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taeslarityy · 2 months

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outage ༄ joel miller one shot (18+)

-> pairing: no-outbreak joel miller au x female curvy reader

-> word count: 4.3k

-> summary: after a citywide power outage, you're left to deal with the scorching texas heat. until, the well-respected neighborhood dilf — joel miller — lends you a more than generous hand.

-> warnings/tags: sarah is 10/11 so joel had her a bit older, power outage, texas heat, yes this is a warning because its not a joke, reader has a cat!!!, age gap (reader is 24, joel is late 40s), curvy/mid/plus size reader, brief fatphobia, reader has self-image/parent issues + is a lonely gal, fluff, SMUT (18+), unprotected piv, creampie, oral + fingering (f!recieving), squirting, body worship, brief ass play, daddy kink, big ole tits, spanking, spit kink, praise kink, a bit of belly bulge, cockwarming, pet names galore (darlin, sweetheart, baby, _ girl), joel has a huge dick (not canon!)

-> a/n: hi hi! i have been so anxious to begin writing again and currently have some wips that i am just not confident with. so when i saw the lovely @hellishjoel post her #hotdilfsummerchallenge, i was positive i wanted to join in! such a pleasure to be involved in this — thank you kylee for creating such a fun way for this community to get involved! as a curvier woman, i wanted reader to reflect that. because... joel miller is a handsy mf and loves to just grab himself some wide hips, thick thighs and phat tits <3 but ofc, this is can be for various body types. please please please, leave your thoughts and even constructive criticism! <3 DILF NEIGHBOR JOEL, YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS!!!!

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

You release a groan of annoyance as the visual of your TV, coffee table lamp and humming of the refrigerator all flicker off into silence. The frills on your throw-blanket settle, as the ceiling fan no longer produces the small gusts of wind that have caused you to be rather chilly on this hot, humid and rainy summer night.

When you made the courageous decision of moving across the country for a new teaching opportunity in Austin — you were never informed on the true brutality summertime unleashed onto Texas residents. More-so, you really had nothing to do but be caged up in the comfortable AC of your home. You’ve been here for roughly 14 months and the only "friends" you’ve made have been the 28 fourth graders you had the pleasure of teaching last school year. Tragic.

Your coworkers, did not handle your arrival pleasantly. Young, beautiful, freshly-educated and determined. That’s what your grandmother referred to you as when you called her sobbing after your first week. Informing her that the seasoned teachers won’t even bat an eye at you, and when they do it’s a look of disgust. Whispering amongst one another. Like you were in middle school again, trying to befriend the popular girls.

“I was foolish to think things could be different for me down here, so stupid of me.”

“Now listen to me, you are the most intelligent woman I know. More than anyone in this family. Bullies like that, it stems from an unknown jealousy and overbearing insecurity. Don’t let a few sour grapes ruin this outstanding career for you. Your students adore you already, and so do I. Just continue to be yourself and if that isn’t enough for them, so be it.”

Your grandmother always knew how to make you feel better. She had been instilling your own sense of confidence since you were a little girl. The only adult in your life to do so. If only her words were enough. Your coworkers just never let up. After overhearing them gossip about you during lunch break, you gave up your attempts indefinitely.

“She really thinks she deserves a place here?”

“Look at her back rolls in that shirt…”

“She really needs to put that sandwich down.”

“Why is she so quiet? It’s freaky, honestly. No wonder she’s always alone.”

You’re not a stranger to being alone. You practically have been your entire life. Your parents never really bothered to form a genuine relationship with you, always so focused on your younger sister. She was the prettier, thinner, more impressive version of you. You have only had one best friend throughout your long 24 years on this earth. She was smarter than you and moved away from the timid small town you shared in Northern Maine, choosing an out-of-state university. So, being alone was a familiarity. You have made peace with it. But being lonely — that’s a whole other ball-park.

The booming thwack of thunder startles you from your thoughts. Your sweet calico boy leaps from your warm lap and scurries under the dining table — tail puffed in fear. “Milo... it’s okay,” you whisper. He just gleams at you with his jet-black saucer eyes. Even you don’t believe your own words. You are not used to storms like this, and you didn’t really prepare. You read some articles online about stocking up: having plently of batteries, candles, non-perishable foods. Yet, you didn’t do any of that.

Rubbing away the moisture from your damp upper lip — the heat inside your home already becoming unbearable. Deciding on a whim, you can head to a nearby hotel for the night. Unsure how long you will be without power and don’t wish to succumb yourself or your cat to the searing temperatures of the night.

The rain has slowed down, as you feel the soft patter on your umbrella. Throwing your purse and water bottle in the front seat, you begin to dread unpacking all this stuff when you get to the hotel. Bags, cat litter, cage — scrutinizing yourself mentally and deciding you better fucking prepare for the next storm.

“Where ya headin’ sweetheart?”

Your heart jumps at the deep smooth Southern voice that fills your thoughts at night. When your hands would find their way in between your quivering legs. Throughout the day. Pretty much all the time.

Joel Miller is the only person in this town that has ever filled the lonely void you can never seem to fill. When you moved to the quiet suburban street, he was the first to come greet you as you struggled to pull your mattress out of the U-Haul. Immediately lending a hand, and proceeding to lug all of your remaining boxes, furniture, miscellaneous items into your new home.

“Pretty lady like you, shouldn’t have to lift a single finger.” He remarked when you you blushed and assured him you could handle the rest, not wanting to be a burden. Even though the sweat dripping down your back was apparent and 5 minutes prior you had no idea how you’d be able to unpack the remainder of the truck. He then assured you — there was no way in hell you were being a burden. Words that were a rarity.

Later that afternoon, he invited you for dinner at his home. You met his lovely daughter, Sarah. Where everyone learned that you were her new school teacher. What were the odds?

Following that, seeing Joel was frequent. From parent-teacher conferences, backyard barbecues for the neighborhood, or even small intimate dinners with Sarah at each others homes. Sarah would even spend the night at yours on occasion. When Joel had a late night at the construction site, or when she just needed some girl time. You adored that little girl, and vice versa.

You also adored the fuck out of Joel.

So when you looked up at his porch, finding him in nothing but a pair of plaid pajama pants.. your throat went dry. His tanned skin gleamed softly from the street light — little speckled freckles adorned his waist in various spots. And that darkish grey hair on his chest and fat of his lower tummy that flowed underneath his pants. Your brain fuzzy at the thought of your face pressed against it as you swallow his cock.

But you were not a fool. Joel would never express an attraction towards you. A man like that? He deserved the perfect woman.

“Darlin’?” He speaks again, a bit louder. Disturbing your wandering thoughts.

“I- I was gonna head to a hotel for the night, my house is too hot already. And I don’t want Milo to be uncomfortable.”

Joel’s eyes wander down your body as you explain — the plush jiggle of your tits in that small tank. Nearly spilling out. Slightly damp from the rain or humidity. The chub of your tummy spills slightly from your leggings. A sight that makes his cock swell unbearingly. An act that occurs more often than not when he sees you or even thinks of you for the countless minutes of his day.

“No way. Not gonna let ya drive in this weather. Plus, most hotels nearby are gonna be overbooked. I got the generator up n’ working, got the spare room too. Your stayin’ over.”

“No! No, Joel. I can’t.”

“N’ why not?” His hands have found his way to his hips, popping a knee out and giving you that classic dad glare. Not angry, but confused as to why you’re even protesting when he’s already decided.

“I don’t want to intrude and I have Milo. You and Sarah are allergic.”

“Sarah left yesterday to stay with her mom in California for the rest of the summer. Besides, Milo loves me. I can handle a runny nose as long as I know the two of ya are safe.”

To this, your stomach nearly flips inward on itself. You’ve never been alone with Joel in his home. Not for this long. The few times you’ve come over to help him with dinner before Sarah got home from soccer practice, have always been excruciating. Staring at him without worry. Watching his muscles flex through his t-shirts. Big hands chopping vegetables and plating food. His hand lightly touching your waist when scooting by.

There’s no possible way you can survive a night in Joel’s home.

But, he’s already grabbing his umbrella and walking over to you. He grabs your stuff from the car and tells you to go grab Milo. So, you do.

Joel slips on a t-shirt after he put your stuff in the spare room, disappointedly enough. You nearly told him to keep it off, but held your tongue. You made yourself comfortable at the island barstool as you typed up some early lesson plans, Milo at your feet.

He patters over to Joel who is now leaning against the counter, brushing against his leg. He then leaps onto the granite and purrs against Joel’s arm.

“Psst! Milo get do-“ you beg, embarrassment coloring your cheeks.

“S’ okay, sweetheart. He’s not botherin’ me,” Joel attempts to settle your nerves. Petting Milo’s soft fur and scratching under his chin, that special spot all cats love. “Can I get you anythin’ to drink?” He nods towards the coffee he’s brewing.

“Coffee would be nice, thank you.” You beam at him. Joel’s heart skips a beat every time your cheeks puff up ever so slightly when you smile at him. It’s something he swears is the most endearing thing about you. Of course, he’s only ever shared that with his daughter. Who begs her father to just take her favorite teacher on a date already.

Joel grabs some sugar and oat milk from the fridge, your favorite. He learned from the few breakfasts you guys had shared. A bit of sugar and a nice gulp of milk softens the dark roast color in the mug, he slides it over to you as he grabs his plain black coffee.

“You remembered!” You giggle slightly at the Number 1 Dad title that adorns the mug, taking a sip. You moan at the taste, exactly how you like it.

“Of course I did, darlin’.” You almost hate how easily those pet names roll of his tongue. You summed it up as his southern hospitality, figured he calls any woman those special names. “So, you ready for this new school year?”

An icky feeling settles in your stomach. The thought of returning to the painful and toxic work environment you can only escape when you’re with your students.

“Not without my Sarah girl,” you swiftly change the subject towards the one person he can talk hours about.

He smiles proudly at her name.

“Ya know, she still all mad that you wouldn’t flunk her so she could have another year with ya.” Both your laughs quickly fill the empty house.

“Well, even if I tried to, that girl is too smart for her own good. She should skip a grade in my opinion.” You state, and you’re truthful at that. Sarah Miller is as intelligent as she is quick-witted.

“Yeah, she gets it from me.” At that you roll your eyes playfully. Typing something up before closing your computer and taking another sip of coffee. “Although I love boastin’ over her, I guess I meant are you excited to go back? They treat ya good there?”

Joel watches the color drain from your soft skin. Realizing he touched somewhere that might be too personal. Too raw. “M’ sorry sweetheart, shouldn’t have asked.”

“No- no uh, you’re fine. Um, honestly? No. I’m not excited. The staff there aren’t exactly the kindest bunch.” You confess, slight unease crawling over you.

Joel’s eyes scrunch in confusion. Mind blank on how the kindest soul he knows, could be surrounded by complete opposite. “Whatcha mean?”

You sigh letting the anxiousness settle a bit before speaking again, “they hate me. I don’t even know why, really? I have tried my hardest to get them to accept me but nothing seems to work. Whether it’s jabs at my appearance, teaching style, they’re never satisfied.” Your eyes are burning slightly, haven’t confessed this burden you constantly carry to anyone. “If it wasn’t for your daughter and my class, and… you.. well, I think I wouldn’t have made it through. I try to be strong, I try to be everything that people expect from me but it’s just so hard, Joel.” At that, the fat tears begin to stream down your face.

Joel was frozen in shock. Or maybe anger. Protectiveness. He wanted to hurt the people who made you feel like this. The least deserving of any pain. He sets his mug down and snatches you in his embrace. Holding your head with his hand, stroking your back with the other. He lets you sob almost uncontrollably into his firm chest.

“I just hate being so alone.” You whisper, clutching onto him. You can’t even be embarrassed anymore, you’re so overthrown by his scent, his comfort. Comfort you’ve not felt in so so long.

Joel kisses your temple softly, "promise you're not alone, sweet girl." He nudges your head to look up at his own sorrowful expression. His thumb running over your full lips, a bit swollen from your teeth biting down on them in an attempt to muffle your sobs. "So beautiful." He murmurs as he leans down to place a kiss on your left cheek, his lips skim over yours before he places another on your right.

Joel just barely hears the whimper from the back of your throat when that feather light skim happened. He leans back half an inch, staring into your glossy eyes. "Tell me not to, and I'll let you go upstairs and get some rest. Tell me, sweetheart."

It feels like a whole minute passes by. The soft patter of the rain, the smell of coffee beans from each others breath, the same slow breathing that overwhelms the little space between you both.

Desperation.

Your fingers tighten on his shirt, "don't let me go upstairs, Joel."

Joel smashes his mouth into yours, his guttural groan flying into your soft whimpers. The softness Joel expressed a moment ago is long gone. This kiss is messy, teeth-clanking, tongue inside your mouth. Like he wants to devour you from the outside in. He releases your lip with a pop.

He threads his thick fingers through the base of your hair and yanks it back gently, tongue on your neck. Biting the skin there. "You're so soft, baby. Just need me to mark ya up, is that right?"

You nod as hard as you can despite his harsh grip on your locks.

"I need you to use your words, sweet girl. Let me know what you're thinkin'."

"Everything you do is okay. I want more. I need it all. Please."

"Oh baby, cm'ere," he wraps your lavish thighs around his waist and hoists you into his arms. Easily. Like you're just the most delicate thing he's ever held.

As he walks to his bedroom, you smile into his neck. Arms wrapped over his shoulders, hand rubbing ever so softly at his greying curls. You bite at the skin under his ear and he gives your ass a huge squeeze. Groaning at how his big hands barely hold all the meat there. He couldn't wait to touch and gnaw at this body he loved.

At the foot of his bed, he taps your leg as if telling you to get down. You stand in front of his massive overbearing figure, staring up at him lustfully. You grab the bottom of your compression tank top and pull it over your head, revealing your unsupported chest. Your heavy tits fall a bit.

"My god," Joel falls to his knees in front of you, face nearly level with your pebbled nipples. Both his hands grab a fistful of each, rolling them in his palm. Your sweet noises fill the room and he swears he might've just came in his pajama pants right there. He takes his teeth and bite at the fat above your leggings, licking and sucking at a sensitive part of you. Literally and figuratively.

Joel abandons your chest to yank your leggings and panties down in one move, coming face-to-face with your prickly oozing pussy. He can't restrain himself much longer, spinning you around he pushes you down into his mattress.

He spreads your ass open with both hands, the chub of your lips open ever so slightly as the slick between them strings together.

"Perfect cunt." That's when you feel the chill of liquid spat right onto your puckered hole, dripping down to your clit. He leans in, tongue catching the tangy mixture of your slick and his saliva, right on your throbbing clit.

You screech into the sheets, so turned on from his actions. As he licks up to dip his tongue into your hole, one hand that's holding you open sneaks up your back, to your neck and yanks your head up.

"Nu-uh, let me hear you, baby girl." He demands as he pauses to throw his shirt off as fast as possible — not wanting to leave your cunt for too long without the warmth of his mouth.

He sloppily makes out with your cunt as it clenches and unclenches under his tongue, his beard prickling at your skin. Like he wants your scent all over him for as long as possible.

"Ohh daddy, more more," you whisper hazily, hand reaching back to grab his head desperate to have him as deep as possible.

Joel stops as he processes your choice of title. "What was that, darlin'?"

You freeze at his serious tone. Just now realizing what you've called the man. "Oh my god, I'm s-" Joel grabs your wrist and pins it against your lower back — thick middle and ring finger hooking into you with no warning. Your wetness aiding in the rapid slide of them.

He spits on your puckered hole again and abandons your wrist to land a harsh smack against your ass.

"Only dirty girls say that word, baby. Are you daddy's dirty girl?" He edges you on as he spanks you again on the opposite side. Hard. Unsparing. A side of Joel you've never seen. And oh, does it make you feel that coil tightening within you.

"Mmmm yes yes 'm your dirty girl, daddy!" You groan loudly, eyes swelling with fresh tears. But not tears of pain from earlier, pleasure.

Joel's fingers fuck into you harder, thumb now rubbing at your clit as he leans forward to prod his tongue at your asshole. "Cum for me, my nasty sweet girl. Drench my face. Let me taste you even more." He halts his fingers knuckle deep, hooked inside your cunt as he presses into that spot on repeat. Like he's stroking it out of you.

That's all it takes for you to silently scream as you squirt all over his lower beard covered face and your thick inner thighs, that nearly squish his head from how hard you're coming. Joel just keeps himself situated, never letting up. Allowing you to completely let go and rut back into him, telling him you need more.

"Thaaat's it, my good fuckin' girl.” He praises as he kisses your cunt and ass, he leans over your face capturing your lips in a kiss so messy and depraved. “Open that mouth.” Spitting roughly onto your tongue with a groan as you taste your sweetness that he knows he will forever be addicted to. No chance of recovery.

He ruts his thick bulge into your ass as you whine needly.

"Really want you to fuck my face, now." You beg, hand reaching down to grope him through his loose pjs.

"Mmmmm," he murmurs as his hips keep rutting into you. "Tonight is about you, baby. M' gonna stuff your tight cunt so fuckin' deep you'll feel it in your throat, don't worry." And with that promise, he releases himself, throbbing cock slapping against his lower tummy. You flip onto your back just to see it and your eyes widen at the sight before you.

You always knew it was huge just from perception, but god. It's thicker than your wrist, and looks like it would prod into your cervix. Painful even. Joel senses the worry on your face as he pushes your legs back against your chest. Admiring the way your stomach folds into itself, soft roll after roll. And the thickness of your inner thighs lays heavy. He just wants to get down and feast on you again but he might die if he doesn't feel you wrapped around him.

"You're in charge here, sweetheart. Understood?" He explains as he rubs his fat cock head up and down your swollen slit — notching on your opening with every downward stroke.

You nod slowly, peeking down at the monster between your legs once more. He squeezes your ankle, subtly reminding you to vocalize.

"Yes daddy, I understand."

"Good." And with that, he pushes into your fluttering hole. Your eyes roll back immediately, head thumping onto the soft duvet. He pushes in deeper, barely halfway in and he sees your feet and eyes scrunch a bit. It almost feels like he could rip you apart. Maybe it's because you haven't been fucked in a hot minute — or maybe it's just that Joel is so fucking hung. More than any guy you've slept with.

“Deep breath for me, sweetheart.” He soothes you, as soon as he sees your chest fall — he slams the rest of the way in. Hips flush with the back of your thighs. Cock fully sheathed in your warm soaked cunt. Heavy brimming balls pressed against your little puckered hole. “You feel so damn good. Dripping for me.” Joel’s eyes close at the feeling of you hugging him so tight. He suddenly forgets the feeling of any other woman he’s pleased. Utterly devoted to you from here on out.

When he pulls out all the way to his fat tip — it notches on your opening. Like he has to put in that extra effort to fully remove himself from you. But he doesn’t, and starts fucking into you fully. Never half way, never pulling completely out.. but always making sure he reaches the end of you.

“Da- daddy oh, harder please.” You plead, squeezing his forearm at the overwhelming feel of him nudging your cervix with every thrust.

That confirmation of pleasure is all Joel needs to push your legs back even more — ankles by your head — and began a brutal relentless pace. Grabbing a fistful of your jiggling tit and messy hair, he pulls your head up so you can watch how he ruins you for anyone else.

“Ya see that, see how swollen your gettin’ already?” Joel questions as he holds your head perfectly to observe the slight lifted pudge on your tummy. Paired with the way his coarse hair rubs against your swelled clit — it’s a drool worthy sight.

“Cus’ your so big, Joel.” You sigh, eyes fluttering from the primal force he’s using on your body.

A smug grin flicks across his face at the view. Mind consumed by the most perfect woman. Eyebrows turning inward, the little lines between them deepening as you try to comprehend all the emotions in this moment. Removing his hand from your head, he finds your clit and swipes it upward. Over and over. Leaning down, he sucks as much of your breast into his mouth as humanely possible. Tongue flicking the pebbled area, coercing your orgasm from you. “Cum with me, baby.” His muffled command shoots straight to your filled core.

As he feels you spasm around his thickness, he stills balls deep. “There it is, baby…” Spilling his cum inside your warmth. Plugging you, keeping you full of him. Joel relaxes his body against yours, finding your mouth to kiss you gently. Sweaty foreheads against one another. Joel goes to push off of you, his comforting body heat about to be ripped away.

"No! Wanna feel you longer, please."

Your protest makes Joel's heart surge. "Of course, sweet girl." Wrapping his large arms around you, he flips you both so that your soft plush body lays above him. The new angle makes his spent cock nudge a bit deeper, you both moan at the faint squelch of his cum overflowing your cunt. "You're so perfect," he mutters.

Smiling into his full chest, you leave a swift kiss. "So are you. Thank you for this. For.. everything."

Joel's hands finds your back as he begins gentle strokes onto your supple skin, his head resting atop your own. "Thank you, darlin'. I want you to understand something, you might just be the finest thing that ever happened to Sarah and I. Y'know, she didn't really want to see her mom. Never had the best relationship with her. She just wanted to spend the remainder of the summer havin' ya over everyday to swim and all. That girl admires you more than anyone."

Eyes foggy, you shift to gaze up at him. "And what does her father think?"

Joel pauses briefly, rich brown orbs beaming into yours. "Think she's damn right. She didn't want me to tell you this, but she left so I could have some alone time with you — take ya out. Scolded me sayin' by the time she's back, we better be together." He laughs at the thought, you join him. Picturing that 4'9 ball of fire lecturing her father on the rules of dating.

"So, you're asking me out Miller?" You question with a heavy hopeful heart.

"Should've done it forever ago, darlin'." He confesses, placing a delicate kiss on your temple.

And with that, you place your head back onto the warm chest of the man you've craved your entire life. Realizing, ever since that day where he first greeted you with that sultry gentleman voice — you were never truly alone.

thank you truly for reading! let me know your thoughts below or in asks!! reblogs are greatly appreciated <3

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lizzyiii · 11 days

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Rōva Mandia

pairing | aemond targaryen x sister!reader

word count | 7.1k words

summary | no one has ever loved aemond as fiercely as his beloved older sister. in return, aemond honors the vow he made to you in his youth.

tags | (18+MDNI!) SMUT. unprotected sex, p in v, oral (f), tiddy suckin', lactating kink, targaryen incest, reader is described to have auburn hair and lilac eyes (that's all), very very soft aemond, tooth rotting fluff at the end.

a/n | you know when you just randomly maladaptive dream entire storylines. this was one of them.

likes, comments, reblogs are always appreciated ✨

You were the firstborn child of King Viserys Targaryen and Queen Alicent Hightower, yet you drifted in the shadows of memory like a wisp of smoke. Your presence often eclipsed by the bold brilliance of your elder half-sister Rhaenyra, or merely the existence of your younger brother, Aegon. Yet, you never truly minded.

In the year 107 AC, on a night heavy with anticipation, the young Queen Alicent Hightower cradled the weight of her impending pregnancy. She had endured anxiety and dread throughout her pregnancy, her every waking moment tinged with the consuming fear that the fate of her marriage—and of House Hightower—hinged solely on her ability to provide King Viserys with a trueborn son. Yet, as fate would have it, the child that emerged from her womb was not the hoped-for heir but a daughter.

When you were born, the moment felt like a betrayal. Alicent, still young and with deep-seated insecurities, could barely bring herself to lay eyes upon the newborn. The girl, scarcely fifteen years of age, cringed at the sight of her own flesh and blood. What stung the deepest was your hair, a rich auburn hue that betrayed your Targaryen lineage. The only remnant of your noble bloodline was found in the child’s striking lilac eyes.

Each time the queen gazed at her daughter, a cascade of shame washed over her, intertwining with a deep self-loathing for how she could harbor such sentiments towards an innocent babe. Yet, Alicent felt a cruel twist of self-loathing rise within her, her heart heavy with despair as she struggled to accept the sight of you, a precious life she was unsure she could embrace.

Just a year later, however, Alicent finally brought forth Aegon, a true prince, heartily welcomed into the world as the firstborn son of King Viserys. With the birth of Aegon, a new dawn broke in the halls of the Red Keep, overshadowing your existence, casting you into the recesses of memory.

A joyful spirit, you moved through the world with ease. Sleep came effortlessly, as did your feeding time; you were a balm to your septas and caretakers, never troubling them with cries or demands. In the halls of the Keep, you were fondly known as the Realm’s Jewel, a title that shimmered like sunlight on water.

Yet, for a girl of merely five summers, there was an oddity to your existence—the way your father and your mother rarely sought your company or cast their eyes in your direction. Your youthful heart struggled to grasp the currents of neglect that flowed through the air, as the King seemed to have all but forgotten you and the Queen wore a mask of shame with every fleeting glance at you.

Still, when nestled amid your younger siblings, you found a sanctuary of joy. Aegon, though just four, was a whirlwind of energy and laughter, his playful spirit infusing warmth into your days. Helaena, your sweet baby sister, was quiet, perhaps too quiet for one so small, and yet her beauty was a radiant comfort to you.

Your mother, Queen Alicent, was on the cusp of bringing forth another child. To your youthful mind, this was the extent of your knowledge, as imparted by the ever-watchful Septa Emery who accompanied you. The thought of a new sibling filled your heart with a joyous anticipation that seemed to dance within your chest.

"Septa Emery," you interjected with a voice that was soft yet insistent, "has Mama had the babe yet?"

The Septa turned to you, her lips curving into a gentle smile, a reflection of her amusement at your eagerness. "I believe she has, my dear princess."

A gasp escaped your lips, bubbling forth in delight, and you leaped to your feet. "Can we see her? Please, may we?"

Septa Emery paused, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face as she regarded the earnestness shining in your eyes. Her voice, though laced with an air of formality, held a hint of affection. "I am uncertain, my princess. It may not be the proper time..."

But you pressed on, your pleas tumbling forth in a torrent of childlike sincerity. "Please, just for a moment! Then we shall return at once! I promise!"

After a drawn-out moment of contemplation, during which you could see the battle of duty and affection warring within her, Septa Emery sighed, her resolve crumbling. "Very well, let us go, Princess."

A smile erupted across your face, the kind that radiated pure joy, and in that instant, you were off—your feet barely kissing the ground as you raced from your solar. Septa Emery followed in your wake, her steps hurried yet careful, endeavoring to keep pace with your youthful exuberance as you dashed toward the birthing chambers.

You offered a quick, respectful curtsy to the guard stationed at the door, earning a small chuckle of amusement in return as he nodded and swung the heavy door open. You slipped into the room, your heart racing as your gaze landed on your mother, Alicent, who appeared weary and drenched in beads of sweat.

Following her weary eyes, you spotted your father standing at the center of the chamber, cradling a small bundle swathed in soft linen. A gasp escaped your lips, the sound a mixture of surprise and joy as you hurried to his side, eagerness bubbling within you.

“Father, may I see, please?” you asked, tugging excitedly at the hem of his tunic.

“My darling, be gentle with your father,” Alicent said with a scolding look, her voice tinged with exhaustion. At her words, you sheepishly withdrew your hand, though your excitement remained constant.

Viserys chuckled warmly, his eyes twinkling as he looked down at you. “Calm yourself, Alicent. She merely wishes to meet her new brother.”

A wide smile broke across your face upon learning that it was a boy. With a tender motion, Viserys lowered his arms, revealing the tiny face of your new brother. You leaned closer, your heart swelling with wonder.

"What is his name?" you asked, your voice a soft whisper filled with awe as you gazed at the small figure.

“Aemond,” the King replied quietly, an approving smile gracing his lips as he looked at the bundle with pride. “Aemond will do nicely.”

Aemond Targaryen struggled to recall the days of his infancy, memories shrouded in the mists of time. The solitary shard of clarity that pierced through his mind was the profound grief that accompanied the failure of his dragon egg to hatch, a sentiment that lingered like a shadow, filled with sorrow and disappointment. Pleasurable memories from his youth were rare as dragon's gold, yet the few he clung to were always linked to you.

His older sister, radiant as the sun, with a warm smile that graced her lips whenever she cast her gaze upon him. You never ridiculed him or taunted him for lacking a dragon of his own; rather, it was you who offered him solace. The first time he soared through the skies upon a dragon's back, it was your magnificent purple beast, Aegarax, that carried him aloft.

He recalled the fleeting moments when the weight of training and the useless lessons at the Dragonpit would lift from his shoulders. During those precious respites, he sought you out, drawn like a moth to a shimmering flame. Often, you would be found in the company of Helaena and your kind Septa, ever eager to absorb knowledge. Yet, there were those cherished times when you chose to spend your hours alongside him, wandering through the fragrant gardens or nestled in the library. There, you would ask him to read, his heart swelling with joy at the opportunity to please you.

Yet, a constant sense of unworthiness gnawed at him. If he ever hoped to be deemed worthy of your love, he felt he must embody the essence of a true Targaryen—a feat he believed could only be accomplished through claiming a dragon of his own. Thus, on one fateful day, he dared to enter the Dragonpit, almost succumbing to the searing flames of Dreamfyre. Shortly thereafter, a White Cloak hastily whisked him away to his mother, where he braced for her ire. Yet, to his astonishment, amidst a stern scolding, he found unexpected comfort in her embrace—an offering that was never given freely.

After cleaning his ashen skin, Aemond sought you out, yearning for your presence to soothe his troubled heart. It felt like an eternity as he navigated the many corners of the keep—the library, the gardens, and the courtyard—yet you remained elusive. Just as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, he finally discovered you in your chambers.

Without a moment's hesitation, he pushed open the door and slipped inside, finding you gracefully at work on the chaise, your fingers deftly weaving threads into intricate patterns. You were a breathtaking vision, embodying grace and beauty. In Aemond’s eyes, no other woman could rival you; with your bouncy auburn locks framing your face and your wide lilac eyes sparkling with warmth, you were perfection itself in his young gaze.

Suddenly aware of his presence, your lilac eyes widened in surprise, quickly softening into a gentle smile. “I didn’t hear you come in, Lēkia,” you said, your voice a soothing balm to his troubled spirit.

Aemond maintained a stoic facade, yet you recognized the telltale signs of turmoil he tried to conceal. Setting your embroidery aside, you rose and approached him, concern etched on your soft features. “What’s wrong?”

He bit his lip, fighting against the tide of tears that threatened to spill from a heart burdened by inadequacy. With a sudden rush, he wrapped his arms around you, burying his head against your soft stomach, the familiar comfort of your embrace drawing away the weight of his struggles. You enveloped him in your warmth, holding him close.

“What ails you, my sweet?” you asked softly, your voice gentle as you cradled him within your warmth.

In a muffled tone, he whispered something into your midsection, prompting you to hum thoughtfully. You gently withdrew from your embrace, seeking to meet his gaze. "Please, speak to me," you urged, your eyes searching his.

"I... I attempted to claim a dragon within the Dragonpit," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper as he averted your lilac gaze.

“Aemond,” you breathed, a soft sigh escaping with your words. He continued to gaze elsewhere, so you delicately entwined your fingers with his, leading him toward the luxurious chaise. “Come, sit.”

For a moment, you gazed at him tenderly, while you settled beside him, you brushed aside the silvery strands that shrouded his face, your touch light and affectionate. “You will have a dragon, Aemond. It flows through your bloodline, just as it does with every Targaryen.”

“But when?” he replied, his voice tinged with desperation and despair as his sad gaze finally met yours, shimmering with unfulfilled longing.

"I cannot say when, but the day will come," you assured him, caressing his cheek with a resolve you wished to impart. "In the meantime, you are always welcome to ride Aegarax with me. He enjoys your company as much as I do."

A flicker of relief sparked within Aemond, a small smile breaking the solemnity of his features. “One day, I shall marry you, Mandia,” he declared, his tone earnest.

You let out a light laugh—a melodious sound akin to a sweet harp, which soothed his troubled spirit. "Oh, really?"

He pouted at your playful response, brow furrowing with the weight of his intentions. "You think I jest, but I assure you, I will."

Meeting his earnest gaze with a warm smile, you nodded in playful affirmation. "Very well, Valonqar. We shall see."

In the gentle silence that followed, the two of you simply enjoyed the comfort of each other's presence. Aemond cast his gaze toward the window, observing the encroaching darkness that swallowed the sky. With a soft glimmer of hope in his brilliant violet eyes, he turned back to you, asking quietly, “May I stay here tonight?”

Your response was a tender smile only reserved for him, a sweet beacon that quickened his heart. “Of course, Aemond.”

His sister’s words rang with an undeniable truth. In time, Aemond did indeed lay claim to a dragon—not just any dragon, but Vhagar herself, the Queen of Dragons, the largest creature to ever soar the skies of Westeros. Yet, claiming such a majestic beast came at a grievous cost; he sacrificed an eye in the process. At first, he boasted that the price was worth it, but upon returning to the gilded halls of King's Landing, the true weight of his loss bore down on him.

Aemond found himself faced with the daunting challenge of relearning the world around him. He had to master the art of reading anew, to walk with the steadiness that had once come naturally, and to wield a sword with the same grace as before. Each endeavor was a trial, a relentless drain on his youthful body and spirit. Yet, through the trials of his recovery, you, his beloved elder sister, remained steadfast by his side, offering unwavering support and encouragement as he navigated this painful journey of transformation.

Until, all too suddenly, you weren't.

He entered your solar, seeking the solace of your presence, only to be met with the voices of your grandsire and mother. Concealed from their gaze, he peeked through the door, his heart heavy, and caught a glimpse of you standing by the window. Your arms were wrapped around yourself, as if trying to shield your heart from the world beyond.

"What was his name again?" your voice, laced with a softness that belied your inner turmoil, floated through the air, causing Aemond's brow to furrow in concern at the sorrow woven into your words.

"Thaddeus Rowan, Lord of Goldengrove," his mother replied, and Aemond felt a flicker of confusion as he noticed her wide, imploring eyes fixed upon you, as though she were silently pleading with you.

You nodded gently, your gaze lost in the sprawling landscape beyond, "Would I be able to bring Aegarax with me?"

"I daresay Goldengrove would welcome your dragon's protection with open arms, granddaughter," Otto declared, his eyes sharp and calculating as they scrutinized every nuance of your demeanor, awaiting your reaction with a predator’s patience.

A tumult of emotions roiled within Aemond’s chest, though he could hardly fathom why. A longing to comfort you surged, even as your back remained turned. At last, you responded, your voice resolute yet laced with vulnerability, "Then I shall fulfill my duty as a princess of the realm."

A spark of satisfaction flared in Otto’s expression. "I am glad to hear it, granddaughter," he affirmed, a tone of finality settling into his words.

Yet Alicent lingered, her gaze still fixed upon you, her eyes a tapestry of sadness and shame. She reached out a hand, a gesture of motherly affection, but in a moment of hesitation, withdrew before she could bridge the distance between you. With a shared understanding, she and Otto exchanged a nod before departing your solar. Aemond pressed himself behind a grand pillar, concealed from their view as his heart raced.

He knew he couldn’t linger long in the facade of concealment. After a moment's hesitation, he stepped into his sister's solar. Your back was turned to him, and as he drew nearer, he announced his presence with a caution, “Mandia.”

Startled, you flinched at the sound of his voice, swiftly raising your hands to your face—a gesture of self-protection. Only then did Aemond catch a glimpse of the tears streaming down your cheeks, slivers of silver glimmering in the waning light. His brows knitted together in concern as he advanced, but your dismissed his worry with a bittersweet laugh, “Lēkia. I fear you have caught me in a most untimely moment.”

He longed to comfort you, to wipe away your grief, yet an insatiable curiosity compelled him to press on gently, “Why were mother and grandsire speaking of Goldengrove?”

You cast him a scolding glance, brow raised, your slight smile faltering as you continued to dab at your damp cheeks, “It is considered rude to eavesdrop.”

“I do not understand what is happening,” he continued, urgency creeping into his voice. Deep down, however, he felt the ominous truth threatening to crush him.

With a heavy heart, you met Aemond’s gaze directly, your big lilac eyes filled with sorrow and reluctant acceptance. “I am betrothed to Lord Thaddeus Rowan of Goldengrove.”

His world shattered around him; the pain radiating from his chest was more excruciating than the loss of his eye. “What? No. You cannot.”

“It is not my choice, Aemond,” you replied, shaking your head in defeat, the shimmer of hope fading from your countenance.

“You are a Targaryen!” Aemond nearly shouted, his voice a crescendo of desperation. “He is unworthy of you.”

“It matters not,” you whispered softly, the finality of your words echoing in the stillness of the chamber.

Deep down, Aemond clung desperately to the hope that this was but a nightmare from which he would awaken. The truth, however, was a crueler torment than any physical wound. Breath came to him in ragged gasps, as if all the air had been stolen from his lungs, leaving him to struggle against a tide of despair.

“I think Aegarax will take nicely to The Reach," lost in your own turmoil, you failed to notice the torment that mirrored your own within Aemond’s piercing gaze. Instead, you murmured to yourself, perhaps seeking solace amidst the tempest of your emotions, "Yes, he will like it very much.”

And soon, the fates would conspire against them both. Just after Aegon and Helaena exchanged their vows, you would be sent away to the Reach—a gilded cage from which Aemond would not see you for six long years. Yet even in that time apart, his heart remained tethered to yours, longing for the touch of his lost sun amidst the shadows of his world.

It was done.

Aemond savored the sweet taste of victory. Aegon, his pitiful brother, lay incapacitated, the remnants of his power reduced to whispers, his body marred by burns that etched a grim testament to Aemond's fury. Aemond had dismissed his mother, Queen Alicent, from the Small Council, casting aside any vestige of her influence. Now, he stood unchallenged as Prince Regent, the shadow of his ambition stretching across the realm.

With resolute determination, he summoned Ser Criston Cole and commanded the Lord of Casterly Rock to march forth from the west, their forces destined to converge upon the foreboding shadows of Harrenhal. Aemond would join them at the opportune moment, ready to solidify his claim and quench the fires of dissent.

Though Aegon was silenced and the realm lay at his feet, one yearning gnawed at Aemond’s heart—a singular desire that eclipsed all else. He had longed for a figure who transcended mere ambition, a presence that had haunted his dreams since early childhood. As the sun dipped below the horizon, surrendering the sky to twilight, a raven arrived with a missive to his council from The Reach.

The missive bore grim tidings: Lord Thaddeus Rowan had perished in battle, and his brother Thoren had ascended to the title of Lord of Goldengrove, swearing fealty to Rhaenyra Targaryen. Rage bubbled within him as he recalled the moment his mother had all but surrendered you—his beloved sister—into the arms of that faded, middle-aged lord.

Images of you flooded his mind—your laughter echoing off the stone walls of your ancestral home, your smile a beacon in the dreariness of courtly life. Aemond felt the fire of desire ignite within him. The time had come; he would reclaim what fate had stolen.

It struck him as odd that, despite news of your firstborn being a daughter, you had recently given birth to a second child. Goldengrove, a jewel in the Reach, should rightfully have been entrusted to you, yet it now rested, unjustly, in the grip of Thoren Rowan.

But the thought that consumed Aemond was not one of territorial politics. No, it throbbed with the pulse of a more personal victory: your husband lay dead. At last, he could claim you as his own, severing the chains that bound you to another.

As soon as the first light of dawn kissed the horizon, Aemond resolved to pay a visit to Thoren Rowan. He would make the traitor pay for his disloyalty to the crown, and yet it was the promise of rekindling the bond with you that stoked the flames of his ambition.

In truth, Aemond had not found a moment's respite, his restless mind weaving visions of your long-anticipated reunion. As dawn broke over the horizon, shimmering rays of light filtering through the castle, he adorned himself in his finest garb, meticulously chosen for this momentous occasion. With a determined heart, he mounted Vhagar, ready to embark on his journey to the Reach.

The journey to Goldengrove was one of anticipation and fury. Hours slipped by, and at long last, Aemond beheld the looming silhouette of the castle. Vhagar’s terrifying wings overshadowed the stone walls, casting a foreboding shadow over the realm. The sounds of alarm bells rang out like wails of despair, mingling with the frightened cries of its inhabitants, as his arrival heralded both dread and a reckoning.

As Vhagar touched down, Aemond swiftly rounded up the Rowan men, making them kneel before him. Thoren Rowan, trembling and desperate, pleaded for mercy in the face of certain doom. Although the moment summoned an eager anticipation within him, Aemond felt a flicker of disappointment—he had hoped to catch a glimpse of you upon his arrival, yet you remained elusive, lost within the sprawling estate of Goldengrove.

Just as he prepared to utter the command that would unleash Vhagar's fiery wrath upon the trembling men, his gaze was drawn to a figure advancing through the smoke and chaos. Time seemed to stall as he recognized you, and his breath hitched in his throat.

You appeared as though a radiant goddess had graced the earth, clad in a gown of shimmering white and gold that caught the fading light. Your auburn locks, intricately braided, framed your face perfectly. Aemond studied you intently, noting that six years had graced you with maturity; the gentle roundness of your cheeks had given way to a more defined beauty, and your figure had blossomed into becoming more full, heralding your entrance into womanhood.

"What is this commotion?" you inquired, a frown tugging at your lips as you regarded Aemond, dismissing the row of quaking men at your feet with a mere glance.

Thoran Rowan, breath escaping him in a heavy sigh of relief, turned to you with palpable gratitude. “Good sister, finally! You must put an end to this madness.”

You turned to Thoren, tilting your head thoughtfully, your expression inscrutable. After a moment, you replied, “I shall call my brother off, but only on one condition, Thoren.”

Aemond listened intently, the gleam in his eye revealing no discontent with your words, while Thoran’s expression shifted to one of desperate anticipation. “Anything,” he affirmed, his voice barely above a whisper.

“My daughter shall inherit Goldengrove when she comes of age and ascend as its Lady,” you declared, unwavering and resolute, maintaining your composure in the face of any opposition.

“Sister!” Thoren's face contorted in disbelief. “She is a girl; It goes against tradition.”

You studied Thoran with a cold gaze, your shoulders rising in a nonchalant shrug. “Then I cannot help you. Without a male of the Rowan line, my daughter stands as the only viable heir to Goldengrove.”

“No, sister, I beg of you!” Thoren and the other men around him begged, their voices rising in a cacophony of panic.

But your expression turned frostbitten, and you regarded the men with a chilling finality. "And do not presume I have forgotten the vile rumors you spread about my children's legitimacy."

Aemond observed you with admiration, respect swelling within him as you seized control of the situation. The moment your eyes locked with his, he understood the silent command, the signal to act. Clearing his throat, he commanded, “Dracarys.”

In response, Vhagar unleashed a torrent of fire, roaring with fury as the flames enveloped the Rowan men, their terrified shrieks echoing through the vast fields of The Reach, and erasing the male line of House Rowan from existence.

As the smoke began to dissipate and the flames waned, you remained, an ethereal figure standing amidst the ash and remnants of destruction. A sweet smile graced your lips—a memory from his childhood, vivid and cherished, resurfacing in his mind like a long-lost song.

With a magnetic pull, Aemond moved towards you as if drawn by the siren call of your presence, oblivious to the world crumbling around him. You stood resolute, a beacon of strength and beauty. Finally, as he reached you, your delicate hand brushed against his scarred cheek, an intimate gesture that forced him to close his eye and lean into your tender touch. “I was wondering when you’d come for me, Lēkia,” you said softly, your voice like a gentle breeze amidst the ashes.

His heart swelled, and he leaned forward, placing a delicate kiss upon your palm. “You were expecting me,” he replied, his tone laced with wonder.

“Of course,” you replied with a teasing smile, the light in your eyes igniting a warmth within him that he thought was long gone.

With a deliberate slowness, you entwined your fingers with his and led him toward the opulent halls of Goldengrove’s palace, each step drew him deeper into the heart of the estate, much like a sailor lured by the enchanting call of a siren echoing from the depths of the sea.

The servants of Goldengrove shrank back at the sight of the One-Eyed Prince Regent, their expressions shifting to disbelief and dread as they recognized his formidable presence. Oblivious to their fear, you led him toward the sanctuary of your solar, a space filled with the warmth of flickering sunlight.

“Now, the question lingers: what shall you do now that you’ve arrived?” you purred softly, leaning against an intricately carved table, your heart quickening as Aemond advanced toward you, his movement both predatory and possessive.

“I think you know, Mandia,” he murmured, lowering his face until his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and tantalizing against your lips. “How I have yearned for this moment.”

“What moment do you speak of?” you breathed, barely able to contain the electricity crackling in the air between you.

“To finally taste you,” he replied, his voice a husky whisper, before closing the distance between you and bringing his lips to yours in a fervent kiss that ignited a wildfire within his soul.

Your lips were as sweet as they appeared, and Aemond felt his hand tighten possessively around your figure, surrendering to the primal urges that consumed him. His fingers explored your soft curves, gripping you gently yet firmly, eliciting a soft moan from your lips—a sound he swiftly took as his masterful invitation.

Aemond plunged into the depths of your mouth with his tongue, that fierce pleasure driving him onward. He knew at once you had indulged in lemon cakes, the remnants of their sweetness lingering. His tongue danced about the cavern of your mouth, searching hungrily, like a ravenous beast giving in to instinct, as you, too, welcomed his explorations with eagerness and fervor, your tongues entwining in a passionate dance.

Your hands instinctively found their way around his neck, drawing him closer as his rough hands roamed your body, grasping and squeezing with an insatiable hunger. A soft gasp escaped your lips when Aemond lifted you effortlessly, placing you upon the polished surface of the nearby table. The kiss broke, leaving you breathless, your cheeks flushed with heat as your heart raced, “What do you intend to do to me, Lēkia?”

Aemond’s breath came in heavy bursts, fueled by the desire of his cock that throbbed against the confines of his tight leather trousers. As he lifted the hem of your gown, revealing the delicate curves of your thighs, he spoke with a husky intensity, “I have savored your lips, and now I yearn to taste your cunt.”

A wanton moan escaped your throat at his words, succumbing to the heady thrill of surrender. He wasted no time, bunched your gown at your hips, and with a swift motion, he tore away your smallclothes, leaving you exposed to his ravenous gaze. Aemond’s eye, a vivid violet, widened in awe as they beheld your glistening and wet form, a sight that drove his desire deeper, hardening his erection further as he prepared to claim what was rightfully his.

Mouthwatering at the sight, Aemond was unable to resist sticking his face closer and inhaling you and the sweetest ambrosia he’s ever smelt. He adjusted himself in between your legs, bending down in front of you as he placed his lips right on your gleaming pearl.

“Yes, Lēkia!” you screamed almost squealing in shock. Aemond moaned in return, rutting his hips against the table beneath you.. Not wasting any time, he began to lick you from bottom to top, never touching your pearl after that first lick. Your hands reached once more into his long silver hair and directed him where you needed him most. Following your instructions, he allowed you to guide him, as to know the best way to please you.

Giving in, he finally started nibbling at your pearl, causing you to jerk up into him, trying to get more pressure. Not needing your instructions anymore, Aemond started devouring your cunt, giving most of his attention to your pearl but licking at your hole too. You could feel your peak start to bubble up inside you, that rising feeling inside your stomach letting you know you weren’t going to last much longer.

“I’m so close,” you moaned out, and Aemond was quick to remove his face from your pearl and replace it with his fingers as he spoke. The cool touch of his fingers was a shock to your system, your body jerking involuntarily.

“You want to come, Mandia. Go on then, peak on your Valonqar's tongue.” He almost ordered, placing his mouth around your pearl once more and sucking hard. His words and the suction on your pearl had you releasing immediately. Bucking hard against his face, blindly reaching for his hands to hold onto as you gave into the pleasure and moaned out his name.

“Too much,” you muttered after you came down from your peak, attempting to push him away. Aemond gave one last kiss to your pearl before standing up, his face covered in your glistening wetness. Grabbing his face, you pulled him toward your lips to taste yourself. Both moaning out at the perversity of it all as Aemond took that opportunity to once again stick his tongue in your mouth. Bringing you in closer as he tried to devour you, seemingly content to stay like this forever.

Taking advantage of the distraction he had with your tongue, your hands caressed his leather-clad chest, drifting down to his trousers and finally finding his erect cock. Feeling his hard length straining through was enough to ignore everything and focus on the way your cunt once again tingled in excitement, as your legs came to wrap around him, pulling his cock closer to your cunt.

“Do you wish to fuck your Rõva Mandia?" Groaning he involuntarily bucked his hips, causing you to arch and moan into his neck. His head was resting against your neck as well, holding you close to him in a very intimate embrace as you rolled your hips.

“Please,” Aemond barely whispered. Reaching your hands down, you hastily untied his laces as you grabbed his covered cock, stroking him before guiding him to your wet slit. Aemond released a groan as he felt your throbbing, tight cunt around him. Neither of you moved getting used to the overwhelming sensations stirring inside.

The feelings were so intense he thought he was going to release from just feeling you wrapped around his cock like a vice. In an attempt to distract himself, he started peppering small kisses on your neck. When Aemond – at last – buried himself to the hilt, he pulled his lips from yours and stared down at your face.

"I never could have imagined it would feel this way,” Aemond said in a strained voice. You let out a sweet laugh and he groaned, your cunt fluttering around him. He reached his free hand down and circled your pearl, letting small bits of pleasure seep through you.

He pulled out, leaving only the tip in, before pushing his cock back inside you. His eye widened and his breath vanished. Admittedly, Aemond was doing everything in his power not to thrust into your tight cunt. You were squeezing the life out of him and he just wanted to ravish you. Yet, Aemond reminded himself, you were not some random whore, no, you were his beloved sister.

Aemond continued thrusting into you slowly, one thumb still dangling over your pearl, as he eyed you. He carefully gauged your reaction, measuring each sigh and whimper from your lips. He took great pride in seeing the pleasure trickling into your eyes as he rocked his cock into you.

“Aemond!” you moaned, your head falling back against the table. Your cunt tightened and wetness flooded around Aemond's cock. You moaned again, and Aemond knew you were ready. He grinned, manic and excited, and pushed inside of you a bit harder, a bit deeper, and you loved it.

“Yes, Lēkia, right there,” you moaned as he fucked into you a bit faster. You knew he was holding himself back and you were thankful for that. His thrusts were rough and hard, but he cradled you carefully. His nails bit into your thighs gently as he grabbed your legs, spreading you wider so he could get deeper.

Your brother brought you so much pleasure that you couldn’t think of any words other than his name. You babbled it, along with a few expletives, about how much you wanted his cock, how you needed him, and eventually, how badly you needed to release.

Aemond wasn’t far behind you. Your tight, wet cunt was Heaven to him. You were a gift that no others could compare to. He wanted to sink himself so deeply into your body that he could never find the way out.

Aemond's breath caught in his throat as he noticed a damp patch on the fabric that veiled your breasts, his desire igniting. You opened your lilac eyes to find his gaze locked onto your chest, fixated as he rhythmically thrust into you.

Summoning all your strength, you pulled away from Aemond, your hands trembling as you expertly undid the ties at the front of your bodice, lowering your dress and liberating your breasts for his eager gaze.

"Take what you need from your Rõva Mandia," you moaned softly. The moment those words left your lips, something shifted in Aemond. He immediately dipped down, descending upon one of your nipples, his lips enveloping the hardening peak, teeth grazing teasingly as if he yearned to savor you completely. When he began to suck, a low groan escaped him as the sweet essence of his sister filled his mouth. After a moment, he switched to the other nipple, lavishing equal attention as he continued to drink from you.

Aemond eventually pulled away from between her breasts, mouth glistening with saliva and a few escaped beads of milk; licking the remnants away. Aemond released one of your thighs and pinched your pearl. He rubbed it furiously, daring you to release. His eyes were wild as he stared down at you, beautiful, throaty groans escaping his body.

“Cum for me, Mandia. Cum all over my cock, Ñuha jorrāelagon,” Aemond grunted. He tapped your pearl quickly, and with a shout of his name, you came all over him. Your body writhed with pleasure as whiteness blinded you. His name fell from your lips like a seductive mantra, and as he heard you cry out for him, Aemond came inside of you. He filled you with his seed, pumping himself slowly inside of you, as if to fill you to the brim.

With a deep sigh of utter exhaustion, Aemond sank against your chest, cautious not to crush you beneath him as he sought comfort among the softness of your breasts, recovering from the passionate lovemaking you had just shared. You lovingly combed your fingers through his silken hair, each stroke a tender caress that echoed your affection.

After a lingering moment, Aemond raised his head, his violet gaze locking onto yours, as he captured your lips once more in a fervent kiss.

When he finally drew back, his breath warm against your mouth, he murmured, "You shall accompany me back to King's Landing and take your place as my Queen."

A small smile graced your lips as you cupped his face with your hand, your touch gentle yet deliberate. "As you wish, Lēkia," you replied, pausing thoughtfully before adding, "Now, do you wish to meet my daughters?”

Aemond could only respond with a broad grin at your words, paying no mind to his softening cock still inside you.

As the echoes of your shared passion lingered in the air, you both took a moment to compose yourselves, the warmth of your reunion still glowing between you. You reached for Aemond's hand, and he clasped it eagerly, allowing you to guide him through the labyrinthine corridors adorned with intricate white stone.

Aemond's thoughts began to wander, drifting to your daughters—would their features reflect your beauty or the visage of your late husband? Perhaps a delicate blend of both? A pang of jealousy gnawed at him, a reminder that you would forever carry ties to a man who had once been a significant part of your life.

Yet, he swiftly reassured himself. He would cherish your daughters just as he cherished you. They were woven from your essence, and in his eyes, that already made them flawless. A gentle smile graced your lips as you led him into a sunroom, a sanctuary bathed in sunlight, where stained glass cast colorful patterns across the floor, and vivid bouquets of blossoms filled the air with sweet fragrance.

“Mama!” came the high-pitched voice of a little girl, breaking through Aemond’s reverie.

He looked down, a smile spreading across his face. But as his gaze fell upon the small figure before him, that smile faltered, his eye widening in surprise as he beheld a small girl with a cascade of silver hair—the complete counterpart of her mother’s rich auburn locks.

With gentle grace, you lowered yourself to scoop up the little one. Your daughter’s delicate silver locks were intricately woven into a braided crown, and she wore a regal purple gown that beautifully complemented her enchanting lilac eyes.

“Aemond, meet Elaena,” you introduced softly, your voice warm as your daughter peered up at him, a hint of shyness flickering across her face. “Elaena, this is your kepūs, Aemond.”

With a gentle nudge, you encouraged the girl to greet him, and she shyly waved her small hand from the safety of your embrace. Aemond’s heart softened at the sight, and a genuine smile broke across his features as he took Elaena’s tiny hand in his, pressing a soft kiss upon it. “Hello Elaena.”

Elaena stifled a soft giggle at Aemond's antics, her mirth spilling into the cozy air like sunlight filtering through the leaves. Just as you were about to respond to his playful tease, a plaintive cry shattered the tranquility that enveloped you. Turning your head, you carefully set Elaena down, and Aemond watched with rapt attention as you glided toward a nearby cradle, your smile radiating warmth as you leaned over the tiny bundle nestled there.

In that moment, Aemond understood that your babe had awoken to the sound of your voice, her cries a sweet summons for her mother’s embrace. He felt a surge of pride wash over him as you lifted your second daughter into your arms, her Targaryen silver hair gleaming like strands of moonlight.

With tender affection, you nuzzled the baby’s soft cheek, laughter bubbling forth as you said, “Has my little love finally awoken?” The baby responded with delighted coos, her tiny hands reaching out in eager recognition of her beloved Mama.

Aemond, entranced by the sight before him, felt a moment of stillness, the world around him fading into the background. Yet this reverie was soon interrupted by a gentle tug, pulling him back to reality. Glancing down, he found Elaena grasping the hem of his tunic, her arms reaching up to him, a beacon of innocence. A smile blossomed across his face as he swiftly bent down, cradling her in his arms. In an instant, she eagerly reached for his eye patch, prompting a chuckle to escape his lips at her curiosity.

With Elaena nestled securely against him, he approached you and the babbling babe, your brilliant smile illuminating the sun filled chamber. You gestured toward the child cradled in your arms. “This is Aelora,” you announced, your voice filled with pride.

Aelora babbled softly, her cherub face aglow with happiness as she settled back against you, content in her mother’s loving embrace. As Aemond stole a glance at you, with Elaena in his arms and Aelora wrapped in your tender care, a profound realization washed over him. Your daughters, with their shimmering silver tresses and purple gaze, could have been a perfect reflection of him.

In the tangled depths of his thoughts, it seemed as though you had fashioned a perfect little family just for him to claim. His two precious daughters and his beloved Rõva Mandia.

a/n | in my head, her name is aelyri in tribute of alicent's mother, alerie florent.

headcannon: she named elaena after helaena.

another headcannon: after coming back to king's landing, she realised goldengrove was the upgrade.

mandia - sister

rõva mandia - big sister

valonqar - little brother

lēkia - brother

ñuha jorrāelagon - my love

kēpus - uncle

Goldengrove

Aegarax

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond x you #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #hotd #hotd fanfic #ewan mitchell #hotd x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut

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egophiliac · 8 months

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Please elaborate on your twst Pokémon headcannons I’m very interested

I had planned on drawing everyone for this (I made a LIST!) but it. hasn't been going well. 💀 soooo here's what I have so far!

Riddle - Roserade (I was going with 'no legendaries', otherwise I would've given him a Shaymin) (and I don't think Togedemaru is actually a hedgehog or I would've given him one of those too) (...they kind of do fit though. hmm.)

Trey - Alcremie (clover/mint cream + strawberry/ruby cream)

Cater - DITTO SQUAD! DITTO SQUAD! DITTO SQUAD!

Ace - Impidimp (I feel like there's probably a better one for him, but I can't think of it)

Deuce - Scraggy (meanwhile I KNOW deep in my heart that this is true)

Leona - Pyroar (but like. a nasty Pyroar. just a grizzly old Pyroar with the shittiest attitude imaginable. they pretend to hate each other but secretly they are a bonded pair, do not separate)

#art #twisted wonderland #pokemon #poketwst #i'm trying not to pressure myself too much art-wise right now #but i would like to do more of the characters!#(especially considering this started with my insistence that malleus would have a dragapult)#gotta draw something i don't immediately hate first ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ #ANYWAY enough art angst!#i'm not aiming for full teams or delving too deep into lore or anything #just one or two per character that i think fit!#i was pretty torn on leona for a while because pyroar is at once the obvious choice but also. not really?#(i did consider luxray and ultimately decided it doesn't really fit either)#but i kind of love Nasty Lionboy's Nasty Pyroar #i think there's probably some. like. ~royal tradition~ that they all bond with this one specific breeding line or whatever #and leona deliberately chose just the absolute worst one #took one look at this shitty rude pokemon and immediately went 'that one'#falena was like 'are...are you SURE' and leona cops an attitude like 'i'm choosing my OWN pokemon you're not my DAD'#as pyroar is actively attempting to eat him #actually it probably tried to eat kifaji first and that's when leona decided he liked it #me: this is just for funsies i'm not doing lore (writes a whole fanfic in the tags)

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edwinspaynes · 17 days

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I'm thinking about DBDA per usual and I think I've realized that one thing that makes it so groundbreaking for queer rep is the way it never positions romantic love as greater than platonic love.

Like, Edwin and Charles have a "so devoted the lines blur" thing going on, but Charles's "I can't say that I'm, like, IN love with you" is never framed as an insult to Edwin. Edwin himself feels extremely loved afterward!

And then I feel like I have to talk about the end of episode 4 here, too. We see Edwin and Niko, a completely platonic pairing (and one of the strongest, most beloved dynamics in the series.) They're bonding on a super deep level, Edwin staying around and Niko writing to her mom with his condoning presence there. It immediately smash-cuts to a romantic pairing across the hall (Charles and Crystal) just distracting themselves by kissing each other. The platonic scene is the one with the emotional impact.

Whether you're allo or ace or aro, queer people tend to have a lot of stakes in platonic relationships. Lots of media doesn't get that. DBDA does. That's one reason it feels so true to its queerness and its characters.

#dbda #dead boy detectives #save dead boy detectives #save dbda #edwin payne #charles rowland #niko sasaki

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leclerc-hs · 6 months

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it's cool, we're just friends? - cl16

pairing: college!charles leclerc x fem!reader (friends with benefits!) summary: in which you and a guy in your class are friends with benefits OR you and your friends with benefits might be more? warnings: smut under the cut! thigh-riding, throat-fucking, p in v sex!, no condoms (bad!), badly translated french (pls correct me), angst, pining, NOT PROOFREAD!!!! word count: 4.8k! author's note: so i ALMOST scrapped this entire thing because i wasn't sure how i felt about it so if it sucks, i understand LOL. i had a lot of fun writing this and can see myself writing a lot of scenarios for them like before there was this many feelings involved? like maybe a spring break one shot for them, when they hooked up for first time ;) PLEASE let me hear your thoughts and any comments you have. I love hearing from you guys xoxo

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

THE WEIGHT OF his eyes bore into the back of your skull, a palpable presence as you immerse yourself in the lecture before you. It’s almost become a ritual at this point: a magnetic pull compels you to glance his way, and there he is, a smirk stretching wide across his face, as if he holds the upper hand.

In that fleeting moment where your eyes meet his verdant gaze, a fierce intensity ignites within you. It’s as if a wildfire unleashes, consuming you with an unbridled mix of desire and exasperation. Your stomach tightens with a fervent ache, betraying the absolute irritation you feel at his ability to rile you up with one look.

Internally, Charles wrestles with the urge to gaze at you as though you’ve strung the stars and moon just for him. Yet, outwardly, he remains steadfast, unwilling to reveal his vulnerability when it comes to you. Instead, he masks his emotions behind a practiced smirk—a façade. And the blushing reaction you give him almost every time, only enthuses him more.

“Arrête!” You half-shout, though it emerges more as a whispered urgency amidst the large lecture hall.

Charles leans in over his desk, his lips hovering dangerously close to the shell of your ear, a proximity that sets your heart racing with a rapid intensity.

“Est-ce que je te verra ice soir?” Will I see you tonight?

You kept your head straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the warmth of him being so close, resisting the allure of his voice.

“Peut-être.” Maybe.

At the front of the lecture hall, Professor Bernard stands tall, his expression grave as he prepares his common ‘you guys are smarter than this’ speech about the recent exam grades. He highlights the alarming fact that more than half of the class received a 70% or lower. And true to his reputation as the kindest professor, he extends an olive branch by offering retakes to those who seek improvement before dismissing the lecture.

You gather your belongings, ready to make your exit, when suddenly, a heavy arm wraps around your shoulder just as you cross the threshold of the door.

You? Aced it. Charles? Not so aced it.

Which you knew meant you were helping him study as usual.

You watch as Charles runs his fingers through his disheveled locks, each movement betraying a hint of frustration and determination. His lips form a subtle pout as he fixates on the study material you laid out before him, his furrowed brows highlighting the depth of his concentration.

“Mon chou, je ne pensais pas que tu m’avais invite pour ça.” I didn’t think you invited me over for this.

With a gleam in his eyes, he wiggles his eyebrows playfully as he collapses on the many pillows of your bed behind him. The papers scattered across the bed threaten to take flight, but your swift reflexes saved them from soaring away into chaos.

You narrow your eyes in mock annoyance, but the small smile tugging at the corners of your lips betrays your amusement at the situation.

“Tu dois étudier.” You need to study.

Charles stares at the corners of your lips, his eyes not straying once from them even as you spoke.

“Embrasse-moi d’abord.” Kiss me first. He nearly begs; his face almost completely covered by the hood of his sweatshirt as he laid on his back beside your cross-legged figure.

“Étudie.” Study. Your words were firm, yet you could feel your resolve slipping under the intensity of his gaze, as it traces a path from your lips to your eyes, igniting a warmth that stirred whenever he was near.

His arm reaches up behind your neck in a swift motion, too quick for you to even see it coming. His fingers grabbing the nape of your neck in a tight grip as he brings your face down to his, your body toppling over his in an unnatural position from his force. His lips collide with yours instantly, and the squeal you elicit gives him easy access to slip his tongue into your mouth.

He groans softly against your mouth, something about how sweet your mouth tastes. The moan that escapes your lips and melded into his mouth drove him absolutely crazy. The grip on the back of your neck didn’t loosen as he held you to him, giving you no opportunity to pull away from him.

Your tank top cladded chest was pressed against the side of his body, embracing you in his warmth. You press a hand to his chest, attempting to push yourself up, but he groans against your lips in detest before loosening his grip on your neck.

“Est-ce vraiment necessaire.” Do we have to? He begins to pepper kisses all around your face, his fingers dipping under the straps of your tank top, tracing intricate patterns of the soft skin beneath.

You slip your hand under the warmth of his hoodie, his toned muscles flexing under your cold fingertips as you trail your hand up his chest and slip one leg over him, straddling his thigh. His skin was so warm. Almost like a furnace.

He sucks in a breath, as if your touch hurt him, but really, he craved it. He wanted you everywhere. The tight leggings that adorned your body did little to prevent Charles from feeling the heat and arousal of your pussy against his thigh. A smirk widened on his lips almost instantly. He knew he had you right where he wanted you.

He could sense your contemplative thoughts by one glance at your eyes. As if you knew he needed to study, but you needed this more.

You could barely concentrate the minute Charles sprawled onto your bed earlier, his legs spread and shorts riding up to expose the muscles of his thighs. It was even harder to think with the way his soft green eyes look up at you, and the way his fingers felt on you.

His hand trails from beneath the strap of your tank top, your hardened nipples more than visible through the thin fabric of it, to the front of your breasts.

“No bra?” His thumb rolled a nipple between his thumb and forefinger above the fabric of your shirt. “Planning on getting fucked, hm?”

Your hips rut against his thigh almost instantly in response to his words. The feeling of his thigh against your clit, causing a soft moan to slip. It was then, that Charles seemed to lose all restraint as his hand grasped the side of your neck and squeezed lightly, his thumb resting in the center of your neck. He flexed his thigh, his eyes gleaming at the sight of your blown out pupils.

“Regarde-toi,” Look at you. He edged you on. “Just wanna ride m’thigh, yeah?”

Your hips move in their own rhythm, unable to stop. It just feels too good. You nodded repeatedly as you lean over, pressing your chest to his, as he claims your lips once again. His hot, tongue sliding against yours as the stubble of his facial hair scratches your chin.

You struggle, losing the rhythm of your hips until Charles slid his hands down to your waist, guiding your movements. “C’mon mon chou, tu dois travailler pour ça.” You have to work for it.

“We should study.” You mention, the pace of your hips not stopping. As if your body has a mind of its own.

“Nous sommes.” We are. He argues, his fingertips squeezing into the skin of your hips even more. “Now, keep rubbing that pretty little pussy on me.”

“Oh, what about her?” You point to the pretty brunette that was currently leaned against the wall, a red solo cup in her manicured hand, as she was deep in conversation with a few other girls that you haven’t seen before.

Charles sighs heavily, rolling his eyes just slightly. “Why are you pawning me off?” He cracks a smile, his elbows gently hitting your side.

You let out a small laugh before bringing your own cup to your lips. The liquid of your drink resting on the top of your lip as you finished a sip and turned to look at Charles. “M’not!” You shrug your shoulders. “Elle est jolie and keeps looking at you thinkin’ no one’s noticed.” She’s pretty.

He wouldn’t know about the ‘pretty brunette’ you claimed was there. He didn’t know about any other girl that was here. His eyes haven’t left your figure the entire night. Since you stepped in the entrance of the house he was by your side, it was like his body knew you arrived.

“Peu importe ça, m’gonna go dance.” Whatever. You stick your tongue out at him, earning a deep laugh, and saunter off to find one of your friends already on the makeshift dance floor in the living room of the house.

Charles leans casually against the wall, his eyes tracing the contours of your radiant smile from afar. Despite himself, a soft grin tugs at the corners of his lips as he takes in the sight of you.

“Are you sure you’re not together?” One of his friends, Alex, teases, leaning in close to Charles and handing him a red solo cup, its contents mostly frothy beer foam from an evidently lazy pour. “I was thinking of asking her out.”

Charles’s gaze drift from the frothy mess in his cup to Alex’s expectant face, a furrow forming on his brow. It wasn’t the foam that troubled him, rather, it was Alex’s words that unsettled him. How was he supposed to respond? We aren’t together but I think I’m in love with her?

Charles clenches his jaw, fighting back the urge to speak his truth, as the words “have at it” slip past his lips with a forced nonchalance. With a hollow smile, he raises the cup to his lips, swallowing the acrid liquid with a newfound eagerness that masked the bitter taste of envy and longing festering in his chest. As Alex made his way towards you, Charles couldn’t help but feel a pang of anguish, knowing that he was relinquishing his chance to confess his feelings, drowning them instead in the depths of a cheap beer.

“Mmm, tu es tellement douée.” You’re so good.

You weren’t quite sure how you ended up in this scenario. All you remember is being dragged away from a game of beer-pong with Alex, his fingers gripping your wrist so tightly it could’ve left marks, and shoving you onto your knees as soon as he shut the bathroom door.

Dwelling on the how’s and why’s seemed inconsequential now. Especially with his cock buried deep down your throat like it is right now, and especially with the praises that slip past his lips.

Charles lulls his head back with a loud groan as he flexes his hips into your mouth, giving you little to no opportunity to breathe. No opportunity to speak. But you didn’t care. You would do anything to please him.

“Tellement putain de jolie, mon dieu.” So fucking pretty, my God.

“Bet you’re soaked under that dress, hm?” His grip on your hair tightens. “Got you all wet without even touching you.” His laugh is deep and mocking. You feel your thighs clench, like it was an automatic response. “Only I get you like this, yeah?”

You press your face forward, not even needing his force as you take full enjoyment in the feeling of him in your mouth.

“So eager, mon chou.”

You moan at the feeling of his smooth cock against the walls of your throat. The vibrations of your moan, immediately sending him over the edge. His white, hot cum spills down your throat, filling you up, before he pulls out. A long string of saliva follows, your eyes completely teary.

He lifts you from your knees, the cool tile of the bathroom floor no longer your support, his thumb gently resting on your chin as he studies you for a mere second. Taking in the streaky tears under your eyes and your swollen lips. He could already feel the blood rushing back to his cock.

“Bet you’re leaking all over yourself, yeah?” You catch the smirk that pulls onto his lips before his lips crash down onto yours. His teeth nibbling on your bottom lip for a brief second before he’s pulling away, pushing you up onto the bathroom sink counter as he stands in between your spread legs. “All achy?” He cocked his head to the side a little, like he knew something you didn’t.

It was so fast, you weren’t even able to ask questions before he leaned forward, his fingers slipping into the lace of your underwear, pushing them aside, and pressing his hot tongue to your soaked core.

You swore you’ve never moaned so loud in your life as you just did in this moment. At the feeling of the kitten licks on your clit, at the feeling of him shoving two fingers into you, finding that spot he knew you loved most almost instantly.

Your fingers franticly reached into his tousled locks, pulling his hair probably harder than necessary, but he didn’t mind. In fact, he moaned right into your pussy. Like he couldn’t ever get enough of you. Like he would stay licking you for forever if he could.

“Mon dieu,” My god. You squeal as your head lulls back against the cool mirror behind you and bite your lip trying to conceal the moans.

You look down at Charles, his eyes already staring at you, his green eyes completely darkened now. It makes your stomach do a multitude of flips. Your attempt to squeeze your legs shut from the pressure building in your stomach, but Charles grips his fingers into the soft flesh of your thigh, holding them open.

A series of knocks are heard on the bathroom door which sends you into a total panic to which Charles yells “Va te faire foutre!” Fuck off!

Your body squirms against Charles’ mouth and the granite of the countertop, but he holds you in place as if to say you’re not going anywhere until you soak my mouth.

He ate you out like a possessed man. Your chest is flushed red as the speed of his tongue picks up, sending you into overdrive. It wasn’t until he sucks harshly on your clit, the pressure of it, has you leaping over the edge into your orgasm. You came hard enough that your body arched, your fingers clenching his hair, pulling hard.

Charles doesn’t come up right away, he licks and licks until you’re pushing him off you. Both of your chests rose and fell in rhythm with each heavy breath, the lingering echoes of the lively party beyond the door gradually seeping back into your consciousness. It felt as though you had just descended from a faraway realm, returning to the bustling reality surrounding you.

His lips glistened, coated in you, as he stares at you completely fucked out on the bathroom counter. An unmistakable smugness in his expression.

His heart clenches as he drinks in the sight of you, so many emotions swirling in his chest. As you stretch your lips into that smile he loves so much, he feels a swell of warmth flood his senses, a tender ache stirring in the depths of his soul.

“Qu’est-ce qui te prend?” What’s gotten into you?

Not that you were complaining at what just happened. If anything, you wouldn’t mind if he wanted a repeat right now.

He nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders, one hand leisurely slipping into his pocket, while the other moved to grasp the door handle. With a patient stance, he awaited your readiness before even considering opening the door. “J’avais juste besoin de toi,” Just needed you. He whispers, his voice carrying a tender resonance, emphasizing the depth of longing.

And then he’s swinging the door open, guiding you both back to the party.

“Je pense que nous devrions arrêter.” I think we should stop.

The words felt heavy in your throat as you said them, your hand clasped in Charles’ hand as you sat across from one another in the campus coffee shop.

Charles chuckled softly, taking a leisurely sip of his drink, but when be caught the seriousness in your expression, his laughter faded. His eyebrows knitted together, a pang of pain igniting in his chest and spreading like wildfire.

You watched as he leaned his head back against the booth, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as if unable to meet your eyes.

“Que veux-tu dire?” What do you mean? He met your eyes again, and you noticed a subtle shift in their hue—they were slightly darker than their usual shade of green.

“Je ne pense pas que ç ava marcher.” I don’t think this is going to work out. As you uttered the words, a queasy sensation churned in your stomach, making you feel like you were going to be sick. Similarly, Charles felt a wave of nausea wash over him upon hearing your words, his own stomach in knots.

Just looking at him had your eyes burning, but you refused to let the tears fall. Despite the overwhelming love you felt for this man, you couldn’t ignore the reality that it was unlikely to progress beyond the messy situation you found yourselves in. What were you supposed to do? Be friends that fuck for the rest of your lives?

You couldn’t do that. You wouldn’t do that. It wasn’t a spur of the moment decision. No, you’ve been thinking about this for so long, but cutting it off was just too hard. Cutting him off was too hard.

As you watched him slowly retract his fingers from yours, his hand moving to pinch the bridge of his nose while he blinked, a fiery ache within your chest grew.

“We’re friends, always, right?” You asked, offering him a soft smile, though inside, your heart felt like it was about to burst from your chest. You reminded yourself that this was necessary. You needed to go on dates. Not that he was exactly holding you back. It just felt wrong to go on dates while sleeping with another.

“Right,” he responded, his expression devoid of a smile. “Friends.” He nodded slowly, as if carefully considering the weight of the situation before him.

“Est-ce que je peux demander ce qui a déclencé cela?” Can I ask what brought this up? His fingers tapped restlessly along the edge of the table, betraying his impatience as he awaited your answer.

Meanwhile, you sat twiddling your thumbs in your lap, occasionally stealing glances at them. Why did this conversation feel so unbearably difficult?

“Quoi?” What?

“Est-ce que j’ai fait quelque chose?” Did I do something?

You shook your head instantly, a small blush forming on your cheeks. “I just,” You began, but felt flustered as you took a pause to look back down at your fingers and then him again. His eyes made you feel hot all over, the way they never strayed from your face whenever you spoke to him, the way they dropped to your lips every so often as if he couldn’t stop thinking about kissing you. He couldn’t.

“I just think I need to go on dates.” You nervously smiled.

“You think?” He scoffed, throwing one arm over the top of the booth, and resting it there as he fell into a relaxed position. His eye twitched slightly, as he flexed his hand and clenched it like he was holding himself back.

You’re not sure how to respond. You had anticipated this conversation to be brief, perhaps along the lines of “I think we should end this,” followed by his immediate agreement. But apparently, that wasn’t the case. You could feel yourself growing flustered the longer you sat here. Why couldn’t he just simply agree, no questions asked.

You nodded, with slight hesitance. Did you really want to end it with him? No.

He shrugged his shoulders, pulling a little smirk on his face as he usually did. “Très bien.” Fine.

And that was that.

Charles decided that he had it up to here when you strolled into the house party, lips shiny with gloss, and you hand held in none other than Alex’s. It was as if you were trying to torture him. Like you knew that he loved you and you just wanted to hurt him a little more.

He’s watching, you can feel his eyes burn into you as you turn your head, pretending to listen to Alex as he rambles on about some story. You don’t let yourself glance over to Charles until later in the night, when he’s leaned up against the kitchen counter, a half-empty beer bottle gripped in his hand, eyes already on you.

You felt your stomach do a multitude of flips from the eye-contact, that you even almost pulled your hand from Alex’s. Like you were caught doing something wrong.

You quickly realized that you had little to no self-control, especially when it came to Charles. With his hair pushed back and the linen shirt half-unbuttoned, allowing the toned and taut muscles of his stomach to peek through, it almost seemed as though he wanted to make it even harder for you to resist. Like he wanted to punish you for not choosing him.

He had you right where he wanted you, sort of.

“Shh,” Charles nips at your earlobe, eliciting a mewl from you as he presses you against the mattress of his bed. “You want everyone to hear what a whore you are, hm?”

Another string of moans leaves your lips as he thrusts into you, the pads of his fingers gripping the front of your neck tightly. His eyes fixed on yours, the pace of his hips was slow, but so deep.

“Tell me,” Charles began, his tongue trailing along your collarbones and up your neck until his mouth hovered over yours. “Still wanna play stupid games with me, jolie fille?” Pretty girl.

You whined as his hips picked up in pace. “Ouvrir.” Open. You did so without a second thought, only to be met with a string of saliva meeting your tongue. Charles groaned as you swallowed his spit, eagerly.

“Still wanna pretend we’re just friends?” He could feel your walls trembling as her hand snaked its way to the back of his neck, pulling his lips down to meet hers. It was a tangle of tongues and moans.

“Does he fuck you as good as me?” You couldn’t handle the way he was talking to you, staring at you, touching you. “Gripping me like you’re gonna come.”

You shook your head repeatedly.

“That’s it,” His voice was gentle in your ear. “So good, mon chou.”

Your breaths were jagged and heavy as he took you harder and harder. “Rub your pretty little clit for me, yeah?”

Your body was shaking as you trailed your fingers down, fingers playing with your clit. Charles rested on his knees, his eyes staring at his cock being swallowed by your pussy, and the way your fingers toyed with your sensitive clit. He groaned at the sight of his cock coated in you.

It wasn’t long before you careening forward with a cry, your body arching off the bed, as you came around his cock. Charles fell forward over you, an arm on each side of your head, as he cocooned you. His hips didn’t let up as you sobbed out, your toes curling.

Charles could feel his resolve slipping at the feeling of your soaked walls clenching him. He threw his head into the crevice of your neck, the rhythm of his hips faltering as you wrapped your legs around his waist, allowing him to thrust even deeper than before. He rolled his hips, pumping into you with such a fervent rush.

“Mon dieu,” His groans were soft in your ear. “You feel so good.”

It wasn’t until you moaned in his ear, begging for him to come in you, that he lost all control. A deep moan, pressing his hips down against yours as he held you down, pumping his cum deep into you.

For a few moments, it was silent. Just the sound of your heavy breaths as Charles collapsed to the side of you. You both felt oddly at peace, even with the thumping of the house party music heard from the other side of his bedroom door.

Charles stood up, grabbing a towel from his bathroom, before bringing it to you to help clean you up. Something primal filled his chest as he stared at you sprawled on his bed, his cum dripping out of you.

It was the last swipe of the towel when he finally spoke.

“We’re not friends.” He stated. He was sick of teetering around the topic. He was sick of seeing you with other guys at his house.

You opened your mouth to retort, but he held his hand up, essentially silencing you.

“Stop pretending you want any other guy’s cock.” He stood before you as you sat up on the edge of the bed still naked, hands clenched at his sides in a fist. You began to stand up, your face turning red with anger, not because of his words but because he was right.

You grabbed your dress that was in a pile on the floor, slipping it on in a hurry. “Je dois partir.” I need to go. You began, “Alex me cherche probablement.” Alex is probably looking for me.

It was then that Charles raised his voice, if it weren’t for the loud music, you could’ve sworn the entire house would’ve heard.

“J’en ai tellement marre de ça!” I’m so sick of this! He runs his fingers through his hair, pacing the room back and forth. You felt your words caught in your throat as you stood still, your eyes following his every movement until he stood before you, his hands gripping your waist.. “Je t’aime!” I love you! He laughs after he says it, like he’s so pathetically in love with you and you have no care in the world for it.

“I cannot handle seeing you with another man.” He rambles off. “I cannot handle seeing you showing up here, to my home, holding another man’s hand.” He seethes, bringing his thumb and pointer finger to pinch the bridge of his nose as he breathes in, attempting to calm himself down.

“I know you love me.” His fingers grab your hand, pulling it up to his chest and holding it where his heart beats. Tears welled up in your eyes as you gazed at him, his eyes reflecting a wild intensity, his hair disheveled hair adding to his untamed allure. Sensing your vulnerability, he gently cupped your face with his other hand, offering you a tender touch. You leaned into his comforting embrace, as if seeking solace in his presence. With a silent nod, you pressed your head against his hand, a single tear escaping down your cheek, bearing witness to the depth of your emotions.

“I’m so sick of seeing people with what is mine.” He urged. “You can’t be someone else’s, not when you are already mine.”

“Charlie,” You drew in a deep breath, locking eyes with him, drowning in the depths of his green gaze. Every fiber of your being resonated with love for this man, an unshakeable devotion that consumed your soul.

“S’il te plait.” Please. His voice was a whispered hush as he begged. “Put me out of my misery.”

He opened his mouth to continue, but you didn’t let him. You stood on the tips of your toes, leaning forward to press your chest against his as you pressed your lips to him. His arms immediately wrapping around your waist as you slipped your tongue into his mouth. He groaned at the taste of you in his mouth again, his cock already hardening for you.

You pulled off him, “Really?” He let a small laugh escape his lips as he pulled your mouth back onto his for a small peck.

“I’m a man in love.” He grins, like he has nothing to be ashamed about.

“Je t’aime.” I love you.

Charles tenderly pressed his lips to the side of your neck, his tongue tracing delicate patterns along the velvety skin, sending shivers down your spine. “Répète-le.” Say it again. He whispers, his voice husky with desire. As his lips continue down their intoxicating dance on your neck, his fingers trail the straps of your dress, gradually easing them down your shoulders with a tantalizing touch.

“Je t’aime.” I love you. He placed a small nip to your neck, eliciting a small squeal, as he lifted you up and carried you back to his bed.

“M’so in love with you,” He presses a kiss to your lips. “Don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fic #f1 imagine #f1 one shot

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merakiui · 1 month

Text

chemic.

floyd leech x (female) reader cw: nsfw, lots of nerdy pining from floyd, a few cringe science innuendos, childish locker room talk, characters written as 18+, nrc is written to be co-education, reader can use magic note - in the stories you've read, the dumb jock and the teacher's pet always have some sort of clash. if your life is fiction, then you've just fallen into that exact trope. in chemistry, alkali metals react explosively when mixed with water. or: the teacher's pet and the dumb jock are paired up for an alchemy project, and both find that the other has been egregiously mischaracterized by the narrative.

You’ve always thought Floyd Leech was reckless.

“He skips classes, turns in half-completed assignments, and he’s always sleeping around,” you gripe to Ace, who idolizes the upperclassman and his proclivity to party carelessly. Apparently, Floyd’s example is all the rage nowadays amidst the guys at Night Raven.

“So what? We all do that.” Ace sticks his tongue out at you. “Not everyone’s a nerd like you.”

You huff and snap your book shut. “I care about my education. There’s nothing ‘nerdy’ about that.” Your gaze sweeps through the crowded cafeteria, and there he is—Floyd Leech, munching gluttonously on a plate piled high with takoyaki.

“No, I totally get it,” Deuce cuts in. “It’s good to keep up with school. Grades are important. I guess some of us wouldn’t know since he’s not honor student material.”

“Oh, hop off. Deuce is only agreeing with you cuz he wants in.” Ace nudges you, gazing not-so-subtly at your skirt.

Smooth like a well-oiled machine, you turn your horrified stare on a very red-faced Deuce.

“I-I do not!” he protests, choking on his drink. “That’s not true! I’m not that kinda guy. I was just saying—” He stops himself and glares fiercely at a snickering Ace. “Do you wanna fight?!”

“Honestly…” Sighing, you stand up. Boys will always be boys. That will never change.

In your world, there is nothing three-dimensional. It’s all purely fiction. Everyone fits into a trope, packaged neatly for your consumption. It’s literature.

Deuce is the Delinquent. Ace plays the role of the Best Friend (who won’t admit it until you catch him in a sentimental mood; he’s just that type). And Floyd’s the Dumb Jock.

As for you, you’re just a reader. An observer. You watch the story that is your school life unfold before your eyes, and it is full of unusual characters. By fiction’s logic, the Dumb Jock and the Teacher’s Pet almost always clash. You avoid this trope like the plague because, in every iteration you’ve read, the Dumb Jock is always painfully foolish and the Teacher’s Pet is always annoyingly clever. There’s nothing more to either of them. No depth whatsoever.

That’s how it’s supposed to be, at least.

But the thing about your beloved fictional worlds is that, whether you like it or not, one day you’ll have to put the book down and face reality.

“Leech! Bad boy!” Professor Crewel snaps his pointer against the chalkboard. It quiets the class instantly, and all eyes fall upon the troublemaker in question. “How many times must I tell you not to play with the equipment?”

“Oops. My baaad,” he drawls from the back of the class, not sorry in the slightest.

You watch him from your seat and your dislike for him grows by the minute. What a lazy attitude. Doesn’t he know he’s supposed to pay attention to the instructions? Professor Crewel’s just about to assign groups, but I doubt he was even listening to that. He’s so busy doing… What even is he doing?

It looks like he’s doodling or fiddling with the vial. Whatever it is, it can’t be good. You peer at your own materials, each one organized on your desk, and beam proudly.

Professor Crewel tuts. “Seeing as your investment in this project is nonexistent, I’m going to pair you with someone who’ll keep you on track. Remember, pups, you and your partner will receive the same grade. This is a team effort, and so the work you do should reflect that. Now then… (Last Name)!”

You flinch. “Yes, Professor?”

“You and Leech will be partners.”

“Me? Hold on. Wait. There has to be—”

“Rosehearts, you will be with Ashengrotto.”

You can almost taste the Strict Tyrant’s—Riddle’s—relief as he deflates. Anyone’s better than Floyd. For once, everyone can agree on that. Or perhaps that’s a sentiment shared only by you and Riddle. You don’t miss the longing stares of some of Floyd’s admirers as they gaze forlornly between the two of you.

Professor Crewel sets his clipboard down. “I expect fine work from all of you. Anyone who fails to meet the deadline or scores anything below the average will take remedial lessons after class. You have one month to finish this project. Instructions have been included in your kits. Work together and utilize your time wisely. We’ll meet halfway through to discuss where everyone currently stands. Dismissed!”

A collective groan sweeps through most of the class as they begin filing out of the room. You jump up from your seat, hurrying to gather your belongings, and bound towards Professor Crewel’s desk. You’re going to plead your case. You can’t work with Floyd.

But then he’s trotting down the aisle, covering each step with a whistle. “Heeey, if it isn’t Li’l Shrimpy! Guess you ’n I are partners now. Lucky me.”

“Hello, Floyd…”

“Aww. You sound so bummed.” He grins. “You sad you didn’t get paired up with Goldfishie?”

You swat him away when he leans over into your space. “This is an injustice. I shouldn’t have to work my ass off just to carry you,” you hiss, scowling at him.

“Hey, I’ll pull my weight. I never said I wasn’t gonna do it.”

Refusing to debate this matter further, you turn swiftly on your heel. Your skirt swishes with the movement. “If you skip even one of the meetings, I’m telling Professor Crewel.”

Floyd follows dutifully after you, irritating like a parasite curled beneath your skin. “What a scary threat comin’ from Teacher’s Pet. Didja rehearse that one in the mirror this morning?”

If you weren’t carrying a box of fragile equipment, you’d slap him. Maybe. You have to uphold your academic record, and assaulting Floyd isn’t worth the tarnish temporary relief will bring.

“We’ll meet in Lab Room 4 during lunch tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

“Whaaat? Why lunch? Can’t we do it after class?”

“Out of the question. If we’re going to get a good grade, we should start as soon as possible. Absolutely no slacking. So make sure to actually read the instructions beforehand.”

Floyd rolls his eyes. “I’m not stupid.”

“I never said that, but our grade will make us seem so if we fail this.”

“It’s not that hard. All we gotta do is use whatever we got in the boxes to make a reaction. Somethin’ like that, right? If we break the glass ones, ain’t that technically a reaction? Like it’s changin’ states of matter or whatever.”

You stare at him. He can’t be serious.

“Talking to you is killing my brain cells, actually. I can’t believe you’re even in this class.”

“What?”

You’re already striding past him.

“Hey! What? What’d I say?”

You turn the corner, and the Dumb Jock disappears from your sight.

Floyd is studying the instructions intently.

His deskmate leans over. Her perfume is obnoxiously sweet. It tickles his nose.

“What’s that?” she asks, smiling.

“Alchemy stuff. The regular class got the same assignment, I think. But ours is a little more advanced cuz it’s honors.” Floyd rests his chin on his palm and frowns at the sheet of paper. “So basically we gotta find the missing component. It’s to make a potion we’ve already covered in class… I guess it’d be best to start with the chemical compounds of the ingredients we’re given and find out what’s compatible and what’s not. What sorta properties they’ve got. The list says…” He squints until the words are clear. “Sodium chloride’s one of ’em… Oh, that’s salt. As a solid, we can’t use it to conduct electricity. But in aqueous and molten states… Yeah, maybe that’d work since the ions are freely moving and stuff. Are we even trying to do that, though?”

“Wow,” she marvels, and his clinical concentration snaps. “You sure know a lot about alchemy.”

Floyd blinks back at her, confused. “Ain’t this common knowledge? Even the guys in the beginner class learn this stuff.”

“Ah, is that right?” She laughs, but Floyd thinks she doesn’t really care. “You were talking super scientific just now. It was pretty impressive. Reminds me of your brother.”

“What’s Jade gotta do with this?”

She shrugs. “He’s the smart one. I always see him with his face buried in a book.”

“And what am I?”

She opens her mouth to reply and then shuts it. “Hm. Well…”

Floyd leans in close. Those sharp teeth of his flash at her in a teasing smirk. “I got one. You wanna know what you are?”

“W-What?” Her breath catches in her throat.

“The pretty one. You make me feel like a noble gas.”

She slaps his arm playfully and giggles. “You’re so cheesy!”

“Do ya get it?”

“Hm?”

“Noble gases. Like helium and argon and neon. They’re chemically inert.”

So basically they’ll never bond with other elements on the periodic table. Which means it’s never gonna happen between you and me. No chemical reaction whatsoever.

“Oh, I get it now!” She shakes her head in amusement. “You could’ve just said I was hot.”

“Sure. We’ll go with that.”

She slides the sheet out from under his hand and, in glittery ink, scrawls her number.

After class, Floyd stands over the rubbish bin and tears it to shreds.

You think you might actually murder Floyd, and then you’ll be the first honors student from Night Raven to commit such a cold-hearted crime.

“Where are your materials? Where’re the instructions? Did you even read it at all?” you seethe, yanking on his tie so he’s pulled down to your height.

Despite the scolding, Floyd’s expression softens into something lackadaisical. “Lost it.”

You release him with a mournful cry. “My grade is doomed and I’m paired up with the world’s biggest idiot… It’s over for me.”

“You got yours, don’tcha? I don’t see the problem with sharing.”

“That’s just it! You’ve got half of the ingredients on your instructions and I’ve got the other half. Didn’t you listen when Professor Crewel explained that?”

“So we’ll just improvise. Can’t be that hard. All we gotta do is figure out what kinda potion we’re brewing based on the ingredients. Should be easy.”

You drop down into your seat and hold your head in your hands. “I can’t believe it… I’ve got a party-animal-slacker for a lab partner, and Azul’s got Riddle. It should’ve been me…”

Floyd lowers into the seat beside you. He opens his mouth, but the words remain lodged.

“Whatever. We can work around this,” you declare, straightening your tie and smoothing the wrinkles in your skirt. “We’ve got my ingredient list and the potions textbook. It’ll be fine.”

“See? You know what you’re doing. Shrimpy’s always thinkin’ smart.”

“I have to if I wanna make up for your shortcomings.”

Floyd holds his hands up in mock surrender.

“Let’s see… My list says this specific potion, which is to be sealed with cork and candle wax, is one that you ingest. So it isn’t any sort of spray or perfume, and it’s not a cosmetic either. It must be a liquid.”

“Could be a solid, too.”

“Like what?”

“Like enchanted foods. They sell ’em in town. Gummy worms that whisper gossip and lollipops that grant you temporary charms. Like the ability to see in the dark for some time. Cool stuff like that.”

“Or it could be medicinal.”

Floyd pouts, somewhat disheartened. “Or it could be medicinal.”

“This is an assignment from Professor Crewel, so it must be a relatively advanced potion. Let’s see…” You straighten your lab coat and pry the thick tome open. “Butterfly wings. Sapphire. Red clover. Pluteus villosus. The kiss of a person charmed or cursed. Huh…”

“Ooh, that’s a fun list.”

“It makes no chemical sense. If I remember, red clover and that mushroom are known to have medicinal properties when used in certain concoctions. But butterfly wings and sapphire…don’t.”

“My list called for salt if that’s any help.”

“But salt from what? The Coral Sea? Mermaid’s tears? Normal salt from a shaker?”

“Dunno. Why not try ’em all and see what we get?”

“I suppose process of elimination would prove useful here… But we can’t do that until we know the rest of what was on your list. Ugh… Seriously, Floyd, you’d better find that instruction sheet, or else I’m going to wring you out and use your tears as the salt—recipe be damned!”

Floyd smirks. “That a challenge?”

“It’s a threat.” You grab hold of his tie once more and force him to look you in the eyes. “Find that list. I’m not joking.”

“I’ll do my best, Teacher.”

You cut today’s meeting short on account of your fried brain and Floyd’s attention span.

On his way out of the lab room, Floyd says, “Bring your beaker next time. I’ll bring my stirring rod.”

And then he waltzes out, humming his way down the hall. You look at your belongings scattered on the table.

Of course I will. Why wouldn’t I? We need these materials to do the experiment.

Marking your place in the textbook, you shut it and decide to return to it after the day’s ended.

“Floyd’s in good form today,” Ace remarks as he laces his sneakers next to Jamil.

“That’s great news for us.” He gently knocks Ace’s head with his water bottle. “Let’s keep it that way. Don’t do anything to spoil that.”

“Course he’s feeling good,” their teammate joins in with a sleazy grin. “He didn’t show up to lunch. Bet he was busy rawing one of the cheerleaders. Who do you think’s the lucky lady?”

“Hard to say. They’re all super hot. If I gotta guess, though, it’s probably the captain. I heard she got her nipples pierced recently. Bet that’s a sight,” another interjects.

“Post-sex adrenaline’s gotta be something else if you’re Floyd,” Ace mumbles. “I dunno what everyone sees in him.”

“Dude’s funny, good-looking, athletic… Not that hard to check the rest of the boxes when you’re him.”

“(Name) thinks he’s a dumbass. Her exact words were ‘an unfunny clown who flouts classroom etiquette and rules completely.’” Ace puts on an impression of your voice as he quotes that phrase.

“What? The teacher’s pet? I think I had class with her last semester. She’s cute.”

“Ew, gross!”

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t fuck her stupid? Come on, man! The nerdy types are always freaks.”

Ace grimaces like the mere mention of you is going to infect him, but the blush on his face says otherwise. He’s picturing it.

“She’d be a perfect match with Rosehearts. Guy’s nuts for rules. She’s like a wet dream come to life for him.”

Ace punches his teammate. “Shaddup. She deserves better than that.” That last part is mumbled bitterly.

Jamil looks unenthused with this conversation. “Keep it down long enough to get through practice. Whatever you want to do after that is your own business.”

On the court, Floyd slams the ball through the net. It’s a flawless dunk.

Ace has to wonder: Does good pussy truly improve your performance on the court?

Obscene moans spill from Floyd’s laptop. On the screen, folded into a mating press, a little scientist gets her brains fucked out by the monster she’s created. He’s laying on his stomach, fully immersed in the salacious scene and chewing on a lollipop stick. The lewd imagery reflects off his glasses.

Jade happens to glance at it from where he’s sat at his desk. It’s a hentai he’s seen before.

“You seem preoccupied.”

“Mhm.”

“I was under the impression you weren’t fond of the studious type.”

“Meh. I guess it’s fun in this one.” Floyd tracks the way the monster grinds his clawed thumb against the scientist’s clit. She squirts with a delighted squeal. It’s a fantastic visual. “You think they all wear those little lace two-pieces underneath their lab coats?”

“Who can say?”

“She’s got nothin’ in her head now, though.” Floyd pulls the stick from his mouth. His tongue curls around it. The scientist’s lab coat hangs off of her shoulder. Her tits look fuckable. Her whole body looks like the perfect canvas for dozens of bites, but there’s something missing. Something that just can’t be replicated from real life—obviously. It’s hentai and Floyd knows that. But… “Shrimpy’s not brainless like that.”

“Ah, so this is about (Name).”

Floyd doesn’t answer at first. He watches the woman’s stomach bulge, watches the way the monster’s cock slides in and out. The way they connect as if they were made for each other despite size and species.

“She smelled good today.”

“Humans often do.”

“This was a different smell. New Shrimpy smell… Sweeter. Comfortable. Like the smell of holidays on land.”

He remembers he caught a whiff of it when you met up to test various ingredients for the project. At the start, he assumed it was coming from the cauldron—the scent of some foreign mixture. But then you’d gotten closer to him, nearly pushed him out of the way in your impatience, and the smell hit him head-on.

“Perhaps a perfume?”

“Maybe.” He studies the table as it shudders from the force of the monster’s thrusts. He has the scientist’s legs pinned by her ears. She’s euphoric, mind melting and body burning. It’s almost chemical. “If it is, it’s a damn good perfume.”

There’s a spark of yearning in his chest, accompanied with a singular thought: I wanna be inside a little shrimpy scientist just like that.

Even if that means he’d be the monster.

Especially if that means he’d be the monster.

“I think it was comin’ from her benzene ring.”

“Her benzene ring?” Jade raises a brow, curious.

“I dunno… She just…seemed softer today. Like… Like talc.”

Jade struggles around a laugh. “Talc?”

“Yeah. On the hardness scale, it’s one of the softest minerals. You can scratch it with your nail. It’s real easy. That’s what she reminded me of.”

“Right. I’m aware. I just…wasn’t expecting that.”

“If she touched me, I’d be a ten on the scale.”

Plucking the moss ball from its container, held delicately between the tweezers, Jade lowers it into a glass terrarium. “What comedic chemical comparisons. You’d be a diamond, in that case.”

Floyd shuts his laptop just as the monster fills the scientist with copious amounts of thick, sticky cum. “Guess I would be.”

“Are you going to see her?”

In an indirect way, yeah.

He drags a small bag out from under his bed. “Nah. She said she’s gonna wring me out if I don’t figure out what kinda potion we’re making. Think I’ll procrastinate on that a little more. See how far it gets me.”

His brother chuckles. “Good luck.”

Floyd grins and shuts the door behind him. He beelines for the showers, not wasting a single second running hot water and stripping down. He fucks you in that cubic shower stall—or part of you. The synthetic part, anyway. The part he’s named after you because who else would he want curled around his cock and coming undone like in hentai? Forums say an onahole can’t compare to the real thing, but then of course it couldn’t. Just in the same way cotton velour can’t compare to silk velvet. Floyd would know that and he’s never had real pussy before.

In the back of his mind, just as he spills his load inside for the third time, he thinks he’d taste that same smell he caught today if he parted your legs and dove in.

Maybe you’d squirm just like the little scientist beneath her beloved monster.

Ostensibly, you’ve made progress.

The molten mixture in the cauldron looks promising. A small amount is scooped up in the beaker for further study. It looks like liquid gold and smells overwhelmingly like a confectionery. You set it down on the table and peel your gloves off.

“I’m gonna try it once it’s cooled.”

Floyd shakes his head. “I’ll do it.”

“I’m the one who mixed it.”

“What if it kills you?”

“Then I die a genius.”

Floyd whistles. “Big words for Shrimpy.”

“It’s only right that I take responsibility for… Actually, if it does incapacitate me somehow, the project might not get done and we need someone with a functioning brain to complete the task… Floyd!”

He stands rigidly at attention, saluting you as if you’re a drill sergeant.

“Drink this and let me study its effect on you.” You pass the beaker to him while poring over your notes. “The color looks correct, the fragrance is fine, albeit a little stronger than normal, and it’s completely opaque. This has to be it!”

Floyd tilts the sample. The glittering liquid sloshes around. “What’s it supposed to be?”

“If I’m correct, which I’m certain I am, this is a mood stabilizer of some sort. The mushroom I got from Jade is supposedly hallucinogenic.”

Floyd cringes. “Yuck.”

“You don’t have to drink it if you aren’t sure, but I’m very positive that’s what it is. A mood stabilizer meant to boost a mage’s happiness.”

“We don’t gotta use magic for that. Can’t ya just go outside and lay in the sun if ya wanna be happy?”

“I don’t know,” you say, exasperated. “We added the salt from your list, and you suggested adding sunflower. Maybe this’ll work.”

“I dunno, Shrimpy.” Floyd sniffs it and draws back. “Are mood stabilizers supposed to smell this strong? If this is supposed to make me happy, the smell’s not doin’ it for me.”

“It’ll be fine. You don’t have to drink the whole thing. Look, right here. The book clearly lists the same ingredients we used, and we followed the same brewing and mixing process.”

“If Shrimpy thinks so…”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Floyd downs the sample in a single gulp. You watch him with a scientific sort of fascination and wonder just how many parties he’s had to go to to master that trick.

“Done,” he mutters gravelly, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

“How’d it taste? According to the book, it’s supposed to taste flowery with a hint of salt.”

“Tastes fresh. Like peppermint.”

“Peppermint?” you echo, bewildered. “No… No, that’s not right. It shouldn’t.”

Immediately, you consult the book again.

Floyd squints blindly at the words from where he sits beside you, his elbow propped on the table. “Didn’t we also add nettle leaf?”

“What? No. The recipe didn’t call for—” You round on him just then. “Did you slip something in?”

He shrugs. “It was lookin’ like a boring potion anyways. Thought it’d be more fun this way.”

You lower your head onto the open book and groan into the pages. “Not even magic can replicate the amount of stupidity you’ve just showcased.”

“Hey, I’m just following the pattern. You said those things had medicinal properties, so I thought nettle leaf would fit in with that.”

“So then what did we make?” You lift your head to look at him. “Do you feel any happier? Any symptoms?”

“All the same over here.”

“So now we’re back to where we began…” You slap his hand away when he reaches for a clean vial. “Hands off. Let me do it.”

“C’mon. I wanna help. Lemme help.”

“Are you trying to get us kicked out of the lab? If something explodes, Professor Crewel’ll be on our asses in no time.”

Floyd rolls his eyes, but he obeys.

“Okay. Fresh start. Clean slate. If we follow the same recipe using the ingredients on our list… Hmm.”

You retrieve your notebook and open to a fresh page to begin jotting down ideas.

What am I missing?

“These are the ones with medicinal properties, but then psilocybin can also imply…” Your pen flies across the page as you work to construct a new mixture. “So maybe, if we’re using these things, it might work. And then… Sapphire is commonly associated with romance and truth… A potion that makes you speak the truth? Ah, but there’s also luck and healing… Is that it? Taking into account the mushroom… No, there’s also the red clover, butterfly wings, and the kiss. Oh, the kiss! We didn’t add that.”

You dig through your bag for lipstick and set it on the table. “The kiss of someone charmed or cursed. If it’s someone cursed, we can assume the potion will then have ingredients meant to reverse said curse. If they’re charmed…”

Unable to make a concise deduction, you deflate against your chair. This would be so much simpler if Floyd hadn’t lost his instructions!

Speaking of your lab partner, he’s been eerily quiet. You glance at him and find he’s looking right back, unfalteringly focused. That’s new for Floyd Leech.

“What’s wrong?”

Floyd blinks slowly, as if he’s thawing from a case of ice. His pupils are impossibly wide, so much so they’re like two black voids. And then he jerks away, his cheeks hot with a fierce, crimson blush. You watch him fidget in his seat. For once, he isn’t the silver-tongued, smart-mouthed jock who oozes confidence from his pores. Right now, he looks uncomfortable and awkward. Like a boy who’s just held hands with his crush for the first time.

“N-Nothing.”

You sigh. “It’s not ‘nothing’. It’s obviously something. What’s wrong?” You lean closer, scrutinizing his sweaty face. “Do you feel sick? Are you about to vomit? Are you running a fever?”

He smacks your arm away when you reach to feel his forehead. And then he coughs out an odd laugh. It’s unlike any sound you’ve ever heard him make. “How about let’s not…do…that?” His gaze darts to your chest and then your skirt and then your stocking-clad legs.

You understand his thoughts at once.

“Oh, grow up. I’m trying to check if you’re chemically, physically, and mentally stable.”

“I know that. S’just…” He swallows thickly. “K-Kinda hard…to focus.”

You spot the strain in his uniform slacks and then the sweat that beads at his brow. There’s a glaze to his two-toned eyes that wasn’t there before.

“Ah, I understand. We’ve mixed a common aphrodisiac.” Turning away from him, you flip a few pages in your textbook. “Let’s see… Red clover is supposedly good with fertility and then the mushroom increases the effect of the afflicted’s most potent desires, and then the nettle leaf has nutrients that support reproductive health. The other stuff we added either balances the mixture or makes it stronger.” You peer into the cauldron next. “The color matches that in the book and so does the smell. It says nothing about peppermint, though. How peculiar…”

“So… So was that it?” Floyd rests his head on the table and inhales a shaky breath. “We got it right?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“We’ll keep trying. For now, you should drink some water. It says the effect shouldn’t last longer than an hour. Of course, if we wanted to save time, you could just ejaculate and then it should be out of your system. Otherwise, you’ll just have to let it wear off. Kinda like when you’re drunk.”

Floyd grits his teeth. “Sounds real fun.”

You frown. “Sorry. I… Maybe I should’ve taken it.”

“No,” he says quickly, shaking his head. “Better me than you.”

“Hm.” You flip a few pages in the textbook. “We have limited resources, so I’m afraid I can’t brew a cure. We either wait it out or I help you.”

Floyd’s head snaps up from the table. “You… You’re gonna help me?”

“I need someone to reach the top shelves. Can’t do that when he’s doubled over with a hard-on.”

Floyd bites the inside of his cheek.

“Here. Sit up and relax.” Your hand ghosts over his crotch. He does the opposite of relax. In fact, he tenses so badly you think he’ll become a statue.

“A-Are you sure you wanna…?”

“I don’t see what the issue is. You’ve probably gotten way better from other girls. Just bear with it for now.”

“S’not that…” he trails off, staring at your throat as it bobs with your every swallow. “W-Whatever. Go ahead…”

“If you get my lab coat dirty, I’ll kill you.”

Floyd’s chest rumbles with a delirious laugh. He makes quick work of undoing the button and zip on his slacks and then, very clumsily, he fishes his cock out of his boxers. You notice they’re patterned with polka dots and little cartoon eels. It’s not the sort of underwear that’d pop into your mind when you imagine the sex-addicted jock everyone in the school lusts after.

With a swish of your magic pen, the lab door shuts and locks. You rifle through your bag to procure a small jar of aloe vera. Floyd watches you intensely, his gaze never wavering.

Unscrewing the lid, you dip your fingers into the gel.

“We can make good use of this,” you say conversationally as you wrap your slick hand around his achingly hard cock. Floyd bristles and sucks in air through his teeth. “Moray semen could be used in a potion of some sort. I’d like to test it sometime.”

He stares at you, absolutely mystified. It’s then when Floyd realizes he’s misjudged you entirely. You’re more than a Teacher’s Pet. In fact, you’re his exact type. Better than any girl he’s ever seen in hentai.

His cock throbs under your touch. Your hand is warm and soft against his shaft. It moves up and down in a hypnotizing rhythm, and suddenly there’s no other place in the world he’d rather be than right here at your side, led closer and closer to the ledge by your hand alone. You don’t spare him another glance, returning your attention to the book. You pick up your pen with your free hand and, like a real scientist unbothered by external variables, you’re back to working in your own little world.

In an effort to provide a modicum of support, Floyd squints through glazed eyes. “C-Can’t you… Fuck.” He bows his head and bites down hard on his lip. Blood pools to the surface. He tastes it on his tongue. “Move the page closer?”

“You can’t read it?”

Floyd opens and closes his mouth. “Can’t see it. S’all blurry.”

This draws your gaze. He struggles to pick an area of your face to look at. Either way, every inch of you is pretty. Even that perplexed expression sets his body aflame—or maybe that’s the work of the aphrodisiac. He’s not sure. He doesn’t care much either way. You may as well be more mighty than the spell itself, for it’s left his cock weeping pre-cum in your fist.

“What do you mean?”

“I normally wear contacts. Morays have shitty eyesight,” he explains, hissing when you squeeze him experimentally. He proceeds with caution. “But I lost ’em a while back. I’ve got glasses as a back-up.”

“So why don’t you wear them? Don’t tell me you lost those, too.”

Floyd lifts his shoulders. He should—he really should—but he’s learned to function with bad vision ever since he first lost his contacts. “Don’t feel like it.”

“That’s foolish. You should wear your glasses. Then you won’t have to struggle so much.”

Floyd aims for flirty. “Ooh, so Shrimpy wants to see what I look like in glasses?”

“I think you’d enjoy being able to see clearly more than my own curiosity.”

And he falls embarrassingly flat.

You resume your scribbling. He doesn’t say anything else, choosing to brace himself against the table with a grip so tight it whitens his knuckles and tenses the muscles in his hands. He’s panting like he’s just finished a grueling workout. Rather than sounds of exhaustion, though, they’re more like great gulps of air as he struggles to keep his composure. He’s a merman; they don’t possess wings, but he certainly feels like he’s flying in this moment, caught up in the clouds with his crush.

It’s better than any fantasy he’s ever conjured—better than any hentai—and you’re oblivious to it.

“That’s it! I’ve figured it out!”

You squeeze his length tightly. And that’s all it takes to rocket him up into outer space. He inhales sharply, squeezes his eyes shut, and hangs his head when he cums. It’s messy and sticky, but that doesn’t deter you in the slightest. Mercifully allowing him to ride out his wave, you continue to slowly pump him. Pearly cum drools from his tip.

“Mm, s’great… Good job. Knew you could do it,” he mutters, dazed and dumb.

The pounding of his heart is incessant like the buzz of cicadas in summer. Did that really just happen?

But then you do the unthinkable, and for a single second he thinks he’s still sitting in his room, hunched over his laptop and watching hentai.

Like a succubus, you clean his cum from your fingers in just a few licks. He tracks your tongue the entire time. Did that really just happen?

“It’s either a love potion, a remedy of some sort, or a type of transformation potion. One of these three—I’m sure of it! We’ll spend next week testing each one, so be ready.” You toss your head back and drink from your water bottle, unfazed. It’s both the coolest and hottest thing he’s ever seen. “Does that sound good to you, Floyd?”

There’s a determined fire blazing in your eyes. He smiles dreamily.

“Anything for Shrimpy.”

You match his energy with a joyous giggle. “Thanks for your hard work, Floyd!”

He wants to ask, but he stops himself. Is it so wrong to want you to experiment some more on him?

Maybe that’s asking too much.

“Floyd, you were a monster out there!”

He wipes the sweat from his face and neck and then turns to look at the few teammates who’ve crowded around him.

“Wasn’t a big deal. I just played like I normally do.”

“Uh, it kinda was, though!” Ace says, pushing through the throng. “You actually managed to stay in the game!”

“And we scored more than we usually do!”

“Impressive work,” Jamil adds from where he sits on a nearby bench, tightening his laces.

“What’s your secret? Didja get laid before the game?”

“You totally did, right? Who was it? You gotta hook me up, man!”

“What? No way! Send her my way.”

Floyd gazes at all of them, wondering what in the deep, blue sea they’re prattling on about. He’s only just tuned in on today’s locker room gossip. His head has been in the clouds ever since his last meeting with you. The feeling is fuzzy, snug like a duvet fresh from the dryer.

“You wanna know my secret?” he asks, leering at the lot of them. The difference in height makes this possible, and he takes full advantage of it.

Some of them shrink back, but the few emboldened teammates inch closer.

“Ya can’t have her. She’s all mine.”

“No way. You’re actually serious with this one? Who is it?”

“Bet it’s the cheer captain.”

“Dude, my money’s on the hottie from Magic History.”

“What do you think, Jamil?”

“Does it really matter?” he asks, his tone monotonous.

“It does! No fair Floyd gets good luck pussy while we’re all stranded over here.”

Floyd can’t understand humans sometimes. Why would I share my Shrimpy hole with these small fry? That’s all for me.

Because the team was definitely referring to his sex toy, right?

Surprisingly, Floyd’s waiting for you in the lab when you poke your head inside. He has everything laid out, and he’s even started working on some of the formulas to ensure a successful brew.

And this time he’s wearing his glasses.

You almost don’t want to break his focus, but he senses your presence and glances your way before you can duck out.

“Oh, hey. Sorry for interrupting.”

“S’all good.”

“Were you waiting long? I was a little caught up.”

You recall your chat with Riddle, who told you he already solved the missing ingredient with Azul, and wince. You’re certain you would’ve been in that same position if not for Floyd’s carelessness.

“Nah.”

Heaving a relieved sigh, you venture deeper into the room and deposit your bag on the nearest chair.

“What have you been doing?”

“Brainstorming. Directions said we gotta seal it with wax afterwards. I only know a few potions that call for seals. Most of ’em are either super volatile, dangerous, or need time to ferment.”

“So you’re thinking…?”

“Maybe it really is a love potion. We were kinda on the right track last time. We just gotta figure out what we need to subtract and add to get it right.”

Taken aback by his initiative, you nod mechanically. “And we still need the kiss.”

“And we still need the kiss,” he affirms.

“Then what’re we missing? There’s salt, red clover, sapphire, the Pluteus villosus, and the butterfly wings.” You shuffle over to him and glance at his notes. “Oh, you’ve broken down the chemical components of each of these. Wow…”

“It’s not that hard.”

You bite your tongue. It was hard when I was learning it…

“So what about the kiss?”

“I’ll do it.”

“But you’re not cursed.”

Floyd smiles at his textbook. “Not cursed.”

“If you insist… If it gives you a hard-on again, I’m not helping you.”

“Aww. So mean. And I thought you wanted a li’l sample of moray for your next experiment.”

You elbow him harshly, to which he laughs. Observing Floyd as he is now, you begin to regret your original assessment of him. It was rather scathing.

I was wrong about him. He’s not the Dumb Jock.

“Do you want to pursue something in science after you graduate?”

“Not really. I think it’s interesting, yeah, but not enough to wanna shape my whole life around it. Y’know?”

“Ah.”

“I kinda wanna design stuff. Crewel’s been givin’ me pointers.”

“Design? As in, fashion design?” You furrow your brow. “Huh. I never would’ve guessed.”

“What about you? Bet Shrimpy’s got an entire life plan laid out. Super responsible-like.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you say, laughing woodenly. “I have a general idea.”

“Yeah?” Floyd grabs a vial from off the shelf and empties the contents into the cauldron. The silver liquid bubbles as it’s stirred in. “I’m sure you’ll do it—whatever it is you wanna do. You’re smart.”

“Thanks…”

He beams and tosses the rest of the measured ingredients in. You’re content to watch him, trusting in his judgment. When it comes time for the kiss, he gestures to your bag.

“You still have that lipstick you always carry around?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Put some on me and then hold up that blank sheet there.”

“Are you sure that’s going to work?”

“Maybe.”

“That doesn’t sound very convincing…”

Still, you retrieve the tube and apply it to Floyd’s lips. This proximity gives him the chance to admire you up-close while you focus on his lips. He smacks them twice to make sure they’re coated properly and then, while you’re holding up the clean parchment, leans in. When he pulls back, there’s a ruby-red lipstick mark where there wasn’t before.

Using magic, Floyd then extracts the print. You watch in awe as it’s dissolved in the solution. Vibrancy explodes within the cauldron, turning silver into plumeria-pink.

“Whoa…”

Floyd passes you a wooden paddle. You take it from him and dip it into the cauldron. As you stir in time with Floyd, listening to him mutter the enchantment, you think back on the past few weeks.

I’ve had such a narrow-minded view of him this entire time, and yet here he is proving all of my misguided opinions incorrect.

“Did you ever figure out the missing components?”

“Mhm. My list had salt, honey, and peppermint.”

“How’d you know it was those two?”

“Cuz honey’s sweet and peppermint’s refreshing. Two feelings you experience when you’re in love. And that’s what it called for according to an older recipe. I found it in the library.”

“You actually did research on your own time?”

“Well, I don’t wanna fail.”

“And here I thought I was losing brain cells having you as my lab partner.”

“Ouch.”

“Sorry. I… I shouldn’t have thought that. I know better now.”

“Doesn’t bother me. Sides, I got to see a whole new side of Shrimpy, so it works out.”

“A whole new side?”

“Ooh, you wanna know the secret ingredient? The one we were supposed to find.”

“I do! What was it?”

“Cacao beans.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Pretty cool, right? The perfect love potion is all about bittersweetness.”

“I get it. So the mushroom completely blindsides and fools the afflicted into thinking they’re in love. It’s all hallucinogenic. Sapphire enhances that effect, and red clover stabilizes it. Honey makes it sweet. The butterfly wings contribute to that fluttery feeling in your stomach shortly after you’ve ingested it. Peppermint adds a refreshing aftertaste. Yes, of course! It all makes sense.”

“And salt flavors it. Sorta.”

“What a complicated mixture.”

“Was a real pain tryin’ to get the order correct, especially when the recipe’s written in old runes.”

You and Floyd stare into the bubbling cauldron. It smells just as it should. It looks just as it should. Without a doubt, it’s a perfect product.

“At least we did it. I’m so ready to wipe my hands of this project.”

“Took the words right outta my mouth.”

Just as instructed, you and Floyd bottle it. Next, you light a candle and pour wax over the cork. For extra flourish, you tie a ribbon around the neck of the bottle. You hold it up to the light to check its transparency, or lack thereof. It’s an impenetrable pink—just like in the textbook. A beautiful success if you’ve ever seen one.

“Now all that’s left is to turn this in to Professor Crewel and wait for his analysis.” You set the bottle down. “Good work, Floyd.”

He preens under your praise. “It was nothin’. Thanks for all the help, Shrimpy.”

Mirroring each other’s giddiness, the both of you bump fists.

Floyd lies on his back, his arm raised to the ceiling. He flexes his fingers absently and recalls the feeling of your hand on his skin.

Did that mean anything, or was that just a standard chemical reaction?

“Perhaps you ought to illustrate the way you feel using symbols on the periodic table.”

Floyd glares at his brother from across the room. Once again, he’s sat at his desk, carefully arranging the plant life in a new terrarium.

“That’s way too lame.”

“Really? I find it to be rather creative.”

“I’m not a loser.”

“Your earlier comparisons made me think otherwise.”

He’s overcome with the strongest urge to knock Jade’s teeth out of his mouth. Exercising a mere sliver of restraint, Floyd turns over on his side and hugs his body pillow against his chest. There’s a magical girl dressed in a frilly outfit printed on it, smiling brightly as she holds her magical staff up to vanquish evil. Most nights, as he often does with many personal belongings that fill the emptiness in his heart, he pretends it’s you.

“You’re talking a lot for someone who’d be better off without his tongue…”

“How harsh. And here I was willing to offer advice to my dear, troubled brother.”

“You can stuff it. I don’t want your advice.”

He turns his back on Jade and huffs, which earns him a chuckle.

Maybe it didn’t mean anything after all.

He buries his face in the pillow. Hentai makes it look so simple, but love itself is just another convoluted chemical reaction. It’s even more so under the sea.

Floyd shuts his eyes.

I guess this means we won’t see each other during lunch anymore…

Professor Crewel has graced you and Floyd with a passing grade. You expected this, so it isn’t a very jarring shock, but it’s still pleasant nonetheless.

“I knew you’d pass!” Deuce says as you walk between him and Ace, proudly flashing the graded assignment sheet. “To think you managed it even with a guy like Floyd…”

“He’s not so bad.”

“What’s this? A dramatic change of heart?” Ace pokes and prods, standing so close you can smell his cologne.

You roll your eyes. “He wasn’t a total pain. It was quite nice, actually.”

“You sure that’s all that happened? I heard you were skipping lunch with him…”

“To do the project—”

“So she could get the project done, dumbass,” Deuce speaks over you. “Besides, Floyd’s not (Name)’s type.”

“Hey, how come I’ve never heard about this type?”

“Does it really matter what my type is?”

“Yeah, it does! I gotta see if you have good taste. Us guys can be so terrible, y’know. Total slobs. Gotta make sure my (Name) keeps her eyes on the good ones.”

You slap his arm lightly. “And you’re definitely not one of them, wearing that cheap, casanova cologne!”

Ace sputters, his cheeks tinged pink. “Y-You just can’t recognize greatness when you smell it!”

Deuce snickers. “Greatness that costs fifty-percent off.”

“So now I’m lame for wanting to save money? Geez. You’re assholes.”

Giggling, you wrap your arms around the both of them and pull them in close. “It’s done out of love.”

“Gimme a break.” Ace groans.

Your little trio carries on down the hall, ignorant to the rest of the students who pass you by.

Floyd looks up, his ears pricking. He smells you before he hears you. It’s not the same, nor is it as strong as the sticky-sweet scent from before, but it’s still enticing in its own right.

“You should talk to her,” Jade encourages, following his line of sight. “Invite her to this year’s Wintertide. I’m sure she’ll consider it, at the very least.”

Floyd narrows his eyes. “My odds ain’t zero.”

“They aren’t one-hundred either.”

Jade speaks like he doesn’t value his teeth. But it’s all intentional. He’ll push and push until Floyd stumbles out of his cowardly mold. Maybe one day.

‘One day’ is so vague, but it isn’t without hope.

After all, you’re an alkali metal and he’s the water who’ll cradle explosive, enchanting you. And where there’s water, there’s sure to be a reaction.

His feet carry him away from Jade and towards you. He descends like a spontaneous tempest. Ace and Deuce flinch back in surprise when he all but squeezes between the three of you.

“Shrimpy!”

And this time you look at him with a bright grin—not the scalding vexation you’d first leveled him with.

“Floyd!”

It’s deliciously chemical.

#to the anon who shared this amazing idea with me... this is dedicated to you!! :D #twst x reader #floyd leech x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #floyd x reader #n/sfw

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lancermylove · 2 months

Text

Injured (HC)

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Pairing: Leona, Ruggie, Epel, Ace, Jamil, Floyd with fem!Reader

Warning: None

Requested by: @bluestarluxa-blog

Prompt: How about the basketball club and spelldrive club reacting to their girlfriend taking care of them after they get injured?

———————————————

Leona

The prince was initially grumpy and resistant, not wanting to seem weak, even though his leg had a nasty gash. "I don't need help; it's just a scratch." You were already prepared to hear those words, but you were determined to help him. Deep down, Leona truly appreciated your attention and care - and the fact that he got to sleep most of the day while you (and Ruggie) took care of everything for him. But did he admit this openly? No. His pride didn't allow him, but the prince felt loved. Sometimes, you caught him looking at you tenderly, but he quickly looked away when you noticed. Luckily for you and unknown to Leona, Ruggie captured a video of Leona staring at you with love. It's your MOST favorite video ever.

Ruggie

Ruggie was instantly grateful for your help; he always helped others in the dorm, but no one ever helped him. He often made light of the deep gasp on his arm: "Guess I'm not invisible after all, huh?" While he enjoyed your attention, he didn't want you to worry too much about him, so he never let you change his bandages. Ruggie knew if you saw his injury, you would panic or cry, and he didn't want that. He often teased you by saying playful and sweet things, like "I feel spoiled" and "What did I do to deserve this, but I ain't complaining." After he recovered, he pampered you to no end as a way to thank you for caring for and about him.

Epel

Epel didn't want your help because he felt embarrassed, but Rook convinced him to rest his broken finger and accept your help. He often tried to downplay his injury: "It ain'-isn't bad, really." Despite his initial reluctance, he was grateful you were willing to help him. Although, he often blushed and felt embarrassed about being cared for by you. In honesty, he was secretly happy and comforted by your presence and attention. Epel might have acted tougher than he felt, but his gratitude was evident in his eyes and the way he smiled affectionately.

Ace

Ace was a bit dramatic and exaggerated his pain from the bruise he received on his leg just for some extra attention. "Ouch, this really hurts! I need some serious love and attention," were the usual phrases he used to draw you toward him. While he enjoyed your care and affection, he also took the chance to tease you whenever you took care of him. Ace was grateful for your help, even though he never verbally thanked you. The genuine affection in his eyes was enough to show his true feelings. Once he recovered, he thanked you properly. "You know, having you around makes everything better. Maybe I'll get injured more often."

Jamil

Jamil was stoic and reserved, saying he didn't need your assistance as it was a trivial injury. In reality, he didn't want to cause you any inconvenience or make any fuss about his pain. But you and Kalim knew his twisted ankle was not a trivial injury. Jamil secretly appreciated your care and attentiveness but tried his best not to show it because he didn't want you to do more than needed for him. His favorite medicine you gave was your cuddles. And you were right - they helped lessen his pain. "Thank you. Your concern means a lot," he genuinely said once he recovered before giving you a kiss on your forehead.

Floyd

Initially, he was annoyed and grumpy about his dislocated knee. He also sulked and became pouty. "This is such a pain. I hate being injured." But when you started to care for him, he quickly became affectionate and clingy. Jade also thanked you for taking over and giving him a break from his twin's complaints. You lost count of how many times he told you he loves you. Floyd got so used to you taking care of him that he fakes injuries all the time after he heals just so he can have you around more.

———————————————

➣ Twisted Wonderland [1][2][3] ➣ Main Masterlist

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3rachasdomesticbanana · 3 months

Text

Side Effects | Han Jisung

•Synopsis: Your science loving nerd of a roommate Jisung has been acting strange but that's not what has fear coursing through your body. It's the feeling that someone's watching you when you're supposedly all alone, the objects moving seemingly on their own and the phantom intimate touches that has you on edge.

Are you going crazy or is there something or someone in the apartment targeting you?

•Pairings: science geek Jisung x Female Reader

•Content Includes: smut, mentions of hauntings & hallucinations, lies and secrets, slight non-con?, somnophilia, unprotected & protected p n v, pervy Jisung, masturbation (m + f not mutual), cliffhanger, Chan makes an appearance a few times

an: if I missed something and you feel it should be included in the content warning please kindly let me know in the comments ♡

Part two will include more scenes with Bang Chan but Jisung is still included. Part three, which will be the last part, will be Jisung.

Part II

Want more smut? Follow the banana 🍌

⚠️tiny warning before continuing: there are moments where reader is unaware of what's happening due to being sleep. these moments may appear as non consensual which is the reasoning for the slight non-con warning. I tried make it known that any sexual activity that happens is welcomed. I hope I was able to convey that. Just a heads up lol. Enjoy♡

Your roommate, Jisung, is a nerd. You mean that in the most affectionate way, of course, but it’s true. When he's not helping the chemistry professor at the local college in his free time, he's experimenting in the apartment or researching different chemicals and compounds. His room is a chaotic mess of beakers, test tubes, and textbooks, everything he needs to create something from science. In the two years of living here, It’s never bothered you. Just as long as he and his equally nerdy friend, Chan, don’t blow the place up or set anything on fire. In fact, you’ve grown quite used to the faint, yet sharp scent of various chemicals wafting through the apartment over the years.

Today, the scent of acetone and metal permeates the small apartment. Jisung and Chan have been working on something for months, the two of them locked away in Jisung's cluttered bedroom. When you ask about it, they just shake their heads with a smirk and say, “Top secret, y/n.” You roll your eyes but smile, understanding their need for secrecy. You respect their space and their experiments, no matter how strange it makes them act, always offering to clean their beakers and test tubes whenever you're washing dishes. The dynamic between you and Jisung is what makes the roommate setup work.

Jisung couldn't believe his luck. Not only was his roommate hot and open minded but a gamer who's always down for a Naruto or Bleach marathon. He was so grateful that you weren't like the stuck up pretty girls he dealt with in highschool. Jisung really felt comfortable with you, he could be himself without fear of feeling like his IQ was lower than what it actually was. So whenever he and Chan were close to a scientific breakthrough and you never asked too many questions it only caused his “little infatuation” as he calls it, to grow.

One evening, you find yourself in the kitchen, hands submerged in soapy water as you scrub away at the dishes. The random playlist you chose earlier plays softly in the background and the faint scent of lemon from the dish soap mixes with the clean, crisp scent of freshly laundered towels, filling the kitchen air. You’re lost in thought, your mind drifting as you methodically clean the plates, forks, and glasses, when you feel a sudden, inexplicable chill. It’s as if a cold breeze has brushed against the nape of your neck but the windows are closed and the AC isn't on. You shiver involuntarily and glance around, half expecting to see Jisung standing there. But the kitchen is empty.

You shake your head, chalking it up to just a random chill and turn back to the sink. The sensation lingers, though—a prickling awareness like you're not alone. For ten minutes it felt like someone was there in the kitchen with you but each time you looked around, no one would be there. You could hear faint tinkering and music from Jisung's room and you knew he was working with Chan. The cold is back as you finish up the last of the dishes and when you turn around again, you nearly drop the plate in your hands. Jisung stands there, silent and unexpected. Brown eyes behind round framed glasses shine at you and he gives you an awkward smile.

"Where did you come from?" you ask, your voice higher than usual.

"Sorry," he says with a shrug. "Didn’t mean to scare you, just needed a drink."

You laugh nervously, feeling your rapidly beating heart slow down. "Jeez Ji, you should wear a bell or something." You let out a breathy chuckle.

He shrugs again and laughs quietly before grabbing a drink from the fridge and disappearing back into his room without another word. The interaction leaves you confused and slightly unsettled. Well, that was strange… stranger than usual. There’s something off but you can’t quite put your finger on it. You shouldn't really be surprised by strange behavior when it comes to Jisung but he's never acted that strange before.

Over the next few days, strange happenings become more frequent. Objects begin to move on their own; a cup slides across the kitchen counter that you barely just noticed and a book falls from a shelf behind you while you watched tv. You find yourself jumping at shadows and sounds and now you're convinced that the apartment is haunted. Of course you haven't said anything about it, Jisung would more than likely think you're crazy.

One evening, you’re gaming in the living room. Headphones on, fully engrossed in the game, when your can of soda just sort of levitates a few inches off the coffee table before gently coming back down. The controller slips from your hands as a cold sensation moves across your cheek. You jump back and scream, calling out for Jisung, but it’s Chan who saunters into the room. Curly hair wild, lab coat askew, and glasses perched on his nose.

"Jisung’s in the bathroom," he says, noticing your wide eyes and pale face. "What’s up y/n?"

"The can... it moved on its own." You stammer.

Chan chuckles, shaking his head. "Must be a temperature change or something. Science can explain a lot of weird stuff, y/n."

“Channie, it fucking levitated! Can science explain that?!” you say in a half shout, half whisper looking up at him.

“Mate, chill out.” He gives you a sympathetic smile and walks over to you to pat your head. “Science can most definitely explain that. I can show you how if you want? I'll just need a few supplies for the demonstration.” His eyes light up and he smiles wide at you, showing off his dimples.

“That’s… okay, Chan. You don't need to do that.” The lack of enthusiasm in your voice isn't missed and he chuckles, patting you again before leaving the room.

You’re not convinced, but you nod to yourself and try to focus on the game, occasionally glancing back at the can. The feeling of being watched never truly leaves, though. Every day you start to notice more—subtle things, like the way Jisung’s eyes linger on you a fraction too long, or the odd satisfaction in his smile when you mention the hauntings after you caved and told him. Jisung's watchful eyes make you feel like you're part of one of his experiments, like some sort of test subject. He's always been a bit weird at times, but this is a whole different level of weird for him. You shrug it off as stress or lack of sleep since he and Chan have the tendency to overwork.

The night is warm tonight, the air heavy with the lingering heat of the summer day. You sit in the black metal wicker chair on the balcony, a book loosely cradled in your hands, listening to the sounds of traffic and crickets below. The warm summer breeze drifts across your skin and you adjust your tank top and shorts that have already begun sticking to your skin from the heat. With a sigh, you look down at the worn paperback book in your hands and try to focus on the words.

You’re half-aware of your surroundings: the breeze, the faint smell of an impending rainstorm, the sounds of the city. It’s peaceful, lulling you to sleep. Your body relaxes, and the book slips from your fingers, resting across your lap. You're in a state somewhere between consciousness and slumber when you feel it.

It's subtle at first, like a feather brushing against your skin, but it soon shifts to the feeling of hands. The touch is hot and insistent, groping your breast under the thin fabric of your tank top. Panic surges in your chest and you force your eyes open, heart pounding in fear. You sit up, the book slipping from your lap and landing with a soft thud on the concrete floor.

You glance around, trying to make sense of what you just felt, but the balcony is empty. You glance down and your breath catches in your throat. Your left breast is exposed, the strap pulled aside in a way that couldn't have happened by accident. A cool breeze brushes against your bare skin, a stark contrast to the phantom heat of the touch you just felt. You pull your tank top back in place with trembling hands, looking everywhere but seeing nothing. Scrambling to your feet, you slide open the glass door and step inside, locking it behind you.

With your heart still thundering in your chest, you make your way to Jisung's room. When you knock on his door, you hear shuffling, the sound barely audible over the whir of some machine inside. He opens it a little and you’re momentarily stunned by the sight of him—disheveled hair, sweaty brow, black-framed glasses askew and wearing an oversized black hoodie.

"Can I help you?" he asks, his voice tinged with exhaustion.

"I think…” you sigh and brace yourself. "The apartment is definitely haunted." you blurt out.

Jisung looks shifty, eyes darting to the side but he quickly recovers and a skeptical smirk plays on his lips. "Haunted? Really, y/n?"

"I’m serious," you insist. "I think something just touched me. Out on the balcony." You point a finger in the direction of the glass door.

Jisung’s brows knit together and he steps out of his room, closing the door behind him, giving you his full attention. "Like... someone was out there?" He messes up his hair even more, running his fingers through the dark strands.

You shake your head, wrapping your arms around yourself. "No, there was no one there when I opened my eyes but it felt hands on me Ji. I don’t know how to explain it."

His eyes darken with a mixture of skepticism and concern. "So you think the place is haunted and that a ghost touched you?" You nod, your heart still pounding in your chest.

He places a comforting hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding you, if only slightly. "Sounds like you were in REM sleep. Dreams tend to feel real and vivid in that cycle." He gives you a sympathetic smile and adds, "Maybe it’s just your imagination."

You narrow your eyes at him. "I’m not imagining this, Ji." You say starting to feel frustrated.

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, y/n. I’ll look into it, alright?"

Reluctantly, you nod and walk to your room with more questions than answers. As days pass, the strange activity continues. You catch glimpses of movement from the corner of your eye, feel phantom touches on your skin, and hear whispers that have no source. You're starting to feel like you're going crazy.

Jisung’s behavior becomes stranger. He spends even more time locked away, emerging only to grab food or ask you cryptic questions about your day. You start to suspect he knows more than he’s letting on but every time you ask, he deflects with a nervous laugh and spouts some scientific theory. Even Chan is acting odd, though he's usually the more grounded one among them. Not by much—Chan's a weird one too, but it’s part of his charm. He’s an adorkable dork.

The two men are lounging on the couch tonight, eyes glued to the anime playing on the screen, while you're in the kitchen preparing popcorn for the three of you. The scent of melted butter fills the air as you pour it over the freshly popped kernels.

Suddenly, Chan's voice cuts through the ambient tv noise. “You did what?!”

Jisung quickly shushes him, their heads whipping around to you as you turn to look at them, each wearing an identical, innocent grin. Weirdos, you think, shaking your head, tossing the popcorn.

You missed Jisung's whispered confession to Chan about his antics on the balcony. Chan already knew about the mysteriously moving objects and the true cause behind them. It's because he was partially involved. He and Jisung had created a liquid that granted invisibility to the drinker. Their top secret experiment they were working on for damn bear a year was almost near perfect. After successful trials on mushrooms and lab rats “borrowed” from Jisung's chem professor, they decided to take it a step further. Jisung volunteered as their human test subject, and you became the unwitting participant in their trails.

Chan never imagined Jisung would push the boundaries so far though, especially by groping you. But Jisung couldn't resist. Initially, his plan was to give you a harmless scare, maybe brush against your arm. But when he saw you asleep, your tank top revealing the side of your breast, his self-control vanished. He was overwhelmed by a primal urge and it was like his hands were moving of their own accord. He gently pulled your left breast free and gave it a firm squeeze. His mouth hovered inches from your skin, ready to kiss the mound of flesh when you woke with a start.

“Bro, I don't know if you should be taking so many doses. We're not sure if there's any side effects.” Chan cautions, his voice barely audible as you rejoin them in the living room.

Jisung stays silent, unable to respond to his partner as you settle on the floor in front of them, handing over the bowl of hot popcorn. Chan’s concerns echo in Jisung’s mind. He knows Chan is right, but the thrill of invisibility is intoxicating. He revels in the mischief, in watching you unaware of his presence. The moments when you think you're alone, wearing nothing but that oversized Tokyo Ghoul T-shirt and panties, are his favorite.

Every time you reach for a cup or a plate, the hem of your T-shirt lifts just enough to expose a tantalizing glimpse of your ass. When you bend over, the thin material of your thong outlines your pussy, making him feel certifiably insane. Sometimes he would intentionally knock something over just to watch you pick it up. The sight of you bending would make him painfully hard and he'd have to slip away to his room, unable to resist the urge to jerk off to the image that was now burned into his mind.

Jisung’s addiction to the elixir grows with each use. He tells himself it's all in the name of science, to see how much is needed for long-lasting effects but deep down, he knows it's because he can’t get enough of watching you unseen. He needs to be closer to you.

One night, Jisung decides to take things further. Pretending to go out to help the professor at the college, he sneaks back into the apartment quietly, slipping into your room while you’re in the shower. The steam fills the air of your bathroom, the hot water cascading down your body. As you stand under the spray with your back to him and eyes closed rinsing your hair, you remain oblivious to his presence. The glass door to the shower is slightly ajar, giving him a perfect view of your wet body. His breath hitches as he frees his hard cock from his sweats. It’s as if he has no control over his impulses; the need to cum clouds his thinking or maybe it's the elixir that's got him feeling this way? He rubs the palm of his hand over the head of his cock, coating it with precum. When you bend over to shave your legs, he almost cums at the sight of your bare pussy.

Jisung’s eyes are glued to the space between your thighs and the way the water bounces off your skin as the steam rising around you. He bites his lip to keep quiet, thinking, “So beautiful.” His hand moves faster, and he's bucking up into his closed fist until he can’t hold back any longer. With a muffled groan, he cums hard, splattering onto your ass and mixing with the water, washing away unnoticed by you. If only the elixir made his semen invisible too, he'd probably always cover you in the warm, wet fluid like this. He knows he would.

Watching you becomes a nightly ritual for Jisung. He drinks the pale teal liquid that is the invisibility elixir and sneaks into your room. He watches you during intimate moments, like when you fuck yourself with your fingers before bed. He hears you moan his name occasionally when you bring yourself to multiple orgasms and it only adds fuel to the fire. He never thought you found him attractive.

To him, you’re way out of his league. But watching you climax to the thought of him is a dream come true. His obsession grows, and he becomes bolder, unable to resist the urge to touch you while you sleep. Each night when you fall asleep, he lightly runs his middle finger up and down your cunt over your pajamas while he fucks his hand. The soft moans you let out in your sleep never fails to make him cum.

One particularly hot night, you decide to sleep naked on top of your covers. It's impossible to be comfortable when your pajamas stick to your overheated body. You’ve just had an orgasm and you lay there, sated and relaxed waiting for sleep to take over (though you really should get up to pee). Jisung watches you from the corner of your room, his cock painfully hard in his hand. He's lost track of how long he's actually been in here watching you. He waits until you're deep asleep, your chest rising and falling steadily, before he moves closer to your bed.

He can’t resist the sight of you, legs spread apart, pussy glistening. He begins to stroke his cock standing at the foot of your bed but it’s not enough. Before he knows it, he’s slipping out of his sweats. The bed dips as he crawls onto it but you don’t stir. He pushes your legs apart more, his breath catching as he sees just how wet you still are. Slowly he rubs the head of his cock against your folds, shuddering and the sensation. He tells himself “Just the tip,” but when he pushes into your opening, your pussy clenches around him and he can’t stop. He pushes deeper and deeper, burying himself inside you, freezing when you make a soft moan.

He waits, barely breathing before he starts to move slowly. You feel so warm and tight around him. He knows he should stop, "This is so wrong!" his inner thoughts yell at him but it feels too good.

“Fuck, Y/N, you're so wet.” he whispers in the dark, feeling bolder.

Slowly he moves but soon each thrust becomes more desperate than the last. He has to stop himself from slamming into you so that he doesn't wake you.

“Slowly… slowly… ah! Oh shit.” he mumbles quietly. “Is this what you were imagining when you came moaning my name, y/n? Hm? Were you imagining my cock pumping in and out of this tight cunt? Oh fuuuck, mm.”

His legs soon begin to shake as he watches the way his cock disappears inside your dripping cunt and slips out again, leaving his length covered in your creaminess. It's too much—the sight, the soft sighs you're making in your sleep. He pulls out just in time, pumping once into his hand before he's cumming onto his palm, careful not to leave any evidence behind.

He takes one last look at you, still sleeping, before he tiptoes out of your room and back into his. Had you woken up, you would've caught sight of Jisung cumming into his hand above you. The elixir wore off just as his orgasm hit him. He lays in his bed still feeling the lingering sensation of you squeezing his cock with your pussy and it takes a lot to not down more of the pastel teal liquid that sits on his desk and go back into your room to fuck you again.

“How can I make it last longer? There's got to be a way to lengthen the invisibility time frame without taking too many doses,” he mumbles to himself, looking up at the ceiling and lazily stroking his cock. He cums hard minutes later, moaning loudly into his pillow, replaying the sound of you moaning his name in his head and falls asleep peacefully with a smile on his face.

The next morning, you’re up early, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in your hands. A blank sleepy expression on your face as you stare off into space. Jisung joins you, wearing his best poker face.

"Hey, y/n," he says, trying to sound casual. "Sleep well?"

You nod, your eyes, however, tell a different story. "I had a weird dream. It was so vivid... so real. It felt a lot more real than the one I had on the balcony."

Jisung’s stomach churns with guilt but he forces a smile after pouring his own cup of coffee. "Dreams can be like that sometimes. Maybe it’s stress or something."

"Maybe," you murmur, stirring your coffee absentmindedly. "It’s just... I woke up sore." Your face heats with a blush thinking about your activities before you fell asleep last night. Maybe you were too rough? But then why do you feel like you were stretched out way beyond your two fingers?

He swallows hard, trying to keep his expression neutral and ignore the growing sensation of his cock as he sits down across from you. "Sometimes dreams can manifest physically. Your mind is very powerful, you know."

You nod slowly, still feeling doubtful. You know that something strange is going on around the apartment but it's just your testimonies with no hard evidence.. Soon the conversation shifts to more mundane topics and Jisung couldn't be more relieved but the tension remains between you. Throughout the day, you barely see him. Even when Chan came by, Jisung didn't come out of his room. You got the weirdest feeling that he was avoiding you.

“Maybe he's just tired of hearing me complain about my delusions,” you wondered to yourself stirring a cup of chamomile tea.

You spent the time you weren't working convincing yourself that you were indeed experiencing some stress-induced hallucinations. Who were you to doubt someone as smart as Jisung and Chan? A week off of work would do you some good—maybe you'll give yourself a spa day, binge on junk food, and catch up on some anime.

Meanwhile, Jisung and Chan worked hours and hours trying to study their creation further. Jisung's secret of what he did last night stays that way. A secret... No way could he tell Chan—he'd probably stop the experiment, maybe destroy all their hard work and Jisung couldn't, wouldn't let that happen. He needed it now, needed you now. He wasn't just obsessed with the science and having created something that scientists have tried to create for centuries; now he was obsessed with the feeling of invisibility, obsessed with the power it gave him and obsessed with the feeling of you. He craved it all. He knew that feeling could be a side effect, as well as feeling out of control while invisible and all the reckless wrong things he did but he chose to ignore every red flag and blaring warning signs. The more he drank the elixir, the more it controlled him, possessing him with insatiable lust and desire.

That night, driven by compulsions he can't deny, Jisung slips into your room again. Once more, you're naked, lying on top of the covers and the cool air from a fan blowing over your body, makes your nipples hard. The sight takes his breath away, every inch of your body exposed to his hungry gaze again makes his mouth water. He positions himself between your legs, slipping on a condom before pushing into you. The sensation is overwhelming, and he bites down on his lip to keep from making a sound. You moan in your sleep, your hips lifting towards him, and he nearly loses it. He begins to move, each thrust slow and deliberate, watching your face for any sign of consciousness. You murmur something unintelligible but stay asleep. In and out he moves, the slow tempo is so frustrating to him but he knows he needs to be smart. You moan his name in your sleep and he flinches, startled by your voice.

"Shit..." He whispers looking down at you.

Jisung’s heart pounds in his chest, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through him. Your breathing changes, a soft whimper escaping your lips. He can't help but cum quickly and it's intense. He's trembling and panting, spilling into the condom that he hastily slipped on earlier with a grunt. He's still thrusting into you slowly, riding out his orgasm when you start to wake up.

The room is dark when your eyes slowly flutter open. A faint glow from the streetlights seeps through the blinds of your window and casts eerie shadows across your walls. There's a random sensation between your legs pulling you from the depths of sleep. At first, it feels like another dream, but it's all too real. Your eyes scan the darkness, heart pounding, but there's nothing—just the dark room and the soft rustle of the sheets.

The feeling of being filled, stretched in the most intimate way and the rhythmic movements should scare you, but the pleasure is too incredible. Your breath hitches and you find yourself moaning softly as your fingers instinctively trail down your body, finding your clit. You begin to rub, matching the invisible thrusts, your mind in a haze of pleasure and confusion.

Jisung is mesmerized by the sight and his own pleasure builds again as he watches you pleasure yourself. The combination of your fingers and his cock pushes you closer to the edge and he can feel your orgasm approaching, your muscles tightening around him.

"Fuck me harder." you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. Your eyes squeeze shut and you arch your back lost in the intensity of it all.

Jisung bites down hard on his lip but obliges silently, thrusting harder, deeper and the bed creaks with the force of his movements. He's getting closer to a second orgasm and he can't hold back. His speed picks up and his fingers dig into your hips as he rails your eager warmth. Your body tenses, your back arching further off the bed as you cry out, the sound of your orgasm filling the room. He watches you, unseen but not unnoticed, every moan, every tremble fueling his own arousal. The sight of you coming apart because of him, the feel of you around him—it's too much. With a hard final thrust, he cums hard, filling the condom more that it's dangerously close to overflowing.

You collapse back onto the bed, chest heaving, eyes fluttering close. The room is silent, the only sound is your labored breathing. You sit up slowly, heart racing, looking around the room, but there's nothing like always—just shadows and silence. Even the full feeling is gone.

"Was… Was that real?" you whisper, voice trembling. "I'm losing my mind."

You slide out of bed, legs unsteady and make your way to the bathroom. The light is harsh, almost jarring after the darkness. You look at yourself in the mirror, skin flushed, eyes wide. The lingering effects of your climax make you shiver.

"If that was a dream, it was the most realistic dream of my entire life." you whisper to your reflection. "But if it wasn't... does that mean that whatever is haunting this place just fucked me?" You shake your head and turn the faucet on, splashing your face with cold water.

Jisung slips away, heart pounding, mind spinning. He knows he has to stop, that what he's doing is wrong in so many ways. But the memory of being inside you, the way your body responded to him awake—it’s past addictive. He can still feel the heat of you, the way you clenched around him and he’s not sure he can give that up. He retreats to his room, the guilt eating at him even as your climax plays over and over in his mind.

He lies awake, staring at the ceiling, knowing he’s crossing a line but unsure if he can ever come back from what he's doing. The need, the desire—it’s too powerful. He’s gone too far, and he knows it. The thought of stopping, of never feeling you again—it’s a torment he’s not sure he can endure. All he can think about is the moment he's able to be inside you again.

As the days pass, the tension between you grows. Jisung’s obsession deepens. He becomes reckless, pushing the boundaries of what he can get away with. When he asks how you're doing, you gloss over your experiences of the previous nights, only telling him that you had another strange dream. You don't tell him how you're starting to enjoy them or how feeling sore and wet the next morning is almost addicting.

You think you've gone insane but you embrace the lunacy. Each night, you feel the presence, the pressure, and you give in to it. Giving the ghostly dream specter a face, you've started imagining Jisung, which only makes the experience that much more real and pleasurable. You picture his face, his body, the way he would touch you if he knew your secret desires. It’s become a habit for you now, a way to cope with the confusing feelings. It's better than things getting messy between you two. You'd have nowhere to live if something went wrong between you and Jisung. No need jeopardizing your living arrangements and friendship.

The night is still early, and you can hear the two men in the other room tinkering with their experiments as you rest in your own room. Does the feeling only happen when you're asleep? Could you trigger it somehow? Should you try talking to it?

As you lie naked in your bed, you close your eyes and imagine Jisung. You see him in your mind, wearing nothing but his little lab coat and glasses, kneeling between your legs, looking down at you. You slip a finger past your folds and then another. Your fingers work furiously, slipping in and out. “Jisung,” you moan softly.

His heart skips a beat, for a moment he thought you were aware of him in your room.

“Jisung,” you whisper again into the darkness. “Please… please touch me.”

Unbeknownst to you, Jisung stands at the foot of your bed, invisible and now trembling with need. He hears your whispered plea and it’s like a spark to a stick of dynamite. He climbs onto the bed, his eyes devouring the sight of your naked body, so inviting, so ready. You feel the bed shift and gasp, afraid to open your eyes in fear of the feeling disappearing.

He moves between your legs, his hands tracing the curve of your thighs and you shiver at the familiar, unseen touch. You moan softly, your body responding instinctively, your hips lifting in anticipation. Jisung takes his time, savoring every moment, his cock already hard and aching.

He lets the bead of precum drip onto your pussy before he slides into you slowly, watching your face contort with pleasure as he stretches you. You gasp, your hands clutching the sheets, your back arching off the bed. So real, so intense, you moan Jisung's name again, the sound driving him wild.

“Jisung… yes, please…” you plead, your voice thick with desire.

He moves within you, his thrusts deep and steady, the bed creaking with each motion. You meet him with equal fervor, your hips rocking against his, your body desperate for more. The room is filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure, the slick, rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh.

Jisung’s heart races, the thrill of fucking you while you moan his name, steadily pushes him to the brink. He watches your face, the way your eyes squeeze tight, the way your lips part in ecstasy and he knows he can’t stop. Not until you're cumming around him.

“Fuck, Jisung,” you cry out, your fingers digging into the mattress as your orgasm builds. “Fuck me harder.”

He does. Jisung leans into you supporting himself on one hand fucking you harder, pushing into you deeper and gripping your hip so tight it'll leave bruises but you don't notice. You meet his movements eagerly, your body arching, welcoming him in. The sound of your moans fills the room, mixing with the creak of the bed and the slap of skin against skin.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, urging him on. “Yes, Jisung, just like that.” you pant, your voice breathy and desperate.

He's driving into you with a force that makes the bed rock and hit the wall. Your tight, wet heat and your voice spurring him on. He can feel your body tensing, can tell you’re about to cum.

“Cum for me, y/n.” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “Cum on my cock.”

You cry out, shocked at hearing a voice and your body is convulsing as you reach your orgasm. He pulls out just in time, spilling his seed onto your stomach, watching as it glistens in the dim light. He didn't mean for this to happen; he was only in your room as a test. Chan, back in Jisung's room, sits with a stopwatch timing just how long the test run will last. He was only meant to watch you. Jisung didn't have a condom this time but he can't seem to care about the consequences of leaving his cum behind.

You lie there, panting, a satisfied smile on your lips. “Jisung…” you murmur one last time before rolling over, drifting off to sleep.

Jisung watches you for a moment longer, a mix of pride and guilt churning inside him before he goes and rejoins Chan, who heard everything. He's questioned by his best friend as soon as he walks into the room. Jisung has no choice but to confess and with a deep breath he tells him everything. The watching, the touching… the sex. By the time he's done, Chan is staring at him in disbelief.

"Dude, that's... I don't even know what to say," Chan finally says. "You know that's messed up, right?"

"I know," Jisung says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know… but I can't stop. You don't understand. There's this compulsion, this undeniable need when I drink it. It's… it's like my deepest desires control me and I can't do anything to fight back. Please, help me."

Chan sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Of course, I'll help you. We're in this together. I'll be the one drinking it now, and I'll stay here to make sure you don't do anything you shouldn't. We need to be more careful from now on.”

Jisung nods and sighs with relief and for the next few weeks, they work tirelessly, refining the elixir. They study Chan's reactions, starting from the lowest dosage, slowly upping it little by little. Jisung tries to keep his distance from you, but it's hard. Every time he sees you, his desire flares up and he has to fight the urge to use the elixir again. He misses being inside you.

It's been weeks since you felt the ghostly presence and you miss it but you figured since it went away, then it really must've been due to stress and the days off from work truly helped. You didn't think you'd ever feel the strange sensation of being fucked by something you couldn't see again.

How incredibly wrong you are....

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cumonstevie · 3 months

Text

Home Sweet Home Part 2

Summary: "It's good to be home," you think as you arrive back in Hawkins, Indiana; not only three years older, but also as a mother.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Warnings: none

A/N: Here's part 2!! I hope you guys like it! this was 4.7k words and now I'm exhausted. I'll proofread this tomorrow when I wake up <3

Steve is still standing at the entrance of the living room, dumbfounded at the sight of you sitting only a few feet in front of him. He blinks a few times, thinking he’s seeing things but nope, there you are sitting on the couch next to your mutual rockstar friend.

Three years. It’s been three years since he’s seen you; since he’s even been in the same room as you without you scurrying off. He notes that you’ve gotten even more beautiful since the last time he saw you, if that was even possible.

His mouth is open, but no words are coming out of it. He’s just staring at you. He never thought he’d see you again. Not after-

“What are you doing here?” Eddie’s voice cuts through his thoughts.

“What,” Steve’s eyes leave yours and focuses on his friend beside you. “Can’t hang out with my friends?”

“I didn’t invite you for a reason, Steve-”

Steve glances at you. “I see the reason.”

“-so how did you know we were hanging out today?”

“Um,” a voice says from behind you. Dustin walks into the middle of everyone with his pointer finger raised and a pained look etched on his face. “I sort of, kind of, maybe accidentally told Steve we were all meeting up at your place to hang out.”

“Dustin!”

“I’m sorry!” The curly haired boy exclaimed. “I didn’t know that he wasn’t supposed to know!”

“Wait, why didn’t you invite Steve?” Robin asks what everyone else wanted to know.

“Because Y/N didn’t want to see Steve because he-” Eddie is stressing but stops himself from spilling something that he shouldn’t. “Do you guys not remember that Y/N and Steve stopped being friends? I didn’t invite him because I didn’t want to make Y/N uncomfortable.”

You’re glad he didn’t say anything more. Your friends never knew why the two of you stopped speaking and they were too scared to pry for answers so they just let it be.

However, Steve knew exactly why he wasn’t invited the moment he saw you sitting on the couch.

Poor Dustin felt bad, but he didn’t know you’d be there. He thought it was a regular hang out. The other day when Steve was driving him home, he let it slip.

“Since we’re all hanging out at Eddie’s on saturday, do you think you could pick me up and then we’ll head over?”

Steve shakes his head. “Nah, I can’t, I have a shift that doesn’t end till- wait, everyone’s going to Eddie’s on saturday?”

“Yeah, he didn’t call you?”

“No. What the hell?”

The younger boy shrugs and fixes his hat. “Maybe he just forgot to tell you. You know Eddie forgets things from time to time. He told us to be there at 5, specifically.”

Steve lets out an irritated sigh as he stops at a red light. “I’ll come by after my shift.”

Dustin is excited because this is the first time Steve is actually going to come hang out with them in a while.

His excuse for not spending a lot of time with them was because he was busy with work which was true and Robin can vouch for him on that one. He had been taking more and more shifts to make more money which decreased his free time. By the time he was finished working for the day, he was so tired all he would want to do was go home and sleep.

Wake up.

Go to work all day.

Come home.

Sleep.

Repeat.

He was doing that every day, seven days a week. It wasn’t healthy but he refused to give in and work for his father, so he did what he had to, to make ends meet.

The light turned green and as Steve stepped on the gas pedal, he grumbled out, “I can’t believe Munson didn’t call me.”

“I’m sorry, alright?” Dustin says again.

“It’s okay, Dustin.” you tell him, trying to defuse the situation. “Don’t sweat it. I can handle it, I’m a big girl.”

“Are you sure, Ace?” Eddie asks, worriedly. “I can tell him to get lost.”

“Hey!” Steve complained. “I’m right here, you know.”

“I’m sure. It’s been three years.” you tell the musician in a hushed tone.

“Yeah but-”

“He’s your guys’ friend too. I’m not gonna be the asshole that makes him leave because I’m uncomfortable. He can stay. It’s okay, Eds, really. I’m twenty now, not seventeen.”

“Fine.” Eddie sighs, turning to Steve. “Make yourself at home, Harrington.”

He looks between you and Eddie as he sits down on the couch across from you. “Thanks…”

It’s awkward after that. The silence is overbearing and you wish you could dig up a hole and throw yourself in it. You knew it was inevitable that you’d run into Steve after moving back home but you never pictured it being like this.

You’re uncomfortable.

Steve’s uncomfortable.

Robin, Jonathan, Eddie, Nancy- uncomfortable.

Robin clears her throat loudly. “So, uh, that was-”

“Mommy!” Penelope interrupts as she runs over to you. “Block!”

“Block?” you question before she hands you three blocks stacked on one another. “Oh, how pretty! Did you make this all by yourself?”

“Ya!”

“Oh my goodness, you’re so talented, Penny!” You praise the toddler and scoop her into your arms. She blushes and lets out a giggle.

Steve’s world starts spinning. It was spinning the moment he heard the toddler say mommy.

You’re a mom? Since when? And nobody told him?

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

And here Steve goes again, mouth trying to form words as his eyes move between you and Penelope but nothing comes out. You don’t even notice that he’s looking at the both of you, too occupied with Penny and her magnificent three story tower made of blocks.

You’re in the middle of praising your daughter when Eddie clears his throat and elbows you in the side.

“Ow! What the heck, Eds?” You rub your side as you look at your friend. He motions to Steve with his eyes and your mouth forms an ‘o’.

Shit, you think.

“Oh, um, Steve, this is my daughter Penelope.” You introduce, hoping no one can tell that your voice definitely faltered a bit in the process. “Penny, look,” you gain your daughter's attention as you point over to Steve. “That’s mommy’s friend, Steve. Can you say ‘hi Steve’?”

“Hi Steeb…” She gets shy, hiding behind her hands but peeking to look at the brunet that was sitting across from you.

Hi Pen- Can I call her Penny?” His eyes shift to you.

“Of course.”

He looks back at the toddler. “Hi Penny,” Steve says lightly as he takes in her facial features. “You’re so pretty.”

Penelope giggles at him then turns and points to you. “Mommy pwetty.”

Steve smiles. “Yeah, your mommy is pretty. Guess that’s where you get your looks from, huh pretty girl?”

Penelope giggles again and you feel your cheeks flush. Robin and Nancy have a smug look on their faces after his comment and you swear you hear Robin call Steve a dingus.

“Here,” you hand your toddler the blocks. “Go build another one, Penny.”

“Otay!”

Max beckons the toddler over and you watch as she runs straight to the red haired girl. Your eyes fleet over to Steve who is looking at your little girl like he’s trying to figure something out. His eyebrows are pinched ever so slightly and he looks deep in thought.

“Hey, um,” he starts slowly, trying to form a coherent sentence, “who-who’s the um… you now, the-”

“You don’t know him.” Nancy cuts him off from his blabbering.

“None of us do.” Jonathan adds.

Robin then chimes in, “Yeah, he’s some asshole that- Oops! Sorry, Penny! He’s some idiot Y/N met in Michigan who left her when she told him she was pregnant.” She then scoffs. “Douchebag.”

You visibly see the cogs in Steve’s head halt after what Robin said and you say a silent thank you to whoever may be listening to your pleas. You tell yourself that you’ll tell Steve that Penelope is his eventually but not right now, not in front of all of your friends who you’re seeing for the first time in three years. That could be a conversation for a different day.

“Hm,” Steve hums, “what a prick.”

You shrug and loosen up a little bit. “I’ve been managing fine. My parents are a big help too.”

“And now you have us.” Nancy smiled.

“Yeah,” you smile back. “I do.”

For the rest of your time there, things seemed to get less awkward and soon enough it felt like old times, hanging out with everyone.

You’re laughing at something Robin just said when your eyes drift over to the clock on Eddie’s wall.

“Shit,” Your eyes widened.

“What?” Eddie is the first to ask.

“It’s almost 8:30,” you say as you stand up from your seat. “Penny’s bedtime was an hour ago. Crap, I hope this doesn’t mess up her sleep schedule.”

Eddie shrugs. “She doesn’t look very sleepy to me, Ace.”

“That’s because she’s been playing with the kids.” You tell your friend. “She’ll probably crash out when we get home. Sorry to be a party pooper guys, but I gotta get home and put Penny to sleep.”

They tell you that it’s okay and you even plan to hang out again soon.

“Penny, it’s time to go.” You say sweetly as you crouch down next to your daughter. “Say bye-bye.”

She fights it for a few seconds but ultimately gives up and waves bye to the kids.

“See you guys later, alright?” You tell the Party. “Here, I’ll write my number and address down for you guys if you ever wanna call or stop by to see Penny, okay?”

The younger kids nod and you quickly find a pen and paper and scribble down your number and address before handing it to Max who was the closest to you.

“Share it.” You tell them as you pick Penelope up. “Eds,” you turn to your friend who was nursing a beer. “You ready?”

Eddie frowns as he looks down at the beer in his hand. “I’ve been drinking and I don’t want to put you or Pen at risk. Why don’t you stay the night? You two can take my bed and I’ll crash on the couch.”

You frown as well. “I would but Penny won’t be able to sleep without Bun.”

At the mention of Bun, Penelope looks at you with a pout. “Where’s Bun?”

“Who’s Bun?”

“Penelope’s stuffed animal. It’s a bunny. She can’t sleep without it lately.”

Eddie rubs his face with his hands and sighs. “Gosh, Ace, I’m sorry. I should’ve stopped drinking a while ago. How about I-”

“I can take you home.” Steve cuts him off. Your heart thumps against your chest. “I don’t mind.”

“You don’t have to, Steve, I can-”

“No, seriously.” He shakes his head. “I really don’t mind at all.”

Is this a good decision? Letting the father of your child (who doesn’t know he’s the father of your child) drive you home? Who knows. But you do know that you have to get you and Penny home soon and Steve seems like a better option than a complete stranger driving a taxi.

Your eyes lock on Nancy, Jonathan, then Robin who all give you a little frown as they nod over to the kids. Of course they wouldn’t have any space for you and Penelope, they have to take the kids home. Crap.

“Y/N?” Steve’s voice snaps you back to reality.

“Huh?” You look at him, blinking a few times. “Oh, yeah, if you really don’t mind-”

“I don’t.” He gives you a small smile. “Do you have a car seat for Penny?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Eddie-”

“I’ll unlock my car.”

“Thank you.”

You make your rounds, saying bye to everyone and Eddie gives Penelope a big kiss on the cheek before you exit his apartment which makes her laugh. Before you could even offer to help, Steve is pulling Penelope’s car seat out of Eddie’s car and buckling it up in his backseat. He tugs at the car seat a few times, making sure it’s secured safely before turning toward you and stepping aside.

“Good to go.” He tells you.

Steve watches as you buckle Penelope up and you kiss her forehead before shutting the door. You didn’t even notice when Steve walked around you to open the passenger door for you.

“You know you don’t have to do that, right?” You say as you slide into the seat.

“Come on, Y/N,” he smiles. “When have I ever let you open the car door for yourself?”

Never, but you're not about to answer him. Instead, you playfully roll your eyes and say, “Get in the car and drive me home, Harrington.”

“Make a left here then keep going straight.” You tell him and he does as he’s told.

It fell silent and the only thing that could be heard was Penelope’s soft snores coming from the back. She had fallen asleep a few minutes after you had left Eddie’s. So much for not being able to sleep without Bun..

Steve kept glancing at you every chance he had but you paid no mind as your eyes were scanning the environment outside of your window. His slender fingers rapped against the steering wheel and he tried to think of something- anything to say to you.

“Hey,” he finally says.

“Hmm?”

“I-I just wanted to say that you look good, you know? Motherhood looks good on you.” Really, Steve? That's all you got? “I mean, you’re a great mother, but I’m pretty sure you already knew that. What I’m trying to say is three years did good to you, you know? Wait, that kind of sounded horrible. I mean, like-”

“Steve,” you let out a soft laugh at his stuttering. “Three years did good to you too.”

He smiles as he continues to drive.

“Make another left up here and it’s the fourth house on the right.”

It’s silent again. You watch as you pass by all the trees in the neighborhood and Steve’s back to tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. He pulls up to your house and there’s another minute of silence before he speaks again.

“So,” he lets out an awkward cough. “Can we talk about the elephant in the room?”

You face him with a confused look. “What elephant?”

“You know,” his eyes drop to his lap and he nervously plays with his fingers. “The fact that Penelope is my daughter.”

He’s looking at you now but he’s not mad. He looks… Hurt.

It feels like all the air has left your lungs because it suddenly gets harder to breathe. There's no way he figured it out. You thought he bought the whole ‘Michigan baby daddy who bailed on you’ story just like everyone else did.

Nowhere in his facial expressions did it seem like he knew the truth, and you’ve known Steve for so long to know that he absolutely sucks at having a poker face.

“How.” You take a deep breath in, then a deep breath out. “How did you know?”

“She looks just like me, Y/N.” He tells you, shifting in his seat to face you. “And Robin told me she’s two and a half; I did the math. Unless you hooked up with someone else who looks like me around the same time we did.”

“I didn’t.” The words tumble out of your mouth before your brain could even register. “I mean, I wouldn’t. I-I…” Breathe, Y/N. “I only slept with you.”

It came out softer than a whisper and Steve’s convinced that if a gust of wind had come by, he would’ve missed what you said. Your confirmation has his brain working overtime and his heart about to beat out of his chest.

Steve’s a dad. A dad.

He has a daughter.

Holy shit, he has a daughter.

A daughter whose life he’s missed out on for almost three years. Shit.

Steve drops his head down on his steering wheel and squeezes his eyes shut. “Why didn’t you tell me, Y/N?” He suddenly snaps his head toward you. “I could’ve helped! I would’ve moved with you or-or-”

“Steve,” his name falls from your lips softly, but assertively. “Can we please not talk about this right now?”

“Y/N, this is a big deal-”

“I know.” You say. “I know it is and trust me when I say I’ll answer every question you have but not tonight. I need to get Penny inside.”

You see his eyes gloss over and you feel like even more shit than you did a second ago.

“Steve,” you watch as he bites the inside of his cheek to stop his tears from falling. “Listen to me. We can talk about this another time, okay? I promise. We can meet up at my place or yours; anywhere, okay? And I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

Steve takes a deep breath in, then out before his eyes lock on his daughter, who is sleeping, from the rearview mirror.

“Yeah,” he nods. “Yeah, okay.”

The next day you decide to tell your parents everything. They knew someone from Hawkins had gotten you pregnant but they didn’t know who and as much as they pressed you for answers, you refused to tell them. You didn’t want them to look at Steve differently, despite everything that happened between the two of you.

You told them during dinner and your dad nearly choked on his food while your moms eyes grew wide like saucers.

“Penny’s father is Steve Harrington?!” Your father exclaimed after he stopped coughing. “I let that boy into my home! If I knew you two were having s-”

“We weren’t!” You cut him off.

Your father gave you a look that said ‘really?’ as his eyes drifted to the toddler who was sitting in her high chair beside you.

“It was one time, I swear!” You add.

Your father shook his head in disappointment. “One time and you end up pregnant with his kid and that little sh-” he stops himself from cursing in front of Penelope. “He left you alone to raise Penny by yourself. I never thought he’d be so selfish. How could he-”

“Actually…” You start. “He had no clue that I was pregnant. I found out after we moved and I didn’t… tell… him.”

“What?!”

“Sweetheart-” Your mom tried but your dad shook his head.

“Y/M/N, she didn’t tell him she was pregnant!” He exclaimed before turning back to you. “That was selfish on your part, Y/N. We didn’t raise you like that. No matter what happened between you and Steve, he had the right to know that he was about to be a father.”

“I know but I was scared and-”

“No buts,” your dad says. “Matter of fact, you're gonna find him and tell him as soon as possible. He has the right to know he has a daughter.”

You look down at your plate as you speak. “He already knows.” Your parents look at you very confused, so you continue. “Yesterday when me and Penny went with Eddie to his place, he invited everyone over as a surprise and Steve showed up too. He knows.”

You hear your father sigh. “I’m very disappointed with you, Y/N.”

“I know…” You murmur. “But I plan on inviting him over tomorrow so we can discuss what happens next.”

“Good.”

The rest of dinner is a bit awkward, but you pull through.

The next day rolls around rather quickly. Both of your parents head to work and you get Penelope ready for the day. You put the toddler in her high chair before walking over to the phone and dialing Eddie’s number. It rings twice before he answers.

“Hello?”

“Eddie,” you say into the phone, “can you give me Steve’s number?”

“Visiting old flames already?” You could practically hear the smirk on his lips. “My, my, you work fast, Ace.”

“Shut up, idiot.” there’s a beat of silence before you speak again. “He knows.”

“Uh, he knows?”

You roll your eyes. “About Penelope. He knows she’s his.”

“Oh my god,” Eddie says. “You told him?”

“No! He knew the whole time!” You exclaim softly. “Said it was because she looks just like him.”

“Well, he’s not wrong.”

“Eddie.”

“Sorry,” there’s shuffling on the other end. “Well, he’s at work right now so he won’t answer his house phone but I could give you his work number.”

“That works.”

You grab a pen and paper and scribble down the number Eddie tells you, thanking him before hanging up. You punch in Steve’s work number and it rings a few times before someone answers.

“Family Video, how can I help you?”

The voice is sickly sweet and your nose scrunches. “Robin?”

“Y/N?” Her voice is back to normal. “What’s up?”

“Is Steve there?”

“Yep.”

You wait in silence for a bit, thinking she’s going to call Steve over or hand him the phone, but she doesn’t.

“Can you give him the phone?” You say after a bit.

“Oh! Totally.” You assume she takes the phone away from her ear because she sounds a bit far. “It’s for you, dingus.”

“Who is it? Dustin?” Steve says as his voice sounds closer.

“No, Y/N.”

There’s a thud on the other end and you hear Robin say something but you can’t make it out.

“Y/N, hey, what uh, what’s up?” Steve sounds out of breath.

“Hey, sorry to bother you at work-”

“It’s no problem.” He speaks. “Is something wrong? Is Penny okay?”

“She’s fine.” you reassure him. “I was just calling to ask if you’d wanna come over to my place so that we could… talk.” Your fingers nervously play with the cord attached to the phone. “It doesn’t have to be right now! It could be after you get off of work or even tomorrow or something-”

“I’ll be right over.”

“You don’t-”

He hangs up before you can finish and you turn to Penelope who’s looking at you with big eyes.

“Your dad is a crazy person, Penny.”

She giggles.

As you wait for Steve to arrive, you make some breakfast for yourself and for Penelope… and maybe a little extra. Just in case, you know? You had just put Penelope’s food down in front of her when there was a knock on the door.

“Who is it, Penny?” You ask her as you make your way toward the door.

“Mmm… Poppy!”

Poppy is what she calls your father.

“Let’s see…” You open the door, revealing Steve and not Poppy.

Steve smiles as he sees you on the other end of the door. “Hey.”

“Hey Steve.” You say, moving to the side. “Come in.”

He says thanks and as soon as Penelope gets a good look at him, she yells out, “Steeb!”

His eyes are on her immediately and his smile grows bigger. “Hey pretty girl, you remember me!”

Penelope giggles and continues to stuff her face with her breakfast. You move toward the food on the counter and look at Steve.

“Are you hungry?” You’re already grabbing a plate for him.

“I don’t want to impose; I can get something later-”

“Shut up and eat, Steve. I made more than enough.”

You put the plate of pancakes in front of him and he bites back a smile. “Yes ma’am.”

He takes a seat beside Penelope and the two start eating in sync. Yep. There is absolutely no doubt that Penny is Steve’s daughter.

The three of you are enjoying breakfast and every now and then Steve will point to something on Penelope’s plate and ask her what it is. She answers the best she can and he praises her for trying. It’s like a little glimpse into what life would’ve been like if everything went RIGHT.

“So,” you clear your throat, “I think I owe you an apology.”

Steve’s eyebrows crease and he tears his gaze from Penelope and moves it to you. “What? No you don’t. If anyone’s apologizing, it’s me.”

“I owe you one too. I should’ve told you about me being pregnant when I found out instead of keeping it from you.” You say as you move a piece of pancake around on your plate.

“I understand,” Steve nods. “I mean, it sucks knowing I've missed out on Penelope’s life thus far but I-I know I hurt you, and… God, Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

“Steve-”

He shakes his head. “Please let me say what I need to say.”

You give him a curt nod and he takes a deep breath. “I know it seems like I used you that day but I need you to know that I meant it when I said I felt the same way for you. There is no excuse for me calling you Nancy after we were done-” he glances at Penelope before his eyes focus back on you. “Snuggling.”

“Pfft!” You cover your mouth immediately. “Sorry!”

“Hey, I’m not about to taint my daughter's innocent ears.” There’s a fake frown on his face before he breaks out with a smile. It lasts for a few seconds before he gets serious again. “I need you to know that I really am sorry. At that point, I think I had liked you since eighth grade and I waited to see a hint that you might’ve liked me back but when I didn’t see one, I thought it was time to move on. I was also terrified that if I told you how I felt, that it would ruin our friendship and I didn’t want that to happen because you were my best friend.”

He sits back in his seat and frowns. “Then, I met Nancy and I really liked her… but then she broke my heart and I was a wreck after that. I thought I was over her completely after all those months of us being broken up because… my feelings for you came back. In that moment, I didn’t even realize I had called you Nancy and I am such a piece of crap for doing that to you. Seeing you cry… I never wanted to make you feel like that and I’ve beat myself up about what I did since it happened. I am so sorry if I made you feel like you were the second option, Y/N. I shouldn’t have let my impulses take over when you told me you had feelings for me. I should’ve taken you out on a date, court you for a bit so you knew that I was serious about my feelings. I-I should’ve-”

“Steve.” You snap him out of his thoughts. “Take a deep breath, please.”

He nods and takes a deep breath, visibly calming down.

“I forgive you, Steve.” You tell him. “We were seventeen; we were idiots. I’m sorry for not telling you I was pregnant. I was hurt over what happened and thought you were still into Nancy and I just didn’t want to be a bother. Now I just want the past to be the past and to move forward. If not for ourselves, then for Penelope. I don’t want to dwell on what happened three years ago.”

“Done.” He agrees. “We move forward.”

“As friends.” You tell him and his shoulders slouch a bit. “I don’t think I’m ready to revisit this-” you point between the both of you. “-romantically. And I don’t mean that in a mean way. I think we should just focus on being the best parents we can be for Penelope and learn to co-parent well. Our priority right now should be Penelope… that is, if you want to be a part of her life. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, sorry for assuming-”

“I want to.” He cut you off. “More than anything, I want to be a part of Penny’s life.”

“Okay, good.” You look at Penelope who was still munching on her food. Half of it was in her mouth, the other half was all over her face. “We can talk about you coming over to visit her here? I want to ease her into this slowly. All she’s known since she was born was me, my mom, and my dad and I don’t want to overwhelm or scare her with this change.”

Steve nods. “I’ll go at whatever pace you set, Y/N. I’m just glad to be a part of her life now. And… yours.”

“As friends.” You remind him.

“Yeah,” he smiles softly, “as friends.”

Tags:

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#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington imagine

626 notes · View notes

murdrdocs · 3 months

Text

every passing moment

description. sitting in the front seat of patrick zweig’s car, it’s nearly impossible to pretend like you don’t want him. it's impossible to pretend you didn't come for this.

includes. SMUT 18+, car sex, oral (f receiving), unprotected p n v, lots of denial from reader, some manhandling, sort of mean patrick, also mean reader, hooking up w a friends ex (but consensually!), takes place in the 2000s

wc. 3.6k+

a/n: cannot be bothered to edit sawrryy. based on a req i got forever ago. art creds unknown. title from so into you by tamia

“You can stop pretending.”

You pause your insistent flipping through radio stations to glare in Patrick’s direction. His eyes are straight ahead, staring at the red streetlight through the rain still pattering down onto the windshield. You narrow your eyes in distaste, trying not to notice the way the light illuminates the shape of his face.

“Pretending?”

Patrick shrugs, glancing at you for a moment before the light is green and he’s facing the road again.

“Yeah. Pretending that you’re not into me.” He says it with such assurance as if his statement is a fact of matter and not just an arrogant assumption.

You scoff and decide on a station playing the final bits of a Katy Perry song. Maybe you would have been able to distinguish the song if it weren’t for the volume of the blood pumping through your body. You’ve been attempting to ignore it the entire time, ever since you and Patrick dropped Art off at a friend's place.

But there was something about being alone with Patrick and sitting in the front of his car. It affects you. When you were sitting in the back of the car and looking out of the window, you weren’t focused on anything other than how long it would take to get back to your dorm. Patrick and Art were as they usually were—Patrick and Art, extensions of the other. They joked, laughed, and included you for a bit before Patrick wrongfully proclaimed that you were asleep. You were in your world and they were in theirs. But now you’re part of Patrick’s world, forced to listen to him scoff at the song playing and click to another station. Forced to kick away an empty Monster can that rolls back and hits the toe of your sneakers. Forced to smell his cologne, previously too strong but now worn off to a more pleasant intensity, carry towards your nose with the cold AC.

Before, you were able to pretend that you didn’t want Patrick. Now, you’re right next to him, bumping your elbow with his as they both rest on the center console. Mumbling the same lyrics—although Patrick gets the words slightly wrong—to the same song. There is a certain harmony that exists in this space, shining a light on your true desires, the ones you pushed down with eye rolls and groans whenever Art insinuated that you had feelings for his best friend. The desires you pushed away even whenever Tashi exclaimed that what she and Patrick had was nothing but a thing that they had, and you were free to swoop in if you pleased.

Now, sitting in the front seat of Patrick Zweig’s car, it’s nearly impossible to pretend like you don’t want him. It’s impossible to pretend like you didn’t come dressed for this.

Your meticulously crafted outfit screams in your face. Your best pair of jeans, the ones that hugged your ass just right and had gotten you laid twice this semester already. A tiny enough top to warrant attention without being obvious that that’s what you wanted—it ended right above your navel and was thin enough for your tits, unrestrained by a bra, to press against the fabric. In certain lighting, like the lighting coming from the stoplight, for example, you could see your nipples poking through.

When you glance over at Patrick again, you catch him glancing down at your tits. You scoff like it’s not what you wanted, but you cross your arms under your bust and enhance the pair anyway.

The car ride is going fine. Patrick’s chosen station plays hit after hit to fill the silence as he steadily heads toward your dorm. You’re only a few minutes away, no more than 7 if the stoplights weren’t taking too long, and then Patrick pulls into a gas station.

You look over at him, your eyes squinted and your eyebrows furrowed.

“What’re you doing?”

He puts the car in park next to a pump. “Getting gas,” he tells you factually as if you’re the outrageous one.

He closes the door before you can argue with him but you reach over and press the button to roll down the window before the battery completely turns off.

“My dorm is literally right down the street. You couldn’t wait?” You hiss at him through the open window, watching him insert his card and put his PIN in. Unsurprisingly, his PIN is his birth year.

“It’s easier this way,” he takes his card out of the reader and opens the tank. “Otherwise I would’ve had to double back. Too much work. Waste of gas.”

You huff and fall back into your seat, just a tad bit upset that Patrick would’ve had the perfect view of your tits if he looked away from the dirtied gas pump for just a second.

You sit for a moment, tapping your finger against the plastic door handle. You pull a stick of gum out of your purse.

“Pass me one,” Patrick demands, doesn’t ask.

You make a point of smacking on your piece as you tell him, “It’s the last one.”

He doesn’t say anything, just pulls the corner of his lips into his cheek and glances back at the screen steadily counting up.

He looks back at you. His eyes scan your frame and you can’t help but feel a little satisfied.

“You look really pretty right now.” He tells you. His compliment should flatter you, and it mostly does, but he gave you those eyes. The ones you’ve seen him throw at multiple women, hoping it would get him what he wants.

You’re sure that you and him currently share the same wants, but you want him to be a little shameless about it. For the sake of your pride, you can’t give it away this easily. So you retort.

“Oh my God, Patrick. Fuck off!” Petulantly, you cross your arms over your chest and focus your attention on the mostly empty building in front of you.

“I’m serious.” And he sounds serious. He sounds earnest. It’s the softest you’ve ever heard Patrick speak and you don’t know if he’s doing it to get in your pants, or if he has no ulterior motives.

You don’t know which one you prefer more.

You don’t know how to respond. Silence seems to be the best answer for you.

It’s not satisfactory for Patrick. “This is usually the part where you’ll accept my compliment. Maybe give one back.”

“That would be the part if I were another one of your conquests. Which I’m not.”

“You wouldn’t be another one of my conquests.”

“You tell everyone that? Or just girls that you think ‘look really pretty’.”

“Alright, whatever. Will thinking that you’re another one of my conquests help you? Would it take some pressure away from all of this?” He gestures wildly between the two of you. The tank reaches its limit behind him and he places the nozzle back in its home.

He’s back in the car with the engine turned on and his seatbelt on when you respond.

“It doesn’t matter, Patrick. Because I’m not sleeping with you.”

He laughs. The sound is irritating. It makes your nostrils flare and your skin burn.

“What’s funny? I didn’t think someone finally not wanting you would be so entertaining.”

“Oh, people don’t want me all the time. You’re just not one of them.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Look,” he puts the car into drive and starts off towards your dorm. “I know you wanna sleep with me. It’s fine if you don’t admit it to me, maybe even yourself, but it’s obvious. You’re just too egotistical. You think you’re superior to me because—what? You chose a ‘real job’ over tennis? That doesn’t make you superior, it makes you scared. And that’s okay. You’re scared of your own potential and you’re scared of how bad you want me. That’s fine,” he spits your name out with a natural ease that used to flatter you. Now it pisses you off. “Just don’t walk around like that’s not the truth.”

You have the urge to tell him to pull the car over. You have the urge to spew out every nasty insult you’ve ever thought about him, some of them even Tashi’s own t words that she’d shared with you after the breakup. But you’re only a block away from your dorm and you refuse to waste your energy on Patrick. That and you know if you try, your voice will crack and you’ll embarrass yourself.

Instead, you turn the radio up and sit with your anger until Patrick pulls up to your dorm.

Your seatbelt clicks to free you, the door is unlocked, opened, and closed, and you’re turned to face the entrance when the sound of the window unrolling stops you.

“Call me when you’re done lying to yourself.”

He doesn’t leave until you’re inside the building.

Even then, he isn’t gone for long.

You’re standing in front of the elevator, waiting for the familiar ding! so you can crawl upstairs to your room, call Tashi, and tell her about this horrible night.

But you knew you wouldn’t be satisfied. You knew the night couldn’t end like this.

So just when the elevator reaches you and opens its doors, you have your phone pressed to your ear and Patrick’s number ringing.

He picks up on the second ring and he just laughs. Big and boisterous like you’ve just told the funniest joke in the world.

You huff, considering hanging up and going upstairs. But you shift your stance and the seam of your jeans presses right into the center of your cunt and you know you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

“Don’t be an ass. Just come back.”

When you walk out the door, he’s back in the same spot.

The car door is opened, the yellow light turning on and illuminating Patrick’s sick fucking smirk, and you don’t say anything as you sit in the passenger seat. You don’t bother clicking your seatbelt on.

“Why don’t we just go upstairs?” he suggests.

“I’m not checking you in.” I don’t want proof of this ever happening, is what you don’t say to him. Even without the fine print being verbalized, Patrick knows what you mean.

He hums, a sound that infuriates you just as much as his laugh, but then he puts the car into gear and starts off towards wherever he’s taking you.

You end up in the parking lot behind one of the science buildings. It’s empty, completely desolate besides a half-drunken bottle of blue Gatorade and a campus security pole that shines a deep blue. The light isn’t bright enough to penetrate the foggy windows of Patrick’s Honda, but the streetlights that keep the parking lot lit are.

The white light sits along Patrick’s cheekbones. It’s flat against the straight line of his nose. It’s barely there, right along his prominent cupid bow.

You can’t help but sit and admire his face. You can’t help but admire the way sweat has started to coat his hairline, threatening to drip down over his thick eyebrows and fall onto his cheek. You can feel your own sweat coming through your pores, but you can’t feel that more than you can feel Patrick’s fingers fucking up into you, two thick digits plunging into your walls over and over again.

You can’t believe you’re actually doing it, following up on the encouragement from both Tashi and Art. You’re finally giving in to all of those dreams that you pushed out of your mind as soon as you could, or those brief pictures of Patrick’s face in your head whenever you were trying to picture your latest celebrity crush instead.

Now, Patrick is all you see.

When you’re verbally asking him to use his mouth on you, you only see Patrick’s smirk. It’s real and raw and right in front of you. And you can’t stop staring.

Even when he contorts his large body to bring his face right between your legs, and you can only really see from the tip of his nose up, you don’t stop staring. When the pleasure mounts and climbs up your spine, you don’t stop staring, even when your eyes beg to flutter closed just to focus on the pleasure.

You’re zoned out and you know it. You’re staring at Patrick’s eyes, even when he’s watching your cunt and you can only see his eyelids. Your own eyes have glazed over from refusing to blink, and when you do blink—an action that’s pulled from you when Patrick flicks his tongue over your clit just right—a twin set of tears glide down your cheeks.

It’s then that Patrick decides to look at you again and you can feel his smile.

Thinner than usual and more pursed as it’s the position of his lips, but the expression is pressed right up against you and you can feel it so intimately. It’s really a shame that the thing you hate most is the thing that gets you right to the edge.

Patrick baring his teeth and gently nipping on your clit as he twists his fingers inside of you is the thing that makes you throw your hand out to grip the back of the passenger seat, your back arching as your mouth throws out moans that you don’t mean to be as loud as they are.

And Patrick just helps you ride through it. Even when you hook your legs around his head and twist your fingers into his hair, keeping his face dangerously close to your cunt, he helps you out. He’s more generous than you would’ve thought, and you don’t want to think about how many orgasms Patrick Zweig would be willing to give you before asking for one of his own. So you don’t.

Instead, you think about the way you’re grinding your cunt against Patrick’s face. As soon as you realize you’re doing it, you stop. You unhook your legs and let his hair go and when he comes up for air, you refuse to meet his eye.

After all of that staring, you suddenly are completely uninterested in Patrick’s blue eyes, including the little speck of blood-orange he has in them.

Patrick snickers and with him being this close to you, you can smell yourself on his breath. Why does that make you want to kiss him more?

“Come on. After I just made you cum you won’t even look at me?”

You reach above you to click the car light on and immediate regret finds you. Because now that there’s a substantial amount of light in the car, you can see the way Patrick’s clean-shaven chin, plump lips, and perky nose shine. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out where all of the shimmer has come from, especially not when the evidence is still smeared all over your pussy and inner thighs.

You dart your eyes to the side, looking at Patrick’s floor in search of the firetruck red pair of panties you were wearing. You look, and look, pushing away bottles and plastic bags and a pair of sneakers, and when you don’t find them, you huff and try to reach around Patrick to grab your jeans that have landed on the center console.

He bends out of the way, letting you grab the jeans, waiting for your next move.

“You can take me back to my dorm now.”

He hesitates. He doesn’t say anything. And then, “Don’t you want me to fuck you?” he asks it as if he knows the answer.

You know the answer. Still, you look at him, feigning unimpressed with your jeans hanging limply in your hands. You should put them back on. You’ve got what you came here for, a really good orgasm, and now it’s time you start working on the paper you’ve been putting off. A paper you absolutely despised. A paper that you would do anything to escape, or at least put off a bit.

Anything including letting Patrick Zweig fuck you.

Yeah, that’s not the only reason why you let Patrick fuck you. You’ve wanted him for a while and you’ve been fairly obvious about it. The classic childhood approach to your attraction wasn’t fooling anyone. Masking your attraction with annoyance didn’t do anything but make you want him more.

In the end, it wasn’t effective, as it still brought you here:

On your hands and knees in the back of Patrick’s car, letting him defile you from the back, remaining completely uncaring of the heat and the volume of your moans.

You’ll admit, this isn’t how you imagined fucking Patrick. You imagined it being somewhere more appropriate, for starters. In a bed or on a couch perhaps. But everything else about it, you’ve imagined.

The way he fucks you, rough and without abandon, is how you imagined it. The way he just takes and takes is how you imagined it. Late at night when you would slip your hands between your thighs, hoping to provide even a bit of reprieve, you imagined it like this.

You imagined his grunts right in your ear. You imagined the feeling of his balls slapping against your cunt. You imagined the feeling of his hands on your hips. But now you don’t have to imagine, it’s all real.

“Good?” Patrick asks from behind you.

Your lips move on their own accord. “‘s so good. Just like I imagined.”

You regret the admission as soon as it’s in the stiff air. You regret even thinking about it whenever Patrick snickers, curt and confident.

“Just like you imagined, huh? Knew you—fuck, you feel good—I knew you wanted me.”

His words are redundant at this point. It’s obvious that you’ve wanted Patrick the entire time. Now, he just wants to rub it in your face. He’s treating you like a pet, a big hand on the back of your head and rubbing your face in the mess you’ve made. Quite literally, as he palms the back of your head and pushes your face down into the seat at one point, smearing your nose in the sweat and arousal left over from your first orgasm.

But he’s not reprimanding you. He’s encouraging you.

He’s hooking a hand over your shoulder and pulling you back onto each of his thrusts. He’s hunching over your body as best as he can in the tight space and resting his head against your spine.

When you feel a glob of drool meets the center of your back, it suddenly occurs to you that Patrick has wanted this as much as you have. He’s been chasing after you the entire time, apparently, if you could trust the words of Art and Tashi.

You tune in, allowing yourself to hear him, to be with him in this brief moment. You’re made aware of his groans, how deep and throaty they are, how sincere they are. You notice how the drag of his cock out of you is slower than the push back in. It’s almost as if he’s savoring the time that he’s in you, prolonging it as long as possible. Yet, he slides out nearly all the way, only stopping when his mushroom tip is settled within you, your cunt clasped around it like a vice. And then he glides back in, swift and gentle.

Over and over again. And no matter how much he’s trying to prolong it, no matter how much he’s trying to prevent the inevitable, it approaches steadily. You’re close before you notice it, hands gripping the door handle and the leather seats.

You don’t warn him. If you feared he was going to stop or change something, maybe you would have told him that you were close. But Patrick isn’t one to change something that’s working well so you really had nothing to worry about.

Soon enough, when your orgasm is at its peak and you’re letting noise after noise spill past your lips, Patrick joins you. His forehead resting against your shoulder, his hips sloppily knocking into yours.

It’s harmonious. Possibly the most (willingly) in tune you and Patrick Zweig have ever been. Likely the most willingly in tune the two of you will ever be.

When it’s over, it’s over. There’s no more harmony. You nudge yourself back, getting Patrick off of you. You abandon the search for your panties and just settle with slipping your jeans back on, doing the same for your bra and shirt. You climb into the front seat, leaving Patrick in the back to catch his breath and redress.

He leaves the car to walk around to the driver's side and you use that one moment where he isn’t there to ask yourself what the fuck?

The drive back is silent. No music, no conversation, just the sound of rubber against asphalt. Patrick asks you one thing.

“Do you wanna go anywhere else?”

“I’m fine.”

And then you’re back at your dorm. You take a moment, mulling over your possibilities. You could have Patrick park in a visitor's spot, come up to your dorm, and spend time with you. You could resort back to your usual banter, maybe throw in an insult that doesn’t have to do with the way he defiled you just a few minutes ago (because there really isn’t anything negative you could say about that).

Instead, you open the door and step out.

“Thanks,” is all you tell him.

When you get upstairs, you consider the possibility of telling Tashi or Art. Instead, you take a shower and go to sleep.

#patricksworld!#patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig x you #celeste writes challengers

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pickingupmymercedes · 23 days

Text

It had to be enough - Lewis Hamilton

We have all watched Lewis's interviews after Monza 24' quali. (1 & 2)

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: angst.

wordcount: +2K

a/n: It's possibly going to hurt to read this, and there's no real ending, just poking at an open wound. Got a few things out of my system with the bonus character.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

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"Talk to me, Lewis" she said, her voice softer than she her heart clenching. "You can’t keep doing this to yourself."

The hum of the AC in Lewis's driver's room was a faint backdrop to the tension that clung to the air.

It was heavy, almost suffocating, but Y/n pushed through it because that’s what she did—she fought for him, even when he was too stubborn to accept it.

He sat on the edge of the sofa, his posture rigid, eyes trained on the floor. She could see the exhaustion in the slope of his shoulders, the way his fingers gripped the material of his phone like he was holding on for dear life.

She hated seeing him like this, wrapped up in his own head, drowning in self-doubt. But what she hated more was the way he’d shut her out, like she was just another barrier he needed to protect himself from.

He didn’t look up, didn’t even acknowledge her words.

It was like she wasn’t even in the room, like he was retreating into that fortress he’d built around himself all year long. She took a step closer, desperate to bridge the distance between them, but it felt like there was an abyss between them, that only grew wider.

"I know you’re upset about that quali" she continued, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice, "but this... it isn’t just about today, is it? It’s about the past years, the pressure, the team, Ferrari, Kimi... all of it."

When he finally looked up the expression in his eyes made her stomach drop. There was no anger there, no fight, just a cold, hollow emptiness that chilled her.

"There’s nothing to talk about," he said, his tone flat. "I’m just not good enough anymore. And that’s it."

"Don’t do that," she said, her voice rising despite her best efforts. "Don’t push me away, not now. I’m not going anywhere."

Y/n's heart pounded in her chest as she watched Lewis's expression. She knew he was hurting, that he was struggling to cope with the weight of his own expectations.

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. It was bitter, almost mocking, and it broke something inside her.

"Well, maybe you should" he said, his gaze flicking away from her, like he couldn’t deal with what he was about to say "Leaving is exactly what you should do, before I disappoint you too."

The air left her lungs in a painful rush. She felt like the ground had been ripped out from under her, like she was falling with no end in sight.

Y/n had always known that Lewis was his own worst critic, that he was harder on himself than anyone else could ever be. But now... this was different.

This was him giving up, and that scared her more than anything.

"You could never disappoint me," she whispered, but the look in his eyes told her he didn’t believe her.

He looked convinced to have failed. That he’d somehow become less of a man, less of Lewis Hamilton.

"That’s not true," she said, more forcefully this time. "You’re not a disappointment, Lewis. You’re one of the greatest drivers this sport has ever seen, and no one can take that away from you."

He shook his head, that bitter smile still playing on his lips. "Maybe it’s time to accept that I’m not that driver anymore."

"You don’t get to give up on yourself like this.” she said, crossing the room in three quick strides. She knelt in front of him, forcing him to meet her gaze. "Not when you’ve still got things to do here."

He looked at her then, really looked at her, and for a brief moment, she saw the man she fell in love with—the fighter, the champion.

But it was fleeting, gone in the blink of an eye, replaced by that same crushing self-doubt.

"I’m tired," he admitted, and it was the first honest thing he’d said since this conversation started. "I’m so fucking tired of fighting, of trying to prove that I still belong here."

Y/n reached out, cupping his face in her hands, and he leaned into her touch like he’d been starving for it, but wouldn’t dare ask her for it.

"I know you are," she said, her voice breaking. "But you don’t have to do this alone. I’m right here with you."

He closed his eyes, and she could see the struggle playing out on his face, the battle between his desire to open up and the instinct to shut her out.

It had been this way all year, ever since the problems with qualifying really started to affect him. Every time he’d had a bad session, he’d withdrawn a little more, closed himself off a little tighter.

And every time, it had taken more and more to pull him back out.

She thought about how he’d opened up in the media pen "It’s something I’ve been working on," he had said earlier, his voice almost defeated. "But I should have been on the front row for sure... It’s been this way for a minute now and... I used to be so comfortable in qualifying, and it’s gone."

The words had stung, a rare admission of vulnerability in front of the cameras. But she knew it went deeper than that.

That last part haunted her, the way he’d spoken about it like it was something he’d lost forever. How he felt like he was failing, and who was terrified that the magic was gone for good.

"I can’t keep watching you tear yourself apart like this. It’s killing me, Lewis." Y/n said, the words spilling out before she could stop them.

He flinched, like her words had struck a nerve, and for the first time, she saw a crack in that armor he was building around himself.

"I’m sorry" he whispered; his voice thick with emotion.

She shook her head, tears finally spilling over as she pulled him into her arms "Don’t apologize. Just... please, just let me in."

He buried his face in her shoulder, and she could feel the stiffness slowly leaving his body, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion.

She held him tighter, hoping that she could somehow take away even a fraction of the pain he was carrying.

"I’m scared," he admitted, his voice muffled against her skin. "I’m scared that I’m losing everything, that I’m not the driver I used to be. And I don’t really know how to deal with that."

She had to bite down hard on her lip to keep from crying. This was the man who’d always been her rock, the one who’d faced down every challenge with a quiet confidence that had always left her in awe.

Even the worst one.

"You’re not losing anything," she said, her voice trembling. "You’re still the same man, the same driver, the same person. And nothing—nothing—is ever going to change that."

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look her in the eyes, and she could see the doubt still lingering there, the fear that he wasn’t enough, that he was somehow failing his team, failing himself.

"Only I’m not" he said, shaking his head. "I’m not the same, not anymore."

Y/n reached up, brushing a tear from his cheek, and she saw a flicker of surprise in his eyes, like he didn’t even realize he had let that tear escape.

He blinked, his gaze searching hers like he was looking for something to hold onto, something to believe in.

"I don’t know how to do this," he said, his voice cracking. "I don’t know how to keep going when I feel like everything’s about to come crashing down"

"You don’t have to know," she said taking one of his hands in hers. "You just have to trust that you’ll find your way. And I’ll be right here with you."

For a long moment, he just looked at her hand, his eyes unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement, but it was enough.

It was a start.

This time he was the one who pulled her into his arms, holding her as if she were the only thing keeping him afloat.

She could feel his heartbeat against her chest, rapid and unsteady, a stark contrast to the calm, composed Lewis that the world usually saw.

He was carrying all this weight, all this pain, and worst of all, he felt like he had to do it alone.

Y/n didn’t move, didn’t dare to break the fragile peace they’d found in each other’s arms.

But even in that moment of closeness, she couldn’t shake the lingering worry in the back of her mind. She knew that it would take more than just words to pull him back from that brink.

"I need you to promise me something," she said softly, her fingers brushing over the skin of his arm. "Promise me that you won’t shut me out. No matter how hard things get, no matter how lost you feel. I can’t help you if you won’t let me."

He hesitated, and for a moment, she thought he might pull away again, retreat back into that shell he’d built around himself.

But then he nodded, the movement slow and deliberate, like he was making a decision he wasn’t entirely sure of.

"Okay" he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’ll try."

It wasn’t the firm commitment she’d hoped for, but it was something. And right now, she’d take whatever she could get.

"That’s all I ask," she said, her voice soft. "Just... don’t give up on yourself. Please"

He didn’t respond, but the way he held her, the way his arms tightened around her, was answer enough. He wasn’t okay—far from it—but he was still here, still trying, and that was what mattered.

Y/n rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. She closed her eyes, trying to hold onto this moment, this fragile connection they’d managed to find in the midst of all the chaos.

All that was ahead—the races, the pressure, the inevitable changes— a part of her wondered if they were ready for it. If he was ready for it. If she was.

She had to remind herself that they didn’t have to be ready, they just had to be brave to face the changes.

And that, she told herself, would be enough. It had to be enough.

The outside world thought kept waiting, with its demands and expectations. Lewis had meetings and delaying it any longer wouldn’t do him any favors.

She reluctantly loosened her hold on him, feeling the shift in the air as reality crept back in.

“Lew,” she whispered, tracing with the tip of her finger his tattoos. “You need to go. They’re waiting for you.”

He nodded, though he looked like he would rather stay there forever, hiding away from everything.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice still hoarse from their earlier conversation. “I know.”

She could tell he was still trying to pull himself together, to put on the mask he wore so well in front of others. But she also knew that mask was cracked, and it wouldn’t take much to shatter it completely.

As they headed towards the door, Lewis hesitated, his hand on the doorknob. He glanced back at her.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible. “For being here.”

Y/n managed a small smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “You don’t have to thank me. Just... remember what you promised, okay?”

“I will” he replied, his voice stronger this time. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a moment before finally opening the door.

The noise of the motorhome hit them immediately—a hum that never really stopped.

Lewis squared his shoulders, his face hardening into the familiar expression of focus. He gave her one last look before stepping out into the corridor, heading towards the meeting that was already overdue.

Y/n watched him go. She knew he was far from okay, but at least now, he wasn’t completely alone in it.

Just as she was about to turn back and find a moment to herself, she heard a familiar voice behind her.

“Y/n.”

She turned to see Toto approaching, his expression as serious as ever, though there was a hint of concern in his eyes that she hadn’t seen before.

He stopped a few feet away from her, his gaze flicking towards the direction Lewis had gone before settling back on her.

Y/n met Toto’s gaze, feeling the weight of everything unsaid. She could see the slight furrow of his brow, the way his eyes searched hers for answers he couldn’t find on his own.

But there was more to this than concern—there was responsibility, and whether Toto acknowledged it or not, she knew he bore some of it.

“He’ll be okay” she said, her voice calm but tinged with a subtle edge. “But it’s going to take time.”

Toto nodded, the lines on his face deepening with whatever thoughts he was wrestling with. Y/n could see the questions forming behind his eyes, the unspoken doubts he held.

But she also knew that while he might care for Lewis, his role as team principal came with its own burdens, its own priorities that didn’t always align with what was best for Lewis.

“I know it’s been tough” Toto began, his tone careful, as if he were picking his words from a delicate web. “We’ve all felt the pressure this year.”

Y/n swallowed back the frustration rising in her throat. Of course, they’d all felt the pressure—this was Formula 1. But Lewis had carried more than his share, and somewhere along the line it was bound to take a toll on him.

“He’s been carrying a lot, Toto. And I don’t think anyone really saw how much until it started to break him.” she said, her words measured.

She paused, searching his face for any sign that he understood what she was trying to say. That this wasn’t just about a rough season or the weight of expectations. It was a cumulative effect of years, of being the one to shoulder hopes and criticism of an entire sport.

Toto’s expression softened, something—regret, maybe—crossing his features. But she knew better than to expect a full admission.

This was the world they lived in, where accountability was a slippery concept, buried beneath layers of strategy and performance metrics.

“Formula 1... it’s unforgiving,” she continued, her voice quieter now, more reflective. “And I know you’ve always done what you thought was best. But this time Lewis paid a higher price.”

He didn’t reply immediately, his gaze shifting momentarily to the engineering’s room before returning to hers.

“I never wanted it to come to this.” his voice was low, almost resigned.

Y/n nodded, understanding the truth behind his words. She believed him—Toto cared about Lewis.

But the reality was that intentions didn’t always align with outcomes, and somewhere along the way, the balance had tipped.

“I know” she said softly, offering him a small, weary smile. “But it did.”

The air between them was thick with everything unspoken, the understanding that while Lewis would be okay, it would come at a cost. And that cost was one that had been paid, in part, by the very person that had built the platform the team now stood in, a team that had once been his greatest strength.

“I should go” Y/n added after a moment, glancing in the direction Lewis was.

Toto nodded again, this time more firmly. “Thank you, Y/n. For being there for him.”

She didn’t respond, only gave a brief nod before turning to leave. A reminder of just how delicate the balance was between personal and professional in this world.

And how, no matter how much she wished otherwise, there were some battles Lewis would have to fight on his own.

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mysteria157 · 4 months

Text

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

CW: Light Profanity, Light Alcohol Consumption, Explicit Sexual Content, Missionary, Fingering, Mentions of Cunnilingus, Public Sex (Sort of), Office Sex

WC: ~9.8k

Summary:

Nanami may be disconnected from social media trends, but he’s not oblivious. He’s overheard the crass innuendos and seen the tasteless memes on Yuji's phone. He knows the vulgar things some men say—about how excited they get when the summer begins.

It always seemed so stupid and dramatic to Nanami, who has never had a straying eye to actually see if the rumors were true. But now that you’ve come into his life…he gets it.

Oh, he gets it.

Sundress season.

Notes: Hello! Had a random thought this morning and decided to roll with it and practice writing Nanami some more. Anywho, I hope you all enjoy this one-shot.

This is a prime example of me writing smut when I feel like it. Please do not ask me for more related to this story and please do not ask me to write smut, the answer is no lol. This is just a one-shot of a random idea, please enjoy it for what it is lol. Thank you all for understanding!

Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated! Happy reading!

Dividers: @cafekitsune @arminsumi | Header: made by myself

Masterlist | Ao3 | Twitter |

The city summers are a different kind of hell. The humid heat clings to Nanami, making his skin feel instantly tacky as if he hasn’t showered in days. It wreaks havoc on his usual crisp suit and tie, causing the fabric to stubbornly adhere in unflattering ways. He thinks back wistfully to his bachelor days when he could simply escape such misery by holing up inside with the AC blasting, and then wait until the evening for a walk or to run errands. But that was before you came into his life like a vivacious sunbeam, all warmth and carefree laughter.

Now, he wouldn’t dream of depriving you of simple joys like strolling hand-in-hand through the park, watching you bask in nature’s dazzling seasonal shifts. The fragrant flowers blooming, the fireflies flickering to life as dusk settles, the earthy pre-rain smell you adore—he lives for the ease of these tranquil moments.

Throughout your relationship, Nanami has cataloged your ever-changing looks to match the passing seasons. The oversized chunky sweaters and leggings you’d cuddle up in during fall’s crisp breezes. The sleek peacoats and woolen scarves wound around your neck when winter blanketed the city in soft stillness.

But summertime is when your vibrant spirit and personal style shines. And it’s Nanami’s first summer with you when everything changes.

It always seemed so stupid and dramatic to Nanami, who has never had a straying eye to actually see if the rumors were true. But now that you’ve come into his life…he gets it.

Oh, he gets it.

Sundress season.

And it’s a season that has awoken something primal within him. Something in his gut stirs, something in his mind shifts and the more he notices, the more he feels like a lecherous old man instead of the well-mannered one in his late twenties. While his clothes stick uncomfortably to his sweat-slicked skin you get to slip into breezy summer dresses that let every inch of your beautiful body breathe.

As an event planner constantly on the move, you seem to live in the wispy, colorful outfits at all hours of the day. Like the buttercup yellow and candy pink number currently floating around you as you stroll together to the bakery during your shared lunch hour. It’s modest—cotton fabric that doesn’t stick to you, with ruffle short sleeves and a V-neckline that highlights your collarbones and the delicate diamond necklace resting between.

Nanami risks a sidelong glance, instantly regretting it when his gaze gets trapped by the way the bright floral pattern sways and twists with each step you take. The hem brushes the brown skin of your knees and while he can’t see much, Nanami knows the soft curves hidden underneath the airy fabric intimately.

While the caveman part of him can understand the underlying meaning of sundress season, it’s everything else that flares his want for you. It’s the wild curls that brush your cheeks and neck, the diamond earrings that reflect in the sun, the curl of your long lashes that kiss your lower lids when you blink. And yes—the gorgeous dress that you have on enhances everything about you—but in the most basic sense, you are beautiful.

“You’re staring.” It’s a playful accusation that you direct at him even though your eyes are admiring the tulips that you both walk past.

He quickly averts his eyes, sharp cheeks blazing a fiery red. “My apologies I…” Nanami clears his throat, struggling to regain his usual unruffled demeanor. “That dress looks lovely on you.”

You hum in acknowledgment, pausing so he can open the bakery door for you. “You think so? I just picked it up last week. Perfect for this heat, isn’t it?”

Nanami swallows hard at the teasing tilt to your tone, the innocent question feeling anything but. From the very first day he met you—that very first day you knocked back a glass of expensive whiskey and smiled at him as if it was nothing—he’s come to accept that you have no reservations of flustering him. You thrive on it, and for as stiff as Nanami is, you are a breath of fresh air that he never imagined would slide into his lungs.

Umber eyes watch you walk ahead of him and into the welcoming AC of the bakery, tantalizing calves flexing with each step.

“Very much…” is all he can manage, hastily ripping his eyes away again as his equilibrium dangerously shifts.

You laugh lightly at his sudden silence, the warm, rich sound simultaneously soothing his thundering heart and making it trip up all over again. “You act like you’ve never seen me in a dress before.”

“You know that’s not true,” he mutters, switching his gaze to the menu to avoid your entirely too-innocent smile. “I simply…appreciate fine things.”

The rich ring of your answering chuckle sends molten desire licking traitorously down his spine. “Is that so? Then I’ll have to acquire more of these stunning ‘fine things’ for you to appreciate this summer…”

He should have known better than to egg you on. Had he kept his eyes to himself and brushed off your knowing glances, he could have enjoyed you without your playful watch. But for as smart as Nanami is, for as observant and vigilant in his work as he is in his life outside of it, he can never wrap his head around how devious you truly are.

One day, the weather calms down enough for lunch at the park. It’s the perfect day to eat outside. The sun is high in the sky but the canopy of trees gives you both the protection you need from harsh rays.

“Need any help setting up?” You call out, shrugging off the ice denim jacket from your shoulders to reveal this summer’s newest addition—an angelic white sundress adorned with delicate lace trim.

Nanami’s throat tightens and he shakes his head, unfurling a blue blanket onto the thick grass below you both. “I can do it, love. Please just relax.”

He carefully arranges the picnic blanket, spreading the wrinkles free before you plop down on one side. As you dig into the large lunchbox, he admires the crisp white cotton that seems to skim over your frame, covering you but still unable to touch. Thin straps leave your shoulders bare, your skin glowing in the sun from your shimmery sunscreen. No necklace this time, so the square neckline dips just enough to offer a subtle hint of cleavage. The stretchy ribbed material hugs and accentuates every lush curve before gently flaring into an effortless, free-flowing skirt.

You purse your lips and furrow your brow in concentration, leaning more over the lunchbox, your back straightening to steady yourself before he watches free of shame as you arch just so.

When you turn to flash him that achingly fond smile, your curls falling over one shoulder, all traces of decency flee from Nanami’s mind. In that moment, he’s transported back to those dizzying early days of your relationship—entirely captivated, yet utterly terrified of somehow shattering this dazzling, undeserved connection between you.

“Thirsty?” You hold out one of the banana milk boxes that he’s grown to love since your presence, an impish quirk of your brow, clearly aware of his slow descent into hell.

Nanami nods jerkily and takes the milk box, unable to find his voice for a beat. As you settle down gracefully beside him, the skirt drifts up in a gentle billow, shaping to and showcasing skin. He has to tear his eyes away from the wicked flashes of toned thigh with extreme willpower.

Like the devil you are, you toss him a coy smirk, shiny lip gloss clear even though he knows it tastes like strawberry. “We gonna eat or are you just gonna gawk at me like a weirdo?”

He can’t help the scoff that leaves him as he pulls out sandwiches for you both. “I thought you liked when I gawk at you.”

“Not when I’m hungry.”

He shakes his head, smirking softly as he removes the cling wrap before handing you your half, your fingers brushing against his. Warm pleasure blooms in his chest at the radiant sight you make contrasted against the swaying greenery. It’s as if you don’t belong but he couldn’t imagine you anywhere else. You take a generous bite of your sandwich, a smear of mustard in the crease of your lips as you offer him a gentle smile.

As the scorching summer rages, Nanami can’t help but chastise himself. A mundane and childish social meme has become the representation of the hardest test he’s ever taken. Maybe he should have asked for tips from Yuji on how to better prepare himself.

He’s always prided himself on admiring from afar, on controlling his emotions in public and savoring them later in private. He knows your beauty and the unintentional way you drain the air around him. But he’s always been able to offer that soft smile, place a hand on your shoulder or your waist and offer a compliment to whatever you’ve chosen to wear for the day. But recently, in the face of your summertime wardrobe choices, Nanami finds that steely discipline faltering at an alarming rate.

Sinking deeper into the plush living room sofa, Nanami exhales a deep sigh and allows the tension thrumming through his shoulders to bleed away. Here, surrounded by the apartment’s climate-controlled sanctuary, he can savor these increasingly rare moments of solitary peace sprawled out with a good book. It’s a well-deserved shared day off for you both—free of schedules, obligations, or anything more strenuous than lounging around with each other. And more importantly, at home, you’re nothing but comfortable clothes and soft pajamas.

He’s safe.

A wry smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he imagines the look of feigned innocence you always sport whenever he gets too overt about appreciating your seasonal attire. As if you don’t know the absolutely devastating effect even the simplest hair toss or twirl has on what’s left of his challenging self-restraint these days.

It’s going to be a great day. He’s almost done with this book, just three more chapters and then he can start another in his pile that he wants to tackle this summer. That’s right, Nanami Kento is going to—

The soft pad of your bare feet against the hardwood floors has Nanami glancing up instinctively from behind the novel’s pages. And just like that, the world around him completely whites out as if he’s been hit over the head with a brick.

You’ve emerged from the hallway in a yellow sundress so vibrantly captivating, so deliciously clingy and effortlessly suggestive that he nearly swallows his tongue in surprise. The rich gold hue kisses the deep tone of your skin, as if you’re a sunflower blooming under the artificial lighting of the apartment. The dress accentuates your shape in the most brazenly tantalizing way—the thin ruffle straps on your shoulders, the sweetheart neckline hinting at full cleavage, the dress’ light hem hitting indecently high on your thighs in playful flirty wisps.

But it’s the stretchy knit fabric’s complete inability to disguise any curve or meaty swell that really has Nanami sitting up straighter on the cushions. It’s not layered well enough—almost transparent—and the snug material leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, from the outline of bright panties that cover the soft spread of your hips to the pert dusky points outlined beneath the bodice.

Absolutely devastating and on full, confident display and this isn’t fair because he has three chapters left.

He barely registers the “What are you reading?” you offer him over one shoulder as you stroll towards the kitchen area in that swaying, uninhibited saunter that never fails to ignite his senses. Nanami simply sits there transfixed—one hand gripping the spine of his book while the other claws restlessly against his own inner thigh. Each roll of your hips has that thin dress swishing and lifting in tiny torturous glimpses that have his imagination veering wildly into unrestrained territory. But he’s at home, that’s okay right?

That’s when you shift your weight onto the tips of your toes, your back turned to him, stretching up towards the top cabinets with one hand braced against the counter…and the entire world seems to judder to a halt all over again. Because from this new vantage point, Nanami can’t tear his eyes away from the call of your legs, the dimples on the backs of your thighs, up, up to the hem and—

A guttural sound wrenches free from low in his diaphragm, a mix of a groan and a growled curse. He looks back down to his book, searching aimlessly for where he left off, flickering back over to you just as quick.

He should look away, tear his eyes off of the gloriously indecent picture you’ve unwittingly created simply by existing. And yet…Nanami finds his stare burning an increasingly blazing trail down the bewitching ‘V’ between your shoulder blades, past the delicious dip of your arched lower back to the toned flare of your thighs and calves below.

At one point, you bend even deeper at the waist, hips tilting up as you struggle to reach a particularly elusive item on the high shelf. The filmy yellow skirt jumps and flirts up with the motion, granting Nanami a shameless eyeful of toned thighs and the flash of his favorite pair of panties—lilac with lace along the edges that squeeze the skin of your ass in the most inviting way. He very nearly drops the book from his suddenly slack fingers at the sight, hissing out a low curse between his teeth.

You huff out an adorable sound of frustration as you fail to reach whatever item you’re going for, and he knows he should step in to assist like the gentleman he is. But his stare remains rooted to spot, ogling and committing it all to memory so he can think about it later—alone.

“Let me get that,” he finally manages to scrape out, voice gone low and gritty with naked yearning despite his best efforts at nonchalance.

You shoot him one of those bright, beaming smiles over your shoulder in response—blissfully unaware of the effect your glowing, ethereal beauty has on him even without your intentional teasing. “Just grabbing the flour for dinner,” you explain sheepishly, leaning into his broad form as he comes up behind you and grabs the ingredient on the top shelf. “I always have trouble reaching.”

And isn’t that just symbolic as all hell? His curvy, tempting beloved constantly hovering just beyond his reach these past few weeks—unattainable without discarding every last vestige of control he has. It isn’t like you both don’t have sex. You do…often. There’s just always been a build up, never anything explosive.

Even in the privacy of your home, he’s never thrown caution to the wind. Nanami has always been one to savor every calculated build of pleasure in its precious sequence. You’ve expressed your satisfaction readily enough, reciprocating his passion with that same rapturous abandon you bring to all aspects of life. But in all the years of his tiring, overworked life, you are the first to show him what it feels like to never walk a predetermined line.

“This is…I’ve never seen you wear it inside,” Nanami manages, his throat feeling increasingly dry as his eyes trace the line of fabric on your shoulders.

You take the flour from him, shooting him a sly, knowing look from beneath your lashes as you turn to face him fully. “It’s a little stuffy in here, don’t you think?”

He can’t stop the reflexive glance that rakes over every inch of you. “It’s sixty-eight degrees.”

You lean in a fractional amount—just enough for the swell of your breasts to brush against his shirt as you crane up towards his face. “Well, I run hot,” you murmur, voice dropping into the pits of hell, a throaty register that bypasses Nanami’s higher cognitive functions entirely.

He’s beyond undone. Frozen in place with desperate, rapturous hunger raging through his very marrow. This close, he can make out the small raised moles on your exposed shoulders, the genetic blemishes that are common for your skin tone. He gets a better view of the rigid peaks of your nipples straining against the thin fabric, practically begging for the heated and dripping touch of his mouth that he’s always more than happy to bestow upon you.

His fingertips clench and relax at his sides, held back only by tremendous reserves of willpower from reaching out to map and relearn every soft, silken plane of feminine heat and temptation currently being dangled in front of him like a prize he still can’t win.

You take in the undisguised wanting and torment written large across his features with a look of utter satisfaction. Then, before he can formulate some slurred plea for relief, you spin on one heel and saunter out of his reach—hips undulating hypnotically beneath that flimsy gauze of material in an alluring farewell.

Only once you finally disappear around the corner does Nanami manage to sag forwards—palms braced on the counter as he attempts to draw steady lungfuls of air back into his oxygen-starved body.

By the time he plops back on the sofa, and opens the spine of his book, the desire to read is gone.

You take pity on him for a few weeks after that searing afternoon in the kitchen. Your outside adventures are marked by breathable athletic leggings paired with loose tank tops that drape and show you off…but in a far tamer, less flagrantly teasing way than before.

Even at home, the soft cotton shorts and tees you lounge around in provide Nanami some solace—the casual fabrics leaving just enough to the imagination rather than putting every mouth-watering curve on display.

Your usual playful flirtations also seem to be dialed back during this oasis period. As if you’re allowing the poor man a chance to realign his senses and regain some semblance of control. It allows him time to resettle back into some of his usual regimented routines. Without you on a mission at the periphery of his awareness constantly, stoking those primal fires, he finds himself able to slip back into the role of polished, tired professional and attentive partner with relative ease.

Perhaps a bit too easily, if he’s being honest with himself. Because before he can even register the transition, that fleeting grace period seems to dissolve back into the heady summer ether as quickly as it had begun.

The warm evening air smells of charcoal and citronella as Nanami moves through the crowd, trying yet failing to focus on anything but you. All around him, friends and coworkers intermingle while indulging in ice-cold drinks and delicious food fresh off the smoker. He loves food, especially Yuki's cooking when she hosts a barbecue.

But none of it registers tonight.

Because every sensory nerve-ending in his body is completely captivated and overwhelmed by the vision you make in that deep red sundress.

The rich crimson chiffon swirls and caresses over your body in sinuous waves of delicious color. You’re bathed in red, as if rose petals have unfurled and stitched themselves together to form the beautiful dress on your body. It’s a maxi dress that sweeps down to your ankles and kisses the straps of your block heels. Scorching flashes of full thighs are visible through the flowing slits on each side. The deep v-neck dips in a daring drop that leaves your sternum and the inner sides of your breasts achingly exposed.

Each step you take has the delicate material clinging and drifting in the most hypnotic dance around your heavenly form. Nanami tracks the rhythmic sway of your hips with a burning stare, his control splintering a little more with every toss of your head that allows the deep brown of your skin to wink at him from the column of your neck.

Yuki is already three wine coolers in—not a lot for most, but more than enough for her to throw decorum to the wind. From across the backyard, Choso watches with an indulgent smile as his partner bobs off-beat to the soft music flowing from the speakers.

Choso's expression of pure adoration mirrors the way Nanami looks at you when he thinks no one else is watching. They share that unspoken understanding, that bone-deep contentment of being completely enraptured by the women they love.

At one point, the music shifts, more alcohol disappears, and Yuki is hauling you to the makeshift dance floor of the backyard. Nanami tries, he really, really does. But everything about you makes him stand at attention. Breathing, walking, laughing, smiling at nothing, and now—with just one rock of your hips to the music—his eyes are locked in.

You’ve never been a good dancer. But you’ve also never cared of the expectation to be a good one either. And Yuki is an extroverted pull that makes you sway more, that makes your shoulders roll and laughter to bubble from your lips as you watch your friend make a fool of herself.

Nanami runs a hand through his thick blonde locks, disrupting the careful part he made before you both left the apartment earlier in the evening. The other hand clutches a glass of scotch a little tighter, the condensation sliding against his fingers before he takes a generous swig, his eyes not once leaving you.

You can feel him before you even look over, and when you do lock with Nanami’s deep brown gaze from across the yard, you throw him a soft look from beneath your lashes as you slowly roll your hips. It’s the same motion of your hips that he got to feel last night with you straddling him, panting against his lips in the middle of the night.

Outwardly sensual in only a way he can recognize amongst everyone around him. But it’s your rapturous, carefree expression of pure bliss that simultaneously enchants and undoes the last tattered remains of his composure. With every movement, you embody the very essence of feminine energy—raw, joyful, and utterly free. You are a vision of untamed beauty, a wild goddess of the summer night come to life in a swirling dreamscape of rich ruby chiffon.

The erotic, carnal urge to chase after your swaying, taunting form and haul you away to some shadowed corner where he can divest you of that sinful dress is overwhelming. Swallowing hard, Nanami averts his burning stare for fear of literally combusting on the spot.

“You alright there, buddy?” Yu's familiar voice cuts through the lusty fog, tinged with the warm charm of a couple beers down. “You look like you’re about to swallow your tongue or something.”

“I…excuse me,” is all Nanami can grate out, the remark feeling like fragments of glass as he speaks. He doesn’t wait for a response, simply stalking off through the open patio door and into the thankfully dim and cool interior of Yuki and Choso's home. Anything to escape your enticing presence for even a single moment.

The music and laughter from outside feels muffled as he sinks down onto the living room sofa in the shadows—rubbing distractedly at his thundering chest. But it does nothing to get rid of the vision of you dancing so wantonly and on unrestrained display in that gorgeous ruby sundress.

Where are you even getting them? Online? Or is there a store that he doesn’t know about? He hasn’t seen other women in the city wearing dresses like you do. But then again…Nanami doesn’t really pay attention unless it’s you.

His fingers grip the plush armrest of the sofa until the knuckles strain white, breath sawing harsh and ragged from his heaving lungs. Nanami squeezes his eyes shut, forcing himself to visualize anything other than the way that lightweight crimson had drifted and kissed over your thighs that peeked between side slits, the growing sheen of sweat between the generous canvas of your chest, the exposed slope of your neck free of curls—a spot of concealer on the side to hide the mark he gave you last night.

A harsh exhale escapes him as he forces his eyes open, only to instantly regret it. The muted sounds of the party filter in from outside—sweet laughter, the low thrum of bass, the periodic high-pitched squeal of your voice crying out at Yuki to get a hold of herself.

Nanami’s stomach clenches raggedly at that sound, arousal stroking down his spine in sweltering waves. Through the clear glass of the patio door, he can see the way your face lights up in pure rapturous joy as you give in to yourself. The subtle shifts and gyrations of your body in time with the beat, each swivel of your hips like a siren’s call.

Against his volition, imagination melds into memory, replaying the countless times he’s buried his face between your thighs and simply drank in the celestial sounds of your pleasure until his name was a breathless gasp on your lips. That shrieking cry at Yuki almost the same towards him when he licks at your sensitive nerves one too many times. He forces his gaze away, leans his head back against the sofa and stares up at the ceiling.

The music fluctuates once more, that instantly recognizable intro to the next funky summer hit you adore cuing up. Despite the walls between you, Nanami can still acutely pick up the subtle cadence of your movements in time with that danceable rhythm. He knows the exact choreography of hips and legs that song inspires in you…and his slacks suddenly feel far too confining.

That’s when your voice cuts through the relative quiet like a bolt of lightning, somehow even closer now as you call out—half-playful chiding, half siren’s promise.

“Oh Kentooo…” The singsong inflection has his eyes squeezing shut even as his cock shamefully twitches against it’s restrictive fabric prison. “Where has my favorite salaryman gone off to hide? You know I can’t dance without my partner watching me.”

Gritting his teeth against the dark, full-bodied groan that tries to escape, Nanami hunches forward until his elbows are digging into his thighs. There you stand framed in the patio door, backlit in a devastating silhouette by the lantern lights emanating through the loud yard behind you.

You walk closer in that torturous dress, the double layers trailing languidly behind in currents of fabric that have his throat struggling to swallow. Your stunning frame is practically dripping in sensual confidence and self-assured power. He knows the power you have over him and would sooner swallow his favorite tie than give that up.

The rich carmine floats around you in sinuous waves as you sashay closer to where Nanami sits transfixed on the sofa. And with each step, all manners and decorum that have been taught to him fizzle away with the increasing ache in his jeans.

“Like what you see?” you murmur huskily once you’ve prowled to stand between his legs, allowing Nanami an unfettered view of your neckline, the long gold necklace between your breasts winking at him with each shallow intake of breath. You lift one leg to press a knee onto his powerful thigh—close enough for your perfume to slide down his nostrils and cloud his mind. The slit over your bent knee flutters open in an obscene gap, granting his hooded gaze a glimpse of skin his teeth ache to bite into.

“I asked,” you breathe out in a seductive timbre, near enough for Nanami to actually taste the addictive warmth of your presence on his tongue. “If you like what you see…”

The inhale that rattles through his powerful frame is involuntary. So is the compulsive way his fingertips suddenly flex against the cushion with the overwhelming urge to finally reacquaint himself with the soft temptation of your skin. Others be damned, mannerisms of being a respectful guest falling to the wayside.

Somewhere through the rapidly thickening haze of pure liquid arousal, Nanami manages a jerky nod—unable to summon even the most basic of syllables in response. He swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing convulsively as you arch one delicious eyebrow in a silent challenge. With your beautiful curls pulled up into a high ponytail, he can see the slope of your ears that are adorned with the gold hoops he bought you last month.

Then, before he can gather enough of his scattered wits to chastise you for your behavior, you’re boldly reaching out and capturing one of his clenching fists in a firm grip. A soft grunt rattles up from deep in Nanami’s chest at the heated feel of your palm finally making purchase on his overheated skin.

But his breath hitches in a harsh inhale as you purposefully guide his splayed fingers towards your exposed leg—sliding his hand up excruciatingly slow to caress along the landscape of textures and planes laid out in offering. He expects the generous hem of panties he’s seen time and time again. He knows what they look like in his mind when he teases the edges before slipping inside to graze his fingers along your aching clit. But the calloused pads of his fingertips brush the thin string of a thong instead. And it’s just a single touch that has him wide-eyed, reeling—the edges of his vision dizzying into a hazy fog of aching, inexplicable need.

You should have come with a manual. Surely there’s a guide to get through the summer months with you? Some sort of text to explain the steps he needs to take to keep himself in control in public?

The rapturous throb of your saphenous vein leaps against his fingertips as you allow him to slant just a hairsbreadth further—close enough to feel the heat of the place he’s been countless times before—close enough to slide a thick finger along fabric he knows is wet.

Only for you to tear your hand away and drop your knee as the sound of Yuki's voice pierces the heavy sensual tension hanging between your bodies.

“There you are!” She calls out cheerfully from the sliding glass door. “My song is on, come dance with me!”

There’s a gentle tuft of laughter from you then—one tinged with dark satisfaction as you drink in the wrecked, wanton expression flaming across Nanami’s features. As if thoroughly enjoying reducing him to this strung-out state of desperation. You could rule the world if given the right resources.

“Yuki, let’s get you some water. You’ve had a little too much to drink…” your voice trails off as you disappear in a rustle of vermilion and sashaying hips with one last loaded look over your bare shoulder.

He manages a shuddering breath that feels more like sandpaper sliding down his abused lungs. The delicious scent of your perfume still clings to the charged air around him, the phantom-like caress of your dress along his knuckles, the sound of your throaty laugh disappearing back to the party outside. Each ragged exhale has his body subtly canting forward, giving silent chase to your retreating form as if by muscle memory alone.

This game…this deliciously maddening game you delight in playing has Nanami’s entire being teetering on the razor-thin edge of unraveling completely. Each new summer ensemble seems specifically designed to further tempt and destroy the decades of discipline he’s meticulously cultivated since he was a teenager.

Nanami would think after a relationship or two, he would have steeled himself against falling victim to seduction. And yet, not a single woman from his past could have prepared Nanami for the devastating combination of your radiant beauty and barely-restrained hedonism.

Your laughter calls out to him again, his eyes snapping up to see you smiling as Yuki chugs the glass of water Choso has pressed to her lips. Completely innocent and free of devilish qualities, the fact that Nanami knows that dark side of you makes him fold his arms across his chest, sagging against the sofa and glaring at your form as he wills his erection to go down.

It’s two days before summer’s end when Nanami feels the steadily fraying threads of his self-control finally unravel into oblivion. He’s tried every possible tactic these last few months to stave off the relentless fire of desire you’ve been stoking within him—going for runs, ice cold showers, avoiding you when possible. He’s even resorted to having you model your newest sundress purchases at home in a desperate attempt at desensitizing himself. It all seems incredibly dramatic, but Nanami has no idea what else to do. Nothing has worked against the intoxicating mix of your lively beauty and increasingly bold choices designed to torment him until he’s six feet under.

He had known from the moment he accidentally stumbled upon that fateful periwinkle dress sitting in your laptop’s shopping cart that it would be his undoing. He can still picture with perfect clarity the way the model seemed to shimmer and dance on the screen as he clicked through the product imagery—he pictured it with heart throbbing clarity how it would look on you.

And he still has so many more years left of his life to enjoy.

Without conscious thought, Nanami had swiftly removed the item from the cart—an invasion of privacy that left him nauseous, but a necessary decision if only to spare himself.

He was stupid to think it would actually work.

So it comes as little surprise to see you boldly flaunting that silken number tonight at the rooftop gala marking his company’s most prosperous quarter yet. The twinkling strings of lantern bulbs and hot summer breezes swirling all around you only heighten the flagging warning that this night won’t end the way he wants.

As you glide about the rooftop, the pale periwinkle seems to float effortlessly around your body. Like every dress before, this one is no exception, complimenting the deepness of your skin. The whisper-weight fabric lays against your hips and waist, simultaneously shaping and gracefully draping in all the right places.

The thin straps crisscross behind your neck, framing your graceful shoulders and collarbones. As you turn, the silk lifts and drifts around you in a mesmerizing swirl of decadence. It’s another plunging V-neckline, but this dress sits on your body and decolletage with an air of romantic grace. It’s not scandalous like that night at Yuki and Choso's.

But it’s the back—oh it’s the back that makes his gaze heavy, that makes the organ in his chest beat out of rhythm with every inch he uncovers. Try as he might, it’s absolutely impossible for him to look away from the delicate contours and valleys of your body put on full and enthralling display by this backless dress. From the elegant lines of your throat and shoulders left teasingly bare to the soft inward curve of your arched lower back—the dress is a cruel temptation showcasing every salivating inch of you that he’s spent countless nights worshiping.

It’s beautiful on you, truly and unimaginably beautiful, and it’s a terrible twist of fate that such a simple observation is destroying Nanami from the inside. All that discipline—the cold showers, the extra miles added to his runs, the attempts of desensitization—it’s useless. No matter how hard he tries, he will always notice something new each time he looks at you. And it will always wreck him and throw him off axis whether he likes it or not.

Because amidst all the warmth and sociability of this rooftop celebration, all Nanami’s rapidly sharpening focus can zero in on is the subtle glisten of perspiration trailing down the slope of your spine. Every imperceptible turn and cock of your hip amplified tenfold by the silk that gets to touch you while he watches. As if personally daring him to finally surrender every last shred of patience and simply take what he wants.

A soft chuckle escapes your full lips as Nanami’s boss leans in closer, undoubtedly regaling you with some far from amusing anecdote from the office. The charming sound has every thread of Nanami’s control taut like a bowstring. Because that sound means a lot for him nowadays—laughing at his dry humor, the movies you both watch together, the giggling stuttering into whimpers and moans of ecstasy when your back arches from his tongue.

Suddenly, the light summer breeze kicks up in and swirls around you, waving the hem of your dress and the two-day old twistout on your head. Instinctively, you reach up to tuck a lock of those dark silken twists behind one ear.

Time itself seems to slow as he watches those inky tendrils ghost across your bare shoulders and the exposed skin of your upper back. Nanami watches with visceral hunger as those wild strands make playful, meandering paths across the smoothly toned expanse of brown skin. His entire body instantaneously flushes with hot need and arousal at the simple, harmless image. The soft rise of your breasts shake as you offer a fake laugh to whatever drivel your boss has just said. And in that split second—the culmination of tonight, this dress, the entire summer of taunting and coy smiles— Nanami’s restraint finally shatters into so many useless slivers at his feet.

Before conscious thought can override anything else, he’s stalking across the rooftop with rigid, predatory intensity—adjusting the unique glasses on his nose, his mouth set in a grim line of single-minded focus. The gaggle of chattering coworkers and small-talk banter all fade away into muted static and white noise. All that exists in this heated vortex of Nanami’s rapidly narrowing universe is the coiling pull of you.

“Ah, Nanami!” His boss greets heartily, clearly surprised yet pleased to see the company’s best worker at last. “Your partner and I were just discussing a better way to spruce up the quarterly party for next year. Care to weigh in, my friend?”

The question lands on deaf ears. Because at the exact same instant his professional mentor is extending that olive branch of attempted small talk…your eyes are on his, a knowing, small smile pressed to the hem of your champagne glass as you take a sip. The sight of your jewelry, the fabric against your skin, the way you look at him…the desire that rips through his body is staggering.

“I apologize for interrupting, but I need to speak with you,” he grates out in a tone heavy with gravel and masculine focus. His palm finds the smoldering heat of your lower back without conscious thought, marking delirious patterns of desire against your naked skin. Your eyebrows furrow with a silent question at the rough timbre of his command…even though you see that undisguised storm of hunger and frustrated desire raging behind his tinted glasses.

“Of course,” you finally murmur and turn to his coworkers to wish them goodbye, setting down your glass on the table beside you.

He’s burning, raging with a fever that doesn’t even exist and each shallow inhale draws more of your achingly familiar perfume into his senses—only making things worse.

He guides you through the crowded rooftop party and towards the elevators with a molten intensity bordering on feral. Nanami’s palm maps possessive into the searing expanse of your back. Every step jostles his arm flush against the silk on your frame.

“Where exactly are we going in such a hurry?”

The rich, seductive rasp of your voice is designed to torture him further, but Nanami doesn’t rise to it, simply presses fingers more firm to your back, his other punches the elevator button with purpose.

“I said I need to speak with you,” he finally bites out. “That should be more than enough.”

You lean further into his touch and look up at him, your tongue darts out to toy with your plush bottom lip in a show of faux innocence.

“Is that so?” The melodic lilt coupled with the ghost of your warm breath fanning across Nanami’s jaw would have been enough to make a lesser man’s knees buckle entirely. Instead, it simply ratchets the tension coiling through his powerful frame into a downright maddening degree.

The soft chime of the arriving elevator makes you both turn in tandem, the mirror of the elevator doors casting your reflections—allowing Nanami to drink in the smoldering fire already blazing behind your heavy-lidded stare. There’s profound hunger glimmering there that matches his own. An unadulterated wildness reined in by the thinnest veneer of coy indifference. You’ve always been slick—but not tonight.

The mirrored doors slide open with a hushed mechanical shush, you both step inside, and the doors slide closed.

Nanami offers a silent apology for the violation of manners his parents instilled in him before he backs you into the far wall—the breath punching out of your lungs as your back makes shocking contact with the mirrored paneling. Now it’s you breathless, struggling to compose yourself as the masculine power of Nanami consumes you.

A subtle shudder ripples through Nanami’s abdomen as you wantonly tilt your head back, arching your throat in wordless invitation just as your fingertips rise to trail heated lines over his heaving chest. The lapels are black as midnight, the undershirt a crisp white, and he’s the handsome man that’s all yours even as he fights between what’s right and what he wants. One of his palms is cupping the slope of your jawline as the other maps out the silk of your dress. He bends slowly until the heat of his mouth is tracing the full curve of your parted lips—a heavy brush of sculpted male confidence against your teasing softness.

“You’ve pressed against my boundaries to a criminal degree, love,” Nanami warns in a dark rasp scorched with the first cinders of the firestorm yet to come. His palm slides up the bare inward curve of your back until his fingers are tunneling through the wild riot of your twistout at the nape of your neck. Tinted eyes slit in satisfaction as your head tips back farther on a shaky inhale—granting him access to the deliciously vulnerable length of your throat.

“Nothing to say?” he husks out in the open, admiring the flutter of your lashes as his voice hits you. Nanami’s mouth brands a hot trail from the sensitive juncture of your jaw up towards the shell of your ear. You whimper softly at the slow, torturous build—the same sound of rapture he has memorized and pulled from you countless times between the sheets. It’s enough to strip away any lingering reservations entirely.

With the strength he’s never ashamed to show you, hands slide under your thighs and he yanks you up. Your legs wrap around him on instinct, your arms winding around his neck, your head tilting back again to smack on the mirrored glass.

His tongue glides along the buttery curve of your throat, tasting the familiar tang of salt and vanilla on the tip and the smell of him, of pure Nanami clouds your mind enough to finally look down at him, your noses a hairsbreadth from each other. It’s a silent standoff, your eyes as teasing as they are filled with arousal, his eyes dark with something that makes you shiver against him.

And then he’s kissing you, deep and hungry, his hands roaming the bare expanse of your back, dipping lower, pulling you closer. You melt into Nanami’s kiss, your initial surprise giving way to a matching hunger. Your hands slip under his suit jacket, feeling the heat of his skin through his shirt. He groans against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, igniting your nerves, thrumming in your veins.

You don’t even hear the elevator doors open but you feel him walking, lips hot and demanding groaning into you as you slide your fingers into his golden locks and pull. Nanami knows these floors like the back of his hand, and he’s familiar with the abandoned break room on the thirtieth floor, his hand yanking the door open and shutting it hard, lips never leaving yours.

You gasp into his mouth when your ass lands on the old buttons of a copier, the machine groaning under your weight, the plastic buttons beeping in protest. As Nanami presses you against the copier, he can’t help but marvel at the feel of you beneath his hands. The dress, this damn dress, is like water under his fingers, smooth and cool and entirely too thin. He can feel every curve, every contour, every shuddering breath you take.

He punctuates his actions with a roll of his hips, pressing his hardness that strains against his slacks against your core. You moan, your head falling back, and he takes advantage of your exposed neck, his lips and teeth worrying the sensitive skin, his tongue licking the marks he leaves.

“How many more dresses do you have?” he growls against your throat, his voice rough with need. “How many more ways are you going to torture me?”

You gasp as his teeth graze your pulse point, your fingers threading into his hair. “T-that depends,” you manage, your voice breathy. Nanami’s chuckle is dark, dangerous, his hands trailing higher, dipping into the seam of your panties, his fingers brushing over your clit. He savors the way your jerk against him, a whimper leaving your throat as you pant into the dusty air.

“Is this what you wanted? To reduce me to this? A man so desperate for you he’d take you in a public place?”

“Yes,” you hiss, arching into his touch, your breasts pressing against the thin silk that covers them. “Yesyesyes...”

Nanami’s groan is part frustration, part desire. “You have no idea what you do to me.” There’s a hint of wonder in his voice, a note of awe at the depth of his own need. His fingers press more insistently, circling, gathering your slick to make each stroke more messy and impactful, driving you towards the edge. The buttons of the copier dig into your skin, the machine whirring and beeping beneath you, adding to the crescendo of sensation. He can hear the mechanical shuffle of papers being chucked out from one end, slapping onto the floor.

“Do you like this?” Nanami pants, his breath hot against your ear. “Do you like teasing me, driving me crazy?”

“Yes,” you admit, free of shame, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Please, Kento.”

He slides two fingers into your wet heat, savoring your wanton gasp, increases the pressure, the speed of his fingers, pushing you closer to the precipice. “Have you done this before?” he asks, his voice raw with emotion. “Teased other men like this, made them want you so badly they’d forget themselves?”

“No,” you moan desperately, your head thrashing from side to side, deep locks brushing your cheeks. “Never. It’s only ever been you, Kento. Only you.”

“Say it again,” he demands, his teeth grazing your earlobe.

“Only you,” you pant. “I’m yours, Kento. Completely.”

It doesn’t take long—countless strokes inside of you, a curl of his fingers, a twist of his wrist, and you shatter. Your cry of pleasure mixes with the beeps and groans of the copier, your body shaking, your fingers digging harder into Nanami’s shoulders that he’s sure you’ve broken the barrier.

He holds you through it, his lips on your skin, his murmured praises in your ear, soft litanies of words that has made you fall deeper in love with him each passing day. You don’t get a chance to come down fully because he’s on you again, pressing closer, pushing your panties to the side and digging his fingers into the meat of your hips. But the angle is wrong, you’re too high and the copier digs into his thighs and impedes him from getting to you the way he wants.

With a grunt of frustration, Nanami lifts you off the machine. Your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you to the conference table. He sweeps aside the accumulated debris with one arm, sending sugar and tea packets scattering to the floor. Your back hits the table, the hard surface unyielding beneath you. Plastic cups crunches and snaps under your weight, sugar and coffee creamer powder puffing into the air, settling on your heated skin.

“Do you have any idea,” he murmurs, soaking in the radiance you beam up at him, “how many times I’ve imagined this? Pulling you away from everyone, getting my hands on you…not being able to do it because I’m better than that.”

You moan as he nips at your collarbone, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. “And yet here you are,” you tease, breathless with twinkling eyes that shine right through him.

He captures your lips again, the kiss deep and demanding. You arch into him, your hands throwing off his glasses—they smack against a wall—your fingers deftly undoing his tie, working on the buttons of his shirt. You need to feel his skin against yours, need to be closer, and he shudders at the feel of your warm hands breaching the open buttons, sliding up his bare chest.

As if reading your mind, Nanami reaches for the zipper of your dress, slowly pulling it down. The fabric parts, baring more of your skin to his heated gaze. He takes a moment to admire you, his eyes roaming your body like a physical caress.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself. Then his hands are on you, tracing your curves, fingers brushing your nipples before he gives them a pinch. A whimper shakes from you, your fingers pressing into his bare chest.

Dimly, he’s aware that he should stop this, that he’s in a public place, at a work event. But the heat of your body, the insistence of your touch, the mounting pleasure coursing through his veins—it all conspires to drown out reason.

Your hands fumble with his belt, your fingers shaking with need. He helps you, impatiently pushing his pants and boxers down just enough. And then he’s touching you, his fingers digging into your hips, sliding you closer to him until the tip of him presses to the sopping wet heat of your center, wet from your orgasm and still ready.

“Please,” you whimper, hardly recognizing your own voice. “Please, Kento…”pushing your dress further up your hips, trailing over your ribs, cupping your breasts until the skin spills between the gaps. His eyes widen at the sight, the base of his spine heating up. So many times he’s seen you like this in the privacy of your home, and now it’s in an old break room at his workplace, the consequence of you finally taking things too far.

He’s free of any feral energy as he kisses you, sliding into your welcoming heat slowly to acquaint himself again. Your fingers dig into his skin, your chest pressing into him as you adjust, the table creaking under your joined weight as you wrap your legs around his waist and dig your silver heels into his back. Soon he’s moving above you, within you, each thrust pushing you higher, each thrust fanning the fire within himself.

“Please,” you whisper against his lips, begging again for the unspoken demand of more. And even though the roles are reversed right now—you the one being teased—he gives you whatever you ask.

He sets a pace that’s just shy of punishing, each snap of his hips brushing his zipper against the inside of your thighs. The room fills with the sounds of sex—the slap of skin on skin, your gasps and moans, his grunts into the air. He cannot believe he’s in this moment, doing something so scandalous.

“You reduce me to this,” he pants against your lips. “It’s not fair.”

“I know,” you gasp, your hands pulling at open lapels of his shirt, squeezing around the buttons, the fabric groaning. “I’m sorry.”

But you’re not, he can tell. There’s a hint of satisfaction in your voice, a touch of pride. And why shouldn’t there be? You’ve brought him, the ever-controlled Nanami Kento, to his knees. He loves you too much to ever want anything different.

“I’m a good man,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you, curving his next thrust that he knows will brush against that spot you like.

“You’re an amazing man, Ken,” you moan in surprise, your hips lifting to meet his to seek more. “The best. Only the best for me. Only you, Kento.”

The praise makes him shake, the fire in his body raging like an inferno, burning his skin, breaking him into a sweat. He presses a knee into the table, throws one of your legs over his shoulders and savors the ragged way your name leaves his lips as he gives you everything.

“You feel so good,” he pants, his tongue licking the skin of your neck. He tastes the saltiness of your sweat, the sanitizing taste of perfume, the powdered creamer and sugar that sticks to your skin from the table. “So perfect.”

“Come on, Kento” you keen, your nails raking down the suit on his back. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. Couldn’t, even if he wanted to. He’s lost in you, in the feel of you, in the knowledge that he’s the only one who gets to see you like this. Wanton, needy, completely undone.

Nothing else matters—not the party going on just floors above, not the risk of discovery, not the propriety you’re both abandoning. In this moment, there’s only you and him and the heat that’s consumed you both all summer, finally finding release.

Nanami’s thrusts become erratic, his rhythm faltering as the base of his spine tightens in a delicious way to let him know that he’s close. His hand slips between your bodies, past the silk of your rumpled periwinkle dress, gliding over your clit in well-practiced strokes and the leg over his shoulder tenses up, your head digging into the table, neck arching for him to see the flecks of sugar sticking to your neck.

“Ohhh right there Kento. Right there. Please, please I’m gonna cum—I’m—“ you smack a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself, eyes shutting tight.

“Absolutely not.” Nanami hasn’t suffered for months just to be deprived of anything during this encounter. He yanks the hand from your mouth, pressing it hard into the table, and the shock on your face as you look up at him, the staccato of your breaths, the undeniable seriousness in his gaze even as he pistons into you, admiring the way your dress pools at your waist as he gives you more, harder, deeper until—

“Ohhhh fuck!” you cum with a long dragged out cry, your body clenching around him, walls locking around his cock to the point his orgasm is yanked from him as he falls over the edge with you, pulsing deep inside with a groan muffled against your neck.

He sags against you, both of your chests heaving against each other. He slips a hand behind you, trailing lightly up and down your glistening back as you lie beneath him, spent and satisfied.

As he slowly comes down, he presses a lingering kiss to your sweat-dampened hairline, the roots of your twistout beginning to frizz. There’s a hint of coconut from your leave-in as his nose brushes down to your cheek. So familiar, yet still so intoxicating after almost a year of smelling it. As if he could ever grow numb to the potent lure of your presence.

A ragged chuckle escapes him at that thought, the mirthful rumble making you pull up your head to look at him. Nanami drinks in the utterly debauched vision you make—beautiful brown sweaty skin, hair messy, lips swollen and smirking as per usual.

His arm tightens reflexively around the sensual curves of your waist, pulling you closer in a subconscious gesture of possession and longing. Because for all the delicious torture you’ve inflicted over the past few months with your endless parade of tempting summer dresses…he wouldn’t trade this hard-won moment for anything.

Nanami is many things—disciplined, regimented, a hardworking—albeit tired— professional. But he is also only human at his core. And you, his beautiful free-spirit of a partner, has a simply breathtaking talent for awaking the primal, unrestrained parts of him he usually keeps so rigorously leashed.

“You know,” you murmur in that velvety voice he loves so much. “The minute I realized the dress vanished from my cart was the minute I knew it would be the one.”

A sleepy chuckle breaks free from his lips at your words, the sound causing you to join in as well—a vibrant melody that coats his soul in pure contentment. Nosing closer, he peppers a line of feather light kisses along the line of your jaw. “You’ll never go easy on me, will you?”

“And rob myself of bringing down Nanami Kento piece by piece?” You snort, shooting him a look of pure, playful sin from beneath your lashes. “I might have to make sundress season a year-round thing.”

His answering groan is part growl, part disbelieving laughter as the palm behind your back glides along the elegant curve of your spine down to the bend of your hip. Ever the devilish temptress without even trying, even in the aftermath.

“You’ll be the death of me.”

“That’s a good way to go,” you tease, pulling him down for another kiss, sweet and sticky and full of promise.

His hands slide along the canvas of your body, fingers dipping into the ridges of the open zipper of your dress. He’ll make sure it’s dry cleaned so you can wear it next year. And hopefully he’ll be better prepared.

When you giggle against his lips and dig your heels into his back, he realizes that there will be no amount of preparation when it comes to you.

Thanks for reading!

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