#the expression................................. her smile...............................

[arilevenatz]

Ruthless Desire | C.S

Pairing: King!San x princess!Reader

Genre: Forced marriage

Word count: 19.2k

Warnings: dark stuff, captivity, stockholm syndrome vibes, injury by glass shards, manipulation, san is kinda scary, and hot, the reader is a dancer, yeah I still dk how to do this

AN: If you are sensitive to things like this please don't read it. This has some dark stuff. @kymimi I kinda slipped and wrote san instead of the member we discussed BUT dw I'll write him another one :)

Masterlist

The kingdom of Eldoria was like a painting come to life. Pastel-colored houses lined the streets, their rooftops reflecting the golden hues of the sun. Flowers of every shade bloomed along the cobbled paths, filling the air with a sweet fragrance. Towering trees provided shade to the people who gathered in the plazas, laughing and conversing freely. The kingdom was peaceful, its people content, and at the heart of it all was their beloved princess—YN.

YN was the embodiment of grace and perfection. Her long, flowing hair shimmered in the sunlight, and her warm smile was enough to bring comfort to anyone who crossed her path. She was not only admired for her beauty but also for her sharp mind and kind heart. Unlike the sheltered royals of other lands, YN roamed freely among her people, visiting markets, studying at the grand library, and even lending a hand at the flower fields when she wished to.

Her days were spent in harmony with the kingdom, and her nights were filled with dreams of the future. But even in a perfect kingdom, change was inevitable.

But that was not it. You see, Princess YN had a great talent—one that set her apart even more. She was a dancer.

From the moment she took her first steps as a child, it was clear that movement came naturally to her. As she grew, so did her love for dance. She dedicated a good portion of her day to perfecting her skills, attending classes with the finest instructors in the kingdom. But it wasn’t just about learning techniques or rehearsing steps—dancing was her freedom, her escape, her way of expressing emotions words could not.

In the grand ballroom of the palace, with its gleaming marble floors and towering windows, she would practice tirelessly. The music would swell, and she would lose herself in it, her body moving with effortless grace. The palace staff often paused to watch in quiet admiration, for when their princess danced, it was as if the entire world held its breath.

But YN never danced for attention or praise. She danced because it made her feel alive. And if she had it her way, she would dance forever.

But beyond the peaceful lands of Eldoria, past the rolling green hills and glistening rivers, lay another kingdom—one far greater in size, power, and influence.

The Kingdom of Celestara.

Unlike Eldoria, which flourished with soft colors and open gardens, Celestara stood as a testament to strength. Its towering castles were made of dark stone, its capital bustling with soldiers and scholars alike. The people of Celestara were strong and disciplined, raised with a deep sense of duty to their homeland. Their kingdom thrived under an unshakable rule, one that had made Celestara the most feared and respected land across the continent.

And at the heart of it all sat King Choi San.

San was no ordinary ruler. He was a king who valued power above all else—not just for himself, but for his kingdom. He had inherited a land that had been built on blood and steel, and he ruled it with an iron will. His people loved him, for under his reign, Celestara never knew famine, never fell to invaders, and never saw weakness. But to outsiders, he was a name that sent shivers down their spines.

Because King San did not tolerate defiance.

It was not cruelty for the sake of cruelty. No, San saw his punishments as necessary—tools to maintain order. A merchant caught cheating his people was stripped of his wealth and cast into the dungeons. A noble who conspired against him found their house burned to the ground, their name erased from history. And if a kingdom dared to challenge Celestara, they were met with fire and steel. His warriors, trained from childhood, were unmatched, and his war strategies were so ruthless that no one dared to question his rule.

No one opposed King Choi San and lived to tell the tale.

He was ruthless, reckless even. A man who did not just command power—he relished in it. King Choi San was not content with ruling Celestara alone. No, he wanted more. He wanted everything.

War was not just a necessity to him; it was a thrill. The sight of his enemies kneeling before him, their once-proud banners torn and trampled beneath his boots, brought him a satisfaction that nothing else could. He did not believe in mercy. He did not believe in compromise. He believed in dominance, in bending the world to his will.

His father, the former king, had shared that same hunger. Before his death, he had left behind a list—a detailed record of the lands he had set his sights on, the territories he had dreamed of conquering but never had the chance to. It was a king’s unfinished legacy, a vision left incomplete.

San did not just inherit his father’s kingdom. He inherited his ambitions.

And he would see them through.

The list had dozens of names written in careful ink, each representing a kingdom, a nation, a people who had yet to bow to Celestara’s might. Some had already fallen, their lands absorbed into San’s ever-growing empire. But there were still many left to claim.

One of them was Eldoria.

A peaceful kingdom, untouched by war, ruled by a gentle king and adored by its people. A land that had never known the weight of a conqueror’s hand.

San had heard of Eldoria before. A place where flowers bloomed endlessly, where the streets were painted in soft pastels. It was the complete opposite of Celestara. A kingdom so delicate, so naïve, that it almost amused him.

Almost.

Because at the end of the day, Eldoria was just another name on his father’s list. Another land that would soon belong to him.

And King Choi San never left things unfinished.

So that was what happened to Eldoria.

One fateful evening, King Choi San arrived at the gates of the peaceful kingdom, not as a guest, but as a conqueror in waiting. He did not come alone—his army, clad in dark armor, stood behind him like an unshakable force, their banners casting long shadows over Eldoria’s pastel streets. The moment his presence was announced in the royal palace, a chill ran through the halls.

King Eldrin, YN’s father, knew why San had come. He had heard the stories, knew the fate of the kingdoms that had stood in Celestara’s path. But still, he held onto hope.

Inside the grand throne room, the two kings faced each other.

“I will give you one chance,” San said, his voice calm yet laced with authority. “Surrender Eldoria to Celestara. Swear your allegiance, and I will allow your people to live under my rule without bloodshed.”

King Eldrin did not hesitate. “I will not surrender my land,” he said firmly, but his voice held no arrogance—only reason. “However, I propose an alliance. We do not have to be enemies. Our kingdoms can stand together, share trade, strengthen each other.”

San chuckled, a slow, amused sound. “An alliance?” He leaned forward, his dark eyes glinting. “Tell me, King Eldrin, what does your peaceful kingdom have to offer me that I do not already have?”

“We have wisdom, knowledge, and beauty. We have—”

“I do not need beauty,” San interrupted, his amusement vanishing. “I need power. Strength. Land.” His fingers tapped against the hilt of his sword. “And I will not ask twice.”

Eldrin’s jaw tightened. “Then you have my answer.”

San exhaled, a mockery of disappointment. “A shame,” he murmured. Then, with a glance at his general, he spoke the words that sealed Eldoria’s fate.

“We march at dawn.”

The war did not last long.

Eldoria, despite its beauty, was not built for battle. Its people were artists, scholars, farmers—not warriors. They fought bravely, but Celestara’s army was relentless. Swords clashed, fires burned, and the soft-colored streets of Eldoria were soon painted in shades of ash and crimson.

Within days, the palace fell.

King Choi San did what he always did—he erased the royal family.

The moment the palace fell, there was no room for mercy. The king was the first to go, struck down in his own throne room, his crown rolling across the marble floor. The queen followed soon after, her desperate pleas for peace silenced forever. The crown prince, the last hope for Eldoria’s future, fought bravely, but bravery alone could not save him from Celestara’s steel.

San watched it all with a cold, unwavering gaze. Another kingdom conquered. Another royal bloodline wiped from existence. Just as it should be.

With the palace now under Celestara’s control, he prepared to leave. There was no need for him to stay any longer. His men would handle the rest—securing the city, ensuring the people understood that they now belonged to him. He had no interest in Eldoria’s ruins; his work here was done.

Or so he thought.

A soldier rushed into the war room, his armor still stained with battle. He bowed quickly, his breath uneven.

“My king,” he said. “There is word of another.”

San barely spared him a glance. “Another what?”

“A survivor. A princess.”

The words made him pause.

A princess?

San had not known Eldoria had a princess. He frowned, turning fully to the soldier. “And where is she?”

“We do not know.”

San’s expression darkened. “Explain.”

“She was not in the palace when we arrived,” the soldier admitted. “We searched every room, every hall. But she was nowhere to be found.”

The air in the room grew heavy. San’s grip on his sword tightened. He had never left a royal family unfinished. No loose ends. No survivors. And yet, here was a piece of Eldoria’s bloodline still unaccounted for.

His jaw clenched. “Find her.”

Thus began the search.

San’s men scoured every corner of the palace, tearing through lavish chambers, hidden passages, and forgotten halls. San was not a man who accepted failure. He ordered a deeper search—every stone overturned, every locked door broken open.

And finally, they found it.

A hidden room, tucked away behind the grand library. The entrance had been expertly concealed, nearly impossible to notice unless one was searching for it. But now, the secret was uncovered.

San arrived immediately.

The heavy bookcase that had once hidden the doorway was now pushed aside, revealing a narrow passage leading into a small chamber. It was nothing like the lavish royal rooms he had seen before. This space was simple—bare walls, a single candle flickering in the dim light, and a modest wooden desk placed in the center.

And sitting at that desk was a girl.

She had not heard them enter at first, her focus entirely on the parchment before her. Her delicate hand moved swiftly, ink staining her fingertips as she wrote something with quiet urgency. It was only when she sensed the shift in the air—when the heavy presence of someone else filled the room—that she finally looked up.

Her eyes widened.

San met her gaze, and in that instant, he knew.

This was her.

The missing princess. The last surviving member of Eldoria’s royal family.

She had been here all along, hidden away while her kingdom burned. Sheltered while her family perished.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The candlelight cast shadows across her face, highlighting the quiet shock in her expression. San took a step forward, his boots echoing in the small space. The girl did not move, her fingers still curled around the quill, as if caught between fight and flight.

He exhaled slowly.

“Found you.”

San was a terrifying man. His presence alone filled the small room with an unshakable weight, his dark eyes locked onto YN with an intensity that made her stomach twist. She had heard of him before—King Choi San, the ruthless conqueror. The man who had taken her home, erased her family, and claimed Eldoria as his own.

Her hands trembled, but she forced herself to move. Slowly, she stood from her chair, her gaze dropping to the ground as if in surrender.

But she was not surrendering.

Her fingers tightened around the ink glass on the desk. And before she could think twice, she threw it.

The small bottle spun through the air, aimed directly at his knees.

San’s reflexes were fast—too fast. He shifted at the last second, the ink missing its target. Instead, it crashed against the floor, shattering into tiny pieces. Black ink spilled in a messy puddle between them, staining the stone beneath their feet.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then San exhaled, his lips curling into something unreadable. Not quite amusement, not quite anger.

Slowly, he stepped forward, his boots avoiding the ink, his piercing gaze never leaving her face.

“Cute,” he murmured, voice low. “You thought that would stop me?”

YN looked up just as San took another step closer, his presence suffocating in the small room. Her heart pounded against her ribs, but she didn’t let her fear show. Instead, she lifted her chin and met his gaze.

“No,” she said, voice steady. “But this will.”

Before he could react, she pulled a small knife from the folds of her dress and lunged forward.

She moved fast, aiming for his chest, but he was faster.

San’s hand shot out, catching her wrist mid-strike. With effortless strength, he twisted it, forcing her to drop the knife. A sharp gasp escaped her lips as pain shot through her arm, but she refused to cry out. The blade clattered against the floor, useless now.

San’s grip remained firm as he pushed her down, forcing her onto her knees before him. YN struggled, but it was no use. He was stronger, unmovable.

Then, to her shock, he reached out and brushed the strands of hair from her face. It was a gentle touch, almost delicate. If it were anyone else, it might have seemed comforting. But this was King Choi San.

And from him, it was terrifying.

His fingers trailed along her cheek before tucking her hair behind her ear. His dark eyes studied her, unreadable, as if he were trying to understand something.

“You’ve got fight in you,” he murmured, his voice quiet, almost amused. “I like that.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine. This man had slaughtered her family, burned her kingdom to the ground, and now, here he was, treating her as if she were something… interesting.

Her hands clenched into fists. She wanted to scream, to fight, to run. But she was trapped.

San tilted his head slightly, watching her reaction. Then, he leaned down, just enough to whisper,

“But fighting me is useless.”

San looked down at her, his expression unreadable. His grip on her wrist loosened just slightly, but the weight of his presence remained suffocating.

“You know,” he said casually, as if discussing the weather, “I came here to kill you.”

YN’s breath caught in her throat.

Of course, he did. That was what he always did. He had erased her family, wiped out her kingdom, and now, it was her turn.

She lowered her gaze, staring at the ink-stained floor. Her hands trembled slightly in her lap, but she did not beg. She would not give him that satisfaction. There was nothing left for her anymore. No family. No home. No future.

So she closed her eyes and accepted her fate.

But then—

“But,” San mused, tilting his head, “you’re too pretty to kill.”

Her eyes snapped open, looking up at him in shock.

He smirked, his fingers once again brushing her cheek, this time lingering just a bit longer. “It would be a shame to waste something so… delicate.”

She stiffened, her stomach twisting with disgust. Was he toying with her? Mocking her? What was worse—death, or whatever fate he had in mind?

“No,” she whispered, barely realizing she had spoken. Then, louder, her voice rising in panic, “No—just kill me.”

San chuckled. Low, dark, entertained.

“Oh?” He crouched in front of her, their faces now painfully close. “Is that what you want?”

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

San’s smirk widened. He was enjoying this—her fear, her resistance, her despair.

“Too bad,” he murmured, gripping her chin lightly and forcing her to hold his gaze. “I think I’ll take you instead.”

YN stood up slowly, her legs shaking beneath her, but her gaze remained locked onto his. She expected him to rise as well, to tower over her like the conqueror he was, but he didn’t.

San remained crouched, looking up at her from his lower position, his dark eyes steady and sharp. It was unsettling—how comfortable he was, how unbothered by her defiance. His face was close—too close. Close enough that if she moved even slightly, he would be able to feel the fabric of her dress brush against him.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

And then, she moved.

She dashed to the side, making a sharp turn around him. Her feet barely touched the ground as she made her escape, her breath caught in her throat. For a split second, she thought she had done it. She had gone around him. She had gotten past him.

But she had forgotten.

The shattered glass. The ink. The mess on the floor from when she had thrown the ink bottle at him earlier.

The moment her bare foot touched the shards, a sharp, searing pain shot up her leg.

She sucked in a breath, but she didn’t stop. She forced herself forward, reaching the doorway that led out of the hidden chamber. She had made it—just barely.

But then, her body betrayed her.

The pain was too much. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed just outside the room, her breath coming in short gasps. Her feet throbbed violently, fresh blood pooling beneath her.

The pain in her feet was unbearable. Tiny shards of glass had pierced into her skin, some embedding deep into the soles of her feet, while others cut shallow but still bled. Ink mixed with her blood, creating a dark, messy trail behind her.

She couldn’t run anymore.

Her feet throbbed, her breaths were uneven, and she could already feel the warm trickle of blood running down her heels. Every movement sent fresh pain through her body.

Behind her, the room remained silent.

She could feel him still there. Watching. Waiting.

And then—

A slow, deliberate sound.

The sound of boots shifting against the stone floor.

San was standing up.

He stood up, the slow, deliberate movement filling the space with an unspoken finality. His boots pressed against the shattered glass on the floor, the sharp shards crunching beneath the heavy soles. The sound echoed in the small chamber, a cruel reminder of the difference between them—her bare, bloodied feet and his untouched, armored ones.

He took a step forward.

Then another.

Slow. Steady. As if he had all the time in the world.

YN could feel the weight of his gaze on her, sharp and unyielding, like a predator toying with its prey. She knew—he knew—that she wouldn’t make it far. Even if she ran, even if she forced herself to her feet and pushed through the pain, it wouldn’t matter. He would catch her. He would always catch her.

But she wasn’t going to just sit there.

The moment his shadow loomed over her, she pushed herself back. Her hands scraped against the cold stone floor as she tried to crawl away, her injured feet dragging behind her, leaving smudges of inky blood in her wake. It hurt—oh, it hurt—but she didn’t care. She would rather die trying than just sit there and accept whatever fate he had planned for her.

Outside the room, the few guards stationed there shifted uncertainly. One of them stepped forward as if to intervene, as if to do something.

San didn’t even look at them. He simply flicked his fingers, a lazy motion, and they immediately hesitated. Then, without a word, they stepped back, leaving him to handle this alone.

YN’s breath was ragged as she dragged herself further, her palms burning against the rough stone. She felt helpless, weak, but she refused to stop. Even if it was useless, even if he reached her within seconds, she would not just sit there like a caged animal.

Her fingers curled against the cold floor as she lifted her head, looking up at him.

And there he was.

Towering over her now, his expression unreadable, his lips slightly curled as if in amusement.

San exhaled, tilting his head.

"Still fighting?" he mused, his voice low, smooth—dangerous.

His slow steps finally came to a stop.

She had barely gotten anywhere.

And now, he was standing right in front of her.

San sighed, his patience thinning. He crouched slightly, looking down at her with that same amused expression, but now there was something else in his gaze—impatience.

“Let’s not fight,” he murmured, his voice deceptively soft. “Come now. Let’s go home.”

Home.

The word sent a shiver down YN’s spine. Home didn’t exist anymore. Her home had been burned, her family slaughtered, her people forced under his rule. Wherever he wanted to take her, it wasn’t home.

Still lying on the cold stone floor, she shook her head weakly. “No.”

San’s jaw tightened. The amusement in his eyes dimmed slightly, replaced with something colder. He exhaled sharply through his nose, as if he were growing tired of this game.

"Fine," he muttered.

Before she could react, she saw a flash of silver—something in his hand.

Her body tensed. She didn’t know what it was, but she knew better than to wait and find out. Instinctively, she raised her arms to shield her face, bracing for impact.

Wrong move.

A sharp prick shot through the side of her neck.

Her eyes widened in shock as she felt something thin and metallic buried into her skin. It wasn’t a knife—it didn’t slice or tear. It just pricked, leaving a dull, numbing sensation in its wake.

A syringe.

San had stabbed a syringe into her neck.

Her breath hitched as a strange dizziness washed over her. The world around her blurred, her limbs suddenly feeling heavy, too heavy to move. She tried to lift her hand, tried to reach for the object lodged in her skin, but her fingers barely twitched before her body gave out.

Her head fell against the cold floor, her vision swimming.

Above her, the last thing she saw was San’s face, watching her with a knowing smirk as the darkness swallowed her whole.

San looked down at her unconscious form, his smirk lingering as he admired his work. She had fought, resisted until the very last second, but in the end, it hadn’t mattered. He was always going to win.

He exhaled, standing to his full height as he observed her limp body sprawled across the cold floor. The ink and blood smeared across the ground were the only remnants of her struggle.

Satisfied, he crouched down and slipped an arm beneath her, effortlessly lifting her into his arms. She was light—far too light for someone with so much fight in her. Her head lolled slightly against his shoulder, her breath slow and steady as the sedative coursed through her veins.

Holding her securely, San turned and walked towards the door.

The guards outside immediately straightened at the sight of their king emerging from the hidden room with the unconscious princess in his arms. They glanced at each other, uncertainty flickering in their eyes, but none dared to question him.

San stepped past them, his grip on YN firm but casual, as if carrying her was no different from carrying a mere possession.

Because that’s exactly what she was now.

San stepped out into the open, the cool night air washing over him as he carried YN in his arms. The moment his men saw him, they stiffened, their expressions betraying their shock.

They had all expected him to emerge alone, having finished the job like he always did. Instead, here he was—carrying the princess, unconscious but very much alive.

One of the lead guards, a seasoned warrior with a deep scar across his cheek, stepped forward hesitantly. His gaze flickered between San and the girl in his arms before he spoke.

"Your Majesty," he began carefully, "should we finish her?"

The other guards waited in tense silence, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords. It was a reasonable assumption—San had slaughtered the rest of the royal family without hesitation. Why would the princess be any different?

But San had already made his decision.

Without looking at the guard, he spoke, his voice calm yet unwavering.

"No."

The single word sent a ripple of confusion through the men.

San shifted YN slightly in his arms, glancing down at her unconscious face before turning his sharp gaze back to the guard.

"I'm taking her back to Celestara," he declared, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The guards exchanged uncertain glances, but no one dared to question him further.

San smirked, satisfied by their obedience. Then, without another word, he began walking towards his waiting carriage.

This war was over. The kingdom was his. And now, so was she.

With the princess in his grasp, he set off on the journey back to Celestara—his kingdom, his home.

And soon enough, hers as well.

YN blinked slowly, her mind hazy as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. Her body felt heavy, her limbs sluggish, as if she had been asleep for far too long.

Where was she?

She forced herself to sit up, her fingers gripping the soft yet unfamiliar sheets beneath her. The bed was large—far larger than the one she had in Eldoria. And the room…

Her heart sank.

This wasn’t Eldoria.

Eldoria was warm and bright, filled with pastel colors, soft fabrics, and the gentle scent of flowers in the air. But this place—this place felt suffocating. The walls were dark, nearly black, with gold accents that gleamed under the dim lighting. Heavy drapes covered the windows, letting in only slivers of light. The furniture was grand, elegant, yet cold, as if meant to intimidate rather than comfort.

She hated it.

Perhaps it was because she had spent her entire life surrounded by brightness, but the darkness of this place made her uneasy. It felt foreign, unfamiliar—wrong.

Her breath quickened as she swung her legs over the bed, only to wince as a sharp pain shot through her feet.

The glass.

She had run through shattered glass.

Carefully, she lifted her feet and saw the bandages wrapped around them, fresh and neatly done. Someone had treated her injuries.

Someone had—

Her stomach twisted.

San.

Memories of what had happened before she blacked out came rushing back. The invasion. The loss. His voice, smooth and taunting. The sharp prick of the syringe in her neck.

Panic clawed at her chest as she looked around frantically, searching for a way out.

But the door was closed.

And she had no doubt—it was locked.

YN sat at the edge of the massive bed, her fingers digging into the sheets as she tried to steady herself. The weight of everything crashed down on her all at once.

Her family was gone.

Her home was gone.

And now, she was here—trapped in a place that wasn’t hers, surrounded by walls that felt like they were closing in on her.

Her vision blurred as her throat tightened. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. But what good would that do?

She lowered her gaze to her bandaged feet. She couldn’t even walk. She had been so desperate to escape, but in the end, she had only hurt herself. And now, she was left completely vulnerable, at the mercy of the very man who had taken everything from her.

San.

The thought of his name sent a shiver down her spine.

The ruthless king of Celestara. The man who had murdered her family without hesitation. The man who had stolen her home and claimed it as his own.

And now, she was his captive.

A bitter laugh almost escaped her lips, but it got caught in her throat. There was nothing amusing about this. There was no way out.

She was truly, utterly defeated.

YN sat there for what felt like hours, unmoving, lost in the crushing weight of her thoughts. The silence of the room only made it worse, suffocating her, making her feel even more trapped.

Then—

Click.

The door creaked open.

Her entire body tensed.

Her fingers curled into the sheets, her heart pounding as she stared at the entrance, dreading what—or who—might step inside.

And then she saw him.

San.

He walked in like he owned the place. Which, of course, he did.

But that didn’t make it any less infuriating.

His presence filled the room instantly, his posture relaxed, confident—completely at ease, as if nothing was out of place. As if he hadn’t just destroyed her entire life.

YN swallowed hard, her throat dry.

She hated him.

She hated the way he moved so carelessly, as if everything was just a game to him. She hated the way he looked at her, like he knew she was powerless against him. She hated that even though she wanted to scream, to throw something, to fight—she couldn’t.

Not like this.

Not when she could barely even stand.

Fear crept up her spine, mixing with the anger burning in her chest. She hated him. She feared him. But most of all—she resented the fact that he had complete control over her now.

San stood in the doorway, his sharp eyes scanning the room before settling on her. A smirk tugged at his lips, slow and deliberate, as if he was enjoying the sight of her—small, wounded, and utterly trapped.

He took a step inside, and even though his movements were unhurried, they carried an undeniable authority. Every step he took echoed in the large, darkened room, the soft click of his boots against the floor sending a shiver down YN’s spine.

She gripped the sheets tighter.

He was terrifying.

And that was exactly what made him so dangerous.

He wasn’t just some brute who barked orders and swung his sword mindlessly. No, San was something much worse. He was calculated. He was smart. And worst of all, he enjoyed having control over people.

“You’re awake,” he mused, his voice smooth yet dripping with something sinister.

YN didn’t respond.

He didn’t need her to. He was already closing the distance between them, his movements slow, predatory, as if he wanted her to feel the power he held over her.

Her breath hitched as he stopped right in front of her.

She refused to look up at him. She refused to give him the satisfaction.

But San wasn’t the type to be ignored.

With an amused chuckle, he crouched down so that he was eye-level with her.

“Not going to greet your king?” he murmured, tilting his head. His voice was deep, teasing, but there was an undeniable edge to it. A warning.

YN finally forced herself to meet his gaze—and immediately regretted it.

He was too close.

Far too close.

His dark eyes gleamed under the dim lighting, filled with something unreadable. His sharp jawline, the way his lips curled ever so slightly—it was unfair how someone so cruel could look so good.

She hated it.

She hated that her heart pounded for reasons beyond just fear.

When she still didn’t speak, San exhaled sharply and reached out.

She flinched as his fingers brushed against her jaw, tilting her face up. His touch was surprisingly gentle, but that only made it worse.

“You’re trembling,” he noted, his voice quiet, almost mocking. “Scared of me, little princess?”

YN clenched her jaw, trying to will away the fear in her expression.

San chuckled. “Good. You should be.”

His grip tightened, just enough for her to feel it, just enough to remind her that she was at his mercy.

And yet—

The way he looked at her, the slow drag of his eyes down her face, the way his lips parted slightly as if he was enjoying every second of this—

He was terrifying.

And that made him even more dangerous.

San watched her, his lips quirking up in amusement at her stubbornness. She was scared, angry, and exhausted, yet still refused to take anything from him. It was almost admirable. Almost.

With a sigh, he reached for the glass of water sitting on the bedside desk. His fingers wrapped around the crystal, and he swirled the liquid inside lazily before turning back to her.

“Why don’t you drink some?” His voice was smooth, deep, like velvet laced with something dangerous.

“I don’t want water,” YN muttered, looking away.

San chuckled, low and rich. “Come on, princess. I didn’t poison it.”

He lifted the glass to his own lips, tilting it back ever so slightly.

YN couldn’t look away.

The way he drank—slow, deliberate—was unfair. A bit of water slipped past the corner of his lips, trailing down his jaw. He swiped his thumb across his mouth, wiping away the stray droplet before licking it off his thumb without a second thought.

Her stomach twisted, and heat crept up her neck.

San caught the way her eyes flickered to his lips, and his smirk deepened.

“See?” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. He leaned in, holding the glass out to her, his fingers brushing against hers. “It’s not poisoned.”

She hesitated.

San sighed dramatically. “Drink up, princess. I don’t want you to die.”

His words should have been comforting, but the way he said them—slow, teasing, like he enjoyed her discomfort—only made her more unsettled.

Still, she knew she had no choice.

With shaky fingers, she took the glass from him.

San didn’t move back.

He stayed close, watching her with dark, expectant eyes, waiting to see if she would obey.

And that was the worst part.

Because as much as she hated him, as much as she wanted to fight—he always got what he wanted.

San had no shame. Not even a shred of it.

As YN lifted the glass to her lips, tilting her head back slightly to drink, his eyes shamelessly trailed down to her neck.

He watched the way her throat moved with each swallow, the soft curve of her collarbone barely peeking from the loose neckline of her dress. His gaze lingered, unbothered, unapologetic.

San was no saint.

He never pretended to be one.

And right now, he wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he was enjoying the sight in front of him.

He tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening as he let his gaze drag over her slowly, taking in every little detail. The way her lips parted slightly after drinking, the way a stray droplet of water slipped down the side of her mouth.

Before she could wipe it away, he reached out.

His thumb brushed against her chin, slow, deliberate.

YN froze.

San’s eyes flickered to hers, his touch lingering just a second too long before he finally pulled away.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice smooth like honey, but laced with something undeniably sinful. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

YN clenched her jaw, gripping the empty glass tightly.

She hated him.

But the way he looked at her, like he could devour her whole, made her feel things she shouldn’t be feeling.

And San?

San knew exactly what he was doing.

“What do you want from me?” YN’s voice was sharp, filled with both exhaustion and defiance.

San simply stared at her, his dark eyes glinting with something unreadable. Then, with a slow, almost innocent tilt of his head, he said, “Nothing.”

Liar.

She knew he was toying with her. She felt it in the way he spoke, in the way he looked at her—as if she was some intriguing puzzle he wanted to take apart piece by piece.

She couldn’t let him do this.

Without thinking, she lifted her hand, aiming to strike him, to wipe that infuriating expression off his face.

But San was faster.

Much faster.

Before she could make contact, his hand shot up, fingers curling around her neck with practiced ease. He wasn’t squeezing—he didn’t need to. The sheer weight of his touch, the way his thumb pressed lightly against the delicate skin of her throat, was enough to steal the breath from her lungs.

With effortless strength, he pushed her back.

She fell against the pillows, her body sinking into the soft mattress as he hovered over her.

And then, for the briefest moment, San stilled.

His grip loosened slightly as he took her in.

Her doe eyes, wide and glaring up at him, holding a mix of fury and something he couldn’t quite place. Her lips, parted ever so slightly, her breath coming in uneven puffs. And her hair—God, her hair—spilled in every direction, a wild halo of silk against the dark sheets.

Beautiful.

He had always admired beautiful things.

But this—her, beneath him, looking like something he wanted to ruin—this was something else entirely.

His fingers twitched against her throat, and he let out a quiet hum, his gaze darkening as he leaned in just a fraction.

YN could barely breathe.

Not because of his hold—no, he wasn’t choking her. But because of the way he looked at her, like he was memorizing every detail, like he owned her already.

San smirked, his voice dangerously soft as he murmured, “You’re breathtaking, princess.”

San let go of her slowly, his fingers trailing from her throat to her collarbone before finally pulling away. He watched her for a second longer, his smirk never faltering, then—just like that—he backed up.

No words. No explanation.

He simply turned on his heel and walked away.

YN lay there, her heart hammering against her ribs as she stared at the ceiling, trying to process what had just happened.

The door creaked open.

For a moment, she thought he might say something, might throw one last taunt her way. But he didn’t.

He left.

The door shut behind him with a soft click, leaving her alone in the deafening silence of the room.

And yet, even with him gone, the ghost of his touch lingered on her skin.

A few days has passed. YN had barely slept, her mind too clouded with the events of that night. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. The way he had looked at her, the way he had touched her—the way he had enjoyed watching her squirm beneath him. She hated him.

She hated that she was here, hated that she was still alive when her family wasn’t.

A soft knock at the door startled her. A maid entered, bowing slightly before speaking. “His Majesty requests your presence for breakfast.”

YN frowned. A maid? She hadn’t expected anyone to treat her with respect—she thought she would be tossed into a dungeon, starved, forgotten. But no. She was being served. It unsettled her.

Still, she said nothing and complied, following the maid through the grand halls of the palace. The castle was just as dark and overbearing as she had thought it would be, its walls decorated with deep gold accents and tall, menacing windows. Nothing about it was warm. Just like him.

When they reached the dining hall, the large doors were pushed open, revealing an elegant table set with more food than she had seen in days. Her stomach twisted, but not from hunger. Because there, seated at the head of the table, was San. And he was already watching her. Her appetite vanished instantly.

San smirked, leaning forward slightly as he rested his chin on his hand. “Good morning, princess.”

YN swallowed, her hands curling into fists at her sides.

She refused to answer.

Instead, she slowly walked toward the table, forcing herself to keep her back straight as she sat down. The maid moved to pour her a drink, but she barely noticed.

All she could feel was his gaze.

San chuckled, clearly amused by her discomfort. “What’s wrong? Not hungry?”

YN clenched her jaw. Hungry? How could she eat in front of the very man who had stolen her kingdom, who had killed her family? She gripped the silverware in front of her, trying to steady herself, trying not to snap. But the longer she sat there, the more unbearable it became.

San leaned in slightly, eyes glinting with amusement.

“Eat, princess,” he murmured, voice dripping with mockery. “I don’t want you starving on me.”

YN clenched her jaw, her hands gripping the fabric of her dress beneath the table. She forced a smile, though her teeth were gritted in pure loathing.

"I wouldn't dare eat before His Majesty," she said, her voice laced with sarcasm.

San only smirked at her response, clearly entertained. He leaned back, drumming his fingers on the table before tilting his head. "That’s sweet of you, princess," he mused. "But I insist. I want my little princess to eat first."

Before she could protest, he reached for a piece of meat, slicing it with ease. He speared the piece with a fork and, without hesitation, held it up to her lips.

"Open."

YN stared at him, unimpressed. "I don’t eat meat."

San’s smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened.

"Too bad," he said, his voice void of sympathy. "You need to follow orders, princess."

His tone was firm now, leaving no room for argument. He wasn’t asking. He was commanding.

YN swallowed, her breath steady despite the way her stomach churned. She didn’t want to obey him—she refused to. But she knew how dangerous he was. She had seen it with her own eyes.

San was ruthless. And he would enjoy making her suffer if she disobeyed.

Still, she didn’t move.

San sighed dramatically, lowering the fork slightly. "Do I need to feed you myself?" he teased, his voice dripping with amusement.

YN clenched her fists beneath the table.

She had lost her kingdom. She had lost her family.

And now, she was losing control.

But what choice did she have?

YN hesitated for a moment, her stomach twisting in revulsion. But the look in San’s eyes told her there was no room for negotiation.

Slowly, reluctantly, she parted her lips.

San smirked in satisfaction and pushed the piece of meat into her mouth. His fingers brushed against her lips ever so slightly, lingering for just a second too long before pulling away.

She wanted to spit it out. Gods, she wanted to spit it out. But she didn’t. She forced herself to chew, swallowing the bite with as much grace as she could muster.

San watched her the entire time, his gaze sharp and unrelenting.

"Good girl," he murmured.

Her fingers twitched. She wanted to slap that smirk right off his face.

Instead, she reached for the glass of water beside her, desperately trying to wash away the taste of the meat that burned her throat like poison.

San leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he studied her. "That wasn’t so hard, was it?"

YN didn’t answer. She refused to give him the satisfaction.

San chuckled. He could see the anger burning in her eyes, the way her entire body tensed with barely restrained rage. Oh, how he enjoyed this. Watching her fight against her own pride, watching her struggle between her hatred for him and her will to survive.

"You’ll get used to it," he said lazily, taking another bite of his own food.

YN swallowed down her fury. She had to be careful. She had to be smart.

She wasn’t just a prisoner in this palace—she was a captive in his hands. And San was playing a game.

She just didn’t know the rules yet.

YN sat stiffly in her seat, her stomach churning with disgust—not just from the food, but from him.

San, on the other hand, looked completely at ease. He ate slowly, savoring every bite, his sharp eyes flickering toward her every now and then, like a predator keeping an eye on his prey.

When he was done, he wiped his mouth with a cloth, then tossed it onto the table carelessly. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world.

Then, without warning, he stood.

YN instinctively tensed as he walked around the table. His boots echoed against the marble floor, each step heavy, purposeful. She kept her gaze locked on the table, her fingers gripping the edge of her seat. But San didn’t stop until he was standing right behind her.

She felt his presence before she saw him. The heat radiating from him, the way the air around her seemed to shift. Then—

A hand.

Slow, deliberate fingers brushing over her shoulder.

YN flinched, but she refused to move. She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her react.

San leaned down, his breath warm against the side of her neck.

"You surprise me, princess," he murmured, his voice smooth, deep. "I thought you’d be more difficult. But you listened. You obeyed." His fingers trailed up, brushing the strands of her hair away from her neck. YN’s breath hitched, but she kept her face blank, forcing herself to stare at the empty plate in front of her.

"Maybe you're smarter than I thought," San mused, his tone dripping with amusement.

Then, without warning, he grabbed her chin, tilting her head back so she was forced to look at him.

Her breath caught in her throat.

His eyes. Dark. Intense. Amused.

A smirk played at his lips, and for a terrifying moment, she swore he looked entirely too pleased with himself.

"Or maybe," he whispered, tilting his head slightly, "you’re just waiting for the right moment to fight back."

YN’s pulse pounded in her ears. San chuckled, his grip on her chin tightening just slightly before he let go. He straightened, taking a step back, but his presence still loomed over her.

"Either way," he said, voice smooth, "I’m looking forward to it."

As San spoke, his fingers lazily twirled a lock of her hair between them. The contrast was eerie—the way his voice was dark and commanding, yet his touch was almost gentle. Almost.

YN swallowed hard, keeping her expression blank, but inside, she was unraveling.

Why was he doing this? Why was he toying with her like this?

San hummed, his fingers drifting lower, brushing through the strands like he had all the time in the world. "Soft," he murmured, more to himself than to her.

She clenched her fists under the table. She wanted to jerk away, but his grip tightened just enough to keep her still. Not painfully—no, that wasn’t his style. He didn’t need to use force. His presence alone was enough to keep her frozen. He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against the top of her head.

"You have no idea how much I enjoy this," he mused, his voice a dangerous whisper. "Seeing you like this. Trying so hard to keep your composure, when I know—" he tugged her hair lightly, making her tilt her head back just enough to meet his gaze "—that inside, you’re burning."

YN gritted her teeth.

San smirked, his fingers giving one last slow glide through her hair before finally—finally—he let go.

"Keep up the act, princess," he murmured, straightening. "Let’s see how long you last." And with that, he walked away, leaving YN sitting there, her breath uneven, her body tense.

Her hair still tingled from his touch.

She hated it. She hated him.

It had been days since YN had been trapped in this dark, unfamiliar place. The once-proud princess of Eldoria, now nothing more than a caged bird under the watchful eye of a ruthless king.

During those days, she had no purpose. No books to read, no people to talk to, nothing. Just the sound of the ticking clock and the occasional knock of a servant bringing her food.

And then there was him.

San.

He would come in whenever he pleased. Sometimes, he would simply stand there, watching her like she was some fascinating puzzle he was trying to solve. Other times, he would speak, his voice smooth and teasing, dripping with manipulation.

"Are you lonely, princess? You don’t have to be. You just have to behave."

"What a shame. You were once so free, and now you have nothing. But don’t worry—I can give you something. You only have to ask."

And then he would leave, always before she could snap back, before she could gather her words.

It was driving her insane.

Not the captivity, not even the fear—the boredom.

He wouldn't let her do anything. No dancing, no walking outside, no distractions.

She was starting to feel like a doll left on a shelf, waiting for the moment he decided to pick her up and play his twisted little games.

She hated him.

She hated how he controlled everything—her time, her space, even the very air she breathed in his presence.

And she hated that, despite everything, he still had the nerve to act like he was enjoying this more than she was suffering.

San sat in his grand chamber, the dim candlelight casting sharp shadows over his sharp features. He leaned back in his chair, one arm resting lazily on the armrest while the other traced the rim of his wine glass. His thoughts, however, were far from idle.

She was going to be here for a while. That much was certain. And since she was his now—his possession, his captive, his—it was only natural that he knew everything about her. So, he had sent his right-hand man to dig into her past.

It wasn’t an easy task. After all, he had razed Eldoria to the ground, left nothing but ashes and ruins in his wake. Most of her kingdom’s history had burned with it.

But his man was efficient, and somehow, he had managed to unearth something.

San read through the parchment, his sharp eyes scanning every word. YN—once a beloved princess, a figure of grace and kindness. People had adored her, and not just because she was royalty. She had been… good. She had spent her days tending to the kingdom’s gardens, running her fingers through delicate petals, ensuring that life flourished around her. She had a habit of visiting the commoners, speaking to them as if she were one of them.

She had been everything a ruler should be. San scoffed, amused. How naive. But what intrigued him the most was the last detail.

She had been a dancer. A dedicated one. Trained, disciplined, someone who had spent hours perfecting her craft.

San tapped his fingers against the table. A princess who danced. A girl who once moved freely, who now sat caged in his palace with nowhere to go.

He smirked. Oh, how he could use this.

San leaned back in his chair, his smirk deepening as he thought about it. A princess who danced, who tended to flowers, who was gentle—a true princess in every sense. She was nothing like the women he had encountered before, hardened by war or desperate for power.

She was delicate. Refined. Soft. And she was his now.

The idea of her being his personal entertainer amused him. The once-proud princess, forced to dance solely for his pleasure. The same girl who had glared at him with pure hatred, who had tried to fight him—kneeling before him, moving gracefully under his command. The thought alone sent a thrill down his spine. He wanted to see it. Wanted to watch her move, watch her surrender that grace to him.

His fingers drummed against the table as he made up his mind.

He would give her no choice. If she was going to be here, if she was going to belong to him, then she would have to earn her place.

And what better way than by using the very thing that once made her special?

The heavy doors to her room slammed open without warning, the force of it making the walls tremble. YN flinched, her fingers tightening around the book she had been reading. She barely had a moment to process before San strode in, his presence overwhelming, suffocating even. He moved with that effortless confidence, like a predator who knew nothing could touch him. His dark clothing contrasted sharply against the golden glow of the candles, his sharp jawline cast in perfect shadow. His eyes—cold, calculating—pinned her in place as he approached. He stopped right in front of her.

She had been sitting on the bed, legs tucked beneath her, the book resting in her lap. Now, she sat frozen under his piercing gaze.

San tilted his head slightly, studying her. His dark hair was slightly tousled, as if he had run his fingers through it moments ago. His lips curled, not in kindness, but in something far more sinister—amusement, control, ownership.

"You look so comfortable," he mused, voice dangerously smooth. "It almost makes me forget you're a captive." She swallowed, trying not to react.

He reached forward, slow and deliberate, and plucked the book from her hands. His fingers ghosted over hers for a second, a contrast of warmth and chill. He flipped through the pages lazily, before his smirk deepened.

"Interesting," he murmured, snapping the book shut with one hand. YN clenched her jaw. "You gave that to me." San let out a low chuckle, the sound sending a shiver down her spine.

"I did," he admitted, stepping even closer. His knee brushed against the edge of the mattress. He leaned down slightly, enough that she could feel the heat of him, smell the faint scent of leather and spice. He reached out, his fingers skimming through her hair—something he seemed to love doing.

YN clenched her fists. She hated how he touched her so freely, how he invaded her space like he owned it. But most of all—she hated the way he made it impossible to breathe.

San watched her closely, his eyes dark with amusement. He had noticed it—the way she sat idly for days, locked in this golden cage he had given her. She had nothing to do, nowhere to go, no one to talk to. So of course, she was bored.

But YN didn’t trust him, and she had every reason not to.

Still, when he spoke, his voice was almost casual. "I was thinking," he said, tilting his head slightly, "you must be getting bored."

She stiffened. Of course, she was. But admitting anything to him felt like a loss. She remained still, watching him warily. San exhaled sharply, as if her silence annoyed him. He shifted slightly, bringing a gloved hand up to her chin. His fingers were deceptively gentle as they tilted her face up, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Are you?" he asked again.

For a moment, she debated whether or not to answer. But the way his grip tightened—just a fraction—told her it wasn’t a request. Reluctantly, she gave a small nod.

San clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "That won’t do." His thumb brushed over her bottom lip, lingering just long enough to make her tense. His smirk deepened at her reaction. "If I ask a question, little princess, I expect words," he murmured. "Try again."

YN swallowed hard, her voice quieter than she would have liked. "Yes."

San grinned. "See? That wasn’t so hard." He released her, taking a step back as if satisfied.

"Since you’re bored," he mused, turning slightly, "I think I’ll give you something to do."

She narrowed her eyes. "And what would that be?"

He glanced at her over his shoulder, that wicked smirk never fading. "You’re going to dance for me."

YN was furious. “You're making me do this act of shame for what?”

San merely raised a brow at her outburst, completely unfazed. If anything, he looked amused.

"Shaming you?" he repeated, stepping closer. His voice was as smooth as silk, but there was something sharp beneath it. "You think I’m asking you to shame yourself?"

YN clenched her fists. "You’re making me put on a show for you like a performer, like some—"

"Like a princess," he interrupted, tilting his head slightly. His smirk deepened as he took another slow step toward her. "And isn't that what you are?"

She was furious now. "This dance is part of my kingdom’s culture," she snapped. "You’ve already taken everything from me. I won’t let you exploit this too."

San chuckled, dark and quiet. "Exploit?" he mused. "You call it exploitation. I call it appreciation." Her glare only fueled his amusement.

She furiously stood up "By making me dance in front of you for your entertainment? You think that’s appreciation?"

He didn’t move. He just stood there, watching her, his expression unreadable. Then, in one swift motion, he reached out, grabbing her wrist and pulling her flush against him.

YN gasped, her hands instinctively landing on his chest. His grip was firm but not painful, his warmth radiating through his clothes. She struggled, but he didn’t let go. His eyes bore into hers.

"Do you really think I see you as just some performer?" he murmured, voice dropping lower. "I could have killed you, little princess. I should have."

His fingers trailed up her arm, slow and deliberate. "But I didn’t. I kept you. And now, I want to see you—your kingdom’s pride, your so-called untouchable grace." He leaned in slightly, his breath ghosting over her skin. "You can call it whatever you want," he whispered, "but in the end, you will dance for me."

YN felt the weight of defeat settle deep in her chest. It was suffocating. She had nothing left—no kingdom, no family, no power. Even her pride, the one thing she had tried so desperately to hold onto, was slipping through her fingers.

San had taken everything from her. And now, even in this moment, he stood before her, completely in control. Her shoulders slumped as she took a slow step back, gaze falling to the floor. She hated this. Hated him. Hated how powerless she was.

San watched her reaction closely, his smirk unwavering.

"See?" he murmured. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" Then, to her surprise, he took a step closer—not with the same overwhelming dominance he usually carried, but with something else. Something almost teasing.

"Here," he said suddenly, reaching for her hair. "I'll even braid your hair to make it beautiful."

YN’s breath hitched. "What—"

But she couldn’t even finish before she felt his fingers threading through her locks.

He was gentle.

She wanted to recoil, to shove him away, but her body wouldn’t move. She stood frozen as he worked, weaving her long strands between his fingers, moving with ease as if he had done this a hundred times before. San was good at it. Too good.

"Surprised?" he mused, clearly amused by her silence. "You think a king can’t do something as simple as braiding hair?" His fingers moved slowly, carefully, as if savoring the feeling.

YN hated how calming it was.

He was quiet for a moment before he murmured, "My mother used to do this for me when I was young. Before she died." That caught her off guard.

She dared to glance at him, but his expression was unreadable.

Then, as if remembering himself, San smirked again. "But I suppose that doesn't matter now."

He tied off the end of the braid, admiring his work. "There," he said, stepping back. "Now you look even more like a princess."

YN clenched her fists at her sides. "You're cruel," she whispered.

San only chuckled, dark and low. "And yet, here you are—letting me braid your hair."

The music played softly in the grand hall, but to YN, it felt like a cruel command rather than a melody. Her bare feet hesitated against the cold marble floor. Her body still ached, her legs not fully recovered from the injuries. Every step sent a dull pain through her, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop.

San sat on his throne, legs spread lazily, elbow resting on the armrest, fingers curled under his chin. His dark eyes never left her. They followed every movement, every step, every sway of her body with an intensity that made her skin crawl.

He looked hungry. Not for food. Not for violence.

For her.

YN’s breath was uneven, but she forced herself to keep going. The dance that once brought her joy, the tradition of her people, now felt like shackles binding her to his will.

San exhaled slowly, his gaze dragging over her form. “Keep going,” he murmured, voice low and smooth, yet laced with authority.

Her knees almost buckled.

His gaze burned into her skin, drinking in every movement like a man who had been deprived for too long.

YN gritted her teeth, forcing herself to continue. She could feel his eyes tracing the curve of her waist, the arch of her neck, the way her braid swayed with her movements. He was enjoying this.

Not just the dance itself, but the fact that he was the reason she was dancing.

San leaned forward slightly, his smirk deepening. "It’s almost a shame," he mused. "That a princess like you should be wasted on a throne when you were clearly born to move like this.”

YN nearly stumbled. And the moment she stumbled, she knew something was wrong. Her vision blurred, the golden chandeliers above melting into streaks of light. The grand hall, once a suffocating prison, now felt like it was spinning around her, pulling her deeper into an abyss she couldn't escape.

Her legs trembled beneath her, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She tried to focus—on the cold marble beneath her feet, on the heavy silence that replaced the music, on anything that could ground her. But all she could see was him.

San.

He remained seated, watching her with an expression that sent chills down her spine. His dark eyes gleamed with amusement, lips curling into that damned smirk. The world tilted again. Her body swayed uncontrollably, her limbs heavy, her strength slipping away.

Then—darkness.

The last thing she saw before her knees buckled was San’s sinister smile.

He didn’t move to catch her. He didn’t call for help. He simply watched as she crumpled to the floor.

San exhaled slowly as he crouched beside her, his sharp eyes drinking in every delicate feature. Her long lashes fluttered slightly, her lips parted as she breathed weakly, and her hair, now slightly disheveled from the fall, fanned out around her like ink spilled on the cold marble.

She was beautiful. Too beautiful to let go.

His gloved fingers traced a strand of her hair, twisting it between his fingers as he studied her face. She had danced until she collapsed—until her body could no longer obey her. And all for him. A slow smirk curled on his lips.

"You really are something, little princess," he murmured, his voice deep, filled with an almost lazy amusement.

His hand moved to her cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had slipped down. Even unconscious, she looked defiant—like she was fighting even in her sleep. San leaned closer, his lips hovering just near her ear.

"I will break you," he whispered, his voice laced with a dangerous promise. "But I will put you back together as mine."

He pulled away slightly, his gaze sweeping over her unconscious form. Then, with no sense of urgency, he slipped his arms beneath her and lifted her effortlessly into his arms.

She was light. Too light. San clicked his tongue.

"You're still weak," he mused, as if speaking to himself. "I’ll have to fix that."

With long, unhurried strides, he carried her toward the grand doors. His boots echoed against the empty hall, the only sound accompanying them. The princess belonged to him now. And San always got what he wanted.

When YN's eyes fluttered open, she was met with a sight she did not expect.

The room around her was nothing like the one she had been confined to before. It was magnificent—grander, richer, almost suffocating in its opulence. Deep crimson drapes cascaded from the towering windows, gold accents lining every carved detail of the walls. The bed she lay on was vast, the silk sheets beneath her softer than anything she had ever known.

But none of that mattered. Because he was there.

San.

He sat on the bed, resting against the bedpost with one arm draped over the carved wood, watching her with unreadable eyes. But the problem wasn’t just that he was there.

The problem was that he was shirtless.

The flickering candlelight cast sharp shadows across his toned torso, emphasizing every defined muscle, every scar carved into his skin like war medals. He looked relaxed—too relaxed—as if he had all the time in the world to simply watch her. Panic surged through her veins like fire.

Her breath hitched, and before her mind could even catch up, her body reacted. She immediately sat up, the sheets pooling around her, and scrambled off the bed. Her bare feet hit the cool floor as she backed away, putting as much distance as she could between herself and the terrifyingly alluring man before her. San exhaled through his nose, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips as he lazily tilted his head.

"Running away again?" he mused, his voice deep, teasing. "How adorable." YN swallowed hard. She knew better now. Running wasn’t an option.

But being near him? That was just as dangerous.

YN's voice was hoarse when she finally found the courage to speak. "Why am I here?"

San didn’t answer right away. He simply stretched, his muscles flexing as he let out a lazy sigh, before tilting his head toward her. “Does it matter?” he said casually, as if her presence in his chambers was the most natural thing in the world. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, frustration simmering beneath her fear. “Of course, it matters—”

But before she could continue, San suddenly chuckled, his sharp gaze locking onto hers. “Why are you so scared?” he teased, lips curling into that familiar, maddening smirk. “I haven’t done anything. Yet.”

Her breath hitched, but she forced herself to stand her ground. She hesitated for a moment before finally answering, her voice quieter now. “In my kingdom… it is inappropriate for an unmarried woman to share a bed with a man.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then San let out a low hum, tapping his fingers against the bedpost as if deep in thought. His smirk grew wider.

"Ah… so that's what’s bothering you," he mused. His eyes darkened with amusement as he leaned forward just slightly. "Then I suppose… you should be grateful I let you sleep alone last night.”

YN’s breath caught in her throat.

San was playing with her. And he was enjoying it.

San chuckled, the sound deep and rich, sending a shiver down YN’s spine. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he watched her with that ever-present glint of amusement.

“You won’t be unmarried for long,” he said casually, as if he were discussing the weather.

YN blinked. “What?” Her voice came out quieter than she intended, confusion flickering in her eyes.

San didn’t hesitate. He met her gaze head-on, his smirk sharpening into something more dangerous. “I’m going to marry you.”

Silence.

The words hit her like a blow, knocking the air from her lungs. She stared at him, waiting for him to take it back, to tell her it was another one of his cruel jokes. But he didn’t. Instead, he tilted his head, his expression unreadable now. Deadly serious. “I’ve already decided,” he continued, as if that was the end of the discussion. “You’ll be my queen.”

YN took a step back, shaking her head in disbelief. “No,” she breathed. “You’re insane if you think—”

San suddenly stood, and she immediately froze. He wasn’t smirking anymore.

His gaze was intense, piercing through her like a blade. “I think you’re forgetting something, little princess.” His voice dropped lower, the weight of his authority pressing down on her. “Everything here… belongs to me.”

He took a slow step toward her.

“The palace.” Another step.

“The people.” Another.

“And you.”

YN’s back hit the wall, her breath caught in her throat as San loomed over her.

“There’s no escape, YN,” he murmured, reaching out to trace a strand of her hair between his fingers. “So don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

His lips curled into a smirk again, but his eyes?

They promised that he never said things he didn’t mean.

YN clenched her fists, gathering the courage to speak. “I won’t marry you,” she said firmly, though there was still a tremor in her voice. “You’re… you’re way older than me.”

San raised a brow, his lips twitching in amusement. “Older?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, little princess, that’s hardly an issue. A few years mean nothing in the grand scheme of things.”

He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. “Besides,” he continued, tilting his head slightly, “older men are wiser. Stronger. More capable of protecting what’s theirs.” His voice dropped, smooth like silk but laced with quiet dominance. “And you? You are mine now, aren’t you?”

YN swallowed, refusing to be rattled. “Marriage is supposed to be based on love,” she blurted out, gripping the fabric of her dress.

San stilled for a moment before exhaling a soft laugh. “Love?” He said the word like it was foreign to him, like it amused him. His fingers reached out, ghosting over the ends of her hair as he watched her intently. “You think love is what keeps a marriage strong?” His voice was deceptively soft, almost hypnotic. “No, little princess. Love is fragile. It crumbles. But power? Loyalty? Fear?” His gaze darkened. “Those are unshakable.”

He leaned in just enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath. “And don’t worry,” he murmured, his smirk returning. “You’ll learn to love me eventually.” He pulled away then, as if the conversation was already settled.

YN’s heart pounded in her chest. She wanted to argue, to fight back, but deep down, she knew—

San never changed his mind.

San’s voice was smooth, almost reassuring. “You don’t need to worry,” he said, as if his words could magically erase her fears. “I’ll take care of you. Give you everything you could ever want. Shower you with fortune, with power.” His fingers traced the edge of a gold-embroidered pillow as he spoke, his gaze never leaving her.

But YN didn’t want that. She never had.

She clenched her fists at her sides, her heart twisting painfully. This was not what she had dreamed of. She had always wanted love—real love, the kind her parents had. She had spent her childhood watching the way her father would soften whenever he looked at her mother, the way they laughed together, the way they held each other with warmth and affection. She had wanted that for herself one day. Not this.

Not a forced marriage with a ruthless king who saw love as a weakness.

Her throat felt tight, but she managed to whisper, “This isn’t what I imagined.” San tilted his head, watching her with unreadable eyes. “What did you imagine, then?” His voice was calm, but there was something lurking beneath it.

YN hesitated. She didn’t want to tell him. Didn’t want to give him more power over her. But at the same time, she needed him to understand. “I imagined… a family,” she admitted softly. “A husband who loves me. Who looks at me the way my father looked at my mother. I don’t want riches or power. I just wanted…” She trailed off, unable to finish.

San’s smirk faded slightly, his expression darkening.

Then he chuckled, shaking his head. “Love,” he mused, almost to himself. “You really think love is enough to build a life on?”

His fingers suddenly caught her chin, tilting her face up so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. His grip wasn’t painful, but it was firm, unyielding.

“You’ll learn, little princess,” he murmured. “You’ll see that love is nothing but a fragile illusion.” His thumb brushed against her lower lip before he released her. “But don’t worry. I’ll give you something much better.”

He stepped back. “You’ll have me. And in time, that will be all you need.”

YN’s stomach twisted in despair. Because deep down, she knew—San never said things he didn’t mean.

YN took a deep breath, steadying herself. She knew San wasn’t someone she could reason with. He was a man who took what he wanted, who bent the world to his will without a second thought. And clearly, he had decided that she would be his.

But that didn’t mean she would accept it.

She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with quiet defiance. “I know I can’t change your mind,” she admitted, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll be happily married to you.”

San's smile didn't waver, but something flickered in his eyes—something unreadable, something dark. He took a slow step toward her, closing the space between them with effortless ease.

“You say that now,” he murmured, his voice low and almost amused. “But things change, little princess. People change.” His fingers reached out, barely grazing a lock of her hair before he let it slip through his fingers. “You’ll come to understand soon enough.”

YN clenched her fists, resisting the shiver that threatened to crawl down her spine. “I will never love you,” she stated firmly.

San simply chuckled, stepping even closer until she had no choice but to tilt her head up to keep looking at him. “Who said anything about love?” he whispered. His breath was warm against her skin. “You’ll belong to me—whether you love me or not.”

YN’s heart pounded, but she forced herself not to look away. If he thought she would break that easily, he was wrong. San studied her for a moment, then let out a small hum of amusement. “I like that fire in your eyes,” he mused. “I wonder how long it’ll last.”

Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving her standing there—trapped in a fate she wanted no part of.

YN lay stiffly in the bed, her back turned to him. The mattress was soft, far more luxurious than anything she had ever slept on before, yet she couldn’t relax. Not when the very man who had destroyed her life was lying so close behind her.

She flinched when she felt a strong arm wrap around her waist, pulling her back against a solid chest. San held her close, his grip firm yet strangely gentle, as if he was claiming her but didn’t want to break her—at least not yet. His warmth surrounded her, but it wasn’t comforting. It was suffocating.

“Tell me something,” his voice was softer now, almost coaxing, as he rested his chin lightly near her shoulder. “Before all of this… before I came and took what was mine… what did you think your married life would be like?”

YN hesitated. She didn’t want to answer him. She didn’t want to let him in, to give him even a glimpse of the dreams she once held so dearly. But his grip around her waist tightened just slightly, a silent warning that he expected her to answer.

Taking a shaky breath, she finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “I… I wanted a loving husband,” she admitted reluctantly. “Someone who would cherish me, not own me.”

San didn’t say anything, so she continued, her voice quieter now, as if she were speaking more to herself than to him. “I always imagined a peaceful life. A home filled with laughter. Two children… an older son and a younger daughter.” A small, sad smile ghosted her lips. “I thought I’d marry someone who truly loved me, and we would raise them together, surrounded by warmth and kindness.”

San hummed thoughtfully. His fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on her side, a stark contrast to the dangerous man she knew he was. “A husband who loves you, two perfect children… how sweet.” He chuckled softly, though there was something unreadable in his tone. “You dream too softly for this cruel world, little princess.”

YN swallowed hard, gripping the silk sheets beneath her. She didn’t want to hear that from him. She didn’t want him to mock what little hope she had left.

San sighed, his warm breath fanning against her neck. “Love is an illusion,” he murmured, his lips barely grazing her skin. “Power, control… those are real. And I am real. You are mine, whether you accept it or not.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, a single tear slipping down her cheek.

San felt it. His thumb brushed against her waist, but he said nothing more. Instead, he simply held her tighter, as if he could mold her into his world through sheer force alone. And YN, despite everything, lay there in silence, trapped in the arms of the man who had stolen her future.

Days passed, and to YN’s surprise, San was… different. Not entirely, of course. He was still terrifying, still the man who had destroyed everything she knew. But he wasn’t as cruel as before.

He no longer forced her into uncomfortable situations just to see her squirm. He didn’t toy with her pride as much, nor did he threaten her with the same intensity. He was still controlling, still possessive, but something had shifted.

San was still bad. Just… not as bad.

He still made her dance for him, but now, he ensured that she had the proper shoes for it. He still forced her to eat at his table, but he no longer demanded she eat meat. He even went as far as making sure her meals were tailored to her tastes.

And then there were the moments in between—when he wasn’t being the ruthless king, the tyrant she had come to loathe. Moments where he would sit with her, watching her read, commenting lazily on the books she chose. Sometimes, he would run his fingers through her hair absentmindedly, braiding and unbraiding it as if it was his personal pastime. Other times, he would simply exist in the same space as her, not demanding, not pushing—just watching.

It was unsettling.

Because YN didn’t know what he wanted. She didn’t know what his end goal was. He had taken her, claimed her as his future bride, yet he wasn’t forcing her into marriage immediately. It was as if he was waiting for something.

San had been lounging beside her, his usual confident smirk in place as his sharp eyes flickered to the book in her hands. “That book,” he mused, tilting his head, “seems dreadfully boring.”

YN instinctively wanted to argue, to tell him how wrong he was, but then she remembered where she stood. She wasn’t in her home, in her kingdom. She was here, in his palace, a prisoner no matter how much luxury surrounded her. So instead of fighting back, she simply lowered her gaze, her grip on the book tightening as sadness settled over her features. San noticed.

His smirk faltered for a brief second before he leaned forward, his voice shifting into something lighter, almost teasing. “Alright then, tell me—what is it about?”

She hesitated, her fingers playing with the edge of the pages. But after a moment, she softly answered, “It’s about a girl who lost everything and had to rebuild her life somewhere new.”

San hummed, watching her carefully. “Sounds familiar.” She stiffened, but before he could ruin the moment, he continued, “And? What does she do?”

YN glanced at him cautiously before her eyes flickered back to the book. “She learns. She makes friends. She finds purpose again.”

Something shifted in her tone—just the smallest change, but San caught it. Her voice grew steadier, her words flowing more freely as she continued. “She thought she would never find happiness again, but little by little, she discovers new things that make her smile. Even in a place she once feared, she finds something worth holding onto.”

Her eyes lit up as she spoke, the weight on her shoulders seeming to lift, if only for a moment. She wasn’t talking to the cruel king who had stolen her life. She was simply speaking about something she loved.

San didn’t miss it.

He leaned back, resting his chin on his hand as he smirked. “You really like this book, don’t you?”

She blinked, suddenly realizing how much she had said. The light in her eyes dimmed as she clutched the book close to her chest, lips pressing into a thin line.

San clicked his tongue. “Tsk. There it is again.”

She looked at him, confused. “What?”

He tilted his head. “You’re always holding yourself back around me. But just now? You weren’t.”

YN swallowed, unsure how to respond.

San let out a breath, reaching forward before she could react. His fingers brushed against the strands of her hair, twirling a lock between his fingers as he murmured, “I think I like you better when you talk freely.”

YN stiffened, heart pounding. But San just smirked, letting the hair slip from his fingers as he leaned back.

“Keep reading, little princess.”

San grabbed a towel and slung it over his shoulder, stretching slightly before making his way toward the bathroom. YN watched him go but didn’t say anything, just lowering her gaze back to her book. The sound of water running filled the room, and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. A while later, the door creaked open, and steam drifted out as San stepped back into the room.

He was fresh out of the bath, his damp hair slightly tousled, strands sticking to his forehead. Water still clung to his skin, glistening under the warm light as droplets trailed down his chest. His robe hung loosely on his shoulders, revealing glimpses of his toned frame, and his presence alone seemed to take up all the space in the room.

But his sharp eyes immediately found her.

YN was sitting in front of the mirror, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the ends of her hair. She looked deep in thought, her brows slightly furrowed, lips pressed together as if she was hesitating over something.

San smirked.

He walked up behind her, his reflection appearing in the mirror as he placed both hands on the table, leaning down slightly. His voice was smooth, teasing.

“You want to ask something.”

YN jolted a little, her fingers tightening around her hair as she met his gaze in the reflection. He tilted his head, eyes flickering over her expression. “Go on,” he murmured, voice dropping lower. “Ask away.”

YN hesitated, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. It was obvious she felt embarrassed, her posture stiff as if she was trying to disappear into herself. San watched her through the mirror, waiting with an amused yet patient look, though there was a glint of curiosity in his dark eyes. After a long silence, she finally spoke, voice barely above a whisper.

“Can I… talk to a maid?”

San straightened slightly, tilting his head. His smirk remained, but his eyes darkened just a little. “A maid?” he repeated, sounding unimpressed. She nodded quickly, still not meeting his gaze.

He scoffed, stepping around her so that he was now facing her directly. “Why?”

“I just need to ask her something,” she murmured.

San didn’t like that answer. He was nosy about her. He wanted to know everything—her thoughts, her feelings, even the small things that made her nervous like this. And this? This was something she was clearly reluctant to share. That only made him more curious.

He leaned in slightly, one brow raising. “Ask her what?”

YN swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. “It’s not important.”

“Then why can’t you tell me?” he shot back smoothly.

She tensed, her grip tightening on her sleeve. She knew he wasn’t going to drop this. San was persistent, and if she continued dodging, he’d only make things worse for her.

With a deep breath, she finally looked down and muttered, “My period is going to start soon.”

Silence.

Her face burned. She didn’t want to say it—especially not to him—but she had no choice. She wished the ground would swallow her whole.

San, however, was anything but embarrassed. In fact, he looked entertained. His lips curved into a knowing smile arms crossing over his broad chest.

“That’s what you were so shy about?” he chuckled. “You act like I don’t know what a period is.”

YN glared at him, her cheeks still hot. “I just wanted to ask a maid for supplies, not tell you about it.”

San hummed, stepping even closer. “You need something? I can have it brought to you.”

She clenched her jaw. “I don’t need you to handle it.”

He grinned. “Too bad. You belong to me now, which means everything you need comes from me.” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping lower. “Even this.”

YN shut her eyes, exhaling sharply. There was no winning against him.

San let out a low chuckle. “I’ll have the maids bring you what you need. Next time, just tell me. No need to be so shy.”

She turned away, wishing this conversation would end. But as she heard him chuckle again, she knew one thing—he was enjoying this way too much.

San’s chuckle lingered in the air as he turned away from her, still clearly entertained by the whole situation. YN, on the other hand, felt like sinking into the floor. Why did it have to be him she had to tell? Why couldn’t he just let her talk to a maid like a normal person? Still, at least he said he’d send someone with what she needed. That was enough for now.

She remained sitting in front of the mirror, her hands still gripping the fabric of her dress as San walked to his side of the room. He dried his damp hair lazily with a towel, the glow from the lanterns casting soft shadows across his bare torso. YN forced herself to look anywhere but at him, but it was hard when he was the only moving presence in the dimly lit room. San finally tossed the towel aside and stretched, rolling his shoulders. He caught her reflection in the mirror, smirking at the way she was avoiding his gaze.

“You look so tense,” he commented, stepping behind her again. “Still embarrassed?”

She didn’t answer.

San tsked and placed his hands on the vanity, caging her in. “We’re going to be married, little princess,” he murmured. “You don’t have to be shy with me.”

Her hands clenched into fists, and she swallowed down the frustration rising in her throat. She hated how he spoke so casually about it. As if her opinion didn’t matter. As if she had no choice but to accept it. She took a shaky breath. “You keep talking about this marriage, but I don’t remember agreeing to it.”

San let out a low hum, his fingers tracing the wooden surface beside her. “You’ll come around.”

YN finally met his gaze in the mirror, her expression sharp. “What if I don’t?”

San grinned, but it wasn’t the playful kind—it was dark, knowing, almost dangerous. He leaned in, so close that his breath brushed against her ear.

“Then I’ll make sure you do.”

A shiver ran down her spine. She wasn’t sure if it was fear, frustration, or something else entirely, but she hated how easily he got under her skin.

San finally pulled away, stepping toward the bed. “Enough talking. Get some rest,” he said as he slid under the covers.

YN remained frozen for a moment before finally standing up and making her way to the bed as well. She didn’t want to sleep beside him, but what choice did she have? He had made it clear before—she wasn’t allowed to sleep anywhere else.

As she lay down, she kept her back to him, her body stiff. But just as she was beginning to relax, she felt an arm snake around her waist, pulling her against his chest. San let out a satisfied sigh, nuzzling into her hair. “Good night, princess,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement.

YN clenched her eyes shut, willing herself to ignore the way her heart pounded in her chest.

The grand wedding was too much for her. It was lavish, flamboyant, and overwhelming in every possible way. The palace was adorned with the finest silks, golden drapes cascading from the ceilings, and chandeliers that glowed like captured stardust. The scent of exotic flowers filled the air, blending with the rich aroma of feast preparations. It was a celebration fit for a queen—his queen.

Everybody took part. Nobles from distant lands arrived in their most extravagant attire, offering their congratulations to the man who had conquered not only kingdoms but now a bride. The halls echoed with the sound of music, laughter, and endless chatter about the union of King San and the fallen princess of Eldoria.

YN felt suffocated. She stood stiffly in her wedding attire, the fabric embroidered with gold, heavy on her shoulders, as if it were trying to crush her under its weight. Her hands trembled in her lap, fingers tightening around the delicate bouquet she held.

This was it.

There was no escape now.

San was standing tall beside her, dressed in his royal robes, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He looked utterly at ease, smirking at the guests as if this was just another victory in his long list of triumphs. His hand found hers, his grip firm, possessive.

"Smile," he whispered in her ear, his voice dripping with amusement. "It’s your big day, after all."

YN forced her lips to curve slightly, but she knew it didn’t reach her eyes.

The ceremony proceeded like a dream—a slow, painful one. Vows were exchanged, oaths were sealed, and with a smirk playing on his lips, San lifted her veil.

Her breath hitched as he leaned in, his fingers tilting her chin up, his gaze burning into hers before he finally captured her lips in a deep, claiming kiss.

The crowd erupted into cheers.

She closed her eyes, feeling the world spin.

She was no longer Princess YN of Eldoria.

She was now Queen YN of his empire.

The wedding feast stretched late into the night, filled with music, laughter, and the glow of golden candlelight. YN sat beside San, her hands folded neatly in her lap, feeling the weight of the rings on her fingers—symbols of a union she had never wished for. The grand hall was alive with celebration, nobles raising their goblets in toasts to their new king and queen, but YN barely touched her food. She felt like an outsider at her own wedding, trapped in a gilded cage.

San, however, was completely at ease. He carried himself like a man who had won—not just a war, but her. He accepted congratulations with his usual smirk, his presence commanding the room. Yet, no matter how many people spoke to him, his gaze always found its way back to her. Watching her. Studying her. As if trying to figure out what was going on inside that stubborn little head of hers.

As the night drew to a close, he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “Time to go, princess.” His voice was softer than usual, almost teasing, but it sent a shiver down her spine nonetheless.

She hesitated, but he took her hand, guiding her through the grand halls. His grip was firm but not forceful. People bowed as they passed, whispering about how stunning she looked, how perfect they seemed together. But only she knew the truth.

When they reached the royal bedchamber, the doors shut behind them with a quiet finality. The room was breathtaking—grand and luxurious, with deep crimson drapes and gold accents, the massive bed taking up the center like a throne of its own. The air was thick with the scent of burning candles and something else—something distinctly him.

She stood there, frozen, unsure of what to do.

San turned to her, watching her closely. “You look tense,” he murmured, taking a step forward.

She refused to respond.

He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. Then, with an ease that made her heart stutter, he started undoing the layers of his royal attire. The heavy coat was the first to go, then the rings on his fingers, the golden chains around his neck. By the time he was left in just his loose white shirt and dark pants, he looked almost… different. Less like a conqueror. More like a man.

Still, she took a small step back.

She swallowed, forcing herself to glare at him. “Marriage doesn’t mean you own me.”

He exhaled a soft chuckle, his fingers brushing through his dark hair before he looked at her again—this time, without mockery. “I know.” His voice was quiet, honest. “But I will take care of you. No matter what you think of me.”

She blinked, taken aback.

San moved to the other side of the room, pulling off his rings and setting them on the nightstand before sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked at her once more, this time without the sharpness he usually carried.

YN stood in the center of the grand chamber, the weight of her wedding dress suddenly unbearable. Layers of embroidered silk and heavy jewels clung to her like a second skin, suffocating her. She barely had the energy to stand, let alone deal with the exhaustion creeping into her bones.

San, lounging on the edge of the bed, watched her with an unreadable expression. She hesitated, gripping the delicate embroidery of her sleeves. She needed to take it off, but she wasn’t exactly comfortable stripping in front of him.

San, as if reading her mind, let out a quiet chuckle. “You’re struggling.” He pushed off the bed, walking towards her with slow, confident steps. “Want my help?”

“No,” she answered quickly, stepping back.

He smirked but said nothing. Instead, he strolled toward a corner of the room, where a silk robe had been neatly placed. He grabbed it and held it out to her. “Wear this after.”

She stared at it for a moment before snatching it from his hands. She expected him to watch, but instead, he turned his back to her.

Surprised by his rare display of restraint, she wasted no time undoing the dozens of tiny clasps running down the back of her dress. The fabric slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet. She hurriedly pulled the robe over herself, the soft material a welcome relief against her skin.

“I’m done,” she muttered.

San turned back around, his gaze flickering over her once before he let out a satisfied hum. “Better.” Then, without another word, he strolled back to the bed, lying down like he owned the world.

She hesitated before following, keeping to the very edge of the mattress.

San turned his head to look at her, his dark eyes holding a glint of amusement. “You act like I bite.”

“You do bite,” she shot back.

He laughed, low and deep, before closing his eyes. “Only when necessary.”

She rolled her eyes and turned her back to him, ignoring the way his voice sent an annoying warmth through her.

As she tried to sleep, she could still feel the weight of his presence behind her—the king who had taken everything from her. And yet, for some reason, he hadn’t taken this.

Not yet.

As she lay on the vast bed, wrapped in the silk robe he had given her, YN couldn’t help but let her thoughts wander. She had read enough books to know how forced marriages usually played out. The stories always spoke of cruelty, of brides being nothing more than prizes to be taken. She had braced herself for that kind of fate.

But San… didn’t do it.

Instead, he was—dare she even think it?—soft. Not in the way a gentle prince would be, not in the way fairytales promised love and warmth. No, San was still dangerous, still sharp-edged, but there was something different about him tonight.

She had expected him to take what he wanted without question. To claim her the way men like him always did in stories. But instead, he had turned his back when she changed. He had given her space. He had simply laid down, his presence commanding yet oddly non-threatening.

Like a kitten, she thought absently, though the image almost made her want to laugh. A very large, very terrifying kitten with claws that could tear you apart.

She shifted slightly, stealing a glance at him. He was lying on his back, one arm lazily draped behind his head, his dark eyes half-lidded as he stared at the ceiling. He looked… relaxed.

Not once had he touched her inappropriately. Not once had he made any crude remarks. (He literally choked you but ok ig)

Why?

She turned her face away, staring at the soft glow of the lanterns instead. Maybe this was just another manipulation tactic. Maybe he was waiting for her to let her guard down. Or maybe… maybe some small part of him actually saw her as more than just a prize.

The thought unsettled her.

Because deep down, she knew that if San ever decided he wanted something, nothing in the world could stop him from taking it. And she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know what would happen if he ever decided he truly wanted her.

YN blinked sleepily, her vision still hazy from sleep. She stretched her arms lazily, her long sleeves slipping past her hands as she let out a small, muffled yawn. Her hair was a complete mess, strands sticking out in every direction, framing her sleepy face in an unintentionally adorable way.

Her eyes, still heavy with sleep, searched the room, expecting to see San beside her—but his side of the bed was empty. Still wrapped in the warmth of the blankets, she turned her head, and there he was.

San sat at his desk, his posture relaxed but commanding, one hand holding a pen as he wrote something with effortless ease. The soft glow of the morning light caught his features just right—his sharp jawline, his dark tousled hair, the way his white shirt clung to his frame, the top few buttons left undone, revealing a glimpse of his collarbone.

For the first time, he didn’t look like a monster. He looked… almost like a king should. Regal, composed, focused. Normal.

YN rubbed her eyes, still trying to shake off the last remnants of sleep. She tilted her head slightly, observing him, her lips unconsciously forming a small pout.

Why did he have to look that good in the morning? It was unfair.

As if sensing her gaze, San suddenly looked up. His piercing eyes met hers instantly, and for a second, neither of them spoke. His lips curled into a small, amused smirk as he leaned back in his chair.

“Did you sleep well, little princess?” His voice was deep, still carrying the remnants of sleep, and for some reason, it made her stomach do a weird little flip.

She blinked at him, still too groggy to properly respond, and just gave a slow, sleepy nod.

San chuckled, shaking his head. “You look like a little kitten.”

“I do not.”

But with her messy hair, half-lidded eyes, and small, sleepy pout, she absolutely did. And San looked far too entertained by it.

YN groggily got out of bed, her bare feet touching the cold floor as she stumbled slightly. She was still shaking off sleep, her body not fully awake yet. Without thinking, she made her way to the bathroom, craving the warmth of a shower to clear her mind.

By the time she emerged, she felt fresher, more alert. Her damp hair clung to her shoulders, the scent of soap and flowers lingering around her. But now, standing in the middle of the grand room, she realized—she had no idea what to do next.

Her life had always been structured, filled with responsibilities, duties, and expectations. But here? She had nothing. No routine, no obligations. No real freedom, either. Without really thinking, she turned towards the only person who did know what to do.

San.

He was still at his desk, leaning back in his chair, one hand propped under his chin as he watched her approach. His sharp eyes scanned her from head to toe, taking in her fresh appearance, his lips twitching into something close to a smirk. She stopped in front of him, hesitating. Now fully awake, she felt slightly embarrassed that she had come to him of all people. But she pushed past it and, in a soft voice, asked,

“…What should I do now?”

San’s smirk deepened, his gaze flickering with amusement. He rested his elbow on the arm of his chair, tilting his head as he looked up at her.

“You’re asking me?” he mused, his voice slow, teasing. “What a good little wife you are.”

YN’s cheeks heated instantly. “That’s not—!”

San chuckled, waving a hand. “Relax, princess. You’re free to do whatever you want.”

Her brows furrowed. Free? That word felt strange coming from his mouth.

San, sensing her doubt, leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to something softer. “Go walk around. Read. Sit by the window and braid your hair, since you love doing that.” His eyes glinted with something unreadable. “Or… you can just sit here and keep me company.”

YN bit her lip. None of those things felt fulfilling. But at least now, she knew one thing—San wasn’t planning to throw her back into isolation. For now.

YN stood there, fidgeting slightly, as the realization settled in. She didn’t know what to do. It was a strange, unsettling feeling—one she had never truly experienced before.

Back in her kingdom, her days were always planned for her. From the moment she woke up to the moment she went to bed, every decision had already been made—what she wore, what she studied, where she went, how she behaved. And now, standing here with the freedom to choose, she felt... lost.

San, who had been watching her closely, let out a small chuckle. He leaned back in his chair, arms folded over his chest, looking effortlessly regal even in his relaxed posture. “What’s with that face, princess?” he mused. “You act like I just handed you the entire world.”

YN glanced at him, biting her lip. Maybe because, in a way, you did.

San tilted his head, studying her. Then, in a softer voice, he said, “You’re older now. You don’t need someone to tell you what to do every second of the day.” He tapped his fingers against the armrest. “So, tell me, what do you want to do?”

YN hesitated. She had never really been asked that before. What did she want? Then, almost instinctively, she looked up at him and answered, “I want to cook.” San blinked, clearly not expecting that answer. Then, slowly, a smirk stretched across his lips. “Cook?” he repeated, amusement dancing in his dark eyes.

She nodded, a bit more firmly this time. “Yes.”

San exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Of all things…” He stood up, towering over her, before placing a hand under her chin, tilting her face up to look at him properly. “You really are full of surprises, aren’t you?”

YN swallowed, her breath hitching at how close he was. His fingers were warm against her skin, his touch gentle despite the sheer power he held.

Then, after a beat of silence, he let go and stepped back. “Fine,” he said lazily. “Let’s see what my little wife can do in the kitchen.”

YN had never felt this kind of nervousness before. She had fought battles of words, endured royal duties, and faced San’s unnerving presence more times than she could count. But this? Watching him take the first bite of the food she cooked with her own hands? It was a different kind of pressure.

She sat stiffly across from him at the long dining table, pretending to focus on her plate, but her eyes kept flickering toward him. He hadn’t said a word yet, just cutting into the dish and bringing a bite to his lips.

San chewed slowly, his face unreadable. YN gripped the fabric of her dress beneath the table. Is it bad?

Then, finally, he swallowed. He set his fork down, wiping the corner of his mouth with deliberate ease before turning his gaze to her.

“You were a princess,” he mused, voice slow and deep. “Raised in luxury, surrounded by servants to do everything for you.”

YN tensed, unsure where this was going.

“And yet,” he continued, dragging his thumb across the table absentmindedly, “you can cook like this?”

Her lips parted slightly. “I… I learned from the palace chefs,” she admitted. “They were kind enough to teach me when I was younger.” San hummed, leaning back in his chair. Then, to her shock, he smirked. “You’re full of surprises, wife.”

YN blinked, heat creeping up her neck. “So… does that mean you like it?”

San tilted his head, his smirk deepening as he picked up his fork again. “I don’t just like it,” he said, taking another bite. “I might just keep you in the kitchen forever.”

She frowned. “That’s not funny.”

San chuckled, the sound smooth and rich. “Oh, but it is.” He motioned toward her plate. “Now eat. You put in all that effort—don’t let it go to waste.”

YN exhaled, shaking her head but finally picking up her utensils.

And though she wouldn’t admit it, a small, almost unnoticeable smile played on her lips as she started eating.

San never thought he was capable of feeling guilt. He was a man who took what he wanted, ruled with an iron fist, and never once looked back at the wreckage he left behind. But YN… she had undone something in him. What started as twisted obsession had transformed into something deeper—something he couldn't even name. Love wasn't enough to describe it. He adored her, worshipped her in ways that made even him question his sanity. And yet, with every stolen glance, every soft sigh that escaped her lips when she thought he wasn’t listening, he felt the weight of his past actions press down on him. He had humiliated her. Broken her pride. Forced her into this marriage without a choice.

And yet, here she was. Cooking for him. Talking to him. Looking at him like he was a person, not a monster.

San watched her as she ate, completely unaware of the war raging in his mind. He could see the faint traces of her old self still lingering—the stubbornness, the quiet grace, the warmth she carried even when she tried to keep it from him. And for the first time, he found himself wanting something different. He wanted her to look at him without fear. He wanted her to choose him, not just accept him as an unchangeable fate.

San clenched his jaw, setting his fork down. He was not a man who apologized, not a man who begged for forgiveness. But for her? He would find a way to make things right, even if he didn’t deserve it.

San stood near the dresser, watching her through the mirror’s reflection. Her legs dangled off the edge of the bed, her bare feet swinging slightly. She looked small like this, lost in thought, her fingers absentmindedly fidgeting with the hem of her nightgown.

He sighed softly, running a hand through his dark hair before walking over to her. He crouched down, resting his forearms on his knees so they were at eye level. “You look tired,” he murmured, voice softer than usual.

YN blinked at him, a little caught off guard. He was always intense—dangerous—but tonight, there was something different about him. His eyes weren’t as sharp, his usual arrogance replaced with something quieter.

She shrugged, looking away. “I suppose”.

San hummed, tilting his head slightly. Then, without warning, he reached for her foot, gently holding her ankle in his large hand. YN stiffened, watching him closely, but he only smirked. “Relax,” he said, sliding his thumb in slow circles over her skin.

“What are you doing?” she asked, wary.

He lifted her foot slightly, resting it on his knee. “Something a loving husband would do.”

Her breath caught.

San’s touch was uncharacteristically gentle as he began to massage her foot, his fingers pressing into the arch, kneading away the tension she hadn’t realized she was holding. The warmth of his hands sent a shiver up her spine, and she had to remind herself to breathe.

She swallowed hard. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument.

YN’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out. She only watched as he worked, her heart pounding against her ribs.

San’s gaze flickered up to hers, and for once, there was no wicked glint in his eyes, no teasing smirk. Just something raw and real. “I know I’ve been… cruel,” he admitted, his voice low. “But I want to be better for you.”

Her breath hitched. She wasn’t sure what to say—wasn’t sure if she believed him. But for now, she let him hold her foot in his hands, let herself enjoy the rare moment of peace between them.

Because, for the first time, San wasn’t just claiming her.

He was asking for her.

YN sat there, her legs dangling over the edge of the tall bed, watching San with cautious eyes. She didn’t know what to expect from him anymore. He had been cruel, manipulative—everything about him had terrified her. And yet, in these past days, she had seen glimpses of something else. Something she didn’t understand.

And now, he was kneeling in front of her, holding her leg in his strong yet gentle grasp, his forehead pressed against her knee.

Her breath caught in her throat. The mighty king, the man who had stolen her life away, was bowing his head as if he was asking for forgiveness. It felt unreal.

San’s voice was quiet when he finally spoke, like he was afraid to break whatever fragile moment had settled between them. “I’ve hurt you so much, haven’t I?”

YN stiffened, her fingers clutching the fabric of her nightgown.

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

San lifted his head slightly, just enough to look up at her. His dark eyes were no longer filled with their usual amusement, arrogance, or hunger. Instead, they held something else—something softer, more vulnerable. And the way he looked at her... how did he make his eyes look like that? Like a desperate plea. Like an apology.

She hated that it made her feel something.

His thumb brushed over her ankle, slow and deliberate, as if grounding himself in the touch. “I can’t take it back,” he murmured. “Everything I’ve done to you… I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness.” He exhaled shakily, closing his eyes for a brief moment before looking up again. “But I want to change. For you.”

YN’s heart betrayed her by skipping a beat.

No. No, she couldn’t let herself believe this.

This was the same man who had humiliated her, who had forced her into a life she never wanted. She should push him away, tell him that no matter what he did, she would never forgive him. And yet…

Her fingers twitched in her lap. And for some reason, she didn’t move.

She felt lost. Confused. Torn between everything she knew and everything she was starting to feel. Her chest tightened, her throat burned, and before she could stop it, her eyes welled up with frustration. “Why?” Her voice was quiet, shaky. “Why do you do this to me?”

San looked at her, his grip on her leg tightening just slightly. His face remained unreadable, but his fingers betrayed him, twitching against her skin as if he feared she’d pull away.

YN swallowed hard, blinking back the tears threatening to spill. “Why do you make it so hard to hate you?”

She wanted to. She was supposed to. She should hate him for taking her from her home, for forcing her into this life, for every cruel smirk, every mocking word, every time he made her feel powerless. She should despise him for turning her world upside down. And yet—

He was the only one in her world now. No family. No kingdom. No one else. Just him. And somehow, that realization terrified her more than anything else.

She broke.

Tears spilled down her cheeks, one after another, until she couldn't stop them. Her shoulders shook, her breathing came out in ragged gasps, and all the pain, all the frustration, all the confusion poured out of her in waves.

San couldn’t watch it. He couldn’t bear it. He got up and pulled her into his arms without hesitation. His grip was tight—desperate, almost—as if he wanted to merge with her, to keep her so close that nothing, not even the pain he had caused, could separate them.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was low, rough, yet softer than she had ever heard it before. He pressed his face against her hair, holding her tighter, rocking her slightly. “I’m so sorry.”

She cried even harder.

Hearing that from him—this man who had only ever taken from her, who had controlled her life in ways she never imagined—made her sob until she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

And then his next words came, whispered against her temple, like a vow only she was meant to hear.

“I promise you, YN. I’ll be a good husband.”

His arms tightened around her. “I’ll make this right.”

She wanted to believe him.

She clung to him.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping tightly as if he was the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely. She buried her face into his shoulder, her sobs muffled against his warmth.

San felt it. The way she held onto him—not out of love, not yet, but out of a desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, he could make the pain go away. That he could fix what he had broken.

His arms wrapped around her even tighter, his hand stroking her back in slow, steady motions. “I know,” he whispered, his voice laced with regret. “I know I hurt you.”

She didn’t respond. Just held on.

And San swore, in that moment, he would do anything—anything—to make it better. To deserve the way she was holding him now.

Divider from @/cafekitsune

[kissktten]

itoshi rin

rin loves his cutesy girlfriend.

you’re just so adorable!! your hand clasping his, tugging him along as you practically bounce with each step you take. rin promised to come with you to the store— so, here he is, trailing behind his petty girlfriend as she smiles so brightly.

it’s almost laughable, really. a tall, stoic soccer player and probably the girliest girl around. and if rin’s being honest, he loves it!

he’s more than happy to kneel down in the middle of the street, slim hands reaching to adjust the cute frills of your socks before redoing the buckles on your adorable little mary janes.

and rin definitely doesn’t mind holding all your bags, shaking his head at you and insisting it’s fine, and that he can hold them, when you try and tell him you can carry them yourself.

rin has also become your backup whenever you’re at stores.

“i had it first!” some lady shouts at you, her ugly nose scrunching as her hands curls into a fist. “give it back!”

you can tell that she’s only so territorial over the dress because she wants to sell it for triple the price on one of those dumb websites.

“i was literally holding it and you tried to snatch it away from me.” you deadpan, looking back at the woman with an unamused expression. like a cute little copy of rin, if you look close enough.

“liar!” she shrieks in that annoyingly loud voice of hers, and her bony hand curls into a fist— is she going to . . . ?

too bad for her, you have a boyfriend that is definitely not going to let his girlfriend get punched over a damn dress.

his hand grabs her wrist, and the glare he sends to her speaks volumes. guess she didn’t need the dress that much anyways, because she’s quick to scramble away— leaving you, and rin, victorious.

when you get home, rin’s feeling almost excited to watch your little fashion show. it’s a tradition the two of you have— after every single shopping trip, you need to put on everything you get and show off a little.

rin loves it. he loves you.

“very cute, baby.” he’d say, a hand lifting up to adjust the frills of your new skirt. “the colour is nice. a new shade of pink?”

he’s become surprisingly good with colours. at the start of your relationship, it didn’t matter to him— pink was pink and white was white. but now, he’s able to notice even the smallest changes of shades. you’ve trained him well !

rin has also just resigned himself to becoming your personal accessory tester.

“awe, you look so handsome!” you coo, fixing one of the many bows you had clipped into his soft hair. “my little princess.”

yes, in this relationship rin is the princess. the pretty princess, actually.

“thank you, lovely.” he hums, hands gently smoothing over the fabric of your pants. you’re staying at home today, so you haven’t changed pyjamas yet— but you still just look so cute!

of course, rin always has to match with you. wearing cute little pyjamas with paw prints everywhere, the light pink all pretty and cute and so very out of place for a man like rin.

masterlist.

note: i’d like to write more of rin x his cutesy pretty girlfriend . . . should iiiiii???

[theemporium]

i know lukey went back to mich for the break but could you do a smutty blurb on him and his girlfriend having the place to themselves and she’s still trying to stay quiet as he goes down on her but he’s just telling her she can be as loud as she wants?

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

It was pure instinct. 

You were sprawled out on his bed, gripping the sheets between your fingers and fighting the urge to arch yourself further into his touch. He was nestled between your legs, arms locked around your thighs and hips grinding down into the mattress as he ate you out. It was truly a sight to see, with his cheeks flushed and curls falling in front of his eyes and the noises he made against your cunt.

It was really fucking hot, you couldn’t not react to it. 

It was a pure driven instinct from the many times you had found yourself in this position before to smack a hand over your mouth, to muffle the noises that were threatening to escape. You twisted your head, prepared to nuzzle your face against your pillow like you usually did before Luke made you came. 

However, instead you found yourself blinking your eyes open in confusion as Luke stopped everything he was doing and lightly pinched your thigh to get your attention. 

“Luke,” and you weren’t even embarrassed to admit it was basically a whimper. 

But Luke didn’t seem to acknowledge it as he frowned at you. “Why did you do that?” 

It felt like a herculean task to fight through the fog in your brain to process his question. “What?” 

“Why did you do that?” Luke repeated, still between your legs with his lips and chin glistening under the soft light of his bedroom.

Your confusion grew. “What are you—” 

“I am making you feel good, right?” Luke asked with an expression on his face you had never seen before. 

“Yes,” you answered instantly before sitting up a little until you were on your elbows. “And I was kinda hoping you would make me come too but—” 

“Then why aren’t you letting me hear how good I’m making you feel?” Luke retorted, watching the way your lips parted a little at his blunt words. “No need to hide, baby. There’s no one but me and you.” 

“I—” You cleared your throat a little. “I forgot.” 

Luke’s smile turned wolfish as he squeezed your thighs until they were pressed against the sides of his head. “S’okay, baby, you can make it up to me. Tell me how good I’m doing.” 

You huffed out a laugh. “You athletes and your insatiable praise kinks.”

Luke didn’t respond, not with words at least. Instead, there was a glint in his eyes (something quite like determination) as he leaned his head back down and kept his eyes locked on you as he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking noisily and obscenely just to watch the way your body arched off the bed.

“Oh, fuck,” you cried out, a choked out whimper escaping between the words as he tugged you closer to him. “Shit, fine! Deserved praise kink! Fuck, Luke, just like that.” 

You swore you could feel the fucker smiling against your cunt, but considering he was making you come minutes later, you decided against calling him out on it and instead utilised the empty apartment.

.

[shujichii]

your husband who loved calling you his wife— even outside of moments of necessity.

and the most fascinating part? he wasn't even aware of the fact how often he did it. he knew he did say it, but he wasn't aware of the fact how often he did. those two words, simple yet undeniably laced together with love and reverence, often tumbled out of his mouth before his brain could catch up.

"my wife would like these flowers," he had said to the wholesome elderly florist when he was about to buy a bouquet of your favorite flowers before returning home to you, his wallet— which had a small polaroid of you in it, by the way— already in hand.

"my wife did mention this the other day, now that i think about it." he had said to his friend who was rambling about the latest trending internet gossip.

"for my wife. i trust there isn't an issue?" he had simply said to the cashier upon noticing the way they lifted an eyebrow at the grocery basket filled to the brim with your favorite snacks, to which they gave a solemn, approving nod at his answer. good husband.

"my wife went out to run an errand, but she'll be back soon." he had even said to your best friend when they came to visit you, to which they replied with a very teasing smirk; "you could just say her name, y'know."

"a reservation for my wife and i, please."

"sorry, my wife is waiting for me. i must take my leave now."

"yes, that's my wife— i'm quite proud of her."

"I can take it from here, sweetheart. can't have my beautiful wife overworking herself now, can i?"

and the list went on.

and yet, you didn't mind it. not at all— you had no reason to. your heart always did that funny little flip whenever he'd call you his wife the way he did, the corner of your lips never failing to curl into a smile. he would always say it so naturally— so genuinely, like those words were etched onto his soul for your very existence alone. and you certainly didn't miss the way his tone would sound a touch softer everytime he referred to you, like you needed to be spoken of with the utmost care and gentleness.

so, one day, you decided it was about time you struck.

"you call me that a lot."

his hands— which were reaching for the kitchen towel to dry his hands with after washing the dishes, yes, the dishes because chores are shared in this household— paused midway. he turned his head to look at you, where you had been perched on the counter, your legs swaying ever so slightly.

"call you what?" he inquired with a small tilt of his head, reaching for the towel at last and patting his hands dry.

"you know, your wife."

he immediately caught onto the teasing glint in your eyes, yet; it was unmistakably edged with a hint of affection.

for a moment, he just stood there wordlessly, blinking once, then twice, his brain taking its sweet, sweet time to allow your words to sink in. you, on the other hand, were practically straining your eyes to catch on any shifts in his expression or posture.

and then, you caught it; the faint reddening of the tips of his ears. he subtly cleared his throat, and your smile stretched into a grin.

alas, that dazzling curve of your lips disappeared as soon as it appeared when the man suddenly approached you in a swift few strides, standing between your legs and pressing his palms on either side of the counter which you sat on to cage you in.

you blinked.

"i do, yes."

he didn't even try to deny it. well, he didn't have a reason to. you were his wife, after all. where was the lie in that? and of course, he was absolutely proud of it.

then, he leaned in slightly, his tone lowering. "unless you prefer i stop calling you that?"

oh, now he was the one with that mischievous little twinkle in his eyes. inwardly, you faltered at the sudden boldness of his actions, your fingertips twitching against the surface of the counter. but outwardly? two can play the game.

then, with a deceptively sweet smile, you tilted your head, shot your hand forward and yanked on the collar of his shirt with force— his body jerking towards you.

"not at all," you smirked, inching closer. "i can't say i mind when my sweet husband calls me that."

his confidence faltered for a moment. you were about to internally celebrate your small victory until one of his hands slid up from the counter, now resting on your hips, his fingertips lightly pressing into your skin.

".. let's hear that again."

let's just say, ever since that faithful encounter, "my husband" had also started slipping out.

and every time? it got to him. oh, it definitely did.

(not my second fluff also taking place in the kitchen lol. i promise it's gonna be different next time.)

♡ nanami kento, geto suguru, fushiguro megumi (jjk), zayne, sylus (lads), wriothesley, neuvillette, alhaitham, diluc, ayato (genshin), jiyan, xiangli yao (wuwa), jugram haschwalth (self indulgence because i love him.), kuchiki byakuya, ishida uryuu, ishida ryuken (bleach), anyone else you'd like.

[mv1simp]

Often ♥️

Mafia!Max Verstappen x Reader

she asked me if I do this everyday, I said often (asked her how many times she rode the wave, not so often)

You’re a hard working, intelligent medical student - at the top of her class. Desperate to pay off your debts, you end up bartending in Monaco’s most exclusive nightclub….and catch the eye of the mafia boss who runs half the city, Max Verstappen. And now that he’s found you, he’s never letting you go.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, size kink, dom/sub themes, dark mafia!max, innocent student! reader tryna pay her bills, sugar daddy vibes

It had truly meant to be a one time thing. You’d been strapped for cash, as per usual - stretching yourself thin with your overpriced rent in your tiny one bedroom apartment in a dodgy area, with your utility bills, your parent’s monthly mortgage payments. And of course, the costliest expense of all was your goddamn medical degree. You were in your final year, so close to the end that you could almost taste it.

Maybe that’s what made you say yes to one of the other tutors you work with at your university tutoring job, when she sees you at your second job later than evening tidying up at a local clinic, and then your third the next morning where you hand her a fresh iced coffee you’ve brewed. You know, she says in a hushed tone, leaning in rather conspiratorially. You’re going to work yourself to the bone, with three jobs and putting yourself through med school?

You wave her off with a practised cheerful smile, used to hiding your tiredness from your peers who all thought of you as a model student. But when she persisted, texting you the details of her mysterious cousin who worked at some bar downtown and earned one thousands dollars in a single night…you couldn’t help but being intrigued. You were cautious about it, of course, asking to meet the cousin - Layla - at the coffee shop you worked at. And when she told you about the VIP club, JimmyZ, that she worked at - nothing like those sleazy stripclubs downtown, she hastily reassured, seeing the nervous look on your face. No, JimmyZ was an exclusive club, only for the rich and elite who enjoyed throwing stacks of cash for bags of cocaine and exotic dancers. That’s what Layla called herself, but you still privately think it’s a glorified term for a stripper, as you watch her on stage from your corner in the bar with mixed feelings of awe at how sexy she looks, and discomfort from the sleazy gazes on her.

You’d somehow been talked into helping bartend for a night, Layla having mentioned that you were the perfect girl for the kind of men who came to JimmyZ. At your insulted expression, she giggled, saying that she was trying to saw you had an angelic, natural beauty about you, exactly the kind of authenticity the clientele liked to see instead of the more artificial look found at cheaper clubs. You looked at her skeptically, but still ended up lured in to try and make your rent that month. And after your first night, where you noted impressive amounts of security protecting the gorgeous dancing girls on stage, you felt yourself seduced by the offer of a single night at JimmyZ making up for an entire weeks of your previous job’s earning.

So before you knew it, you’d been working steadily for a couple of months now, finding yourself at a familiar ease behind the bar as you expertly poured drinks and humming the sensual music. You loved the job, with its high pay meaning you had time to focus on your studies again, and last month you’d even topped your class in one of your exams! Of course, it came with its risks - you worked well through the middle of busy weekend nights, many curious and lustful gazes on you from men who enjoyed the skimpy bartender uniform you had to wear. A tight, low cut white button up shirt that showed off your cleavage, and a miniskirt that came dangerously close to flashing someone when you bent over, paired with heeled knee high boots. It was certainly not the type of usual thing you wore, with your conservative full sleeve tops and flattering jeans with scuffed converse that you recycled constantly given your tight budget. But after some adjusting of your long curls hiding your cleavage and avoiding any eye contact skittishly with any man who looked at you too closely, you found yourself falling into an easy rhythm at work.

Until one evening, a Friday night before some big racing event in the city, meaning the club was even more packed that usual with clubgoers overflowing out the entrance and bass thumping down the street. Your boss had found you as you checked in for your late night shift, rapidly saying something about how the owner was visiting tonight and there weren't enough girls for the show, could you help out just this once-

Despite your adamant protests and squeaks that you absolutely could not, would not go on stage, you find yourself shoved into the backstage room to get ready, or risk losing your job permanently, your boss says meanly before storming off. Your lip trembles in anxiety, at the thought of someone recognising you tonight and then seeing you working as a doctor after your graduated. You'd lose your reputation before you could even start your career. You feel lost in the bright makeup room, surrounded by stunning, slim women who had their hair blown own perfectly and makeup done to perfection. You never imagined that you'd have to be up on stage with the beautiful dancers, who you looked so plain standing next too. A few toss you sympathetic looks but are too busy getting ready themselves to help you - until Layla enters and catches sight of your shaking form. She scowls when you tearfully tell her what the boss had said, but gives you a firm pep talk as she quickly helps you get ready. You've barely used any of the dozens of makeup products she has open on the counter, never having had any money to spend on nice clothes or jewellery to spoil yourself with.

But you feel yourself start to settle as she hands you a shot of tequila, then another for confidence, as she guides you through how to navigate the stage, how it was all about faking it till you make it!

You nod determinedly as she coaches you, before quickly getting change into a glittery strappy piece of fabric she hands you, with strappy heels to match. It takes you a few minutes to adjust to the height, but you find yourself being able to walk comfortably in them. When you come out from the side room to show Layla, the rest of the girls in the room stop in their tracks and look at you with renewed interest, yelling out whoops of encouragements about how hot you looked, girl! You flush with the praise, eyeing yourself in the mirror every few minutes as this pretty girl you didn't recognise stared at you. With lush, long curls styled messily, and wide, doe eyed eyes framed in smoky liner and glittery eyeshadow, and full, pouty glossed lips. And your body, which you'd been feeling so insecure about compared to the other dancers, looked undeniably sexy in a shimmery gold minidress that was so short it showed off the swell of your thick ass and chubby thighs invitingly. See, Layla says rather smugly as she comes up behind you. I told you, face of an angel with a body of a dancer. The audience is going to go feral for you.

And she was right, when an hour later and another practise session later, this time with the aid of the other dancers as they critiqued your form, you find yourself on one of the three stages the club had throughout its two levels. If there’s one thing you pride yourself on, it’s being a quick learner. You relax, letting yourself get lost in the music as a sensual song by The Weeknd croons over the speakers. The other girls had told you that dancing could also be fun, empowering, and make you feel in control - and you know understood what they meant as you sway your body enticingly on the stage, running your hands across your tits where your cleavage shows through the low neckline. At least in a club like JimmyZ, which had the reputation of luxury and class to uphold, the dancers wore skimpy outfits but never got fully naked like at a proper stripclub. You made full use of this small mercy, giving teasing flashes of your cleavage and ass but never actually taking your tiny glittery dress off. You could feel dozens of eyes fixed on every movement you made, every toss of your curls, every breathy sigh and bounce of your ass as you let yourself get lost in the beat.

But there's one set of piercing blue eyes that you keep finding your wide eyes returning to curiously. A man you’ve never seen before is seated in one of the VIP lounges a level above and directly in front of your elevated stage. He’s tall and muscular, with messy blonde hair and the most gorgeous eyes you’ve ever seen. And to pull it off, he’s lounging comfortable on a leather sofa, well dressed in a fitted white shirt and jeans, his intense gaze roaming over your dancing body while everyone around him was standing up and hollering towards the dancers on the stage.

He looked like a lion amongst the pack of sheep, and you couldn’t help but bat your lashes in his direction just a bit more as a spark of attraction flutters within you. You've never felt so desirable in your life, and the rush it gives you is addictive. Your show is over before you know it, with enthused yells and demands for an Encore! from the frenzied crowd around your stage as clubgoers migrated to see your show instead of the two others. You giggle coyly, finding this new, confident side of yourself so much more fun than your usual run down, shy one. Stacks of paper notes have been tossed up on your stage and the bouncers dutifully collect it up to bring to you backstage. You blow a kiss into the air for the crowd, but your eyes don’t leave the gorgeous mystery man’s when you do so.

Afterwards, the other girls are laughing and excitedly hugging you backstage, oohing over the stacks of money you’d made and saying you needed to start dancing as a regular at the club, you’d instantly become a favourite! As you giggled their encouragement off, the mood suddenly soured when your boss strode in and said there’s been a request for a private show.

This was the darker, naughtier side of JimmyZ - only offered to the filthy rich VIP clients who could afford the outrageous hourly rate for the prized, beautiful dancers at the club. You’d walked past the closed VIP lounge doors before, your face turning red from the excited moans of male and female pleasure and lewd sounds. It was highly secret, of course, so you’d never known to much about what it fully involved. But you’d have to get to know it tonight, when your boss's finger points past everyone to land on you, to say the request is for our latest dancer, who’s been hiding how much of a natural she is!

Your quickly shake your head, saying you weren’t comfortable with anything more - but your boss says you might want to hear how much he's offering to pay, first. I turned him down, too, saying you weren't one of the regular dancers...but he's very certain he can make it worth your while. When you hear the figure being offered, specifically just for you, your jaw drops. It's enough to pay your shitty rent for two whole months.

You still feel uneasy, because dancing was one thing but to go to a private room was another, and you weren't sure how you felt about using your body for money. In the end, you find yourself curious to go, to get that addictive feeling of desirability and swayed by the security of the income. You’re fully in control, Layla reassures, there’s security in the room the whole time if the client gets touchy. You just have to undress a bit, down to your underwear and give them a show, maybe a lap dance or two. Nothing more than a quick handjob at most, she insists. Then, seeing your face go red as you stammer in response, she pauses to ask that you had done that before, right?

You nod your head quickly, saying yes, of course, I'm 23! You’re too embarrassed to tell her that even though you’re in college, you’ve barely had any sexual experiences and have never had a boyfriend. There was never any time with all the jobs you worked and your full time degree. You’ve had quick, forgettable and sloppy drunk hookups, with uncomfortable fingering that didn’t make you cum or half hearted handjobs at frat parties. You’ve never had sex before, but you know there’s no point freaking out about that now when you’re commited to getting paid tonight. Besides, it was just a quick lap dance probably on some middle aged divorced guy, right?

You can do this, you tell yourself internally, this was nothing compared to dancing in front of hundred of strangers. Maybe this month you’d finally be able to buy some nice dresses and heels to treat yourself with. It can feel good, too Layla had added as she helped you touch up your lip gloss. For your own pleasure, I mean. If you let it, she says with a wink. Remember, you're in control!

When you finally enter the VIP room that night, you're shocked at the man who awaits you. Because it was certainly no sleazy middle aged man. The gorgeous blue eyed blonde from earlier looks up from his conversation at you, his lips quirking up as he sees your golden minidress sparkle in the dim light. You’re too caught off guard to move, but once he dismissed the other men he was talking to with a tilt of his hand, he beckons you over. With a backwards glance to make sure the bouncer stands guard at the door, you take a seat on the comfortable sofa next to him.

It turns out the mystery man isn't just handsome, but friendly, and funny too, with an infectious laugh that makes your heart race. He introduced himself as Max, in a delicious low Dutch accent, and offers you a drink. You politely decline, not wanting to be too disinhibited, but he pours you a glass of expensive whiskey to match the one in his hand anyways. When he asks you for your name, you give him a fake one - but his eyes darken as he tells you he doesn’t think you’re telling him the truth. I’ll call you whatever I want, then, he hums. Schatje seems very fitting for an angel like you. I hope you don’t mind that I asked to see you personally tonight. But the way you danced, I was completely entranced. And then when I saw your pretty face, these big doe eyes...well, I knew I had to meet you. No matter the cost.

You flush under the compliment from such an attractive man, now comfortably sipping on your whiskey. You're the one who's meant to be pleasing him, but it seemed he was more focused on your pleasure. He relaxes you into a surprisingly easy conversation, making you laugh with funny stories about his two house cats. How cute, you say wistfully when he shows you his saved album on his phone. You miss the way his icy eyes hungrily glance down your tempting neckline as you admire the photos, taking advantage of the angle. The tension eases from your stiff form and soon you find yourself leaning in closer to the tall, muscular blonde.

You’re a very charming talker, Max, you say coyly, your newfound confidence emerging as your attraction for him grows. I think you’ve earned your reward. He smirks as you easily climb onto his broad lap, gasping slightly from the feeling of his strong, muscular thighs beneath your soft ones. Soon you’re performing your little routine, giggling and tossing your hair, running wandering hands over yourself, squeezing your juicy tits so they popped in your small hands and make Max’s gaze narrow with desire. Layla had been right. You did feel in complete control, and your pussy throbbed in interest at the gorgeous man whose lap you sat on.

He leans back to appreciate the view and you feel lust cloud your senses from the addicting feeling of those heated blue eyes on you, mixing with the heady feeling from the expensive whiskey he’d offered. And then his fingers are skimming your waist, sending electric sparks shooting from the lightest of touches. You’re not supposed to touch, Max you say with a teasing voice, your playful smile giving away how you really felt. When you untie your dress straps, letting it fall down your waist to show him your chest, barely covered in a see through lacy bra, he lets out a low groan. C’mon, schat, he murmurs huskily. I’m meant to see the prettiest tits in my life and not even kiss them?

You giggle again, running small hands down his shirt as you slowly unbutton him to reveal a muscular, broad chest. He smirks as he watches you bite your lip as your eyes wander all the way down to his blonde happy trail, where your curious fingers have now stopped. What’s the matter, baby, he teases a little twistedly, because he knows exactly what’s stopping you. Never done this before?

You flush, but shake your head adamantly and denying his claim. Of course I have, you say with a defiant look, the competitive nature rising up as you continue to unzip his jeans. He finds your determination so cute, how hard you’re trying to please him, but you give your innocence away with a sudden gasp when his erect cock jumps out of his boxers to rest against his lower abs. It’s so big, you say with a tinge of nerves in your voice at the sight of his drooling, angry red rip. He distracts you with soft kisses to your neck, your cheeks before pressing his lips gently to yours. You can’t resist him either, leaning back in to recapture him in a deeper kiss as you two begin sloppily making out. It’s starting to feel so good, the way his skilled tongue explores your willing mouth, that you eagerly nod when he murmurs he’ll show you how to make him feel good, yeah?

And when his large hand takes yours and presses it right in between his large, spread thighs, he captures your gasps with his lips. He guides your trembling hands over his huge cock, one hand encircling both your palms around him, whispering naughty things in your ear. There you go, sweetheart, right from the tip and then down to the base in a twist, just like that. When you get confident and cutely spit a small glob on his shaft to start pumping him more furiously, he praises you even more. Fuck, you’re a natural, just perfect for me.

You blush under the praise, and together you both watch his cock swell even more with your dedicated handjob. He can’t resist giving you a deep kiss again as he sees the concentrated expression on your face. Doing so good for me, babygirl, Max murmurs as he breaks away for a second, admiring your swollen lips and dazed eyes. Here, let me make you feel good too, hmm?

You squeal in shock as his lips latch right onto your already hard nipples. Ma-Max! No touching, remember! You try to remind him breathlessly. He swirls his tongue around your areolas, one hand still guiding you to jerk him off and his other expertly squeezing and massaging your heaving tits. You very quickly find yourself distracted from his rule break as he spoils your sensitive nipples with attention. So distracted that you stop your handjob, making him pull away again and you whine from the loss of his talented tongue. He resists smirking as you practically push your jiggling tits in his face, your doe eyes begging him for more. I didn’t say you could stop jerking me off, baby, he says in mock disapproval. If you’re not going to be a good girl then you’ll have to say sorry some other way.

You tilt your head in confusion at his statement, when his strong hand tangles into your pretty curls and gently but firmly pushes your head down. Your eyes widen as you realise what he’s asking of you, and you stammer and try to weakly protest. It’s not that you aren’t into this; if anything, Max is the first guy you’ve ever felt such instant chemistry with. No - it’s that this feels so fast, too much too quick for your inexperience and self consciousness. You haven’t even processed just how far he’s planning on taking this and that technically you were selling yourself at some nightclub for his money. Besides, wasn’t there meant to be a guard here to stop the clients going too far? But when you quickly turn your head to look, Max’s hand relaxing briefly to let you peer around, you find yourself only becoming more anxious.

Because there’s no one else in the room.

Where did he go, you say, confused. I don’t understand, I thought he has to keep watch-Schatje, Max murmurs smoothly into your ear. I’m a possessive man. Did you really think I was going to let anyone else get a glimpse of what’s underneath your pretty dress? You gasp, heartbeat now fluttering rapidly from the confession that he’d been so taken with you with one look he wanted you all to himself. You’re half terrified of how much power this man seems to have, and half dizzy with pleasure that he finds you so desirable that he wants to stake his claim. He takes his time working you up again, running hands that were more like a lion’s large paws over your curves while he whispers sweet nothings in your ear, asking if you were ready to be a good girl for him.

A thought plants in your head then, as you nod obediently, and he presses a kiss to your curls to lower your head into his lap again. That Max wasn’t the sweet, gorgeous guy next door type he looked to be. No, this was someone with serious power and money, who apparently controlled the ins and outs of the most luxurious nightclub in the city as if it was his own. And tonight, for whatever reason, he wanted you.

It was just one night, right? You let yourself relax and get lost in the unfamiliar pleasure as you reassure yourself.

This time, your glossy pink lips part easily as you leave curious kitten licks to his cockhead, taking in the salty taste of his precum. He immediately groaned, head tilting back against the sofa as he rasped at you to stop teasing.

You hum in response, sending vibrations through his shaft as you press wet kisses down it. You’re obediently following all the orders he gives to you as he strokes your hair almost gently, licking him up and down. When you finally take him into your mouth, he moans your name in approval, praising how good you were being. But you can barely take half of his length, already feeling your mouth stretch and struggling to breath. Let me take over, baby he says with a dark smirk, and within a second he’s lifted you up and deposited you on the floor, in between his spread legs. You’re trapped by muscular thighs as his grip tightens on you, and then he’s thrusting his hips right to the back of your throat. Fuck yes, there you go, just like that sweetheart, he encourages with a low groan, drowning out your high pitched whines with his jackhammering movements. Mmmh! Obscene, wet sounds of your mouth drooling all over him fills the air, as you choke on the largest cock you’d ever seen. You’re gripping onto him for dear life, your teary eyes making mascara run down your cheeks and only making him more turned on as he ruins your innocent, doe eyed look. And when he cums you don’t expect it, your mouth flooded with unfamiliar white cream that he covers your chubby, blushing cheeks and bouncing tits with as he pulls out mid release and makes a complete mess of your pretty makeup. Heavy pants fill the air as he comes down from his high, looking down at you with raw desire and approval. His thumb swipes his cum off your pouty lips and slides into your lips, smirking when you obediently suck on his finger. You wouldn’t have been able to tell it’s your first time, he teases.

After you clean yourself up in the private bathroom, too embarrassed to look at your positively debauched appearance in the mirror, you find Max signing a cheque that he folds in half that he discreetly leaves on the table. But before he leaves after apologising as he has business to attend to, bending down to your petite frame to give you a sweet kiss, he offers you a deal. To quit your job and be his private dancer, every night…and in turn he’d spoil you with whatever money or gifts your heart desired.

You decline, of course, telling him this was just a one time thing, you weren’t planning on dancing here ever again. He smirks, giving you a final appreciate once over, before declaring that was obvious, he wasn’t going to let another man see you dance like that again.

You don’t see him for a few weeks after that, and it’s almost as if that electric night had never happened at all. Things go back to normal and you resume your bartending job - although you notice that there is significantly more security hovering around your counter than before. But every night Max revisits you in your dreams, making you breathlessly moan from the memory of how good his tongue and hands felt on you, how they might feel inside you next time….you’d always wake up with damp panties.

And then one night everything changes, when a rowdy patron manages to get past the security guards and leer in your face. He remembers you from the dance show and when you try to move away he grabs onto your ass, telling you he wants another sexy performance, he demands with a pervy sneer, I know you secretly liked all the attention, like a slut.

The guards manage to get him off you but you’re shaken with how persistent the man had been. So shaken that you don’t realise the staff have pulled you into a side room until Max is in front of you, asking if you were okay with an intense gaze. He offers you his promise again, to provide for you and protect you - if you became his.

You’re annoyed with him, for just barging in and acting like you were some damsel. You hotly tell him that you're an independent girl, who wasn't going to let him have her in exchange for safety. I can take care of myself! He watched you walk off with a dark gaze, his blue eyes roaming your curves that he was desperate to get underneath him. And whatever Max Verstappen wanted, he always got.

The very next day chills run through your blood as the rowdy patron somehow turns up at your university campus. You quickly hide before he sees you, heart rate spiking as you realise he's found out who you are. Your pride melts away as you dial the number Max's men had put onto your phone despite your protests. Now, you're thankful that they did as a husky Dutch accent picks up. You're a mess on the call, crying and asking Max to please come and help-

I'm on my way, schatje. Go hide somewhere safe. After you hang up you realize you never told him where you were. But it doesn't matter, because the Dutch Lion is there within minutes, stepping out of a sleek black Aston Martin that looks like it costs more than all 5 years of your student debt. Your stalker doesn't stand a chance as he's pushed into a back alley easily by Max, who re-emerges a few moments later discreetly tucking what you're pretty sure is a handgun into his belt. You stare in stunned silence as he gestures to some men who have appeared to clean up whatever mess he left behind, before guiding you with a firm hand on your lower back into his luxurious car.

Still want to turn down what I can offer you, schatje? he murmurs lowly as he smoothly drives you home, his large hand resting on your thigh. And you realise that you don't, because for the first time in your life you don't have to fight tooth and nail to protect yourself. No - because Max had just proved he was willing to do that for you.

So you let yourself be worshipped, be cared for by him. And he knew how skittish you got, and started with baby steps - paying your phone bills, your groceries, and then your rent. Buying whatever handbag or necklace you would happen to briefly admire when walking past a shop, getting you a cute but outrageously expensive car so you stopped taking the train. And you can't lie about how good it feels to walk into class wearing diamond earrings and the Louboutin heels you'd always wanted, to have your mean classmates look at you in awe and envy.

And so when Max insisted that he couldn't let you stay at the dump you called a home any longer, that it was just unsafe for a sweet, precious thing like yourself - you barely resisted and moved into his spacious penthouse apartment. Truly, he gave you whatever you wanted, his toy that he spoils and lavishes however she likes - and at night, lets him climb into her bed to fuck however he wants. And oh, did he fuck you good. It became a habit for you to greet him after his late night meetings with a sweet kiss on the cheek and a gin on the rocks in your hand - which he would drink with you sitting on his lap, telling him animatedly about your day. And of course, he’d get to unwrap his present when he pulls off your silk nightie and widens his legs for you to kneel between them. Dressed in pretty pastel scraps of French lace you buy with his credit card, you’re dutifully slurping and kissing his thick, swollen cock and slapping it against your cheeks. You knew how much Max loved seeing his cum drip down your face and you’d make sure to wear extra eyeliner and lipgloss so he could enjoy the sight of you utterly ruined for him, stroking your mascara tear stained cheeks as you choke on his length. Such a fast learner, schatje Max chuckles at you, stroking your hair almost lovingly but the roughness of his thrusts anything but.

And most of all, you loved when Max would pick you up from class and casually announce that he was taking you away for the weekend. You’d been confused at first, stressed about the study time you were missing out on, but once you sit down in his private jet with you laptop and textbooks in hand you realise you’re truly going to be taken care of in every way. It’s impossible to resist the urge to give back the same to Max, to show him just how much affection you’ve started growing for him. So on those nights in some tropical island resort, with the breeze blowing in through open doors, you give him a free use pass. Whatever he wanted, however he wanted it - all weekend long. It’s to no surprise that you’re chained to the headboard within the hour, thighs tightly tied up around your waist so you’re spread open for him and he could see the wetness dripping through your lace thong. You’re whining, so embarrassed by how intently his heated gaze roams over your body that it’s a relief when he blindfolds you with his tie, and clips a collar around your neck with his initials gleaming from it. He teases you mercilessly, taking you right to the edge with his fingers or tongue but stopping just before you cum, until you’re screaming his name and begging him to fuck you already. And then he takes you for so many rounds that you’re crying for him to stop, it’s too much Maxie, you can’t cum a fourth time-

It’s safe to say you’ve grown into your place by Max’s side very well. You knew what others thought, from the jealous looks from your classmates when his Aston Martin rolls onto campus or the judgemental stares from other vacationers when you obediently sit in Max’s lap while he takes his business calls, dressed in a skimpy bikini and his collar that he absentmindedly traces before moving down to possessively curl his hand on your hip. But you couldn’t care less if they thought you were a trophy girlfriend or a sugar baby - because after all, he was the one wrapped around your pretty little finger, ready to wage a war if you so much as shed a tear.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[dismalflo]

intervene

Poly!marauders x reader where james is oblivious to being flirted with ✩ 875 words

cw: reader is a lil jealous, fluff, established relationship

"She's obviously flirting with him, Rem," you murmur petulantly from your place on Remus’s lap. You've nestled yourself in a cozy armchair away from the chaos of the party, the two of you being the quieter pair in comparison to your more energetic boyfriends. Sirius had wandered off a while ago to do god knows what, and James—lovely, oblivious James���is standing across the room, completely unaware that the girl next to him is flirting with him. And, of course, you can’t help but glare at her from your spot.

"I know, dove," Remus replies with a lazy smile, pausing to squeeze your waist. His tone turns teasing as he adds, "I have eyes."

You whip your head around to look at him, incredulous. "You—you know? That's it? You're not going to do anything about it?" Your dramatics earn a soft smile from him, as he gently moves his hands to cup your face.

He plants a few quick kisses over your cheeks in an effort to placate you. And it works. You melt into Remus, happy to be doted on. Despite the noisy room full of people, in this moment with him, everything feels peaceful.

"I'm not doing anything about it because he keeps looking over at us and…" Remus’s mischievous glint catches your eye, that familiar spark he and the others get whenever they’re scheming. "Just imagine what Pads will do when he comes back and sees it."” 

Your jaw drops. "Oh, you're mean when you want to be." Despite the words, you cuddle in closer to Remus, and he beams down at you, his chest rumbling with quiet laughter.

"Mean? Me?" He chuckles softly, his breath warm against your temple as he continues to hold you close. "I’m just enjoying the show."

You glance back over at James and the girl. She’s still leaning in, giggling all but ignoring James’s distracted response. A strange mix of protective instinct and possessiveness bubbles up inside you. Just as you’re about to shuffle out of Remus’s lap and go retrieve James, you spot Sirius making his way over to him

You straighten up, suddenly feeling a little more tense. Remus’s arms tighten around you as he notices the shift in your demeanor.

“Here comes trouble,” he murmurs with a knowing smile, his fingers brushing against your cheek.

You can hardly hear the boys from where you’re sat but you do see the over the top fervent kiss Sirius gives James, the smitten smile on the curly haired boy afterwards, and the hardened features of Sirius’ face as he talks to the girl that was flirting a minute ago. Obviously she gets the hint, she walks off in the opposite direction and the two boys walk towards you and Remus.

Sirius arrives looking smug, bending down to give out kisses like he’s handing out gifts

"You’re welcome, poppet," he teases, and maybe your jealousy wasn’t as well hidden as you thought. Remus barks a laugh at your expense. James, still confused, looks from Sirius to you and back again, trying to process what just happened.

"Wait, what—did you—?" James stammers, blinking in surprise.

Sirius grins, savoring the moment. "Oh, I just, you know… intervened," he says with a dramatic flourish, as if it was the most casual thing in the world.

“She was flirting with you James.” Remus says bluntly, filling in the gaps of James’ knowledge. 

James looks at Remus with wide eyes, his face flushing a bit as the realization hits him. “What? She was? I—well, I wasn’t paying attention, was I?” He scratches the back of his head sheepishly, still trying to wrap his mind around the situation.

You snicker at James’ obliviousness, then glance at Sirius, whose expression is a perfect mix of satisfaction and mischief. “Well done, siri”

James’s expression brightens with recognition, and he grins playfully. "So you sicced the dog on me, you little minx," he teases. "If you were jealous, you could’ve just said so."

You flush embarrassed to be caught and sink further into Remus’ embrace trying to hide from the teasing.

"Oi, I’m not a bloody dog," Sirius interjects, wrapping an arm around James and pulling him closer. "And you seemed to enjoy that kiss, Prongs."

James laughs, leaning into Sirius’s embrace, still a little dazed but clearly amused. "Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly complaining about it," he says with a wink. "And sorry for making you terribly jealous by accident, lovely."

You huff, "It wasn’t terribly—"

"It was, dove," Remus cuts in, his voice teasing as he remembers the dramatic pout you put on earlier.

"My poor baby," James exclaims, leaning over to pepper kisses all over your face, then doing the same to Remus just because he can.

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real heat behind it. You can feel the warmth of Remus’ arms around you, his steady presence grounding you as the teasing continues. James leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, and you can’t help but melt a little into him.

Sirius chuckles at the sight of you relaxing, finally breaking from your earlier pout. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he teases, his smirk turning into something softer when you give him a playful shove.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

let me know what you think of this! <3

[rosones]

social media au - being in an all-girl K-pop group touring with bigbang

liked by taeyangforevaaa & 1,203,998 others

tmz_tv ✓ - y/n from lumina and big bangs Top spotted together in a parking garage !! after multiple flirty on-stage interactions during their joint tour, is this the start of a budding romance? are these two k-pop stars taking their romance off stage? fans want to know !

view comments

user - paparazzi is so invasive .

user - I KNEW ITTTTT

user - don’t know why their companies allow them to be out in public like this

userlikespepperoni - let them do whatever they want, they’re full grown adults

user - /@userlikespepperoni exactly !! everybody is so parasocial it’s weird

user - i think they look great together idk

liked by ttt, xxxibgdrgn, & 3,478,629 others

y/n ✓ - thank you for having me @breakfastclubam <3

view comments

user - does she address her dating rumors with Top in this ??

user - ugh brown is her color

cinephile2015 - she’s so beautiful

user - /@cinephile2015 preach 🙏

user - your relationship is beautiful and you shouldn’t let anybody ruin it for you ❤️

liked by author

the following article was written by maya peters and published by tmz .

Are Lumina’s Y/N and BIGBANG’s T.O.P More Than Just Tourmates? Fans Think So!

K-pop fans are buzzing after Y/N from Lumina and BIGBANG’s T.O.P were spotted together in a parking garage late last night, fueling already rampant dating rumors. The two idols, whose groups have been touring together for the past few week, have been serving undeniable chemistry on stage—but is there something more happening off-stage?

The duo’s interactions during performances have been a hot topic, with playful glances, inside jokes, and even a few “accidental” touches keeping fans on their toes. While some chalk it up to stage presence and fan service, others are convinced there’s something real brewing behind the scenes. And now, after Y/N’s recent interview on The Breakfast Club radio show, the rumors are only gaining more traction.

When asked about her relationship with T.O.P, Y/N played it cool—but her response left plenty of room for speculation. “T.O.P is… a great guy. He’s been in the industry for a long time, so I really respect and admire him,” she said with a knowing smile. “Touring together has been an amazing experience, and I think we’ve all gotten really close.” While she didn’t outright confirm the romance, that little smirk (paired with the way she quickly changed the subject) didn’t go unnoticed by fans.

Life on the road has only made these whispers louder. The joint tour has been a dream for fans of both groups, with electric performances and unforgettable moments in every city. From sold-out arenas to late-night fan interactions, Y/N has expressed how much she’s loved connecting with supporters around the world. “It’s been exhausting but also the most fun I’ve ever had,” she shared. “Seeing fans’ reactions, hearing them sing along—it makes everything worth it.”

But between the hectic schedule and endless travel, it seems like Y/N and T.O.P have still found time to enjoy each other’s company. Whether it’s subtle matching outfits, disappearing from afterparties at the same time, or that now-infamous parking garage sighting, all signs are pointing to a potential K-pop power couple in the making.

So, is it official? Y/N isn’t saying… but she isn’t exactly denying it either. And in the world of K-pop, that says everything.

liked by ttt, xxxibgdrgn, __yungbae__, d_lable_official, & 8,372,746 others

y/n ✓ - thank you for everything

view comments

user - omg are they like official now???

user - the group photo ❤️‍🩹

user - THEY KISSED I WAS THEREEEE

ilikebagels1234 - love that they confirmed their relationship on stage 💓

user - /@ilikebagels1234 they love and trust their fans sm

user - never want this tour to end

[ari-ana-bel-la]

hi, can you do a max one were the reader is around 15-16 and gets harassed or hate from fans (possibly gets hurt) when she joins max at a race, but max is on the track, so he doesn't see it or know and well you can come up with the ending

From good to bad

Yn had been excited for this race weekend for weeks. When Max had suggested she join him, just the two of them, she had nearly jumped into his arms with joy. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her family—she adored her little sisters, and she knew how much her parents loved her. But ever since the younger girls had been born, their attention had naturally shifted toward them. She understood it, truly, but sometimes she missed the days when she was the center of their world.

So when her Papa said, Just you and me this weekend, she had packed her bag faster than ever.

The paddock was buzzing with energy when they arrived. Max had a hand on her shoulder, guiding her through as he proudly introduced her to everyone. Engineers, mechanics, media personnel—everyone smiled at her, recognizing the young girl who had always been in the background of her father's life.

Then, she saw him.

"Uncle Charlie!" Yn beamed, her face lighting up.

Charles turned at the sound of her voice, his green eyes softening when he saw her. "Ma chérie!" He opened his arms, and Yn gladly stepped into his embrace.

"You’re here for the weekend?" he asked, pulling back to take a good look at her.

"Just me and Papa," she confirmed with a proud smile. "The little ones are staying with Mama."

Charles chuckled. "Finally getting some one-on-one time with the old man?"

"Hey!" Max protested, playfully shoving his friend. "I’m not old."

Charles smirked, ruffling Yn’s hair before turning back to Max. "It’s good you brought her. You don’t get nearly enough time with this one."

Max's expression softened as he glanced at Yn. "I know."

She knew they felt guilty. She had overheard her parents talking about it late at night, her Mama whispering about how they sometimes neglected their eldest. She had wanted to walk in and tell them that she understood, that she didn’t resent them, but she never did. It wouldn’t have changed anything.

"I'm really happy to be here," she reassured them both, squeezing her father's hand.

Max gave her a small smile before checking the time. "I have to head to a meeting. Stay around here, okay?"

Yn nodded, watching as her dad disappeared into the Red Bull hospitality. Charles left shortly after, heading toward Ferrari’s motorhome, leaving her alone.

It was fine.

She wandered through the paddock, taking in the sights and sounds. Everyone was busy, running around with headsets and laptops, preparing for the upcoming sessions. It was exhilarating. Eventually, she found herself on a quiet balcony overlooking the entire paddock. The view was incredible, and she leaned against the railing, taking a deep breath.

But then—

“Hey, look! It’s Max’s daughter!”

Yn turned around, startled, as a group of older girls approached her.

“Oh my god, we have to take a picture,” one of them said, pulling out her phone.

Yn hesitated. “I—um—I’d rather not, sorry.”

They didn’t seem to care.

“Oh, come on, just one!” another girl insisted, stepping closer.

“Yeah, it’s not a big deal,” a third chimed in.

Yn took a step back, feeling uneasy. The balcony wasn’t very spacious, and they were closing in on her. "Please, I really don’t want to—"

“Just smile for the camera!”

A girl reached out, trying to pull her closer, and that was when it happened.

Yn stepped back instinctively, her foot catching on the edge of the small staircase behind her.

She didn’t even have time to react before she felt herself falling.

She hit the first step hard, the impact jolting through her ribs. Then, she tumbled down the remaining steps, rolling until she came to a painful stop at the bottom.

Silence.

Then panic.

"Oh my god!"

"Shit, is she okay?!"

"Run!"

Yn barely registered the sound of hurried footsteps as the girls fled. Her body was screaming in pain, a deep, sharp ache spreading through her side. When she tried to move, a searing pain shot through her ribs, making her gasp.

She groaned, forcing herself to sit up despite the dizziness.

No one was around.

No one had seen.

Her hands shook as she pressed them to her side, breathing heavily. It hurt.

After a few minutes, she managed to stand, biting down on her lip to keep from crying out. Her legs were unsteady, but she forced herself to walk, her mind focused on one thing—she needed to get away.

She made it to a bathroom, locking the door behind her. With trembling fingers, she lifted her shirt.

A massive bruise had already formed, stretching across her left ribs. Worse, there was something wrong with the way her skin was shifting—like the bones underneath weren’t where they should be.

Tears welled up in her eyes.

What was she supposed to do?

A deep, shuddering breath left her as she pulled out her phone. There was only one person she could call.

She pressed the contact and lifted the phone to her ear.

"Papa?" Her voice was weak, strained.

"Yn?" Max’s voice was immediately alert. "What’s wrong?"

Her breath hitched. "I—I need help."

There was silence for a second. Then—

"Where are you?"

"The—bathroom. Near the back of the paddock," she whispered.

"I’m coming."

Minutes felt like hours. The pain was unbearable, her vision blurry from unshed tears.

Then, the door burst open.

Max.

His eyes landed on her, his face contorting in worry. "Yn!"

She let out a choked breath as he crouched beside her, his hands hovering over her as if afraid to touch her.

"What happened?" His voice was sharp, panicked.

She shook her head, too overwhelmed to speak. Instead, she lifted her shirt slightly, revealing the bruise.

Max’s face darkened, his jaw tightening. "Who did this?"

"I—" She winced. "Some girls… they wanted a picture. They crowded me. I—I fell."

Max’s hands clenched into fists. "They pushed you?"

"Not exactly, but… they didn’t stop."

Max exhaled slowly, his nostrils flaring as he pulled out his phone.

"Lando, I need you. Now."

Minutes later, Lando rushed in, his expression filled with worry. "What happened?"

"Help me get her to the medical center," Max ordered.

Lando immediately moved to support Yn, his touch gentle. "Hang in there, sweetheart."

The medical team confirmed it—two broken ribs. Yn was given pain medication, her body exhausted as she lay in the hospital bed.

Max stayed beside her, his expression unreadable. Then, he turned to Lando, his voice cold.

"I'm going to sue those bitches."

Lando nodded, his jaw set. "I’ll help you find them."

Max reached out, brushing Yn’s hair back as she drifted off to sleep. His heart clenched as he watched her.

She had always been his brave girl.

But he had failed her.

And that was something he would never let happen again.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey guys. I hope you enjoyed this story. My requests are always open for you.

-💙🦋

[gojo-mochi]

Telling OP Char: “Are you gonna eat that?” And pointing to their crouch

Something silly - Based on that one Tweet

TW: Suggestive

Luffy:

 Says “No” with a mouthful of food, he doesn’t know what you’re pointing at, but he assume it’s food and he will not share that easily. When you point again, trying to make it known to him that you’re not about to steal any of his dinner, Luffy will just get confused on why you want to eat his shorts.

“Are shorts tasty? Should I try eating mine right now?!” 

Will take off his shorts in the middle of dinner, or at least try to until someone yells at him for doing it. You will have to drag him inside a room later and just show him what you really meant.

Sanji:

Doesn’t get it at first, mostly worried about you being hungry first of all. 

“Oh, are you still hungry, dear? I can whip something up for you real quick! Anything you like~” 

What you like is Sanji maybe with some whipped cream on top as well. So, you repeat the question, this time making your point known by running your hand up his thigh and gently palming his crouch. His face gets beat-red and he drops any cooking utensil he was holding in his hands.

“Like right here? In the kitchen? Right now?” Sanji seems panicked and flustered with his questions but he’s quickly approaching you with each question he asked, until your back hits one of the table in the kitchen. His hands on either side, his breath quicken and short as he looks down at you. All you needed to seal with the deal was lean and for a kiss and Sanji would handle the rest. He’ll even let you use the whipped cream on him if you really want to.

Zoro:

Quirks an eyebrow at you and says nothing, goes back to his workout and pretend you’re not there. He was lifting a 300-pound weight like it was nothing. 

“...Can I take your silence as a ‘yes’?”

You weren’t gonna back down that easily. You hear Zoro snort, but his expression doesn’t change. “What was the question again?”

You sigh, “I asked if you were going to- *you point to the middle of his sweatpants* eat that?”

Zoro fights hard to keep a straight face as he counters with “Eat my pants? You’re asking if I was going to eat my pants in the middle of my workout?”

“That’s not what I-”

“Oh no, you meant that as one of your cutesy-jokes, right? What you actually mean is that you want to suck me off, hmm? You want to put that pretty little mouth right on my cock and use your sweet tongue to lick up all the sweat down there and then you want to-”

You slap your hand over Zoro’s mouth, you feel his mouth move into a smirk underneath your palms. Damn it, it was his victory this time. 

Robin:

Smiles gently at you, and closes the book she was reading and placed it on the table. She say nothing to you but just kept on staring at you with that smile. You start to sweat a bit, it feels like you’re in trouble for making this joke to her.

“Umm, I’m really sorry, I-I’ll just go now.”

You turn to leave and just when you were about to put your hand on the door, a set of hands springs out from the door and turns you back around to face robin. Her hands pushed you towards her actual body as she waits at the same spot, leg crossed and that patient smile on her face. 

More sweat beads down your neck as the silence stretches on for what seems like hours. The hands keeps you in place, so you can’t make another attempt to escape.

“..., Robin?”

“No.”

You make a confused face. “No?” You repeat back to her. 

“No, I’m not. So, are you going to finish it for me?” Her tone level and cool, still confusing the heck out of you though. Robin leans back in her chair and uncrossed her legs, lifting up the hem of her skirt with one finger. 

“Oh? … Oh!” 

Well, it would be rude to leave now, right? You gotta finish what you started. And it not like Robin will let you leave that easier, anyway, but don’t worry her hands will also be helping themselves to your body as you start your meal~

Kidd: 

“What..?” 

Kidd looks at you with a scowl on his face. Then down at his pants and then back up to you. “If you want to suck my cock was say so, don’t confuse me with that shit.” 

You roll your eyes, lightly kicking him in the shins for being a spoil-sport about it. You turn your back to him and start leave when you hear Kidd shout at you. 

“Oy! I didn’t say no! You can’t just leave like that! I’m already hard thinking about it!” 

You hold back a snicker and look back at Kidd, fluttering you eyelashes at him cutely. “You have to play along though~” 

Kidd makes a face at that, scowling even harder. He grumbles something under his breath. 

“What was that? You gotta be louder.”

“I’ll show you loud…” Kidd sighs heavily, weighing the options in his head. 

“Fine… No, I am not going to eat my cock, so would you please come finish it for me or whatever.”

“Oh my! Captain Kidd said the word ‘Please’? It must be my lucky day!” 

Kidd face turns beet red as he stomps over to you and throws you over his shoulder. “Shut up, I did what you ask for, so you better be ready to eat all of it.” 

“And if I find a single drop on the floor, I’ll make you lick it up in front of me, got it?”

[woso-story]

Alexia's Wisdom Teeth Removal

Alexia Putellas x Reader

The morning sun filtered through the curtains as you stretched, feeling the warmth of your shared bed. Today was an unusual day off from training, but you had taken it for a good reason—to take care of Alexia.

Your girlfriend had been dreading this day for a while, even if she tried not to show it. She needed to have her wisdom teeth removed, and while she had initially said her sister could go with her, you had insisted. You wanted to be there for her, no matter how small the procedure. You knew Alexia—always independent, always tough—but you could sense her nervousness in the way she had been fidgeting since the night before, checking and rechecking the appointment details as if she had forgotten them.

The drive to the doctor's office was quiet. Alexia sat beside you, her leg bouncing up and down, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. She barely spoke, just stared out the window, lost in thought. You glanced over at her, noticing her tension, and reached out to place a reassuring hand on her thigh, giving it a small squeeze. She looked at you, her eyes softening, and gave you a grateful smile.

"You'll be okay," you murmured, keeping your eyes on the road. She exhaled a shaky breath, nodding slightly, but her hands still gripped the hem of her hoodie tightly.

Once at the doctor's office, you checked her in at the front desk while she sat down, her fingers drumming anxiously on her knee. It wasn’t long before they called her name. She stood, and you gave her a quick peck on the temple. "Good luck, carino. I'll be right here when you're done."

---

An hour later, a nurse came out to let you know the procedure was over. Alexia was ready to go home, though she was still quite groggy from the sedative. Stepping inside the recovery room, you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing.

Alexia looked absolutely lost, holding two ice packs to her cheeks, her expression dazed and confused. The moment she spotted you, her face lit up into a wide, goofy smile—only for her to wince at the pain that followed. Her eyelids drooped heavily, and she blinked slowly, as if trying to process where she was.

You chuckled, walking over to her. "Ready to go home?"

She gave an exaggerated nod, her eyes barely staying open. Carefully, you helped her out of the chair and guided her to the car. The entire ride home, she mumbled incoherently, a mix of complaints about her numb face and declarations of love for you.

"You’re the best," she slurred. "Like, the best best. My favorite person ever."

You tried not to laugh as you drove. "Yeah? You’re pretty great too, Lex."

Once you arrived home, you led her inside and settled her onto the couch. She pouted dramatically when you took the ice packs from her but sighed in relief when you replaced them with fresh ones.

"You comfy?" you asked, brushing some hair from her forehead.

She nodded lazily. "Mhm. But I want cuddles."

You smirked. "Later, okay? Let me get you some medication first."

---

The rest of the day was quiet. Alexia, who was usually always up and moving, had no choice but to rest. She dozed on and off, her head occasionally lolling onto your shoulder whenever you sat beside her. It was strange to see her like this—so soft, so needy—but you took the chance to pamper her as much as possible. You brought her water, kept her comfortable, and ensured she didn’t try to sneak in a workout, much to her displeasure.

That evening, she went to bed earlier than usual. You stayed behind in the kitchen, preparing some soup for her for the next day when you’d be at training.

Just as you were putting things away, you heard a faint whining coming from the bedroom. You walked in to find Alexia pouting, arms open toward you. "Cuddles."

You laughed, shaking your head. "I'll join you soon, I just need to do the laundry—"

"No." Her voice was muffled by the ice pack, but her tone was firm. She whined again, looking at you with pleading eyes, her usual composed demeanor completely gone.

Sighing dramatically, you climbed into bed beside her, chuckling. "You’re so needy right now," you teased.

"Shhh." She huffed, burying her face in your shoulder.

You gently took the ice pack from her and placed a soft kiss on each of her swollen cheeks. She pouted but then looked up at you expectantly.

"More."

Laughing, you pressed a delicate kiss to her lips, mindful of her soreness. She hummed happily, snuggling closer.

---

Over the next few days, Alexia had no choice but to take it easy, though it drove her crazy. After two days, she was already sneaking into the home gym, doing light workouts.

"Lex, you’re supposed to be resting," you scolded, crossing your arms.

"I am," she defended, stretching lightly. "Just… moving a little."

You sighed, shaking your head. "You’re impossible."

She grinned cheekily, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

You did your best to take care of her while she recovered, knowing that normally, she wouldn’t let you dote on her like this. Soon enough, she was back to training, back to her usual self. But part of you missed the clingy, snuggly Alexia from those few days—though you knew better than to tell her that.

[enhani-ki]

pacify her - reader x ni-ki

warnings: smut, nsfw, cursing, kinda sadistic (?), etc.

you were sitting on the floor, hunched over your notebook as you tried to solve the last few problems of your homework. ni-ki sat beside you, watching with mild interest then tried to help you.

but that interest quickly faded when he realized he can't do it, "just use the calculator," he suggested, resting his chin on his knees.

"i don't need help."

"i want to understand how to solve this."

he scoffed, tilting his head at you in disbelief.

ni-ki sighed, getting really bored out of his mind. he doesn't understand why people make things so hard for themselves.

if there's already an easy way out, why not just take it?

you stayed focused until, finally, you set your pencil down with a satisfied sigh.

"you finished it?" ni-ki blinked surprised.

you turned to him with the brightest smile, giggling as you threw your arms around his neck. "yes, i told you i can do it!"

he smiled, letting you cling to him more, then pushed some loose strands of hair away from your face before leaning in to kiss you.

"are you really that smart?" he murmured against your lips.

you shook your head no, acting all modest and humble, but he wasn't buying it.

"okay, if you're that smart…” he leaned back slightly to watch your expression fully. "can you tell me what are you going to do after i die?"

your proud smile faded immediately. you shoved him away, moving to sit on the couch, and crossing your arms in irritation.

he followed you, leaning back over the cushions beside you. "come on," he said, "how long do you think it'll last before you move on?" he started kissing your arm, like what he always do when he wants to soften you up.

your brows knitted together. "ni-ki, that's not funny."

"i'm not trying to be funny." he laughed, tilting his head. "i'm just really curious."

you didn't answer, you just moved uncomfortably but that only encouraged him.

"i mean, you wouldn't stay single forever, right?" he said it so casually as if he was just talking about the weather. "you'd cry for a bit, sure, but then what?"

"oh i'm not even sure if you'll cry."

your stomach twisted.

"maybe you'd find someone new in, what, a year? six months? shit..." he looked up at you, "would it be sooner?"

you pressed your lips together, "can you not?" you said as you pulled your arm away, trying to put some space between him and you.

and you could move further, ni-ki grabbed your wrist and wrapped his around your waist, locking you in place.

"y/n..." he called out in your ear. "you're not answering me."

"because it's stupid!"

"it's not," he insisted, resting his chin on your shoulder. "i just wanna know, baby... would you miss me?"

you inhaled shakily. "of course i would..."

"would you cry?"

you swallowed hard, not answering.

his fingers traced your arm slowly, "you're already getting worked up, huh?"

your throat tightened.

"you're about to cry," he whispered, watching your expression closely.

your nose started to turn red and your lips quivered before curling downward into a sad pout.

ni-ki let out a soft chuckle, really in awe. "i'm not even dead, and you're already crying?"

a choked sob left your throat as you shove his chest, but your boyfriend didn't budge. he just watched you, amused, his eyes fixed on your tear-streaked face.

so you turned your face away, he started showering kisses to your head.

"you're so pretty when you're upset."

his lips trailed down your jaw, his hands were slipping under your skirt.

"ni-ki." you tried to warn, but he was already tilting your head back, capturing your lips in a deep kiss.

and despite how annoyed and sad you were, you still folded.

ni-ki lifted your skirt slightly, his fingers trailed over the soft fabric of your panties before slowly sliding them down your legs. he left the skirt on, he thinks it looks sexy how it framed you perfectly.

he then pushed your legs up, keeping them pressed together instead of spreading them apart like he knew the restriction will make everything more intense and tighter.

he dragged his tongue slowly over your folds along with obscene slurping sounds while you twitch underneath him. ni-ki took his time, savoring every desperate little noises that escaped your lips.

you grabbed his hand from your waist, and guided it up to your breasts, he catches on instantly, squeezing rough and hard, the pressure making you whimper. it hurts but it somehow eased some of the frustration from the torturous pace he's keeping between your thighs.

"ni-ki, please… please, more-" your voice trembled, your fingers tangling in his hair as you urged him to do more.

but he only hummed against your pussy, ignoring your pleas as he licked slowly and teasingly, again.

your patience snapped. you reached down to try and touch yourself, very desperate for the relief he's withholding, but ni-ki swats your hand away, "uh-uh," he disapproved, "just wait."

his grip on your thighs tightened as he presses a soft smooches to your pussy.

the frustration overwhelmed you. "just fucking stop this!" your patience snapped again for the second time, you tried to break free from his grip, your whole body writhing beneath him.

then his mouth closed around you, sucking hard on the sensitive bud making you gasp and bite down on your lip in shock.

the pleasure threatened to fall apart in your lower abdomen, only for him to suddenly pull away again, leaving you stranded on the edge.

tears pricked your eyes, spilling over your cheeks, you hide your face in your hands.

you can't even get mad, it just hurts.

ni-ki lay down beside you and gently removed your hands off your face.

your lashes were clumping together, your lips were slightly trembling, cheeks warm and flushed, the tip of your nose was already red from crying.

breathtaking.

he leaned in, pressing kisses all over your face.

you tried to turn away but he catches your lower lip between his teeth, tugging gently while his hands move to unzip his pants.

his lips parted as he inserted his dick in your aching hole, slowly sinking into you, and stretching you open. his hand held the back of your head while the other held your leg in the air.

ni-ki's moaned right in front of your face then to your ear, and it turned you on even more.

he kept on giving sloppy, open-mouthed kisses, now your whole face is wet because of him.

he caressed your cheek before tilting your chin up, his thumb pressed your lower lip until you open it for him. he didn't waste no time and slipped his tongue inside, deepening the kiss, just swallowing every sounds you make.

oh, fuck.

and even lying on your sides, he can stroke inside relentlessly. easily sliding in and out of you so fast, so deep you're going dumber and dumber.

ni-ki smirked as he watched you go crazy and completely wrecked from the pleasure he's giving you.

your walls fluttered around him, it's tightening, throbbing, but not consistently. it's like you're teasing him too, keeping him on the edge, and making him crave more.

he chuckled breathlessly, "you're so petty." then he started pounding even faster as he neared his climax.

"i'm close, where do i shoot this, baby? huh?"

"i want it all inside of me."

ni-ki groaned after hearing what you wanted, he pressed his forehead against yours as he lets himself go, spilling his cum deep inside your core.

some of it dripped down as he pulled out, so he used his fingers to push it all back inside of you.

he's not gonna let any of it go to waste.

"stop, making me, cry!" you said, sniffling before pinching his arm.

ni-ki flinched and smirked, "babe..." he said, brushing his thumb over your swollen lips before pressing a quick kiss. "you cry because you love me. it's natural."

then he held your panties "don't put these back on today," he said, before slipping them into his pocket.

"no, that's-"

"let's just see how it'll drip out of you every time you move."

ni-ki kissed you again, swallowing the little hiccuped sob that escapes your lips. then, as if he hasn't already ruined you enough, he whispers against your mouth...

"didn't i tell you that look so pretty when you cry?"

a/n: she got pacified with a big D (requested) jacquees - you

マスターリストm.list

taglist 𖤘: @dolliewon @ziiao

[purplereina11]

The Perfect Shot Series You experience a few firsts with Alexia

Word count: 8.8K

Warnings: Sex, there is a warning in this so you can know when to stop reading if you're not wanting to read it

You and Alexia had been dating for a number of weeks now, your mind cast back to your honesty on the beach nearly three weeks ago now and Alexia had changed one ounce with you, she was still the same kind caring thoughtful person you’d come to be very comfortable around. Tonight she’d invited you to one of Barcelona’s away games on the rare time Badalona weren’t playing, you flew in a mere hour from there away win, your team mates interests were all were peaked that you were catching a plane to Madrid instead of travelling back with them.

The sun hung high in the sky, casting a warm golden hue across the sprawling football stadium. The scent of freshly cut grass mingled with the anticipation of the team and fans, a sea of faces buzzing with excitement. You adjusted the strap from your bag, feeling the weight of it against your chest, but today it felt lighter, almost buoyant as you set your bag down at your feet. This evening Real Madrid were taking on Barcelona at home, which was not the advantage it sounded like and should be since they were against such a strong team. One you’d learned they’d never beat in there history.

Today would be the first time you watched Alexia play in person, you’d obviously seen her play on TV before. Your eyes went down the team sheet posted on Instagram, seeing Alexia’s name sat proudly as Captain. Your thoughts danced back to the dates with Alexia, the spark of her laughter still echoing in your mind , your heart raced at the thought of seeing her in this way, she’d always been Alexia with you, but this evening she’d be the great award warning best in the world Alexia Putellas. You could still feel the warmth of her kiss lingering on your lips, a very sweet reminder of the moments.

Your head rose as you chewed your gum looking around you, as the teams took to the pitch, your eyes swept the field, searching for her. There she was, a striking figure in her team’s colours, hair pulled back tightly, determination etched across her face. The sight sent a jolt through you, a mix of admiration and something deeper. You recalled the way she had smiled at one of her teammates, that quick flash of vulnerability beneath her confident exterior. 

You tried to follow the action but your gaze kept straying back to Alexia, her every movement commanding attention, your gaze lowered to your phone a text message from Carla

Am I loosing it, or are you here?

Before you could reply, a sudden cheer from the crowd erupted, pulling your attention back to the game. The opposing team surged forward, and you instinctively raised your phone, capturing the moment. Click. A brilliant shot of Alexia intercepting the ball, her fierce concentration shining through. You couldn’t help but smile.

I’m here

You finally replied, you sat up in your seat looking for Carla who was already looking right at you, you shared a little wave and a text promise to see her at half time if only briefly.

But as the game unfolded, a tension thickened in the air. You could see it in Alexia’s posture, a flicker of frustration as the opposing team pushed harder, their tactics growing more aggressive. The referee’s whistle pierced the air, and Alexia turned, her expression fierce. She shouted, her voice cutting through the air, you could hear her from where you sat at the back over the crowd. The crowd echoed her sentiment, a wave of discontent rolling across the stands. 

You lowered your eyes momentarily, heart racing at the sight of her passion. It was intoxicating, watching her fight for every inch on the field. You couldn’t help the joy and pride you felt when Barcelona scored from a corner, from your position it looked like Patri stole Alexia’s goal shot on the line, your head turned to the big screen for the replay as it was celebrated. Alexia’s shot was going wide so you forgave Patri began smiling and clapped along with the fans around you.

As the first half come to its end, she was walking across the field towards the locker room, she said something to Carla.

“Carla” She called, when they were walking in step she asked, “Do you know if Y/N is here?”

She nodded smiling, “Back left corner, near the man with the big flag”

You turned your head back from the highlights being shown to the field, she caught your gaze, and for a heartbeat, the chaos of the fans around you faded. She flashed you a sly smile, a flicker of recognition that sent warmth flooding through you before moving out of view. It was subtle but it was there. She knew you’d came after playfully telling her you wouldn’t make any promises when she asked if you’d come when she handed you a ticket for the game when you last saw her.

You smiled as your phone lit up Alexia must of barely sat down in the locker room when she text

Remind me to get you a Barca shirt

Can you put Batlle’s name on the back?

Behave

You bit your lip at the slight show of dominance from Alexia, you were becoming increasingly suggestive and flirtatious with each other, the sexual tension was building but neither of you had made the first move to invite the other into there home. Your dynamic was quite evenly balanced you were trying to explain that to Carla one evening over drinks when she finally asked about the pair of you and you felt you could share.

Yes La Reina

The second half was a little less stressful Barcelona dominated in ways they always did, you hadn’t sat down much like the fans around you, the chances were coming in waves after waves, you smiled clapping as Alexia scored 2 minutes into the stoppage time. You shook your head as she ran in your direction the unbridled joy on her face involuntarily causing your lips to smile also, she looked directly into your soul as she celebrated, she fired a kiss off waved and jogged away again.

It wasn’t long after the full time whistle went you found yourself collecting your bag you wrapped the Barca flag you were supporting more around yourself, the cold chill of the air settling around you. You were collected by Carla and taken into an area marked as authorised personal only, you were in full conversation with a smile on your face, “You have to get the tattoo Y/N ever since I’ve known you, you mention it at least once a week.

“You want a tattoo?” Your head rose as an arm came around your neck, Carla’s mouth dropped at the way you both looked at each other, both your eyes sparkling, you simply nodded, “I’ll go with you”

“You would?” You asked enjoying the feeling of being slotted under Alexia’s arm, she nodded, “Well.. ok”

“Book the appointment”

You had literally been back in Barcelona 4 hours when Alexia rang you that she was outside, she’d booked you an appointment to get your tattoo with the artist you’d been in contact with, it was a whirlwind 20 minutes until you found yourself outside the shop.

"Alexia, I must confess, my heart is racing at the thought of getting this tattoo," you say, your voice trembling slightly as you share your vulnerability. The anticipation looms large, and the reality of the moment begins to settle in. Her gaze softens, and she responds with a warm smile that radiates understanding

"Don't worry, I've got you," Alexia reassures you, her hand gently squeezing your shoulder. "Remember, I'll be right here the whole time." 

You nod, grateful for her presence. As you both enter the tattoo parlour, the buzz of needles and faint rock music fills the air. The scent of antiseptic mingles with incense, creating an oddly comforting atmosphere.

"First timer?" the artist asks, noticing your nervous energy.

"Is it that obvious?" you chuckle, trying to mask your anxiety.

Alexia pipes up, “She’s braver than she looks. I've seen her eat pineapple on pizza."

You playfully roll your eyes at her joke, already feeling more at ease. As you settle into the chair, Alexia takes your hand, her thumb tracing soothing circles on your palm. You’d noticed over the last few meetings Alexia had got more comfortable in placing a hand in yours or on your lower back. She’d even tapped your arse on one occasion as she instructed you to walk through a door first, you both new you were bound to cross that line of intimacy sooner rather than later one of you just needed to invite the other over. One of you just needed to make that first move.

"So, have you decided on the final design?" Alexia asks, her eyes twinkling with curiosity.

You pull out your phone, fingers fumbling slightly as you scroll through your gallery. "I think so. What do you think of this one?" you ask, showing her the song lyrics you've been obsessing over for months, that really resonated with you.

Alexia's eyes widen, a look of genuine admiration spreading across her face. "It's completely you," she breathes, leaning in closer to examine the font for the quote you showed her. "Is that someone’s handwriting?"

You shook your head swallowing, “No just like cursive”

“Long story short I survived” Alexia smiled knowing the song because her sister was obsessed with it at one point, “It’s perfect, you should go for it”

Her enthusiasm is contagious, and you feel a surge of excitement replacing your nervousness. The tattoo artist nods approvingly as you show him the design.

"Nice choice," he says, preparing his equipment. "Where are we putting this?"

You hesitate for a moment, then pull up your shirt slightly to reveal your ribcage. "Right here," you say, your fingertips grazing the spot adjacent to your breast.

Alexia's eyes follow your movement, and you notice a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. She clears her throat and says, "That's, um, that's a great spot. I’ll be." she pointed aimlessly behind her to the wall of tattoo options clearly a little flustered you looked at yourself in the mirror and noticed it was obvious you were without a bra and she got a little flash of the side of your breast.

As the tattoo artist begins to stencil the design onto your skin, you can't help but notice Alexia's lingering gaze. She's trying to be subtle, but her eyes keep darting back to the exposed skin of your ribcage. Or the area painfully close. You feel a little thrill at her obvious interest.

"So, um, how long have you wanted this tattoo?" Alexia asks, clearly trying to distract herself her eyes not coming off the wall.

You smile, enjoying her flustered state. "Oh, for a while now. But I never had the courage until now."

"Why now?" she asks, her eyes meeting yours.

You hold her gaze, feeling suddenly bold. "I guess I just needed the right person to give me that final push."

Alexia's breath catches, and for a moment, the air between you feels electric. The tattoo artist clears his throat, breaking the spell.

"Alright, so i’m going to step out whilst you get yourself ready, I’m going to need you remove your shirt and sit with your chest pressed against the back of this chair, is that ok?” He asked, with a smile you nodded as he left, even he eyed Alexia her face practically pressed up against the wall on his way past. You bit your lip at the thrill of excitement when you removed your shirt and you were bare Alexia a matter of steps away, you did as you were told, “All ready?”

“Yeah”

He came back in with a gentle smile, in the mirror in front of you, you see Alexia turn to look over her shoulder and her throat bounced. “I drew that flower we spoke about”

You looked to the artist, “Can I see?” You bit your lip when he grabbed the stencil and got a little smile, it was just what you wanted before you landed on the quote.

“Why don’t you see how you find getting this one then we’ll see about the other?” you nodded

You can't help but smirk at Alexia's flustered reaction as she moved nearer changing the wall she was staring at. As the tattoo artist begins to prep the gun, you decide to have a little fun with the situation.

"Hey Alexia," you call out, your voice playful, "Why don't you come hold my hand? I might need some moral support." Your arms resting over the back of the chair you turned one hand over in a visual request.

She turns back to you, her cheeks still tinged pink. "Oh, um, sure," she stammers, making her way back to your side, her eyes darting, but you caught the glance to your chest.

As she takes your hand, you feel a spark of electricity between you. The tattoo artist begins his work, and you wince slightly at the first prick of the needle.

"You okay?" Alexia asks, concern evident in her voice.

"Yeah, just... distract me?" you request, squeezing her hand.

Alexia nods, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "So, tell me about this flower tattoo you're considering. Is it going somewhere... interesting?" she asks, her gaze briefly flickering down to your exposed skin.

You can't help but grin at her playful tone. "Wouldn't you like to know?" you tease back, enjoying this flirtatious banter. The sting of the needle becomes a distant sensation as you focus on Alexia's face.

"Maybe I would," she replies, her voice low and husky. Her thumb traces lazy circles on your palm, sending shivers up your arm.

The tattoo artist clears his throat, reminding you both of his presence. "So, uh, how do you two know each other?" he asks, clearly picking up on the tension between you.

You and Alexia exchange a look, both suppressing smiles. 

"Oh, we're... friends," you say, your tone playful.

"Mmhmm, friends," Alexia echoes, giving your hand a little squeeze. "Who happens to spend an awful lot of time together."

The tattoo artist chuckles. "Right, 'friends.' Got it."

As he continues working on your tattoo, you find yourself getting lost in conversation with Alexia. She tells you funny stories about her day at work, describes a new recipe she wants to try, and asks your opinion on a book she's reading. Before you know it, the sting of the needle has faded into the background and you were done

"Alright, we're all done" the artist announces. "Want to take a look?"

You nod eagerly, you took your hand back from Alexia and without a care your arm came over your chest as you stood you more than certain Alexia got an unintentional eye full by the intense shade of red she went. You got a smile on your face as you admired it in the mirror, “Oh I love it, thank you so much, it’s just what I wanted.”

The artist smiled widely, the best part of his job was seeing his customers happy faces at the end, “So..We doing the flower?” he asked with a wide smile

You hesitate for a moment, glancing at Alexia. Her eyes are wide with anticipation, a mix of curiosity and something else you can't quite place flickering across her face. You feel a surge of boldness, fuelled by the adrenaline of your first tattoo and the electric tension between you two.

"You know what? Let's do it," you declare, surprising even yourself, feeling emboldened by the rush of endorphins from your first tattoo.

The artist grins, clearly excited by your enthusiasm. "Alright! Where are we putting this one?"

You bite your lip, considering. Your eyes lock with Alexia's as you make your decision, and suddenly you’re feeling daring. "How about... here?" you suggest, trailing your fingers along the crease where the top of your leg met your most intimate area

Alexia's breath hitches audibly, and you can't help but smirk at her reaction.You notice her pupils dilate slightly. The artist, oblivious to the charged atmosphere, nods approvingly.

"Great choice," the artist says, preparing his equipment once again. "This one might be a bit more sensitive, just to warn you."

You nod, your heart racing with a mix of excitement and nerves. As you collect your discarded top, you can't help but notice Alexia fidgeting, her eyes darting between you and the floor.

"It'll look great there. I'll need you to lower your jeans a bit to access the area."

You hook your thumbs into your waistband, hesitating for just a moment before slowly sliding your jeans down a few inches. The movement exposes a tantalising peak of your underwear. You catch Alexia's gaze following the motion, her eyes widening slightly.

"Is this okay?" you ask innocently, looking directly at Alexia rather than the artist.

She swallows hard, her voice a bit hoarse as she replies, "Y-yeah, that's... that's perfect."

The artist begins preparing the area, and you lie back on the chair, hyper-aware of Alexia's presence beside you. Her eyes keep darting between your face and the exposed black panties you were sporting her fingers fidgeting nervously. You can practically feel the tension radiating off her. With her cheeks flushed, you decide to push things a little further.

"So, Alexia," you say casually as the artist begins to work on the placement of the stencil, “What do you think about flower tattoos?"

She startles slightly at being addressed, her cheeks flushing. "Oh, um, I think they're beautiful. Especially in... certain places."

You raise an eyebrow, enjoying her flustered state. "Oh? And what places might those be?"

The artist chuckles quietly, clearly amused by your banter. Alexia opens her mouth to respond, then closes it again, seemingly at a loss for words.

"You know," you continue, wincing slightly as the needle hits a sensitive spot, "I might need you to hold my hand again. This one's a bit more... sensitive."

Alexia nods eagerly, wordlessly taking your hand in hers. Her palm is slightly sweaty, betraying her nervousness. As the artist begins, you let out a small gasp at the sensation.

"You okay?" Alexia asks, her voice filled with concern.

"Yeah," you breathe, squeezing her hand. "It's just... intense."

The artist works diligently, and you try to focus on Alexia's face to distract yourself from the discomfort. Her eyes meet yours, and suddenly the air feels thick with unspoken tension.

"So," you say, your voice low, "what do you think of my choice of placement?”

Alexia's eyes flicker down to where the artist is working, then quickly back up to your face. She licks her lips nervously before responding.

"I think it's...," she says, her voice husky. “Incredibly sexy."

Your breath catches at her words, the intensity of her gaze making your skin tingle. The artist continues his work, oblivious to the charged atmosphere between you two at the top of the bed.

"Yeah?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm glad you approve."

Alexia's thumb traces slow circles on your palm, sending goosebumps up your arm. You can't help but imagine those fingers exploring other parts of your body.

"You know," you continue, wincing slightly as the needle hits a particularly sensitive spot, "I might need some extra distraction for this one. Any ideas?"

Alexia's eyes darken with desire. She leans in closer, her lips just inches from your ear. "I might have a few ideas," she whispers, her warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

You turn your head slightly, your noses almost touching. "Care to share?" you murmur, your heart racing.

Alexia's gaze flicks down to your lips, then back up to meet your eyes. The tension between you is palpable, electric. She opens her mouth to respond when suddenly, the tattoo artist speaks, reminding you both of his presence. "Almost done here," he says, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Alexia pulls back slightly, but her eyes remain locked on yours. "Maybe I'll show you later," she says, her voice low and full of promise.

You feel a rush of anticipation at her words. The sting of the needle barely registers as you lose yourself in Alexia's gaze. 

"All done," the artist announces, breaking the spell. "Want to take a look?"

As the artist steps back, a sense of exhilaration washes over you. You sit up slowly, your heart racing with a mix of excitement and nerves. With a gentle nod, you climb off the bed heading to the mirror, your breath catching in your throat as you take in the sight of your new tattoo. 

“Oh my gosh, it’s beautiful!” you exclaim, your eyes widening with joy. The intricate design of the flower, capturing the essence of what you wanted perfectly. You can’t help but smile, feeling a rush of pride and satisfaction at the stunning artwork now adorning your skin.

The artist beams, clearly pleased with his work. “I’m glad you like it! You were a fantastic canvas,” he says, cleaning up his station.

You look up at Alexia in the mirror, who’s watching you with a look of admiration and something deeper—something electric. Her eyes sparkle with excitement, and you can see the warmth radiating from her before you felt it when she stood incredibly close behind you.

“See? I told you it would be worth it,” she says, her voice filled with genuine happiness for you, her breathe tickling your ear. You can’t help but notice how her gaze lingers on your tattoo, tracing the lines with her eyes as if trying to memorise every detail.

“Thank you for being here,” you say softly, your heart swelling with gratitude. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Alexia’s cheeks flush slightly, and she brushes a stray hair behind her ear. “I wouldn’t have missed it your first time. I’m proud of you.” 

As the moments stretch, you feel a familiar flutter in your chest. It’s a mix of exhilaration from the tattoo and the undeniable connection that has been building between you two. You take a step closer back into to her, your arse pressing into her groin, feeling the heat radiate off your skin where the tattoo now rests.

“Maybe,” you suggest playfully, “you could kiss them better.. at some point”

Her eyes widen, a mixture of surprise and intrigue dancing across her features. “Oh?” she asks, her tone teasing yet curious.

Your heart races as the implications of your words settle in. The air between you thickens with unspoken possibilities, and for a fleeting moment, you wanted to just have her here. 

Her gaze holds yours, the tension palpable as a charged silence envelops you. There’s a flicker of something in her eyes, a spark that ignites a longing within you. 

“Maybe we can make that happen sooner rather than later,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper.

The tattoo artist’s voice breaks through the moment as he gathers his supplies. “Just make sure to keep the area clean and moisturised for the next few weeks,” he instructs. 

You nod, still caught in the whirlwind of emotions swirling between you and Alexia. She clears her throat moving away as you raise your jeans back up around your waist. As you leave the studio, hand in hand, the world feels different now—full of potential and uncharted territories waiting to be explored. 

With each step you take outside into the sunlight, the tattoo feels like a new chapter in your life, one that you’re eager to share with Alexia. The journey ahead seems thrilling, and you can’t help but feel that this is just the beginning of something beautiful—something that transcends friendship and flirts with the edges of intimacy. 

As you walk side by side, laughter and playful banter fill the air, but beneath it all lies a current of unspoken desires, waiting for the perfect moment to emerge. And in that moment, you realise that this tattoo isn’t just about ink on skin; it’s a symbol of courage, connection, and the promise of more adventures to come.

++++

As you settled into the comfort of your home getting home from the Badalona home match, your eyes were glued to the screen, after turning it on to watch Barcelona, you tuned in on the hour mark shocked to see the score line. You began witnessing Barcelona’s unfortunate struggle against Levante. The match marked a disheartening milestone, as it was the team's first defeat in an astonishing 46 Liga games. Amidst the unfolding drama on the field, your thoughts were consumed with concern for Alexia, whose fate seemed intertwined with the outcome of the match.

In that moment, as the game unfolded, the tension in the air was palpable in your home so you couldn’t imagine what it was like for the players involved and in the stadium. The vibrant colours of Barcelona's jerseys, once a symbol of triumph, now seemed muted against the backdrop of their unexpected defeat. Each passing minute felt like an eternity as you watched the players battle for every inch, their determination evident, yet the elusive victory slipped further away when Levante scored a second in the 94th minute. The scoreline reflected not just a loss, but also the weight of expectations that come with being a top-tier team.

Your thoughts drifted to Alexia, whose presence brought you joy and inspiration, a player known for her tenacity and skill, an embodiment of the spirit that Barcelona fans cherish. The worry you felt for her stemmed for the emotional toll such a loss could take on her. You could see her on the field, giving it her all, and the thought of her disappointment mingled with your own.

As the final whistle blew, signalling the end of the game, a wave of melancholy washed over you. The cheers of the opposing fans echoed in stark contrast to your own feelings of dismay. In that moment of reflection, you realised that this defeat was not just about the game; it was a reminder of the highs and lows that come with sports and the deep connections you forge with players in them.

You tried to find a solace in the thought that even the greatest teams face adversity, and that this moment, though painful, would eventually lead to growth and resilience. As you pondered the implications of the game, your concern for Alexia transformed into a desire to support her, knowing that true strength is often revealed in the face of setbacks. But it was well told how when Alexia suffered a defeat she went into herself, so you found yourself in shock when little over an hour later, Alexia’s name was lightening up your phone.

“Hi” You spoke softly, she didn’t speak right away, but you wished she hadn’t when you heard the sadness in her voice

“Hola”

You didn’t know what to say, how could you even begin to comfort her after the evening she’d had. The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken emotions. You could almost feel Alexia's disappointment through the phone, her usually vibrant energy subdued."Alexia," You breathe, your heart aching at the pain in her voice. "I... I'm sorry about the match," I finally manage, wincing at how inadequate the words sound.

There's a long pause, and you could feel her struggling to find the words. Alexia sighs, a soft, broken sound that tugs at my heart. When she finally speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper. "I just... I don't understand what happened out there. We were so close."

I close my eyes, wishing I could reach through the phone and hold her. "You played your heart out, Alexia. Everyone could see that."

"Did we?" There's a bitter edge to her words now. "Maybe we didn't fight hard enough. Maybe we got complacent. But it wasn't enough," she says, her voice cracking. "We let everyone down. I let everyone down."

"No," You said firmly, surprising yourself with the intensity in your tone. "You didn't let anyone down. This is just one game, one moment. It doesn't define you or the team."

You hear a soft sniffle and a shaky breath on the other end of the line, and my heart clenches."But it feels like it does," Alexia whispers. "We were undefeated for so long. And now..."

"And now you have a chance to show everyone how you bounce back," you say gently. "That's what makes a true champion, Alexia. Not never falling, but how you rise after you do."

“Everyone expected us to keep winning."

You take a deep breath, choosing your words carefully. "Expectations can be a heavy burden, Alexia. But remember, you're human. The team is human. Perfection isn't sustainable, and that's okay."

There's a long pause, and for a moment you worry you've said the wrong thing. But then you hear a soft chuckle, barely audible but unmistakably there.

"When did you get so wise?" Alexia asks, a hint of her usual playfulness creeping back into her voice.

You feel a smile tugging at my lips. "I learned from the best."

Another pause, but this one feels lighter somehow. "Can i come over?" Alexia says softly.

“Of course” you both ended the call and you were waiting with anticipation with the Alexia you would be met with, usually her smile was ever present. But as you opened the door, that smile wasn’t there.

You open the door, and your heart sinks as you take in Alexia's appearance. Her usual radiant smile is nowhere to be seen, replaced by a weariness that seems to weigh down her entire being. Her eyes, usually sparkling with life, are red-rimmed and puffy, evidence of the tears she's shed.

"Hey," you say softly, stepping aside to let her in. She moves past you, her shoulders slumped, and you can almost feel the heaviness of her disappointment in the air.

Alexia stands in the middle of your living room, looking lost and vulnerable. Without a word, you close the distance between you and wrap your arms around her. She stiffens for a moment, then melts into your embrace, burying her face in your shoulder.

You hold Alexia tightly, feeling her body slump slightly as she finally lets her guard down. Her breath comes in shaky gasps against your neck. You don't say anything, knowing that sometimes silence is the most comforting sound.

After a few minutes, Alexia pulls back slightly, her eyes meeting yours. There's a raw vulnerability in her gaze that makes your heart ache. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice hoarse. "I didn't mean dump on you like this."

You shake your head, reaching up to gently wipe a thumb over her cheek. "Don't apologise. You're allowed to feel this, Alexia. It's okay to be upset."

She nods, taking a deep breath. "I just... I don’t normally reach out after bad games like this, i prefer to be alone but i knew you’d make me feel better”

You feel a warmth bloom in your chest at her words, touched by her trust in you. your heart swells with a mixture of pride and tenderness at your words "I'm glad you came," you say softly, leading her to the couch. "Do you want to talk about it, or would you rather just... be?"

Alexia sinks into the cushions, her eyes distant. "I don't know," she admits. "It's all just... jumbled up in my head."

Her body language still tense. You sit beside her, close enough to offer comfort but giving her space if she needs it. "That's okay. We can just sit here if you want."

She nods, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. You watch her, noticing the tension in her jaw, the slight tremor in her hands as she runs a hand through her hair, a gesture you've come to recognise as a sign of her frustration without thinking, you reach out and take her hand in yours, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Alexia's eyes flutter open, and she looks at you with a mix of gratitude and something else you can't quite place. She squeezes your hand back, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips, she closes the distance and closes her lips around yours, “Thank you” she whispers, her voice barely audible, your eyes lingered in yours.

As Alexia's lips meet yours again, you feel a surge of warmth and tenderness. The kiss is soft, hesitant at first, as if she's seeking comfort and reassurance. You respond gently, letting her set the pace, your hand coming up to cup her cheek.

The kiss deepens, and you can taste the salt of her earlier tears. There's a desperation in the way she clings to you now, as if you're an anchor in the storm of her emotions. Your fingers thread through her hair, and you pull her closer, trying to convey without words that you're here for her, that she's safe.

When you finally break apart, both slightly breathless, Alexia rests her forehead against yours. Her eyes are closed, but her expression seems more peaceful now. "I needed that," she whispers, her breath warm against your lips.

You brush your thumb across her cheek, “You don’t have to stop there” you spoke your words laced with hints of what you wanted if she wanted to also.

Alexia's eyes lift, meeting yours with a mix of vulnerability and growing desire. Her lips part slightly, and you feel her breath quicken. "Are you sure?" she asks softly, her voice husky.

In response, you move to straddle her lap leaning in and capture her lips again, this time with more intensity. Alexia responds immediately, her hands sliding up your thighs to grip your hips. The kiss deepens, becoming more passionate as the emotional tension of the evening transforms into something else entirely.

You press yourself closer, your hands holding her face. This time, the kiss is different. There's a hunger behind it, a need that goes beyond comfort, “I want you.” Alexia gasps between kisses. She breaks the kiss, her lips trailing along your jaw and down your neck. You shiver at the sensation, a soft gasp escaping your lips.

“Take me” your hand rests on the back of her neck as her lips find your bare collarbone kissing over to the other on, your hips moving instinctively against her.

"Bedroom?" Alexia murmurs against your skin, her voice low and filled with want.

You nod, unable to form words as desire floods your senses. You stand up, pulling Alexia up with you. Your lips find hers again as you stumble towards the bedroom, hands roaming and clothes being shed along the way.

By the time you reach the bed, you're both down to your underwear, once inside, Alexia pulls you close again, her kisses more urgent now. Her hands roam your body, leaving trails of heat in their wake.

Your fingers trace the lines of her toned abdomen, marvelling at the softness of her skin. Alexia shivers under your touch, her eyes dark with want. Alexia backs you towards the bed, she gently pushes you onto the mattress, her eyes dark with want as she takes in the sight of you. She crawls over you, her body pressing against yours in all the right places.

Alexia's eyes sparkle with desire in the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the balcony doors. "Are you sure?" She whispers, her voice barely audible over the distant sounds of the city coming alive for the evening.

Your lips curve into a gentle smile. "I've never been more certain of anything," you murmur, her fingers now tracing the line of your thigh.

You reach up to cup her face, you pull it to you, capturing her lips with yours. The kiss starts slow, it’s tender at first, a delicate exploration, but quickly deepens as the passion between you re-ignites. Her hands tangle in your hair as she pulls you closer, the warmth of her body against yours making you dizzy with desire. Her weight on top of you feels right, like she belongs there.

You run your hands along her sides, feeling the soft curve of her waist, the softness of her skin, the warmth of her body. Alexia's lips leave yours, trailing kisses down your neck, each one sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You gasp as she finds a particularly sensitive spot, your fingers digging into her back.

"You're beautiful," Alexia murmurs against your skin, her breath warm and tickling on your collarbone. Her words make your heart swell, and you pull her back up to kiss her deeply, pouring all your emotions into it. 

Her hands explore your body, tracing every curve, every dip. Like she wants to memorise every inch of you. Alexia's fingers dance across your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. The world outside fades away until there's nothing but the two of you, lost in each other's embrace in your bedroom.

Your hands fumble with the clasp her bra, eager to see more of her. Alexia chuckles softly, her laugh like music to your ears. She sits up, between your legs, and slowly reaches back to unclasp the last piece of clothing she had on you bare for all to see, maintaining eye contact with you the entire time. You watch, mesmerised, as she reveals more of herself to you.

Alexia's bra soon joins the clothes on the floor, and you marvel at her as your hands explore her body bumping over each of her breasts. Her lips trace a path down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You arch into her touch, craving more.

“You’re so fucking sexy” she whispers again against your skin, her breath warm and enticing.

Your fingers tangle in her hair as she continues her journey downward, pausing to lavish attention on your breasts, paying special extended attention to each. A soft moan escapes your lips, and you feel her smile against your skin.

The world narrows even more to just the two of you, the sounds of Barcelona fading away. All that matters is Alexia's touch, her lips, her skin against yours. Time seems to slow as you lose yourself in the sensations she's creating.

Your hands roam her back, tracing the curve of her spine, pulling her closer. Your breath catches in your throat. The moonlight caresses her skin, painting her in silver and shadow. She shivers under your touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

“Touch me,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I need you”

Alexia leans down, capturing your lips once more. The kiss is deeper now, more urgent. Your hands roam her back, feeling the play of muscles rippling beneath her skin as she moves against you. The weight of her, the warmth of her body pressed against yours, it's intoxicating. Your head went back as all four of her fingers ran down your intimate area, you got a little smile as your mouth opened, she was just where you wanted her to be.

“Why have I never noticed how big your hands are before?” You mused as her movements were methodical and slow up and down, up and down she was giving you a little bit of a taste of what was to come she didn’t dip inside your folds tantalising caressing the outside.

You roll, gently flipping your positions. Now you're the one looking down at Alexia, her hair fanned out on the pillow, her eyes dark with desire at the sudden movement of you taking control.

You hover above Alexia, drinking in the sight of her. Her chest rises and falls with each breath, her skin flushed with desire glowing in the moonlight. You lean down, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, then her cheek, then the corner of her mouth. She whimpers softly, her hands coming up to grip your waist. 

"Please," she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper.

You smile, trailing kisses down her neck, “You teased me” Savouring the taste of her skin. Your hands explore her body, memorising every inch. You want to know every inch of her, to worship her the way she deserves. “Shall I tease you?” Her quiet gasps and sighs of pleasure encourage you, spurring you on

Alexia arches into your touch as you lavish attention on her breasts. Her fingers tangle in yours when you held her hand. The sounds she makes, soft moans and gasps, are the most beautiful music you've ever heard as your free hand goes down tantalising down her body you bump over her pubic bone then pull it back up. “Mi amor, por favour”

Your lips continue their journey down Alexia's body, trailing kisses across her stomach. Her skin quivers beneath your touch, goosebumps rising in the wake of your caresses. You pause at her hip, looking up to meet her gaze. Her eyes are heavy-lidded with desire, her lips parted as she pants softly. You knew exactly what you were doing.

"Is this okay?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Alexia nods, her fingers tightening around yours. “Si,” she breathes. “Por favor, don't stop."

Encouraged by her words, you continue your exploration, you let go of her hand as you settle between her legs. Your hands caress her thighs as you settle between them, placing soft kisses along the inside of her leg finding all her sensitive spots. Alexia's breath hitches as you near her centre, her hips lifting slightly off the bed in anticipation. Bucking slightly at the contact, a soft moan escaping her lips.

The first taste of her is intoxicating. You take your time, savouring every moment, every taste, every sound she makes. Your tongue traces patterns on her sensitive flesh, alternating between gentle licks and more focused attention. Alexia's fingers tighten in your hair, guiding you where she needs you most. Her soft moans grow louder, more insistent, as you bring her closer to the edge. 

You look up, wanting to see her face as pleasure washes over her. Alexia's head is thrown back, her eyes closed, lips parted as she pants. She's never looked more beautiful than in this moment of abandon.

"Look at me," you whisper, your breath hot against her most sensitive areas.

Alexia's eyes open, meeting yours. The connection is electric, intimate in a way that takes your breath away. You hold her gaze as you redouble your efforts, watching as the pleasure builds within her.

Her hips begin to move in rhythm with your movements, her breathing growing more ragged. 

"Oh god," she gasps, her fingers tightening in your hair, you enjoying the slight tugging, you slide your hands under her thighs, holding her close as you worship her with your lips and tongue.

You look up, watching her face as pleasure washes over her. Her head is thrown back, exposing the elegant line of her throat. Her lips are parted, soft moans escaping with each breath. The sight of her lost in ecstasy is breathtaking.

You increase your efforts, your tongue moving faster, more insistently. Alexia's thighs begin to tremble, her back arching off the bed. You can feel her getting close, her body tensing beneath you. You slide one hand up her body to caress her breast, feeling her nipple harden under your palm, your hand found her neck gently forcing her to hold eye contact.

Her hips rocking against your mouth, you increase the pressure and speed of your tongue, wanting to bring her to the heights of pleasure. Her moans grow louder, more desperate, as she nears her climax

You lavish attention there, circling and flicking your tongue in a steady rhythm. You can feel her getting close, teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

Alexia's body tenses, you moves your hand from her neck, as her back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crash over her. Her thighs clamp around your head as she cries out your name, her fingers tightening against your hand on her breast as she rides out her climax. You continue your gentle work, drawing out her orgasm for as long as possible.

As her tremors subside, you place soft kisses on her inner thighs, her hips, her stomach, slowly making your way back up her body. Alexia's eyes are closed, her chest heaving as she catches her breath, a sheen of sweat glistening on her skin in the moonlight. When you reach her face, you pepper her cheeks with light kisses, tasting the salt of her sweat on her flushed skin.

Alexia's eyes flutter open, meeting yours, dark and hazy with lingering pleasure the look she gives you is filled with such tenderness and love that it makes your heart skip a beat. A slow, satisfied smile spreads across her lips as she pulls you down for a deep, languid kiss. You can feel the rapid beating of her heart against your chest as she holds you close.

“Your turn” she whispers

A shiver of anticipation runs through you at Alexia's words. Her hands are already moving, caressing your sides as she rolls you onto your back. She hovers above you, her hair falling around her face like a curtain, creating an intimate cocoon just for the two of you.

A mischievous glint in her eye. She leans down, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss that leaves you breathless.

Her hands roam your body, tracing patterns on your skin that make you shiver with delight. She breaks the kiss, trailing her lips along your jawline and down your neck. You tilt your head, giving her better access, a soft moan escaping your lips as she uses her tongue.

"I want to make you feel as amazing as you made me feel," Alexia murmurs against your skin. Her words send a flush of warmth through your body, making your heart swell with excitement and anticipation.

Her touch is electric, igniting every nerve ending as she explores your body. She takes her time, savouring every inch of you, her fingers and lips leaving trails of fire in their wake. You arch into her touch, craving more, your body humming with desire.

Alexia's mouth finds your breast, her tongue swirling around your nipple as her hand caresses the other. You gasp, your fingers tangling in Alexia's silky hair, holding her close as waves of pleasure wash over you. The sensation is exquisite, pleasure radiating through your body her talented mouth and hands work in tandem, drawing soft gasps and moans from your lips. She alternates between gentle caresses and more insistent touches, building your arousal higher and higher.

Her free hand trails down your stomach, tracing circles on your skin. Your muscles quiver beneath her touch, anticipation building as her fingers move lower. When she finally reaches your centre, you gasp, your hips bucking involuntarily when she touched what she teased earlier.

Alexia looks up at you, her eyes dark with desire. “You like that?” she asks, her voice husky as her fingers move in magic circles holding the most intense eye contact.

"Yes," you breathe, barely able to form words. "Please, don't stop."

She smiles, a glint in her eye. She stops.

She got the most seductive smirk on her lips watching you a laboured breathing mess anticipation making it impossible for you to calm. She held your chin in her hand, “Please”

“Do you want it?” She asked, you bit your lip nodding, using her thumb to pull it from your teeth before nibbling it herself gently tugging at it before kissing the sting before lowering her head to trail kisses down your body. Her tongue traces patterns on your inner thighs, teasing you, building your anticipation as she settles between your thighs this time, her warm breath teasing your sensitive skin. She looks up at you, her eyes dark with desire, seeking permission. You nod, unable to form words.

The first touch of her tongue against you makes you cry out, your hips lifting off the bed. Alexia's hands grip your thighs, holding you steady as she explores you with her lips and tongue. She takes her time, learning what makes you gasp and moan, what makes your body tremble.

Alexia's tongue moves in slow, deliberate circles, with exquisite skill, alternating between long, slow strokes and quick flicks that send jolts of pleasure through your body. Your hands grip the sheets, your head thrown back as waves of sensation wash over you.

Her hands caress your thighs, occasionally dipping lower to tease your entrance. The dual sensations make your head spin, every nerve ending alight with pleasure.

The dual stimulation is almost too much to bear. Your hips move of their own accord, seeking more contact, more friction. Alexia's free hand splays across your stomach, holding you down gently as she works you closer and closer to the edge. "Alexia," you gasp, your voice breathy and desperate. "Oh shit, Alexia..."

She hums in response, the vibration adding another layer to the pleasure building within you. Your thighs begin to tremble, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

You look down, meeting Alexia's gaze. The sight of her between your legs, her eyes dark with desire, sends a fresh wave of arousal through you. You reach down, running your fingers through her hair, gently tugging trying to hold on or dear life.

She responds eagerly, increasing the pressure and speed of her tongue. Your breath comes in short gasps now, your hips moving in rhythm with her. Working together towards the ultimate ending. The tension builds within you, a coiling spring ready to release.

Alexia slips two fingers inside you, the added stimulation pushes you closer to the edge. You’re so close you feel the need to tell her, “I’m so close” you gasp, your voice trembling with need.

Alexia redoubles her efforts, her tongue moving faster, more insistently against you. Her fingers curl inside you, finding that perfect spot that makes you see stars. The dual sensations are overwhelming, pleasure building to an almost unbearable intensity. Threatening to send you spiralling towards your peak.

Your back arches off the bed, your thighs trembling as you teeter on the edge of ecstasy. Your fingers moving to tightening on the sheets pulling at them as the pleasure builds to an almost unbearable intensity.

Alexia's free hand slides up your body to caress your breast, her thumb brushing over your nipple. The added stimulation is the final push you need.

"Fuck! Alexia!" you cry out as your orgasm crashes over you. Waves of ecstasy roll through your body, making you tremble and shake. “Yes” you cry out, Alexia doesn't let up, drawing out your pleasure for as long as possible until you gently push her away, oversensitive.

She kisses her way back up your body as you come down from your high, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. When she reaches your face, you pull her in for a deep kiss, tasting yourself on her lips.

Alexia settles beside you, her arm draped across your waist as she nuzzles into your neck, as you both catch your breath. Your breathing slowly returns to normal as you bask in the afterglow, feeling utterly content and sated.

The moonlight bathes the room in a soft glow, casting gentle shadows across her face.

You turn your head to look at her, marvelling at how beautiful she looks with her tousled hair and flushed cheeks, her eyes bright with contentment.

"That was..." you trail off, unable to find words adequate enough to describe the experience.

"Amazing," Alexia finishes for you, a soft smile playing on her lips. She reaches up to brush a strand of hair from your face, her touch tender and loving. She leans in to kiss you gently, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin.

"You're amazing," you murmur against her mouth.

Your legs tangling together beneath the sheets, savouring the feeling of skin against skin her arm draping over your waist, “What was the score again?” You laugh gently “This wasn’t a booty call by the way” You blink, “That doesn’t mean i didn’t want to, I would never say no to you, but i want you to know i called you tonight because i wanted to see you, i had a shit game and the only thing i knew would make it better was you”

You pressed a kiss to the top of her head, “I didn’t think it was” you gently moved your fingers over her head massaging as she held her face in your neck her soft breathe warming the spot, the breathing soon changed and you knew she’d fallen asleep the emotion and excursions of the day catching up with her.

It took you longer to feel tired, just basking in the feeling of having her close in your bed this way, you careful to not wake her dragged the sheets up over you both, put both arms around her kissed her head closed your eyes and actively tried to get some sleep yourself.

[pronouncingitwang]

[ID: 10 gifs of Irving and Helly in different episodes of Severance. They go

2.04: Irving says to Helena, "What you said to me last night. It was cruel. Helly was never cruel."

1.01: Helly looks warily at Irving through the desk barriers. Irving says, "Hello."

1.02: MDR is playing the ball game. Irving, smiling, tilts his head at Helly and rolls the ball towards her even as she shakes her head. She watches it come towards her with a disgruntled expression

1.02: Helly asks Irving, "How was wellness?" He replies, "Great! Very restorative."

1.02: Irving crouches behind Helly as she refines her first numbers. She looks at turns scared, excited, and proud. Grinning, he says, "All right, Helly. Hip hip!"

1.03: Helly looks up at Myrtle Eagan in the Perpetuity Wing. Irving asks, smiling, "Isn't that lovely?" She says sarcastically, "It's beautiful."

1.04: Irving tells Mark, "It’s past 1100, and Helly’s been in the break room since yesterday." Mark replies, "Okay?" Irving says, "I wonder if as Department Chief you feel you should check on her progress?"

1.06: MDR are meeting around a table. Helly says, "I agree with Irving. O&D is the next piece of this. Now once we’ve mapped the whole floor-" Irving says, "To be clear, I do not approve of mapping." Helly points at him and says, "Right."

1.08: Irving, standing in the elevator before the OTC, says, "Let's find out what's for dinner." The two give each other small, hopeful smiles as the door closes.

2.04: Irving cradles Helly post-drowning and says, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Helly."

/end ID]

"I think there’s something about Irving and Helly R. They formed an alliance in Season 1, really, at the Perpetuity Wing ... There’s a real familial bond that they have ... For Helena, her relationship with her father is so challenging that the kind of dynamic she has with Irving, I think, is triggering for her because it kind of rhymes a little bit with a father figure, but it’s a way more nurturing one than she’s ever experienced." (x)

[pedge-page]

does joel take care of wifeys bush for her while she’s pregnant? I have a feeling he would appreciate hers very much

18+ ONLY

You would absolutely insist on having it shaved, and you'd shave it yourself as much as possible while pregnant. But when you get to that point that you can't see or reach over your belly, you call upon your doting, obedient, loyal husband who would do anything you ask of hi-

"No."

You blink at him. With a razor blade in one hand and shaving cream in the other, you're naked as your soon-to-be-baby will be on the day of her birth.

"What."

He shrugs. "Said no."

"But... its..."

"It's beautiful."

You scoff. "C'mon Joel." Holding out the razor and cream, you smile with pleading eyes.

He only shakes his head again. "I'm not doing it. I wanna enjoy the bush."

"The what?"

He chuckles. "Heard me." He paces forward, your belly bumping his as you are forced to step backwards. "I said--" he reaches behind you to knead your ass-- "I want--" You find yourself pinned in front of the sink-- "the bush."

"I dont-- what does that even mean?"

But he's already kissing down your belly button.

"Leg," he commands.

You give him a sideways look from above, barely seeing his lidded eyes over the swell of your tummy.

You whimper but lift your thigh, enabling him to hook it over his shoulder. His hand finds its way to cup against your lower back so the countertop doesn't uncomfortably cut into your spine.

"Joel..." you whine. "Its just....so..." you cover your face with your hands, though you can't even see his expression down there in the great beyond anyway.

"S'magical," he replies, nose nuzzling your newly grown hair. "Ooo baby. It's like my beard rubbed off on ya down here."

"How is THAT sexy?"

"You like my beard don't you?"

Fair point. "But not on me. Not down there."

He chuckles, inhaling your scent with a kiss to your pelvis.

"Let's get explorin," he grumbles with a sly smile, before spreading you expertly apart with his fingers. His lips attached to your clit, and he starts sucking with such precision, youre not sure what "exploring" hes talking about. The man has chartered every millimeter of area down there. Playing you like a piccolo, Joel eats you out and nudges your g spot until you're crying and grasping the sink behind you.

Once you've cum three times on his tongue, you're exhausted. "J-joel," you plea.

"Mmm?" He pulls away, showcasing his soaking mustache and lopsided drunk grin. "S-wrong, Momma?" He rubs along your belly with his slick hand, soothing your twiching body.

You feel dizzy, unable to argue with him. "M'not...asking you... take care... of-of... it...'gain."

He giggles into your belly. "Honey," he tuts. "Wasn't gonna ask your permission. I'm gonna enjoy this for as many nights as I can get it. Now how about I take ya to bed so we can continue preserving these forests?"

- - - -

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow @wintersquirrel @fluffygoffpanda @picketniffler @bbyanarchist @94namkooksworld

[klausysworld]

Hiii I absolutely love your oneshots. Can you please do one with Elijah mikaelson. Similar to your klaus one shot about the reader having a lack in height.. Elijah is OBSESSED. Reader could be like (4’10 to 5’1?)

Uncontrollable Love

It shouldn’t have turned him on as much as it did.

Just looking at her made him stir. 

It had gotten to the point where even Niklaus was teasing him about it all.

Whenever Y/N would leave the room Elijah’s eyes would follow and someone would snicker. 

He hadn’t realised quite how tiny she was the first couple times, Y/N always seemed to be sitting the first few encounters so when he had been too focused on sorting out his cufflinks and bumped into her, he didn’t realise who it was.

Not until she spun back around and called out his name with a smile on her face.

“Oh..” He breathed, Elijah hadn’t remembered the last time he’d been at such a loss for words but looking down at her he was. Y/N barely reached his chest, let alone being at eyeline. Her head was tilted all the way back, looking up at him with such a sweetness that it made his dead heart thump quickly. His head shook a little, trying to urge his thoughts back. “Y/N.” He nodded, “Forgive me, I wasn’t looking.” His throat cleared, he felt like he sounded funny. Did he sound different? Was his voice too high? Too deep?

He wasn’t so sure and he could feel the bead of sweat on his forehead.

“That’s okay, neither was I.” She smiled, holding up her phone as if to show him what she had been looking at. Her expression shifted, a slight frown and it made him worry more. “Oh did I mess up your tie? I’m sorry, I must've knocked it somehow.” Y/N reached up as she said so, her arms stretched up to straighten his tie. 

Her fingers were so close to him, almost touching him. Usually he was very possessive of his belongings, especially his extensive tie collection but he couldn’t help but want her to stroke every inch of fabric he owned.

He couldn’t take it, just watching her. It was straining him.

Without a word he had left the room, leaving her confused but she simply shrugged it off and went on her way.

From that day he couldn’t help but imagine her with him all the time.

Wondered how she’d look snuggled up against him, gods he’d be able to wrap his body all the way around her. 

He’d imagine her sitting on his lap, straddling him. Her thighs stretched open as she looked up at him with her big eyes. It made him throb.

Every morning he had to reach over her, grab the cereal and pass it down to her and every time he couldn’t help but let himself press against the back of her. 

At lunch he’d get too nervous that she might slip and slice her finger off when she cut her sandwich in half so he’d hastily make his way down the stairs and grab the knife before she could. She’d laugh, such a bubbly laugh that would make his heart clench and she’d tell him that she wasn’t a small child but he could always see the level of comfort and enjoyment she took when he sliced her sandwich into two triangles and shifted them onto a plate for her. 

Once dinner rolled around he’d be all over her in the kitchen. He’d lift her onto the counter, watching her legs swing back and forth as he slid the herbs across to her when she asked for them. 

She’d talk so much to him then, and he would always listen of course. It was impossible not to pay attention to her, her voice was addictive. But he also couldn’t stop himself from admiring her. He just wanted to hold her, feel her, know that she was his.

Pure and utter joy would fill him when his brother announced another event they were throwing.

It meant Y/N would be held against his chest, letting him lift her off the ground and dance her all around the room like she was just a petal in the wind. In addition to that, at the end of those events, Elijah was almost guaranteed a kiss from her. 

He’d walk her back up the stairs, her dainty hands clutching his bicep as she spoke to him about how lovely the evening had been. Once they got to her bedroom he’d clear his throat, a faint smile creeping on his lips but he needed to keep it back.

Y/N would tuck her hair behind her ear, a nervous habit Elijah had discovered, and look up at him through her lashes. 

“Thank you for being with me all night.” She’d whisper, her foot sliding in and out of her heel, another habit, before she’d reach up to wrap her fingers around his tie. Elijah would always have to hold his breath so he wouldn’t let out a groan.

She’d tug him down and he’d eagerly lean so that their lips could meet. 

Always soft and innocent but would linger slightly too long for it to mean something casual. 

His hand would hold her waist, he felt as though he could fit her in one hand. 

“Goodnight Elijah.” Her voice would utter before she disappeared into the confines of her room.

Elijah would have to sit as quietly as he could in his reading chair, his hair damp as he stroked himself like a desperate animal. His hips would jump as though somehow he’d lost the control over himself that he had trained himself to have over centuries. 

It took him an embarrassingly long time to finally cave to his feelings and bring her to his bed. But once he had her, he knew she’d never be able to leave him. 

Elijah was in a state when her legs wrapped around him, his hands traced the short length of her body over and over and she knew how much he loved her size. Especially once her fingers were trying to wrap around his cock, the contrased made his hips just. Watching her pretty pink lips stretch around the head made his hands tangle in her hair, he just couldn’t believe what was happening.

Even once he was deep inside her, he couldn’t help but watch as his cock disappear inside her over and over, he could feel her pussy stretching around him. He looked so big between her legs.

Y/N moaned and whined like a needy whore and it made him crazy.

“Just desperate to be split in two by my big cock, aren’t you baby?” he would taunt against her ear, relishing in the way she would clench around him. 

Once she finished around him, he would pump her full of his cum, not once tearing his gaze away from how it all spilled out of her.

Elijah was a carer, that much was evident just with his siblings but with Y/N he was even more so.

He never wanted her walking, holding her tight instead, needing her legs around his waist all the time and arms over his neck. He needed her to need him, to cling to him like his soul would cling to hers.

[anistarrose]

[ID: Owl House fanart, based on Season 1. Eda smiles deviously, conjuring yellow flames from both her hands. Luz sits on Owlbert's staff, watching with an enthralled expression, while King is perched on Luz's head, looking at her sadly or maybe nervously. End ID.]

Finally started watching The Owl House. I like these sillies a lot.