining armor

"i was thinking that, uh... you and me, you know? we go pretty good together, outside of the fighting stuff." he strolled beside you. he'd thought of what to say many, many times before this moment, but standing next to you was a whole different story. "not that we don't make a good team, cuz we do. i think we make an awesome team, but, uh... i just wanted to ask if you wanted to hang out on our own, without the world threats and stuff."

he cleared his throat, mentally punching himself for that mess of a set up, eyes darting to your face to assess your reaction.

"like a date?" you blinked, a slow smile of realization spreading on your face.

he cleared his throat, fist curling around his play sword. "uh... yeah." he pulled a red rose from his belt and twirled it in his hand nervously as he held it out to you. "for you." this is stupid this is stupid.

but you beamed at him, your bright laughter making him relax from the apprehensions in his head. you accepted his sweet token and took his hand in yours. "thank you."

he grinned and stood a little straighter, puffing out his chest. "heh. you're welcome."

if he saw something in a comic book that resembled your abilities, he'd tell you and try to help you emulate the power if it was worthwhile.

"mark, i'm not a wizard. i don't have a crystal ball or a giant scepter." you put your hands on your hips.

he frowned, flipping his comic book towards to and pointing to the frame where the character was doing a crazy spell that knocked out all of the enemies. "just hear me out! what if—"

after you met his mother, you started hanging out and staying over a lot more. debbie was so delighted to have the equivalent of a disney princess in her home that could make the brooms sweep for themselves, the pots and pans cook on their own, and the laundry to fold without any help.

mark opened the door to the broom shuffling along the floors dutifully, stopping and shaking when it saw him as if waving hello. mark hesitantly waved back, and it went on about its tasks.

"oh, mark!" debbie's smile was welcoming. she held out her mug and the coffee pot floated over and poured her a fresh cup before retreating back to its station.

he sighed and hung his jacket, kissing his mom's head in greeting. "mom, you can't have y/n work all the time when she's over."

debbie glared at her son. "what kind of host do you take me for? you forget i'm in real estate—i'm a master at hospitality. y/n was the one that insisted. and believe me, they’re not working." she chuckled to herself, endeared by your stubborn need to help her out.

mark gave a confused look to his mom before he flew upstairs, and his mom was right. you were sleeping soundly in his bed while clothes were being folded and sorted into baskets beside you.

he huffed a little smile as he climbed under the covers beside you, snuggling into your back.

#invincible #invincible show #mark grayson #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #invincible season 3 #debbie grayson #nolan grayson #rex splode #invincible x gn reader

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absdollievu · 1 month ago

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Is It Casual Now?

internalized homophobia!abby x lesbian!reader

Warnings: lesbian sex (abby!receiving)

I lost the request to this but if you were the anon who requested this, here ya go!

You still remember the first time Abby Anderson looked at you like you weren’t normal.

It was sophomore year, outside the locker room after gym. You were laughing with a girl you had a crush on—nothing big, just flirting, the kind you thought no one really noticed. But Abby did. She stood a few feet away, arms crossed over her chest, watching like she’d stepped into a room that smelled wrong. Her jaw clenched. Her eyes narrowed. And then she said it—loud enough for everyone to hear.

“No wonder no one wants to change next to you.”

You froze. The other girl laughed, awkward and sharp, and peeled away from you like she’d touched something dirty.

You didn’t respond. You didn’t have to. The damage was done.

That was how it started.

⸻

Abby never hit you. Never shoved you into lockers or called you slurs. Her cruelty was quieter, more calculated. Snide comments in the hallway. Avoiding group projects when your name came up. A pointed roll of her eyes when you answered a question in class. Loud whispers of “Jesus” or “disgusting” when she passed you holding another girl’s hand on campus.

And she had a following—friends who mirrored her disapproval with mocking stares and muttered jokes, like she gave them permission. It didn’t matter that she was smart, respected, even admired. Her words were always sharper around you. Her tolerance thinner. Her discomfort obvious.

You learned to ignore it. Or you tried to.

It wasn’t the worst bullying you’d faced. But coming from her, it hurt more.

Because before that moment in sophomore year, Abby Anderson used to smile at you.

Just once or twice. Passing in the hall. When you said something funny in class. There was a flicker of warmth there—confusion, maybe, or curiosity. You remembered thinking she had kind eyes.

But now you’re used to Abby Anderson looking at you like you’re something she wants to scrape off the bottom of her shoe.

It’s a stare you’ve come to recognize: a cold, disdainful sweep from head to toe that lingers a beat too long, like she’s cataloguing everything she hates about you. Or maybe everything she doesn’t understand.

She doesn’t talk to you anymore. Which is weird, because you’ve had at least three classes with her over the last two years. You move in the same social circles, even if they rarely overlap. You’ve been at the same parties, stood feet apart at campus rallies.

But she acts like you’re radioactive.

Like if she got too close, she might catch whatever makes you… you.

You tell yourself you don’t care. You roll your eyes when she glares. You smile brighter, laugh louder, flirt more when she’s in the room—just to spite her. If she’s going to judge you, then she might as well have something to look at.

But when your professor calls out your name alongside hers for the upcoming group project, your stomach drops.

You don’t hate her. You wish you did.

⸻

She sits next to you in the library like it’s a punishment, her legs splayed wide, arms crossed, a hoodie pulled low over her face like armor.

“I’m not doing the girly stuff,” she mutters before you’ve even opened your laptop. “No pink fonts. No cutesy transitions.”

You arch an eyebrow, smiling tightly. “You think I use pink fonts?”

Her lips press into a line. “You know what I mean.”

“No, I really don’t.”

She finally looks at you. Her eyes are sharp, blue-gray, too intense for someone who’s always pretending not to care. “Just… I’m not putting rainbows all over the slides.”

There it is.

“Right,” you say, teeth clenched. “God forbid someone think you’re not aggressively straight.”

Her jaw ticks. “I’m not doing this.”

You lean back in your chair, folding your arms. “Then don’t.”

But she doesn’t move.

⸻

You meet again the next day. And the next.

She doesn’t say much, but she shows up. Brings notes. Stares hard at the screen and refuses to make eye contact.

You catch her looking, though—always out of the corner of your eye. A flick of her gaze to your lips when you chew your pen cap. A second too long staring at your hands when you scroll.

She’s not subtle. But she wants to be.

You don’t say anything. Not yet.

⸻

It happens on the fifth day, when you offer to get her a drink from the café downstairs. She grunts something like approval, and when you return with a coffee just the way she likes it—black, two sugars, you remembered—she stares at the cup like it’s a trap.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she mutters.

“I know,” you say, shrugging. “But you look like you’re gonna bite someone if you don’t get some caffeine in you.”

She doesn’t smile. She never does. But her eyes flick toward you—curious. Conflicted.

She doesn’t thank you.

You don’t need her to.

⸻

The breaking point comes when you’re at her dorm. A last-minute cram session. Her roommate’s gone, the place smells like cedar and something faintly floral—body wash, maybe. You sit on the couch, notebooks scattered between you.

It’s late. You’re both tired. And something in the air has shifted.

She’s quieter tonight. Less combative. She leans back against the cushion, legs stretched out, her knee brushing yours. She doesn’t pull away.

You glance at her profile—sharp, defined, so fucking beautiful it’s painful. Her lips are slightly parted. Her throat works when she swallows.

And then she says it. Out of nowhere. Like it’s been boiling under her skin for years.

“I don’t hate you.”

You blink. “Okay…?”

“I mean, I act like I do. I know. But I don’t.”

You set your pen down. Carefully. Slowly. “Then why do you treat me like shit?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Her jaw clenches, and her eyes stay fixed on some spot in the distance.

Then, quietly—so quiet you almost miss it:

“Because you make me feel like I’m losing my mind.”

Silence.

You shift toward her, cautiously. “What does that mean?”

She exhales, long and shaky. “It means I don’t understand how you can just be so… open about it. Like it’s not a big deal. Like you don’t even care.”

You stare. “About being gay?”

She flinches at the word. Doesn’t answer.

“Abby,” you say softly, gently, “are you—?”

“Don’t.”

Her voice is sharp. Defensive. But not angry—scared.

You reach out, almost instinctively, your hand brushing her wrist. “It’s okay. Whatever it is you’re feeling—”

“No, it’s not,” she snaps, and finally looks at you. Her eyes are wild. Shining. “I wasn’t raised to think this was okay. I’ve been trying to ignore it for years. But you—”

She stops herself. Breathing hard. Her whole body trembling.

“You make it worse,” she says, voice breaking. “Because when I look at you, I can’t pretend anymore.”

Your throat tightens. “Then don’t pretend.”

You reach up. Touch her cheek.

She freezes. Eyes wide. Lips parted.

And you kiss her.

Soft. Questioning.

She doesn’t move for a heartbeat. Then her hands rise, uncertain, and she kisses you back.

It’s messy. Desperate. Her mouth moves like she’s starving for it, like she’s been craving this for years and never let herself feel it. Her fingers clutch your sides, your shirt, your hair—anything she can anchor herself to.

She moans into your mouth. It’s raw. Vulnerable. Scared.

You pull back only enough to whisper, “Are you sure?”

“No,” she breathes. “But I don’t want to stop.”

You pull back just a little, only to catch your breath—and hers.

Her lips are still parted, flushed from the kiss. Her chest rises and falls like she just ran a mile. Her eyes—those sharp, guarded, unflinching eyes—are wide now. Uncertain. Open.

“Abby,” you whisper, one hand still at her jaw, thumb brushing her cheekbone, “you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Her breath stutters.

“I want to,” she says quickly, then—softer—“I think I want to.”

You nod, slow and steady. “That’s enough.”

She leans forward again, not quite kissing you—just pressing her forehead to yours, her breathing shallow, her hands trembling at your sides.

“I’ve never…” she starts, then stops. “Not with a girl. Not with—someone like you.”

You smile, small, just for her. “I’ll go slow.”

That gets a little exhale out of her. A nervous laugh, almost bitter. “You’re too good at this.”

You shake your head. “I’m not trying to be good at anything. I just want to be with you.”

That word—with—makes her shudder.

But she nods. Swallows hard.

You kiss her again, slower now. Less desperation, more depth. Her hands roam your sides like she’s learning you, memorizing every inch she’s never allowed herself to imagine touching. When your tongue teases the seam of her lips, she lets out a soft gasp, surprised at how natural it feels to open up to you.

Your hands slip under her hoodie, fingertips brushing her waist. She tenses—but doesn’t stop you. Just breathes harder, like every new inch of skin you find sends a shock through her spine.

You murmur, “Can I take this off?”

She nods, barely. So you do—pulling the hoodie up and over her head, revealing a plain gray tank top beneath that clings to her chest, rising and falling with every breath. You trace your fingers along the hem of it, and she closes her eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper.

She laughs again—nervous, shaky. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m not saying it for your sake. I mean it.”

That makes her open her eyes.

Something flickers there—pain, longing, disbelief. Like no one’s ever said that and meant it.

You lean down, pressing a kiss to her collarbone. Then another. And another.

When you kiss just beneath the strap of her tank, her fingers tighten in your shirt. Her head falls back, and her mouth opens in a quiet, breathless sound that goes straight through you.

You shift to straddle her lap slowly, giving her time to react. She watches every movement, frozen in place, lips parted. You sit over her, chest to chest, your thighs on either side of hers.

“Is this okay?” you ask.

She nods—quick, almost frantic. “Yeah. Fuck—yeah.”

Your hands trail under the hem of her shirt, up over her stomach, feeling the solid muscle underneath. When your fingers graze the bottom of her bra, she flinches—but not from fear.

“Can I…?” you ask.

She swallows. “Yeah.”

You pull her tank up and over her head. Her bra’s simple—black, cotton, a little worn at the seams. She looks down, arms twitching like she wants to cover herself.

“Hey,” you whisper, taking her hands gently. “You don’t have to hide.”

She exhales through her nose. “I’m not hiding.”

“No?” you smile. “Then let me see you.”

She nods, just once, and drops her arms.

You unclasp her bra slowly, sliding the straps down her shoulders, watching her the whole time. Her chest is flushed, rising and falling rapidly.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Abby.”

She closes her eyes like it hurts to hear. Like it’s too much.

But when you lean forward and kiss her breast—just above the nipple—her back arches slightly, breath catching in her throat.

Your tongue teases her nipple, slow and deliberate, and she moans—soft, almost like she’s trying not to. Her hands grip your hips hard. You take your time, sucking gently, kissing lower, worshipping her like she’s something sacred.

When you look up at her, her eyes are glassy. Her mouth slack. Her thighs are shifting under you like she’s already aching for more.

You slide one hand down, under the waistband of her sweatpants.

She freezes.

You pause immediately. “Too much?”

“No,” she says, voice hoarse. “Just—no one’s ever touched me there.”

Your heart swells at the vulnerability in her voice.

“I’ll be gentle.”

You ease your hand down, fingers slipping beneath her underwear. She’s already wet—soaking, warm, and trembling under your touch.

“Oh my God,” she whispers, half horrified, half amazed.

You laugh softly, kissing the side of her neck. “It’s okay. You’re allowed to want this.”

She doesn’t answer—but when your fingers find her clit, she gasps and grabs at your shoulders like she’s falling.

You circle it slow, barely-there pressure, watching her come undone piece by piece. Her hips lift. Her breath stutters. She bites her lip so hard you have to kiss her just to make her stop.

“Let go,” you murmur. “I’ve got you.”

She moans into your mouth, louder this time, and grinds against your hand. You slip two fingers inside her—slow, careful—and her entire body jerks.

“Holy fuck,” she chokes.

“You’re doing so good,” you whisper.

She clutches you tighter, rides your fingers like she’s chasing something she’s never let herself feel. You keep your pace steady—deep and slow, thumb brushing her clit, her breath getting more ragged by the second.

And when she comes—God, she shakes. Her body stiffens, legs trembling, her mouth falling open in a desperate moan she doesn’t even try to stifle. Her eyes squeeze shut. Her head drops against your shoulder.

You hold her through it, whispering softly into her hair.

When the tremors stop, she collapses back into the couch, breathless, wrecked.

You kiss her temple. “You okay?”

She nods. Barely.

Then, quietly: “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

You smile, pressing your forehead to hers.

“That’s just the beginning.”

⸻

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1d1195 · 8 months ago

Text

Buttercup

~7.8k words

From me: I love a knight in shining armor moment. Grumpy sunshine, black cat and golden retriever kind of vibe. There are definitely some details missing on purpose here. Best of luck. Hope you like it 💕 Sorry for the delay in posting. What a week.

Warnings: dick ex-bf - cheating, emotional trauma, threatening. Angry Harry, neighbor Harry, some mentions of sex, a good bit of angst, and some fluff.

Summary: Harry's new neighbor is fun to prank. She just wants to tend to her garden and enjoy her chocolate in peace.

But it's... comforting to know Harry is right next door.

The boys that lived next door weren’t too loud, weren’t super messy, and they were easy on the eyes.

But that was the furthest she could compliment them.

Well, Louis was really lovely overall. He had a girlfriend that came by frequently (almost daily) and appeared to keep him in check. But there was no one to keep Harry in check. He walked around his yard in his boxers, got the mail in them even, and both greeted his sexual partner(s) then sent her on her way off his property the following morning in nothing but boxers as well.

All with a smug smile in her direction while he wore nothing but underwear and the ink etched on his unbelievably smooth skin.

Stupid hot people.

Regardless of what he was doing, he was always sure to irritate her if she was outside. “Hi Buttercup,” he cooed like they were old friends while she worked in her garden. It was clearly her favorite part of the house. It desperately needed a new coat of paint, and she didn’t care in the slightest. The flowers were more important, and she did a good job. Clearing the flowerbeds happened before all her boxes were officially inside her house.

She thought about the day she arrived.

When she moved in, she took a deep breath, pulled her hair into a ponytail and tugged it through the back of a baseball cap. One by one, she pulled a box out of her car and brought it inside. A storage pod was dropped in the driveway as well and then she began the same process after taking a short break while she looked at what she needed to do first. She leaned against her car and felt anxiety and a serious case of being overwhelmed start to fill her chest. She took deep breaths hoping the sugar she ingested would help ease her worried mind.

“Hey, neighbor!” She turned to the voice where a guy with brown hair and blue eyes smiled brightly at her. “I’m Louis, welcome to our neighborhood. It’s nice to meet you. Need help?”

She shook her head quickly. Almost defensive as she aimed to protect herself. “No, I’m alright, thank you.”

Louis glanced at her storage pod and tilted his head at her curiously. It was a lot to unpack on her own.

Metaphorically and literally.

“You’re sure?” He asked. “My roommate saw you from the window. Thought you were... well, not struggling... But it’s a lot to move for anyone. He’s changing, he’ll be right out to help too,” he explained and rubbed the back of his head. “My girlfriend was on the phone and overheard Harry, and she insisted as well.”

She thought that he was nice. A friendly neighbor if there ever was one. But the wall of anxiety she put up and the nerve she was feigning to keep up was battling something fierce. “Right,” she cleared her throat. She would need an ally. There was no one in this new town for her and Louis seemed nice.

Levi seemed nice too... she thought.

Shaking her head she tried to rid herself of the negative outlook. Louis wasn’t Levi. “That... that’s really nice. Thank you. If you’re sure.”

Louis’ best friend and roommate Harry soon joined them. Introduced himself and she sincerely thought they were just two nice guys who would be decent neighbors.

The second they dropped the first load of her stuff safely inside Harry began his pranks. “Is this box labeled underwear up for grabs?”

There was no box labeled underwear. She knew that. But it still made her cheeks burn with embarrassment even though Louis rolled his eyes as if was used to it. Which she supposed he was. “Christ, Harry,” Louis sighed and pinched between his eyes. “I’m sorry, love. We don’t let him out of the house much.”

She looked at him with an eye roll. He was cute. She would give him that.

Well, hot.

Enticing green eyes, sinewy muscles, and a smile so bright it could put the sun to shame. He knew he was hot. There was no way he didn’t. But she wasn’t going to let him get to her.

“Where are y’moving from?” Harry asked.

“Uh...” she shook her head trying to remember what lie she was supposed to say. But then went with most of the truth. “Just upstate, a few hours away. I got a new job and whatnot.”

“New modeling job?”

“Boo...” Louis droned, grumbling as he moved boxes labeled kitchen into the correct room. “If you’re going to embarrass yourself, you could use better material.”

“This is m’best material, Lou,” he scowled at his friend. Her cheeks were still burning at his shameless flirting.

“I know he’s obnoxious, but he’s harmless,” Louis rolled his eyes.

“Excuse you, Louis. M’not obnoxious.”

“The shit you say,” he shook his head.

“I jus’ think you’re gorgeous,” his eyelashes did all the flirting for him when his words stopped.

But whether Harry was flirting or not, she didn’t want to flirt with her neighbor. Didn’t want to have a boyfriend. Certainly not one with all the charisma he had around her.

Even if he was flirty and charming.

And hot.

There was no denying how hot Harry was.

So she would have to be careful.

“Looking good, Buttercup.”

She glared at the tulip bulbs she was planting in front of her door for the spring. She adjusted the planters of mums placed on the porch steps. A variety of gold, orange, brown and red. Perfect for fall and the idyllic picture for a magazine cover. There were pumpkins on the side of the bottom step greeting anyone at her home with the pretty festive colors. A cute scarecrow was staked among fake corn stalks and hay beside the pumpkins.

It was unseasonably warm for November but for the last two months, and even though Harry drove her crazy, she wanted to be outside enjoying the sunshine and fresh air while she could. She had listened to Harry’s flirting with her since the moment she moved in. He was blatant about it. But in the same timeframe, she watched him with women coming and going. Of course, it didn’t bother her one bit who he spent his time with; that was his choice, and he had no obligation to her or the women he took home as long as he wasn’t a complete douchebag to them.

But Harry always seemed to be there. He was there when she got her mail. There when she got home from work. There when she was going to work. It didn’t matter. Didn’t he have to work? “Are businesses too intelligent to hire you?”

“No?” He chuckled phrasing it as a question.

“Just assumed, since you’re never at work.”

He snorted. “Funny.” She continued tending to her flowers. “I work from home.”

Perfect. So he would continue to always be there. Some people had all the luck.

He wasn’t in his boxers for a change. An interesting change of pace. He was in a pair of plain jogging pants and a plain T-shirt, yet he was the one that looked like a model for Nike.

Men had it so easy being attractive. A pair of workout pants and a T-shirt that outlined his pectorals way too tightly was all it took to get her flustered.

He sat beside her and watched her work. “Y’should do our garden, next Buttercup. Looks so nice the way y’put everything together.”

She paused and stared at him. His eyes roamed her little planters and across the weedless yard. He smiled at her as his gaze returned to hers. “You’re making fun of me,” she scowled.

“Kitten,” he pressed a hand over his heart, looking affronted. “I would never make fun of you.”

She looked back at the dirt that was under her nails. She focused on the feeling of it rather than the feeling of dread she felt around Harry. He was so confident in himself and in everything he did. It was annoying. His stupid green eyes and his dumb smile. She couldn’t fall for it again. No matter how sincere he sounded.

“Y’look really pretty in y’garden,” his voice was gentle. Like he was worried she was going to throw something at him. She had considered it. Her trowel seemed like it could do some damage. But she was trying not to be completely ridiculous just because Harry was a pain.

And sickening.

And irritating.

And cute.

Fortunately, she had a list of things to remind herself of that he was a nuisance. Not to mention there were his pranks that made her crazy.

He sprayed her with the hose when she wasn’t looking. Sent mail to her house for porn addiction making the mailman look at her with a smirk before she screamed at Harry (which didn’t help the look the mailman was giving her). At the beginning of October, he put a Halloween mask outside her window to scare her when she woke up so terrifyingly that Louis and Eleanor rushed over in their pajamas. While nothing was irreparable or worth putting her into therapy, the jokes made her mad because Harry always made her mad. He was too good looking and too there all the time.

Instead, she continued weeding and planting. Making the previously bare flower beds green and brown with freshly overturned dirt. It was calming. Being in the garden, the yard. Dirt on her hands and the sun on her back.

“Cat got your tongue, Buttercup?” He joked.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“The more y’ignore me, kitten, jus’ makes me want y’more.”

“I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.”

“Ugh, will you marry me?”

“You’re so ridiculous, Harry.”

“God, y’drive me wild.”

She continued digging in the dirt. “If you’re going to sit there and be annoying, can you at least be useful and hand me the watering can?”

Harry silently grabbed the can and poured the water into the hole, watching her carefully. “I used t’garden with m’Mum.”

“You didn’t just spawn from the ground climbing out of hell?”

Harry chuckled quietly. “No, m’mum’s a saint,” he said with a smile. The fondness in his voice and reverence for her made her heart skip a beat. He was so annoying but that was undoubtedly beyond sweet. Even if it was Harry saying it.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult your mother.”

“Y’didn’t. I know what y’meant,” he chuckled. “Mum would like you,” he told her. Which absolutely terrified her because mothers often did. It made things more complicated. Like it had in the past.

“She would like me? I’m an absolute bitch to you, Harry.”

“Hey,” he frowned. “Don’t say that,” the sincerity in his voice continued making her throat catch on any rebuttal she wanted to say in return. The pucker of skin between his eyebrows made her want to reach out and smooth his skin. His frown made her sad too. Before she could push the feeling away, he spoke again. “You’re funny. Stubborn. Adorable. Mum would like that y’keep me grounded,” he complimented.

“Keeping you grounded is the nice way of saying bitchy.”

He sighed, irritation practically rolling off him in waves. That was new. “Seriously, kitten. Knock it off,” he shook his head disappointedly.

She blinked, surprised by the genuine tone. “You’re serious?”

“Jus’ because y’say it ‘bout yourself doesn’t make it better.”

For a whole minute she seriously thought about how easy it would be to fall for Harry. He was handsome, intelligent, kind, and funny. Even if he was obnoxious. Louis and Eleanor kept him around for a reason, right? For God’s sake he wouldn’t let her call herself a bitch. Who did that?! “Um... sorry?”

“Apology not accepted. You’ll have t’go on a date with me. S’the only way t’make it up t’me.”

She rolled her eyes and turned back to the bulbs she was planting. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Alright fine; I’ll jus’ have t’think of something else,” he sighed, pausing, like he was really thinking about how she could make it up to him.

Then he smeared a clod of cold, wet dirt across her cheek.

She spluttered trying to avoid dirt in her mouth and reached out to smack him. However, he was nearly giggling, practically running back to his house before she could register what really happened and retaliate. “See y’later, Buttercup!” He called.

One of Harry’s ongoing pranks involved slipping his phone number into her contacts early on when he met her. It happened shortly after she moved in, and it allowed him to send her memes and inappropriate messages (not the kind of unsolicited messages that only complete dicks sent to women who did not want them) but the ones that he found on the internet. Inappropriate jokes. Innuendos.

But he also texted her when he was heading to the grocery store to see if she needed anything. But in the time that they exchanged messages, she never started the conversations. It was always a Leave me alone Harry. No thank you. Can you stop staring out the window like a creep? If she needed something she asked Louis, which honestly upset him to a degree, but he understood. Harry came on strong when he met her. Not that he would change that, but it wasn’t unreasonable of her to feel standoffish to him.

God, was she beautiful. Harry loved seeing her in the yard. Made it a point to drop everything he was doing and go get a closer look. He was drawn to her. Moth to a flame. The whole bit. She was so funny, even when she was grumpy. He wasn’t joking when he told her that her ignoring him made him want her more.

She was a hard worker and left early in the morning and returned well into dinner time. While the weather was nice, she would sit on her porch and read or work tirelessly on her perfect garden. She was lovely. Harry could see it from afar and he was bummed she didn’t catch on to his shameless flirting the way he had hoped when he first saw her.

One of these days I’d like you to text me instead of Louis when you need something. Louis already has a girlfriend.

From the looks of it you have PLENTY of options for a girlfriend.

Jealous?

Of getting a disease? No. I’m good.

Your green thumb is spreading, Buttercup. It’s not your color.

You can ignore me all you want. Just think about it. It doesn’t have to be a thing. I just want you to know I’m happy to help you if you need it. Not just Louis.

Also, I’m clean in case you ever want to explore that side of things too 😉

Surprisingly, she ignored that message too.

Harry felt like he was going through withdrawals from her. He hadn’t even seen her in the yard. Between the rain and their work schedules, it was like he couldn’t get a glimpse of her pretty being tending to the weeds, reading her book, or anything. His joke asking her what she plays with at night that also vibrates went unanswered.

Maybe he should have stopped sending her inappropriate jokes, but the fact she hadn’t blocked him gave him the shred of hope he desperately wanted. Maybe if she had blocked him it would get through his head that she was out of his league, and she wasn’t interested.

I’m heading home to shower, change, and then I’ll come grab you. It was Niall though, and not her reply to his joke.

Harry put cologne on and settled in the living room quietly scrolling through his social media looking at the time stamp from his message, almost a whole day ago. Frowning, he returned to scrolling and waiting for Niall. Not thinking much of anything of merit as he did.

But then that little notification slid from the top of his phone making his heart bounce with excitement.

Harry, are you home?

Is it finally happening?! 😍

There was no response and Harry thought he ruined their moment. Even if he believed her when she said they would never sleep together, he was glad she was talking to him. He was worried his latest prank had gone too far.

Harry’s car was in the garage, and he had almost every light off since he was leaving soon, so it was a fair question since she couldn’t see the back of his house where he was hiding in his room.

I was kidding, Buttercup. I’m home. You could have just come over to ask though.

There was still no response, but he kept his phone in hand waiting and holding his breath. Hoping something would come through from her again.

Pick some flowers from my yard.

Come knock on the door like we’re supposed to be going on a date.

Please.

And hurry.

Please.

What?

...?

Kitten...what’s wrong?

He tried calling her immediately, but it went right to voicemail, like she had turned her phone off after sending her last message.

What the hell. Why aren’t you answering your phone?

This isn’t funny, Buttercup...

You’re making me nervous.

If this was a retaliation prank it went way too far. Way further than putting the mini popping firecrackers under her tires before she left for work. The very one that got her so mad, he thought she was going to call the cops finally. The one that made her ignore him for days on end despite the messages he sent.

But this wasn’t funny. Not even a little. Her safety and security weren’t things Harry liked to joke about because despite everything, he was possessive about her. And frankly, he adored her. Even if she wasn’t his to obsess over nor adore.

But he wasn’t going to ignore her any longer than he had to. He nearly sprinted out the door, swiping randomly at her pretty flowers and feeling horrible that he was pulling her precious plants after all the hard work she put into them. It seemed silly to spend time doing this, but he didn’t want to fuck up what she asked him to do. Not when her messages seemed so worrisome. Not when she didn’t answer. With a fresh bouquet in hand, he hurried to the front door. Fortunately, he was dressed for a night out. Niall would be on his way to pick him up; so, he was, in theory, date ready. But the thought of being with Niall and not home when she needed him terrified him further. Thank God he was home.

Harry had no idea what was on the other side of her door, but it was embarrassingly late in the moment that he realized there was a car in the driveway he hadn’t seen before. At once he realized she never had company. Which only made him even more anxious.

Swallowing, he knocked firmly.

The door flew open within ten seconds of his knock. The relief in her eyes made Harry feel sick. What was she so nervous about? What could make her that nervous, that seeing him made her at ease? She was constantly irritated by his presence. The moment only made him feel worse. “Harry, right on time,” she smiled sweetly. She was a good actress. If she hadn’t texted Harry so urgently, he wouldn’t be looking for signs of trouble, wouldn’t see the relief in her eyes, and he would have no idea that something was wrong.

“Hi kitten, don’t y’look beautiful,” he cooed leaning down to press a kiss to her cheekbone as if he had done it a thousand times before. Gratefully, he had imagined it about a thousand times, so it probably looked as natural as it felt. Plus, she was beautiful. Always. The acting came naturally to him as well. His arm wrapped around her waist in the same movement instinctively. His eyes fell to the man standing a few feet back watching her like a hawk. His gaze was territorial and possessive; Harry didn’t care for that at all. Even if she wasn’t Harry’s, she definitely wasn’t his either.

But Harry was possessive, and he was there because she asked him to be there. Something he got the feeling the other man did not have permission for. He knew he shouldn’t have felt possessive of her, but he would pretend all the same if it meant the worry in her eyes would go away.

He handed her the bouquet he plucked only moments before and threaded their fingers together; another movement that felt like he had done before and not for the very first time that second. “Let’s get a vase,” he suggested and kept his eyes on him. It wasn’t lost on him how easily her fingers fit between his, the way their palms touched, or how her grip tightened ever so slightly when she settled her grip in his. “Hey,” he nodded his head in greeting.

The guy ignored Harry. His eyes glaring at the pretty girl beside him. “You’re seriously telling me you’ve been dating this guy since the moment you moved in?”

Her cheeks burned red, and Harry kissed the top of her head tucking her toward his chest protectively. Harry didn’t care for it at all. If the anxiety in her texts, expressions, and body language wasn’t enough evidence, then the way she leaned further into his chest despite everything and how annoyed she was by him, certainly was. “M’Harry,” his voice was firm. Pointed. “And you are?”

He grunted, shook his head. “The fuck, babe?” He snapped. She didn’t respond, simply glanced up to meet Harry’s gaze. She blinked unsurely at Harry, unable to find her next move. Harry nudged her gently toward the kitchen.

“Do y’have a name or what?” Harry grumbled over his shoulder as he made a show of caressing her while she found a vase. Her hands were shaking slightly as she placed the vase in the sink. Fortunately, Harry saw it immediately and tugged the glass from her grip, pulling her hand back in his. Even if it was impractical and stupid looking while he placed the vase with one hand in her sink to finish what she was doing.

“Levi,” he snapped. “We apparently used to date.”

Harry felt her body deflate. He wondered why. Was it the prospect of dating this asshole? Was it the phrase used to? What happened before he got here?

“Well, Levi, glad we’re on the same page and you’re using the past tense. M’here t’take my girlfriend on a date,” he pressed his body around hers, bracketing her body against the sink. She kept her eyes down, away from Levi’s gaze. Her body felt so warm against his it made him wish this wasn’t for show. Instead, he bent down to kiss the crook of her neck and shoulder hoping she wouldn’t hate him later over it.

He was really into pretending. She squeezed his hands that were wrapped around hers against the edge of counter. Was that a thanks? Was that a sigh he imagined when he kissed her skin? God, she smelled good.

“M’not sure exactly what’s going on here, but m’getting a good sense that she doesn’t want y’here. So maybe s’a good time t’go before I have t’escort y’out of the house.”

He snorted and shook his head. He glared at Harry as he spoke, but her eyes were still cast down toward the sink. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re playing at, babe. You can try and fool me all you want. But I’m not stupid. I’ll come back when your boyfriend isn’t around,” he left the kitchen and slammed her front door shut as he exited. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Begrudgingly, he left her by the sink and went to the front door, peering out the small window right next to the frame. He watched while Levi pulled out of her driveway and down the road. Harry stood and watched, waiting for the sound of his car to completely disappear before he felt he wasn’t coming back any time soon. Harry locked her deadbolt.

“Who was that—” He started as he turned back for the kitchen, but his heart practically broke at the sight of his stubborn, fearless, and utterly pretty neighbor teary eyed and shaken to the core. She left the kitchen near silently it seemed but stopped in the hall right before the entryway of the front door. He didn’t even hear her approach. “Hey,” he cooed coming closer. “Buttercup,” he frowned when she didn’t respond to her nickname. “Hey,” it was like he was approaching a wounded, wild animal. He didn’t want to scare her, but God did he want to protect her. God, did he want to hold her again. “Love, he’s gone. I—” He wanted to reach out for her and pull her into his embrace again, but something about her looked off. The anxiety written all over her face made him nervous and sad.

He zoned in on her hands; they were shaking by her sides worse than the way she held the vase. Her eyes were so fucking sad looking Harry wanted to scream. “Kitten,” he tried again. “Can I...?” He reached for her again. “M’not going to...” all his sentences were half finished as he tried to figure out why the fuck Levi scared her so badly. All he wanted was to comfort her. She was too sweet and pretty to look so terrified. When she never looked scared of anything. “Buttercup,” he murmured again.

She sniffled and swiped at her eyes. “I’m fine,” but her voice was barely audible over the sound of it getting caught around the emotion in her throat.

“Hey, s’okay t’not be okay. M’here,” he promised holding his hands out to her. “Can I touch you?” He asked. She shook her head quickly. It hurt like hell for her to say no. Harry thought he was seriously going to cry. “Okay, okay,” he stuffed his hands in his pockets because he didn’t trust himself not to try and comfort her and the last thing that he ever wanted to do was break her trust and consent. “Baby, you’re breaking my heart,” he pouted and watched as she was starting to shake like she was in the middle of a blizzard without a coat. “Come sit,” he begged. “Please.”

She obeyed and Harry went to her kitchen and found a glass in the cabinet as if this was his own house. He got water from the dispenser on her fridge, and he brought it to her. Her hands were still shaking violently, and her tears were flowing but not a sound other than a quiet sniffle left her. “Here, Buttercup,” he mumbled.

She sniveled and wiped her eyes as she took the cup from him. He avoided brushing her fingers with his and he paced in front of the coffee table. His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he caught sight of the time. “Fuck,” he muttered. Pressing the phone to his ear he glanced out the window. “Sorry Niall. Can’t come out,” he ran a hand on the back of his head. She perked up at his words.

“Harry,” she whispered.

“No... I don’t know.... I just need t’be here for her,” he mumbled.

“Harry, you don’t—”

He silenced her with a look while her words died in her throat with another little whimper. Being vulnerable was hard for her. Obviously. Harry wondered if she knew how difficult it was for him to watch her look so upset and scared and not comfort her. If he knew letting go of her in the kitchen meant he wouldn’t get to touch her again, he wouldn’t have let go to start.

He hung up without hearing Niall’s response and he put his phone in his back pocket.

“If you have plans—”

“I don’t,” he interrupted shaking his head quickly. “Jus’ a date with a pretty girl,” he sat across from her on the coffee table making sure that not even his knee bumped against her. His eyes were following her every breath. Every tiny movement and flinch. The nervousness he felt was painful. Waiting for something to make sense. The water in her glass rippled and practically splashed over the side from how hard she was shaking. Harry wanted nothing more than to take it from her grip. But instead, he patiently waited until she sipped it.

“I’m okay,” her voice was nothing more than air. Even if it wasn’t, Harry wouldn’t believe her.

“Baby,” he frowned. “No one sends a message like that if they’re not worried about their safety. I’m worried ‘bout your safety. So don’t pretend t’be okay if you’re not. I’ll stay all night, sitting right here, and stare at you.”

She snorted. “That sounds like watching paint dry.”

He shrugged. “You’re far more interesting and prettier than paint drying.”

She swiped at her eyes again looking at her lap. “He cheated on me.”

“What a fucking moron,” he mumbled and tilted his head at the ceiling. Harry would never understand how the luckiest men in the world treated lovely, beautiful girls like her as if they were nothing. “He wants y’back?”

She shrugged, shook her head, and nodded. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want him back?”

She whimpered and shook her head. Squeezing her eyes shut so tight, he worried she was going to split open her lids. “God, no,” she whispered.

Harry sighed, rubbed his palms on his thighs. “Can y’talk t’me, kitten? M’not leaving unless y’tell me to. Do y’want me t’leave?” It would kill him. Sincerely, truly kill him. But if she didn’t want him there, he would go.

“I can’t,” she was sobbing. It was killing him. It hurt so much not to hold her and comfort her.

“Okay, okay. I’ll... I’ll jus’... go back t’my house... Yeah? If y’need something, jus’...” he rubbed a hand over his face feeling like he was walking on a bed of glass saying the words. “Call, text, throw rocks at m’window,” he stood, mindful to not bump her knee. He smiled weakly at his own joke. It wasn’t returned. He didn’t know what to do or say. He didn’t know how to help the sweet, lovely girl. The smile fell from his lips when she didn’t respond. “Jus’... lock the door behind me, Buttercup, yeah?”

It felt like he was walking toward his death, but he left her living room and waited until he heard her deadbolt lock before he descended her porch steps.

She dropped the glass of water Harry gave her in the kitchen after she let Harry leave. It shattered into a million microscopic pieces and the flowers from her garden looked so unbelievably pretty she wished Harry really was taking her on a date.

She covered her mouth around another broken sob. Her eyes felt red and raw, and the pressure of her sinuses and the front of her forehead ached beyond words. She was safe. She was okay. But her chest hurt.

Levi was gone. Harry came to her rescue. After she was mean and grumpy toward him. Trying to protect her heart after it hurt six ways to Sunday because of the man that let himself into her home without permission. Harry didn’t even try to touch her without permission. She could tell he wanted to. Hell, she wanted him to... but everything hurt, and she was just so scared.

Maybe it was too late. But she needed him. Really needed Harry to hold her and comfort her. Her mind ran rampant with thoughts of how lovely it was to be held by him. The kiss on her skin. He was warm and solid. Safe. That’s what she wanted. To feel safe. Her heart ached with want.

Immediately after the thought of his warm solid body around hers, she raced out of the kitchen and unlocked her door. She was ready to fly down the steps of her porch, cross her yard and his hoping he would have the door open before she even arrived.

But Harry was already there; at the bottom of the third and final step of her porch.

He never even left.

Harry stood and turned as soon as he heard the deadbolt open, standing only seconds before she was ready to blow right past him. “Oh, thank God,” he whispered to himself.

Without any more pause, she was in his embrace. Her arms around his neck and she sobbed openly into his shoulder. His hands felt so big and safe on her body, just as she predicted.

He hummed something into her hair. Something like “M’here,” in his gravelly, pretty voice. “I have you,” he soothed. “Oh kitten, m’so sorry,” his voice sounded like he wanted to cry as much as she was. Poor Harry. He didn’t deserve to feel so sad. Not because of her and her messed up life. “C’mon, Buttercup,” he scooped behind her knees and cradled her as he carried her back inside to her sofa, locking the door behind them as he entered.

“Don’t leave me, please,” she begged, sniffling into his shirt.

“Never, baby. Never, ever, ever,” he promised rubbing her back. “Not unless y’ask.”

Her lower lip wobbled. “But I will ask,” she sniffed. “Because I’m too much. I’m sad, scared, broken, and damaged.”

“Y’not any of those things, kitten. Certainly not damaged, Buttercup.”

“But I am,” she whimpered. “You have no idea. He messed me up so bad... and I... I don’t,” she choked. “I pushed you away already.”

It wasn’t much, but the little bit she opened up her heart to him meant the world to him. It was almost as good as holding her. But nothing could replace that feeling now that he had it. He stroked her face with the back of his hand. “I wasn’t far,” he shrugged.

He didn’t even leave her porch. Was he going to stay out there all night? Her heart felt achy, and her eyes were already raw with tears but if they weren’t she would have cried at the thought of her obnoxious neighbor sleeping on the bottom step of her porch in the cold all because she was broken.

“You just wanted to help, and touch and hold me, and I wouldn’t let you—”

“Kitten,” he said sternly. He cupped below her jaw and stared right into her pupils like he was speaking directly to her soul. “Let’s get one thing very clear. I will never touch you without permission. No one has any right t’touch you unless y’ask.”

A sob escaped her throat and then she buried her face against his chest. His body was so broad and warm. She imagined if they were without heat or power, she would still be warm. “But I want you to touch me. All the time. Every second I’m around you,” there was no use denying it. Not when she couldn’t lift her face from his shirt.

Harry sighed with relief. “Well good,” he squeezed her affectionately. “Baby,” he stroked his thumb below her eye. “What happened?”

She shivered and Harry pulled the blanket that was on the back of her sofa over them. Her personality was huge and beautiful. She invaded Harry’s every thought. In the same room, she was in every air particle. Outside in her garden she was every little piece of dirt, petal, stem, root and all. She was larger than life.

It killed him she felt so small in his arms.

“I knew he was cheating, and he didn’t want me to leave,” she sniffed. Harry nodded, his teeth ground together. His jaw tensed. Waiting for her to continue. “He said I was overreacting. Our relationship was stale, and we just needed something to spice things up.”

She turned her face to his shirt and Harry cupped the back of her head, his fingers sliding and massaging his fingertips against the back of her skull. “He’s an idiot, Buttercup. A stupid, idiotic, horrible excuse for a man,” he grumbled.

She swallowed and didn’t say anything for a few moments. Harry holding her felt like medicine was sinking into her skin and directly into her bloodstream. Harry didn’t force her to speak. He didn’t ask questions. He just held her. She was sure he wanted to know more. Wanted to know all the gritty details that resulted in her moving in the middle of the night and finding this house next to his.

But there was only one thing she could think about.

“Why do you call me Buttercup?” She whispered.

Harry didn’t answer for several seconds. His free hand was on the small of her back, pressing gently to get her frame even closer to his. “Can I kiss right here?” He asked ignoring her question. He brushed his thumb along her temple. She nodded and Harry followed the brush of his thumb with his lips.

“That’s nice,” she murmured.

He chuckled. “Jus’ wait ‘til y’get a real kiss,” he promised. “Gonna make y’fall in love with me.”

She didn’t want to tell him she already had because that seemed ridiculous. So ridiculous it made her a little breathless. “That good hmm?” She hummed.

“Never had a complaint.”

“That’s obvious,” she smirked.

He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t sleep with all of them.”

“Not my business.”

“But it is... M’a gentleman first, kitten. Mum taught me well. I just like t’make m’date feel good,” he explained. “Doesn’t always include... y’know,” he shrugged one shoulder. “I know I drove y’crazy walking them out in m’boxers.”

“No, you didn’t,” she lied.

He chuckled. “S’okay t’admit it, kitten; don’t know what I would have done if y’had someone over and flaunted a date in jus’ your underwear.”

“You were trying to make me jealous?”

“I didn’t think y’were that stubborn.”

She wasn’t sure if Harry was avoiding her question or trying to distract her, but she still wanted an answer. “Why?” She asked quietly again.

“Why what?”

“Why do you call me buttercup?”

He sighed, kissed her temple again turning her insides warm and mushy. He didn’t speak for a few seconds like he didn’t really want to tell her. “Y’were eating a peanut buttercup,” he mumbled. “When y’moved in. Y’have wrappers all over the floor of y’car. On Halloween, y’didn’t pass out any of them, but I saw them in the grocery bags I carried in for you one time.”

She bit her lip wondering how she didn’t put it together. It was incredible he noticed that. “They’re my favorite,” her voice no more than air once more.

“And you’re mine,” he assured her, cupping the side of her face. “M’not going t’let him hurt you. I’ll break every bone in his body and mine if I have to.”

She blushed. “You don’t have to—”

“Buttercup, m’not joking,” he said cutting off her protest. “Y’don’t have t’be scared because m’never going t’let him get close t’you ever again,” he promised.

“He just said he was going to... wait until you leave, Harry. You can’t promise that.”

“Guess I won’t leave. Or you’ll have t’come home with me.”

“Harry,” she croaked.

“Kitten, m’not messing around with y’safety,” he reminded her. “I can stay here on the couch and y’can stay in your bed. It doesn’t have t’be a thing. M’staying t’keep y’safe. Don’t read into it if y’don’t want to.”

But she wanted to read into it. God, did she want to. Harry dropped everything the moment she texted him from the bathroom in a panic. He was only next door. Didn’t she want to believe all his pranks were his way of flirting? Didn’t she want to believe he liked her more than just annoying her?

She swallowed like there was something stuck in her throat. He didn’t deserve a mess. He deserved one of the effortlessly beautiful girls that he brought home. The kind that knew how to curl their own hair and where to draw the contour lines when they did their makeup. “You don’t have to stay,” she shook her head.

“Kitten,” he tutted.

“No seriously—”

“You’re deflecting, baby.”

“I’m just—”

“Buttercup,” Harry’s hands felt so warm and perfect against her skin. He brought his other hand to her bare cheek. It looked like he was trying not to cry himself when she met his gaze. “You just told me y’would try t’push me away. I don’t want t’go. But I will. I’ll sleep on your porch if y’want me too,” he offered. “Please,” he whispered quietly. Gently, like he was worried he was going to scare her. “Don’t ask me t’leave you.”

There was a long pause. “Stay,” she murmured into his hand. Because she was too exhausted and scared to tell him to leave. Pressing her lips against his palm, she met his gaze and watched the hope bloom in his eyes with just one little word. “Please... please stay.”

Harry sighed with relief, pulling her tightly toward him and nodding. “Course, Buttercup. Of course.”

It had become routine. She arrived home from work, and there was Harry. Sitting on the bottom step of her porch. He waited for her while she gathered her belongings from her car. His smile was so stunning. Like a streetlight on a dark road. Bright, beautiful, and all for her. “Hey Buttercup,” he hummed as she approached. He stood and pulled the bag off her shoulder and carried it for her. It wasn’t even heavy. In the same movement, he pecked her cheek and pressed a hand to her lower back like he had done for the last six weeks since he started seeing her exclusively. Not a single girl with perfectly curled hair had been his driveway. No one with expertly contoured makeup. Harry stopped walking around his yard in his boxers (but now she wished he did it more). As he guided her toward the front door, he continued grinning like an idiot. “Did your day get better after lunch, kitten?”

She nodded, his encouraging text sent at lunchtime was meant to ease the frustration he could sense through her messages. It wasn’t lost on him that as much as he used to enjoy her frustration, he wanted nothing more than to ease it now. “M-hmm,” she smiled at him. “You?”

“Better now that you’re home.”

She rolled her eyes at him because while he stopped pranking her so much, he replaced it with the cheesiest thoughts and lines known to man. But there was no denying how it made her heart flutter. “Did you want to go out to eat?” She asked.

He shrugged, then nodded. “We can if y’want.”

“I don’t really feel like cooking.”

“Me either.”

“Let me change and we’ll go.” Harry was looking at her strangely. The kind of face he made when he pulled pranks on her before he officially swept her off her feet. Maybe she was wrong, and the pranks were coming back.

Maybe there were those mini firecrackers under her toilet seat. “What?”

“Nothing, jus’... think y’look pretty,” his smile was too devilish (and handsome). He knew what he was doing. she shook her head and snorted. But Harry saw the way her cheeks turned pink at the compliment. He watched her head to her bedroom. When she stopped in the doorway, his smile bloomed. Her pause to look at her room as if it wasn’t hers made his heart skip a beat. “S’matter, Buttercup?”

“There are like a hundred peanut butter cups on my bed,” she told him. Like he didn’t already know. Orange wrappers lined up in the shape of a heart along her bed spread.

“107, actually,” She turned to look at him. He shrugged. “It would have 110, but I needed a snack.”

She wanted to smile. But her heart was beating fast, her emotions overwhelming her. She bit the inside of her lip. “Why?”

“Y’said y’were having a bad day.”

Her lip felt raw from biting it, behind her eyes prickled with tears. “Oh.”

“S’nice? Yeah?” He wondered and made his way to her, putting his hand on her lower back. He kissed her temple. “Kitten?” She nodded and turned her head toward him, hiding her face against his shoulder and trying to quell the emotion that was threatening to come out of her. “Hey, s’wrong, Buttercup?” He frowned. “Do y’want t’order take away instead?” He rubbed her arm soothingly.

She shook her head, then nodded, followed by a shrug. “I don’t know,” she sniffed.

“Aw, baby, don’t cry,” he hummed. “S’okay,” he reassured her. He didn’t even know why she needed reassurance. “S’jus’ some candy.” She sniffled again and Harry kissed the top of her hair. “M’gonna make sure y’feel good all the time, Buttercup,” he promised.

Her chest felt so overwhelmingly warm and achy in the best way. She nodded against him wishing she could tuck herself further into his strong body where she felt like nothing bad could happen. The change in relationship was a lot to absorb. But it was easy in a lot of ways. Harry was sweeter than she ever imagined he could be. Or maybe she was biased now that she got kisses, and he held her like she was the most precious thing he had ever touched. It killed her in hindsight how standoffish she had been to him. The thought of ignoring him made her feel sick to her stomach.

“I think you really will,” she mumbled into his shirt. He chuckled, kissed the top of her head. “Thank you, Harry,” she whispered.

“Y’never have to thank me, kitten,” he shrugged. “Sorry I was so annoying.”

“I suppose it worked,” she sniffed.

He chuckled. “I knew it would.”

“You did not.”

“I did so,” he said petulantly. “Or I hoped it would.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t know why you would want someone so mean.”

“Jus’ makes me want y’more,” he joked and rubbed his thumb over her lower lip. “M’gonna kiss y’now, kitten,” his way of warning her and asking for permission. It hurt that he felt he had to ask. But Harry was nothing if not thorough and sure in asking for her consent.

“Don’t ever stop,” she sighed dreamily.

He chuckled again and leaned in to follow his promise. “M’pleasure, Buttercup.”

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#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #one direction #one direction writing #neighbor!harry #buttercup

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gffa · 2 months ago

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I need everyone to know that it's very likely, when Anakin overdoes some cool as hell Force thing, he probably absolutely HOUSES every edible thing in a 30 meter distance. I am imagining, after Mortis and the sick as fuck stuff he pulled here, after about 30 minutes into the trip home, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka found him face-first in the rations box just absolutely CRAMMING HIS FACE, full chipmunk cheeks with protein bars and strawberry flavored nutrient paste smeared along his cheeks, and nobody says a word. Just the quiet "*munchmunchSWALLOWmunchmunchGULPmunchmunchmunch*" in the background. Absolutely nothing is safe after a Jedi does something cool, all the clones just look at each other in awe of the entire tank General Kenobi lifted up with the Force and forcibly threw into the middle of a bunch of battle droids and they all silently dig out their extra ration bar in their armor and start handing them over, while Obi-Wan is just woodchippering them like he's never eaten a single thing before in his life.

#lumi.txt #star wars #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #vernestra rwoh #master indara #jedi order #novels #novels: wayseeker

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ateezscupid · 1 month ago

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─── QUEEN'S HELP ♡

SUMMARY / As a Queen with no King, sometimes you feel lonely. Being in a gigantic castle with no one by your hip. Well, besides for one servant.

warnings ✩ Queen!fem reader, Servant!seonghwa, medieval au, reader is a widow, forbidden love trope, angsty, reader is lonely and seonghwa is an eater /srs, soft!dom reader, switch (sub-leaning)!seonghwa, kinda service top seonghwa, unprotected sex, unestablished relationship, oral (f)

word count ✩ 5.19k

tags ✩ @desirehorizon @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starillusion13 @mingitheskzstan @lezleeferguson-120 @hwallazia

ATEEZ MASTERLIST / REQUEST

NOTE !! highly reccomend you read this in a British accent bc that's how I was reading it LOL

"It's forbidden…this love between us. My mother won't allow me to come know knowing I let a vampire bed me-"

"I will be there for you, my Queen. I would walk through fire than allow anyone to tear you from my cold dead hands."

"Oh, my love…"

"…This is such shit." you curse as you flip through the pages of your book. The fireplace crackles and spits as it dances in the stone hearth, casting shadows around the vast chamber that you call your own. "I mean, really, who writes this stuff?"

"Probably those poverty ridden authors," your friend, Giselle, chuckles as she sat across from you. "Always dreaming of castles and kings." She winks, knowing your secret love for such tales.

"Yeah, well, it's not all it's worked up to be." You sigh, setting your book down. "Especially when the only company I've got is you and the castle ghosts."

"And the servants? The maids and butlers? They're too busy pretending not to listen to every word we say," you add with a roll of your eyes, leaning back into the velvet chair. Giselle laughs, a sound that echoes gently in the high-ceilinged room.

"And what about that one?" Giselle asks, nodding to the young man standing by the sideboard, refilling your goblets with deep red wine. "Seonghwa, isn't it?"

You glance over, not really caring much. "What about him?"

Seonghwa freezes mid-pour, his hand trembling slightly. He's heard you speak of your loneliness before, but this time it's different. There's a sadness in your voice that wasn't there before, a crack in the armor you so fiercely wear. He's only a servant, but he's seen the way you look at the sunsets, the way you touch the cold stone of your ring finger where a ring should be. He's heard the soft sighs that escape your lips in the dead of night when you think no one can hear.

"He seems to be the only cute one." Giselle whispered, her eyes glinting mischievously.

You couldn't help but laugh. "Giselle, you're terrible."

Seonghwa finishes pouring the wine and approaches, placing the goblet before you. His eyes are cast down, avoiding yours, as he bows slightly. "Is there anything else you need, Your Highness?"

You look him up and down, taking in his form. He's not bad on the eyes, sure, but he's a servant, and you're the queen. It's not like you can just… "Giselle, that's absurd," you say with a light chuckle, pushing the thought away.

"Nothing more," Giselle waves her hand at Seonghwa, "Thank you, darling."

"As you wish," Seonghwa says, retreating back to his post by the sideboard. You catch a glimpse of his eyes, a hint of sadness lingering. You've always had a soft spot for the young man, his quiet efficiency and the way he never complains about the endless tasks. But that's all it is, right? A soft spot. Not love. Not like in the books.

But as the evening wears on and your friend heads back to her own chambers, leaving you with nothing but your thoughts and the flickering firelight, you find yourself drawn back to Seonghwa. He's always so attentive, so… present. You stand, the fabric of your royal gown whispering against the cold stone floor as you move towards him. "Seonghwa," you call out, your voice echoing softly in the quiet room.

He jumps slightly, then turns to face you, his eyes wary. "Your Highness?"

"…Come to my bedroom. I need help removing my dress." You say casually, as if asking for a cup of tea. It's not the first time you've called for his assistance in such matters, but there's something different in your tone tonight. A warmth that wasn't there before.

"Of course, Your Highness." He says, his voice steady, but you can see his pulse quicken at the base of his neck. He follows you through the shadowy corridors, the torchlight casting flickering patterns on the ancient tapestries that line the walls.

Once inside your chamber, you sit before the vanity, watching him in the reflection of the mirror as he unbuttons your dress with deft fingers. You've noticed his gaze lingering before, but tonight, it feels more… intense. You clear your throat, trying to break the tension. "How was your day, Seonghwa?"

"It was… it was fine, Your Highness." He murmurs, his eyes on the fabric rather than your reflection. "Just the usual chores."

"Hm." you murmur, watching him in the mirror. "Well, I've had better days myself." You lean back, allowing him to carefully slip the gown off your shoulders. The fabric pools at your waist, revealing the soft curves of your back. "But I've had worse."

"Your day is never truly bad when you're the Queen," he says, his voice a little hoarser than usual.

"You only think that because you're not in my position." you reach back to the tie keeping your corset together, but your fingers fumble with the knot. "Could you help me with this, Seonghwa?"

"Of course, Your Highness." He steps closer, his warm breath ghosting against your neck as he works the knot. You can feel his heart thumping in his chest, so close to yours, and it sends a thrill through you that you try to ignore. You've never been this… aware of him before.

"So, Seonghwa," you start casually, "Do you ever get tired of serving me?"

"…W-What?" Seonghwa stammers, his hands pausing for a moment before continuing to untie your corset. "I mean, it's an honor to serve you, my Queen."

"Wouldn't you want to serve a Queen who doesn't treat you like some sort of… object?" You ask, turning to look at him in the mirror, your eyes meeting his.

Seonghwa swallows hard, his throat dry as dust. "You never treat me poorly, Your Highness."

You couldn't think of anything else to say. The silence between you was thick, like the velvet drapes that shrouded the windows. "Good," you murmur, breaking the tension. "I wouldn't want to think I've been unkind to my most loyal servant."

Seonghwa nods, his eyes never leaving the corset as he loosens the laces. His cheeks are flushed, but you can't tell if it's from the fireplace or something else. You stand, the dress falling to the floor with a heavy sigh. "You can go now."

"But Your Highness, the dress…"

"It's fine, I'll manage the rest," you wave your hand dismissively. "Just… leave me."

"…Is everything alright, Your Highness?" Seonghwa asks, his eyes darting up to meet yours briefly before dropping back to the floor.

"…Do you find Giselle attractive?" You blurt out before he can leave, watching his reaction in the mirror.

Seonghwa's hands stilled on the fabric. "Your Highness, I-I don't think it's proper for me to have such thoughts about a lady of the court."

"So you do?" you turn to face him. "But what about someone like me?"

"Your Highness," Seonghwa says, his eyes searching yours. "You're different."

"In what way Seonghwa," you stroll over to your bed, sitting on the edge of it. Your heart thuds like a blacksmith's hammer in your chest. The castle walls felt like they were closing in on you, and for once, you craved the simplicity of a conversation with someone who knew your true thoughts.

"You're…my Queen," he stammers, his eyes wide. "You're not like anyone else here."

"I'm…your queen? Not the Kingdom's?" You tease gently, a smirk playing on your lips as you watch his discomfort grow. "You're not supposed to say that, Seonghwa. It's scandalous."

He shakes his head, his cheeks now a deep shade of red. "Your Highness, I-I didn't mean…"

"Come here, Seonghwa." You pantomime a 'shh' with your finger to your lips as you pat the spot next to you on the bed. "Let's just talk for a bit."

Seonghwa hesitates, his eyes flicking to the closed door and back to you. "Your Highness, is this…proper?"

"Stand if you must," you say with a shrug, "but I'm quite comfortable." You lean back into the pillows, watching as Seonghwa reluctantly sits on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips slightly under his weight, and the warmth of his body is surprisingly comforting.

"Do you think I'm beautiful?" you ask suddenly, the question hanging in the air like the faint scent of jasmine from the candles flickering on the nightstand.

Seonghwa's eyes widen, and he looks down at his hands, twisting the fabric of the bedspread. "Your Highness, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes upon."

You nod slightly, glancing toward your closet. "Get my nightgown for me."

Seonghwa jumps to his feet, eager to follow your command. He returns with the garment, holding it out to you with trembling hands. You stand and let him slip it over your head, the silk brushing against your skin like a lover's caress. You feel his eyes on you, but you don't look at him. Instead, you stare straight ahead, contemplating the flickering shadows on the far wall.

"Do you remember the day of my husband's funeral," you begin, your voice a soft whisper that seemed to get lost in the vastness of the room. "When the whole court was weeping, and I had to stand there, stoic, because queens aren't allowed to show weakness?"

Seonghwa nods solemnly, his eyes never leaving yours. "Yes, Your Highness. It was a sad day for us all."

You step closer to him, your hand reaching out to brush a lock of hair from his forehead. "Do you know what I felt that day?"

Seonghwa swallows hard, his eyes searching yours. "Pain. Loss," he murmurs.

"No." you correct him, your voice dropping to a whisper. "I felt nothing. Not pain, not loss, nothing. Just… cold." You step closer, your hand trailing down his cheek. "But when I look at you, Seonghwa…I feel something."

"Your Highness," he says, his voice strained, "I'm just a servant. I shouldn't be the one to…"

"You look at me as if you…as if you see me," you whisper, your thumb lingering on his cheek. "Do you, Seonghwa?"

He swallows again, his eyes flicking down to your hand. "Your Highness," he starts, but you lean in, your lips pressing against his, cutting off his protests. He freezes for a moment, shocked, but then his arms wrap around you, pulling you closer. His kiss is warm, hungry, and it feels like the first time you've been truly alive in years. You melt into him, your body responding to the touch you've been starved of for so long.

"Seonghwa," you murmur against his lips, your hands tangling in his hair. "Call me…call me by my name."

"Y/N," he murmurs back, his voice thick with emotion as he deepens the kiss. His hands slide down to your waist, holding you firmly against him as if he's afraid you might vanish like the mist at dawn. You can feel his heart racing, matching the erratic rhythm of your own. The formality of titles and station seem to crumble away in the face of this raw connection.

You pull away slightly, panting, and look up at him with desire-filled eyes. "Take me, Seonghwa," you whisper, your voice filled with a need that you never knew existed until this very moment. "Make me feel alive again."

"Your highness, I don't-"

"I'll tell you what to do. Just be with me," you whisper, your hand sliding to the back of his neck. "Please, Seonghwa."

He nods, his eyes dark with need. This isn't something you should be asking, not from a servant, but here in the candlelit privacy of your chamber, the rules seem to bend. He kisses you again, his hands finding the laces of your nightgown, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone who's so obviously out of his depth. You help him, eager to feel his skin against yours. The garment pools at your feet, leaving you bare before him.

"I want you to use your mouth on me." You say it without blinking, the words coming out with surprising ease.

"Your…Your Highness?" Seonghwa stammers, his eyes wide with shock.

You smile gently, placing a finger to his lips. "Just Y/N," you whisper, "and I'm not asking for anything unpleasant. I trust you."

Seonghwa nods, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation, but you're steady. He drops to his knees, his breath warm against your bare skin as he kisses down your chest, his touch feather-light. You can feel the heat building between your thighs, a warmth that has nothing to do with the fireplace across the room.

"Y/N," he murmurs, his tongue flicking out to taste you. You gasp, your hands threading through his hair, guiding him. It's strange, giving orders to a man who's always taken them from you, but there's something incredibly intimate about it.

"Just like that," you whisper, your voice hoarse with need. "But slower, Seonghwa."

He nods, his eyes never leaving yours as he kisses you again, his touch now softer, more deliberate. The room seems to spin around you, the heavy fabric of your curtains swirling in your peripheral vision. This isn't how you thought a night in the castle would go, but you're not about to complain.

"Your Highness," he murmurs against your skin, his breath hot and sweet. "I-"

"Shh, love," you run your fingers through his hair. "What is it? You don't know how?"

"N-no, Your High…I mean, Y/N," he stammers, his cheeks a fiery red. "It's just… I've never done this before."

You lean back on the bed, your heart racing. "Well, Seonghwa," you say with a small smile, "Listen to me carefully,"

You guide him gently, your hand on the back of his neck, urging him closer. "Kiss me here," you whisper, your finger tracing your inner thigh. "And here," you continue, moving slightly higher. His eyes widen, but he follows your instructions, his kisses leaving a trail of heat that makes your toes curl. "That's it," you encourage him, your voice breathless.

As his kisses reach the apex of your thighs, you spread your legs wider, giving him better access. "Now, lick me," you instruct, your voice a soft command. He hesitates for a moment, but the trust in your gaze is unmistakable. His tongue darts out, tentative at first, but as you moan softly in pleasure, he grows bolder.

You guide his movements, your hands tangled in his hair. "Circles," you whisper, your breath hitching as he obeys, his tongue swirling around your clit. "Flick your tongue, just like this," you demonstrate with your own, his eyes watching yours in the mirror above the bed. He mimics the motion, and you feel a jolt of pleasure shoot through you. "Yes, like that," you encourage, your voice a little more urgent now.

"Oh christ," you murmur, your eyes fluttering closed as Seonghwa's tongue tentatively flicks against your clit. His movements are clumsy, but earnest, and it's oddly endearing. You bite your bottom lip, trying to hold back the moan that threatens to escape. "Like this," you instruct, demonstrating with your own hand. "But don't be afraid to use more pressure."

He nods, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror once again before he leans back in. You feel his tongue swipe firmly against your sensitive bundle of nerves, and it sends a wave of pleasure crashing through you. You're surprised by how good he is, despite his inexperience. "There," you whisper, your voice a little shaky. "Just like that, Seonghwa."

Your hips rock slightly against his face as he follows your instructions, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes. You can feel yourself getting wetter, the anticipation building in your core. "Good boy," you praise, your hands tightening in his hair. The words come naturally, a mix of dominance and care that feels surprisingly right.

"D-Don't stop," you breathe, your body arching slightly off the bed. Seonghwa's eyes are fixed on yours, his pupils wide with a mix of desire and uncertainty. He's a quick learner, you realize with a thrill, as his tongue starts to mimic the rhythm of your own hand, his movements growing more confident.

"Good," you murmur, your voice a soft purr of approval. "Just like that." His eyes flick up to yours in the mirror, searching for any sign of dissatisfaction, but all he finds is the raw need reflected in your gaze. You can't remember the last time you felt this alive, this… wanted.

"Seonghwa-" you gasp sharply, your thighs tightening around his face. His tongue is still tentative, but the earnestness in his eyes as he looks up at you in the mirror is unmistakable. You're not used to being the one in control, but there's something incredibly freeing about guiding him, about watching him learn your body like it's a sacred text. "Faster," you command, your voice a soft moan.

He speeds up, his tongue swirling and flicking against you, and you feel your orgasm start to build. "That's it," you encourage, your hips beginning to move in time with his movements. The bed creaks softly beneath you, the only sound in the otherwise still room. "Now, suck," you whisper, your hand pressing down lightly on the back of his head. He complies, his mouth closing around your clit, the gentle pressure sending a shockwave through you.

"Y-Yes," you whisper, your eyes fluttering shut as you feel the pressure building. "Oh my god,"

Seonghwa's eyes are glued to yours in the mirror, watching for every reaction, every twitch of pleasure. His mouth works you with an intensity that's surprising for someone so inexperienced. You're so close, your body taut like a bowstring ready to snap. "I'm close," you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, his eyes never leaving yours in the reflection. You can see the determination in them, the desperate need to please you. His mouth moves faster, his tongue flicking and sucking, his cheeks hollowing as he breathes through his nose. Your hips are moving now, riding his face as you chase the orgasm that's just out of reach. "Yes," you murmur, "just like that."

Seonghwa seems to understand, his movements growing more confident, his tongue delving deeper. You can feel your muscles clenching around nothing, desperate for the fullness he could give you. You've never been with a man who was so eager to learn, so eager to please. It's intoxicating.

You reach down, your hand guiding his head as you show him the rhythm you crave. His mouth is hot, his breath warm against your sensitive flesh. You let out a low moan, the sound echoing off the cold stone walls of your chamber. "There," you murmur, "Right there."

"F-Fuck-" you moaned, your voice unsteady. The feeling was almost too much, his tongue hitting all the right spots with surprising precision for a novice. "Harder," you instructed, your legs trembling.

Seonghwa obeyed, his tongue pressing more firmly against your clit. The sensation was exquisite, and you couldn't help but arch your back, pushing yourself closer to the warmth of his mouth. You watched his eyes in the mirror, the hunger in them making you feel powerful, like you were the one in control. It was a heady feeling, one you hadn't experienced in a very long time.

"I-I'm-" you gasp. "I-I'm coming!" The words barely leave your mouth before the orgasm crashes over you like a wave, your body shaking with pleasure. Seonghwa's eyes widen slightly in the mirror, but he doesn't stop, his tongue still working its magic until you're boneless, your legs falling open with a soft sigh.

He pulls away, his cheeks flushed and his chest heaving. You can see the pride in his eyes, the knowledge that he's brought you pleasure. "Was that…good, Your Highness?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smile lazily, your eyes half-closed with satisfaction. "Very good, Seonghwa," you murmur, reaching out to stroke his cheek. "But I'm not done with you yet."

You sit up and back away, flipping yourself over and laying on your stomach. "Now," you murmur, pushing your ass up in the air. Seonghwa stares for a moment, his eyes wide with shock, but you give him a gentle push. "Take me. Just like I asked."

He swallows hard, his eyes dark with desire as he moves behind you. You feel his hands on your hips, his breath hot against your skin as he leans in. "Like this?" he asks, his voice thick with anticipation.

"Mm," you murmur, pushing back slightly to feel his hardness against you. "But be gentle, I'm not used to this."

Seonghwa nods, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. He kisses your inner thigh, his breath warm against your skin. You feel his tongue dart out, touching you gently, and you can't help the soft whine that escapes your throat. "Just like that," you whisper, your voice a little shaky. "Softly."

He kisses you again, his movements growing more confident as he starts to understand what you like. You spread your legs wider, giving him better access, and he takes the hint. His tongue traces patterns around your clit, and you moan, your body responding to his touch. "Good," you murmur, your eyes half-lidded with pleasure. "Seems you must like this, hm?"

He nods, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. You can see the hunger in them, the desperate need to make you feel good. "Seonghwa…"

He looks at you, his eyes filled with a mix of confusion and longing. "Your Highness?"

"Your pants are still on." You say with a smirk, glancing back at him. "How do you expect to serve me properly like that?"

Seonghwa nods, his eyes flicking to the floor. "Of course, Your Highness." He stands, his movements a little unsteady as he unbuckles his pants and lets them fall. His cock springs free, hard and eager. You can't help but stare for a moment, surprised by his size.

"You've been hiding that from me all this time?" You say, a playful smirk on your lips. "A treasure indeed." You spread your legs wider, giving him a better view of your slick folds. "Come, Seonghwa. Give it to me."

He approaches you with a mix of eagerness and trepidation, his cock bobbing with each step. You can feel the warmth of his body against your thighs as he settles back into his position between them. "Just like before," you remind him, your voice low and sultry. "But this time, don't stop until I tell you to."

Seonghwa nods, his eyes dark with desire as he presses his tip against your entrance. You feel a thrill of anticipation as he starts to push inside you, the sensation of his thickness stretching you. "Your Highness," he whispers, his voice a little shaky.

You nod, your breath hitching as he fills you up. "Just like that," you murmur, your eyes never leaving the mirror. You watch as his hips start to rock, his movements tentative at first. "Mm," you encourage, pushing back to meet him.

"Faster," you command, your voice a little more urgent now. He picks up the pace, his cock sliding in and out of you with a wet sound that fills the room. It feels incredible, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine. "Harder," you say, your voice a little louder now.

"Y-Your highness," he moans, his eyes locked shut as he tries to follow your guidance. His movements become more confident, his strokes deeper and faster. You feel yourself building again, the pressure starting to coil in your belly.

"Just like that," you whisper, your voice a sweet promise. "Jesus christ," your fingers grip the pillow in front of you, your eyes never leaving his. The expression of concentration and hunger etched on his features is almost as mesmerizing as the feeling of him moving inside you. "Fuck me like you mean it, Seonghwa."

He takes a deep breath, his eyes flying open, and you can see the determination in them. His hips start to move faster, his cock hitting a spot inside you that makes you see stars. You've never been with someone who takes your words so seriously, so eagerly. It's as if every order you give him is a gift, one that he unwraps with trembling hands and a desperate need to please.

"Oh my god," you moan, your hand reaching back to grab at his hip, pulling him deeper into you. He follows your guidance, his movements becoming more forceful, his breaths harsh and uneven. "Y-Yes, yes, yes,"

You arch your back, pushing your ass into him as he thrusts harder and faster. Your body is a live wire, sparking with pleasure at every touch. You're so lost in sensation that for a moment, you forget that you're in charge. "Oh, S-Seonghwa," you moan, your voice breathless. "You're so… so good at this."

His eyes fly open at your words, meeting yours in the mirror. You can see the surprise and elation in his gaze as he realizes you're praising him. It's clear he's never received such praise, not in this way, not from someone like you. The knowledge that he's bringing you pleasure, that he's the one making you feel this way, fuels his movements.

"I-It feels good?" Seonghwa's voice is a mix of hope and disbelief, his hips stuttering slightly as he continues his rhythm.

You nod, your eyes glazing over as you slip deeper into the abyss of pleasure. Your body feels boneless, your mind hazy, and the only thing that seems to anchor you is the feel of him inside you. "Yes," you murmur, your voice distant. "S-So good."

Seonghwa's grip tightens on your hips as he fucks you harder, his own need building. You can feel it in every thrust, in the way his breath hitches and his body tenses. But you're floating now, lost in the sensation of his cock filling you up. It's too much, and yet not enough.

"I-I need-" you stutter, a moan tearing itself out of your throat as Seonghwa hits that perfect spot again. Your eyes glaze over, your body trembling with pleasure. You can feel yourself falling, slipping into that delicious void where thought ceases to exist and only sensation remains. "I-I think I'm going to-"

Seonghwa wraps his hand around you, his fingers connecting with your clit, the pressure just right as he continues to thrust into you from behind. The combination of sensations sends you spiraling, your focus slipping away until all you can feel is the pleasure coursing through you.

"D-Don't stop, fuck, please!" you beg, your voice barely above a whisper as Seonghwa's touch sends you hurtling towards the edge of oblivion. The room around you fades into a haze of candlelight and shadow, the only anchor being the feeling of him inside you, the sound of your skin slapping against his, and the sweet pressure of his fingers on your clit.

And then it happens. Your orgasm hits you like a bolt of lightning, stealing the breath from your lungs and making your entire body convulse. You scream his name, your voice echoing off the walls of your chamber. It's the strongest orgasm you've ever had, and it's all for him, all because of him.

Seonghwa's eyes widen in the mirror, his own orgasm catching him by surprise. He stammers your name as he empties himself inside you, his hips jerking with the force of his release. He's never felt anything like this before, never experienced this kind of intimacy or pleasure. His body feels like it's on fire, a delicious burn that makes him want to collapse on top of you and never move again.

But he holds back, his arms shaking as he supports his weight, his eyes still locked on yours in the reflection. You're still trembling, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps as the aftershocks of your orgasm wash over you. The sight of your pleasure is almost too much for him to handle, and he can't help but feel a little lost in the intensity of it all.

Seonghwa's movements slow, his cock still twitching inside you. He's never felt anything like this before, never been the one to give someone so powerful, so revered, such an intense moment of release. It's intoxicating, and he's not sure if he's ready for the world to come crashing back down around him.

"Seonghwa…" you pant, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of pleasure. He slowly pulls out, his cock glistening with your arousal, and you feel a strange sense of loss. You roll over, reaching for him, needing to feel his warmth against you.

He's still kneeling on the bed, his chest heaving with his own ragged breaths. His eyes are wide, filled with a mix of shock and awe. He's never seen you like this before, never knew he could make you feel this way. You look at him, struggling to sit yourself up, your body still humming with pleasure. "Come here," you say, your voice a gentle command.

Seonghwa crawls over to you, his eyes never leaving yours as he settles onto the bed. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer until his body is pressed against yours. You can feel his heart racing against your chest, the heat of his skin searing into yours. "Thank you," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

You try to nuzzle yourself into him. His arms hesitantly wrap around you, unsure of the right way to hold you, but you guide him, showing him how you like it. His embrace feels safe, like a warm blanket on a cold winter's night. It's a stark contrast to the passion that just consumed you, but it's just as satisfying in its own way. "You don't have to be scared," you murmur into his neck. "I won't tell anyone."

"I don't want to let you go." Seonghwa whispers, his arms tightening around you as his head rests on your shoulder. His heart beats a staccato rhythm against your chest, echoing the thud of your own heart. The candles flicker, casting shadows that dance across the stone walls, painting the scene in a warm, intimate glow.

"You don't have to, love." you run your fingers through his head, gently scratching his scalp, the gesture one of comfort. "You're mine. I won't let anyone hurt you," you whisper, the words sending a thrill through his body. The idea of belonging to someone so powerful, so beautiful, was almost too much for him to comprehend.

"Y-Yours?" Seonghwa repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. The weight of his head against your shoulder feels heavier than it did just moments ago, like the gravity of your words is sinking in.

"Mine," you affirm, your voice firm despite the tenderness in your touch. You pull back to look at him, your eyes searching his for any sign of doubt. "You're my secret, my solace." Your hand traces a line down his cheek, feeling the stubble that's started to grow.

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