#plain sight masterlist

[embodyingchaos]

❥ plain sight | chapter one

pairing: la!sanji x fem!oc genre: best friends to lovers! slow burn! warnings: attempted assault, fighting, light angst word count: 1.8k masterlist: plain sight next chapter: -

a puff of smoke escaped out of her mouth and out the window. it was one small moment to herself but it meant so much to her before returning to the annoyance of complaining customers and taking orders.

“lorrie, you best get out here before the old man decides to kick it up a notch, huh?” vincent, one of the other waiters, warned her, reminding her that she indeed had things to do, despite the fact she only took three puffs out of her cigarette.

with a huff, she put it out in her ashtray, placing it back on the window sill before heading back into the restaurant to resume her job of waiting tables.

“couldn’t even give me enough time to finish a whole stick, vince?”

“come on, you know zeff, lorelai.”

lorelai scoffed, “sadly.” she quietly replied, taking off her sunglasses and hanging them around the waistband of her skirt. she took a deep breath in before stepping out of the kitchen doors.

from the rushing and hectic kitchens to the jazzy, dim-lit seating area, the change in atmosphere was nearly enough to give you whiplash. it was, somewhat, a particularly busy hour. though, lorelai’s definition of busy can be extremely different compared to others’. at least, that’s what her best friend likes to say.

the girl walked towards a table of four, her long, black hair swishing behind her as her hips swayed from side to side. 

she placed her right hand on her hip, “welcome to baratie, my name’s lorelai. how may i serve you?” it wasn’t uncommon for lorelai to be straight to the point when serving customers, after doing it for over four years, she’d learned it best to just be nonchalant. 

“oh, you’re serving us just fine, sweetheart.” the man with orange hair sitting closest to her on her left replied, a conceited-looking smirk creeping onto his lips. however, the comment didn’t receive any sort of reaction from lorelai. she’d gotten used to this since she first started waitressing at baratie at the tender age of 15.

“would you gentlemen prefer to start with some beverages? perhaps some wine, or bleach.” she whispered her last few words to herself, trying her best to be polite.

“right! yes, please. sorry about him.” a smaller, meeker man with curly, dark brown hair and a scar on his lip quickly said, “behave, owen!” he whisper-shouted to his friend, widening his eyes as a warning.

the orange-haired man, owen, only rolled his eyes, not taking his friend seriously at all.

they told her what they wanted to order, having been here before, they didn’t really need to look at the menu to know what they wanted.

“and could i get a side of ‘do you have a boyfriend’?” the other guys at the table groaned either quietly or loudly.

“sorry, we’re all out of that. too many lonely, desperate men had asked for it.” lorelai’s reply has all of them but owen stifling their giggles and laughs. “youch.” one of them commented, side-eyeing their friend.

“i’ll be back with your orders.” she told them, not missing the vein popping out on his forehead. she smugly smiles when she turns around to head back to the kitchen. the moment she enters the cooking stations, a blonde-haired chef grabs her by the waist, dragging her towards him.

“hello, dollface.”

“hello, coworker.” her cold reply has him feigning hurt, “ow? that’s not how you should greet your best friend of ten years.” lorelai’s eyes widened, “dear god. it’s been ten years already? i need to get out more often.” the man frowned, “okay, i was actually jokin’, but that one stung.” he pouted, resting his chin on lorelai’s shoulder.

she could only shake her head, “what do you want, sanji?” she asked, crossing her arms.

the blonde, sanji, grinned, “well…” he pulled away from her and grabbed a spoon with some sort of brown sauce on it.

“open wide!”

“no.”

“come on, open wide for sanji!”

“even more no.”

“here comes the airplane! wooo!”

“if you don’t stop, i’ll kick you.”

“...taste it, please?” lorelai let out a heavy sigh when her best friend pulled out his sad, puppy-dog eyes.

“fine.” upon hearing that word leave her lips, sanji wasted no time and shoved the spoon into her mouth. “how is it?” he asked, taking it out and dropping the utensil into the sink.

throughout their friendship, sanji found that she could always be the best taste-tester when it comes to his food. always sincere, always honest and always blunt, no sugarcoating nonsense. plus, it is extremely hard to please her taste buds and her picky eating habits.

lorelai wrote down the order from the table she waited on as she let the flavour of it run down her tongue. 

“too salty, texture’s runny- holy shit, ji. what the hell is this?” the sight of her nose scrunching filled sanji’s heart with joy.

“light soy sauce. just wanted a reason to talk to you.” his answer has her deadpanning immediately, spitting into the sink. 

“and now, that will be the last time i ever talk to you.”

“no, i won’t live long if you do that, lorrie!”

she could only roll her eyes for the seventh time that day at his dramatics. “uhuh. table two wants three medium-rare steaks and a chicken caesar salad.” at her words, sanji’s expression morphs into one of disgust. “i know, heathens, am i right?” lorelai’s sarcasm was evident but the blonde chef was too caught up with the fact he had to cook steak like a boring, old robot again.

lorelai pressed her lips together, “hey, cheer up. just cook whatever you want. i’ll convince them to eat it, ji.” she told him, looking everywhere but his eyes.

sanji smiled, “thanks, lorrie, but i don’t want you gettin’ in trouble with the old shitbag.” she snorted, “please. me? in trouble? have you ever heard of such a thing?” her words made him raise an eyebrow.

“just go cook already, you cheeky bastard.” she ushered him in the other direction as she grabbed herself a sliced cucumber and popped it into her mouth to wash the soy sauce’s taste away.

after serving table two their food, and watching sanji and zeff argue over whatever he’s cooking that’s not on the menu(it’s a part of her daily routine at this point), lorelai chewed her gum as she asked them if there was anything else they needed.

“it’s alright! this is all enough.” 

“that’s good to hear. if you would like anything else, don’t be shy to ask.” 

as they were talking, the orange-haired man had moved his hand to smack her on her rear. unlucky for him, she’d seen it coming a mile away.

with a swift turn, lorelai grabbed his arm with her left hand and twisted it before using her right hand to give him a punch straight to his jaw, sending him flailing to the ground.

“what the fuck!” owen exclaimed, holding his chin and swiping his thumb over his lip, a bright crimson red colouring it. “where’s your boss?! you’re going to get sacked for this, you bitch!” the ginger yelled, standing up. despite towering over her, lorelai could barely feel threatened.

“i don’t think you’d want to call him, you might get a broken, bloodied up nose next.”

“and why the hell would i get that?”

“because he’s my father, numbnuts.” she said with a bored expression, “so, if you don’t want me tellin’ him that you just attempted to slap my arse and risk a limb being torn off, what do we say we eat our food in peace like a good, paying customer?” owen slowly sat down in shame and terror. shame, because the entire restaurant was staring at them, and terror, because he almost got himself a death wish with former pirate, red-leg zeff.

“enjoy your meal.” lorelai simply said with a toothy grin before heading back to the kitchens, her eyes immediately drooping as she was suddenly starting to get sleepy but still mustering up the energy to chew her, now flavourless, gum.

from afar, she could feel four sets of eyes on her. irked, she turned their way and her gaze immediately landed on a boy wearing a straw hat. the boy stared at her with mesmerised eyes and a wide smile. lorelai continued to stare at him with an unreadable expression before his eyes widened and he awkwardly turned back to his friends.

“huh.” she muttered, blowing a bubble before it popped thanks to a certain blonde… waiter?

“now, this is a sight.” lorelai stated, smirking as she eyed sanji up and down in his suit and tie. “i might just thank pops for making you a waiter again.” her joke doesn’t elicit a single chuckle from him, he was obviously quite upset over it.

“yeah, yeah. whatever. what’s up with that table over there?” he gestured to the table of the almost-assaulted-by-ginger-man incident and lorelai shook her head. “nothin’ much. in fact, i think you have a fight to break up over at that table there.” she told him, pointing at the table in front of them with her thumb.

sanji sighed heavily and grabbed a plate of bread, “see you.” he simply told her, walking to that table to put a stop to the argument happening between two men.

lorelai frowned at his demeanour, not used to it at all. of course, he had his bad days but they were rare, and he’d always be cheering up at her jokes or even just by the sight of her. her head was swarming with thoughts as she pushed through the doors of the kitchen, but they soon came to a halt.

“what do you think you’re doin’?” 

the black-haired girl silently groaned, “walking.” she grumbled, turning to her dad.

“well, then, you would have no trouble walking back out to serve some tables, hm?” zeff smiled, grabbing two plates of food and handing it to her. “now, get movin’.” he demanded, crossing his arms.

“this is child labour.” lorelai said loudly, as she slowly walked back out the door.

“too late for that now. you’re 19, sweetheart.” zeff’s reply only made lorelai even more annoyed.

she walked towards table seven, placing down their food, “hello, here is your lobster, and here is your pasta.” the couple smiled, “how’d you know whose is whose?” the man asked, “i have a very keen eye.” lorelai gave them a small smile back. that smile immediately vanished as she heard sanji serving the table behind her.

“something wrong with your eye?”

“just blinded by your beauty.”

lorelai swore she also heard a crack in her ear at that. she shook her head and got her former expression back, “enjoy your meal.” she said quickly, rushing back to the kitchen.

ignoring the shouting and calls of her name from her father as she grabbed her sunglasses, a packet of cigarettes and walked through the backdoors of the kitchen.

“break time!” she yelled out, the door swinging behind her as she did.

[aouiaa]

hii can you please do an abby x reader where Manny throws a party at the WLF stadium and abby and her gf go and her gf gets quite drunk and when she gets drunk she gets clingy and it’s just cute and fluffy and stuff.

if not don’t stress 💐💐

❝ HOW ABOUT THAT OFFER ? ❞ — ABBY ANDERSON

warnings and disclaimers, dealer!abby, alcohol consumption, usage of pet names (babe, pretty), descriptions of types of drunks, abby being so mm (need her).

TAPE THE MOUTH SHUT, i couldn’t resist the chance to scooch in the amazing dealer trope. i meannn, who doesn’t love her? I DO, MUAHAHA. keep sending requests! i love getting requests, or asks in general. just read my rules AND don’t be weird. OKAYYAYAABYEYEE

A firm knock on the wooden, painted door interrupts the participants inside. the music, once a mere background noise, now assaults your ears as the door opens and manny stands there, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. after greeting abby with dab, the two of you step into the room, the space seems to shrink as groups of people mill about, mingling together. the thick air, laden with the combined scents of sweat and weed, assaults your senses.

The tension in the air calls for some liquid courage, barely letting abby mingle with her own crowd, you practically drag her towards the makeshift alcohol table, where you promptly pour a random assortment of shitty, cheap liquor into a solocup. abby, who’s barely registering how she even got it there, notices your witch’s concoction, and laughs, leaning close enough so you can hear her over the music. "you sure you wanna drink that?" she taunts playfully.

In response, you scoff, rolling your eyes as you defiantly pour the chaser into the cup. "i can handle my liquor just fine, abby." you assure her, unamused. she immediately leans back, putting her hands up in a playful gesture of surrender "alright, alright," she laughs, "just saying ‘cause last time..." her voice trails off into laughter as you let out a exasperated sigh.

As the night wore on, so did the consumption, making the atmosphere becomes more carefree. it was cup after cup as you soon feel that familiar warm, fuzzy feeling that signals your transition to “that type of drunk.”

Everyone knows there are distinct of drunken personas: the aggressive, rowdy, and affectionate. as for you, the affection is on full display as you shower the apples of the blonde’s cheeks with kisses, dispensing them like a sprinkler sprinkling a flowerbed.

Abby, taking on the role of the caregiver for the evening sticks by your side at arms length. seated on a couch in the far corner of the main room, you purchase a spot on her lap, head resting on her shoulder with your arm flung around her neck while your other hand gently holds a half-empty cup of tonight’s libations. one of her lean, strong arms is wrapped around your waist, acting as your anchor.

Occasionally, between conversations with manny, she checks on you. this time is no exception, a strong tingling feeling resonates down your body from the touch of her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, "lemme know when you're ready to head out, alright, pretty?" pressing a kiss to your cheek which makes you whinge, burying your face into the crook of her neck, flushed.

The thought of escaping this crowded scene and snuggling into the warmth of your fluffy pajamas, ensconced in the embrace of your plush bed, was tempting. but a guilty pleasure at best. you knew that abby's presence was strictly for business, parties merely transactions for her trade.

Over the course of the past three hours, a steady flow of people approached the two of you, each one slipping her money before muttering a brief ‘thanks’ and disappearing into the masses.

When money talked, you wouldn’t dare silent it.

It’s why you haven’t confirmed your submission, maybe the booze was talking, but all you really wanted to do was be coddled by your gentle giant. it’s not anything different than what it was three minutes ago. from afar, someone shouted her name, summoning her services. abby acknowledged the call, quickly murmuring, "i’l be back." before waving manny over to keep an eye on you.

It should have taken no more than a minute, perhaps a minute and a half if the asshole was particularly awkward. but that additional thirty seconds felt like an eternity of separation from her. you shook your head, pressing your body against hers as if your proximity alone could make her stay.

“no, stay here.” you sulk, abandoning the cup within milliseconds and wrap your arms tightly around her neck.

She chuckles, enclosing your body in a warm embrace. "but, i’ll be gone for a minute, tops." she promises.

Frustrated, you give her your best puppy eyes, questioning. “why can’t they just come over here?” shortly adding the dramatic proclamation, "i’ll die in those sixty seconds." that she knows you mean. with a heavy sigh and zero hesitation, she looks up at the guy waiting for her, then shakes her head dismissively before returning her attention back to you.

“okay, okay,” she hushes you, “i’m right here, babe.” she says, kissing your forehead and shifting in more comfortable position to embrace you. resting her head on yours and utters the only good thing that has came out of her mouth tonight.

“how about that offer?”

requests are open, don’t be shy :3

PERMANENT TAGLIST, @dyk3ang3l, @elliesprettygirl, @les4elliewilliams, @r3starttt, @slut4mascss, @marsworlddd, @bready101, @abbysleftbicepp, @airenaa, @caraphernellie, @astralnymphh, @whore87, @kaiilectric, @sapphicontherun, @mikellie, @nihilisticangelbby, @be3flow3r, @ppuussyyy, @clairoscharm

[!] — PERCHANCE YOU WANNA BE ADDED TO MY PERMANENT, look here for more info!

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Concubine!Leto Atreides x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Masterlist • ao3 • want to be tagged? • Status: Ongoing • ko-fi •

Part One: The only way to keep Leto safe is to hide him in a very obvious position.

[skyrigel]

Simon would really be the type to get real flustered and all blushy blushy when you address or introduce him as your boyfriend/husband.

It was only later one evening at your favourite cafe which you gushed about all week, from pastry to scones and other sweet dessert, until you finally got him up to wear a plain black hood and only a lower face mask. He was raking over your figure while you stiffled your blush and scanned down the menu for the perfect thing that Simon absolutely would love to eat out, something apart from you. His joke, not yours.

“...yes, and tarte tatin for my boyfriend.”

You smiled and turned back to see a marvelous sight. Nothing. And nothing at all, the dirtiest and the softest and the most unhinged words you'd ever said to him could ever tinge up those cheeks so much flushed in colour. Astonished — you blinked. “What is it, si ?”

“Nuthin' love.” He shrugged, bringing his large hand over his face before you leaned forward and snatched his wrist with both hands. “What is it ? Are you...hey am i seeing you blushing ? Oh gawd you are —”

Simon shaked head, like he could shake away the high rise of rosy glow which tinted across the crinkle of his eye. His eyes so soft and bright in its flourish gleam.

“naw, nah...” He was. The nerves were grailed out in fine blue and green. Blood just under the pale skin, hot and needy.

You chuckled out softly, and it clicked like cuckoo clock at midnight. One sharp moment of it's glory. “My boyfriend..is my boyfriend blushing ? Huh.”

“oh fuck.” And if Simon thought he couldn't turn any more red, well there was always room for surprises.

Masterlist

[lay-z]

sugar plum promises | 2

SYNOPSIS: SIMON RILEY, WHO DISCOVERS (AND ACCEPTS) THAT HE HAS A RAGING MOMMY KINK, MUCH THANKS TO YOU.

PAIRING: SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY x CURVY!FEM!READER

WARNINGS/INFO: 18+ | Mommy kink; VIRGIN!SIMON; some physical descriptions of Reader; smut; dom/sub dynamics; cussing; strangers to lovers

➥ BASED ON THIS BLURB × | [ SPP MASTERLIST ]

Simon feels like he’s going to piss himself.

He has been standing in front of his bathroom mirror, eyeing his rugged appearance with great annoyance for the past twenty-five minutes, taking in the sight of his damp and obviously outgrown undercut, the loose and messy dark blonde strands atop the crown of his head, along with his stubbled, scarred chin—and he wonders why the bloody hell he’s even bothering so much.

Taking a deep, shaky breath while his tawny eyes flicker over his reflection once more, he runs a hand through his hair and gives up, reaching for his skull balaclava. Then, Simon looks down at himself once more, checking the dark jeans and grey T-shirt he’s randomly plucked from his meagre wardrobe for any stains, and it’s then he decides that if you didn’t mind chatting him up in cargos and combat boots earlier, you won’t mind this plain arse outfit, either.

It’s 6:46 PM. You texted him dinner will be ready at seven.

He’s nervous, though he really shouldn’t be. It’s something he hasn’t experienced since—he can’t really remember. Since getting his Jump Wings at 19, maybe.

His mind is all over the place, and he can’t quite explain this feeling of excitement and anxiety bubbling in his stomach like toxic waste. His muscles are tight, his fingers fidgeting more than usual without his trademark gloves on.

“Get your damn self together,” he mutters, running a hand over his clothed face. He locks his front door behind himself and tucks his keys into his pocket securely. “She’s just a woman, not the bloody devil incarnate.” Though perhaps you are a siren, at the very least.

He can’t believe he’s actually doing this—first, texting your number and now, walking over to your place, though only after checking and scoping out the address you’d given him on Google maps. Just to be sure.

It’s not too far from his own apartment complex, which explains why you ended up bumping into him at the supermarket that he frequents when he must.

Eventually, Simon finds himself standing in front of a small, but neat town house; his sharp eyes staring owlishly from behind his balaclava as he observes the illuminated windows. He’s been standing in the shadows across your street for a good ten minutes, but so far, he hasn’t quite gathered the courage to just bloody walk over there and knock on your door.

Finally, he decides that he’s being a complete tosser by standing here and letting his thoughts get ahead of himself, and he finally pushes off the brick wall with one last drag of his cigarette before he flicks the bud onto the pavement as he crosses the street to your front door.

It’s 7:18 PM when he gives the door two solid knocks, heart thudding against his ribcage.

The dull sound of keys unlocking the door can be heard on the other side before warm light floods from your hallway onto the porch as the solid oakwood door opens like the gates to Valhalla, granting him view of yourself—cosy yet elegant, wearing a plain beige apron with colorful wildflowers stitched onto the fabric and a genuine smile plastered on your pretty face.

The sight alone is enough to cause his breath to catch in his dry throat as he finds himself face-to-face with you again, and a wave of adrenaline rushes through his veins, mixed with a sharp jolt of arousal at the sight of you in that cinched apron and bare feet, rocking a snug pair of light grey sweatpants and a Henley shirt with its sleeves rolled up.

He hates to admit to himself that he is swooning already. Even casual like this, you look every bit a goddess to him since he first laid eyes on you at the supermarket, like every bloody wet dream he’s ever had since his youth and everything he’s ever secretly yearned for.

Simon clears his throat, hoping like hell you didn’t notice how his pupils have dilated when your gaze first locked with his or how his hands are balled into tight fists at his sides like he’s ready to stand at attention.

“Evenin’,” he finally grunts, his gaze flickering over the hallway inside your house before slowly returning to your face, trying to decipher your reaction to him.

He can feel his fingers shaking as he shoves his hands into his pockets, a feeble attempt to remain cool and collected on the outside while he’s falling apart on the inside—suddenly self-conscious and all too desperate to not mess this up.

“Good evening, love.” Your honeyed greeting rolls off your tongue like velvet, and you’re grinning as if you’re well aware of your damn effect on him.

Leaning against the door frame, you give him an easy once-over, deciding that albeit being late, he did clean up nicely.

“Why are you still hiding, handsome?” you ask bluntly, arching one eyebrow and cocking your hip out while making a loose gesture at the balaclava covering his face. “Been wondering why you’re wearing it, actually.”

The fact that you’re calling him handsome so casually makes his knees weak, the balaclava suddenly too hot, too tight, and too itchy on his face as his cheeks start to burn.

He’s been called many things in his life: Tough, scary, deadly, stoic—handsome, though, is a bloody first, and Simon swallows audibly, his gaze locked onto your beautiful face.

For a second, he’s tempted to just rip his trusted mask off, but he hesitates. Revealing himself to you, after only having known you for barely a day, feels like a violation in its own way.

“To hide my face,” he answers eventually, mentally smacking himself. It usually sounds less cringy whenever he’d given this exact answer in the past. “Uh, personal reasons. Work.” He clears his throat, shifting on his feet. Bloody fucking hell.

“You’re... ah–” he begins, trying to find the goddamn words in this thick mess of a brain, “not weirded out?” A slight furrow forms between your eyebrows at his question, and he quickly adds: “by it. The mask, I mean.” He points at his covered face, feeling like an utter numpty.

However, if nothing else, your expression shows curiosity and open acceptance, rather than the aversion or immediate discomfort he always experiences, and when you simply give him a slight shake of your head, he exhales a slow breath of relief.

“Should I be weirded out?” You blink up at him with bright doe-eyes, fluttering your lashes at him and Simon feels his cock twitch in his pants.

He can’t help the huff of a laugh escaping him, his wide shoulders slumping a bit as he shakes his head in defeat. Of course, you’re not weirded out. That was clear the moment you’d decided to acknowledge him today. Nothing seems to keep you from being so brutally straight forward. It’s both as admirable as it is unnerving to him.

“Most people are,” he admits, shifting on his feet as his blood begins pooling dangerously low. “Been told I look like I’m plannin’ a bloody robbery most days.” He tries with the barest hint of a joke, and he nearly winces as soon as the words leave his daft mouth.

Your eyes twinkle with mirth and glee as you regard him. All awkward and obviously out of his depth, yet brave enough to battle his deep-rooted distrust by picking up his phone to text you and then showing up on your doorstep tonight.

Already so obedient, this one.

A sugary smile tugs on your lips. “Well, if you do end up robbing me, it’s been my own fault,” you quip dryly, straightening up to invite him inside. “Why don’t you come inside–” You pause, gazing up at him expectantly.

Your playfulness nearly manages to distract him from the fact that you want his name.

His heart flutters in his chest like a bird ready to take flight, beating way too quick, too hard, and Simon feels like a complete tosser once more for not giving you his name sooner. You’re just being nice to him, he tries to remind himself. This is your bloody nature, nothing more.

“Simon,” he tells you after a moment of hesitance, his voice barely above a low rumble. “My name’s Simon.” He takes a heavy step over the threshold into your hallway, glancing briefly over his shoulder. “You’re not afraid, then? Invitin’ a bloody stranger like me into yer house?”

Closing the front door behind him, you purposely leave it unlocked despite your habit to lock it immediately, sensing that you’re the one with the upper hand here—and the responsibility to make him feel comfortable, at ease. It’s an exhilarating feeling.

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Simon?” You’re chuckling as you squeeze past him to take front; leading him towards the kitchen like an unleashed dog while your hand is already itching to put a proper collar on him.

“Adventure?” Simon repeats, dark eyes fixed on the curves of your back and hips as you walk while he follows you like he’s under some sort of odd spell.

He’s hyper aware of every sense, every little detail while he follows you through your home, your safe space, and Simon is so damn tense, he fears he might pull a muscle with how hard he’s clenching; a part of his mind that he cannot ever shut off going into battle mode the moment he steps into the entry hall, mapping out everything in his brain—from the locks on the front door to the size and structure of your hallway and possible escape routes.

“I do have sense of adventure,” his gruff voice rumbles, slightly muffled by his mask. “Just a healthy amount of caution to go with tha’... unlike you.” He quips dryly—and regrets it immediately.

His gaze briefly flickers over the walls, taking in the few pieces of art and the neat interior, personal bits and bobs, and family portraits. Everything in this house screams cozy and proper, and it’s a crass contrast to his own sparse flat.

“Right,” you giggle, amused by his attitude. “Well, Simon, I do hope you’re hungry and not a picky eater.”

As you approach the oven, you peek inside at the rosemary chicken and veggies that have been roasting for a good hour while the pots with mashed potatoes and gravy are kept warm on the stove.

“I figured you don’t want anything fancy, so I didn’t set the dining table in the living room. We’re going to eat here at the kitchen table.” And while your voice is saccharine as you speak to him, your tone doesn’t leave any room for objection.

Glancing over your shoulder, you can’t help but smile when you spot him standing in the open kitchen entrance; too wide and tall for your narrow hallways and low ceilings. “Would you like a beer?”

Experiencing this kind of domesticity almost knocks the air out of his lungs in a strangely pleasant way, causing him to clench his teeth for a fraction of a second to suppress the shiver running down his spine from the sudden rush of excitement. This whole thing is so oddly normal, he barely knows how to handle it.

Simon slowly walks closer to your kitchen table; his gaze focused on the food you’ve cooked as his eyes darken. The fact that you’ve gone through all this trouble to prepare a proper homemade meal for him, leaves him reeling.

“Aye, beer’d be nice. Thanks.”

You can hear the scraping of a chair over the kitchen tiles as you grab a cold beer bottle from the fridge, and when you turn around again, Simon has seated himself at the head of the table as if he already belongs there naturally. Your heart flutters at the sight, but you manage to suppress the Cheshire cat grin tugging at your lips.

“Hope you like pale ale,” you remark as you pop the lid of the bottle before placing it on a coaster in front of him, and when you brush your hand over his broad shoulder, you can feel his muscles flex under your featherlight touch. “There you go. Cheers.”

And Simon’s brain short-circuits for a moment as soon as you touch him. The heat of your soft fingers burning through the fabric of his shirt and straight into his skin, causing a violent shudder to rake through him and his heart to jolt in unison with his cock like he’s been hit with the barest wave of your power.

“Tch... Thanks.” He lets out a soft huff, trying and failing to play it off, pretending that he didn’t want to lean into your touch, didn’t want to bare his neck and show you just how starved he is for physical touch—the touch you’re willing to give a wretched man like him so easily, seemingly without thinking twice.

He can still feel the phantom touch long after you’ve moved past him to retrieve your own drink, a glass of red wine, before fetching two dinner plates from a cabinet.

Simon is staring after you, unmoving, his hands gripping the edge of the kitchen table like a bench vise, when you put on some oven mitts like a good little housewife to retrieve the chicken and veggies as if nothing happened, like you didn’t just awaken something inside him that he believed cold and dead.

Simon is still too dumbfounded to fully grasp the situation, watching as you move around in your kitchen like a dancer. He feels like an intruder, an outsider on this domestic scene, and it feels so unfamiliar and yet so bloody right, his head is spinning.

His gaze drifts over to the food, mouthwatering and stomach rumbling, and when you place a loaded plate in front of him with a little ‘voilà’, all he can do is stare at it—at you—as if you’ve just handed him the bloody Holy Grail.

“Christ,” he manages to utter; his throat dry as a desert. All he wants, all he should need to do right now, is to dig into this delicious meal, but he can’t help himself as he stares at your face and those ample tits filling out your shirt istead.

Meanwhile, you’re very much aware of the effect your brief touch has had on him, and you’re secretly relishing in the way his mass flexed under your fingertips, all power and brawn; how his pale lashes flutter almost coyly whenever you catch his gaze, his eyes deep like molten honey.

Simon is a man right up your alley—a mean-looking, snarling beast who’s most likely never experienced a gentle touch, a sweet praise, or a full undisturbed night of sleep in his life since weaning from his mother’s breast.

You can’t wait to unravel him, to peel away those gnarly layers he’s obviously built around himself after dealing with decades of hardships, to make him submit and melt in your embrace as you fulfill all the sugary promises you'll be cooing into his ear soon.

The look in his eyes, as he stares down at the meal you’re setting in front of him, is worth quite literally gold, and you can’t help but let your gaze linger on his face with a satisfied hum when he finally yet tentatively pushes his mask up over his nose to take a drink from his beer. He looks half a second away from drooling, and you lick your own lips like a wolf licks its chaps as you watch how his pale throat bobs with each gulp.

“Tuck in, love, before it gets cold,” you chirp as you take off the apron to drape it over the back of your own chair before you take a seat across from him.

Your words make him finally snap to attention, forcing himself to look away from you and down at the steaming food on his plate, and Simon swallows thickly, throat clicking with restraint.

“Thank you.” He mutters, lifting the fork while a lump of something he can’t quite identify gets stuck in his throat.

After dinner and a pleasantly trivial chat, Simon is in heaven, sat back in his chair like a smug, spoiled tomcat, his chest slightly inflated with content and his eyes half-lidded in an absolute state of bliss and nirvana. Everything feels soft and warm in this moment—his belly now full enough to stretch out the fabric of his shirt around his gut.

It almost leaves him feeling full on sentimental.

His gaze is glued to you, following your every little move; every lick of your fork, every subtle shift in your eyes as you catch his stare.

He’s already on his third beer, feeling the slightest buzz rushing through his system.

“You’re good, big guy? Need anything else?” you ask with a soft chuckle, observing the man who looks about ready to fall asleep as you start clearing the table.

“Yeah, ‘m good,” he promises, a hint of a lazy drawl in his gruff voice. It just sounds right, like his accent bubbles up to the surface now that he starts feeling relaxed around you. And while he’s sits there, at your kitchen table, he watches that lovely sway of your hips as you flit about your kitchen—clearing the table and loading up the dishwasher with practiced ease, humming a gentle tune to yourself.

Simon can’t hide the slight smirk pulling on his lips as he keeps his mask rucked up, his gaze drifting over your ass, taking in every curve of your body. He feels strangely content and at ease in your presence—unabashedly feeding right from your hand both literally and metaphorically.

“Well, actually,” he begins almost playfully, licking his chapped lips, “whot’s for dessert?”

It’s supposed to be a joke, you’ve already done way too much for him as it, but judging by your reaction, you don’t take it a such—which makes his stomach drop so hard, he’s about ready to vomit from the sudden rush of anxiety.

Your eyebrows raise at his response as you shut the loaded dishwasher, and you glance at him over your shoulder, trying to get a read on him, which proofs difficult. The nonchalance and dryness of his tone don’t quite match the mischievous glimmer in his eyes, even through the shadow of his mask, so you decide to take a gamble.

Chuckling as you turn to face him fully, you lean against the counter, your hip jutting out in a confident stance. “Depends. What do you fancy?” You tilt your head to the side as you regard him with a sly smile, counting off while tapping your manicured index finger against your chin:

“Let’s see. I got ice cream, chocolate, some leftover apple pie, and… me.”

Simon is lost in a daze of sensations now, his usual conscience and alertness vanished while his body has taken over. He’s somehow ended up on your couch, that was a quick and fuzzy mental note he’s made some unknown time ago—your body now perched on his strong thighs, fully in charge and in control of him after unzipping his jeans and pulling his cock out with implicitness, as if it belongs to you.

“M-mmphh–“ He groans again, fingers digging into the material of your couch cushions to try and anchor himself to reality, his eyes unfocused behind the balaclava that just barely covers the bottom half of his face.

His shirt is rolled up to his collarbones, his bulky torso exposed to your eager eyes with no way to hide anymore—not when his flushed prick is currently twitching in your grasp as you pump his thick length leisurely with both hands, squeezing his ruddy tip while your thumb swipes over his weeping slit with each stroke, using his watery precum as lube.

“You have such a pretty cock, Simon,” you coo, nosing along his exposed, stubbly jawline, lips brushing over pale skin. “Did anyone ever tell you that... sweet boy?”

“Fuuuuck,” he whines all gravelly, squeezing his eyes shut in embarrassment and mental overload while his head tips back against the headrest, baring his throat to you fully. His eyes are rolling up into his skull while his broad chest rises and falls with every ragged breath, and you can practically watch his thick veins pulsate in his neck and arms.

Simon can’t take it. None of it. He’s bitten off much more than he can chew this time and now he’s struggling to deal with the consequences. It’s dangerous—you’re fucking dangerous, the way you have him wrapped around your pinky, handling him like a rescue worker would a fighting dog.

“N-No,” he stutters his admission, and he’s not sure how much longer he can resist your touch. “No one did. Ever.”

“Tsk.” You click your tongue in disdain, though your frown melts away as soon as you pull back to look at him—only to see how wrecked he already is. “Can’t have that, love. You do have a pretty cock... and a nice pair of balls, too.” And you pick up your pace some, stroking his shaft firmer and faster while the slick, obscene sounds cut through the silence of your house.

He groans low in his throat, his cock throbs in your hands and your eyes crinkle as you watch him blush a deeper shade of pink under your praise, unable to meet your eyes at this point. “Are you going cum for me already, hm?” you purr, eyes glinting with mischief and glee.

You bite your bottom lip as your own heart flutters with excitement. “Gonna cum for mommy?”

Simon’s eyes fly open at your words, head snapping forward while his heavily dilated pupils fixate on your own glossy gaze as he exhales a shuddering breath, his mouth going dry, toes curling inside his boots, his vision blurring at the edges as if you’ve just reset his whole being to factory settings. He’s a goner.

“M-Mommy,” he whines, and it feels so bloody good to say it, to be able to let his guard down wholly. “Fuck, ‘m gonna–“

“Gonna what?” you prompt, a wicked smile tilting your lips despite the rush of affection stirring in your chest. Simon’s reactions are so delectably unfiltered, raw, and sweet, it makes you want to give him the entire world. “Gonna make a mess all mommy’s fingers like a good boy?”

Simon lets out a choked moan, hips jerking almost involuntarily into your hand. He’s lost all coherent thought, his face flushed behind the balaclava, and he might as well let you do whatever the hell you please with him.

As if his skull has been cracked open like a quail egg, all his dark thoughts have seeped out of his brain for once, allowing him to finally indulge in something so divine.

“Feels good, mommy,” he slurs, barely recognizing his own voice anymore. His hand reaches out, pawing at your plump hips like a drowning man, fingers digging into your flesh like he’s scared you’re going to vanish into thin air if he lets go of you a smidge. “Feels so fuckin’ good.”

You hum in delight, smiling so wide your cheeks start twitching as you watch this tank of a man crumble under a few saccharine words and a pair of soft hands on his neglected cock.

“Come on now, love. Show me exactly how good you can be for me.”

The need to watch and make him come undone under your touch, to feel his balls tighten and his shaft throb in your grasp as he erupts with his orgasm, is more intense and urgent than it ever has been before.

Meanwhile, Simon is teetering on the edge of sanity or his climax, he can’t tell anymore. His entire body is taut like a bowstring, his tawny eyes now glassy with arousal, unseeing, unthinking, merely focused on your weight on his lap, your thick thighs bracketing his and your supple hands on his cock, and then you tell him—be a good boy—and something snaps inside his brain.

Simon’s breath stutters in his chest, and he goes rigid like a steel rod, unable to do anything but obey. “M’comin’,” he whimpers a warning, his voice thick and guttural. There’s a note of despair in there, too, like he’s begging for permission, and his muscular thighs tremble so hard underneath you, it feels like he’s playing Bumpety Bump Rider with you.

You lean in, trapping his cock between your bodies as you stroke his prick faster, crooning into his ear: “Let go for me, sweet boy.”

And it’s all Simon needs.

His balls draw up against his crotch, his mouth opens with a sharp gasp, and he makes a sound. Something primal, guttural, a raw and feral noise that comes from deep down his chest, somewhere he didn’t even know was still alive because he can’t remember the last time he made that kind of sound, if ever.

You’re holding the strings, and he’s your bloody puppet. “Come for me, love,” you command again, so soft and sugary, it leaves his clenched teeth aching.

Those words are like a trigger, and a long, guttural moan rips from his chest as his body convulses; thighs straining, muscles flexing, back arching off the backrest while his last braincell makes him hold onto your hips to keep you from dropping off his lap.

He’s coming and suddenly, every other time he’s touched himself before you appeared in his life, seems like time wasted completely. Nothing could have come close to what you’re doing to him, and Simon fears, nothing will, ever again.

His orgasm is explosive and messy, and he feels like he’s shaking apart at the seams; his vision whitens and his eyes roll back as he spills over your fingers and knuckles, rope after rope of his sticky cum coating his buff chest and clenching stomach like a dam that has been broken.

“Oh, Jesus Christ. Look’it this!” Your delighted voice is the only thing keeping him from fainting on the spot. “That’s a good, good boy.” You’ve taken him to oblivion and back, given him his first hand job in his miserable life, all while you’re so blissfully unaware of it.

Your words and praises—so goddamn soft and sweet—are the only thing keeping him grounded while his brain turns to mush, his breathing turning ragged like a wounded animal on its last breaths. His eyes flutter close behind the balaclava, utterly speechless, as he lets himself drown in your presence, your warmth, your kindness.

He is yours. Every single rotten inch of him.

And he’s never belonged to anyone like this before.

[ybklix]

the project

★ pairing: softdom!bangchan x inexperiencedfem!reader

✦summary: Just when you were a little upset about being assigned to a partner on an important project because you felt he was not very competent, you gradually discovered how much he can help you, more than you could have imagined.

♡ genre - warnings: MDNI 18+, smut, college au, cunnilingus, dry humping, fingering, clitplay, marking, pet names, slight praise and corruption kink, multiple orgasms, slow burn maybe

word count: 7.7k

request ⭑.ᐟ (sorry if it took so long babesss ly)

masterlist - taglist ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

miniplaylist: earn it by the weeknd / motive by ariana grande / fetish by selena gomez

notes: reader wears glasses

“Alright, before you go, I posted in the announcements who you will be doing the project with, please check well who you were assigned with” sentenced the teacher, taking his stuff.

You sighed, you had completely forgotten to check your notification tray for any notice from the app assigned by your professors for your subjects. You quickly grabbed your cell phone, unlocking it to look for your name next to another of your classmates to work together, you wanted to check it now so you wouldn't let go of whoever you were assigned to on a project of high importance to you.

And there it was. Bang Chan. You didn’t have any expression, you didn’t know him very well, but his face sure was quite familiar to everyone. You looked up in search of your partner, reflexively adjusting your glasses, and looked around the room until you found the guy, who was also sitting there checking his cell phone, and looked up to look for you, exchanging glances.

Chan was quite popular, charming, he was attractive and athletic but he also had a taste for complicated subjects, after all he was in a career where merely numbers and physics were required. And your project was something you were not going to take lightly, besides you had a short time period, it was just Thursday and the professor wanted the most perfect project on Monday and, you knew he was secretly hoping for something extraordinary as you were the best in his class.

You saw Chan approach you, and you couldn’t help but judge him at first sight, he was popular, he was part of a fraternity, and he had a reputation among women; deep inside you felt that he was not the perfect candidate to pair in an academic project but you tried to relax and not stress too much, it would only be a quantum model of which you already had your objective and ideas of what to do, the problem was a bit of paperwork where you had to explain in detail perfectly every part of the model, followed by a few long equations that made your head hurt just thinking about them.

You couldn’t help it, school and your major were never something you joked about, you were there to study and excel if at all possible, you loved to retain information and be complimented on your hard work, and you were always an overachiever from day one.

Finally, after years of sharing the same major, for the first time you observed Bang Chan up close and in detail. You looked up as he was standing and you were sitting. He really was handsome and you recognized him instantly, he had a face in perfect harmony with the rest of his muscular body, he was wearing all black, black combat boots, black jeans slightly tight on his thick athletic thighs and a plain black cloth shirt, highlighting more his tanned ivory skin. You suddenly felt nervous, after all you weren’t a robot and you were still a young woman, stressed out and a college student spending more time on campus than anywhere else; so your brain instantly processed that he was one of the most handsome and popular men on campus, near you, paying attention to you.

“Y/n, you’re my partner, for the project,” he said, with a tender smile revealing unusual dimples beside his smile.

You nodded being a little surprised that he knew who you were instantly, also thinking that you had never heard his voice before, the class wasn’t that interactive anyway, in fact almost none of them were, so you rarely heard him speak in the four classes you shared. You didn’t know what exactly you felt inside you… but you liked it, you were starting to recognize Chan’s hype, from what commonly many other girls thought, yes he was attractive and he took advanced physics classes with that face? It seemed unreal.

You suddenly thought that to take advanced physics classes was for a reason, it seemed criminal to have that face, body and reputation but in the mornings to take hard subjects.

“Mmhum” you hummed coming out of your trance, concentrating on the main thing, the project, “I have an idea of what to do, I can divide what materials we would occupy, to work together and do it, if you want to discuss what it is, we can go outside and talk…”

“Okay, let’s go but I’m sure I’ll agree with you” he suddenly interrupted you, leaving you with the words unfinished in your mouth and this one slightly open.

You nodded again and stood up abruptly, finally walking out of the room.

Chan saw you with tenderness, the truth was that for a long time you had caught his attention and he had his eye on you. Since last semester, in one of your final projects before leaving for summer vacation, since then Chan has not stopped thinking about you, since you spoke so clearly and confidently, like a little know-it-all, you were like a challenge for him, something so unreachable and difficult to achieve; since then he did not associate with more women and lived his day to day with the satisfaction of seeing you far away from the classroom. It seemed like he wasn’t, but he really got shy when it came to you, as he had you on a pedestal where you were a beautiful girl, intelligent, worried about her grades and made proper use of the university campus, genuinely studying. Chan had this innocent crush on you —at the beginning—, you had a nerdy, innocent and docile appearance and your voice was so unique, from one day to the next you drove him crazy and, when he found out that by fate you would work on a project and that there was a perfect excuse to get close to you, his heart wanted to burst out of his chest and he almost went running to give head to his professor for choosing such a perfect match, finally, after months of just seeing you.

Chan sighed, following you and listening attentively to you speak, completely fascinated in you and finding it difficult to retain the information you were telling him about something extremely important and which you spoke passionately about, all his mind could see was you, moving your lips, while the wind moved your hair gracefully, for him you were just saying blah blah, Chan; he only retained information when you pronounced his name. Chan licked his lips, absorbed in your eyes and then your lips, leaning towards you, causing you a little nervousness. Chan frowned softly, his hands clasped behind his back, nodding, pretending to be listening to you. He hadn’t felt like this in a long time, the excitement and innocence of liking and being interested in someone; before you, he lived from one-night stands and on the edge, trying every girl, until he was satisfied, but you, there really was genuine interest.

“Ammh, can you text me everything anyway to my number?” he said, absolutely lost on the topic as he focused on your sudden closeness.

You nodded with a smile that made him melt, he liked you way too much and immediately handed you his cell phone so you could take down your number.

“Mm, how about if we start working on this from tomorrow? I think it will take some time and if we do it sooner is better” you commented, to which Chan nodded frantically at your slightest request.

Then he thought, he had to tutor students in grades below him, go to the gym and then he had a birthday party for one of his dorm mates; but he couldn’t say no to you, he could cancel everything if possible to spend the whole day with you, plus of course, the project was important.

You bit the inside of your cheek somewhat nervously, feeling kind of silly that the only times you invite a cute guy to meet and see each other is only for college work.

“How about tomorrow at 5?” you said again.

Chan felt so fulfilled, it wasn’t a date but he would finally see you outside the classroom, close up.

“Sure! There’s a coffee shop around here two blocks from campus, let’s go tomorrow to work on the project and if you want to eat I’m buying, it doesn’t matter” he smiled at you.

Now you were the one who was somehow captivated by his smile.

“Yes…”

“I’ll send you the address to meet us there.”

Chan was more than excited to at least spend more time with you.

[…]

You were particularly nervous for some reason, since yesterday you kept thinking that genuinely Chan looked like a nice guy, he was kind, attentively answered your messages and easily understood every single thing you told him about the topic for the assignment. Plus he was quite attractive. And your friends started to bother you a little bit too, making you rethink the whole situation…

In your time in college you only concentrated on your classes, you did have the occasional crush on the occasional guy, but no one worth your valuable time. So you got over it right away and went on with your quiet —and stressful— college life, however… that had led you to be completely inexperienced. The issue never bothered you, until you were about to meet another attractive man whom you had a concept that he was absolutely the opposite of you, partying, sociable and charismatic.

But once you arrived and found him there, you realized the similarities you shared, after all you were both studying the same major. You got to know him a little, relaxing the atmosphere, you learned that he had studied to please his father but that somehow he was great at mathematics which softened his studies. That he tutored and that he played a lot of sports. He really seemed nice and his eyes sparkled when he talked to you, an inexplicable fact for you, a reality that he was talking to his crush, for Chan.

And then it was time to meet you. You didn’t quite know what to say, more that your major choice was a matter of enjoyment and you were happy studying what you had been chosen to study. You felt slightly silly since there wasn’t much to say, or at least you thought so at the time.

Then between the pleasant conversation and a cup of coffee for you, and three for Chan, you continued working on the written work, both concentrated and absorbed that the time passed so fast for you, giving you 10 o'clock at night, just the closing time of the coffee shop.

You both picked up your things in sorrow, you had made enough progress, but there was still quite a bit left to do and that made you uneasy somehow, you couldn’t help it, you were going to be quiet until it was finished or almost done, so you suddenly blurted out:

“You live in a frat, right?”

“Mmhu, yes” Chan replied somewhat embarrassed.

He suddenly felt pathetic to be part of such an outdated tradition system.

You sighed, you both carried all the stuff to make the model and had to assemble it as soon as possible. Once again the cool autumn wind hit your bodies.

“We can go to my apartment to… continue” you added, looking him in the eyes and avoiding using the word finish so Chan wouldn’t be forced and feel it tedious.

Chan nodded softly when in reality he was more than excited to meet your place. The two of you took an app ride to your building just a few minutes away from campus.

You weren’t a big fan of college dorms and you weren't interested in joining a sorority either, so a quiet apartment in a neighborhood in the middle of the busy city was more than enough for you.

Chan didn’t think he was able to contain his excitement, watching you fondly in the night light as you made your way to your apartment; until finally arriving where he naturally asked you:

“And do you have roomates?”

He found it a bit impressive that you live a bit far from campus in a decent building on your own.

“Umhm, at the moment I don’t have any but I’m looking and I have candidates.”

Chan nodded in understanding and inwardly thinking that it would be more than a treat to be able to see your apartment. You really were looking for a roommate, living alone and being a college student paying for everything could be stressful.

“You can leave things on the table” you said, also leaving your laptop there.

He listened to you and slyly looked around the place. It was a nice place, with just enough room for you and someone else, with a big window reflecting the lights from the building across the street. You a little, not uncomfortable, but strange to have a man in your apartment looked so out of the ordinary, if you were even sharing time with another man was something abnormal, let alone a handsome and popular guy like Chan was.

“Well…” you spoke, somewhat nervously, lifting your glasses to rest the bridge of your nose for a second, rubbing it gently, suddenly you looked into the kitchen and were embarrassed to realize you hadn’t eaten and he would probably be hungry, “God, I never asked, do you want some dinner? I tend to forget about food when I’m under some pressure.”

Chan looked at you tenderly at first as you spoke, then his expression changed to one of concern.

“Are you skipping meals? Are you stressed now?”

His sudden answers surprised you.

“Oh, no, it’s just that… I usually work and do homework continuously that it’s very common that from time to time, I don’t eat, but if you want to do it we can order something, it’s kind of late” you answered somewhat nervously, the tiredness and Chan’s attractive image in your apartment were starting to be a certain kind of effect.

“Alright. Let’s order something” he smiled, Chan wasn’t that hungry but hearing that you used to skip meals he wanted you to be fed well instantly, besides if you were going to finish the project, he wanted to have all the energy he needed.

You smiled nervously and soon after you started your activity, you typed fast in your essay, Chan was in charge of assembling the model without difficulty. Then dinner arrived, both of you were already tired, your only time to stop was in the small talk in the coffee shop and when you headed to your place.

“Can you pick up dinner? I’ll go change” you blurted out suddenly, in a deep tone of voice as you were tired, a little more relaxed with Chan.

He saw you, he was surprised, since you had not spoken to each other for minutes since you were both concentrated in what you were doing —unlike him who also paid attention to you from once in a while—, your tone of voice seemed to him suddenly and somehow, something so captivating and seductive that he kept watching you, who you, without taking any notice of Chan standing in front of you on the other side of the table, took off the oversized cardigan you were wearing, somewhat exhausted in search of something more comfortable to be in your own apartment, leaving you only with the thin white tank top you were wearing underneath that garment.

Chan couldn’t believe it, he was transfixed and completely hypnotized by your action, absorbed seeing every detail, slightly exposing your chest through the circular neckline of the blouse, your shoulders, your arms and your figure tightly wrapped in the fabric. Chan swallowed nervously clenching his fist, he felt so pathetic going crazy just because you showed so little of your skin. His eyes traveled quickly all over your body, not wanting to miss any detail.

You noticed it, you felt his gaze on you and saw him confused, you felt so watched and analyzed, you could only say:

“I’ll go to… put on something more comfortable.”

Chan reacted instantly, letting out a nervous chuckle and nodding, turning to pick up the food left at your door. You didn’t know exactly how to feel, his gaze was so new to you, you had never felt such expressive eyes glued to you from another boy…. or probably they used to look at you like that, but you never paid attention to them, but with Chan, it was inevitable not to pay attention to him, he was with you, alone, in such a nice night; your mind was spinning, thinking about the infinity of things that usually means when two young people are alone and attracted to each other but, did you really like Chan or were you already losing your mind because of tiredness and stress, you didn’t know well, you were ridiculously inexperienced that your concept of attraction was maybe based on movies or experiences told by your friends.

Still you decided to ignore the thoughts and wanted to get comfortable at home, you had been wearing jeans for hours and you were dying to take them off, you would take off your bra if you could but you didn’t feel confident enough, so you left that tank top on and put on the comfortable shorts, your body was starting to heat up and you knew exactly why, but you didn’t want to accept it. You returned, finding Chan preparing food on the small nightstand between your living room, greeting you with a smile and gently asking you if it was okay to eat there to which you nodded.

Once again, Chan ran his gaze over your body, he had never seen you like this before, the sudden exposure of your body drove him crazy and made him feel sick, nor did he want to feel this way as it seemed unhinged and depraved, but he couldn’t help it, there was no turning back. At first it was a cute crush on you, then it involved a couple of desires and dirty thoughts that wouldn’t leave his mind. Chan, like any interested guy, casually asked among his friends if they knew you to which none of them knew how to answer, only a guy a year older than him, who was also in the same faculty, saying that you were very pretty but that there was no record of you dating on or off campus, that you were so reserved and that he wouldn’t be surprised that you were probably just studying, in the end he revealed that he had confessed to you and you had rejected him without giving him any reason. Chan’s silly and immature friends joked that you might still retain your innocence and that girls with a certain nerdy appearance used to be somewhat transcendental in sex, that they were shy and innocent at first but once you give them your trust to give them pleasure they were…

Chan refused those thoughts outright, dismissed them as misogynistic and was upset for days. He did get to see your innocence but it wasn’t something he fantasized about sexually, in fact, he never fantasized sexually about you, until that comment fucked with his head.

Because it was true, your private life was so private, you were not known to have had or dated anyone on campus and he found you so fucking interesting suddenly overnight, two intentions merged, Chan could desire you so purely by holding your hand and filling you with kisses, at the same time he could desire from you to fill you with his cum and fuck you to exhaustion. At the moment he was balancing the situation so well, he was doing so well that he had learned to stay away so long, as he didn’t know how to handle it, until now when the opportunity to be with you presented itself.

Chan was thinking about the fact that he hadn’t fucked a virgin woman since high school, when he lost his virginity to his first girlfriend too… but you had him all messed up and he could promise to be just as sweet to you if you give him the chance.

He cleared his throat and tried to come out of his trance, but when you approached him it was his dream and doom, looking to him so beautifully carefree in your shorts and tank top; still Chan did his best to behave himself and not want to ruin what he felt was just beginning.

You both started to eat sitting on the floor, close to each other, at first a little awkward, but quickly Chan knew how to soften the atmosphere, saying the right words and bringing up conversation topic after conversation topic, just to take your thoughts away a little, otherwise an incredible tension would have formed, as you were already starting to look at him closely and by the end of the night, you finally recognized how much you could get to like him, he was funny, handsome and you shared the same interests academically, you thought he could even be almost perfect. When you finished and cleaned up a bit, Chan watched you, so determined towards the project, going quickly towards it, ready to finish it, the truth was that you didn’t know exactly how to react, what would be the next move and you just got distracted escaping towards the project. He, somewhat frustrated, continued with you, just to keep breathing your sweet scent and to see your body in your comfortable home clothes.

Half an hour later, the meal instead of lifting Chan’s spirits did quite the opposite, relaxing him and making him tired and sleepy, plus the continuous hard work was beginning to stress him, but being with you rewarded him for everything except the tiredness in him, unfortunately. Chan watched you carefully, working non-stop, talking to him about the project with your deep and slightly tired tone of voice that seemed to Chan so seductive, he was beginning to lose himself, he was between drowsiness and desire, looking boldly at you, without thinking straight, he was about to hush you, take you and put you on his lap so you could both rest and, if possible, he would take you to bed, telling you how hard you work and that you should rest, that college matters, but not as much as yourself.

You once again noticed his heavy gaze on you, you saw how it was so likely that this time he was not paying attention to what you were saying, how he licked his lips and you became more nervous, more than the previous times, there was something so heavy in his presence that you had never felt before, you did not complain but you felt that at any moment it could get out of control… you thought if this was the sexual tension that you had only heard about.

Chan carved his eyes tiredly, he didn’t know how to stop you or tell you no, but your voice was stimulating him more and more, in a way to put him to bed and not exactly to sleep. Chan could only think of how suddenly he wanted to almost kiss you to shut you up and make you feel good.

You had already noticed his behavior, at times he looked tired, at times he looked at you in a way that made your hair stand on end.

Finally, he called your name, so serious, with a tone of voice that surprised you, made you stop talking about equations for a moment and look him straight in the eye. His gaze was dark and penetrating, you had never been seen like that before. You were both sitting next to each other, working close, so Chan leaned towards you, so ready to say what he felt from the start, he didn’t know exactly what he would say but he’d make sure he had you tonight; he was in agony, he couldn’t take it anymore with the sudden tension that escalated quickly and with your particular voice that was starting to excite him to stratospheric levels, and having him there in misery, unable to do anything, that wasn’t exactly what he was looking for.

He licked his lips and every part of you saw it coming, you knew it so deep down, you weren’t that dumb, his look and little actions spoke for themselves, you knew Chan was lusting after you and you panicked slightly not knowing what to do.

“You can take a nap if you want” you suggested kindly with a smile, hiding your nervousness at having him around, “You look tired, it’s okay.”

Chan was about to protest, he saw you confused and got caught in your captivating but hard to read gaze, your glasses reflected his tired body and unsweet intentions, so he decided to take a step back and agree, somehow he felt embarrassed and decided it was still better to keep his distance, even though that wasn’t specifically what he wanted.

He nodded, with a smile and somewhat embarrassed, “Really? You’re okay with that? I don’t want to leave you..”

He did get tired, but now he didn’t know if it was from the continuous work or from not being able to do anything with you.

You didn’t know why you did it, but you grabbed his shoulders and nodded, eyes shining, feeling so good to touch his strong body. You hadn’t touched him, maybe you just wanted to play a little and decided to kill your curiosity, how a man like Chan felt.

Chan subtly saw your hands on his shoulders and lost his mind again, but he sighed, calming down and getting up from his chair to rest his body on the couch. You no longer said anything, again the tension returned, with a silence. As much as Chan didn’t want to think about it, he thought of your smile, the way you spoke to him and of your gaze suddenly meaning so much to him, your bright eyes, almost asking to be touched by him, he could feel it, but he felt paranoid for a second, to which he only let his body fall on your couch, with his forearm on his forehead, the other hand on his abdomen and his head leaning back on a cushion, slowly closing his eyes, shutting off every one of his thoughts for a moment.

But it was true, you didn’t know how to say it, but being touched by Bang Chan just now didn’t sound so crazy to you. You were so ready but so not ready at the same time, you wanted to do it, you didn’t know how to tell him, it scared you since you didn’t know how to do it and you were in a continuous internal battle. You were slightly insecure, he was handsome and popular, with much more experience than you and, maybe it was something typical that you like Chan, since everybody likes him, but you were dying to try him even once…

Fifteen minutes later, of which you found incredibly stressful, as you continued to work on the project, chasing away every thought and more than okay with Chan staying quiet and napping on your couch, as you liked him incredibly well, you checked the time and became a little alert when you saw that it was almost one in the morning and you had no notion of time, you understood that Chan’s tiredness was justifiable and almost necessary and you were already starting to feel more stressed, as well as embarrassed by the fact that you had kept Chan working on the project so late. You reproached yourself, debating whether to wake him up and tell him that you could continue tomorrow, that it was almost done and you were missing something so minimal… or if you should let him stay over just for tonight since it was late.

You didn’t think so much about it though, as you suddenly felt large hands on your shoulders, massaging you and scaring you slightly. Chan giggled, he had woken up, more energetic and with the great intensity and willpower to try with you, something in him told him so and it was something he couldn’t ignore, so, without you noticing, he came up behind you, finding you still in the same position, working.

“God, Y/N, you need to relax, okay? It’s late you should rest, you’re really working hard on this.”

Your body tensed incredibly more, you really didn’t expect it, much less that he was touching you, with a slightly thicker voice than usual. You raised your gaze, his long fingers were still resting on your shoulders, magically he looked better than a moment ago, more energetic and with a flirtatious expression on his face.

“You’re awake already…” you replied nervously, not wanting to scare him away, like a few minutes ago.

“Just like you, it’s late. Has anyone ever told you how hard you work? Are you usually this demanding of yourself?”

You didn’t understand what was going on, it was as if he had suddenly changed but at the same time he was still the same and there was something that pleased you so much, like the sudden touch towards you.

You nodded, somewhat submissive with your head spinning not knowing how to react properly. Chan took the chair with agility, sitting down in front of you, stopping touching you and leaving you perplexed, blinking slowly letting you think that you were so tired that maybe you fell asleep deeply and that all this was just a dream. But it was so real and suddenly you were so awake.

“Leave all that for a moment…” he whispered slowly, gently removing the pencil from your hand and placing it on the table, “Let me take care of you.”

“What?”

Chan didn’t touch you again, he just stared at you, long and determined seconds that made you feel the lack of him in you. He leaned back in the chair, enjoying your tender expression of confusion. He had enough, he would try, he would do it for the incredible, heavy tension between you, and if you didn’t want to, he was going to understand but he already knew that was so unlikely. So he was direct, he always was, there was just something about you that kept him shy, but not anymore, he wanted you, he needed you, it was almost as if the night was asking for it too, something in the air drew you to each other irrevocably.

“You deserve to relax. I want you. Just tell me what you want, whether you want it or not, I won’t be weird about it afterwards, I promise, I just… can’t get you off my head, I need you.”

“How?” you mumbled, still in disbelief.

Chan smiled sideways, chuckling softly. “You know how. Want me to show you, sweetie?”

You nodded softly, wanting to put all shyness aside but you couldn’t control it, you were turned on and it was your first time in a situation like this, with intense tension that you even heard every breath and loud heartbeat in your ears.

You had done it before, kissing boys but the experiences were so insignificant that you hardly remember it or count it as experience, since you had learned nothing.

Chan moved dangerously close to you, resting his big hands on your bare thighs, stretching slightly and attractively his neck detonating little veins, his big straight nose so close to your face, with a smug smile, he said again:

“Can I kiss you?”

And it took only a small push of your yielding body to touch his lips, feeling at first the softness and plumpness of his full lips at the impact. Your body temperature rose madly, new sensations were taking over your body, it wasn’t the same ones that you had done before, his kisses were deeper, steady and passionate that it was hard to keep up with him and you were in between enjoying and thinking you wanted to do it right.

You let yourself go but you were still tense and Chan noticed it in the instant, with your body slightly trembling, he just wanted to make you feel good so he gently pulled away from you, leaving you missing the feel of his lips.

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispered, squeezing your thighs, feeling your muscle tense.

But your face reflected something else, your eyes were shining seeing every detail of Chan’s face up close, you were so ready but you had the tingle of wanting to get it right. He could see your nervous body, your countenance begging, still he didn’t want to continue if you were going to be nervous and almost resisting, he couldn’t read you clearly, he was really turned on, the slightest interaction with you made his body very blissful.

You denied, you knew you were so stiff and situations like these needed two relaxed bodies giving themselves, you were nervous but decided to confess it:

“It’s just… I want to do it right.”

Chan’s smile widened, your kiss was so tender and shy that thoughts of your innocence came back to his mind, he wanted to try so many things with you and make you explore, but he didn’t want you to feel insecure so he would patiently teach you step by step if necessary.

“It’s okay, baby, let me handle it” he whispered, with an endearing and understanding tone, still close to you, everything about him made you pleasantly uneasy, “I can teach you, just for your pleasure, okay?”

You nodded, lost in him, you noticed he looked genuinely interested and patient. Chan moved away again, leaning back in the chair, rubbing and patting his thigh with his veiny hand that was having an effect on you.

“Come here, to teach you how to do it better, although I was already loving the way you were doing it, princess.”

Chan ran his tongue over the bottom of his front teeth, waiting for you, and for you, every sentence of his almost made you sigh, you were so turned on, you knew exactly the feeling, you needed Chan now. You were a hot mess, you wanted and needed him so quickly and without much thought, you sat on his lap, trying to put your embarrassment aside, you sat down facing him, with your legs in the air on either side of the chair, Chan was surprised and felt so delightful your weight on his erection, he didn’t think you were going to position yourself like that but you left him absolutely charmed.

“I’m going to kiss you, try to keep up with me and move your sweet lips over mine, relax and let yourself go, beautiful, okay?”

He again took hold of your face with one hand and the other held your waist, you felt his sweet kiss at the same time you were dealing with the bulge between his pants pressing against your pussy. He was so hard, you could feel it if only through the slightly thick, rough denim of his black jeans. Chan was dressed so attractively, in a plain white shirt and leather jacket that he left on the rack in your entryway, with long silver chains decorating his collar and thick bracelets on his right wrist. You could feel how big he was, despite having clothes on, the thought of seeing a cock for the first time made your skin bristle with excitement, just imagining Chan, as something in yourself told you he should look so fucking good naked.

“Open your mouth wider” he whispered, panting and over your lips after a loud crash of your lips, as you parted almost non-existent inches apart.

You obeyed him and agilely he took you again, this time introducing his tongue and making the act slower and more sensual, so captivating that he even managed to relax you, you only lived from the sensation of letting yourself be carried away by him and with your face leaning on his hand. They had never made you feel this way that you slowly resented your throbbing pussy in desperation, suddenly so wet begging for attention.

“Mmm, I love your kisses, fuck” he mumbled senselessly as he pulled inches away from you.

You kept kissing, his face colliding with your glasses, but you didn’t want to take them off as you didn’t want to miss any tiny detail every time you parted for seconds. Chan, sesually and panting moved his kisses down your neck, filling your body more with euphoric and new sensations, his lips brushed your neck, giving soft and small sounding kisses until he subtly licked it, to suck your sensitive skin, using his teeth, causing you a pleasurable and short sting that reached every corner of your body, making you moan and leaving a mark on you.

His hands went down to your torso, to lift your blouse and finally feel the brush of his hands across your soft skin, he squeezed of your body, slowly lowering his lips, resisting the urge to fuck you hard, enduring the pain of his throbbing stiff cock trapped in his pants and being pressed against your body and you continued to feel his lips and the brush of his nose and heavy breathing across your skin going lower and lower, as well as constant little nibbles, leaving fresh new hickeys on you, Chan couldn’t help it, he was going crazy with the idea of you just being his, leaving reddish marks on you and biting your sensitive skin and it just turned you on so much. Reaching your chest, you twitched your body a little, moving it sharply and surprising Chan by the pleasurable friction of you on his cock. He grunted and pulled his lips away from your skin for a second and, almost as if an imaginary light bulb lit up above your head, you understood that being on his erection also made him feel good, as much as it made you feel good, since his erection was rubbing against your pussy, covered only by your wet panties and thin shorts; so you moved, stirring on his cock and intentionally grinding it harder.

Chan moaned, letting out soft, sonorous “A-aah, mmm” and then he raised his gaze, staring into your eyes, causing you to shiver at his lustful stare.

“Fuck, you want to move for me? Go ahead, baby, go fucking enjoy my cock with your clothes on, fuck, are you a little horny? Unable to wait and fucking me with your clothes on. Go ahead, enjoy and cum for me like this” he licked his lips, leveling his face with yours, talking to you in such a sultry tone that it made your cheeks burn.

You were so uselessly horny that you were enjoying to the fullest bouncing on Chan’s cock under the hard denim, pressing all over your pussy, your labia, moving them nimbly that it made you blur your vision.

“Yes-Keep moving, baby, you’re doing so good, beautiful.”

His voice aroused you more and more bringing you so close to your orgasm, you were so concentrated in the sensation of your movements on his cock, you couldn’t stop, you moved your hips and Chan helped you with his hands squeezing your waist; you felt so hot and trapped, so desperate to get your clothes off but you didn’t want to stop, you weren’t going to stop until you were tired, it was as if you had no choice but to climax right now, just like this. Chan watched with desire and tenderness your very focused and excited expression, sighing and straining to make you feel good at the same time you were making him feel that effect on him, squeezing his cock so hard, expelling precum and not so far from his ejaculation.

He admired the marks on your skin, witness and proof of what was happening, the top girl in the class, all aroused rubbing herself on her classmate’s cock, seeking pleasure and her climax. Chan bit his lower lip and caught your lips again, touching your restless and desperate body, he was about to cum. You were starting to get tired but it was a tiredness inexplicably so hot, your chest was burning from the constant strong heartbeat, you were at your limit and you were doing almost nothing, but both of you were a mess of heaving breaths, Chan didn’t want to change anything about you either at that moment, he just squeezed you tightly enjoying every movement until he cum inside his underwear, in a gasp, throwing his head back, feeling one pressure release pleasantly but another coming so abruptly and quickly not wanting to finish yet with you. You held onto his shoulders tightly, pressed your legs into his body, Chan knew you were close so he encouraged you, with a kiss on your mouth half open and words that warmed even your ears:

“Go on, cum, princess, let yourself go… Cum for me.”

You gasped in despair and a little high-pitched moan, you cum all over your panties, leaving you flushed, breathless and with your pussy sticky. Seconds later you wanted to catch your breath, you still felt immobile before his big hands squeezing your body, you were at levels of agitation you didn’t think you’d reach in the near future with another guy.

Chan also had his breath hitching, yet the thought of still not even remotely finishing with you came back to him, reflecting a smile on his face.

“Let me take care of you, okay?”

You looked at him with big pitying eyes which drove him crazy. Chan thought about the idea of your pussy a little battered from being in constant motion with the hard friction of his clothes, he wanted to treat and tend to your sensitive center, now, he needed it.

“Yes, Chan.”

“That’s my good girl” he said proudly, shuddering every inch of you, you felt so good he said little things to you, “Where are you most comfortable, baby? Huh.”

You looked at him for only short seconds, you were so excited and filled with the accelerated feeling not knowing what his next moves would be on you, you were more than willing for anything, for him to take you and fuck you, you just wanted to be filled with that sensation again and more with someone like Chan, who looked so sure of what he was doing and looked so fucking good doing it and in a mode of excitement and pleasure, every part of him was transpiring sex and you were losing your mind little by little.

“In my room, in the hallway of…”

You weren’t even finished, when Chan stood up, carrying you, grabbing your ass and carrying you to your room where he left you sitting on one of the edges of the bed, your feet touching the floor, he positioned himself on his knees in front of you.

“Do you want me to make you feel good, pretty girl?” he said again, once more so excited, about nothing short of taking your clothes off.

“Yes, Chan, p-please.”

You were so needy again, you wanted to be filled with the extreme sensation that seemed to have no end. He smiled.

“I’m going to take off your tiny shorts and panties, yes sweetie?”

You nodded, excited and nervous that he is about to see your private part, but it was throbbing intensely, it was again getting more lubricated and wanted to be treated with attention. Chan tugged at your shorts and panties at the same time, impatient to taste you and merely seeking your pleasure.

He slid the garments down your legs until they were off and admired your wet, glistening pussy, somehow it looked slightly swollen, begging to be attended to and touched.

“You try hard and work hard, you deserve to get your stress off, let me do it…”

Chan said it, in such a thick voice so lost in the image of your pussy. You were so nervous, almost wanting to shiver but you moaned as you felt his lips on the skin of your mons pubis, giving you kisses and leaving little hickeys, nibbling the area, until his mouth took your clit, making you squeal; you were beginning to relax and let yourself be carried away by the tingling of the tip of his index finger caressing your soft, moist vulva, playing with your wetness, until two of his fingers teased your entrance until he inserted his fingers, while his mouth never let go of your sensitive spot, licking and sucking it gently, causing you pleasure and the beginning of trembling in your legs.

Chan fucked you gently and deeply for a few moments, teasing you and reaching sweet places inside your tight pussy, but he withdrew his fingers from you, positioned both his hands on your thighs, squeezing them gently and began to move his mouth all the way down your vulva, licking the right places, sucking delightfully on your labia and filling himself with you, from his chin to his nose, so focused working on you. You felt so hot, somehow he looked so good eating you out while you were a panting mess, arching your back and being pleasured.

He stroked your clit again and sucked gently but with moderate intensity, humming mmm, that caused a sweet vibration in you, you were feeling so good you could feel your second orgasm again. Chan parted your folds so he could rub his mouth better inside them, you were so satisfied you thought of the myth that college boys didn’t know how to eat pussy, but no one like Chan, doing it so expertly he had you soaking wet, whimpering and shivering just with his lips, tongue, and mouth. He moved inches away from your pussy, to spread your entrance with his hand and insert his tongue deep. At the same time, his finger again caressed your clit, bringing you to orgasm, contracting your legs, being careful with him between them, arching your back, and in a loud moan calling out his name, the great sexual tension built up was released with his mouth on your pussy.

Chan didn’t stop working on you until he stopped feeling your last intense trembling and stopped watching your body collapse until it became softer tremors and he smiled. He didn’t think he could leave you alone for now, let alone finish the project now that you were just starting, but right now, his satisfaction was to fulfill his goal, by making you feel good and de-stress a little because you were worth it and deserved it. He was there to give you a good time.

-------------------------

𐙚TAGLIST: @khandzilla @rylea08 @hann1bee @iovecb97 @armystay89 @bubblebisk @lolareadsimagines

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru

TW: nsfw, noncon, yandere, somnophilia, unconsciousnes due to drinking

fem reader

Thinking about a love-sick but scummy Gojo and his cute kohai—how you don’t usually drink and how he has to carry you to his dorm when you start to hang on the walls of the graduation party. It’s been his last year, and he can’t believe he won’t be able to see your pretty face every day moving forward.

“This is fine, right?” he asks softly, laying you down on his bed. His breath thickens while looking down at you—so cute—all sound asleep.

You really shouldn’t be a sorcerer. Curses and curse users and other sorcerers the like would only take advantage—they’d all want a piece. You’re a little silly, aren’t you? You know that he can’t always be there to look after you, right? Oh, they’d eat you alive without his help, you know that, don’t you?

He’d kill anything, anyone, and everyone if something ever happened to your cute little face.

He straddles you, lifting your skirt carefully—so slow and silently, in reverence—like he’s lifting a wedding veil, uncovering your cute cotton undies. His tall form sags forward at the sight—blushy cheeks dusted with dew, looking down at you with half-mast misty eyes.

So cute, so cute, so cute. He should give you his babies. That would keep you home and out of harm’s way—soft and safe behind lock and key and a thousand seals, both keeping others out and you in. Oh fuck—what a good idea. You’d look so right all round with his kid.

He’s already pealing down your underwear. Bearing your pretty little cunt to his searing blue eyes—gleamingly bright with want.

So so so cute!

His pale and slender fingers can’t help but reach out and touch at once—though carefully—sliding his fingertips through your slit.

 “Aw~ you’re so wet~” he awes in endeared glee, already catching your hole and slipping one of his digits in. He all but cries over how snug you are. He knew you were a virgin, but to toy with it in grasp, to feel it wrap around his finger all so tightly, was almost too much for him to handle. 

“You were acting so shy earlier—so coy,” he continues. “But my six-eyes saw it anyway, plain as day…” Pumping you on his digit, he watches you curl in your drunken sleep—a pretty little moan leaving you all so softly. It makes him giggle with delight. “You’ve wanted me all along, haven’t you?”

♡ GOJO SATORU masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[softaestluv]

Grease & Grime Won’t Break Your Bones

You never thought you were attracted to grease and grime, sweat and exhaustion, definitely needed a shower and scrub, but no one has worn it like he is.

Mechanic! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem! reader

Tags: dirty, greasy, grimy, sweaty, blue collar worker, yeah I’ll take one of those! you own a pick up, & I actually don’t know anything about cars, eventual smut

Pt . 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Ao3 | masterlist

Contrary to popular belief, you weren’t completely daft when it came to cars. There were a handful of things you could do, as simple as they might be. You knew how to change a flat tire, how to change your oil, the oil filter and air filter. Even knew how to change the bulbs in your headlights— yours had gone out more than once.

Kept up with basic maintenance, topped off all fluids when necessary, rotated your tires, visited a shop when needed.

Though, the piece of shit pick-up you owned seemed to have more problems than one. Sticks on wheels, lemon of a vehicle, engine light flashing more often than not. You were quite exhausted from all the maintenance, worked too hard to keep staining your clothes in grease and ruining your manicured nails.

A pretty thing like yourself shouldn’t be doing such hard work, but you put entirely too much time into the old truck for price gauging and scamming mechanics to stereotype you— a woman, naive.

Simple.

Maybe you had been lucky when you stumbled across ‘Ghost’s Garage’ and the mechanic was anything but, even if his shop was a rundown brick building on its last leg. Old, dinky, mortar deteriorating, cracks and chips in the bricks. It was honestly a miracle it was still standing, but he worked in auto-motives after all, not construction.

Maybe you were a little biased when the mechanic seemed to walk out of a Men’s Health magazine.

Blonde hair, white t-shirt hugging his biceps, coveralls low on his hips, grease stained arms and fingertips, tattoos curled over his ridiculously tanned skin. It was almost cliche the way he approached you, dirty rag pressed to his forehead, wiping the sweat that dripped down his temples before using the same rag to clean the grease off his fingers.

“What can I do for ya?” He asked with shallow breaths, thick accent twined around each word.

You swallowed thickly, “My oil, I just need my oil changed.”

He raised his brow, gesturing to your blue truck in the service drive, “This your C10 right ‘ere?”

You nod, “That’s me.”

“Y’can sit in my office if you want, ‘ts hot out here. Shouldn’t be long.” He explained, pointing to a small room in the corner of the shop.

It was a typical mechanics office, small, a little dirty. Papers scattered across the desk and floor, plain beige walls, spare parts thrown in a corner. One frame on the edge of the desk, a picture of him and three other men, one of which he’s not really smiling in, just a slight lift to the corner of his lips.

You’re quite grateful that he let you sit in his office rather than being stuck in the summer sun; it was hot, scorching. Even the shorts and t-shirt you wore clung uncomfortably to your skin, thighs pressed tacky to the leather chair.

Despite the fact that it’s a bit too stuffy, a bit too cluttered, you don’t entirely mind. Not when it gives you a perfect view of the mechanic bent over the hood of your truck through the rooms only window.

Now you could really look at him, appreciate the absolute hulking mammoth of a man he is. Burly, brawny, sinewy, can’t even begin to think of all the adjectives to describe him.

Sweat drips down his thick neck, over broad shoulders, and around stout biceps, accentuates each dip and curve of his beefy muscles. It soaks his white shirt wet, makes it cling to his back and abdomen, displays every defined contraction of muscles.

Makes your body burn hot.

You feel like an absolute pervert, mouth salivating at the sight of a mechanic changing your oil. Maybe there was truth behind loving a man in a uniform, even if it was dirty, filthy, soiled, and half off.

You never thought you were attracted to grease and grime, sweat and exhaustion, definitely needed a shower and scrub, but no one has worn it like he is.

It isn’t long, less than 10 minutes, and meanwhile you appreciate the efficiency, a part of you is a little disappointed at the loss of the show.

“All set for you.” He says once he enters the room.

You jump up, “Ah, thank you so much!”

“Nice ol’ thing, ‘aven’t worked on one of ‘em before,” He compliments, zipping up the rest of his coveralls— ‘Simon’ printed on a pocket patch.

You laugh, real low from your chest, “That’s what you think. Just wait ‘til I come back next week cause the engine light came on.”

Simon chuckles, “No worries, bring it t’me for whatever you need.”

“Depends on how much you’re charging me for today’s services,” You joke, rummaging through your bag for your wallet.

“‘ts on the house,” He responds, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against his desk.

“What? No, I didn’t mean like that,” You stammer, shaking your head, “I’ll pay you.”

Simon just shrugs his shoulders, “Just be back for your next oil change.”

Your smile is wide, “I’ll see you in a couple thousand miles then.”

✦.─Masterlist ─.✦

[myladysapphire]

Seduction

you had always longed to be queen but with your brother Aegon married to your twin sister you had lost hope, but upon your nephews return to the keep you realise all hope of being queen isn't lost. there was just one problem: your mother would never agree to marriage between you and Jace. So you set in motion a plan of seduction.

based of this request

word count: 2,182

CW: MDI 18+,smut,p in v, incest, not proofread!

Jacaerys Veleryon x Fem!reader

Masterlist

dividers by @zaldritzosrose

authors note: i may have used maergery tyrell as an inspiration for reader.

Growing up in the red keep you had long been surrounded by snakes eagerly vying at the iron throne, doing everything in their power to win more favour and a higher station.

You had hated them.

The false niceties, the fake smiles and the false companions who only desired a potential match between one of your brothers.

But what you hated the most about them, was that you were the same, or at least your ambitions were.

All your life you had desired one thing: to be queen of the seven kingdoms.

As the second born, you had hoped to marry Aegon, and with your mother and grandsires plots to one day make him king, it seemed as if being queen one day was only natural for you. But when he married your younger twin Heleana instead of you, the dream of becoming queen became just that.

And with no reason to support any claim your brother had, you set your sights to your elder sister, Rhaenyra.  She had always been kind to you and Heleana, though you had never been too close. But it seemed she was now the only way for you to fulfil what you so deeply desired.

You knew your father would back her as heir no matter how many sons he sired with your mother, and so you realised you too had to support her claim, and then, and only then could you be queen, of course only if you marry her eldest first.

You had planted the idea in her head.

With Jace’s silly crush on you and you yourself hinting on how it would unite the family.

But your mother had rejected Rhaenrya’s suggestion.

And even know years after, you knew she would reject any suggestion of a betrothal between you both once more.

Instead, she favoured a marriage between you and one of the great lords of Westeros.

And even though you would still have a high status, and vast lands and riches, you would not be queen.

And no matter what, you would not settle for anything less.

You desired to be loved as a queen, to have the small folk lore and worship you, it was all you dreamed off. Not to rule, but to be loved by the masses.

You wished for songs and tales to be written of you, for many to compare you to the good queen Alysanne.

And, whilst you had focused your attentions on smallfolk, insisting spare food and leftovers be sent out to the smallfolk. Spent days in orphanages, commissioning the building of schools and healers’ offices.

You gathered up the love of the smallfolk, and though you were gifted the name of the ‘lady of the smallfolk’ and the ‘realms love’ it still wasn’t enough.

 You had plenty of lords vying for your attention, many from great and rich houses.

But none could give you what you wanted.  

That was until your nephews returned to the keep.

In your youth had ignored your plain-featured nephews, finding little in common with them and only seeing a potential marriage with Jace as a means to an end.

Perhaps that was why you had sent him letters throughout the years, claiming that you were egar to know your nephew and hated that he left before you could become close.

You wrote often, finding many things in common, and suddenly the idea of marrying Jace became a little more than just wanting to become queen.

You had grown to rather like your nephew, and now with his return to the red keep all you wanted now was not just be queen, but his wife.

There was one problem, however.

One being that Your mother would never betroth you willingly to him.  She had refused it before, seeing Jace as a bastard and unfit for her daughter.

But from the look he sent you as you greeted him, dragging him around the castle insisting on catching up.

And from the nonstop wondering eyes at his younger brothers hearing, you were sure she wouldn’t be an obstacle for much longer.

As you walked into the courtyard to greet him and his family, Jace thought to himself that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

His eyes were drawn to you so naturally, and the smile you had sent him had been warm and kind. A look he scarcely received in these halls.

The way you had talked to him, telling him how deeply you treasured his letters, how dearly you had missed him.

You seemed so perfect, and gods would he do anything to marry you.

He had stared at you nonstop, and yet found no words to say to you. Even when you had walked the hall of the keep together. You had talked to him no stop, smiling so beautifully.

He had only stared and blushed. Unsure of what to say or do.

And now at dinner, you had walked in in a black gown. The dress itself was the image of your houses, covered in black dragon scales, and with no sleeves, instead arm rings in the shape of dragon wings, mimicking a sleeve, down both your arms.  A deep v neckline, draped with a red scarf across one shoulder down to your waist, accentuating both your hips and breasts.

You were the very image of Targaryen beauty.

He couldn’t take his eyes of you. Even more so when you sat beside him, your legs brushing together.

You had smiled at him yet again, moving close to him as you talked to him.

His eyes were glued to your lips, watching as they moved to speak to him and those around you.

He had said little words to reply to your questions, only blushing whenever you spoke to him.

Then you had left, fanning you were tired and that you would escort the king back to his chambers before going to your own.

He had been sad you had left, with no longer your lips to stare at, or just your company to bask in.

Though he was glad you were not here to witness the infighting, his weak punch towards your brother Aemond, the mocking he had faced.

He had returned to is room in defeat, after facing a scolding from his mother and being sent to bed early like a child.

He entered his chambers, head down, kicking the door closed behind him in anger.  He didn’t look up as he entered, instead choosing to ready himself for bed.

If he had he would have seen, you.

Laying naked on his bed.

You laughed to yourself, biting you lip as he faced away from you.

He jumped at the sound of your laugh, moving his clothes to quickly cover himself.

“Aunt?” he started, blushing as he took in your naked form. He turned from you, covering his eyes. “I- what are you doing?”

You laughed again, standing up and walking over to him, “isn’t it obvious, my prince?”

He stuttered; eyes still covered “this is in appropriate I should- “

You shushed him, grabbing his arm and turning him to face you “leave your own chambers?” you teased “why is something wrong with me being here?”

“I-no, no I like that you’re here but… your- naked!” he stuttered out.

You nodded, “so it appears I am”.

“Would you like some clothes?”

“Why? Am I not pleasing to you, my prince?” you asked, moving back and turning slowly to show off your body to him.

“no-no- I mean yes! YIs, very pleasing but this is inappropriate” “is it?” you teased, “why? Do you wish for me to go? Perhaps I should get one of the guards, so that we are not alone” you said, making your way to the door.

“No!” he said a little too loudly. “don’t, I- why are you here?”

You smiled, moving towards him once again. “I have missed you, Jace” you said, your face inches away from his, “you have grown so handsome, so…so kingly” you mouth now inches from his, “and I wished to give you a gift” he swallowed, “a gift?”

You nodded, humming, before placing your lips on his.

Your lips moved slowly against his, he was unsure, inexperienced. The kiss was slow and soft. It was short, though your breaths were both heavy as you pulled apart.  

“Yes, Jace, a gift” you said, pulling your lips from his and reaching for his hand.

“Was that the gift?”

“Some of it” you said, grabbing his hand and placing it on your waist. “Did you know your mother planned to betroth us when we were younger?” he shook his head, “I was to be your wife, and now…we will soon be betrothed to others and I cannot have that, Jace” you breathed.

“Really?” he said, voice rough, his hands were both your waist, squeezing your hips softly, as if finally realising why you were naked.

‘Yes, for so long I dreamt of being your wife… I would even touch myself to the thought of you, of us”.

His breath was heavy, “you…you wish to give yourself to me?”

You answered him with another kiss, this one passionate, needy.

Pushing him down onto the bed, straddling him.

“I wish to be your wife, Jace” you breathed against his lips.

“You do?” he breathed, moving to kiss you once more, “but I am already betrothed,”

You looked down sadly, “I... Do not remind me, it pains me so”.

He sighed your name, “is that why you came here? To sleep with me so we must marry”.

“Oh, you must think me horrible” you said, moving to stand from his lap, only for him to pull you back down onto him.

“No, no not at all…I, I would be lying if I said I had never desired to marry you, but- “

“But nothing, my sweet prince” you said, moving in to kiss him once more, if he wished to marry you also, then this was only even more perfect.

Your seduction almost unneeded.

But gods did you want him.

He moaned, into your mouth, his hands desperately gripping your waist, before hesitantly moving up to cup your breasts.

You let out a moan as he gave them a tentative squeeze, before moving to roll your nipples between his fingers.

He was moved slowly, testing out what you liked, and egar to learn what made you moan.

You yourself started to kiss down his neck as he played with your breasts. Your hips still slowly grinding against.

His cock had grown hard beneath you.

His groans increasing as you continued to grind against him.

Your wet cunt coating his cock, her entrance teasing him with each movement of her hips.

“please” he begged, unsure of what exactly what he was begging for.

You stood up from his lap and pushed him to lie down on the bed.

You smiled as you took him in. his pretty face, full of lust and desire. The want clear on his face.

“Wait!” he said stooping you, as you crawled over his body, positioning your entrance above his long hard cock.

“Yes?” you sighed; breath heavy.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“of course, you want us to marry, yes?” he nodded, “and my mother would never approve of it unless…unless we give ourselves to one another.”

“Gods…I, I- your right” he said, reaching up to kiss you as he finally filled you. His cock stretching you out in a way you didn’t know possible. The pleasure near overwhelming.

You both moaned as he fully entered you.

“Gods!” he moaned, his hands going to grip your waist.

Your hands rested on his chest, preparing to move as you finally adjusted to his length.

Slowly you began to move your hips, trying to slowly build a rhythm and find what you both liked.

But it seemed the shy unsure Jace you had been witnessed to all night faded, as Jace gripped your hips and started to thrust up into you.

He set a fast past, and though you tried to keep up, Jace soon flipped you and instead started thrusting into you. His hips moved hard and fast, your moans were loud as you got lost in the pleasure.

Jace had buried himself in your neck, holding onto you as he thrusted into you.

Both of your peaks were fast approaching.

You felt his cock pulse inside of you as you clenched around him.

Moaning his name as you came, before he picked up the face, fulling your face to his as he came, filling you with his seed.

He collapsed on you, his breath heavy.

“Gods, that was…incredible” he smiled, reaching up to kiss you once more. “now all that’s left is for us to get married” he joked, pulling you in for a hug.

And from the scream of the maid as she came to wake Jace up in the morning, she was sure that in no time news would reach their mothers, and they would be wed.

And she would get everything she ever desired.

authors note: i hate this ending! there is so much i wanted to say but i just couldnt word it correclty, but i hope you all enjoyed it!

taglist

@now-i-have-a-new-obsession @apollonshootafar @flrboyd @zillahvathek @theanxietyqueen17 @dark-night-sky-99 @leavesmealobe @winter-soldier-101 @bunbunbl0gs @ka1afbr @tesha-i-guess @aemondwhoresworld @littlebirdgot @eddieslut69 @beebeechaos @jennifer0305 @rosedurin @clobo @aegonswife

to be added to taglist

[mrpenguinpants]

Just the weight I needed.

— You ask to sit on his back while he does push-ups.

— Phainon, Mydei + Jing Yuan

[Masterlist]

After that monster of a Lighter fic, I just wanted to write something nice and silly. I'm serious, the next fic I write might actually be 20k words. The title is from BSD btw, love and kisses to whoever gets it.

Phainon

Realistically, if you brought the idea up to Phainon, it could go one of two ways. One possibility is that he’d be fully on board—no hesitation, no questions asked, as if he’d been waiting for this moment his entire life. He’d immediately drop to the ground in one fluid motion, presenting his back like a beautifully adorned, living throne, every muscle flexing with anticipation. His arms would be poised, elbows bent just enough to secure the perfect balance, ready to support you as he began his impromptu strength training. His determined blue eyes would gleam with unshakable resolve, like a knight pledging his undying loyalty to his sovereign. To him, carrying you wouldn’t just be an exercise—it would be a calling, an honor, a challenge to conquer.

The other possibility? A completely different reaction. Phainon, with a rare, grave expression—one that only emerged in times of true distress—would place his hands firmly on your shoulders, his grip unwavering, grounding you in place. His normally vibrant demeanor would dim, his brows drawing together in deep concern as he searched your face for any sign of distress. And then, with a devastated choke, his voice thick with unfiltered worry, he’d ask, “Are you being blackmailed?”

It's not like your request is so out there that Phainon needs to find you a scapegoat for why you're asking. This isn't even the first time he's bent far stricter rules with actual consequences slightly to fulfill your requests! The man has an impressive track record of brushing the laws of common decency and practicality under the rug when it comes to helping you out. Take that one time in the baths for instance—when you were trying to get some peace and quiet, hiding under a sea of bubbles to avoid your duties. Phainon, ever the loyal accomplice, had simply closed his eyes, zipped his mouth shut with a soft snap of his fingers, and let you lie in blissful, responsibility-free silence. No questions asked. No protest. Just remarking about how difficult it was to find you before walking away.

Or the most recent example, when you decided to spy on the newest esteemed guests. It was a delicate situation, and you knew there was no way you’d be able to sneak a peek without drawing attention. So, of course, you enlisted Phainon’s help. He positioned himself like a human shield, blocking any unwanted gazes as you peered from behind him, hidden by his imposing figure. All the while, you stayed as quiet as possible, watching the guests converse with Aglaea while Phainon pretended to be entirely uninterested, despite his complete awareness of what you were up to. The point is, this request? It’s nothing compared to the stunts he’s pulled for you in the past. It wouldn't even include anyone outside you two!

Suggestion: Inflection baby! Sound just as enthusiastic as him! (It's not like he would ever say no)

Delighted squeals and giggles echo off the marbled walls as your view of the giant sphere in the sky—situated at the center of Okhema—bobs up and down, like a real ball you used to play with as a kid. In fact, everything about this moment feels like you've been transported back in time, swept up in a childish sort of joy that you haven't felt in years. Even though it's undeniably a silly sight—you, perched sideways on Phainon's back, your toes just barely hovering above the ground—you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t at least a tiny bit fun. It took a bit of hassle to convince Phainon that no, you weren’t being blackmailed, bribed, or coerced into this request. There were no hidden motives, no dark secrets behind it—just a plain, simple, and entirely ridiculous desire to see if he could do it.

"Don't forget that you're supposed to keep count," Phainon chastises lightly, though the effect is entirely ruined by the bright, boyish grin tugging at his lips. His tone is more playful than scolding, his usual boundless energy making it impossible to take him seriously. It's weird seeing him from this angle, half of his face turned over his shoulder as your neck cranes down for once. Seriously, what were they feeding this man?

"Oops, sorry!" you manage between muffled laughter, barely able to catch your breath, "I guess I lost track... maybe we should start over?"

"If that's what Your Highness wants, then it shall be done," Phainon says as easily as breathing, bending his elbows to push up again.

Mydei

Haha. No. Just no.

First of all, you wouldn’t even be a significant weight for Mydei—he could take you on as resistance training in the same way a bodybuilder might consider lifting a single book. If anything, he’d have to stack at least five more of you just to make it remotely challenging. Secondly, why on Amphoreus would you think he’d let you sit on his back? Best-case scenario, he’d stare at you with a long, exhausted sigh before asking if you’d recently taken a tumble down the stairs and cracked your head open. It’s not like he’s even being that mean when he says it anyway. Well, for Mydei standards at least. The fact that he hasn't bashed your head into the floor is, quite frankly, a miracle. The fact he hasn't bashed your head into the concrete itself is a wild understatement that you've lowered any respect he has for you over the days you've been acquainted with him.

Your first meeting was when you had misjudged how many steps there were and slipped forward. The inviting concrete was ready with open arms to split your head open, but Mydei, ever the observant type, had caught you just in time. There you were, suspended in mid-air, not even sure how you ended up there. Your limbs flailed like a ragdoll as he pulled on the back of your shirt with one arm, effortlessly lifting you with little more than the ease of a casual stretch. You'd been too stunned to even form words at the time—only managing a stammered thank-you as he set you back down as if saving you from an embarrassing death by stairs was just another casual Tuesday for him. In retrospect, it was a miracle you hadn’t cracked your skull open on the concrete. And of course, he’d said something entirely deadpan in response, like, "Pay attention next time," before turning back to his blue-haired companion. And he wonders why you're so obsessed with wanting to sit on his back.

Mydei has a short fuse and a quick temper, and as much as you'd really like to put your hand on his chest just to see his reaction, you also enjoy breathing a little too much to risk it. Not to mention, you can’t exactly take him in a fight. If you could, staking a bet that if you won, he’d have to fulfill your request would be a piece of cake. But alas, he's built like a wall, and your ability to land a punch would probably be a joke in comparison. So instead, you're left with the very real, very sensible option of begging and wearing him down with your charm—or at least hoping he’ll eventually tire of saying no. The risk? Well, it's still there, but that’s what makes it fun, right?

Suggestion: Beggars can't be choosers and living is pretty cool. Better to ask Phainon instead.

You've barely uttered the first syllable of your question before you're unceremoniously scooped up by the back of your clothing, lifted from the ground like a disgruntled cub being dragged away by its mother. Except, in this case, it's more like being hoisted over someone's firm shoulder, your limbs dangling helplessly as you're treated like a sack of potatoes. The bewilderment on your face is a new look as Phainon's figure grows smaller and smaller in the distance, the sound of your protests muffled by the unexpected shift. Amid your confusion, you catch sight of the blue bastard waving gleefully, a cheery smile plastered across his face as if he’s just won some kind of victory.

"Um, not that I'm complaining, but... where exactly are you taking me?" you ask, your voice tentative as you try to adjust yourself on his shoulder. On one hand, you're living the dream, able to feel those muscles effortlessly hoisting you up like you're nothing more than a feather. But on the other, his shoulder is starting to dig uncomfortably into your stomach, and it's quickly turning into a rather awkward ride. You shift slightly, trying to find a less painful position, but all you accomplish is further squishing yourself against his back.

"Training room." is all Mydei says. There's no snark, no extra words, just that one brief statement that leaves you quite literally and metaphorically hanging.

"Ah. Training room, huh?" you say back lamely, even though you're internally screaming in elation, your arms up in the air as you bow toward whatever Aeon is looking out for you.

You can totally tell by the way Mydei drops you in the middle of the pathway that he knows exactly what you're thinking.

Jing Yuan

Contrary to popular belief, you aren't blind. Even if the General is a bit too old to still be in his "bachelor" years—do those even truly exist for long-life species?—Jing Yuan is... well, let’s just say he’s easy on the eyes. Super easy. A five-star resort easy on the eyes. Is this what they call a silver foxian? He was the one who off-handedly mentioned it when your traitorous eyes had decided to linger a tad bit too long on the shape of his back during a meeting. Of course, you had to act all professional about it, clearing your throat and giving him a strict reprimand about how inappropriate it was to bring such things up in a work environment. You almost nailed the tone too, until you rounded the corner and crumbled into a puddle of embarrassment. What the hell just happened? How did he do that to you with just one little comment? That was so... unfair. It didn’t help that the image of sitting on his back while he did push-ups kept playing in your mind—every chiseled angle, every movement, the way he had to flex those back muscles with each rep. Seriously, how were you supposed to function with that lingering in your thoughts?

It takes several days for neither of you to address the elephant in the room. The tension lingers in the air, thick and unspoken, but it doesn't quite impede your duties. You carry on with your work, he continues to be as "lax" as ever—his presence still an odd mix of effortless command and lazy confidence. But there's something there, a shift, subtle yet undeniable. Every time you glance at him, there's the tiniest degree of something different in his smile, a sharpness to it that grows more cat-like with each passing moment. His expression seems to hold a quiet, menacing amusement as he sits across from you, still and patient, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that feels almost predatory. He reminds you of his pet lion in those moments, the way she watches her prey with those intense, knowing eyes. Her demeanor is calm, almost gentle, until the moment she pounces, and you can’t help but imagine the way the small, frail necks of her dinner break so easily between the crushing strength of her jaws. Yet, her owner, Jing Yuan, still calls her the sweetest, most docile creature, even with blood still staining her paws. A crazy man.

Patience is a virtue, they say. And eventually, with enough time, water will wear down the hardest stone. You’ve tried to avoid it, to ignore the inevitable, but today feels different. The morning is quiet, bathed in the soft light of the rising sun—a golden hour where the world feels still as if it’s holding its breath for what’s to come. It’s just you and Jing Yuan, silently preparing for the events ahead, the hum of the day yet to begin. There are meetings lined up, one in particular that has been pushed back so many times due to Jing Yuan’s absences that it's now on the verge of becoming a disaster. The final meeting needs to happen tonight, or his white mane might end up skewered on the end of a spear. The weight of it lingers in the air, but for now, it’s just the two of you, and the calm chirping of his precious finches acts as the only soundtrack to the morning’s preparations. As you glance at him—his calm, unflappable demeanor, his steady hands—something shifts inside you. It’s not immediate, but it’s undeniable. You finally allow yourself to acknowledge what’s been sitting in the back of your mind, simmering beneath the surface: you’re no better than your General.

Suggestion: Life is too short for things like dignity and shame, go for the throat!

"General, I apologize for my lapse in judgment, but I seriously cannot do this, or I might suffer a stroke."

Your words come out in a strangled rush, your face contorting into a myriad of expressions—none of them quite fitting for the situation. You're staring down at Jing Yuan, sprawled out on his stomach, looking entirely unbothered as he waits for you to—well, do exactly what he���d asked. Sit on his back. You have to remind yourself that it was technically his suggestion, his agreement when you’d tentatively raised the question, and yet here you are, mentally spiraling into a moral crisis. Every fiber of your being screams that this is just... wrong. This can't possibly be something that should happen in a professional setting, in a place of authority, with a man who is the very definition of your superior.

But no, there’s Jing Yuan, lying there with that serene look in his eyes, a slight smile pulling at the corners of his lips as if this were just another ordinary task in his day. You swallow thickly, still battling with your internal conflict, even though the situation is slowly spinning out of your control. How did this become a thing?

"Ah, well. I will not force you to do something you're so against," Jing Yuan says with a light chuckle, standing up smoothly as if your entire dilemma was merely a fleeting thought. He pats his pants as if brushing away any invisible dust, his movements deliberate and calm. Then, with a casual grace, he crosses his arms behind his back, his posture exuding the confidence and composure only someone of his status could command. "But it is a warrior's shame to go back on their words, don't you agree?"

You blink rapidly, momentarily taken aback by his smoothness, but the weight of his words presses on you. You can almost feel the invisible pressure of your promise tightening around you. You stammer a bit, trying to regain some semblance of control, but you can only manage a meek response.

"Ah— I... yes, General."

Before you can fully process the situation, his large, warm hand lands heavily on your shoulder. It's not the usual friendly gesture, though. No, this time it feels more like a reminder—one that makes you shrink into yourself involuntarily. His hand is firm and for the briefest moment, you feel like you're pinned in place by the sheer force of his presence. You’ve never been one to back down from a challenge, but now, in the face of his unwavering authority, you can’t help but feel small.

"So, I can count on you to fill in my stead for today's meeting then?" Jing Yuan's voice is light, but there's an unmistakable gleam in his eyes. A satisfied lion getting away with murder, "Excellent, I knew I could count on you!"

[xinganhao]

not for sale 💳 mingyu x reader. (3)

celebrity!mingyu and small business owner!reader. check out 🛒 not for sale's masterlist.

You can’t bring yourself to end the call. 

Your phone is overheating. You’re below the acceptable battery threshold of twenty percent. And the dark-haired boy on the other end of the screen looks more asleep than awake. 

You should end this call, but you can’t. 

Mingyu doesn’t seem keen on ending it either. His eyes are drooping and his head has begun to loll every so often. He’d spent the first couple minutes of the call talking about his day— the seemingly endless rotation of engagements that came with being a celebrity. 

Sometimes, it still strikes you as odd that this is the life you now lead. Being on FaceTime with somebody that hundreds, maybe thousands of people fawned over. 

But you were friends… right? And friends called each other. Friends texted. 

This is friendly, a small voice in the back of your head tries to convince you. So very, very friendly. 

The conversation has since mellowed out. Mingyu makes good on his word; he falls quiet, observing your work like it’s some form of entertainment for him. At one point, you even forget he’s watching. 

It’s why you’re a bit jolted when he absentmindedly mumbles, “You have nice hands.” 

You pause in the middle of bubble wrapping an order. One cursory glance at your screen, and you see that Mingyu is absolutely fighting for his life to stay awake. The sight almost makes you smile. 

“You should head to bed soon,” you say instead of addressing his compliment. “We’ve been on call for— what? Two hours, I think.” 

Mingyu says something too low for you to catch. You give a noncommittal hum of ‘hmm?’, prompting him to repeat what he’d said. 

And maybe he’s just tired enough to decide fuck it. Maybe it’s past midnight and that makes everything fair game. 

Because Mingyu breathes out a quiet “not enough,” and you swear something screeches to a halt in your brain. Two hours. Not enough. 

You swallow. He’s out of it, you think to yourself, your fingers quivering a bit as you cut, tape, seal. He’s sleep-deprived and talking out of his ass. 

That’s what gives you the audacity to ask what’s been on your mind for days now. 

“Mingyu,” you ask, “why do you want to be an ambassador for Bittersweet?” 

A beat. One that stretches long enough for you to wonder if Mingyu had finally succumbed to his exhaustion. 

But then, his voice— quiet, but not any less sincere— rings over the line. “Because I like your jewelry.” 

Plain and simple. You’re not sure why you expected more. 

He goes on, his tone a little softer, slower. “I like what you’ve done with the business. I like… how hard you work. Your passion. All that.”

Mingyu pauses to yawn. You glance over to see him smiling into his phone, his half-lidded gaze trained on your hands moving over your workbench. It makes his next words a one-two punch on your poor heart. 

“Your brand may be called ‘Bittersweet’,” he says, “but you’re as sweet as they come.” 

EXCERPTS FROM "MINGYU opens up on being named Rising Star of the Year"

Q: Earlier this year, the Internet fell in love with you for being an ‘advocate for small businesses.’ You’ve seemed to take it a step further, though. 

MINGYU: [laughs] Is that what they’ve been saying? I had no idea. But, yes— the pieces I have on right now are from a small business. It’s called Bittersweet Jewelry, and it’s something I found one day while scrolling through SNS. 

Q: You didn’t know the seller prior to purchasing? 

MINGYU: No, not at all. They didn’t even know it was me. I used an alias for a while. 

Q: I see. A lot of people believe your support has been reflective of your personality. Being caring, considerate. 

MINGYU: That’s very nice. I appreciate that. Although, if I’m being honest, I’m just a guy who likes good jewelry. I admire consistency, quality. [holds up his rings] These have it in spades. 

Q: That’s why you keep coming back to brands like Bittersweet. 

MINGYU: Sure. We could say that.  

[...]

THE TOP FIVE SONGS MINGYU HAS BEEN PLAYING ON REPEAT LATELY

Love Me Like That by Sam Kim

Linger by The Cranberries

Tadhana by Up Dharma Down

If You Do by GOT7

LMLY by Jackson Wang

[...]

Q: What do you look for in a partner? 

MINGYU: Now, Minghao… [laughs] 

Q: Sorry. The readers want to know. 

MINGYU: I’m never going to escape this question, am I? Give me a minute to think about it. 

Q: Sure. 

MINGYU: [after a moment] I’d like somebody dedicated and passionate. Someone sweet. And… 

Q: And? 

MINGYU: Someone with nice hands, I guess. [smiles] 

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[aouiaa]

can u write an abby x reader fic where it’s just fluffy and soft. like maybe abby comes back from a long patrol and reader missed her or smt like that :)

❝ MISSED YOU (R FINGERS) TOO ❞ — 𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 !

warnings and disclaimers, wlw content, smut w/o plot, sub!abby (YAYAY), softdom!reader, cunnilingus, fingering, praising, usage of petnames (babe, baby, pretty girl).

TAPE THAT MOUTH SHUT, someone by the great name of @les4elliewilliams made this smutty. don’t worry it’s still fluffy and very soft, chef’s kisses to her!

the distinct sound of a key turning in the lock alerts your ears, causing you to turn your attention to the door. eagerly, you approach, your excitement akin to a dog with its tongue wagging, as it opens, the sight of your form clad in her oversized shirt brings a soft smile to her lips, clearly amused by the sight.

"hey, babe," she breathes out, her fatigue evident in her voice. noted. she willingly leans into your embrace, her eyes fluttering shut as if grateful for the comfort. in this unwavering tranquility, she subconsciously lets go of her bag, it falls to the floor with a soft thud, and she murmurs against your collarbone, "missed you."

"yeah?" you respond with a hint of a smirk playing at your lips. the dangerous undertone in your tone is evident, and she knows it's precisely what often lands her in tense situations.

“yeah.” she affirms, pulling away slightly to examine your features intently.

a shit eating grin is on your face as you stare at her, continuing. "you must’ve had a long day, how about i help you unwind some tension in your weary, weary bones?" you suggest with a playful pout.

she laughs softly and scratches her cheek, replying, "as much as i would love that, I'm still pretty sore from the gym, plus..."

"plus patrol too," you continue for her, nodding in agreement. "yeah, yeah. i know, but... what i'm offering to you is to just lay back, and look cute." you smirk, letting your words sink into the pulsing ache between her taut thighs. "just like you are now." your voice lowers a few octaves as your lips caress the tip of her earlobe, sending a shiver of anticipation down her spine.

a sharp gasp escaped abby’s lips as you skillfully kept her trembling legs from closing around your head, preventing them from closing around your head as you feasted on her, your hunger fierce and insatiable. your eyes met hers, your gaze that of a predator staring at its prey. you watched as her eyes rolled back, her body trembling as she clutched at your fingers, her grip parallel to that of a compressor. a testament to the pleasure you wrought.

wrapping your lips around her clit, you hummed against her, amusement flickering in your eyes. you chuckled, the vibrations adding to her pleasure, "you gonna cum for me, pretty girl?" you knew she wasn’t capable of forming coherent sentences, but it was entertaining to see her struggle. "yeah, you are. look at you, working so hard... yeah, baby, come for me." your words, combined with your skilled mouth urges her closer to the precipice.

requests are open, don’t be shy ;3

PERMANENT TAGLIST, @dyk3ang3l, @elliesprettygirl, @les4elliewilliams, @r3starttt, @slut4mascss, @marsworlddd, @bready101, @abbysleftbicepp, @airenaa, @caraphernellie, @astralnymphh, @whore87, @kaiilectric, @sapphicontherun, @mikellie, @nihilisticangelbby, @be3flow3r, @ppuussyyy, @clairoscharm, @lvlymicha, @brackishkittie, @loveyru

REQUESTED TAGS, @grey-jedi12

[!] — IF BY CHANCE YOU WANNA BE ADDED TO MY PERMANENT, look at this for more info!

[tojicide]

chapter four ── lab partners.

the spider’s sense: a spidercaleb series.

♥︎ spider-man!caleb 𝑥 fem!reader

(i forgot to post it with tags the first time around so i have to repost it… so sorry for spamming your notifs </3)

synopsis. caleb’s life was perfect—until it wasn’t. a radioactive spider bite turned him into linkon’s friendly neighborhood spider-man, the daily bugle started hunting for the man behind the mask, and to top it all off, he was forced to partner up with you—his smart, competitive, and infuriatingly perfect classmate who threatened his spot as number one in the class rankings.

tags/warnings. college/modern au, academic rivals to lovers, fluff, angst, eventual smut, gran isn’t evil in this LOL, the canon event, college parties, alcohol consumption, cliches, depictions of serious crime, references to the spider-man comics and movies, mdni

chapter summary. after a series of unfortunate events, caleb shatters any hope of reconciliation with you… or so it seems.

prev: chapter three. ┆ series masterlist. ┆ next: soon!

Caleb didn’t remember making it to his bed last night.

That wasn’t unusual these days. Most nights ended in a whirlwind of aching limbs and crashing adrenaline, a blur of alleyways and sirens, limbs sore from swinging through Linkon’s crumbling skyline until he could scale the fire escape outside his dorm and collapse.

Sometimes he didn’t even bother removing the suit.

The only proof he was even back in one piece was the dull throb in his shoulders and the familiar, worn-in scent of his dorm—old laundry detergent and someone’s leftover Cheetos. That, and the familiar protest of the bunk mattress digging into his back.

A groan slipped from his throat as he tossed an arm over his face, shielding his eyes from the god-awful morning light filtering through the slats of their half-broken blinds.

He could feel the grime still clinging to his skin, last night’s victories sticking to him like second skin. Three attempted robberies, a handful of purse snatchers, and one very memorable dive into a dumpster full of Caesar salad.

(He was trying not to think about that last one.)

The sound of someone clearing their throat sliced through the morning silence.

His whole body went rigid.

He cracked one eye open slowly, only to find Zayne sitting across the room in his desk chair—legs crossed, arms folded, wearing a judgmental expression that practically screamed intervention.

“…Morning, Batman,” Zayne said flatly.

Caleb groaned and rolled over, his voice muffled by the pillow. “Don’t call me that.”

“Then explain why you came in at three in the morning with a limp, croutons in your hair, and—unless I was hallucinating—a fork sticking out of your shoulder.”

Caleb blinked, slowly reaching beneath the blanket to pull the crumpled remains of his suit deeper out of sight. “I got it out. No biggie.”

Zayne gave him a look that could only be described as hardened. Silent. Cold. Stern.

“The silence is so loud,” Caleb muttered, burying his face in his mattress.

“I can wait all day.”

“Okay, okay,” he groaned, pushing himself upright and scrubbing a hand over his face. His hair stood up at odd angles, and he knew from the ache in his back that he probably looked as bad as he felt. “But you have to swear you won’t tell anyone. Not even the snowman plushie on your bed.”

Zayne raised a single brow, then solemnly held up two fingers. “The snowman takes all secrets to the grave.”

“Good.” Caleb exhaled. “Alright, I’ll just rip the bandaid off. I’m Spider-Ma—”

“Spider-Man. Yes. I know. Figured it out two weeks ago.”

Caleb’s words stuttered to a halt. “…You what?”

Zayne reached down, plucking something off the floor. It was Caleb’s mask—plain as day, just lying there like a dirty sock. “Aside from the suspicious injuries, the weird new muscles, and the fact that you literally crawl through the window every night, this thing hasn’t exactly been subtle.”

“Aw, man,” Caleb collapsed dramatically onto the mattress. “I’m so bad at this.”

“You are,” Zayne agreed cheerfully, tossing the mask onto Caleb’s stomach. “But, for what it’s worth, I admire your… let’s call it ‘unshakable sense of justice.’”

Caleb peeked over the edge of his pillow. “Really?”

“Sure. Very noble. Very heroic.” His roommate tilted his head. “Unless you get arrested, in which case it is just incredibly embarrassing.”

Caleb snorted, grabbing the nearest pillow and chucking it at him. 

“Anyway,” he said, fluffing the pillow in his lap, “that was question one.”

“There’s a second question?”

Zayne leaned forward with a nod. “Have you seen the paper this morning?”

Caleb squinted. “The school paper? No offense, but I’m pretty sure you’re the only person who reads that before noon.”

“Unfortunately for you, today’s edition is a little more… relevant than crossword puzzles and department bulletins.”

He pulled out his phone and chucked it toward Caleb, who caught it with the sluggish reflexes of someone who had dodged bullets but not slept.

Bright screen. One swipe. Bold title.

The Spider’s Sense.

And beneath it, a photo—clear, high quality, unmistakable—of him, mid-air, suit vivid against the valley of skyscrapers.

Who Is Spider-Man? Weeks ago, witnesses reported a masked individual, clad in red and blue, moving with inhuman agility...

Caleb didn’t even register the rest at first. He was too focused on the photo. That was him. There was no doubt, and his stomach churned.

The rest of the article blurred into a wash of phrases. Masked vigilante. Real-life superhero. Enhanced human? Technology? Guardian or threat?

His hands trembled slightly as he scrolled. “Who wrote this?”

Zayne shrugged. “No clue. It’s anonymous. Might’ve been a student, or one of the permanent writers trying to make a name for themselves.”

Caleb’s chest tightened. The words on the screen burned themselves into his brain. His entire existence was no longer just speculation—it was documented.

And worse? That was just the beginning.

“Check socials,” Zayne added. “It’s… sort of everywhere.”

With the dread of someone opening a cursed scroll, Caleb tapped the next app.

Twitter. Instagram. TikTok.

The internet was flooded. Hashtags. Edits. Fan accounts. A clip of him saving a cyclist from an oncoming truck looped with dramatic music.

And the comments—

victoriastoji: nah girl if he’s saving cats from trees i’d let him web me up aaaanytime batmanstanfr: This has to be AI. No way he’s real. coolgirl45: oh yup. I just know there's some fine shyt under that mask. BRING ME HIM.

“My Lord,” Caleb whispered.

“You’re famous,” Zayne said, chewing thoughtfully on a granola bar. “Or infamous. I suppose we’ll find out.”

Caleb dropped the phone into his lap and buried his face in his hands. “There’s no way.”

“There is a way,” Zayne echoed. “And that way is: you’ve gone viral.”

He should’ve felt proud. This was what heroes were, right? Public symbols. Masked protectors. Instead, all he found in its absence was a sinking weight.

This wasn’t just about sneaking around and stopping small-time crooks anymore. It wasn’t just about helping old ladies cross the street or making sure kids didn’t get their bikes stolen.

This was bigger.

His name—his face, sort of—was out there. His anonymity was already cracking.

The mask had kept him safe. But now… the city was watching. 

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Tara was sprawled across your bed like a tragic heroine from a Victorian novel, one arm slung over her face as though she’d just received news of an ill-fated engagement. Her jacket had half-slipped off her shoulder, one boot still on, and one sock-covered foot twitching in dramatic protest.

“If I still smell like car wax for the rest of my life,” she whined, “at least I’ll die knowing I did something charitable.”

You snorted quietly, glancing at her from the mirror where you sat cross-legged at your desk. Lip pencil in one hand, tiny sharpener in the other, you worked through the uneven point with surgical focus. Your fingers still ached from scrubbing windshields and hoods three days ago, but the ache was a dull, familiar one. The kind that said: you did something that mattered. That helped. Even if it left you sore.

“At least you raised more than your goal,” you said, turning slightly to flash her a small, knowing smile. “Enough for all your upcoming events, and then some. Plus, the extra for the community clinic next month. And, most importantly: more than Lambda Chi Alpha.”

Tara shot up like she’d been electrically charged, her eyes suddenly alive again. “Okay, so—about that,” she said, voice hushed like she was letting you in on a secret. “Because we absolutely crushed it, and because the universe is clearly in our corner for once, the boys are throwing a party this weekend.”

You blinked. “The boys?”

“The frat rats. Xavier, Raf, the entire losing side.” She twirled a hand in the air. “They’re calling it the Midterm Mixer, which is… definitely a choice… but it’ll be so fun, I promise..”

Your face already contorted into a grimace. “Mm, I don’t know. That actually sounds like my worst nightmare.”

“Come on,” Tara pleaded, flopping back into the—your— pillows. “It’s just one night of pretending we’re not slowly drowning in deadlines. A final hurrah before midterms consume us whole.”

You hesitated, stomach tightening with quiet reluctance. It wasn’t just the looming tests or the pile of lab reports waiting to be written. It was the chance that he might be there..

Caleb. 

You hadn’t seen him properly since the meeting prior to your lab presentation. He’d left you hanging—again—and you’d buried your irritation in your workload, trying not to dwell on it. But you had. Of course you had, no matter how much you tried to hide it.

Tara, of course, picked up on your hesitation like a bloodhound. “Wait… is this about he who shall not be named?”

You frowned. “What? No.”

“That was the most suspicious ‘what’ I’ve ever heard. It had, like… three silent subtexts.”

You tried to wave her off, but she grinned, relentless in her pursuit of the truth. “Oh my God, it is. You don’t want to go because you’re afraid of seeing your favorite academic nemesis.”

“He’s not my favorite anything,” you muttered, opening your laptop a little too forcefully.

Tara tilted her head. “Sure he isn’t. That’s why you twirl a finger in your hair every time his name gets mentioned.”

You paused, lip parting in protest, then closed it again. Your hand not-so-suspiciously fell from your hair and into your lap. There was no winning this one.

“What? There was a knot…” you grumbled.

“Right,” she said, lying through her teeth with a smile. “Just admit it. You don’t want to go because you don’t want to look like you care.”

“I don’t care.”

She looked at you, entirely unimpressed. “Whatever helps you sleep at night. Just know that whatever it is that you’re avoiding, it’s pretty obvious that he feels it too.”

A scoff breaches your lips. “If he did, would he have skipped out on me for the past few labs? I don’t think so.” 

Even with your back turned to her, you can hear the smile in Tara’s voice. “Hmm… you certainly have a lot of bitterness in that beautiful voice of yours for someone who ‘doesn’t care.’”

You flushed, caught. You shook your head without a reply, fingers nudging your laptop open once more.

The page for the Linkon Gazette was already pulled up, cursor hovering over your article. The one about him—the masked figure who’d swung across your city like a myth in motion. The one who, for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, kept showing up. The one who’d endured your pepper spray like it was a mild inconvenience and vanished before you could ask a single question.

You knew it was just a story. A journalistic lead. But still… something about him stayed with you.

You weren’t sure why.

Maybe it was the adrenaline. Or the way he’d moved—graceful and fast and human in the most impossible way.

Or maybe it was the lingering suspicion you couldn’t seem to shake: that you knew him. Or had seen him. Or—

No. That was crazy. 

Still, the article had gone semi-viral. Readers were hungry for updates. And you—no matter how much you told yourself it was just curiosity—kept thinking about the man in the mask.

You hadn’t written everything. Not yet.

“I’m not saying yes to the party,” you mumbled, mostly to distract yourself.

Tara smirked. “You will. You’ll pretend to hate it, then show up wearing that liner and make someone’s son question his entire life path.”

You rolled your eyes, though the corners of your mouth tugged upward in a way you couldn’t fight off.

She stood and stretched, looking far too pleased with herself. “I’ll circle back later. I’m gonna go ice my legs and emotionally prepare myself for Xavier’s attempts at DJing.”

“Good luck,” you said through a laugh, already clicking through the Gazette’s backend to check the article’s traction.

As she reached the door, she called over her shoulder, “By the way, if you don’t come, I’m sending you a selfie of me at the party every ten minutes until your phone explodes.”

You made a noncommittal noise in response, but something about her words lingered. You didn’t want to go. Not really—but maybe that was the problem.

Because part of you did want to. And you weren’t sure if it was the music, the drinks, the celebration—or the possibility of running into someone whose eyes you hadn’t stopped remembering.

Whoever he was.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

The lab room was too quiet.

Not the comforting kind of quiet that came with focus and cooperation. This was tense. Brittle. Like if you breathed too loudly, the whole ceiling might come down on your heads.

You sat hunched over a spreadsheet, highlighter uncapped and poised like a weapon. Your eyes scanned row after row of Caleb’s recent data entries, and your stomach sank. These weren’t just lazy mistakes—these were guesses. Sloppy ones, too. Unlike him from what you knew of him, both firsthand and through the grapevine. You knew it because you’d been carrying this project on your back for weeks while he’d been… elsewhere. Distant. Distracted.

He stood across the table, spinning a pen between his fingers like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to earth. His foot tapped restlessly against the floor.

It wasn’t for the stress relief.

He was spiraling.

Not just from guilt—which had been eating away at him since the day the spider sank its fangs into his skin—but from everything. The missed assignments. The long nights swinging between rooftops. The adrenaline spikes. The way his GPA was inching closer to ruin, and his spot as top of the class, the thing he’d clawed toward for years, was now hanging by a thread.

And the worst part?

He couldn’t even explain it to you, the single person who might be owed it.

His gaze flicked—again—to the terrarium at the edge of the bench. Three spiders inside. Neatly labeled, color-coded tags. Clicked shut. 

But there were supposed to be four.

And the second your eyes drifted toward it, he saw the exact moment you noticed.

“Hold on,” you muttered, blinking down at the log sheet in your lap. “Where’s the fourth one?”

Caleb swallowed, heart pounding in his throat. “Huh?”

“The… the striped one,” you clarified, already cross-checking labels. “The one we dosed with the neuromodulator last week.”

He leaned in, squinting at the enclosure like maybe—maybe—it would pop back into existence if he looked hard enough. “Weeeird,” he said weakly. “Maybe it’s in the soil?”

You didn’t even dignify that with a full look. “It’s not a burrowing species.”

Your voice was clipped. Frustrated. Like you’d had enough.

And Caleb couldn’t blame you. He’d been showing up late to labs, forgetting deadlines, spacing out mid-analysis. You had every right to be pissed. Every time he left you to pick up his slack, he told himself he’d make it up to you somehow. And then something else would happen—a car chase, a mugging, a building on fire—and he'd vanish all over again.

Maybe you didn’t know why, but you felt the absence.

“Maybe it teleported,” he tried.

You whipped your head around and gave him a look sharp enough to cut steel.

“Seriously?”

He raised his hands like a white flag. “Just sayin’. Science is full of surprises.”

You rolled your eyes and leaned toward the tank, muttering to yourself as you checked the corners. Caleb watched the way you tucked your hair behind your ear, the subtle furrow between your brows. Your fingers moved with purpose. Precision. You were good at this. So good. Better than him, really.

“This doesn’t make sense,” you said under your breath. “Dr. Rappaccini keeps everything airtight—she’s obsessive about it.”

Caleb shrugged, voice too casual. “Maybe one of the other labs took it?”

“Without logging it?” You looked up sharply. “That’s not protocol.”

And there it was again—that hint of disappointment. Not the loud kind, but the quiet, exhausted one. The one that meant you expected more from him.

He felt it like a gut punch.

“Well, we’ve got enough data from the other three, right?” he offered, trying to sound optimistic.

You hesitated. “Barely. It’s not as conclusive without the fourth set, but… I guess we can still present the trends.”

He nodded quickly, seizing the olive branch. “Yeah. And we’ll figure out how to make up the missing variable later. I’ll talk to Rappaccini.”

You blinked, eyebrows lifting. “Since when do you volunteer for extra lab time?”

He looked down at the pipette in his hands. “Just tryin’ to be better.”

Your gaze lingered on him a second longer, like you didn’t quite believe it. “Is this your attempt at a redemption arc or something?” you asked dryly.

Caleb coughed, recovering fast. “You wish.”

You snorted, but the tension between you didn’t ease. He watched you scribble something in your notebook, your pen tapping against the margin in steady, rhythmic bursts. It was always like this—silent patterns, little rituals you probably didn’t even realize you had. He used to think they were annoying. Now they grounded him.

Now they made his chest feel tight.

He wasn’t sure if it was the spider venom mutating his bloodstream or just… you.

Without a word, you slid your notes across the table toward him. “Here. You’re presenting Part B, right?”

He blinked. “Uh… yeah.” He hesitated, frowning. “You sure you don’t wanna split it more evenly?”

“I’ve got the intro and the methodology,” you said, not meeting his gaze. “I trust you to handle the analysis.”

A pause.

“…Ish.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Ish?”

You smirked, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Well, I did hear you tried to answer a short-answer question last week with ‘vibes.’”

Caleb groaned. “That was in philosophy! It was a joke.”

But you were already standing, packing up your notes with brisk efficiency.

Before he could say something else—maybe something too real, or too vulnerable—Dr. Rappaccini’s assistant poked his head in. “You’re both up next.”

Chairs scraped against tile. Caleb shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, repeating his talking points in his head like a mantra.

Buzz.

His phone vibrated once.

Buzz. Buzz.

Twice more.

You turned to him, already scowling. “Seriously? Put it on Do Not Disturb already.”

“I—sorry,” he mumbled, pulling it out to check.

LINKON PD ALERT: Robbery in progress. 5th & Linwood. Nearby units respond immediately.

His stomach dropped.

Everything in him screamed go. People were in danger. If he waited, if he chose himself—chose you—people could get hurt. But—

Your voice broke through, sharp with disbelief. “Caleb?”

He looked up. Your expression was expectant, slightly nervous. Vulnerable.

You needed him here. Just once.

“I—uh,” he stammered, backing away. “I gotta go.”

Your eyes widened. “What? Caleb, we’re literally about to present!”

“I know, I just—something came up, okay?”

“Caleb!” Your voice was louder now. Shaken. “I— I don’t have your parts practiced! I trusted you!”

“I’m sorry, I just— I gotta go!”

And just like that, he turned and ran.

You stood frozen in the lab, fists clenched, heart hammering. All the missed labs. All the vague excuses. All the silence.

You didn’t know where he was always running off to, and maybe you didn’t care anymore.

But what hurt the most was that a small part of you did, even if it was for a reason you couldn’t name.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

It wasn’t until later that night—or more rather, early the next morning—that Caleb got around to checking his emails. 

His most recent email was from you. 

Subject: I HATE YOU I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU!!!!!!!!!! we got a C+. thanks a lot bucko.  Sent from my iPhone.

Right as he opened it, a Canvas notification pinged at the top of his screen.

Your instructor has updated: Lab Partners – Spring Semester.

His eyes scanned the page.

Lab Partner: None

Lab Partner: None

His slot—and yours—were both empty.

And just like that, the panic he felt in the alleyways of the city wasn’t so different from the one spreading in his chest now.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Caleb spotted you across the dining hall like a spy on a mission, armed with a tray that held exactly one sad cookie and all the dignity of a man facing trial.

You sat at a table with Tara and Yvonne, both mid-conversation while you absently picked at your salad, two chocolate chip cookies lined up beside your bowl like trophies. Unbothered. Thriving. The vision of a girl who had deleted him from a shared spreadsheet like she was erasing a stain.

And the worst part? You hadn’t answered his apology emails.

He swallowed and approached anyway. “Is the second cookie for me, or…?”

You didn’t even glance up. Didn’t have to.

“It’s for my dignity,” you said flatly.

“Ah. So… symbolic.”

“Exactly.”

Yvonne looked between you both and muttered something under her breath about emotional turbulence before grabbing her tray and ghosting out of there. Tara followed a moment later, tossing Caleb a brief good luck with that expression.

Now it was just you, him, and the two cookies between you.

He sat down across from you, setting his tray down with a thud that sounded louder than it should’ve. “Okay, I get that you’re mad—”

“Oh, do you?” Your tone was clipped. “Because ditching me during our presentation with zero warning kinda gave the impression that you dropped the class entirely.”

Caleb winced. “It was an emergency.”

“Right. A life-or-death emergency?”

“Yes.”

And it had been. Just not the kind he could explain.

You finally looked up, eyes sharp and cold, and for a second he forgot what language was. “Well, while you were off saving the world or whatever you’re calling it, I had to present your analysis with no prep. I looked like an idiot.”

“You never look like an idiot,” he said instantly. Too instantly.

You blinked.

He blinked.

“…W-What I meant was—” he started, voice catching.

“Too late.”

“Okay, fair.” He shifted in his seat, suddenly aware of how warm the room was, how close you were, how he could still smell the faint citrus of your shampoo from across the table. “I’m sorry.”

You arched a brow. “For?”

He hesitated. “For… ditching you.”

“And?”

“…And making you carry the project alone.”

You tilted your head, gaze unreadable. “And?”

He exhaled slowly. “And pushing you to the point that you deleted me from the lab spreadsheet like I was some failed experiment.”

You gave a little hum of satisfaction, grabbing one of your cookies and taking an infuriatingly slow bite. “Apology not accepted.”

Caleb slumped. “C’mon. Seriously?”

“Not unless you find a way to make up the points you lost us.”

He narrowed his eyes. “So this is, what—conditional forgiveness?”

“This is consequential forgiveness,” you corrected, calm as anything. “You cost me an A. You’re lucky I haven’t broken a beaker over your head.”

He nodded slowly, a wry smile creeping in. “That… actually feels fair.”

The truth was, he had screwed up. Repeatedly. Not just with the lab, but with the way he’d pulled away from everything lately—classes, responsibilities, you. And maybe what made it worse was that you noticed.

He didn’t want you to notice.

He didn’t want you to care.

But he really didn’t want you to stop.

You held him accountable, and never wavered. It was… refreshing, in a way.

“I’ll figure something out,” he said. “Extra credit or… something. Just—don’t write me off yet.”

You shrugged, licking a crumb from your thumb in a move that was definitely not lethal but still managed to short-circuit his brain. “If you do that, then maybe I’ll consider reinstating you. Maybe.”

Caleb leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“You bailed mid-step,” you easily reminded him. “You’re lucky I didn’t file for academic abandonment.”

“Academic abandonment,” he repeated, chuckling despite himself. “That’s new.”

“I’m submitting the paperwork as we speak.”

“Ooh. Terrifying.”

You didn’t break eye contact as you reached across the table, plucked his lone cookie off his tray, and took a bite.

His eyes widened. “That was mine.”

You chewed. “Should’ve brought two.”

“You’re a menace.”

“You’re a flake.”

“You’re… kinda evil.”

“And you’re lucky I haven’t poisoned your food.”

There was a pause. Not icy, but charged. He looked at you—really looked—and wondered when exactly the rivalry had blurred into this. This feeling in his chest that had nothing to do with radioactive spider venom.

Caleb leaned back, the smile still tugging at the edge of his mouth. “I’m gonna fix this. Mark my words.”

You narrowed your eyes, but something behind them softened. “You better,” you said. “Or next time, I’m eating your entire tray.”

He stood, picking up his tray and muttering as he walked away, “Betrayal stings more when it’s chocolate chip.”

You didn’t answer.

But you were smiling.

Just a little.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Caleb stood outside Dr. Rappaccini office, staring at the little nameplate on the door like it might spare him. It didn’t, of course. He could never be so lucky.

He knocked three times for good measure.

“Come in,” her voice called from inside—calm, efficient, a little like she had five other things she’d rather be doing than speaking to one of her students.

He pushed open the door and stepped inside, trying to look less like someone whose lab partner had asked this very professor to sever their lab partnership.

Rappaccini didn’t look up at first. She was grading with the speed and surgical precision of a woman who’d seen one too many poorly labeled graphs in her day. When she finally glanced up, she set her pen down slowly.

“Mr. Xia,” she said with a forced smile. “I was wondering when you’d crawl out from whatever hole you vanished into.”

Wow. No sugarcoating. Maybe he really had been missing class a bit too much lately.

“I deserve that,” he admitted with a wry grin, hoping it’d earn him brownie points. “Totally fair.”

“Mm.” She leaned back in her chair. “Let me guess. You’re here to ask for extra credit.”

“Sort of. I’m here to ask how I can fix what I broke.”

She stared at him, then gave a dry little laugh. “Well, that’s a refreshing amount of self-awareness. Most students come in blaming poor time management or divine intervention.”

Caleb smiled sheepishly once more. “No lightning strikes or mysterious illnesses. Just… bad decisions. And poor communication.”

She gestured for him to sit. “Your partner already presented the project. I imagine she wasn’t… thrilled.”

“She left me an email that said, ‘I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU’ in all caps, so…” He paused. “I’d have to agree with you there.”

Rappaccini allowed herself the tiniest smirk. “Concise.”

“I’m just… I’m trying to make it right,” he then said. “If there’s anything—and I mean anything—I can do to make up the points for us, I’ll do it.”

There was a long pause as she folded her hands over the stack of papers in front of her.

“Funny you should say that,” she said. “Dr. Connors is running an independent experimental study this month at Oscorp. It involves cellular regeneration—specifically, lizard DNA.”

Caleb blinked. “Lizard DNA?”

“Yes,” she said. “He’s studying regenerative properties—limb re-growth, accelerated healing, that kind of thing. It’s early-stage, but it’s part of a bioengineering cross-collaboration with Oscorp’s pre-clinical research team.”

Caleb sat up a little straighter, curiosity stirring. “And he needs students?”

“Volunteers,” she corrected with a raise of her finger. “No grade boost guaranteed, but participating students will receive consideration toward incomplete assignments if the data is thorough and the effort is there. Both you and your lab partner can volunteer. It’s not easy work, though. It’ll take late nights and actual commitment.”

Caleb asked hesitantly, “Do you think my partner would even want to sign up for this?”

Rappaccini deadpanned. “She already did. Yesterday.”

And once he heard that, Caleb didn’t even hesitate. “Okay. I’m in. I mean—we’re in.”

Rappaccini raised an eyebrow. “That confident?”

“I have to be,” he said. “I need to prove I’m not just… the guy who bails when it matters.”

She nodded slowly, then reached into a drawer and pulled out a small stack of forms. “Here. Fill this out, and bring it to Dr. Connors’ office by the end of the week. Orientation starts Monday.”

He took the form, feeling something like relief start to uncoil in his chest.

“Thank you, Dr. Rappaccini.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she said, picking her pen back up. “This is you digging yourself out of a hole you made. Don’t stop halfway.”

“I won’t.”

“Oh, and Caleb?”

He looked back over his shoulder.

“If you ditch this study the way you ditched that presentation,” she said, looking directly at him, “I will personally request your removal from the department.”

He raised a hand solemnly with a sheepish smile. “Message received, ma’am.”

She went back to grading, placing her glasses on her nose bridge. “Good. Now go earn back your lab partner before she finds someone smarter and… less difficult.”

“Wouldn’t blame her if she did,” Caleb muttered on his way out. But even still, he clutched the Oscorp packet in his hand like it was gold.

Because somewhere between the disaster presentation and the sound of your voice yelling his name as he sprinted away from you… he realized something.

He didn’t just want to make this right for the grade.

He wanted to make it right for you.

series masterlist. ┆ next: soon!

a/n i’m an idiot and forgot to post it without tags, i’m sorry to the taglist bc i tagged you guys like four times 🙁🙁🙁

anyways….. long time no see………. the semester is officially over sooooo i can finally get back to writing. i have a few other wip that i’d like to finish before chapter 5 tho ☝️☝️ currently working on a knight!sylus fic and zayne in a pride and prejudice au :p

taglist. (join it by commenting under this post!)

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[olive-main]

oooo if you’re interested would love to see your take: reader is Azriel’s mate, nobody knows. The inner circle keeps trying to set him up with females (including Elaine & Gwyn). They like reader but don’t view her as an option for being his partner. Lots of angst, she’s hurting, she overhears them saying she’s not an option for him. Up to you what happens for her and Azriel. Loved your last story, and that you wanted more angst ideas!! And if this isn’t what you’re looking for, all good!

Between Us Alone

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel’s mate overhears a conversation that shakes her confidence in their hidden bond, but he reminds her that love, even in shadows, is unbreakable.

Wc: 1.2k

A/N: Annndddd welcome back to our regularly scheduled programming. This time I come with the gift of some fluff (with angst ofc bcs duh—who do y’all think I am?) Enjoy the happy endings while they last…..evil laugh

Masterlist

——

The corridors of the House of Wind were quiet, save for the faint hum of conversation that drifted from Rhysand’s office. You’d gone looking for Azriel, hoping he might steal away from his “boys’ night” early and join you at your shared apartment.

A secret, the two of you. Hidden in plain sight. Quite fitting for Rhysand’s spymasters.

It was exhilarating at first—the quiet smiles across rooms, the fleeting brushes of hands, and the stolen glances when no one else was looking. But there were cracks now, small fissures of insecurity that made you wonder if keeping the bond private had been the right choice.

Your footsteps slowed as you neared Rhys’s office, voices clear now, though you didn’t mean to eavesdrop. You were about to knock when you caught the sound of Cassian’s boisterous laughter.

“Oh, come on, Az,” Cassian said, his tone teasing. “You’ve been spending all that time with Gwyn. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

“Gwyn’s sweet,” Rhysand added. “And she clearly enjoys your company. You’d make a good pair.”

Your heart clenched painfully, the words hitting you like a physical blow.

Azriel’s reply was quieter, almost unreadable. “Gwyn is a friend. I’m not looking for… that.”

Cassian scoffed. “You say that now, but it’s been centuries, Az. When was the last time you even tried to let someone in? Gwyn’s perfect for you—kind, strong, clever. She gets you.”

“She’s not the only option,” Rhys said smoothly. “There are others. Nesta’s mentioned a few priestesses who would be good matches.”

Cassian nodded in agreement. “There’s also Y/N.”

You pressed your hand to the doorframe, your breaths shallow as you heard Cassian say your name.

“No, I don’t see them together. They rarely speak to each other outside of missions and a few shared words at dinners.” Rhysand says with a shake of his head as if the thought of you and Azriel together was the most unlikely thing he could think of.

You shouldn’t have stayed, shouldn’t have listened, but you couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. They didn’t mean to hurt you—you knew that. You’d always been on the periphery of their circle, a friend but never a true equal in their eyes. Azriel’s shadows had been your sanctuary, his quiet love a solace you cherished.

But to hear them speak so casually, as if you weren’t even a possibility…

Azriel’s voice cut through, firm and unyielding. “I don’t need you to play matchmaker. I can handle my own life.”

“You’re avoiding the question,” Cassian said, clearly amused.

“Drop it,” Azriel snapped, his tone brooking no argument.

The room fell silent after that, but the damage was done. You turned and fled, the ache in your chest twisting tighter with every step.

—

The space you shared with Azriel was small but cozy, tucked away in a quiet corner of Velaris where no one thought to look. It was your haven, the only place you could truly be yourselves without prying eyes or whispered questions.

But tonight, it felt suffocating.

You sank onto the couch, wrapping a blanket around yourself as the doubts clawed at your mind.

This charade was necessary. You both knew that. If they ever found out you and Azriel had been together for months—years, now—it would complicate everything. Not just for him, but for you.

As Azriel’s partner, you worked in the shadows as he did, your work as vital and delicate as his own. Secrecy was second nature to you both, and you’d agreed early on that revealing your bond—to anyone—was too risky.

You’d thought you could handle it. But moments like this, when they talked about Azriel’s love life like you didn’t exist, like you weren’t his, made you question how much more you could endure.

You told yourself it wasn’t Azriel’s fault. He hadn’t encouraged them. He’d even told them to stop. But the weight of their words lingered, stirring fears you’d tried so hard to bury.

What if they were right? What if Azriel deserved someone like Gwyn, someone who could stand beside him without the need for secrecy?

You didn’t hear the front door open, too lost in your thoughts to notice the familiar sound of Azriel’s footsteps until he was standing in front of you.

“Something’s wrong,” he said immediately, his hazel eyes scanning your face. His shadows swirled around him, restless and sharp. “What happened?”

You shook your head, forcing a smile. “It’s nothing. Just tired.”

His brow furrowed, and he crouched in front of you, his hands resting gently on your knees. “Don’t lie to me.”

The sincerity in his voice nearly broke you. You looked away, your throat tightening as you tried to hold back tears.

“Y/N,” he said softly, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. “Tell me.”

You hesitated, the words sticking in your throat. But you couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“I went to Rhys’s office,” you admitted quietly. “I was going to find you, but… I heard you all talking.”

Azriel stiffened, his jaw tightening. “What did you hear?” He already knew. There was only one part of the conversation that could’ve had you so distraught.

You swallowed hard. “They… they were trying to set you up with someone. Gwyn, mostly. Rhys mentioned others.” You laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. “They said I wasn’t even an option.”

Azriel’s eyes darkened, his shadows curling tighter around him.

“They didn’t mean it to hurt me, I know that” you added quickly, seeing how Azriel was ready to go back and pummel his brothers. “They don’t know about us. But… it still hurt.”

He exhaled sharply, standing and pacing the room. His hands curled into fists at his sides. “They had no right—”

“They care about you,” you interrupted. “They want you to be happy. And maybe they’re right. Maybe you’d be better off with someone like Gwyn. Someone who—”

“Stop.”

The word was a command, sharp and unyielding. Azriel crossed the room in an instant, kneeling before you again. He took your hands in his, his grip firm but gentle.

“Don’t you dare doubt this,” he said fiercely. “Don’t you dare doubt us.”

Tears spilled over, and he reached up to brush them away, his touch achingly tender.

“You are my mate,” he said, his voice breaking. “You. Not Gwyn, not anyone else. You are the only one I want, the only one I will ever want.”

“But they—”

“They’re idiots,” he said flatly. “I’ll deal with them. But don’t let their ignorance make you doubt what we have.”

You searched his face, finding only unwavering certainty in his eyes.

“I love you,” he said, his voice softening. “More than I thought I was capable of. And I don’t care if they don’t see it. I see it. I feel it.”

A broken laugh escaped you, relief washing over you like a tide. “I love you too.”

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he could shield you from the world.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I never wanted you to feel like this. I thought keeping the bond private would protect us, but if it’s hurting you—”

“It’s not,” you said quickly. “Not really. I just… I needed to hear this. To hear you.”

He pulled back just enough to press his forehead to yours. “You’ll never have to doubt me again.”

——

Aren’t they just so sweet *sigh*. Thank you for reading <3

Requests are still open ;)

[asxgard]

Semper Fi | [2/8]

Dr. Jack Abbot x f!doctor!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: Feelings come to a head after a particularly bad patient interaction.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: I’m so thankful you guys enjoyed the last one so much! I was so nervous to write for Abbot, he doesn’t flow as easily as Robby does for me lol Thank you for the likes, comments and reblogs omg!!

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: age gap, foul language, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies, violence against women/healthcare workers, being bad at feelings, mild pining

not beta read

Between leaving a tea or coffee on your desk at the start of your shift just so he could watch the way you lit up, and him leaving a protein bar on yours to make sure you always ate, something started tangling in your ribs. Completely unnoticeable unless he cracked a rare smile, tugging the strings deep in your chest until you felt the heat. The pull. The ache. You left little sticky notes on his desk, sometimes with a coffee and a smiley face, or one with ‘usual place after shift? I have a sandwich with your name on it’.

You shared silences during sunrise, quiet and soft and content in the company of each other. There was no facade to be found on the roof. Just him. Just you. Unbothered by the stillness, the close contact of skin. No mask to be worn, just an easy smile from you and a gentle gaze from him. It was not completely vulnerable, but it felt just as good.

It felt clean, comfy and completely within control, if it weren’t for the messy feelings in your chest whenever he met your eyes.

It only took a few months for the storm between you two to brew, tense and heavy, finally reaching a breaking point after so many lingering stares and quiet mornings on the roof.

So this argument seemed to come completely out of nowhere.

How had the argument started? Patient care. The tensions were high after a mass pileup and apparently, Abbot thought you were taking too long between patients.

Too slow. Too soft. echoed in your head, not good enough.

You cursed New York for the way the words filled you with dread, ignited by the sight of Abbot’s disappointment.

Even before he had said anything to you, both of you far too caught up in the rush of stabilizing and assessing, the thoughts began to make you angry. Patient care was why you had become a goddamn doctor in the first place, who was he to yell at you about it?

“The time you’re taking, you could’ve already assessed the guy coming off the ambulance already!” While he was not shouting, his voice carried across the busy ED.

You leveled your gaze at him, tone remaining as it had, though your features had flattened into a plain expression, “Will that be all, Dr. Abbot? I don’t think everyone heard you.”

His nostrils flared, his hard gaze never wavering from yours. A thousand words could have been said between you in those few seconds, but you knew none of them mattered. Not when he was snapping at you in front of everyone, not when he had clearly crossed a line.

He moved to help intubate the incoming patient. You turned your attention back to the woman you were assessing for internal bleeding, ordering a CT scan of her head and abdomen. You were able to comfort her while making notes in her chart, irritating sitting heavy in your chest.

After each patient had been settled and cared for, you went to find Abbot. Why was he being so hard on you all of a sudden? It surely wasn’t over patient care, not really. He was a no-nonsense kind of man, something you had come to admire. If he had been annoyed in your turnaround time with patients, he would have said something. He would not have waited for it to boil over in front of everyone. That was unlike him.

You found him in the south hallway, just outside of Trauma 1, tablet in hand. His face was stoic as always, a brutal type of beauty you tried to convince yourself not to see. Sculpted by his experience in the ED, leaving behind sharp edges and an even sharper tongue.

“Would you like me to guess why you’re so frustrated with me? We can make it a fun little game! Guess Why Abbot’s A Total Asshole Today. Or would you rather just chastise me some more in front of the entire ED?” You asked him, folding your arms across your chest. Part of you wanted his approval, and the other part wanted to shove it back in his face.

His dark eyes flicked up, assessing you silently. The quiet brooding type had always easily lured you in—no, no, no. You were mad at him. You were mad at him. You disliked the way his eyes softened, just barely, making your stomach flip again. It burned when you shoved the feelings down your throat to maintain your neutral gaze.

“You don’t get it yet.”

“Please enlighten me, then. I never took you for someone to hold back.”

His sharp eyes were on yours, “Time costs lives, especially in scenarios where we have multiple critical cases coming through the door.”

You scoffed, “It makes sense why the satisfaction scores here are in the fucking toilet. Patients are more than words on a screen or cases to be closed. They’re human beings.”

“Do you think they give a shit? Whether I see them as a human being or a case? Do you think it matters to them when you’re saving their life?”

It felt like deflection.

Your lips finally curved into a frown, frustration bubbling in your stomach, “So you think a few words of comfort are completely useless? Even when it takes just a few seconds of consideration?”

He matched your frown, but something in him finally relented, much to your surprise. You could see him digest your words, and you knew it was the contradiction of everything he had learned in the military and everything he knew as a doctor. Quick efficiency vs mindful consideration.

Your frustration began to evaporate. “Look—”

“If that works for you, don’t let me stop you. Just be more mindful of the time you take.”

And he walked away.

—

Hours ticked by, and your mild irritation sat at a boiling point. It was easy to see Dr. Abbot cared about the patients coming in, but it was always at a distance. It was calculated consideration, not cold callousness that you had thought in the heat of your anger. The patients were not just numbers, or injuries to mend, but perhaps that was easier for him. To assess, treat, move on. Perhaps that was how he compartmentalized.

Your own compartmentalization really was the key that kept you smiling, kept you as the ray of sunshine everyone knew you to be.

You were warm, in just about every aspect of your life, but especially with your patients. Spending time to check in on them, offer them an extra pillow or blanket, to stop and grab them a sandwich if they weren’t on any restrictions. That came as easy as breathing. You knew nothing else.

So when your aggressive patient was being abrasive and combative, you steeled your smile and did what you could. You offered calm words and a cheery bedside manner. You wore a mask of it, of a fake smile, but it protected the real one that laid underneath.

The patient was mad at the world, which had turned him to the bottle, and left him passed out on the sidewalk. He was yelling and you listened, just nodding along, while your eyes scanned over his chart. Ending up in the hospital after drinking too much was not new to this man, which was good information to know.

By the time you turned back to your patient, he was out of his bed and swinging. Despite his staggered gait, one landed directly on your cheek and pain bloomed. You hit the floor with a smack, hands taking most of your weight so your head didn’t hit the tile and all the air was out of your lungs.

You were thankful for the resident passing by, calling security and helping you up. You smiled at Dr. Shen, dusting off your hands before gently touching your cheekbone and wincing.

“For a 0.3, he’s got a mean swing,” you smirked, trying not to be hard on yourself for allowing it to happen.

Dr. Shen just raised an eyebrow at you, “You alright?”

You brushed him off, “Yeah, you mind checking on South-20? I’m going to go get an ice pack.”

He nodded, glancing over your face again before going to do as you asked. You started back to the staff lounge, just to take a minute, get your bearings. You were genuinely surprised any of his hits landed, or landed with much force, due to how drunk he was. Patients had tried before, but you had been more prepared for those.

After snagging an ice pack, you sat down in the lounge. You snacked on a protein bar, and decided once you were done, you would get back to work.

Dr. Abbot rushed into the room like there had been a fire, making you look up at him in confusion. He was in front of you in an instant, crouching down slightly to be eye level with you. He moved the ice pack aside to assess the damage with that calculated look you knew well — but something unknown to you rested in his eyes. You tried not to wince when his fingers found your cheek and his hands stalled, looking into your eyes.

The air around you felt palpable. Like all those lingering touches and softening gazes finally spinning together like a tornado tearing through a town.

He was so close, you could finally see the green in his hazel eyes. They had always looked brown to you when you stood across the hallway. A contentment settled in your mind seeing him up close like this.

“You should see the other guy.” You forced a smile.

His eyebrows moved downward, just a fraction, but easy to tell up close.

“I’m ordering a head CT.” He said softly, thumb tracing lightly across your cheek.

“Whatever for? I’m fine.” You quirked a brow at him. “Nothing a little ice can’t fix.”

“Don’t do that right now. There’s no ‘look on the bright side’ for you to find. You were assaulted.” His voice was tense, eyes flickering over your face in something that edged dangerously close to concern.

One minute an asshole, the next someone who cared? This man was going to give you whiplash.

“Yes, and lesson learned. Don’t turn away even slightly away from drunk, aggressive men. Should’ve already known that one.” You chuckled.

Dr. Abbot stared at you for a long moment, “Can you at least get a CT for my sake, then?”

“Careful, Dr. Abbot. Your asshole edge is slipping.”

A ghost of a smile crossed his face, “Don’t let it go to your head.”

It ignited something hot in your chest, making you grin. You dared to dance just a bit closer to the edge.

“Too late.”

—

Your CT results were normal, and with no other symptoms, Dr. Abbot calmed. He was still mildly irritated, taking over the case of the drunk man and not letting you anywhere near it. His rough edges returned after he left the patient’s room and you could see him stewing in his thoughts much clearer than you ever had before.

The end of your shifts came with a bit of a routine, and this one was no different, watching as Dr. Abbot slipped away to the stairwell that led to the roof. You finished your last chart and followed him.

He was behind the railing this time, leaning on it like it was supporting more than just his weight. While it was still hard to read him, you could see he was deep in thought, looking down at the concrete of the rooftop. You moved closer to him, slowly approaching the railing while looking at the sun on the horizon, burning red and orange.

“Whatever’s going on here, it has to stop.” He refused to look at you. “It won’t work.”

Your breath got caught in your throat, heat washing over your features before you quickly schooled them. You were not one to run from your feelings, but the fragility of what was lingering made it feel like you should have. He was technically your boss. He was older by more than a decade, closer to two if you were being honest with yourself. There was an impossibility there and you were shocked he was even calling attention to it. You had been content with whatever was trying to settle between you, but the thrill of giving it a name was sending the tangled feelings to weave around your heart and squeeze.

You hummed trying to regain your composure, stepping to put your hands along the safety railing, but you did not look over at him, “You say that so definitively. Anything’s possible.”

He looked at you, eyebrows furrowed, “I’m not good at this. You’re gonna get hurt.”

You quirked a brow at him, “There’s fun in discovery.”

“I’m too old for you.”

“Isn’t that my choice to make here?” You asked, voice soft. Each word out of his mouth felt like flimsy excuses, and you might have found it amusing if you didn’t want to prove each one wrong.

“You’re going to regret me.”

But you liked him like you enjoyed summer rain or rolling thunder, how you found peace in darkness or in the rush of wind. Quiet, controlled, powerful, breathtaking.

“Life is too short for regrets, Dr. Abbot.”

Something in him must have given way, because his lips were on yours in the next breath, startling you. It was like finally giving into the tide pulling you in, and the relief of it shocked through your entire system. You were quick to respond to him, all of your feelings exploding like an array of fireworks in your chest at the feel of him. Rough and warm and undeniably addictive.

“Fuckin’ call me Jack.” He breathed against your lips, noses touching.

You found yourself smiling at him, “Only if you stop being an absolute ass.”

He considered it, “I think I can make an exception. For you.”

You kissed him again, the sunrise burning against your back, hands going to his cheeks. He was quick to wrap you in his arms, pulling you flush against him, careful of the bruise on your cheek. He hummed against your mouth, his tongue slipping easily inside, tasting like bitter coffee and something sweet.

“Let me make sure you get home safe, yeah?”

“Jeez, buy me dinner first, will you?”

“What about breakfast? There’s a diner a few blocks away.”

You agreed quickly before he had a moment to doubt it.

[ Next ]

want to join the any of my taglists? shoot me a message!

All Dr Abbot Content Taglist: @flyinglama @valhallavalkyrie9

All The Pitt Content Taglist: @cannonindeez

Jack is so It Will Come Back by Hozier coded omg I love that man

[iannmin]

HEAD OVER HEELS | p.sh 박성화

pairings + warnings: heels!obssessed!hwa x fem!reader, creampie, breeding kink (literally breeding everywhere >_<), just pure smut so mdni! 18+, unprotected sex, exhibitionism (?)

synopsis: “get hot on ya heels”

a/n: just got some inspiration looking at some of the reblogs from my previous works on hwa and one of them said that hwa may have a kink of loving to their s/o in heels, so credits to whoever who said that i love you

୨୧ ‘ masterlist ‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

you owned a lot of heels, but “a lot” would definitely be an understatement. the heels came in tens, even dozens - from the classic YSL’s to the fancy Dolce & Gabbana’s, but regardless the type, it all boiled down to a single reason: park seonghwa.

hwa would always buy you heels everytime he goes out for shopping with his bandmates. his poor and innocent friends thought that it was “nothing more than an act of love” but oh,, you knew for sure that it wasn’t. it was simple, really, he loved how you looked in them when you two were having a lil baby making session <3. so when he hastily kicked off his shoes and fumbled his way over to the bedroom at one in the morning where you were just about to tuck yourself to bed,, you weren’t surprise at all.

“jagiya, look hehe” he shook the huge shopping bag, smug look smeared all over his face. “let’s do it now” don’t get mistaken,, hwa had his priorities set straight so he didn’t care one bit when he carelessly tore the luxurious Louis Vuitton wrapping in half like a spoilt child. you barely uttered a reply but he was already holding both of your ankles, slipping on the wine red heels on your feet. it took a few moments for hwa to soak in the sight - you in his plain white tee with your lace panties coupled with the pair of high heels….god,, and when it finally came to him, hwa could only mumble “f-fuck…s’pretty….gonna ruin you princess” before instantly reaching for the buckles on his belt.

jeans and belt pooling around his knees with his veiny cock slapping against his abdomen, he set you up in a mating press, hooking both of your legs over his shoulder. gently kissing each side of your ankles, he aligned his girthy tip against your hole.

“hah…fuck…wanna breed you so bad…you’ll be such a pretty mommy f’me” *schlop!* in an instant, his hips slammed tightly against yours and his girthy base came into contact with your folds. that’s it. seven-inch all in at once. this was the feeling you’d never seemed to get used to no matter how many times the both of you did it, so it got you instantly gripping on hwa’s shoulder blades. “nnnggh….hwa…feels s’full…s’good...” tears were threatening to spill from your eyes, so he reached in for a sloppy kiss, a string of saliva connecting from both of your coated lips.

but,, of course you were wrong to think that it was the end because hwa was pussy-drunk. extremely drunk with the thought of you. all he desired was to pound that tight pussy loose and watch it seep with his cum. so he did exactly that. with sweaty bangs sticking to his forehead, he buried his head into your neck, deep groans casting vibrations against your skin. with every hard thrust, your nails dug deeper into his shoulders, whimpers turning a pitch higher. "h-hwa...gonna cum..."

"hold on for me princess, i wanna try something.." hwa instantly flipped you on your stomach - ass up, face down in a doggy-style position, and when he entered your sensitive hole again to continue his pounding ordeal, you swear you felt his cock reach in about an inch deeper. oh boy,, you were going to lose your mind very soon.

it took the both of you no more than half a minute to reach your highs and when it did, it felt straight out of a porn scene. with hwa's groans turned into nothing but an endless chant of curses and high-pitched whimpers, and your moans turned into broken sobs, he pressed his hip as deep as it could have gone against yours, releasing loads and loads of hot white cum, filling you up full. and when hwa finally pulled out, his cum was everywhere - seeping out of your hole, dripping down your thighs and heels, coating your wine-red heels in a layer of translucent fluid. he hate to admit it but the sight of you nearly got him hard again.

"fuck...princess, i love you so much, could do this everyday"