#lee pace oneshot

[lillianofliterature]

If your requests are open, and you are comfortable with it, could you maybe please do a King Thranduil x reader one-shot where reader has cancer and it is like angsty?

the toll of sickness | thranduil x reader

a/n: Anon, I am sincerely sorry for the long wait, but I wanted to provide all the angsty venting and comfort I could for you in this! Thank you for your request! I wanted to do this right by you. I hope this helps soothe whatever parts of you need soothing today. I don’t know anon’s/anyone’s specific diagnosis or symptoms, so I’m doing my best to remain respectful and widely general with the topic of cancer. I took inspiration from my own experiences with the mental/emotional toll of long-term chronic illness to supply a plot to resolve, I hope that’s okay (and still relatable). <3

The reader is implied feminine in this as they are referred to as lady/queen, but otherwise, I did my best to keep it gender-neutral with descriptions. 

This could also be interpreted as a reader with chronic illness.

DO NOT REPOST MY WORK. GIF EDIT IS MINE.

summary: after a long day of tiresome treatments and the heaviness of your thoughts, you retreat to your chambers to seek the comfort of your husband’s arms.

warnings: mentions of cancer (the reader has cancer), mentions of cancer treatments and symptoms (including needles), medical exhaustion, nonsexual nudity and nonsexual bathing, open discussions of symptoms, fear of death

word count: 6.1k

music:  As Long As We Both Shall Live by Bear McCreary

elvish translations: melamin = my love, melda = my dear/beloved

“I think we will conclude here for today, my lady.” 

The head healer’s voice drew your wayward attention back to his prim features. His thin lips spread into a smile as he gently unstrapped the tight leather band above your inner elbow, releasing the tension from your skin. The long syringe with its glass barrel was gently pulled from the blue vein that the pressure had highlighted. You rubbed your arm subconsciously as he set aside the supplies for cleaning, hoping the motion would rid your flesh of the awful sensation of being probed. 

You blinked away your muddled thoughts. Briefly, you worried that perhaps he had been talking to you long before you’d heard his assessment to end the treatments for the evening. If you had, you were grateful to find no resentment in his gaze for your absentminded silence. 

He softly closed his collection of books that had been displayed around a table on the wall adjacent to your cushioned cot in the infirmary. With a bottle of herbal salve, he applied a generous portion to the inner curve of your elbow, satiating any irritation from his needles. The cool gel of the aloe soothed the itchy redness, while the lavender masked the sterile scent of the medications and intensely bitter herbs.  

You glanced up from the healer’s gentle efforts, trying on your best smile. “Thank you for your diligence today, Sudryl. It is very much appreciated.” 

He bowed his head as he clasped your hand between his palms, “It is always a pleasure to tend to you, my queen. We will resume tomorrow morning if it suits your schedule?”

“My schedule is always free for your remedies. Thranduil has made sure to take over many of my duties so we may focus on my treatment.”

Sudryl smiled once more as he helped you stand from the cot, draping your silken robe over your bare arms as he did so. “The king is very wise, your majesty. I know you detest this period of healing you’re undergoing, but you mustn't mistake rest for idleness. Your people desire greatly for your full recovery, myself included. In order to achieve that, your rest is crucial.”

You didn’t know what to say. Rest was crucial, you knew that. As were the innumerable treatments and remedies being applied and adjusted every day. 

But didn’t anyone understand that you were tired of all of this? Exhausted by more than just the cancer and its seemingly endless repercussions that it presented almost daily. Worn down by more than just needles and salves and bitter syrups that lingered in your throat.

You missed feeling well-rested when you woke up in the mornings after a long sleep—you missed having the energy to spend your days fulfilling your duties as a queen, as a servant to her people. You missed the days in which every activity was not dictated or measured by searing pain or groggy fatigue. You were tired of wrestling with your body just to exist comfortably. 

But it’s your duty to get better, they keep telling you. 

It’s what everyone’s hoping for, your majesty. 

Do your best to rest and eat well, my lady. 

Don’t give up hope, Queen (Y/n). You are blessed among our kin!

The people have been petitioning their prayers to the Valar fervently, your grace.

They were supposed to be words of encouragement spoken to invigorate your fighting spirit, to ignite that spark of determination that was starting to flicker these last few months. But these endless strains of hope and enlightenment had started to weigh heavily upon your shoulders like a milkmaid’s yoke, and with every well-intentioned word and chorus of song another stone was dropped into the buckets you carried.

The pressure to recover for the sake of others was beginning to feel like too much—the toll of the sickness itself was enough for one to worry about, was it not? Not only did you feel this fearsome desperation to recover for your own sake, for your own life, but also the need of a thousand other voices begging for a show of strength you didn’t feel tangible anymore. 

The summoning of one of your servants outside the infirmary doors reminded you that the hour to retire for supper was nearing presently. You felt your posture deflate as it dawned on you that you couldn’t yet retire for the day. Although your extravagant evening meals were one of the few constants that motivated you to follow your days through until nightfall, your hunger had dispersed in the last few days. Being seated at a stiff table dressed with rich delicacies and savory wines sounded nothing short of torture at the moment, even with the promise of dessert. 

The servant curtseyed in the broad doorway as Sudryl led you across the room. You couldn’t help but tense as your legs tremored from the sudden activity. A long exhale slipped through your pursed lips.

“My queen,” She rose gracefully, her hands folding together at her waist. “Your supper with the king is nearly prepared. He will be present in the dining hall shortly as soon as his meeting has concluded. I was advised to escort you there safely.”

Clutching onto Sudryl’s forearm, you hesitated to address the messenger. You couldn’t help the expression of distaste that twisted your face. The thought of food was not the only thing that churned your stomach at that moment; the prospect of being walked through your own palace as though you were an invalid, incapable of making it there of your own merit, as though every pair of eyes in this forest need offer you their due pity, bothered you even more than the risk of losing your supper to the toilet. 

Knowing you couldn’t send her away under Sudryl’s watchful eye (for surely there would be further inquiries as a result of such an unnecessary dismissal), you managed to nod in thanks to her before turning to him. The head healer’s smile was brimming with empathy. You tried not to feel offended by his pitying compassion. He leaned forward and pecked your cheek reverently, bidding you a respectful farewell until the morning. 

You turned from him and followed the servant into the winding halls. Gaze following the eroded pathway of the massive tree roots beneath your sore feet, you bided the seconds until you were both too far to be noticed by any superior voices that might challenge your decision-making. When your footsteps halted, she turned to face you.

Her brows raised, she asked, “My lady? Is something wrong?”

“No, no. I’m alright,” You waved her worries aside with the vague gesture of your hand. “But I can manage the walk to the dining hall from here.”

Her brows drew together in an expression of confusion. You straightened your back—had she seen through your polite fib? Was it that obvious you had no intentions of eating this evening? Or was just she not used to being given conflicting commands between two monarchs?

“—On my own. I can make it there on my own.”

Her lips parted in protest as she recalled what you assumed were very clear orders from your husband only minutes prior. Stretching your hand out to gently touch her shoulder, you reassured her it would be alright. “I will explain to the king myself that I demanded to be left alone. No trouble will come to you, I promise. You will not lose your position.” 

“But my lady, I—it is my duty is to ensure your safe arrival. Are you sure you don’t—?”

The irritation that swelled within you wasn’t her fault, you hastily reminded yourself. You bit back the frustrated sigh you wanted to release, tightening your polite smile. Reasoning with another person about what you wanted to do and why you wanted to do it was the last thing you presently wanted to deal with. Desperate to detach yourself from her and anyone else lingering about, you decided to be straightforward. No beating around the bush. 

“I value your persistence, young one, but I would very much like to retire early tonight. You may inform my husband that I’ll be taking my meal in our chambers if you must.”

“Understood, your majesty. I shall inform the king. Have a good evening.” She dipped into an impulsive curtsy, quickly trailing back to the chancellery to relay your decision. 

You didn’t even wait for her to pass beyond the long hall ahead before you turned in the opposite direction. Your private chambers weren’t too far from the infirmary, thankfully. However, it still took some resolve on your behalf to encourage your depleted energy through corridors and foyers all the way back to your comfortable bed. The silver silk of your robe billowed around your feet with every step, giving your eyes something other than walls of stone and root to follow.

You were sure your husband wouldn’t be taking the present news about your wellbeing all that agreeably. You could see it clearly in your mind—the disheveled, anxious worry in his eyes that he masked behind a wall of solemn regality. But you could always see what he was thinking. He wouldn’t like the fact that your treatments were taking more and more of a toll on your already wearisome state. He would like it even less when he found out you would soon be dismissing supper altogether. 

His concern wasn’t for himself, of course. It was for you—it was always for you.

He wanted desperately for you to be able to enjoy your meals in the glittering brilliance of the dining hall, unperturbed by fatigue and nausea. He wanted you to be able to take those strolls through the forest gardens that you adored so much without the sore discomfort in your bones. He wanted you to relish in your life and its unrivaled importance. And most of all, he wanted desperately to take this lingering sickness away; he wished he had been born with a skill for healing like some of his kin.

But all he could give you were the promises of an unsure future and the enlistment of his most skilled associates and all relevant resources that could be found about your condition. And some part of you—some sad, twisted part of you—felt a rush of guilt that so much commotion and worry was being circulated about the kingdom on your behalf. And that guilt only made the whole affair all the more frustrating and maddening. These days, everything inflamed your anger. This whole tumultuous ordeal seemed to be unraveling more than just your physical state. 

You knew it was ridiculous to feel responsible in some way for what was happening to you. You hadn’t chosen this, you hadn’t brought it on yourself—you most certainly didn’t deserve it. No one with cancer ever does. But reasoning with your inner turmoil was like wrestling a wild boar in the mud; there was never any true resolve without the cost of more anxieties, more wounds, more gashes in your soul. And the more you tried to gain a grip on yourself, the less grounded you became, the more it all slipped through your fingers. 

The click of the door was a chime of resolve as you leaned against the tall wooden frame from within the calm confines of your spacious bedroom. Sliding out of your supple leather flats and letting your robe slump to your elbows, you took the first deep breath you had been able to control since earlier that morning. The king-sized bed frame creaked subtly as you lowered yourself onto the fluffed silken duvet. Ever so gradually, you felt the weight of the vertical world begin to reprieve from your muscles like steam rushing upwards from a boiling pot. 

Rest wasn’t a cure for what ailed you, no, but Valar above, sometimes it felt like it. 

Since your diagnosis—the terrifying sickness devouring your energy and livelihood from within your own body—nearly every day had been spent in the infirmary or the healer’s sanctuary, remedies administered by the hour, conversations turning tiresome and sour. It had begun to feel like your own home was a prison, the world beyond the palace unreachable, like every action was a strenuous transaction of vitality and exhaustion. Even just walking the gardens that lead into the forest had become inexplicably draining—it left you feeling as though you’d run to Mirkwood’s southern border and back rather than taking a few turns about the courtyard. 

But here, on the cloud-like comfort of your private chambers, there was some reprieve from it all. There were no endless strands of questions about your well-being and your comfort and opinions on the tedious details of your health here—only the distant rush of the waterfalls that crashed brazenly into the river moat outside the palace gates. You could hear the chirping of the early summer insects as dusk narrowed on the horizon beyond the open terrace. There was no sterile smell of concentrated alcohol or the pungent gnawing of tart herbs. Instead, there was a faint aroma of lilacs wafting in from the gardens and the scent of your husband’s musk lingering in your bed.

Closing your eyes and rolling onto your lesser-sore side, you sought out the imprint that his body might have left there that morning. But the duvet was creased flat and folded with a chill under your skin. It was curious futility to think his warmth might have lasted after so many long hours away, you knew that; the bed was always plumped and remade in the mornings by your gracious servants. A coldness ran through you, engulfing your skin in little bumps that felt like prickling needles. 

Too sore from your aches to unfurl the taut covers from the mattress and too comfortable to retrieve one of your husband’s many fur throws, you recoiled your arm and folded your limbs closer together, curling into a position that would magnify your own body heat. While quietly taking in the environment of your sanctuary, this small peaceful haven that almost made you forget the turmoil your body was enduring, you hardly noticed as you faded into a light slumber. Caught between the ebbing flow of consciousness as it bobbed around the sleepy release of your strained body, wading between thoughts and dreams.

Unaware of the passage of time as you laid there in groggy consciousness, you hardly felt the urge to stir from your position until you felt the back of someone’s hand on your cheek, the brushing aside of your askew (h/c) tendrils. Then you made out the quiet husk of a voice that hovered above you in the dark. 

In the dark? Sunset was still a couple of hours away! And after that, dusk would linger still until the light vanished beyond the mountains to the west. Why was it already so dark?

Hadn’t it only been a few fleeting minutes since you’d closed your eyes, listening to the cicadas and savoring the sweetness of the summer flora? Eyebrows pursed, you could hear yourself attempt to answer, but the meticulous reply you’d fabricated in your mind was delivered in heavy vowels that grouped together lazily. Your speech felt like treacle slipping off your tired tongue. 

A velvet chuckle reverberated in your perking ears. 

“Have I forgotten my native tongue or was that a very poor attempt at Sindarin?”

Thranduil.

Your nose scrunched up as you fought to drain the sleepiness that was working against you so fervently. Before you could stir the tired droopiness from your eyes with eager fists, two gentle hands cupped your cheeks and swept their thumbs over your closed eyes. The motion was akin to a gentle massage, spanning your sore eyelids and dusting across your cheekbones, a cradling of your vulnerable stillness that filled your chest with a fond fervor. The supple tenderness of his lips collided briefly with yours before parting all too quickly. 

“Mm?” Your vocabulary hadn’t quite refreshed itself, it seemed. “When d’dju geten?”

Another rumbling chuckle he didn’t bother trying to hide. You pictured his willowy frame standing primly in front of the tall gilded looking glass, unfastening his stuffier robes and tucking his powder–blonde hair behind his pointed ears, or perhaps even tying it back for the night as he often did. 

Stars, it felt like there were weights on your shoulders pulling you back against the duvet as you forced yourself to sit up, like the muscles beneath your skin were unraveling at the seams. You rubbed your eyes and shooed your disheveled hair from your peripheral vision, glancing around the dark room for your husband’s silhouette. A flicker of light plumed suddenly in the sconce near the vanity, illuminating his fair features. The match in his hand extinguished with a puff of air from his lips before his pale blue eyes found yours. 

“I only just came in,” he reassured you, “I’m afraid I underestimated how much wind some of our advisors have in their lungs, especially when provoked.”

Another votive flickered to life on the other side of the room, another match snuffed out under his breath. The sunlight outside had all but gone in the murky hours you had been asleep. Now that you could take in the mellow darkness of the evening without confusion, some part of you felt distressed about the sudden absence of natural light. The daylight, warm and golden, always brought you a sense of comfort. But now it was dark and grey and the light of the moon was cold, distant, and you hadn't had a chance to prepare yourself for it. Another chill ran across your skin as a more frigid breeze swept in from the open terrace. 

“Did Sudryl have a chance to share the news with you before retiring this evening?” He asked, glancing over his shoulder at you. His lips pursed when he saw your unmoving figure still sitting on the edge of the bed, your back draped in silks, facing away from him. Your slumped posture told him all he needed to know about how you were feeling after your treatments—the exhaustion was palpable in how slow your palm rose to cradle your own forehead, in how shaky you were as you forced yourself up from the bed and took hold of the bedpost.

He was near you in an instant, his strong hands taking gentle hold of your bowed shoulders. There he was, combing the stray hairs on your head down with doting affection, all while the same frustrations were building up inside of you as your sleepiness dissipated. 

“You needn’t rise for me, melamin, I am no guest.” He chided gently.

“I know, I just need a bath before we settle in for the night.” 

“You’re in no state to manage that tonight, (Y/n)—”

“Thranduil, I haven’t rinsed off the ointments. I smell like the forest—and not in a good way.”

“You smell like an herb garden, fresh and natural, as all things should be.”

“Pungent is more like it,” You quipped, catching the accent of bitter walnuts exuding from your thin robes. It was that old, damp, dingy sort of bitterness that made you want to expel the air from your lungs with a snort when you caught a whiff of it—not the pleasant sort of musk from the gardens.

He laughed again, this time with more relief behind his eyes. Even though he knew you were spent from the day’s strenuous activities, the presence of your humor provided him with some semblance of comfort. And as for your own weary senses, his smooth strain of laughter was more than a consolation for the muted anxiousness that the infirmary always inflicted. 

“Then let me help you.”

“Thranduil, I can do it mys—”

“I insist,” He offered decidedly, and you knew well enough from past experience that arguing with him on the matter would prove ineffective. 

He gently looped your arm through the curve of his elbow, placing a sweet kiss to your messy hair before turning along with you toward the adjoined bathing chamber. You leaned into him for support and begrudgingly admitted to yourself that he was right—there was no way you could withstand the exertion on your own, at least not tonight. Not while you felt this lethargic, not while your stress levels were causing such tension throughout your body, making everything denser, slower, sluggish.

Once he led you into the warmly lit haven of the spacious chamber, the steam of the hot spring pool seemed to draw you in on its own accord. The walls and their rugged shapes made the flickering yellowness of the torchlight spread longer shadows among its natural angles and divots. The far right wall was connected to the run-off of one of the many springs that stretched like veins throughout the mountain palace—and it was little cavern rooms like this one that reminded you that you were living in the majesty of a low-peaking mountain, not just nestled in the forested density of the Greenwood.

You knelt at the rim of the bathing pool on the soft stone edge, dragging your hand through the clear blue water. The natural warmth of the hot spring invigorated you with a sense of eagerness as you remembered just how soothing these glowing pools always were. A gentle touch to your shoulder lured your attention back to your husband, who with a fond smile, was waiting to help you unravel your robes and underthings. Taking his hand, you were pulled to stand in front of him with the gentlest limits of his strength. 

You hardly felt the pressure or the tugging of his lithe fingers as he helped you undress, his touch but a breeze across your sore skin. When you were naked and chilled from the exposure, he guided you into the blue waters and leaned over the pool’s edge to make sure you were steady on the outcropped seat of eroded stonework submerged in the water. As the bubbling warmth enveloped your flesh, your eyes fluttered shut with an involuntary sigh of relief. 

There were very rarely things that proved effective for your ceaseless pains—medicines and supplements only lasted so long or relieved so little, and sleep was growing more difficult to manage. But this—the heat bubbling up from the earth, sorted through sediment and mineral—was the most relief you found these days. 

When submerged in the hot spring bath, your entire body numbed to its own plague as your bones and muscles absorbed whatever benefits came from the terrain around you. You briefly wondered how you ever managed to get out the last time you soaked like this, with every inch of your flesh basking in the warmth that enveloped you.

You relaxed against the glossy stones, trying to quiet your mind of all the infernal anxieties pressing a weight against your chest. The noise of your thoughts made it difficult to focus fully on the soothing effects of the natural hot spring, tensing and loosening your muscles and posture between every harsh doubt.

With a fresh cloth he brandished from a side table, Thranduil dipped it into the warm bath and began gently scrubbing away the ground athelas mixture. He’d seated himself comfortably on the edge of the bath, submerging his calves into the pool to cradle you between them. The cloth strummed along your chest and stomach as he reached over and behind, where the herbs from Sudryl’s remedies had been infiltrating the cancerous sickness plaguing your organs. You hadn’t meant to show him how weak you felt, how tired you were, how desperately you needed this—but your head fell back to rest against his stomach despite this as the steam curled around you both, dampening your hair and foreheads. 

After your rinsing from the spout of a silver pitcher, he coaxed oils and lathered soaps across your flesh, your own fingers clasping onto the pale skin of his forearm or around his leg, refusing to cease contact with him. And although he generously and willingly offered his aide while the healing minerals of that glowing pool of steam soothed you, some venomous voice in the back of your mind tried to feed you strings of doubt and loathing.

He shouldn’t have to do this. He shouldn’t have had to become my caretaker.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I wasn’t supposed to get sick—neither of us was. 

He deserves more than this mess I’ve given him. He deserves better than me.

You cleared your throat, trying to silence the growing guilt and shame before that stinging swell of tears could grow any more than they already were. 

“What was it you were going to tell me?” You asked after the first of his own sweet-scented oils was being lathered along your arms, turning you about to face him. “Earlier, you mentioned something about Sudryl?”

“Ah, that,” he nodded in remembrance, “I gather he didn’t mention anything about Lord Elrond to you today?”

“Lord Elrond?” You inquired, lifting your questioning gaze to meet his. “No—no, he didn’t. Has something happened? Something to do with our alliances? Or with that trade treaty we adjusted with Laketown in the spring—”

“No, melamin, nothing of diplomatic proportions—all is still amiable with our kin for the time being,” he reassured. When he glanced up at you, the tranquil hope glittering in his blue eyes soothed the curious worry growing in your mind. He almost seemed excited about something. It tugged the corners of your mouth into a brief smile. “I sent word to him a little more than a month ago now, I suppose, to see what he might be able to do about your condition, to inquire about whether his skill with healing might mend what ails you.”

You swallowed hard over the sudden discomfort of anxiety that rose again like bile in your throat at the mention of more treatment, more guests, more expectations for healing. More, more, more. 

“He is to arrive within a week of his latest correspondence, which came this morning. Preparations are being made for his arrival as we speak.” 

Unknowingly, your grip had tightened on your husband’s forearm, your nails digging shallow crescents into his skin. The sharp sensation drew his attention downward to your hands, his dark brows furrowing in concern. His fingers winding around yours brought your attention to your vice-like grip, which you promptly loosened. 

“What is it, (Y/n)? Does this news not please you?” 

The earnestness in his pale eyes pierced your heart, the guilt bubbling up in your mind again. You weren’t sure what worried you most. The prospect of more prodding, more treatments, more attempts that might lead to nowhere; the fuss being made across the realm about your condition, about this peculiar, harsh sickness that was so puzzling to even the brightest minds; or perhaps, most worrisome of all, was the fact that you were no longer able to manage the upkeep of a happy facade. So many people were hoping, praying, supporting, and tending to you. 

And somehow, you found that to be the most exhausting part of it all. Not only were you fighting for your own body, for comfort and life, but you were trying to uphold and appease every pair of eyes that was eagerly awaiting your miraculous recovery from something you didn’t even know how to fight. There were so many hopes to meet, so many hearts to comfort on your behalf, and your resolve was quietly crumbling.

Before you could think to soften your words in an attempt to save Thranduil’s optimism, your lips began to move, a sudden impulse of tears gathering in your eyes. “What if there is nothing even Lord Elrond can do to cure this?”

He paused, his eyes searching yours briefly before his damp fingers reached up to caress your cheek. How had he not seen the disparagement growing behind your gaze, darkening the lilt in your voice? Hidden behind humor and mischievous quips, but no less obvious. 

“If—if I do not show improvement, our people will lose their resolve. Everyone’s counting on me to get better, to show some store of strength I no longer have and I–I can’t will my body to right itself,” you bore to him, panicked and spent from months of effort, “I cannot give everyone the hope they're seeking from me."

“Oh, melamin,” his chin nestled over your ear as he murmured with such rich affection, pressing your face into the musky homeliness of his neck. 

“I know I should be grateful for their support, for their prayers and their offerings, but it’s becoming too much, Thranduil. I don’t have the strength for a kingdom’s worth of miracles.” 

“You do not owe anyone but yourself the grace of your strength. Had I known their encouragement had put pressure on you to perform, I would have silenced the lot of them.” 

Despite his sincerity, you panicked on. “What if I am never rid of it? What if this is my blight that I must war with for the rest of my life?”

He sombered then, drawing in a deep string of air into his lungs. You could see him wrestling with the reality of your honesty, with the questions you both had been too afraid to speak aloud before now. Gathering himself, he drew you nearer to him, clinging to you with a brief urgency that almost startled you. 

“Then we will rise together each day to face it. There will never be a single day that you will have to endure this on your own. Do you hear me? That is my promise to you—that my vow and my diligence will never waver where you are concerned.”

Your tears burned with his words and you worked to force them at bay, his sweetness drawing every sour fear and thought of guilt from your mind and onto your tongue. “I am so sorry for this life I have given you. You didn’t ask for this—you cannot be happy with me—with this-this terrible thing I’ve brought upon us. You deserve so much more, and I can no longer give it to you.”

“You’re apologizing—?” He questioned, his voice quiet in shock. 

Your eyes clamped shut, forcing the well of sorrows from your eyes to plummet. Gently, he pulled himself back, repositioning his hands on your upper arms as if to garner your absolute attention. 

“(Y/n), this life you have given me has been far more than I have ever deserved and could ever strive to. From the moment we met, you have enriched my life just by your existence alone, much less the many qualities and traits about you I have come to treasure beyond all fortune or success. You have given me everything, a dozen lifetimes over, in the mere centuries we have been together.”

“You cannot have wanted this,” you breathed out, hushed by your own shame. 

“No, I did not want you to suffer with something so abysmal, something so beyond my control. Of course I did not want for your pain…but if this is our future, if this is our path together, then I want every minute of it, and I will not settle for a second less. I would upheave the very crest of the world and drown mountains in flame if it meant saving you. And if that makes me selfish or ruthless, then I will be the standard at which devils compare their sins.”

His hands had gradually found their way up to your face, cradling your damp cheeks with a sincerity that made your lip quiver.

“Look at me,” he whispered. 

The sight of the tearful waterline reflected in his eyes drew a noise of curt regret from your lungs. Your sob pierced his heart, filling him with a desperation to amend the shame and anxiety plaguing your mind. 

“If you truly believe that you are at fault for this sickness, then in turn I must be held responsible for allowing it to happen in the first place. As your husband first, but also as your king.”

“No, no that’s not true! It’s not even reasonable of you to—”

“Then how can it be your fault? How could any of this be on your shoulders? There is no sense in blame, (Y/n). Not here, not with this.” 

There was a stillness after his words, a stillness that was meant for rumination, and sealed with his lips against your skin and hair. Your hands rose to rest against his chest, nestling them over the dip of his collarbone as you felt for comfort in the blur of your tears. His silence prompted an answer. 

“It’s not my fault,” you replied. 

“Say it again.”

“It isn’t my fault,” you echoed, meeting his gaze once more, “just as it isn’t yours.”

And as shocking as it was for you to realize it, you truly believed the words he encouraged from you. This sickness wasn’t your fault. Neither of you could have had any sway with fate or destiny, with whatever had brought this on. And perhaps, it just simply was, with no cause or fault at all. What mattered now was how kind you could be to yourself, how to take one moment of strife and find something in it to hold onto. Moments like this were one of those morsels between the ebbing aches of pain and grief that you could relish and devour again and again. 

Thranduil leaned forward, pressing his sweat-laced brow against yours. “Do not ever blame yourself, melamin. Do not let those foul words pass between your lips again.”

You nodded against him, pulling him nearer. “I promise.” 

In the long minutes that followed, there was the solace of quiet intimacy as he rinsed through your hair one final time, peppering you with kisses and caresses at every opportunity. He met you with a soft fluffy towel when he led you out of the bath, never allowing a breeze to nip at your damp skin. His touch was featherlight as he patted you dry from head to toe, scrunching your drenched tendrils of (h/c) hair without complaint. 

“I’m still so afraid,” you managed the courage to speak aloud, “What if–...what if this sickness claims my life?”

“You will not part this world without me, melda. Not a single breath will leave your lungs without my sharing it, not a single heartbeat will we not share,” he vowed, the absolute belief in his voice making the promise all the richer, “there isn’t a corner in this world or any other that you could wander to that I would not accompany you.”

Your silk nightgown slipped over your outstretched arms swiftly, sliding down your body and into place comfortably. He did up the lace of the collar with efficiency, not missing the chance to playfully tug you closer with the slightest bit of his strength. You planted yourself against his chest, the smile on your lips effortless with his own. The firm warmth of his arms wrapping around you had the same sort of pain-numbing effect as the hot spring, lulling every fretful thought to a close. His somber laugh reverberated again, this time through your bones, bringing an ethereal kind of peace with it. 

The pillows of your large four-poster bed were positioned, fluffed, and repositioned. You waited patiently, upon his insistence, as he untucked and pulled the puffy duvet back for you to crawl under. Once comfortably tucked beneath layers of silk and cotton, he assumed his place beside you, careful not to jostle the mattress as he settled, mindful that every movement enticed your discomfort. 

His body heat made you sleepy as you sank further into the covers, fogging your thoughts with a drowsy anticipation for the release of slumber. You’d waited for this moment all day—it had been the image that had pushed you through the hours of treatment and questions—the moment you could finally burrow against his warmth and drunken yourself with his scent. There was a slight stirring as he reached off to the side to retrieve something on the bedside table. 

The fluttering of pages caught your fading attention, pulling your heavy-eyed gaze toward the book in his grasp. “Would you like to continue where we left off?” 

You smiled tiredly against his chest, not recalling the events of the book he’d been reading to you for the last few nights. Oftentimes, the first few pages would strike vividly in your imagination, but as his lustrous tone carried on through paragraphs and chapters, the sleepy security that his presence enticed made it impossible to recall anything beyond the thrilling hum of his voice. In all actuality, you were quite sure he didn’t mind if you knew anything at all about the story he was reading aloud. It was enough to hold you and be held. 

TAGS:  @tessaem @izbelross @bloodblossoms73 @sunnysidesidra 

[htchnr]

♰ high and dry ༻ J. MACMILLAN.*ೃ˚

➻ masterlist. ➻ buy me a coffee!

CW ➻ alcohol ⋆ licking/sucking spilled wine off of skin ⋆ slight drunk sex ⋆ unprotected sex ⋆ piv ⋆ rough sex ⋆ creampie ⋆ slight overstimulation ⋆ swearing ⋆ if i missed anything, lmk!

SUMMARY ➻ the tension had been high between the two of you since the day he waltzed into the office. weeks passed and nothing but fighting had happened, will a few spilled drops of wine finally make you two snap? WC ➻ 2,1K.

© 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐇𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐑. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦, 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!

the night was lively, wine flowed constantly almost like a fountain and the company was even better. you were both a little drunk, Joe holding his just a smidge better than you. you were sat beside each other on his couch, knees touching as you sat facing each other.

the air grew more tense by the minute — between your glances to his jawline as he tipped his glass back and his wanting eyes on your lips as you'd lick a little drop of red wine from them — you felt on fire.

"so, Joseph," you grinned, looking at him through your lashes. "where do you see this, 'internet', in the future?" you leaned in a little closer, not missing his brow twitching at the sound of his full name and his eyes flicking to your scandalously low cut dress, eyeing your cleavage for a second before dragging his eyes back up.

his eyes are intense as he watches you, "well," he starts, pausing his sentence to focus on you tipping the last contents of your glass back. though you jump a little as you notice a little spilling from your lips, the deep red liquid dribbling down your throat and dripping onto your chest. Joe's eyes are intently watching the liquid roll lower, and lower, and lower — finding himself unable to tear his eyes from it.

"shit, do you have a papertowel or?" you ask, cheeks flushed in slight embarrassment. you watch Joe pull his eyes away from the liquid now pooling atop your breasts, and you're mentally thanking yourself for putting on this bra tonight, else the liquid would've probably cascaded down between them with ease.

he leans in and your breath catches as one of his large hands snakes its way around your waist, his deep brown eyes couldn't be described as anything less than absolutely intense as he looked at you. "may i?" he muttered, and your chest rises with the realisation of what he's about to do.

he watches your brows twitch up in anticipation, your head nodding. "please," comes the word he's dying to hear from you, in a desperate whisper.

and that's all it takes for him to lean down and latch his lips onto your slightly red stained chest, firm lips moving down to lap up the wine that had pooled between your breasts. you let out an involuntary moan at the feeling of his tongue dragging against your skin as it gathers the liquid.

you free hand shot up to gently hold the back of his neck as he lapped up the wine, trailing a few firm open mouthed kisses further down.

your head is dropped back in pleasure as his lips dragging around, his hand on your waist sliding down to grip your hip desperately. you let out a pleasured gasp as he experimentally nips at the soft flesh, your fingers tangling into his hair.

his lips drag upwards, trailing up the base of your neck in a flurry of pure pleasure. once he reaches your jaw your hand slides to pull him up by his jaw and smash your lips to his in a painful mash of teeth and tongue, your other hand desperately trying to pull his body closer to yours.

a low moan of surprise is pulled from his throat, only to be swallowed by your lips as he shifts at your hands demand. his large hands and slender fingers take ahold of your hips and roughly manoeuvre them so he can drape your legs over the tops of his thighs on either side of his hips from his kneeling position on the couch.

you let out a surprised yet pleasured sound at the sudden movements, your dress hiking up your thighs as he leans over you, his throbbing hard on now pressed deliciously against your core through his slacks.

oh fuck, this was going to be good.

you were practically chanting your pleas at this point, your fingers along with his slender ones were fumbling to get his belt undone, yours trembling in anticipation and desperation.

you nearly let out a moan as his hips press forward into yours as he pulls his belt loose and drops it beside the couch. your hands shoot forward to unbutton and unzip his slacks, desperate pants leaving your lips once you're pulling his slacks down his hips and shoving them below your thighs that rest over his.

Joe reaches for your underwear, long fingers searching for the fabric at the side of your hips, only to find nothing. his eyes flick down to yours, "cheeky thing, expected something tonight? hm?" he spoke in an almost mocking tone.

you only let out a breath that nearly turned into a moan, fingers yanking him down by his tie. "just fuck me already Joseph," you moan against his lips, your free hand palming him over his boxers. he groaned loudly against your lips, eyes closing as he achingly rocked his hips against your palm, which in turn rocked against your sopping core causing you to moan.

his hands shoved down his boxers and your hand immediately wrapped around his impressive length, moaning at the feeling of him. Joe in turn moaned, hips stuttering as you slowly pumped him.

he grunted against your lips, hands roughly throwing your legs over his shoulders as he pressed impossibly close. you both moaned as his hard cock slid through your soaked folds, the sound of it filling his apartment. "you want this?" he pants against your lips.

you frantically nod, "fucking fuck me Joseph, fuck me like you want to every time we fight at the office," you moan against his ear, and he loses it.

he slides through your folds one last time, fully coating his generous length before shoving it in, bottoming out immediately. a loud erotic gasp leaves your lips at the feeling, yelling out, "oh shit-!" while your eyes roll back.

he stills for a second, no more, before pulling out and slamming right back in. "shit!" you cry out, your nails digging into his exposed forearms.

he sets a relentless pace, his hips knocking against you in a deliciously bruising way. "yeah?" he punctuates with a particularly hard thrust that makes you cry out louder. "do you know how fucking infuriating you are?" he grunts against your throat, his teeth dragging across the skin.

his eyes close as he focuses on the feeling of your warm wet walls constricting around him. "no one but relatives call me Joseph," he groans a hard thrust punctuating his name, "everyone in the damn office calls me Joe," another hard thrust, "everyone, except, you," a cry is violently yanked from between your lips with every hard thrust after every word.

your head lols back against the arms of the couch as he fucks you hard. "oh yeah?-!" you moan out, "do i get on your nerves that much?" your brows furrowed and eyes rolled back.

he groans loudly as you tighten around him, the thought of him having to jack off in the mens bathroom after one of your fights turned you on beyond anything. "do you- ah!- fuck your fist out of frustration, wishing it was me bent over your desk instead when i walk out?" you pant.

without warning he pulls out, strong hands flipping you over on your stomach as he moves back a little on the couch, before shoving your face down against the seat. a ridiculously lewd, almost pornographic moan leaves your lips as he slams himself back in, continuing the earth-shattering pace.

"does that get you off? huh?" he grunts, long fingers digging bruisingly into the plush flesh of your hips. your eyes roll back as the head of his cock bullies against your cervix. "don't think i haven't noticed what you're doing at the office," he pants, head hung low as he watches himself disappear inside you over, and over, and over.

your fingers dig into the soft couch, knuckles turning white. "wearing those damn short skirt and tight blouses, dropping things every time you're around-! me, just to bend over and pick that shit up." he groans, hips slamming into you. you let out a long string of moans, the familiar feeling rising below your stomach as his merciless thrust continue.

he notices you clenching sporadically around him, his hips stuttering with each clench. "but of course you know that i know it," he grunts, one of his hands sliding down the front of your hips, a loud cry spilling from you as two of his slender fingers press rough circles into your clit. your thighs shake, your hips jolting with pleasure.

"you-" he pants as neither the pace of his hips nor fingers falter, "you were just waiting for this weren't you? waiting for the- moment when i'd snap and just bend you over my desk, huh?" you could barely focus on his words as he fucked you, your hips starting to spasm as you're nearly thrown over the edge, white hot pleasure flooding your senses as you finally come with a high pitched cry.

he groans loudly as you spasm around him, his own release not far behind. his hips falter as his hand leaves your overstimulated clit, dragging it's way up your clothed chest until his long slender fingers wrapping themselves around your throat and pulling you upright. "shit-!" you cry out, a few tears dripping down your face like the wine had dripped down your chest.

his shirt-covered toned chest is pressed flat up against your back as he fucks up into you from this new position. god lord, could this man fuck. "where do you want it?" he grunts against your ear, teeth nipping at the flesh.

you drop your head against his shoulder, "inside-!" you moan, "i need your cum in me Joe!" you whine, your thighs spasming as he fucks up into you relentlessly.

he lets out a strangled moan against your ear at the sound of your words. "was that all it took- for you to say my damn name?" he panted, his hips faltering as he got closer and closer to his release. "a good fucking is all you needed?" he grunts as his pace picks up, he's so damn close. "should've done this sooner then,"

one of your hands comes up to wrap around his hand holding your throat, fingers tightening around his. your other hand reaches around you and him, finding purchase tangling in his hair. he groans, slender fingers tightening around your throat, relishing the moan that's pulled out from between your lips as he does so. "please come for me," you choke out, voice raw from the crying and constricted by his fingers.

Joe groans again, tilting your head towards his on his shoulder. "beg for it then, sweetheart,"

your eyes clench shut and your brows furrow — never in a million years did you think you'd beg for MacMillan, but with the way his cock is relentlessly bullying your walls and cervix you'd do almost anything. "please-!" you whine, "please give me your cum!"

his hips stutter at your words, "you'll get it," he groans, his pace quickening before slamming to a halt. you both moan as you feel him violently twitch inside you, thick ropes of cum painting your walls as he roughly fucks his cum up into you. with a final stutter his hips still, pressed firmly up against you as you both pant heavily.

after a minute he loosens his hold on your throat, his fingers trailing down the front of your dress. his hand comes to a stop just beneath your breasts, holding you firmly as he leans down, his hand stopping you from fully dropping forward against the seat of the couch. you sag, hips remaining in place as you fully relax forward onto the seat.

it takes the both of you a little bit to calm down. you whimper reluctantly as he pulls out, watching his cum follow as it slowly drips out if you and onto the front of his slacks. he remains there for a second more, unable to tear his eyes away from your leaking hole.

he moves your legs off of his, getting up off the couch with a slight tremble in his legs. he walks over to the bathroom, grabbing and wetting a wash cloth as he scrubs at the front of his slacks to get the worst off. he saunters back over to the couch, leaning down behind you as he cleans the remainder of his spent off you before chucking the washcloth on the coffee table.

he lets out a yawn as he settles down behind you, leaning forward to pull your tired form by your hips and position you so you're laying between his long legs while resting against his chest. you slump against him, a hand coming to rest against his clothed chest beside your face. you could feel his heartbeat below your fingertips.

you let out a long sigh, slowly drifting to sleep from pure exhaustion. Joe following not too far behind.

i hope this was good!! i had such fun writing it 🤭 just started watching Halt and Catch Fire (just finished s1 so no spoilers pls!) and i'm determined to single handedly revive this fandom cause FOUR total fics EVER of this man is a CRIME.

anyways, my requests are open for this man!! 😁 please, any and all ideas (within my guidelines though.) are welcome!

[coopsgirl]

This is romantic and sweet 🥰. I think I would faint if I could dance with Thranduil 😊.

To Meet Under the Stars | Thranduil

▹ Pairing: Thranduil x Elf!Reader

▹ Genre: Fluff

▹ Words: ~3k

▹ Summary: In light of the stars, Thranduil finds himself entirely enchanted by a mysterious masked woman.

▹ Notes: I love masquerade balls, that is all. Unedited because we die as men.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The light of starlight was something sacred to the elves. 

In the times of old, before the moon and sun had been created, Varda placed the stars in the sky, illuminating the world for the elves to see. For all other races, stars were just light that guided their way at night, but they were so much more for the elves. They held the promise of life unsullied by the evil of Morgoth. A beautiful display of glistening diamonds that held the light of creation. To honor the stars was to honor Varda herself.

Under the canopy of stars, the wood elves of Eryn Galen celebrated the first night of the autumn equinox. The moon was full and high in the sky as lords, ladies, and commoners alike gathered for the party. The echo of minstrels ensured there would be no corner of the kingdom not lit with joy. Dragonflies darted across ponds, and crickets hid in the forest, chirping to the beat of the lute. There were festivities all throughout the kingdom, but the main attraction was the masquerade ball held within the palace of King Thranduil. Only guests of high esteem were invited to dance under the lush canopy in the company of the royal family. 

And there you were, with summer in your hair and winter in your eyes. Dancing through the crowd, illuminated in the silver light of the moon, you were the vision of a goddess. A soft halo shone upon your silver-gold hair, pinned in an updo with stray pieces that cascaded down your back. Flowers in purple, blue, and silver hues were placed upon your head like a crown, creating the silhouette of a queen. A silver mask encrusted with enough jewels that it glittered under the light concealed the top half of your face, two holes allowing your eyes to glow in the dark. A grin born of pure ecstasy was outlined by the lipstick on your lips. 

No one could recall who you were nor when you’d arrived at the celebration. It was as if you were always there, lying in wait and dancing with the ghosts of the open-roof ballroom. A laugh rivaling the minstrels' songs hung in the air where you stood and followed your every sweeping move. 

From the high table, with a glass of wine precariously hanging in his hand, Thranduil watched you. He couldn’t help it. It was as if you were weaving some sort of spell, casting it upon all who watched, paralyzed by your song and enraptured by your dance. You were beautiful, quick as a whip, and light as a feather. Each step seemed calculated and purposeful, yet so loose it could only be natural.

Thranduil couldn’t recall ever meeting you, so certain he’d know your laugh even if he couldn’t see your face. His advisors tried to make idle conversation as Legolas spent his time with the other members of the guard, drinking and laughing. Thranduil couldn’t be bothered to even pretend to listen, intently focused on the way your summer blue dress flowed like water around you. It nearly felt sacrilegious to directly look at something so beautiful, like staring at the face of Varda herself. 

“It is a beautiful--” his advisor beside him began to speak, talking so slowly it made Thranduil’s lips curl in slight irritation that was hidden by the goblet he held. He watched as you threw your head back in laughter, finding amusement in whatever the elf lord you were speaking with said. It took all his willpower not to roll his eyes as he drank more sweet wine. 

The elf lord offered you his hand, which you gracefully accepted. Instead of dancing through the crowds alone, you twirled in the arms of another man. It made Thranduil’s stomach turn in a way it hadn’t for centuries. 

You and the elf lord you danced with would flit in and out of his vision, yet the merriment never left your expression, and when the face of your dance partner would face Thranduil, he could see just how enchanted the man was by you. His grip on the goblet tightened, knuckles turning white. 

The song seemed endless, drawing out the end of it for as long as possible. Part of Thranduil was tempted to bark at the minstrels to begin a new one in hopes you would once again be left alone, but he didn’t. A king needed to maintain his composure, even if everything inside was screaming not to. It seemed silly to be so taken by a woman whose face he couldn’t even see. 

“Have you tried one of these cakes yet? They’re quite--” 

“Galion.” Thranduil interrupted the man previously speaking, gaining the attention of his butler. The advisor that had been interrupted scowled yet said nothing else as Galion stepped closer to Thranduil. 

“Yes, my king.”

Thranduil pointed at you, Galion’s eyes following his finger. “Who is that?”

His eyes narrowed as Galion leaned closer to try and get a better look at you. Yet not a glint of recognition twinkled in his eyes. Did anyone here know who you were?

“I’m afraid I am unfamiliar with who she is. Would you like me to fetch her, my king?” Galion asked, his attention returned to Thranduil, whose eyes furrowed in mild annoyance. 

“That will not be necessary, Galion.” He waved his hand, and Galion returned to his previous seat. It would be easy to bring you to him, he was the king, after all, but he didn’t want your meeting with him to seem forced upon you. He already had enough of a reputation as a cold, unfeeling man; it wouldn’t do any good to give you a reason to believe them. 

The song ended, and you stepped away from your partner, lowering into a curtsey that he returned with a bow. Thranduil stood, the legs of his chair scraping on the floor; he didn’t bother giving a weak excuse for his exit. If he doesn't act soon, you might slip from his fingers. Thranduil took long strides down the platform and disappeared into the sea of elves. 

He pushed his way through the crowd, most too lost in the magic of the music to pay their king any mind. He could see you, dancing alone with your eyes shut. The grin on your face was wide, never wavering in the slightest. The distance separating him from you was dwindling, the anticipation making his palm sweaty. The crowd parted, and he could’ve pulled you into his arms if he wanted to. 

But as he opened his mouth, you disappeared into the crowd, so preoccupied you never saw him coming. Thranduil’s eyes narrowed, his misty eyes searching the crowd for you, but you were nowhere to be seen. Had you merely been a figment of his imagination conjured by the trickster spirits rumored to hide in his forest? Perhaps you had been, but Thranduil was determined to comb through the crowd hoping to see you again.

Then, a flit of blue brightened the corner of his eye. He turned, seeing you dart from dance partner to dance partner, now on the other end of the room. A cat-like grin appeared on the edges of his mouth; he’d found you. Once more, he pushed through the crowd, not moving his eyes from you for one second, afraid you’d disappear without a trace if he did.

The crowd would pulse, and you would get closer to him before suddenly spreading out towards the treeline. Thranduil would get close enough to smell your floral perfume, but you'd dart in another direction before he could take your delicate hands in his. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was on purpose; you probably hadn’t even noticed him. Your eyes never locked with his that never strayed from you.

But the gods seemed to smile upon him that night, and as the crowd came closer, Thranduil snatched your hand. Your body twisted to face him, the grin on your face never faltering. The perfume you wore was distinctly jasmine, vanilla, and something sweeter, tantalizing enough to bring him closer to you. His hand was rough in comparison to yours, much larger too. 

“May I have this dance, my lady?” His voice was velvet smooth. Thranduil stood out like a sore thumb as the only one in the crowd without a mask. 

“You may, my king,” you curtsied before placing your other hand on his shoulder as his hand found its place on your waist. Wasting no time, the two of you twisted and spun through the crowd in an airy waltz. You had the grace of a swan, maintaining a poised elegance with a child-like grin. Thranduil felt himself falling deeper into whatever spell you had cast. 

A witch, that’s what you had to be. There was no other explanation for the hammering of his heart or the delight your touch elicited. 

One step back, one step forward, one to the side, and repeat. Another spin, extra flourish added for flavor, and the movements continued. Neither of you spoke, eye to eye, unable to look away from one another. Thranduil found himself counting the flecks in your eyes, convinced they held a thousand little stars in them. 

Perhaps you hadn’t been an illusion placed to taunt him but a gift from the Valar themselves. 

All too soon, the song ended, and the dance was finished. As he watched you do before, you stepped back from Thranduil and lowered into a sweeping curtsey. He wanted to ask you to stay with him, not only for the night but the rest of eternity, but he found himself tongue-tied.

“It was an honor to dance with you, my king.” Your voice was soft and warm, like the spiced tea he would drink before bed. He wanted your name, to lift the mask you wore and lay his eyes upon your face entirely. He needed to see the face of the woman that would surely haunt his every dream. 

Thranduil blinked, and in the brief time, his eyes weren’t on you, you’d disappeared. He half expected for there to be stardust left where your feet had been, but the only proof you’d existed was the imprint of your heels in the grass. His eyes scanned the crowd, twisting his body and craning his head, yet you were nowhere to be seen. But this time, instead of seeing flashes of your dress or silver hair, you were nowhere to be seen. You’d disappeared entirely.

Thranduil stood in the crowd a moment longer, hoping for a glimpse of you before deciding to return to his seat at the table. Perhaps from the high crowd, he could ascertain where you were. Thranduil returned to his seat, acting as if he hadn’t suddenly rushed from the table to dance with you, ignoring the questioning glances from his advisors. His goblet of wine in hand, eyes on the crowd, Thranduil sunk into the music and lost himself in thought. All of them were plagued by you. 

And there he stayed as the hours ticked by, seemingly in a trance. No one at the table bothered to strike up a conversation with Thranduil anymore; it was like trying to converse with a brick wall. So they settled in silence, occasionally remarking about the party with the other guests. 

“My king,” Galion returned to his side. “The lady you danced with has stepped away to the gardens.” Galion’s tone was even as if he were merely commenting on the weather. Thranduil side-eyed him, noticing the tinge of mirth on Galion’s smile. Thranduil tilted his head to the side, then slowly nodded. 

“Perhaps I should ensure our guest is enjoying the festivities.” 

Thranduil stepped away from the table and followed the path toward the garden’s you just slipped into. He took long strides to reunite with you sooner. This time he was determined to get your name and to peek beneath the mask you wore. 

When he finally stepped into the garden, he saw your back turned to him, fingers dipped in the fountain's water. Your posture was relaxed, hair loose and flowing, no longer pinned in the updo it once was. It flowed like liquid silver, furthering his conspiracy that you were a celestial being born of the gods. Precariously hanging in your hand was the mask you’d been wearing, thumbs rubbing against the ribbon that tied it in your hair. The minstrels were now a distant hum, the flowing water, and the chirp of crickets the only song in the gardens.

He stopped a few steps from you, trying to find the words to say. It’d been so long since he’d been made to feel like a shy elfling, nervous about approaching his first crush. A king should be dignified and confident, but he felt all of that crumble in your presence. 

Your ears twitched as Thranduil shifted in his spot, head raising at the sudden intrusion. Slowly, you turned, unsure who to expect would intrude upon your solitude. But of all the people you imagined stepping into the garden, you never anticipated it would be the king. He nearly seemed awkward and unsure in his place, fingers smoothing wrinkles on his robes that weren’t there. 

Immediately you lowered into a curtsey, but the king didn’t acknowledge the movement. His eyes were wide and mouth slightly agape as he stared at you. As he looked upon your face, this must’ve been how the first elf to gaze upon the stars felt. The curves and lines of your face were soft and delicate, the vision of beauty. Your eyes seemed even brighter in the dim lighting, an unsure, shy smile curling on your lips.

“My king.”

He remained silent, too wonderstruck to speak. 

“If you require to be alone, I can--” You began to walk towards the exit, but as you passed Thranduil, his hand reached out and caught your arm. You turned to face him, uncertain. Thranduil’s hand trailed down your arm and intertwined with yours, a soft smile on his lips.

“Of all the people who desire my presence, yours is the one I desire most.”

You swallowed thickly, your mouth suddenly dry. You’d been close to the king only hours ago, sharing a dance with him. Yet the privacy of the gardens and the sweetness of his words, it all felt much more intimate. 

“Then I shall stay.”

Thranduil’s grin widened as he guided you further into the gardens. The flowers were vibrant and lush, a true testament to the skills of the elves. A canopy of trees diffused the moon's light, reflecting off the fountain and casting a spotlight on you. 

“I have a confession.” Thranduil suddenly stopped, eyes intently watching your face, noticing how your lips slightly parted and your eyes glowed with curiosity. “I have found myself quite enchanted with you, my lady. It seems foolish, not knowing your face until this moment and not having your name.”

“It’s Y/N, my king.” You interrupted, a charming smile curling your lips. The hammer of your heart matched the tempo with Thranduil’s. 

“Y/N.” He muttered your name quietly, your name on his lips making your stomach curl. Of all the ways you anticipated this night's end, strolling the garden with the king was not what you could’ve predicted in your wildest dreams.

“Y/N. If I may be so bold, I would like for this to not be the last time we meet. I desire more of your company.” 

Thranduil stepped closer, the heat he radiated warming your chilled skin. Gossebumnps followed where his hands touched, a shiver rushing down your spine. Subtly you pinched the back of your leg, convinced this was nothing more than a dream. Yet you didn’t wake; this moment was real. 

“If I may speak freely, my king?”

Thranduil nodded his head. “Please, you may call me Thranduil. No need for such formalities.”

You tipped your head at him as the smile on your face brightened. 

“If I may speak freely, Thranduil.” You corrected, with an almost mischievous lilt to your voice. “I would much desire more of your company as well. I have heard many rumors of your cold and detached demeanor. I’ve heard of how harsh you can be, yet I have seen nothing of that.”

“I’m glad the whispers of the court haven’t scared you away, my lady.” 

The smile on your face curled into a teasing smirk, eyes illuminating. “You’ll find it’ll take more than malicious rumors to scare me away.”

Thranduil's finger twirled around a lock of hair that framed your face. He seemed relaxed and more at ease than you'd have imagined. 

"A strong will and a fair face, Varda herself must've crafted you."  

His words made your face flush red, so deep it was seen in the dim lighting of the garden. 

"Pretty words you speak, my king; I'm eager to learn if your words match your heart." 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Tags: @jmablurry | @lunatichaotiche | @aearonnin | @emiliessketches | @vibratingbones | @moony-artnstuff | @ranhanabi777 | @kenobiguacamole | @ceinelee | @thranduil | @samnblack | @abbiesthings | @Strangebananabatranch | @bitter--fruit | @keijibum | @lifestylesleep | @themerriweathermage | @im-a-muggleborn | @sweetheart-syndrome | @boyruins | @AwkwardBecomesYou | @delyeceamaitare

[xerotiny99]

Antiserum D // Loving Professor Jeong #1

Antiserum D (Loving Professor Jeong series #1) Professor/College au.

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x (f) Reader [ft. Choi San & Song Mingi]

Warning: smut, prof!yunho, dom!yunho, sub!reader, student!reader, age gap, teasing and suggestive actions, size kink, big dick Yunho, dirty talk and pet names (master and pup), blowjob/throat fucking, spanking, rough sex, unprotected sex, edging, creampie and dacryphilia.

Note: do not proceed if you're uncomfortable or triggered by the mentioned tags. Also note the age gap tag, here the reader is 21 and Yunho is 32, which makes it 11 years of gap.

Side Note: this series will contain 'hyung line' as the professors and the 'maknae line' as minor characters; except for Choi San and Song Mingi, these men are cheeky so look out for them. Again, as my other series, 'the reader' does have a name, i.e, Lee Sherri. Nicknames are bound to follow, so don't worry. I only write names in my oneshots because it's too annoying to write [y/n] everywhere and it ruins my flow of writing. Anyway, enjoy!

Gist: you had a rival in college, yes you did. It wasn't a student, rather the person you hold your grudges against is one of your professors. Now, you're in your senior year of bachelor's degree, running late for a morning class—knowing well he takes this class, what do you think the consequences would be?

Word Count: 12,164

 'My dog died.'

No, you don't have a pet!

'My bus was late.'

You live on-campus.

'The coffee shop was crowded.'

You don't freaking have a cup in your hand!

'Umm, I overslept.'

Well, he doesn't need to know the truth. 

He really doesn't need to know the truth to why you were running late to his morning class. As time would have it, you did oversleep; lethargic from last night's meaningless meandering from bar to bar, in search of your sober soul, you surely had forgotten about your morning class the next day. Weekends are supposed to be lax and diverting. They're your only shot at having a good time with your friends. You weren't going to let your fear of being reprimanded by your 'favourite' professor stop you from having the fun you deserved. The weekdays were long, tedious and dull with all the lectures and practical sessions to attend.

You're sprinting up the stairs to get to your department; the science building is supposedly long and encompasses all other departments falling into it. Your department (zoology), moreover, your class was situated on the second level of the building. Meeting with the long hallway on your way, which apparently was the physics department, you turn a corner and are merged with another long hallway leading to yours. The grotesque stench of formaldehyde hits your nose the moment you walk past the junior laboratories of your department; that's where they were trying to preserve biological specimens, the 'tingle-your-spine' kind. There are lecture halls and laboratories on one side of the long hallway, while the other side was an open space with concrete railings and pillars; this space opened into the botanical garden the botany department had been tending to, so it housed large trees, a decent number of shrubs and flowering plants, including a variety of cactus and other succulents. 

Rushing in your steps, holding your tote bag close to you, your eyes scramble past the open space and the garden onto the walking street of your campus; it was borne with trees on both sides, and amidst the thicket of greenery you find the main building of psychology department. You almost heave out a laugh, reminiscing of the last night when your best friend (who studies psychology) was drunk out of his mind and had been making out with a lamppost. You pull yourself out of that daze, increasing the pace of your sprint to get to your laboratory.

First red flag of your day, the doors to your lab were open wide. Second, your supposedly 'favourite' professor was midway through an explanation about the experiment you were going to perform today. And third, you were technically thirty minutes late to the lab.

Quiet on your feet, you try to sneak inside; the structure of your lab was a little different, with sitting desks on one side of it, and workbenches on the other. In retrospect, this was your senior year's class where apparent lectures took place, and the workbenches were designated for less involved experiments. At the very front of your class/lab is a podium, a chalky black board, and a desk for professor. You glance at the front after realising all students had occupied the workbenches, you catch up on the glimpse of Professor Jeong carrying on with his explanation till his eyes meet yours.

"Miss Lee," he grumbles, amidst his explanation, "sneaking in—" mumbling he checks the time on his wristwatch, the sleeve of his coat riding up, "—a total of thirty minutes late. You better have a good reason."

He folds his arms over his chest, and stares down at you. While you halt midstep into the class, standing straighter you clear your throat and feel your mind stutter looking at him. Why did he have to dress so provocatively? And the outfit in concern was his beige coat and matching pants, a white long sleeved turtleneck underneath; you didn't quite like how your heart was palpitating watching him, keenly grazing your thirst-filled eyes across his face, noticing the shine on his black rimmed glasses and the plumpness of his pink lips.

"Miss Lee?" he repeats, only to get you squeaking, "yes, professor—uh yeah, I was late because my alarm did not go off in the morning..."

He hums in contemplation, eyes narrowing on you before he sighs and shakes his head, "occupy one of the workbenches and do not touch anything before I tell you to."

You nod, pressing your lips tighter to prevent any sound from escaping your throat; you were certainly anxious and embarrassed to be late, but more precisely you were humiliated in front of your class for coming up with such a lame excuse. Sighing, you stuff your tote bag in your locker at the back. You quickly slip on a lab coat over your outfit, bubbling with disappointment as it was hiding your nubile outfit. Knowing you were running late, you still made extreme efforts to dress yourself up—the reason was quite overt, because you wanted to dress up for yourself—you wore a white blouse under a pastel blue sweater vest and paired it with grey skirt which rode up till your mid-thighs. The lacy thigh-high socks were just an added accessory to make yourself seem cute considering you also had a blue ribbon in your hair, holding it in a high ponytail.

The only workbench unoccupied is the one situated at the very end and far from either the professor's desk at the back near the lockers and the podium from where Professor Jeong was reading every movement of yours. When you get to your designated place, you glance at the workstation to take note of the apparatus, before glancing next to you, finding the most obnoxious person you could. Choi San, Choi freaking San was offering you a guileful smile, one whose intentions did not appear to be right, or even ethical.

Bastard.

"So, Miss Lee is late because she couldn't hear her alarm go off? Pathetic," he rolls his eyes, folding his arms over his chest, his own lab coat creasing by the elbows with his plaid shirt peeking from beneath. "I don't believe you—oh well, but I wonder what your favourite professor would think about you when he knows you were getting pissed drunk last night with your friends."

You weigh his words in your mind for a second before furling back a reply. "Aww, Sannie. If you're so desperate to get in my inner circle, just say so. I didn't know you would be so jealous of us..."

San's smile turns into a curve of amusement, "jealous of you? Me? Jealous?" he scoffs, "darling, you're dreaming. If I wanted to be in your inner circle, I would've just slept my way through it."

"Really now?" you retort, smiling softly, "slept with whom?"

"An easy prey to seduce would be you—" he clicks his tongue, "—if you can be so impressed by that..." he nods his head toward Professor Jeong, "...then I believe you'd be swept off your feet if I genuinely try to."

"You put yourself on such a high pedestal, Sannie," you muse, shaking your head lightly, "do you really think my standards are set so low to be dazzled by you?" 

"Oh, only time would tell, Miss Lee," he rolls his eyes, keeping his sly smile on. "Maybe, you would get infatuated with me or give into your temptations."

"Ahh, such a dedicated wishful thinker you are," you snide, heaving a low chuckle, "the only thing I'm tempted to do is throw a chair in your fucking face—"

"Miss Lee!" you flinch in your skin, body spasming to the deep and coarse voice of the professor. Hesitant in yourself, you peek up to face him, finding him glaring at you without a twitch on his face. "You certainly are not going to pay attention to my class, then why waste my time? You're free to leave. I don't hold my students captive; the ones passionate about learning find a way to attend my class in any way they could."

Your cheeks heat up, turning a shade of faint cherry red; embarrassment licks your spine and head lowers itself, you won't forget this moment ever. San is busy staring at you, feeling a little guilty but of course he won't let you know that. Shortly after, you glance back at the professor, noticing him staring at you with his lips in a scowl and his eyes piercing through you. That alone, that look alone was enough for you to quiver in your shoes; his persona had always been the intimidating kind, the kind who is self-possessed and doesn't really bother himself with the rest of the world.

Professor Jeong wasn't fazed by anything, not even by the number of female students crushing on him in your department, rather in your class alone. He didn't acknowledge their stupefyingly sexual or overly sensual approaches, turned them down if he thought they were invading his privacy. You took that as a challenge; maybe, maybe not. Your rivalry with him wasn't because he was unapproachable or a forbidden fruit to taste, it was because he always found a way to rattle your senses and make you the fool.

You remember it as clear as a day, at the beginning of your senior year, the very first semester—attending his class on genetics, you were simply taken off by him and his way of speaking. His personality was homely, strict where it should be, however. Amidst his lecture, he caught you talking and joking around with your bench-mate and questioned you about the topic he was teaching.

"If you can yap useless things, then why don't you enlighten me with the working of gel electrophoresis, hmmm...?"

It stung. But not more than him adding, "I'm even surprised you could answer. Maybe you should focus yourself more on your academics than other things."

Other things? You realised he was making comments on your appearance, the way you were dressed, the way you had streaks of gold stitched in your hair, the way you always had playful make up on—he judged you based on that, and thus the profound feud between him and you began. After that, you would intentionally skip his classes and not make an effort to attend them; even the practical sessions, except for the mandatory ones where you would bite your tongue and listen to him demeaning your entire existence for not setting the microscope right.

"Alright, now that I'm done explaining the principle and bits of the procedure, you may follow the same with your partners; if you're muddled with any concern then heed my name." He announces out loud, stepping down from the podium.

You raise your head, further listening to his footsteps dither across the floor to the back of where another table had been put up for teachers' comfort. Though, that's what you thought. The mellow sound of his boots takes an unassuming turn to your row of workbenches, taking you off guard. You're trying to find the meaning behind his detour. Also, you had been oblivious from the start that this practical is supposed to be performed in pairs. And you had no one. Because you were late. Even the slow-witted and stolid transfer student, Reagan Keith had a partner; and her partner was San himself, something you definitely did not see coming.

"Miss Lee," Professor Jeong clears his throat, standing next to you, "I suppose you do not have a partner because of your tardiness, and I happened to pair all my students prior to you, which leaves me no choice but to perform this particular experiment with you. So now, take a brief look at the blackboard and what I've etched on it, try to understand it. Once done, we can surely proceed."

You nod, contemplating, biting your cheek, unable to comprehend the proximity between you two. The dense musk of his scent is wafting all your senses—the redolent scent of vanilla and cinnamon is a deadly concoction to drive you wild. His warmth is superficial, yet the kind which melts your mind with stupefying possibilities, just how he could be—you need to keep your thoughts clean and chaste. Still, you suppress your mind to a corner and peek at the blackboard, studying his neat hand etched on it. The title gave you the rough idea of what you're supposed to do. 

'Determination of blood groups.'

Ahh, the title itself foretells the coming inevitable mishap is going to involve blood and blood lancets; you aren't so fond of the needles—no, it wasn't a phobia, you weren't fond of pricking yourself with the help of those lancets. The blue rounded capsules which compassed a sterile needle underneath was beyond torturous to you.

You heave out a deep breath, understanding the further procedure he had inscribed on the blackboard. Familiar with few terms, such as the usage of antiserums, and principle behind the entire procedure, you were relieved. Way more than relieved to know this wasn't something out of your expertise. The nurturing thought of you actually explaining it to him however was too heavy to bear. You clear your throat, fumbling in your words as you dart your eyes anywhere else but at him.

"Yes, Miss Lee, are you done gandering at the procedure?" he gawks, bewildered as if and continues, "now, please enlighten me with the steps so as to we can proceed with the experiment."

"We—we are determining the blood—blood groups," you stutter, not knowing where that came from, you turn your attention onto him, stifling a gasp upon noticing him leaning close to you.

"Go on, Miss Lee," he prompts you with a soft nudge of his head. "I'm sure having to palaver about for the entire day, you could at least narrate the steps to me. All I need is your guidance."

He's playing you again.

"Alright, I will—" your breath hitches in your throat—you witness him effortlessly shrug his coat off, revealing nothing of his skin but the long-sleeved turtleneck he wore under.

"Hmhm, yes...?" he instigates, putting his coat off to a side while he rolls the sleeves of shirt over till his elbows. "What's the first step?"

"Sterilisation." you mutter under your breath.

"Sterilisation of what, Miss Lee?" he teases, keeping a straight; his pushes his glasses further up his nose, which had apparently slipped off a bit.

"Sterilisation of the subject area."

"Okay, tell me which area is most suitable for this test?"

You nod, swallowing thickly as your eyes never leave his. "The tip of the middle finger."

You weren't going to waver, not even when his soft brown eyes were speaking the unbearable at the moment; how can he do that? How can he momentarily torment you with a sly curve of his lips or by the detrimental facade of his eyes?

"And why is that?"

"Tendon sheath—uh, the middle finger has tendon sheath which only limits it to the fingers; as for the thumb and pinky finger, the sheath extends a little further to radial bursae and ulnar bursae—so in case any infection occurs it'll be restricted to the middle finger unlike the thumb or pinky which can lead to the heart." You try your best to explain, forgetting how to breathe in the process.

"You know your stuff," he murmurs, his voice low and cold, "do you see any sterilisation pads on your table?"

Looking around your desk, almost immediately, your eyes lurk on a beaker full of 70% ethanol and cotton swabs. You bring the beaker close to you and reach out for the forceps placed next to it; extending the beaker toward to him, you clear your throat, hoping he'd get on the cue.

"Miss Lee, I'd very much appreciate if you were to perform all the steps involving this practical."

"Right—okay, so..."

You drag your words into a whisper, holding the palm of his hand in yours, while other picks out a cotton swab with the forceps. The piece of cotton rolls to and fro on his skin, rubbing gently. Hearing him wince at the cooling sensation of ethanol against his skin, you stifle a chuckle and let out a sigh; once you were done with sterilising, you reach out for the blood lancets. Picking out one, you rip the cap off to reveal a sterling needle shining with a sharp point.

"Have you done this before, Miss Lee?" he questions as he watches you hesitate with the blood lancet. "Pricking yourself is quite different from pricking others, isn't it?"

You nod because you knew how different it was. In actuality, you're scared. You always were terrified to prick yourself with the needle whenever you were required to and it was mostly during your practical classes involving forensics. The high possibility of piercing your professor's skin, past the point till where it's necessary, was an untold fear you couldn't overcome. But, as you glance up at his docile face adorning an encouraging smile, in addition to the haughty glint in his eyes, you are much more prepared for the consequences.

"I am absolutely terrified when it comes to pricking myself—what if I..." your glance at his hand, then dart your eyes to his, feeling a breath hitch in your throat.

"You won't hurt me," he reassures you, later on compelling you with his words, "any day now, Miss Lee."

The racking nerve in your head forces you to take a deep breath and you're hauling the pointed tip of the lancet close to his finger. You know it takes one sudden nick to break the skin, and you also know you're supposed to be careful and swift with it. Hesitation breaks your conscience, you're still in two minds, still wondering if this was a good idea. Regardless of your abrupt cold feet, you let the lancet pierce through his skin, drawing out a ceaseless stream of blood; Professor Jeong is heedful of his bleeding finger and proceeds to make three blobs of blood on a microscope slide.

He puts the slide back, the glass clinks against the table but it melts into your thoughts—you were ogling him. You notice his veiny hand trembling softly to the unbridled tremors from the cut on his finger, it was attractive. You wouldn't mind admitting it, he has great hands—and sadly, you had a fetish. Trapping your lower lip between your teeth, you admire the little things about him; the proximity faltered to nothing, gave away how spotless his skin was, how sublimely luscious his lips were, and how the tiny specks of green in his eyes were far too evident in the sea of umber. Though, his hands were all you could think about; his porcelain skin, the bulging veins wrapped around his knuckles while they branched further down his hand—uff.

"Miss Lee?" he calls out, snapping his other finger, "please pass me a cotton swab, I need to clean myself."

You were brought back to the reality, seamless kind, a little vapid where you were impelled to keep a safe and healthy 'professor-student' relationship with him.

Hold up!

Where in the world did that come from?

The thought of having something more than 'professor-student' relationship with him.

You and him?

That's a little...

Far-fetched.

Unless...

There was...

There was a way to vex him.

You look back to all the times he's devalued your existence during his classes. The haughty remarks which rolled off his tongue with so much ease to belittle your short-lived efforts in any of his class, or perhaps, in any of the activities your department would plan. A spark in your mind strikes you in a way you couldn't quite explain, but you know you're finding yourself tighten your grip on his wrist. It's oddly satisfying, it's benign in your mind—though, the tiny bulb of tease was going on and off every second you spent staring at him.

There goes nothing.

Without hesitating you bring his hand close to your mouth, your tongue darts out the minute his bleeding finger finds its way in your sight, and you lick up a stripe to clean the blood off his finger. You hear him gasp, a sharp intake of breath which already told you he was bothered by your actions. Continuing to the rhythm of your heart, you wrap your lips around the tip of his finger and give it a soft suckle. Soon, a metallic copper taste slides on your tongue. Such an eerie sight to witness, by your professors and the others too. Especially the spawn of devil who was too busy charming the ditzy transfer student off her feet; if San catches you being this 'type' of friendly with the professor you 'slightly' resent then you probably could never show your face to anyone on the surface of earth. Luckily, San wasn't even sparing a glance at you.

"Miss—Miss Lee?" his voice breaks when he calls out to you again, prompting you to loosen your grip on his hand before you're letting it drop to his side.

"You were supposed to add antiserums to the slide, drop by drop. Now..." he takes a deep breath, noticing your glossy eyes and your plump lips parted; he's definitely resisting his urges. "The blood on the slide is almost..." He glances down at the table. "...it's almost dry. Miss Lee—" he leans in close to your ear, a coarse whisper sending a shiver down your spine, "—I'd like to see you after class."

"Maybe you can justify your actions then."

He leans back and takes a short gander around. Curling his lips up in a riveting smile, he nudges you with a nod. "Add the antiserums now, Miss Lee. All the others have finished performing the experiment."

You're out of your daze, rummaging your eyes around to find many of your classmates are done with their work and had gone to the other side of the lab, where the desks were.

"I'll be checking your practical sheets before you leave, so make sure you complete them all now." he announces out loud in the class, earning muffled groans from his students. "And no excuses."

"You too, Miss Lee," he turns to you, "now, if you will, you have to tell me my blood group. So, go on."

Again, pulling yourself out of the stupor, you nod profusely and proceed to the next step before the blood on your slide is completely dry. You add a drop of each antiserum on the three droplets of blood; waiting for a second, you watch the drop with antisera D and antisera A added begin to clot. To your conclusion, Professor Jeong's blood group is A+ve. All while you did the experiment, his eyes were fixed on you, fixated on your quivering hands and lips every time you tried to do something. In some instances of his mind, he was admiring you and your dedication, and how badly he had rocked your boat into capsizing.

"Good," he muses, his words turning bitter soon, "you sure can do a few things right. Well, all that's left to do is—" he grunts softly as he pulls the sleeves of his shirt back down, while he shrugs on his coat, "—cleaning and writing. Chop chop, Miss Lee.  And do not forget you have to wait after class."

With those spine-chilling words he leaves you stranded to your spot; unfortunately, this time San had overheard your conversation. He slides next to you, eyeing your workstation before glancing over at you.

His lips push themselves out into a pout, and he grumbles, "fucked up something?"

"None of your business," you grit your teeth, "get away before I chop your balls off."

"Oh, I'm shivering," he deadpans, nudging his elbow with your ribs, "come on, Lee. Tell me. What did you do for him to ask you to wait after class? We both know he's never done it—in fact he hates it when someone waits after class to 'talk' to him." he emphasises with finger quotes, rolling his eyes at you. "You fucked up big time then."

You heave out a long sigh, "I—just, shut up, San. You're the most annoying person in my life."

Grumbling, you glance at Professor Jeong, he was sitting on his desk at the back of the class, by the lockers. His stare was on you. It was on you from the moment he sat down. And even though you may not know what he was thinking, or wondering about, the glimpse of him having his teeth scratching on his lower lip was enough to let you know what exactly he intended on doing with you.

"Don't drag it out on me," he mumbles, his pout still intact on his face, "although, you're denying the truth, which means you two had an anomalous interaction..."

As he trails off, you roll your eyes at him. Finding the courage to break your eye contact with Professor Jeong, you glare at San and bite your lip. "Yeah, he made me wait after class. It's pertaining to me being late. Now off you go, make yourself useful elsewhere. Maybe, help Reagan find the remaining of her skirt, pretty sure she left it back at her dorms."  

San muses for a second before leaning over to stare at the said girl's skirt; she was standing by the lockers chattering with someone. His face twitches smugly, his brows creasing as he checks her out.

"Oh, no no! That does seem more important than dealing with you, Lee." he smirks, biting his lower lip, "see you around, try not to get too infatuated with your favourite professor."

Sauntering away from you, he loses his lab coat and then engages himself with Reagan. You project your frustrations into a sigh and begin cleaning your workbench before heading to the lockers to retrieve your bag and other items. Walking past the professor was a challenge in itself because you were too fazed in your mind by everything he did. Though, you could really say you were fuddled over his decision to make you wait after class. Anyone could tell you exactly how much he despised his students waiting after class, 'cause most of the times it would be the absurd number of female students trying to confess their feelings for him. You could sympathise with him, understand where he was coming from because you would find yourself in a similar situation; you were well sought to in your department, endless confessions, profuse gestures of affection, what not.

Regardless, you realised what you wanted in a man. It was the professor himself.

"Miss Lee, I need your practical journal completed." he speaks up as you're walking past his desk with your tote bag on your shoulder and your lab coat neatly folded in your hands. "You know what, I'll go through it after class. Till then, get your write-ups done."

Offering you a redolent smile, he tears his eyes off you. You swallow thickly, knowing well how ineptly stuck you were with him, after class too. And one more fact, your practical journal was incomplete—blank at the most, which was a catastrophe in the waiting. As the fear creeps up your spine, you bite your cheek and stumble onto an empty desk, settling yourself down to catch a breath.

Time passes in a haste, without bounds, and soon the moment you dreaded arrives with a tinkering bell on it. The class is empty, except for you and Professor Jeong. You could listen to him breathe, placidly whistle out a grumble a few times since he was busy with something you didn't feel the need to pay attention to. The clock on the wall ticks again and you're gathering your stuff before 'sneaking' out of the class. If his attention is solely saturated over something useless to you, then he probably won't even notice you gone.

At least that's what you thought.

"Miss Lee, I must remind you of our little parley where I asked you to wait after class." He doesn't even peek from the file he was reading, and continues, "don't think I can't see you sneaking away."

You stop in your steps, right in front of the open door with a few students lurking behind in the corridor. Stifling a groan, you roll your eyes and turn around on your feet. The man is sat poised in his chair, his lips curved in a smirk as he's staring right through you. Your heart skips a beat, yes too cliche, but you felt its arrhythmic vibrations ring your ears.

"Are there any students loitering in the corridor?" he questions and you nod to it, pressing your lips together. "Wait for them to leave and then lock the doors."

Why?

Lock the doors?

Why lock the doors?

Now your heart was pounding in that bony little cage of yours. Sooner or later, you would find it either in your throat or your guts that is if he continues to stare at you with the intensity of sun. Quite lost in the trance of his melancholic yet concupiscent eyes, you start nibbling on your lower lip, wanting to squeeze your thighs together to rid yourself of the tension you felt in your cunt. The chatters start dithering outside, ascending to the wind of nothing and it brings peace to your mind; not that it wasn't peaceful before, but now, it's just you and him caught in a void of infatuation.

"Do not take my intentions in the wrong way, Miss Lee. I am not so fond of disturbances during one-on-one student session..." he explains, going back to reading his file. Though, after a while he clears his throat and prompts you, "any moment now, Miss Lee."

"Yea—yeah," you stutter, sensing your throat close up.

Taking a step forward you close the latches on the door. The exhilaration of you being alone with him is sort of distorted in your head when you make your way towards his desk. What does he have in his mind? What does he want from you? Is this one of his many ways to make you feel small and little? Like all the times he does when you're attending his classes or so.

The look in his eyes has a spark of joy, just humming across the field of brown containing his pep. Those same eyes follow you around, till you're in front of him; his face shows no emotion, except for that straight line of his lips.

"Would you need an invitation, Miss Lee? Your binder, please." he asks, peeking up at through his long lashes and the black rimmed glasses. The glare on them makes it hard for you to read his eyes this time.

You clear your throat, and fumble with your bag to take the thick binder out. Pages furled out of it, a few flying off to fall on the ground, while a few remained stuck in amidst the others; you could tell Professor Jeong wasn't too happy with the condition of your binder. To be fair, this binder was your repository for all performed experiments so far. Nonetheless, your binder was...incomplete. Biting your lip, you place your binder on the table in front of him.

He eyes it for a moment before grabbing it in his hands and flipping the pages. You couldn't resist holding him on a high regard; his sleek fingers pinching the edges of the pages, turning them, eyes rummaging along the lines, and his parted lips which could tell he was contemplating.

"I certainly did not expect this from you, Miss Lee." he clicks his tongue, "now that I see it for myself, I can't help but agree with my initial remark about you. I would suggest you focus more on your academics rather than wasting your time with your friends and ambling through your life."

He sighs in defeat, mostly disappointment and slides your binder towards you across the table. Pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, he takes a deep breath and turns his head to you, his face expressing nothing at all.

"Life's not all about strolling through one club then to another. And while you do that, I can't sit back and watch you ruin your potential, Miss Lee," he sucks his teeth, as he continues to berate you with his words, "you're in the running for most proficient student in our department, alongside Mr. Choi. Now, would you be delighted to bear a consequence where he holds the trophy and not you? All because of what...? Some fiddling people you call your friends whose only job is to drag you out to buzzing clubs and what not."

Listening to him hound your existence, your heart suddenly weighs down in your chest, it grows heavy till it touches your gut. Oh no, you were letting it affect your state of mind. On the verge of tears, you look away from him and fixate your blurry vision on the floor; it was overbearing to hold his eyes, to wallow in the disappointment he held in them. Moreover, you didn't want him to see you cry, or shed a tear for that matter because you know you were close. Very close.

You sniffle softly, lowering your head furthermore to avoid to his gaze.

"Miss Lee?"

Silence.

You don't care for the concern his voice shows and continue to toil yourself on the contrasting hue of morning sun and the grey tiles. Blurry vision captures the indefinite shadows of lockers, some bookshelves—the sun was crawling overhead, witnessing your derision with your professor. You don't try to pay him any mind, not that you could even if you wanted to. There's a possible reason to why you don't want to, maybe the answer lies in your uncertain infatuation with him, or maybe it does prove your outlandish feelings for him. Which one of it was genuine?

A small moment passes between you two, roiling in tranquil haze before he clicks his tongue and drawls on a breath. "And to speak on your furtive behaviour—"

"Why do you hate me?"

A beat of serenity yanks his attention.

"What do you mean, Miss Lee?"

"I asked, why do you hate me so much?"

You glance up at him, preparing your unfazed mind for his reaction to your reddened cheeks and nose, and the obvious streaks of tears down your cheeks. The muscles on his face twitch even if it was indiscernible to the moment, you study him; he reveals a speck of pity in his eyes, so pathetic for you to think he'd pity you.

"Sherri?"

His lips quiver so delicately, calling out your name in a sleek yet coarse voice. It was the first time he'd ever called out your name, enunciated each syllable in his utmost trepidation as if he really cared for you. That alone was enough to cause a havoc in your heart, dwindling it further down to your...maybe it was the way he spoke your name out, but you were definitely feeling a spark strike in your pussy.

"I do not despise you, Sherri," he softly murmurs, looking away from you for a long minute before trailing his pitiful eyes back on you. "If my actions have made you—"

"—you always belittle me, humiliate me in front of the class and pretend to act as if you do it all because you care." you ramble, "you don't care about my feelings! All you can think is how to make me fall from my grace. Isn't it?"

You shake your head and bring your hands up to wipe your tears off, which had uncontrollably gushed out of your eyes while you had your meltdown. Your tote bag falls onto the floor with a soft thud, and you pay no mind to it. The hyperventilation soon kicks in, suffocating your lungs with a want to break free from your chest, and your stomach littered with unwanted butterflies fluttering along. More tears slide out of your eyes, and you lose your capability to see clearer.

The dainty streaks of torment on your cheeks, your tears, and your flushed face was a huge turn on for him; he could not probably free himself from his fetish, but his philia for tears or anything remotely close to it, always excited his cock. He shifts in his seat, spreading his legs apart under the desk to free himself from the strain in his pants. Oh how badly he had been aroused, by just watching you cry.

"Sherri, you're mistaking my concern for bullying; fuck! Why would I want to torment or humiliate you in front of the class?" he questions, such dainty voice breaking your heart and making you feel pathetic to sob in front of him.

"Come here."

He lures you in with his soft voice, and a frail tug of his lips; his smile had already proved to be devastating to you and even the slightest of it can make you, his puppet. Without realising it, you're taking short strides around the table to be by his side. He has his hand extended in front of you, something you didn't quite understand until you hold it in hesitation, and he pulls you down on his lap.

You gasp, and then yelp when you land on his lap; at first you find yourself uncomfortable in his embrace but giving it a little time, you relax and settle down, still with a bit of unease. His arms wrap themselves around your waist and he leans close to rest his chin on your shoulder as you sit sideways on his lap. Ambiguous swirls of darkness cover his eyes, and your breath hitches trying to unravel his true intentions. Instead, you were starting to get comfortable with him.

"I do not resent you for who you are, Sherri," he begins with a whispery breath, rubbing your back as he does. "I resent myself for being so helplessly bound under your spell."

Your lips part open, your chest heaves up and down erratically to constrain your wildly pounding heart. Oh, you were gone, you most definitely were.

"Projecting my bitter disposition on you was a mechanism I sought to cope my untamed desire—the ugly desire to taste this forbidden fruit." Mumbling, he turns his head and traces his lips along your neck, kissing and sucking. "Holy fuck, this body of yours...those lips, you don't know how much I crave them."

His hands tighten around your waist, and you gasp for air, "Professor Jeong, this isn't ethical. You're violating the university policy...ah!"

He bites down on your neck, grabbing enough flesh in between his teeth to suck on it. That's going to leave a pretty purple bruise behind, all in its glory, on your neck—so fucking attractive to you.  Pressing down on a moan, you drag your hands to his shoulders, hoping to shove him off to disturb his grip on you. Though you thought. It wasn't easy to make him budge, he wasn't letting you go, and you were gradually falling into that realisation.

"I could lose my job," he whispers, chuckling softly, "I can fucking lose my job if I engage with you, if I make my vile thoughts a reality but I can't control myself any longer, I need you, I need to ruin you—I know you feel the same way about me. Don't you, Sherri?" he nibbles on your earlobe, his hot breath fanning your ear. "Aren't your intentions the same as me, huh?"

"No." you mumble.

"No?"

You shake your head.

He doesn't believe you.

"Sherri, oh you beautiful liar," he sighs, his lips now curling into a smirk, "didn't you think of something else when you were sucking my finger off, hmm?"

You pout, not wanting to answer or have him the satisfaction of being right; instead, you start shuffling on his lap to get out of his hold. Squirming in his lap, you press your butt against his crotch, accidentally touching his hardened cock. It continues to poke your ass, and his fingers dig into your skin when his hold tightens on your waist. You were making it worse, it was visible on his face in the form of quivering lips and shut eyes.

"Don't move...!" he warns you, pressing your lower body against his lap, keeping you fixed in one place. "You'll make me...fuck. You do this on purpose, don't you?"

You stop moving—well you had no choice but to when his brute strength was holding you down against him. "I don't. I haven't done anything on purpose."

Lying is so easy. But him believing it has to be easy too. Though at this point you knew you were teasing him.

"Sherri, don't lie." He peels his eyes open and takes a sharp breath in, "get on your knees."

You gulp. Knees? He wants you on your knees...? That's...really fucking hot.

Eagerly, you crawl out of his lap as he gives you the chance to, keeping his hands to his side. He repositions his chair in a way to face you, as you're kneeling down in front of him, by the side of the table. There's not much distance between you, and the dithered proximity makes your heart palpitate with anticipation.

What was he going to do?

Your mind raced with the possibilities. Was he going to shove his 'obvious' boner down your throat? Was he going to make you ride him? What was his hauntingly beautiful mind thinking about?

"An obedient teacher's pet, how adorable," he coos, stroking his hand over your head as if to pet you.

"Professor..."

"Shush...!" he leans over, closely watching you with his fervent eyes. Out of nowhere the warmth of his thumb engulfs of your cheek. "Not a sound."

Brushing his thumb across, he collects a drop of your tear and brings it close to his mouth. He wraps his lips around his thumb and gives it a good suck; his eyes intently fixed on yours, delineating his intentions. You nod your head and watch him straighten his back to relax against the chair. His eyes glance over at the door for a minor second before he fixes them back on you; with a lilting smirk, he grabs the wooden pointer stick from his table and slaps its tip on the palm of his other hand. The same hand rubs along the length of it until his forefinger traces the tip before holding it in his one hand.

You couldn't help but gulp again, feeling aroused by his hand, and the way it was pumping the stick to and fro. Lowering yourself on your calves, you try to squeeze your thighs together. You wanted to ease your muscles, wanted to rid yourself of the tightness in your cunt because you were beyond wet for him.

"Hands behind your back," he commands, and you oblige without hesitation. "I asked you to be on your knees for me..." he softly mutters, tapping the stick twice on the floor to get you back on your knees.

You do that too; completely unaware of his next move. He drags the stick from the ground to you, to the hem of your skirt and lifts it up—exposing your ruined panties to him.

"Tsk, wet already?" he heaves out a breath, "do I really affect you that much?"

"Yes," you swallow and mumble, "you do."

"Hmm," he muses, humming his words along later, "that makes me want you even more."

With his other hand he takes his glasses off and flings them on the table. He pushes the stick further up till your waist to completely expose your dripping wet panties and your cunt; he licks his lips at the sight, his instincts running wild in his mind. Your hands were perfectly slotted in the small of your back, tightly wound together to appease the tension.

"Ah..fuck," you groan when you feel the wooden stick rub your cunt; he had angled it in such a way that it kept your skirt from falling down and it also gave him enough access to drag it along your slit. "Please, professor, I want you."

Listening to you mewl, his smirk widens, and he slurs his words, "now you want me, Miss Lee? Un-fucking-believable."

He picks up his pace, letting the stick rub itself perfectly against your slit; your cunt clenches around nothing, aching to have something in between, something to fill you up. You writhe in desperation, shifting your weight from one leg to another. Unable to contain yourself, you start grinding yourself against the stick, upon noticing it, he halts his movements and watches you with amusement. Casing his lips into a pout, he traces his forefinger on his lower lip; he's contemplating, mirthfully watching you pleasure yourself on the stick. You bring both of your hands to the front, holding the stick to stabilise it before you increase the pace of hips grinding down.

"Aww, is my little brat getting excited?" he scoffs, shaking his head lightly.

You press your lips together and nod your head, closing your eyes shut to the budding pleasure crawling up your body. Second by second, your sanity shrinks to nothing, making you loosen your grip on the stick. From the corner of your half-lidded eye, you watch him offer you a conceited smile, clearing his intentions out when he pulls the stick from between your legs and slides it up to your chin. Tapping its tip twice to your chin, he gets your attention on him with your eyes wide in anticipation.

He spreads his legs wider in front of you, putting his cock on a glorious display as it tightens in his pants; the outline of his cock figuratively makes you swallow a thick gulp of air. Keeping your head high with the stick, he uses his other hand to palm his crotch, gently wrapping his fingers around his cock to give it a few half-hearted pumps through his pants. With a nudge of his head, he drops the stick to a side and gestures you to come close. Biting your tongue, you crawl towards him, your heart in your throat now. Maybe it was the anticipation, the eagerness to see him bare and under the griming influence of your pleasure, but you were slightly alarmed to find yourself slotted in between his legs.

"Let's get my brat what she wants," he whispers further shifting comfortably in his hair. "Such hungry eyes gawking at the sight of my cock," he grabs your jaw lightly and strokes his thumb under your chin. He tuts, "I get these looks a lot but there's something about you— something about the way you're drooling over my cock."

You let your teeth sink deep in your lower lip, while your lips twitch into a soft smile of amusement. "Am I turning you on, professor?"

You release your lip from your teeth's grip, and he watches it wobble in a daze while you lean close and place your hands on either of his thighs. Rubbing circles with your fingertips on his thighs, you take a deep breath to calm your nerves.

"If that wasn't the case you wouldn't be here, Miss Lee. Kneeling between my legs, ready to take my cock in your mouth, hmm?" he suggestively murmurs, dragging his thumb to your lips till he forces it in your mouth. "Now, open wide."

Using his other hand, he fumbles with the buckle of his belt. While he does manage to get it undone, you decide to suck on his thumb which was still fixed in your mouth; you lick around, blatantly ignoring his rugged skin. You hear him grunt ever so gently to your mouth wrapped around his thumb, tingling with excitement to know what it would be like to have this same warmth around his cock. Everything passes in a haze when he restlessly tugs down on his pants and briefs at the same time; you notice him take his thumb out of his mouth and instead he replaces it with his cock.

The reddened tip of his cock nudges against your lips and you open wide, lowering yourself down on his cock—though, only halfway considering his length would take you long to adjust to while the thick girth already made the corners of your mouth sting. He holds your neck, his fingers delicately splayed on the nape as he pushes you down, however he's mindful of you and how much you can take in. You start stroking the remaining of his shaft—which you would eventually have to swallow deep in your mouth.

"Fuck, you're driving me insane with your mouth, I might..." he trails his words off into a low groan, beginning to thrust himself into your mouth. "I'm not going to last long, am I?"

He taunts, digging his fingers into your skin as he pushes your head further down on his cock; his thrusts become too sloppy, and you don't pay much mind to it. You are too focused on widening your mouth around his cock to fit him fully inside. Feeling the tip of his cock brush against your throat, you almost gag; your throat tightens, and the suffocation starts sneaking up on you, but you push yourself through and sink lower on his cock.

"Fuck, such a good brat, taking me in so well," he whimpers coarsely, "but this little brat needs to be punished for making me break my rules."

You gaze up at him with your teary eyes, softening them as he looks down at you too. Nodding your head, you hollow your cheeks and bop your head up and down after adjusting to his size. Your fingers dig into his fleshy thighs, constraining your moans with his cock stuffed in your mouth, you keep staring up at him till a few drops of tears cascade down your cheeks. He brings his other hand to caress your cheeks, thumb stroking off the tears as he doesn't let go of your head. You're on the verge of gagging on his cock, choking even, but disregarding your gag reflex, he bucks his hips into your face and his cock slides further down your throat. Unable to hold onto your moans and whimpers, you try to make a sound—the vibrations send him reeling from pleasure, he throws his head back and tightens his hold on your neck.

"Can't make a sound because my cock is—your mouth is stuffed with my cock, isn't it?" he teases, closing his eyes shut to relish the wetness and warmth of your mouth. "Don't worry—I won't—I won't cum too soon. My brat deserves a little—a little bit of fun even if she's being pun—punished."

His stutter was absolutely beautiful, it showed how much of a mess he was with your mouth wrapped around his cock, engulfed in the devious warmth of it. Somehow, it gave you a sense of victory, a sense of peace to know you had gotten him on his edge with only your mouth and nothing else. The saltiness of his precum floods your mouth—it makes you retch a bit regardless of that, you continue sucking him off while his thrusts are slow and steady. In the meantime, he pulls his untucked shirt above till his chest and holds it there; he pushes your head further down on his cock, till your nose is pressed against his pubic bone and your skin feels ticklish from his trimmed pubic hair.

His chest is rising and falling at an alarming rate; he surely was a mess, and you liked seeing it. When you peek up at him with your still-teary eyes, you notice sweat covering his forehead, making his hair stick to his skin while his cheeks are flushed with a shade of red. How adorable. How fucking adorable. The ever so haughty and stoic professor was writhing under your touches, with how you lapped your tongue under his shaft and purposely sucked your cheeks in to make it tight.

In actuality, you were really driving him wild; his grip on your neck loosens a bit for a hot second and he uses that time to let his hand entangle in your hair. You didn't realise when you groped his thighs for support, even so, your nails had dug deep enough to leave behind crescent marks on his skin, the kind which would fluster with a brutal purple tint tomorrow. Grasping a proper hold on your hair, he pulls you back and frees his cock from his mouth; a vile 'pop' sound resounds in the room while he does so.

The moment his cock is out of your mouth, you gasp for air, you swallow huge lugs of air through your mouth and glance at him with dazed eyes. His thick and veiny cock was slick with your spit, shining softly under the lights while a few strings of your saliva still connected your lips and his shaft. Your drool had covered every inch of his cock and had also slithered down your chin. The sensation in your mouth was a little sticky and salty from his precum. You keep your mouth wide open and wipe off the drool using the back of your hand; he smugly chuckles, eyes on you like a predator.

"Need to take a break?" he taunts you, belittling your presence and you shake your head to a no. Leaning over, he cups your face in both of his hands and grazes his eyes along your chest and exposed thighs.

"Get up."

Again, his domineering voice forces you to oblige, and you get on your wobbly feet—feeling your throat sore and tight from his cock hitting constantly, you swallow enough amount of spit and try to wash the sting down. He notices it but doesn't say much. His hands slide down from your face and hold your waist as you stand in front him; without any doubt, he pushes your front against the desk and makes you bend over. One hand on the collar of your blouse, and other on the small of your back; he keeps you in that position while he takes his time to shimmy his pants and briefs down till his knees. He positions himself behind you, managing to push your skirt up on your back to expose your dripping wet panties and your cunt. Your wet panties were driving him wild; his breathing becomes even more ragged when he snaps at the waistband and pulls them down to your knees. He swallows thickly when his thirsty eyes lurk over your glistening wet cunt, clenching around nothing for the time being.

"This wet cunt is going to take in every inch of me...fuck," he curses his under his breath while he smoothens his hand on one of your buttcheeks. "But we can't forget about your punishment, can we?"

He flattens his palm against your ass, keeping you pressed against the desk with his hand on your neck; you whimper in anticipation and hold onto the edge of the desk till your knuckles turn while. Anticipation makes you wiggle your ass slightly, as you're on your tippy toes and perfectly bent over the desk.

"No, we can't," you heave out a shaky sigh, not able to control your excitement anymore. "How are you going to punish me, professor?"

You sneer in your seductive voice, slurring your words against your rounded lips to get a reaction out of him. Having your vision limited to the empty classroom and the workbenches, the exhilaration of not knowing what he was going to do, makes you even wetter.

Yunho knows how vile your mind is, he knows the wet patch on your panties continues to grow the more he teases you and honestly, he wasn't complaining. He liked it as much as you did, but he hid it well in his composed speech and relaxed movements.

"There's only one way to punish a brat like you," he grunts, slapping one of your buttcheeks, "count them."

So, you were getting spanked. Such a fitting punishment for a brat like you, by a professor too—why did it feel like you were trapped in a low-budget student-professor porn movie? You can't complain anyway, you were absolutely absorbed in the trance of your pleasure and his hands caressing your butt.

You nod and thus begins the punishment.

Slap!

"One," you mewl, feeling his hand burn on your skin.

Slap!

"Two," your breath hitches when you go to say it out loud, your skin stinging from his hand.

Slap!

"Thr—three!" you groan out loudly, the impact jolting your body against the top of the desk.

This one stung like a bitch.

Slap!

Without any warning, he adds one more spank to the same buttcheek before moving onto the other. He offers it a soft squeeze first, and then pulls his hand back and flattens his palm over it.

Slap!

"How many were those, huh?" he asks your mind fiddles with the remaining brain cells—how many were those? Really. How many?

"Si—six," you somehow manage to sputter, your spit falling on the desk in front of you.

"Good girl," he praises, rubbing his hand on your buttcheek before tracing it down to your folds. His fingers press and nudge against your folds until he rams one finger along your slit. Pushing down, wedging his finger deep inside, he watches your juices coat the length of his finger before he brings it to his nose to give it a good sniff. "I wonder if you're enjoying this punishment, pup. Are you? Are you enjoying this punishment...?"

First, your mind goes haywire when he teases you with that nickname. Pup. Well, you were turning out to be his pet, you might as well roll along with it.

Second, you were certainly enjoying the punishment, liking the way his hands were able to engulf your entire buttcheek at once.

Third, you're forced to slip out of your sanity when he aligns his cock with your hole and slowly sinks in. Your aroused juices proved helpful for him to slip right in. You suddenly start feeling full, the stretch of your walls subsiding into a soothing ache and then it sublimes completely into pleasure. Your desires were getting quenched; inch by inch your cunt swallows him whole, the burn on your walls now pacified by him. He doesn't move when he bottoms out, he keeps his cock sucked deep in you. Keeping one hand on the small of his back, he pushes your nimble body further against the desk—your back arches inwards and prodding your ass out for his easy access. 

"Fuck, such a tight cunt. Got no one to loosen it out, Miss Lee?" he smirks, grunting at the way your walls clenched around him and remains unmoving. "Don't worry, I'll fuck it loose—fuck," you tighten around him listening to his wispy words, "do you want me to, huh, pup? Do you want me to fuck you loose?"

"Yeah—yeah, yeah I'd like that," you murmur, your brain turned into a mush and your body shuddering as he slowly, very slowly, starts moving. He doesn't pull out completely, he keeps his cock buried deep in you and slides in and out at a leisure pace.

"Of course, my pup would like to get fucked senseless," he mumbles, slapping one of your buttcheeks again.

You were fully sure his hand was now printed on your skin in a bright red shade; the soreness didn't matter because the thrill was eating you up and turning it into bliss. Biting back a moan, you keep your breathing steady. Though, you feel your chest shatter entirely when he picks up his pace. Your fingernails start scratching at the varnish on the table, a bit of it getting stuck in them.

"Yes, prof—professor..." you groan, stuttering with his thrusts.

"Nuh-huh, for an obedient puppy like you, I'm your master," he slides his cock out, and rams back into you, letting it plunge deep, "what should you—should you call me, pup?"

"Master," you breathe out, exasperated. "Master, please go faster, fuck! Fuck me harder please, breed your little pup." You cry, genuinely letting tears streak down your cheeks; you were weak already, holding out till he would increase the rhythm of his merciless thrusts.

Something goes off in his head, his hips start snapping at an animalistic pace with your body thrashing against the wooden desk; his hands are all over you, touching you, caressing you, leaving his marks on you. Though, at a point he brings one of his hands to the curve of your back, while his other hand winds itself around your thigh. Seeming seconds drag on with his thrusts curt and sharp, his cock reaching deep in your cunt till you could feel it tauten in the pit of your stomach. Yunho could sense your walls clench around his cock, not liking it one bit—his thrusts start faltering, gradually coming to a halt.

Still buried deep in you, he leans over your back—inching close to your neck, he bites down harshly before whispering, "does my pup want to cum?"

You could discern the slyness in his voice, and you nod your head with your mouth agape, drool glistening down your lower lip and staining your chin. Bearing his size, tuning with his blunt thrusts, and the way his tip was abusing your sweet spot, it was all too much, sending you into a sensory overdrive. At this point, you had zero comprehensible thoughts in your mind except for the heinous acts you were weaving into your body: all of them being about your professor and his huge dick.

"Well, then my pup has to wait a little longer," he grunts close to your ear and then straightens himself up, "master isn't done with his pup yet."

"Can my pup wait a little longer?" he presses his hand down on your back, reluctantly making your walls clench around him.

You're left with no choice but to nod your head again, and it satisfies him; his gradually starts moving again, keeping his thrusts steady and slow. He lets you adjust to him again, and eventually increases his pace. Pulling and shoving himself into you, he starts bucking his hips into your thighs, his grip tightening till his knuckles turn white while you hold onto the edge of the table like your life depended on it. Your body oscillates to and fro, colliding and thumping with the wooden table with his every thrust. The sound of clothes crumpling, and the rattling of his belt buckle, makes your heart race harder in your chest.

You had never imagined you'd be caught in this situation; not that you didn't imagine or fantasise it, you didn't think it'd become a reality. Yeah, it's true that you had countless fantasises about your professor, one of them being fucked while you're bent over his desk—but the probability of him actually fucking you was one in a twenty, considering there were twenty female students in your class. Skin slapping against skin, his cock thrashing balls deep in your tight cunt, you were still mewling in your mind for more. The sensation was diabolical in a way, clustering your brain with unwanted thoughts—hell, you had lost it.

A known tightness tangles itself in your gut, your stomach cherishing the last bit of butterflies it felt before knowing you would flood down on his cock soon. Your senses drop, your stomach twists and knots, your heart runs a miles per hour because his thrusts were helping you chase your high. You were so sure he was going to let you take a break, let you ease out the tightness in your stomach; but to your unbridled surprise, he doesn't. His movements dither, slowing down till he comes to a stop again; he's still buried deep in you, and somehow that caused you more pain than his actual thrusts.

"Aww, my pup is too eager to get off," he mumbles, throwing his head back in pure bliss from your walls still clenched around him, but then he feels you loosen, and he starts pounding into you with a gentle tempo. "Not so soon. You're still getting punished."

He drags on for an hour or so, his thrusts stopping completely sometimes, his cock buried deep in your warmth—eventually he would pick up his pace and ram into your tight little cunt as if it was the last thing he wanted. You had been denied your orgasm a few times, counting it, you had been denied three times so far. Though that pleasure was turning into pain, your belly ached with every inch of strain his cock put on your cunt. Your stomach knots itself for the fourth time, your legs trembling and your yearning crossing your threshold to hold your orgasm in.

The familiarity only grows in your gut, your walls puckering around his cock to milk out his own orgasm; but he knows how to play it off well, he wasn't going to cum before you did. Pressing back into your thighs, he remains unmoving for a second before picking up his pace again, his cock plunges into the deeper void of your cunt, almost protruding the walls to your gut. You have lost your voice to make a sound, one thing—but the other thing was you weren't supposed to make a lot of noise. Swallowing your moans and grunts, you feel your high washing over; your walls tighten around his cock one last time before they're coming undone—releasing you juices all over his cock. Some of it squirts around as his cock still keeps plunging deep into you, a few drops stain his abdomen and get absorbed in his clothes, but he doesn't seem too bothered by it.

"My pup made a mess on my cock," he grumbles, closing his eyes shut as he helps you ease your cunt with a few of his concise and brief thrust. His thighs collide with yours, heat growing between your bodies and your skin slick from sweat and your orgasm. "Such a pretty pup, such a beautiful little baby..." he rambles on his own, incoherent and inaudible, but mostly it was him losing his mind over the trickling warmth of your arousal.

His thrusts become sloppy once he knows he's reaching his high; but he doesn't give out just yet. With a couple more longing and concise thrusts, he lets himself drive his cock deep into your warmth—he counts down the minutes with his ambling pokes till it becomes unbearable for him to hold out. Taking a deep breath and arching his back to let his cock plunge deep, he slides one of his hands on your lower back—pressing, pushing, digging his fingers and palm in your flesh, he releases himself in deep in you. With every thrust, he keeps pulling out till he completely slides out of you. He smirks at the sight his eyes behold, twinkling with a yearning no one knows, not even you; his load dribbles down your pussy, staining your skin in stark white shade, as some of it spurts on your inner thighs.

You're breathless, too fucked to understand anything and thus you couldn't register your surroundings quite well when he flips you over. Grabbing your shoulders, he pushes you down on the ground, having you kneel before him with his cock near your mouth. The veins on his cock were less bulged than before, but his shaft was coated in a thin layer of his cum and glints a bit with your juices.

"Clean me up, pup."

His order doesn't go unheard by you, and as the loyal little puppy you are to him, you hold on to the sides of his thighs and lean in to lick his cock off. At first, it's a weird concoction of saltiness and a little bit of sweetness, soon it fades to nothing. You lap your tongue around his shaft, over and under his tip till you've cleared everything off from his cock—you pull back, smiling dizzily because you were delighted to help him out. Half-lidded eyes trace a line up and you find him staring at down at you, his hand in the process to grab your jaw. Caressing your chin, he pulls you up on your feet and helps you sit on the desk before wrapping his arms around your waist to pull himself closer to you.

"Miss Lee," he whispers, "I'm sure the post-orgasm clarity is now sinking in both of our minds, but we certainly need to address the elephant in the room."

You lean forward to rest your head on his chest, closing your eyes shut for a moment, you take a deep breath in and relax your tensed muscles. "Professor Jeong...I've wanted this to happen for a long time."

"So, you have no regard for me losing my job, do you?" he teases, rubbing circles on your back to soothe you, "Lee Sherri, you really are a brat. Making me break my rules."

"What rules?" you grin, peeking up at him as your wrap your arms around his broad chest.

"I don't date my students," he murmurs, pecking your forehead.

"Who's suggesting you date me?" you chuckle, shaking your head, "we can be fuck buddies."

"Is that what you call it nowadays?" he laughs, heartily, pouting down at you as he continues, "we'll have to be really careful, Sherri. Can't have anyone knowing about us—"

Knock knock!

Your eyes go wide, your heart thumps in your chest and your lips start quivering in fear. On the other hand, Yunho is pretty tame, and he only offers you a reassuring smile.

"Straighten out your clothes and relax. It's no stranger, I've been expecting him actually," he mumbles, breaking apart from your embrace to pull his pants and briefs up.

Whilst he is buttoning his pants and buckling the belt, you too tug your panties up and hop off the desk. You try to smoothen out the creases on your skirt and blouse—your white lacy socks were stained with dust at the knees, but you didn't care about it. The clutter of papers on the desk remains as it is, neither of you bothered to organise it. Professor Jeong smiles at you warmly before heading to the door of the classroom, he unlocks the latch and pulls the doors inside to reveal another man with tall silhouette standing there. 

Professor Song.

"Since when have you been locking your doors, Yun?" the latter teasingly mutters and chortles, stepping past his friend and entering the classroom which reeks of sweat and sex. He sniffs the air and along the lines his eyes land on you, "ah. So, you were having "one-on-one" with your student."

Professor Song wasn't a professor from your department, he was the heartthrob of the physics department, seemingly the kind who would definitely not have any sentiments towards his students or anyone younger to him for that matter. Clad in a plaid shirt and khakis, he too had a body worth breaking the laws for; his toned biceps bulged out of the sleeves he had rolled over to his elbows, his thick thighs (which you've fantasied riding on) were defined by his tight khakis, and hazel eyes were piercing through you with curiosity.

"Miss Lee and I were just discussing, weren't we, Miss Lee?" Yunho calls out from behind him, tugging down on the crotch of his pants for some apparent reason.

"Discussing what?"

You shift your weight on your feet, standing an inch away from the desk (where you were just railed by your professor) and you pull down on your skirt, not knowing why you felt the need to. You eye your tote bag fallen down on the floor, then at the mess of your binder on the table, and one thing becomes clear which is you and Professor Jeong did fuck on the table.

"I was chiding her for not completing her experimental write-ups, Min," Yunho adds, scratching the back of his neck as he comes to stand next to him. "Miss Lee, we'll have a proper discussion about your careless behaviour next time, perhaps tomorrow. Now, you may leave."

You nod, "ye—yes professor."

Hastily, you sprint out of the classroom after gathering your things and stuffing them in your bag in a haphazard way; meanwhile Mingi rolls his eyes at his friend and scoffs.

"Lie to someone else, Yun."

"Fuck you," he grumbles before a conceited smirk takes over his face.

"If you keep your trap shut, maybe we can share."

[won4kiss]

﹙ 🎬 ﹚ ────WITH GREAT LOVE COMES GREAT WORRY.

(🕸️) ── 𝓜ARK LEE﹙마크﹚ ꒰ 𝓰. oneshot ៸ fluff ៸ ୨୧ㅤㅤ WARNiNGS : not proofread ៸ kissing ៸ blood ៸ injuries❞ spider-man! mark x 𝑓! reader ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ꒰ WC : 1.0K ꒱ SYPNoSiS 𐙚 being spider-man isn’t easy, but neither is loving him—until mark reminds you why it’s worth it .ᐟ ── LiBRARY

HERE YOU WERE, PACING AROUND YOUR ROOM IN ANXIETY.

you were currently biting at your nails, each click of the clock making your heart sink lower—it’s already half past seven, and mark was supposed to meet you over an hour ago for a date.

he’s never missed a date before—not like this, anyway.

you glanced at the phone resting on your bed—no missed calls, no messages, nothing but the sickening feeling that something must’ve happened.

mark’s never been the most punctual guy, but today feels different—the anxiety of the “what ifs” start creeping into your mind, tugging at your patience and twisting them into worries.

you tried to distract yourself, picking up a book and pretending to read, but the words blur in front of you.

finally, with a frustrated sigh, you slam the book shut and lean back against your headboard. ─ 𝖱𝖤𝖲𝖳 𝖡𝖤𝖫𝖮𝖶!

that’s when you finally hear it—a soft tap at your window.

your heart jumps, relief flooding through you as you rush over—it’s mark, hanging onto your window ledge.

your relief quickly morphs into concern as you take in his appearance, his face is pale, with scratches dotting his cheeks, and the once-vibrant red of his spider-man suit is smeared with dirt and remnants of blood and torn in places.

one arm is held awkwardly against his side as he forces a tired smile.

“mark, oh my god…” you whisper, hurriedly unlocking the window—he stumbles in, trying to play it cool and downplaying his injuries, but you can see the wince in his eyes as he collapses onto your bed, letting out a shaky breath.

you stand there for a moment, caught between anger and worry. “do you have any idea how worried i was? you missed our date, left me waiting for hours, and you didn’t even call!”

“i know, i’m sorry,” he says, his voice a tired whisper. “things got… a little rough tonight.”

you look him over, your hands moving instinctively to check his injuries. “a little rough? mark, you look like you got hit by a truck. did you even go to a hospital?”

“didn’t want to freak you out,” he mumbles, letting out a pained chuckle. “guess that didn’t work out so well, huh?”

“not even close,” you mutter, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead—your fingers linger for a second, taking in the clammy feel of his skin.

his eyes are still bright, but they’re a little glazed over, and you feel your heart clench at the sight—you’re not just mad anymore, you’re completely terrified.

“are you really okay?” you ask, your voice softer now.

he nods, wincing slightly as he adjusts himself. “yeah, just… need to chill for a few hours and i’ll be fine. you know how it is.”

you bite your lip, the anger slipping away with every second you spend watching him,he’s still mark—still your mark, trying to make you laugh even when he can barely keep his eyes open.

but you can’t shake the worry gnawing at you. “why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?” you murmur, helping him sit up so you can start pulling off the torn parts of his suit.

“i didn’t want to ruin the night,” he says softly, his hand brushing against yours. “i know how much you were looking forward to it.”

the vulnerability in his voice makes you pause, your hands freezing on his shoulder—you hadn’t even thought of that. all this time, you’d been angry at him for not showing up, but now you realize he was just as worried about letting you down.

the thought sends a warmth through you, softening your gaze as you take a seat beside him.

“you don’t have to hide these things from me, you know,” you whisper, squeezing his hand. “i’d rather be here, taking care of you, than spending the night alone wondering if something happened to you.”

mark gives you a tired, lopsided grin, his fingers brushing against yours. “guess i still have a lot to learn about being a boyfriend, huh?”

you chuckle softly, brushing a thumb over the back of his hand. “you’re doing just fine,” you say, leaning closer. your hand moves up, gently touching the bruises on his cheek as you whisper, “just… don’t make me worry like that again.”

his eyes soften as he leans into your touch, a sigh escaping his lips. “i promise,” he murmurs, his voice a whisper.

and before you know it, he’s leaning in, his forehead resting gently against yours—you can feel his breath, warm and shaky, as his hand finds its way to your waist, pulling you closer.

you’re about to scold him again for moving too quickly, but then his lips find yours, soft and sweet, and everything else fades away.

the world outside your room feels like it had stopped in time, like it’s just the two of you floating in this perfect, quiet moment.

you pull back after a second, running your fingers gently through his hair. “you need to rest,” you say, though there’s a playful tone in your voice.

“rest?” he grins, trying to feign an angry attitude. “but i just got here. you can’t kick spider-man out that fast.”

you roll your eyes, giving his shoulder a gentle shove. “spider-man, you’re lucky i’m letting you stay after making me worry like that.”

he chuckles softly, wincing a little as he lies back against your pillows, but the look he gives you is nothing short of pure affection.

you pull the blanket over him, tucking it gently around his shoulders, and he gives you a small, grateful smile.

“thank you,” he whispers, his eyes drifting closed.

you settle in beside him, your fingers gently tracing circles along his arm—he leans into you, letting out a contented sigh as he drifts off, his breathing evening out.

for a moment, you let yourself get lost in the peaceful look on his face, memorizing the lines of his jaw and the soft curve of his mouth.

and as the room grows quieter, you feel your own heart settle, the worries and fears melting away as you hold him close.

you know this won’t be the last time he comes home like this, and that the path you’ve chosen with him is far from easy.

but right here, right now, with his hand resting against yours, you feel like everything is exactly where it’s supposed to be.

© WON4KISS 2024 do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

NOTE. nobody asked for this but i just watched spiderman and it reminded me of mark ugh i love mark 😞 IM SO SORRY FOR THE INACTIVITY but i’ve been so depressed lately idk why and watching what shall not be named didn’t help T-T

୨୧ TAGLIST OPEN ‹𝟹 @mioons @nshmuras @suneng @pnghoon @shawnyle @laylasbunbunny @privareum @briefsaladfun @cyjzzl @sol3chu @txtlyn @d-dilemma @deezbin @iluvnikism @rikibwn @wonsprincess @niawonn @pockyyasii @kiss4noo @nineooooo @loves0ft @ancnymcnzjy : COMMENT OR SEND AN ASK TBA.

[lelengerine]

pairing. sohee x reader

synopsis. it’s difficult to keep your feelings to yourself, especially when it starts ticking like a bomb that's ready to explode any minute

genre. royalty au? (more like dukedom…), wonbin is reader’s older brother, insecurities on being less favored, reader is described to be fem-bodied however there’s no specific pronouns mentioned, a lot of pining, mentions of food, lmk if anything else was missed <3

wc. 2.3k words

notes. have a small sohee oneshot because i wrote this after seeing him live and he was so good like ahhh i love him sm sm i could ramble about him all day TT likes and feedback are highly appreciated!

m.list

one step.

two steps.

three steps.

the echo of your heels clattering against the polished marble of your chambers filled the air as you paced back and forth, your hair slightly damp from the bath you had just taken, and your corset still unfastened at the waist. despite the myriad tasks that awaited you in preparation for the evening, an unmistakable restlessness gripped you. the dinner that loomed ahead was no ordinary family gathering. no, this was something far more significant—at least, to you.

tonight, you were to dine with the lees.

the lees were esteemed members of society, the custodians of one of the rare grand dukedoms in the kingdom—the only other belonging to your family—thus, it came as no surprise to anyone that your estates were nestled side by side. though the vast expanses of land surrounding each manor often made them feel worlds apart, this proximity led to spontaneous invitations like the one extended to your parents earlier that day.

nervousness always accompanied your encounters with the lees, not because of unfamiliarity, but quite the contrary. they welcomed you warmly whenever you visited, their kindness unwavering. you held their family in high regard, but a certain kind of affection lingered in your heart for their only son.

lee sohee.

your first encounter unfolded in the tulip gardens of your estate during one of your mother’s monthly tea parties. as a child, your preference laid in frolicking outdoors rather than sitting still at the adult table, sipping apple juice as they chattered on matters that did not concern you one bit. clad in a sundress made of flowy material and carrying a dainty parasol—as your mother had insisted you take with your person—you wandered off to the gardens as if it was routine.

there was a particular spot at the far end of the garden where a grand peach tree stood, and you often found solace beneath its branches. it was there you discovered him, a stray leaf caught in his hair as he slumbered in the shade. yet, as if sensing your presence, his eyes slowly fluttered open, adjusting to the light. he rubbed them gently before bestowing upon you a wide, toothy grin.

you stood captivated, unable to move at the sight before you. could someone radiate such sweetness that it sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach? your younger self would have answered an unwavering yes.

sensing your surprise, he rose gracefully and approached you. “hi, i’m lee sohee!” he said before gesturing back toward the lively party you had come from. “my mom’s attending the tea party over there—i hope i’m not intruding over here…” although you were both young, an innocent and gentle aura surrounded him, making you feel light and giddy.

“not at all,” you managed to whisper, offering a shy smile. “my mother is hosting the tea party, you see.”

“oh, so you’re one of the park children?” he exclaimed, his eyes wide and glossy with curiosity.

“yes, my brother is wonbin. though many say we don’t look much alike,” you confided softly, recalling the times your brother’s looks were praised while you stood quietly beside him during the few times you attended galas in which your whole family’s attendance was required.

“but you’re really pretty,” he blurted out, quickly covering his mouth with the palms of his hands. subsequently, his words left you flustered, your cheeks warming at the unexpected compliment. you weren’t used to such remarks. how were you supposed to respond to such praise? noticing your silence, sohee worried he might have said something he shouldn’t have. “sorry, i tend to speak my mind too often. my father says it’s a bad habit to be a blabbermouth, but—”

“thank you.” your soft reply halted his apology, and he smiled as your face brightened with a smile and light laughter bubbled forth. “no one really ever tells me that, so i truly appreciate your kind sentiment.”

from that day on, a close bond formed between you, the memory of your first meeting remaining a cherished treasure even as the years passed. you liked to think that your feelings for him had taken root since then, though the exact moment they blossomed into your consciousness was difficult to pinpoint. still, they say timing is unimportant; what mattered was the certainty of your feelings—and you were more than certain.

“y/n! mother says we ought to leave soon!” your brother’s voice seeps through the crack in your door. “please tell me you’re nearly ready.” he sounded as if he were pleading, though you knew he was simply being his dramatic self.

“just five minutes, bin! i promise!” you chuckled at your brother’s antics, rolling your eyes at him. 

“good. that’s all the time you’ll get from me anyways.”

“alright, you grumpy old man.”

“i heard that! i’m merely two years older than you are!”

if anyone were to overhear the conversation between you and your brother, they might’ve scolded you for failing to uphold the decorum expected of those in your social standing. yet, the very act of defying such constraints made your sibling bond all the more liberating. neither of you gave much thought to the rigid social hierarchy anyways, preferring the comfort of each other’s company instead.

stepping out of your room, you found wonbin waiting, his arm offered for you to take. together, you made your way out of the estate, joining your parents as you headed towards sohee’s family home. the walk was far from lengthy, and soon you were a few steps before the grand entrance.

a staff member ushered you to the main dining hall, where you were guided to your seats. sohee’s family appeared shortly after, and pleasantries were exchanged among the parents, their voices filled with warmth as they caught up on each other’s lives. your eyes met sohee’s, and he gifted you that familiar smile, with a touch of boyish charm now that he’s grown older.

after greeting your parents, sohee made his way straight to you. “i missed you,” he murmured softly in your ear, his warm breath sending a gentle shiver down your spine. had it not been for the tight-knit relationship between your families, outsiders would have already put you both to shame—two diamonds of society spending time together in broad daylight without actual affirmation to be wed in the near future? the ridicule you would both receive was bound to be tremendous, and you’re not sure if sohee simply chooses for ignorance to plague him. you’re no stickler to society etiquette either, but you were still taught the ropes of how to survive the eyes of many should you be put in the spotlight nonetheless, and this was on top of the list of things you shouldn’t even have thoughts of comitting.

you could only nod, nervous about responding and fearing that your voice might betray you. “what’s with the mundane response? aren’t you glad to see your best friend?” he asked, a playful pout on his lips as he leaned on the table, resting his chin in his hand.

“no, that’s not it!” you quickly shook your head to dismiss his worries. “i missed you too, i suppose.”

“you suppose?” he teased, raising an eyebrow. “would it hurt you to be direct for once?” though his tone was light-hearted, his words planted a seed of hurt and frustration within you. how could you be direct with him when you feared your tongue may accidentally slip your feelings for everyone to hear? you were only but a cherished friend whose company he enjoyed when time would allow you two to meet. how could you hope to speak the truth that lies beneath the surface when your heart yearns for more than what your words could imply?

sohee wore that familiar expression again, the same one he had when he first saw you all those years ago in the garden, standing frozen in place. “are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice filled with concern.

“i’m fine. sorry.” your voice was barely audible, mentally chiding yourself for dampening the mood. this was precisely why you felt so nervous earlier–the last thing you wanted was to ruin dinner–and yet, here you were.

he nodded gently, choosing not to press for answers, offering you a quiet moment of understanding instead which you silently thanked him for.

the rest of the meal carried the same atmosphere, an awkward tension flooding your senses with every bite of food you took. your mind was busy with thought after thought. perhaps sohee wouldn’t like to meet with you as often anymore after your not-so-pleasing attitude tonight–you wouldn’t blame him. you’ve been nothing but tongue tied around him, not only during this specific dinner but even during the last meeting that was organized by your families as well. perhaps, after this, he would start to avoid your gatherings altogether—the very idea made your stomach churn, and the platter of food before you suddenly seemed far less appetizing than it originally was.

you abruptly stand up from your seat, surprising everyone as you politely excuse yourself from the table before rushing out to find the nearest exit.

fresh air. that’ll definitely easen up your mood, you repeatedly tell yourself as if trying to console whatever you’re feeling.

you approach a nearby balcony and decide to lean on its railings, taking in the peaceful view of sohee’s estate it offers from its height. you start feeling a little better, till you hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching. you assume your brother was sent to check on you, turning on your heel. “bin, i’m alright-” oh, it wasn’t your brother. instead, it was the last person you wanted to see at the moment. 

sohee’s standing in front of you. the realization hits you a little later than you would have liked, leaving you with no room to try and escape your best friend’s clutches. “can we please talk?”

“what’s there to talk about?” this was the first time sohee had been exposed to this side of you. the you who was dismissive and gave out curt, uninterested replies. “i have nothing to explain.”

he’s a little taken aback but decides to stand his ground. “but you do. look- if it happens to be something i’ve done, then-”

“you’ve done nothing of ill interest.”

“then pray tell what’s bothering you.”

“…how would you describe someone who so desperately wishes a certain person would look their way no matter what, even for the slightest bit?” you start off, facing him properly as you try reading his reactions, “that the simplest of gestures make their heart burst out of their chest to the point the sound of their heartbeat envelops them whole like a never-ending mantra? that their thoughts are constantly filled by that certain person, whether that be in the most inconvenient times or not? that they’d pray to the gods above for an inkling of reciprocation, even if it seems almost delusional.”

“then… i’d say they’re in love.” he breathes out his answer after thinking it through and you take a deep breath in return–preparing yourself for whatever may come after your next few words.

“i suppose that means i’m in love.” and for the first time tonight, your chest feels the burden slowly lift off like it was never there in the first place–the feeling of relief slowly but surely filling the hole that was once there. “and it just so happens that the person my heart yearns for is you. i understand if you’d like to maintain a certain distance from me after this.”

his eyes grow wider as you continued on, lips parting ever so slightly as he takes in your words. it’s the first time you’ve seen him rendered speechless, by you no less, but you suppose it’s only natural after hearing someone pour their feelings onto you out of the blue. you wait for him to recollect himself, exercising patience, but your habit of biting your lower lip had sohee knowing you were sitting in a pool of nerves.

curiosity peaks his interest and before he could stop himself, he’s already asking questions with doe eyes, ones you can’t deny even if that wasn’t his intention. “...since when?” 

“i’m not exactly sure,” you admit, your cheeks puffing up as if caught in the act of a secret.

“why?”

“i just do. please don’t make me say it again,” you plead, beginning to feel as though you were under the gentle scrutiny of an inquisitor.

“this isn’t some jest, is it?”

“does everything seem like a jest to you, lee?” you respond with a soft smile, tilting your head slightly.

“no, no!” he quickly counters with a small laugh, hoping you wouldn’t misunderstand. “i just needed to be certain.”

now it’s your turn to inquire, “because?”

“so i can say with certainty that—” you place a hand over his mouth, your face blooming with a deep blush as you turn your gaze away. “don’t… my heart can’t bear to hear you say it now. i’ve already reached my limit long ago,” you murmur with a pout, slowly lowering your hand. sohee takes this as an invitation and gently places a kiss upon your lips and despite it being brief, it was enough for you to understand his intentions.

a swirl of emotions rushes through you, bubbling up like tea in a pot. “h-hey! what if someone sees?” you exclaim in panic as you struggle to process the public display of affection. sohee simply regards you with the shrug of his shoulders. “then let them see?”

“you know that’s rather taboo in our society,” you remind him, touching your lips with a finger as if still in disbelief from earlier.

sohee stifles a laugh, though it escapes him in spite of his efforts. “since when did you care about the opinions of society’s circles?”

“be quiet, you,” you scold him gently, giving his shoulder a playful punch before he pulls you into a warm embrace. for a moment, you savor his closeness, though it's short-lived as it’s just in his system to tease you further. “to think this is what made you so moody,” he murmurs, leaning toward to bury his face in the crook of your neck before you pull away with a frown–much to his dismay.

“that’s enough! we’re heading back to the dining hall,” you declare, dismissing his attempt at further affection as he whines at the loss of contact, already walking away.

“hey!” he calls after you, taking quick strides to catch up. “one more kiss before we go in?”

you only shake your head with a smile, “okay, just one kiss.”

[chenlesfavorite]

[TEASER] love in the dark. lee haechan

— summary : you love haechan, you truly do, you wish to be with him till death do you part though your families aren't fond of each other and he can't officially court you, your meetings are always secret. but everything becomes complicated once your parents tell you that you're promised to a complete stranger.

— pairing : haechan x fem!reader

— genre : angst, forbidden romance, secret relationship, arranged marriage

— extra : regency era, oneshot/imagine, open ending

— author's note : it's my birthday and I promised I would upload an imagine... didn't say if it was gonna be the entire thing tho so here's a little teaser for it <3 the full imagine will be released once I'm back from my break :)

— teaser word count : 851 (final w.c will have around 3-4k)

reminder that this is pure fiction and not an actual depiction of how they act.

The ballroom is glittering under the golden shine of the grand chandelier hanging above, the violinists playing a melody fitting for the current waltz unraveling. Gowns twirling around as the gentlemen lead their ladies with grace.

Amidst the setting, you feel out of place, your heart weighing you down with the secrets you keep inside it. Your feet are moving along the rhythm of the waltz, but you're buried inside the garden in your mind.

Your eyes are drawn to the figure standing in the corner of the ballroom, his fingers delicately wrapping around the glass filled with the finest wine as his eyes that know your secret follow your every step.

Though you have not exchanged any words with him the entire evening, the tension was present and you know who the figure is. One might say you know him like you know the back of your hand.

The young gentleman you’re dancing with notices your breathing switching to a heavier pace, making your distracted self quite visible. “Lady L/N, are you feeling well?” The gentleman could not resist but ask, his expression carrying concern.

“Ah, I’m well. I just seem to be a little out of it as I’ve been on my feet all evening, pardon me.” You reply, your lips curling up into a smile as you do not wish to worry the gentleman.

Putting on a quick smile is no hard work for you, after all, you have learned the practice of masking your true feelings and intentions. But one person could see through that very easily and he was still watching you from the corner.

As the waltz draws to a close, the figure watching you makes his leave by going up the stairs. You are more than sure he’s going to the balcony. You politely curtsy to the gentleman who just danced with you and you excuse yourself from the ballroom floor, slipping through the sea of people.

At last, you reach the balcony, the cool breeze of the night hitting you and of course, your guess is right. He is here.

You did not think he would come tonight, especially considering his family did not receive an invitation to the ball due to your families not being fond of one another. But alas, that was stupid of you to even ponder about, after all, wherever you are, he will be there too.

“You should not be here, Haechan.” You say in a quiet tone, approaching him with a voice that carries the slightest anger in it, mixed with worry. “And yet,” He steps closer to you. “Here I am.” That cocky smirk appearing on his face, that smirk that just makes you want to hit him.

“You did not receive an invitation!” You exclaim, though by the looks of it, Haechan just did not seem to mind nor care, this is just a game to him. A game that he loves to play. “You think too little of me if you believe an invitation could keep me from you.” He replies, his voice a soft murmur. The moonlight cast a glow over him and his eyes showed a glimmer of mischief.

You step back, the railing of the balcony pressing against your back— your breath catching in your throat. “Haechan, if anyone were to see us— if they were to know you are here—”

Your words are cut off and a light gasp escapes your lips as he holds onto the railing, trapping you in between his arms. Your eyes lock onto his, his stare sending a shiver down your spine. “Let them see, let them know,” He whispers in your ear, his low tone sounding alluring.

“I care not for their gossip, nor for the rules of society. I care only for you.” Haechan leaves those words lingering in your mind as he starts to look directly at you. You narrow your eyes, a light scoff coming from you despite the red color rushing to your cheeks. “You think this is just some grand jest, don’t you? Do you have any clue of what you risk— what we risk?”

Haechan lets out a chuckle, his breath warm against your cheek. “Risk? I risk nothing. It is you who risks everything.” He pauses before continuing. “Your reputation, your family’s pride, their plans for your future... and yet,” His voice softens. “Here you are.”

Your heart starts to pound heavily in your chest, the anger in you battling with something deeper that was inside of you, something so dangerous. You search his face for any signs of seriousness behind that smug facade of his.

You lightly push him away as you clear your voice. “I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have followed you.” You say, turning away from him as you start to head for the doors of the balcony.

“But you did, you smile and dance for the others but you always come back to me because you know your heart belongs to me.” His voice fades away as you rush back inside the manor, the heat becoming very evident on your face.

[TO BE CONTINUED]

[wooataes]

in case of emergency - ljh

Pairing: Lee Jihoon x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: angst, slight comfort, one swear

Summary: an emergency backpack makes Jihoon’s day a little brighter.

A/N: this is a story I’ve had in my docs for nearly 4 years so I repurposed it into a Jihoon oneshot to get rid of my writers block lmao enjoy!

- Tae 🩷🌸✨

Masterlist

“Jihoon-ah?” An unknown voice filled Jihoon’s ears as he held the phone to his ear.

“Hyung,” his soft voice croaked.

“You’re calling fairly early. It’s not even 2pm yet. How was your date?”

Jihoon was holding a single rose in his hand, taking long strides towards the train station with a defeated look on his face as he let his legs take him to where he needed to go. To say he was disappointed was an understatement. No, he was crushed, if he was completely honest. But he wouldn’t let Seungcheol know that.

Said date was supposed to start at 12pm sharp. He didn’t know what he did wrong to make her stand him up. He did everything correct, he believed. She had given him her number, he was never disrespectful in their texts, and he was a complete gentleman to her. Her texts from the night before lead him to believe she was eager to see him again too. After a simple suggestion by her for a coffee date to get to know each other, Jihoon was disappointed as he sat and waited in the booth for over an hour before deciding to give up with slumped shoulders and a bruised ego. To top it all off, Jihoon had to get caught in a fucking heavy downpour of rain without and umbrella as he made his next move.

What a fucking day.

“I’ll be there in a few hours. I’ll text you.” Jihoon sighed quietly as he placed his phone back into his pocket, stepping onto the train, oblivious to the state that he’s in.

With a frown, he paced past each cart, frown only deepening when he sees almost every one full. Of course it’s his luck that on the one stormy day that he gets rejected and drenched with rain, he’d end up on the full train with standing room left.

Finally, with a grateful sigh, he sees the last cart has only one occupant, chewing his lip as he stepped inside, opening the door a fraction to see you alone.

Your head stays down, long curls curtailing your face from Jihoon, not noticing his presence as your pencil moves carelessly along your sheet of paper.

“Excuse me,” his voice is soft and timid as he steps into the cart. “May I?” He gestures to the empty double seat across from you. “Everywhere else is full.”

Jihoon is shocked as your head lifts, adjusting your glasses as a small gasp falls from your pink lips. It was only then Jihoon realized his appearance. His grey T-shirt was now sticking to him, leather jacket just as tight as his drenched hair flops hazardously over his eyes. He almost flinches as you jump up quickly, discarding your fluffy wool sweater and taking a hold of his wrists, gently placing him down in your seat and sitting your coat on his knee. Wordlessly, he watches as you grab a small pink backpack from the ground, opening it up and pulling out a soft while towel and passing it to him with a sweet smile as he just stares in confusion.

“You’re the first person I can use my emergency backpack on, congratulations.” You smiled softly as he just stares. “Umbrella, spare towels, bandages, even a packed lunch, everything you could think of in an emergency.”

Jihoon was in awe. You were the first person today who had lent a kind hand to him, and he could feel the overwhelming emotions bubble in his chest.

“Please, put that sweater on,” you insisted quietly. “You’ll catch pneumonia otherwise.”

“Oh god, I’m in your seat…” Jihoon stuttered quietly as he began to rise.

“It’s directly under the heating. You need to dry.” You waved your hand dismissively, a grin washing over your features. “Please, use whatever you need.” You placed the backpack by his feet, Jimin chewing on his lip.

Come on, Jihoon, he thought to himself as he slipped the jacket off his shoulders, only to be filled with the warmth of your sweater seconds later, you can’t let your emotions get the best of you. Especially in front of a cute girl. He was shocked at his own thoughts, having been rejected mere minutes ago by another girl.

Jihoon softly started to pat down his damp hair with the towel, giving you a small but grateful smile in the process. You simply smile back, curling up on the seats opposite him and fiddling with the pencil in your hand. Jihoon couldn’t help but take in your appearance as you distracted yourself with your book. Thick rimmed glasses framed your round face perfectly, your light eyes scanning over your book. Your long hair, now having curled from the rain, sat against your shoulders as your foot bounced to an unknown beat, a soft hum complimenting the silence through your lips quietly. You were now only wearing a plain white shirt with a black skirt with pastel pink hearts adorning the fabric, complimenting your whole look with your pastel pink converse. Jihoon felt his cheeks flush when he noticed the small rose tattooed ever so delicately against the crook of where your inner arm meets your elbow, feeling himself shift in his seat as he looks at the drenched and wilted rose on the empty seat beside him, only reminding him of his shitty day he had experienced.

“Hmm.. fate?” Your voice breaks the silence as Jihoon’s dark eyes met yours in confusion. You gestured to the rose beside him and the one embedded in your arm, a small smile forming on your lips. “The rose. Maybe it’s fate we met.” You joked with a soft giggle as he gave you a quiet smile. “Sorry,” You whispered after a beat. “You seem like you’ve had a rough day..” you trailed off.

“Oh, no,” Jihoon interrupted quickly, neatly folding the towel and placing it on the seat beside him. “It’s actually helping, joking around.” He smiled a bit brighter now. “Thank you, again.. for the,” he gestured to the backpack, “emergency things.” He let the warmth of your sweater take over him, finally settling into his seat. “It’s nice to see someone worried about others. It’s refreshing.”

“That’s what I aim for!” Your bright grin lights up the whole room, Jihoon’s soul included as he can’t help but chuckle to himself. People like you were hard to come by, he thought to himself. Not many girls are so sweet and caring to others. You seemed the type to be so trusting and welcoming to others. “You don’t mind if I hum, do you? I tend to sing or hum while I work..” your cheeks start to turn a soft shade of pink. “I can stay quiet if you’d like to be alone with your thoughts.”

“No,” Jihoon smiled as he let his head rest on the window. “That’s fine, I think it’d make me feel a bit better, if you don’t mind, of course.” He chuckled at your relieved smile adorning your face, nodding softly as you turned to a fresh page of your book, your eyes sharp as you began to work.

“So, what brings you on this serendipitous ride to Busan, good sir?” You hum, not lifting your head as you scribble on your page. “Sorry, I should’ve asked for your name.”

“Jihoon.” He responds quietly, letting the warmth run through his body as it heats him up. “Ah.. decided to travel back home and see a friend of mine who lives there.”

“That’s always exciting, though.” You smile. “It’s always good to catch up with friends.”

Jihoon sighs for a moment. You’re so optimistic. He wishes he was feeling as optimistic as you were after his failed date.

“Yeah, that is true.” He agrees, his eyes fluttering shut. He feels a little guilty, letting sleep take over him so quickly. He feels like he should make more conversation with the kind stranger, but you don’t seem to mind, going back to humming and drawing as he falls into a dreamless sleep.

When Jihoon stirs and opens his eyes, he’s surprised to hear the voice of the conductor over the speaker announce that they have pulled into Busan Station. He quickly begins to rise from his seat before frowning in confusion.

There’s a heavy weight against him. He looks down to see a small blanket draped on him, probably from the emergency backpack you had given him. At the thought of you, he turns to look at the now empty seat across from him where you once sat.

He is a bit disappointed, he wanted to at least know your name to thank you for your small act of kindness. He frowns as he sees a single folded piece of paper and a now dried out rose sitting on top. Jihoon reaches out to take the rose, recognizing it as the rose he had on him as he boarded the train. He turns it over in his fingers for a moment before unfolding the piece of paper. His eyes widen as he sees a roughly scribbled sketch of himself leaning against the window of the train, watching the scenery go by. It is near perfect, in his opinion, and he is in awe by your skill. Looking down in the bottom right hand corner, Jihoon sees a small note.

Jihoon,

I hope your day gets better. Keep the backpack, please.

Sorry if this was insanely creepy. :)

Y/N.

He raises his eyebrows at your neat handwriting, his fingertips tracing over your name quietly with a little smile before quickly stuffing the blanket and your sweater into the backpack still by his feet to get off the train at the sounding of the last calls resounding over the speaker.

“Hey.” Seungcheol smiled as he spots his friend making his way towards him. “How was the trip?”

“Ah, was fine.” Jihoon hums, holding the small pink backpack over his shoulder as his friend’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Why did you bring a pink bag with you?”

“Oh.” He laughs, awkwardly tucking his hair behind his ear. “‘S a long story.”

“Ohhhkay.” Seungcheol looks confused but shrugs when he sees the contentment on Jihoon’s face.

“Are we ready to go?”

“Almost.” Seungcheol keeps looking around at the countless people walking around the meeting area. “My cousin is here somewhere too. We gotta pick her up and take her back to mine. Is that alright?”

“Sure.” He agrees quickly. “I technically hijacked your weekend anyway.”

“Oppa!” A happy voice calls out as Seungcheol chuckles, opening out his arms as he readies himself.

“Hey, you!” He calls, laughing as he scoops his cousin into his arms, Jihoon staring with wide eyes.

“Jihoon-ah,” Seungcheol grins as he places his cousin on the ground. “This is-”

“Y/N.”

Permanent Taglist

@misshale21 @etaerealboy @kawennote09 @im-gemmy @devinkelsey19 @woozieeeee @loveless-lie @lixiel0ver @keymins @nen-nyy @lisaaaaamanobannn @i-dont-give-a-fok @miriamxsworld @jovialpartyneckoaf @jojowantstocry @roe-sinning @sarahisupset

Jihoon Taglist

@breakfastburritosattiffanys @mar-627 @milopenne @lanatheawesome @sunnynapp @jaeminsbuckethat @iarayara @opheliaas-stuff @hotricewoozi @beardedartgamingbakery

[sleeping-sirens]

lips ღ lee jeno

pairing : jeno x fem reader (reader is called sweetheart but could also be gn)

genre : soulmate!au (telepathy + matching tattoos + healing bond + mind reading), established relationship, fluff, romance, a bit of angst if you squint.

summary : jeno had come yet again from another one of his underground fights, all bruised and scratched up and reader is so worried about him.

word count : 1944 words.

warnings : mentions of blood, injuries, wounds, kisses, slightly suggestive towards the end.

a/n : i wrote this oneshot back in 2021 :0 so not that proud of it :(

i’m publishing it here mainly for 🍬 anon! thank you for your sweet words and encouragement, hope you like it 😔

masterlist

buy me a coffee 🥹🫶🏼

Heart racing inside your chest, you're pacing around the room while nervously fiddling with your fingers. A deep sigh leaves your clogged throat, wanting nothing more than to crumble and succumb to your sobs.

Your lips are bruised by now from how much you've been biting on them for the past hour. Your eyes roam around the room feeling lost in a world of your own, fear and worrisome bubbling from the pit of your stomach and crawling up your throat, lining your eyes with tears. You don't want to let your weakness take over you. At least not until he comes back.

The black screen of the TV is matching the sky outside, dark and lonely with only you in the middle, not knowing what to do and how to react. The broadcast has ended long ago, and you're now just waiting impatiently for Jeno to return home.

The clock hanging on the wall behind you seems to tick more slowly than ever, the sound of it resonating in the eerily silent living room, conducting an irregular melody with your staggering breaths accompanied by your crazy heartbeats.

Without noticing, your teeth take your fingers hostage, your nerves weighing down on you and tugging on your heartstrings like it's their last lap in a competitive race with nobody but you. Anxiety clouds your mind with thoughts that refrain you from thinking straight. On top of being worried about him, you're furious at yourself for being in this state while he needs you the most right now.

Taking your head in between your hands, you clasp the sides of your face and shut your eyes, completely messed up and failing at concentrating on what you should do. With many attempts at activating your telepathy connection with Jeno, you fall victim to the trap made only by you.

When you hear faint knocks on the door, you stumble around to open it. Your eyes meet two pairs of eyes already looking at you with pain swirling inside them, anticipating your reaction. In the middle of your frenzied state, you notice the slumped body squished between Doyoung and Jaemin, shoulders dropping as if he has no bones to hold his muscles up and head looking down feebly.

Your arms fly to your soulmate, and you hug him tightly, forgetting about his bruised body, and he lets out a pained wince, causing you to take a step back and open the door wider for his friends to get him inside the house. Pressing your lips together to conceal the sob that wants to leave your body, you heavy-heartedly look at him struggling to walk on his feet.

They gently put him down on the couch, tucking his shivering body under the fuzzy blanket that you had already prepared for him. You saunter to the kitchen and pull a bottle of water from the fridge, returning quickly to the living room before you crouch down in front of him, handing the bottle to him.

Unable to make a move, Jeno only lifts his arm to shield his eyes from the blinding lights assaulting his blurry vision. Concern filling you to the brim, you sigh, lowering your head on the couch, reaching over to hold his hand.

Doyoung nudges Jaemin and they both exchange knowing gazes, silently getting out of the apartment and leaving you two alone.

"My precious boy..." You whisper, getting closer to Jeno's burning body and brushing the blue strands of hair sticking to his forehead from sweat.

"Can you please turn off the lights?" He croaks out gruffly, voice hoarse and weak from the lack of energy in his body.

You immediately oblige and run back to him, only having the side lamp as a source of light. You hesitantly push his arm away from his eyes so that you can see his face. His eyes gently open to focus on you, but in vain, your face still looks blurry to him. Jeno throws his head back with a groan, doubling his efforts to sit up straight on the couch.

"Come here," He welcomes you to his stretched arms and you carefully join him, cocooning yourself in his warm embrace.

"I'm sorry I couldn't keep you company on your way back," You shyly admit. "I couldn't bring myself to concentrate."

"It's okay, sweetheart." Jeno winces in pain when he wraps his arms around you and you worriedly look up at him.

You can clearly see his face now. Bloody scratches are littering his entire face, some cuts too deep with dried blood circling them, and some still fresh and glistening with crimson. The corner of his left eye is turning blue as your eyes travel all over his face, and when your vision settles down, you see the corner of his lips bruised and damaged badly than the other parts of his face.

Sensing you looking at him, Jeno glances down at you and tries his hardest to smile at you without triggering his wounds, but he fails badly, which causes him to groan and hiss at how painful his injuries are. Your fingers hesitantly fly up to his lips, gently skimming over the dried blood, and he closes his eyes, concentrating on your healing touch.

Your senses perk up and you close your eyes to activate the healing bond between you and your soulmate, scooting your body as close to his as possible, uniting your emotions and thoughts and making your souls feel like one.

Jeno hums in contentment, feeling the bond gradually getting to every injury and bruise in his body, sucking in the warmth you're spreading all over him and healing him in more ways than one. He's feeling grateful to have you by his side when he needs you the most, and he wants you to know just that.

"I'm sorry," He suddenly says, leaning his head on top of yours that's resting on his shoulders, and caressing your side with the gentle tips of his fingers.

You heavily sigh, not wanting to break weak in front of him again. Not because he hates it or because you feel ashamed, but this isn't the first time he's come home all scratched up and you have to heal him.

You're always worrying about him during and after each fight.

You have made your opinion about him doing underground fighting clearer than the gleaming linings of the moon that you both have as a soulmate symbol on your wrists, glowing upon your skins and defining you, and bonding you in the universe until the end of times.

The last thing you both want is to upset the other and as much as he knows how much you don't like what he's doing, he can't stop it, and you can't force him to. At first, it was hard to accept it and you guys have had countless fights over this, but as your bond grew strong, your love grew unconditional that you just couldn't let anything separate you.

You're not ready for such heartbreak.

"You don't have to apologize every time you come home after a fight."

"Yes, but-"

"No buts please," you silence him gently. "I'm not mad at you and I will never get mad at you, baby."

"But you're worried now." He insists.

"I'm not." You avoid his eyes.

Jeno bites his lower lips before gliding his tongue across the surface, placing his index and middle finger under your chin to lift your head up. He anchors his piercingly soft gaze on you and you can't help but maintain the eye contact with him, heat slowly bubbling inside your tummy and traveling up your body to reach your face, tinting your cheeks with a rosy blush.

"Don't lie to me," He whispers, leaning his face closer to yours until you're a breath away from each other. You unconsciously part your lips and close your eyes, enjoying his heavy and warm closeness. “I can read your mind."

"I know," you breathe out. "But I also want you to know that I'm not mad and I will never be mad at you for choosing to do something you love. Yes, I get worried, sometimes I feel like my heart will burst out of my chest when I'm watching your fights broadcasts, but I will never force you to stop."

Jeno keeps looking at you with glistening eyes, admiring your supportive words of encouragement and falling deeper and more in love with you than he has ever been. The feelings thumping through his heart with every beat strengthen the soulmate bond, making your own heart speed up its race and causing your breath to hitch inside your throat.

The fingers caressing your chin travel up your face, delivering feather-like touches that leave your skin burning with a new fiery glaze that naturally pulls your body closer to him.

His thumb runs down the side of your face before settling down on your bottom lip, anticipation building up inside of you with every passing second and as Jeno grazes the pad of his finger over your bottom lip, you let out a hitched breath before gaining control over the situation and pulling away from him.

"I really want to kiss you right now," Jeno admits, looking deeply into your eyes and not planning to look anywhere else but at you.

"Your lip is bruised," you reply with a concern-filled voice, and Jeno shakes his head at that.

"Kiss me to make it better." He brushes his nose with yours and slides his arm up from your waist to secure it on the back of your neck. "It'll speed up the healing process."

Before you get the chance to refuse, Jeno's lips softly lay on top of yours. At this moment, nothing matters as you let yourself free fall in love with the softness of his cushion-like lips.

At first, he starts slowly, making sure not to get ahead of himself and feel the pain of the cuts lining his lips. He delivers small kisses, guiding you slowly until you fall into a rhythmic momentum and you both relish in the melodious harmony blooming from within your bond.

Little by little, you both start to feel greedy. It's like your lips have a mind of their own, guiding your bodies even closer together. You place your palms on his chest, the crazy beats of his heart speaking to you from under his skin-tight black shirt.

His staccato breaths send your mind into overdrive and you mindlessly let out a satisfied hum, igniting a fire inside of him he doesn't think he can control. Having you under his arms, with your lips molding against his and your heated body clinging onto his is only encouraging him to push you back on the sofa, landing gently on top of you.

The closeness between you two is helping his body heal faster than he expected. With gentle yet deep kisses, Jeno gets all the energy he needs and you're there to give it all to him.

"I love you." He whispers in between kisses. "So, so much."

Nobody says that love is easy, but when it's with the right person, it exceeds all the boundaries and restrictions and conquers it all.

And as Jeno pulls away from your lips, eyes closed, chest heaving and face heated, you glance up at him with astonishment and appreciation because if he weren't your soulmate, you'd break all the rules just to find him and love him again and again.

"Now that I've secured yet another win," he starts, smiling gently yet sinfully. "Let's celebrate, our own way."

[urauntiefaye]

Faye, are you still opening your requests? If still, i want to share my thoughts, I want you to write it into a oneshot😙. (Yk i love my man jo👀)

scenario/storyline Jo's jealous sex when he saw me perform a duet with a sexy concept with Myung Jaehyun (BoNeDo) on the MAMA stage🌚

Jaehyun and I are one year apart, and I'm the same age as Jo in this plot✨. Ugh, I'm curious about your writing from my hard thoughts (Aka I want to know your version). Your oneshot about jealous Lee-Han is really good huhu🥺. It really feels hard smut when you make the Lee-Han version, especially without protection👁️👄👁️ (I'm quite surprised that someone requested that abt lee-han😭)

Slow it Down: Jo One Shot(🔞)

Title: Slow it Down

CW: choking, mention of Jaehyun from Boynextdoor, DomJo, fem/afab, unprotected sex, spanking like once, let me know if I missed anything.

WC: 446

A/N: I tried man, I hope you like it 😭, ngl I feel like I might have rushed this, I’m working on another Jo fic though that might take me forever to write tbh.

To say that Jo was pissed would be an understatement, he was beyond pissed, after seeing your little dance with Jaehyun during Mama had really set him off. Now he knew that you would be doing a duet with him, but he did not know that the duet would involve you practically grinding your body on Jaehyun. Your hands were tied above your head, your legs pushed up against your chest as Jo relentlessly thrusted into you. “J-jo, slow down, to’much~” you pathetically moan out only to have Jo respond by landing a harsh slap to your already sore ass. His hips never once slowing down, instead picking up the pace even more which you didn’t even think was possible.“He touched what’s mine” Jo grunted out between harsh, sharp thrust. Your moans echoed through out the room following the squelching sound of his dick ramming into your tight wet hole. He wrapped his hand around your throat adding slight pressure, his possessive nature started to take over. He leaned closer to you, his chest flushed against yours his lips barely just brushing against yours as he made you look him in the eyes ``no one touches what’s mine”. His words made you clench around him, mind going blank as the pleasure became overwhelming. You soon became a blubbering mess, trying to plead with him but not a single word came out. Jo could tell that you were close from how your legs started to quiver, his slim fingers darted your clit and rubbed quick circles. His actions caused you to arch your back, your breath hitched in the back of your throat. “Cum baby, cum on dick~” he groaned out, His hips practically jackhammering into you as he was also close to cumming, your body not being able to keep up, shaking in pure ecstasy as your walls spammed out of control around his cock. Both you and Jo lost in the pleasure you didn’t know that he had already come to you, the thick seed leaking out making more of a mess between your legs. He didn’t let up his thrust however, instead becoming more desperate, “f-fuck, such a filthy whore, taking all of my cum” he groaned into your ear, your body convulsing even more as another orgasm washed over your body. Jo rammed his hips into your more, after one last powerful thrust he emptied himself inside you, your pussy taking every last drop. He rubbed your sides as he peppered soft kisses around your face, stilling all movements but not pulling out. Despite both you being sweaty messes you choose to stay in each other’s arms soon falling asleep while cockwarmimg.

[random-imagines-blog]

Celebrity Masterlist (L-Z)

In an attempt to organize the blog and keep everything in order, masterlists are being made to join together into a masterlist of masterlists to make it easier for those on mobile. Thanks for being patient!

smut is indicated with a ⭐

Lee Pace

Oneshots

To Die For

Imagines

Imagine Lee Pace listening along to the bedtime story you’re reading your kids.

Imagine Lee Pace wanting to talk to you but he keeps being called away to set.

Imagine constantly making fun of Lee Pace’s wig on set.

Imagine going to a waterpark with Lee Pace, and his expression when he first sees you in your bathing suit.

Imagine marrying Lee Pace.

Luke Evans

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine helping Luke Evans pick out his outfit of the day.

Imagine Luke Evans surprising you on Valentines Day with chocolate and candy.

Imagine impulsively inviting Luke Evans to go skinny-dipping with you.

Margot Robbie

Oneshots

Run To You

Imagines

Mark Ruffalo

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine showing Mark Ruffalo your more spontaneous side.

Imagine Mark Ruffalo meeting your parents.

Imagine watching the sunset with Mark Ruffalo.

Michael Fassbender

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine watching old movies with Michael Fassbender.

Imagine Michael Fassbender trying to make you blush from across the room.

Miscellaneous

Oneshots

Calling All Heroes (Avengers Cast)

Animal (Avengers Cast)

Imagines

Imagine the rest of the Avengers cast finding out you’re a self-harmer.

Imagine your co-workers on the Avengers films confronting you about your eating disorder.

Imagine the Marvel cast finding out you’re suicidal.

Nathan Fillion

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine constantly being late to events because Nathan always wants you.

Imagine Nathan Fillion forgetting that it’s your anniversary.

Noel Fielding

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Noel Fielding being captivated at first sight.

Imagine always being able to make Noel Fielding laugh.

Imagine making Noel Fielding’s birthday cake.

Imagine hitting it off with Noel Fielding on The Great British Bake-Off.

Norman Reedus

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Norman Reedus catching sight of you for the first time after the hard break up.

Imagine domestic life with Norman Reedus.

Imagine helping Norman find a good place to hide from Paparazzi.

Imagine Norman Reedus trying to tell you that he loves you but having difficulty.

Orlando Bloom

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Orlando Bloom talking about meeting you on the set of LOTR.

Imagine getting stuck in a tree with Orlando Bloom.

Imagine being at a fair with Orlando Bloom.

Owen Wilson

Oneshots

Flight Connection

Imagines

Patrick Dempsey

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Patrick Dempsey showing up too early for dinner and seeing you in just a towel.

Robert Downey Jr

Oneshots

Ambulances (Teen!Reader!Mentor)

Imagines

Ruby Rose

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Ruby Rose catching you crying.

Imagine blurting out to Ruby Rose that you love her.

Imagine living with Ruby Rose and sharing a bathroom.

Rupert Grint

Oneshots

In the Nightside of Eden

Imagines

Russell Crowe

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine a midnight drive with Russell Crowe.

Ryan Reynolds

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine the moment Ryan Reynolds realizes he wants to marry you.

Imagine Ryan Reynolds taking you to a fair and taking care of you when you get dizzy.

Imagine Ryan Reynolds running into car trouble while taking you on vacation.

Scarlett Johansson

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Scarlett Johansson becoming a motherly figure to you.

Sebastian Stan

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Sebastian Stan taking sign language classes for you.

Imagine Sebastian Stan trying to entice you into joining his photoshoot.

Imagine Sebastian Stan coming to visit you in your small town.

Imagine Sebastian Stan really enjoying spending time with you.

Imagine being sick, and Sebastian Stan constantly checking on you.

Timothee Chalamet

Oneshots

This is the Place

Imagines

Tom Cruise

Oneshots

The Fix

Breathless

Shine

If Ever

Certain Needs

Imagines

Imagine spending Christmas with Tom Cruise.

Imagine Tom Cruise taking care of you when you’re sick.

Imagine your family being formed around Top Gun.

Imagine being comforted by Tom Cruise.

Imagine falling in love with Tom Cruise.

Imagine having a child with Tom Cruise.

Imagine getting pregnant with Tom Cruise’s child.

Imagine Tom Cruise acting as the ‘dancer’ at your Bachelorette Party.

Imagine Tom Cruise taking care of you when you’re scared of getting your heart broken.

Imagine Tom Cruise surprising you with a new bag.

Imagine staying at a winter resort with Tom Cruise.

Imagine spending Valentine’s Day with Tom Cruise.

Imagine being caught with Tom Cruise in public.

Imagine going on a walk with Tom Cruise.

Tom Hiddleston

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine an eccentric director putting you and Tom into a house to test chemistry.

Imagine constantly teasing Tom in interviews.

Imagine working with Tom Hiddleston on a horror film.

Imagine Tom Hiddleston approaching you at a bookstore.

Imagine walking in the rain, and Tom Hiddleston spots you and saves you from the cold with his umbrella.

Tom Holland

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine being silly at a con with your coworker Tom Holland.

Tom Sturridge

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Tom Sturridge having a crush on you.

Imagine having a late breakfast with Tom Sturridge.

Imagine being Tom Sturridge’s wife and finding out you’re pregnant.

Walton Goggins

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine meeting Walton Goggins on set, and falling in love.

Zachary Quinto

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine hiring a sky-writer for Zachary Quinto’s birthday.

Imagine making Zachary Quinto laugh during an interview.

[c0ffee-gh0ul]

lucas and wallace fluff?? omg why arent people shipping these twooooo

i know!!!! this is such an underrated ship, but i ship it!!

ONESHOT: LUCAS LEE X WALLACE WELLS FLUFF

Wallace and Lucas were about to have their first official date. Sure, they had hung out before this, and talked on the phone, but today, they would be sitting down at a restaurant having a nice meal. It was nothing crazy, just Sneaky Dee’s.

Wallace was getting ready, waiting for Lucas to pick him up. Finally, a boyfriend with a car. He was starting to hate walking everywhere, especially in the bite of the Toronto cold.

“Hurry up, Wallace! I need to pee!” Scott said from the other side of the bathroom door. Wallace ignored him as he kept fixing his hair in the mirror and sprayed cologne on his body. Once he finally did exit the bathroom, Scott ran in there as if he hadn’t peed in a year.

Wallace was nervous. He usually wasn’t nervous on dates. But, he really liked Lucas. Maybe he was the one.

“Why are you pacing?” Scott asked as he exited the bathroom. Wallace didn’t even realize he started doing that. “Are you nervous or something? You’re making me a little dizzy…”

“I guess I am,” He admitted. “I’m never nervous. That’s usually you! Oh, god…”

“Dude, chill,” Scott chuckled, taking Wallace by the shoulders. “Just, um, don’t drink too much, and… Be yourself…? I don’t know, I’m not good at this kind of stuff…”

“Yeah, thanks captain obvious,” Wallace replied. His pacing and timid thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell ringing. “It’s him!”

“Go get 'em!” Scott cheered.

Wallace grabbed his coat and opened the door to reveal Lucas’s tall stature standing in the doorway. “You look great,” He smiled.

“So do you,” Wallace replied.

“Shall we?” Lucas offered his hand for Wallace to take and he accepted.

“Romantically cliche, are we?” Wallace remarked, closing the apartment door behind him.

“I want to impress a man on our first official date, don’t I?” Lucas opened the car door for Wallace and he stepped in.

Lucas drove them to Sneaky Dee’s, which was only about 5 minutes away. Once they sat down at their table, they started reading the menus to themselves and engaging in small talk.

“What are you gonna order?” Lucas asked.

“I dunno… Probably a martini and maybe a tasteful pasta,” Wallace replied.

“Tasteful is a strong word for this place,” Lucas chuckled.

“Well, yeah, tasteful for this place,” Wallace chuckled back. “Slightly undercooked, either over or under seasoned, no in between… And hopefully still hot by the time it gets to the table.”

Once they were waiting for their food, Lucas took Wallace’s hand in his from across the table.

“This is really nice, y’know? I’ve never really been on a real date before,” He admitted.

“Look at you, being soft,” Wallace teased. “I’ve been on a few real dates, but they all kind of sucked.”

“This one won’t suck, I’ll make sure of it,” Lucas smiled. “Speaking of which… I got you something.” He dug through his pockets searching for a small gift.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Wallace was already taken aback by Lucas’s efforts.

“I saw it and it made me think of you,” Lucas revealed a bracelet with blue and black beads on it. “It’s the evil eye, it’s for protection against… Like, everything. Plus, blue is your favorite color, right?”

“It is, yeah,” Wallace was astonished. No one had ever given him a gift on a first date, or any date. He gently took the bracelet from Lucas’s palm and put it on. “This is so thoughtful… Since when do you know about crystals and evil eyes and things?”

“I was hanging out with Todd… I guess he’s into that stuff,” Lucas replied.

Wallace looked up and gazed into Lucas’s eyes. The connection between the two of them was like a magnetic pull. They smiled at each other and their gazing was abruptly interrupted by the waiter placing their food on the table.

“Thank you,” They said to the waiter simultaneously, snapping out of their trance.

Their meals sort of matched their personalities. Wallace did end up ordering a small pasta dish. It was light and slightly dainty, like him. Lucas ordered a burger. It wasn’t super sloppy or greasy, but it was big and full of toppings.

“It’s usually not polite to get a messy meal on the first date, y’know,” Wallace teased.

“Can you blame me? Look how good this looks!” Lucas argued. “Though, your pasta does look good.”

“You want a bite?” Wallace asked.

“Sure,” Lucas agreed.

Wallace stuck a piece of penne on his fork and fed it to Lucas. “I was hoping you’d say yes just so I could do that,” He admitted, a flirtatious look on his face.

“This is really good, you made a good choice,” Lucas said, mid-chew. “And, maybe I said yes hoping you’d do that.”

The meal went on, and they talked and laughed, and Wallace got a little tipsy. 

“Oh, you got something on your face,” Wallace said, taking a napkin to Lucas’s cheek.

“And I’m the cliche one?” Lucas joked.

Once they left, Lucas drove Wallace home and they sat in his car for a moment.

“I had a lot of fun,” Lucas smiled. “We should do it again.”

“Absolutely,” Wallace replied. “That was the best date I’ve ever been on.”

Lucas was proud of himself. He kept smiling, which made Wallace smile, too. Their gazing trance started again, and Lucas decided to go for it. He kissed Wallace. Wallace was shocked at first, but he kissed back.

“Damn,” He sighed after the kiss. “You’re a great kisser.”

“And you’re slightly drunk,” Lucas laughed. “Do you want me to walk you to the door?”

“No, no, I’ll be fine. Scott’s still awake,” Wallace insisted. “I’ll call you!” He said, getting out of the car.

“How was it?” Scott asked as soon as Wallace walked through the door.

“It was…” Wallace sighed, plopping himself onto the armchair. “The dreamiest date ever.”

“Dreamy? At Sneaky Dee’s?” Scott questioned.

“As dreamy as a Sneaky Dee’s date could be!” Wallace giggled.

[kazoosandfannypacks]

summary: 

 "Of all the mindless, idiotic, pointless, senseless, half-brained, dim-witted, bone-headed, just downright stupid things that Ezra had done in the last seven years since Sabine met him, this one was the biggest one.

 It would've been okay if he'd just not told her how he felt. She didn't mind the mixed signals when he even told her it was okay with him if she went out with Tarik. 

 But then, for whatever reason, Ezra had somehow convinced himself it was a good idea to show up at the restaurant with arm candy of his own— one of the catty Togruta sisters who was more than excited for a "front row seat to the Rebellion's second favorite 'will they/won't they.'"

 Sabine's own date had been stupid enough to let them make it a double date— and that stupidity combined with Ezra's own was a recipe for disaster."

and the argument that follows in its aftermath.

word count: 1.6K

a/n: my mom's been rewatching the jonas brothers tv show, and the first season is one of my silly little comfort shows, so i've enjoyed joining her for it when i can. a couple weeks ago while watching an episode, i heard the dialogue "what about a guy NOT asking a girl out because he likes her, huh? have you EVER stopped to consider that?" "that makes LITERALLY NO SENSE!" and i couldn't help but think of sabezra, so decided to make a oneshot based on this episode. most of the initial dialogue and actions is pulled from the show directly, but everything past sabine's "i see your point," is kazzy original material because the rest didn't give enough closure for a oneshot.

takes place post canon in an au where ezra did not get purrgiled. shoutout to @kanerallels, as always, for betaing! also, huge shoutout to @jessicas-pi for letting me borrow a couple of her ocs! you can read more about them in her absolute masterpiece of a story, commit to the bit!

taglist:@laughingphoenixleader  @accidental-spice @kanerallels @piraterefrigerator @jedi-nurse @dootchster @lucasbridger  @redroverrider @light-umbra @commander-tech {if you’d like to be added to or removed from my Sabezra taglist, let me know!}

also on ao3!

We Gotta Work This Out

 Of all the mindless, idiotic, pointless, senseless, half-brained, dim-witted, bone-headed, just downright stupid things that Ezra had done in the last seven years since Sabine met him, this one was the biggest one.

 "If he didn't want me to go out with Tarik, he could've just said something, instead of butting into my social life like that," Sabine thought, fists clenched as she paced around The Ghost, "and if he wanted to be part of my social life, he should just say it."

 The past few months, Ezra had let hints of his feelings for her drop on more than one occasion, and she hadn't exactly been subtle about how she felt either. And yet, Ezra hadn't asked her out yet, and Tarik had, so of course, she'd said yes. She couldn't wait around forever just for Ezra to not say anything at all.

 It would've been okay if he'd just not told her how he felt. She didn't mind the mixed signals when he even told her it was okay with him if she went out with Tarik. 

 But then, for whatever reason, Ezra had somehow convinced himself it was a good idea to show up at the restaurant with arm candy of his own— one of the catty Togruta sisters who was more than excited for a "front row seat to the Rebellion's second favorite 'will they/won't they.'"

 Sabine's own date had been stupid enough to let them make it a double date— and that stupidity combined with Ezra's own was a recipe for disaster.

 Predictably, the romantic evening had fallen apart like a cheap ration bar. It started small, with a few clever and cutting remarks between Sabine and Ezra, but it ended with what would've been a not-so-friendly sparring match, if Am-Lee hadn't defused by asking them to pause so the holo of the moment she took for her gossip chain didn't turn out blurry. But instead of giving Ezra the butt-whooping he deserved, Sabine then took the high ground and told Tarik to take her home immediately.

 Unfortunately for both of them, home for Sabine didn't actually get her any further from Ezra, and as soon as he'd dropped off his date and returned to The Ghost, Sabine was waiting for him, arms crossed, not even having taken the time to change out of the dress she'd worn for her date.

 "What's up?" Ezra shrugged, using a casual saunter to hide how steamed up he still was.

 "'What's up?'" Sabine scoffed, "like you don't know 'what's up?' I don't understand how you could be so conceited, and selfish, and just thoughtless."

 "Yeah?" Ezra responded in kind, as though well prepared for her harsh words, "well, you are stuck-up, pretentious, and totally gorgeous."

 No insult he could've said would've thrown her off more than that last word.

 "Gorgeous?" Sabine asked.

 "What?" Ezra scowled.

 "You just said I was gorgeous," Sabine shook her head.

 "I meant adorable," Ezra poorly tried to cover, "so adorable you make me sick!"

 "I'm sorry," Sabine said, but by the end of her comment she was almost yelling, generations of Mandalorian rage flowing through her, "but if I'm so 'sickeningly adorable,' then why'd you come to the restaurant tonight?"

 Ezra changed the subject, his tone revealing that he was not a fan of that question.

 "Well, why did you go out with Tarik?"

 "Because he asked me!" Sabine was really yelling now, almost wondering why she'd fallen for someone dumb enough to even ask a question like that. "Isn't that how it works, Ezra? A guy asks out a girl because he likes her?"

 "Because if that's how it works," Sabine thought, fist clenched, "then it's quite clear how Ezra feels about me."

 "What about a guy not asking out a girl because he likes her, huh?" Ezra retorted, as if it were the most obvious and logical comeback in the galaxy and not a strong contender for dumbest thing he'd ever said. "Have you ever thought about that?"

 He walked past her, but she wasn't about to let him leave her before she figured out what his comment was even supposed to mean. She turned around and found he had stopped and turned back as well, and was looking at her.

 "What?" she asked, blood still boiling, wondering if she'd get clarification or just further confirmation of his stupidity.

 "I don't wanna risk everything you and me don't have together!" Ezra snapped.

 "That makes absolutely no sense!" Sabine snapped back.

 "Yeah? Well sometimes things don't make sense!"

 She tried to argue, but in the heat of the argument, she hadn't noticed the sudden heat of him putting his hand on her neck and pulling her close to him. Before she knew what was happening, their lips made their first meeting, and somehow, it was a beautiful one.

 Sabine wasn't sure how to respond to this— holy kriff, it was a kiss, he was kissing her— to this kiss. Her instincts told her to punch him in the gut, but her heart said to pull him closer, because she'd been waiting a long time for this.

 But she didn't have a chance to do either before he pulled away, and she breathed out in response a heavy, "oh."

 Because as upset as she was at Ezra, he'd just absolutely floored her. As much as she couldn't stand him right now, she'd really enjoyed that. As much as she wanted to claim she never wanted to see him again, she knew what she really wanted was to kiss him again.

 Ezra was right. Sometimes things just don't make sense.

 "I see your point," she nodded, looking away from him, still trying to process what had just happened, and not needing Ezra's stupid pretty face clouding her judgment.

 His kiss was reckless and impulsive and thoughtless and, once again, in true Ezra fashion, a downright stupid thing to do. Was this his idea of telling her how he felt? Or just a cheap attempt at shutting her up?

 Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his lips parted in some breathless, awestruck smile, then noticed that his eyes rested on her.

 "Why did you do that?" Sabine asked.

 "I don't know," Ezra shook his head.

 "You do," Sabine turned back to him.

 "You're right," Ezra nodded, slowly, "and I think you know too."

 Sabine bit her lip and nodded, then shook her head. After all the stupid things he'd done that day, he owed her, at the very least, the explanation they both knew was true.

 "I need to hear you say it," she said.

 She read the fear in his eyes. He had no way of knowing for sure she felt the same way. He could be risking seven years of friendship on an emotional whim— though, with everything that had already happened that day, it would be hard either way to salvage any semblance of the friendship they'd once had.

 He opened his mouth as though to speak, then closed it and shook his head.

 "That's what I thought," Sabine thought, shaking her head, turning away from him, walking away from him, "if he can't tell me how he really feels..."

 "I'm in love with you."

 Sabine stopped dead in her tracks. Had Ezra really just said what she thought he said?

 She turned halfway around, then turned her head a little further to face him, then shook her head in disbelief.

 "What?" she asked.

 "I love you," Ezra said, breathing heavily with fear, "that's why I did— all of that. I love you."

 Sabine smiled, then bit her lip, then took a couple steps closer to him.

 "You really mean that?" she asked.

 "Yeah," Ezra said, and his tone and the look in his eyes turned a casual word into a wholehearted declaration of love.

 Sabine stepped closer to him, and from the look in his eyes, she knew he had no idea how she'd respond.

 Which meant he didn't see it coming at all when she reached for his neck, pulled him closer, and planted her lips back on his. She placed her other hand on his shoulder, and as soon as Ezra realized what was happening, his hands were on her sides. 

 It was the kind of kiss that made all the years of waiting for it totally worth it. She heard him sigh, and felt his lips curve into a smile, and hers did the same, and it was the best kriffing moment of her life.

 They didn't pull their lips away from each other until all of that frustration and rage and anger had sunk away, leaving in their place just a carefree joy at each other's mere presence. Even still, his hands didn't leave her sides, and hers didn't leave his shoulder— though now her other hand had slid up to his face, her thumb now softly stroking the scars on his cheek.

 "Now, why did you do that?" Ezra asked, a playful look in his eyes and a smitten smile on his lips.

 "I think you know why," Sabine whispered, biting her lip to keep from smiling too much.

 "I need to hear you say it," Ezra smiled, and he teasingly brushed his nose against hers.

 She sighed, almost like a laugh, and looked deep into his eyes.

 "Because I love you too," she whispered.

 He smiled shyly, letting go of one hand's grip on her side so he could cradle the back of her neck instead.

 She closed her eyes and actually giggled a little, then pressed her forehead lovingly against his.

 Maybe he was still downright stupid sometimes— but hey, she was too. Maybe she still had a lot to learn about how love works— but hey, he did too.

 And now they could work it out together.

[nyubiecore]

When My Loneliness Calls You ☆ lee hyunjae

a the boyz hyunjae oneshot

" your shadowy face that i know can never come back to me "

lee jaehyun x f! reader

genre : fluff , childhood friends

in which like destiny , you stumble upon your longtime crush

" my heart for you is now slowly disappearing but I still haven't forgotten "

the blowing wind , the scent of beach and sand , the song , your emotional state couldn't possibly match more

you softly bop your head to the beat , taking in the mesmerizing afternoon view as you watch the people around you doing their own business

some playing in the water , some busy taking selfies , some doing the exact thing you're doing

" BUK " something(?) bumped over you , startled you plug out the earphones from your ears looking at a small boy who is now sitting on the sand beside you

" child , where's your mom? do you want me to bring you to her? " you say to the boy

the boy mumbled something

" no? you want to stay with noona? "

" son youngjae?! son youngjae , youngjae where are you? " suddenly a faint sound of someone shouting someone else's name were heard coming closer to your direction

you didn't care less about the noise the person produced as you searched for a soft candy inside your bag with your other hand securing the boy

" youngjae! what are you doing he- " the voice stopped

you turned around as you made eye contact with the owner of the voice

" oml " you choked out

" y/n ? jung y/n right? " the boy said recognizing you

" wow lee jaehyun , you've grown so much since - 6th grade? so it's been 1,2-4 years? omg its been that long? "

too familiar to act clueless , this boy is none other than lee jaehyun , the boy you had - seriously who are you kidding? - you've had a crush on since 4th grade. though you guys haven't met in 4 years but you know so damn well in those 4 years how much time you've hesitated to message him , or that time when you followed him on sns and unfollowed him back again after like- 6 hours or sumthn

he's gotten so much taller , he used to be around the same height with you the last time you saw him. you've heard that they say he is now much taller but this is seriously a scam at this point. compared to you, he's at least around 10 cm taller than you now.

" you're the one who didn't keep in contact and didn't even attend the events in our school " he said making a nasty face to you

" hey it's not my fault that I don't live near our school now - and you say like you've kept in contact with every one of our old classmates " you rolled your eyes as you look away feeling your cheeks redden

" excuse me , I still do okay? I still regularly contact changmin , sunwoo , even yooae. " he bragged

you chocked over the name , yooae your own friend.

" oh.. yooae , wasn't she the one you liked back then? " you said , your eyes started to sting

youngjae is now sitted on your feet playing with your keychain hooked onto your bag

he seemed taken aback by the question " oh, that rumor? seriously how many times should I tell you it isn't true? "

you scoff " hey who are you kidding? how many times have I caught you looking at her so lovingly back then huh? " you teased him

" no okay " he said rolling his eyes " keep in touch would you? I've to go now. sorry for the trouble too. let's go little boy " he said as he dragged youngjae back up and walked on the little boy's pace

you smiled as you saw him like that. you watched the sun set as people started to clear up the place.

you liked it better now , less people , less noise. you lay on the sand feeling it on your skin as you close your eyes

you took a deep breath as you took in the scent , sea water sand , and... fried chicken?

your eyes opened itself as you sat back up searching for the smell, before you could turn around a figure sat beside you as the chicken box landed safely

you looked to your side , lee jaehyun

" eh? what are you doing back here again? " you asked, confused

" eating chicken " he bluntly said as he stuffed chicken into his mouth

" you've gotten taller and more handsome but your dumb personality really never gets away will it ever? " you said bluntly as you hugged your own figure watching the sea

he stopped on his track , you turned to him " you got any problem with me? what? " you asked cluelessly looking at him

" what'd you say just now? "

" your dumb personality never goes away " you bluntly replied

" before that "

" that you've gotten taller? "

" not that one "

" that your dumb personality is permanent? " you said, at this point just playing dumb

" not that one too. " he said with a straight face

" what did I say? " you smiled teasingly

" are you really not going to tell me? " he said

" what if I say, no? "

" what if I pressure you to tell me? "

" try me bitch " you replied ready for the challenge

he moved the position of the chicken box that were put in between you guys but is now on hyunjae's side , he sat closer to you

" what're you trying to pull right now? "

" whatever I can to make you repeat what you said "

you rolled your eyes as you avoid eye contact , by this time you already felt his body right beside you, almost glued to it

he put his hand on your chin as he gently turned your face towards him

" would you like to repeat what you said just now , missy? " he said with his oh so seductive voice which you know you could melt to every other day

you gulped a lump on your throat " n- no " you stutter as your face redden

he leaned towards you more , he whispered " thank you for the compliment , sweetie " he pulled away with a smirk as he open the can of carbonated drink

you froze there , he turned back to you and scoffed at your position " little miss is frozen now "

you cleared your throat " u-um so.. "

" do you have anything to ask to me? your face says you do " he said while enjoying the view

" didn't know you could even read my face now " you scoffed

" why can't I, tho? "

" I bet you are a master in reading Yooae 's expression " you rubbed salt on your own wound

" unsurprisingly , no I do not know a pinch about Yooae 's expression " he bluntly said , drinking the drink on his hand

you blinked , clueless " so , would you tell me who you actually did have a crush on back then? "

he made eye contact with you " are you serious? "

you blinked once again

" ridiculous " he said as he rolled his eyes in pure annoyance , he stood back up as he stared to get back up

you chased after him , finally getting a grip on his hand turning him back to you

" what's wrong with you? " your eyebrows stitched together

he looked at you with exhausted eyes " are you really that slow , y/n? " he asked you , ridiculed

" what are you trying to say? "

" oh my gosh- " he tried to walk away once again

you gripped his hand as you yank him over to you- maybe too hard because now you are under him , feeling the sand on your back and his unsteady breathing on your face

both your eyes widen as you tried to get away from this position but he steadied his position not allowing you to move

" do you really not have any clue about who I like? "

you hesitated, but still nodded

" then I'll give you an answer right away " he said

the next thing you know , he pressed his lips on yours

you froze on your spot , as if the universe planned out this event perfectly , you both were blinded by the moonlight that is now shining brightly over you guys

once you came back to your sense , you pushed away his shoulder with all your energy left , he pulled away from the kiss as he stood back up , and pulled you back up too

your legs seemed to not function right at the moment as it wavered , making you fall - until he wrapped his arms around your body and steadied you back

" are you okay? " he asked , awkward

you look at him ridiculously " what the fuck just happened? " you ask furiously

" that's my answer to your question "

-end(?)-

[lorirwritesfanfic]

A Ballad To No One

Book: The Royal Romance Character: Hana Lee Rating: G Word count: 670 Reading time: ~1min Summary: Hana carries a secret she isn't willing to share with just anyone. Based on the prompt: @choicesnovchallenge: Music/Musicians Day

Author’s notes:

Hana Lee belongs to Pixelberry Studios;

I was supposed to post this during @hanaleeappreciationweek, but my muse wasn't cooperating at the time;

I'm picturing Hana in this oneshot as a child/pre-teen, before the ball she rebelled against her parents playing a song out of key on purpose.

Hands glided on the piano keys as Hana once again tried to follow the fast paced notes of Chopin's Étude Op. 10 No. 4. At this point, she didn't even know how many times she had repeated that tricky bar in which she missed the tempo. Or how long she had been practicing that same piece since her classes ended. Her mother would host a party in two days and for some reason she couldn't fathom, her mother insisted Hana should play Étude Op. 10 No. 4. Of all Chopin's etudes, why did she choose the hardest one?

As her ring finger slipped, hitting the wrong key, she frowned. Taking a deep breath, she looked back at the sheet music, hummed the bar one more time at a slower pace, then began to play again. As she got it right, she tried again, but faster. Then a little faster. Faster! Faster! Faster! Before she could avoid it, the wrong note echoed in the room, making a strange, dissonant sound.

Huffing in frustration, Hana placed both hands on her legs and took a deep breath. If it was up to her, she could tear that stupid sheet music and never play that piece again. She didn't even like that piece. But she couldn't say no and walk out of the room. Whenever her parents told her to do something, there was no time for questions, scowls or long faces. She did as she was told and that was it. But just because she didn't protest it didn't mean she was happy to obey.

Why so many etiquette lessons? Why did she have to take such strange classes completely unrelated to one another? 'It'll prepare you for courtly life', her mother used to say. But what was the use of preparing herself to live somewhere she didn't even know, for a life she didn't choose?

Hana shook her head, as if to shake away those thoughts and looked back at the sheet music again. Tapping her right foot on the floor, Hana studied the tempo once more and played it slower again. 

"Such a dull piece..." She thought to herself. It didn't have a nice melody. it wasn't fun to play... Did anyone ever feel anyone except anxiety while playing this? Did anyone who play it had any other intention to play it except show off how skilled they were at the piano? 

Playing the piano shouldn't make her feel like this... Is music a form of art? Isn't it a form of expression for the author of the piece? Shouldn't the performer feel something about it?

Hana then stopped playing and closed Chopin's songbook. There was no point in playing it. Looking down at the piano keys, the young girl tried to remember the last time she felt something while playing the piano. It wasn't during any of the parties hosted by her parents. Nor during recitals. She always felt uncomfortable while playing for an audience.

As her fingers ambled on the piano keys again, following the chromatic scale, memories of her first piano classes flooded her mind. How exciting it felt to play for the first time, the warm ups, learning music theory, the first piece she ever played, the first song she wrote... 

Once she played the key she failed so many times, it sparkled something within her. She then played a chord that sounded nice with the note, creating an harmonic sound. Hana continued to play without any sheet music, occasionally writing the sequence of notes and chords in her notebook. 

Before her, an original piece came to life. Quite a surprise, given how rare inspiration struck. As Hana played the song once again, she pictured someone dancing, gracefully following the rhythm. She couldn't see their face, but something told her they were smiling. 

As the song came to an end, a sense of yearning spread in her chest. Composing this piece was quite fulfilling, yet she couldn't help but wish she could've seen that someone's face. Perhaps they would like to dance while she played. Carrying her notebook, Hana closed the piano lid and stood up to leave the music room. For now, no one would know about it. But hopefully, someday she would meet someone who would dance to her song.

[kpop-stories-21]

Oh, How I Wish That Was Me

Group: ATEEZ

Pairing: Wooyoung x Reader, Yeosang x Reader

Requested by: @sanjoongie

Word Count: 4.1k

Rating: 18-21+

Genres + AUs: Non-Idol AU, Romance AU, Unrequited Love, Fluff, Angst

Content & Trigger Warnings: New model!Reader, Famous model!Yeosang, Barista!Wooyoung, strong language, hanahaki disease, jealousy, reader is completely oblivious, Yeosang is a bit stuck up, poor Woo is down bad, pining, poorly handled emotions, heartbreak, broken friendship, small blood and vomit warnings at the end

Summary: Lee Y/N has been Jung Wooyoung's best friend since they were toddlers, and his crush since they were in middle school. Wooyoung's other friends have urged him many times to just tell Y/N how he feels, but Wooyoung is too afraid of losing Y/N as a friend. One day a model named Kang Yeosang catches Y/N's eye, and everything begins to fall apart.

Tags: @kpop---scenarios @umbralhelwolf @jeonrose @skittlez-area512 @mybiasisexo @skeletor-ify @biaswreckingfics @trashlord-007 @liliesofdreamsskz @rdiamond2727 @naturalogre

Network pings: @cacaokpop-fics | @kdiarynet

Inspiration: "I Wish" by One Direction (title is from the lyrics)

This oneshot is my entry in @cultofdionysusnet 's Meet Me Under The Cherry Tree event

A/N: If you liked this work and want to request your own oneshot, click the link above to see what prompts are left!

MDNI banner courtesy of @cafekitsune

Event Masterlist | Main Masterlist

"A person doesn't know true hurt and suffering until they've felt the pain of falling in love with someone whose affections lie elsewhere." - Rose Gordon

"Yah, Jung Wooyoung, wait for me!" You yelled breathlessly, struggling to keep up with the red-haired male's faster pace.

"Walk faster Y/N-ah!" He called over his shoulder with a teasing grin. "Last one inside has to pay for lunch!"

Breaking into a light jog, you hurried to catch up to your friend, but he was too far ahead and made it into the café first. Letting out a sigh, you slowed your pace a little so you wouldn't slip on an unseen patch of ice. Once you entered the quaint building Wooyoung greeted you with a bright smile.

"Look who finally showed up!"

Upon seeing your glare he burst into cackling laughter, prompting you to whack his arm repeatedly until he calmed down enough that the other patrons stopped staring at him.

"You're such an attention whore, I don't know how we're still friends." You said, only half serious. Wooyoung was an attention whore, but you didn't know how you'd have survived without him as your closest friend.

"You know you love it." He sassed. You just rolled your eyes and left it at that.

After the two of you ordered and received your food, Wooyoung spoke up.

"So, what's it like being a model?"

You felt the beginnings of a giddy grin lift your cheeks. "I love it! Don't get me wrong, it's demanding and stressful, but the fact that this is what I've always wanted to do makes it all worth it."

Pride filled Wooyoung as he listened to you gush about your job; how nice the other models were, how helpful your agent has been, and how much fun you had during the shoots. If only one of you got their dream job, he was glad the universe chose you. You'd worked so hard to get to this point, and you deserved to be this happy.

"Have you made any friends yet?" He inquired after both of you had finished eating.

You nodded enthusiastically. "I have actually! Seonghwa, my agent, introduced me to one of the company's top models. His name is Yeosang and he's actually a year younger than me, believe it or not. He's so hot I thought I was going to melt right then and there, but somehow I managed to keep myself together, and we hit it off right away!"

And there it was: the tightness that manifested in Wooyoung's chest every time you talked about a guy you were interested in. He knew he really didn't have any reason to be jealous when you weren't even aware of his feelings, but he'd liked you for so long that it was almost second nature at this point; you talked about a guy and he was automatically jealous. Most times he hid his reaction behind a joke or a change of subject, and today was no different.

"He's not hotter than me, is he?"

You giggled at the pout on Wooyoung's face and patted his hand reassuringly. "No one could be hotter than you Woo, but Yeosang's a close second."

Wooyoung's heart raced upon hearing you call him hot, but he managed to keep his composure.

"Whew, thank goodness." He said with a grin, wiping imaginary sweat from his forehead.

Your laugh was interrupted by the ringing of your phone. The call was from Seonghwa, so you answered it immediately and prayed that he had good news.

“Hey Hwa, what’s up?”

“I have some great news Y/N! Yeosang’s agent saw how well you two got along and has suggested having you do a shoot together.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. A brand new model doing a shoot with the company’s best was practically unheard of, but you knew better than to turn it down. This could be a needed spark to kickstart your own rise in the public eye.

“Wow, that’s awesome!” You exclaimed, lips breaking into a wide grin.

“It’s a wonderful opportunity.” Seonghwa agreed. “Are you able to come back to the company right now? Yunho wants to finalise the details as soon as possible.”

You nodded, then remembered he couldn't see you. “Yeah, I just finished having lunch with Wooyoung. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

You hung up and turned to Wooyoung with an apologetic smile. You absolutely hated how little time you had to spend with your friends these days, but you had known when you signed the contract how busy you’d become and you didn’t regret it one bit.

“Duty calls?” Wooyoung questioned.

“Yeah. Remember that model named Yeosang I was telling you about?”

Wooyoung nodded.

“Well, Seonghwa just informed me that Yeosang’s agent wants us to do a shoot together.”

“Wow. That’s pretty cool.”

“It’s a wonderful opportunity.” You told him, echoing Seonghwa. “This could really kick off my career.”

Wooyoung smiled warmly and stood to pull you into a tight hug. “Look at my bestie going places already. You won’t forget little old me once you’re all famous, will you?”

You laughed and lightly punched his shoulder. “As if. You’d never let me.”

Wooyoung’s grin turned mischievous. “True.You need somebody to keep you from getting the big head.”

You punched his shoulder again and grabbed your bag. “I should probably go before Seonghwa sends the cavalry after me. Call you later?”

Wooyoung pocketed his phone and followed you out. “Sure thing. Have fun!”

That evening Wooyoung was hanging out with his friends San, Mingi and Hongjoong when the subject of you and your modelling came up.

“Is she still enjoying it?” Hongjoong asked.

Wooyoung smiled fondly. “Yeah, she loves it. It’s so cute the way she can talk about it nonstop for as long as you let her.”

“You’re so whipped dude.” San declared. “I don’t know how Y/N hasn’t figured it out yet.”

Wooyoung’s smile faded a little. “She’s always been a bit oblivious to things like that…” He was silent a moment before continuing. “She told me today she’s met someone in her modelling company. Apparently he’s their top model and she kept gushing over how hot he was. Then right before we left her agent called saying this guy’s agent wanted them to do a shoot together.”

Hongjoong frowned. “She serious about him yet?”

Wooyoung shook his head. “I doubt it, she just met the guy.”

“You should tell her how you feel before she gets really involved with him.” Mingi advised, eyes looking slightly worried. “I hate seeing you mope around whenever she dates someone.”

Wooyoung sighed.”I don’t see the point. It’s unlikely she sees me as anything more than her best friend.”

“You won’t really know till you tell her though.” San pointed out.

Wooyoung just sighed again. “I’ll think about it. Can we change the subject please?”

The three friends exchanged a concerned look over Wooyoung’s head before complying and talking about other things.

A month passed with you and Wooyoung not getting to interact much at all. The photoshoot with Yeosang was a massive success, rocketing you up the ranks as countless brands and companies all fought for a chance to have you model their products.

Wooyoung looked through the released pictures because he knew you would ask his thoughts next time you saw each other, but every minute of it was absolutely painful. You looked so good with Yeosang, who was far more attractive than Wooyoung had imagined. The theme of the shoot was extremely romantic since Valentine’s Day was right around the corner, and the photographers had put you and Yeosang in multiple couple’s poses, even going so far as to have him kiss your cheek. It was all Wooyoung could do not to scroll through the pictures at the speed of light.

A few weeks after the photoshoot Wooyoung was working his usual shift at the café near his apartment when a familiar face appeared. Your style had gotten more polished and expensive since you’d become an ambassador for a couple of popular brands, but he still recognized you. He’d know that heart-stopping smile anywhere.

"Hey there stranger! Long time no see." He greeted you with a smile.

Your head shot up in surprise, probably forgetting this was his shift. “Oh my God, Woo! I totally forgot this was when you worked!” You slipped behind the counter to give him a hug.

Wooyoung laughed. “I don’t blame you one bit, Miss Superstar.”

You blushed at the nickname. Then suddenly, as if remembering something you’d forgotten to tell him, you turned and motioned for a figure near the door to come join you. The red-haired male hadn’t even noticed them at first, but as they came closer Wooyoung was met with none other than the very man who’d held you in his embrace for the whole world to see.

“Wooyoung, I’d like you to meet Yeosang. Yeo, this is Wooyoung. He’s been my best friend since we were little.”

Wooyoung’s teeth caught hold of his cheek as he fought to keep the smile on his face. “So this is the infamous Yeosang. I’ve heard a lot about you” He said, extending his hand. Yeosang shook it, expression unreadable.

“I’ve heard a great deal about you as well.”

God, his way of speaking was as smooth and formal as his looks. No wonder you looked at him like he’d hung the stars. Not for the first time, Wooyoung wished you would look at him like that.

“We’re having a well-deserved coffee date before the next batch of promotions rolls around and we get super busy again.”

Wooyoung tasted blood on his tongue as he bit deeper into his cheek. If you weren't currently busy, why hadn’t you asked to hang out or at the least dropped by his apartment? He’d never classed himself as a particularly clingy friend, but he would’ve liked to see or talk to you at least once after a whole month with little to no contact.

“I see.” Was all he said before asking what you and Yeosang wanted to order. The last thing he wanted was to let his feelings get the better of him and start a whole big fight right there in the café. He pretended not to see your confusion at how stiff he was being, or how one look from Yeosang had you smiling again within seconds.

As he moved about the back preparing things, he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Changbin, a friend of his from highschool who also worked at the café.

“You okay?” He asked quietly.

Wooyoung shook his head. “No, but I’ll be alright. Not like I haven’t been through this before.”

Changbin felt for his friend. If didn't know how upset the redhead would get, he’d be very tempted to march right up to you and knock that obliviousness out of your head just so Wooyoung could stop hurting. But Wooyoung had begged Changbin and his other friends not to get involved, saying if he could still be friends with you it would be enough.

“You sure you’re good?” Chan, the café’s owner, piped up as walked over. “She’s never brought a guy here before.”

Changbin glared at the older man, whose ears reddened in embarrassment.

“Right, I’mma just keep my mouth shut and uh…go check our inventory!”

Wooyoung chuckled as he watched Chan flee his boyfriend’s wrath.

“I’ll be fine, Binnie. I promise.”

Changbin eyed him seriously. “If you would just tell her how you feel before they get really serious, you wouldn’t have to go through this again.”

Wooyoung examined his shoes disinterestedly as he repeated what he’d told the guys a month earlier. “I’ll think about it.”

Changbin's eyebrow rose, obviously seeing through the words, but he let Wooyoung go and didn't speak on it.

As he finished up the order for you and Yeosang, Wooyoung found his friend's words echoing in his head. Maybe they were right, maybe confessing to you would change things. It was worth a shot, right? At the very least you would understand why he'd never liked any of the boyfriends you'd had over the years.

The Cherry Blossom Festival was this weekend, he remembered, and decided that would be the perfect way to tell you how he felt. After all, didn't cherry blossoms symbolise new beginnings?

So when you came to get the tray from him, he stopped you.

"Are you free this weekend?" He asked.

"Yeah, schedules don't pick back up till next week. Why?"

"Since we haven't been able to hang out for a while, I was wondering if you would go to the Cherry Blossom Festival with me."

A sweet smile lit your face and Wooyoung felt his heart sing. "Of course Woo. I want to know about everything I missed!"

Wooyoung laughed and released the tray, watching as you returned to the booth with Yeosang. He said a silent prayer to any god who might be listening that things would go smoothly this weekend.

The next day Wooyoung was woken at an obscenely early hour by the ringing of his cell phone. He almost didn't answer it in the haze of being barely awake, but then decided to pick up in case it was you calling for something.

"Hello?"

"Good morning." A crisp, unfamiliar voice filled his ears. "I am trying to reach a Mr. Jung Wooyoung in regards to a job offer."

Wooyoung jolted into a sitting position, feeling suddenly wide awake. "This is Jung Wooyoung." He replied, heart pounding.

"Ah, excellent. Mr. Jung, my name is Lim Inseo and I am the principal of Minjeon Elementary School in Seoul. I am calling to inform you that your teaching application has been accepted and we have a spot waiting for you if you are still interested."

Wooyoung felt a thrill shoot through him, the elation stronger than any caffeine rush. There was just one problem: what if you accepted his confession this weekend? Your modelling career was finally kicking off, you couldn't just pack up and move with him to Seoul on such short notice.

It was with a somewhat heavy heart that he spoke into the phone. "That's wonderful news Mr. Lim. However, a possible conflict has sprung up since I applied for the position. I should know by this weekend if I will be able to accept, would that be too late?"

"Not at all!" Mr. Lim told him. "Classes don't start until next month, so you'll still have plenty of time to put together your lesson plans, should you accept. On behalf of the school, I look forward to hearing from you Mr. Jung. I hope you have a good rest of the day."

Once Wooyoung hung up, he sat on the edge of his bed with a wide grin. Maybe you wouldn't be the only one to get their dream job after all.

After work that day he met up with his friends at Hongjoong's place and told them the good news.

"That's great Woo!" San exclaimed, dimples on display as he grinned broadly.

"What about Y/N?" Chan and Changbin asked almost simultaneously.

"We're going to the Festival this weekend, and I'm gonna tell her. Depending on her answer, I'll either accept or decline the offer."

Cheers and whistles sounded from all of them, thrilled that Wooyoung was finally going to make his feelings known.

"I hope she says yes." Mingi declared. "Even if it means losing the teaching position, you deserve a happy ending as much as the rest of us."

Wooyoung felt his cheeks begin to ache from all the smiling and laughing he'd done that day. He couldn't remember the last time he'd truly been this happy.

Upon returning to his flat, he found a couple of missed texts from you and went to read them right away. The messages were short, just letting him know that Friday wouldn't work because another model had gone into early labour so you were covering her shoot that day. Saturday would still be free for you though, barring some last minute emergency.

Wooyoung texted back, letting you know Saturday worked fine for him and that he would see you then.

That night he slept soundly, his head full of the most wonderful dreams with you at the centre of each one. It seemed like his life was finally starting to come together, and for the first time in years he began to feel as if maybe, just maybe, you liked him as much as he liked you.

He'd give up his dream job a thousand times over if it meant getting to spend the rest of his life with you by his side, starting a family together and living happily ever after like the two of you were in one of those fairytales he'd heard as a kid.

When he awakened Saturday morning the whole thing felt almost too good to be true, as if any moment now he'd truly wake up and find all of this had been just another dream. He made a point not to think about what might happen if you rejected him. The last thing he wanted was to ruin his mood before anything even happened.

Wooyoung spent the morning lazing about, saving his energy for the time spent with you. At ten till four he began to get ready, knowing that it took 30 minutes to get from his place to yours, and another half an hour from your place to where the Festival was being held.

He put on a black button-up, black trousers and black loafers. Examining his reflection in the mirror, he smiled. He looked nice, but still casual. Grabbing his phone and wallet, he locked the door and began the drive to your apartment.

When Wooyoung pulled into the driveway, he found you standing in the doorway expectantly. You wore a pretty pink blouse and soft grey skinny jeans, with white sandals and a white bag completing the look. You looked amazing, and Wooyoung had to work hard not to just sit and stare at you.

You smiled at him as you slid into the passenger seat.

"Ready to go?" He asked. You nodded, and he began backing out of your driveway.

The drive to the Festival was, simply put, torture. Wooyoung had made the mistake of being polite and asking how Yeosang was, and for the entire half hour you spoke endlessly about how much you enjoyed spending time with him, how nice he was to you, and how he was constantly buying expensive things for you.

Every word was like another knife in Wooyoung's already wounded heart, and by the time he parked at the Festival venue he felt ready to fall apart. But the two of you were meant to have fun tonight, so he would do his best to make sure you didn't see his distress.

Despite how the evening began, things quickly began to look up. The Festival turned out to be quite fun, with attractions for people of all ages. By the time the sun went down you and Wooyoung had played several games, eaten delicious food from the food trucks, and participated in several cherry blossom themed activities. With the moon now overhead, there was only one thing left for Wooyoung to do: take you under the cherry blossoms and confess his feelings.

Standing under the many blossoms, now bathed in silver from the celestial lights, Wooyoung felt a surge of courage and opened his mouth to speak. But just then, you interrupted him.

"I know you have something you wanna tell me, I've felt you vibrating all evening, but I have something to tell you too and I'd kinda like to share mine first. If that's okay, of course."

Wooyoung swallowed hard, a pit of dread rising in his stomach. "Sure, go ahead."

You took a deep breath, then blurted out "Yeosang asked me to be his girlfriend!"

Pain. That was the first thing he felt when the words left your lips. The agony of a sensation akin to a thousand burning knives stabbing and tearing through his chest. He coughed, alarmed by the sudden lack of air in his lungs. Wooyoung sucked in a sharp breath, and the pain suddenly evaporated. Straightening, he looked into your concerned eyes and smiled weakly.

"Sorry, a bug flew into my mouth." Taking another breath, he added "I'm so happy for you Y/N. You two will make a great couple."

You smiled broadly. "Thanks. Now, what were you going to tell me?"

He couldn't go through with it now. He could not, in any good conscience, tell you he loved you when you had just become someone else's girlfriend. All he could do now was change what he told you and shove the feelings deep down like he'd always done.

"You remember when I applied for that teaching position? Well I, um, I got the job."

"Oh my God, really? Woo that's amazing! Look at us, both getting our dream jobs. Best friends indeed!"

Best friends. The words stung his ears like an angry wasp and he just wanted the earth to swallow him whole. Looking at the cherry blossoms all around, Wooyoung felt a cynical laugh bubble up in his throat. This was a new beginning alright, just not the one he'd wanted.

"Yeah, I'm excited about it. The only thing is that the school is in Seoul, which means I'll be moving soon."

"Awww I'll miss you." You whined, pouting a little.

"I'll miss you too Y/N." Wooyoung replied, though he wasn't entirely sure he really meant it.

Later that night, after dropping you off and returning home, Wooyoung filled his friends in via a group call while drowning his sorrows in some alcohol he'd found in the fridge. All his friends expressed their sympathy for him not getting to confess to you, and also their excitement over his new job. They all offered to help him pack over the next couple days and he immediately accepted, not wanting to be alone with his thoughts just yet.

Next morning he was awakened by Hongjoong gently shaking him. The older male's hands held some aspirin and a bottle of water, both a welcome sight to Wooyoung's hungover brain. Once the redhead was upright and coherent, Hongjoong smiled softly.

"Ready to start packing?" He asked.

Wooyoung emptied the water bottle and nodded. "Ready as I'll ever be."

Three years later

Wooyoung let out a sigh as he entered the small apartment, dropping his keys and briefcase on the counter as he reached up to remove his glasses and loosen his tie.

The children had been more rowdy than usual today, and he was quite ready for a break. Running a hand through hair that was now black as night, he headed to his bedroom for a warm shower and a change to some comfier clothes.

He'd kept close contact with his friends over the years, and maintained some semblance of friendship with you as well. He never gave up hope that things would end up not working between you and Yeosang, so that he could finally tell you how he felt.

Stretched out on the couch, Wooyoung began to scroll through Instagram, liking his friends' pictures as he caught up with the day's news. And then he saw it.

The picture was of your own slender hand, a gorgeous diamond ring decorating the fourth finger. Below it you had added the caption "I said yes!"

It was at that moment that Wooyoung knew for sure: you would never be his.

Pain. It was just like the pain he'd felt under the cherry blossoms all those years ago, only this time it was much worse. He felt something clawing at his throat and the urge to vomit rose within him. He raced to the bathroom, feeling as though he was being torn apart from the inside.

Crouched over the toilet, Wooyoung began to heave and heave until the pain subsided. When he could breathe again, he leaned over to see what had caused such torment and felt his whole body go cold.

There, filling the toilet bowl almost to the brim, was a mass of flower petals and thorny vines. He knew exactly what it meant, and it was yet another confirmation that you and he would never be.

"Hanahaki disease." He muttered, voice raspy from the abuse of the thorns. Dribbles of blood decorated his lips as he smiled wryly. "Three years was good, I guess. My only regret is never telling Y/N I loved her. Maybe in our next life things will be different."

Having made his peace with things, Wooyoung stood to his feet and went to tell his family and friends that he was dying.