#Pointing Dogs Volume One

[krautjunker]

Pointing Dogs

Buchvorstellung von Aleksey Morozov Warum der Pointer „Pointer“ heißt, ist klar. Der Name kommt vom englischen Verb „to point“ – „zeigen“ oder „deuten“. Was der Hund genau macht – wenn er vorsteht, zeigt er dem Jäger, wo das Rebhuhn oder ein jeglicher Vogel, auf den gejagt wird, sich befindet. Aber warum heißt der Setter „Setter“? Manche glauben, dass der Name von dem Verb „to sit“, also…

[ilkkawhat]

i'm pretty sure my parents have heard herald of darkness more than nick's screams coming from my room at this point

[dantesdelulumalewife]

Every time Capcom has a survey for something, I beg them to release Visions of V in other languages. The scanlations are cool, but I want to own the books in a language I can read 😭

[ladsonlads]

Impartial Hearts | Sylus - Part One

Pairing -> Boss Sylus x Non MC Reader

Parts -> Part One | Part Two

Synopsis -> You’ve been working as Onychinus’s accountant for two years, and you’ve been carrying two heavy secrets for a third of it. You were in love with your boss, and your mother was dying.

A/N -> Guys this shit is just sad icl I need to lay off the sad songs... anyways, reader is not MC but MC is mentioned I called her 'Miss Hunter' or 'MC' bc I couldn't come up with a name, sorry.

EDIT: Thanks for all the love <33333 I honestly didn’t expect so many people to want a part two, I promise it’s in the works and I’ll try to get it out ASAP.

Trigger Warnings -> Death mentioned, heart issues mentioned.

Word Count -> 7.3K

“I’m sorry, what?” The question slipped out of your lips without much of an attempt from your brain to restrain it. You regretted that instantly.

“Watch your tone, Y/N.” The scarily low timbre in Sylus’s voice threatened retribution if you didn’t.

“Sorry… It’s just that— are you sure? I feel like this is a decision that requires a little bit more contemplation. Like getting a dog!” You tried to backpedal, but from the look of Sylus’s narrowing eyes, he wasn’t happy with your response. 

“Are you comparing her to a dog?” There was a threat thinly encased in Sylus’s question and under the thick layers of fear, you felt the slightest pang of jealousy that the he felt so strongly about defending her honour. 

What a dramatic and far-fetched conclusion. You wanted to say, but instead you bit your tongue. 

“N-No! Of course not. Not at all. I’m just wondering if wiring her such a significant sum from your equity account is a good idea when you met her—” You make a show of glancing at your shabby watch “— 13 hours ago is a sound decision.”

“So you’re questioning my judgement? Is that it?” 

You couldn’t blame him for being difficult, you walked right into that one. 

“No! Well… yes?” One would think that after two years of working for Sylus, you’d have the ability to stand your ground against him. But there was only so far someone could push a man like Sylus before he deemed you irredeemable. The consequence of which involved a hollow point in your skull. 

“Wrong answer. Wire it. Now. I’ll deal with your insubordination later.” He quickly left the room that doubled as your ‘office’; you shared it with the twins who liked to use it as their reprieve from crime. You wouldn’t have minded had they chosen less rambunctious ways of cooling-down, like reading or watching a show. Instead they’d play-fight, actually fight, play video games on the loudest volume or — the worst option of all — karaoke. 

The sarcastic yes sir died on your tongue as quickly as it crossed your mind. You pissed him off far more than usual today, and he was already way more tense since her arrival. 

Miss Hunter. Sylus kept her first name under lock-and-key, said it was safer that way. You barely caught a glimpse of her as Sylus dragged her out of his office, which was across from yours. From the glimpse you did catch, she was beautiful. Fair skin, jet black hair, a fit body. Her outfit, which was the Hunter’s Association standard issue uniform, had never looked so good. 

From what you knew from shameless eavesdropping, she was extremely important to Sylus. She was part of some critical master plan you weren’t privy to. 

You hated her.

Albeit, completely unfounded, your hatred for her stemmed from an ugly feeling you could not shake. In the two years you worked as an accountant for Onychinus, Sylus touched you once. Correction, you touched him once accidentally when you had too much to drink with the twins after work. You were taking careful steps to the bar to pour yourself another glass of a gross vodka raspberry mixture when you tripped on the edge of one of Sylus’s extremely expensive rugs. Your feet pedalled forward in an attempt to keep you upright, and you clashed right into Sylus who was innocently scrolling through his phone on the wall next to the bar. 

You could recall the fear you felt vividly. You almost felt the same wedge lodged in your throat. Sylus quickly removed you from him, steadying you with his cold palms on your shoulders (an action that made you blush like a schoolgirl) before verbally deeming you cut-off from all liquor from the night.

That was the full extent of all physical contact you’d had with Sylus in two whole years, meanwhile it took Miss Hunter less than 24-hours before he was holding her hand. God, you hated her.

“Oi, Y/N, we’re using the company card for lunch today.” Luke quickly yelled out to you from the hallway, too engrossed in your self-loathing and plain old regular loathing, you forgot to remind Luke that they only had $40 left on their weekly lunch budget. 

Knowing the twins, they wouldn’t have cared anyway, creating yet another problem you had to fix.

Looking at the excel sheet that contained this month’s trial balance, you shivered at the thought of having to deal with Sylus’s wrath at yet another monthly increase in expenses. So, you shifted the remaining balance on your lunch budget, a generous $255, into the twin’s joint account. It was only Thursday morning, and they’d managed to max-out their $1000 budget. 

You hated them too.

You looked through your drawer in hopes you had a leftover snack that could sadly double as your lunch and felt a wave of relief at the sight of a protein bar. 

It wasn’t like Sylus didn’t pay you enough to afford your own lunch, in fact he was the most generous employer you’d ever had. But the only thing bigger than his bank account was corporate greed, and the blood-sucking heathens at Akso hospital were milking you dry.

Life in the N109 Zone wasn’t easy for most people, especially your mother who raised you all on her own after your father left. She worked 3 jobs to put you through university in Linkon, so the least you could do was use every last cent you made on ensuring she had the best medical treatment money could buy. 

Your mother had a bad heart ever since she was born, it was a hereditary condition that would sometimes skip a generation only to show up in the next. She had an atrial septal defect, or in another words, a hole in her heart. You were born with one too, although yours was much smaller. She’d undergone several surgeries to repair the hole, but it reopened, and now the scar tissue surrounding the surgical site was obstructing her arteries. She was now on bypass patiently awaiting a heart transplant you couldn’t quite afford, but you’d make it happen. You were sure of it. 

With half the protein bar in your mouth, you began to call Dr Zayne, the cardiovascular surgeon who was overseeing your mother’s care. You called him for updates on your mother and the transplant list every day, since a train ticket to Linkon was too big an expense to justify, you’d settle for Dr Zayne’s cold recollections of your mother’s heart function. 

“Ah, Miss L/N, I was beginning to think you weren’t going to call today.” The dead-pan sarcasm dripped from his tone. 

“Your bedside manner needs serious work.” You bit back. You weren’t sure when or how your relationship with your mother’s doctor turned so hostile, but you figured the busy chief of surgery was annoyed by your constant calls. 

“Need I remind you, Y/N, you’re not the patient.” 

“There isn’t a waking second I’m not thinking about the patient, Dr Zayne.” 

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air at your confession. You didn’t mean to make him feel guilty, in all honesty, you looked forward to the banter before the updates on your mom, it helped ease the nerves. 

“Do you want to see her?”

“Of course, but I’m working a lot.”

“No, I mean right now.”

“Are you finally letting me borrow the hospital helicopter?”

“No, but I will let you borrow my phone so you can FaceTime her.”

His kind offer caught you off guard. “Really?!”

“Sure, you caught me in a rare moment where I don’t have someplace to be.”

“It must be Christmas.”

“Rarer than Christmas. Think solar eclipse.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. Now give me my mother.”

Zayne kept his promise, and you spoke to your mother for your entire lunch break, and then some. You would’ve continued talking to her until the sunset if not for Sylus’s interruption. 

“I don’t pay you to FaceTime your friends, Y/N.”

“Sorry, I have to go. Talk to you later. I love you!” Your mother rasped out that she loved you too before you quickly hung up the phone. 

“Sorry.” Your apology fell on deaf ears as Sylus took slow, deliberate steps toward your desk. 

“Do you hate this job?” Sylus’s asked this deceivingly innocuous question while sliding a finger across the mahogany tabletop. 

“Um… no?” You placed your hands in your lap as you answered to hide the slight tremor. 

“You sound unsure.” 

“I like this job very much.” You made the declaration with as much confidence as you could muster. Your mood was already depleted from seeing your mother’s sick face for the first time in months. She wasn’t looking any healthier, and Zayne told you she’d barely moved up the list. 

107. There were 107 people who’s lives were more important than the woman who raised you. You were well aware that wasn’t the way they calculated the metric, but it didn’t make the number hurt any less. 

Sylus let out an sigh that suggested whatever he’d say next was a much tamer version of what he truly wanted to say. “Then I’d suggest you start acting like it. Remember, sweetheart, everyone’s replaceable. Especially you.” 

His comment stung like antiseptic on an open wound, though you were sure that was his intention. 

“Right. Of course. I won’t let you down.” 

“For your sake, I hope not. The twins told me they went to that seafood buffet for lunch, you haven’t let them go over the budget again, have you?” 

You quickly pulled up the online banking account connected to the company card. You saw the $189.95 charge for the seafood buffet and swallowed the lump in your throat. 

“Nope, it’s all dandy.” You gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. He noticed. 

“Good. You wire that money like I asked?” The venom in his tone alleviated, and you were glad at least one thing seemed to have worked out for you that day. 

But alas, your joy was short-lived.

“Yes, an hour ago, but it’s still processing until you put in your access code.” You moved away from the computer to give him room to step around and put in the code like he usually did. However, his feet never moved from their position in front of your desk.

“Why didn’t you tell me that?” Just like that, his voice was all venom again. 

You were beginning to grow agitated with his misplaced anger constantly being taken out on you. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, he’d tear into you like a bear would a boxing bag and then act like everything was fine the next day. You never got an apology, you knew not to expect one. 

But lately these fits of unbridled rage came about more often than not, and Sylus took a shovel to your mole hill of resolve every time. 

“I always need your access code on transfers over $500,000. I’ve never told you before, I just assumed—” 

“Are you stupid?” You didn’t bother answering the mean rhetorical question. “What about this transaction seemed usual to you? Did I not convey my urgency effectively earlier? Or are there rocks where your brain should be?” His voice never went up in volume, but you could tell he was angry. Livid even. Seething with fury at your supposed incompetence. 

Your eyes welled up with tears at his outburst. Normally you could take whatever insults he’d throw at you with little outward reaction, but you were particularly sensitive from the sandwich-shaped hole in your stomach, and the maternal hole in your heart which ached every second, reminding you of the much bigger one your mother bore.

Before you could stop it, a tear rolled down your cheek, and the second you registered the sensation you quickly went to wipe it. 

“Stop crying.” Sylus ordered.

“I’m not—crying.” Your voice betrayed you, a hitch in your throat interrupting the sentence. The tears began to stream down faster, so fast your hands couldn’t keep up. 

You prepared yourself for a speech about how weak you were, how he wouldn’t tolerate such inane shows of infirmity. But all Sylus did was watch as you embarrassingly tried to pull yourself together. 

You weren’t sure how much time passed before Sylus moved next to you, hunching down to input his code into the transaction. His eyes glanced at the second monitor, displaying the company card’s account, and he zeroed in at the twin’s charge, and your lack thereof.

“Did you have lunch?” Sylus’s voice was softer, you attributed that to the fact that he was inches away from you. The question was so out of left-field it actually caused your tears to cease. 

“Yeah?”

“You didn’t use the card.” Your eyes followed his to the bank statement and you let out a sigh of relief. 

“Oh, I had some extra cash on me I wanted to get rid of.”

“You’re supposed to use the card, Y/N. That’s what it’s for.”

“It’s fine, I’ll have an extra big lunch tomorrow. Granted you’re not firing me?” You were only half-joking, but you could’ve sworn you saw the corners of his lips perk up in an almost-smile before he shut it straight down. 

“I won’t fire you if you tell me what’s got you this upset? I’m not so proud as to assume it was me.” It was that moment you realised Sylus was capable of feeling empathy. He was aware of how hurtful he was being all those times he’d berate you over the smallest inconveniences for virtually no reason, and he simply didn’t care. 

It was far worse to know that he did possess empathy, but chose not to extend it to you. 

“It’s just that time of the month.” You lied, convincingly. You’d mull over your blatant betrayal to feminism later, but for now you needed a means of shutting this inquiry down and quickly. You didn’t want anyone knowing about your mom, you were sure the pity would destroy you. She wasn’t going to die, and you didn’t want people to treat you like she might. 

Sylus waited for the transfer to clear before he left. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when the door closed behind him.

“Are you sure we only have $105 on our lunch budget.” Luke’s question grated on your frayed nerves.

“$105 and five cents.” Your distinction didn’t do much help. 

“Come on, can’t you do your weird accounty magic and make more appear? We want steak.” Kiernan’s plea wasn’t helping either. You’d exhausted every last option, anything else would definitely cause alarms when Sylus eventually reviewed the accounts. 

“I already did all I could, I gave you an extra $255!” And a fat good that did you, now you were hungry and annoyed.

“Well, we both know there’s plenty more where that came from.”

There really wasn’t, but you didn’t tell them that. 

“I’m sorry, $105 is all you’ve got.” 

“Fine. But we’re very unhappy with you, Y/N. Very unhappy.” Luke chastised you, but you couldn’t even pretend to care. 

“Better you than Sylus, now please leave.” The twins opened their mouths with a retort, but a domineering voice interrupted them. 

“You heard her. Beat it and stop bothering my accountant.” 

The twins scurried at the sound of Sylus’s voice, and you wondered how much of that conversation he overheard.

“So, where did that extra $255 come from, Y/N?”

Too much of the conversation. Way too much. 

“My budget.” You cut your losses and told him the truth. Any other answer would have surely pissed him off. 

“I give you $300 for the whole week. Your sandwich costs $15. Either you haven’t been eating, or you've been paying out of your own pocket against my orders. Which is it?” 

Well, that was a lose-lose situation if there ever was one. You didn’t want to deal with the questions about why you were skipping meals, so you lied again. You always were an exceptional liar, your mother taught you that the less people knew about you, the less they had to hurt you with.

“I made too much food for dinner so I had leftovers. It’s no biggie.” You didn’t even look up from your screen as the lie left your lips. 

“What leftovers?” He asked. 

“Pasta.” You answered. 

“What kind?”

“Alfredo.”

“With mushrooms?”

“Yeah.”

“You hate mushrooms.” 

Shit. Why did he know that?

“I had a change of heart.”

“You’re lying.”

You bit your lip in worry, wondering how you were going to get yourself out of this one.

You stalled as much as you could, pretending to be engrossed in something on your screen, until the sound of Sylus’s phone ringing broke the tension. 

You internally thanked every deity that could possibly be watching over you as he took the call, and prayed to all of them that it would be something urgent. 

You heard the faint sounds of a feminine voice through his phone.

“Kitten, where are you?”

Wait, who’s kitten? 

“Just calm down, tell me where you are.” Sylus didn’t even give you a second glance as he quickly stormed out of your office. Leaving you to mull over the intimate pet name, knowing exactly who it was intended for.

As Sylus left the room you reflected on the cacophony your feelings created in your mind. You weren’t sure when you developed such strong feelings for Sylus — or why. His personality was the antithesis of yours. Where he would free fall off of the proverbial cliff of his life without a second thought, every risk you took was meticulously calculated. Where he was rough and respected, you were sort of a pushover. Where his deadpan sense of humour tended to elicit more fear than laughter, you had an awkward habit of cracking jokes in situations they were not appropriate.

You were polar opposites, two parallel lines that were destined never to intertwine. You figured that was why everything hurt so much around him. He wasn’t right for you, but he would be right for someone else. 

The envy you’d carried for so long began to subside for the first time in years. Sylus had an array of estranged lovers that he’d bring around his mansion every once in a while, and now Miss Hunter. But for the first time the reminder of that fact didn’t hurt as much as it usually did. 

It was Mid-September and you warned yourself that if you couldn’t eliminate all the romantic feelings you had for Sylus by the end of Autumn, you’d cut your losses and quit. 

Of course, you’d have to find another job that paid just as well, but you were willing to cross that bridge when it came to it. There was only so much turmoil your fragile heart could take, and if you were dead, your mother would be as good as dead too. 

Happy with your iron-clad plan, you opened up your notes app and began to draft ‘Operation Sylus: No More’. You could change the name later.

Operation Sylus: No More

The foolproof guide of getting rid of all feelings Sylus related by the end of November. 

Step 1: avoid Sylus and all thoughts of him at all costs.

Step 2: no more funny jokes, his laugh is seriously deadly. 

Step 3: force yourself to remember Miss Hunter in moments of weakness. She’s the one he really wants. 

Step 4: try to find love elsewhere, like the corner shop owner, he may be in his 50s and happily married but he’s kind of a silver-fox!

Step 5: do not, under any circumstances, allow yourself to be alone with Sylus for too long.

You looked back at your list, proud of the relatively easy steps to follow. This should be a cakewalk. Whoever said you couldn’t be the master of your own feelings clearly never met you. 

“Boss needs you in his office. He says bring your laptop.” Kiernan’s voice broke your focus. You were almost finished with the end of year report for this financial year, a task Sylus forced you to complete annually. It was meaningless, considering Onychinus wasn’t necessarily a legitimate business listed on the stock exchange, but you took it seriously nonetheless. 

“Okay, I’ll be right there.” You felt Kiernan’s eyes bore into you as you continued to make minor edits to the report. You’d sleep so much better once this 180 page document was out of your life. 

“He needs you now, Y/N. We’re both toast if you make him wait.” You sighed and couldn’t help but roll your eyes at Sylus’s lack of empathy for your large workload. 

You berated your past self for being so eager for this role, completing far too many tasks far too quickly, and setting the precedent that you were some sort of accounting machine. You really should learn to stick to the bare minimum. 

You walked over to the door leading to his office, and gave it a soft rap with your knuckles. The door opened by itself, or rather with the help of Sylus’s evol, to the sight of him leaning back in his chair, with Miss Hunter sitting directly in front of him on his desk.

Step 3 of your guide felt less like a friendly reminder and more like a stab in the gut. Think of corner-shop man. Think of corner-shop man. Think of corner-shop man.

“We don’t have all day, sit down, Y/N.” Sylus’s command woke you from your trance, and you hoped your envy wasn’t as obvious as you thought it was. 

This was the first time you’d seen Miss Hunter up close, and when your eyes travelled to meet hers, she gave you a warm smile. You felt like the shittiest person to exist for ever hating her.

Your eyes scanned the room for somewhere to sit. The chairs opposite his seemed like they would intrude on the intimate moment he was clearly having with Miss Hunter, so you settled on an armchair in the corner that had a coffee table in front of it. 

Sylus sighed and didn’t even bother to ask you to move before he used his evol to whisk you up and deposit your body onto the chair at his table like a rag doll. You hated when he used his evol on you, it felt like the arms of a prickly cactus. 

“In a few minutes, I’ll be getting a phone call from a possible investor. He’s extremely exclusive and known for running tests on his potential partners before agreeing to invest with them. My intel suggests he’s going to propose a joint project, but the numbers he’ll give me will be far off. I need to counter-propose numbers that would generate a high return and quickly, or he’ll hang up and I’ll never hear from him again. So, open up your laptop and prepare, because if you tank this for me, there will no longer be a place for you here. Understood?”

When Sylus did things like that, it made it easier to love him a little less. He could be a complete and utter dick sometimes, and while you’d learned to accept it as a human flaw, recently it seemed more like a permanent predisposition. 

Perhaps Sylus was nice to you because you were entertaining, now that he had someone better to occupy his time, you were nothing more than a forgotten bygone. 

“Yeah, I got it.” You opened up an excel sheet with a project analysis template. These were the types of questions you’d get in your first year accounting courses but you let Sylus think it was much harder than it actually was — just to make him sweat. 

When the phone rang, Sylus’s muscles grew tense and Miss Hunter gave him a comforting squeeze on his shoulder. You bit your lip to hide the sudden scowl on your face. Think of corner-shop man. Think of corner-shop man. Think of corner-shop man.

Your eyes bore into your excel sheet with an intensity that would’ve produced laser beams in an alternate reality. You focused entirely on the calculations, listening intently to the brassy voice of the investor on the phone. 

It didn’t take you long to generate the minimum initial investment they’d need to generate some form of return, as well as the payback period. You wrote the numbers down on a notepad, and you let him do the rest. 

When you heard the investor let out a humorous ‘I’m impressed’ you packed up your laptop and left the room without so much as a wave. You felt Sylus and Miss Hunter’s eyes follow you out of the room, but you didn’t bother looking back.

You felt the thin line between love and hate begin to grow blurry. Where Sylus was concerned, your feelings were as clear as the muddy water in a swamp. Maybe two and a half months was too much time. You needed these feelings gone expeditiously. 

You decided to take your lunch early, and you left the extravagant mansion that doubled as HQ to find your bike. You couldn’t really afford a car, or a license, but your bright yellow bike could do everything a car could for a fraction of the price. You were in the process of strapping up your helmet when Luke walked up. 

“What’s up with you lately?” His question was inevitable. You wondered how long it would take for someone to notice that you were fighting internal battles on every front. Your mother’s health, Sylus’s sudden chronic asshole syndrome flareup, your dwindling bank account. 

“Nothing, I’ve just been tired.”

“Well, we’re having a few friends over tonight. Just a small group, if you’re not too tired, you should come.” Luke was the more sociable twin, and he was most likely extending this invitation to you out of pity, but you’d take anything over being trapped in your own mind. 

“Will there be alcohol?” You quipped.

“Duh.” Luke’s response brought the first genuine smile to your face in weeks. 

“I’ll be there.” After your agreement, you cycled away toward the corner shop for lunch.

It was a quaint bakery/deli run by a Turkish man who you knew on a first name basis. He was aged-like-fine-wine handsome. Features weathered tastefully by age, with a full head of hair that quelled your fears of your future children inheriting the early onset male pattern baldness gene. 

But when you entered the store and saw Mr Demir, there were no butterflies. Your heart didn’t skip a beat. Your hands didn’t even quiver as you paid for the sandwich. In fact, they were so steady you figured you could give Dr Zayne a run for his money. 

Speaking of Dr Zayne, his daily updates were growing scarcer in detail, and you were worried that something was wrong. He insisted he was just busy and since your mother had moved up to 93 on the transplant list, you let it slide. 

“You know you’re allowed to try the other sandwiches, right?” Mr Demir’s handsome face contorted into a teasing smile, and if he didn’t own this shop with his beautiful wife, you might’ve asked him to marry you then and there. 

“I like this one. Your family is very talented.” You smiled at him, but it seemed even he could tell that it wasn’t genuine.

“You’re getting skinnier you know, and you haven’t been coming as often. Is something wrong or are you cheating on me with a salad store?” His joke brought a giggle out of you. 

You never thought that people noticed you in a way that was significant. You felt as if you were akin to a missing bird poster on a telephone pole in the middle of a busy street. People would glance at it, remember how common and undistinguishable birds are, and forget it ever existed.

Mr Demir’s concern warmed your heart, and you promised that if you ever won the lottery, you would give him half. 

“I’ve just been cooking more, that’s all. Thank you Mr Demir, say hello to your wife for me!” You gave him a small wave as you exited the shop and the weight suffocating your chest was a little lighter.

Mr Demir’s family had boundless love to share, and while their shop was small, they were happy. Maybe things would work out for you and your mother after all. 

The rest of the workday passed by like a fever dream. You finally managed to complete the annual report, a copy of it sitting in Sylus’s email, surely unopened. He left soon after that phone call with Miss Hunter, you didn’t bother to ask where.

The mansion was empty when you turned off the last monitor, and you thought you’d start pre-gaming early. Sylus always warned all of you that his bar was off-limits unless he stated otherwise, but the man had so much alcohol, you doubted he’d ever notice. 

He only drank red wine and whiskey, and you hated wine, so you settled for an almost full bottle of whiskey. You took one sip and realised you couldn’t stand the taste either, but it was still better than the wine, so you chugged glass after glass like they were shots. 

The heavy alcohol burned your throat on the way down and continued to burn in your stomach, but the feeling kept you warm so you didn’t really mind. You’d consumed half the bottle by the time the twins returned with two other men and one girl following in suit.  

“Y/N! Good, you’re here. Help me set up the drinks on the table.” You nodded your head at Luke’s request, knowing your speech would likely be slurred. 

You helped him line up the bottles of cheap tequila, vodka, fireball and a fear-inducing amount of absinthe. These cheap spirits were much more your speed.

“Alright, we’re starting with truth or dare. Pick your poison and sit around the coffee table.” Kiernan’s announcement had everyone scattering around the coffee table with cups in hand. You opted for the fireball, too scared to mix alcohol this early in the night. 

You recognised everyone from another one of the twin’s impromptu parties. They only ever threw them when they were sure Sylus would be gone overnight. You didn’t let yourself dwell on where he was or who he was with. 

The game was more entertaining than you expected, everyone had interesting questions, and when it came to dares, the twins always had something sadistic in mind. 

It was your turn when they decided to up the stakes. You were already wasted, so you committed to answering whatever question they pummelled at you. 

“Truth.”

“You’re so boring, you always pick truth.” Luke whined, his arm shaking yours in protest.

“That’s because I’m scared of your dares.”

Luke rolled his eyes but conceded.

“Fine. How many people have you slept with?”

All conversations came to a stifling halt as everyone’s eyes landed on you. Far too embarrassed to tell 5 people you barely knew that you were still a virgin, you changed your answer. There was nothing to be ashamed of, but you knew the twins would mercilessly make fun of you, and you didn't have the energy to explain that between the constant pressure to succeed for your mother, and her eventual illness, your love life had been placed on the back-burner.

“Dare.”

“You know the rules, if you switch options and refuse to do it, you have to finish everyone’s drinks.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hit me.” You glared at Luke with determination. You should’ve known that when everyone was this drunk, the dares could only get progressively more outrageous.

“I dare you to call Sylus and tell him you crashed his McLaren.” Luke looked proud of his dare, and the smile dropped from your face instantly. 

Even Kiernan’s eyes flashed with concern before he broke out into an obnoxious laugh.

“Oh- Holy shit! That’s gold.” The words left Kieran’s mouth in-between his laughter. Everyone around the table looked at you eagerly.

You knew if you finished off everyone’s cups you’d definitely die, or worse, throw up. 

“Fine.” Too drunk to realise the implications of what you were doing, you dialled Sylus. There was also the chance he just didn’t pick up, but four and a half rings later his annoyed voice resounded through the speaker of your phone. 

“What is it?” From the sound of Sylus’s tone, you’d interrupted something important. You bit down the bitter feelings that threatened to spill out, and stuck to the objective.

“I have something to tell you, but you have to promise you won’t get mad.” There was no universe in which Sylus couldn’t tell you were drunk.

In all honesty, your phone call was a welcome reprieve from his mind-numbingly boring conversation with Linkon’s politicians. He’d offered to attend this event with MC with little thought as to what it would pertain. His eyes raked over her baby pink dress, and since he couldn’t get her out of it just yet, he entertained your drunk rambling.

“I don’t have to do anything.” Sylus expected you to apologise, but all he heard was a sound foreign to him. Were you laughing? Sylus heard indecipherable voices in the background, and he found himself wondering who was making you laugh. 

“True. Okay well, you know that dark grey sports car you love soooooooooooo much?” Nice going, Y/N, remind him just how much he loves this car. You thought. The phone was on speaker, per the requests of the fellow attendees. 

Everyone bit back laughs at the situation which was extremely unfunny to anyone with a blood alcohol level under 0.05. 

“What did you do?” Sylus’s question had a deadly underpinning, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“I crashed it!” At your exclamation, the room exploded in laughter, and you muted the microphone quickly before Sylus could hear it.

“You crashed it?”

You quickly unmuted to add. “Yup! Absolutely totalled.”

“Are you okay? Where are you? I’m coming.” 

The laughter immediately died down. That was not how he was supposed to react, not at all. 

Luke and Kiernan gestured for you to shut it down and you quickly began to backtrack.

“No! No you don’t have to come home. I’m fine. It was just a prank.”

“Oh, so you’re at my place?” ShitShitShitShitShit.

“Yes… The twins and I had too much to drink and we thought it would be funny to prank you. I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t have interrupted your night.”

You braced yourself for the angry lecture on how Sylus’s time was more valuable the rarest ruby, but it never came.

“Just you and the twins, right?”

Luke and Kiernan gestured for you to agree.

“Yes.”

“You should probably call an exorcist.” Were you drunk or did he actually just tell you to call an exorcist?

“Huh?” Everyone in the room looked just as perplexed.

“You know, since those three other people in my living room must be apparitions.” 

“You didn’t rig the camera?” Kiernan’s shrill scream was definitely registered by the phone’s mic. 

“Fuck! I forgot.” Luke exclaimed in response as they scrambled to pack everything up. 

“Um…” With everyone frantically running around the room, you were left to deal with Sylus’s wrath alone.

“How come you never laugh when you’re with me?” And with that question you were convinced the alcohol had induced auditory hallucinations.

“You’re not very funny.” You decided to play along, after all, imaginary Sylus was much more fun than the real one.

“Hmm, I thought I was.”

“Nope. All your jokes end in someone dying, and usually that someone is me.”

“Oh, sweetheart, those aren’t jokes.” That was something real Sylus would say. Damn, these auditory hallucinations were realistic.

“I know, I really thought you were going to kill me last week.” You let out an involuntary snort at the hilarious image of your head on a pike. 

“Why’s that?”

“Because I screwed up that wire transfer to Miss Hunter. You were soooo mad. You must reaaaalllyyyy like her.”

“I guess I do.” The line went quiet on both ends after that. 

This auditory hallucination was no fun following his confession, so you hung up. Sylus called a few times after, but you never noticed. The room began spinning and your eyes began watering, so you curled up on the floor until your head stopped pounding, but by then you were fast asleep.

Sylus returned to his mansion the next morning to find your office empty. It was still an hour before you were due to start, but you were always early. 

With an internal promise to check again in an hour, he walked toward the living room. It didn’t take long before he noticed a mop of light brown hair on his rug.

He walked toward your sleeping form with indignation, only to find every ounce of anger sucked out of him when he knelt down to find your sleeping face. 

He hadn’t been that close to you in what felt like forever. Was your face always that pale? His eyes caressed your under eye bags, and your hollow cheeks. He could’ve sworn they were fuller when he hired you. What happened to you? 

Before Sylus could give in to the urge to wake you up and ask, your phone made a sound from the coffee table. He picked it up and saw you were getting a call from Zayne.

Who the fuck was Zayne?

He answered the phone before he could think it through.

“Oh, Y/N, good. I’ve been trying to reach you since last night.”

“You should’ve taken the hint.” Sylus couldn’t help the bite in his tone. He wasn’t sure why he was so angry at this Zayne, but his emotions were beginning to confuse him more often than he cared to admit.

“Who’s this?”

Sylus could’ve said that he was your boss. He should’ve said that he was your boss. But what he said instead…

“Y/N’s mine.” His employee, but that distinction didn’t seem necessary in the moment.

“Well, could you tell her to call me back as soon as possible. I have urgent news about her mother.”

The comment about her mother perplexed Sylus even more. 

“Who are you?”

“I’m her mother’s heart surgeon. I have to go, have her call me soon.” Sylus felt stupid for the unnecessary show of hostility, but he only had more questions following Zayne’s answer.

It seemed the conversation was enough to wake you up from your slumber, and the moment you registered your surroundings, the headache you had was amplified tenfold. Your muscles hurt from sleeping on the hard floor, and you were sure your legs had morphed into jelly. 

You were never drinking again.

“Well hello, sleeping beauty.” Sylus watched as you groggily rubbed your eyes. The right side of your face had an indent matching the pattern of his rug, and your hair was dishevelled. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“Sylus. I’m so sorry.” You spoke through a yawn before cradling your head in your hands. The world needed to stop spinning.

Sylus shoved an open bottle of water in your face, and you greedily snatched the peace offering before he had time to change his mind.

“Zayne called, said he had some news about your mother.”

You shot straight up, spilling some water in the process.

“What did he say? Where’s my phone?” You glanced at large Sylus’s hand which was wrapped around said phone. If you weren’t so worried about your mother, you might’ve found the sight of Sylus holding something covered in a floral case amusing. Powering through the piercing pain in your temple, you held your hand out.

“Please give it back.” 

“What’s wrong with your mother?”

“Please Sylus, I can’t do this right now.” You tried to lunge for the phone, but he was faster. Raising his hand above his head and well out of your reach. 

“You’ll have this back once you answer my question.”

“She has the flu. Now give it back.” You jumped up in a feeble attempt to retrieve the phone, but he was just so goddamn tall. 

“I didn’t know flu treatment protocol involved heart surgery now. Guess I need to brush up on the latest medical news.” His sardonic tone made you scoff. Only Sylus could be such a dick while your mother's life was in limbo.

Curse Dr Zayne and his blabbermouth. 

If it wasn’t for the severe hangover, you might’ve been able to think of an explanation. But you were so nervous you felt sick and you needed to know the news Dr Zayne had.

“Fine. She needs a heart transplant, she’s on coronary bypass and if she doesn’t get a heart soon she’ll die. Is that good enough for you?” You continued to try to reach the phone, not bothering to check Sylus’s reaction to your confession. 

He dropped the phone in your hand and you all but sprinted out of the living room to make the phone call.

The line rang once, twice, three times before Zayne picked up.

“Y/N?”

“Yes! What’s wrong? Is my mom okay? Tell me she’s okay.”

“Slow down, she’s alive, but she had a cardiac event. Not a heart attack, but it still did some damage. Her condition is worse, much worse, Y/N. I’m sorry.” 

Your back slumped against the wall of the hallway and you felt your knees give in as you slid to the floor. 

“How long does she have?” The tears streaming down your face fell onto your shirt, leaving uncomfortable wet spots in their wake.

“A few weeks, a month’s top. But this did move her to the top of the list. She might get a transplant in time.” Zayne must have heard the sadness in your voice if he’d offered words of encouragement. He never did that. 

“Thank you. I’m going to come see her.”

“I’ll get the nurses to bring in an extra bed. I’ll see you soon, Y/N.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond so you hung up instead. The pain in your head was now but a mere memory as your heart began to splinter into a million little pieces. 

There was so much you still had to do. You needed to buy your mom her first ever house, and help her plant the prettiest flowers in the garden. You had to get her the dog she always dreamed about and the outdoor swing she missed from her childhood home. She still had to walk you down the aisle and sing your future children the lullabies she sang to you. She couldn’t go. Not yet. 

You didn’t even notice Sylus enter the hallway until you felt him sitting down next to you. He wove an arm behind your head, bringing your face into his chest. The intimacy of the act only made you cry harder. The last person to hold you that close was your mom, a few days before she’d collapsed. 

“It hurts.” You choked on your words and they came out muffled against Sylus’s chest.

“What hurts?” He asked. 

“My heart. It really hurts, Sylus.” You sobbed harder. It felt good to finally admit that you weren’t okay. To have someone hold you as your life fell apart around you. 

“Tell me what to do, Y/N. Anything.”

“Can I have some time off?” You took deep breaths as you tried to slow your crying down. You could break down once you reached the other side of this tumultuous predicament. 

The humble request drove Sylus insane. He’d offer you his own heart to save your mother if he wasn’t sure it was severely damaged, and all you could think to ask for was time off. 

“Of course.”

“Can you give me a ride to Linkon?” 

That request was a little better, but still not enough. 

“I’ll take you now, come on.”

“No wait, I need to go home and pack some things. I’ll be back in an hour.”

“You know you can still get a DUI on a pedal bike, right?”

“I’m not drunk.”

“But there’s still alcohol in your system, and you’re very upset. It won’t be safe, I’ll take you home on the way. Let’s go.” He stood up, his hand outstretched toward you. 

And with a heavy heart, you took Sylus’s hand.

[grenadehearts]

Thinking about drunk Kirishima, red solo cup in hand, babbling on and on about his pretty, perfect girlfriend. His words are slurred with every compliment, cheeks flushed, grin wide and unashamed as he brags to anyone who’ll listen.

Girls try to flirt with him, tossing casual smiles and playful touches his way, but he doesn’t even notice—he’s too consumed with talking about you.

“Yeah, my girl does that way better,” he says without missing a beat, brushing off their attempts with a lazy wave of his hand.

“Oh, she went there—said it sucked. So nah, I’m not wasting my time.”

“She helped me train for my last spar—took one look at my stance and fixed it. Coach-level instincts, man. I’d be a mess without her.”

He keeps going, proud and loud about how perfect you are for him, how lucky he is. Somewhere between bragging about your pretty eyes, and how you always know when he's feeling off, he starts rambling about how he’s gonna marry you someday—says it with the casual certainty of someone who knows he’s already found his forever.

Then he sees you walk past, and his whole face lights up like someone just turned on all the lights in the room. His eyes go wide, voice shooting up in volume, puppy-dog excited as he points:

“Hey! That’s my girlfriend!”

Before you can escape, he’s already stumbling over with that dopey, lovesick grin, wrapping an arm around your waist and dragging you back to the group like he just won a prize. He looks at them all smug, like see? told you she was perfect.

masterlist link here.

[heesvnqie]

Drunk On You-Park Sunghoon

pairing: professor!sunghoon x student!reader genre: crush to lovers, smut warnings: explicit sexual content, unprotected sex (wrap it up irl!), oral (m & f receiving), rough intimacy, overstimulation, possessive themes word count: 8k

The first time you saw Park Sunghoon, the world tilted, as if someone had cranked the volume on your heartbeat and dimmed everything else. It was three years ago, your first week at Seoul National University, and you were a frazzled freshman, clutching a crumpled campus map like a lifeline, already late for your introductory lecture.

The autumn air bit at your fingertips, leaves crunching under your sneakers as you raced across the quad, your backpack thumping against your shoulders. You were so focused on deciphering building names that you didn’t see the figure lounging against a tree, one leg propped up, a book dangling carelessly in his hand, until you tripped over a gnarled tree root and nearly ate dirt.

“Well, damn, you’re making quite the entrance,” a voice called out, smooth as whiskey and laced with a grin you could hear before you saw it. You looked up, cheeks flaming, to find a pair of dark eyes sparkling with mischief.

He was tall, unfairly so, with sharp features that could’ve been carved from marble, softened only by a smirk that screamed trouble. His dark hair fell just messy enough to look intentional, and he was watching you like you’d just handed him the punchline to his favorite joke.

He snapped his book shut—a dog-eared copy of The Stranger by Camus—and sauntered over, offering a hand with a flourish. “Need a hero, or are you good at crashing and burning on your own?”

“I’m fine,” you muttered, scrambling to your feet before he could touch you, though the gesture sent a spark through your chest. You brushed dirt off your jeans, avoiding those piercing eyes. “Just… new to this place.”

“New, huh? I can tell. You’ve got that ‘lost puppy’ vibe going on.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “Don’t worry, I’m an expert at rescuing damsels in distress. Name’s Sunghoon, by the way.” His smirk widened, revealing a flash of dimples that made your stomach flip.

“Y/N,” you said, trying to sound composed despite the heat creeping up your neck. “And I’m not a damsel.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he teased, tilting his head as if appraising you. “You’re giving off some serious fairy-tale energy right now. Bet you’d look cute in a tiara.” He winked, and you nearly choked on your own breath.

“Thanks for the… help,” you managed, clutching your map tighter. “I’m late for class.”

“Humanities block’s that way,” he said, pointing with a lazy flick of his wrist. “Try not to trip over any more trees, princess. I might not be around to save you next time.” He shot you one last grin before turning back to his book, leaving you to stumble away, heart racing, his voice echoing in your head.

That was the moment Sunghoon became your obsession. Over the next few months, he was everywhere, like a song stuck on repeat. You’d spot him in the campus café, leaning back in a chair, flirting shamelessly with the barista while she blushed over his coffee order.

Or outside the library, tossing a football with friends, his laugh loud and infectious, his eyes catching yours for a split second before he’d flash a wink that left you flustered. He was a whirlwind of charm, always surrounded by people but never out of reach, like he knew exactly how to keep you hooked.

You didn’t dare approach him again, not after that mortifying first meeting, but you couldn’t stop watching. In the café, you’d pretend to read, your textbook a prop as you studied the way he’d lean in to talk, his voice low and teasing, or how he’d ruffle a friend’s hair just to get a reaction. In the library, you’d linger in the philosophy section, hoping he’d show up, which he did, often, pulling books from high shelves with a confidence that made your knees weak.

Once, you’d been bold enough to hover nearby, pretending to browse, but he’d been too busy flirting with a classmate—calling her “trouble” with that same damn smirk—to notice you.

Your crush grew like ivy, quiet but relentless, wrapping around every corner of your mind. You told yourself it was harmless, just a fantasy about a guy who probably didn’t remember you.

But every time you saw him—sprawled on the quad’s grass, tossing out one-liners to make his friends laugh, or striding past with that effortless swagger—your heart did a stupid little somersault. You’d replay his words from that first day: princess, damsel, the way he’d said your name like he was tasting it. It was ridiculous, but you couldn’t stop.

By your second year, you’d pieced together more about him. He was older, maybe mid-twenties, and he seemed to know everyone—slipping into conversations at poetry readings, debate club meets, even frat parties, with a charm that made him the center of gravity. You overheard he was studying something vague, maybe philosophy or literature, but no one had specifics.

He was like a campus legend, all charisma and mystery, and you were just one of many caught in his orbit. Still, you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes would linger on you sometimes, like he remembered that clumsy freshman who’d tripped into his life.

You’d changed too, settling into your applied mathematics major—a practical choice, though it bored you senseless—and finding a circle of friends, including your roommate, Mina, who’d have a field day if she knew about your crush. You kept it locked away, letting it spill out only in quiet moments, like when you’d lie awake at night, imagining what it’d be like to talk to him, really talk to him, without tripping over your own feet.

Your third year was when everything shifted. You were 21, more confident but still a mess when it came to Sunghoon. You’d had a few fleeting interactions since that first meeting—a grin in the café when he’d caught you staring, a playful “Still tripping over trees, Y/N?” when you’d passed him in the library—but nothing real. He was still a stranger, just one you’d built an entire daydream around.

The night it all changed started with Mina dragging you to an off-campus bar, a gritty spot packed with upperclassmen blowing off steam after midterms. You weren’t a big drinker, but Mina’s “You need to have fun” speech was relentless, and soon you were sipping a vodka soda, the music vibrating through your bones.

The bar was chaos—bodies pressed together, laughter drowning out the bassline—and you were trying to keep up with Mina’s energy when you saw him.

Sunghoon was leaning against the bar, a beer in hand, looking like he’d just stepped out of one of your fantasies. His button-down was rolled up to the elbows, his hair slightly tousled, and he was laughing with a group of guys, his grin sharp and reckless. Then his eyes found you, and that smirk spread across his face, bold and unapologetic.

“Well, look who’s out of her library cave,” he called, sauntering over before you could hide. His voice was teasing, his eyes glinting as he leaned against the bar next to you. “Y/N, right? Or should I stick with ‘princess’?”

You flushed but held your ground, the vodka giving you courage. “Only if I can call you ‘trouble,’” you shot back, surprising yourself.

His laugh was loud, head thrown back like you’d just told the best joke he’d heard all night. “Oh, I like that. You’ve got some fire in you.” He leaned closer, his shoulder brushing yours, and you swore you could feel the heat of him through your jacket. “So, what’s it take to get you out here more often? I don’t see you enough.”

“Maybe you’re not looking hard enough,” you said, heart pounding as you met his gaze. His eyes were dark, playful, but there was an edge to them, like he was daring you to keep up.

“Trust me, I’ve been looking,” he said, his voice dropping low, and the way he said it made your stomach flip. He ordered you another drink, waving off your protest with a wink. “On me. Gotta keep my favorite damsel hydrated.”

The night spiraled from there. You talked—really talked—for the first time, his boldness pulling you out of your shell. He was relentless, tossing out flirty comments like they were second nature: “You know, you’re way too cute to be hiding in math class,” or “If I’d known you were this fun, I’d have chased you down years ago.” You gave it back as best you could, teasing him about his cryptic campus vibe, and he’d laugh, leaning in close to whisper something that made your pulse race.

“Let’s dance,” he said, not asking but declaring, his hand already grabbing yours. You weren’t a dancer, but he didn’t care, pulling you into the crowd with a grin that said he knew you’d follow. The music was loud, the bass thumping, and Sunghoon was a force—his hands on your waist, guiding you, his body close enough to feel every move. He’d spin you, then pull you back, his lips brushing your ear as he teased, “You’re making it hard to behave, princess.” You’d laugh, breathless, drunk on the moment and the way he looked at you like you were the only one in the room.

Hours blurred into drinks and laughter, his flirty edge never fading. He’d catch your wrist to stop you from stumbling, smirking, “Can’t have you falling for anyone else but me.” By the time you left the bar, both of you tipsy, the night air was a shock, but his arm around your shoulders kept you warm. You were giggling, leaning into him, his scent—cedarwood and something sharper—mixing with the alcohol in your veins.

“You’re a mess,” he said, his voice playful as he steadied you, but his eyes were softer, lingering on your face. “Gonna regret this tomorrow, you know.”

“Worth it,” you shot back, and he grinned, pulling you closer as you stumbled toward your apartment. Inside, the world shrank to your dimly lit living room, the streetlight casting shadows across the couch. You were close, too close, his breath warm against your cheek, his hand lingering on your hip.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, but there was a heat in his eyes that made your heart race. He leaned in, his lips hovering just above yours, daring you to close the gap.

“Maybe I like trouble,” you whispered, bold for once, and that was it. You kissed him, or he kissed you—it didn’t matter. It was hungry, messy, three years of longing pouring out in a rush of heat and need.

His hands were everywhere, pulling you closer, and you let yourself fall into it, the world fading until it was just him—his taste, his touch, his bold, flirty grin still there even as he kissed you like he’d been waiting for it as long as you had.

The next morning, your head was a war zone, the hangover pounding like a drum. You groaned, rolling over on your couch, flashes of the night hitting you in waves. Sunghoon’s smirk, his teasing voice, the way he’d pulled you onto the dance floor, the kiss. Oh god, the kiss. And everything after. Your cheeks burned as you buried your face in a pillow, the reality of last night sinking in like a stone.

You dragged yourself to the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face, trying to shake the fog. It had been perfect, hadn’t it? Sunghoon had been everything—bold, flirty, larger than life. But now, doubt crept in. Was it just the alcohol? Just a game to him? You didn’t have time to spiral—you had math class in an hour, and you were already late. You threw on a hoodie and jeans, grabbed your bag, and bolted across campus, each step jarring your aching head.

The lecture hall was half-full when you slipped in, sliding into a back seat, hoping to disappear. Then the door opened, and your heart stopped.

Sunghoon strode in, but he wasn’t the Sunghoon from last night. No rolled-up sleeves, no messy hair. He was all professor—crisp button-down, tailored slacks, glasses perched on his nose like he’d been born to wear them. He wrote Professor Park on the board, the marker squeaking faintly, and your stomach dropped.

“Good morning, everyone,” he said, his voice smooth but commanding, carrying that same bold edge that had teased you last night. “I’m Professor Park, your substitute for Dr. Kim for the next few weeks. I’ve been with the university for over five years, though I don’t usually teach this course.”

Five years. The words were a punch to the gut. He wasn’t a grad student, not even close. He’d been a professor this whole time, teaching in some other department—philosophy, you’d later learn—while you’d been pining over him, thinking he was just a charming older student. Your mind raced, piecing together every moment you’d seen him on campus, every flirty comment, every wink. Had he known you were a student? Had he known last night?

His eyes scanned the room, and when they landed on you, there was a flicker—recognition, maybe guilt, but that playful spark was still there, like he couldn’t help himself. He adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat, and launched into the lecture, but you couldn’t hear a word.

All you could see was him—the way he’d grinned at you in the bar, the way he’d kissed you like he meant it, the way he was standing there now, untouchable, your professor.

The hour was torture. You scribbled nonsense in your notebook, avoiding his gaze, but every so often, you’d catch him looking your way, his expression unreadable. When class ended, students filed out, but you stayed, your hands shaking as you packed your bag. You didn’t know what you wanted to say, but you couldn’t just leave.

Sunghoon was erasing the board when the room emptied, the silence heavy. He glanced over, catching your eye, and that damn smirk flickered across his face, bold and infuriating. “Sticking around, princess?” he said, his voice low, teasing, like you were still at the bar.

You stood, clutching your bag. “You’re a professor,” you said, the words half-accusation, half-disbelief.

He turned, leaning against the desk, arms crossed, his grin unapologetic. “Surprise. Bet you didn’t see that coming.” He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “In my defense, you didn’t exactly scream ‘math major’ last night.”

“You knew I was a student,” you said, stepping closer, your voice shaking. “And you still—”

“Hold up,” he interrupted, raising a hand, but his tone stayed playful. “I knew you were a student, yeah. Seen you around for years, tripping over roots and staring at me in the café like I’m some kind of mystery novel.” He smirked, and you wanted to wipe it off his face. “But I didn’t know you’d be in my class. That’s a plot twist even I didn’t expect.”

“So what now?” you asked, your voice barely steady. “Last night was… we can’t just ignore it.”

His grin faded, but the boldness didn’t. He stepped closer, close enough that you could smell that cedarwood cologne, and lowered his voice. “Oh, I’m not ignoring it, Y/N. Trust me, I’m thinking about it plenty.” His eyes flicked over you, playful but sharp. “But I’m also your professor now, so we’re gonna have to play this careful. Unless you like breaking rules as much as I think you do.”

You swallowed, your heart racing. “I’m not saying anything,” you said finally. “I don’t want trouble.”

He chuckled, stepping back, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. “Good girl. But for the record, you’re already trouble.” He winked, then turned back to the board, leaving you to gather your things and walk out, your mind a mess of everything you’d felt for him—and everything you shouldn’t.

Your life became a tightrope walk after that morning, each step a battle between restraint and the reckless pull of Park Sunghoon. He wasn’t just a professor, you learned—whispers around campus painted him as the untouchable son of the university’s owner, a man who could bend rules like they were made of rubber. That explained the swagger, the way he sauntered into lecture halls like he owned them, the way his eyes lingered on you with a boldness that made your pulse stutter. He was a storm, all sharp edges and playful fire, and you were caught in his orbit, helpless and electrified.

The next few weeks were a game of cat and mouse. Sunghoon didn’t let up, his flirty edge sharpening with every class. He’d call on you in the middle of a lecture, his voice dripping with mischief. “Y/N, care to explain why this equation looks like it’s begging for mercy?” he’d say, leaning against the podium, glasses slipping down his nose just enough to make you forget how to speak. The class would snicker, and you’d fumble through an answer, his smirk burning into you like a brand. “Not bad, princess,” he’d murmur as you sat down, loud enough for only you to hear, the word sending a shiver down your spine.

Outside class, he was worse. You’d spot him in the café, lounging with a coffee and that damn Camus book, his long legs stretched out like he was daring you to trip over them again. “Still staring, huh?” he’d call out, catching you mid-glance, his grin all teeth and trouble. “Careful, Y/N, I might start charging for the view.” You’d roll your eyes, muttering something about his ego, but he’d just laugh, low and rough, leaning closer to whisper, “You love it, don’t lie.”

He was relentless, weaving himself into your days like he belonged there. Once, you were in the library, buried in a problem set, when a shadow fell over your desk. Sunghoon, of course, sliding into the chair across from you without asking, his knee brushing yours under the table. “Math, huh? Thought you’d be more… poetic,” he teased, snatching your pencil and twirling it between his fingers. “Need a break? I’m great at distractions.”

“Some of us actually study,” you shot back, grabbing for the pencil, but he held it just out of reach, his eyes dancing with that fierce, playful glint.

“Oh, I study plenty,” he said, voice dropping, his gaze flicking to your lips for a heartbeat. “Just not the kind of stuff in your textbooks.” He leaned closer, resting his chin on his hand, his cologne—cedarwood and something dangerous—filling the air. “Bet I could teach you something way more interesting.”

You snatched the pencil back, heart hammering. “You’re my professor, Sunghoon. Behave.”

His grin was pure sin. “And you’re my favorite troublemaker. Guess we’re both bad at following rules.” He stood, ruffling your hair like it was nothing, leaving you flushed and glaring at his retreating figure.

The worst part? He knew exactly what he was doing. As the owner’s son, Sunghoon carried an air of untouchability that made his boldness fiercer, like he was daring the world to call him out. He’d slip into your orbit at the worst moments—brushing past you in the hallway, his hand grazing your back just long enough to make you freeze, or tossing you a wink during a department event while he charmed a crowd of professors like it was his day job. He was a wildfire, untamed and untouchable, and you were the fool who kept inching closer to the flames.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day of exams, you found yourself at another bar with Mina, who was blissfully unaware of your Sunghoon saga. You were nursing a soda, trying to drown out the memory of his latest stunt—calling you “his star student” in front of the entire class with a grin that said he meant anything but academics—when he walked in. Of course he did. Dressed in a black leather jacket and jeans that hugged his frame like they were tailored for him, he looked less like a professor and more like a rockstar who’d wandered into the wrong room. His eyes locked on you instantly, and that smirk spread, slow and deliberate.

“Fancy seeing you here, princess,” he said, sliding onto the stool next to you despite Mina’s wide-eyed stare. “Didn’t peg you for a barfly.”

“Didn’t peg you for a stalker,” you retorted, sipping your drink to hide the way your hands shook. Mina’s jaw was practically on the floor, but Sunghoon ignored her, his focus entirely on you, like you were the only person in the room.

“Stalker? Nah, I just follow my instincts,” he said, leaning closer, his voice a low rumble. “And they always lead me to you.” His fingers brushed your wrist, featherlight but deliberate, and you swore the air crackled. “Dance with me.”

You glanced at Mina, who was mouthing “GO” like her life depended on it, and sighed. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, but you let him pull you to the dance floor, his hand warm and firm around yours. The music was slower this time, a sultry beat that matched the heat in his eyes. He didn’t let go, his hands settling on your hips, guiding you with a confidence that made your knees weak.

“You’re getting better at this,” he teased, his lips close to your ear, his breath sending a shiver through you. “Or is it just me making you look good?”

“Keep dreaming,” you shot back, but your voice was shaky, and he knew it. His grip tightened just enough to make you hyper-aware of every inch of space—or lack thereof—between you. He spun you, then pulled you back, his body pressed against yours, his lips so close you could feel the heat of them.

“Dreaming’s fun,” he murmured, his voice like velvet, fierce and flirty all at once. “But this? This is better.” His eyes held yours, daring you to look away, to pretend you didn’t feel it—the pull, the heat, the reckless edge of him that made you want to throw every rule out the window.

The song ended, but he didn’t let go, his hands lingering as he walked you back to the bar. “Don’t stay out too late, princess,” he said, his tone teasing but his eyes serious, like he was staking a claim. “I need you sharp for my class tomorrow.” He winked, then disappeared into the crowd, leaving you breathless and Mina practically vibrating with questions.

The next day, you walked into his lecture like you were stepping into a lion’s den. Sunghoon was already there, leaning against the desk, all sharp jawline and effortless charisma. He was explaining a derivative problem with that same playful edge, tossing out jokes that had half the class laughing and the other half swooning. When his eyes met yours, he paused, just for a heartbeat, and that smirk flashed—bold, fierce, like he was daring you to make the next move.

“Alright, everyone,” he said, clapping his hands. “Pair up for the problem set. Y/N, you’re with me.” The class erupted in murmurs, and your stomach flipped as he beckoned you to the front, his grin all trouble. “Let’s see if you can keep up, princess.”

You stood, your legs unsteady, and walked to the board, marker in hand, his presence looming beside you. He leaned close, ostensibly to check your work, but his lips brushed your ear as he whispered, “You’re blushing. Thinking about last night?”

“Focus, Professor,” you hissed, scribbling numbers to hide your shaking hands, but he just chuckled, low and dangerous.

“Oh, I’m focused,” he said, his voice a tease wrapped in a promise. “Question is, are you?”

The rest of the class passed in a blur, his flirty remarks disguised as teaching, his bold touches—hand grazing yours, shoulder brushing yours—masked as accidental. He was playing with fire, and you were too, because every time you shot back a retort or met his gaze, you were daring him to push further. He was the owner’s son, a professor, a rule-breaker by nature, and you were the student who couldn’t stop chasing the thrill of him.

By the end of the week, you were a wreck, torn between avoiding him and craving the next encounter. Late one evening, you were in the library again, trying to focus on your notes, when he appeared, sliding into the seat across from you like it was his personal throne. “Burning the midnight oil, huh?” he said, his voice playful but his eyes fierce, like he was hunting something and you were it.

“You’re here a lot for someone who doesn’t teach math,” you said, trying to sound casual, but your voice betrayed you.

He grinned, leaning forward, his glasses catching the light. “Maybe I’m here for the view.” His eyes flicked over you, bold and unapologetic, and you felt like you were drowning in that cedarwood scent again. “Or maybe I’m just checking if my favorite student needs… extra credit.”

You slammed your book shut, heart pounding. “You’re gonna get us both in trouble, Sunghoon.”

His smirk didn’t falter, his eyes glinting with that fierce, reckless energy. “Good thing trouble’s my specialty, princess. Question is, how much do you want to play?” He stood, leaving you with that challenge hanging in the air, his footsteps echoing as he walked away, bold as ever, knowing you’d be thinking about him long after he was gone.

The library encounter left you reeling, your skin buzzing with the memory of Sunghoon’s voice, his scent, the way his eyes stripped you bare without a single touch. He was a drug, and you were hooked, each flirty quip and fleeting glance another hit that left you craving more. But then, like a ghost, he vanished. No lectures, no café run-ins, no late-night library appearances. For three days, Park Sunghoon was a phantom on campus, and the absence of him carved a hollow ache in your chest, sharp and relentless.

Every moment without him was torture—your mind betrayed you with flashes of his smirk, his cedarwood scent, the way his lips had claimed yours that night at the bar. You were desperate, your body thrumming with a raw, primal need that kept you awake, tossing in your dorm bed, imagining his hands pinning you down, his mouth devouring you. You were a wreck, craving him like a drug, and the fact that he was the university owner’s son, untouchable and reckless, only made the want burn hotter.

You tried to focus—on integrals, on Mina’s chatter about some new club, on anything—but your mind was a traitor, replaying every moment with him. The bar, his hands on your hips, the kiss that had burned through you like wildfire. The way he’d called you “princess” in that low, teasing drawl, his lips so close you could’ve tasted them again. You were desperate, embarrassingly so, your body thrumming with a want that made your cheeks burn in the quiet of your dorm. Nights were the worst—lying awake, imagining his hands, his mouth, the way he’d looked at you like he could devour you whole. You were drowning in it, in him, and he wasn’t even there.

By the fourth day, you were a mess, snapping at Mina over nothing and checking your phone for campus gossip, hoping for a crumb about where he’d gone. Nothing. Just whispers about his father’s influence, how Sunghoon could skip town and still keep his job because of who he was. The owner’s son, untouchable, a rule unto himself. It made you want him more, the idea that he could break every boundary and pull you along with him.

Mina noticed your edge, dragging you to another off-campus party to “snap you out of it.” You didn’t want to go, but the alternative was another night alone, your fingers not enough to sate the hunger he’d sparked. So you slipped into a black dress—skintight, barely there, a reckless choice that screamed trouble—and let Mina pull you to a sprawling house party, the air thick with sweat and liquor. Your heart pounded, half-hoping he’d be there, half-terrified he wouldn’t.

The second you stepped inside, you felt him. Sunghoon was across the room, leaning against a wall, a beer dangling from his fingers, looking like he’d been forged for sin. His leather jacket hung loose, his white shirt unbuttoned to reveal a slice of taut chest, his hair a perfect mess that begged to be grabbed. His eyes locked on yours, and that smirk—bold, filthy, and dripping with intent—spread slow and deliberate, like he knew exactly how much you’d suffered without him.

“Fuck me, princess,” he drawled, pushing off the wall and stalking toward you, his gaze raking over your dress, lingering on the way it hugged your thighs. “You wore that to torture me, didn’t you?” His voice was low, a growl that sent heat pooling between your legs.

“Where the fuck have you been?” you snapped, trying to sound sharp, but your voice shook, laced with the desperation you’d been drowning in. He saw it, his eyes darkening, that playful spark turning predatory.

“Missed me that bad, huh?” he said, stepping so close his cologne—cedarwood and whiskey—hit you like a drug. “Family business. But I’m here now, and you look like you’re about to beg.” His fingers grazed your wrist, and the touch was a spark to gasoline, your body igniting. “Tell me, Y/N, how many times did you touch yourself thinking about me?”

You flushed, but the vodka in your system made you bold. “Every fucking night,” you admitted, voice low, and his grin was pure sin, his eyes eating you alive.

“That’s my girl,” he growled, grabbing your hand and pulling you through the crowd, his grip possessive. “Dance with me. Let’s see how much you can take.”

The music was heavy, a pulsing bass that matched the throb in your core. He yanked you onto the dance floor, bodies pressed tight, his hands claiming your hips like they belonged there. He moved with a raw, filthy confidence, grinding against you, his thigh slipping between your legs, teasing the ache that was already unbearable. “You’ve been a mess without me, haven’t you?” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear, his breath hot and teasing. “Bet you were soaking just thinking about my hands.”

You shivered, clutching his shirt, the fabric bunching under your fingers. “Shut up,” you hissed, but it came out like a moan, and he chuckled, dark and dirty.

“Oh, I’m just getting started,” he said, spinning you so your back was against his chest, his hands sliding lower, gripping your ass through the thin fabric of your dress. His lips grazed your neck, teeth nipping just enough to make you gasp. “You’re gonna be screaming my name by the end of the night.”

Your body was a live wire, every touch sending shocks through you. He was relentless, his hands roaming, one slipping under your dress to tease the bare skin of your thigh, inching dangerously close to where you were already dripping. “Sunghoon,” you breathed, and he groaned, his hips pressing harder against you, letting you feel how much he wanted you.

“Fuck, say it again,” he demanded, turning you to face him, his hands cupping your face, his lips crashing into yours. The kiss was raw, messy, all tongue and teeth, a clash of need that left you dizzy. He tasted like beer and sin, and you were lost in it, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling hard enough to make him hiss. “You’re gonna ruin me,” he growled, biting your lower lip, his hands sliding to your thighs, lifting you until you were pressed against him, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

He didn’t wait, carrying you through the crowd, ignoring the stares, his lips never leaving your skin. He found a staircase, taking it two at a time, and kicked open a bedroom door, the music muffled but still vibrating through the walls. He threw you onto the bed, the mattress creaking under your weight, and stood over you, his eyes dark and ravenous, like he was starving and you were the meal.

“Fuck, look at you,” he said, his voice rough as he climbed onto the bed, caging you beneath him. His hands were everywhere, ripping your dress up to your waist, exposing you to his gaze. “Been Squares dressed like this, begging to be fucked.” He yanked his shirt off, revealing a chiseled chest that made your mouth water, and your hands reached for him, desperate to touch.

“You have no idea how bad I want you,” he growled, tearing your underwear off in one swift motion, his fingers finding you soaked and ready. He groaned, low and primal, his eyes flashing with hunger. “So fucking wet for me.” His fingers slid through your folds, teasing, and you arched, a desperate moan escaping your lips.

“Sunghoon, please,” you begged, your voice breaking, and he smirked, that fierce, filthy grin that made your core clench.

“Patience, princess,” he teased, but his fingers were already working you, sliding in deep, curling just right, making you writhe. “You’ve been dreaming about this, haven’t you? My fingers, my mouth, my cock?” His thumb circled your clit, and you cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Yes,” you gasped, and he leaned down, his lips sucking hard on your neck, marking you as his fingers pumped faster, relentless, driving you toward the edge. “Fuck, I need you.”

“You’ll have me,” he growled, pulling his fingers out, leaving you whimpering at the loss. He shoved his jeans down, freeing himself, and your eyes widened at the sight—hard, thick, and so ready for you. “But first, I’m gonna make you scream.”

He didn’t give you a chance to respond, spreading your thighs wide and diving between them, his mouth hot and merciless. His tongue flicked over your clit, fast and rough, and you screamed, your hips bucking against his face. He pinned you down, his hands like steel on your thighs, sucking and licking until you were shaking, your body shattering under his tongue.

“Sunghoon, fuck!” you cried, and he growled against you, the vibration pushing you over the edge again, your vision going white.

He didn’t stop, climbing back up your body, his lips slick with you, kissing you deep and filthy. “You taste like fucking heaven,” he said, lining himself up, his eyes locked on yours as he pushed in, slow and deliberate, stretching you until you gasped, the fullness overwhelming. “You’re mine now.”

He didn’t hold back, thrusting hard, his hips slamming into yours, the bed creaking under the force. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his hands gripping your hips, bruising, as he fucked you relentlessly, each thrust deeper, harder, hitting spots that made you see stars. You clawed at his back, your nails leaving marks, and he hissed, his eyes blazing with that fierce, possessive heat.

“Harder,” you begged, and his smirk was pure sin as he obeyed, flipping you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up, and slamming into you from behind. The angle was brutal, his cock hitting deeper, and you screamed into the pillow, your body shaking with another orgasm as he pounded into you, his groans growing louder, more desperate.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he growled, his hands gripping your ass, spreading you wider as he fucked you senseless, the room filled with the sound of skin slapping skin, your broken moans, his ragged breaths. “You’re gonna make me lose it.”

“Then lose it,” you gasped, pushing back against him, and he groaned, his thrusts growing erratic, his control slipping. He reached around, his fingers finding your clit again, rubbing hard, and you shattered, your body convulsing as he fucked you through it, his own release hitting with a guttural moan, his body shuddering against yours.

He collapsed beside you, both of you panting, slick with sweat. He pulled you close, his lips brushing your shoulder, his voice soft but still teasing, that bold, flirty edge never gone. “You’re fucking incredible,” he murmured, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin. “I’m never gonna get enough of this.”

You turned to face him, your body still trembling, and his eyes met yours, fierce and soft all at once, like he was claiming you in a way that went beyond the bed. “Good,” you whispered, your voice raw, “because I’m already addicted to you.”

He grinned, that reckless, untouchable grin, and kissed you slow and deep, like he was sealing a promise. “Get used to it, princess,” he said, his voice a low rumble, his lips brushing yours as he spoke.

"Well, let's go for round 2?" Sunghoon smirked.

He didn’t tease, plunging two fingers deep, curling them just right, making you cry out as your hips bucked against his hand.

“Sunghoon,” you moaned, your head falling back against the wall, his fingers pumping fast, relentless, his thumb circling your clit with brutal precision. Your legs shook, pleasure coiling tight in your core, and he leaned in, lips sucking hard on your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he marked you.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he said, voice low and dirty, his free hand grabbing your thigh, hitching it over his hip to spread you wider. His fingers fucked you harder, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room, and you were already close, your body trembling, chasing the edge. “Come for me, princess. Let me feel you.”

You shattered, a scream tearing from your throat as your orgasm hit, your walls clenching around his fingers, soaking his hand. He didn’t stop, working you through it, his lips on your ear, whispering, “That’s it, baby, give it to me.” Your nails raked his back, leaving red lines, and he hissed, his eyes flashing with hunger.

He pulled his fingers out, licking them clean with a groan that made your knees weak, his eyes locked on yours. “You taste like fucking heaven,” he said.

“Turn around,” he ordered, voice rough, and you obeyed, bracing your hands against the wall, your legs spread, ass out. He grabbed your hips, pulling you back, and you felt the blunt tip of him at your entrance, teasing just enough to make you whimper. “You want this, don’t you?” he growled, his hand sliding up your spine, gripping your hair and tugging your head back. “Say it.”

“Fuck me, Sunghoon,” you begged, your voice raw, desperate. “Please.”

He didn’t make you wait, slamming into you in one hard thrust, filling you so deep you screamed, the stretch almost too much but so fucking good. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he groaned, his hands bruising your hips as he set a punishing rhythm, each thrust slamming you against the wall, the sound of skin on skin loud and filthy. Your body jolted with every snap of his hips, pleasure spiking through you, your moans broken and breathless.

“Harder,” you gasped, pushing back against him, and he growled, yanking your hair tighter, his thrusts turning brutal, hitting that spot deep inside that made you see stars. His hand slid around, fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast and rough, and you were gone, another orgasm ripping through you, your walls pulsing around him as you screamed his name.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, his rhythm faltering, his grip tightening as he fucked you through your climax, chasing his own. He slammed in deep one last time, his body shuddering as he came, his groan low and primal, his lips pressed against your shoulder, teeth sinking in as he rode out the high.

He stayed there, panting, his body pressed against yours, both of you slick with sweat. His hands softened, sliding up your sides, turning you to face him. His kiss was slower now, still hungry but laced with something softer, his fingers brushing your cheek. “You’re fucking incredible,” he murmured, his voice rough but warm, his lips lingering on yours.

You smirked, still catching your breath, your body humming with the aftershocks. “You’re not so bad yourself, Professor.”

His grin was back, all trouble and fire. “Round three’s starting,” he said, scooping you up like you weighed nothing, carrying you toward the mattress with a look that promised you weren’t sleeping anytime soon.

Sunghoon’s lips lingered on yours, the kiss deep and consuming, his hands still gripping your hips like he couldn’t bear to let you go. His fingers still slick from the way he’d just unraveled you. The air was thick with the scent of him—cedarwood and whiskey—and the heat of your bodies, pressed so close you could feel every beat of his heart. His glasses were fogged, slipping down his nose, and you wanted to rip them off, to see the fire in his eyes without any barrier.

But his phone buzzed, sharp and insistent, cutting through the haze. He groaned, pulling back, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath. “Fucking hell,” he muttered, his voice rough but laced with that playful edge that made your core clench. He grabbed the phone, his thumb swiping the screen, and you braced for the tension. But instead, his lips curved into a small, almost fond smile as he read the message.

“What?” you asked, your voice still shaky from the orgasm he’d just pulled from you, your body aching for more even as you tried to ground yourself.

He glanced up, his eyes meeting yours, and that smirk was back, bold and teasing, but softer somehow, like he was letting you in on a secret. “It’s my dad,” he said, tossing the phone onto the bed side table with a careless flick. “Checking in. He’s been texting me all morning, worried I’m ‘overworking’ myself.” He chuckled, low and warm, shaking his head. “He’s too damn understanding for his own good.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, your father? The university owner?” The man who could have you expelled, who could fire Sunghoon for what you’d just done with him. Your stomach twisted, but Sunghoon’s laugh was easy, unbothered, like the risk was nothing.

“Yeah, that’s him,” he said, leaning closer, his hands settling on your thighs again, thumbs tracing lazy circles that sent sparks through you. “He’s not what you think, Y/N. He’s… soft. Always telling me to live a little, to stop hiding behind the ‘professor’ bullshit.” His voice dropped, his lips brushing your ear. “If he knew about you, he’d probably cheer me on. Tell me to go for it.” His teeth grazed your earlobe, and you shivered.

“Go for what?” you asked, your voice breathy, half-challenging, even as your body arched into him, craving more of his touch. “You’re my professor, Sunghoon. This is already a mess.”

He grinned, all teeth and trouble, his hands sliding higher, pushing your skirt back up, his fingers finding the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. “A mess I’m fucking addicted to,” he said, his voice a low growl as he kissed you again, hard and hungry, his tongue claiming you like he owned you. “You think I care about the rules? You’re mine, princess, and I’m not letting a title stop me.”

His words lit you up, your body responding before your mind could catch up. You yanked him closer, your lips crashing into his, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling hard enough to make him hiss. “Then prove it,” you whispered against his mouth, your voice a challenge, your nails scraping his scalp. “Show me how much you want me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. His hands were on you, rough and desperate. His mouth was on your neck, sucking hard, leaving marks you’d have to cover later, but you didn’t care. You wanted him to mark you, to claim you in a way that felt permanent. Your legs spreading as he stepped between them, his body hard and unyielding against yours.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” he groaned, his hands cupping your breasts, thumbs teasing your nipples through the thin lace of your bra. He yanked the fabric down, his lips closing over one peak, sucking hard, his tongue flicking until you moaned, your back arching off the bed.

You screamed, the sound muffled against his shoulder as your orgasm hit, your walls clenching around his fingers, your body shaking. He didn’t stop, working you through it, his lips on your neck, whispering filthy praise that made your head spin. “That’s it, baby, give it to me. So fucking good.”

“Fuck me again, Sunghoon,” you said, your voice raw, your hands pulling him closer, and he groaned, slamming into you in one hard thrust, filling you so deep you gasped, the stretch burning but so fucking good. He didn’t hold back, his hips snapping with a brutal rhythm, the bed creaking under the force.

“Goddamn, you feel like heaven,” he growled, his hands bruising your hips, his lips crashing into yours, swallowing your moans as he fucked you senseless. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, your nails raking his back through his shirt, marking him as yours. The pleasure was blinding, each thrust hitting that spot that made you see stars, your body already climbing toward another release.

“Harder,” you begged, and he delivered, flipping you over so your stomach was pressed against the bed.

“Come for me again,” he demanded, his voice a growl, and you did, your body convulsing, your scream muffled against the desk as he fucked you through it, his thrusts growing erratic, his groans louder, more desperate. He came with a guttural moan, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep, his grip tightening as he rode out his release.

You collapsed against the bed again with him on your side,

You smirked, still catching your breath, your body humming with aftershocks. “God,” you said, your voice teasing but raw. "I’m not done with you.”

He chuckled, but his phone buzzed again, and this time he answered it, his voice shifting to something lighter, almost playful. “Yeah, Dad, I’m fine,” he said, his hand still resting on your hip, his thumb tracing lazy circles. “Just… caught up with a student. Extra credit stuff.” His eyes flicked to you, his grin wicked, and you rolled your eyes, swatting his chest.

When he hung up, he pulled you close, his lips brushing your forehead, a gesture that felt too intimate, too real. “He wants to meet you,” he said, his voice soft but serious. “Says he’s curious about the student who’s got me ‘distracted.’ His words, not mine.”

Your heart skipped, the idea of meeting the university owner—Sunghoon’s father—making your stomach twist. “What? Why?” you asked, pulling back to look at him, your voice a mix of nerves and defiance. “He’s not going to care, is he? You said he’s understanding.”

Sunghoon’s grin widened, his hands sliding to your waist, pulling you closer. “Oh, he’ll love you,” he said, his voice teasing but warm, his lips brushing your ear. “He’s a romantic. Probably already planning our wedding.” He laughed, but there was a flicker of something serious in his eyes, like the idea didn’t scare him as much as it should. “He just wants to know who’s got his son breaking all his own rules.”

You swallowed, the weight of it sinking in. This wasn’t just a fling—it was a scandal waiting to happen, a professor and his student, a line crossed that could cost you everything. But Sunghoon’s father being supportive changed the game, made it feel less like a secret and more like… something real. “And what do I say?” you asked, your voice softer now, your hands still on his chest, feeling the heat of him through his shirt.

“Tell him you’re the one who’s got me losing my mind,” he murmured, kissing you again, slow and deep, his hands sliding under your blouse, fingers grazing your bare skin. “Tell him you’re worth every fucking risk.” His lips moved to your neck, sucking gently, and you melted into him, your body already craving more, even as your mind raced with the implications. "Tell him that you're the one who got Sunghoon drunk on you."

@heesvnqie | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

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[l0vergirlwrites]

hidden talents ; spencer reid

synopsis: during a cozy night in with spencer, you both reveal your hidden talents to one another.

warnings: established relationship with fem!reader, silly hidden talents, so much fluff i could die, kissing & sweet touches, season 6 spencer in mind lowkey

note: i wrote this while listening to ‘north’ by clairo!

another note: i promise i’m working on the requests in my asks box! just taking longer than normal (reminder that requests are open!)

it had been a particularly cold day for the east coast, the arctic mass of freezing air drifted all the way into the apartment in dc where spencer & you reside, freshly showered under warm streams of water, dressed in pyjamas under a few extra blankets for good measure.

nights like this were rare—uninterrupted moments shared with just him & you, his left hand caressing one of your thighs under the blankets while his right one held a special cover version of steinbeck’s east of eden in his lap.

you were busy drawing patterns into the fuzz of the top blanket, right cheek pressed into spencer’s left arm as you drew leaves, flowers, & swirly symbols, watching the blanket leave shiny remnants of your artwork. a tv show you had started binging played softly on the medium sized tv spencer mounted on the wall last month, but you were growing bored.

“do you have any hidden talents?” you randomly asked once you lowered the tv’s volume more, placing the remote back on the nightstand before turning to spencer.

he gave you a quirked brow under his glasses, sliding his bookmark to where he left off before shutting the hardcover. “i don’t know. does having three phd’s & an affinity for magic tricks count?”

with a shake of your head & a chuckle, your right hand propped your head up on the pillows, free hand rubbing spencer’s bicep in a cruelly sweet way.

“people—including me—already know those things, silly” you pointed out, gasping when he squeezed your thigh in a funny spot. it didn’t hurt, just made you smile wider.

“c’mon, there has to be something you’ve kept hidden under your sleeve” you pleaded, tummy turning when spencer looked at you with those puppy dog eyes of his.

you were swooning hard.

but he’d argue that he was swooning harder.

“let me think…” he pouted his lips in thought, genuinely wracking his brain for something to appease you.

“i can talk with my mouth closed” he blurted, turning back to you & seeing your intrigued gaze.

“like jessie j?”.

“yes, like jessie j”.

“show me!” you demanded with excitement, sitting up a little straighter for the big reveal.

closing his mouth, you watched spencer say a few sentences with his mouth completely closed, his lips shut tight like they were glued together. the face he was making was silly & cute, & you were genuinely shocked at how clear you could hear him talking.

clapping lightly with delight, you scooted closer to him (as if you weren’t already tucked into his side like a magnet), cheering him on for his cool talent.

“how have you kept this hidden from me for five years? five whole years?!” you teased, seeing the effect you had on him live when his neck & cheeks grew pink & hot.

ducking his head, spencer shrugged. “it never came up”.

“you’re forgiven” you kissed spencer’s cheek, kissing it again when he leaned closer for another. you’d give him all the kisses in the world anyways.

“so, what about you? what’s your hidden talent?” he squeezed your thigh again, ready for you to reciprocate with something exciting.

“i can make a trumpet sound with my mouth”.

“really?”.

“you don’t believe me?” you faked surprised hurt.

“i’ll believe it when i see it, sweetheart” it was his turn to tease you now, chest tightening when you scrunched your nose a little with a smile.

that action always made him swoon somehow.

“okay, okay,” you rubbed his bicep again, preparing yourself. “but don’t look at me at first, or else i’ll start laughing & ruin it. please”.

at least you were polite.

with eyes closed, spencer patiently waited, & when he heard the trumpet like sound come from your lips, his eyes automatically opened in intrigue. because how did it sound at least sixty-percent like the real thing?

you proudly trumpeted the tune of ella fitzgerald’s song ‘at last’, some notes were off key but the heart was there. & spencer was amazed.

“that sure beats my talent by a long shot” he clapped too, laughing when you cupped your hurting cheeks. smiling too much hurt in the best way.

“you should do that at parties sometime” he teased lovingly, pulling you to his chest so he could feel your laugh vibrate through his skin.

lifting your head back up after a moment, feeling his hand drift through your hair, you played squinted. “you think you’re so funny, spence…”.

the look in his eyes was all gentle, the lamp light beside him casting a little honey glow to them. “you’ve always said you loved my jokes”.

you sighed, letting your face fall back to the cotton pyjama shirt he wore, unable to hide the fuzziness growing inside you. “i do”.

his looks were killer, sending your body into a frenzy of love & jittery emotions—the good type of jittery.

“are you too tired to read me some steinbeck?” you asked after a moment of content silence, his hands musing your hair while one of yours drew patterns onto the crook of his neck.

“never” he replied happily, letting yourself get comfortable on his chest before reaching for the book on the nightstand.

“wait”.

before spencer could grab it, your lips meshed with his, eyes shutting immediately as his hands cupped your cheeks, falling down the hedge maze of your touch before pulling away, his lips pressing two kisses on each cheek good measure.

“i’m never gonna get tired of that” you murmured as you got comfortable again, lips tingling from mingling with his. you’ve kissed spencer millions of times by now, but every kiss feels like the first—addictively sweet.

spencer clearly felt the same, because he couldn’t help but peck a few kisses to your forehead before opening the book to pick up where he left off.

his murmur of “me either” confirmed it too.

[thebluester2020]

ok but reading your latest sdv headcanons has given me an idea. You wrote Sam being horns for farmer in a sundress and it's has unlocked in me the feminine urge to be railed in a sundress. I'd love to see your take on it with the sdv bachelors.

SDV Bachelors x Fucking Farmer In A Sundress Summary: Bachelors to you looking too pretty in a sundress. [Includes; Elliot, Sebastion and Lance (From SDV Expanded)] Warning(s): No established relationships (I'm in a mood for FWB relationships + unrequited love what can I say?), Elliot low-key sluts out the reader, Elliot and the reader are kinda tipsy in his part but the sex is consensual dw, Sebastion is kinda a needy hopeless romantic and jerks off to the thought of the farmer, Alex and the farmer have sex outdoors like true outdoorsy people do 💪. Side notes: I only included three bachelors because- lol I gotta put all my focus on this other SDV fic. It's a bit longer so I need more time on that.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Elliot

The man nearly keels over when he sees you in a sundress. It was when you first introduced yourself to him actually! After that though? He was hooked on you like a drug.

Not necessarily in a perv way but more so in an "I definitely have a crush on them" type of way.

But he more or less keeps it in his pants until he spots you again but this time? It was at the Stardrop Saloon and both you and him were tipsy after sharing a beer.

Tensions were flying and after you placed a hand on his thigh? Y'all were fucking in one of the more secluded rooms in the saloon because y'all didn't have a chance in hell of making it home.

♡ - "Oh Yoba...Fuck—" A choked up uncharacteristically needy whine escaped the lips of the writer as he fucked you on the wooden floors of the Stardrop Saloon.

Despite the tipsy haze his vision had however, no amount of beer could dampen your beauty and the fact that you were the most captivating person in this entire tavern. From the first day he met you to now, those were his thoughts but tonight? Oh, they increased tenfold when you waltzed through the doors, unaware of how you stole his very breath with your outfit.

A simple brown sundress that was mid-thigh length and only had thin spaghetti straps to keep your outfit up upon your shoulders. The deep v-neck of your dress barely leaving your dress to the imagination as small beads of sweet dripped down your skin and between the valley of your chest. Combined with the scent of your perfume, how you looked at him when you sat beside him and the light application of your make-up.

All of it served to make him absolutely dizzy.

To the point where the quickly growing tension between the two of you, fueled by your brief touches and your conversations growing more and more naughty.

There was no way that the two of you could wait to get home to either of your houses.

No, it needed to be handled now.

"Y-You must've wanted this to happen, my dear...didn't you?" He moaned in your ear as his chest was pressed against your back. His thrusts sloppy and rough as he hugged you so tightly you had a mind to think he was trying to bury himself into your skin. "Yoba your sooooooo pretty." He continued to pant into your ear like a dog in heat.

You responded with a breathy moan, your head turning briefly to slot your lips against Elliot's. Quickly, Elliot lightly bit at your lower lip, prompting a gasp from you that allowed his tongue to slip in. His tongue tasting every area inside your mouth before you two parted with a single string of spit still connecting the two of you.

When Elliot's eyes refocused on yours, however, his moans began to increase in volume as his thrusts started to pick up pace in lieu of his impending orgasm. He swore he was falling deeper and deeper into the pit of his crush that he had on you, to the point where he dared to say that he was falling in love with you.

"Y/N...Oh fuck..." Elliot continued to moan your name as he grew closer to his orgasm, his moans getting higher and higher as he struggled to hold onto his sense of self and not spill out the fact he had a bigger crush on you than this moment could portray.

But, you beat him to it. "Elliot...I-I love you, s-so m-much." You said.

Another choked-up grunt spilled from Eliot's lips at the confession before you felt your insides being flooded with a searing heat, his own orgasm pushing you over the edge as you shuddered at the force of your climax. Your vision temporarily went black before you slowly returned back to Earth. Your skin was sticky with sweat whilst your slick drenched the back of your thighs and Elliot's cock.

"So..." Elliot spoke, breaking the post-climax silence. "You love me, hm?"

Sebastion

I'm going to spoil myself a little and imagine he saw you in a sundress once and practically never again.

However, that didn't mean he didn't stop thinking about it.

After seeing you, he developed a crush on you that he was too shy to really do anything about (completely ignoring the way you visited his room constantly to deliver frozen tears to him).

So to satiate his lust for you?

Masturbate ofc, with you being front and center in his mind.

♡ - He's tried so hard to avoid doing this.

But, he feels like a little self-credit is due here. It wasn't like he wanted to be in this position right now! Where he was left alone in the middle of the day due to his family apparently wanting to go to a town event that didn't interest him in the slightest. And although he was currently lying in bed, trying to doze off, his mind wouldn't leave a particular thought of you.

It was around the time when you came to visit his mother for some supplies he believes. The smell of perfume that smelled like lavender and cherries brought him out of his room he admits, Sebastion never smelled anything like it and it was as intoxicating as wine...and like a dog expecting a treat, he followed it out of his room and up the short case of stairs before he peeked around the corner and saw you.

A simple black sundress with a skull plastered on the front where the top of your breasts threatened to spill out.

Suddenly, his mouth was dry and his cock was hard.

Now he was here, in his bed, and hornier than he'd ever been before, and you were the cause. But Sebastion couldn't bring himself to feel too bad afterward when he began to palm himself over his pants, sucking in a sharp breath in-between his teeth as the image of your started to appear in his mind like someone had cast a spell on him.

It was as if you were really there. The smell of your perfume from that day, the sundress, your soft skin and kind smile...everything. And when the vision of you started to trail kisses down his neck and down his front...lifting up the front of his hoodie and everything until you finally reached the place he wanted you to touch most when you wrapped your pretty pink-tinted lips around his leaky cock.

He could've sworn you were really there.

Looking up at him through your long lashes as if he were the most important person in the world, the only one in the world deserving of your time and attention. No matter how unrealistic it may have been, a shut-in like himself? Dating the prettiest person in the valley?

A laugh almost slipped from behind his hand as he covered his lips, his free hand desperately tugging at his dick to the vision of you. Soft pants escaped his lips as he honed in on the image of your head bobbing up and down on his cock, lewd sucking and slurping leaving your lips.

He was so close...sososososo close...until you stopped.

You moved to sit up, winking his way before you lifted up your dress a little and moved to straddle him, pulling your panties to the side before you slipped down onto him.

He nearly came in his pants at the thought of how your wet walls would feel around him. How soft and warm they would be as they hugged his dick so tightly that he feared the air inside his lungs would all but be choked out, his moans increasing in volume and growing increasingly needier and needier as he imagined your soft touches. Your nails raking down his sides and leaving delectable goosebumps in their wake as you moved your hips up and down.

"Y/N...Oh fuck...! Y-Y/N..." Sebastion moaned as you began to quicken your pace, the sound of his name from your lips getting him off more than he was prepared to admit to himself before...there was suddenly a knock at his door. The way the vision in his head slipped away so fast, it nearly made him want to cuss out the person who dared to knock as well as cry at the same time.

Until he heard a familiar "Sebastion? Are you awake? I have a gift for you!" Immediately, his cock twitched at your voice, his brain's imaginations started to conjure back up again as the slightest feeling of...hope, perhaps started to dot his mind.

It seemed he had a bigger crush on you than he thought.

And he prayed that one day, his imagination would come true that you liked him just as much.

Alex

He's bold when he sees you in a sundress. He first sees you in one when he's visiting your farm (Evelyn wanted him to deliver some home-baked cookies to the farmer, how sweet of her)

So check this out, you're doing your farming work and you drop something.

You thinking that no one's around, you get on your hands and knees to fully pick the item up and this steals Alex's breath to the max because he gets a perfect view of your underwear.

A lacy blue thong that, in his mind, couldn't even be considered underwear!

Right then and there, he wants to fuck you.

Luckily, you've been wanting to fuck him as well!

♡ - An unabashed moan left your lips as your hands slightly slipped on the dirt beneath you, the sounds of grunting and slapping from behind you nearly drowning out the sounds of the cicadas from the summer heat.

You'd been attracted to Alex for a while, a simple and sweet-hearted crush that stemmed from the fact that he more or less made his attraction clear to you.

From the way he'd call out your name and invite you to hang out with him, to how he'd initiate close contact with you whenever the both of you were around each other to even now! Even as he pistoned into your needy pussy, your slick dripping down onto the dirt below as he pressed his hand down into the dip in your back to force you into an arch, your heart still got a fuzzy feeling out of your crush for him!

Though...you suspected that, at this moment, calling your attraction a mere "crush" wasn't exactly correct.

"F-Fuck—" Your breath caught in your throat when Alex leaned some of his weight down onto your back, his fingers moving to circle and pinch at your clit.

"Ssshhiiittt." He moaned hotly into your ear, a cocky chuckle following suit choked up aht-aht-ahts left your lips as he sped up his thrusts, a boiling coil beginning to form in the pit of his stomach. "You must've really wanted this to happen, huh farmer? Do you even hear yourself?" Alex said, your cheeks burning even more as Alex suddenly slowed his thrusts to grind his hips into you, the sound of your sticky slick sticking to the front of Alex's thighs making you both want to burst into flames out of sheer embarrassment as well as dig a hole to hide away in.

Of course, however, your newfound lover wasn't going to allow that to happen. Not after he'd been waiting for an opportunity like this to happen since the moment the two of you had met! The sound of your moans slipping from your pretty lips, wet and glistening from your heavy make-out session minutes earlier, the way your breasts bounced underneath you, flushed as pink as your face whilst your hard nipples were practically begging to be played with!

The sheer orgasmic rush that Alex felt...figuring out that the pretty farmer was a whore just waiting to be broken in by the right man. His cock twitched inside of your cunt at the mere thought, his thrusts resuming their original speed as more thoughts of you flashed through his mind.

Maybe a different position, on the bed perhaps? Your fingers dipping into your pussy as you moaned out his name and begged for him to take you against the wall?

Or even him fucking you on a table? In his room?

"A-Alex...~!" You cried out as your pussy began to twitch, a familiar burn beginning to tighten within the pit of your stomach.

"Dirty farmer, don't you dare cum without me." Alex hissed into your ear, a moan escaping his lips afterward. "Y-You need to have some energy to go a few more rounds...I-I'm breaking this pussy in."

At the thought and the act of Alex dragging your further on his cock, his cock pressed up against a spot deep inside of you that made stars appear in your vision. Your body convulsed from the sheer force of your orgasm as your thighs twitched whilst the energy drained from your arms. You would've plopped onto the ground had Alex not held up for your torso, his heavy panting and the warm full feeling inside of you a sign of his orgasm.

"You came a little earlier than me..." He clicked his tongue in false annoyance.

"Guess we have to go again, huh? Let's hope no one comes along farmer girl~"

[lostintransist]

Would love a continuation to your gym antics with maybe possibly Simon meeting Reader and seeing her deliver 23 psychic damage to every creep in the gym.

Then MAYBE they all realize that they’ve all been interested in (respectfully obsessed with) the same person (reader). They witness The Ultimate Douchebag Takedown and watch her do reps with said douchebag’s max weight with so much spark in her eyes. Then they see her be super sweet with a younger beginner or the gym’s dog that roams the shop or some shit

So sometimes stories get away from me and I couldn't figure out why they would all be at a public gym at the same time. My brain kept going, but if they are all together why wouldn't they be on base?? Anyway, my incessant need to answer the unspoken why has led us here. Enjoy! ☺️

If the damn desk jockeys would get off their asses and finish dealing with the fucking problem they would be able to go home. Two weeks in this hotel because the paper pushers wouldn’t approve something more than an economy room in a relatively cheap option. The core of Task Force 141, Price, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap were nearing blows.

Two queen beds made it hard for any of them to get enough space to stretch out. Everyone took turns rotating who shared with Soap. The man rolled. He didn’t just roll, he would cuddle and then end up sideways in the bed over whoever happened to be sharing with him. Made sleeping rough.

The piss-poor gym/pool set up on the first floor became an outlet for every man. They went in shifts. It wasn’t discussed so much as whoever was the closest to sending a brother through the wall between the bedrooms and the bathroom would nip out to run down their anger on the treadmill or splash laps in the pool.

Now due to the lack of overlapping none of the men knew they had their eye on the same bird. It wouldn’t have helped if they had known.

Price and Ghost ran into you more than once in the hot tub. They would slip into the chilly water and push until their muscles burned and then join you who read or watched something on your phone. Gaz and Soap found you on the treadmill singing quietly as you walked at a speedy clip. Every time the door opened to the gym you stopped singing.

Gaz spoke to you first.

“You can keep singing, don’t mind me. Feel free to turn up the volume on the music too.”

Instead of complying you laugh. Kyle stands near the door, arms folded as he squinted at all the equipment.

“Na, I get a bit shy. Thanks, though.” You offer a smile that is reflected in your eyes. “You here long?”

Gaz laughed through his nose, “Who knows? Trying to get home but the paperwork people at the job are apparently not in the same kind of rush.”

“You too? Damn. What is with them? Do they think I like sleeping on the cardboard they call a mattress?” The animation in your face pulls Gaz in. Bright expressions that show not an iota of mistrust or hiding something.

“They must not travel much for work or they would get us home faster huh?” He crosses the room and points to the treadmill next to you, “Mind if I join you?”

“Go right ahead,” you gesture at the machine. “Conversation would be a nice change.”

The two of you laughed through the last twenty or so minutes of your workout.

Price met you next.

He was one more stupid pun away from unloading his service weapon into his men. He had slammed into the muggy air of the pool room. Without even a glance around he stripped down to his speedo and stomped down the steps into the water. Fucking hotel pools were never deep enough for diving. Five laps and his shoulders burned enough to slow down. Pushing back against gravity he stood. Running a hand over his hair, face, and head, to clear some of the water he looked around for the first time.

There you were, eyes carving lines long his muscles from the hot tub.

“Need something, sweetheart?”

The time it takes you to drag your gaze from the water lapping at his stomach to his eyes sends chills down his spine.

“Na, just enjoying the view. Not often I get a strip tease by accident.”

Price couldn’t help but laugh. He had to have several years on you but the way you look at him has him wishing he were here alone.

“Sometimes a man forgets he might not be the only person in the pool.”

Snorting, you step back and sink lower into the bubbling water.

The bubbles dissipate as you become a floating head.

“Shit,” straightening you look to the wall where the timer is.

“If you don’t mind company I can fix that on my way over?” Price offers, lifting a brow and his cheeks in a smile.

“I would love some company, in fact,” you give him a sultry smile.

Since your face firmly tracks his motion up and out of the pool and to the timer by the time he steps into the heated water his cheeks are as red as his speedo. He is pruned when he finally leaves. You left twenty minutes before he could stand straight without the pressure of his speedo cutting the blood supply off to his everything.

Soap is neck deep in a maladaptive daydream about having a wife and three bairns screeching across the heath as the wind plucks at them when you enter the gym. He moved at a light jog. Feet falling lightly on the belt he isn’t breathing hard.

A clang and ringing of metal is enough to pull Soap back to his body. Glancing over he sees you wincing and pressing your massive water bottle to your chest to stop the metal from singing.

“All good over there?” He lifts both brows as his head tilts slightly.

Your tongue makes an appearance under your top lip as you push a lung full of air from your nose.

“Ever just have one of those days where the seconds take too long to pass?” You looked at him so earnestly that Soap reached out and slowed down to a walking pace.

“Too many damn times. Would a chat help reset the clock watching?”

The fight to keep from your face crumpling had Soap pulling out his threadbare handkerchief and passing it over.

“Time does tricky things to me too,” Soap offered softly.

You pressed the fabric to your nose and coughed to clear your throat and eyes.

“Thanks.” Sniffing you take a shaky breath, “Watching anything interesting lately?”

“Can’t sit still long enough for TV but been seeing the wildest one-person skits on my socials. Favorites have to be a girl’s group chat gone wild and an enemies-to-lovers story with family drama and an ex who won’t get out of the way.”

You light up, hand flying away from your face as you lean toward him.

“Oh my god! Do you think she is the other woman and that’s why she didn’t tell anyone what the hell was going on?”

The time is spent passing back and forth thoughts on stories more interesting than what writers’ rooms had put out in decades.

Ghost meets you last. Well. Yes, he was last but he didn’t really meet you so much as wake trying to avoid being smothered to death.

Falling asleep in the hot tub is not recommended. Even if he could keep his nose above water while sitting at the bottom of the small pool, he shouldn’t fall asleep. He had been the one to share a bed with Soap last night. Instead of swaddling the man like a newborn Ghost had given up on sleeping through the night. Haunted him now.

Eyes snapping open he glares up at you. His head is pinned between your hand and the floor. A quick external assessment tells him that his mask is still on, and the bubbles have stopped. He must have passed out hard.

“Hi,” you study both his eyes before blinking and taking in him. “Since you woke and have normal pupil reactions, I am going to assume you don’t need any naloxone?”

“No.”

“Okay.” The odd look you give him is overshadowed by your fingers sliding off his skin. Damn. Why did that feel so good? “Can you move your long ass legs then so I can enjoy some time in the water?”

Snapping into a sitting position Ghost curses the fact his ears are out. He gets pink in the tips of his ears when embarrassed.

“Sorry.” Ghost ran a hand through his short hair, surprised by the wetness there, “Didn’t sleep much last night.”

A jet caught him in the back. With a grunt he shifted. The pressure from the blasting water left his skin itching. The bubbles were nice though. Stretching his arms along the curve of the tiles he notices your eyes follow his wingspan.

“Do they even make beds big enough for you here?” You question as you step in with a hiss and hand clutching the balance bar.

He doesn’t know why he replies. He isn’t normally this chatty. The lack of sleep must be stealing away his senses and filling him up with a bevy of words.

“I’m not that big.”

You sit across from him. He can feel the drift of your legs in the water above his where they stretch along the bottom.

The glance you send him lands somewhere particular, even with the barrier of the moving water. A slow bob of your head and the lift of your brows accompany your disbelieving tone.

“Must have been the water distortion.”

“Lots of things about me are distorted,” Ghost mutters.

The sputtering laugh you let out has you covering it up with a cough.

“That was terrible. Are all of your jokes that bad?”

“Worse.”

“Ooh, honesty. Well then, let’s hear them?”

Ghost narrows his eyes at you as he tells you the tank joke.

“I see your tank joke and raise you one of my own; two soldiers are in a tank; one looks at the other and says blub.” The waggling of your brows is what tipped him over the edge into snorting.

Back and forth it went until you rub your fingertips together and proclaim yourself cooked. With a smile and a nod you disappear. Ghost spends far too long staring at the ceiling thinking about your hands on him.

They run into you day after day after day. Sometimes in the coffee shop within walking distance or a cafe. But they always run into you alone and never mention you to the others. When orders finally arrive that they can return home each man searched the building over twice looking for you. No luck.

Check-out runs smoothly, leaving them loitering with their gunny sacks in a pile by the complimentary couches and chairs in the lobby. Was there an actual purpose for these couches other than decoration? No one ever seemed to use them. This was the discussion happening between the men that seemed to conveniently forget that their asses sat on the decorations.

Ghost’s eyes widening have everyone looking.

There you are. Backpack over on shoulder and a small suitcase wheeling

Not one of them is confident enough to approach you with the others watching. That leaves all of them waiting and hoping you stop and say hello and here is my number before goodbye.

“Thanks! I had a good stay,” your voice carries over your shoulder to them. Each man tightens up like they were about to breach a building.

Turning a saccharine smile settles on your face as your eyes connect to each man in turn. Striding up to the chair placed neatly between the two couches they sat on you settle both hands on the back, the luggage near your leg.

“Gentlemen, thank you for making the say endurable. I will be sending your warmest regards to Colonel König when I get back to base.” Lifting your hand to your forehead you flick them a bastardized salute and stride out the front door.

The only sound following your pronouncement is the ringing of the phone behind the front desk.

“Did we get fucking honey potted?” Gaz looks at Price, aghast.

“It’s only honey potting if you spill state secrets,” Soap chimes in as he pops his neck slowly.

“Says the man who has been honey-potted before,” Ghost snarked, fingers digging into the weave of his jeans.

“It wasn’t Soap,” Price mutters as his fingers begin to work his mustache, “That John wasn’t SAS.”

“Wait,” Soap looks at each of them with a sharp gaze. “She got all of us? How the hell did she manage that?”

“Looks like KorTac has gotten a better hiring manager,” Price slaps his hands to his thighs, standing. “We will not be discussing this again.”

A chorus of ‘agreed’ and they consider the matter closed.

And other than the time they run into you in the field, that is.

SoapGaz | John Price | Simon | Phillip Graves | Ghost | SoapGaz/Reader NSFW | Phillip Graves NSFW | AO3

Masterlist

[omi-boshi]

"Hey, Kiyoomi-kun!" Shion yells from the open door leading to the locker rooms, voice a little breathless. "Your phone rang." Kiyoomi quirks an eyebrow in curiosity. There's still 15 minutes left of their break and truthfully, Kiyoomi is not inclined to leave the comfortable position he's resting in: sat on the floor, legs stretched out in front of him as he caught his breath. Still, he rises to his feet and ambles towards the locker room. Kiyoomi typically has his phone on Do Not Disturb. If anyone's messaging him at this time, it could only be one person: you. He thumbs his phone open; the screen flashes with a photo of you and him from your most recent anniversary, before he clicks on the message that, just as he guessed, came from you.

It's a video.

For a moment, he considers saving it for later just in case it ends up being racier than what's acceptable to play in public but the motion blur from the thumbnail suggests anything but that. Besides, it's barely past 5PM, you're only on the way home at this time.

Ultimately, curiosity gets the better of him and he plays the video without further ado.

"Hey, babe!" Your voice crackles through the speaker. In the video, you're running. The backdrop is the familiar landscape of the neighborhood you both reside in.

"This is proof that I would never try to bring home a stray dog." You look off to the side, the camera tilting with the motion and showing the dog that's running alongside you. "See, Kiyoomi!" You look towards your phone. Despite doing your utmost at feigning disappointment and concern at being followed, your giddiness bleeds through your voice and it's enough to pull a smile out of Kiyoomi.

"See! I'm running! I'm running away from you!" Your voice lowers in volume as you direct your words to the dog. It's immediately followed by, "Come on, buddy! Come on— Go away!" You say the last part to the camera. Eyes wide, as if you were looking directly at Kiyoomi and convincing him in person.

Kiyoomi falters at the way you try your damndest to tamp down your grin, the faux disappointment coming back as you address him through the video. His grin widens.

"What are you doing? Go away!" You turn to the dog. "I said run— run away—come on, come on—Run, buddy—Run away!"

As you grow increasingly breathless, Kiyoomi's amusement crests, sending him into fits of laughter that catch the attention of everyone within the vicinity. His laughter continues as he watches you run with this dog, at one point, even waving it over when it strays too far.

By the time the video abruptly cuts off, the fatigue Kiyoomi felt from practice is replaced by this warmth in his chest brought about by your valiant attempt at not leading a stray dog into your home. When his laughter subsides, Shoyo bounds over towards him, curious at what has the reclusive spiker so amused. "You seem happy, Omi-san. Something good happen?" Kiyoomi spares him a glance, laughter dying down, and a soft quirk to his lips that Shoyo has learned can only be pulled out of him by you. "Yeah... I think we're getting a dog."

(based on this silly little video)

[storieswithvenus]

Feeling Forgotten - Tyler Owens x Fem!Storm Chaser Reader

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘴

hey! this is the longest ever fic i have ever wrote so i hope it’s good lmao. if you have any suggestions on how to make it better please do comment or send me a message. this one will contain some nsfw content so

TWs: allusions to cheating, flashbacks to sex, use of Y/N, somewhat of an insecure reader but not massively i think, angst, cocky reader at some points

please comment if i have missed any warnings, anyways enjoy!! ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

word count; 1843

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

You watch as your boyfriend Tyler, walks over towards the young blonde woman who had suddenly turned up with Javi, another storm chaser from another group. You couldn’t help but glare over at the sight of your boyfriend smiling down at her, your fists clenching as you watched her smile up at him.

“You’re gonna break your knuckles if you keep clenching them that tight, love”, a voice from beside you speaks, looking to your left to see your best friend Lilly smiling at you sympathetically. “I just don’t understand why he was so drawn to her when we first pulled in, Lills, I really don’t get it,” your tone soft, a frown forming on your face as your shoulders slump down with a mix of confusion and insecurity.

“Do not be getting soft on me now girl, you are THE tornado wrangler's girlfriend, and from what he has told us all, his future wife! So why are you doubting that? Has he given you something to ever question his love for you?” Her voice was sharp, full of questions as she tried to pry the answers out of you, not because she was mad at you, but because she knew how much you truly love him and how much you want a life with him. Lilly had been the one to begrudgingly listen to all the plans you have for yourself and Tyler in the next 5 years.

Firstly; get engaged, then have a small ceremony in your shared hometown, buy a house then have kids.

You feel yourself smile slightly at her constant questions, turning your head back to look at the sight of your boyfriend patting this woman’s shoulder as he made his way over to you. “Can I share a room with you tonight, Lills?”, you ask her with puppy dog eyes. “Y/n, of course you ca-“, she didn’t have time to finish the rest of her sentence before you walked away from her and your boyfriend who was quickly closing in on you two with a bright smile on his face. Tyler catches up to the spot you just stood on, watching as your silhouette walks away to the back of the jeep.

“Is she okay? She hasn’t come to speak to me since we got here.” Tyler looks over towards Lilly, a slight frown on his face, before quickly watching as you grab your duffle bag out of the trunk of the car and set it on the floor. Lilly (again) didn’t have time to finish her sentence before your boyfriend was quickly over beside you, reaching down to grab your bag as he slings it over his shoulder.

You roll your eyes slightly as you roughly close the trunk of the red jeep before turning to him and grabbing the bag off his shoulder. Tyler is quick to stop you by grabbing onto the bag and pulling it back onto his shoulder once more, “Baby, what’s going on? You always let me carry your bags to the motel room? Have I done something?” His voice is slightly shaken and soft, trying to keep the volume as low as possible so that nobody can hear your conversation. You roughly grab the bag off his shoulder and hoist it onto your shoulder, “Why don’t you go see what that new girl wants, huh? Might need a strong man to bring her bag to her room.” Shoving past him, and walking toward Lilly who was waiting for you with her key, leaving your boyfriend behind you, confused as ever.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

“You are taking the fucking piss right, Boone?” your blood boiling as you find out that your boyfriend had driven hours away to see this new girl Kate who had apparently left in a hurry after an argument with Javi. Standing up from the edge of your bed you run your hands through your hair. “Y/n, listen he wanted me to tell you-“ he began. “Tell me what? He ran off to see this fucking girl he’s know, what? 3 days? Oh yeah, thanks for the heads up, really appreciate it.” Your eyes glared into him, letting out a groan as he sat there silently looking around at your other friends in the room. You walk into the bathroom and slam the door behind you, due to it being an older motel you were staying at - the slam of the door nearly took it off the hinges.

Turning on the cold tap and splashing your face with the water as you try and calm yourself. Splashing your face a few times before looking up to see yourself in the mirror. Quite frankly, you didn’t look your best. You had been so tired the last few nights due to the early starts with tornados touching down at 5am. Your eyes had black bags under them, your lips were severely chapped, and your hair had at least 3 days of grease still in it. Taking a deep sigh, you reach to the bottom of your shirt, taking it off, and throwing it on the floor. Unclasping your bra, undoing the zip on your jeans pulling down your underwear, and throwing it all onto your shirt, leaving a pile on the corner of the bathroom. Turning around to the shower, reaching over the side of the tub, and turning it on. Grabbing all the essentials you need from your wash bag you had left in the bathroom next to Lillys’.

The water was a nice heat when you got inside the tub, pulling the heist curtain to cover yourself in case someone was to walk in and see you. Putting your head under the shower head and letting the water drench your hair, moving it around slightly to make sure every area was covered. You reach for your shampoo as your mind runs wild at what your boyfriend could be doing with her right now.

Could he be touching her like how he touches you? Could he have his head between her legs and please her how he pleases you? Have his cock in her and watch her face as she enjoys it? You don’t even realize how aggressively you are rubbing the shampoo into your hair, nearly scratching your scalp. Rinsing the shampoo out of your hair as you sigh, trying to fight away the images in your head of him and her, could he really do that to you after 3 years of dating?

Reaching over for your conditioner as you open the bottle, squeezing some out into your hand and rubbing it onto the end of your hair. Leaving it to set in your hair, you reach over to your loofah and squeeze your vanilla-scented body wash all over it, as you start to rub the loofah all over your body - the image of your boyfriend and you in the shower together engulfs your head.

His head lay in the crook of your shoulder, one of his hands holding your waist and the other playing with your nipple between his index and middle fingers, sometimes squeezing it slightly. Your head flew back as you let out a soft moan into his ear, your hand reaching and grabbing onto his forearm as you tried to balance yourself. His low chuckle surrounds the room, letting go of your nipple and trailing down towards the spot you wanted him the most, and just as he was about to reach there-

3 loud bangs are heard on the bathroom door pulling you out of your state of imagination, “Y/n/n, are you okay? I’m sorry for not telling you where he was going, I really am. You’ve been in there for like half an hour, please come out” Boone shouts through the door, his hand continuously banging in the door. “YEAH! I'm okay, I’ll be out now”, you shout back as you rinse the condition out of your hair and the body washes off your body, ignoring the pulsing feeling between your legs.

Pulling the shower curtain out of the road and reaching for your towel, wrapping it around your body you walk towards the door and open it, Boone is standing waiting for you with a sorry look on his face. “Please don’t be mad at me”, he looks into your eyes, which are full of regret and pain. You smile at him slightly, “I’m not mad at you dude, I’m just upset that’s all.” You reason with him, holding onto his shoulder, “he will just have to answer a fuck ton of questions when he gets back.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

You had been sitting in your room all day trying to map out the best mother storms for you and the team to follow when Tyler gets back when there is a soft knock on your door. Getting up and opening the door, “Dexter, really, I am not hungry, I don’t want any lunch.” you look up expecting to see your loveable older friend standing there however, standing there was your boyfriend with a bunch of tulips in his hand and a box of chocolates.

“I’m sorry for leaving, pretty girl,” his voice was full of love, “It was a really stupid thing to do and I should’ve consulted you on the matter before I ran off after her”. Moving to the side to let him into the room, you shut the door behind him.

“Yeah you really should have consulted me about it”, your voice sharp and full of anger, not daring to walk over towards him. He sighs, placing your flowers and chocolates on the messy bed you were just sitting in, walking towards you slowly. “I already know how you’re feeling my love, Lilly got a lot of shouting in when I first got back, I’m sorry I made you feel that way”, his hands placed on your waist as he looks down at you, “I didn’t bring her back if that’s what you are wondering, I told her I had to get back to see my lady.” You lean into him and wrap your arms around his neck and you lay your head on his shoulder, he pulls you closer and runs his finger up and down your spine.

“I love you,” his voice whispered, “I know you’re mad at me, and you have the right to be, but it’s always gonna be you baby, forever and always you”. You pull back away from him to look into his light green eyes, a cocky tone in your voice, “You know, saying sorry won’t make me forgive you that easily, along with flowers and chocolates.” His eyebrow raises at your words, quickly replaced with a smirk and he quickly lifts you up bridal style walking towards Lilly’s bed. “You don’t think she will mind if we use her bed, right?” He asks you in a playful tone before laying you down on the bed.

“I guess we will have to see, won't we?” You reply back as you pull him on top of him attaching your lips to his.

[ddejavvu]

hii i love your writing!! i was wondering if you could write something with bassist!remus where hes like suuper flirty with reader in the backstage and the rest of the boys sort of tease him😭😭 tysm💗💗💗

Remus is typically the strong, silent type on stage, much preferring a stony expression to the goo-goo eyes James makes at whoever takes their top off in the pit. After all, he's taken, and his detachment from their band's rather forward fanbase has led to conclusions that he's not exactly Mr. Romance.

But five minutes before he'd been bathed in stage lighting he'd been slouched forwards in his chair, your lithe hands trailing feather-light lines across his back. He's wearing a t-shirt, not a lazy outfit choice but a simple one, and the points of your nails feel heavenly through the thin fabric.

"Lower." He commands, gently, kindly, but still a command, and he arches forwards in his seat to let your nails scrape lower towards his waistband.

He groans as you scratch lightly near the base of his spine, and you're surprised that his right leg doesn't shoot out from under the chair like a particularly happy dog's.

"That's it." He mumbles, letting you scratch the rest of his itch before he straightens in his seat, "Y'know my back's always itchy when you're not here before a show? Three hours on stage with an itchy back, 's murder."

"Sirius could itch it. He's got nice nails."

"No. He'd try to lift my shirt up and flash the audience. Can't have the masses seeing my abs, y'know."

"'Cause they're mine." You conclude, nodding thoughtfully, "Will you lift your shirt up and flash me?"

"Here? In front of all the lighting and sound guys?" He gestures to the gaggle of technicians all proceeding with last-minute prep for the show, "That's pretty racy. Sort of defeats the whole point of keeping them to yourself."

"Later, at home." You bargain, "Please?"

Fans' voices kick up from beyond the stage, meaning the lights have gone off and Sirius, James, and Remus needs to get out there before a riot breaks out. You grab hold of Remus's hand, though, waiting until he gives in with an amused smirk, "Fine. I'll take off my shirt for you later."

"Good luck." You release him, squeezing his hand once before doing so, "I'll be watching."

You are watching, and Sirius knows that, which is surely why he calls attention to your boyfriend mere minutes into their set, "We all heard you cheer extra loud for Remus, you traitors. I'll have you know he's not as dark and brooding as he seems. Jus' promised his lady backstage that he'd be stripping for her later."

"Yeah, she's got him wrapped around her finger," James laughs, a deep chuckle that's barely heard over the instant rise in volume from the crowd, "Mr. Mystery over here was begging for a back scratch not ten minutes ago."

You don't need to be up close and personal to Remus to notice the rouge suddenly flaring over his cheekbones, but to his credit his face is still set in a confident smirk. He takes it like a champ, even though you're sure he's dying inside as fans tease him.

"Say whatever you want." Remus finally speaks, eliciting a round of cheers from the crowd, "But you boys don't get your backs scratched before a show, so I know you're just jealous."

[dewwinchester]

done. | d.w.

summary: you wake up to an empty bedroom, which isn't usually a good sign. but what you might find might not be too bad. OR, dean wants a normal life.

pairing: dean winchester x reader

word count: 1.7k+

warnings: fluff, surprise sam appearance, no specific pronouns used, no use of 'y/n'

a/n: it has been years since i've written any kind of fanfic, so please be gentle with me.

The moment your eyes fluttered open, you knew something wasn't right.

The air was a little too still, and your bed was a little too cold. There was no noise except for the gentle drip, drip, drip of the tap in your bathroom and the occasional rumbling of the bunker's old pipes. The light from your alarm clock illuminated the room in a dim red glow, and after rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you could just make out the time: 03:26.

You sat up slowly, squinting through the darkness to make out your surroundings. Your bedroom was in the same state you had left it in when you'd gone to bed, but there was something missing.

Rather, there was someone missing.

Dean's side of the bed was empty, the sheets strewn around haphazardly. There was no sign of him anywhere, not even the slightest thing to point you in his direction. You wondered if he'd had a nightmare and left the room to clear his thoughts.

You threw the blankets off your legs and shivered as the warmth from the covers instantly left you. Sliding your socked feet into your slippers, you wrapped your robe around your body, sighing in relief as the newfound warmth spread through you.

Despite being the only one in the room, you made sure to sneak out, careful not to make any noise. You tiptoed past Sam's room, knowing the smallest sound would wake him up—pure instinct.

There was no one in the library. Nor was there anyone in the kitchen. For the first time in what felt like a very long time, the bunker was empty. Normally, you were lulled to sleep by the faint clicks from Sam's keyboard or the light chatter from Cas or Jack, both of whom never needed to sleep –

A pang in your heart caused you to stop in your tracks.

Things were different now. The bunker was different. Two of the most important people in your life were gone, and you had no way of seeing them again. Despite your success in literally killing God, you couldn't help but mourn what used to be. You missed your little family, the little life you all made with each other.

You saw a faint flickering light from underneath the door to the "Dean-Cave" and heard a few familiar voices that made a smile creep onto your lips. Pushing the door open, you were greeted with the sight of just the person you were looking for.

Dean was fast asleep on one of the recliners, legs stretched out in front of him and neck craned at an awkward angle. A beer barely rested in his grasp as an episode of Scooby-Doo played on the flatscreen TV. Miracle was protectively curled around his feet, his big brown eyes staring up at you curiously.

You knew better than to wake Dean outright. For all you knew, there was a weapon expertly concealed and within arm's reach. Instead, you tiptoed into the room, reached for the TV remote, and turned down the volume slowly. Then, you took the beer from his hand and placed it on the side table before resting a gentle hand on his pyjama-covered knee, careful not to step on the dog.

"Dean," you whispered, thumb tracing gentle patterns.

Ever alert, Dean's eyes flickered open slowly. He looked around, confused for a moment, before his green eyes landed on you. For a moment, you worried that waking him was a mistake—he needed all the sleep he could get—but the faint smile that tugged on the corner of his mouth told you that you had done the right thing.

"Hey there, sleepyhead."

"Did I wake you?" His voice was laced with sleep, low and gravelly. If it wasn't three o'clock in the morning, your heart would have skipped a beat.

Oh, who were you kidding.

"No, no. You're okay," you smiled, standing back as Dean readjusted his position on the couch. He sat forward and winced as he stretched out his neck, finally rubbing his eyes. Miracle stood up, leaving the room with a huff, no doubt going back to your bedroom. "I woke up and you weren't there. I got worried."

"I'm good."

You raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"I'm good, promise," his tired eyes softened. "Just couldn't sleep before. Couldn't switch off."

You nodded in complete understanding. "Right."

You were going to try and get him to come back to bed—selfishly, you slept better when he was with you—but he just looked so damn comfortable in the recliner, you couldn't bring yourself to do it.

"You stay here," you said, voice still soft as a whisper. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I'm gonna go back to—"

"No, I'm awake now," he said, shooting you a pointed but playful look. He sat back in the recliner and patted his lap before stretching out his arms. "C'mere."

You used every ounce of energy you had to not run over and completely melt into his arms.

You moulded into him like a perfectly crafted puzzle piece, your legs and arms finding the most comfortable position almost instantly. Your head found its perfect spot somewhere just under the dip of his shoulder, and you couldn't help but breathe him in: smoke, beer, linen, and Dean. Your Dean.

"What were you thinkin' about?" you asked gently, wrapping one of your arms around his neck, your other hand intertwining with his. Dean was never really one to share his feelings, and though (with your help) he was starting to get better, there were times when you had to fight tooth and nail to bring down the steel walls he had put up.

According to him, it was one of your best strengths—being able to accept someone in their entirety, despite their faults, no matter how large. Your ability to empathise was beyond anything Dean could imagine. It was one of the reasons he loved and trusted you so deeply.

"Everythin'," he said with a sigh.

"Everything?" you repeated with a furrowed brow.

"Just," he began. "Everything that's happened. To Sammy. To me. To you. It's been a hell of a ride."

You nodded, trying to let your mind flick over the happier moments instead of the darker ones.

"It's been a lot," you agreed.

It was the understatement of the goddamn century.

"And I think about the people we lost," he paused, looking down at your interlaced fingers. "I think about every single one of 'em, all the goddamn time... And I wonder sometimes why I keep goin'."

You frowned, lips parted as you attempted to find some kind of response.

"But then I realised," he continued. "It's you."

You blinked. Once. Then twice. "Me?"

"After everythin', you're still here. I mean, you look at me like I'm some kinda hero or someth—"

"You are, Dean," you reassured. "I mean, you saved the entire world. More than once. You gotta stop saying you're not."

Dean sighed, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "See? All of that, and I’ve got nothin’ to give you."

"You give me everything just by being here. By coming home every day."

"You deserve more."

You rolled your eyes, sitting up to look at him directly with a firm, but loving look. This wasn’t a new conversation; in the past, the two of you had argued over whether or not you deserved Dean, or whether you deserved a life that was a little more sane… a little more normal. A life where you could wake up every day knowing that you didn't have to look over your shoulder and defend your every move.

These arguments usually resulted in screaming matches between the two of you.

Dean raised his hand, stopping you before you even got the chance to speak. "I didn’t mean that... I’ve been thinkin’... after tomorrow, that’s it.”

“What?”

“After tomorrow’s hunt. I’m done.”

You shook your head, disbelief quickly washing across your features. “You mean—?”

“I’m done.”

It felt like the air had been completely knocked from your lungs.

Done? You didn’t think such a concept existed for Dean. He had lived one way his entire life. Hunting was all he knew, all you knew. The idea of starting anew, starting fresh, was… oddly terrifying.

“I got a job application. I’ve filled it out—gonna hand it in at the end of the week.”

You could only shake your head in utter bewilderment.

“I’m tellin’ Sam tomorrow. He’s been thinkin’ about hanging it up too... for a while, I think.”

You had officially forgotten to breathe. You sucked in a deep breath, disguising your shock by clearing your throat. With wide eyes, you looked at Dean, thousands of words on the tip of your tongue, but none of them amounted to what you truly wanted to say.

You couldn't imagine it—waking up in the morning, working a 9-to-5 job, then heading back to a two-bedroom apartment in the middle of some city, drinking coffee, and going to meetings. You couldn't imagine leaving it all behind.

But then you looked at Dean, and for the first time, you noticed a hint of something different in his eyes. A spark of something that you just couldn't put your finger on. It was a look that made your insides buzz with a mixture of excitement and anxiety.

"Okay," was all you were able to say. "One more tomorrow. Then we're done."

"Deal."

You fell back into Dean's embrace and listened to the steady thump of his heartbeat. Your brain was filing through a hundred different thoughts at a million miles an hour, but the heaviness of your eyelids began to take over.

After tomorrow, everything would be over.

But everything would begin.

+++

When Sam woke that same morning—mind you, at a way more reasonable time than 3 a.m.—he also woke to a quiet bunker. There was no quiet chatter from you and Dean in the kitchen, no breakfast being made or coffee being brewed. It was silent.

He eventually found the two of you, curled up together on one of the recliners. He couldn’t imagine the position you were in being comfortable in any way, all squished together on the tiny couch, but the peaceful looks on both your faces made him pause.

It was still early, and you hadn’t planned on leaving for another few hours anyway. So Sam left you there. He could get everything ready himself.

Besides, it was only a simple vamp hunt.

a/n: that job application will continue to haunt my dreams

[harmonysanreads]

You remember the first time Phainon said your name with a vexing clarity.

Well, ‘announced with all the vigor of a gorilla in its prime’ would be a more accurate description of that moment, not that you can word this out loud in front of ordinary folk — not anymore. What beget that incident and how he came to know of your identity are details even you question currently.

Exhilarating is the simplest (and most positive) word to describe the experience with the Chrysos Heir, being in his presence is no less riveting than witnessing a blood-warming battle straight from Castrum Kremnos. As such, against your judgement and awareness, it seemed that most things became a blur whenever he was nearby.

Not that it stirs an affirmative thrill in your arteries now. It did back then ; when he'd so brazenly dedicated his victory to your name in front of hundreds, nay, thousands of citizens, uncaring of the uncertain state of your acquaintanceship. You recall being more confused than overjoyed at the seemingly once-in-a-lifetime event of a Hero's attention falling upon you. But that, too, was swept by the tide of envious curiosity of the people of Okhema soon.

You don't blame them, you'd question if a nobody became the subject of reverence of a hero so suddenly as well. But that didn't mean you were no less annoyed by it, especially as it seemed that Phainon had no intention of quitting this practice. Every spar, every small victory towards the Flame-Chase and even the most random of achievements — he'd dedicate to you, the declarations becoming bolder each time.

You don't even need to ask what exactly you did to have him so invested, he has scarce control of his mouth when it concerns you. Do you believe the things he says though? That criteria, will not be met regardless of how sincere the Hero appears to be. You're not someone who's had to mingle with people of this volume, the invisible pushes to step into Phainon's world, direct or indirect, do not soothe your nerves in the slightest.

Ballads speak of the distant days when the sun used to kiss the soil of Amphoreus, but you weren't fortunate enough to witness those times. You've been reprimanded in a recent style lately though, your surroundings are quick to point at the dawn-incarnate, dashing specimen of a hero who's illuminated your once dull life and wonder so starry-eyed how grateful you must feel.

You used to roll your eyes at these whispers for a short frame of time. But as whispers ascended to theater and people eagerly awaited to spectate the turns of your ‘love story’, you really started to feel grateful. Not because you were pleased with your situation, but because of the support Phainon had provided throughout. He'd commented lightly once, you aren't built for such a harsh life. You deserve to recline, let others — him do the heavy-lifting and indulge yourself.

You tried your utmost to prove this redundant hypothesis incorrect. But dogs, once sufficiently attached, will always return to the master no matter how far one throws the toy. In moments of vulnerability, if even darkness helps, people will cling to it. And if it is the sun, they'll embrace blindness against the wishes of their conscience.

In Amphoreus, there goes the tale of the valiant hero and the beloved he's claimed as his life. Only in moments of clarity do you recall, it is nothing but the recounting of your immurement.

[matteglaze]

Thinking abt Hybrid! Dabi, and a reader in need of a big scary dog

Hybrid! Dabi bites. That's the first thing you read on his plated-sign against the bars of the tiny cage he's placed in. After walking into this hybrid store, you made an immediate beeline away from all the cuter, softer hybrids. The ones with wagging tails, cute eyes, and friendly greetings and chirps. Those weren't the ones you needed. You need an intimidating hybrid.

Dabi bites. It's printed in big, bold red letters. Underneath that text, is basic information about his breed, age, health, and a brief summary of his behavior with his past owner. Underneath that, is his euthanation date.

'Has been roaming the streets for quite some time. Bit last owners hand so severely they were in need of medical attention. Aggressive.'

That's the summary of the sign, and you slowly avert your gaze from the sign to the hybrid inside of the cage. He's in his animal form, but his eyes speak volumes. It holds a certain type of understanding and knowledge that no ordinary animal can ever acquire. It's how you know the store isn't lying about him being a hybrid so that they'd be able to sell him for a higher price.

You take him in. Black, unruly fur, patches of it is missing— mostly near his torso, eyes, ears, mouth, and hands. A burn incident maybe?

You stare back at the sign.

He bites.

His last owner had to be sent to the doctor for immediate medical attention.

You turn your back around and keeping surveying all the pets.

You wouldn't go for such an aggressive hybrid. That tiny little text of his euthanization means nothing to you. You need a hybrid that will be able to protect you, not hurt you.

***

You end up going home with him, he's seated in the backseat of your car, muzzle strapped tightly to his maw as he sits quietly in the doggy cage provided.

When you're desperate, you rationalize, you do stupid things.

Or, when you have a heart, you do stupid things.

It was definitely that tiny text that made you take him in. That, and the burns.

That, and the slop the owners of the establishment were feeding him. If he's going to die, what's the point in feeding him properly? That must've been their reasoning.

When you finally reach home, and get to the point of taking off the muzzle, Dabi bites.

And he bites hard.

For the next few weeks, your hand is treated, and in another 2 weeks it's healed. There's a scar, similar to sharp canine teeth, that you think will never leave. You and him are similar in that regard, both with scars.

Dabi is agitated. Confused and agitated, or agitated because he's confused. You brought him back to your house, even after spending a long time staring at the clear warning sign on is cage. You brought him back, and you didn't even try to interact with him. Didn't try to put him through the same regime behaviour training that he had to go through in the past, and you didn't even send him back. He bit you, and you still treated him the same.

You ignore him most days, but you always leave a plate of cooked food by his door, accompanied by a glass of water or juice.

You are home often, you barley leave the house.

It makes him question, why you even brought him back in the first place.

Dabi is confused.

He finds out later that your ex is batshit, makes sense you'd want to stay safe inside. You're both closer than before, he thinks, but anything can be considered closer now that you aren't ignoring him. You talk to him about little things, or you just complain out loud. Your hands are never near him, and whenever he tries to move closer, your hands are always far.

He pretends it doesn't bother him, like how you pretend you aren't scared whenever his jaw opens.

For the next couple of months, Dabi finds himself trying to get on your good side. It's strange, he thinks, because usually it would be the other way around. Though, you have him treating you as if you were the frightened puppy.

(He can't help but think you'd make a good hybrid, and him a good owner. He wouldn't ignore you so blatantly as you had done to him)

"Hey." He calls, voice gruff and sore from the misuse. He can't remember the last time he even bothered speaking. He didn't have to use his words in most cases, but he finds that if he doesn't then the silence in the house can stretch on for long periods.

He doesn't like that.

And if Dabi doesn't like something, he's going to do something about it.

You don't seem surprised by his voice, instead offering a glass of your own water as you continue to stare at your phone screen, mindlessly texting your friends.

Dabi finds that you aren't the socially awkward type, and you would always go out with your friends when the time proved right. Though, that's changed after your ex.

Even though Dabi feels some resemblance of guilt, he can't help but to be happy you're always at home with him. That he bit you, and you'll forever have a scar. Proof that he exists, if he's ever to kick the bucket. And he's glad your ex was shitty.

It makes impressing you really easy (makes doing nice things for you less embarrassing, if he words it like that).

"Hey" he tries again. This time you nibblie on your bottom lip, putting you're home down and looking up with him. An empty glass clutched in his hands.

"Let's go for a walk"

It seems strange, he thinks, this sort of dynamic between the two of you. Sometimes, he likes to think about if your roles were reversed. If anything, you'd probably be a support dog. Though, he quite likes how things are right now.

unedited, like all my thoughts

right now i am in a hybird phase!! save me dog dabi

also, as an added thing, when you're finally comfortable enough to touch dabi (with quivering hands, and eyes that dart to his face every time you think he isn't looking) you decide to wash him. when you do, you're surprised to find that his hair is white, not black

he says it's dye, but you know he's been mistreated in the shelter

(you don't bring it up again after that, but you always make sure to keep him healthy)

dog hybrid dabi save me..... aaaaaaaaaaa

[revelboo]

Does the sparklings get a little playdate inside the Nemesis/Ark? Just bots and cons gathering their young. Would it be a peaceful playdate or a headache for their parents

Hahahaha peaceful…. Yeah, no… it’d be bad

Future Scenario- Play Date: Ark

Various G1 Bots x Reader

• Wincing as your daughter screams in Grimlock’s daughter’s face before running to hide with the Aerialbot’s son, you catch Skyfire’s optics and shrug at his frown. Figure they’re learning boundaries and they’re fine. Most of the toddlers are able to walk even if a few of them are as wobbly as newborn colts. And the volume in the rec room had gone through the roof within ten minutes of turning all the kids loose. Jazz’s kid had approached Cliffjumper’s and the two had chirped uncertainly, making the rest of them braver as their sire’s nudged them toward each other to play. You’d watched the biggest of Grimlock’s triplets transform to chase after Waspinator’s tiny son, who’s now latched onto his sire, chirping in terror. Head turning when you hear Prowl snarling at Streetwise to deal with his kid as his son shoves Prowl’s, the two flaring their barely formed plating at each other before one kid shoves the other in the face and you make a mental note that Prowl’s kid is a biter as they start squabbling.

• Opening your arms as Waspinator deposits your son into your lap, his antenna flattened back just like his sire’s, you kiss him on top of the head. And stand to carry him back out into the fray before your overprotective mate can make your kid as skittish as he is. Ignoring Wasp’s protests and your son fisting your shirt with a whine, you head for where Trailbreaker’s twins are playing with stuffed animals with Hound, Cliffjumper, and Bumblebee’s kids. Because this looks more your son’s speed than play fighting even if you have to pry his tiny servos loose as he chirps in fear, hesitating when Trailbreaker’s daughter offers him a stuffed dog. Optics wide, he grabs it and presses his face against it, tiny wing nubs flicking as the other sparkling warbles, attention back on a stuffed tiger.

• “Pax!” You yell in warning and your son turns to grin at you, optics all mischief. And there he goes, not listening to you. How your kid came out a little demon after your own heart instead of calm and serious like Optimus, you have no idea. But he’s into everything and right now, he’s launching himself at another sparkling, the two of them shrieking and play fighting. Even though the kids are half human, they remind you more of puppies running wild, biting and climbing over each other. Hear someone scream and at least three other kids join in, though you’d bet they have no idea why they’re screaming, just not wanting to be left out.

• Watching your daughter babbling baby nonsense at Blaster’s son right before the kid pulls one of her tiny door wings to make her scream and sending Jazz wading into the chaos to separate them. Because both of them are screaming now, Blaster’s kid wailing and upset about losing his playmate as Jazz cradles your daughter to his chassis and Blaster heads his way, frowning. Trying to convince him to let her play with his son.

• They’re feral. Hands on your hips as your kid takes a toy away from Wheeljack’s and wobbles away with it while Red Alert’s kid points and chirps, apparently tattling. You slowly shake your head. Not really sure what you’d expected, but lord of the flies acted out by toddlers wasn’t it. Glancing at Ratchet as your mate tries to distract Wheeljack’s sobbing sparkling with a different toy, you decide watching the bots struggling almost makes the noise worth it. Because they don’t actually seem to mind the chaos, but then Ratchet had told you that none of them expected to be able to have sparklings, their race slowly dying out until arriving on Earth.