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nefuyu0228 · 2 months ago

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HEY GIRL so I was stalking fantasias page and looked at her NSFW alphabet for Sol with a wild card being "He thought about getting a Frenum piercing to see if you'd like it/feel the metal"

Idk if I already asked abt this or not😭

I GOT YOU BESTIE, NO YOU DIDN'T REQUEST THIS BEFORE!

(Edit, Wrote this because, I'm stressed out)

Genre : Smut

Sol x GN!ReaderContent Warnings: Piercing kink (frenum), first time, Sol, praise, soft dom/sub energy, possessive undertones, oral (M receiving), heavy blushing, Sol, mutual yearning, mild teasing, general smuttiness

It's been a while.

You found a place for yourself in this Uni- Not among Crowe's group.

It's with these idiots.

Hyugo and Solivan Brugmansia...

Hyugo's your best friend....

Solivan....

He's your boyfriend! Soulmate!

You trusted him so much after that incident. He made sure, you're safe! You trust him, Oh! You trust him so blindly!

You trusted him so easily, as if his devotion was a promise that would never falter. His presence was comfort, his words gentle, but there was a weight in his gaze you never noticed, a possessive hunger masked by sweetness. Every smile you gave, every laugh you shared, only tightened the invisible chains around you, binding you to his obsession. He swore to protect you, to keep you safe, but you didn’t see the way his hands trembled with the secret he held—how his love, though tender, carried the shadow of something darker. And maybe that was his plan all along: to make you feel so cherished, so adored, that you’d never suspect the madness lurking beneath his every word.

He's a sweet sweet rotten saint soul! You trust him. You trust him so easily, so wholeheartedly, as if his quiet words and tender gestures could never harbor anything but sincerity!

You trusted him, Oh, you trusted him, And maybe that was his plan— To have you so wrapped up In his sweetness, In his tender words, That you'd never notice The madness wrapped behind them. He loves you so much. And you— You just think he’s being kind.

Now! You made desserts for your boyfriend, sadly Hyugo thought it was for him! You giggle at Sol's cuteness how he pouted.

Hyugo’s voice is all joy as he clutches the dessert you made like it’s a family heirloom. His teeth are already sinking into it before he finishes the sentence, glitter practically beaming from his eyes.

You laugh. “I’m glad you like them.”

“They’re perfect. Sol, do you want a piece? They're really good!" he gestures toward the plate, eyes wide with expectant brightness.

Sol’s voice answers before he even fully looks at you.

“Of course…”

It’s low, smoky, almost reverent. He speaks like a cathedral whispering back a prayer. Then his gaze flickers upward—those red-orange eyes glowing beneath his lashes, already flustered just from the attention.

“But…” he pauses. “Ain’t that the schoolteacher you’ve been lookin’ all over for?”

You frown. “Who—?”

Sol's lips curve—barely—and Hyugo whips around before you can fully process it.

“Really? Wher—?” ” Hyugo whips around with a mouth full of cream and sugar.

Gone.

Sol’s fingers slide over the edge of the plate, slipping the last of the dessert while Hyugo’s back is turned. He takes a bite. Then looks directly at you with a flush crawling high up his neck.

“It is good…” he murmurs, cheeks pink as spring petals. “But… you taste sweeter.”

Hyugo turns back too late. “You ass!” he laughs, mouth open in faux betrayal.

Your heart stutters. The words come out so softly, so poetically ruined by his shyness and confidence folded together like mismatched origami. He says everything like it’s secret and sacred.

You should leave it alone.

But you’re not going to.

Later, your fingers are tangled in the soft cotton of his black-and-green striped shirt, the smell of old books and clean soap and something uniquely him wrapping around you like fog.

You pull him closer—close enough to feel his breath catch.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” you whisper, smiling against his jaw.

Sol stares down at you, flushed as ever. “Like what?” he says, voice barely holding itself together. “Like you're something I've spent my whole life dreaming up but only now dared to touch?”

You blink.

He bites his lip. “Too much?”

“No,” you say. “Not enough.”

He exhales, trembling. Then, hesitantly, he brings your hand to his chest.

“You make me feel like my ribs aren’t big enough to hold all the things I feel,” he says, breathless. “Like I’m gonna spill all over you if you stay near me too long.”

You kiss him.

He melts.

He’s trembling when you lift his shirt off, his chest kissed by shadows and silver—his nipple piercings catching the soft lamplight. His skin is warm, trembling under your touch. He always blushes when you stare too long, but he never looks away.

"You wanna stop?" you ask softly.

He shakes his head. “No. I wanna keep going.”

His pants come off slowly, reverently. And then—

You see it.

Nestled at the base of him, delicate and gleaming: the frenum piercing. A single bar of metal glinting like something sacred. His cock is flushed, hard, leaking slightly, twitching when he sees your eyes lock on it.

“You weren’t joking,” you murmur.

He swallows. “Was thinking about it for weeks... Did some research. Watched too many videos. Wanted to see if you’d… feel me differently.”

Your fingers trace up his shaft, slow and featherlight. He sucks in a breath when you brush over the piercing.

“You did this for me?” you ask.

He nods, cheeks darkening to crimson. “I wanted to be unforgettable.”

“You already were.”

Your hand wraps around him, stroking with delicate precision. Sol groans—quiet, desperate, his hips twitching into your palm. He’s leaking more now, eyes fluttering shut.

“Can I taste you?” you ask.

He whimpers. Nods.

You take your time.

Your lips kiss his inner thighs first—then the curve of his hip, the hollow where his body starts to tremble the most. His hands grip the pillow beneath his head like it’s the only thing anchoring him to earth.

Then your mouth is on him—your tongue tracing that silver bar, letting it drag across your tongue as you swallow him deeper. His hips buck.

“Oh f-fuck—” he gasps. “Y-you feel—You feel like—”

Like heaven. That’s probably what he meant to say. But Sol loses language in moments like these. Instead, he whines. Cries your name. Moans in breathless little sobs as you take him deeper, then back off—licking, teasing, letting that metal bar roll against your lips again and again.

He starts trembling—legs twitching, body arching.

“P-please,” he begs. “Please, I can’t—I’m gonna—”

You pull off, stroking him gently now.

“You can come,” you whisper. “Wanna see how pretty you look when you do.”

His hands clamp over his face. “You c-can’t say that—”

But it’s too late.

His body jolts—his back arches—his cock pulses hot and thick in your hand, twitching as you stroke him through it. His cum spills over your fingers, thick and messy, painting his stomach.

And Sol sobs your name into his palm like it’s the only thing he remembers.

Afterward, he clings to you like he’s starved for your presence. His cheeks are still pink. His arms wrap around your waist, keeping you locked in place like you might vanish if he even blinks too hard.

“I didn’t think I’d survive it,” he murmurs into your neck.

You run your fingers through his hair. “You liked it?”

He makes a sound—half whimper, half laugh. “I liked it too much.”

There’s a pause.

Then: “You’ll ride me next time, right?” he whispers, already breathless. “I want you to feel the piercing. I want— I want to hear what it does to you. I want to watch you fall apart on it.”

You bite your lip, pulse skipping. “Yeah?”

He nods into your shoulder. “I’ll blush the whole time. But I’ll survive it… for you.”

"Why not now Sol?"

"What?"

“I want you to kiss me.”

The words slip out of your mouth before you can fully process them, hanging in the air like a promise that’s been waiting for too long.

Sol’s eyes flicker. They’re bright, full of emotion, but also guarded—a beautiful storm. You see the hesitation, the vulnerability beneath his usual cool façade. The kind that only you seem to draw out of him.

His lips part, almost like he’s going to say something, but instead, he pulls you closer—slow, deliberate. His hands rest on your back, light, almost reverent, as though you’re something delicate he’s afraid to break.

And then, his lips meet yours.

It’s not rushed. There’s no frantic hunger in it, not yet. Instead, it’s soft, a slow and tender exploration of warmth and yearning. His lips press against yours with a quiet intensity that feels almost like a promise—like he's telling you everything he’s been hiding behind those shy smiles and hesitant glances.

He tastes like cinnamon and the sweetness of your shared dessert, his kiss a slow burn that builds with every soft touch. His hands trace the small of your back, his fingertips brushing over the curve of your spine as if memorizing the feel of you.

You let out a small breath, your own fingers threading through his hair, tugging him deeper. He responds instantly, pressing his body against yours, as though he can’t get close enough. Sol’s hands slip to your waist, his touch a little firmer, a little more desperate now, as though he’s afraid you might slip away.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs against your lips. “You’re the one I can’t stop thinking about. I—I don’t want anyone else.”

He loves you..

It makes your heart race in your chest, a beat that matches the rapid thumping of his own heart as he deepens the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours in slow, deliberate motions.

Your body responds instinctively, your hands roaming over the hard planes of his chest, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your touch. His breath is shallow, his whole body trembling under the weight of the kiss.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with a mix of awe and something far more primal. “You make me feel things I can’t explain,” he whispers, his voice shaking just a little. “I—I never thought someone could make me feel this way. You make me weak.”

“You’re not weak,” you say softly, tracing his jaw with your fingertips, smiling when he shivers at the touch. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

He blushes deeply, his head dropping just a little, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. “I don’t deserve you,” he breathes. “But I need you.”

You lean in again, brushing your lips against his—soft, slow, like savoring the moment. His body leans into yours, his hands coming to cradle your face, holding you close, as though there’s nothing in the world but the two of you. His lips move with an aching tenderness against yours, as though he’s pouring everything he feels into this kiss.

“Don’t say that,” you murmur, pulling back to look at him, your fingers gently brushing the hair from his forehead. “You deserve every bit of this. You deserve to be loved like this.”

Oh you fool!

The words seem to settle around him like a warm blanket, and for a brief moment, his guarded expression softens completely. He closes his eyes, his face flushed, his lips parting slightly as if the warmth of your touch is all he needs.

Then, without warning, he pulls you back into a kiss—deeper this time, harder, as though he’s been holding back for far too long. His hands roam, tracing the contours of your body, and the kiss is everything—longing, need, affection, all tangled up together. You give yourself to it completely, letting the intensity of the moment sweep over you.

He pulls back, breathless. “I don’t know what I’m doing to you… but I need to feel you closer,” he admits, his voice rough with desire, but still carrying that poetic tenderness.

Your fingers slide down to his chest, feeling his heartbeat in the soft heat of his skin. You want him—now, more than ever. “Then make me yours,” you whisper, your lips brushing against his once more.

Sol’s eyes flicker, a slow smile curling at the corners of his lips, and before you can blink, he’s lifting you—gentle but firm—his chest pressed against yours, heart pounding, body shaking with anticipation.

“I’ll take my time with you,” he murmurs. “I’ll make you feel every inch of me. But you need to know—when I kiss you, you’re mine. When I touch you, you’re mine.”

His hands trail down your sides, soft and exploratory, making you gasp every time he finds a sensitive spot, every time his fingertips graze the edges of your skin.

His lips move to your neck, kissing the soft skin just below your ear, and you can feel him smiling against you, his breath hot and steady as he whispers against your skin, “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted… everything I never thought I could have. You make me feel—” he pauses, his lips trailing lower, “—like I’m home.”

Why is..Sol so possessive?

Why..?

Wait, It doesn't matter-

You don’t ask how you ended up on his lap. You don’t need to.

Sol's fingers trail reverently up your back, ghosting over fabric like he’s scared to touch skin too soon, as if you might vanish before him. He looks like a fever dream—shirt unbuttoned at the top, collarbones adorned with silver chains and the faintest mark you’d swear wasn’t there yesterday. Maybe it was. Maybe he wanted you to notice.

“I’ve thought about this,” he whispers, forehead resting on your shoulder, “so many times I’m not sure what’s memory and what’s fantasy anymore.”

Your fingers toy with the silver around his neck, gently tugging. “What part, Sol? Kissing me like this?"

“Yes. And—" He swallows. “Everything after.”

You tilt his chin. He blushes again. It’s violent this time. His cheeks are lit like fire—contrast against the dark room, against the green in his hair, against the faint, nervous tremble in his fingers.

“You’re so red, Sol.”

“I always get like this… when something I want becomes real.”

"Sheesh! Solivan, We just met 2 months at our art class..Hehe....You're cute.."

If only you knew, He knew you before

You kiss him before he can say more—soft, slow, and unhurried. He moans so quietly it’s almost a hum, his hands flying to your waist as though they belong there.

You move together gently at first—layers shedding like old poetry, piece by piece, until he’s bare beneath you. Beautiful. Huggable. Laced in silver and trembles.

You press your palm flat against his stomach. “I’m thinking about it right now.”

He looks like he might combust. And then—

“Use me,” he whispers. “I— I don’t care how slow or rough— just let me give this to you.”

You kiss him again, and then guide him inside.

He cries out—quiet and broken—when you sink down fully.

You feel everything. Not just the stretch of him, but the press of metal. The sharp contrast of temperature, the way it catches perfectly against your inner walls like a secret only the two of you get to share.

“God,” you whisper, “I feel it—”

His hands fly to your thighs, gripping tight. His eyes roll back, and for a terrifying second, he stops breathing.

“You okay?”

“Perfect,” he gasps. “Perfect—oh my god, you— you’re perfect—”

Each roll of your hips sends another jolt through him. His head tilts back, hair falling like ink across the pillow, the light catching the glint of metal on his lip, his ears, and now—there.

You take your time. Let him feel every inch. Let him blush and sob your name, the sound soft like a hymn being offered to a god he doesn’t believe in—only you.

His voice is breathy. Poetic. Delirious.

“Your name tastes better than every poem I’ve swallowed... And you— you feel like fire wrapped in silk. I can’t—I can’t last—”

You grind your hips, and his moan breaks off into something desperate.

“You’re allowed to finish, Sol,” you murmur. “You’ve been so good for me.”

That’s what does it.

His body arches, and he clings to you as if drowning, crying out your name like a prayer. His release is overwhelming—hot, thick, filling—and the pulse of it makes you shake.

You ride the waves together, tangled in breath and silver and sweat.

Later, when your breathing slows and you’re here, you glance at him again.

He’s watching you. Still flushed. Still blushing.

“Did it feel good?” he asks shyly.

You kiss his temple. “It felt perfect.”

Sol hums, eyes fluttering shut.

You raise a brow. “What if I change my mind?”

He turns, one arm wrapping around you, his voice low and possessive:

"...I won't let you."

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