[hunnismokah]

lets just get this started,

hi everynyan!!

i’m sorry ive been gone, ive had a really hectic time but always in a good way. so many new opportunities and chances to learn new skills. happy i could take some time to update my blog on here!

i will be spamming your timeline today with all the art ive made after leaving tumblr, tw its juicy as hell 😈

feel free to block me if it becomes oversaturated with bunni content :3!

here’s a yuta spread!

[dumbfawngirl]

holy shit.

he’s never looked better.

[yvilonion]

fahdurhood

[sunsetagain]

After the gods of twilight fell, all that remained was a thick dusting of gold on someone's lashes.

"You want to see if my tears are made of gold? All right, I'll cry for you next time."

Inspired by Alexandre Cabanel's The Fallen Angel

[mxraclips]

Love Me JMSN

[sayangrafayel]

Pre-relationship ZayneMC

Greyson: You guys look good together.

Yvonne: I agree.

Zayne: What..?

MC: They're shipping us.

Zayne: To where?

[dollgxtz]

A Dragon's Claim

Word Count: 10.9k

Tags: dragon!sylus x fem!reader, smut, cunnilingus, breeding, creampies, biting, slight injury, some bleeding, primal kink, courting rituals, mating rituals, sylus has two cocks :333

Summary: Sylus begins to act strange and you think he may have caught some sort of illness. He's strangely warm, irritable and eating more. However this "illness" turns out to be more intense than you could have ever imagined... (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ )

"You're wrong," he murmurs, voice husky and edged with something raw. "You’re fertile. I can smell it on you." You freeze. His lips ghost just beneath your ear as he continues, tone smooth and reverent. "Your scent is different now—sweet, ripe, like fruit at the peak of bloom. The warmth of your skin, the rhythm of your pulse...your body sings to mine in ways you cannot hear. But I do." His hand tightens at your waist, possessive, anchoring you to him like you might drift away otherwise. The heat in his eyes is no longer just desire—it is intention, it is instinct honed over centuries, it is him answering a call your body didn’t even know it had made. "You're ready. Now," he growls, the final word laced with a quiet sort of reverence, as if he were speaking a truth ordained by something far older than either of you.

AN: Okay so, this fic was SO fun to write I may have gotten a little carried away hehe. This was a little bit out of my comfort zone but I am so happy with it!! Plus it was about time I did a oneshot for dragon!sylus. After what he went through he deserves as many babies as he wants ;(

Enjoy!!

Sylus had been unusually irritable lately, and it wasn’t just in the way he grunted or snapped when spoken to—it was in everything. His eyes seemed sharper, flicking around like he was constantly on edge, and his tail, which normally lay relaxed behind him, had developed a twitchy, agitated flick. He wasn’t acting like the level-headed fiend you’d come to know and love.

Even he seemed aware of the shift; there were moments he paused mid-sentence or mid-motion, as if catching himself acting out of character. When he returned to the cave after hunting, he couldn’t seem to keep still. He paced the stone floor in restless circles, ran his claws along the wall, muttered to himself under his breath. His whole body seemed to vibrate with pent-up energy, with something unspoken roiling beneath the surface.

His appetite had doubled, maybe even tripled. He devoured whatever meat, vegetables, or fruit he managed to scavenge or hunt for the both of you, sometimes not even bothering to sit down before tearing into it. He would eat so quickly it was like he hadn’t tasted food in days, and when he was done, he still looked unsatisfied. It was primal, instinctive, like something inside him was demanding more than he could give it.

And then there was the heat.

He’d started to feel noticeably warm to the touch, which was strange for a reptile. The first time you noticed it was when he brushed past you, and you flinched, startled by the heat radiating off his skin. Since then, it had only intensified. Whenever he hugged you, lingered too close, or let his fingers graze your arm, you felt it—his body running hot, almost feverish. It was unnerving. And his touches had changed too. They weren’t violent, but they carried a kind of hunger, an urgency that hadn’t been there before. He gripped a little tighter, held on a little longer. Like proximity alone wasn’t enough to settle whatever storm was brewing inside him.

It worried you terribly. Was he getting sick? Could dragons even get sick? The question gnawed at your thoughts, carving out little pits of anxiety in your chest no matter how often you tried to push it away. The heat that seemed to bleed from his skin, the sharp glint in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, the unpredictable mood swings and restlessness...it all felt off. Like something inside him had shifted, and you didn’t know if it was something natural or something dangerous. You'd never seen him like this. He wasn’t just irritable, he was volatile. Every movement held tension, like he was wound too tightly and one wrong word might snap him in two.

You knew better than to voice your concerns aloud. Suggesting he try any kind of human treatment would go over about as well as trying to leash a wildfire. He’d scoff, roll his eyes, and brush you off with a dismissive sigh. Sylus was proud, fiercely so. Stubborn as a stone wall, and not exactly someone who tolerated being fussed over. An illness? He'd laugh at the implication.

Still, you couldn’t just sit back and watch him burn from the inside out.

So the next time he finally dozed off—after hours of pacing, mumbling under his breath, and tossing scraps into the fire like they’d wronged him personally—you waited until his breathing evened out and his face slackened. He lay sprawled out on the nest of furs you’d both piled near the hearth, the orange firelight casting shadows across his angular features. One arm was thrown loosely over his chest, the other curled slightly beside him. His chest rose and fell in a rhythm that looked almost peaceful. Almost.

You moved with painstaking care, the cool, damp cloth in your hand trembling slightly from how tightly you gripped it. Your feet barely made a sound against the stone floor as you approached, every step deliberate. When you reached his side, you crouched slowly, heart hammering so loudly you were sure it might wake him before you even got the chance to touch him. You leaned in, gently pressing the rag to his brow, hoping the cold would cut through the heat pouring off of him like he was lit from within.

For a brief moment, you felt relief. He didn’t stir. Maybe, just maybe, he would sleep through this.

But then something shifted.

Without warning, a firm pressure clamped around your wrist. You gasped, flinching, and the rag slipped from your fingers. Your gaze dropped, heart stalling in your chest, as you realized his tail had slithered around your arm in one smooth, silent motion. Like it had a mind of its own.

His eyes snapped open a second later, glowing faintly in the dim light, red pupils slitted and sharp. He looked at you without blinking, like he’d known what you were sneaking up on him the entire time.

"And what exactly do you think you're doing?" he murmured, voice husky with sleep and something else—something darker. There was a flicker of amusement there, curling at the corners of his lips, but beneath it was something far more intense. Possessive. Primal. Like he wasn’t just waking up, but awakening to something deeper.

You swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry. Your heart thundered against your ribs like it wanted to escape.

You opened your mouth to answer, but the words caught in your throat, stuck somewhere between nervousness, concern and something you couldn’t name.

"I'm helping you, silly. You're sick," you mumble, voice soft but threaded with a note of stubborn concern. Your lips purse, irritation flickering across your features as you glance down at the thick coil of his tail still looped possessively around your wrist. "Now let go of me," you add, trying to sound firm despite the tremor in your voice.

To your surprise, he does. The tension releases almost instantly, the pressure around your wrist vanishing as his tail retreats. You exhale a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, rubbing at your skin where the warmth lingered.

"I am not unwell," he says after a pause, voice rich and steady, threaded with an unmistakable certainty. "Only mortals burn with fever."

You frown, eyebrows drawing together in quiet frustration. "Yeah, but... you've been acting really strange lately," you reply, your voice lowering, touched now with genuine worry. "You’re restless, snappy, and you never eat this much. I just...I want to make sure you’re okay. That you’re not hurting."

The confession slips out before you can think better of it. You stare at him for a moment longer, searching his unreadable expression for some crack, some tell that might confirm or deny what your instincts have been screaming.

And then you move, slow and tentative, inching closer to him as if drawn by an invisible force. When you rest your head lightly against his chest, you feel the heat radiating off him in waves, hotter now than it had been earlier. His body is solid beneath you, unmoving, as if he’s forgotten how to breathe. The sound of his heartbeat thuds against your ear, rapid and deep, like a distant drum.

You think, for a moment, that he might relax.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, his entire frame stiffens. There’s a flash of tension through his shoulders, and then his tail moves again—but not with the idle instinct of before. It wraps around your waist in a slow, deliberate spiral, the grip firm but not cruel. He lifts you effortlessly, his strength startling in its subtlety, and then plants you down several feet away from him.

You blink, stunned, arms still half outstretched in the air where you had been.

The new distance between you is not just physical. It feels like a chasm, sudden and inexplicable, heavy with all the things he won’t say. You sit in silence for a heartbeat too long, the echo of his rejection ringing in your chest like a hollow bell.

He avoids your gaze, eyes cast to the fire, jaw clenched tightly.

"Hey! You can't ju—" you begin, voice raised in disbelief, frustration bubbling over—but the look he gives you stops you dead in your tracks. It's not angry or loud, but it carries a quiet authority that slices through the air like a blade. His eyes flash with a warning, cold and unreadable.

"Silence, love. Sleep on the other side of the cave tonight," he says, each word deliberate, clipped. There is no room for negotiation in his tone. It’s final. Commanding. His eyes close again, as if your protest doesn’t deserve his attention. Like the matter is already settled in his mind.

The dismissal stings more than you expect.

It hits like a slap, raw and disorienting. You reel back a step, mouth parting slightly as you try to process the flood of emotion that crashes down on you all at once. Hurt. Confusion. Anger. They churn in your chest, thick and suffocating. What the hell? All you had done was try to help. You had stayed up, watched over him, worried yourself sick, and this was how he repaid you? By pushing you away like a child being told to go to their room?

Ugh. Stubborn. Always so impossibly, frustratingly stubborn.

Your jaw tightens as the ache behind your eyes starts to burn. He didn’t get to do this. Not after everything. If he thought you were just going to walk away, tuck yourself into the far corner of the cave like a scolded pet and let him suffer in silence, he clearly didn’t know you as well as he should.

Because humans don’t give up on the ones they love.

"Sylus!" you bark, louder this time, anger sharpening your voice. You stomp across the stone floor toward him, every step punctuated by the slap of your feet and the pounding of your heart. "You know I’m not doing that! I’m not going to just curl up in the corner like you didn’t just say that to me!"

He says nothing, but you can see his jaw twitch. That slow, deliberate breath leaves his nostrils again—heavy, controlled. Tired. Still, he doesn’t open his eyes. Doesn’t look at you. It’s like he's deliberately trying to sever whatever invisible thread connects the two of you.

You press your palms into your thighs, trying to ground yourself, fighting the overwhelming desire to scream. "What is wrong with you? Just talk to me! Look at me! Say anything!"

But all you receive is silence. Stubborn, infuriating silence.

Your fists tighten at your sides. The cold cavern air suddenly feels stifling.

Fine. You could be stubborn too.

Without thinking, you finish crossing the cave, heart pounding loud enough to drown out your better judgment. Every step echoes with stubborn purpose as you close the gap he created between you. You don't hesitate. You don’t ask. You simply act—climbing over him, swinging a leg across his large body, and settling yourself squarely atop his waist. The furs beneath you shift and rustle, but he doesn’t stop you. His brow furrows slightly, the only sign he even notices, but otherwise, he remains infuriatingly still.

Still silent. Still distant.

You lean down slowly, hands braced on either side of his torso, and fix your gaze on his face, searching for some flicker of emotion—anything to tell you he’s still there beneath the silence. The heat rolling off of him is overwhelming up close, like standing too near a smoldering hearth. It curls around you, prickling your skin, quickening your breath. The air feels thick, heavy with unspoken things.

"Sylus..." you murmur, your voice low, raw with feeling.

No response.

"Sylus! I know you can hear me!" you bark, sharper now, frustration rising with each second he continues to ignore you. Your heart twists painfully.

Still nothing.

You sigh, the sound long and defeated, your chest aching with the weight of his silence. Carefully, gently, you lower your forehead to his, hoping maybe the closeness will shake something loose. His skin burns beneath yours, unnaturally warm.

"I just want to know what’s wrong with you," you whisper, voice so quiet it nearly disappears in the cavern's stillness. "Guess your species are terrible communicators."

Still, he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t open his eyes. But you feel it—something in him coiling tight, like a rope being pulled taut. He may be still, but he’s not unaffected. Something inside him is shifting, stirred by your proximity, your touch.

Acting on instinct and desperation, you close the small distance between your mouths and press a kiss to his lips. It’s meant to be fleeting, a soft reassurance. But it lingers. Longer than it should. Your lips stay, pressed gently to his, drawn in by the heat, the subtle shape of his mouth, the restraint that pulses beneath his immobility. Your eyes slip closed as your hands move—one cupping the side of his jaw, the other resting on his chest, feeling the erratic beat of his heart.

Then you feel it. A breath. Deeper. Shakier. His chest rises and falls faster.

And in a blink, the world flips.

One moment you’re above him, tethered by warmth and hope—the next, you’re on your back, the furs catching your fall as a gasp escapes you. "Ah!" The air leaves your lungs in a rush. Your eyes fly open to find him hovering above you, strong arms braced on either side of your head. His large body cages yours in completely, heat surrounding you like a second skin.

His eyes are open now. And they are glowing.

There is something feral in his expression—not cruel, but ancient and wild and hungry. His gaze drags across your face with a depth that makes your breath hitch. Every inch of him is tense, restrained, as if holding back something that wants very badly to be unleashed.

He still hasn’t spoken.

But he is no longer ignoring you.

"You're making it very difficult to control myself, love," he growls, his voice like gravel softened by heat, thick with restraint and something darker coiled beneath it. The words roll over your skin just moments before his lips do. His breath fans against your neck—a warning, a promise—before he dips his head, and you feel the sharp, precise puncture of his teeth sinking into your skin.

This isn’t a playful nip. This isn’t a teasing show of dominance. His bite breaks the surface, deliberate and deep. You feel the sharp pain bloom instantly, a white-hot flash that steals the breath from your lungs. A gasp escapes you—startled, raw—and your hands fly up to clutch at his shoulders. Your fingers dig into him as your back arches against the sensation. Warm blood trickles down your shoulder, and your skin tingles where it flows.

You weren’t unfamiliar with Sylus's biting. He'd always had a possessive streak that came through when things turned intimate or emotional. But this—this felt different. It felt desperate. Like he was trying to root himself in you. Like something inside him was slipping, and you were the only thing keeping him from losing his grip.

His mouth lingers at your neck, his lips now parted just slightly. You feel the tremor in his breath before his tongue slips out and glides across the bite. Slow. Deliberate. He licks away the blood he’d drawn, and the pain dulls under the hot, wet press of his mouth. In its place comes a deep, spiraling heat that blooms low in your belly, tightening your grip on him.

"S-Sylus..." you breathe, barely able to form the words. Your voice trembles. "If you were just...er, in need—you know I would've helped you ages ago."

Still, he doesn’t answer.

You feel the way his body stiffens slightly against you. His hand slides up along your side, slow and controlled, as though he’s still deciding what to do with the storm inside him. Then, he leans in again and presses his lips gently to your neck, just beside the wound. This time, the touch is less claiming and more conflicted—like he's trying to soothe something in himself rather than stake another claim.

He stays there for a long moment, breathing in the scent of your skin, your blood, your closeness. You feel the tremble in his chest where it presses against yours, the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers twitch as though resisting the urge to hold you tighter. The cavern feels impossibly still around you, as if the very walls are holding their breath.

At last, he lifts his head. His eyes meet yours, and for the first time tonight, he looks completely unguarded. They glow faintly, with a trace of something wild, but it’s the emotion in them that catches your breath—raw, aching, afraid.

"It's more than that," he says, his voice rough and frayed at the edges. Not defensive. Not ashamed. Just...honest. Like every word costs him more than he knows how to show.

You stare at him, heart hammering, throat tightening.

Oh no. It's bad news, isn't it?

The thought slams into you with the force of a crashing wave, stealing the air from your lungs. You blink rapidly, trying to keep your vision clear, but the sting in your eyes wins. Tears begin to well, hot and fast, blurring the edges of your world as your chest tightens with dread. Something in his voice, in the way he looked at you—it had to mean something terrible. Something irreversible.

"What is it? Please tell me you're okay!" you blurt out, your voice cracking and shaking as panic rises up your throat. Your hands cling tighter to him, desperate and trembling, fingers curling into the fabric of whatever covers his back. As if somehow, your grip could keep him from slipping away. As if love alone could hold back whatever awful truth he was about to reveal.

Sylus blinks, visibly startled by your sudden burst of emotion. The intensity in your voice clearly catches him off guard. His eyes, once glowing with wild tension, soften slightly. His expression shifts—no longer hard and guarded, but touched with a flicker of something else. Something gentler.

Wordlessly, he draws you closer. His arms wrap around you more securely, with purpose now. Not to restrain, but to reassure. His hands press to your back, his warmth enveloping you like a cocoon. His voice, when he finally speaks, is low and deliberate. A slow drag of velvet.

"No need to fret," he murmurs. "All is well."

You pull back just enough to look up at him, eyes wide, your breath caught halfway in your lungs. Your heart pounds in your ears. There’s a moment of suspended silence where you brace yourself for the real answer.

"It's just mating season."

You freeze. Your body goes still, and your mind... blanks.

Of all the explanations you had been preparing for—a curse, an ancient affliction, some kind of irreversible breakdown of his control—that had not even crossed your mind.

Mating season?

You blink once. Twice. And then the realization crashes over you, dragging with it a rush of relief and a sudden, absurd clarity. The heat, the irritability, the pacing, the biting, the overwhelming hunger—both physical and something deeper. It all made sense now. It fit together like puzzle pieces you hadn’t realized you were holding.

You let out a breathless huff, lips parting as the tension begins to unravel inside you.

And then you laugh.

A full, startled, ridiculous laugh bubbles up from your chest and bursts free before you can stop it. It catches you completely off guard, but you can’t hold it in. The absurdity of it all—the sheer contrast between what you imagined and what it actually was—breaks something loose in you.

You double over slightly, pressing your forehead into his collarbone as your shoulders shake with the sound. It’s laughter born of relief, disbelief, and the strange, heady rush of realizing everything isn’t falling apart.

Sylus stares down at you in silence, his eyes narrowing slightly. Clearly, he doesn’t find your reaction particularly amusing. If anything, his expression deepens into a look of resigned irritation, as if this wasn’t quite the response he expected.

But still, he doesn’t pull away. His arms stay around you, anchoring you to him, the heat of his body steady and real. His tail curls lightly around your leg, a quiet, instinctive motion. Protective. Possessive.

And despite the glare he levels at the top of your head, there’s no real venom behind it. He lets you laugh, lets you melt the fear from your chest with every shaky breath, until your voice begins to soften again.

Eventually, you lift your head, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand.

"Is something humorous?" he asks, his voice low, edged with a faint note of offense, though there is no true malice behind it. His eyes narrow slightly as they study your face, as though trying to decipher the cause of your sudden laughter. But even in his quiet suspicion, his arms never loosen their hold around you. If anything, he draws you closer.

You shake your head quickly, the laughter dying in your throat as a rush of guilt creeps in. "Honestly, you had me scared" you say, your voice softening, breaking slightly at the end. "I really thought you were going to die on me."

That doesn't seem to ease him. He exhales through his nose in a deep, low grunt—not dismissive, but something closer to acknowledgment. The sound vibrates against your body, a warm, strange comfort. Then, with a fluid, instinctive movement, he adjusts your positions. His strength is effortless as he shifts, guiding you until you're lying beside him on the furs, your body drawn into his larger frame like a puzzle piece clicking into place.

His arm curls around your waist, securing you against his chest. It isn’t just for comfort—there is something possessive in the gesture, protective, as if he’s anchoring you there by will alone. The heat of him envelops you entirely, bleeding into your limbs until the cold stone floor feels like a distant memory.

"Does this mean..." you begin, your voice barely more than a whisper. But the thought drifts before it finishes, scattered like leaves on the wind. You have so many questions tumbling through your mind: What does this mean for him? For you? Is this temporary? Instinct? A sign of something deeper? But they all blur at the edges, softening under the pull of exhaustion.

Your body is finally registering the toll of the night. You had stayed up far too late, keeping vigil while Sylus paced, brooded, fought himself in silence. You hadn't let yourself rest until he did. Now, the weight of sleeplessness pulls at your limbs like gravity, and your eyelids feel impossibly heavy.

Outside, the first blush of morning glows gently. Sunlight begins to pour through the narrow cracks in the rock that serves as the cave’s natural door. The pale beams stretch across the stone floor like golden fingers, warming the air with soft radiance. The quiet sounds of the wilderness beyond stir faintly, muted by distance—birds beginning their morning calls, wind rustling through high branches.

Sylus doesn’t answer your unfinished thought. He merely presses closer, lowering his head to the crook of your neck. His breath fans across your skin in slow, even waves, and the low, rhythmic sound that rumbles from his chest is unmistakable. A purr. Deep and velvety. Content.

The sound settles into your bones, a vibration that eases the tightness from your shoulders and lulls the last frayed edges of fear from your heart. There is something incredibly grounding about it—like being cradled by the earth itself. One of his hands rests on your waist, fingers spread, as if silently promising that you are safe, that he will not let go.

You close your eyes, breathing in the scent of smoke and warmth and him. Despite the adrenaline, despite the questions that remain unanswered, your body begins to let go. Your thoughts drift. His purring fills the quiet like a lullaby spun from heat and breath and unspoken devotion.

Sleep takes you gently.

And you surrender to it, wrapped in Sylus’s arms, as the light of a new day filters through stone and silence alike.

As the days passed, you began to notice other, more subtle changes in Sylus's behavior—the kind of shifts that spoke not just of mood, but of instinct, of ritual. Of purpose.

It started gradually. At first, it was the gifts. Sylus had always brought you little trinkets here and there—a gleaming stone from a riverbed, a silver ring once forgotten in the ruins of some fallen estate, or a flower pressed flat and preserved between scraps of parchment. But now? Now he returned from his ventures with arms full of treasure.

You began to receive things that looked as though they had been pulled from the vaults of kings. Gemstones the size of your knuckles. Necklaces heavy with gold and set with fire-bright opals. Crowns, actual crowns, one with a missing jewel that he promised to "replace shortly." Delicate filigree bracelets and earrings of such craftsmanship that you wondered if they had come from the hands of mortals at all.

You accepted them, of course. How could you not? They dazzled the eye and stirred something deep within your chest—awe, gratitude, wonder. And then there was the way Sylus looked at you when you accepted each piece. The way he watched your reactions with quiet intensity, hunger and satisfaction warring in his gaze as your fingers traced the contours of every offered treasure.

"Is this suitable to your liking, beloved?" he would ask, voice a rich hum in your ear. There was always a thread of tension in his tone, a need that ran deeper than pride.

You’d smile and nod, sometimes laughing softly at the extravagance, sometimes whispering thanks as you leaned into his warmth. That always seemed to satisfy him. His shoulders would relax, his tail would curl in closer around you, and a low purr would rumble from deep in his chest.

And the gifts didn’t stop with jewels and gold.

His hunting habits changed too. Where once he had returned with modest catches—a brace of rabbits, a string of fish, the occasional deer—now he came back with trophies that left you reeling. Massive elk, towering wild boars with tusks the length of your forearm. Game that would feed you both for weeks. And then, one evening, he returned dragging behind him the largest bear you had ever seen.

Its massive body sprawled across the cave entrance like something out of legend. Thick fur matted with snow and blood, claws that could gouge stone. You stood frozen in the firelight, staring at it, unsure whether to marvel or panic.

Sylus merely stood beside it, chin slightly raised, one clawed hand resting on its flank like a proud hunter presenting a trophy.

"For you," he said simply, as if it were nothing.

You had blinked at him, stunned. "Sylus, I...I don’t even know how to cook that."

He grinned, utterly unbothered. "Then I will learn."

The gifts. The feasts. The constant nearness. The careful watching of your every reaction. You had thought it was simply Sylus being more open, more affectionate in the wake of your recent closeness.

You were trying not to overthink it. Truly, you were. Every part of you wanted to believe that all the changes were just instinct, affection taken to a slightly obsessive level. You’d chalked up the treasure hoarding, the feasts, the increased proximity, the way he hovered just a little too closely sometimes—all of it to simple fondness. Maybe even a primal form of love. But nothing could have prepared you for what awaited you after returning from a brisk walk one particularly chilly afternoon.

The moment you stepped through the threshold of the cave, you froze in place, heart lurching with confusion.

Sylus had completely transformed everything.

Gone were the scattered, mismatched piles of pelts, the half-organized piles of gold, the signs of his usual indifference to comfort or aesthetic. In their place was something deliberate. Thoughtful. Nest-like. The entire back of the cave had been cleared and restructured, centered around an enormous bed of furs that had been meticulously arranged. It looked almost ceremonial in its care.

The old sleeping area had been expanded, padded with thick layers of fur and hide—including the bear pelt from the beast he had dragged home days ago. It now lined the center of the nest, skinned, cleaned and softened into a thick, luxurious base. Softer animal hides had been layered on top, and the perimeter was reinforced with woven branches, dried moss, and feathers, creating a barrier of warmth and comfort.

It wasn’t just for practicality. It was beautiful.

There were little details everywhere. Smooth stones from your favorite riverbank placed in a pattern near the fire pit. Bits of dried herbs—the ones you loved for tea or the scent they gave when burned—tucked into the seams of the bedding. A string of beads you thought you’d lost was now nestled between two thick furs, as if it had been intentionally displayed.

You stood there for several seconds, mouth slightly open, completely unprepared.

"Sylus..." you breathed, your voice caught somewhere between awe and bewilderment. "What’s the meaning of all this?"

He looked up at you from where he knelt, smoothing out the bear fur with surprising tenderness. His expression was completely unreadable. Calm. Focused. As if this were the most natural thing in the world. "You were shivering at night," he said simply. "This will keep you warmer."

That might have been enough for anyone else. Practical. Logical. An easy excuse.

But his eyes told a different story.

He watched you too closely. Not just to gauge your reaction—but to savor it. There was something ancient and yearning behind the glow in his eyes, something that vibrated in the silence between his words. He was waiting. Not for your thanks, but for your approval.

Noticing your lack of response, Sylus's expression begins to shift. The warmth in his eyes dims, replaced by something sterner, more guarded. His tail flicks once behind him—a sharp, agitated motion that echoes his growing unease. He straightens his spine, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.

"Do you not like it?" he asks, his voice quieter now but unmistakably tense. There’s something beneath his words that makes your chest tighten—disappointment, certainly. But also something rawer. Doubt. Hurt. The faint tremor of vulnerability from someone unaccustomed to feeling exposed.

Your eyes widen, and guilt rises quickly in your throat. You hadn't meant to be silent for so long. You were simply overwhelmed—by the effort, by the meaning behind it all. But now, seeing the shift in his posture, the way his eyes avoid yours, you realize how that silence must have come off.

You quickly close the space between you, reaching out instinctively. Your hands lift to cradle his face, palms warm against his heated skin. You guide his gaze back to you, gently but insistently, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. His eyes flicker up to meet yours, searching your face as though still bracing for rejection.

"No," you say softly, firmly, your voice thick with emotion. "I love it. I really do. It's beautiful. I just...I don’t understand why. You don’t have to do all this. The gifts, the meat, the rearranging—I was already happy. I was perfectly content with how things were before."

Sylus doesn’t recoil. Instead, he leans into your touch just slightly, as though the reassurance eases something deep in his chest. The tightness in his shoulders begins to uncoil, and the tension etched into his brow softens. A quiet exhale escapes him, almost inaudible.

"You laughed," he murmurs after a moment, his voice roughened by something too ancient to be called simple sorrow. "When I spoke of mating season. I assumed then that you deemed me unworthy as a mate—ill-fitted to claim or keep one such as you."

You blink, taken aback. The memory of that moment resurfaces—your burst of laughter, the disbelief, the release of tension you hadn’t realized he was carrying so heavily. It hadn’t been mockery. But now, you see how it must have been received by someone like Sylus—a creature whose understanding of humor, especially human levity in the face of instinct, is limited by centuries of solemn tradition and a worldview where gestures hold more meaning than words. 

"So...the jewels? The meat?" you ask gently, your voice cracking slightly as realization begins to sink in.

He lets out a low, almost frustrated huff, glancing to the side. His tail curls around one of your ankles without thought, anchoring you to him in a quiet, possessive motion. "To prove I can provide for you," he says simply. "And for our offspring that I hoped you'd bear."

The words hit you like a wave, your breath catching in your throat. Your heart swells and shatters at once, a knot forming deep in your chest. He really wanted a baby with you? To form new life? With you??

Because that was it, wasn’t it? This powerful, ancient creature—so feared, so composed, so unreadable to others—was doing everything in his power to show you his worth. Not by demanding your affection or asserting his claim, but by showing you how he could build a life around you. Make a place for you. Prepare for a future, one you hadn’t even considered yet.

He had rearranged his entire world to make space for you in it. Courted you to prove himself just as many of his species had done with their mates.

You looked at him now with new eyes, your throat tightening as you caressed the edge of his jaw.

"Sylus...you don’t have to prove anything to me. I never doubted your strength. I never doubted you for a single second. Sometimes humans laugh when we feel relieved. That's all."

You notice that he seemed to perk up ever so slightly, though his expression remained unreadable. His posture straightened by a fraction, the glow in his eyes shifting with something new—not quite relief, but intrigue. A subtle ripple of tension unwound in his shoulders, though he tried to mask it.

"Mortals laugh when they feel better?" he asked, voice low and gravelly, as if the question itself was unfamiliar. There was a curious tilt to his head, the tone almost scholarly—as if he were cataloging your species' behaviors like one would study a rare flame.

You nodded, giving him a gentle smile. "Yes. Laughter is...a release. I wasn’t mocking you, Sylus. I was relieved. It meant you weren’t dying. And...I think you would make a wonderful mate. And father. To our baby."

His grip on you suddenly shifted, tightening with sudden purpose. Not in a threatening way, but in a way that grounded you firmly against him—possessive, almost reverent. His pupils expanded rapidly, red irises eclipsed by black. A primal heat surged behind his gaze, burning steady and intent. You felt the growl in his chest before it even reached his lips, a low, rumbling vibration that poured through your body like a tremor.

"Then...you accept?" he asked slowly, the words thick with restrained emotion. "You will take my seed into you? You would bear my offspring?"

Your heart skipped a beat—no, several. Blood rushed to your cheeks, and you could feel your pulse hammering in your throat. He said it with such conviction, with none of the coy hesitations or evasive phrasing you were used to. Just truth. Raw and full of meaning. The ancient kind of promise that didn’t ask, but waited.

You hesitated, swallowing hard. "I mean...I do have my doubts," you admitted, fingers curling against his chest. Your fingers graze the edge of his scales. Your voice trembled slightly under the weight of his gaze. "I don’t think I’m strong enough to carry children of yours. Dragons are...different. Your children, they’d be massive, wouldn’t they?"

You tried to laugh. It came out tight, nervous. A shaky sound that barely carried.

But Sylus didn’t laugh. He didn’t smile. Instead, something deeper flickered behind his eyes—a hunger, yes, but also certainty. Purpose. Legacy.

A low, pleased growl rolled from the depths of his chest, his breath warm against your skin. You gasped as you felt his tail move, the strong, silken muscle winding slowly up your leg. It caressed your skin with practiced control, the movement deliberate. Purposeful. The hem of your dress lifted inch by inch under the teasing weight of his tail.

"Nonsense," he growled, and this time his voice was like smoke and stone. "You are more than capable. I would never choose a mate who was not capable of the task. Your body, your spirit, your frame—they are all sufficient. More than sufficient."

His claws ghosted over your hips, drawing you in closer, like a hunter gathering something sacred. You felt the heat of him, not just his body but his intent, his longing, the centuries of instinct that pulsed just beneath his skin.

"I'm not even sure if it will work..." you murmur, your voice laced with uncertainty. "Humans only ovulate for a short time. If that window's already passed—"

Sylus moves before you can finish. His body leans into yours with quiet purpose, and in an instant, the air shifts between you. His breath ghosts over your neck, warm and steady, and you shiver as his nose traces the delicate line of your throat. The movement is slow, deliberate—not just intimate, but instinctual. He inhales deeply, the sound low and resonant like something ancient stirring in his chest. The rumble that follows isn’t quite a growl, but it thrums through you like thunder beneath the earth.

"You're wrong," he murmurs, voice husky and edged with something raw. "You’re fertile. I can smell it on you."

You freeze.

His lips ghost just beneath your ear as he continues, tone smooth and reverent. "Your scent is different now—sweet, ripe, like fruit at the peak of bloom. The warmth of your skin, the rhythm of your pulse...your body sings to mine in ways you cannot hear. But I do."

His hand tightens at your waist, possessive, anchoring you to him like you might drift away otherwise. The heat in his eyes is no longer just desire—it is intention, it is instinct honed over centuries, it is him answering a call your body didn’t even know it had made.

"You're ready. Now," he growls, the final word laced with a quiet sort of reverence, as if he were speaking a truth ordained by something far older than either of you.

Your breath catches, your face flushing as your heart pounds against your ribs. You can feel the heat rising in you, pooling low, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.

You search his face for doubt, but find none. Only certainty.

So, you were ovulating, and he could smell it—and worse, he wasn’t just aroused by it; he was called by it.

You feel your nerves ease, if only a little. Sylus was dependable—fierce, steady, and impossibly sure in the way only something ancient could be. For all his intensity, he had never once let harm come to you, had never faltered in his protection. And now, with the weight of everything shifting between you, that truth brought the smallest measure of calm. If he said he would keep you safe, you believed him. If he said he would protect the life growing between you, you knew it to be a vow etched in something deeper than words.

The idea of having a baby had once seemed distant, more fantasy than reality. Something soft and quiet that belonged to another version of your life, another world entirely. But now? Now it felt inevitable. Natural. Fated. Like every step had led to this moment, and all that was left was to lean into it.

He wanted this with you. You could see it in everything he did: the nesting, the offerings, the way he curled around you at night like a guardian warding off the dark. His every action had been leading here, even if you hadn’t recognized it at the time. And though nerves still fluttered in your chest like a thousand wings, the deeper truth remained. You wanted it too. You weren’t entirely prepared, not yet, but you were ready to say yes.

You looked into his eyes, your heart thundering, and gave a small but certain nod. "Okay. I accept."

Those three words changed everything.

It was as if a switch had been flipped inside him, something primal and powerful released from its cage. You barely had time to react before he swept you off the ground with effortless strength. You gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders as he cradled you against his chest, his expression focused, almost reverent. In mere seconds, he had crossed the room and laid you gently down on the massive bed of furs he had so meticulously prepared—his gift to you, his offering.

The nest was impossibly warm, soft and inviting, wrapping around your back and shoulders like it had been waiting for this moment. You could feel the heat of his body above you, the power in his frame held taut just beneath the surface. He hovered for a breath, eyes raking over you, and then his tail moved—snaking up one leg, coiling slowly with deliberate grace.

The fabric of your dress tightened as his tail looped beneath it, and you barely had time to gasp before you heard the slow, purposeful sound of it tearing. With practiced precision, his tail shredded the fabric, beginning to peel it away from your body with a hunger that had been restrained for too long. Each thread undone was like a silent declaration: mine, mine, mine.

You felt a rush of cool air against your skin, and your breasts were exposed to his gaze. You could sense his eyes on you, drinking in the sight of your bare skin and hardened nipples, you felt a shiver run down your spine. Your breasts bounced slightly as you shifted, and you could feel his gaze following the movement, his eyes hungrily taking in every detail.

You instinctively tried to shield yourself, your arms moving to cross your chest, but he was quicker. His tail wrapped around your wrists with gentle but unyielding strength, keeping you exposed beneath him. Vulnerable. Claimed.

He leaned in closer, breath hot against your skin, and you felt it hitch as he studied you like something sacred. There was a deep rumble in his chest, not quite a growl but something more ancient—a sound of possession and awe.

"This will not be gentle," he murmured, voice low and rough like gravel smoothed by fire. "But do not fret. I will take care not to hurt you, beloved."

His words settled over you like a brand, searing into your skin. There was something sacred in them, a promise forged not in softness, but in strength—and devotion.

And the way he said it, with such conviction and tempered need, made your breath stutter and your fear crumble, replaced with something far more powerful:

Desire. Acceptance. Surrender.

His voice was a low rumble, "I want to see you. All of you." His eyes met yours, seeking consent, respectful despite the fierce hunger within. You nodded, your heart still pounding, but the fear was gone, replaced by a strong lust you didn't know you had.

He reached for the remnants of your dress, his touch gentle yet firm as he pushed the rest of the fabric off you. It slipped down your body, leaving you bare except for your undergarments. His breath hitched, his gaze roaming over you, worshipful and hungry.

"You're beautiful" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Like a dream I never dared to have." He leaned down, his lips met yours, a soft, tender kiss that belied the intensity of his gaze. It was a question, a request for permission to explore further. You responded, your body melting into his, your lips parting to deepen the kiss. He tasted of smoke and spice, a heady combination that made your head spin. His claws, those large, warm claws, traced the curve of your neck, your shoulders, your breasts, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

You gasped, breaking the kiss, your body arching into his touch. He smiled, a slow, predatory smile that sent shivers down your spine. "I want to hear you," he whispered, his breath hot on your ear. "I want to hear every sound you make, every gasp, every moan." He captured your mouth again, his tongue delving in, exploring, tasting. His hands continued their journey, tracing the curve of your waist, your hips, the soft flesh of your thighs. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your undergarments, pulling back to look at you.

He slid the underwear down your legs, his eyes never leaving yours. You felt a shiver of anticipation and vulnerability, but the heat in his gaze, the raw desire, kept you from feeling exposed again. He stood up, his tail unwrapping from your waist, and you missed the contact instantly. But he was back in a moment, his hands on your knees, gently pushing them apart.

He knelt down, his gaze still locked with yours, and you felt a jolt of surprise and excitement. His rough claws traced up your inner thighs, his touch feather-light, sending shivers through you. You could feel the heat of his breath on you, and you squirmed, your body aching with anticipation. He smiled, a slow, knowing smile, and leaned in.

His long tongue found your aching bud, hot and wet, and you gasped, your body arching off the pile of furs. He made a sound, a low growl of pleasure, and the vibration sent waves of sensation through you. He gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he explored you, his tongue and lips driving you to the edge. You could feel the pressure building, your body coiling tight, and you grasped the furs beneath you, your knuckles turning paler.

"Thank you for agreeing to give me the gift of new life" His gaze held you captive, even as his tongue continued its torturous, delightful dance. You felt a flush spread across your body, your cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and arousal.

But you didn't look away. You held his gaze, your breath coming in ragged gasps, your body writhing with each flick of his tongue. He groaned, the sound vibrating through you, pushing you closer to the edge. You could feel it, the pleasure building, coiling tight like a spring ready to snap. "Sylus," you gasped, his name a plea on your lips.

He growled in response, his fingers digging into your thighs as he redoubled his efforts. The room spun, the golden light blurring around you. Your body tensed, every muscle coiled tight, and then, with a cry, you shattered. Waves of pleasure crashed over you, drowning you in sensation. You felt Sylus's claws on you, steadying you, his tail wrapping around you, holding you close as you rode out the storm. When the world came back into focus, you found yourself cradled in Sylus arms, your body still trembling with aftershocks. He was looking down at you, his eyes soft with concern and something else...a deep, profound satisfaction.

As you finally noticed the absence of his usual belt, your eyes widened in shock. There, at you waist, were not one, but two substantially sized cocks, side by side, both throbbing with desire. You could've sworn he only had one before?? A wave of heat rushed to your face, and you felt a surge of panic. You tried to wriggle free, to create some distance, but Sylus's grip only tightened. He growled, a low, primal sound that sent shivers down your spine, as you managed to shift into a crawling position. But your brief moment of triumph was short-lived.

With a swift move, he grabbed you around the waist, pulling you back towards him. You could feel his hot breath on your neck as he forced you face down onto the soft furs, his body pressing heavily against yours. "You cannot run from this," he rasped, his voice thick with lust and determination. "Be still." The fear that had been lurking within you surged back, filling every fiber of your being. You knew, with a certainty that was both terrifying and exhilarating, that there would be no escape. Not this time. Not until he had marked you, claimed you, bred you. His need was too great, his desire to leave his seed within you too strong to change your mind now.

As Sylus began to push his first cock into you, you felt a searing pain and a sense of being stretched to the limit. You realized, with a jolt of fear, that he hadn't been lying when he said this wouldn't be gentle. His cock was like a battering ram, forcing its way into your tight pussy with a ferocity that left you breathless. He let out a fierce growl of pleasure, pushing himself as deep as he could possibly go inside your walls.

He pumped feverishly, his hips moving with the strength and power of a beast. You groaned, your voice hoarse and barely audible, as your pussy was forced to take the pounding he was giving you. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pain and pleasure that left you gasping for air and gripping the fur beneath you.

His cock was huge, and it felt like it was tearing you apart, stretching your walls to the limit. You felt like you were being ripped in two, your body struggling to accommodate the size and strength of his thrusts. But Sylus didn't seem to care, his face twisted in a snarl of pleasure as he pounded into you with reckless abandon.

You were at his mercy, unable to escape the torrent of sensations that he was unleashing on your body. Your mind was a jumble of pain and pleasure, your body torn between the pain of his thrusts and the thrill of being taken by a creature so powerful and dominant. You felt his second cock rubbing itself between the rounds of your ass.

As Sylus continued to pump into you, his face twisted in a snarl of pleasure, he leaned in close and whispered in your ear.

"You'll never want for anything, beloved," he growled, voice low and reverent, thick with the weight of promise. It wasn’t just a statement. It was a vow. An oath carved from the bones of instinct, older than memory and heavier than gold. His breath was hot against your neck, his words brushing over your skin like fire.

"Not once," he continued, a possessive rumble threading through each syllable, "not once you're full with my children."

There was no shame in his tone, no hesitation. Just certainty. Purpose. He spoke like a dragon made flesh, a creature built for legacy, for claiming, for protecting what was his with unrelenting devotion. His hand traced your side as he spoke, the motion slow and reverent, as if feeling the space where new life would soon grow.

"Yes...yes give me as many children as you want Sylus, I want them all..." you begged, feeling yourself beginning to drool into the furs.

Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it seemed to have a profound effect on Sylus. His eyes flashed with a fierce light, and his face twisted in a snarl of pleasure.

Without warning, he pulled his cock out of you, the sudden withdrawal leaving you feeling empty and uneasy. But before you could even catch your breath, he flipped you around, his hands grasping your hips and pulling you back onto his cock. You felt him shove his cock balls deep inside you once again, the sudden invasion making you gasp with shock and pleasure.

You were stretched to the limit, your body struggling to accommodate the size and strength of his thrusts. But Sylus didn't seem to care, his face twisted in a mask of pleasure and desire. He pumped into you with a fierce intensity, his hips moving with a rapid, pounding rhythm that left you breathless and gasping. You felt his second cock sliding in harmonious rhythm across your stomach as he continued to pump the other inside you.

Sylus's movements grow frantic, each thrust more desperate than the last. The heat builds between you, an unstoppable force that drives you both to the edge. His breath hitches, and you can feel the tension coiling in his muscles, ready to snap.

With a final, forceful thrust, he slams deep inside you, a low groan ripping from his chest as he cums. The heat floods into you, a searing wave of release that leaves you both gasping. As he rides out the last pulses of his climax, he leans forward, sinking his teeth into your shoulder. The bite is sharp, claiming, sending a shock through your body that mingles with the aftershocks of his release.

You're both slicked in sweat, your chests rising and falling in a staggered rhythm as you cling to each other, trembling and utterly spent. The cave around you is dense with heat and the scent of exertion, the air thick enough to drink. Your skin is flushed, tingling, every nerve alight from the intensity of what has just passed between you. You feel the large amount of cum he shot inside you begin to spill out, making your thighs stick together. It’s hard to tell where your body ends and his begins—his warmth wraps around you like a living cocoon, steady and ever-present.

Every breath you take is his, pulled in from the narrow space between your mouths, and every exhale becomes a shared offering. His body is heavy over yours, enveloping, protective. You’re still reeling, caught somewhere between bliss and disbelief, when Sylus leans down and claims your lips in a kiss—fierce, unrelenting, yet reverent. It isn’t rushed. It’s deep, meaningful, and possessive in a way that leaves your heart pounding anew.

"Can you help me up?" you whisper, voice trembling, your limbs aching with fatigue. You lift a shaky hand, fingers brushing the fresh mark on your shoulder. The skin there is tender and warm, a physical memory of him etched into your flesh.

Sylus pulls back just enough to look at you, a small smile touching his lips. There’s affection in his gaze, but it’s layered with something else—something feral, possessive, unwavering. You blink at him, puzzled by the look he gives you, your breath catching as your body anticipates an answer.

"We aren’t finished, beloved" he murmurs, his voice like a caress wrapped in iron. The timbre of it thrums through your bones. He motions to his other member, still throbbing with need on your stomach. "I still have seed stored. I told you this would not be brief. We won’t be done until I am certain—utterly certain—that my seed has taken root."

The words wash over you like a second wave of heat. You feel it building again—not fear, not even hesitation. Just the slow, inevitable rush of anticipation. Your breath shudders as he presses closer once more, and the look in his eyes makes your heart stutter. He is so sure. So devoted. So...inescapably yours.

This isn’t just instinct anymore. It isn’t mere biology. It’s a vow, an offering, a claiming that comes from something sacred and ancient within him.

And as his lips brush against your throat, his tail curling possessively around your thigh again, you know one thing for certain:

Sylus isn’t finished.

And this becomes abundantly clear as he pushes his second cock inside you.

The next two days blur together in a haze of heat and aching limbs. Sylus is relentless—a creature driven by instinct and obsession, bound not just by desire but by an instinctual need to claim and secure what he now considers his. The cavern is filled with the sounds of breathless gasps, low growls, and the slick sound of bodies tangled in devotion and purpose.

There is barely a moment to rest. He presses into you again and again, each time with a ferocity that leaves you trembling, breathless, dazed. He rarely lets you catch your breath before pulling you close once more, whispering possessive promises into your ear, vowing over and over that he will not stop until he knows that his seed has taken root.

Still, there are brief breaks. Moments when he leaves to hunt, returning with food to replenish your strength. He never brings back just a meal—he returns with offerings: rare fruit, tender meats, things he’s sure will sustain and strengthen you. His eyes scan you for any signs of weakness, worry carved into the lines of his face even through the veil of lust that constantly clouds him.

One such time, you had tried to redress yourself, more out of instinct than shame. But when he returned and found you clothed again, his eyes darkened, the low sound of displeasure vibrating in his chest. He had stalked over to you, roughly tearing the garments off of your body, scattering them on the stone floor in pieces.

"Sylu-"

"No," he murmured, his voice low and rough, "You are to remain bare for me. Ready. Always."

And with those words, he had taken you again roughly, until the floor was soaked in his cum, as if to remind you that your body was his haven now—a vessel for something sacred. And this continued hourly, even when you had just awoken from a nap. He simply would spread your legs and begin pumping himself inside you. You welcomed this of course, figuring he was just following what his instincts were telling him to do.

Eventually, his frenzy began to slow. The fire that had once consumed him now burned low and steady, replaced by a quieter, more reverent form of devotion. Weeks passed in a blur of rest, warmth, and gentle touches, and then came the shift—he began to note that you smelled different. His sharp senses detected it before you felt a thing. He would murmur it against your skin, nose pressed to your neck or your belly, voice thick with wonder.

"You carry new life," he’d whisper.

At first, you rolled your eyes and laughed it off, teasing him for being so certain. You didn't want to get your hopes up. But soon, you began to feel it too—a flutter, faint and flickering like butterfly wings deep within. The first time it happened, you froze, a hand going instinctively to your belly. Sylus noticed immediately, his head snapping up, eyes wide.

"Did you feel it?"

You nodded slowly, hand still pressed to the gentle curve of your stomach. He was elated. Absolutely overcome with joy. He knelt before you and kissed your belly with a soft, contented purr rumbling from deep in his chest, his tail wrapping protectively around your ankles.

True to his word, he kept his promise. You never wanted for anything. He hunted only the best for you, brought the juiciest fruit, the most nourishing roots. He prepared meals with painstaking care, even if he didn’t eat most of it himself. When your back ached or your feet swelled, he massaged you with surprising tenderness, his large hands easing every knot and tension from your tired limbs. At night, he curled around you like a shield, his wings a blanket of protection, whispering soft things in a language you didn’t always understand.

Eventually, your clothes grew too tight to wear. Your belly swelled gloriously with life, and you gave up trying to force yourself into fabric that no longer fit. You wandered the cave freely, naked and glowing, your hands always resting protectively on your rounded stomach. Sylus didn’t mind in the slightest. He thought you looked divine.

Even in the later stages of your pregnancy, when walking made you tired and your body ached from the weight of his child, he still looked at you with hunger in his eyes. He remained ever ready to take you, though now with more patience, more gentleness to not hurt you or the baby. His touches were slow, reverent, his need no less intense but guided now by something softer—an unshakable adoration.

To him, you were more than his mate.

You were the future of his lineage. A living miracle he worshiped with every breath.

He was awoken one morning by the soft, fragile sound of you whining beside him—a breathy, instinctive noise that sliced through the quiet like a blade, shattering the peace of dawn. Instantly, he was alert, his senses snapping into sharp focus. In one smooth, practiced motion, he propped himself up on one elbow and leaned over you, red eyes scanning your body with fierce, frantic protectiveness. His hands hovered inches from your skin, as though afraid to touch and yet desperate to find the source of your distress.

When he found no visible wounds, he moved lower, his tail curling around your leg and lifting it gently. What he saw next made him still completely—and then smile, slow and reverent. A sheen of clear fluid glistened at your thighs. His chest swelled with emotion, and a warm, knowing glow filled his gaze.

It was time.

His breath caught in his throat, and the world seemed to narrow around this one miraculous truth. He leaned down, pressed his forehead to yours, and gently shook you awake, voice husky with emotion. "Wake, beloved," he murmured. "The hour is upon us."

What followed was the longest, most grueling day and a half of your life. The cave became a sanctuary of primal sound and sacred pain—the sharp edge of your cries echoing off the stone walls, the slow, rhythmic cadence of your breathing, and Sylus’s steady, grounding presence through it all. The space that had once been a den of passion now transformed into a place of birth and bond, of new beginnings.

He had prepared for this, of course. He always did. A nest of soft animal pelts had been lovingly arranged just days prior, thick and warm and perfectly layered to support your aching, straining body. You lay upon them, your skin damp with sweat, hair plastered to your temples, your belly tightening again and again with each new contraction. The pain was searing, unforgiving, your body fighting for every inch of progress.

And Sylus never left your side. Not for a moment.

He positioned himself behind you, his body acting as both cradle and shield. His larger frame curved protectively around yours, arms curled reverently over your middle, claws softened and carefully restrained so they wouldn’t harm you. He rubbed slow, grounding circles into the swell of your belly, the weight of his presence a balm against the storm.

His lips brushed your shoulder often, murmuring affirmations and praise, voice a low, calming purr that vibrated through your bones. His tail coiled gently around your thigh, anchoring you when you trembled. Whenever you cried out or whimpered in agony, he was there—not panicked, not shaken, but steady. Fierce.

"Breathe, my love," he whispered again and again, the words threaded with admiration. "You’re strong. So strong. You were made for this."

There was never a flicker of doubt in his eyes. He watched you with awe, holding space for your pain and your power, never wavering. His devotion took on a quiet intensity, every touch purposeful, every breath synchronized with yours. When you broke down in tears, sobbing through another wave of pain, he kissed your temple, held your hand, and wrapped you tighter in his warmth.

He treated you like something sacred—not just the mother of his child, but the miracle who bore his legacy. There was reverence in the way he touched you, in how he shifted with you through every hour, how his purring grew louder as your contractions deepened. You were his whole world in those moments, and he made sure you felt it.

As the hours stretched into exhaustion and time lost all meaning, he remained your constant.

And when the sharp, piercing cry of a newborn echoed through the cave, Sylus felt the breath leave his lungs entirely. The sound struck him like thunder, powerful and sacred, and his eyes locked on the sight before him: you, cradling the small, wriggling form against your chest. You were slick with sweat, flushed from exertion, but your smile—soft, exhausted, and full of wonder for your new baby—was the most radiant thing he had ever seen.

He moved toward you reverently, as if approaching something divine. But as he leaned in closer, a deep instinct stirred within him, passed down through countless generations. His tongue flicked out ever so slightly, and his body tensed with the urge to clean the newborn himself—the way his kind had always done.

You caught the motion and gave him a knowing look, gently placing a hand on his cheek. "No licking," you whispered with a tired laugh. "That’s not how we do it."

It took some convincing, his instincts hard to quiet, but he eventually yielded, watching with wide-eyed fascination as you showed him the human way. Warm cloths, gentle strokes, soft murmurs of comfort.

He knelt beside you, silent and attentive, absorbing every detail.

And though he did not get to perform the ritual of his bloodline, he found something just as profound in learning yours.

Together, you welcomed new life in a way that blended two worlds into one.

[strawbearii5]

Life with Dr. Zayne 💕

[so-you-like-kpop]

A Friend On Their Knees Is A Friend Indeed

A Shoto x Bakugo x Deku x ChubbyBlackF!Reader series

Warnings: BDSM, Rough Sex, Don’t like it Don’t read it

Minors DNI

Chapter 1: Shoto Steps Up

“So, have you told them that you’d like to see them outside of the club yet, or are we still too chickenshit?” Shoto asked as he took a long sip of his coffee. You had just finished getting him patched up from a scuffle with a villain and he was in no rush to leave his favorite med tech.

He had known you since UA when you were in the support course training under recovery girl, and once he opened his own agency, he hired you on in the medical department. The two of you built a close friendship, one that at one point included benefits, but eventually fizzled out into a strong companionship. He was the one who initially took you to Nightwing, the BDSM club that primarily catered to the heroes, years ago. And the place where you’ve been frequenting more recently, mostly to ogle his friends. What can you say? Dynamight and Deku were hot, and the demos they would do were always entertaining to say the least. A domming duo, they always commanded their subs and audience in such an enrapturing way.

“Now why would I do that?” You asked as you began charting. “I live next door to them and I see them all the time. I don’t want them to think that I’m weird.”

Shoto bit back a laugh. “I’m pretty sure that they already have an inkling that you’re into them. Izuku is far too observant for his own damn good and Katsuki thinks everyone is into him. If it helps, I can put in a good word for you.”

He leans in close to whisper in your ear. “I can tell them exactly how good you can be.” He says with a smirk, fingers playing with the ends of your braids.

You fight back the shiver that crawled down your spine as your cheeks flushed.

“Sho… while I appreciate the offer, I’m more than ok letting things stay how they are.” You purposely don’t make eye contact with the dual quirked hero, knowing how easily he can read you. You will NOT use your friend-slash-boss as a go between. No matter how tempting the idea was.

“Y/n, you know better than to lie to me of all people. I’ve known you for 16 years.” He said, leaning against your workstation, arms crossed over his chest. “Besides, I’m tired of seeing you make googly eyes at them out of your window or on TV when I come over.”

You flip him off with a giggle. “I do NOT make googly eyes out of the window!”

“So you admit that you do make them at the TV when they’re on.” He chuckles.

“Oh fuck you!” You bite, no real heat beefing your words.

“You already have, unless this is an invitation for later?”

You playfully swat him in the arm. “Get the fuck out, Todoroki”

“Alright, alright! I’ll leave you to your actual work. But, think about my offer ok. Both of them.” He says with a wink.

After a few more hours and a few more patients, you head home. Pulling into your driveway, you see Izuku in his garden, tending to his flowers.

“Hey Y/N! How was today?” He asked as you got out of your car.

“Hey! It was good! Slow, honestly.” You walked up to the fence that separated your side of the duplex from his.

“How was yours? And how are the azaleas doing?”

You fought the urge to stare at his arms. Those muscular, freckled, beautiful arms… and you made the mistake of looking into those beautiful green eyes, sparkling with joy from being asked about his favorite hobby.

“Today was good! It was my day off, Kacchan is on the mid day shift so he just left a couple of hours ago. And the azaleas are growing beautifully. These purple ones are my favorites.”

He runs off to an azalea bush on the side of the house and brings you a branch covered in lovely purple flowers.

“These are gorgeous! Thank you so much.” You smile sweetly.

“If I could only get my peppers to grow as strong as these.” He said with a chuckle.

The two of you chat for a little longer before you go into your home, taking care to put the flowers in a nice vase. You see your dog Diesel lying on her bed in the living room, lazily wagging her tail.

After taking her on a long walk around the neighborhood, and letting her out into the backyard to play, with Izuku coming out to give the Rottweiler a treat and a few head scritches, you finally settle in to your room after a hot shower.

The ache between your legs gets to the point you can’t ignore it anymore. You could use that thrusting dildo in your toy box, or you could shoot Shoto a text.

You (8:58 PM): I think I need a session

❄️🔥(9:00 PM): I knew that was an invitation earlier. Scale of 1-10?

You (9:03 PM): 8

Whenever you two would hook up, you would use a 1-10 scale to determine how kinky you wanted it to get. 1-3 is usually a “Let’s just fuck because it’s been a while since I’ve gotten any.” Asking for an 8 is essentially asking for bruises and tears and being stuck in subspace for a while.

You were a switch in bed, but there were days where you just needed to turn your brain off. Today just so happened to be one of them.

❄️🔥(9:06 PM): Damn. Someone’s a needy little slut. Anything I need to bring?

You (9:10 PM): The cane maybe. I have the other stuff.

❄️🔥(9:11 PM): Poor thing, don’t worry. I’ll fix it. I’ll be there in 15.

You (9:12 PM): Yes Sir. I’ll be ready.

Shoto responds with a thumbs up and you immediately start getting ready. You know when he’s in control he likes you to be in position when he arrives. Over the years you’d converted one of the rooms in your basement into a sex dungeon full of toys, a swing, and a few other things, and you decide to wait for him there. You unlock the door on the way down and immediately sit in seiza.

You count down the minutes in your head before you hear Diesel barking as the front door opens, your signal that he’s arrived. She calms down once she realizes who it is and you hear his heavy boots come down the steps.

The door to the room opens and you feel his eyes on you, studying your posture, a flush creeping up your pretty brown skin.

“Well, well, well. What do I have here? A silly little slut who can’t control her urges.” He teases, circling you like a predator closing in on his prey.

“So desperate for dick and degradation you decide to bother me. Isn’t that right?” He asks. You remain silent. He bends down and grabs your cheeks hard.

“I asked you a question, whore.” He hisses, heterochromatic eyes searching you for any true signs of discomfort. “Answer me.”

You feel yourself slipping into subspace faster than usual. You nod in response before finding your voice.

“Yes sir, I’m so desperate.” You whine

Shoto lets your face go before slapping you, the sting causing your cunt to drip more. But you don’t leave your position.

“Pathetic. But before I use this horny little bitch in front of me, surely she can at least be good enough to tell me her lights and her safeword.”

You nod. “Green for good, Yellow for pause, Red for stop, safeword is Pinesol”

He smirks at you, not breaking character. “And if you can’t use your voice?”

“One snap Green, two snaps yellow, three snaps stop.”

“Good girl. Now, stand up, hands against the wall, ass out.” Shoto demands.

You follow directions quickly, leaning against the wall. You feel your poor pussy drip with anticipation, your panties well beyond soaked.

“You know, I was having a great night in when you messaged me. A bowl of cold soba, a can of beer, ready to wind down. But no, I have to come here and put a slutty bitch in her place.” He runs a cold hand down your back before slapping your ass hard.

“I’m gonna make you pay for this.” He goes over to the closet in the room and grabs a studded paddle from it before returning to you.

The first strike comes as a shock making you yelp out in pain.

“Shut up. The only things I wanna hear are you counting and thank you sir. Am I clear?”

“Yes sir.”

He spanks you again, you count and thank him. 15 quick, solid strikes later your ass is covered in bruises and small cuts that are sure to sting later, but you’ve never been more soaked.

He uses his cooling side to soothe the ache a bit before using the opposite hand to slide into your panties and gather your wetness.

“Such a painslut. I bet you came at least once from that didn’t you?” He asked, taking his time to finger you, the fullness making your knees buckle as he slowly strokes your g spot before pulling his fingers out, sucking them clean”

“Nope, not getting off that easily, whore. But before I put this silly little mouth to use, what’s our color?”

You look up at him, bright eyed. “Green.”

“Perfect. Now on your knees and put that stupid mouth to good use.” He said sharply.

You wasted no time in following orders, falling to your knees gracefully, undoing his pants and pulling out his cock. You showered it with kitten licks and kisses along the head, smearing his precum on your lips before taking his length down your throat, fighting your gag reflex as you pleasured the man standing above you.

He tangled his fingers in your hair grabbing fistfuls of your braids as he began to fuck your throat in earnest.

“Such a perfect little whore… mmh… taking my dick in your throat like the slut you are… fuck…” Shoto whined. He was always vocal when you gave him head, scene or not.

“I can only imagine how you’d be for my friends… would you let Deku fuck your cunt while Katsuki wrecks your throat like I am? Let me play with that tight little ass too…”

You whined at the thought, the sound vibrating through his cock.

“Fuck… you’d love that wouldn’t you, just a little cocksleeve for us. Fuck… I’m gonna cum… swallow it…” he growls

He holds you in place while he dumps his load into your throat before pulling you off.

“Such a good girl. Taking all of this so well. I think I’ve ignored your cunt long enough.” He says as he helps you to your feet.

He strips you of your lingerie before picking you up, making sure to grab the bruises on your ass, letting the sting linger.

He pins you against the wall and begins fucking into you with no preamble. His cock stretches your poor pussy to her limits and you love it. The whine you let out when he’s fully sheathed inside of you is music to his ears. The way you cry out his name like a prayer damn near has him ready to bust again. But not before you do. You’ve been so obedient for him.

Your first orgasm hits you like a freight train, making you see stars as you gasp Shoto’s name.

“I’m not done with you yet, pet” he says deviously before bending his neck down to take one of your nipples in his mouth. He starts fucking into you again, setting a bruising pace. You start to lose count of how many times you cum after the 3rd time. You guys somehow ended up on the floor, you in a mean mating press, nails digging into his back. You’re vaguely aware of him pulling out to cum on your soft tits and belly before you drift off.

When you come to, you’re in your room, clean, bonnet on, and Shoto in the bed with you playing on your PS5. Noticing you’re awake, he pauses the game.

“Hey y/n. I wasn’t too rough, was I?” He asks.

“You never are Sho.” You yawn and stretch, curling into his side.

“So, now can I tell Bakugo and Midoriya? I’m sure they’d be more than willing to join in.”

“You just fucked me seven ways to Sunday and have the gall to ask about a foursome?” You pause for a second and think about it.

“I guess. But it’s gotta come up organically and it’s gotta happen organically.”

Shoto smirked at that. “I can do that. Now go to bed.”

He made sure you were asleep before going outside to the front yard to smoke.

He takes a long drag of his cigarette as he watches Bakugo pull up on his bike.

“IcyHot? What the fuck are you doing over here? The nerd didn’t tell me we were having company.” Said Bakugo.

“Oh, I came to see your neighbor.”

“Oh, Y/N? She’s a smokeshow ain’t she.” He looks down at Shoto’s side and sees Diesel happily lying on the porch next to him.

Shoto nods his head, taking another drag of the menthol.

“You know she works the club too. She’s usually in the med bay.” He offers a cigarette to the explosive blond

“Ohh really.” He says, using his quirk to light it. “What else does she do at the club when we’re not paying attention?”

“She likes to watch 1 or 2 certain demos if there’s coverage or no one back there.” Shoto casts him a sneaky look.

Bakugo picks up on it immediately. “Huh.” He says passively. “I guess those 1 or 2 guys are pretty good if she only comes out of the hole to watch them. Maybe they could give her a private demonstration.”

Shoto nods, putting out the butt of his cigarette.

“If you and Zuku do decide to play with her, you don’t have to be gentle either.” He says with a smirk.

Bakugo chuckles. “I don’t even know the meaning of the word. I’m gonna go inside, see if the nerd is up.”

Shoto gives him a wave before letting the dog in and heading home himself. His plan was fully in motion.

[lucidwntrr]

최수빈 ─── ୨୧ WHEN DID YOU GET HOT ?

request gone fic !! ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊ :

you can't hold back when you ask, "how come you didn't tell me that you were moving?" soobin pauses, his head slowly lifting up to gauge your facial expressions. "i mean, i know we weren't super close but we were science partners and i was a little hurt when i had to find out from the teacher that you left." your voice gets soft to show that you weren't angry at him, just curious.

"i-" soobin's had comes out to comfort you, but he stops himself and drops it onto the bed and grips onto the comforter instead.

૮₍˃̵֊ ˂̵ ₎ა ──── ୨ৎ content: smut MDNI , wc: 6.4k+

fem!reader x soobin, virgin!soobin, nerdy soobin, he blushes a bunch, making out, handjob, cum-tasting, he stutters a bunch, glasses!soobin, beomgyu and taehyun cameo!, kind of premature cumming, this is kind of long i'm so sorry !

note from luna: a request that i got carried away with and took me super long to write (˃̣̣̥ᯅ˂̣̣̥) , i really hope you enjoy it nonetheless (@mymelodying)

as far as you knew, the last time you saw choi soobin was your senior year of high school. you occasionally talked in the one class you shared together, science. he was your lab partner and you would often have to do experiments and assignments with each other, maintaining an 'A' average throughout the year. in class, soobin often kept to himself and was typically hunched over his work or books. he never spoke too much and when he did, he would stumble over his words and pink would dust his cheeks while he avoids any and all eye contact with you.

when you got the chance, you would often glance at his belongings. you heard the talks about him outside of class, the whispers in the hallways about how "weird" soobin was. the way he watches so many animated shows/films was obsessive, always nose deep in recent manga, mumbling to himself about the characters and major plot points. they would talk about the way he dressed, draped in over-sized hoodies and sweats, his glasses that were just a tad bit large on his nose and often slid down the bridge. you were endeared when you would catch him pushing them back up, a small smile creeping onto your face.

one day in class you took notice to the little stickers that littered his folders and notebooks, also the plush keychain that hung from his backpack. you thought it was cute how he showed his interests in little ways like that, especially since he wasn't able to talk about them to these judgmental students in school. you never thought it was strange like the other students saw it to be. but to soobin, your wandering eyes must have felt that way. he snatched up his things with shaky hands and shoved them in his bag, his face burning red. before you could get a word out, he sped-walked out the classroom and down the hall.

you and soobin never got close, never had the chance to. aside from playing with chemicals and writing scientific equations on a piece of paper, you didn't get to talk that much. here and there you would gather a little information about him, but he would often shut himself up from going on and on about his interests or life. he kept it short, like he was drawing a line between the two of you. it pained you a bit that he felt like he had to hold himself back, you noticed the light in his eyes when you would ask him a question and the way it faded when he caught himself. his eyes shaky and gnawing on his bottom lip, changing the subject to science-related topics.

the day before soobin left, it was a friday and you managed to get a smile from him. it was a stupid joke you made while doing an experiment involving looking at germs. you mustered up the courage to lighten the tense mood since you've been working for an hour on the assignment, jabbing soobin in the side before he pressed his eyes into the scope.

"hey," he turns to you, his eyes immediately shifting when they locked with yours. he stares at a corner of your face, but you were used to it. just like you were used to the pink that spread across his face whenever you would converse with him. "why did the germ cross the microscope?"

he furrows his brow and chews on his bottom lip, "w-why?" he stutters.

you hold back a laugh as you complete the joke, "to get to the other slide." you couldn't hold back for long as you burst out with laughter at how dumb the joke was, it wasn't even that funny. yet, you couldn't help yourself. soobin's eyes widen at the sudden loud sound, his face flushing as he turns away while trying to stifle a laugh. he looks into the microscope in front of him, but you don't miss the small smile that comes onto his face. nor the little dimple that appears on his cheek.

you were the last to know about soobin and his family deciding to leave the city for one that was three hours away from yours, which meant he would be transferring high schools. you didn't have a chance to say goodbye or thank you for all his help during the class as he just stopped showing up. you were pretty worried, it wasn't like soobin to miss a day. let alone it being three in a row, your anxiety was starting to eat you up and you decided to ask the teacher about him.

"you didn't hear, soobin transferred last week. friday was his last day."

it shocked you, he never talked about leaving. granted, you weren't the closest to him but you thought with the small-talk you often made he would mention something like that. or even bring it up the day before he supposedly left, the day you saw him smile for the first time. before leaving the classroom, you took another glance at the seat next to yours that was empty with something heavy weighing on your heart.

after he moved, it took about a month before you got use to his absence. everyday you walked into class your eyes would immediately fly to the seat he once sat in. you hoped that you would find him sitting there with his disheveled black hair, his glasses that were perched on his little nose, his lips that would be pursed in concentration as he worked out a problem in his study book. you would deflate when he wasn't there, shuffling to your seat and plopping down with a sigh.

you eventually got a new lab partner, beomgyu was his name, and the two of you would come to be good friends. often finding yourself doing the same things you would with soobin, plus some. hanging out with the boy after class and talking to him about his interests. sometimes you'd find that same glint in beomgyu's eyes that you saw in soobin and get sad, shaking the feeling off with a small smile.

you would eventually forget about soobin in the following months leading up to graduation, maybe not completely though . even though you knew he wasn't there, he couldn't possibly be, your eyes still searched the sea of graduation caps hoping to find those glasses and flushed cheeks you grew fond of.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

you and beomgyu walk into your first chemistry class of the semester together, shoulder to shoulder, and laughing about some video that he sent to you this morning. the two of you ended up getting accepted into the same college after vowing to never separate post-graduation. you were happy to know one person for your first year, and even happier that it was your best friend beomgyu.

you take a seat in the third row of the classroom with a sigh, beomgyu following and plopping down next to you. you turn towards beomgyu with a blinding smile and he playfully shields his eyes, making you push him. before you could strike up a conversation about your excitement, the professor walks in along with some straggling students who didn't want to be marked late on the first day. she was a short and limber lady, with a high bun resting on her head and circular glasses that framed her face well. she looked like the kind of professor that enjoyed her job.

she shut the door behind the last student to enter, before making her way to her desk. she fumbles around with her many folders and laptop, pulling up a slide show. the room is mute of talking, the only sounds being the shuffling of students reaching into their backpacks for their computers and pencils, prepared to take any introductory notes. as she sets up, the door to the classroom creaks open and everyone's heads turn in the same direction.

a boy with wired-headphones plugged into his ears walked into the room. he was wearing a black tight-fitted shirt that hugged his sides, it was tucked into his jeans that fit his thighs perfectly, his dark hair was mussed but in a stylish way. he grimaces and his face flushes when he realizes the squeaking of the closing door was bringing unwarranted attention to him, dimples that looked a little familiar appeared on his cheeks.

"class starts at eight, young man." the professor says, grabbing the remote that controls the screen now that her slides were pulled up. he turns in her direction, popping the buds from his ears and wrapping them around his phone, his face seemed to turn even darker and he sucks in his bottom lip. you cock your head to the side, the more you stare at him and watch his actions, the more familiar the boy looks. distant memories that you can't quite catch float around in your head.

"s-sorry. it's not an excuse, but my alarm didn't go off." his voice was deep and smooth as he spoke, honesty laced in his tone as he apologized. all around you, the girls in the class started to whisper to their friends. presumably about his good looks, you would do the same with beomgyu if it weren't for you trying to wrack your brain trying to figure out why you think you've seen him before. he presses his lips together and bows his head awkwardly in apology. he starts to head for a seat, but he's stopped by the professor speaking again-

"i'll let it pass this time since it's the first day," she starts and he nods his head in acknowledgement, his grip tight on his bag-strap that was slung across his slim waist. "what's your name?" everyone tunes in, wanting to know the name of the handsome boy who would be in this class for the semester. he runs a hand through his hair, his eyes darting around the room and avoiding stares. "ah, c-choi soobin."

you freeze, your eyes widening at that name. choi soobin? like choi soobin that you went to high school with? choi soobin who suddenly upped and left one day? the same one who buried himself in over-sized clothing and his glasses that never sat on his nose right? that's the same guy who was standing in front of you, with fitted clothes, no glasses on his face, and a lot taller than what you remembered, that soobin?

your eyes follow him as he walks past you once the professor dismissed him to a seat that was a few rows behind you, you couldn't help it. you haven't heard that name in about a year and now he shows up again in the same college as you, in your science class? your eyes lock briefly when he goes by, his eyes immediately shifting away and his face going pink. you don't think he remembered you though, besides it's been a while and you also forgot about him until this moment.

all class, you could only think about the boy who you were semi-acquainted with in high school and how much he has changed. your body itched to turn around and catch a glance at him, figure out if it was actually the same boy you knew.

"you okay," beomgyu whispered to you, poking a finger into your side. you give him a nod before placing your face in your hand and gnawing on your bottom lip. you had to talk to him after class, right? you needed to know if he remembered you, thought about you even a little after he left.

you were lost in thought until the final minutes of class, the professor clapping her hands together sharply before clicking to the last slide. it was an announcement that she will be putting us in pairs, and we'll stay in that duo for the semester. you'll do labs, assignments, and presentations with your partner. it reminded you a lot of the class you took in high school.

"hopefully we're together." beomgyu whispers, crossing his fingers and you smile at him while also twining your fingers in hopes. we wait while professor starts calling out pairs, your heart beating fast. the both of you take a pause when beomgyu's name is called.

"choi beomgyu and-" he bites on his bottom lip and squeezes his eyes shut, grabbing onto your hand and holding it tightly in his. "kang taehyun." he deflates, throwing a pout at you and you caress his shoulder. he turns around and finds his partner who raised his hand. he gets up with his belongings and makes his way towards the boy and they immediately jump into conversation. you think he'll be alright and you shoot him a thumbs up when he looks your way with a soft smile.

you jump when your name is called next, snapping your head to the front of the room. hopefully whoever you get is nice and not someone who will slack off and make you do all the work, that's the last thing you want in a college-level chemistry class. "and choi soobin."

you eyes widen and your mouth drops open in shock. what are the odds that you and soobin would be in a science class together and be lab partners at that. it gave you a reason to talk to him again after some time, but you haven't thought about what you would say. how would you even bring up what you wanted to talk about?

when you turn around, soobin was already looking back at you. you couldn't quite read his facial expression, he looked a little surprised but also intrigued. he would shift his eyes away though, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. you gathered your belongings and headed up the stairs to his row and taking the seat next to his.

you look at him from the corner of your eye, too scared to turn and look at him and just fidgeted with the pencil in your hand instead. you let the professor finish putting people in pairs, she tells the class to exchange info with your lab partners and get to know them as our first lab will be on thursday. there's about fifteen minutes of class left and she dismisses us to be able to converse.

slowly, you turn your head towards him. "hey,"

soobin jumps and rubs his hands anxiously over his thighs. he looks over at you and bows his head, before turning away again. he squeezes his eyes shut and says something under his breath you can't catch.

"uh, so… we should probably exchange numbers like the professor suggested since we're going to be together for a whole semester. and we might have to keep in contact with eachoth-" you started to ramble before soobin suddenly cut you off.

"did we go to high school together?" he asks, turning towards you. he quickly catches himself, his face burning and his eyes shifting away from your stare that felt too intense. he looks down at his lap, at his fumbling hands that were there. "ah sorry- i mean…m-more specifically did we have a science class together?" he mutters the last part.

you freeze, so he did remember you…"uh, yeah. we were lab partners back in high school." you answer his question while nodding your head.

there was the tiniest smile that came to his face, crooked and cute. "i thought so…" he mumbled more to himself. his hand comes up to his nose like he was going to push up his glasses, but his hand curls into a fist when he realizes they weren't there.

"what happened to your glasses?" you blurt out without thinking. soobin's drops his hand onto the table and his face turns a pretty shade of pink.

"my-my glasses? i, um stopped wearing them awhile ago. i wear con-contacts now." his hand scratches the back of his neck as he speaks and he clears his throat often the more he talks, like he was thinking of the next words to say as he said it.

"mmm," you hum in understatement. before you could ask another question, about why he left so suddenly without saying anything, it was the end of class. the professor would announce that while also telling us to pick up our homework for the day. a worksheet to get to know all about your lab partner, like we were in kindergarten again.

soobin packs up his belongings and you can't help but to notice the keychain that hung from his backpack, the same one from when we were in high school. you smile to yourself and soobin gets up, a quick and jerky movement that startles you a little.

"i-i'm gonna go now," he stiffly says, sliding behind you and starting for the stairs that leads to the door. you bite your lip, quickly getting up and packing your stuff to follow him. you can't let him get away that easily, not when you got the chance to finally see him again.

"wait-" you say, catching his hand that was on his phone and ready to unravel his headphones. he flinches away, snatching his hand back and leaving yours hanging mid-air. when you look at him, he was blushing, his eyes looking everywhere but at yours and his cheeks were puffed out.

"sorry i- i was just wondering if you wanted to get started on the homework?" you ask him, dropping your hand and clutching onto your tote bag. soobin taps the screen of his phone with his thumb to check the time.

he opens his mouth to speak but gets interrupted by someone slinging their arm over your shoulder and ruffling your hair. you knew it was beomgyu cause he was the only person that did that to you, the little punk.

"shall we grab some lunch, i'm starving~" he asks, pinching your cheek. he stops when he realizes that soobin is standing there, looking between the two of you with wide eyes. he particularly focused on beomgyu's arm that was around you, which striked you as odd.

beomgyu nods at him before shoving a hand out in front of soobin, "hi, i'm beomgyu! you must be soobin and this losers lab partner." you roll your eyes, shoving his arm off of you and making him pout. soobin tentatively takes his hand, shaking it almost robotically before letting go.

"so," beomgyu turns to you, bringing his face completely in your view. you notice the way soobin turns his head away, his face burning. "are we getting lunch or not?"

you lean back and gesture towards soobin, "actually, i was going to get started on the homework assignment with soobin." you smile at beomgyu who drops his obnoxiously and his eyes flicker towards the boy that was standing there shuffling on his feet. he looks back at you, wiggling his eyebrows.

you never talked to beomgyu about soobin, never felt a reason to. it felt better to keep those little memories you had to yourself, instead of loading all you grievance on someone you just met. so, to him it probably looked like you were looking for a hook-up.

"oh, that's cool! i'll just get lunch with taehyun and catch up with you later?" he taps your shoulder and gives you a shit-eating grin that makes you roll your eyes even harder than the first time. he skips away, smirking at you as he heads out the door to track down his new friend.

soobin looks at you, not for too long of course, before staring down to his feet or the ground beneath them you weren't too sure. he drums his fingers against his bookbag strap, the silence stretching on.

"uh, sorry about that…do you have any time to do the assignment right now?" you ask him.

soobin's head pops up and he seems to perk up a bit at the idea of you still wanting to hang out with him, "yeah down- i'm down!"

"we can go to my dorm, it's only a five minute walk from here. if that's okay with you of course!" you offer, pointing in the direction of your room. soobin blushes furiously, but nods his head in agreement. you smile, waving your hand and motioning for him to follow you.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

"me and beomgyu share this place, but he shouldn't be back for awhile. but you already knew that…"

soobin shucks off his shoes before looking around. it was a cozy and small dorm room that he can tell is properly lived in. plushies littered the couch, there were two mugs on the coffee table in front of it, he placed his shoes next to the others that were by the door. it smelt good too, like cinnamon and something else he couldn't name.

you watch as soobin scans the place, his head turning until it lands on you. he gets startled as if he forget that it was your place and that you were actually in it. you don't fight the giggle that bubbles up and comes out.

"we can go to my room, it's more comfortable." you smile at him and make your way down the hall and to the right where your room was, opposite of beomgyu's who was on the left. he follows you into the room and jumps when you shut the door.

you gesture towards the bed, "have a seat." he nods and rummages through his bag for the assignment, a clipboard, and a pencil to write with. he settles on the bed, but he doesn't move. he looks almost frozen as he sits there and you smile fondly at how shy he can truly be.

you sit next to him, climbing onto the bed and crossing your legs with the paper in your lap. soobin mirrors you, being sure to put a little bit of distance between the two of you as he does.

"i-i'm ready when you are." he says, scrunching his nose and pushing up imaginary glasses. your eyes linger on him a little longer than you intended, soobin's eyes shifting and his cheeks turning rosy as he clears his throat.

"right- um, first question is…what's your favorite thing to do?" you look up from the sheet for him to answer first.

"i would say m-my favorite thing to do is read or watch tv, it's what i do the most." he shrugs his shoulders while you write down his response.

"and what do you like to read and watch?"

"nothing much, just…what everyone else reads and watches." he answers, his hands fidgeting around his pencil.

"and what is everyone reading and watching?" you tease. soobin stutters over his words, his tongue felt tied as he tried to come up with a lie and think about what trending shows he's heard others talking about.

"i'm messing with you," you laugh, placing a comforting hand on his thigh. he tenses under you and you pull away, he immediately relaxes when you do. "but i did notice the jujutsu kaisen figure on your bag, do you like that show? it's anime, right?" soobin's eyes are wide when he looks at you, his mouth moving like a fish.

"you know about jujutsu kaisen? have you ever watched the show?" he sounded excited that someone recognized the figure, as if it wasn't one of the most popular ones out now. he had that same shine in his eyes that he did back in high school when he would talk about things like this.

you felt a little bad when you had to admit the truth though, "i've never watched it, but beomgyu always talks about it!" you try to make the situation a little better and give him a topic to bring up with beomgyu whenever he sees them again, maybe they can become friends too.

"oh…" he deflates, tapping his pencil against his paper.

"we could always watch it together, since we're going to be around each other the whole semester." you suggest to him.

"really? you would watch?"

"yeah," you answer honestly and watch with fondness as soobin smiles, sucking his lips into his mouth in an attempt to hide it. it reminds you of the day before he left, the same day you finally saw him smile.

you can't hold back when you ask, "how come you didn't tell me that you were moving?" soobin pauses, his head slowly lifting up to gauge your facial expressions and feeling the shift in the mood. "i mean, i know we weren't super close but we were science partners and i was a little hurt when i had to find out from the teacher that you left." your voice gets soft to show that you weren't angry at him, just curious.

"i-" soobin's hand comes out to comfort you, but he stops himself and drops it onto the bed and grips onto the comforter instead. "i wanted to say goodbye… i didn't even know we were moving until i got home that day." he mumbles with a small head shake.

"everything was already packed and they were loading up the u-haul truck. i hardly even had time to process it all and once i did i was in a new city surrounded by a bunch of new people. b-but believe me when i say i wanted to say goodbye at least…" and you do believe him. he sounded too sincere and his eyes reminded you of a sad puppy, his lower lip jutting out into a pout as he spoke.

he almost looked he wanted to cry and you couldn't have that, not over something so small. you were just curious as to why you never saw him again, you didn't mean to upset him in the process. you don't remember how or when but when you snap out of your thoughts, you're close to soobin. super close, with your hand pressed against the side of his warm face.

he was blinking at you wildly, his fingers gripped tight into your covers. you gasp, your eyes widening as you steal your hand away and pulling back. "sorry, i don't know why i just did that…"

"you-" soobin presses his lips together, furrowing his brows.

"i…?"

"you whis-whispered something,"

"what did i whisper?" you nervously ask.

he clears his throat, "you said that you missed me…"

you were taken aback, you didn't remember saying that but soobin said you did and he didn't have a reason to lie. did you miss him? when he left, you did think about him a lot. even after meeting beomgyu and graduating, there was little moments when he would pop into your mind and you would wonder how he was doing. if he was doing the same, thinking about you at that very moment.

you look at the boy who was so different from what you remembered. his muscular and toned body that was visible through his shirt, his legs that were a lot longer than before and encompassed by his jeans, his slender hand that held his pencil, his big and curious eyes that were no longer framed with glasses, his pretty and pink lips that were pouted so cutely. you wanted to lean in and kiss them-

your lips touch in a chaste kiss that lasts a second. when you pull back, soobin's eyes were squeezed shut and his lips were still protruded. you giggle, hiding your smile behind your hand and soobin's eyes crack open. he was blushing furiously and he had a sheepish look on his face.

"it's true, i did miss you…" you admit to him. you shove the classwork aside and crawl towards him. soobin's breath hitches when you start to come closer, his legs involuntary parting and allowing you to fill the spot between them.

you bring your faces close enough so that your breathes mingle between the little space there was. you slowly bring your hand up to his face again, your thumb rubbing under his eye. soobin's breath gets shaky as he lets your explore his face, gnawing on his bottom lip in nervousness.

you let your finger trace the bridge of his nose where his glasses used to be, "do you still keep your glasses around?" soobin brain was malfunctioning and he couldn't speak so he simply nods his head and points a trembling finger at his backpack that was on the floor. with a smile you hop off the bed to grab his glasses that were in a cute case before repositioning yourself to where you were.

you raise the glasses up to his face and gently slide them over his ears and up his nose. they were the same ones he had back then, except now they fit his adult features. they looked perfect on him, against the pink of his cheeks.

"so handsome," you mutter while continuing your evaluation of his face. letting your fingers trace the bow of his upper lip, soobin's stuttering breath making them moist. you look him in the eyes, "can i kiss you, properly?"

soobin swallows, his eyes sliding to the wall behind you. "i-i don't know how… i've never kissed somebody before." he whispers.

you were slightly taken aback, "really?" it was a little hard to believe that someone that looked like this has never kissed anyone. he shakes his head slowly, his nervous eyes finding their way back to yours. it was cute, the contrast between his striking visuals and his timid actions. and the fact that you were the first person to kiss him, be close to him like this, defile him was kind of turning you on.

with a gentle touch, you tap his lips. "just keep these open and follow my lead, hm?" soobin nods again, licking his lips and parting them, shutting his eyes as you move in close to him. you tilt your head to slot them together with his and soobin's fingers grip onto the blanket.

you take it slow and let soobin get the feel of making out, he's clumsy at the start of course. he can't quite find the right rhythm and sometimes he'll press too hard. he pulled back a little at one point and whispered against your mouth, "is that right?" you would grab him by the chin gently and hum in agreement before pulling him in again.

this time soobin melts into the kiss, finding the pacing easier this time as you capture his lips. wrapping an arm around his neck to keep him in place, sliding your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and making soobin shiver. his whole body squirms as your nails scratch his scalp gently, a tiny whimper slipping into the kiss.

the sound sent tingles through your body and you wanted- no needed to hear it again. you grip the hairs and tug them just a little, just enough to tilt his back and deepen the kiss.

"ngh," soobin moans into your mouth, his pretty lips opening wider. you place a hand on his chest, pushing him back onto his elbows. you slip your tongue into his mouth and soobin allowed you to explore his mouth, moving your tongue against his. he finds himself liking the way it feels, his body heating up, his pulse racing, and there was another sensation happening…between his legs.

he can feel the way your hand slides down his chest and tense tummy, heading right for the spot that was throbbing. his breath hitching when your hand ghosts over his crotch, your hand warm against the prominent bulge. his hips twitch up into your hand and he moans at the contact, the friction was delicious and he wanted to chase it.

it wasn't until you started rubbing at the same time as he grinds into against your hand. he found that the longer you did it, the better it felt and there was something coiling in his belly that made his breathing uneven and his body tingle. it scared him a little and he would pull away from the kiss, pushing your hand off of him, "wa-waitwaitwait-" he voice was breathy and his face was flushed, lips red and swollen.

"what's wrong?" you ask with concern, your hand that was just making him feel good was now rubbing his shoulder in comfort. soobin's skin was tingling with every graze, but it was bearable and not as intense as whatever just happened.

he ducks his head in embarrassment, his voice low when he speaks. "i-it's just that was my first time feeling something… like that."

"did you not like it? we can stop if you don't wan-"

"no!" he shouts, his head popping up and his eyes wild. "n-no it's not that i didn't like it…in fact i think i liked it too much. there was this feeling, right here." he points at his lower abdomen, right above his cock that was still hard and twitching in the constraints of his jeans.

"it was really intense and overwhelming, it scared me a little. it was too much, too fast," his speech is fast, his face burning all the while. you giggle a little and let your hand drop back down to his hard-on. soobin jerks, his legs twitching at your sides and lets out a breathy moan as his eyes flutter.

"what you were experiencing was getting close to having an orgasm. you've never touched yourself before?"

soobin's body felt like it was on fire, "no, never…"

"well," you lean into his neck, letting your breath ghost against the sensitive skin. soobin swallows when you trail your lips along the side. "would you like me to be the first to touch you there?" he moans while nodding his head, giving you the consent you needed to hear.

you unbuckle the belt that was around his slim waist, unzipping the zipper and sliding your hand into his pants. soobin watches with heady eyes, blinking slowly as if he didn't want to miss anything. you pull his cock from his pants, the tip was glistening with precum and you press a finger into the pool. you bring your finger to your mouth, lapping at the liquid.

"w-what are you doing, why would you eat…that?" soobin stammers, but his eyes were glossy as he watched you lick up his precum. it made his cock twitch between the two of you.

"it's sweet," you simply reply. "wanna try some?"

soobin tentatively nods, one small motion of his head and you kiss him. immediately, you push your tongue into his mouth while wrapping your hand around him and lubing him up with his own precum.

"uhn," soobin moans, his hips slowly raising up into your fist and his hand comes up to squeeze your arm tightly. it feels so good, he feels so good that he can't even keep up with the kiss. his mouth going slack as he continously moans and whines.

the air between the two of you is humid, soobin's glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose from the sweat building there. his hazy eyes looking at you through his almost fogged lenses, letting out an assortment of needy sounds.

you start to jerk him earnestly, letting your hand go up and down his cock at a quick and steady pace. drinking up all of the whimpers and pants that soobin feeds you. he leaks profusely over your first, a tell-tale sign that this was in fact his first time being touched.

soobin couldn't think, his brain was clouded and his skin was prickling with pleasure. he couldn't control his hips that kept thrusting up, chasing after that intoxicating feeling of your hand on him.

"i-" he gasps when he feels that coil in his tummy again, coming at him quicker than the first time. he doesn't think he can stop it this time though, his body tensing as the pleasure ramps up and his orgasm builds.

"you?"

"i don't think i can hold back -" he choked on his words, shaking his head. his eyes were shiny like he could cry at an moment from feeling so good. you let your hand graze his tip briefly and that seems to be soobin's breaking point.

"i'm- i'm gonna cum," he breaths, his eyes rolling back and his hips kicking upwards in one final thrust. his body twitches, a long and high-pitched moan of your name flowing from his mouth as he comes in your hand.

he tosses his head back, his one hand that was in the sheets so tight that his knuckles were white and his other hand that was on your shoulder was shaking. he felt like he could see white as he came, he felt light and dizzy as multiple spurts of warm cum landed on his shirt and jeans.

you stroke him while he comes down, his breathing heavy and his bottom lip was now sucked into his mouth as he tried to regulate himself. "wow," you smirk, admiring the amount of cum that landed on his clothes. soobin gets shy, his face burning as he turns his head away.

"i'm sorry - i didn't mean to cum so quickly…" he apologizes.

"you don't have to apologize for that." you reassure him, sticking a hand into his mussed hair before reaching down to push his glasses back up his nose and making him crinkle it cutely.

"it-it's embarrassing… cumming just from you touching me." he mumbles, his eyes downcast in shame.

"not embarrassing at all, it's hot." you lift his head up and make sure he's looking into your eyes, letting him know you were telling the truth. he swallows, his throat bobbing and he nods his head.

you laugh, letting his face go and grabbing some tissues from the bedside table. "but if you came that fast just from a handjob, i don't think you would've fared if we went all the way."

soobin's eyes go wide, whimpering when the soft tissue touches his sensitive cock. "i-i… i could've lasted longer!" he counters, a little frown on his face as he said it. you tuck him back into his boxers and zip his pants up.

"really?" you raise an eyebrow, tossing the dirty tissue aside and climbing into his lap. you settle down, pressed directly against soobin's sore cock and moving your hips a little. soobin moans, his hands coming to your waist while nodding his head.

"well, we have a whole semester to figure that out now don't we?" you smirk, as you hop of his lap and start to head out of the room. soobin watches with a furious blush on his face as you go.

"w-wait, my pants!" he calls out, leaping off the bed to remind you off his cum-stained pants he was wearing. he pauses though, looking down and groaning. he was rock hard again. "dammit," he mumbles while shoving a hand between his legs.

how was he supposed to survive chemistry like this?

© lucidwntrr est. 2025 - please do not steal, repost, or copy !

[khazafi-deactivated20260131]

there is violence against ethnic groups happening all across the world, and while it is so important to focus on the palestinian genocide because awareness and liberation for one group opens avenues for other groups, it is also inexcusable, in an era of endless information accessible at our fingertips, in machines that we hold 8+ hours a day to be silent or uneducated on oppression simply because it is not covered in mainstream media, bottom line. that said, every day is an opportunity to learn and to do better, so i have compiled this information for those wishing to widen their lens outside of what is being widely covered, and for those wishing to help. sudan:

what is happening in sudan?

the hunger crisis in al fashir

the uae’s complicity in darfuri genocide

how can i stay updated on the situation in sudan? sudan war monitor, radio dabanga, ayin weekly news bulletin, msf sudan, darfur human rights monitor

how to help individual sudanis

donate towards a community kitchen in al fashir

help sudani women receive menstrual products

darfur women group: action steps

underfunded sudani fundraisers

donate to help disabled sudanis in the nuba region

yemen:

what is happening in yemen?

the malaria crisis in yemen | the cholera outbreak in yemen

the flooding crisis in yemen

how can i stay updated on the situation in yemen? yemen online, live event coverage, yemen news agency

how to help individual yemenis

donate towards food, healthcare and education in yemen

dr congo:

what is happening in dr congo?

the congolese rape crisis

coltan mining in the drc / ethically sourcing electronics

the 2025 ebola outbreak in dr congo

how can i stay updated on the situation in drc? all africa, al jazeera, team congo

donate towards humanitarian aid in the drc

donate to support women in the drc

donate to build a school in doma, drc

tigray:

what is happening in tigray?

the displacement crisis in tigray

the ongoing tigray famine

how can i stay updated on the situation in tigray? omna tigray, tghat media, weghata facts

donate towards displaced people in tigray

haiti:

what is happening in haiti?

the displacement crisis in haiti

how can i stay updated on the situation in haiti? the haiti times, haiti libre, le facteur haiti, ayibopost

donate towards individual haitians

donate towards education for haitian children

gaza:

what is happening in gaza?

1948 nakba-now

the famine crisis in gaza

how can i stay updated on the situation in gaza? eye on palestine, quds news network, al jazeera

donate to help individual gazans

donate towards soup kitchens in gaza city

donate towards menstrual kits for gazan women

general resources:

decolonizemyself

so informed

guttmacher institute

middle east matters

code pink

bds movement

this is a non exhaustive resource. violence, oppression and genocide towards minority groups is widespread and ongoing, and not limited to these groups or resources. remaining uneducated is a choice, and an inexcusable one to make. the same systems used to oppress and kill ethnic groups across the world can be used on you, too.

if i have misspoken or added something that should not be here or is problematic, please let me know in the notes. please also feel free to make your own additions to this post.

nobody is free until we all are.

[manikas-whims]

Love and Deepspace as text posts pt 8/?

been a while since i made one of these..😆

Pt. 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

[kitimeq]

ੈ✩‧₊˚we can’t be friends 🤍 xavier 星回 ੈ✩‧₊˚

RE-UPLOAD! The original post didn’t show up in the tags, sorry for the confusion :c

pairing ੈ✩: xavier x reader

summary ੈ✩: you and xavier had been best friends for years, nearly inseparable since the moment you met. But after one slightly drunken night, everything shifted: you became friends with benefits. You told yourself you could handle it, but as time went on, your heart began to ache. You had to end it, for your own sake. You were in love with him, but you couldn't shake the painful truth: you believed he’d never feel the same. Still, what if, all this time, while you were trying to push him away, he was quietly hoping to show you how perfect you two were together?

word count ੈ✩: 12k. omg. it’s LONG, long. grab some snacks and let me entertain you for a while!!

tropes ੈ✩: 18+, smut, best friends with benefits, miscommunication, unrequited love, not really tho, angst, angst with happy ending, plot with porn, love confessions, needy xavier, obsessed xavier, domestic xavier, i suck at giving tropes i swear i will get better someday, desperate xavier, everything is consensual, the consumption of alcohol mentioned, pet names, xavier was once in love with mc but the myths are not canon in this one!!

author’s note ੈ✩: GUYS this one’s IT. This idea was blooming slowly in my mind for quite some time. I really hope you’ll like it 🥹 also, please be gentle with me, i’m not a native speaker of english and I’m definitely not a writer. I like to think that everything i create is just fueled by my passionate delulu. please let me know if you liked it and if maybe you’d like to read part 2!! ♡ enjoy your reading!!

!!do NOT read if you’re not 18+!!

ੈ✩‧₊˚ 

It all started with the simplest of touches.

Your hands grazed, as if by accident. Then your eyes met. He grabbed you by your forearm, or maybe you grabbed him, everything was so blurry in your mind. A touch on a waist, a hand on a chest, and a sudden clash of your lips. You saw fireworks exploding in your mind, sending pleasant thrumming throughout your whole body.

Desperate touches. Rapid breaths. A whisper, maybe two. He said something. What did he say? The sound of your heart was the only thing you could hear.

Your dress came off. You felt lips. Lips marking every part of your body, leaving behind wet paths that made the exposed skin shiver due to the coolness of the air. He went down. Down. Down, and looked at you expectantly. Your head never nodded that quickly and it probably never will again. You saw stars. Millions and millions of them, shimmering under your closed eyelids. He grabbed your hand and put it into his hair. You caressed it gently, savoring the softness of it.

Then, you saw his eyes. Beautiful, deep blues that looked far too innocent for what he did and what he was about to do with you next. He kissed you again and again, and again, and he held you close throughout the whole night, making you shiver, moan, cry, beg — until you fell asleep from exhaustion right in the safety of his arms. He turned your world upside down.

And then came the next morning, when you began to question the entire ordeal. You panicked, thinking about your friendship that you valued the most and Xavier, whom you just couldn’t bear to lose. However, when you wanted to put it past you, to blame the alcohol consumed that night, act as if it was just a slip of your judgment, a mistake, a reaction caused by the need of intimacy after being single for a long time, he wasn’t having it. He said that he couldn’t forget about it, that it changed things, and you blurted out the first thing that came into your mind. You proposed the whole arrangement.

And that’s how, after several months, your relationship with Xavier stayed clear and technically uncomplicated. Friends with benefits. You thought that even if that night did change things, then in this way you could act as if it wasn’t a big deal to you. In this way, you wouldn’t have to lose him, wouldn’t make things awkward. You still acted normally in front of each other, you continued to spend time in almost the same way you were before that faithful night, but with one drastic change.

Almost every encounter since that night ended with you in his bed or the other way around. Hours and hours spent in each other’s embrace, touching and feeling too much, all at once.

And said feelings were what made you finally decide that you couldn’t do this anymore. You couldn’t continue sharing with him this intimacy, pretending that everything between you remained unchanged. You couldn’t do this anymore, knowing that it was all that you’ll ever get from him, despite being in love with him for so long.

You knew that he would never reciprocate your feelings. You knew that from the beginning, from the very first touch of your fingertips that night, but you foolishly thought that having him close for as long as he wanted you, would be enough for you. Even if he wanted you only for your body, because you were the easiest choice.

However, your heart was breaking every time you were reminded of one significant fact, a harsh reality that felt like a bucket of cold water in your face.

He will never love you. Because you were not her.

And you will never be.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

You already had a strategy to end the arrangement. You wanted to take it slow, step by step, with just a bit of pain on your side. You knew it wasn't your best plan, but it was a plan nonetheless. You wanted to end the friends-with-benefits arrangement in a way that would make you both slowly, almost naturally, drift apart—so subtly that he wouldn't even notice the change. As for you, you were ready to bear the painful consequences of your actions, if it saved you from the excruciating pain of a broken heart later.

You started with avoiding his kisses.

And it turned out to be a tough job to do, because you didn’t realize before how much of a kisser Xavier became during your friends-with-benefits situation. It never really bothered you before, you always accepted every single kiss with content. However, during your last meeting, you were trying so hard to avoid his lips, and noticed that he made it into an almost impossible task.

When you went out one night, he wanted to kiss you three times during hot pot, even though you were sitting across from each other. You thought that the sitting situation was enough of an obstacle, but you quickly learned that he always somehow managed to find a chance to try to steal a kiss. That not only bewildered you, but also made you blush so hard that you had to blame the spicy food for it to not look suspicious. Yet, you managed to stay your ground and ignored his needy attempts at capturing your lips.

You also avoided his lips while you were later watching a movie in his apartment, by pretending that you didn’t see or feel his constant gaze on you. You thought that maybe if he saw that the movie engaged you so much, he would finally drop the attempts. Unfortunately, your plan failed the moment his patience thinned, when he started kissing your neck while cradling your body to his. He was grabbing at you almost desperately and you really couldn’t escape from every single kiss he was giving you, no matter how much you tried to. And you really tried to.

“Why—why are you turning your face away? A-Ah… Let me look at y-you—mmm.” He said between his moans, and he never once stopped thrusting inside you. It was the day when he took you on a sofa between his soft, plushy pillows with the movie still playing in the background. Your legs were laying on his shoulder, his both hands holding onto them tightly while his hips thrust deep inside you, making you gasp in pleasure. When you didn’t respond and kept your head away, hoping that he would finally stop with his relentless kisses, his hand gently grabbed your face and turned it towards his so that your eyes met. He smiled softly, his cheeks pink and face damp. “Yes, there you are. You feel good? You wanna break?” He almost slurred and you adored how quickly he was loosing himself with you, how much he was losing his composure. When you squeezed your eyes, moaning at a harder thrust and shook your head no, he whimpered. Next thing you knew, he lowered your legs onto the sofa and lay between them, bringing his body closer to yours. Your chests touched and you could feel his rapid heartbeat, mirroring the rhythm of your own. He nudged your head, which was still turned to the side, with his nose.

“Give me a kiss, c’mon, starlight.” He kissed your cheek, slowing down his thrusts to a lazy, delicate ones. “I couldn’t get a kiss all day, I need it. Let me.” And when you saw his eyes, full of desperation and something that reminded you of adoration, you couldn’t keep denying him. Your lips touched his and he didn’t let go of them until you came, and later when he began growling straight into your mouth, chasing his own undoing.

It was the last time you met up, and after that you decided that you had to cut it off completely. You couldn’t continue being with him like this, not when you knew that he already loved someone else. Being with him this close messed with your head. You didn’t want to feel like a convenient second choice and you couldn’t help but feel that your meetings were slowly becoming more and more intimate. You had to constantly remind yourself that you weren’t together. You made sure to label the change in your relationship properly at the start of the arrangement — still on friendly terms, with occasional mutual pleasure. But the close proximity and constant intimacy started to make the lines blurry in your mind.

And your heart couldn’t take it anymore, it hurt every time you reminded yourself that he didn’t reciprocate your feelings, and that he never will.

After that movie night you decided that the next step to your goal would be to stop engaging in small talk with him, especially the one that occurred at work.

You worked together at the Hunter’s Association, he was one of the best Hunters out there, and you specialized in weapon modification from the safety of your own desk. You wanted to be a hunter once, but with your Evol involving micromodification you guessed that you could be needed in a position that involved working with weaponry. After working there for years, you were passionate about your work and elated to have a job you loved and where you thrived while helping others to the best of your abilities.

Thus, because of the shared place of employment, you saw Xavier almost every day. He was often near your desk, passing by it, putting snacks before you or teasing you with that soft smile of his. So, cutting the contact out there was one of the toughest jobs for you, but it had to be done.

When you knew that he would be free, you found a task that needed completion in other departments, so that you will not cross paths. Often, instead of others coming to you to fix their weapons, you proposed to make the trip instead. In this way you were always quick on your feet, going from department to department, back to the workshop and again to the others’ desks. You didn’t mind the extra activity, it made you think less about your breaking heart.

And when Xavier managed to catch you from time to time, because he always somehow would, you were trying to appear too busy even for a small conversation.

“Where are you rushing off to again? I didn’t manage to talk to you these past few days.” He said one day when he caught you by your elbow while you were going out of the bathroom. He must’ve seen you go in there and wait for you to come out. He brought you a little closer to himself and looked at your face so intently, that you got scared he could see right through you.

“Sorry Xai, I’m just really busy lately.” You answered, maybe too quickly, and were trying to calm your beating heart upon seeing him so close again. Too close. It didn’t help that he was in his hunter’s uniform, that made him look twice as dreamy. You were so close that you could also smell his comforting scent and see the small scar on his cheek that he got last year after you two tried ice skating for the first time.

The first and the last, for it appeared that you were much better at it than he would ever be, and you wanted to avoid him getting hurt again. It was also before your friends-with-benefits situation, when your friendship was pure and healthy. Your heart squeezed remembering how he grabbed your hand then, and how tightly he used to hold it throughout the whole activity.

“Xavier, are you sure you don’t want to go back home already? I’m afraid that your cut will scar if we leave it like that.” You said, looking at the band aid on his cheek, the only remedy for his small injury that you could provide at that time.

He squeezed your hand and still appeared sheepish after his fall. You secretly found him adorable, you never saw him doing something in which he didn’t excel in. It was as if he let you see a part of himself that no one had ever seen before. That thought made your chest warmer.

“No. I won’t let the ice defeat me.” He said surely and you knew that he won’t give up, even if his legs already visibly trembled from exhaustion. You let out a sigh. “Besides, you’re holding my hand now, so I feel much safer.” He looked at you, his voice soft and cheeks red, most likely from the cold air. Seeing him in such a vulnerable state made you completely overcome by the feeling of tenderness, and you send him a huge smile, thinking that it was the first time he relied on your protection, and not the other way around.

Little did you know that this smile would catch him by surprise so much that he slipped backwards, this time pulling you down with him. However, your reflexes slightly worked, because you managed to put your hand behind his head, shielding it from the impact with ice. You landed on him with a groan as his hands moved to pull your body closer.

“Oh god, Xai, are you okay? How did that happen?” You asked him, trying to lift yourself off of him. You felt him relax his head further into your hand, and when you raised yourself enough to face him directly, he sent you a wide smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. This sight made your heart melt.

“See, I knew you would protect me.” He replied, clearly referring to your hand behind his head. “My little savior.” He called you, and when you puffed the air out, annoyed that he could have hurt himself for real this time, his smile turned into a full laugh, his body shaking under yours. He looked so angelic, covered in snow, laughing in a way that was so scarce that you couldn’t help but join him in his moment of happiness.

And thanks to your mittens, your hand was left with only a purple bruise from the impact. Still, Xavier couldn’t let you forget about it up to the day it disappeared completely, expressing guilt for the minor injury, his sight chasing your hand every time it appeared in his line of vision. He often caressed it softly with his fingers, looking at it with a mysteriously thoughtful expression, whispering “My little savior.” under his breath. It made you wish that the bruise would never disappear.

You took a step back, suddenly overwhelmed by the memories and the closeness between you. He always invaded your personal space, stood so close that you could almost feel his breath on your face. This time, you had had to cut it out for your own good.

“S’okay. You’re always busy but I guess I just got used to meeting you near your desk. Just text me after work? Maybe we could meet up for our book club today.” He said and you swallowed the awful feeling of longing in your chest. Book club was the term you came up with when you both just wanted to sit and read together for hours. Unfortunately, you knew how book club sessions looked like since the beginning of your friends-with-benefits arrangement.

You were sitting together in silence, reading for hours, then talked about your books until you both lost your breaths. A wonderful experience, you adored your little reading sessions, but you knew that recently they always ended with his lips on yours, and with your clothes scattered around his bedroom.

You couldn’t let this go on forever. You couldn’t go back to being just friends now, and you couldn’t keep him so close, knowing that he will never fully be yours. You pitied your poor heart.

“Sure, will do. See you around!” You were aware how awkward you sounded, but before he could stop you, you were already off to another task of the day.

You didn’t text him after work, and neither did you reply to his message in time. The next day you send him an excuse that you were tired and fell asleep quickly, and you hoped that he believed it or didn’t care enough to question you further.

If the distance hurt you this bad now, you couldn’t even imagine how would it feel when he eventually would’ve left you for her.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

The next stage of your plan involved not answering his texts at all. You allowed yourself small replies from time to time, most often very brief, if the situation called for it. Replying excuses from left to right. Then, you incorporated not picking up his calls, especially on weekends, when he appeared to want to see you the most, because you were absent from the Association building and he couldn’t catch even a glimpse of you.

The distance you yourself put between you broke your heart, and you were getting more and more depressed by the day. Ignoring the person you loved wasn’t easy, when he was the one with whom you wanted to spend your time the most.

To distract yourself from the situation, you were trying to pass your time differently. You were meeting up with your family and friends, or you started doing things that you were putting off for ages. Everything and anything to fill the void in your heart caused by the absence of the one you loved. The absence forced by you.

It had to be done, you reminded yourself daily. You had to end this somehow, no matter how it hurt you. You had to move on. You couldn’t still be in love with him the day he would end up with MC. You knew it would ruin you.

Three weeks passed since your last meeting at the Association and you could feel that Xavier was getting impatient. His calls were more frequent. His messages longer. Sometimes while running away from him at work, you could catch how he was scanning the room in search of you. How frustrated he seemed to be. How upset.

You understood it. You were best friends after all, and he also probably needed someone near him to help him get his head clear of MC. You knew that it must’ve been hard for him. But you were sure you were doing the right thing, that’s why you kept avoiding him during the past month, and not only it was the longest period you’ve been away from each other since the start of your complicated arrangement, but also the longest time since the start of your friendship. Even when the times were rough, you managed to see each other at least once or twice a week.

You felt the pain of the distance too. Missing him almost every second of the day. But you had your reasons. You didn’t want to try to satiate the hunger he felt for another woman anymore.

So every time his name appeared on your phone screen, along with the picture of him shoving two muffins into his mouth at the same time, you closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and waited out the signal, simultaneously praying for and dreading the silence.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

On a quiet rainy day, after a month of ignoring almost every attempt to make contact from Xavier, you heard your phone ping thrice. You sighed and put the book you were reading down, deciding that it was a good moment to reply something short to him in order to slightly ease his worries, and make him feel less alarmed. You wanted distance, but you still sticked to responding from time to time, to appear casual. To let the connection break off less abruptly.

xavier: why cant I see U at all recently.

xavier: why are U not picking up my calls and not replying to my texts.

xavier: are U hiding from me?

you: Of course not, just busy.

xavier: busy for me but not busy for others I know U are going out all the time.

xavier: are U mad at me? did I do something wrong.

you: No, you didn’t, don’t worry. It’s just me. I have a lot of things on my mind recently.

xavier: could U please have me on Ur mind too? I miss U.

xavier: so bad it hurts

You let out a rugged breath, and decided to stop responding, but then another text came. This time, making your blood run cold.

xavier: going back from a rough mission right now i think i need help.

you: Oh my god, are you okay? Are you injured?

xavier: cant tell U why dont you come and see me for Urself.

you: Fine, I need to see if you’re okay. Do you need anything? Food? Medicine? I will pick something up on my way there.

xavier: i just need U

You closed your eyes and hid your face in your palms, then swore it would be the last time. You will go in, treat his wounds and go out. It had to be the last time you allowed yourself to be this close to him, and then you had to cut him off completely. A month wasn’t enough to heal your broken heart, and these small sightings won’t make your heart feel any less burdened.

It had to end today.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

When the door opened, he managed to take your breath away once more.

First, only figuratively. His beauty always managed to amaze you. He looked so handsome no matter the circumstances, his hair so fluffy and shiny, his face like that of an angel, with sharp jawline and soft, pink lips almost screaming at you to be kissed. When you met his eyes, you almost gasped at the intensity of his deep blue gaze. There wasn’t a thing about him you didn’t miss terribly after so much time apart.

Then, literally, when the first thing he did was grabbing your hand and hugging you tightly to his chest, that was still clothed in his hunter uniform. He pressed his face into the crown of your hair and touched the nape of your neck, holding it gently with his cold hand.

“Was the mission that difficult?” You asked, thinking that his reaction to you was mostly due to his need for someone else’s closeness. The need for security. “Were you in danger?” You asked quietly, fear bubbling in your mind.

“No. I lied.” He murmured and you felt him squeezing you even harder, inhaling your scent with content. His hand started stroking your back, slowly making its way under your thin coat. “Didn’t know what else to say to make you come see me.” He said and you hoped that he couldn’t hear, nor feel the sound of your erratic heartbeat.

He shouldn’t say things like these, it made you feel too hopeful. You tried to push that feeling down, knowing that’s how he normally acted with you, his best friend. You knew that he didn’t have a lot of people beside him, thus he treasured the ones that stayed. And that thought made you so incredibly apologetic that you had to swallow the tension in your throat. You hated that you fell for him so hard. You hated that you had to leave him because of it. You hated that you knew, that he would blame himself when you’ll leave.

And you started to hate yourself the most because of all of it.

“Did you miss me that much?” You teased, trying to calm yourself with a friendly banter.

“Yes.” The answer was immediate. The kiss he placed on your temple as natural as breathing. “Everything and everyone seems to be taking you away from me these days.” He said and you could hear him sulking. Your heart squeezed again, but you knew that you were doing the right thing. The distance was necessary.

Necessary for you to avoid breaking. You had to protect yourself first, you decided. You couldn’t remain in love with him forever. You had to move on and in order to do that you had to keep the distance. Which was impossible with him around, when he craved physical touch so badly.

You started to be so mad at yourself for breaking your streak today. You didn’t realize how touchy he will be after some time apart and it was getting to your head. You were so conflicted. You felt too much, and that was always the case when you were around him.

He was in love with someone else. Your head was screaming loudly, trying to calm the wave of unwanted emotions.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. I love you, you thought. “But now I’m here, so maybe I can inspect you for any injuries? You always seem to neglect them as long as they don’t make you bleed out.” You managed to free yourself from his hold and missed how his hands went after you for a second. He didn’t want you to put distance between you two. Not yet, not ever.

He looked into your beautiful, shiny eyes and nodded without a thought. He couldn’t say no to you, not when he saw the still remaining hint of worry in them. Besides, checking for injuries always came with physical contact, and he was so starved. He needed to feel your body close to his. Your hands on him, somewhere, anywhere, everywhere. He felt addicted and craved some kind of relief. He looked after you like a lost puppy, following your footsteps closely, touching the familiar material of your coat that you left on a counter. The distance this past month made him feral, every part of his body screamed to hold you and don’t let go.

You sat down on his couch, and patted the place next to you, hinting at him to sit beside you. He was trying not to appear too eager while doing so, and also when he started taking off the upper part of his uniform. He was almost shaking with excitement knowing that you really came to see him. That you were worried about him. The distance was making him sick. Furious. Desperate. Hurt.

He suppressed a shudder when you touched his shoulder and peeled away the material off his back completely. Your hands were pleasantly warm, as always. He bit his lip trying not to gasp from the contact.

He needed more.

“Xavier.” He hummed, giddy inside upon finally hearing his name from your lips. He was bracing for your outburst. Couldn’t wait for it. “You said you lied about the mission being hard, while having a fucking gash on your back? I-I can’t believe you...” He heard your angry, shaky voice and smirked unintentionally. You were worried about him and he liked that. He liked the attention, when it was coming from you.

Yet, you didn’t know that.

You cursed under your breath and went to grab the first aid kit from one of his drawers, and proceeded to patch the man back up, having no idea that he allowed the Wanderer to injure him, to have an excuse to see you. To keep you with him for a minute longer, even if it was only under the pretense of tending to his injuries. He was ready to do anything at this point to keep you from slipping away from his grasp.

If you knew that, you wouldn’t be so adamant on distancing yourself.

But because you didn’t know, you also didn’t predict that after patching him up, he would propose you to eat dinner with him, making up an excuse that he didn’t want to be alone with his pain. Later, when you wanted to come back to your place, he mentioned he wanted to play kitty cards, the game you adored. You couldn’t refuse him.

During the next hours you spent at his place you both talked in the same way you always used to - about everything and anything, exchanging opinions, stories and everyday thoughts. You laughed together for the first time in weeks, and your cheeks hurt from how much he was able to make you smile. You always had so much fun with him; he was your favorite person in the whole world. You missed him so bad, despite knowing that you couldn’t back out from your plan fully. Yet, you allowed yourself a little break, telling yourself that it was in order for your distancing to not look suspicious. In addition, he was injured, and you felt the need to comfort him in any way you could. The gash on his back wasn’t that deep, but it worried you regardless.

The atmosphere changed drastically only when he managed to win the next round of kitty cards. You jokingly frowned at him, forging displeasure, and he looked directly at your pouting lips. The time seemed to stop when you noticed that look. He raised his hand to touch your collarbone, caressing it with his fingers, up to your neck and over your cheek. He looked deeply into your eyes, and you noticed how dark his became. You found it fascinating that his soft gaze could change so drastically in a matter of seconds.

His hand reached out to grab your chin and brought your face closer to his. And when he whispered: “Could I ask for a reward?” with that dangerous, needy voice of his, you knew that you couldn’t deny him anything.

When your lips touched, you decided that it will be the last time you let it happen. It would be your goodbye, before losing the feel of his touch. You thought that you could at least make the best of it, get lost in the artificial feeling of being treasured for the last time, before you started the last phase of your plan.

After that, you had to cut off the ties with him completely. No matter the measures. No matter the pain.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

“Xavier, m-maybe not today?” You asked when you realized how low he was going with his kisses. You knew what he was about to do, and you hated how much you couldn’t contain the sounds that were coming out of your mouth when he was doing it. Besides, it didn’t feel like a mutual pleasure anymore, it felt like an act of service and you were not sure you wanted him to pleasure only you.

He looked at you, having already dropped to his knees. He looked ruined, his hair already a mess from the touch of your fingers, lips wet and swollen, shirt off displaying his toned chest, bandaged in the center with caution. He was practically heaving. The sight made you blush.

“Why not?” His voice sounded whiny, his lips already kissing the inside of your thigh as if he couldn’t restrain himself. Every kiss sent electricity to your already wet core and you found it hard to think clearly. His hands were grabbing your tights possessively, relishing in their softness. “Please, let me eat you out. I’ll make you feel good, I promise.” The pleading in his eyes was so apparent. So unfiltered.

“Don’t you want to get to the point already?” You offered shyly and he huffed out a laugh.

“Where are you trying to run off to this time?” It sounded like a joke, but he appeared annoyed. “Relax, starlight and let me take care of you. Please.” You still hesitated. It made him pout. “I need it, please, star. I want to taste you so bad. I didn’t manage to last time.” He kissed your knee and put his head on it, looking for the answer in your unsure eyes. “Will you let me?” His pleading tone, along with his desperate gaze was what made you break. You whispered a soft confirmation and it was all it took before he quickly put his mouth on your core, licking vigorously, devouring you like the most delicious thing on the planet.

“Mmmm.” You heard him humming, before your own cries, along with the constant tremble of your legs, drowned out any other sound.

He was elated.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

“Mmmh— Yes. Yes. H—holy—” He whimpered at the same time with his thrusts and squeezed your waist harder, moving his hands up and down your back, caressing it affectionately. “You are s-so warm, so beautiful, fuck—” He moaned when you tightened on him. You stiffed a whimper and tried to commit to memory the touch of his strong hands.

He was taking you slowly from behind and the pace was almost unbearable for you. You needed more, and you couldn’t stand how romantic it felt when he was this gentle with you. However, at the same time you didn’t want him to strain himself, you were aware that the slow pace was reasonable due to the injury on his back. The slow pace did surprise you either way, you thought that after so much time apart he would be quick and rough, chasing his pleasure faster than he normally would. Instead, he acted even more passionately than usual.

The slow pace brought you so much pleasure that you couldn’t contain the sounds escaping from your lips. He kept pressing your most sensitive spots, his thrusts slow, deep and precise. His forehead rest on the back of your shoulder, and you could feel his hot, labored breath pressing against your damp skin.

He made you feel so appreciated, and so cared for, and that made you uneasy. More so, with the accompaniment of the things he was constantly saying to you, from the moment you allowed him to touch you today.

“Can you turn around now? Please, my star, I want to see you.” He half-whispered and started kissing your neck, then moving his mouth to every patch of your skin he could reach: your shoulders, back, arms. No place was left unkissed under his relentless lips. You shook your head no; you didn’t want to let this become even more passionate than it already was. You positioned yourself facing the headboard of the bed from the very beginning, and you were adamant to keep your stance up until the end. You feared that your eyes would betray you, displaying your feelings for him and that was what made you not lose your composure.

Upon hearing your refusal for the third time this night, he proceeded to voice his frustrations by grunting, and thrust into you a little harder. You moaned loudly, surprised at the sudden change of tempo.

“Please, starlight.” He begged; his voice achingly earnest. He picked up the pace and you almost choked with how deep he reached inside of you now. You thought that you could never get used to how big he was, his girth filling you up to the brim. “Turn around. T-turn around for me.”

“X-xavier slow down, I don’t want you to get hurt—” You managed to choke out, grasping sheets with your hands for some kind of stability. You closed your eyes when they were turning upwards, biting your lip in the process. He felt otherworldly, but you couldn’t help but think about the gash on his back. He shouldn’t strain himself.

“Then turn around and look at me.” He repeated and you shook your head again.

“I-I can’t, I—Ah—”

“W-why do you keep—Mmh—denying me?” His voice came out like a growl and he kept up the fast tempo. Then, he grabbed your shoulder and put his other hand on your lower back, making you bend over more. His thrusts got even faster, making you moan louder. “Like that. Yes.” You breathed quietly. So good. He was so, so good. “I just want to see your face. I need to kiss y—A—Ah—Kiss you so bad, so, so, so bad.” He thrust more deeply, making you involuntarily back out from the stimulation, your body almost collapsing, but he quickly grabbed you with his strong arms, and brought you even closer to him. You saw stars and touched one of the arms that held your whole body — from your waist, between your breasts, to your neck. His arm was so hard, so strong. He was huge compared to you. “No, n-no, don’t run away, star. You feel so good—G-God how I missed this—” He held you closer by the second, pressing more kisses to your shoulders, his thrusts becoming quicker, less deep. You were holding back your tears from how good he felt inside you. “I missed you. I missed you. I miss you.” He started babbling and that’s how you knew he was close.

To your surprise, he suddenly pulled out of you completely and grabbed you by your shoulders, turning you around to finally face him. Before you could show any signs of protest, he lowered himself onto his forearms, caging your head between his biceps so that he could have a perfect view of your face. He took his cock in one of his hands and he slipped himself into you again with ease. You shuddered and cried out softly with astonishment.

“Xavier—!”

“Yes. Yes, that’s my name.” He started thrusting into you again, this time much slower and more attentive, and looked deep into your eyes. You had nowhere to run, the only thing you could do was to close your eyes, but the sight of him so close made you want to never look away. “Say it one more time. Just once.” He looked ethereal, his silver hair wet from the perspiration that gathered on his forehead, and his cheeks painted a pretty shade of red. You could see how blissful he felt. “So p-pretty.” He finally kissed your lips softly. “So sweet.” He licked into your mouth, deepening the kiss. It made your toes curl, you loved when he kissed you this sloppily. When he released your already swollen lips, there was a string of saliva connecting you. It was all so intense.

“Why were you denying my kisses?” He kissed you again deeply, sucking on your tongue. His slow thrusts made you go insane. “You don’t like kissing me like this?” He sucked on your lips until they were red and swollen. There was so much saliva. He licked them and kissed them again. “I could come from this feeling alone. So soft.” You were shocked at how much he talked. Was he always this talkative? Or were you realizing it only now, when you knew that the closeness with him would soon come to an end?

“Am I making you feel good? Yeah?” You decided to nod at him truthfully, your moans short, resembling small hiccups. You were lost in the pleasure; you could feel the end approaching. He put his forehead against yours, breathing heavily. “W—wow, you—you sound so adorable, I won’t last long—” He moaned and grabbed your face in his hands, kissing your nose first, then softly your lips.

“Yes, yeah, let go. Let go my little star. My starlight, my treasure.” He whispered into your ear, feeling you clench down on him as you came with his name on your lips. You felt him reaching the end quickly after you, he shuddered, his mouth opened, and he released into the condom with a low moan. Still cumming, he took your face into his hands and kissed your forehead gently. When you both were still coming down from the high, breathing heavily, he began stroking your hair, pushing it out of your face, and kissing your cheeks.

What in the world was all that?

God, you couldn’t do this anymore. You couldn’t let this keep up, it felt too real, too romantic, and your heart really couldn’t take it. Not when every time you were together like this you keep thinking that he would like you to be someone else instead. Did he imagine her under him this time? You trembled, scared because of that thought, but the things he was saying made you feel that it really could be the case.

Your breath came out shakily and you took his muscular forearms in your palms and grazed them gently with your thumbs. You let yourself feel for the last time how warm his body was, how pleasurable his weight on top of you. You kept your eyes closed to not let him see your tears, but you couldn’t stop one from going down your cheek.

And of course, he saw it as soon as it appeared. He seemed to always look at you when you wanted him to ignore you the most.

He kissed it off, swiped the wetness with his thumb and proceeded to kiss your temple.

“Why are you crying?” He asked softly, his eyebrows furrowed. “Did I hurt you?” He appeared so concerned, and you felt the shivers going down your spine.

Yes, you wanted to scream.

“No, of course not.” You said instead. Because it was your fault for feeling too much. “I’m okay, just tired.” You lied straight to his face. He sent you a small smile and kissed your closed eyelids gently.

And when he shifted and pulled out from you slowly with a little hiss, you let out a sigh and knew that your time with him had to end now.

But before you could lift yourself up, he hugged you from the side and put his head on your chest. He was listening to the sound of your heartbeat, and you already knew that it had a soothing effect on him. His hand started caressing one side of your waist, his hair touching your chin, his scent overlapping you. You could feel his heartbeat on you, fast but steady. Another tear escaped from your eyes. You had to run away. You couldn’t take the closeness anymore. It was too painful.

“Xavier, I—” You swallowed the sob forming in your throat. Your voice came out rusty. “I really need to go.”

“Already? Stay with me for a little while longer.” He squeezed you harder to himself, showing no intention of releasing you from his hold. You hated that you needed to cut short such a vulnerable moment with him. “The night is still young. I thought we could maybe watch something together? Or bake these cinnamon cookies you like? I practiced, they taste and look almost perfect now.” You closed your eyes hard, moved by his thoughtfulness, and you almost sobbed audibly if it wasn’t for your hand quickly covering your mouth.

But he felt it, and it made all the muscles in his body tighten, as if he was struck.

“Star?” He loosened his hold on you and quickly studied your face. “What’s wrong?” His eyes became huge, filled with worry. And that concern on his features was what finally made you run.

You raised gently and pushed yourself from him, starting to pick up your scattered pieces of clothing. Your hands shakily put the panties and your sweater on your trembling body, not once looking Xavier’s way. He was waiting patiently for your answer.

“I can’t do this anymore, Xavier.” You replied, feeling more comfortable now that you had some clothes on. You couldn’t meet his eyes, but you heard him standing up from the bed.

“Do what?” He sounded puzzled. You heard him grabbing and putting on some pants hastily, clicking his belt in place. As if he was preparing to run after you. “Did I do something wrong? You didn’t like it today? Was I too intense?” You had never heard him speak so quickly, and the panic in his tone was a rare occurrence too.

“No, it’s— I am at fault here.” You answered truthfully, and you took a couple steps away from him. You wanted to run as fast as you could but for the love of God, you couldn’t locate any other pieces of your clothing. Your eyesight was clouded by unleashed tears. No, not now, you couldn’t let them fall until you were in the safety of your home.

“But you were perfect.” His voice carried more panic by the second. “We could change some things. You could tell me what to do differently, everything works with me as long as I do it with you.”

You suddenly remembered the beginning of your night, and rushed to his living room, were you finally found your pants.

“No. No, and please stop trying to persuade me. This—this friends with benefits thing, it ends now.” You uttered surely, now fully clothed. You turned around and finally laid your eyes on him, and saw him wearing only black jeans and a miserable expression on his face. God, he still looked perfect. He almost shined, the workout clearly visible on his face, his hair, his lips. Your resolution almost wavered.

“Okay. Okay, of course, I—I understand.” He answered quickly, and you felt a slight pang in your chest at how easily he took the news. This whole time you were so easily disposable. “But please stay. I want to spend some time with you, I haven’t seen you in such a long time.” He took a careful step towards you, and you wanted to bolt then and there. “Please, stay.”

“No, Xai, I—” You paused to take a breath, trying not to crumble in front of him. His worried expression felt like a knife to your chest. You were his best friend, yet here you were, clearly wanting to run away from him—how could you expect him to feel anything but hurt upon such a sight? You felt incredibly cruel. “I really can’t. I think I need a break from all—all of this.”

“You mean from me?” He didn’t wait for your answer, the thoughts in his head seemed to go quicker than lightning. “No, please, I swear that if you don’t like it then I won’t touch you anymore. I swear.” You hated how upset he sounded. You closed your eyes for a second and fresh tears slipped away. You couldn’t keep them from falling anymore. “You know how much you mean to me. Don’t make me stay away.” He looked as if you were tearing his heart out, his posture slumped, hands shaking. How you wished you could take them into your own and warm them up.

“I have to.” Your voice came out whiny. He stepped closer to you, keeping his arms in front of himself.

“But why?” His question was quiet, nearly a whisper. He couldn’t help but wonder, if you really wanted a break from him, then why were you crying as if you didn’t want to go?

“I—” You stopped yourself before going as far as to utter a confession. He couldn’t know. Not now. Not ever. “This— This situation, and how our friendship looks like right now it’s—it’s so wrong.” You opted for a response that was the closest to the truth.

“It’s not.” He replied immediately. “Not for me.”

“Well it is for me. Friends don’t sleep with each other, Xavier! We messed up so bad this time and I’m afraid we can’t let this past us.”

“Do you regret it that much?” His voice was losing its’ strength, and he seemed so utterly hurt. Meanwhile, you were just trying to protect yourself from feeling even more pain. How could you make him understand without confessing to him? You didn’t really know because you were always honest with him before. He was your safe place.

And to think that everything could be avoided, your friendship left unscratched if only you could control your feelings better. But you had no idea how to stop loving him so deeply, when he was everything that you’ve ever dreamed of.

“I should. I know that I should, it was never going to end well, I—”

“Stay. Please, starlight, stay. At least for one more night, let me hold you just for one more—” His arms went out to grab you and you flinched, taking a few steps back. His jaw tightened.

He was always afraid that he will see you run away from his touch. He felt as if his nightmare became reality - the thought of losing you too much for him to bear.

“Xavier, I can’t!” You trembled all over. Why did he make this so hard for you? “I can’t do this with you anymore, can’t you understand how much it hurts me?” The truth was at the tip of your tongue, craving to be spoken out loud.

“Why? Why does it hurt you? The only one who has a good reason to be hurt is me, you avoided me, ignored me, and for what? If you just talked to me honestly one time—”

“You are in love with someone else!”

The silence that followed was unbearable and seemed to last ages. Slow ticking of the clock was the only thing cutting through the tension, reminding you that the time didn’t stop, even if your heart seemed to do so.

You turned to him, the tears falling from your eyes in cascades now and your chest was coming up and down rapidly with how fast you were breathing.

The tears run down your cheeks quickly, making your vision less blurry. How you wished that they stayed in place, if that meant that you wouldn’t have to see Xavier’s pained expression, that quickly changed into one of utter confusion. You were shaking with how much you were feeling, your frustration pooling out of you in a form of shaking hands and bitten lips.

“I can’t continue being like this with you when I know that you’re in love with her! And I get it! I really do. She’s so wonderful, and so, so lovable. And I could never be her, no matter how much you would want me to be. I just don’t want to be a replacement anymore.” You continued, the desperation in your voice almost making you wince. You sounded pathetic and felt so embarrassed for it. You felt as if you were losing the ground beneath your feet.

“What?” He said completely stunned. He wasn’t moving a single muscle. “What on earth are you talking about?” He hissed, and took a step towards you, and when you shook your head and wanted to bolt through the door, he quickly grabbed you by your wrist and pressed your body close to his. You gasped at the contact, so sudden and forced. “No, stop running away from me!” He raised his voice, still holding your wrist tightly. You’ve never heard him sound so irritated. “Speak.” You kept your head low, when he was desperately trying to catch eye contact, but you couldn’t look at him right now. Not when your true feelings were basically flowing to the surface.

“About what? You really thought I didn’t know about your feelings for her?” You struggled to keep your voice from shaking. “Xavier, I know, and I knew from the very beginning, and you really don’t have to explain yourself to me. I really understand.” You tried to free your wrist from his grasp, but he held it too tightly. You needed to run, this conversation wasn’t supposed to happen, you didn’t even have a reason to be mad at him. You couldn’t blame him for not loving you romantically, nor for feeling this way towards someone else. You were only friends, and friends should be happy for each other when they find someone dear to them, not sick of the idea of losing the other to someone else.

“I’m afraid you actually don’t understand anything.” He sounded almost defeated. His voice back to its soft tone, but his hold on you unrelenting.

“It’s really okay, I—”

“No.” He scoffed. You finally gained enough courage to let your eyes meet his and you were instantly appalled at how furious he appeared to be. “It’s truly NOT.” He released your wrist and put his hands up to stroke his hair back. He breathed out loudly. “Who the fuck are you talking about?” He asked, confusion and irritation taking over his features completely. You never saw him wear that expression while talking with you.

“Oh, don’t make me—” You cut off, seeing his furious glare. You took a deep breath, stepped back from him and touched your cheek, trying to swipe the wetness caused by your tears. You failed, they were still coming down, one by one, making your efforts futile. “MC. You know that I mean MC.”

“You have to be fucking kidding me.” He groaned and let his head fall back. He covered his face with his hands for a second, and when he looked at you again, you couldn’t read his expression correctly. “Who told you about it? Where did you get it from?”

“Jeremiah.” That’s all he needed to know. And apparently it was enough for him to grasp the situation. He laughed humorlessly and shook his head, his hands squeezed tightly into fists by his sides.

“I will strangle him this time. I swear, I will—”

“Oh, please, Xavier, stop! What’s so wrong about me knowing? I was glad that someone finally enlightened me!” You couldn’t believe that he was so angry at you for knowing such an important thing. Not when from the moment Jeremiah said that he had a thing for MC for a long time, you wondered why he kept that a secret from you. “You never even said a word about it even though I thought we were best friends. I had to learn from someone else and that already hurt.” You wanted this conversation to be over. You wanted him to admit to it already and let you go away, with a broken, but at least free heart.

But he had different plans.

“Have you maybe thought that I never said a word about it simply because it wasn’t true?” He asked carefully, his voice still angry. “I just can’t believe you thought that I loved someone else—”

“What?” Your mind went blank. You needed a moment to collect your thoughts. “What do you mean it’s not true?” You sniffed quietly, confusion taking over your face.“B-But Jeremiah said that you had a past with her and—”

“I did. I had feelings for her once, but that was literal lifetimes ago!” His irritation didn’t ease in the slightest. “I had feelings for someone who looked similar to her. But she’s not the same person anymore, and even if she was, I couldn’t possibly fall in love with her. Not now, not ever.” You stopped in your tracks, trying to analyze everything he was saying to you and failing miserably at it. You looked at his face, your expression puzzled, searching for an answer there, hidden between his beautiful, soft features. It shocked you to see that now he started to calm himself down, gaze genuine, an image of complete transparency.

You couldn’t wrap your head around the idea that you were mistaken. All this time, when you thought you never stood a chance, when you thought that he loved another, when you wanted to let him go—

“You’re not in love with MC.” It wasn’t a question anymore, your voice quiet while you were trying to process that thought. He must’ve seen how you fought with the thoughts inside your head, because he released a groan and took a step towards you. You unintentionally took one step back. He frowned.

“Of course I’m not.” Voice sweet like honey, stance sure, his eyes searched desperately for yours. He looked at your face, covered in tears and his eyebrows furrowed deeper, hating how upset you seemed and didn’t know how to reverse it. “How could I ever be, when your face is all I can see, every time I close my eyes?” He uttered looking at you with such devotion that it almost made your knees buckle.

Complete silence took over your thoughts after his confession. You didn’t know what was happening.

But fortunately, his mind finally started to piece everything together in a picture, that although was beyond frustrating to think about, was giving him so much hope for something he thought he already lost.

He allowed himself to relax, took a deep breath and finally decided to drop his inner shackles, letting his emotions flow out of him without restraint.

“You are the one that I love.” He said clearly, not moving a muscle. He wondered if you could see the quick movement of his chest, with how hard his heart was trying to escape through it to reach you. Whereas, you felt as if yours stopped moving completely, along with the time around you, not ready to believe that this was truly happening. “It was you from the very beginning. I adored you since the day I first saw you.” He continued, his gaze piercing into your face, slight confusion visible on his features. “And I thought that was obvious? I wasn’t exactly the best at hiding my feelings, especially after I told you about them the first night we spend together.”

You blinked slowly. Once, then twice.

Your head hurt. You couldn’t wrap it around everything he was saying. Xavier was in love with you? And he already told you about it? You were so confused that the only way you knew how to react was with denial.

“You—You didn’t. I didn’t know, you are not being serious.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“I did. You really don’t remember?” His tone softened, and he waited a short second for your answer, but couldn’t contain his nerves. “It was the night I kissed you for the first time, thinking that would be the last. But you reciprocated.” His eyes gleamed in the moonlight, and you found yourself holding your breath, afraid even the slightest sound might interrupt the flow of his confession.

“You—You kissed me back, and let me do things to you I only ever dared to dream about before.” He took another step your way, a small smile grazing his handsome face. “And the confession slipped out of me so naturally before we even reached the bed.” He briefly recalled that fateful night, describing the conversations you forgot, but longed to remember since that very moment.

“You didn’t reply, but you responded nicely to my touch, so I thought that meant that you wanted me too, that maybe you’d accept me. As your beloved. Your soulmate.” You brought your hand to cover your mouth. You couldn’t believe it. “But then in the morning when you woke up, you were panicking. I tried to reassure you, but you weren’t listening to me.”

That part of the story you knew by heart, him telling you that he couldn’t forget, didn’t want to forget. Back then you didn’t connect it with anything close to confession, but more with the change in your relationship. You really didn’t want to jump to any conclusions, you didn’t even dream about him loving you, when you thought that he loved MC. Insecurities and false assumptions completely clouded your vision.

“And when you proposed staying friends, with the bonus of intimacy, of course I took the chance. I thought you remembered my confession and didn’t reciprocate my feelings, but I was so desperate that I would take anything you were willing to give me, even if it didn’t involve your love. I—” he cut off, blush flushed over his cheeks, up to the tips of his ears. He took a shaky breath. “I was clinging to the hope that maybe through the new shared intimacy I could show you how much you meant to me. And maybe, maybe someday you would start feeling the same, when you realized how good we are together and how good I can be for you.”

“Xavier—Oh my god.” You breathed, your hand still covering your mouth, your eyes never leaving his face. His beautiful, starstruck face, now so full of confusion and unspoken hurt. “Bunny, I’m so, so, so sorry. I had no idea, I—” Your voice practically a whisper, you were still coming to terms with the fact that your feelings were reciprocated. And that you were the one who complicated things between you. “I don’t remember anything you said to me that night. I couldn’t even hear you through the sound of my own blood thrumming in my ears, that’s how drunk I felt. How overwhelmed after our first kiss.”

The alcohol consumed that night also wasn’t of big help. You were a lightweight and you drunk only occasionally, so the few drinks you had already made you feel dizzy. Mixed with the intensity of your emotions, it overwhelmed you so intensely that his touch was all you could remember from that night. But now you could make it all alright.

“I only remember your touch, the things we did, and our conversation the next morning. I remember touching your hand and initiating the kiss, and my tipsy brain just thought that you went with it to forget about MC.” You said truthfully, letting it all pour out of you. Your cheeks burned with the embarrassment of admitting how desperate you were for him, that the thought he loved another didn’t stop you from having sex with him.

Then the blush deepened from the realization that from the very beginning the only one he was thinking about was you.

This thought made your head spin, the happiness slowly bubbling in your chest. Your whole body trembled.

“That’s— Fuck. You really don’t remember.” He shook his head again, realizing how deep the misunderstanding reached. “You didn’t initiate anything. I was the one who kissed you first.”

“No, I—”

“Yes. You touched my hand, smiled at me contentedly and said some things and I—I just couldn’t restrain myself any longer.” This time you were the one who started approaching him slowly. You needed him close. Always. And you realized that now you didn’t have any reasons to deny yourself that lack of distance. “You looked so soft, so open and kissable, and I just went for it. And then you reciprocated.” The light in his eyes started sparkling when he noticed that you were finally coming closer to him. He reached out his hand for you and you took it gently, still shaking from the unspoken emotions.

“I can’t believe it. All this time I thought that you were in love with someone else.” His hand was warm, the touch electrifying. You squeezed his hand and intertwined your fingers together. You saw how between your clasped hands, his Evol started shining brightly, shading soft light upon your features. It was a sign that he was excited. “I tried to put a distance between us, end this intimacy because I thought that I was just a second best for you. An easy distraction.”

“How could you think that? Almost from the moment I met you, I have loved you passionately—” He brought you even closer together, pulling you by your intertwined hands, and put his other hand on your cheek. He swiped the reminder of your tears with his fingers, looking into your eyes with a devotion so apparent that it took your ability to form coherent thoughts. How did you manage to miss the way he was always looking your way?

“X-Xavier.”

“I couldn’t even think about anyone else even if I tried to. You occupy my every thought. How could I ever find a place for somebody else in my heart when you fill the space out completely?” Everything that came out of his mouth was laced with impatience. He was trying so hard to make you understand him, and the intensity of his emotions. He couldn’t psychically hold it inside anymore, he restrained himself for so long that he felt as if all of his walls finally crumbled. He needed you to know everything.

“I love you, starlight. I’m so in love with you that I couldn’t contain that feeling inside anymore. I couldn’t even spend five minutes in your presence without trying to touch you, to kiss you, to hold you. My whole body longs for you constantly.” He said, thinking about the months after you started being friends with benefits. How at first, he wasn’t sure how much he could take from you, and then, when he noticed that you didn’t mind the affection outside the bedroom, he couldn’t contain himself. He kissed you every time he had a chance, he touched you everywhere he could, he was trying to stay away from you as little as possible. Despite thinking that you did not reciprocate his feelings fully, his love for you flowed out of him naturally, every look and every touch laced with unconditional devotion.

During the period of your silence and avoiding him, he thought that it was because he finally crossed a line. He let his feelings out too much, he finally made you uncomfortable. He was starting to act as you lover, not as your friend and it wasn’t what you agreed to. He thought you still didn’t love him and maybe that was a sign that you never will. And even if that could be the case, he still couldn’t let you go.

And it appeared that he didn’t have to.

That you were not uncomfortable, but unsure.

That it was all a huge misunderstanding.

And the words that came out of your pretty, little mouth next, almost brought him to his knees.

“Xavier. Xavier me too, I—” You stuttered, completely overwhelmed by how much you were feeling. You squeezed his wrists, and looked deep into his beautiful, hopeful eyes. “I love you too. And I fell in love with you long before our first night together. I just thought that it was wishful thinking, because your heart was already taken by someone else. And that I could just stay beside you as your friend and that would be enough. And then share your bed from time to time, if that meant that I could hold you close, be on the receiving end of your affection.” You said and raised on your feet to place a quick kiss on his lips. He chased after you instantly, despite appearing stunned. You noticed his hands were shaking.

“You really mean it?” He asked, leaning towards you, kissing your lips again, this time for longer. He had trouble keeping his mouth away from yours, especially now, that he knew that every one of your kisses was filled with love. “Am I not dreaming this time?” You smiled and stroked his hair affectionately, petting his head, wanting to convey your feelings in every way possible.

“Xavier, I love you.” You repeated, grabbing his head in your palms and looking deep into his eyes. Your voice was strong, leaving no room for uncertainty. “I love you so mu—” He didn’t let you finish that sentence, because he quickly picked you up and spun you around, holding you in his arms. You giggled and put your arms around his neck, holding him tightly, his face buried in your neck. When he stopped, he quickly found your lips again and that kiss felt groundbreaking.

He held you close to him, one hand squeezing you by your waist, and the other holding your jaw gently. His brows furrowed in desperation and his kisses were slow, sensual, sending pleasant shocks throughout your whole body. His tongue made an appearance, and he tasted you in a way that made your legs feel like jelly. He licked into your mouth, grunting lowly, his fingers placing a strand of your hair behind your ear, then tracing patterns on your warm cheek. When you opened your eyes for a second, you could see that the tips of his ears were red. The blush spread through his cheeks too, making him look so adorable.

“It does feel like a dream.” He breathed between kisses. “And sounds too good to be true.” He captured your lips again and you smiled into his mouth. Your heart was about to burst.

“I love you.” You repeated, basking in the feeling of finally being able to say it out loud, be open with your emotions. He released your lips and kissed your forehead. You looked up, and he placed his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, a wide smile adorning his face.

“Don’t stop saying that. You make me so happy.” He said quietly, and you whispered the confession once again, making him sigh shakily.

“I was so stupid. I should’ve asked you right from the start if what Jeremiah said was true.” You said and hugged him more tightly. “I should’ve told you sooner.” You placed your head on his strong chest, your ear touching his bare body, listening to his fast heartbeat. Your hands were hugging his waist, mindful not to touch his bandaged back.

“No, I foolishly thought that telling you once would suffice. I forgot that you drank that night and that could’ve clouded your memory.” He squeezed you harder to himself and started back away with you in his arms, until the back of his legs touched his couch. He fell into it, holding you close, making you sit on his lap. “To think that I could have you sooner—” He looked into your eyes, as if searching for something.

“You had me before, and you have me now. My heart, my body, my soul.” You positioned yourself more comfortably, placing your legs on both sides of his waist, and took his face into your hands. He closed his eyes at the contact, and started to caress your body, from your waist, down to your legs. He squeezed the plush of your tights and let his head fall against the couch pillows.

He couldn’t believe that this was happening. He prayed that this wasn’t a dream, that all of the things you were telling him were true. His chest vibrated pleasurably, incredible warmth spreading through it. His heart beat so quickly, and so loudly that he thought it was the first time he felt its’ beat so intensely himself. Your words made him feel drunk with emotion.

He opened his eyes to look at your face.

He almost choked with how beautiful you were. How divine, sitting on him, caressing his shoulders, smiling at him with the stars in your eyes. He looked at your lips, full and swollen, bearing the signs of his kisses. He looked at your neck, delicate and unmarked, and he stroked it with the back of his hand, wanting to change that fact immediately, knowing that now he was allowed to do that. He switched his gaze to your eyes again and drank them in, basking in their light, wishing that this moment could never end. Or maybe it should, so it could become your new beginning.

You were his treasure. His star, his light, guiding him through life, making his existence worth pursuing. You showed him that the world can be beautiful, despite its overbearing cruelty. You were his salvation, his safe place, his one and only, showing him every single day that he mattered, that he was not a lost cause, or a villain in disguise. You taught him that he was capable of loving so intensely and now, that he was loved as passionately in return.

He doubted his worth, but the only way he knew to prove his love for you was by protecting you with his very life. You had no idea, but his sword, now a symbol of your bond, was yours to command—and you were the only reason he continued to wield it.

“What are you thinking about?” Your voice was not more than a whisper, your eyes still looking into his starry ones, losing yourself in the deep blue. You loved them, how magnificent and expressive they were, and you swore to yourself to tell him about it every day.

He seemed to get out of the trace he was in, and his eyes softened, still taking you in. He smiled and took your hands into his, and kissed your knuckles, his kisses gentle and long-lasting.

“You.” He replied shortly, his voice gentle and reassuring. He put your hands on his shoulders, making you hug his neck with them. You complied and put your whole arms around his neck, bringing your bodies closer. One of his hands touched your waist, caressing it delicately, and the other one stroked your hair, admiring its’ softness. His eyes never left yours. “Always you, my starlight. Then, now, and till the end of my days. I will always carry you in my mind, and in my heart, to be able to reach you, no matter the distance.” You could feel his breath on your face with how close you were to each other, and he gazed at your open lips, which were already waiting to be kissed senselessly. “I love you, as I never loved anyone else in my life, and I never will again.” His lips captured yours in a kiss so soft, yet so desperate, and full of adoration, that you felt a single, happy tear escape from your eye. He deepened the kiss and held you throughout the night, kissing you and touching you, never wanting the moment to end, the warmth of your skin to become a memory.

It all started with the simplest of touches, and it never truly ended. The spark you ignited that first night has never faded. Since the moment you met, it has burned brightly between you both, a light so powerful that it could be seen across the vastness of deep space. Everlasting and exquisite, just like the different lifetimes you both had ahead of you, always finding each other, as if guided by its warmth.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

thank you for your time and please let me know if you liked it!! i was thinking of writing more for this au, maybe from xavier’s perspective? how they met and how he fell in love + how their first night really played out ♡

if u liked it, u can buy me a coffee here!: https://ko-fi.com/kitimeq

[bambiihee-deactivated20260203]

breeding with soobin perhaps? 🥺 I’m so tired of him looking all sexy without me in between his legs …

SOOBIN BREEDING KINK !!!!! genuinely so unwell about him it’s not even funny… can’t stop thinking about subby soobin and creampies…

c𝔴༚ smut, nsfw content. dubcon, babytrapping, breeding kink, sub!soobin, femdom!reader, implied older reader (use of noona), cowgirl, unprotected sex, creampies, dirty talk, whiny soob

everyone’s always talking about soobin babytrapping you but never you babytrapping soobin… riding subby!soobin after a concert, he’s so sweaty and red faced and worn out >_< just lying there panting and moaning because he doesn’t have the energy or strength to move !! his big cock is sooo thick and hard inside of you, red n swollen and leaking, he’s been pent up for hours and needs you to take care of him :’(

his fat cockhead kisses your cervix so deliciously every time you grind down on him, his pretty moans growing higher and more staccato the closer he gets to his release. cute airy little “ah, ah, ah!”s like he’s the one getting fucked hehe >//< crying and shaking with his big hands wrapped around your waist making you feel so small, but he doesn’t apply any pressure, just lets them rest there as you do all the work, holding on for dear life with his fingernails digging into your skin lol

when he told you he didn’t have a condom on him, you said it didn’t matter, but now soobin’s getting nervous cos you won’t get off of him even as he squirms and tries to pull himself out of you— your hands scratching deep red lines down his abs and biceps as you continue to bounce on him with determination,, “w-wait, noona, you gotta-agh! get off! no, stop, i’m gonna cum inside if you don’t get off—!”

it’s cute how he pretends that isn’t what he wants, thrashing underneath you crying like he’s powerless. he’s so much bigger than you, could manhandle you with ease if he wanted to, yet he quivered and whined beneath you with his eyes full of stars. you ignore his pleas, grinning with ecstasy as you plant your feet down on either side of him and fuck yourself onto him as hard and fast as you can.

“cum inside of me!” you mewl down at him, hungrier than you’ve ever been before. “i know you want it! come on, breed me, fill me up and show everyone i’m yours. be a good boy and make me a mommy, you can do it!”

cooing sweet soft “good boy!”s in his ear as he sobs with the impact of his orgasm, washboard abs convulsing from the power of it. hot sticky cum fills your womb til it’s spilling out around his cock, still half-hard deep inside of you— soobin cums and cums and it’s like it never stops, filling you up so full it feels like you’re going to burst. you plant loving little kisses on soobin’s cheeks and pouty bunny lips, still trembling and whining. “such a good boy for noona, aren’t you?”

[dollgxtz]

Extra Credit

⟡ Word Count: 16k

⟡ Tags: professor!Sylus x student!reader, fem!reader, teasing, tension, enthusiastic consent, cunninlingus, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, nicknames like kitten, sweetie, miss, young lady, good girl

⟡ Summary: Rumors of a new history professor begin circling around campus, though your determined to ignore them, too busy upkeeping your gpa to worry about new hot professors. That is, until he actually manages to catch your attention of course. And it seems you've caught his attention too...

“This has given me the revelation that I should change classes. We’ve crossed the line after all, professor. It’s been…nice.” You give him one last glance before turning back to leave, determined not to look over your shoulder again. Suddenly, the air shifts. In a blur of red and black mist, you suddenly feel him behind you—so close that the hair on the back of your neck stands on end. You jolt in surprise, your pulse spiking. He…has an Evol?? You pant as he rests his hand firmly on the door above your shoulder, blocking your way out. The solid thud of his palm against the wood sends a vibration through the frame, making your chest tighten and your pulse quicken. He leans in closer, so close you swear you can hear the faintest hitch in his breathing, his warm breath brushing against the shell of your ear and sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. “You can recount several treaties by memory but can’t tell when a man is teasing you? How cute,” he murmurs, his voice low and rich, each word slow and deliberate, curling around you like smoke and sinking under your skin. His hand slides slowly down the door, the movement unhurried, almost taunting, until his fingers find the lock. The faint scrape of metal turning is deafening in the quiet room, and with a soft, final click, he twists it in place, sealing the two of you inside with no chance of interruption. You swallow hard, unable to stop the way your heart stutters excitedly.

⟡ AN: I wish I had hot professors when I was in college LMAO. Would've made my classes a lot less boring...anyways I'm super excited to be back from my mini break and post this for you all! History won as Sylus's subject in my poll, and I know NOTHING about that, so I decided to just make some stuff up since Linkon isn't a real place anyways xD

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You sluggishly swipe your dining hall card through the reader, the tired beep followed by a cheerful ding confirming that yes, you’ve successfully "paid" for your breakfast. It's barely 8 a.m., your brain feels like it's still booting up, and the industrial lighting in the hall is far too aggressive for how little sleep you got last night.

Balancing your tray with one hand—a slightly overcooked omelet, a cup of watery coffee, and a sad-looking banana—you make a half-hearted pivot toward the corner where you always sit. Your goal is simple: food, silence, and maybe some peace before the madness of your morning classes begins.

That’s when Tara barrels into you like a human missile, practically radiating chaos and caffeine. You barely register the blur of her hair before her arms are around your neck, squeezing tight enough to jolt you back to full consciousness. Her sneakers skid slightly against the slick dining hall floor as she launches herself into the hug with zero regard for the tray you’re holding—or the laws of physics.

"EEE! You're never usually up this early, bestie!!!" she shrieks, her arms wrapping around your neck in an ambush hug that nearly sends the entire tray flying.

You stumble, your elbow knocking into a napkin dispenser, coffee sloshing dangerously close to the edge. You manage to steady yourself just in time, shooting her a glare while trying not to spill breakfast all over your shirt.

"Tara! Jesus—warn me next time," you mutter, clutching the tray like a shield.

She bounces back with a grin, eyes wide with the manic energy of someone who’s either had too much coffee or is running purely on adrenaline. Her short brown hair is immaculately styled, every strand in place like she spent half an hour perfecting it in the mirror—despite the fact that she’s bouncing around like she mainlined espresso for breakfast.

"What are you doing awake right before class? You good? Are you sick? Are you dying? Should I alert the RA?"

You smirk, adjusting your tray. "Just...figured I’d try being a functional human for once."

"Uh huh. Sure. Just out of the blue you decide to turn over a new leaf at 8 a.m.?" she says, raising a skeptical brow as she falls into step beside you. "This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain new professor, would it?"

You roll your eyes so hard it actually hurts. That’s all anyone had been obsessing over for days now—whispers in crowded lecture halls, overheard conversations in library study rooms. Every time someone so much as mentioned the history department, mentions of him came up like clockwork.

You couldn’t walk across campus or sit down in the dining hall without catching snippets—"Did you hear he's taking over Alden's class?" or "I heard he's, like, stupid smart and scary hot." Even the TA had mentioned him with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

"Oh my god. Not you too," you say, groaning into your tray like it might protect you from further humiliation.

Tara gasps like you just confessed a dark secret. "So it is! You’re totally crushing already, I knew it!"

You glare at her, signaling that she’s pushing it, but she just beams wider. "No one’s even seen him yet, much less me," you say sharply, appalled at the very idea that you'd ever crush on a man that you'd never even laid eyes on. "What are you even talking about?"

Tara snorts and whips out her phone like it’s a mic drop. "Oh c'mon... you didn’t see the photo posted to MOMENTS last night? Someone leaked his resume and everything. There’s literally a thread titled ‘Hot History Daddy.’ "

You freeze for a split second, internally cringe and then groan. Who would name a thread something so...awful? "Of course there is."

"I mean...he’s tall, he’s broody in that unreadable, 'probably knows six dead languages' kind of way, and he apparently got his PhD in military and political revolutions by the time he was twenty-four?! And he’s teaching that upper-level history class right?"

You don’t answer to Tara's continuous yapping, mostly because your absolutely starving. Instead, you find an empty table and finally set your tray down, shoulders still tight from the collision. Tara sits across from you like she’s waiting for tea to be spilled.

"I’m just saying," she hums, propping her chin on her hand, "if he’s half as intense in person as he looks on paper, you’re gonna be in trouble."

You snort, shoving a bite of omelet into your mouth before answering, voice thick with sarcasm. "Tara, I’m on track to graduate with one of the highest GPA's on campus. Some 'hot' professor is not going to throw me off course."

She giggles and casually reaches across the table to take a sip from your coffee like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

"You’re better than me. I’m genuinely considering switching majors just to get into his class. That man could lecture me about 18th-century tax codes and I’d still be hooked. He’s twenty-eight, did you know that? Twenty-eight! And apparently, he has one of those low, sexy voices that makes everything sound ten times more important. Like, how can a girl resist?!"

You roll your eyes but can’t help laughing with her. The two of you fall into your usual rhythm, the conversation drifting into safer territory—her awful roommate, who leaves dishes in the sink for days and uses her skincare without asking, and the flood of assignments you’ve both been hit with.

Still, despite the easy back-and-forth, your thoughts keep circling back. You hadn’t given much attention to the change in faculty—Alden’s resignation had seemed abrupt, sure, but professors left all the time. It wasn’t your problem. Or at least, it hadn’t been.

Now, though, a question stuck in your brain like a loose thread: who was this new guy, really?

You shook the thought off with a small, amused exhale. It didn’t matter. You had goals. And no broody, sharp-jawed academic with a mysterious background and a voice like smooth bourbon was going to distract you.

Absolutely not.

Eventually, breakfast winds down, though Tara tries her best to drag it out with one last dramatic rumor about the new professor supposedly having a pet crow. After a warm, slightly-too-tight bear hug—complete with her whispering, "Try not to drool if he speaks directly to you!". You both finally part ways and head off in separate directions to face the day.

Your first class is an advanced writing seminar tucked away on the second floor of the humanities building. You slip into a seat by the window, letting the late morning sun pour in as you unpack your notebook and pens. The professor launches into a lecture about persuasive structure—ethos, pathos, logos—but your mind keeps drifting. You find yourself doodling in the margins, scribbling random phrases like "commanding presence" and underlining them without meaning to. Every five minutes, your gaze flicks to the clock.

You manage to take decent notes—nothing spectacular, but passable. You answer one question without stumbling, which feels like a small miracle. But underneath it all, your mind hums. You keep imagining what his voice might actually sound like. Would it even be sexy? Or just...distracting? Maybe a little ridiculous?

You couldn't decide if you were intrigued or just caught up in the collective hysteria.

Next is psychology—an elective you chose partly for the credits and partly because you hoped it would be more engaging than another dry lecture. Today’s topic is groupthink, which your professor is oddly excited about. She moves around the room gesturing like she’s on a game show, explaining how consensus-seeking can override critical thinking. You catch about half of it. Your notes are scattered—some bullet points, a half-finished diagram, and an accidental sketch of what might be a jawline with glasses.

Tara’s words keep echoing: He’s twenty-eight. Low, sexy voice. Makes everything sound important. You hadn’t realized how thoroughly she’d infected your brain with this nonsense, but there it was—taking up real estate where your attention span should’ve been.

By the time your third class starts—econ, which you only enrolled in because you needed it for your requirements—you’re a mess of frayed nerves and wandering thoughts. The lecture is already underway when you slip into your seat. You open your notebook, but your pen just hovers above the page. The professor’s voice is background noise.

"Miss?" he says. Once. Then again, louder.

Your head snaps up. Everyone’s looking at you.

"Would you like to repeat what I just said?" he asks, not unkindly, but definitely with an edge of impatience.

You blink, heart thudding, throat dry. "Uh...something about...marginal utility?"

A few quiet chuckles ripple through the classroom. The professor gives you a look—just short of disappointed—then nods and continues.

You sink lower into your chair, wishing you could melt into the linoleum.

God. Tara had gotten in your head. And not just a little.

Now, every passing minute felt like a countdown—one that ticked steadily toward the class you were trying not to think about. Toward the room where you’d finally see him for yourself.

You told yourself again it didn’t matter. You had goals, a plan. You weren’t the type to get distracted by a face, or a voice, or...anything.

But still—your pulse beat a little faster. Your fingers tightened slightly on your pen.

Next up was "Conflict and Transformation in Modern History"—one of those broad, upper-level courses that tried to cover everything from revolutions and world wars to decolonization and ideological shifts. It was supposed to be challenging, heavy on reading and discussion, and definitely not the kind of class where you could just show up and coast through.

You had liked Alden. Sure, he’d been a bit elderly—white hair, soft-spoken, with a habit of misplacing his glasses—but he wasn’t intense. He’d stroll into class five minutes late with a thermos of tea and a thick stack of notes, and somehow still managed to deliver lectures that felt more like storytelling than instruction.

He graded fairly, gave actual, thoughtful feedback instead of those vague comments professors sometimes scribbled in the margins, and his assignments—while definitely not light—had been surprisingly fun. Creative, even. You’d created a detailed, annotated map showing troop movements, resource lines, and political borders during a war and actually enjoyed yourself.

You always knew where you stood in his class. Alden taught because he loved history, and it showed. You respected that.

So yeah, when they announced he was stepping down mid-semester, it had thrown you. And the fact that his replacement was someone younger, fresh-faced, and supposedly "brilliant" only made it worse. The buzz around campus hadn’t helped either. It turned what should have been a simple change in faculty into something laced with nerves and speculation.

You dreaded to think what this new professor would put you through. The syllabus had been updated without warning—longer reading lists, more rigid grading structure, and a participation section that made your stomach twist. You feared the type: overly serious, hyper-competitive, the kind who took some kind of intellectual pride in confusing their students and pretending it was all part of the learning process.

If you were lucky, maybe he’d be the kind who relied on endless PowerPoint slides, assigned textbook readings that no one did, and tossed in the occasional multiple-choice quiz to make it feel like he was keeping everyone on their toes. You could handle that. That was survivable. That was routine.

But something told you luck wasn’t on your side this semester. Not with the way everyone was talking. Not with the way Tara had described him like he was a character straight out of a gothic novel—sharp eyes, sharper voice, and a mind that probably never turned off.

You hadn’t even met him yet, and still, he was already taking up space in your head. And that...was not a good sign.

Your nerves didn’t ease as you sat alone in the corner of the dining hall for lunch, choosing a small table by the window like you always did when you needed to think. The glass was cold to the touch where your elbow brushed it, the view outside a blur of passing students and drifting autumn leaves. Tara was across Linkon on another campus, buried in some group project for her class, which meant there was no one to distract you from your spiraling thoughts—or the restless energy twisting in your stomach.

The soup in front of you sent up gentle curls of steam, smelling faintly of chicken, salt, and something vaguely herbal. You scooped it up in quick, uneven gulps, as if finishing faster might stop the churn in your gut. Instead, each swallow landed like a stone, heavy and uncomfortable, making you wonder if it was anxiety or the soup that had turned your insides into a knot.

The walk across campus felt longer than it ever had before. Your shoes scuffed against the pavement, and you fell into a rhythm of letting out a sigh every dozen steps, hoping it might somehow bleed the tension from your shoulders.

When the history building finally came into view, you slowed, almost without meaning to. The stone façade loomed ahead, cool and imposing in the shade. You rubbed your damp palms against your jeans, willing your heartbeat to calm. At the entrance, you paused, pulled in one long, steadying breath, and stepped inside.

It didn't take long to find your class, passing about six or seven doors before you finally made it.

The classroom was already alive with sound—low conversations weaving together into a steady buzz, chairs scraping against the floor, backpacks hitting the ground with soft thumps. Students were sliding into their usual seats, greeting each other, flipping through notebooks. You caught snippets of laughter, a complaint about last week’s reading, someone unwrapping a granola bar.

Your eyes scanned the room automatically, taking stock. It didn’t take long to notice the changes: Alden’s personal touches were gone. The framed maps that had lined the walls, the slightly dusty shelf stacked with worn hardcovers, even the old, battered globe that had sat near the window—they’d all vanished. Without them, the space felt stripped bare, almost clinical.

But of the new professor? Not a single trace. No bag on the desk. No laptop waiting to be opened. Just an empty chair at the front of the room, and a silence in that corner that made you all the more aware of the seconds ticking by.

Your nerves eased slightly, but not completely. You glanced down at your phone, the screen glowing back at you with the time. Late on his first day? Ugh. Maybe you’d been overthinking this whole thing after all. If he couldn’t even be bothered to show up on time, how intense could he really be? The rumors had painted him as punctual to the point of severity, the kind of man who valued discipline above all else. But now, with the seconds slipping by, that image began to crack.

You let out a slow breath, forcing your shoulders to loosen, and slipped into your seat. The room felt warmer now, filled with the restless hum of idle chatter. A group of boys in the back had taken it upon themselves to entertain the class, cracking loud jokes about the “ten-minute rule” and declaring that if the professor didn’t show up soon, they were morally—no, legally—obligated to leave. One of them even glanced at his watch theatrically, prompting more laughter.

A girl two seats over leaned toward her friend, whispering something that made them both snicker. Pages turned, backpacks shifted, and a faint, impatient drumming of fingers on wood began somewhere behind you. The atmosphere was loose, unbothered—like everyone was already half-expecting a free period.

A few minutes pass…then a few more. The restless shifting in the room grows louder, students exchanging glances as the seconds drag on. The boys in the back keep their running commentary going, each joke a little louder than the last, like they’re performing for an invisible audience. Pens click, chair legs scrape against the floor, and the tension between expectation and impatience hangs heavy in the air.

Finally, one of them pushes back from his desk with a dramatic sigh, stretching his arms high overhead as if this has been the most exhausting wait of his life. He rolls his shoulders, glances at his friends with a grin, and saunters toward the door like he’s about to lead them in a bold, freedom-seeking escape.

“Damn, teach is late on his first day? Sheesh,” he says, pitching his voice so it carries across the entire room. A couple of his buddies chuckle. He reaches for the handle and swings the door open wide—only to stop short as he nearly collides chest-first with what feels like a solid wall of black wool and muscle.

The man standing there is tall—easily over six feet—with the kind of presence that turns heads without trying. His silver hair is styled into a sleek, well-kept mullet, the front and crown swept neatly back to catch the light from the hallway while the longer layers brush the nape of his neck, and his coat hangs perfectly tailored over broad shoulders. Beneath it, a black turtleneck only sharpens the lines of his frame. For a moment, the noise from the hall seems to vanish, replaced by a hush that seeps into the room. The boy at the door loses his grin in an instant, his hand still on the knob. 

The man tilts his head, studying the student with piercing red eyes that seem to miss nothing. When he speaks, his voice is smooth, resonant, and edged with just enough dry humor to sting. “I’d hate to think you were planning to leave before I even had the chance to start.”

The boy laughs awkwardly and steps aside, but the damage is done—the air in the room feels different now, taut and expectant, every eye following the professor as he steps inside.

You suddenly feel like you can’t breathe. This is…your new professor? No fucking way. He looks like he should be modeling for some high end magazine, not teaching an advanced history course at a college. Up close, he’s even taller than you’d imagined, the lines of his tailored coat cutting a sharp silhouette as he steps into the room. He shuts the door behind him with a quiet, deliberate click.

Your eyes track him without meaning to, caught by the way he moves—unhurried, purposeful, not sparing a glance for anyone just yet. It’s the walk of someone who already owns the space he’s in, whether or not anyone has given him permission.

Your classmates are just as spellbound. The room, which moments ago had been a low roar of chatter, falls into fractured silence. Heads swivel, whispered words taper off, and even the boys in the back quiet down. He reaches the desk and sets down a sleek black laptop, the soft thud of it hitting the wood somehow louder than the hum of the heaters. The faint glint of silver at his temple catches the overhead light, drawing your focus again.

Without so much as a word, he turns toward the whiteboard. The shift in his posture is subtle but unmistakable—a slight straightening of his back, a set to his shoulders that makes him seem even taller. Hushed whispers stir again, a rustling of curiosity that moves through the rows like a current.

He picks up a marker, and the motion is quick yet deliberate. His hand moves with the kind of certainty that brooks no hesitation, each stroke sharp and clean. The faint chemical tang of fresh ink drifts in the air. You find yourself leaning forward without thinking, your eyes fixed on the letters forming under his hand.

In bold, uncompromising block letters, he writes:

“Power never dies. It only changes hands.”

The words stand stark against the whiteboard, heavy with implication. He pauses, marker poised, then draws a single underline beneath the sentence—slow, steady. The scraping sound of the tip against the board seems to echo in the stillness.

For a heartbeat, no one moves. No one breathes.

Then silently, he turns, the marker still in his hand, and lets the corners of his mouth curl into a small, knowing smile aimed at the class. Your heart drops straight into your stomach as your eyes take in his entire face for the first time. Strong jaw, high cheekbones, a mouth that looks like it was carved to smirk, and eyes sharp enough to pin you to your seat.

“He’s fucking hot…” the girl next to you whispers to her friend with a half-stifled giggle.

You can’t help it—you agree without hesitation. Yeah, he’s more than hot. He’s unfairly gorgeous, almost otherworldly, like someone took every good feature possible and assembled them in a way that made it hard to breathe. Tara’s going to lose her mind when she hears she was right. The thought makes your face heat, especially when that faint smile of his lingers just a second longer.

Then, in a voice that’s smooth and measured, he says, “We can skip the honorific titles. No ‘Mister’ here—you can all call me Sylus.”

He adjusts his thin, wire-framed glasses with a small push at the bridge of his nose, the motion precise and somehow just as disarming as the smile. Your heart beats faster at the sound of his smooth, sultry voice.

Another win for Tara.

“You’re not here to memorize dates,” he says, his voice quiet but razor-sharp. “If that’s what you’re after, leave now. Google can tell you who won, and when. I’m not interested in that.”

He paces slowly at the front of the room, the low sound of his shoes against the floor filling the silence. There’s no PowerPoint clicker in his hand, no projected bullet points to follow. Just him, his words, and the steady thrum of anticipation in your chest.

“History is not simply a list of dead men and dusty treaties. It is a graveyard of decisions,” he continues, his gaze sweeping the rows like a searchlight. “It’s blood soaked into soil no one remembers walking on. It’s ordinary people destroyed by extraordinary ambitions. And it never stays buried.”

He stops mid-stride, facing the class head-on. For a moment, he doesn’t speak—just lets the weight of his words sink in. His eyes, sharp and unblinking, roam over the faces in front of him, and you get the uneasy feeling he can already tell who will thrive here…and who will flinch.

You feel your blood run cold as his eyes seem to stop directly on your face, the weight of his gaze locking you in place. For a second, the rest of the room blurs—just you, his piercing focus, and the thudding in your chest. Huh? Are you imagining it, or is he actually looking at you? Your skin prickles under the possibility. Heat creeps up your neck, and embarrassed, you force yourself to break the moment, pretending to dig through your bag as if searching for something urgent. The crinkle of paper and shuffle of pens feels absurdly loud in your ears. You let out a quiet sigh of relief only when you sense his attention drifting to the other side of the room.

“In this course, we do not celebrate civilizations,” he says, his tone dropping even lower. “We dissect them. We pull apart the gears to see how they worked, who turned them…and who was crushed in the process. You will read primary sources that lie outright. You will examine revolutions that sputtered out before they could burn. You will question the heroes you were told to admire. And if you do this right—if you’re brave enough—you’ll realize how terrifyingly easy it is to repeat the worst mistakes of all of it.”

Another pause, longer this time. His voice softens, but the intensity doesn’t waver.

“We begin,” he says, taking the same marker and writing the words slowly across the board, “with the fall of the Virelian Republic.” He sets the marker down, turns, and adds, “Not the empire. The republic—because that’s where the real story begins.”

A ripple of unease moves through the room. You feel it too.

But your unease is…different now. It’s not the jittery nervousness you felt when you first walked in—this is sharper, coiled tight in your belly, making your skin buzz with awareness. You can’t take your eyes off him as he moves across the front of the room, the quiet thud of his shoes punctuating his words. His voice flows with an unhurried confidence, carrying easily to every corner of the classroom without him ever raising it.

You’re mesmerized. The way his piercing red eyes scan the rows, never lingering on any one person for too long, as though he’s taking mental notes on each of you. The subtle flex of his jaw when he emphasizes a point. The faint gleam of light against the lenses of his thin, wire-framed glasses before he nudges them higher with a practiced push of two fingers. Even the shift of his shoulders when he changes direction catches your attention, and it makes your face warm in a way you try desperately to ignore.

He stops mid-stride, turning to face the class fully. His hands rest lightly behind his back, posture straight, expression calm. “So,” he says evenly, his gaze sweeping the room, “what do you think was the single most significant factor in the collapse of the Virelian Republic?”

The question hangs in the air, heavier than it should. A few hesitant hands rise. “The assassination of Marcellus Vire,” one student ventures. Without hesitation, he gives a small shake of his head. Another offers, “Economic inequality,” and he tilts his head slightly, acknowledging the thought but clearly unsatisfied. A third, from the back row, says, “Corruption,” earning a raised brow and the faintest hum of interest, but still no sign they’ve hit the mark.

He lets the silence stretch, his gaze moving from face to face, giving each student a moment under its weight before shifting to the next. The soft scratching of a pen somewhere in the room seems unnaturally loud in the stillness.

You sit there, pulse pounding in your ears, realizing with a jolt that you know the answer—really know it. It’s there, fully formed, pressed to the tip of your tongue, your hand twitching faintly against your notebook. You can already imagine the way his eyes might narrow, the way his attention might lock on you if you spoke. The thought sends another rush of heat to your face. Still, the answer burns inside you, insistent, demanding to be said.

Your academic side gets the best of you—and, if you’re being brutally honest, maybe there’s also that ridiculous, sudden craving for his attention—so you raise your hand before you can talk yourself out of it.

He nods in your direction and it sends a strange jolt through your chest. You can feel the shift in the room instantly, the weight of your classmates’ eyes settling on you, their curiosity almost tangible. For a moment, it’s just you under his gaze, your pulse loud in your ears, the answer balanced on the edge of your lips.

“That's a trick question. It wasn’t just one event,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “It was the breakdown of the political norms that held the Republic together. Once those were gone, everything else—civil wars, power grabs, Marcellus Vire—was inevitable.”

A beat of silence follows. His eyes stay locked on yours, unreadable, and then—just barely—he nods. Not a perfunctory acknowledgment, but a slow, deliberate motion that makes your chest tighten.

“Correct,” he says, his voice carrying enough weight to make it feel like more than a simple affirmation. “And the fact that you understand that means you already know how dangerous that kind of collapse can be.”

The attention in the room shifts again, but you can still feel the echo of his gaze lingering, as if he’d left a mark you can’t quite shake.

You breathe a sigh of relief, the tension in your shoulders easing for the first time since you walked into the room. Yeah, this was going to be fine—maybe even easy. Even with a new professor, the material wasn’t foreign to you. He clearly knew his subject, his explanations were sharp, but nothing about the lesson itself felt beyond your reach. You could keep up, you could answer questions, and maybe, if you played your cards right, you could even impress him.

So why the hell did you still feel so nervous? The unease wasn’t the same as the pre-class jitters—it had shifted into something heavier, something you felt low in your stomach. Every time his eyes swept over the room and passed your row, you caught yourself holding your breath without realizing it. Your pulse would skip, and a faint heat would creep up the back of your neck before you forced yourself to refocus on your notes.

You told yourself it was because he had a commanding presence, that it was only natural to be on edge around someone like that. But deep down, you knew there was more to it. The timbre of his voice stuck with you longer than it should have. The way he moved, the precision in his gestures, the deliberate pauses between his sentences—they all had a way of pulling your attention back to him, no matter how determined you were to concentrate on the material.

The rest of class passes in a blur of steady pacing, crisp notes scratched into your notebook, and that deep voice threading through every explanation like it’s weaving itself into your brain. He moves effortlessly from one concept to the next, making complex political shifts and centuries-old grievances sound like stories you’d overhear in a shadowy tavern. By the time the clock’s hands creep toward the hour, you’ve almost forgotten how tense you’d been when you walked in.

Then he caps his marker with a deliberate click and turns toward the class, his eyes scanning the rows before landing somewhere in the middle.

“For your first assignment,” he says, “I want you to write a two-page account of the Virelian Republic’s collapse… but from the perspective of someone who didn’t survive it. A soldier, a baker, a servant—anyone whose voice might have been lost in the official records. No research yet. Just imagination.”

A ripple of confusion moves through the room—eyebrows raise, a few pens pause mid-scratch. It’s not the kind of task you expect in a history course. You can feel the class collectively leaning into the idea even as they exchange wary glances.

The room stays hushed for a beat before the rustle of notebooks and backpacks resumes, louder now in the silence he’s left. He gives a single nod of dismissal. “Due next week. That’s all.”

And just like that, it’s over.

Relief rolls through you in a warm wave—not just because there’s only one assignment, but because you’ll finally get to leave. Leave the stifling awareness of the way your heart stutters every time your gaze lingers on him too long. Or the inexplicable urge to press your thighs together when he smirks mid-sentence.

You shove your notebook into your bag with unnecessary force, the corners catching on your sleeve, and stand so quickly your chair legs scrape the floor.

You follow the flow of students toward the door, the din of shuffling feet and low chatter filling the air. You’re only a few steps away from freedom when it happens.

“Miss?”

The single word cuts through the noise like a blade, rich enough to seem almost tangible. It slides along your skin, curling low in your stomach. You freeze mid-step as every nerve in your body sparks awake.

You turn toward him, trying to regulate your breathing, your throat tightening with the effort to look composed. Meeting his eyes is harder than you expect—like staring into something that might see more than you want to reveal. Still, you manage, holding his gaze for a fleeting moment. “Yes, Mr— I mean, Sylus?” you say, the stumble making you cringe inwardly even as you force a small, nervous smile to soften it.

He doesn’t comment on your slip, but his attention doesn’t waver either. Unexpectedly, he gestures toward the desk where you’d been sitting just moments ago, his fingers flicking in that direction. “Your bag,” he says simply, the syllables clipped but not unkind.

A wave of embarrassment surges through you, hot and immediate, making your skin prickle. You almost want to laugh it off, but your voice comes out in a quick, higher-than-usual rush. “Oh! Thank you—silly me,” you manage, the words tumbling over each other.

You turn on your heel and make your way back to your seat, every step feeling strangely amplified, as if the sound of your shoes on the floor is far too loud. The imagined weight of his gaze follows you, a steady pressure between your shoulder blades. You bend to grab the strap of your bag and sling it over your shoulder with more force than necessary. Your cheeks are warm, and you’re painfully aware of the way your hair shifts around your face as you move.

As you straighten and turn toward the door again, you resist the urge to glance back, though you can feel—deep in your gut—that his eyes are still on you. The awareness lingers, prickling at the edges of your thoughts, all the way to the doorway.

Way to make yourself look like a complete dumbass, you think, but the truth is, part of you wonders if he’s still watching long after you’ve gone.

There was no denying it—it was crush at first sight. The moment you’d seen him, something in you had shifted like the click of a lock, and there was no pretending otherwise. It had been instant, irrational, and a little terrifying. And it was immediately obvious to Tara, of course. You could never hide anything from her for long. She had a talent for sniffing out gossip and romantic tension faster than anyone else on campus, like a bloodhound with a nose for drama. She could read you like an open book, whether you wanted her to or not.

She didn’t even wait for you to bring it up. The second she saw your face, she lit up with a grin that spelled trouble. “You like him! I knew it!” she declared, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

You groaned, rolling your eyes, but she only leaned in closer, unwilling to let you wriggle free. “Seeee? I told you you’d be in troubleeeee,” she sing-songed as the two of you strolled down the long campus hallways. The polished tile echoed your footsteps, her teasing voice bouncing off the walls just loud enough to make you want to clamp a hand over her mouth.

You stifled another groan, dragging your hand over your face as if you could physically hide the flush blooming across your cheeks. “Okay, yeah—he’s hot. Like, really hot. How am I ever gonna be able to focus in class?” you muttered, your voice halfway between defeat and disbelief.

Tara laughed, looping her arm through yours in an almost conspiratorial way. “You won’t,” she said cheerfully, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And it’s gonna be amazing.”

You shot her a look, but she only smirked, clearly already imagining every possible outcome. Tara of course, would be no comfort. “Mark my words, you’re gonna thank me for warning you.” She bumped her shoulder into yours, and you couldn’t tell if she was joking or actually serious.

"What am I gonna do? His voice…his face…his…hands." You let your own hands fall into your lap with a dramatic thud, the sound echoing faintly down the hallway, making the moment feel even more ridiculous.

"Tara. They’re fucking huge. You should see him hold a pen. I could barely breathe…" The words tumble out in a rush, your voice low but urgent, like admitting it too loudly would make it more real. Just thinking about it sends your pulse racing all over again. The image is vivid—his long fingers curled around the pen, the slow precision of his movements, the ease with which he commanded even the smallest gesture. It had been ridiculous, and you’d been painfully aware of every second you spent watching. You sigh, leaning your weight against the wall, as if it might ground you before your legs give out completely.

Tara’s smirk widens knowingly. She crosses her arms and props herself against the opposite wall like she’s the audience to your confession, not your best friend. She tilts her head, eyes glinting with that dangerous mix of curiosity and mischief that always means trouble. "Get his attention! That’s what you do! You’re smart—use it. Answer all his questions, make yourself impossible to ignore. Find excuses to talk to him. Flirt!"

You gape at her, caught somewhere between disbelief and intrigue. "Flirt? With my professor?" you hiss, but she just grins, clearly savoring your reaction. Leave it to Tara to encourage behavior that could land you in academic scandal.

Your cheeks burn hotter at her persistence, and you cover your face with both hands again like maybe she won’t see the flush spreading across your skin. "You’re insane," you mumble through your palms. "He’s my professor, Tara. He’s definitely not gonna pay attention to a student. That’s…like…highly unethical."

"That’s where you’re wrong," she counters, her tone dripping with confidence. "Even the most strict professors drop their boundaries with a little push." The way she says it makes your stomach twist—not entirely from nerves. She pushes off the wall with a casual grace, falling into step beside you as you start walking again. Her voice stays light, almost playful, but her eyes stay sharp, calculating, like she’s already mapping out a plan you’ll have no choice but to follow.

You glance sideways at her, both dreading and curious about whatever scheme is brewing in her head.

Still, you listen as she rambles off advice, her tone breezy but her eyes sharp, like she’s enjoying every second of this. You tell her about how he’d called after you when you forgot your bag, expecting her to laugh it off—but instead, she seizes on it instantly.

"Forget it more often," she suggests with a sly grin, "but not too often. You don’t want to look like you’re doing it on purpose. Make it subtle—give him a reason to call you back."

Before you can respond, she’s already onto the next step. "And dress more…eye-catching. You know—tighter clothes, ones that show off your assets. Make him notice, even if he’s trying not to." She says it so casually, like this is just another piece of friendly advice, the same way she might suggest a good place for coffee.

You can’t believe you’re actually listening. The thought alone makes you want to laugh, but you bite it back. You half-wonder if she’s done this before. Then you realize—that’s a stupid question.

She’s Tara. Of course she has.

And maybe…just maybe…it couldn’t hurt to try. Right?

The next few classes were nerve-wracking, each one a mix of genuine academic focus and the constant, distracting hum of your awareness of him. Still, you took Tara’s advice to heart. You started wearing your tightest shirts, the ones that hugged your figure in all the right places, along with shorts, skirts, and leggings that left little to the imagination—always hovering on the right side of “college appropriate,” but enough to make you feel his eyes might catch on you, even if only for a second. Every morning, choosing an outfit became less about comfort and more about calculated impact.

Sylus’s next big lesson was on the Siege of Caelthorn—a brutal turning point long before Linkon existed as a nation—though it happened on the land that would one day become Linkon, rife with political betrayal, desperate alliances, and the kind of last-stand tragedies that could haunt you for weeks. He paced as he spoke, weaving the dry facts into a gripping narrative, his voice lowering and rising at just the right moments to keep you hooked. He spoke of generals who turned traitor, civilians who fought with spears, and an entire winter where the city’s people lived on scraps of bark and boiled leather. You could picture it in your mind, his words painting the scene vividly…or at least, you could have, if you weren’t so busy noticing other things.

Because today, he was in a short-sleeved shirt—simple, fitted, and criminally distracting. The cut of the fabric framed his broad shoulders perfectly, and every movement pulled it taut across his arms, revealing the kind of muscle definition you didn’t expect from a professor. Your pen hovered uselessly over the page as you watched the fabric stretch and flex with the roll of his shoulders, your brain catching on details that had nothing to do with Caelthorn.

Fuck. He has biceps? The thought popped into your head with the force of a revelation, almost making you miss the next thing he said. And then, because your brain clearly hated you, the thought spiraled. What does his stomach look like? Does he have abs under there?

And the more important thought of what was hiding in his pants. Tara had made the lewd remark of "Well...if his hands and feet are big...you know what that means!"

You tore your gaze away, fixing it firmly on your notebook. You tried to copy down the date of the siege, the names of key figures, but the words swam in front of you, meaningless. All you could think about was the curve of his arm as he gestured toward the map, the faint veins visible along his forearms, and how close you were sitting—close enough that if he walked past your desk, you might actually smell his cologne.

You exhaled slowly, willing yourself to focus on the lesson, but the mental image lingered stubbornly, just out of reach, refusing to fade even as the bell approached.

Deciding to push yourself, you start asking questions in class—questions you already know the answers to. "Did the Siege of Caelthorn shift trade routes permanently or just temporarily?"

"Did the loss at Caelthorn weaken the Republic more through military defeat or through the collapse of public morale?"

You pick your moments carefully, raising your hand when you’re sure he’ll notice, tilting your head in that curious way that says I’m engaged without overdoing it. Each time, he listens, then responds in that precise, almost measured tone.

“The siege permanently altered trade in the southern provinces,” he says, “redirecting goods through coastal routes instead of inland. And the greater blow to the Republic?” He pauses just long enough for a few pens to hover over notebooks. “It came from the public’s loss of faith in its leaders, not from the military defeat itself.” His delivery is steady, free of theatrics, but you swear you catch the faintest flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes before he turns away. It’s subtle, almost nothing…but enough to keep you trying again the next day.

After class, you decided to “forget” your bag again. You made a little production of it this time—sliding your notebook into your backpack with exaggerated care, glancing toward the door as if you were already thinking about your next class, then strolling right out without looking back. A giddy rush of excitement curled in your chest as you took a few steps into the hallway, pretending to fish something out of your pocket while waiting for that familiar sound—his voice.

Sure enough, it came. But this time, when you turned, you saw he’d already walked a few steps toward you, your bag in hand. “A few more times,” he said, holding it out, “and this might just become someone else’s bag.”

The corners of your mouth tugged upward in a laugh that felt lighter than you meant it to. “Thanks again, sorry about that,” you replied, reaching for the strap.

His fingers brushed yours as he passed it over, the contact brief but enough to make your pulse skip. He nodded, his gaze steady, lingering just long enough to make you feel like the hallway had gone a little quieter. “Good questions today, by the way. It’s always a pleasure to hear from you.”

Your heart thudded hard against your ribs as you smiled back, trying to ignore the warmth blooming in your cheeks. Holy shit—this was the longest conversation you’d had with him so far. You told yourself to keep it cool, to keep your voice even. “Of course,” you said, adjusting the bag on your shoulder, “history has always been my favorite subject.”

He gave the smallest smirk, just enough to make you second-guess whether you’d imagined it. “Glad to hear it,” he said, before turning back toward the classroom. And as you walked away, your mind replayed every word, every glance, clinging to the moment. He smelled....really nice.

The test came soon after, and naturally, this was no multiple choice hand-holding. Written answers only—the kind of exam that demanded you know the material well enough to explain it in your own words. Everyone else seemed deeply immersed in their own work…everyone except you.

Your eyes kept flicking upward, drawn against your will to Sylus, seated at his desk with a thick, worn book open in front of him. The light caught on the edges of his glasses as he read, his expression calm, almost unreadable. Every so often, his long, veiny hand flexed as he turned a page, the tendons shifting under his skin in a way that made your chest tighten. It was such a mundane movement, yet somehow it had your attention locked. You had no business noticing something like that during a test—but your brain didn’t care. Fuck, you gotta focus.

You dragged your gaze back to the paper in front of you, forcing your mind to zero in on the questions. They were challenging but fair, each one built to test not just memory but actual understanding. You found the answers coming to you without hesitation, your pen moving swiftly across the page. By the time you reached the final prompt, your hand ached faintly from writing, but you powered through, finishing with a flourish before setting your pen down. The relief was immediate, a quiet exhale as the weight of the exam lifted.

The minutes ticked down, and soon the end of the class arrived. Sylus gave a brief nod of dismissal, and the room stirred back to life. Chairs scraped loudly against the floor, backpacks were unzipped and zipped again, and the low hum of post-test chatter filled the space. One by one, students filed out through the door, drifting toward the rest of their day.

But not everyone left.

A small knot of girls lingered behind, their movements slower, their voices low but tinged with laughter. Some pretended to fuss with their notebooks, others hovered near his desk under the pretense of asking questions.

Fuck. You should’ve known you wouldn’t be the only one feigning for his attention.

But it gave you an idea. If they could linger, so could you—except you’d do it better. You could feign ignorance after class, asking questions about assignments you’d already mastered, making it look like you were just a diligent student seeking clarity. So you upped your antics. Not only did you sometimes “forget” your bag, but you also began lingering both before and after class, crafting questions that would buy you precious extra minutes with him. You watched the subtle irritation grow on the faces of the other girls who tried the same, and every small victory made you bolder.

Today, you timed your approach perfectly. The last few students were zipping up backpacks, some shuffling toward the door, when you stepped forward. “Sylus, about the essay on the Siege of Caelthorn,” you began, tilting your head with feigned thoughtfulness, “would it be better to focus on one civilian’s perspective in depth, or weave in multiple viewpoints for contrast?”

He glanced at you, cocking his head to the side. A faint crease formed between his brows, as if he were genuinely puzzled why you—one of his strongest students—were asking something so basic. “I think ones best work comes from making their own decisions,” he said slowly, his tone both curious and mildly amused. He looked like he might say more, but before he could, a shadow fell across the desk.

“Sylus, can you help me? I don’t know—” another girl interrupted, stepping forward with a notebook in hand.

He didn’t even hesitate. Offering her a gentle smile, he raised a hand in a small, dismissive gesture. “In a bit. I’m with another student right now.”

You fought to keep your face neutral, but the corners of your mouth tugged upward despite your best efforts. The warm flicker of triumph settled in your chest, and inside, you were practically glowing with glee. The girl’s forced smile faltered into a glare sharp enough to cut glass, but you didn’t mind—in fact, it only made the moment sweeter.

And when the test came back, of course you’d aced it. Not just a high grade—you’d nailed every single question with enough precision and detail to make your handwriting look smug. In fact, your answers had impressed him so much that he’d even left a little handwritten note at the bottom of the last page. It was simple, but it made you smile.

“Remind me not to underestimate you in debates.”

After weeks of your carefully planned antics, you and Sylus had settled into a rhythm of longer, more frequent conversations, each one leaving you with a little more to think about than the last. Today was no different—class ended, the shuffle of papers and zippers filled the air, and you quickly grabbed your bag before making your way to his desk, determined to reach him before anyone else could.

He glanced up as you approached, that faintly amused smile tugging at his lips again, the kind that made it seem like he already knew exactly why you were there. “Didn’t forget your bag today? I’m almost disappointed,” he said dryly. “It’s become a habit of mine to look for it.” His tone was light, but there was an undertone of familiarity there, like this was now a private joke between you.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help returning the smile. “I wanted to ask, Professor—what made you want to get your degree in such a subject? You always captivate me with how you speak during your lessons. It’s like you’re telling a story you’ve lived through.”

For a moment, he seemed taken aback by the direct compliment. His brow lifted slightly, his eyes narrowing as if weighing how much he wanted to give away. “I’ve always been a man who enjoys reading documents, old accounts, and learning about humanity’s failures and triumphs,” he replied after a beat, his voice low. “There’s a kind of…honesty in the past, even in its ugliness.”

He paused, and you caught it—the subtle shift in his gaze as he seemed to wander over your body. It wandered, just briefly, over you in a way that sent heat crawling up your neck, making your pulse quicken despite your best effort to stay composed. When his red eyes met yours again, there was a flicker of something unreadable, and his tone softened, edged with something far less academic.

“Though,” he added, his lips curling into a faint smirk, “I wouldn’t say I’m the only person who’s captivating when they open their mouth.”

The air between you seemed to tighten, your thoughts scattering as you scrambled for a response that wouldn’t give too much away. Was he...flirting?!

"O-oh?" you say, eyes widening.

He leans back slightly, the smirk lingering. “Mhm,” he says smoothly, “Like Alcibiades. He was truly a captivating figure in his lifetime—brilliant, charming, and entirely too good at convincing people to join in a revolution.” He lets the name hang in the air, eyes locked on yours, his tone perfectly casual as if it were just an academic reference. But you know better.

In your head, you can’t help thinking, what a save…acting like you’re keeping it professional, Sylus.

You could toe the line too. In fact, you could do it better. When he passed out papers after a test, you’d make a point to “accidentally” let your fingers brush against his when grabbing yours, just long enough for the warmth of his skin to register against yours. He’d pause briefly—just a fraction of a second too long—before moving on, and to you, that pause was further proof he wasn’t entirely unaffected. Sometimes you’d let your gaze linger on him as you returned to your seat, just to see if he noticed.

When talking to him after class, especially on days you wore skirts or tight leggings, you began taking it a step further—waiting until everyone else had left, then casually perching yourself directly on the edge of his desk, close enough that your knees were almost brushing his. From there, you’d tilt your head, ask a question, maybe fiddle idly with your pen while he answered, knowing the image you presented.

It was a risky move, one you’d half expected him to shut down immediately. You’d prepared yourself for a polite correction or a subtle shift in tone. But instead, he’d simply smiled, leaning back slightly in his chair, his gaze steady as he answered your questions with the same professional ease you’d come to expect from him—his voice calm, his expression composed, even if you swore you caught the faintest flicker of interest in his eyes, a quiet acknowledgement of the unspoken game you were both playing.

Today was no different. He’d assigned a worksheet after class, and the tension between you two had been coiling tighter with each passing day. You’d decided you were going to cross the line a bit today—Tara’s advice echoing in your head like a dare. The classroom was quiet, the hum of his laptop keys the only sound. He sat at his desk, focused, typing steadily, and thankfully, no students lingered to interrupt. Everyone else had packed up and left.

You took your chance.

Striding forward, you stopped in front of his desk before promptly hopping onto the edge, letting the motion speak for itself. You flashed the paper toward him with a teasing smile. “Since when do you assign worksheets with multiple choice? Is my professor getting lazy?” you joked, letting your tone dance between playful and challenging.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. With an easy motion, he pushed his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose, his gaze never leaving yours. “Just something easy to end the week while I catch up on grading,” he said, his tone deceptively casual but carrying a subtle thread of amusement.

You caught the faint shift of his lips, the corners tugging upward like he was enjoying this more than he’d admit. His red eyes glinted under the light, catching just enough to make your stomach twist in that maddening way. Then, with the faintest, almost taunting smirk, he added, “Why? Too easy for you? A shame.”

The tease lingered in the air, the words wrapping around you with a challenge that made your pulse pick up.

"No, in fact, it’s far harder than I expected," you say, deliberately putting just a touch too much emphasis on the word harder, letting it hang in the space between you. Your lips curl into a faint smile as you glance down at the paper in your hand, flipping it over like you’re searching for something.

“For example—this one,” you say, pointing at a question halfway down the page. “Which charter established the Great Council of Aramoor? I know we went over it, but…I’m not entirely sure I remember.” You tilt your head in mock uncertainty, even though you could recite the answer in your sleep, watching closely to see how he’ll react.

He hums in acknowledgment, shifting in his chair as he leans a little closer, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re a smart girl. Top of my class. Why don’t you tell me?” he says, his tone dripping with amusement, each word laced with just enough weight to make your pulse skip.

Shit. You weren’t expecting him to call your bluff so soon. Your chest tightens, your heartbeat loud in your ears, and for a moment, you swear you can’t breathe. Don’t stutter, you warn yourself. You pull in a slow, steady breath, forcing your shoulders to relax, willing your voice not to crack. Even sitting, he’s tall enough that you still have to tilt your head to meet his gaze, and that alone makes your stomach twist in a way you don’t want to examine.

You let the silence stretch a little longer than necessary, just to see if he’ll flinch, before finally speaking. “If I get it right…do I get a prize, professor?” Your words are slow, laced with a subtle playfulness that you know could be taken the wrong way—or exactly the right way.

This time, he actually seems taken aback. His brows lift just slightly, surprise flickering in his eyes, before another chuckle escapes him—softer this time, but edged with something unreadable. He shakes his head, almost imperceptibly, like he’s deciding how much rope to give you. “A prize?” he repeats, drawing out the word as if tasting it. “I wasn’t aware I was teaching kindergarten,” he replies at last, the corner of his mouth curving upward in quiet challenge, as if daring you to try again.

"Alright, I’ll humor you. What exactly would you want for this...prize?" he asks, leaning forward slightly in his chair but keeping his gaze locked on you.

You lean in just a fraction, your voice slipping into something coy. Now or never. “A kiss seems fitting. It is a very hard question, after all.”

He pretends to be appalled, pressing a hand dramatically over his chest, though the chuckle that follows gives him away. His eyes glint with mischief as they flicker from yours, lingering there for a heartbeat, then—just for a second—drifting down to your lips. It’s quick, but enough to make your pulse skip.

“That’s highly inappropriate, young lady,” he murmurs, though the warning is undermined by the amusement tugging at his mouth.

You close the gap ever so slightly, your cheeks warm but your gaze unwavering. “Maybe,” you say softly, a small smirk pulling at your lips. “But that’s not a no, sir.”

The sudden shift in his breathing let you know that he definitely enjoyed the nickname you just sprung on him.

He doesn’t answer immediately, his expression shifting just slightly as though the gears are turning in his head, weighing his next words. The pause stretches long enough to make your breath catch, your heart beating faster in the silence, before he finally speaks—his tone tinged with something almost teasing.

“You're not wrong, I didn't say no. Go on then. Tell me the answer, sweetie. It shouldn’t be too hard for a smart girl like you.”

The nickname lands like a jolt of electricity, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine that you can’t hide. Your fingers tighten slightly around the edge of the paper in your hand, and you swear the air between you feels heavier now, warmer. Oh…boundaries are definitely slipping now, and by the way he’s still watching you, it’s clear he knows it too.

You answer quickly—maybe too quickly—blurting out, “The Great Council of Aramoor, established under the Charter of Unity, ratified in the winter of 642, after the War of the Seven Provinces ended,” your words tumbling out in a rush. You even add, “It was signed in the capital’s Great Hall, under the banner of the Phoenix Crest,” without thinking, the details pouring from you so effortlessly that it almost betrays how much you’ve studied. Your eagerness is impossible to hide now, and the moment the words leave your mouth, you wonder if you’ve given yourself away. But there’s no pulling them back.

He nods slowly, his eyes locking onto yours with a piercing intensity that makes you feel like he can see every stray thought flitting through your mind. The moment stretches taut, the air between you heavy, before he finally glances down briefly—almost as if deciding something—then looks back up, a faint, knowing smile curving his lips.

“Exceptional answer. Well, I'm man of my word,” he says simply, before patting his lap.

Your heart lurches into your throat. His lap? Your mind reels instantly with the implications. If someone walked in right now, there’d be no excuse, no cover story—nothing to hide what the two of you were doing. Heat creeps up the back of your neck, but your body moves before your mind can stop it. You slide down from his desk, the motion slow, almost testing him, before you hesitate for a heartbeat and then settle onto him. The shock of how solid he feels beneath you makes your breath catch, his frame fitting against yours in a way that unravels your thoughts. Your pulse hammers so loudly you wonder if he can hear it.

That’s when it hits you—you’re nervous to kiss him. Not because you don’t want to, but because the possibility of being bad at it gnaws at the edges of your confidence. You’ve never wanted someone’s approval like this. The thought loops endlessly, a dizzying hum in your head, until his voice slices through it.

“Whenever you’re ready, sweetie” he murmurs, the words slow, deliberate, as if he can see the hesitation in your eyes and knows exactly why it’s there.

You nod once, pulling in a deep breath to steady the chaos inside you. Then, in a surge of determination, you reach up and slip his glasses from his face. The motion is simple but intimate, your fingertips brushing his temple for the briefest second. His eyes flicker with surprise, the smallest crack in his otherwise unshakable composure. Just do it, you tell yourself, your pulse pounding so hard it echoes in your ears.

So you do. You lean in, closing the last inches between you, and capture his lips with yours. They’re warm—softer than you expected—and up close, he smells absolutely divine, a faint mix of clean soap and something darker, like cedarwood. Your plan had been to make this quick, just a small, testing peck. You didn’t want to take a mile when you’d only been given an inch. But the moment you try to pull back, his hands find your waist, firm and deliberate, holding you in place.

Your breath hitches at the contact, and before you can react, he deepens the kiss. It’s smooth, confident, and far more intoxicating than you’d prepared for, making your head spin. The world outside the two of you disappears, the only sounds the faint hitch in your breathing and the low, subtle hum from him. It’s not long before you’re both slightly panting against each other, foreheads brushing, the air between you thick with lust.

You begin to grind your lower half against his, slow at first, testing the waters. His reaction is immediate—his grip on your hips tightens, fingers digging in just enough to make your breath catch. Encouraged, you slide your hands down his chest and start to trail them under his shirt, fingertips grazing warm skin. But just as the heat between you threatens to tip into something reckless, he pulls back.

His face is slightly flushed, his breathing uneven, but his eyes are steady. “As delightful as this has been,” he says, his tone quieter now but no less firm, “we can’t go any further. A sweet girl such as yourself has no business with a man like me.”

Frustrated, you look him square in the eye, your voice low but firm. “I can handle you. Don’t patronize me,” you say, refusing to back down. His lips curl into a slow, knowing smirk, and there’s something in his eyes that makes your pulse jump despite your defiance.

“You don’t have any idea what you’re asking for, sweetie,” he replies, the endearment rolling off his tongue like both a warning and a temptation. "Shouldn't you head to your next class? An upstanding student such as yourself shouldn't be late."

You pout, your lips pressing into a thin line, but eventually sigh and slide off his lap, your feet touching the floor with a quiet thud. You’d come so far, and for what? Clearly, he’d just been toying with you for weeks—dangling the possibility, only to pull away at the last second. Whatever. You grab your bag with more force than necessary and march toward the door.

But as you reach it, you freeze. Something in you twists, and you turn back to face him, your voice cool but laced with a bite. “This has given me the revelation that I should change classes. We’ve crossed the line after all, professor. It’s been…nice.” You give him one last glance before turning back to leave, determined not to look over your shoulder again.

Suddenly, the air shifts. In a blur of red and black mist, you suddenly feel him behind you—so close that the hair on the back of your neck stands on end. You jolt in surprise, your pulse spiking.

He…has an Evol??

You pant as he rests his hand firmly on the door above your shoulder, blocking your way out. The solid thud of his palm against the wood sends a vibration through the frame, making your chest tighten and your pulse quicken. His presence is overwhelming—close enough that you can feel the subtle heat radiating from him, the faint scent of paper clinging to his clothes. He leans in closer, so close you swear you can hear the faintest hitch in his breathing, his warm breath brushing against the shell of your ear and sending an involuntary shiver down your spine.

“You can recount several treaties by memory but can’t tell when a man is teasing you? How cute,” he murmurs, his voice low and rich, curling around you like smoke and sinking under your skin. His hand slides slowly down the door, the movement unhurried, almost taunting, until his fingers find the lock. The faint scrape of metal turning is deafening in the quiet room, and with a soft, final click, he twists it in place, sealing the two of you inside with no chance of interruption.

“Look at me, sweetie” he says, the command soft yet carrying a weight that leaves no room for disobedience. His tone isn’t loud, but it thrums through you, making it impossible not to obey, even as your breath comes faster.

You turn and look up at him, your knees feeling weak under the oppressive weight of the tension hanging in the air. Every inch of the room feels charged, the atmosphere so thick it’s almost dizzying. Your pulse pounds so loudly in your ears that you nearly miss the words that follow, his voice low but cutting through everything else.

“I’m going to make you cum three times,” he says, each syllable slow and certain, as if he’s stating an unshakable fact. He holds up three fingers in front of you, commanding your full attention. “Once with my fingers. Another with my mouth. And then…”

Your breath catches, your chest rising and falling faster as your eyes, without your permission, drift lower. They trace the lines of his torso until they land on the hardened outline of his cock in his pants. The sight makes your skin feel hot, your imagination filling in the rest before he even finishes speaking, painting vivid possibilities you can’t push away. You swallow hard, unable to stop the way your heart stutters at the unspoken promise hanging between you.

"You’ll have to be quiet if you don’t want to get caught. We would certainly be the talk of the campus," he chuckled, the sound dark and warm. His eyes gleamed with mischief as he tilted his head slightly. “So, I have your consent then?”

Yes. God, yes. Every part of you wanted to blurt it out, but your throat felt tight, your voice trapped behind the pounding in your chest. Instead, you simply nod, breath quick and uneven.

“I need to hear a yes, kitten” he murmured, his tone dropping lower, each word deliberate and coaxing. “Use your big girl words.”

“Yes. I consent, Sylus…” you sigh, the words spilling out with a mix of anticipation and heat as you lean up, wrapping your arms around his neck. He doesn’t waste a second—his hands slide to your waist, pulling you flush against him as his mouth captures yours in a deep, claiming kiss. The intensity makes your head spin, and before you can even register the shift, he teleports you both in a swirl of dark mist to his desk.

You’re both panting, breaths mingling in the charged air as he lowers you back onto the polished surface. The wood is cool against your skin, contrasting sharply with the heat radiating from him. Your shirt rides up just enough to expose the soft curve of your stomach, the edge of the fabric brushing lightly against your ribs. His gaze drops to the newly exposed skin, making your pulse race even faster.

He leans down, his lips brushing softly against the sensitive skin of your stomach, making you jolt and stifle a giggle. The sensation is electric, sending shivers down your spine. But your laughter quickly turns to a sharp intake of breath as his hands move to your skirt, slowly sliding it down your thighs. The cool air hits your skin as your skirt pools around your ankles, eventually dropping to the floor, leaving you exposed in your lace underwear.

"Cute choice," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "These are my particular favorite." His words send a rush of heat through you, a mix of embarrassment and desire. You realize with a jolt that he must have seen your underwear before, perhaps at a time when you bent over, and the thought sends a thrill through you.

Without hesitation, he slides your underwear to the side, revealing your already wet cunt. You squeal in embarrassment, the sound mingling with a moan as his fingers find your aching clit. The touch is electric, sending waves of pleasure through your body. You arch your back, pressing into his touch, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

"Mgnh! Ah...!"

His fingers move with expert precision, circling and teasing, drawing out moans and gasps from deep within you. The room seems to fade away, leaving only the sensation of his touch and the sound of your own ragged breathing. Each stroke building intensity with every touch. You're lost in the moment, your body responding to his every move, completely at his mercy.

"S-sylus!" you shriek, the sound a mix of surprise and pleasure as his long, dextrous fingers suddenly slide inside you. The sensation is intense, filling you completely, and you feel yourself stretching to accommodate him. Your body clenches around his fingers, a primal response to the sudden intrusion.

He leans down, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers soft shushes, trying to calm you. "Be a good girl and stay quiet kitten," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends vibrations through your body. You moan again, softer this time, as he extends his knuckle, touching that spongy, sensitive spot inside you. The sensation is overwhelming, and your body jerks. "You feel quite tight. A few orgasms should definitely fix that."

You feel like you can't breathe, your lungs constricting as your body tenses, teetering on the edge of release. Each movement of his fingers sends you spiraling closer, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable intensity. Your grip tightens on him, your nails digging into his skin as you try to anchor yourself to something solid in the storm of sensation.

"Oh, going to cum already? Adorable."

His fingers continue their relentless assault, curling and stroking, drawing out moans and gasps from deep within you. You're so close, your body trembling with the effort of holding back. Each touch, each whisper, each breath pushes you further, until you're balanced on the knife's edge, ready to fall into the abyss of pleasure.

"Ahh...mghn....ahh!"

You feel the coil snap tighter and tighter, the tension in your body building to an almost unbearable point. And then, suddenly, it shatters. You release with a force that leaves you trembling, your body twisting and grinding against his fingers. You stifle your sounds with one of your hands, biting down on your knuckles to keep from crying out, your body shaking with the intensity of your release.

By the time the waves subside, you feel like a boneless, limp mass of jelly, your limbs heavy and unresponsive. You're panting, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps, and you're already slick with sweat, your skin glistening in the dim light. Your eyes, heavy-lidded and glazed with lust, roam to Sylus, whose cock is harder than it was previously, strains against his pants. He watches you come undone, his gaze intense and hungry.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Just as I imagined. Now I wonder if you taste as good too?"

"W-wait...I need a brea-ah..."

Before you can catch your breath, he lowers his face between your soaking wet folds, his tongue lapping up your essence with eager, hungry strokes. You throw your head back, a cry of surprise and pleasure escaping your lips as his hot tongue finds your sensitive, swollen clit.

He laps at you like a starving dog, his tongue exploring every inch of your cunt. Each stroke sends jolts of ecstasy through you, reigniting the fire in your body. You're already on the edge of another release, your body responding to his touch with a fervor that leaves you breathless. You're lost in the sensation, your body and mind completely consumed by the pleasure he's drawing from you.

You've never felt such intense sensations before, not even with your previous boyfriends. Each touch, each lick, sends you spiraling into a realm of pleasure you never knew existed. He leaves you no time to think, his mouth and tongue working in a relentless rhythm that leaves you gasping and moaning.

He sucks on your clit, the sensation so intense that it rips another desperate moan from your throat. You cling to his mullet, your fingers tangling in the strands as you try to anchor yourself to something solid in the storm of sensation. Not that he seems to mind; if anything, it spurs him on, his tongue pushing into your walls with a fervor that leaves you breathless.

The feeling of his tongue is overwhelming, drawing out yet another embarrassingly quick orgasm. You feel your body tense and then shatter, unable to stop yourself from pushing against his face as you finish again. When he's sure you're done cumming against his tongue, he licks his lips and shifts, towering over you.

Your body is shaking, completely unable to move a muscle, as you pant and gasp for breath. "I-felt so…oh my god," you manage to stammer, your eyes fluttering closed as you try to process the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body. You're not sure you can survive another orgasm, your body already pushed to its limits.

You hear a low chuckle, followed by the distinct sound of a belt coming undone. "I did warn you" he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Don't pass out on me now." Your eyes shoot open as he lifts your shirt, exposing your breasts to the cool air. The sudden change in temperature makes your nipples harden, and you feel a fresh wave of goosebumps spread across your skin.

His pupils dilate, and he lets out an excited breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He shifts his pants and boxers off his body, his movements quick and efficient. His hardened cock springs free, and you almost drool at the size, your eyes widening as you take in the sight. It's pale, thick and long, the head glistening with pre-cum, and you can't help but imagine how it would feel inside you.

You're caught in a mix of anticipation and fear, your body already aching for more despite the overwhelming pleasure you've already experienced. You watch as he moves between your legs, his eyes locked on yours, a predatory gleam in his gaze.

He begins to rub his tip between your folds, a low groan escaping his lips as he feels how easily he slides against your slick, sensitive pussy. The sensation is intense, sending jolts of ecstasy through both of you. You whine impatiently, using the last of your strength to try and push him inside you when he slides back again, your body aching for more.

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Eager, I know. My fault for teasing you, sweetie," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. "We should hurry before my next class. Tell me if it hurts." You nod breathlessly, your body tensing in anticipation as he begins to push himself slowly inside you.

You twitch and clench as he starts to disappear inside your wet walls, the sensation of being filled so completely sending a hint of discomfort through your body. He moves slowly, giving you time to adjust, his eyes locked on yours, watching your reactions closely.

The feeling is overwhelming, a blend of pleasure and pressure that leaves you nearly sobbing. You can feel every inch of him, stretching and filling you, and you're acutely aware that you might tear from the sheer size of him.

"F-feels so good…" you pant, your voice a breathless whisper as you attempt to tug him closer, your body aching to be close to him. He obliges, leaning in to capture your lips in a fierce, passionate kiss as he pushes himself all the way into you. You nearly scream against his mouth, but quickly forget the pain as you lose yourself in his searing kiss.

You can feel him poking the very edge of your cervix, making you whine and grind against him, willing him to move. He seems breathless himself, pulling away from the kiss slightly, his chest heaving with each ragged breath. "So wet and yet, still tight as ever," he murmurs, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down your spine.

He pulls out slightly before slowly pushing back in, the movement deliberate and controlled. You both moan in harmony, the sound a raw, uninhibited symphony of the pleasure you're both experiencing. You stare into each other's eyes, the connection between you intense and electric, as his cock reaches the end of your walls again.

This certainly feels more intimate than a hookup.

He begins to thrust a bit faster, spurred on by the way your cunt tightens and loosens around him, sucking him deeper with each movement. "Shit…" he growls, his hands displayed on either side of the desk as he plunges into you, his body tensing with each thrust. You're shocked that a man as composed as him is cussing, and it nearly distracts you from the fact that your professor is quite literally balls deep inside you right now.

Your moans fill the air, mingling with the sound of flesh meeting flesh, as he picks up the pace, his movements becoming more urgent and desperate. The wetness between your legs begins to coat the desk, the sounds of it rocking back and forth filling the room.

You moan into each other's mouths, your lips locked in a fierce, passionate kiss as he drives into you. You can feel the tension building, the pressure in your body coiling tighter again with each movement.

The room seems to spin around you, the only steady point being the sensation of him inside you, the sound of your moans, and the taste of his lips.

You're both acutely aware of the dwindling time, the reality of his next class looming over you like a dark cloud. While it would be nice to do this forever, you start to feel nervous and glance at the clock, your eyes widening at the realization of how little time you have left.

"S-sylus…your next class will be here soon….mghm.." you moan, pulling away from his kiss, your voice a breathless whisper. He nods, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps, as he tugs you back closer to him. "I'm aware. Hah-as...ah- shameful as it is to admit, I'm already close. You feel fucking amazing," he pants, his voice a low growl.

You whine as his thrusts begin to get more desperate, your body clinging to his and feeling like you're on the brink of dissolving into a puddle of jello. You can feel yourself on the edge of another orgasm, already on the brink of snapping.

“Gonna cum-ah-Sylus…please...”

Suddenly, the sharp sound of the door being tugged and a knock interrupts your impending orgasm. You gasp, your eyes widening in fear as you realize that students are forming on the other side of the door. You look at Sylus, your expression a mixture of panic and desperation, but he simply smirks, a predatory gleam in his eyes.

He puts a finger to his lips, a silent command for you to be quiet, before covering your mouth with his hand, muffling your moans. The sound of his next thrust is louder, the wetness between your legs making a lewd, obscene sound as he pushes into you, the desk rocking back and forth with the force of his movements.

You moan at the intense, increased pace, the sounds muffled by his hand covering your mouth. "Mghm! Mghn! Mhhn!" you whimper, feeling yourself drool beneath the skin of his hand, your belly feeling tighter and tighter with each passing second. Another knock, another sound of a student mumbling on the other side of the door, the reality of your situation only heightening the intensity of the moment.

Sylus is clearly at his end now, his legs shaking with the effort of thrusting as hard as he can, his body tensing. He looks down at you, giving you an apologetic smile, his eyes filled with contemplation. Your eyes widen in realization, the question clear in your gaze: He's not really going to cum inside you, is he?!

Sure enough, he pushes far as he can go, releasing hot ropes of cum inside your walls with a low, guttural groan. You feel it leaking out of you instantly, your body shivering beneath him as your forced to take every single ounce he gives you. The sound of his release is quiet, the wetness between your legs coating the desk, the evidence of sex on full display.

You both pant, faces flushed, the weight of what just happened settling heavily between you. Your thoughts spin, but his voice cuts through, calm and practical. “Apologies. Easier to hide the evidence if it’s inside you,” he says, his gaze dipping lower to watch as said "evidence" slides down your leg. "Well, most of it anyways." Heat floods your face at his words, and you instinctively glance down too, eyeing his cum with a sheepish smile.

“Here, we need to hurry.” He reaches into his desk drawer, pulling out a neatly folded handkerchief. Without hesitation, he begins helping you clean up—quick but gentle, his touch careful, almost reverent despite the urgency. You tremble slightly as he helps you fix your underwear and smooths your skirt back into place.

Looking around the room, your pulse spikes again. “Sylus… they’re gonna be suspicious if they see me leave…”

He meets your eyes briefly, then nods toward the far door on the opposite end of the room. “That leads outside. Go quickly,” he instructs, his voice firm but low, like he’s already thinking two steps ahead.

O-okay…” you breathe, your voice shaky as you turn to leave, grabbing your bag with quick, nervous movements. But before you can take a full step toward the far door, his hand wraps firmly around your wrist, halting you in place. In one swift motion, he spins you back toward him, and you barely have time to gasp out, “Syl—mghn…” before your words are swallowed by a searing kiss.

His lips are warm and commanding against yours, stealing the air from your lungs as heat floods your face. Your fingers tighten instinctively around the strap of your bag, your knees nearly buckling from the intensity. Just as quickly, he pulls away, but not without leaving a small, knowing smile on his face—one that sends your thoughts scattering.

Then, with a tenderness that makes your chest ache, he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. His hand lingers briefly at your waist before he steps back, giving you a subtle motion toward the door. The silent order is clear: hurry.

You waste no time, rushing out of the door, the cool air outside hitting you as his cum continues to soak your underwear with every hurried step. Your heartbeat is still wild, each thud a reminder of the heat and chaos you’ve just left behind. Despite the soreness between your thighs and the damp cling of your clothes, a small, wicked smile curves your lips. You’re wet, sore, and absolutely thrilled by what you’ve just accomplished.

Tara is going to lose her mind when she hears about this…

Monday's class drones on, your pen scratching steadily across the page as you scribble notes into your notebook. Sylus’s voice fills the room, smooth and measured, as he delves into another lecture—this time on the rise of a long-forgotten civilization. You force yourself to focus, but the words blur a little, your mind drifting back to the last time you were alone with him.

You had spent all weekend thinking about it in fact. Dreaming of it even. You couldn't get it out of your head. Still, he had greeted you normally and started class like nothing had changed. That was it then? Well, at least you got it out of your system.

A soft buzz from your phone jolts you from your thoughts. Glancing down, you slide your hand under the desk and sneak a peek at the screen. The corner of your mouth tugs upward when you see Tara’s name and the message beneath it: Tell me if you hook up again!! I need DETAILS this time!! :D

You stifle a laugh, quickly locking the screen and slipping the phone back away before Sylus notices. Still, the smile lingers as you keep writing, your mind already forming the reply you’ll send her later.

The sound of Sylus's voice snaps you back to attention.

“I’m sure some of you are anxious to see your scores on the previous essay I assigned,” Sylus says, his tone calm but carrying that subtle edge of authority that makes the room fall silent. He lifts a neat stack of papers in his hands. “You’ll soon find out.”

A collective groan ripples through the class, a few students slumping in their seats. You can’t help but giggle nervously, tapping your pen against your notebook. Your eyes follow him as he starts down the first row, passing the essays out one by one. Some students light up with barely contained pride, others groan in dismay at their grades.

Your stomach tightens as he gets closer, your breath caught halfway in your chest. Then, suddenly, he’s there—pausing at your desk. You glance up, and for the briefest moment, your eyes meet his. The air between you feels heavier, charged, though he masks it with ease. He slides your essay onto your desk, the corner brushing your fingertips.

You give him a confident smile, as if you already know you did well. He returns it with the faintest curve of his lips before moving on to the next row, leaving you to stare down at the paper in anticipation.

Of course, a perfect score. As usual. You can’t help the small swell of pride in your chest as you scan the neat red ink at the top of the page. But then—what’s this? Your eyes land on a small arrow and a short, handwritten note in the corner: Flip to the back.

Your curiosity piqued, you turn the paper over. The moment your eyes fall on the words he’s written, your grin begins to grow, stretching wider with every sentence. Wasn’t very gentlemanly of me to shove you out the door…perhaps I can make it up to you over dinner? Your choice, my treat of course.

Another note catches your eye, scrawled in the margin near a passage you’d underlined. Call me, sometime? I’d be more than interested to hear that cute voice outside of class. Beneath it, in neat digits, is his number.

Your fingers tighten slightly on the edges of the paper, the quiet hum of the classroom fading into the background. You glance up, catching the faintest flicker of his gaze in your direction, and your heart gives a sharp, giddy kick.

He wants it to be more than a fling? The thought is unexpected—strangely so—but you can’t help the way your lips curve into a slow, pleased smile. The idea of keeping this going sends a ripple of excitement through you. Of course you’ll be texting and calling him later; that’s not even a question.

But your smile falters as your eyes catch on yet another note, this one written beside the final passage you’d worked so hard on. By the way, the Treaty of Westmarch wasn’t signed in the spring—it was in late winter. His neat handwriting continues: Should technically knock you down some points, but I’ll pretend I didn’t see it. See me after class for a refresher, sweetie.

You roll your eyes at the gentle jab, biting back a grin as you lift your gaze to find him. Sure enough, he’s already looking at you, a slow, knowing smirk playing on his lips.

Oh…this should be interesting.

[grungenova]

Nothing beats Jet2 holiday ! ☀️💙

[operationnope]

LITG S12 VOL VI

We say goodbye to Rewan and what never was. Sorry to all my friends out there hoping for an ETL 😿 Him running out is so funny to me though 🤭 Here’s the deets:

To no one’s surprise, Rewan and Mei are behind knickergate. Part of their plan to break up your couple. Duh 😒

You can pay to “investigate” why your partner is missing, but it’s just because he was at the sleepover villa 🥱

There’s a kissing challenge- you can pay for a redo 🙄🙄🙄 I’m so sick of that, like Gryff doesn’t know me when I snog his face off every chance I get 💋

You can pay to find out about the sleepover villa. Carmen is loud and Lola is mysterious. Your partner had a choice- bring back a girl and dump MC or stay loyal. It’s actually sweet how much he gushed about MC while away 🥰

Time to vote out a couple- it’s Rewan and Mei. On their way out, a secret is revealed that Rewan cheated on Mei. Then she says she cheated on him 🍿 lol then he runs out 🏃‍♂️

I did not accept Mei’s apology. Girl bye ✌️

Dates by the sea. You actually have a chat that is unique to your partner (finally). You can pay extra to go off with your LI and have a really cute moment and get frisky 🍦😏

Another secret- someone’s been called unfaithful. You can pay to play detective again. It’s Tori 🕵🏻‍♀️

Compatibility challenge- you can pay to listen to your partner’s answers. 4/5 are a match, but supposedly every girl is more compatible with a “mystery islander” 🙃

Somewhere in here, boy bestie takes you to the secret garden to confess his crush. You don’t really get a chance to respond 🤐

Cue Casa Amor 💕

Oh and you can pay to write your partner a note before you leave ✍️

If you’ve been counting, that’s 7 times I’ve said “you can pay” 🤑🤑🤑🤑🤑🤑🤑

So we’re on a mission to find out which Casa boy we’re most compatible with. If that closes us off to one CA boy again, that’s going to annoy me. The plan is to stay faithful to Gryff, but let’s see what these boys look like 👀