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peachesofteal · 4 months

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Simple Math / Part Seven

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.8k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Brief suggestive content, sex dream. Mentions of domestic violence, stalking. Hospital setting, nurse!reader. Feelings of fear, anxiety. Mentions of stress and weight loss. Soft dads. Little bit of flirting. Simon is... Simon. You get caught in a spell.

Johnny knows this is a dream.

It’s an odd thing, to be conscious of it, to know you’re dreaming but still unable to control your actions. It’s like watching a movie of yourself, but also being yourself, directing your body without having a say in what it’s doing.

He knows this is a dream, because you’re in it. You’re in their home, in one of Simon’s oversized sweatshirts, boy shorts rucked up over the little lightning bolts that arc across your hips, the underside of your cheeks. You’re smiling at him too, like you belong in there, like it’s yours too, and his heart swells, growing to a preposterous size.

“There’s my bunny.” He pulls you into his chest, mouthing up your neck and over your jaw. Your skin tastes like sugar, and when he gets to your lips, his hands shift, sliding down your back to grab two fistfuls of your ass with a groan. “Missed ye.”

“We missed you too.” His fingers trace the edge of your panty line, barely dipping into where you drip for him. “Come to bed, Si’s waiting.” You whisper, stifling a moan.

“Johnny.” Simon calls him, too loudly. He wants to hiss, snap at him about not waking the baby. “Johnny!”

His eyes blink open. White ceiling stares back at him, and he turns his head, finding Simon with a bemused look on his face.

“I was havin’ a great dream.” Johnny grumbles, latching onto him. Simon scoots closer, lifting the back of his hand to his lips with a secretive smile, dotting kisses down to his wrist.

“I know.”

“- and he has access privileges, as long he’s not interfering with care, he’s allowed to be in the room whenever he deems fit. Obviously, in cases where he shouldn’t be, like burn debridement, he’s fine with stepping out, but you should expect him to sleep here.” The nurse nods, nervously peeking over your shoulder at Simon, who’s lurking in the hallway, staring through the glass at the transport techs getting Johnny settled in his room. You catch her eyes, motioning to redirect her attention, and she mumbles a meek apology. “They have a daughter, who Johnny has been mostly separated from since he got here, and he’s hoping to see her often, since she’ll be allowed to visit more freely now. I told him it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Okay.” Her toes tap against linoleum, weight shifting from foot to foot, and you resist the urge to sprint back to her boss and demand someone else. Fuck. Why does Nora have to be on maternity leave?

“This is my favorite patient.” You warn her instead, dropping your voice low, pitching it brazenly serious. “I don’t ever want to see him back upstairs again, and that’s going to depend a lot on you.”

“Okay, okay.” Her work phone rings, and you jerk your head in dismissal, not quite finished, but not seeing a need to continue to harangue her, either.

Simon glances at you from down the hall, head turning once you’re alone. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t call to you, or say your name, but you’re helpless to the magnetic yank of his presence, a beam of gravity dragging you closer until you’re shoulder to shoulder, looking into Johnny’s room. He’s asleep, dark lashes feathered against his cheeks, blissed out and nearly snoring. “This will be great.” You say quietly. “He can see Penny almost as much as he wants down here. There are far less restrictions, and he’s doing so well, there’s nothing to worry about it.” He doesn’t say anything, just watches you with the x-ray vision that peels you open. Like he’s digging around in your head again.

“D’you have a minute?” You blink at him, graceful words dried out and missing.

“Uh, I… yeah, I’m technically off now so. Sure?”

“Have a tea with me? I’ll meet you outside the café, on the patio. Ten minutes alright?” Have a… have a tea with him?

His eyes are heavy. They’re lasered, locked onto yours, brows knitted together in something soft, some form of emotion that you don’t understand, framing his face above the mask. How can you say no?

“Okay, sure. Ten minutes.” You try to hide how your hands shake, tucking fingernail to palm, squeezing tight.

It doesn’t escape him.

You grow more afraid with each day, that nothing does.

The paper cup cradled in Simon’s outstretched grip is like every other paper cup you’ve seen before, drank from a thousand times, with steam wafting from its rim and aromatics spilling out into the air. “Sorry.” You blurt, reaching. His fingers brush against yours, warm contact momentarily stunning you. ‘Thanks.” You lift the tea to your nose, inhaling deeply.

Irish breakfast. With milk. Your favorite.

“How do you know what tea I drink?” You don’t mean for it to sound so suspicious, or aggressive, but it does. It’s nearly accusatory, but doesn’t affect him. He merely shrugs in response.

“I pay attention.” An engine turns over in the carpark, a small car sweeping across the lot as it turns out onto the street. You watch, feigning mild interest, trying to get a closer look at the driver without appearing too fixated. “So.” He sips, and then removes the lid, vapor rising from the top in a delicate little dance. “How long have you been at Addenbrooke’s?”

“A few years.” The answer is effortlessly supplied, like you’re under a spell. Your eyes go round. What are you doing? Crow’s feet crinkle at the corners of his own, and you manage a shaky smile.

“What brought you across the pond?” He jokes, velvet, soothing lilt in his voice.

“Work.” It’s easy to lie about this, the fabrication usually used in casual conversation almost every day with patients and new coworkers, people who are interested in you being from somewhere else, having a different accent, different education, customs, the whole lot. His jaw moves behind the mask, and before he can push the question further, you rush out your own interruption. “Simon, I want… I want to talk to you about something.”

“Sure.” He nods. “What’s on your mind?”

“It’s… the other night Johnny said something about,” Your face is nearly scalding, embarrassment laden lump stuck in the back of your throat. “about you and him, and… me, I guess…” you trail off, eyes darting down into the tea.

“Go on?”

“He said that you guys think I’m special, and you- you said-“

“That we’re here for you.” He finishes, nonchalant.

“Right.” You breathe a little easier, knowing he knows what you’re talking about, words picking up steam. “I want you to know that it’s totally normal to feel this way. It happens a lot, you know. Patients and, or their family members, loved ones, they get attached. This affection starts to happen towards a member of the care team because we become that person who… provides care, twenty-four seven. So, you and… and Johnny, feeling like you have this attachment towards me, it’s very normal. Not a big deal.” You finish in one big breath, cutting your ramble short. His cheeks swell behind the fabric, like he’s smiling, eyes squinting again.

“That’s not what this is.” That’s not… what this is? What does that mean?��

“What?”

“Transference. That’s not what is happening here.”

“How do you…”

“I’ve had years of therapy.” He sighs. “Are you uncomfortable?” Say yes, the girl in your head screams. Tell him you need it all to stop. That you don’t like them, that it’s inappropriate. You know how this will end.

“No.” You don’t know why you don’t acquiesce to your own good sense, why you ignore the very clear boundaries and rules that have kept you alive this long.

“Bunny, I need you tell me, honestly, if you are uncomfortable.” He levels you with an intense look, seriousness bleeding from his irises to yours. You press your palms flat on the table, quelling their trembling.

“It’s not… it’s not you. Or Johnny.” You whisper, eyes slipping shut. It’s easier that way, to just close them, to hide. To pretend you’re somewhere else, to block everything out.

What the fuck are you doing right now? Your brain screams, but your heart wails.

What is it like, to be loved like that? To be known like that? To be held in someone's heart, cherished and protected?

“Sweetheart,” Simon’s voice is low, calming, and when you don’t answer, one of his hands folds over yours. “are you with me?”

“Yes.” You peek at him, and then fully let yourself look around, steadying the rancid fear that permeates through your body. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” He hums, hand still over yours. It’s warm, and broad, big thumb stroking a slow circle into your skin. “Is today your Friday?” You nod.

“It is, yeah. I’m… I’m looking forward to catching up on some sleep.” He straightens in the chair, shoulders and torso so unbelievably wide, like a long forgotten mythological god. Or the trunk of a massive tree.

“Will you have dinner with us, tonight?” The last of the orange red dawn spills over the crest of the buildings, and the world spins, cold sweat breaking out down your back.

“What?”

“Dinner, with us. I’m picking up takeaway for Johnny from his favorite place as a celebration, for graduating the ICU. We’d love to spend some time with you. Get to know you, if that’s alright.”

“Oh, I…” Say no, you have to say no, shut this down. It’s too much risk.

“No pressure. Just, hanging out, talking. As friends, if you like.” Butterflies thrash in your stomach so violently your knees bounce, and your heart leaps, pitching itself off a cliff like it wants to die.

“Okay.”

“Great. I can pick you u-“

“No! No, I’m fine. I have some errands to run after I get up for the day so, I’ll just meet you here.” It will be just like going to work. No harm, no foul. You can hang out with them, and go home, just like you’re at work. It doesn’t mean anything. It won’t.

You barely sleep. You pace, you nap, you thumb through endless craigslist listings in faraway cities for apartments, you read. You take the long way through the city back to your flat and slowly sift through pieces of your life that you want to keep. Your quilt from home, that’s been tucked away on a shelf. A sentimental trinket that belonged to your mom, also hidden in a drawer. These things that can be removed, without being noticed.

Not that it matters.

He hasn’t been here. Not since the sick shit he pulled with your underwear. It makes you curious when you inspect the undisturbed tape on the back side of the door, the light dusting of baking powder on the bedroom carpet, but not surprised.

It’s not unlike him, to make himself known and then suddenly disappear, the endless mind games partially intentional, and partially something not even he can control.

After all, duty calls.

He could still be in the city. He could still be watching. You don’t know anything for sure.

“Three things you cannot outrun in this world, babe. Death, taxes, and… me.” You mumble it to yourself, the same words that live in your head, in his voice, repeated, pulling a pair of scrubs from your dresser.

But you had been running, and still had your life to show for it.

It doesn’t matter, you know how this will end.

You’ve changed your clothes five times. You hem and haw in front of the mirror, trying not to look too closely at any one piece of yourself, switching shirt and pant combos until you finally settle on your usual, a pair of jeans and a long sleeve shirt. They’re high waisted, because low rise is not even within the realm of possibility for your hips, and you appreciate how they fit, even if they may sit a little loose right now, given your recent stress levels.

You look fine, you decide. You look professional. You don’t really look attractive, in any way, but the scars on your torso are hidden, and with a little bit of make-up, you think you look presentable. At the very least, you don’t look like you’re half asleep, which is exactly how you feel.

Not like it matters, you chide. This isn’t a thing; it’s just hanging out. You’re going to put an end to this entire charade, tonight.

The train is quiet, and you’re extra watchful. Every face, every movement is logged, every jacket or hat or hood is inspected. Posture, skin tone, height, of every person you pass or see is tabulated and run through your mind. Your brain, a supercomputer in its own right, does it all, seamlessly. It wants to protect you, it keeps you on guard, it can look at a crowd of twenty people all facing the opposite direction and locate a potential threat, just by the shape of the shoulders.

You don’t see him, you don’t feel him, your skin doesn’t prickle, and you let the lack thereof bring you peace, if only for a few moments.

Johnny’s floor is bustling. You wave hi to those you know, checking in with his nurse for a moment, letting her know you’ll be hanging out for a bit. She doesn’t even bat an eye, thankfully, and you try to settle yourself as you turn down the hall.

You’re not prepared for what you find when you knock on his door and slide it open, breath catching for a moment, and you scramble to cover your initial balk.

Their daughter is here. She’s cuddled up on Johnny’s good side, the one without the burnt tissue or recovering surgical wound. She’s asleep, wearing a black onesie covered in skulls, her head tipped back and mouth open, chubby cheeks and sweet little face perfectly content. She’s got her entire fist wrapped around one of Johnny’s fingers, holding it right under her chin like she’s afraid he might vanish while her eyes are closed. “Hey, bun.” Johnny whispers, smiling so wide, two fingers stroking through the wispy curls on top of her head. “We snuck in a visitor tonight.”

“I see.” Your heart trembles.

“Fell asleep right away, next to her Da. Been missin’ him these past few nights.” Simon chuckles, patting Johnny’s leg gently, affectionately. There’s a bag of take out on the table behind him, as well as what looks like an overnight bag, a purple duffel stuffed full. “Price is on his way to pick her up.” Penny gurgles, eyes blinking open in a sleepy daze like she knew they were talking about her.

“Ye’re alright, sh-shh, wee lamb.” Johnny coos. She’s half soothed by his words, but the lights in the room are far too bright, and her small noises waver into a cry, frustrated and tired. He tries move her, cradler her higher up his chest, but his face falls with pain, and Simon swoops in, pulling her into his arms. “Bunny, could ye-“

“Would you-“ They both try to ask at once, and you flounder once you realize the intention, a cranky, sleepy Penelope being pushed into your arms.

“I-“ she wails, interrupting you, bending you to her will without fuss, and you hold her closer, rocking side to side, humming above her ear. Just like the NICU, like a patient, like your stint in L&D, it’s fine, it’s-

“Sorry, sweetheart.” Not fine. It’s not fine. Heat burns in your belly. He can’t call you that, not when you’re holding their baby. “Thank you.” Simon says over his shoulder. He’s moving Johnny, lowering the bed slightly to help reposition him, and they speak quietly to one another, voices low enough you can’t make out any of the words.

“I can help you with him, if you want.” He waves you off.

“I need the practice, won’t have you around all the time anymore, yeah? And once he gets home…”

“Ach. ‘m not paralyzed. Jus’ uncomfortable.” Johnny glowers, pouting, and you roll your eyes, rhythm steady, gently bouncing, letting Penny cuddle into your chest, snuggling her face against your arm and side. She’s beautiful, precious and sweet, cooing herself back into a light slumber, and you smile despite yourself, still rocking after her eyes start to shut. “Knew she’d like ye.” He says softly, and you glance up, surprised by the intensity of their focus, heavy gazes fixed on you.

“She’s very sweet.” Your lips twist.

“She is.” Simon agrees. “We were happy to get her some time with her Da. Good for both of ‘em.” His fingers find Johnny’s cheek, and then their hands meet, a palm pressed to lips, a whispered a I love you.

An intimate moment, as you stand there with their baby in your arms.

“Alright, now that ye’ve done the hard work by gettin’ her back down,” Johnny gestures, urging you to step forward, and you carefully place her back in his arms. For a moment, your faces are level, and you get caught in his eyes, nerves strung so tight they could be a tightrope. “I’ve got her.” Weeks in the hospital, and he still smells like cedar and oranges, woodsy citrus that envelopes you, your lashes fluttering on the inhale. “She likes ye.” He murmurs, breath warm and tickling over your cheek.

“Well, she’s...” you straighten, hands smoothing down the front of your top. They’re moist, somehow, and you tuck them behind your back. “She’s a good judge of character, I guess.” Simon’s phone vibrates, Johnny’s plush smile turning dour, and he sighs.

“Okay baby girl. It’s time.” She cries a little, readjusting to Simon’s hold, and he slings the purple duffel over his shoulder, promising to be right back. Johnny nods, eyes downcast, and his face twists once the door shuts, cheeks turning red, staccato, hiccupped breaths coming fast.

“Hey.” You whisper. “Hey, Johnny.” The chair at his bedside creaks under you, and you lean forward, fingertips lightly caressing the tape residue that still sticks to his skin. You should clean that off.

“’m alright.” His shoulders roll, chin jutting out, brilliant blue gleam in his eyes returning, like storm clouds rolling off after rain. He’s silent for a beat, pinky finger folding over yours. “How was yer day?”

“Oh, it was… fine.”

“Simon said ye were goin’ to catch up on some sleep?”

“Yeah, I didn’t.” You laugh, and he smiles. “I feel okay though. Still awake at least.”

“I’m glad… ye came. I’m sorry if the other night, I was too… forward.”

“That’s okay. You’re just… so flirty, I don’t even know what to do with myself.” You tease, expecting to get a lighthearted quip in response, or a laugh, but he gives you neither, only a serious, sympathetic expression.

“I didnae mean to make ye uncomfortable. Felt terrible, when ye ran off, I-“

“I’m fine, Johnny. You… you didn’t. I mean, it was just… confusing, this is… this is a lot.” He nods.

“I know it is.”

“And you don’t even know me.” His brow creases, focus narrowed in so tightly on you, white walls, white hospital blanket, white everything falling away in a spiral of color.

“I know ye better than ye might think." He cracks a smile. "We want to, if ye’d let us.” No, you don’t. You almost say it. Almost promise him that knowing you would be the stuff of their nightmares, that they have no idea what they’re trying to bite into, or bite off, a near guarantee that it would be than they could chew.

“Well, no harm in making new friends, right?” You entreat weakly, and his eyes flash, ethos of an entire life that you have no knowledge of slipping through, and the dark severity rumbling in his gaze sends a shiver down your spine.

“Aye, bun. Especially when they look like ye in a pair of jeans.”

Dinner is an idyllic affair. Johnny’s favorite takeaway turns out, is Indian, like yours, and the three of you talk for hours, trading bites back and forth, laughing and listening to stories, discovering little bits and pieces about their lives while running interference on personal questions about yourself, allowing them to dip in skin deep, skimming off the top but never getting further. They tell you about themselves, Penelope, their jobs, how they met, and Johnny confides in you about his sketchbook collection, pages upon pages of charcoal and pencil line work, portraits of Simon and Pen covering each page, landscapes, and the occasional cartoon. Your spine eventually starts to wilt, muscles liquifying into goo that can barely hold you upright, and you curl up in the armchair, chin on your palm, listening to the ebb and flow of their voices as they tell you a particular story about how they came to find their current home, a near slapstick comedy about an interaction with the previous owner. Their voices soothe your restless mind, wrap you in a cozy embrace that feels so safe, so comfortable that you can’t fight the languid, siren call of sleep, eyes drooping into darkness, drifting away on their melodies, content and too tired to rationally put together what’s happening. At some point, something covers you up, knit warmth that is tucked in around your shoulders, your feet, a tender touch on your neck and cheek. A whisper of affection soothes the unease that lurks in the background of it all, and you fall into it lazily, farther into the hold of sleep, something your brain and body are desperate for.

When the lights go dim, you don’t even realize, already lost to the sand of slumber.

Around midnight, you wake with a start. Your heart is racing, triple timing in your chest, and you squint in the dark, trying to parse together where you are, what happened.

Oh no. Oh god, did you fall asleep on them? Did you fall asleep in Johnny’s room?

Simon calls your name. He’s settled in a recliner, head turned your direction, mellow light from the little lamp spilling across his features. “Are you alright?” Your mouth is dry, the web of sleep that holds you in suspension finally starting to wane, fuzzy clouds in your head trying to clear without much luck.

“How long was I out?”

“Four hours.”

“I’m so sorry.” He shakes his head.

“Wanted to let you sleep. I know you were tired, and Johnny was out almost immediately after you.”

“Th-thanks.” Your back groans, muscle and bone grinding together, stiff from sleeping in a cramped position for hours, and you’re surprisingly unsteady on your feet. Simon’s out of his chair in a second, turning around the end of Johnny’s bed to offer you a hand, his other lightly resting between your shoulder blades.

“Easy.”

“Sorry… just… think ‘m more tired than I realized.” It’s dark, and you’re disorientated, woozy, tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth, limbs and lids still heavy and desperate to fall back asleep.

“I’ll drive you home.” His keys jingle, and you know you should reject him, refute this presumption, push him off, but you can’t string the right words together in your mind, can’t bring yourself to truculently pull away.

So, you don’t. And to your surprise, your shock, it feels… nice. You let him open the door for you, get you settled, you listen to his music on the way, city flying past outside the window, quiet hour of the night crawling by. You let him help you out of the car when you pull up to the curb, and when he asks if he can walk you up, your rational pugnacity is nowhere to be found.

“This is me.” You gesture to the door, fumbling in your wallet for your keycard.

“How long have you been in the hotel?”

“Oh, not long. Reno just started so…” His head turns, surveilling the hallway. You’re in an end room, far from the elevator but close to the stairs, as requested, and there’s a camera that sits on the ceiling, green dot consistently blinking. He glances at it, then back to you, head tilted.

“Are you safe here?” The world goes cold. Your stomach roils, blood draining from your face, and you try to hold yourself steady, mind turning over a million times. You’re overreacting. He’s just asking in a general sense. He doesn’t know. He couldn’t. Breathe. Deep breath.

“I uh, yeah. It’s got a deadbolt.” Along with a door stop alarm, and a security bar. He steps closer, so close that you can smell him, fresh laundry and musk, something spicy lingering there, something dark and enchanting.

“Are you in trouble, little bunny?” You’re in his shadow, beneath the stretch of a mountain, shielded by it, by a monolith so large it could blot out the sun. It overwhelms you, slows the racing pace of your mind, and you try to sort through the merry go round of feelings that are all trying to push their way out of your mouth.

You’ve never felt this. Never felt this… desire, to entrust someone with your life. Never felt this… attraction, this hold that the two of them have on you.

It makes you want to trust them. Makes you want to lay it all out and beg them to help you. Makes you want to close your eyes and leap, praying they’ll catch you.

It’s wicked. It’s dangerous. It’s a fool’s errand.

It’s unfair.

“No.” You whisper. You can’t look at him, and time slows in the silence, your anxiety piquing. Of course, he would assume something is wrong, after witnessing the panic attack. Don’t read too far into it.

“But you wouldn’t tell me if you were, would you?” He’s pragmatic, yet still kind, watching you with intent. It doesn’t allay any of the stress that’s building up the back of your throat and closing it, cutting you off from the oxygen you desperately need.

After an eon, he sighs.

“Okay, sweetheart. You can keep your secrets. For now.” You choke.

“I… I should probably-“ you jerk your head towards the door, half turning away to swipe your keycard.

“Alright.” He moves carefully, dipping low, and you stand immobilized, confused and quivering as his cloth covered mouth presses a slow kiss to the top of your head. It’s like he’s bewitched you, cursed you, and you can’t do anything but stand there, stunned. “Thanks for coming tonight.” You’re a deer in headlights, a rabbit in a scope.

“Simon.” His name is the only thing you know right now, and it comes out reedy, almost a squeak.

“Get some rest. We’ll text you tomorrow.” He pushes the door wide, arm snaked behind your shoulders, and when you don’t move, he urges you forward, an encouraging hand on the small of your back. Your feet blindly stumble through the motions, searching for the light switch, for your sanity. “Goodnight, bun.” He hums, and the door clicks shut, leaving you alone, staring at the beige-yellow paint on the wall.

The afternoon trains are packed. It makes your skin crawl, not because you dislike busy or hectic places, but because there are too many eyes. You force your head to stay up, casually scrolling past the faces that are turned every which way, keeping your back to a corner or window as often as possible. You’re not sure you even needed to take this route, the one where you loop around and change trains twice, but… old habits die hard.

You’re lighter today, mentally. It’s in your steps on the stairs, the way you tilt your face up to the sun, how you bounce and bob a little along to the rhythm in your headphones.

You try not to read into it, too much. You tell yourself it has nothing to do with the good morning text messages from Johnny and Simon, or the hilarious back and forth between them after Simon sent a god-awful joke to the group chat. It has nothing to do with the heat that spreads through your fingers to toes when you think about Simon last night, kissing your forehead.

You slip inside your apartment, popping your headphones free, glancing at the tape and the door jam, before setting your bag on the counter. You idly sort through some mail you left out the other day. Junk, junk, junk, nothing taxing or important, nothing work related or-

A shadow moves. It flickers against the wall by your bedroom, growing larger, stalking closer to the kitchen, to where you stand, frozen, heart pounding in your ears.

This can’t be real. This can’t be happening.

“Hey there, sugar.” He croons, the thick, Texas accent unmistakable, and you breathe his name in horror.

“Phillip.”

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qingxin-dream · 7 months

Text

“My Sweet Angel”

summary | months of repressed feelings bubble to the surface one night, but you’re fast asleep while wanderer is lost in his own thoughts secretly pining for you. but, uh…pining might be an understatement. (art credits: @/1eternalstar on twitter).

warnings | wanderer is down so bad, obsession, profanity, smut [18+, MDNI], dubcon, female-bodied reader, somnophilia, aphrodisiac/drugging, masturbation, edging/orgasm denial, oral f!receiving, bondage, temperature/element play, worship, slight degradation/praise, creampie

genre | pure, filthy smut (happy kinktober!🎃)

word count | 2.8k

pairing | wanderer x reader

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

A small, breathless gasp ripples through the silence of the night. The sound of crickets and cicadas is but a low roar in the background, barely enough to mask the melody of your traveling companion’s sweet, subdued moans. Merely a foot away is your sleeping form, quietly snoozing with your pretty lashes resting on your cheeks. Your silhouette is ethereal, like an angel banished from heaven finding solace in the moonlight with her wings tucked safely away.

Wanderer’s attention ceaselessly gravitated toward you. It seemed to be a natural reaction. Instinctual, even. He admired you with the deepest devotion, seconds turning into hours. There was a part of him, something long buried and locked away, which surfaced in his chest like a breath of fresh air.

Your hair cascades perfectly over your shoulders, framing the soft shape of your face. Your rosy lips part in a faint sigh. The occasional incoherent mumble of your dreams causes his ears to perk up, hoping to catch a glimpse of what your little fantasies are made of. Your exposed stomach when you roll over with a groan and the magnetic curve of your legs make his eyes darken with lust.

Archons, he had way too much time in his hands every night. Thankfully you were blissfully unaware that puppets didn’t need any sleep.

He cursed to himself between sharp, ragged intakes, his needy violet eyes reflecting the luminescence of the moon, raking over your curves with a carnal glint. Looking back, he had all the opportunities in the world to stop that nagging desire churning within his chest.

But Wanderer was selfish. Once he got a taste of your affection, consider him a starved man.

His thoughts about you would twist and tangle his emotions until it utterly choked him of any sensibility. Love and lust are more than just a slippery slope. The puppet was free-falling in the abyss of your pheromones. The best part is you were completely clueless to these intimate escapades of his.

Could you blame such a depraved, touch-starved puppet?

The nights all seemed to blend together like this. Waiting patiently for you to snore gently before he let his fingers ghost your figure, assuring him that you wouldn’t wake up anytime soon. One hand would devote itself to exploring every bit of skin you had to offer while the other palmed the growing bulge in his shorts.

Like a moth to a flame, he became utterly entranced with the glow of your skin beneath the moon. You are like a goddess laying beautifully upon your altar of silken bedsheets, awaiting the devout worship of his soft prayers and saccharine lips.

His fingers grazed your shoulder, trailing down your arm and leaving tiny goosebumps in its wake. He let his hand mesh carefully into the dip of your waist, imperceptibly squeezing it just enough to fan the flames of his imagination. He was in another dimension entirely, wishing for the day you’d beg for his touch.

Wanderer takes his lower lip between his teeth harshly, dipping his hand beneath his shorts to tug the tip of his thick cock with growing fervor. Precum had already wet the slit of his tip, lubricating each teasing thrust of his hand over his dick. Meanwhile, he continued his journey down the round, plump curve of your hips.

Hips that were meant for childbearing.

He takes a fistful of your nightgown momentarily as his cock aches in his hand, yearning for release so soon. For fuck’s sake, why is the image of you bred full with his seed so goddamn hot?

His movements came to an abrupt halt at the lacy end of your little nightgown. He had to know what you were wearing beneath that silky dress. The idea of making a mess all over your cute panties, covering them generously in his cum, only edged him further. Or, even better, he’d love to fuck his creamy load all over your drenched folds before sliding back in for another round.

Wanderer had to make a concerted effort to reel in his filthy daydreams, struggling to keep his hands from trembling on you. He managed to slip the nightgown higher and higher up your smooth thighs, a lump quickly forming in the puppet’s throat.

He’s not sure if he could handle seeing you so vulnerable without ripping your clothes off and fucking you to his heart’s content right then and there. No, no, no... After all this endless waiting and pining for many torturous months, he couldn’t ruin this with a fleeting moment of insatiable want. He pauses, collecting himself for a brief moment.

The puppet’s pupils dilated into pools of audacious desire upon seeing the dainty black undergarments hugging your plush hip. It was lacy with a beautiful floral design, enrapturing his gaze all the way down to your cunt. Wanderer couldn’t help himself, reaching out subconsciously to brush his thumb against your clit through your panties.

“I wanna fuck you so bad… so bad,” he whispers, his voice just an octave higher with desperation as he continues to fist his throbbing cock. The friction of his hand isn’t enough. It couldn’t come close to the immaculate sensation of your slick pussy enveloping his cock, dragging the tip slowly from your clit to your fluttering, empty hole. But that would be insane, he couldn’t.

You didn’t seem to move a muscle in response to his touch. Meanwhile, Wanderer is struggling like a fool to restrain himself, it is almost comical. He could feel his impending orgasm, forcing his hand to slow down with longer, more intermittent strokes to stop from practically bursting at the seams.

Eventually, he found the courage to nudge the cloth of your black panties aside, revealing your pretty little pussy lips glistening with need. The puppet’s violet irises swirl with power, nearly drunk on the mere thought of pleasuring you in secret like this. Why else would you wear such a sexy little garment for him?

A dull, burning sensation coated his lungs as his thumb nestled into your bare clit, resolving himself to carefully lean down and relieve his parched throat with a kitten lick of your folds. It was a miracle that you hadn’t stirred in your sleep too much, yet the part of him reckless with lust wanted you to wake up while he was tongue-deep in your cunt. He dived between your labia again with his mouth, exhaling a soft, guttural moan into your hole after another good lick.

“Mm, so fucking good… I know you fucking like this, baby,” Wanderer mumbles, wrapping his arms around your hips to secure you in place as he freely drags his tongue across your folds and clit skillfully, placing an occasional kiss here and there. Your thighs subconsciously tense with pleasure.

Had he known you would taste so divine, he would’ve devoured your pussy a long time ago. Shifting slightly so that he could lay completely on his stomach, Wanderer eagerly laps at your cunt and fucks his leaking cock into the mattress. Shit, it is too easy for him to lose sight of himself and tug at your hips possessively, not hesitating to fuck you messily with his tongue.

It’s when he got a little too hasty slurping on your pussy with a particularly lascivious moan that you grumble in your sleep. Wanderer freezes, peering over your pelvis like a predator defending his prize with a piercing violet glare.

There is no way you could possibly wake up. Not now. Not when he’s so close. He deduces that the twitch in your sleep must be from that little aphrodisiac he slipped in your evening tea with him. The puppet had made a nice concoction of tasteless drugs to keep you both asleep and all sensitive just for him.

Wanderer is confident that his potion had its intended effect, but just in case—with a flick of his wrist, he ties your hands together on the headboard with a cool, pressurized ring of Anemo energy. He towers over you, a giddy smirk spreading across his lips seeing you so helpless to his desires.

He had read that cute pocket diary of yours gushing over him like he’s your high school sweetheart, don’t worry. You both know these feelings are mutual. But let’s be honest, he’d much rather you gush on his cock over and over until your pussy can’t take it anymore. And you’ve been dreaming about it too, he’s seen it with his own eyes.

Positioning himself between your legs, the puppet slaps his thick cock on your stomach, measuring it up to your belly button where his pink tip mushrooms. There’s no question that his dick would bottom out inside your walls, maybe if he’s lucky he could see his thrusts bulge in your lower stomach. He’d love to pound you deep enough to truly bury his cum inside you, plugging it with his pulsing cock until he’s sure you’re nice and bred.

No, no, he reminds himself again. He has to savor his time with you—make love to you like you rightfully deserve. There will be plenty of opportunities to fuck you senseless later, despite how badly he wants it now.

The tip of his cock trails down to your folds, tucking his length under your panties. Using one hand to guide his cock against your soaking core, the other rests on your inner thigh as he grinds against you slowly. Wanderer grits his teeth at the feeling, sucking in a sharp breath and brushing his thumb lovingly against your sensitive inner thigh. It’s everything he’s ever imagined and more.

He’s forced to bite his knuckles, nearly choking on his own pathetic whines of pleasure. His thrusts grow faster, using your lingerie to keep his cock pressed firmly between your folds.

His words are a ravenous, hoarse whisper, begging you in your sleep. “Shit, shit, shit, you’re gonna make me cum…! Can I put it in? C-Can I please put it in?”

Wanderer knows what your answer will be, grinding sloppily on your drenched cunt while he grabs your breast. He wishes he could hear you say it. But he can feel the way your sweet little hole clenches around nothing every time his tip rubs your clit just right, and that’s enough for him.

It takes no effort to snap the thin straps of your lacy panties in haste, quickly tossing the garment aside indiscriminately. It’s too much, fuck, you look too perfect. Before he knows it, Wanderer pushes his tip inside your sopping entrance, gazing with wonder at how you suck him in like a good slut. Such a good fucking slut, hugging the first inch of his hard cock like you never wanted to let go.

Your spongy walls subconsciously react to his every motion, tightening around the puppet’s cock with unprecedented strength. He hisses, materializing a blue chained choker around your neck with his Anemo abilities and yanking you forward. His girth splits you apart, sliding inside your throbbing cunt inch by every tantalizing inch, until he can meet you halfway and kiss your whimpering, tender lips.

“Goddamn you,” Wanderer growls into the kiss, harshly biting onto your lip. He doesn’t draw blood, but tends to your bruised skin thereafter with a gentler, half-apologetic kiss. “You feel so fucking good, take me so fucking good… mm…”

His hips draw back, your walls noticeably empty in his absence. Snapping forward, his huge cock plunges into your depths with a delightfully lewd smack, causing him to chuckle under his breath. The puppet carefully lays you back on the pillow, planting his arms on either side of your head so that his vision is filled with only your beautiful face.

Once Wanderer begins to establish a rhythm, there’s no stopping him. Every drag of his veiny cock against your sensitive walls is utterly addicting, he had to come back for more and more. He moans and whines your name into your delicate little neck, taking the flesh into his mouth to suck and mark you as his own.

He is panting over you like an animal in heat. “I can feel you squeezing me, angel. I know you love it. ‘M gonna use that pretty little pussy of yours.”

Your body twitches beneath him as his lips leave no crevice untouched by his kisses or hickeys, a smattering of small red and purple blotches dotting your skin from your neck to your breasts. All the while, the puppet had to throttle his pace again, almost giving in to the ecstasy. You were definitely getting close too, he could feel it in the way you clenched around him greedily.

Swirling his tongue around your cute nipple, Wanderer suckles it briefly with a pop of his mouth, admiring his work on the canvas of your gorgeous body. He leaned back, hooking his hands under your calves to press your knees to your chest. If only he had a Kamera to capture the mesmerizing image of your legs spread so good for him with a perfect shot of your cunt wrapped around his tip.

He could tell this position had your walls enveloping his length even tighter than before, angling his cock deep towards that special spot inside you that would have your toes curling. “God, (Y/N), you look so fucking sexy like this.”

It is killing him—the sensation of your hole desperately clinging to the inch of his cock sheathed within you. The puppet keeps your legs pushed back and snakes a hand down to your clit once more, which had obviously been aching for attention. He’s lost in the contours of your folds all splayed out for him, so much so that he lets a globule of his spit drip over your clit to mix with your juices.

You are squirming slightly in your sleep from all the stimulation, but he doesn’t care. The euphoric feeling of teetering on the edge of an incredible orgasm has Wanderer stripped of any sense of reason. He nudges his cock halfway inside you at a delectably slow pace, reveling in your body’s subtle reactions to his teasing.

“Yeah, baby? You wanna fucking cum?” Wanderer whispers hotly over you, circling your clit faster. There’s already a delicious ring of your essence gathering at the base of his cock.

“Cum…” you mumble in a daze, your eyelashes fluttering open slowly. Your expression is contorted into a helpless plea, licking and biting your bottom lip as you sleepily notice his cock nestled between your thighs.

Wanderer’s eyes snap to yours in disbelief. You’re lucid, but asking for more. He begins to chuckle lowly, and reaches to caress your cheek. “You want it, hm? Speak up.”

He continues to fuck you at an excruciatingly slow pace, waiting patiently for you to beg for his seed. He wanted you in tears, squirting all over him like a good girl. Your moans encourage him to go deeper.

“Please, Wanderer,” you struggle to curl your fingers in his indigo locks under the effects of the drugs. “K-keep going, feels too good. Fill me up, please…”

“Like this?” The puppet smirks, forcefully thrusting his huge cock to the brim inside of you. He relishes in your lovely cries of pleasure and pain, swallowing them in a passionate kiss as he fucks you with reckless abandon.

You could barely hiccup a response, sloppily kissing back as Wanderer abuses your tight hole. He has you pinned against the creaky mattress, holding your face with his thumb on your chin to keep your mouth open. Every noise of ecstasy is his to claim and taste on your tongue.

“Mine, baby, all mine. Say it for me,” Wanderer moans, adoring the cock-drunk glimmer in your clouded eyes.

Squeezing your eyes shut suddenly, your eyebrows furrowed together as you suddenly felt your orgasm build at a rapid speed. You whined against the Anemo cuffs restraining your wrists above your head. “Yours! Oh my god, I’m yours. I’m gonna fucking cum, please, please give it me…!”

“Mhmm, yeah c’mon baby, lemme see you cum for me, so good for me, yeah?” he praises, kissing you roughly as he snaps his hips into you. It’s impossible to deny his insatiable need for you any longer, painting your walls white with spurts of his hot seed in a series of profanity-laden grunts.

Your eyes nearly roll back as your orgasm washes over you, legs trembling around him. The continuous twitch of his cock has you arching your back, taking every last drop of his cum until your cunt can’t hold any more. It leaks out, creaming your folds and his cock nicely.

Once you both catch your breath and lock eyes, you feel your cunt ache to be filled once more. Noticing how you trap him with your legs around his hips, Wanderer realizes the aphrodisiac must have been stronger than he anticipated.

You smile sweetly. “M-maybe one more?”

thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated. my masterlist.

#happy kinktober and happy halloween!!🫶#[opulent dreams].✿#[dreams of delusion].✿#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin scaramouche #genshin wanderer #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #scaramouche smut #wanderer smut

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dazedandconfused-15 · 2 months

Text

Heaven's in your eyes (Part 1)

This is to answer a request I received from an anonymous user a couple of months ago “Billy asks shy reader out and is protective over her”, for some reason I can't directly respond to their post still getting used to Tumblr. Sorry for taking a while to write this one. Anyway, I got a little bit carried away and turned it into a short fic, I just loved the whole concept. I’ll definitely post a part 2. Comments and constructive opinions are always appreciated 🩷

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Female Reader

Summary: Life in Hawkins is dull and lonely, especially after your mom abandoned your family, leaving you even more isolated amidst school rumors. Already shy and with few friends, you find solace in your solitude—until Billy Hargrove, the intriguing new boy from California, comes into the picture. To your surprise, Billy seems to seek you out, finding ways to talk to you despite the odds. Never in a million years would you have imagined forming such an unexpected bond with someone.

Link to: Part 2

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You have always watched him from a distance.

There was something magnetic about him. Where he was, energy swirled.

You have never spoken to him. He’s something inaccessible to you. He hangs out with the popular crowd. Yet, unlike all of them, he doesn’t seem to pretend. He doesn’t show off. He naturally exudes an aura that makes him alluring. He’s not just what could be called "hot." No, he’s beautiful. When you first saw him in the school hallways, you could swear that for a second, your heart stopped. He was playing with his lighter, walking with an assured stride in the direction of his classroom with Jason Carver. He was a palette of contrasting colors that stood out in perfect harmony. His tanned face was framed by long, golden curls that almost fell over his shoulders. He looked straight ahead as he listened to the boy at his side with his red mouth stretched into a smirk that revealed white teeth. His cupid bow was dusted with stubble. It was no surprise that most of the girls looked at him with no shame, the shyest ones glancing up as soon as he passed them. That California boy did not look like a boy. He looked like a man. You could tell by the way he was built, the black leather jacket hugging his broad shoulders, the muscular legs in his denim jeans.

You had realized that you were staring openly at him when he passed by you and, probably feeling the weight of your gaze on him, his eyes had met yours. There, something had happened inside you. His eyes were the purest blue you had ever seen. They were crystalline. But it was the long dark lashes that gave his gaze something expressive and unique. They were the embodiment of what is called a piercing gaze. It was a unique paradox: as angelic as it was rough in outline. Awakening from your enchantment, you lowered your gaze with an abrupt jerk of your head and resumed putting your books away in the locker, feeling your cheeks on fire and your heart beating wildly.

That was the only time you had even a remote semblance of contact with him.

As you rush to your English literature class a month later, rounding the corner of the hallway, the last thing you expect is to bump into him. You let out an "ouch" as you collide with his hard chest, your notes and pencil case tumbling to the ground in the chaos. It's only when you raise your eyes in a flurry of apologies that you realize who you've bumped into. You swallow, kneeling and picking up your notes hastily.

"You alright?"

"Yes. Yes." the notes slip through your shaking fingers.

His hands appear in your field of vision, and when you accidentally touch them, an electric shock almost makes you wince. He helps you pick them up, then raises to his feet and holds them to you. You thank him, thinking about what else you could say to avoid making the situation awkward. His baby blue shirt matches the color of his eyes. He’s even prettier from closer.

"We’re in History class together, right?

His question surprises you. You didn't think he would remember you. You didn't think he would notice you.

"Yes. That's right."

He holds out his hand, his heavy-lidded gaze on you. "Billy."

You shake his hand, introducing yourself. His hand is large and his grip his firm, but gentle at the same time. That touch makes your stomach tangle. You can't believe he is talking to you.

"You're new, right?" you ask. You know fully well that he arrived here a month ago. You know full well that he is from California. He probably knows that you know, but he doesn't say anything about it

"Yes. Moved here last month."

“Oh, okay. Welcome to Hawkins, then.” you say gently as you absently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Thanks.”

There’s a beat of silence, him probably waiting for you to say something else. You point at the door down the hallway, starting to walk away. “I ah, I have to go to class. Sorry.”

And you walk away, no, you scurry away, almost escaping him, feeling a pang of embarrassment as you replay the scene later in your head, regretting how abruptly you left without saying more.

You don’t cross paths with him again after that. However, you are clearly more aware of his presence during history classes even though you don’t interact again.

In recent months, you've adopted a strategy of minimizing your visibility as much as possible. It’s not always easy. That Thursday is one of the hard days. Mr. Jensen, the new history teacher, makes his way through the rows of desks, collecting permission slips signed by parents for the upcoming day trip he has organized to Indianapolis.

"Ah, I don't seem to have your permission slip yet," he inquires gently as he sees you empty-handed. "Did you forget to bring it today?"

Feeling the eyes of everyone on you, your cheeks flush with embarrassment as you shake your head, your voice barely above a whisper. You hate all of this attention on you. "I, um, I haven't been able to get it signed yet. My dad's been working double shifts, and I haven't caught him at home."

“I understand,” the teacher says, “But I need to give all the signed papers to the principal by tomorrow. Is it possibly to get it signed today? By your mother, perhaps?”

Before you could answer, Tommy Hagan's voice pierces the air, his tone laced with mockery. "She's probably halfway across the country by now, cozying up with some other guy."

You don’t even turn to look at him. You saw it coming. It’s been five months since she left now. Hawkins is a small town, so the news spread quickly. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, avoiding eye contact with your classmates as you feel the weight of their curious gazes.

"I uh...I just," you try to ignore Tommy's comment, resting your eyes on the professor whose eyebrows are furrowed in confusion. "I'll tell my dad tonight. He's just been really busy. I will bring it to class tomorrow."

“If he comes back with the milk.” snickers Tommy.

You stiffen instantly without wanting to, which the teacher doesn’t fail to notice.

“That's enough, Mr. Hagan. Comments like that have no place in my classroom.” he snaps as his eyes darken, his jaw set. His expression softens as he turns to me “Don't worry about the permission slip for now. We'll make sure you're included."

As the professor returns to his seat, your eyes remain fixed on the spot where the bench is chipped, absently touching it with your fingernail. Your body fails to relax as you fight to ignore the burning in your throat, careful not to blink, your vision blurred for a few moments. But Tommy's yelp draws your attention and you turn your head to your left, where he is sitting next to Billy.

“What was that for, man?”

Tommy is rubbing his shoulder, his face scrunched up in pain and a mixture of disbelief and confusion on his face. Billy stares straight ahead, his face cold and hard.

"What the fuck is your problem?" he eventually mutters under the teacher’s explanation. However, it sounds more like a statement than a question.

As you go back to stare at your desk, your throat is still burning but your vision is clear again. You wonder if what Billy said was because of Tommy's comments. Why would he defend you?

The rest of the class passes in a blur of confusion and unanswered questions. Tommy's hurtful words echo in your mind, leaving you shaken and upset, the sting of their cruelty lingering long after the bell rings.

***

On the morning of the school trip, you are tempted to call the school and say you are sick, but your father comes back from the plant later in the morning and will see that you are actually fine. Also, Mr. Jensen might suspect that something is going on. Only, the idea of spending the day with the whole class, but feeling more alone than you are when you're at school, doesn't appeal to you. You've never been very outgoing. Since your mother left, the armor that covered you has only thickened, alienating you from the rest of the world. To this day you have received no answers. She left overnight without warning. You never received a call. You knew that things had not been going well between your parents for some time. Or rather, your mother kept complaining about how being in Hawkins was suffocating her, how she was no longer happy. The pain was slowly becoming coated with resentment. She had abandoned you and your father as if nothing had happened, as if years of living together had counted for nothing. As if being a family had cost nothing. Arriving on the ground floor and finding the kitchen light off had now become a habit, not an odd occurrence. Other things had become routine: the unaccustomed silence in your house, the TV once perpetually on now always off, the teapot once always in use was now in the kitchen drawer.

Once on the school bus, you spend your time looking out the window and counting the trees on the distant hills. You can feel the wind blowing outside, the rain pelting cruelly on the window. A crack lets a trickle of air through, making you shiver and clench tighter in your jacket. The ride at least passes quietly, no one talking to you or bothering you. Tommy Hagan keeps his comments to himself, too busy jabbering in the back of the bus with his band of friends. You can hear the occasional shrillness in the voice of Carol Perkins, his girlfriend.

You spend almost the entire morning in the Indiana Historical Society, following the professor through the corridors of the museum. You stay in the background, drowning out the guide's voice and looking at the paintings hanging on the wall. As you change rooms, you realize that you are not the only one who has remained aloof. Billy Hargrove lingers to your side at the back of the row of students, his hands tucked into his leather jacket. You try not to be affected by his presence, suddenly self-conscious of the way you walk and breathe. You still remember what he told Tommy Hagan the week before. You are increasingly convinced that he defended you. As the class spreads in different directions, everyone observing something different and speaking lowly in small groups you realize he’s still here, on your side. As you ponder if you should say something, or just assume that he’s walking behind on his own, he catches you off guard.

“Kinda boring, huh?”

“Yeah, a little," you respond, offering him a small smile that probably looks like a grimace. "History isn't my cup of tea."

“Mine neither,” his gaze scans the display cases lining the wall on your left. “Beats being seated all day in class, though.”

“Definitely,” you nod in agreement as you slowly cross through another room. Desperately trying to fill the silence, you come up with the first thing that crosses your mind. “I’ve been here before.”

“The museum?”

“Indianapolis,” you say. You hesitate before finishing your thoughts. “My grandma lived here. I spent some weekends at hers.”

Billy hums. He sniffs, then retrieves some chewing gums from his back pocket. He unwraps one. “How’s the city?”

“It’s great. Oh, thank you.” you softly say as you take the gum he’s offering you. “There are some nice parks.”

He pops the chewing gum in his mouth. “We have quite a few in San Diego too.

You turn toward him, curiosity overcoming your shyness. “You lived in San Diego?”

“Yes. Big change of scenery.”

“I can imagine.” your gaze wanders to the antique objects displayed in a glass case. “I’ve seen pictures, it looks incredible.” memories of your dad's album, from when he was young, flood your mind – images of palm trees swaying in the breeze, golden beaches stretching for miles, and endless blue skies that seemed to merge seamlessly with the ocean.

“That’s something else, yeah. Honestly, I couldn’t complain at all.”

“I wish I could see California,” you say a little dreamily.

“I can take you one day.”

Your throat feels suddenly dry. So you let out a nervous giggle, avoiding his gaze, assuming he is joking. Fortunately, the professor calls your attention back. It's lunchtime and he tells you that you are free to go wherever you want, as long as you are outside the museum within four hours. You told your father the school would pay for the student's lunch because you know times are tough. He insisted on giving you ten dollars in case you need it.

You walk down the steps of the museum looking around and thinking about where you could make all this time go. It's going to be long. You know a few restaurants, but you know that your pocket money is clearly not enough to eat there. A gust of wind brings the smell of smoke to your nostrils, and out of the corner of your eye, you see Billy stop beside you. His eyes take in your surroundings.

“So, you told me you know the city.”

“Huh, yes,” you answer, a little lost. “Not all of it, but most of it, like downtown.”

Billy exhales the smoke he’s been holding in his mouth. “Are we downtown?”

You look around, recognizing the skyscrapers in the distance. "Yes," you point to the skyline to your right, figuring he simply wants to ask you for information so he knows where to go with his friends. "It's over there."

“Sweet. You hungry?”

The silence that passes between the two of you makes him turn toward you, waiting for your response. So you rush to answer, ignoring the way his piercing blue eyes make you feel self-conscious.

“Yes. Yes, a little bit,” then you ask him, unsure: “...are you?”

“Starving.” he resumes walking down the stairs again, and you follow him, trying to figure out if he really means what you think he means. Some classmates are already leaving in different directions. “You know someplace to eat?”

“I do. But I don’t have enough. In case you want to go together. If that’s what you were offering.” You add, mentally slapping yourself. Why does everything you say have to come across as weird? Besides, you just admitted that you are practically out of money. “I can show you, though.”

Billy shakes his head, shifting in his leather jacket. “Nah, don’t worry about it. It’s on me.”

“No, really, I can't let you do that," you insist, your voice tinged with concern. "I mean, I appreciate it, but I can't just let you pay for me."

Billy turns to you, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he exhales the smoke sideways. "Come on, it's no big deal," he reassures you. "Consider it my way of saying thanks for showing me around. Besides, it's not like I'm short on cash."

You hesitate for a moment. But ultimately, you know that accepting his offer would ease the burden on your wallet. With a resigned sigh, you nod in agreement. "Okay, if you insist," you concede, offering him a small smile. "But just this once.”

You wanna immediately grimace at your pathetic implication that there would be another time, but Billy doesn’t seem to notice anyway.

He just winks at you. And even if he’s not smiling or anything, it still makes your stomach flip. "Deal," he says. "Now, lead the way."

As you walk beside each other through the park later on, you relish in what surrounds you, not even realizing the silence that has settled between the two of you because it feels so natural. Some people are jogging, there are some families too, or people walking alone headed who knows where. The birds are chirping in the trees that are alongside the walk. You spot a squirrel scurrying up the trunk of one of them, its fluffy tail waving wildly. The late afternoon sun is shining right in front of you, hitting your skin in a gentle caress. Spring is gradually unfurling its colors, bringing with it a glimmer of warmth that has been absent from your life lately. In the midst of the cold and desolation that settled in after your mother's departure, this glimpse of light offers a tentative promise of renewal, a small beacon of hope amid the darkness that has enveloped you and your father. You glance at Billy, realizing that in the short span of your conversation, he's frequently reached for a cigarette. Yet, even during the moments when he abstained, like in the museum and at the restaurant, his mouth was never empty. It was either occupied by a mint, a bite of burger, the straw of his milkshake, or eventually a toothpick found on the table.

“So, uhm, have you been somewhere else besides San Diego or Hawkins?” you venture.

“Nope”, he answers, the “p” resounding loudly. He looks around, one hand in his jacket pocket as the other one holds the cigarette on his side. “Never moved from Cali. I was born in Santa Barbara. Then moved to San Diego when I was ten.”

You hum in acknowledgment. “Is Santa Barbara close to the ocean?”

“It is. I’ve always lived by the ocean.”

You turn to him, enthusiasm laced in your voice as you get carried away in the conversation. “So you know how to surf?”

Billy chuckles, nodding as he brings the cigarette to his lips. “I do, yeah. Surfed every day.”

“Wow.” you breathe, your mind wandering away. “It must be…like an adrenaline rush.”

As Billy exhales the smoke, you don’t miss the nostalgic glint flickering in his eyes, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. "Yeah, it's something else. There's nothing quite like catching a wave, feeling the power of the ocean beneath you."

“I’ve heard it’s hard to learn.” you muse softly.

The rhythmic sound of your footsteps punctuates the conversation. Billy stays silent for a few seconds, probably lost in his thoughts. Then he shrugs. “To be honest, I was on the surfboard since I was a child, so must’ve been natural for me. But yeah, it generally is.

“I can only imagine," you respond, a sense of longing in your voice. You’ve only seen this kind of landscape in pictures or on TV. "Must have been amazing growing up with that kind of freedom."

Billy's sigh is loud as he exhales a plume of smoke, his gaze drifting towards the horizon. "It was. Surfing was my escape, you know? Whenever things got tough, I could just grab my board and disappear into the waves."

What he says lightens some curiosity in you. You wonder what he means by that. You wonder what he went through, what his past was like. There’s something really intriguing about him. But you refrain from asking more, aware of how little you know each other. Besides, you can’t help but notice the little twitch of his jaw muscles as he says it.

"It’s always been books for me.” you offer. “They have this way of transporting you to another world, making you forget about everything else."

Billy nods in understanding. “What kinda books you read?”

“Oh,” you look at your shoes as you feel suddenly vulnerable. You almost feel ashamed of your taste in books, but you know you shouldn’t. “A bit of everything, really. I’m reading a Dostoevsky one right now.

“Dostoevsky, huh? Pretty heavy stuff,” he says, arching an eyebrow.

“You’ve read some of him before?

“I read Dream of a Ridiculous Man. A long time ago though.”

“Oh,” you breathe, recalling how challenging it was to finish it when you read it a couple of months ago. Reading books by Dostoevsky, especially that one, has been both a cathartic and enlightening experience. They made you feel less alone in your pain. “Did you like it?”

“Yeah, it’s kinda controversial.” he grimaces. “It’s a fucking depressing book. But... it's like... there's something about it that just... resonates, you know what I mean? Like, you read it and... it's like looking into a mirror, but... the reflection's all twisted and weird. I don't know if that makes any sense.” he shrugs.

It couldn’t make more any sense to you. For the first time, you feel understood in that sense. It's a relief to know that you're not alone in finding meaning within its pages. His words resonate deeply with you.

“I totally get it. That’s part of the reason why I like his books.”

The subtle revelation hangs in the air with the rhythmic sound of your footsteps on the concrete path. You hope he’s not reflecting on your words too much, aware of what you’ve implied. Your own thoughts go on what he said. Why did Billy resonate so much with the book? What if there’s something everybody can relate to, even people who haven’t experienced anything bad in life?

“You?” he then asks. “Always been in Hawkins?”

“Born and raised.” you nod. Then you add, a bit sheepishly: “Nothing like California, unfortunately.”

Billy snorts, flicking his cigarette. “What’s there to do in summer?”

“Oh uh. Nothing much. We have a public pool.” you offer, looking at him.

Billy takes a drag, his eyes trailing on the path in front of both of you.

“We have Lover’s Lake too,” you add. “It’s quite nice, actually. People spend the day there and have barbecues or campfires.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard about that one,” he says. “You guys party by the lake during summer or something like that.”

“Yes.” then you keep quiet for a few breaths, imagining he’s probably heard it from one of his friends from the basketball team. They’re usually to host parties or organize them. It always involves loads of alcohol and ends up in big scandals. You feel the urge to correct him. “Not me, though. I don’t, uh…I don’t party.”

You feel his eyes on you. “Makes sense.”

You look up at him in question.

“Didn’t see you at the Halloween party.”

“The one hosted by Tina Williams?” you soon look away as soon as you meet his gaze. “I didn’t know you…you noticed.”

“Would’ve sure as hell noticed if you were there.”

As Billy's words settle in, you feel a warmth spreading through you, starting from the tips of your ears and flushing your cheeks crimson. His simple compliment catches you off guard, igniting a whirlwind of emotions within you. You find yourself struggling to meet his gaze, your eyes flickering away as you search for some semblance of composure. None of this makes sense. The mere fact that he recognized your absence at the party, that he shared lunch with you, that he's now walking beside you in the park—it all feels inexplicable. You're accustomed to blending into the background, being an outcast in the bustling halls of the school. You're no stranger to the whispers that swirl around you, painting you as the outsider, the comments about your situation at home, the subtle jabs at your circumstances. The silence between you stretches, pregnant with unspoken thoughts.

“You alright?” you hear him ask.

You slow down, lingering to a stop as you realize Billy has stopped walking too. He looks down at you with a hint of curiosity, the sun caressing his golden skin and reflecting in his eyes, becoming like polished, crystalline gems. That’s when you notice little details you haven’t paid attention to before. The scar cutting through his right eyebrow, the pattern of freckles dusting his nose.

“I guess I’m just a little confused,” you admit.

Billy exhales the smoke from his nostrils, his gaze effortlessly fixed intensely on you. “Why is that?”

“I just…” you try to not avoid his gaze. “Why are you here with me?”

The corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement and what looks like genuine confusion. “Why wouldn’t I?”

His question is so simple it takes you off guard. Makes you question your reasoning. As you’re at a loss for words, you feel a blush slowly creeping down your cheeks.

Billy’s lips slowly curve into a smile, somewhat teasing. “You really have pretty eyes, you know that?”

You’re positively sure you’re as red as a lobster now, a little whine escaping your lips as embarrassment settles over you. It’s the most instinctual reaction. It makes him chuckle, and makes you awkwardly laugh in response, because what else can you do? He tilts his head to the side, trying to meet your avoiding eyes.

“How about that? I’m here with you ‘cause of your pretty eyes”.

“I really don’t think they’re that special.” you shake your head, still laughing.

You’re not that innocent to not realise he’s openly flirting with you. You’re not surprised, because just looking at him is enough. You’ve also heard things about him and some girls at high school. What surprises you, is that he’s flirting with you. You don’t have that much experience in the love department, but there’s something sincere and genuine in the way he’s doing it now. There’s something soft in his eyes that tells you he’s sincere.

“Well, it’s a shame,” he says, that’s when you realise how much closer you are to each other. You can tell by how you can smell the tobacco and his cologne, his silver earring shining as it catches the sun. He tilts his head again, this time catching your gaze as you muster the courage to lock eyes with him. “’Cause you have beautiful eyes.”

“Thank you,” you mumble with a shy smile, nodding your head slightly. You swear you can hear your heartbeat in your ears.

You feel like you want to return the compliment because his eyes are the reason why your heart is reacting the way it does. But then again, you’re too shy to do that, and a tiny part of you thinks it would make things weird or would end up having you vulnerable because you don’t know for sure if his compliment is fueled by real interest in you.

“I just don’t hang out with anyone, trust me.”

As a distant church bells toll four times, their echoes drifting across the park, a subtle reminder of the passing time washes over you both. The realization settles in that it’s time for you to go. You should be back in front of the museum in half an hour.

Luckily, Billy saves you from answering as he breaks eye contact and looks up beyond your shoulder, where the church is. “We should go,” he says.

As you walk back to the museum, you think about his words. Now you realize that you didn’t see him hanging around Tommy Hagan lately. In particular, today on the bus, the latter was seated with his girlfriend and hung out with two other members of the basketball team. Billy was somewhere else the whole time.

When you two reach the museum, the teacher is already counting everyone to make sure the whole class is there. Billy joins his mates, elbowing one of them in a friendly gesture. You didn’t fail the notice the looks most of your classmates shot at you when he saw you two arrive together. The teacher draws the class's attention back to the trip, prompting feedback and reflections from everyone.

What you don’t expect either once on the bus, is feeling someone sitting on the empty seat next to yours. Billy gets comfortable, making it seem something so normal as he stretches his long legs as far as the cramped quarters allow. His thigh brushes against yours and your heart jumps a little in your ribcage, but a few minutes later you start to relax. You can’t help the feeling of warmth spreading through your chest as you take in his choice to sit deliberately next to you. You don’t need to fill the silence, or at least not as strongly as a few hours ago. You’re also quite tired. As you venture a glance in his direction, Billy’s eyes are closed. It seems you’re not the only one feeling tired. His arms are crossed over his chest but his facial features are totally relaxed now that he’s dozing off, his head resting against the seat. His hair seems soft at the touch, a curl falling unruly on his forehead. You feel the distant urge to wrap it around your finger, brush it from his face. There is a difference between now and when he’s fully awake: his expression softened, his gaze peaceful, and his features relaxed. It's a stark contrast from the demeanor you've observed from a distance, where his smile is more wolfish, his facial muscles tense, and his eyes often distant or bored. You force yourself to look away from him, setting your gaze on the window. As the rhythmic hum of the bus lulls you into a state of drowsiness, you feel your eyelids grow heavy. The warmth of the moment envelops you, and soon, you find yourself dozing off as well.

Once you get off the bus, you wrap your arms around your waist as you shiver. The weather is distinctly different. It seems to have been raining all day. The sky is darkening. School buses cannot take you home because there is no bus stop near your house. Forest Hill Trailer Park is in the isolated part of Hawkins. There is no one from the high school living there, so you can't ask anyone for a ride. It's not like anyone would have offered anyway. You've always walked to and from school, in total it takes you forty minutes. As you start to walk away from the bus, you hear footsteps behind you and Billy is at your side, effortlessly catching up with you. You realize his car is parked a few steps away from you. The gleaming navy blue Camaro stands out among the other cars, ‘CALIFORNIA’ on the license plate.

You take the opportunity to thank him before he can dart away and you will probably never exchange another word again.

“Hey,” you start, turning to look at him. “I just wanted to thank you for paying at lunch today.”

Billy plays with the lighter, making it bounce in his hand. “It’s nothing. How are you getting home?”

“Oh, I’m walking.” you point your thumb at the road on your left.

“Come on. I’ll drive you.”

Your mouth opens and closes stupidly, then your brain finally decides to cooperate. Accepting his offer feels like taking advantage of his kindness. You don't want to do this. “I…it’s not a long walk, don’t worry about it.”

“It’s probably gonna rain soon.” he points at the sky, walking past you and toward the parked car.

“You don’t have to.” you insist, guilt filling my stomach as he opens the passenger door for you.

“I know.” he chuckles.

The soft thrumming of a rock song fills the air, the bass pulsing gently as Billy lowers the volume as soon as he turns the engine on. The interior of the Camaro envelops you in a world that feels distinctly his. The smell of leather fills your senses, mingling with the faint scent of his cologne. It's clear that he takes immense pride in his car and the care and attention he devotes to it reflects on the interior. The leather seats feel soft and smooth. There's not a speck of dust anywhere, even in the corners. A pair of aviators rests on the dashboard.

You give him directions, your voice cutting through the quiet ambiance of the car. He nods in acknowledgment, his gaze focused on the road ahead. His left arm casually drapes against the window, while his other hand firmly grasps the top of the steering wheel.

“It’s quite a walk,” he observes as the Camaro speeds through the road surrounded by the woods.

“Yeah…”

You’re thinking of asking him to stop before getting to Forest Hill, but it’s pouring and you don’t have an umbrella. As you get closer and closer, anxiety starts rippling through you. You shake the feeling out of your head. You’re being ridiculous, there’s nothing to be ashamed about. Additionally, you barely know him. You try and distract yourself, asking him about where he lives instead.

“Cherry Lane. You know where it is?”

“Yes, it’s a nice and quiet area. It’s not that far from school either,” you observe.

Billy absently scratches his chin, the glint of a silver braided ring catching your eye. “Yeah. It’s quiet, that’s for sure.”

You find yourself wondering about its significance. Does it have one? You've heard numerous accounts of Billy's involvement in fights at parties, tales of the severe injuries sustained by those who crossed him, and the ferocity of his punches. How many times has that ring been tainted with someone else's blood? Despite the rumors surrounding his aggressive behavior, your interactions with Billy have always been positive. He's consistently shown kindness to you.

Billy turns left, veering off the main road onto a narrow side road, the tires crunching on the gravelly dirt path that winds its way towards Forest Hills. The rain drums insistently against the car, a steady rhythm punctuating the silence between you.

The first trailer emerges into view, its weather-beaten exterior casting a shadow of foreboding over your already uneasy mind. Despite your discomfort, you muster the courage to speak up, directing Billy to continue driving until the end of the road.

You steal a furtive glance at him, searching for any hint of judgment in his expression, but Billy remains impassive. There's no trace of surprise or disdain in his features. His gaze lingers on the scene before you, studying it with a detached curiosity that seems to characterize his view of Hawkins as a whole.

“Thanks again for today, really. I wanna pay you back,” you venture as he slows down.

Billy waves a dismissive hand before settling it on the gear shift, smoothly transitioning into first gear. “I told you it’s no big deal. Wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”

You worry at your lip, still not totally convinced. You glance at him. “I know that. But it doesn’t sound fair. It’s important to me.”

Billy's gaze shifts to the road ahead as he seemingly considers your words. "If you really wanna make it up to me," he starts, his voice trailing off for a moment before he continues, "How about you show me around Hawkins sometime?"

You blink, caught off guard by his suggestion. "Show you around Hawkins?"

"Yeah," he nods, resting his forearm loosely on the steering wheel as he gestures while he talks. "I've only been here a short while, and I don't really know my way around outside downtown yet. Like, all the places you talked to me about. The lake, the quarry."

The idea appeals to you, though the thought of spending more time with him outside of school never crossed your mind. The fact of spending time with him in the first place was out off the charts for you. "Sure, I could do that," you reply, a tentative smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I mean, I'm not exactly a tour guide, but I could show you some cool spots. Whenever you want, uhm. Yeah.”

Billy reaches out to the compartment on the passenger side, brushing your knee with his arm. He opens it and extracts a pen.

“Here,” he takes off the cap with his teeth, and before you know it he’s taking your arm, gently lifting your sweater sleeve.

You try to look unfazed by his touch, though the feeling of his fingertips pressing gently against your skin as he holds your forearm, the sensation of the pen as he writes something on it makes you shiver, raising goosebumps. You look at him in silent confusion as he writes, his dark lashes brushing his cheekbones, a glimpse of pearly white teeth and a sharp canine as he holds the cap between them. Then he releases your arm, and you take a look at it while he takes the cap from his mouth. A series of numbers are written in blue ink on your skin. A phone number.

“Oh.” you say softly. You definitely haven’t expected that.

“Call me when you feel like it.”

It’s really hard for you to hide your nervousness, acting as cool as you can.

“Okay, will do.” you unbuckle your belt, glancing at him enough to give him a soft smile.

Billy nods at you in silent farewell before you close the passenger door. “Have a good night”.

“You too. Bye.”

The warmth of Billy's presence lingers in the car as you step out into the cool, damp air, the raindrops falling softly around you. Closing the door behind you, you watch as the sleek navy blue Camaro disappears down the little road and into the woods from the small window of the living room. As you stand there, the drops of water falling from the end of your hair, you can't help but brush at the phone number on your forearm, tracing the neat handwriting with your fingertips. It's like you're still trying to wrap your head around what just happened. Though you're trying to keep it under control, you can't help the fluttering feeling in your heart.

#billy hargove imagine #billy hargove smut #billy hargrove #dacre montgomery #billy hargove x reader #stranger things fic #billy hargrove x oc #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove angst #billy hargrove imagine #dacryphilia #eddie munson #billy hargrove x y/n #billy stranger things #billy hargrove x you #stranger things smut

379 notes · View notes

ervotica · 4 months

Note

Domestic fluff with Lucien

Just soft compliments, cuddling, hugs and fluff

My baby deserves the WORLD

pairing; lucien vanserra x fem!reader

warnings; none! just fluff and a little suggestive flirting

The apartment is quiet this time of morning. Blazing hues of orange and yellow and pink creep over the horizon, and iridescent rays push their way past the curtains and onto your sleeping face, illuminating the gentle scrunch of your features as you rouse from softly dozing.

A yawn cracks your face right in two, and your limbs stretch and twist in voyage of your mate, of the warmth of him that you so desperately want to curl into- you find only crumpled sheets and a bare space where he should be.

Then you're reluctantly rolling out of the cocoon of comfort between the thick bedsheets, and tiptoeing your way down the stairs in nothing but your thin sleep shorts and a bra.

A flash of bright auburn draws your eye to Lucien, his back to you as he pours two mugs full of scalding tea, the steam rising and curling around his long, ring adorned fingers that clasp the teapot. A smile tugs your lips up at the corners, even more so when he turns to set the pot down, his rasping cadence humming a lilting tune that pulls you toward him like a magnet.

Your hands move of their own accord, snaking their way up the base of his spine and flaring out until your fingers are splayed against miles of bare, golden skin. He shivers under your touch, leaning back just as you twine your arms firmly around his midriff and plant your face against the dip of his back.

"Hi, gorgeous," you murmur, voice thick and sticky with sleep. The heat that emanates from him wreaths itself around your very bones, crusting lashes falling closed when he amusedly tugs on the mating bond and exhales a deep breath through his nostrils.

"Morning, sleepy girl," he laughs, twisting in your grip until you're eye level with his chest, cheeks red-hot with affection and smushed against the smooth plane of muscle of his pec. "You're up early."

"You weren't in bed," you murmur; the vibrations of your words reverberate against Lucien's bare skin. His boxers are hung low in his hips, enticing your hands to sweep lower, tips of your cold fingers breaching the thin elastic.

"Easy," he groans, stopping you short on your journey beneath his underwear. "You little minx."

You tip your head back to meet his eyes - one russet and one of incandescent gold that whirs when he tips his gaze down to watch you.

"You love me," you tease. "You can't get enough of me, handsome."

"Mm." The grating scratch of his voice has you arching into his touch, tucking your shoulder beneath his armpit as he stretches to the counter and places a mug in your free hand. You hum appreciatively, nose scrunching tight when he leans down to smear a kiss over the crown of your head. "You're insatiable."

The words are a murmur against your hair but you don’t miss them- you never do. Your head tilts up to scrape against the sharp curve of his jaw, and then you’re tugging him to the living room, forcing him down into the soft leather and haphazardly attempting to lay across him; you’re a mess of sprawled limbs and frazzled hair, draped messily over his lap as you try to avoid sloshing him with your cup of tea and barely succeed.

He hooks a corded bicep over the nape of your neck and sinks into the sofa, softening at your reverent touch, the way you idly twist the ends of his hair and shuffle yourself closer to cover more of his body with your own. Your breath is hot and tickling at his bare chest.

“I love you, y’know,” you sigh, watching the way his face contorts with adoration at your words; your sticky lashes kiss at the corners, pushed together by your beaming grin. “Didn’t think I’d ever find my mate. But you. You’re perfect. I wouldn’t want anyone else to be tied to my soul.”

“For a descendant of Satan, you’re pretty cheesy, my darling,” he drawls, crows feet crinkling with laughter as you gasp, features morphing into a scowl that only serves to make him laugh with more fervour.

“I won’t stand for this, Lucien. Don’t make me take it back!”

“You wouldn’t,” he roars with amusement. “You love me.”

“I hate you,” you grumble, flushing white-hot all over.

“I love you too, my little devil.”

390 notes · View notes

thisreadswhatever · 8 months

Text

Only Mine

find my masterlist here

[description]: jax teller x fem!reader

[wordcount]: 2.4k

[cw]: 18+ only, smut, jealous overprotective Jax, angst, short fight scene (if you can even call it that), car sex, oral f receiving, teasing, unfinished sex

[authors note]: I had this idea floating around for awhile and then this request inspired the rest! thank you!

“I’m sure you say that to all the ladies.”

You were along the bar, chin in palm, blinking your lashes at the man sitting beside you. He smiled back wryly. He was pretty perfect. Clean cut, slightly muscular, no tats covering him from top to bottom, no bike sitting in the parking lot. He was a little cocky, aware of his good looks, and in all honesty, any other day he’d be the type of guy you’d usually find pretty boring. But for tonight, he’d be a welcome distraction.

“So you’re really here alone?” the man asked, looking around as he took a sip from the glass in front of him.

You smiled back, twisting a strand of hair into your fingers as you sipped your beer, “that surprise you?”

“Someone like you doesn’t come around here often. Can't imagine you haven’t been snatched up yet.”

Technically, he was right. Jax and you hadn’t spoken in days, and although the mutual silence was a regular occurrence, you somehow always found a way back to each other. It never had been made ‘official’, but it never really needed to be. You both stuck to each other like the end poles of magnets, impossible to keep apart yet impossible to stay together. You and Jax were a burning flame amongst a sea of trees condemned to an endless drought. Your love was toxic and infuriating, and it pained you both how hurtful you could be to one another. Yet for some reason, you always went back. You’d reconnect, one of you would fuck up, and then it was back to square one all over again.

“Haven’t found the one yet”, you teased.

He gestured to the bartender with his hand, “can I buy you another beer?”

You smiled politely back at him, “you can buy me as many as you want.”

You picked up your drink and pulled his hand with your other as you led him to one of the quiet booths settled at the back of the bar. You spent the next hour cosying up to your stranger, soaking in the attention he gave you. He was overly attentive and extremely polite, almost a little too nice for your liking. No roughness on the edges, no fight in him. Just a gentleman through and through. You sat inches from each other, tension building as the drinks continued to appear.

“Can I kiss you?” The man asked as he leaned in, hovering above your face. It wasn’t often you were asked to be kissed. You stared into his eyes through your long lashes, nodding in approval.

He smiled shyly into your lips as they pressed against his. He was gentle, his hands slowly moving to your waist, never straying further.

He laid back into the bench, taking a sip from his beer. “You know I never did catch your name.”

You didn’t want to share anything with this stranger, the anonymity bringing less questions and expectations.

“Later.”

You cupped his face in your hand, grazing his jaw with your fingertips as you brought his mouth to yours again.

He was nice, but the longer you spent kissing your gentle stranger, the more you yearned to be in the hands of your depraved biker. Jax was urgent and desperate for you each time you were in his arms. There was a mutual desire that turned you both into crazed maniacs when you were together. It was something you’d searched for every time you were with someone else, because nobody you’d ever come across had given you that same feeling.

Jax had a way of turning you into the only girl in the world. Until he was fucking the next croweater who threw themselves at him the following day.

Tonight, you were going to allow yourself to enjoy the gentlemen in front of you. You leaned back into the bench, trying to edge him on top of you as you sunk into the bench against his lips.

You were so entangled in your stranger that you never even noticed him arrive with half of The Club. It wasn’t until you were interrupted by the break in your lips as he was pulling the man off you by his shirt, forcing him to the floor as he was knocked flat on his back.

“Jax!”

“Dude! What the fu-“ he tried to stand up, but Jax placed his shoe directly on his chest, crushing him to the ground. The man grunted under the weight, failing to pry the shoe off of him. “What the fuck are you doing!?”

“What do you think you’re doing?” He pressed down into the man’s chest harder, restraining himself from crushing his rib cage all together.

The stranger looked at you with wide eyes, trying to speak through the force compounding his lungs, “she said she was alone!”

Jax smiled at him as he laid spread out on the dirty bar floor.

“I don’t give shit what she said. Your time is up, pretty boy.”

You were ashamed to admit that you thoroughly enjoyed watching Jax furious with envy over you, but you did feel bad for the innocent guy beneath his sneaker.

“Get the fuck off him, Jax.”

He glanced up at you, taking a long look at your flushed pink cheeks and swollen lips.

The crowded bar was now zoned in on your table, watching and entertained by the drama unfolding. Chibs, Juice and Bobby guarded the table, ensuring no onlookers got in the way of Jax’s jealous fuelled rage.

He picked the man up by his collar, pulling him to his feet as he threw him against the wall. Jax gripped at his jaw, lifting his chin to force his eyes towards you at the bench. “I suggest you apologise for bothering my girl.”

“Jax don’t be ridiculous-“

He ignored you, glaring at the man in his grasp, tightening the grip on his collar.

“I’m sorry, okay!”

“Not to me, asshole. To her.”

You rolled your eyes, watching as he tormented the innocent stranger you had set yourself upon.

“I’m sorry I bothered you.” His voice cracked from the hold Jax had on his collar, draining the circulation from his neck.

Jax shoved the man off the wall, releasing him as he was once again flown across the laminate. He stumbled to regain his balance before he started running, bolting for the exit. He disappeared at the speed of light, chuckles from Juice and Chibs echoing through the bar as he ran.

You stood up from the bench, storming off in anger for the door.

Jax followed you into the empty, dark car park outside the bar. His hands stuffed into his pockets as he watched you slump against the brick wall, sliding down to sit on the pavement. You put a cigarette to your mouth as you searched for a lighter in your bag. You hadn’t felt tipsy until the air hit you, realising your head was spinning.

He paced over to you, crouching forward with his lighter, igniting the cigarette between your lips.

“You’re such a prick sometimes, you know that?”

Jax slid down the wall beside you, his legs bent slightly at the knees as he sighed to himself, lighting his own cigarette. “Not gonna argue with that.”

He exhaled a large cloud of smoke as he spoke, “but you were basically fucking that guy in an open bar, y/n.”

“First of all, no I wasn’t.”

He chuckled, amused by your irritation.

“And second of all, what the fuck has that got to do with you? You’re the one who decided to get knee deep in Ima last week, again.”

“I told you I was drunk.”

“And now I’m drunk too”, you protested.

He shook his head as smoke escaped his lips, fingers twirling the silver lighter in his hands. “That isn’t going to happen again.”

Your head fell back as you groaned at his promise, leaning against the hard brick behind you. ��Yeah, ‘cause I haven’t heard that one before.”

He smiled, nudging your leg with his playfully. “You know I mean it. Doesn’t matter who I’m inside, there's only one face I see.”

You turned your head towards him, leaning your face on his shoulder. “I’m tired of this, Jax. You and your mommy issues are giving me whiplash.”

“Yeah, well your baggage ain’t so easy to handle either.” He placed a hand over the back of your head, stroking your hair as he spoke.

You responded with a punch to his knee, swaying his leg. “You can’t just keep beating men up because they’re interested in me. That guy was actually sweet.”

He threw his cigarette across the pavement before he grasped his hands into your hair, entangling his fingers between the strands. He crushed his lips against yours, his tongue lapping into your mouth. His fingers smoothed against your face, the feeling of his cold rings brushing against your cheek. Your foreheads connected as your eyes closed, resting silently along each other. “I can be sweet too.”

You chuckled, playfully biting his lip. “You’re a sweet, jealous prick, Teller.”

He pulled into you once more, pecking your lips slowly before escalating into your lips, pulling you on top of him. You straddled him there in the lot, surrounded by empty parked cars in the dead of night. His hands gripped at your waist, pulling your body tighter to him, the feeling of his erection pressing into your jeans. Your hands twisted into his hair, holding his head against yours. He smirked against your lips, trailing his hands lower to your ass, as he secured his hands in your back pockets. He stroked your cheek with his nose, kissing the pink tinted skin.

“I just don’t like sharing what’s mine.”

Your mouth found his as you raised your eyebrows, mumbling into his lips, “then take what's yours.”

He grinned, lifting you in one swift motion from his lap, standing you up against him. He pulled you across the parking lot as you stumbled drunk, trying to keep up. He led you to your car, opened the back door and pushed you flat against the back seat.

Jax laid above you, planting himself between your legs. He angled himself between the seats, crushing his mouth against yours. His touch was ravenous, ripping the buttons from your jeans waistband as he pulled the denim from your ass. You giggled as he struggled to get them off entirely between the leather of the flat seat. You lifted yourself up, helping as he removed them. He pulled at your shirt, lifting it higher to expose the skin around your stomach as he leaned into you, gnawing at the skin in short pecks from your navel to your now exposed panties. You grasped at his hair as he claimed you with his warm mouth, suffocating himself into the fabric that covered your mound.

“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking soaked for me.” He groaned at the taste of your slick pooling into the cotton, pulling your panties to the side. He circled his tongue against your clit, watching you, utterly mesmerised as you whimpered at the sensation. He rolled his thumb against your dripping fold, “this pretty cunt is mine.”

Vibrations filled your entire being as he nuzzled into your mound, lapping his tongue repeatedly against your slick, his hands lifting your ass to push deeper into you. You tugged at the roots of his blonde hair, drunken moans of his name filling the car park as you struggled to keep quiet. He pulled away, his face glistening from your juices as he smirked at you, caressing his fingers against your pussy. “You want your sweet guy to finish you off?”

Your head fell back at the taunt, “c’mon Jax, don’t- stop-”

He pulled your panties down your ass, exposing your cunt entirely. His tongue stroked you, prodding at your swollen nub, before hesitating again. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“Fuck, Jax- I’m- yours. I’m only yours.” The words trailed slowly from your gritted teeth, your head swirling from the feeling and the beer. You chased for his mouth, drawing your hips up closer to his face.

“Look at me when you tell me.”

You used all your might to lift your head from the seat, finding his eyes staring into yours, fire blazing within them. You spoke between your sharpened breaths, trying to form a coherent sentence. “I said- I’m yours.”

“I can’t hear you, darlin’. You’re only what?”

Your head collapsed into the leather seat, cries escaping your lips as you squirmed your hips higher to find his mouth again. “I’m yours- Jax- shit-”

“That’s my pretty girl.”

He stoked his tongue against your clit, enjoying every moment as you pleaded through your moans for him to take you to your climax. He was revelling in your anguish as he teased at your cunt. He played with your folds again, his fingers caressing the soaking skin.

“No other man comes near my pussy, isn’t that right?”

You groaned in response, his claim on you sending you further into spiral. “No- no one else.”

His lips reconnected to your cunt, whimpers of desperation pouring from your lips. His fingers finally found your entrance, rewarding you as he slid into your seam, pushing you towards your release.

He muttered into your mound, “you only cum for me.”

Your body exploded at his instruction, collapsing onto his fingers as they curled against your sweet spot, his mouth soaking in your orgasm. He delighted at your unravelling, his hands travelling your body as he found your breasts, kneading into the soft skin.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Let go for me.” Your thighs shook around his face uncontrollably, squeezing his head into your cunt.

He released his hand from your mound, hovering over you as his lips laid flush against yours. He danced around your mouth, forcing you to taste your slick that covered his tongue. Jax straddled over your hips, holding himself up against the headrest of the seat as his throbbing cock found your entrance. He positioned himself, sliding between the folds, a squeal escaping your throat as he filled you entirely.

Before he could fuck you senseless, a loud repeated bang was heard against the hood of the car, startling you both.

“Jackie boy! We gotta go!”

Jax collapsed against you, groaning in frustration. If you weren’t so drunk from Jax and the beer, you would’ve been furious. Instead you giggled, amused by the interruption, “Chib’s and his impeccable timing.” He sighed, his head resting against your chest.

He pulled out from you, as you rushed to put your underwear back in its place. He smirked against your mouth as he kissed you one last time, parting your lips between his, "guess I’ll just have to finish claiming you later.”

read part two here

#jax teller #sons of anarchy #jax teller x reader #jax teller fiction #jax teller smut #sons of anarchy fic #reads writes #soa #jax teller morrow #smut #jax teller x you #jax teller imagine #jax teller one shot #jax teller love #charlie hunnam fiction #charlie hunnam fic #chibs telford

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skiiyoomin · 5 months

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i had this sitting in my drafts for ages so here y'all go

warnings: smut!! big dick choso, dom! reader, reader has female body parts, blowjob!

RULES !! DO NOT COPY OR REPOST MY WORK PLEASE

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✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Choso has a HUGE cock and he doesn't know how to use it. So, you had no choice but to take control. Not like you were complaining.

You sat him down on the couch, your legs placing themselves beside his hips as you straddled his lap. Your hands slithered up his toned chest and shoulders until they were cupping his jaw. His own large hands instinctively moved to rest on your waist. Without a word, you leaned down to kiss his slightly chapped lips. He immediately responded by placing one of his hands to the back of your head, tilting his head and deepening the kiss.

Your lips moved against each other in perfect synchrony, your tongue prodding against his mouth for entrance. Obediently, he opened it, letting you explore every inch of him. Sooner than you'd like, your lungs began to burn for the need of air, forcing you apart, a string of saliva following along. Like magnets, you almost instantly went back in for a second kiss, longer, slower and deeper. Your hips started to roll against his lap as arousal began to pool in your panties. The friction of his hardening cock against your clothed cunt pulling a breathless moan out of you and a needy whine from him.

You moved your lips to his jaw, trailing lower and lower until you reached the crook of his neck. Choso felt tingles go down his spine at the feeling of your lips pressing on his sweet spot. You sucked on the sensitive skin until a purple mark appeared, making a groan pull from Chosos lips. The whiny sounds that escapes his lips urged you to keep going. Your continued kissing his sensitive skin until the collar of his shirt interrupted you. Pulling away for a moment, your hands found their way under his tshirt, the toned muscle of his abs under your fingers making both of your brains fuzzy with desire. After what felt like forever, you finally pulled his tshirt over his head, throwing it to the side and revealing a body that made you drool on the spot. Choso, ever so bashful, squirmed shyly under your lust filled gaze as your eyes trailed shamelessly up and down his toned torso.

You sank down to your knees while trailing your hands down his abs, resting them on his thick thighs. He felt his cock twitch in his pants at the sight of you between his legs, your slightly hooded eyes looking up at him from under your lashes. In a slow teasing motion, you ran your hands up his thighs and to his belt, just barely grazing his clothed erection. Your doe eyes focused on his flushed face as you unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his jeans.

Choso whined needily, feeling like he was going to explode if he didn't get any friction on his cock. At last, you curl your fingers inside the waistband of his jeans and boxers and slide them down, letting his hard cock spring free from its restraints. He groaned when it bounced against his abdomen, precum sticking to the skin.

You licked your lips, feeling your mouth dry up at sight of his beautifully curved cock. In your experienced opinion, Choso had, by far, the most perfect dick you had ever seen. It was girthy enough that your middle finger and thumb didn't touch when you closed your hand around his base. The length was just perfect, not too long, not too short. But the best, most saliva inducing part was the veins that popped out, and the angry red tip covered in precum that was just begging to be sucked on like there was no tomorrow.

You closed your hand around the base, giving it an experimental stroke that made Choso immediately sink in the sofa, his head thrown back from the pleasure. You leaned forward and licked up the underside of his cock, pulling yet another whine out of his lips.

"f-fuck baby"

He scrunched up your hair in his hand, unconciously pulling your head closer to his aching dick. With a small chuckle, you enclose your lips around his tip, suckling on it like a lollipop. His moans and whines fill the silence of the room as you continue your actions. The feeling of your hot tongue running over his slit makes his eyes roll to the back of his head and his hands grip your hair harder. To Chosos immense pleasure, you finally slid your head down until his tip reached the back of your throat. As you bobbed your head up and down, you swirled your tongue on the underside of his cock, feeling the bulging vein throb as you stimulate him.

Choso had never felt anything like it, and quite frankly, he didn´t want it to end. The sensations your mouth made him feel were unlike anything he ever felt in his 150+ years of living. Gasps left his lips as you continued sucking on his cock, making his mind fuzzy with pleasure.

His grip tightned and his hips thrusted into your mouth as he felt a knot form in his stomach, making his body instinctively chase the euphoric feeling. "mmngh- y/n"

His head fell back on the couch cushion, his eyes rolling to the back of his head and his jaw falling slack as a loud moan fell from his lips. With one last harsh thrust, he spilled his hot seed down your throat. You pulled back and opened your cum filled mouth, stroking his cock and shooting the rest of his cum in your awating mouth. Choso looked down at the erotic sight with hazy eyes and arousal flowing through his veins.

You swallowed his cum once you milked him of every single drop and he came down from high. Letting go of his softening cock, Choso relaxed his tense muscles, his pants filling the silence. When he relaxed, he looked back down at your smug figure. You slowly pressed kisses to his inner thighs, your eyes that were looking up at him darkened with desir.

"Don´t think I´m done with you" You murmured with a teasing voice.

Choso had a long long night ahead of him.

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wifetomegatron · 8 months

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perceptor wants to study you. afab!reader. nsfw! drabble. skirt mentioned.

Perceptor is a scientist. It is his job to learn. To observe. In many ways, when the situation calls for it, it is also his job to solve things. The most reliable questions to answer were equations, solid and truthful: numerical variables were tangible enough to pull apart and rebuild without straying too far from his reality. They only have one answer.

But you were different. A moving target that never stood still. Always changing and taking him by surprise. You were a blow to his ego. And that caught his attention. A beauty that had no source in his stout and unyielding world. The possibilities were endless.

He wants to drink you dry.

" Open your mouth."

His voice was barely short of a whisper. Do all humans have this ability to render sentient beings speechless, to rob the room of any sound? Maybe they are also capable of manipulating magnetic fields: of defying the laws of gravity to knock their opponents off their axis. That would be dangerous. It was a good thing that you didn't see him as a threat. Not when you were looking at his past your lashes, eyes coy — fingers drawing circles around his shoulders.

" My," You hummed, " How bold of you, Perceptor."

Have you always had this lilt to your voice? He searched his processor for a comparison — the water running down the creek back in your green organic planet, the lonely echo of bullets as they ricochet, the tentative hum of a spark as it reignites. None of them comes close. He feels sick. Dizzy. Maybe he needs to go and see Ratchet.

" Open your mouth, please."

He repeats himself. Voice surprisingly level, even though it felt like his vocalizer was going to snap. And that earned him a smile. He did nothing to warrant your laughter, and yet you indulged him like you always do. Tongue — pink and wet — peeking past the row of pearls you call teeth as you tilt your neck gently backward. His hand moved instinctively, dwarfing the back of your head for support.

He pressed the pad of his thumb flat across the soft surface and felt the metal sink. Your eyes fluttered shut, legs, slightly parting to let him slot his body in between. He held you in place. Chest to chassis, the thin fabric of your shirt did nothing to hide the subtle race of your heart.

Sinew and muscle, humming, unlike anything he's ever heard.

This is for science, Perceptor tells you, retracting his servos to pick up his PADD, mind bursting with a flurry of thoughts. He couldn't even remember what he wrote down. He will have to review it later.

He runs a few more exams. Medical needs it. And yet he had offered himself to run them. He says it was also crucial for his research.

What kind of research, Ratchet had asked him.

A personal one, he had replied.

No one stopped him, especially not when you were so eager to help.

He kissed you on the lips. Tentatively, once, twice. You sighed into his mouth. Lips soft. Too soft. He needed to know if you were just as delicate between your —

This is for science, Perceptor tells himself, already sinking onto his knees. You were a plethora of texture, so different from his biology. So far from the mundane. While he clings almost religiously to the dependable — facts, numbers, metal — the purest, rawest form of science is the unknown. He nudged your knees with his nose, wider, and you wordlessly complied.

Every scientist is an explorer at heart. And what is more unfamiliar than the feel of your skin?

Perceptor rubs up and down your thighs, feeling you shiver. His cooling fans clicked to life, reacting, responsive. And this pleased you. And you pleased him.

Prettiness is symmetry, all things in the right place. And yet you were an artifact of unknown beauty, with no origin, no source. All things have to start somewhere — stars were born out of gases, sparks out of a mass of positrons supercharged by energon. But where did you come from? So alien. So different.

If the Earth was your creator, then you must be molded out of clay, shaped by her gentle hands, not carved, for he was sure even under his touch you would break. That the slightest misplace of pressure would shatter and scatter you into pieces.

But humans were known to be resilient. He likes to call you generous instead. Ever so giving, ever so kind.

Today, you wore what you called a skirt. Isn't it pretty? He doesn't have much to say about its color other than that it was practical and worn with a purpose. An invitation.

You mewled in encouragement when he pressed a kiss square against the plush, wet slit of your cunt.

Perceptor is a scientist. It is his job to learn. To observe. In many ways, when the situation calls for it, it is also his job to solve things. And there is still so much he wants to learn from you. He wants to map every sensitive spot that made you gasp and writhe. He wants to chart every delicate twitch, every clench. And with your body arching atop his table — sweat dripping down your brow, you were his muse.

But make no mistake, this was a symbiotic relationship. You were also studying him, changing him. ( He was certain you've ruined him for anyone else.)

Perceptor knows he should have stayed as an objective observer, standing on the sideline. Yet you were a very seductive hypothesis, just waiting to be kissed to life. There was lubricant leaking down his chin as you reached your high, nails scratching the back of his helm. Objects cluttered off the table in the distance, yet he continues to drink.

You broke his idea of truth, and Perceptor lets you.

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sakkiichi · 9 months

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AUGUST.

Glimpses of the departed month go by as you reminisce by the sea.

ft. Kaedehara Kazuha x gn! reader.

cw/genre: fluff, romance.

I honestly don’t know how to feel about this piece… definitely not my best work, but I wrote it, so I’m posting it. I hope someone still likes it.

if you enjoy this, reblogs and comments help more than likes !

Blue.

Said alone, the word might have had a tendency for melancholy, cold, turbulence.

However, if anyone were to ask you right now, you’d deny every negative connotation the color might have ever been related to.

Because to you, blue was dusks by the sea; moments right after the last coppery rays had hidden behind the expanse of an ocean you could only wish to unveil all secrets of.

And perhaps, you liked this moment of day because the infinity of blue before you mirrored the feelings in your heart at ease.

Feelings of unbridled affection, boundless love.

For him.

Fair hair falls over his shoulders, like silk weaved out of stars, its tips illusory rose with the fading daylight. His eyes are closed against the marine breeze, flecks of moondust clinging to his lids, casting enchanting shadows over his cheeks. His shirt has been discarded, droplets sliding down his bare torso, as if he had bathed in a pool of starlight. A black leather cord rests against his tempting collarbones, a vibrant scarlet maple leaf charm dangling tantalizingly over his chest.

A dreamy sigh escapes your lips, mingling with the sounds of foamy waves lapping at the white sand.

Kazuha.

He was always nothing short of ethereal, but something about him in the dimming light of a late summer’s nightfall, felt inherently magical.

“I’m going to miss this, Kazuha.” You finally say, resting your chin on your boyfriend’s shoulder.

He gently leaves a kiss to your forehead, his hand finding yours over the towel you’re sitting on. Scars jut like jagged rocks against which waves break, in the same way lightning snuffed out a life dear to him all that time ago.

And yet, the smile on his lips is almost palpable when he says:

“We’ll be able to come back, my dove.” His thumb runs soothing circles over the back of your hand. “Before we realize, summer will greet us again.”

You chuckle. Kazuha had such a poetic way of approaching things; even when the sun went pitch black, he would forever remain a beacon of hope to you.

“I know, I know…” You clarify. “It’s just… I wish I had more free time to spend with you like this during the year…”

As much as autumn brought found memories and your beloved’s birthday, September always had a tendency to leave you yearning for the long days of summer.

Echoes of August replayed behind your eyelids every time you closed them, reminiscent of stolen instances held in the brief minutes in which the sky was dyed in shades of neither day or night.

Those eyes that held the suns of a million dawns focus on you. Starlight from constellations that will sleep soon seem to frame them, those long lashes fluttering in tune with your heart.

“I know, my angel…” Your lover utters, as he delicately tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’d like to stay with you like this, for all eternity…” His stare of gentle embers takes you in.

His muse, his perfect love, his forever.

The samurai’s free hand reaches to cup your cheek, his touch, a dove’s first flight in its tenderness.

Beneath the darkening skies, you were the brightest star. Every lash, every pore and freckle, the everglow that fueled his verses.

“But we’ll always have the weekends,” He reassures, those fingers that penned the most romantic eulogies tracing your jawline, the column of your neck, your exposed collarbones.

Dilated pupils stare at his lips, images of kisses coated in ice cream and cocktails flashing through your dazed mind.

“And every summer after that.” The poet adds, noses mere millimeters away now, separated only by salt air and dying sunlight’s rust.

“Every summer.” You repeat.

Then, the magnetic force of both your desire-ridden lips reigns over, his kiss, an intoxicating collision.

Your hands lock behind Kazuha’s neck, pulling him closer. The droplets of sea water on him feel cool, flecks of stardust tattooing your skin in every place your bodies touch.

The wandering samurai’s lips are an expanding sunrise, and you, the tsunami that desperately reaches for his light-tinted heavens.

One of his hands sets on the soft sand, keeping him upright, while his scarred one tenderly cups your cheek. Your lean against him is soothing, healing, clear August skies, birdsong written in between retreating clouds.

Behind the undulating horizon, gold dyes silver.

Constellations begin to waltz far above, the lovers by the sea, their directing lyrics.

It’s a symphony about a season that will never die, its score inscribed in indelible blue ink in the heat of yours and Kazuha’s fervent kisses.

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soleilandpeaches · 1 year

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he loves my heart shaped sunglasses

featuring: Hawks/Keigo Takami synopsis: sexual tension has been brewing between you and your favorite tattooist. You were hesitant to the type of lover he was; he seemed almost to good to be true. He wasn’t. warnings: f!reader, mentions of drugs/alcohol, cunnilingus, possessive!Keigo, rough sex, oral (f!recieving), mutual pining, romantic and sexual pining, unprotected sex (wrap it up!) rated: 18+ (MDNI) song title inspo: Every Man Gets His Wish by Lana Del Rey

“Hold still now, Dove.” The light and airy tone of his voice dripping with saccharine honey and goodness, his gloved hand coming to rest on your bicep as he leaned closer for inspection. The needle in his hand buzzing to life before you forced your head to turn away, no matter how much you wanted to keep looking.

He chucked at your dismay, your insides turning at the sound and the feel of his warm breath amongst you. He was so beautiful, so warm, so charming that you couldn’t help yourself from wandering back to this place just to see him. He had even asked you if he was your favorite artist, a knowing smirk plastered on his gorgeous face with full pink lips and sharp, pearly-white teeth.

What you would give just to have him, even just for one night. Though, you knew that was a lie; you’d yearn for him forever afterwards. You couldn’t help but wonder what kind of lover he was: was he the type to love and then leave? You knew he must’ve had many many admirers from the way he looked, down to the charismatic way he carried himself. He had that sort of confidence, that magnetic charm—he could have anyone he wanted.

“Still scared of needles, huh?” He queried, ripping you away from your reveries, yet you refused to assess him.

“You’ve been coming to me for how long now?” He teased, and you could hear the mocking grin in his voice, yet you loved it all the same.

“Are you just trying to get me to talk?” You jested back, refusing to give in to his taunts, yet your eyes remained fixated on the spinning ceiling fan, following a single panel as it rotated. The clinking of the silver metal chain kept you from focusing too much on the needle piercing your skin. Luckily, you chose a less painful area to tattoo today.

“Maybe I am. You know I like hearing your voice.” And now he was flirting, not that you minded; he seemed to like flirting with you.

“Glad to know you’re still in love with me, Keigo.” This coerced a laugh from his chest, though he kept it short so as to not ruin his work. You quickly glanced over at his face, eyes sharp and focused, hidden underneath long blonde lashes; his chiseled jaw set and eyebrows furrowed, hair pulled back by a black, metal headband.

“Like what you see, Dove?” And though he wasn’t looking at you, the coy flicker to his eyes paired with his smug face spoke in more volume than if he did; he was revelinging your attention.

“Yeah, I do.” You acting shy wasn’t what he wanted, he was a slut for your shameless flirting, if his glowing flush of his cheeks were anything to go by. You eyed the exposed muscle to his arms, quickly flexing from your praise. You knew his silent mannerisms by now, quickly learning it’s necessity if you were curious of what he was really feeling beneath his strained stoicism and deflecting charm.

“Aw shucks, you’re gonna make me blush y’know?” His lips stretched into a more cheerful smile, dimples following in response as the tips of his ears glew red.

“Looks like you already are.” You purred, continuing in hopes of riling him up in the way he does you so effortlessly. Just the thought of him had you giggling and blushing, panties soaking of the memories of him. The memories of him touching you with his soft–gloved hands, flirting with you like his tongue was made of nothing but silver, gazing back at you with eyes of liquid gold and sweet honey.

You often wondered what his hair must feel like between your fingers, would it be soft or stiff? You hoped it would be the former, imagining running your fingers through those feathered, wheat-colored strands. You couldn’t even use your fingers to count how many times you’ve daydreamed of doing just that with his head between your thighs, piercing eyes staring back at you as he eats your pussy. You wondered if his tongue was as talented with that as it was with its words.

“You tryna make me fuck up my job?” Keigo removed the needle from your arm to uncomfortably shift in his seat, though he didn’t look unhappy, you’d say he looked rather aroused.

“Oh right, sorry sorry.” Though you both knew you weren’t really, you turned your head back over and away from him; you still wanted a good tattoo anyway. You watched him shake his head with a chuckle before taking a breath to resume his work.

“I thought you wanted to hear me talk.” Biting back a yelp, you forced your body not to jump at the sudden piercing contact of the needle to your arm.

“I guess I can’t argue with that,” he noted, but from what you couldn’t see, he was sticking his tongue out at you.

It’s been a couple weeks since the last time you went back, however, you’ve been texting back-and-forth with Keigo pretty regularly. You seemed to quickly form a pretty strong connection with him, the two of you seemed to have pretty good chemistry.

You could tell he was growing fond of you, texts here-and-there shifted to everyday, always ending your day with a cute: “Goodnight, Dove <3.” Even on his busy days, he never hesitated to let you know he couldn’t talk, which you appreciated.

You knew he saw you as more than just a client, but you were willing to drag this out as much as you could; keeping things slow to watch it unravel before you. You wondered what he would look like when you pushed his buttons, daring his thread to snap. Unfortunately for you, Keigo wasn’t an idiot; he knew what you wanted. It seemed he was willing to play along with you, but you knew how to push past his limits.

“I’m going to this party tomorrow.” You told him, kicking your legs back-and-forth as he stood in between them, holding a needle to your ear.

“Oh yeah? Excited?” He asked playfully, chuckling as you gripped his arm as he pierced your upper ear, flexing his muscle at the contact.

“A little,” You decided after a moment, taking a second too long to release him from your grip.

“I’m not really a huge party person though.” You admitted gazing up at him as he pulled back, fighting the urge to rub your thighs together.

“Hmm…” He hummed thoughtfully, turning around to put away his tools before removing his gloves in a teasingly slow manner.

“Are you going alone?”

Even though the question seemed light-hearted, you could read in-between the lines, you knew what he was really insinuating.

Do you have a date?

You couldn’t seem to hold back your smile, remembering when Keigo told you he sometimes had jealousy issues. Maybe it was toxic to feel a sense of power from this realization, but you couldn’t seem to find a care as you checked him out.

“A couple of my good friends are gonna be there, but I’m pretty sure I’ll have to uber home.” You were almost positive none of them were going to stay sober, and neither were you. Still, maybe if you played your cards right, you could get him to take you home.

“I can take you home if you need me to, Angel.” To be honest, you were taken aback by how quickly he volunteered for you, thinking you might’ve had to call him up at the last minute. A part of you felt guilty for wanting to use him.

“Oh no, it’s okay, really-” You argued but he was already making his way back over to you, and something about his face screamed he was already planning on it even if you rejected him.

“C’mon, Dove, it’s the least I could do.” He laughed, offering his hand for you to take so he could guide you off your chair. You took his hand, admiring the soft and delicate texture of his palms. You inwardly shook your head to rid of the sudden inappropriate thoughts of how they would feel holding other parts of your body.

“But you’re always doing things for me.” You giggled as he led you away so you could pay for his service. Even though, however, after some time he began charging you for less.

“Ah, well, a sweet thing like you deserves it.” He’s been getting bolder. You note with a grin; this means he’s becoming more impatient. Good.

“Thank you, Keigo! It means a lot!”

“Of course, Dovey.”

The ride back home was tense, and not in a good way. After you had hugged all of your friends goodbye, you stumbled up to his car, albeit excited to see him since you’ve been gushing about him all night. Although, his expression and demeanor seemed less than happy, eyebrows pulled forward in a grimace with his jaw drawn tight.

“Heyyy~” You greeted, a little high, plopping down in the passenger seat before struggling to pull the seat belt across your body.

“Did you have fun?” His almost accusing tone made you snort, he almost sounded like some sort of possessive girlfriend.

“Why are you all mad?” Forgetting your filter, you wondered if he really was bothered that he had to pick you up; was he just trying to be nice? You couldn’t say you enjoyed when people offered services just to be nice. Then only to be annoyed when you take them up on it. Why even offer if you don’t even want to?

He let out a sigh, his shoulders relaxing and his knuckles turning from white to neutral. How upset was he?

“It’s not you…” He trailed off as he backed out of his parking space, one arm coming to rest behind your head as he did so, your earlier frustration seemingly forgotten.

“Just a crappy day, yknow?” It seemed he had more to say but refrained, offering you a polite smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Well you shouldn’t take it out on me, y’know?” Maybe you shouldn’t have mocked him; you decided to blame the weed.

He didn’t seem to mind, letting out a short chuckle and a sigh before shooting you a quick, apologetic one-over. “You’re right Dovey, I’m sorry.”

“I’ll need more than an apology if you want me to forgive you for being so rude.” You couldn’t really abstain yourself from teasing him; it was just too easy!

“Oh yeah? Like what, hm?” You could feel yourself start to grow hotter, avoiding his quick eye contact as you stumbled over your thoughts.

“I don’t know…” You mumbled, awkwardly shuffling your feet together. You weren’t sure as to why you were suddenly feeling so shy now. You had hoped you would be able to push Keigo past his brink, manipulating him into just taking what he wants. But just as you thought you had him where you wanted, it seemed he was three steps ahead.

“You don’t know? Well it sure sounded like you did just now.” You shoot him a glare, sticking out your tongue like a child, but you don’t care. You don’t miss the way the passing freeway street lights hit his face, illuminating his hair and his eyes as they glow colorfully. You trail your eyes down his biceps and over his tattoos.

“Why do you have to be such a smart ass all the time?” Your grumble playfully, folding your arms underneath your chest, not missing the way his eyes dart quickly to your breasts.

“Smart ass? I was just wondering how to get back into your good graces.” He smiles a toothy grin as he awaits your response but before you can think of one, he’s speaking again.

“And to think this is how you repay my kindness. After all I do for you?” He tuts as he shakes his head in his mock disappointment. You couldn’t help but picture him repeating that same sentence as he stands over you, on your knees and arms binded as he removes his belt.

“Well then I guess I’ll just have to make it up to you then.” Your voice is so low it’s almost a whisper, you watch him like a cat stalking it’s prey, grinning in delight as a shiver runs through him.

“Y’know what? I kinda like the sound of that.”

He walks you into your apartment after you invite him inside, eyeing him as he takes off his shoes. He eyes you back, smirking as he usually does, strips of hair falling over his face in a way that has you envying his effortless beauty.

“So? Are you going to give me a tour?”

“Is that what you want?”

He pauses for a moment, peering up at you from where he was sitting, slowly looking you up-and-down as if to convey his message without words.

“No.” He answers honestly, leaning back in his chair before coming to a full stand, leisurely making his way over to you. Standing before you, he’s glancing back-and-forth between your eyes, as if silently searching for some answer beneath them.

His fingers gently tuck a stand of hair behind your ear before gingerly dragging them down the side of your neck and to your jaw. He pauses for a moment before cupping your cheek, inching his face closer to yours as his eyes move from yours to your lips. He tilts his face, inching further until you can feel the warmth of his breath against your lips as you wet them in anticipation.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispers so faintly that you wouldn’t have heard him if he wasn’t so close, his eyes meet yours again as if to further illustrate his question.

“You may.” You couldn’t contain your silly grin or your girlish giggle, your expression seemed to influence his own as well, having to wait for your smiles to fade so he could properly kiss you. But they don’t, so he just does it anyway.

It’s a slow, intimate kiss, one that conveys feelings instead of words. He tastes just the way he looks: cinnamon gum and sweets, honeyed like french toast with a side of strawberries. At least, that’s how he makes you feel anyway.

His opposite hand finds its way to your waist, gripping firmly yet gently, pulling you closer to him. You wrap your arms around his neck to pull him further into you. Your smile falls as you moan against him, fingers tangling themselves in his hair. Your cheeks begin to heat at the sound of your lips smacking over-and-over against each other.

“Keigo.” You mumble between kisses, your dominant hand trailing down his chest to feel him up. You silently thank him for deciding to go with a simple wife beater, as it allows you much more access.

You feel his smile against you, unable to keep kissing you, your lips are simply pressed together.

“Yes?” You blink your eyes open and flick them to meet his, your chest tightens when witnessing the way he looks at you. His eyes are almost hidden beneath thick lashes, yet they couldn’t stow away the devotion swimming beneath them. And he too, was sporting the same, love-sick smile you were.

“Can I make it up to you now?” You ask hesitantly, nervous at the notion he would reject you. Your finger absentmindedly twirling a single lock as he hums in pretend thought.

“Only if you let me make it up to you too.”

It doesn’t take you long for you to guide him up to your bedroom, pulling him along in-between giggles and sweet kisses. You feel like a smitten teenager as you pull him into your bed and on top of you, infatuated with the noises you were pulling from him.

He’s groaning your name as you pull at the back of his shirt, urging him to take it off and quickly.

“You’re gonna be the death of me y’know?” He’s laughing again, sitting on his knees as he clumsily tears his shirt over his head; you feel your pussy throb in response.

“Good.” You giggle, inching the hem of his pants down his thigh with your foot before he’s grabbing it, tearing it away from his pants as he bends your knee to your chest. Pushing himself forward, he begins rubbing his hard on into your clothed pussy.

“What a little minx you are.” He takes in a long inhale before his hands are toying with the strap to your tank top. “Can I take this off?”

“You may.” You note how gentlemanly he’s treating you, you almost feel guilty how hurried you are to get into his pants. But just as you finish that thought, he’s tearing your shirt off just as quickly as he did his.

He’s staring intently at your chest, admiring your pierced nipples—the ones he pierced—with a proud simper. It isn’t long before he’s pinching and pulling at them before leaning over to take one into his mouth, moaning at the feeling as he rolls your piercing around with his tongue.

Your hands coil themselves back into his hair, pushing and tugging as you moan in delight. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you dig your foot into his lower back, urging his groin further into yours.

“So responsive.” He notes, rubbing his lips across your chest and back down to your nipples, taking one in-between his teeth to tug before gently licking over in apology.

“Would you rather I not be?” He only answers with a deep chuckle and a shake of his head. His mouth begins to leave open mouth kisses back across your chest and up to your neck, searching desperately for the spot that will make you sing.

And when he does he’s grinning back against your neck before posessively sucking harder, teeth digging into the sensitive flesh of your neck.

“Ow! Keigo, that hurt.” You whine pulling him off with a hard pull to his head, your legs tightening snug as he growls when he’s pulled away. One hand comes to rest on your thigh as his face meets yours again, face drawn back into that same displeased expression he sported when you entered his car.

“Gotta let em’ know you’re all mine, Dove.”

All His? While you wouldn’t fight him on that, you couldn’t exactly wrap your head around who he was referring to, if anyone in particular at all.

Your confusion must’ve shown because now he’s gripping your thigh harder, as his unoccupied hand reaches to grasp you by your cheeks as he pulls you in for a less sweet, more passionate kiss.

“I saw you huggin’ all those boys before you left. Were you tryin’ to make me jealous, hm?” His tone is accusatory as it is lighthearted, not wanting to scare you away.

“No.” You attempt to say, but your lips are pursed too tight in his hold but you don’t mind; you’d be lying to admit you didn’t find this extremely attractive. You could feel the wetness of your panties expanding as you attempted to lift your hips to feel him.

“No.” He mocks in a high-pitched-girly voice, giving your cheeks one last faithful squeeze before he’s leaning back in for more kisses. He gives in to your attempts of rubbing against him, deciding he too needs more friction.

He pulls away from your mouth to descend kisses down your body, muttering how you were always trying to rile him up. You decided not to argue on this one (because you couldn’t) and instead laid your head back to simply enjoy this newfound pleasure. You continue to moan, arching your body towards his mouth, but every time you do he pulls away again.

“Enjoying yourself?” He’s planting kisses across your thighs, taking one into his mouth to bite when you refuse to answer.

“I would enjoy this more if you quit teasing me.” You spat, squeezing his face between your thighs, amused by the way his cheeks squished together. He chuckles as he parts your legs, pinning them down the mattress as his mouth hovers over your pussy.

“You like it.” He states without room for debate, sucking your clothed clit into his mouth, delighting in your keening of pleasure.

“Is this where you want me, Baby?” He asks in that sultry tone, the one he knows that has you melting in the palm of his hand, just as you do now.

“Yes! Please please…” You didn’t even think twice to begin begging, breaking your back just to keep feeling his delicious tongue against your aching cunt.

“Please what? I need to hear you say it.” He’s staring expectantly up at you know, lips red and swollen, hair messy and disheveled; you thought he never looked so handsome.

“Tell me you want me,” he says with a pant, hand tightening against your hip. “Tell me you want me and no one else. I need to hear you say it.”

Taking a moment to take him in, you're pulling his face back to yours in a desperate pleading kiss, hips jumping at his pathetic whine.

“Please…” You whisper as you pull away to peer into his eyes, putting on your best puppy dog expression. “Please Keigo, I want you so bad. Please, I don’t want anyone else: just you.”

He cuts you off with another long kiss, sliding your panties down your legs and off your body in one go before he’s burying his face back in between your thighs.

“God, you’re so wet, Baby” He comments with a groan, sucking your slick into his mouth as he shakes his head back-and-forth, rubbing his nose into your clit.

“Don’t stop.” You pant, hands tightening so hard against his head he’s whimpering against you, sending pleasurable vibrations throughout your body. “Please don’t stop.”

Your knees come together behind his neck, blocking him from moving his face away from the heat between your legs. He doesn’t seem to mind, his hands coming to grope at your naked thighs as he eats you out like a man starved.

His mouth ascends back to your clit after tongue fucking you for what felt like ages, the cord within your threatening to snap in only a matter of seconds. The feeling of his stubble gently scratching against your hole has you cumming with a wail, your release drenching the sheets below you.

He’s pulling back to admire his work, laughing to half himself as he utters something about: not even getting to use his fingers.

“Please…” You’re panting now as he traces your labia with his index and middle, scooping up your orgasm to suck back into his mouth. He coos happily at the taste, circling his fingers around your hole, threatening to puncture.

“Want you s’bad.” You admit, watching as his chest rises-and-falls as his lips and chin glisten with your release.

“Yeah? You want me, Baby?” His voice dipping into a low but steady tone as he takes on a sort-of sexy caretaker role. You nod your head feverishly as his fingers sink into your heat, curling upwards in search for that sweet spot inside you.

“How bad? How bad do you want me?” He’s leaning over you, the feeling of his warm and cinnamon-y breath rasping over your cheek sends goosebumps across every inch of your skin.

“S’bad please! Please Keigo, jus’ want you inside, please!” You’re writhing underneath him, wailing once he seems to find that spot and pressing into it.

“Yeah? Want me to fuck you, huh, Angel? Want me to give it to you nice and hard, don’t you?” His fingers pick up their pace in their assault, the sound of your arousal filling your ears and causing your cheeks to heat beneath your skin.

“Yes! Yes, Keigo want you to stuff your cock inside me! Please, I want you to fill me up s’bad—want your cum inside me!” You confess, gasping as he shoves his face into your neck with a loud groan before he pulls his fingers away to tug his sweatpants and boxers off with one swoop. He pulls you upwards further onto your bed so you can lay your head comfortably on your pillows before he’s taking both of your legs in each hand. He scoots himself in between them, leaning over your body and wrapping them back around his middle.

“I’m gonna put it in now, okay? Is that alright?” You beg more into his kisses, hands roaming over every inch of him before he’s grabbing himself by the base and pushing into you. You both gasp at the intrusion as you claw at his back and he fists the sheets beside your head. He’s burying himself back into your neck as he bullies his way past your tight ring of muscle, moaning about how this is so much better than he imagined. You don’t have time to think much on his words before he slams his hips up into you.

“Fuck! I’m sorry, Dove. Does it hurt?” He’s panting even harder now, his restraint seemingly holding on by a thread as his hips gyrate once more before a string of curses spill from his mouth again.

“Please keep going.” As soon as your consent hits his ears, he’s reeling his hips back and into you once more, setting a hard and deep pace as his powerful groans fill the room paired with your wanton moans.

He unwraps your legs from his waist to bring them to your chest, hands holding them in place underneath your knees as he watches his cock ram itself in-and-out of you. Hypnotized by the creamy ring around the base of his prick, and the vice grip you had on him; he almost neglected to give attention to the rest of you.

Pulling his eyes away from you cunt, he’s now watching your face, your head had fallen back and your tousled hair splayed against your pillow. Your lips are kissed raw and wide open to allow your cries of pleasure to escape. Your eyes are screwed shut but reopen when you feel the intensity of his gaze upon you.

“Shit, Angel. You don’t know what you do to me.” His hips pick up in pace, balls slapping against the curve of your ass as he shifts his knees, ramming his cock against your G-spot. Stars dance beneath your eyelids, lips stayed parted in a silent scream as your pussy spasms around him.

“Fuck Baby! Feels so good inside you— hah!” It seems you had only just started, but the feeling of his cock pummeling in-and-out of your had you lightheaded.

“So deep.” You squeaked, hands digging further into your pillow as your legs twitched in his hold. You didn’t even seem to realize how much you were shaking, down to each tremble of your toes.

“Come on come on come on…” his cock was throbbing erratically inside of you, bullying your cervix with every thrust, his hot breath fanned your face as he squeezed your legs tighter.

“Fu–Fuck! You’re my little–my little slut, aren’t you? Yeah?” From anybody else, you would’ve berated them for talking down on you like that, but his words only fueled your desire, squeezing his cock, white hot pleasure quickly building back up inside once more.

“Yes– yes!” You couldn’t hold it back anymore, coming on his cock with a cry, the squeeze of your pussy has him following behind shortly after with a shout of your name and a chorus of: coming, coming! before sputtering, hips coming to a halt as he fills you with ropes-and-ropes of hot semen.

“Fuck, Baby…” Riding out his high, he continues to grind himself into you, letting you milk him of everything he’s worth. He let’s go of his hold of your shaking legs before falling on top of you. He enjoys the feeling of the cool metal of your nipples against his chest as smiles, nuzzling his nose into your cheek before followed by a wet kiss.

“You’re too heavy…” You complain sleepily, pushing weakly at his shoulders, urging him to move. He laughs weakly before pulling out, hissing at the feeling of cool air hitting his softening cock. You whine at the loss, and the feeling of his cum dripping out of you.

“C’mon Sweetheart,” he says, picking up with one hand over your ass and one in your hair as he carries you out of your room and into your bathroom.

“Let’s get you cleaned up and we can sleep, how does that sound?” You smile and nod into his neck. Even with his cum dripping onto your new carpet, you seem to finally feel satisfied.

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glamgamebeauty · 2 years

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However, it would be best if you didn't stick in your ways, mainly because many new and improved items on the market may be far superior to the ones you are using now. For example, one of these products is magnetic lashes, in contrast to conventional artificial lashes applied with glue.

#magnetic lashes #Short magnetic lashes

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map0fthes0ul7 · 6 months

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Heartbeats in the halls of academia.

Pairing: Dilf!Ceo!Professor!Jeonghan x Student!reader (ft. Jeonghan's clueless daughter Yena) ((Jeonghan is a whole combo here as y'all can see))

Warnings: Kinda angsty, but they get their happy ending, so hey, that's great!

Word count: 5407

Synopsis: Good ol' forbidden romance between Professor Jeonghan and his student y/n.

Author's note: I hope this one is also going to do well.

The towering figure of Yoon Jeonghan loomed at the front of the lecture hall, his presence commanding the undivided attention of every student seated before him. At 44, the CEO of Yoon Technologies had built an empire on innovation and foresight, and his reputation as a strict yet fair professor at the local university was nothing short of illustrious. With a keen eye that missed no detail and a wit that kept even the most brilliant minds on their toes, Professor Yoon had become a pillar of both the academic and business worlds.

As he lectured on the complexities of quantum mechanics, his voice reverberated through the hall, each word enunciated with knowledge and authority. He adorned a tailored suit, the dark fabric contrasting against his youthfully styled silver hair, his persona exuding a magnetic allure that was not lost on the students.

In the second row sat y/n, a passionate science student whose thoughts often drifted to realms beyond the subject at hand—specifically, to the man who stood just meters away. Y/n's pen poised above the notebook, the equations and theories interspersed with tiny scribbles and incoherent notes that betrayed a distracted mind. Though y/n was introverted, preferring the solace of books and music to the adventures that university life offered, there was one adventure that the heart seemed all too keen to embark upon—a dangerous dalliance with the professor.

Beside y/n, Yena's bright laughter broke the silence that had momentarily engulfed their small corner of the room. Yoon Yena, with her vivacious smile and inexplicable energy, was the image of collegiate exuberance. She was the only child of Jeonghan and the dearest friend y/n had at the university, their bond forged through shared interests and a love for science.

But it was a love of another manner that had y/n's thoughts in turmoil. Unbeknownst to cheerful Yena, y/n harbored a secret adoration for her father, a sentiment that flooded y/n with guilt and longing in equal measure.

As the bell signaled the end of the lecture, the students began to pack up their belongings, the buzz of excited chatter filling the air. Yena leaned over to y/n, her eyes glistening with plans and propositions.

"Are you coming out with us tonight?" Yena's invitation was as predictable as it was well-intentioned.

With a gentle shake of the head, y/n deflected, "I've got a lot on my plate. Maybe next time.

Yena pouted, playful but understanding. "You work too hard, y/n. You should live a little," she teased before bounding off to catch up with a group of her other friends.

Y/n was left alone as the last of the students tricked out of the lecture hall. Alone, that is, except for the man still standing at the front. With the hall emptied, Professor Yoon began to gather his own materials, his astute eyes catching y/n's lingering presence. An imperceptible silence stretched between them, filled only by the faint echo of Yena's laughter as it trailed off into the hallways.

"Is there something you didn't understand about the lecture?" Jeonghan queried, his tone a mix of concern and curiosity.

Mutely, y/n stood and approached the desk where he stood, clutching the notebook like a lifeline. Each step was measured, the heartbeat thundering in y/n's chest a stark contrast to the calm demeanor attempted to be displayed.

"Actually, Professor, I was wondering if you had any suggestions for extra reading. I find the subject fascinating," y/n admitted, looking up through lashes with a sincerity that was as indisputable as it was alluring to the older man.

A smile tugged at the corners of Jeonghan's lips. "I admire your dedication," he praised before writing down a list of books on a piece of paper and handing it over. As their fingertips brushed, an electric jolt of unspoken tension passed between them—an acknowledgement of something deeper than the exchange of scholarly advice.

"I appreciate it," y/n murmured, lingering for a moment too long, and then, with a final glance, turned to leave.

Jeonghan watched y/n's retreating figure, the rush of something forbidden stirring within him. It was a crossing of lines he was usually adept at maintaining, but the more he came to know y/n, the more difficult it became to uphold those barriers. He was acutely aware of the implications, of the ethics of his position. With a small shake of his head, he tried to dismiss the thoughts as mere weakness—at least until the next lecture.

A few days had passed since y/n had approached Jeonghan for extra reading material, and the tension in the air had not dissipated but rather intensified with every sidelong glance exchanged in the lecture hall. Y/n had delved into the recommended texts, each page offering both an insight into quantum mechanics and a connection to Jeonghan that provided a solace for the consuming thoughts.

Yet, the fantasies that played in y/n's mind were a dangerous escape from reality, with their tendrils looping ever tighter around a heart that shouldn't yearn so fervently for the forbidden. In the quiet of y/n's room, filled with stacks of books and soft music playing in the background, it was simple to imagine a different world; one where it wasn't wrong to want someone so unattainable.

Despite the internal conflict, y/n had excelled in the assignments, with Jeonghan's teachings echoing not just in the academic work, but in the daydreams that found their way onto the pages of a private journal.

One particularly late evening, deep in the embrace of the campus library's solitude, y/n realized a crucial textbook—a cornerstone of the upcoming thesis—was missing. It was a rare find, one usually kept in the professors' private collections. Without it, the research would be incomplete, an academic yearning so urgent that it nudged y/n towards an impulsive decision.

Remaining students were few as y/n made the way to Jeonghan's office, the silence interrupted only by the hesitant rhythm of y/n's steps. Reaching the closed door, y/n paused, the words 'Private' and 'Professor Yoon Jeonghan' neatly etched on the plaque. Stealing a breath to quell the rising nerves, y/n knocked softly.

The door creaked open, revealing Jeonghan in his sanctum, shrouded by the soft glow of his desk lamp, his attention undivided from the papers he was marking. He looked up, surprise evident in his features, replaced quickly by an accommodating warmth.

"y/n, what brings you here so late?" he inquired, motioning for y/n to enter.

"The book I need for my thesis isn’t in the library. I was wondering if you might have a copy I could borrow," y/n explained with a hopeful timbre.

A moment of contemplation passed over Jeonghan's face as he stood and walked to one of the many shelves lining the walls. With purposeful strides, he retrieved the desired tome and handed it to y/n with a gentle smile.

"Our little secret," he said softly, an undercurrent of playfulness in his voice that set y/n's heart racing.

As y/n reached out to take the book, their hands touched again, and this time, neither pulled away. Drawn by a force neither understood nor could articulate, they moved closer, a magnetic pull zeroing the space between them.

The first kiss came as a whisper against y/n's lips, soft but filled with the power of suppressed desire. It was a convergence of emotion, a silent confession of the feelings that swirled with reckless abandon in that confined space.

Professor and student, they knew the gravity of what they were doing, yet the kiss deepened, fueled by a hunger that had been waiting in the shadows of their professional façade. It was in that stolen moment, with the taste of the forbidden making the air thick with tension, that y/n and Jeonghan crossed a line from which there was no return.

Outside, the world continued unaware, stars peppering the night sky. Inside, two hearts wrestled with what it meant to be bound by society's rules yet led astray by the anarchy of love. It was only the beginning, the bursting forth of a story written in the quiet language of shared glances and unspoken promises, with consequences neither could predict nor fully comprehend.

In the aftermath of the kiss, the world seemed to stand still. Y/n clutched the treasured book against a chest that heaved with emotions too complex to untangle. Y/n and Jeonghan remained in the quiet cocoon of his office, the taste of their forbidden embrace lingering, an indelible mark on both their souls.

"Y/n," Jeonghan’s voice was a hushed murmur, torn between duty and desire. He stepped back, the space between them expanding like an unfathomable chasm. His eyes, usually so clear and confident, now swam with a conflicting storm.

This was a line they could traverse only once. The kiss—a single brush of lips—had sealed a secret pact, a silent agreement to the flames that licked at the foundations of the world they knew.

"We should forget this happened," Jeonghan's statement was heavy with regret, but his stare held y/n with an intensity that belied his words. He could not un-write the moment any more than y/n could, and they both knew it.

Y/n nodded, though every fiber protested. "Yes, Professor," came the whisper, a futile attempt to sew closed the threads they had so daringly pulled loose. Y/n left the room then, the book a weighty token of a shift in the equilibrium that resonated with every step away from Jeonghan’s office.

In the following weeks, the tension was only mounted. Their interactions in class were laden with a newfound formality, every word and gesture measured with surgical precision. Students and faculty remained oblivious to the undercurrent that hummed beneath the surface, but y/n and Jeonghan were acutely aware. Each glance shared was a brush stroke adding detail to the clandestine picture they had accidentally begun to paint.

Yena, blissfully ignorant of the drama unfolding, continued to be the link between her father and y/n, a bridge that neither could avoid crossing. She commented innocently on how studious y/n was and how proud her father seemed of y/n's academic progress, unwittingly tightening the knot at the juncture where personal and professional lines blurred.

The university’s annual science fair arrived like a gusting wind, all excitement and fluttering papers, with lectures giving way to demonstrations and experiments. Y/n's project, deeply influenced by the recent nights spent traipsing through quantum theory, drew an impressed crowd which included both Yena and, inevitably, Jeonghan.

As y/n presented the findings, expertly explained the complex mechanisms at play, a nervous energy coursed through veins. Jeonghan was there, a silent sentinel whose gaze bore into y/n with an intensity that was difficult to ignore. With each accomplishment that shone in y/n's eyes, Jeonghan's pride was matched by the quiet terror of the mounting bond forming between mentor and student, one he could neither publicly acknowledge nor tear his eyes from.

Yena clapped the loudest when the presentation ended, her cheers carrying a genuine love and pride for y/n. She threw arms around her friend in a congratulatory hug, seemingly deaf to the irregular tempo of y/n's heart—a rhythm that danced uneasily to a melody that spelled out jeopardy in haunting notes.

It was later that day, when the crowds had thinned and the buzz had dulled to a background hum, that Jeonghan approached y/n under the guise of discussing the project further. Yena, ever the social butterfly, had been whisked away by classmates, leaving them in a rare pocket of tranquility amidst the chaos.

"Your understanding of the subject is remarkable," Jeonghan said, his voice low, a treacherous vibrato beneath the compliment.

"Thank you, sir. Your guidance has been invaluable," y/n replied, acutely aware of the double entendre that laced their words.

Their eyes met, and in them, the reflections of that night in Jeonghan's office was a moment frozen in time, pulsing with life unto its own. They spoke of the project at length but danced around the conversation they truly wanted to have—a dangerous tango of words.

The fair wound down, and the sun dipped low, casting an orange glow over the campus grounds. Jeonghan and y/n wandered aimlessly, caught in the gravity of each other's company. The quiet became a living, breathing entity between them—one that whispered the truths they could not voice but felt with a fervor that neither logic nor ethics could silence.

As autumn bled into winter, the campus transformed under a blanket of white. Each flake of snow that settled on the university echoed the silent, frozen sentiment that hung between Professor Yoon Jeonghan and y/n. The secret of their singular kiss was guarded behind the somber walls of professionalism and duty, yet it simmered beneath the ice, yearning for the thaw of admittance.

Y/n navigated the semester with the dual burden of advancing academic ambitions and the weighty secret shared with Jeonghan. The more entrenched y/n became in the scientific exploration, the deeper the mental connection wove its tendrils through thoughts and motives, linking every discovery back to the man who was both mentor and forbidden infatuation.

The precarious balance of their interactions came under quiet scrutiny through the occasional curious glance from peers or the inadvertent, lingering handshake at the end of an earnest academic debate. Yet no concrete suspicion surfaced, their careful orchestration of exchanges nothing if not masterful. To the world, y/n was Jeonghan's most promising student, nothing more, and their determination to maintain that facade grew even as the hidden truth of their affection pulled them together like the unseen forces they so often discussed in lectures.

The approaching break brought a bittersweet solace, a respite from the constant need to conceal their attraction within the confines of the university. Yet, the absence only served to magnify the unresolved tension, to stretch the silence until it sang with a sweet, near unbearable pitch.

As the last of y/n's finals were submitted and the student body dissipated, the quiet of the campus became a reminder of that electric moment in Jeonghan's office, raising questions that thrummed in y/n's pulse.

During the winter break, y/n stayed on campus, lost in the research and theories that did little to distract from thoughts of Jeonghan. The resounding hollowness of the hallways echoed a sense of emptiness that y/n couldn't shake.

Yena, in her usual effervescent manner, had taken a trip abroad, her messages arriving as bursts of joy and snatches of escapades, a contrast to the solemnity that y/n found in books and quiet contemplation. In her absence, the link between y/n and Jeonghan seemed to grow even more tenuous, a frayed connection that was at once a source of agony and comfort.

Y/n's solitude was broken one late evening when a soft knock at the dorm door reverberated through the stillness. A glance through the peephole revealed a sight that caused y/n's heart to cease before thundering against ribs: Jeonghan, adorned in a nondescript coat, a cautious hesitance etched into his dignified features.

Opening the door, y/n found the ability to speak had fled, leaving a silence that Jeonghan stepped into with a careful poise, his presence in the small space nothing short of overwhelming.

"I wanted to check on you," he started, his words tightrope walkers navigating the dangerous height of their implications. "You shouldn't be alone over the holidays, y/n."

The concern in his voice was genuine, but it unfurled into the room like smoke, clouding the boundaries they had painstakingly erected. Y/n could only nod, the familiar guilt twining anew with the persistent want that had no rightful place amongst the ethics of their association.

Jeonghan didn't move to leave, nor did y/n close the door, their mutual hesitation a dance they both led. It was Jeonghan who broke first, his hand reaching out to touch y/n's, a contact that exceeded caution and sparked the return of all the emotions they had tried to suppress.

"Perhaps I should go," he whispered, though neither moved.

"Perhaps," y/n mirrored, the admission laden with the things that couldn't be said.

In the end, Jeonghan did leave, but the ghost of his touch lingered, a testament to the crumbling facade that was no longer resilient in the absence of prying eyes.

Classes resumed and the new semester began with a fresh snowfall, a reflective canvas upon which their continued charade could be etched. Y/n tackled studies with a renewed fervor, if only as an attempt to barricade thoughts of Jeonghan behind walls of formulae and hypotheses.

Their office encounters were strictly scheduled, terse discussions of academic progress marked by the rigid adherence to professionalism. The warmth that had once highlighted their interactions now lost to a cold formality, necessary for their survival within the confines of the institution.

A chance meeting in the library offered an illusion of normalcy. Y/n was buried in research when Jeonghan approached, a slight tilt to his lips that didn't quite qualify as a smile.

"I see you're still spending your evenings with quantum theories," he commented, a careful neutrality underpinning his tone.

"It's captivating," y/n returned, equally guarded. "There's so much yet to be understood."

"Indeed," Jeonghan murmured, his eyes holding y/n's for a moment too revealing. "Keep up the good work, y/n."

The exchange was routine to any onlooker, but laden with the silent acknowledgment of the growing space between them—a void filled with unsaid words and unacknowledged yearning.

Yet as the semester marched on, the ice around them began to grow thinner. Smiles became more frequent, shared laughter erupted over shared in-jokes about scientific anomalies, and cautious optimism breathed life into their covert looks. The escalating risk of their connection weighed heavily upon them, a dangerous game played on the edge of discovery.

Y/n's research led to a conference, a gathering of minds where y/n's work, under Jeonghan's guidance, would be presented. The excitement was tinged with trepidation—not over the showcase of the project, but the proximity to Jeonghan it would entail.

They traveled separately, a necessary precaution, meeting only at the conference hall amongst a sea of attendees. Y/n's presentation was met with accolades, a shining moment that Yena, who had rejoined campus life with gusto, witnessed firsthand. She beamed with pride, a supportive anchor not just for y/n, but unexpectedly, for her father as well.

The final evening of the conference saw attendees at a formal dinner. Y/n sat at a table with Yena and other students, Jeonghan at the head table, both keenly aware of each other's presence.

As the evening drew on, y/n stepped out onto a balcony for air, the stars overhead a vast, undisturbed witness. The door behind creaked open, and without needing to look, y/n knew it was Jeonghan who stepped out to join.

They stood side by side in silence, looking out into the darkness. Then, in a voice barely audible over the whispering wind, Jeonghan spoke—the words cutting through the months of unspoken truths and restrained feelings.

"I can't do this anymore," he confessed, his profile outlined by the ambient light. "Pretending that I don't—"

He stopped, the silence swallowing the rest, the implications hanging suspended in the air around them. Y/n turned to face him, the turbulence of emotions clear in y/n's gaze.

"I know," y/n replied, the admission a relief as it tore through the last barrier of denial.

They didn't touch, didn't step closer, but in that moment, the thaw occurred, and the unyielding frost that had encased their desires began to melt. It wasn't a resolution, nor an answer to the labyrinth of moral and professional repercussions, but an acknowledgment of the powerful, undeniable reality of their connection.

The return to campus was fraught with a new tension, an awareness that the thread they had been tugging on was near its breaking point—a point of decision that loomed inevitable on the horizon of their intertwined journey.

As spring arrived, the university campus bloomed with vibrant life, a stark contrast to the inner turmoil that churned within y/n. Jeonghan's confession at the conference had not been forgotten, it's echo a constant undercurrent to every lecture attended, every paper graded, every sidelong glance they shared. The thread that connected them—an intangible, delicate thing—stretched taut with the pressure of unfulfilled desires and unspoken words.

Every brush of their fingers as y/n handed in assignments, every shared look laden with meaning, sent vibrations along that ever-tensing thread. It was souring the purity of their academic relationship, tinting what should have been a professional mentorship with hues of something far deeper and more perilous.

Yena, as cheerful and oblivious as ever, spoke excitedly of future plans: graduation on the horizon, job prospects, and the pride she felt for her father and her best friend, y/n. She remained the picture of ignorance to the drama unfolding so close to her, unaware of how perilously close y/n and her father were to crossing a line that could not be uncrossed.

It was a late night in the laboratory, y/n absorbed in research, when the thread finally snapped. Jeonghan entered unexpectedly, the click of the door a jarring sound in the quiet. Their eyes met in an immediate and profound recognition of the end of all their self-imposed restraints.

"I can't do this," Jeonghan spoke first, his voice strained with the weight of months of confinement and hidden truth. "I can’t keep pretending that I don't feel anything for you. It’s affecting everything I do."

Y/n's research papers fluttered to the floor as if mirroring the collapsing pretenses between them. "I don't want to pretend either," y/n confessed, the heart's unguarded honesty breaking free at last.

Stepping closer, they abandoned caution as Jeonghan reached out to gently cradle y/n's face. The chemistry they had dissected abstractly now manifested physically, irrefutable and demanding to be acknowledged.

Their kiss, unlike the first, was not a question but an answer—vehement, deep, and brimming with the months of tension that had built up between them. It spoke of longing, of the undeniable attraction they’d battled against, and the collective resignation to the torrent of emotions they could no longer contain.

It was the beginning of something neither could fully understand nor control, a tale of two souls intertwined in a dance as old as time. But entwined with their newfound freedom was the weight of the myriad of complications they were set to face.

Reality crashed over them like a cascading wave as soon as they parted—the comprehension of their actions rippling through each with chilling sobriety. Together, they'd breached the sanctity of the student-teacher bond, ventured into the realm of the heart where logic had no domain.

"There will be consequences," Jeonghan said after a moment, the professor in him re-gaining the upper hand despite the lingering sensation of y/n’s lips. "We have too much to lose."

"And what if I think it's worth it?" y/n challenged, despair and hopelessness colliding with the flickering embers of what had just ignited between them.

Jeonghan's expression softened, his hand still resting on y/n's cheek. "Then I fear for what may come. For us, for Yena... everything could come crashing down."

They stood amongst the scattered papers, a symbol of the order they had thrown to the wind. The impact of their decision began to take shape—rumors, disciplinary actions, and the shattering of a young woman's familial image were all at stake.

Y/n withdrew from Jeonghan's touch, the weight of guilt enveloping the brief warmth. "We need to think this through. We can't... not without considering all the angles."

The acknowledgment of their reality, harsh and unyielding, settled between them as they parted that night—their relationship irrevocably altered, the path ahead fraught with uncertainty.

In the days that followed, the silhouette of normality was a guise they both donned with reluctance. Jeonghan returned to his authoritative role with an impenetrable facade, y/n to the studious demeanor that had been a constant before everything changed.

Yet the transparency of their previous interactions was forever clouded; every word, every assessment was now a labyrinthine exercise in extreme caution, each hyper-aware of any sign that might reveal their secret.

Yena, ever the doting daughter, and the loyal friend, began to notice a shift—not in her father, nor in y/n, but in the air that seemed to crackle with an energy around them. Her intuition nagged at her, whispering of changes she could not place nor fathom.

"What's going on with you and dad?" she asked y/n one evening, her gaze searching for some elusive truth.

"It's just the pressure of the semester," y/n deflected, the lie a bitter taste on the tongue. "We're both feeling it."

In her heart, y/n knew the time was slipping away, that the truth was a beast that would not stay caged indefinitely. This secret shared was a burden too heavy, a truth too poignant to remain hidden.

As y/n watched the last vestiges of daylight wane from the sky, there was an understanding that the story they had begun was far from over. The pages yet to be written loomed large and unpredictable, but it was clear that the journey they faced was one neither Jeonghan nor y/n could travel alone.

As the semester waned, the tension between Jeonghan and y/n had become almost palpable, a volatile cocktail of fear and longing that hovered over their every interaction. They moved through the motions of their respective roles with a deliberate caution that belied the undercurrent of suppressed emotions churning beneath the surface.

In the quiet confines of the library, y/n poured over textbooks, the lines and equations blurring as the thoughts circled back relentlessly to Jeonghan and the looming inevitability of their secret being exposed. It was a mental tightrope walk that left little room for error, the risk of condemnation and ruin growing with each stolen moment.

Meanwhile, Jeonghan, ensconced in his office and the rigorous demands of his CEO duties, found himself waging a constant battle between duty and the whispers of his heart. The sight of y/n's handwriting on a submitted paper could elicit a storm within him that took monumental effort to quell.

The rumors that were once mere shadows in the corridors of the university began to take shape, whispers that grew bolder with each passing day. Though no clear evidence presented itself, the growing sense of unease was undeniable. Their relationship, though rigorously guarded, emitted a frequency that seemed to invite scrutiny from those with a watchful eye.

Yena’s intuition pushed her to observe more closely, the daughter’s connection to her father serving as a conduit for her suspicions. Jeonghan's name, when coupled with y/n's in conversation, elicited a reaction she couldn't ignore—a sudden tightness around the eyes, a fractional delay in response. These were puzzle pieces she couldn't quite fit together, but her determination to understand the picture they formed intensified.

Y/n knew something had to give. The reality of the situation was a crossroads approaching at breakneck speed, an intersection that promised collision.

Y/n sat in the small cafe off campus that had become a refuge, the murmur of outside life a welcome intrusion to the cocoon of silence. As assignments were graded and lecture notes revised, the bell above the door chimed, signaling a new patron's arrival. With a hesitant glance upward, y/n's heart staggered as Yena breezed in, her eyes scanning the room until they locked onto y/n.

They greeted each other, but the usual ease was strained, a visible tension threading its way through the exchange. As Yena sat down, her convivial facade slowly crumbled, revealing a resolve that was as surprising as it was concerning.

"We need to talk," Yena stated, the gravity in her voice anchoring the moment in seriousness. "About you and my dad."

A cold dread settled over y/n, the words echoing like a death knell to the carefully constructed denial that had been clung to for far too long.

"There's nothing to talk about, Yena," y/n managed, though the conviction fell flat, a kite without wind.

But Yena persisted, her gaze unyielding. "I know there's something you're not telling me. And it's killing me not knowing."

Words failed y/n then, the truth a barricade too high and thick to cross. Yet the look in Yena's eyes pulled at something deep within, a plea for honesty that was as raw as it was heartrending.

In the wake of Yena's confrontation, the dominoes of their secret began to totter, threatening to tumble into chaos. Heavy-hearted and knowing that the time had come, y/n sought Jeonghan out, the need to discuss the next step a fire that refused to be doused.

Jeonghan's office stood as a symbol of their forbidden connection, the site of their passion, of furtive kisses and the echoing silence of unspoken vows. As y/n stepped in, it felt like crossing into another realm, a place where the walls whispered their memories back to them.

"We need to decide what we're doing," y/n began, the urgency of the situation straining the voice.

Jeonghan looked up, his features etched with lines of a silent struggle. "The risk is becoming too great," he admitted, a resignation sweeping through his words.

The conversation that ensued was as difficult as it was necessary, a navigation through the murky waters of ethics, emotions, and consequences. The affection that had blossomed was undeniable, the connection strong, but it was tethered to a reality they could no longer ignore.

They deliberated on coming clean, on facing the storm together, but the image of Yena—happy, bright, and unaware—loomed between them like a specter of potential disaster.

Days later, as spring flowers burgeoned outside, an air of somber finality settled within the hallowed halls of the university. Y/n and Jeonghan made the decision to step into the light, to confront the potential consequences head-on, rather than continue in the shadows.

They met with the university board, an assembly of faces stern and inquisitive, disclosing the truth of their relationship in stark terms. The ripple of shock and murmuring that followed their confession painted a clear image of the repercussions to come.

As the process of institutional inquiry commenced, Yena was told, the news delivered in gentle but unwavering honesty. Her world, once so stable and sure, fractured under the weight of the revelation. Heartache and betrayal warred within her as she grappled to reconcile the father and friend she knew with the personas they had just shattered.

The inquiry was a tempestuous ordeal—an external evaluation driving nails into the framework of their careers and personal lives. Jeonghan faced the repercussions within the academic sphere, his role as a professor brought into question, while his standing as CEO wavered under the industry's scrutinizing gaze.

Y/n endured the piercing looks and hushed whispers of fellow students, the isolation a stark contrast to the prior camaraderie. Yet, the heaviest burden bore down in the form of Yena's hurt—a chasm that yawned wide and uncertain in the landscape of their friendship.

Amidst the fallout, Jeonghan and y/n found solace in their shared resolve. The decision to bring their relationship to light, though devastating in its wake, was a testament to the sincerity of their feelings—a declaration that, despite the cost, bore a haunting beauty amidst the ruins.

The proceedings concluded with Jeonghan stepping down from his university position, a move that quelled part of the raging storm. His influence at Yoon Technologies remained strong, salvaged by years of dedication and success that spoke louder than the whispers of scandal.

Y/n faced the disciplinary actions of the board, sanctions that would forever mark an academic record but could not extinguish the passion for the science that had brought them together in the first place.

In the aftermath, Yena's relationship with y/n and her father saw a tenuous beginning towards healing. It was a process fraught with pain and introspection, where forgiveness had to be measured against the sense of betrayal that lingered like a stubborn shadow.

The future remained an abstract notion, one that promised difficulty but was not devoid of hope. Within the quiet corners of their reality, Jeonghan and y/n nurtured the bond they had fought to preserve, a connection that spoke of resilience and quiet strength.

They emerged from the tempest changed—not unscathed, but perhaps wiser and certainly more aware of the preciousness of the love they carried with them into the unclear path ahead, a silent promise of resolution held tight in their joined hands.

#jeonghan #jeonghan fic #seventeen imagines #jeonghan imagines #seventeen angst #jeonghan angst #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan fluff #svt imagines #svt fanfic #svt fic #svt scenarios #svt x reader #svt #seventeen jeonghan

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skyfallscotland · 3 months

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*giggles hysterically*

Did I write the things I should have been writing today? No. Did I start something new I absolutely should not have started? Yes, of course.

To be honest, I blame all of you. Far too many of you were enthusiastic about the possibility of Remi bonding both Lía and Sgaeyl, in a world where Xaden went into the infantry. ⚔️🌟

“What is he doing?” I murmur to myself, gripping the scales of Lía’s pommel tight.

“Pay attention!” Sgaeyl snaps and I whip my head to the side. She’s glaring at me in that ornery way of hers, golden eyes narrowed as she breathes out a steady stream of fire at a Wyvern descending from the clouds above us. Lía rolls, jerking us out of the way as Sgaeyl flips around, aiming her talons at the larger beast’s underbelly.

“I’m paying attention…” I bite my lip, chastised.

“No you weren’t.” Lía grumbles. I hate it when the two of them gang up on me. It is usually when I’m endangering my own life, but that’s neither here nor there. Almost against my will, my eyes flick back down toward the ground, checking on the infantry officer’s position.

He’s been down there for most of this battle, helping evacuate civilians from the township into the old mining tunnels. It’s not the perfect place to run to, given they could collapse under the weight of the mountain, but it’s not like they’re making it up the hill out in the open so…

Originally, a few of the man’s unit were on the ground with him, helping out, but now only he remains—the captain. My attention is drawn back to the fight in front of me as Lía grasps the wyvern’s neck in her jaws, clamping down as Sgaeyl lashes out again with her talons. The carcass plummets to the ground, landing with a heavy thud.

“Remi! If we take down the venin riders, the wyvern go down with them!” Violet calls across our mental link and a sharp smile pulls at my lips.

“Thanks, sis!” I flip the dagger in my hand I’d been given by my squad leader, Garrick, before we joined this fight.

“So, where’s the closest?” I ask, wondering if I should unbuckle my legs from my saddle.

“Don’t you dare.” Lía responds to my thoughts.

Almost simultaneously Sgaeyl swoops downward and says, “below.” My eyes widen and I lean to the side, following her trajectory with my eyes. The female with the staff is standing dead centre in the middle of the field, robes billowing. She slams her staff into the ground and I watch, morbidly fascinated as the ground quickly starts decaying, grass dying in a perfect circle around her. It extends outward like a wave and when it shows no signs of slowing down, my fascination turns to fear.

“Sgaeyl!” I call out frantically, my head whipping around. My gaze lands on the infantry captain a short distance away where he stands, wide eyes locked on the venin as he helps a woman in brown riding leathers to her feet. A gryphon flier. “Get them, please!” I beg, my heart pounding as I lean forward on Lía’s back, preparing to throw. I can’t watch as my bonded complies, navy scales shining in the sun as she launches herself sideways.

We’re almost directly on top of the venin when Lía turns, providing me with just the right angle to throw my dagger and have it embedding in the venin’s heart. I pull on it with lesser magic, making sure to drive it all the way through and out the other side as Lía and I soar over, before it comes sailing back into my hand.

The second I verify she’s not getting back up, my eyes are searching, looking frantically for Sgaeyl. I relax a little when I see her form in full flight, headed for the hillside, two decidedly human forms grasped in her claws. I sag back into the seat, relieved. Fuck, that was close.

Before I have a chance to even think, the sky is erupting, lightning flashing down from a clear, blue sky and then the last of the wyvern are falling, their carcasses shaking the earth below as they rain down. “Good job, sis.” I murmur.

Something almost cosmic draws my eyes back to the hillside, like there’s a magnetic force dictating my attention belongs there and I frown. Lía moves without me even having to ask. In only seconds she’s perched on the hillside next to Sgaeyl who seems to be in a standoff with an irritated looking gryphon.

“Are you causing trouble with our temporary allies?” I smirk.

“Oh please, you’d be just as annoyed if you had to deal with it.” It. Like she can’t tell if it’s male or female—or simply doesn’t care because they’re worth less than dirt to her. Amari. I can feel Lía’s judgement radiate down the bond, but it isn’t aimed at her friend, it’s aimed at me.

“Don’t pretend you aren’t exactly like her.” She gripes and a grin pulls at my lips. She’s right. I am. I pull my legs free, sliding down Lía’s foreleg. The gryphon makes an aborted step forward, but any illusions its under as to who’s in control here are shattered instantly the minute Sgaeyl snaps her teeth in its face. She’s incredibly protective…when she feels like it.

My eyes run over the infantry captain’s form—I’m finally able to take him in up close and…wow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful example of the male specimen in my life. Holy gods.

He’s wearing the standard dark-blue uniform of the infantry, though I can see some armour peeking out from beneath it that isn’t standard issue. That’s not too out of place though, the more wealthy infantry officers all invest in armour the minute they graduate, if not before. It complements the twin swords peeking over his shoulders, doing nothing to dissuade me of his experience in battle.

He’s tall, tall enough that I’d almost fit beneath his chin…not that I’m thinking about it or anything…and his tawny skin looks radiant in the sunlight. His windblown hair is also decidedly not regulation and in an effort to keep myself from staring at his well-muscled form, I meet his eyes. Beautiful gold-flecked onyx eyes. That does not help.

“You are so pathetic.” Sgaeyl says and I know without having to turn that the slapping sound that follows is Lía’s tail making contact with her side. I can always rely on her to have my back when it comes to feelings and I am…feeling things.

“Wh—”

“We don’t need your help.” The flier to his right snaps and for as long as I live, I’ll blame the adrenaline of battle for what happens next. I punch her in the face.

“Remi!” Lía chides immediately, lodging her teeth in the back of my leathers, dragging me forcibly away from the very upset looking gryphon.

“If it weren’t for us, you’d be dead.” I seethe. “And I mean that both specifically and in general.” As if their puny little birds could have taken down a single wyvern—what a joke. She stumbles back, holding a hand to her face and the look she levels on me, well…it’s a good thing looks can’t kill. Sgaeyl chuffs out a laugh.

She opens her mouth, no doubt to say something scathing, but the infantry captain shoots her a fierce glare that stops her in her tracks, which is…strange, because they definitely shouldn’t know each other.

“Thank you. For your assistance.” He offers Sgaeyl a respectful nod, not making eye contact, before his gaze settles on me. “Remi Sorrengail.” He smirks. “I was wondering when I’d get the chance to meet you.”

I am not ashamed to admit that smirk does something to me. My lips part in surprise. “You…” I suppose there’s not much to say—of course he knows who I am. Everyone in Navarre probably knows by now about the Sorrengail twins and how they both bonded two dragons. “Who are you?” I ask instead, my brow furrowing.

He steps closer, a small smile playing on his lips, like I should already know the answer. “Xaden Riorson.” He murmurs.

“Oh.” It leaves my mouth unbidden. “That…makes sense.” Only a duke’s son could get away with flouting the infantry dress code and whatever orders they’d been given to retreat, to avoid the oncoming fight entirely.

“Does it?” He arches a single, perfect brow.

“No.” I reply, deadpan, my eyes darting over to the gryphon flier he clearly knows well. Too well for the Duke of Aretia’s son. Lía snorts, nudging my back with her nose.

“We need to go.” Sgaeyl says, her voice tight. “Your presence is required.” Someone needs mending, is what she means.

“Ok.” I sigh reluctantly, glancing over my shoulder at her briefly. I turn back to Xaden Riorson, letting my eyes trail over his face one last time. There’s a diagonal cut bisecting his left eyebrow, blood dripping down his cheek and I step closer into his space, rising up on my toes. Silently, I reach out to cup his jaw, smoothing my thumb over the wound gently. He doesn’t flinch at the sting, heated eyes raking over my features as I mend it carefully, leaving only a silver scar behind.

I drop back down onto my feet, holding his gaze as I back away slowly, ignoring the way the tips of my fingers tingle. I turn, intending to scale Lía’s foreleg gracefully, but I pause, unable to resist taking one final look over my shoulder. Gods, he’s gorgeous. My lips quirk up. “You’d look better in black, Captain.”

#basgiath (remi's version)#but like remi's other version #soulmates in every universe but canon #do i have ideas for a whole fic in this universe? ….yes #the list keeps growing 😭

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jeongin-lvr · 10 months

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ᵎ　🍶　⊹ jealous, lee know

ᝰ✧ 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀！ 𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐， 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 （𝖾𝗑） 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉， 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖺 𝗆𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗍𝖺 𝗍𝗈𝗑𝗂𝖼， 𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁， 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝖺𝗍 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀， 𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀， 𝗆𝖺𝗃𝗈𝗋 𝗃𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗒， 𝗉𝗅𝗈𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗒， 𝗌𝗅𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀， 𝖻𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀， 𝗌𝖾𝗆𝗂－𝗉𝗎𝖻𝗅𝗂𝖼 𝗌𝖾𝗑， 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗌 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗍 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍， 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗆𝗈𝗄𝖾𝗌 （𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾）， 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝖿，𝗎𝗇𝖾𝖽𝗂𝗍𝖾𝖽．

[ 3673 words ] ✩ [ do not repost ] ✩ [ 𝗆．𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 ]

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗜𝗘𝗦 weren’t really my scene but considering this once was a big event for a good friend of mine, I figured I had to go. And even though the thought of being surrounded by hundreds of people I didn't know made my skin crawl with anxiety, I still wore my prettiest dress and my loveliest smile.

Felix and I were good friends and have been for quite some time; it wasn't an unlikely friendship at all, in fact it was expected. He had this soft personality, pretty wide eyes and an almost boyish face full of freckles which intrigued me at first. I knew him prior to befriending him, knowing he quite enjoyed video games was also a bonus that made me interested in the boy.

And a few days ago Felix had been accepted to joining a platform for really good gamers, the catch being that you'd be thrusted into the lime light of gaming. Thus meaning that Felix would be doing a lot of press related events, such as parties. Which is how I ended up here. I'd arrived with Felix who was almost instantly whisked away by other big names in the industry, leaving me stranded in my short red dress by the doorway.

I'd slithered off irritated through the crowd, trying to find somewhere to hide myself from everyone. The room was loud with murmurs and whispers amongst several large groups; it felt a bit isolating to see so many people separate with scowls plastering their faces. I just kept my head low and slid past these people, trying to find a room to rest my legs.

I caught a glimpse of Felix down the hall, seeing his bright smile and petite nose just a few feet away, yet he didn't see me. Just like everyday. He didn't see the way I put myself out there to be seen by him, dressed up or sent him flirty stares- he didn't see it and at this point I was wondering if he was purposefully ignoring it or just blatantly oblivious. I propped myself up against the wall, watching the boy kindly interact with others, his blonde hair slicked back and fluffy per usual.

I scowled and sauntered further down the hall, upsetting myself with my own mind. He'd never really notice me and it was beginning to be tiresome trying to get him to. With my arms crossed I checked room after room for some kind of opening to flee the scene, unsure of where I was even going. So, I tucked my bag between my arm and body and slumped against the wall, taking a cigarette out from my bag and deciding, fuck it, have a smoke.

Slowly, I inhaled the smoke, fluttering my lashes shut as I tried to hide the pained feeling of being unnoticed by the one I desperately wanted. The one who was never going to give me the attention I wanted or the love I felt I deserved. Letting out the huff of smoke into the dimly lit area, I opened my eyes, seeing a figure standing at the other end of the hallway, menacingly standing there. I could see the black turtleneck and tight slacks they wore, making me curious as to who it was; and then the figure turned, his head twisting back to meet mine as if he could sense my gaze. My breath stopped, the cigarette between my fingers slowly burning into ash on the ground.

A smirk plastered his face, already his body making its way to me. I could already feel the compelling motions of my chest, magnets pulling us together. It was inevitable; it's him.

"Look who it is," Minho spoke, long lashes fluttering as his eyes trailed over my body. Suddenly, I became aware of my skimpy and exposing dress, "Missed me, princess?"

I wanted to scoff, to burn the end of my burning cigarette against his hand, maybe to even scream at him in an act of defiance. But yet, even more so, I wanted to grab him by the collar and kiss his familiar lips. That signature smell of his lingered in the air, the cinnamon vanilla smell that warmed me, bringing me comfort I knew all too well. As much as I hated him, he was my guilty pleasure. Minho and I go all the way back to college. We'd started out in class together, his brownie batter eyes catching mine, making me swoon much faster than I should've. It was a facade, that quiet calm boy attitude, I mean. Minho was secretive, always leaving me hanging onto every word he uttered my way. And yet, I'd do almost anything for him, or at least I used to.

I'd bend over backwards for the man.

I took a shaky breath, our bodies less than a foot apart, the cigarette on between my fingers fizzled into smoke, the orange end of it being the only reminder of the addictive rod. Minho chuckled, laughing at my perplexed and reddened face. He ran his veiny hand over his shirt, smoothing the fabric but also giving me a show of the way his fingers would clench sensually; he knew damn well of the hand kink I shamelessly held.

"You smoke now?" Minho propped a hand up beside my head, his hot breath lingering on my face as he spoke; his breath smelled like wine and aromatic florals.

I scoffed, trying to hide the obvious lust I had for the boy, "Ever since you went and fucked up my life, yeah."

Minho rolled his eyes, "Baby, I didn't fuck up anything," He spoke coolly, emphasizing the word anything with his pretty lips. I threw my nicotine bud down onto the tiled floors, smashing it into the ground with the bottom of my heel, never breaking contact with his eyes.

"Bullshit, Minho," I spat, seething past the desire and want. I knew the trouble that followed Lee Know, the way anytime things went right with him they'd end up going 10 times worse the next day. He was a walking black cat, karma and misfortune following his ever decision, "You know damn well that that's bullshit."

Minho leaned his face close, "Watch your tone."

I rolled my eyes, scoffing again as I pushed him off and tried to stomp away. But his hand snatched my wrist, dragging me back to him and colliding with his chest. As much as I hated it I couldn't deny that the butterflies in my stomach made me gush girlishly. Minho only had this effect on me because all those years ago he was my first love, the guy I gave too much to. Minho was the one who was all of my firsts, as much as I hated to admit.

"Wait, wait, wait," Minho spoke lowly, eyes dragging across my face and pausing at my lips seductively. I wasn't having any of it; I tried to stay calm and collected against his firm, hot hold on me, never meeting his eyes in fear of him reading me like a book, "I'm sorry. Baby, look at me." His fingers propped up my chin, my eyes finally connecting with his starry ones. His dark eyes always looked so fierce and foxy, barely flickering or blinking. He was too powerful with this burning look. My knees buckled, my chest quickly falling completely flush against his.

"You're a dick Minho," I sighed, clearly irritated but earning a prideful chuckle from the taller male.

"I missed you, baby." His words made me think back to those nights I'd spend wondering about him, worrying if he was alright or pondering about why he was ignoring my calls, why he never even gave me a quick test to confirm that he was fine. I'd lay awake at night in college, barely eaten anything, thinking my own boyfriend was ignoring me or mad at me. When in reality the answer was much worse. Minho did the most heinous thing one can do to their life partner, the one who had given them so much yet never fulfilling that emptiness in your chest. Minho never even addressed any of it to me, always brushing it off as if he didn't even remember those moments. Which made me realize how unimpacted be really was from this situation; he spent so much time worrying about himself and hurting me he didn't he take notice of how fucking insane I felt like I was going.

"I wish I didn't miss you," I snatched my wrist away, keeping my chin up and refusing to fall for his tricky words of make believe dreamy fantasies, "Minho, leave me alone."

"Y/n, baby," Minho leered down at me, his eyes lowering in dissatisfaction, completely resembling the appearance of burned coal, "I am sorry. I was stupid and young- that's not an excuse. All I can say is I'm sorry. Please, believe me."

I wanted to, I really did, but after putting up with his hallow, repeated apologies everyday for almost two years, it had no meaning behind those simple words. I'm sure he thought he finally cracked into me but I waved a hand, walking away from him slowly. But I hesitated, turning my head back to face him, unsure why. He looked unchanged, face still flat and eyebrows raised, but his eyes spoke a thousand words. They were somber and almost dull in comparison to the hope that coated his irises before; I felt myself crumble, the wall I'd worked so hard to build seemingly fell down and my face softened. I shouldn't be falling this quick, I shouldn't feel remorse for the guy who'd put me through so much emotional turmoil all those years- months of pining and waiting and forgiving, all for the same mistakes to be repeated again and again. I knew it was wrong and maybe I'd regret it later, but I stayed right in my spot, turning to him in sympathy.

Minho's frown turned upward, his shiny pink lips curling into a smile I'd never seen on the boy before. It was almost innocent. I didn't know how to react so instead I stood still.

"I missed you a lot," Minho inched forward, stepping delicately as of glass lined the floor between us. He placed a hand on my wrist, "So much. I haven't been the same without you, baby." His eyes paused on my face, suddenly his gaze trailing up to where Felix stood about 20 feet down the hall, unaware of what was happening before me, "Is that your boyfriend?"

I turned my head around, wondering what sparked the question. And Felix was there, staring in shock and confusion. His freckled face unchanging and unsure, his plump cherry lips agape. He was aware of what was happening, for how long I didn't know. I blinked slowly, confused on what to feel. On one hand, it felt nice to feel Minho's calloused fingers run circles on my hand, and on the other seeing Felix made me snap out of it, become a bit more aware of my surroundings.

Felix furrowed his brows, tucking his lower lip between his teeth. His next move was going to determine my next decision, something that was quite serious. And for a second I thought Felix would strut down the hall, take me away and be my Superman for once. Be the guy who finally saw me as someone more than some girl he considered a friend. But Felix gave a weak smile, as if to congratulate me in some way, and turned his head to walk the other way. My breath hitched and I looked up at Minho. A smirk played on his lips, satisfied by his answer.

I felt a part of my heart break, my cheeks burn in anger and hatred. How stupid was I to even come here for Felix? All he ever did was see me as some friend- maybe even just a familiar face. He treated me as nothing more than so, no matter how many signals and flirtatious comments I slipped him he only ever looked the other way with an oblivious smile.

"What's wrong, princess?" Minho held a finger up to my eye, suddenly water dripped from it, sliding down his finger.

"Kiss me."

Minho smiled, blinking slowly before leaning in, "Fuck yes." He breathed onto my lips, connecting them and sending a wave of static between us.

“Does that feel good, baby?" Minho leaned forward, pressing his bittersweet lips to my ears and practically growling into them. His dick slipped in and out of me slowly, every inch of it touching the parts of me I desperately needed to feel. He gripped my hair in his hands, yanking my head back to meet his eyes, prodding for an answer that wasn't a mixture of long moans and mewls.

I desperately gripped the table in which I was draped over, my sweaty back pressed against his burning chest as our hearts raced from adrenaline. The room we were in was a small waiting room, only a desk and a few couches lay in here with extremely low lighting. We'd slipped in and away from the crowd with our lips pressed together; and I hoped to god Felix saw it. The thought made me angry again.

"Fuck, harder," I begged, tears threatening to leave my eyes.

"Say please," Minho cooed, nibbling at the crest of my ear with a snarky smirk playing on his lips. His painfully slow thrusts burned, making me arch my back and flash him my best set of puppy eyes.

Through a moan I spoke, "Please just fuck me hard. Need it so bad."

"Need what so bad?" Minho was in a mood for playing games.

"Need your cock so bad," My mouth moved on its own, saying all the things I knew he wanted, "Minnie, please help me finish."

He slammed a hand down on the desk beside my head, his hand gripping my hair tighter, "You want me, huh? That why you were looking at that bitch with the freckles like a slut? Hm?"

His paced ceased completely, dick twitching within my walls and making me groan in displeasure, "W-what?"

"Say his name, baby. Tell me so I can fuck it off your tongue."

I whined, not wanting to say anything but clinging onto the fact that I wanted to finish, I could feel it begin to slowly fade away.

Minho pulled my hair back again, sharp eyes narrowing into mine, "Say it." His words were sharp, hitting me without ever touching.

"Felix," I mumbled, turning my head away but being yanked back by Minho's quick knuckles. He chuckled dryly, biting down onto my neck.

He rolled his hips into me once, his pace quickening and his tip hitting my sweet spot. I arched my back lower, taking it all in as a tear finally left my right eye.

"Again."

"F-Felix," I whined, his hips slamming into me again and again as hatred bubbled in the pit of his stomach, fueling his power and speed.

"So fucking slutty," He growled into my neck, licking a stripe up my throat and to my ear where he began to nibble at the end of it, "He doesn't deserve you. You're my whore, got it? Say it again. Now."

Now he was slamming into me, the intensity of the situation turning me on more. I could feel his cock drag against my walls, ramming into my good spot each time he completely sheathed himself. Minho didn't have any plan on stopping, and I wasn't really complaining. The air around us was hot, almost foggy in a way. I could smell the anger and jealousy coating each word he spat into my ear, every groan that left his throat through each thrust making me clench around him.

"Felix, Felix," I closed my eyes, mouth widening as I tried to focus.

"He can't fuck you this good, can he?" Minho chuckled, proud of himself in that moment. He pulled his body back, eyeing my figure as he slowly licked his lips. His hand raised, slamming down on my ass hard enough to leave a soft pink imprint on my fat; I groaned, enjoying the sting of both his dick and calloused hands.

"N-no, so good," I tended up again when his hand hit my ass again, making me jerk forward in sharp pain.

"Yeah, I fuck you good," Minho let out a deep groan, his sloppy pace signaling he was close. I felt that lovely bubble of bliss begin to consume my inside, making my mind run blank as stars clouded my vision of lust, "Look at you going dumb for my dick," He clicked his tongue in amusement, sweat dripping from his forehead as he raised his hand once more, "I love that fucking look on your face."

He laid a hand on my behind again, sending me over the edge as I clenched around his dick, squirting over it and shaking miserably fast.

"Shit, baby, Look at the mess you made." He clicked his tongue again, pulling me upward so our back and chest were connected by the sweaty gleam of our skin, "Get on your knees."

I meekly bent down, steadying my weak knees on the floor and bending just bellow the tabletop of the desk where he'd just fucked me. I placed my hands on his hips, seeing his erect dick staring right at me coated in wet slick that dripped to the floor. I panted, turning my head up to stare into his eyes tiredly.

"I'm gonna fuck your throat," Minho stated, hands lacing between my strands of sweaty hair as he bent forward slowly, almost taunting me with his pretty smirk, "You'll never say his name ever again, kay?" And I half believed it, our mouths connected as a wet, saliva filled kiss ensued between us. The dim light of the night making the mood all the more sinister and sensual. He pulled away, tilting his head as he stood up straight and waited for my answer, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear as saliva pooled down my chin.

I nodded, opening my mouth and awaiting his dick to be inserted. Minho smiled, taking it by the base and slowly filling my mouth with his salty member; he filled my entire mouth, his tip slipping down my throat as a gag threatened to leave my mouth, but I held it back, tears stinging my eyes shut.

My throat clenched around his tip, making him shudder and squeeze his eyes close.

"Shit, don't do that," Minho breathed as calmly as possible, slowly adjusting my head back and then slamming his dick into my face rhythmically. I could barely catch my breath, my hands prying at his hips each time he slammed into my face, nails digging into his hips. His hands forced me up and down his cock, my spit dripping down my chin each time a gag elicited from his dick.

"Almost there," Minho moaned, his hands forcing my head down faster and sloppier.

I whined, my eyes barely able to see through the tears as I just tried to stare up at him. Minho tilted his head back, his adam's apple bobbing up and down with each gulp he took, sweat glistening on his skin. His dick twitched in my throat, a gag making my throat clench around his dick as he slammed my face down one more time.

"Fuck, baby-" Minho's semen filled my throat, sliding down slowly as the viscous substance burned my raw throat. He groaned slowly, riding out his high as my knees stung from the wooden floors that dig into them painfully; my throat stung and hoarse from his cock, my hair a matted mess that stuck to my slimy, saliva covered chin, even tears that dried salty streaks onto my cheeks. Minho looked down, taking in the erotic scene of me choking on his dick that he held tightly against my throat, his thumb slowly wiping a stray tear away.

Minho pulled out, kneeling down and staring at my face with a satisfied grin.

With his thumb, he pulled hair away from my face, all of it wet and clumped together from a mixture of my drool, tears, sweat, and his cum that was still a lingering taste in my mouth.

"Perfect," He kissed my nose, a sweet gesture that I didn't really expect him to do, "You did very well, princess."

I nodded weakly, laying my head on his chest as I tried to swallow without burning my throat. Minho chuckled, pulling my hair back and behind my shoulders with careful fingers.

"You did so well," Soft kisses were planted on my head as his scent lingered in the air, a mix of sweat, bodily fluids, and his natural musk of cedar wood and some sort of vanilla smell. My breathing hitched as I pulled away, wiping my face slowly and trying to focus my eyes as I came down from whatever place I was lost in.

"You okay?"

"My throat is fucking burning," I mumbled as I shakily stood up, my knees weak from being bent over, "Help me."

Minho chuckled, "Wanna come home with me? I can make you some tea and help you sleep."

I blushed, reaching shakily for my garments that were laid across the desktop messily. Minho beat me to it, holding my dress over my head and sliding it down over my nude body. His cold fingers traced my hips slowly, his hot breath fanning my face and making my lashes flutter.

"No more throat fucking," I groaned, pulled my underwear up my hips and almost falling against his body, but his arms stopped me, "And the tea better be chamomile."

Minho held my elbows steady, helping me step forward slowly, "Anything you want, princess."

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