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ugh-yoongi · 10 days

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ex-conomics | csc

you supported seungcheol through years of being an aspiring athlete, and all you got to show for it was your undergraduate degree and an awkward, stuttered apology when he dumped you to go semi-pro. now he’s back after an injury derailed his career, and there’s only one problem: you’re the only one available to tutor him. you - 0; the universe - 1. talk about no return on investment.

⚽ pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader ⚽ genre: exes to (lite) enemies to lovers; university au; angst, fluff ⚽ rating: while there is nothing explicit in this fic, there are two brief references to smut. while i can't stop anyone from reading this, i would prefer minors do not interact with this or any of my work. ⚽ warnings: cheol is some degree of famous, reader is a grad student/TA, mentions of an injury and coping with the aftermath of it, lots of economics talk that even i do not understand, swearing, one mention of alcohol, some misplaced jealousy, rom-com tropes, dino is kind of a loser but we love him anyway. probably a lot of other things i missed, but this is actually pretty tame for a fic of this length. ⚽ word count: 13.4k ⚽ thank you: a lot of people looked this over for me in the process and i'm sure i will forget some of them so if i do i'm sorry: @the-boy-meets-evil, @hot-soop, @highvern, and @haologram, who also gave me some wonderful ideas for the vlogs. thank you to MIT for opencourseware existing. i took microeconomics and dropped it, so i couldn't have done this without you. everyone in the discord server for helping me along the way and keeping me motivated. ⚽ author's note: i haven't posted a fic in nearly seven months, so i think it goes without saying that there are parts of this i like and a lot more i'm not 100% happy with. i'd love if this was more fleshed out and 10k longer, but i was able to write anything at all so it's good enough. this was written for the back to school with seventeen collab, hosted by @camandemstudios. thank you both for letting me participate! please make sure to check out the rest of the stories! everyone worked so hard and this collab was a ton of fun to participate in. <3

You look down at the paper. Back up at who handed it to you. Down at the paper again.

“You’ve got to be joking.”

The poor freshman kid laughs, all nerves, and even though the sound is grating, you remember what it’s like to be forced into work study. How far away graduate school seemed; how large your professors loomed over you with all their power and knowledge and credentials; how you constantly felt like the dumbest person in nearly every room you walked into for four straight years.

“Um—”

You sigh, just barely resisting the urge to slam your head onto your desk. “I—it’s fine, don’t worry about it.” Your words do little to ease Freshman’s nerves. He’s still hunched over in the doorway of your office, wringing his hands as he shifts his weight back and forth, in for a lifetime of body pain with the way he’s squaring his shoulders. “You’re sure about this, though? Like, I’m really not being set up?”

“I don’t think so?” he offers, slowly starting to turn green right before your eyes. “Dr. Lee ga-gave me the paperwork himself, I don’t think he would’ve messed it up? Oh no, did I mess it up? Should I go back to Student Services and conf—”

Good god, this kid’s anxiety is gonna stink up your office for weeks. “No need!” you interject. “I’ll just…” Sign it, you want to say, but the longer you stare at the sheet of paper the quicker you’re losing your resolve.

TUTORING REQUEST FORM Student Name: Choi Seungcheol Degree: Undergraduate Major: Business Course: ECON04101 Introduction to Microeconomics Instructor: Lee Yeonseok, PhD. Recommended Tutoring: High (3-4 hours per week)

You curse under your breath. Of the two names on the paper, Dr. Lee’s does not come as a surprise. He’s a notorious hard-ass with an infamous attrition rate—most students don’t last more than a week in any of his classes—but he’s also the sole reason you were able to pay for someof your grad school tuition out of pocket with all the tutoring money you made.

That, however, was two years ago.

“Does he know I don’t tutor anymore?” Stupid question. The kid stares blankly back at you, as if to say I don’t know any more than the people in Student Services, let alone Dr. Lee. It is literally my first year here. “I’m Dr. Ahn’s TA this year. I’ve got my hands full with her bullsh… stuff—”

Immediately, you know you’ve said something wrong, because the kid’s eyes light up, all that previous anxiety disappearing like smoke. “Wait, the same Dr. Ahn that teaches the crypto course?”

“No, that one died,” you say quickly. Kid deflates. “Anyway, I don’t really tutor anymore, especially for econ. As you can see”—you gesture vaguely around the cramped four walls of your office—“they’ve upgraded me. They even put my name on a little placard by the door! Go look! They spelled it wrong! If that doesn’t sum up this university I don’t know what does.”

You heave another sigh. Try to school your face and tone into something that exudes professionalism and finality. “Look, I’m sorry I can’t help you. I tutored Dr. Lee’s students for, like, three years in undergrad so I’m sure they just… forgot that wasn’t my actual job here. Who’s in charge of tutoring these days? I’ll shoot them an email and explain all this.”

Freshman gives you a name, and it takes less than a second to find them in the employee directory. You expect that to be the end of it, but he’s still taking up space in your doorway. You quirk an eyebrow. “Yes?”

The hand-wringing returns, along with an embarrassed flush that disappears beneath the neckline of his school-branded sweatshirt. “I just—um. Maybe you could, uh. Send that now? Before I get back there?”

You blink. “Don’t you have to go all the way back across campus? How slow do you think I type?” He shrugs, and you give up on the idea of getting rid of him. “Fine. What’s your name, anyway?”

“Lee Chan. I’m a sophomore. Do you know that guy?”

“Oh. I thought for sure you were a freshman, but you’re gonna need to be more specific, Lee Chan, Sophomore.”

“The guy they want you to tutor.” You freeze. The guy they want you to tutor is—“Choi Seungcheol,” Chan tacks on, and, yeah, you know—knew, you correct yourself—someone with that name, once upon a time.

But there are a lot of Chois and a lot of Seungcheols. It’s been years since you’ve spoken to the Seungcheol you knew, and that was when he’d broken up with you to—“I heard he’s a football player? Well, used to be, I guess. The girls in the office were freaking out so I guess he’s pretty famous, but I don’t know anything about sports, do you? They said they have photocards of him. I thought they only did that for idols.”

You think about being kids together in Daegu. Think about the exasperated looks you’d share when your parents would drag the two of you to festivals: Palgongsan in the autumn, Biseulsan in the spring; transformation and rebirth. Think about being eight years old and watching your father cram into the small space of the Chois’ living room, standing around the TV with Seungcheol’s dad, shouting at Park Jonghwan. Daegu FC made the FA Cup quarterfinals that year, and you think, of everything, that’s what you’ll remember for the rest of your life.

You think about falling in love slowly. Sixteen and clueless, the pair of you were. Didn’t really know any different, just that you’d look at him and feel butterflies. That you’d hold hands in secret. Text beneath the dinner table. That you’d watch him on the football pitch and be consumed by pride. That the future felt impossibly far away, that life would never catch up to the two of you.

You think about all the football jargon you didn’t understand—the academies, the teams, the implications. You think about, I’m thinking about trying out for the FC Seoul U-18, I just don’t think there’s much more I can do here in Daegu. You think about replying, Oh, I applied to university there.

You remember thinking it must’ve been fate, how easy that had worked out. How easy that first hurdle had been overcome.

You think about how fast everything happened. The try-out, the acceptance, the explosion. Remember being unable to go anywhere those first few months without seeing Seungcheol’s face, touted as the next big thing. Think about applying for scholarships when he was applying for international visas. Think about studying for midterms when Seungcheol was studying English for interviews.

You think about the last few weeks of your relationship, when it felt like you were desperately trying to cling to ghosts. Think about how Seoul had once felt endlessly big, both in opportunity and size, and how it now felt suffocating. You think about, So you’re just giving up? Is that what you’re saying? Think about, I don’t know what else to do. It doesn’t feel fair to you.

You think about all the places you’ve watched him. On countless football pitches; shy glances in school hallways; in the passenger seat, wracked with nerves on the drive to Seoul; poised above you in bed, hairline dotted with sweat as he rolled his hips, telling you how much he loved you.

You think about watching him walk out the door, and how you never watched him again.

So you fire off your email, concise and to the point about why you can’t tutor Choi Seungcheol in Introduction to Microeconomics, and turn to Lee Chan, Sophomore.

“No,” you finally answer. “Never heard of him.”

For all intents and purposes, your rejection should’ve been the end of it.

A few days go by. You hold office hours, attend lectures, work on your thesis when you have both the time and the energy. Try to ignore the feeling of bees beneath your skin, anxiety needling each time you check your email. You were well within your right to decline the tutoring request, but you can’t help but feel like you’ve done something wrong. That someone somehow knows who Seungcheol was to you and will pull you up on it. That those girls who’d gushed about him to Chan are somewhere laughing at your expense.

But you don’t hear anything at all about it… until you do.

Sunday evening. You haven’t moved from your couch in hours, some variety show playing in the background, barely audible over your keyboard clacking. Much to your detriment, you don’t write many papers these days, so you’re out of practice. Feels like you haven’t done anything besides formulas in years, all of your academic knowledge reduced to fucking math, so you’re about ready to toss your laptop out the window long before the email even comes through.

You see, From: Lee Yeonseok. You see, Subject: Choi Seungcheol - Tutoring.

Your stomach plummets to the floor.

You scan the body quickly. You see the words personal favor… friend of his father… urgent matter… and your hands start shaking. Whether it’s from the sheer audacity of this man or anxiety, you aren’t sure, but it’s not like it matters. There aren’t a whole lot of people on campus brave or dumb enough to go up against him twice.

“Motherfucker,” you spit, bitter the only taste in your mouth.

Where did you go wrong to wind up here? You’d followed the script: got the grades, passed the exams, received half of the required education for the Respectable Career, helped a few others along the way chase dreams that may or may not have been their own. You’d fallen in love. Only had a broken heart to show for it, but that’d been in the script, too: The First Love, followed by The First Heartbreak.

The split from Seungcheol was supposed to have been the end of that chapter. You’d planned on never seeing him again, and you never would have, had it been up to you. Apparently the universe has other plans, participation required.

“Did you spill onion dip on the rug again?” You startle, sending your laptop flying. Kaori, your roommate, is perched halfway in between the living room and the kitchen like a cryptid, clearly not expecting your reaction. “Oh. Were you watching porn?”

Face burning, you fetch your laptop from the floor. “In a common area? Kaori, please, I have far more decorum than that.”

She snorts, resuming her trek to the fridge. “See, that’s what I thought, but then I walked out here and you threw your laptop so fast it was like watching my ex get caught watching furry porn all over again.” She pries the lid off a large container of yogurt. “You think this is still good?”

“Dunno. What’s it smell like?”

She sniffs it and pulls it back to check the label. “Vanilla, I think, which is concerning because it’s supposed to be strawberry.”

You shrug. “What’s the worst that can happen, you get extra”—you pause, trying to remember the correct order of things, before giving up entirely—“...biotics?”

“Mm, so close. Care if I just eat this with a spoon?”

Nose scrunched, you wave her off. “Couldn’t pay me to eat yogurt on a good day, let alone if it’s expired. All yours, babe.”

Spoon in hand and a pleased smile on her face, Kaori collapses onto the couch beside you. You try to return your attention to your paper, try to find your momentum again, and it works for all of ten minutes before you’re groaning and slamming the top closed.

You don’t even need to look over to know Kaori’s staring. “What’s up with you?” she asks. Before she can answer: “Wait, is this serious? Because I can’t have a serious conversation in this t-shirt.” You steal a glance sideways. Ask Me About My Hemorrhoid! it says, and you exhale loudly. “Don’t breathe at me, I lost a bet.”

“And continued wearing it?”

She jokingly rolls her eyes. “God forbid a girl has hobbies.” Nudges you with her foot. “C’mon, spill.”

Kaori doesn’t know about you and Seungcheol. Most people don’t, aside from a few old classmates from Daegu who found you on social media and tried befriending you once he started making a name for himself in Seoul. After that, it was just easier to keep things private while you were together. New friends knew you were seeing someone but not their name or how long you’d been together. Any curiosity surrounding why the Choi Seungcheol was following you on Insta had been waved away easily. Our parents are friends, we grew up together. Then you broke up, and there wasn’t any evidence to delete, and he wasn’t following you on Instagram anymore, and it was easier that way.

So, yeah—even though you hadn’t met her until years later, Kaori knows you have an ex. She knows you’ve had a few flings and situationships in the time since, too, and it’s why she’s none the wiser when you ask, “It’s nothing, really. Just—do you follow football at all?”

“Nah, not really. The new guy’s pretty into it and keeps trying to get me to watch the games with him, but it’s so fucking boring? I dunno, I can’t get into it. Not in real life, anyway—I binged all of Captain Tsubasa in an embarrassingly short amount of time, though. Why?”

“Student Services asked me to tutor someone the other day and I had to turn it down. I just don’t have the time, you know? This semester’s already killer, and Dr. Ahn’s been riding my ass nonstop about grades. Turns out it’s some football player, so Dr. Lee emailed me asking me to do it as a personal favor, which means, on top of all the other shit I have to do, I’m now tutoring some football player four hours a week in Microeconomics.”

Her face distorts. “God, that guy’s such a prick. Like wow, you’re good at the economy! Good for you! Who cares! Why don’t you go balance the national debt or something instead of torturing university freshmen!”

You also wrongly assume that’s the last you’ll hear of it from Kaori.

Two days later, after Student Services replies to your email with the days and times you’ll be tutoring Seungcheol, she materializes in the living room to harass you.

“You didn’t tell me your football player was Choi Seungcheol.”

The panic is instant. You know how she means it, but it’s not how your body interprets it. All of a sudden it feels like an interrogation, an accusation, and a whopping serving of guilt takes up residence in the middle of your chest for not being entirely honest.

“Explains this weird text Ken sent me.”

She slides her phone over to you, open to her text thread with her current flavor of the week. Beneath an article about Seungcheol enrolling in classes at your school:

doesn’t ur roomie TA there Why are you calling her “ur roomie” like you don’t know her name?? Rude. Also yes. ask her to get me an autograph No babe pls he was my fav player before he got injured No 🙄 fine. can i come over later? Starting to think you’re using me for my roommate. Get your own job 🙄

You hand her phone back. “I didn’t think you’d know who Choi Seungcheol even is.” It’s the best you can do, even though it just digs you a deeper grave. “You said you’re not into football.”

“I’m not, but unfortunately I am into that stupid man.” She sighs, wistful and longing. “Babe, you have to understand. His dick is so big.”

You hadn’t wanted to stay in Seoul for your graduate degree, let alone the same university you’d gone to for undergrad.

You’d applied to schools all over—Japan, Europe, even a few in the States. Romanticized the hell out of NYU, went window shopping for an overpriced apartment, picked a favorite pizzeria based on nothing but vibes and online reviews. In those few months after graduation, there wasn’t a whole lot tying you to Seoul. Your and Seungcheol’s relationship had been old history by then, your parents split. Your dad stayed in your childhood home and your mother moved a few hours closer to her sister. They’d waited until your brother was old enough to be out of the house.

And it’d just been… a lot. Overwhelming. Some days you could barely shower or feed yourself, let alone move halfway across the world, so you’d stayed in the familiar and tried not to let it feel like failure.

But the good thing about familiarity is you learn its tricks, figure out the hiding spots. Early on, your first or second week of grad school, you laid claim to a study room on a floor of the library everyone else ignored. You write notes on the whiteboard with faded blue markers that are still there days later. The chair on the opposite side of the table is always exactly where you left it, the space between it and the table enough to only accommodate you. Sometimes you leave books—old paperbacks littered with notes in your writing—or papers, just to see if they move.

They never do.

And all of this is why it feels like a punch to the gut when that sanctity is tainted. When you’re halfway through a stack of Dr. Ahn’s exams and the doorknob rattles behind you. When you don’t even need to turn around to know who it is, because he still sounds the same, still has that overwhelming presence. You’ve always sensed him before you felt him.

“There you are,” Dr. Lee says, ambling into the room before you can protest. He, too, is overwhelming, just in different ways. Immaculate posture that anchors his slight frame that’s always dressed impeccably and expensively. Wears a watch that’s triple your tuition. Shoes polished so bright they’re nearly blinding. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

This time it is an accusation.

Well, you found me, you want to say, but just knowing Seungcheol is behind him, lingering in that half-study room, half-hallway space, is enough to keep you quiet. Like if you speak you’ll summon him closer and you’ll no longer be able to pretend this is nothing more than a nightmare.

You plaster on a polite smile. Say, “Ah, here I am, kyosu-nim,” and put all your energy into trying to glue Seungcheol to the floor with your mind.

Which is fruitless, because Dr. Lee moves further into the room. Gestures for Seungcheol to follow him with an impatient huff, and the study room is small, sure, and with three people it feels cramped, but that’s not the reason it feels like all the air’s been sucked out of the room.

Seungcheol looks… different. He looks as anxious as you feel, and he sticks close to the wall like he’s trying to disappear. Dr. Lee introduces him with grave importance, unaware of your history, and the forced smile he offers you almost looks embarrassed.

You know Dr. Lee is still hammering away, probably giving you a stern talking-to for rejecting his request the first time, but you can’t tear your eyes away from Seungcheol. Feels like the world around you has reduced to a pinhead, all hyperfocus; feels like your lungs are sucking in stale air one at a time.

“...his father is a very good friend of mine, so I expect…”

You expected to feel nothing. Seungcheol had left to chase his dream—one you’d always been so supportive of that it sometimes felt like your dream, too—and, perhaps naively, you thought the distance and the years would’ve been enough. You expected your heart to have hardened. You expected all those nights you spent crying to hit you at full force. You expected anger, hurt—indifference, at the very least.

“...as many hours per week as you both can manage…”

But you should’ve known better. Should’ve expected the butterflies, the way your palms grow clammy, the way your heart rate spikes. Should’ve expected everything to feel upside-down. You should’ve expected to look at Seungcheol and feel sixteen and in love all over again.

“...you are responsible for his academic progress…”

And that simply will not do. You’ve spent the last few years pulling yourself out of that hole, clawing your way back to something resembling normal. You’ve purged the thought of him from your mind—let his scent fade from your sheets, an old sweatshirt he’d left behind; forgot the way his lips felt against every inch of your skin; forgot the way his entire being lit up when he laughed; forgot the safety he encompassed, the way he whispered all those sweet nothings.

You cannot go there again.

So you roll your shoulders back, smile politely. Say, “Ah, kyosu-nim, Choi Seungcheol-ssi seems very intelligent, I’m sure he is capable of being responsible for his own academic standing, don’t you think?”

Dr. Lee cannot disagree without all but calling Seungcheol an idiot, so he hovers before you in shocked silence. Makes a show of huffing and checking his watch, like he’s all of a sudden remembered he’s late for something and being inconvenienced by this conversation he started, and then he’s halfway out of the library with a terse, “Discuss and figure this out amongst yourselves,” thrown over his shoulder.

You have an entire dramatic exit planned in your head. Gather your things, fake a phone call that makes you sound authoritative and important, and brush past Seungcheol wearing your nicest perfume as if all of this is so far beneath you you can’t even bring yourself to care about it.

Of course, you actually have to brush by him for any of that to happen, and since you’ve already decided you will not go there again, you quickly scribble your email address onto a piece of paper and slide it across the table at Seungcheol, who has steadfastly remained planted just outside the door. “Here’s my email. I don’t have time to discuss this right now.” Seungcheol cocks an eyebrow. You start throwing things into your bag haphazardly. You know you look frantic and affected, but there’s not much you can do about that. “What? Send me a copy of your syllabus and what you want to prioritize. It’ll be easier to get through this if we have a plan instead of winging it.”

He seems to catch on to your distaste because he mirrors it. Scoffs as he rolls his eyes and says, “Yeah, no use spending more time together than we have to,” and if you hadn’t gone years without speaking, you would’ve seen right through it.

But you did, so it stings all the same.

As it typically does, the planet keeps spinning after your run-in with Seungcheol.

You grade Dr. Ahn’s coursework. Try running off your anxiety at the gym, even though it’s pretty good at keeping pace with you these days. You meet Kaori’s maybe-boyfriend sneaking out of your apartment early in the morning and he has the good sense not to mention your ex, but you chalk that up to the mess of hickeys covering his neck and not any sense of social decorum.

Other people’s embarrassment saves you a ton of your own, you’ve come to learn.

Throughout all of this, Seungcheol only emails you once to send you his course syllabus. Doesn’t mention tutoring or provide you with his schedule or ask for yours, so when you’re sitting in a bar with your friends, three or four drinks deep and feeling a little petty, you forward him the original tutoring request and make sure to bold, underline, and highlight the “Recommended Tutoring: High” part for good measure.

He doesn’t take your bait—electronically, at least—but he does show up to your office hours the following Tuesday.

Bag tossed onto the floor, he flops unceremoniously into the chair across from you and says, in lieu of a greeting, “They spelled your name wrong. On the door thing.”

“I know,” you reply, your smile polite and terse. Incredible how he has the ability to raise your blood pressure in milliseconds. “What can I help you with?”

“Depends. How long do you have?”

“Well, considering you’ve shown up to my office hours on time, I’m assuming you already know I’m here every Tuesday and Thursday from four to six. So”—you glance at the clock above the door—“assuming no one comes by who needs my help more than you do, you have approximately one hour and fifty-eight minutes.”

Seungcheol is quiet for a moment as he takes you in. His stare is weighted; it makes you feel a little green around the edges. Clinical and sharp, so far removed from the way he used to look at you. You clear your throat. “I looked over your syllabus. The good news is there’s only a midterm and a final and the rest is problem sets. The bad news is there’s only a midterm and a final so they’re weighted quite heavily. You really need to know this stuff inside-out to have any hope of passing.”

“That’s why you’re here, right? Dr. Lee specifically requested you.”

You huff a breath through your nose. “I’m here as supplemental help. I can’t take your exams or do your readings for you. What else are you taking this semester?”

He sighs, sinking further into the chair, very much playing the part of the heir who has no interest in any of this. Which… is unlike him, you think, if you’re even allowed to. The Seungcheol you knew years ago took everything so seriously. Never clipped corners or took shortcuts. Anyone else would think him a spoiled, petulant child. “Business Accounting and International Trade.”

“Could be worse,” you note. “At least those three courses are tangentially related.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “Easy for you to say. I haven’t taken a fucking math class in years.”

You return it. “You remember how to add and subtract, don’t you?”

“I ruptured my ACL, not my…” He trails off, looking a little embarrassed that he can’t name a part of the—“Brain.”

Whatever you were going to quip back with dies on your tongue. It's the first time Seungcheol has broached the topic of his injury—the first you’re hearing of it at all, actually—and he says it like it’s a joke, like it’s not a thing at all, but the pain is all over his face. The bitterness of the situation he’s found himself in. The unfairness of it all.

And there are so many questions you want to ask that aren’t your place: if it’s fixable, if he’ll ever play again, how he’s coping. But you don’t really need to—you can’t imagine how you’d feel if someone suddenly pulled the rug out from under you. If everything contained within the four walls of your office suddenly disappeared.

Not that the man sitting across from you hadn’t already done that, but.

“Right,” you continue, as if he hadn’t said anything at all. You know Seungcheol—know he wouldn’t want you prodding, sticking your fingers in that particular wound. “I want you to take a look at this,” you say, handing over a printout you have saved from your undergrad tutoring days. “Tell me what looks familiar, what doesn’t; what does and doesn’t make sense.”

He looks down at the paper. Back up at you. Down at the paper again. “What the fuck is this?”

“I—what? Cheol, it’s my old notes on recitation. Surely you’ve already covered this—the syllabus says this is week one stuff.” He looks down at the paper again, and it’s so familiar, watching the life drain entirely from someone’s eyes.

You barely resist the urge to slam your face onto your desk a second time.

You meet Seungcheol at the sports center for your next tutoring session.

He likes the humidity and the smell of the chlorine by the pool. He also likes that it’s not the football pitch, so the two of you sit in the bleachers there and go over his lecture notes. Much to your surprise, Seungcheol talks a mile a minute. Has stars in his eyes when he says he finally understands elastic demand curves, supply shock; tells you he spent a whole hour making flashcards.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him so excited since your tutoring began—the first glimmer of hope you’ve felt since Dr. Lee cornered you in your library hideaway. None of this surprises you. Seungcheol has always been smart, even when football was his primary (and sometimes only) focus. He has more determination and grit than anyone you’ve ever met, so you’re not surprised he’s doing well, excelling, but you are surprised—

“Can I ask you something?” Seungcheol shrugs, shoves half a protein bar in his mouth and swallows without chewing. “Why are you… uh. Here?”

“At this university?”

“Not exactly. I mean, I am wondering about that, but I guess… why business?”

Seungcheol hums. Tucks his good knee to his chest and stares down at the pool. No one’s using it, and truthfully the two of you probably aren’t even allowed to be here, but you understand why he likes it. It’s nowhere near as secluded as the library and definitely not as air conditioned, but it is peaceful. Calm. The water laps against the coping in quiet, small waves.

“Ah, I don’t know. You know how it goes.”

You quirk an eyebrow. Never, in all the years you’ve known him, has Seungcheol done anything he didn’t want to do. All that grit and determination. “What about your father, then? Dr. Lee mentioned this was a favor to him. He’s a pretty important person to have in your Rolodex of favors.”

Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see what this is: Seungcheol’s father has new money; worked from the bottom up, made some smart investment decisions that finally panned out after Seungcheol left for Seoul. Started doing his own thing, made a name for himself. Last you’d heard from your mother, Seungcheol’s brother was second-in-command. Hell, even your own brother did an internship there.

So you know what this is: a father helping his son after his dream was shattered, life turned upside-down. You can’t blame him, even if you’ve heard the whispers from all the way across campus. That Seungcheol is washed up now, trying to nepo his way into his father’s company because of it; that all he knows is sports and he should’ve stuck to that, what does he know about business, why is he the one Dr. Lee went out of his way to help.

Doesn’t stop any of them from smiling at him, though; doesn’t stop them from asking for autographs or selfies.

But you also know this isn’t something Seungcheol seems willing to discuss, so you crack a joke—“I mean, business. God, who’d wanna go into that?”—and go back to what he was willing to talk about.

You’ve never hated elastic demand curves so much in your life.

Deep in the throes of tutoring—when you can’t tell if it’s week two or week twelve—you make it back to your apartment just before ten, head pounding.

The door flies open just as you’re about to punch in the code, and there stands Ken, looking far more put-off than you’ve ever seen him. Looks defeated, if you’re being honest, like someone mopped up all his emotions and wrung them out like dirty dishwater.

“Oh, hi,” you say hesitantly. The man in front of you seems too much like a caged animal to let your guard down. “Everything okay?”

He aborts a nod halfway. Mutters an apology as he brushes by you and stalks down the hall, disappearing around the corner to the elevators. Usually he’s a talker—you haven’t been able to avoid a Seungcheol-related conversation in weeks—so you’re a little stunned. Stand there stupidly for a while, and that’s where Kaori finds you a moment later.

“You gonna stand out here all night, or…?”

“Oh—yeah, right.”

You follow her inside. Toe off your shoes and put them in the rack. Focus on the sound of the kettle whistling instead of the overbearing tension in the room. Drop your bag off in your room, throw on a sweatshirt three sizes too big and a comfy pair of socks. Rummage through the fridge for leftovers, contemplate what mindless show you’ll watch as you eat, and you do not, under any circumstances, ask Kaori what happened.

You don’t have to. You knew what this was going to be the first time Ken spent the night—the way he looked mortified to be meeting you in the shared kitchen at seven a.m., wearing a look that begged you not to tell your roommate he was sneaking out.

I, uh, have an early class, he’d said. You know how it is.

Maybe you should’ve called him on it then. Issued a warning-but-not-really. She’ll get attached if you don’t tell her. She should know it’s different for you, if it is.

But you’d convinced yourself it wasn’t your place. Kaori wouldn’t want you in her business like that, so you stayed quiet, just nodded before watching him slip his shoes on and close the door behind him so quietly you wouldn’t have known he left at all if you hadn’t been looking. Gone, just like a ghost.

So, yeah, you know exactly why your roommate looks haunted.

“I’m a few episodes behind on this if you want to watch with me,” you offer, pointing at the television with the remote. It’s a lie—you’ve never watched this show a day in your life, which Kaori seems to know—but she contemplates it nonetheless. “Also, my mom mailed us some cookies. I think they’re in the fridge.”

“Why are there cookies in the fridge?”

You huff a laugh. “They were outside the door this morning before I left for campus. I don’t know—just saw who the package was from and was like, oh, this must go in the fridge.”

She nods. Grabs the container and joins you on the couch. Sticks her feet beneath your butt and doesn’t mention a thing.

The closest she comes is a few days later. Catches you right before you head out to campus and asks how tutoring is going.

“Not bad, actually.”

Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes when she says, “That’s good. I’m glad things are going well for you two.”

Lee Chan, Sophomore makes his unexpected return at your office hours on an unsuspecting Tuesday.

“Can I help you?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just helps himself to the seat across from you. “Maybe,” comes his cryptic retort. “I was thinking about signing up for that crypto course next semester.”

You narrow your eyes. “No, you weren’t.”

He sighs. Looks a little panicked, like he can’t believe that didn’t work. “You’re right, you’re right. I, um—I wanted to come say thank you.” He pauses. “You know, for that… email you sent.”

You blink. “No, you didn’t.”

Lee Chan, Sophomore cracks immediately. Thunks his head on your desk and lets loose a pained sound. It nearly sounds like he’s wailing when he says, “I’m sorry! They put me up to it!”

What you’re able to piece together is this: Lee Chan, Sophomore has become a bit of a celebrity in the Student Services department ever since he met you, Choi Seungcheol’s tutor. And, like any smart, previously unpopular university student would do, he took advantage of it. Might’ve stretched the truth a little to make it sound like he knew more than he did, so now here he is, angling for information the girls with the photocards may or may not have paid him to get.

“They want to know about his girlfriend.”

“His what?”

What you’re able to piece together is also this: the Photocard Girls are certain Seungcheol is dating someone, based on little more than vibes. You suspect these vibes are their three degrees of separation, considering there was an abnormal amount of Change of Major files formed after his enrollment, but you tell Lee Chan that you don’t know anything and, even if you did, you wouldn’t put his business out there like that.

But some part of you still has this inexplicable urge to protect Seungcheol, so you match their offer with interest and tell him to say there’s nothing to report—not that you didn’t know, not that he couldn’t get anything out of you. Seungcheol isn’t dating anyone.

You don’t know if it’s true, but you figure that if it isn’t, he still deserves privacy.

Which is a notion you have trouble explaining a few hours later, when Seungcheol strolls into your office with a grease-stained paper bag full of cheese coin bread, offering one to you with a proud smile that drops slowly when you just stare in return.

“What’s wrong?”

Your mouth opens, closes, opens again. Nothing comes out, even though it should be simple. Some sophomore kid was just in here angling for information or the Student Services department is taking bets on whether or not you have a girlfriend would both suffice, but you cannot bring yourself to say the words.

What you settle on is, “Sorry, I just… had an interesting meeting before you got here.”

“Oh. Are you okay?”

You sigh. Tilt your head back to stare up at the ceiling. “It was about you, actually.”

Seungcheol chokes, starts stuttering over words you can’t make sense of. Says, “Me? Why? I passed my last exam—I mean, barely, but I still passed. And that wasn’t your fault! I didn’t study enough! I’ve been losing my mind over my International Trade class, that shit sucks—”

“It wasn’t about your grades, Cheol.”

“Oh.” Then, slowly, a lopsided, pleased smile overtakes his face. “Haven’t heard you call me Cheol in a while.”

“Seungcheol,” you correct.

He seems to forget all about the meeting. Tries again to offer you a coin bread before he threatens to eat them all himself, so you acquiesce mostly to shut him up, say you’ll bring the extras to Kaori. For some reason, you tell him about how much she’d loved the cookies your mom sent, and the nostalgia sets him off, gets him talking again, asking if they were the yakgwa she used to make when you two were kids.

They were, but you can’t seem to tell him that, either.

Seungcheol: sorry it’s last minute - running late. can you meet me at my place instead?

Seungcheol shared a location with you

You’re halfway to replying—I don’t think that’s appropriate—before you sigh and delete it. Midterms are only a few days away and you don’t have time to argue over where your tutoring sessions will be, so if Seungcheol wants to meet at his apartment that’s where you’ll meet him.

You read over the midterm notes on the train. Once, twice, and then a hundred more times until they’re nearly memorized, all so you can ignore the voice in the back of your head saying what a bad idea this is. That you have no business being on your way to your ex’s swanky part of town or integrating yourself into his life beyond tutoring at all. You shouldn’t know where he lives. Maybe you shouldn’t even have his phone number or answer his texts.

Not that there’s much you can do about it now, two stops away.

Seungcheol greets you warmly, if not a little rushed. Apologizes for the mess once you step inside, although it’s less “mess” and more “haven’t finished unpacking,” but there’s enough clear space to study at the dining table, so that’s where you set up, determined to keep things professional.

“Sorry again about this,” Seungcheol says, placing a can of cola in front of you as he takes the seat across. “I had to meet with my father and lost track of time, I guess.”

“Oh. How’s he doing?”

Seungcheol sighs, leans further back in the chair as runs a hand through his hair. A light brown, now. “Same as he always was, I guess. Talked about the business, about my brother. Can’t get him to shut up about that stuff most of the time.”

“The business is doing good, though.” You cough, clear your throat. “My, uh. My brother interned there during undergrad. I don’t know if your father told you that.”

You don’t know why you say it, because it’s clear from the brief flicker of pain on Seungcheol’s face that he hadn’t known, that no one had told him. And it hurts you too that they felt the need to keep it a secret, to protect Seungcheol from you even in tangential ways.

“He didn’t,” he admits, “but I’m sure he was happy to see him. He was, uh—he was glad to hear you’re my tutor. Said you were always smarter than all of us boys combined.”

You laugh. Hope it sounds casual instead of strained. “Well, no need to prove him right. Come on,” you say, tossing a study guide in his direction, “let’s get to work.”

Everything is alright for a while—nearly an hour at least. He has the formulas memorized and attributed to the correct equations. He can explain supply and demand, preference and utility, but things start to fall apart around budget constraints and constrained choice.

The formulas get mixed up. He grows frustrated when he doesn’t know the answers to your questions right away. Rolls his eyes and gets a little snappy when you correct him, try to explain things differently in a way he understands. At first he’s able to temper it, collect himself before things truly start spiraling out of control, but the longer the two of you sit there the more it all unravels.

He snaps, you snap back, and you can’t figure out why. You’ve survived this long in Seungcheol’s orbit even though you never thought you’d be around him again, and perhaps it was bound to explode eventually, but…

It’s the familiarity, you realize.

You and Seungcheol aren’t friends, though you’ve been playing at it for weeks now: meeting outside of the library or your office, the personal conversations bordering on reminiscing, being in his personal space. You don’t belong here. You don’t want to be his friend—you can’t be, not for real or pretend.

“That’s not what I’m say—”

“Then explain it better,” Seungcheol fires at you, eyebrows creasing. “You’re the tutor here.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m trying, okay? All I meant was—your answer isn’t wrong, but I know Dr. Lee and he’s going to want more than that in a response.”

“Right—not good enough, like I said.”

“I’m just asking you to expand on your answer—”

“And I’m telling you that’s all I’ve got. I’m not like you, all right? I don’t have all this shit just floating around in my head all the time. I’m not smart, I barely have any idea what’s going on half the time, and you sitting here being condescending about it is doing fuck-all to help.”

You inhale sharply, taken aback at the hostility in his voice. Suggest calling it for the night, say neither of you will be productive if you keep going like this, and neither of you bother to apologize.

So much of your relationship with Seungcheol was marred by clichés.

The two of you passing notes back and forth during class. You in the bleachers of all his games, screaming along to the team chants, waving a sign around with his name on it. Not realizing you had a crush on him at all until he liked someone else and it made your stomach hurt. Childhood friends turned lovers.

Another cliché: that it’s starting to feel like that all over again.

Seungcheol sits across from you in the library, econ textbook cracked in half in front of him as he pays no attention. Keeps grabbing his phone each time it vibrates across the table. Can’t fight the smile that forces its way onto his face when he reads whatever’s there.

Stupid, you think—both to do this and to think it’d play out any other way. Seungcheol left years ago. Probably lived ten lifetimes while he was away while you were here in this exact spot doing this exact thing. Barely lived half a life, just stuck your nose in textbooks and forced your way through.

“Cheol,” you say, trying to drag his attention back to the study guide. No use. He’s typing away, presses his tongue into the fat of his cheek as he responds. “Seungcheol,” you try again.

Also fruitless.

You have no claim here, you remind yourself—not to his time, not to him. He’s only here because someone else mandated it. You’re only here because someone else mandated it, but it stings all the same. Another reminder of what used to be, of what ended regardless of what you wanted. Another reminder that the role you used to play in his life is not the role you play now. That the space you used to take up created a vacancy, and eventually it was going to be filled.

And if this was anyone other than Seungcheol, if you were more emotionally evolved when it came to him, it wouldn’t gnaw at you as much. All of this would roll off your shoulders.

But it isn’t, and you’re not.

“If you’re not going to listen, then—”

“I am listening,” he interjects, but he’s not looking at you. Not looking at his textbook or his study guide. Keeps laughing and smiling at his phone, and it’s sick how bothered you are by it. That it feels like your stomach’s been turned inside-out with jealousy; with annoyance, because you don’t want to be here anyway, don’t want to do this anymore, and you’re wasting your time on someone who doesn’t appreciate it.

Perhaps he never did.

“What are we discussing, then?”

Still not looking up: “Consumer theory.”

You laugh—more a huff of air than anything, grin sardonically out of one corner of your mouth. Seungcheol sees none of it. “Wrong,” you answer, already expecting the way he shrugs it off. “I’m gonna skip ahead a few chapters, though. Consider it a freebie for your business class.”

It must be your tone that finally grabs his attention. Cutting, precise, purposeful. Seungcheol lowers his phone, quirks an eyebrow, wonders where this is going to go. It’s clear he’s pissed you off, that you’re itching for a fight. It’s clear the years of silence are finally coming to a head.

“Let’s talk about ROI. You know what that is?” You barely give him a second. “Return on investment. A performance measure used to evaluate the efficiency of an investment or compare the efficiency of several investments. So, let’s say I make one-hundred-thousand won on a ten-thousand won investment: my ROI is 90%. Are you following?”

He nods.

“Great, now let’s try something a bit more hypothetical.” You suck in a breath. “Let’s say I invest years of my adolescence into someone. A friend at first and then something more. Let’s say I played cheerleader, supported every hope and dream he had—went to every game, cheered him on, helped him practice his English. Held his hand and talked him down when the pressure felt overwhelming, when the only thing that felt inevitable was failure. Now, let’s say all I got in return was a stuttered, awkward apology as he dumped me and walked out the door. Let’s say that guy showed up again after years of silence just to once again waste my fucking time.”

The thing about pain is it’s not linear. What hurt five, ten years ago might not hurt today, but it might tomorrow; what hurt yesterday may never hurt again. The thing about pain is it lets you stick your head in the sand until it can’t anymore, and that’s where you are now: that window of time between Seungcheol walking out the door on the assumption you’d never see him again before he bulldozed his way back into your life has been slammed closed, locked up tight.

So you don’t even notice you’re crying until the room goes deathly silent and you can hear the drip drip drip of tears on paper. Until you watch Seungcheol’s hands flex and unflex in mid-air, stuck in that liminal space, wanting to reach out but knowing he has no right to. Until your chest aches so bad you’re sure you’re either about to break into stardust or cease to exist.

Until you say, “What, Choi Seungcheol, would you say my fucking return on investment was?” and he has nothing to say at all.

Kaori invites you to a party.

Just something small to celebrate the end of midterms and a classmate’s birthday. Nothing out of control or raucous, not even the kind of thing that’d earn a second glance from campus security. I won’t even make fun of you if you leave before eleven, is how she sold it to you, in addition to a small amount of begging and bargaining and a powerful set of puppy-dog eyes.

After everything the two of you have been through, you find it hard to say no.

So here you are, nearly eleven o’clock on a Friday, a cup of cheap beer in hand. A friend of a friend of a friend is wailing into a karaoke machine and although your ears are bleeding, it does feel nice for that to be your greatest worry. You aren’t thinking about your classes or how you’ve been prioritizing everyone else’s academic success. You aren’t thinking about whatever’s going on between Kaori and Ken. You aren’t thinking about Seungcheol.

At least you aren’t, until he walks through the door.

You’re going to continue not thinking about him at all—not about the fact he’s alone or how good he looks in a simple black T-shirt that’s a little taut in the shoulders. You’re not going to think about the way the air shifts, like the universe knows he’s important and is willing to accommodate. You’re not going to think about how Kaori catches your eye across the room, recognizes him from all her internet searches, and the way she mouths oh my god he’s so beefy at you.

You’re not going to think about how guilty you feel that she doesn’t know, because if you do you’re certain it’ll take over.

You watch Seungcheol work the room; watch as he floats between conversations, as strangers fall over themselves at the sight of him. How eager everyone is to give him something and how reluctant he is to take them. You watch as he winds up in the same circle as Kaori and how she must mention you, oh, your tutor is my roommate, because there’s a question in return before he turns and meets your gaze.

You wonder why the distance between you feels more insurmountable now than ever before.

Seungcheol finds you in your office.

It’s not a Tuesday or a Thursday, far later than four to six in the evening, but he doesn’t even bother knocking before he’s barreling in, stifling your space with his bad energy.

You haven’t seen him in nearly two weeks. Not since the party, if that even counts. Hasn’t bothered to reply to any of your texts or emails, and that was just fine by you, if that’s how he wanted to act, but it isn’t until he’s brooding on the other side of your desk that you realize you’re still aggrieved, too. Feels a little too familiar, him leaving you behind and in the dark.

So you don’t mean to—typically have much more professionalism than this—but when he tosses a stapled stack of papers with a barely-passing grade on your desk and says, “This is your fault,” the words come automatically and without forethought.

“Fuck off, Seungcheol.” It’s not your words that take him by surprise; more so the roll of your eyes, the accompanying huff. The impression that all of this is beneath you and nothing more than a mere annoyance. That however affected you were two weeks ago is not how affected you are anymore. “That’s what happens when you blow off your tutoring for two weeks because you’re a coward.”

He laughs, incredulous; unable to help the sound the tumbles out of his mouth. “I’m a—I’m a coward?”

“Yes,” you reply, tone giving away nothing. All he sees is feigned nonchalance despite the hurricane you feel brewing beneath the surface. “This,” you continue, pinching the corner of the paper between your fingertips and disposing of it in the trashcan beneath your desk, “is all on you, but do please let me know if there’s anything else you’d like to blame me for. I’m all ears.”

You don’t miss it: the way Seungcheol’s eyes grow wide at your ‘I’m all.’ The way he thinks you’re going to punctuate that sentence with yours, and it nearly has bile rising in your throat. Makes you want to scream, rip at your hair. If the last few months have taught you anything, it’s that you are still hopelessly in love with the man across from you—the man that continues to leave before he’s left, always at your expense.

So, yeah—Seungcheol is a coward, but only when it comes to you.

But he doesn’t look much like one now, gripping so hard at the edge of your desk that his knuckles have gone white, baseball cap pulled down low enough his eyes are barely visible. He’s always been overwhelming, always carried himself with an exaggerated arrogance even when it wasn’t warranted, always took everything so seriously, and maybe that’s why you’d thought he’d treat you the same way. Take you seriously. Wouldn’t just throw it all away on a maybe thing, and that’s why it's been years and you still aren’t over it.

Maybe Seungcheol is a coward, and maybe so are you.

Because not once since he’s been back have you been able to say what you mean. Can’t seem to tell him about the anger, the hurt, the heartbreak. Played it all off as petty nonchalance because you foolishly thought that would hurt him, that you’ve been reduced to simmering ash, no hope left for a fire.

“I could never blame you for a goddamn thing,” he says, voice so deep you could drown in it.

You so desperately want to know. You don’t want to know anything at all. You want Seungcheol to explain everything to you in detail and spoil the ending, but only if it’s guaranteed to be happy. Enduring another loss like the first time—you’re not sure you can take it. Not after you two have crossed paths like this, because you’ve never quite believed in fate but you think that has to mean something. That so much time and life had transpired and you two came back together.

Today, though, it doesn’t look like you’re going to get any answers.

Seungcheol straightens, looms at full height. Digs into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulls out a thumb drive. Wordlessly, he hands it over, and then he’s gone just as abruptly as he’d arrived.

Again.

Kaori wants to spend the weekend moping, and you can’t come up with a good reason not to join her.

She doesn’t mention Ken once. Not when she’s sobbing over A Silent Voice and Toradora! after that. Not when she keeps glancing at her phone every couple minutes to see if she has any texts. Not when you—only halfway paying attention between grading and your own assignments—suggest ordering something for delivery, maybe that new burger place down the street you heard was good, and Kaori shuts it down so vehemently you can only assume it was Ken’s favorite place.

Kaori just cries over the man with the big dick she never expected to take so seriously, and not even your stonewalling makes her feel ashamed of it.

And there’s respectability in that kind of openness and vulnerability. At least whatever she’s feeling is honest; at least she can admit she’s sad. You think watching Kaori process her breakup might help you process yours too, years too late, so you suck in a breath and ask, “Can I tell you something or is now not a good time?”

Kaori looks over at you. Dabs a soggy tissue at her eyes. “Well, I guess it depends,” is her answer, and she doesn’t shy away from how waterlogged her voice sounds. “If you’re going to tell me you’re a Takasu and Kawashima shipper, maybe, but if it’s anything worse I’m not sure I could take it.”

“I—what? Who even are they?” She gives you a half-hearted thumbs up. You sigh in response, sink further into the couch. “It’s, uh.” Clear your throat. “Do you remember when we met sophomore year? At that party? And I told you I wasn’t looking for anything and you said, and I quote, why not, I have a sixth sense for this kind of thing and I know that guy will have a huge—”

She hides her face behind her hands. “Ew, god, yes I remember that. My dick whisperer era. How embarrassing.”

“Right. And I told you I wasn’t looking for anything because I’d just gotten out of something.”

“Not really by choice, if I remember correctly. I told you if it was quiet it should’ve been loud, and then you never talked about it again.”

You nod. “I—yeah, that sounds like something I would’ve said.” You suck in a deep breath. “Listen, this is probably gonna sound bad considering I did never talk about it again, but—”

“Hey,” Kaori says, nudging you with her foot. Meant to be comforting, somehow. “It’s okay. There’s a lot you don’t know about me, too… most of which I’m not sure you should, actually.”

A laugh forces its way out, gives you a nice reprieve from the anxiety of the conversation you’re about to have. The need to explain it all, the need for advice. Maybe it’s not her—or anyone else’s—business, but you think you’ve kept this to yourself long enough. You and Seungcheol loved each other, once, and it seems foolish that no one knows.

Maybe Kaori had been right. Maybe love should be shouted from the rooftops; exist out in the open. Maybe something hidden in the shadows can never thrive in the light, and you knew it back then, deep down, but now it seems so obvious.

You think back to a few days before the library. Think about how things didn’t feel good but they felt okay. Think about the frustrated crease between Seungcheol’s eyebrows as he stared down at his textbook and how all you’d wanted to do was smooth it. Think about how you’d rolled your lips and tried not to laugh; how you thought it’d take a miracle to help Seungcheol pass this class.

Think about: What is the difference between the short-run and the long-run from the perspective of production theory?

Think about the short-run of your and Seungcheol’s relationship—that you’d burned bright and fast, even though it’d felt like a million years. Hadn’t dared to consider the long-run because anything beyond that bubble felt impossible.

Think about: Which of the following is not a property of isoquants?

Think about the way Seungcheol’s eyes lit up when he knew the answer. That they’re always linear, he said, and you smiled at his enthusiasm, raised your hand to high-five him and dropped it when he hadn’t noticed.

You think about the explanation—isoquants can be linear when inputs are perfectly substitutable—and what those graphs look like. Downward sloping, left to right. Think about how the graphs change when the isoquants are perfect complements.

L-shaped. Less straight as the inputs become poorer substitutes.

You know what your and Seungcheol’s graph would’ve looked like back then.

So it’s easy, almost, to tell Kaori everything. You tell her about growing up in Daegu, about the smell of the azaleas at Biseulsan in the spring. You tell her about how your parents had befriended the neighbors, how they had a kid your age, that that kid was Seungcheol—yes, that Seungcheol.

She’s able to anticipate the rest from there, but you fill in the blanks of what she can’t: being sixteen and falling in love, holding hands, the clandestine notes. All those football matches and how your throat would be hoarse from cheering. How nauseous you’d felt applying to university in Seoul, how excited you were when Seungcheol said he was coming with you. That, after you arrived, it felt like you were living in fast-forward. Barely any time to breathe or adjust; no time to just be you and Seungcheol. You had to be a student, someone responsible; Seungcheol had to be a phenom.

“Could you feel it was going to happen?” Kaori asks, now sat ramrod straight, all her attention on you. “Like, did you know?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Maybe I did? It’s hard to say now, all this time later. I know things definitely felt different, like life was pulling us in opposite directions.” You laugh, bitterness coloring the edges. “You couldn’t go two blocks without seeing him on some billboard, and I was just… normal, you know? I wasn’t some rising star athlete like he was, I just went to my classes. How was I supposed to compete with something like that?”

Your roommate hums, leans back into the pillows as she stares up at the ceiling. “I don’t think you were. Maybe that’s why Seungcheol was worried—maybe he felt like you were losing your own identity feeling like you had to keep up.”

You want to push back, argue that you weren’t, that you didn’t, but the truth is that it’s possible. That the shadows created by Seungcheol’s dreams were so massive you wouldn’t be surprised if they unintentionally swallowed you up. “It still wasn’t his choice to make,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

And Kaori already knows all about your hurt, listened as you explained it all and laid everything bare. So when she says, “Sometimes that’s just how it goes, though, babe,” it doesn’t feel condescending. “We do the best we can with what we’ve got at the time. You can say now it wasn’t Seungcheol’s choice to make, because it’s been almost five years and you’ve made a life for yourself separate from him. But the—god, this is gonna sound so patronizing, I am so sorry—but you guys were so young. No one has it all figured out at that age.”

She snorts, runs a hand through her messy hair. “Shit, I’m nearly halfway to thirty and I still don’t know anything.” Adopts a frown. “What do you want now? Do you want closure? Want to try to fix things and become friends?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, biting at a hangnail. “He actually, um. The other day when he stopped by my office, he left me a USB drive? And before you ask, no I did not already look at it.”

“A USB drive? Who does this guy think he is, James Bond?” A pause. “Are you gonna look at it, though?”

You do.

Not until the silver, midnight light creeps in through your bedroom curtains and you’ve stared at the ceiling long enough; waited long enough for texts that never came, for divine intervention to, well, intervene. It never did—fair enough—so you decide to take fate by the reins. Grab your laptop, instant headache from the screen, stick the drive into the port.

It takes a second for it to load, but when it does: dozens of videos, organized by date. Vlogs, by the look of them—some from before your breakup but the majority of them from after.

You’re not sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this.

You click on the first one: a month and a half before both of you moved to Seoul. A fresh-faced Seungcheol appears on your screen, cheeks still round with adolescence. He’s in his room back in Daegu, can’t get the camera angle right. Nostalgia hits you like a ton of bricks as it pans to the side, to the wall behind his bed, and you see all his old posters. Mostly football players you couldn’t name, some girl group he used to love, a few movies. Just below them are some of the notes you’d written him in school, and they’re all you can focus on as he talks about how excited he is for the move.

The next: a few weeks after you’d started classes. By then, Seungcheol was well into the swing of things with Seoul FC. Already a big fish in a small pond, tryout offers from European teams starting to roll in. You can hear yourself in the background stressing over your first exam, wishing a generational curse upon your calculus professor. In the video, Seungcheol laughs, whispers like he’s telling the camera a secret as he talks about how nervous he is for his future. I don’t know why, he says, but it just feels like everything is about to change.

There’s a long pause between that one and the next. You understand why when you look at the date: three months after your breakup. Your hands hover uselessly above your keyboard. Whatever answers you’ve been looking for the last few years are probably in this video, but you can’t bring yourself to open it. Not right away, at least.

You click on a different one at random. Seungcheol’s somewhere in Europe, judging from the language on the signs behind him. Snow falls quietly—whenever he filmed this, it must’ve been early. No one else is around, and he cracks a joke that it’s a good thing, people would probably think he was crazy if they saw him. He doesn’t tell you where he’s going but he narrates the entire walk: points out a cafe he’s grown to love. The way to get to his practice stadium from where he’s standing. Pauses near a restaurant and laughs ruefully, shakes his head, says, I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but one of my teammates set me up on a blind date here and I got stood up. You’d probably think that was funny.

(You do. It also makes your chest ache.)

One from two years ago: Seungcheol in a hotel room, clearly nervous. He raises his hand to wave at the camera and you can see the corners of his nails bitten raw. Dark circles beneath his eyes; cheekbones more pronounced than you’ve ever seen them. On the screen, Seungcheol sighs, rakes a hand through freshly-bleached hair. Sucks in a deep breath as he says, I’m so nervous. I’m so—so fucking nervous and I don’t. Fuck, I don’t know what to do. I want to call you because you always knew what to say but that’s so fucking selfish. God, we haven’t spoken in years, and it’s my—that’s my fault, I know, so I brought this all on myself. I just want to hear your voice.

Another from a week after that: the color’s returned to his face, and he’s recording from what looks like a penthouse apartment. Sleek, modern; a small white dog napping on the bed beside him. He smiles, looks like he got his teeth fixed, looks like he’s no longer carrying around the weight of the world. Talks endlessly and excitedly about some tournament. Talks so fast you can barely keep up. Talks around words tinged with languages you don’t understand.

Seungcheol wins a championship. Records a drunk vlog from the same night, hair soaked through with god-knows-what—water, champagne, you don’t know. But he looks radiant. Looks like the culmination of two decades of dreaming. He looks happy, free, at peace. He looks like the reason he let you go, why he had to go away.

You scroll to the bottom of the files. Pause at the last video, dated seven months before the term started.

“Hi,” he says, and you can immediately tell everything is all wrong. Seungcheol’s in the dark, face only visible enough to see the tears tracking on his cheeks. “This is going to be the last one of these I make. I don’t know if you, uh—I’m sure you aren’t paying attention to me—my career—anymore, but. I, um. I got hurt. Ruptured my ACL. They’re not sure I’ll…” A sob escapes him. Has you wanting to climb through the screen to hold him, thumb away his tears, tell him everything is going to be okay. “They don’t know if I’ll ever play again.”

Seungcheol no longer looks happy, free, at peace. “Maybe you’ll be happy to hear that,” he continues. “Maybe it’ll help you to know I threw away our relationship for nothing.”

Cut to black.

The sudden silence is deafening. Has you desperately clicking back to the video you’d skipped, the one from just after your breakup. Seungcheol looks the same in that one, too, like the life has been drained out of him.

I don’t know why I’m doing this. It’s not like I’ll ever show these to you now, since I…

I’m sure I owe you an explanation. To be honest, I don’t know what I’m doing, I just—things have been so hard, and I’m still trying to make sense of it all. I feel like my life went from zero to a hundred before I could even blink and now I’m scrambling. I didn’t think it was fair to—to drag you through that. Me being away, moving to an entirely different continent. I have faith we could do it, I just. I don’t know, baby, I don’t…

You deserve to have your own life. Be your own person. I’m so scared that the world will never see you for who you are—so beautiful and intelligent and kind. You don’t deserve to be reduced to my partner. And if you ever see this, I know you’re gonna roll your eyes. Probably call me a mean name because I took the choice away from you, because you think I’m trying to be selfless and heroic, and you’d be right. It’s not fair, and I wish I could tell you I’m sorry.

I wish I could just… pluck out my brain and give it to you, because even if it killed me to do it, at least it makes sense to me. And I don’t—I don’t want you to think I’m not hurting. I’ve been sick to my stomach since I left. I know I’m making a mistake, I know I am, I just—how do I do what I think is right in the long-run when it’s not what I want right now, or ever?

I don’t want to get over you. I don’t want you to get over me, and that’s how you know I’m not acting selflessly, because you should. I want you to always be happy, I just… wish it was with me.

So, I’m going to keep making these. I’m going to take you along for the ride, wherever it takes us, because you should be here but I can only hope you can one day understand why you’re not. I’m so—I’m so sorry, I don’t…

I’m sorry.

I love you.

You fall asleep and dream that you were the one meant to meet him at that restaurant.

The first thing you do is make a call to your mother.

“Could you send another container of yakgwa?”

On the other end of the line, your mother tuts, motherly intuition audibly kicking into overdrive. Is probably wearing that all-knowing, sly grin she always does when you try to be coy and evasive. “What happened to the last container I sent?”

“Ah, you know Kaori loves those. They barely lasted an hour after I told her what was in there.”

She hums an acknowledgement. Sounds like she takes a sip of tea. “I remember someone else being quite fond of those cookies, too.”

“Well, they are the most popular cookies in the country, so.”

After haranguing you into admitting they’re for Seungcheol and not your roommate, your mother promises to send them quickly. A few days at most, which buys you enough time to figure out how you’re going to approach the man in question.

The vlogs have turned your entire world upside-down. Answered questions you hadn’t even known you had. Took all that anger and resentment you’d been holding onto and set it free, and now you’re just left with… a void. Want to mend things, and it makes you wonder if such a thing is even possible, if it’s too late, but you don’t let those thoughts get very far.

Instead, you let them spur you into action. Have you sitting in front of your laptop at your desk, office hours long since over, silence creeping in the more the department empties. The thrum of the airconditioning and the tick-tick-tick of the clock are all the only company you have.

You worry if it’ll show on camera, how out of sorts you feel: sweating from the nerves, dabbing at your hairline; cheeks warm to the touch. But you suck in a breath anyway, steel yourself. Look at your webcam and the daunting red circle…

And start recording.

He hadn’t gotten it at first. Not really.

There’d been a container of yakgwa outside his door with his USB drive taped to the top of it. No note—not that he needed one to know who it was from, but he wasn’t sure what it was. A goodbye? A please fuck off forever and never contact me again?

He’d just taken them inside. Ate too many of the cookies while feeling sorry for himself. Maybe had a glass or two of wine to compound the issue, and never, ever considered contacting you. Didn’t think he could bear it if you never wanted to see him again, but he just…

Well, he was drunk and alone and he missed you, and he’d rewatched all those videos he recorded a million times before when he was like this, so what was a million and one?

It’d been the same as every time before: he smiled at the happy parts, cried at all his old wounds. Wanted to reach through the screen and strangle his past self for including that part about the blind date, because he never wanted to date anyone who wasn’t you, why would he say that, felt mortified at the thought of you watching that—

And then there it was.

All the way at the bottom. A new video. One that hadn’t been recorded by him—

Hi, Cheol, you say, and that’s all it takes to reduce him to a sobbing, yearning mess. I’m not sure what to say here. I don’t really record much—sometimes for lectures when the professors are too busy, but never anything personal like this, but I watched every single one you made for me and I thought I should return the favor.

I wanted to tell you everything I’ve been up to since you left, but it hasn’t been much. I got my degree. Tutored a lot in undergrad—the same thing I’m tutoring you in now, actually. I was good at it and it felt good to have something that was mine, you know? I almost moved for grad school. Thought for a while I was going to wind up in New York, but then my parents divorced and it felt like too much, too scary, so I stayed. Kaori also stayed, so we got an apartment together. It’s not much, definitely not as nice as your place, but it’s good enough.

I don’t think I ever told you, but she was seeing a guy for a bit and he was… obsessed with you, to say the least. Thought you were the coolest person in the world. They aren’t seeing each other anymore. Ended pretty badly, but—speaking of which, maybe steer clear of Student Services for a while, too.

Sometimes it felt like failure that I wound up staying here. That I had scholarships from all these far-away, prestigious places and didn’t take advantage of them. That I gave into my fear. And now… I don’t know. Maybe there’s a reason I stayed behind. Maybe there’s a reason you ended up back here, too.

Whatever happens—I don’t want you to think I still blame you. Kaori says we do the best we can with what we’ve got at the time, and I understand now that’s what you did. Even though it hurt me, you were trying to protect me. I get it now. And I’m sorry you had to go through all of that alone. I can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been to go to all these places you didn’t know. To have to deal with your injury, the loss of a dream.

You said in one of your videos that you just want me to be happy, and that’s all I want for you, too, whatever that looks like.

Here’s my address if you ever want to come by to talk.

I love you, too.

—and then he’d been up and out the door, feeling stone cold sober, running to the front of his building to wait for his ride.

Felt like the drive took hours. Must’ve hit every red light between his apartment and yours. Took the steps two at a time just to get to your door faster.

There’s a man already standing outside your door when he gets there. One that looks shocked to see him, stars in his eyes, and when Seungcheol says, “Oh, you must be Kaori’s ex,” he looks more like he wants the earth to swallow him whole. Embarrassed in front of his idol.

He knocks on your door and gets no response. Knocks again, harder this time, and he has to try really hard to stifle his laughter when your voice yells from the inside, “Fuck off, Kenji, I already told you she’s not here!”

“It’s me,” Seungcheol yells back.

There’s quiet again. Just enough time for it to feel like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest and follow Kaori’s ex down the hall.

Then you’re yanking the door open—slowly, so slowly, like you’re scared it’s not actually him. Your eyes are brimming with tears when they meet his own, and he doesn’t let himself think, just goes on instinct, when he grabs for you, hands on your cheeks, and presses his lips to yours.

Somehow you taste the same.

Somehow you taste like redemption.

You taste like home.

Seungcheol kisses you until the tears slow. Kisses you until the universe realigns, until he could map your mouth in the dark. Kisses you until all you’re all he knows again.

When he pulls away, you’re gripping at his sweatshirt, don’t want to let him go. He presses his forehead to yours, offers up a million more apologies, starts talking nonsense. Says he’s going to drop microeconomics, what the hell does he know, he barely has a passing grade anyway, what does it matter, he’s such an idiot—

And then you say, “You came back,” and nothing else matters.

“I always will.”

(Later on, as you’re trying to steady your breathing, slick with sweat, your thigh thrown over Seungcheol’s hip as he stares down at you, dopey smile on his face, you say, “Choi Seungcheol, don’t you dare drop that class. I have worked my ass off to get you to barely-passing.”)

if you’ve made it this far thank you so much for reading! i am still very new at writing for seventeen, so i hope this was acceptable. i'm now going to throw myself into the warped tour vernon fic and will hopefully not go another 7+ months without posting anything. 😭

i would love to hear your thoughts! <3

#seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader #seungcheol angst #seungcheol au #scoups angst #seungcheol imagines #scoups imagines #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #jewel writes

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r0-boat · 3 months

Text

Von Lycaon eating pussy

I'm sorry

Cw: NSFW, AFAB!reader.

Summary: based off of my last post of hired Butler and bodyguard Lycaon

"are you stressed young Master?" The cold husky tone of your bodyguard cuts your concentration as he gently places a cup of warm tea on your desk. Your eyes have been staring at a white paper for so long You had to rub them before looking up.

You sigh the grimace on your face was imminent of your displeasure.

"I just been working on these papers I want to get them done soon but... It's been a couple hours now and I can't focus." You are always vulnerable with him and like always he is willing to listen but this time He had something different in mind.

"pardon me if I make a suggestion perhaps I could help you de-stress?" You swore you saw his tail twitch his lips twitch up word as well. At first you thought he was just going to nag or something but little did you know. He had something different in mind.

"What is it?" You said giving him the go-ahead. Your heart stopped in your chest as he turns the chair around for you to face him towering over your smaller form before he gets on his knees His soft fingers delicately tracing over your skin before holding onto your legs forcing them apart.

"Wh-Woah woah! Hold on What are you doing?!"You felt heat flushed to your face You can't lie in saying that you hadn't done things with him before but this??? In the office???

And that's when you saw it, It was a small yet wolfish smile. "You've always told me that I need to 'be more wild' to 'have some fun' as well as 'bend the rules'"this guy... Sounds like he's mocking you. You grit your teeth but couldn't hold up your gas when you felt his tongue lick your bare thigh as he slowly begins to pull down the rest of your garments.

"I think this is more than bending the ahh~."

And with that his tongue licked against your folds.

Lycaon hummed tasting the sweet arousal on his tongue "Delicious. I don't mind having you as my meal tonight."

The way he was speaking so elegant yet so lewd and that damn smile now showing glimpses of his sharp teeth. Which he had noticed.

"Don't worry master I'll watch my teeth, I'll be gentle. Thank you for the meal."

He growls before diving back between your legs. His tail was thumping against the ground but he didn't care His ears twitching has he tries not to dig his claws into your flesh thighs as he struggles to go deeper with his tongue.

When his thumb presses against your clit you tilt your head back It took everything in you to hold back your noises Your thighs trying to close onto his head but he was far stronger than you holding you completely still practically pinning you to the chair. He was not only deeply engrossed in your wet sweet folds but also your pleasure. He tried not to play with your wet pussy too much with his fingers afraid his sharp claws but he touched you just enough for you to squirm.

Part of him wanted to tease you. To withheld pleasure until you beg, But you've been good doing your work all on your own you deserve a break, You deserve a reward.

When you clenched around his tongue trying to grind your hips against his face He knew you were close. Your hands and tangled in his fur grabbing and pulling him rather roughly You hear growl coming from him a sound you have never heard him make before your whole world shifts You stare at the ceiling your back against the seat He lifts your legs up His shaky breath against you.

"cum." He growls "Cum for me."

He didn't have to tell you twice as you came all over his tongue he tasted every sweet bit of you.

As you laid their panting he scooped you up putting you back on the chair taking out handkerchief from his coat pocket wiping his mouth dry.

"Oh my it looks like you're even more exhausted I'll draw a bath for you." Lycaon smiles before leaving the room leaving you in a daze. His tail swishing side to side on his way out.

"I shall come back once a hot bath is ready for you."

#smut #zzz lycaon x reader #zzzero #zzz lycaon #zzz smut #zzz lycaon smut #zenless zone zero #zenless zone zero x reader #zzzero x reader #zzz x reader #von lycaon x reader #von lycaon #I wish I had him aaa #von lycon smut

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peachesofteal · 2 months

Text

Simple Math / Part Fifteen

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader AO3 - 4.7k words Tags: 18+ mdni, nurse!reader, hospital setting, domesticity, feelings of anxiety, self doubt, anxiety about sex. PTSD. Tiny bit of a panic attack. Tiny smidge of Simon's past if you know where to look. Comfort. Cockwarming. Barebacking, anal fingering, masturbation, praise kink, daddy kink. Basically the guys fuck while Bunny watches.

You’ve been having dreams about the hospital.

It’s always the same one.

You’re running a code with an intern and a fleet of baby nurses. No one is moving as fast as you are, no one is following direction. You’re on fast forward, they’re on rewind.

Every time, the dream starts and ends the same way. For some reason, you can’t see the patient’s face. You work on them for what feels like hours, and then only once it’s been called does the mental block disappear, you look down-

To see yourself.

Intubated. Bruised and broken.

Dead.

“Bunny.”

“Hmm?” You glance up across the counter, feeling the focus of Simon’s eyes before you see them.

“Everything alright?” Pen babbles ‘moremoremoremore’ while making the sign at the same time.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He mimics Penny’s sign, and then gives her a yes, spooning more yogurt into her mouth.

“You’ve been standing in the same spot for the last ten minutes, staring into your coffee.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry… I’m just a little… scatterbrained this morning.”

“Still having that dream?” It’s been a week and a half since it started, and a few days since you finally confided in Simon and Johnny it was bothering you. “Do you think it might be related to going back to work this week?” You shrug.

“Maybe? I don’t know… I’ve never dreamed of working on… myself.” His jaw flexes, and then he sighs.

“I’ve been thinking…” Penny squawks, demanding the attention of the room, and you pull some blueberries from the counter and put them on her plate. “My therapist is taking new patients. I don’t want to push you before you’re ready, but I’d like you to consider it.” The grimace slides onto your face without preamble. Sure, you’ve considered therapy in the past, but it’s a risk. Mandated reporting, paper trails, everything you don’t need.

“I don’t need therapy right now.”

“You have PTSD.” He says point blank, and you blink. Your mind fractures, little pieces twisting and turning, trying to knit together a larger picture.

“No- I- I’m not… it’s…” You’re a medical professional, don’t you know what PTSD looks like?

“It’s hard to see, in yourself.” Simon senses the confusion and tries to soothe it away, cool balm on a burn.

You suppose he’s not wrong. It’s not unrealistic, you having PTSD, but you’ve never been confronted with it. Never been forced to face the truth.

No one’s ever known you well enough, to see.

It stings. It stings for some reason, and you don’t know why.

“I’m sorry.” He stands, moving around the counter to stand in front of you. “I want to help you, bun, but I should have approached that differently.” You shake your head, relenting into the steady hand at your back, and tip your face into his chest. The confrontation of the truth aches, but there’s comfort in Simon’s touch, understanding, and you relent to it, drifting away inside his tender hold.

“What’s goin’ on?” Johnny’s close, appearing in the kitchen after sleeping in. He was deep in his own dreams when you woke up, sweet like angel in the clouds, buried in the pillows, and you couldn’t stand to wake him.

Simon rumbles something over your head. You can’t make it out, ear covered by his bicep, and you turn your head to peek, reaching for Johnny.

“Hey, pretty girl.”

“Hi.”

“Why don’t ye come lay down wit’ me on the couch?” He coos, stroking a hand over your hair. “’m not quite awake yet.” Simon gives you a squeeze, and you nod.

“Yeah, okay.”

Johnny holds you close. His nose in your neck, fingertips carefully tracing over your skin, heat at your back, he calms you, comforts you, lulls your stiff muscles languid. He’s so good at it, pulling and kneading until you settle, and it dawns on you he’s had practice.

“Would you tell me about you and Simon?”

“What do ye want to know?”

“What was it like… in the beginning. When you got together.” He kneads your hip, thoughtful for a quiet moment, and then takes a deep breath.

“He was difficult. Didnae wan’ to let me in, no matter how hard I tried. Had to corner him in his room on base just to get him to kiss me.” Johnny chuckles low, rubbing your shoulder. “Took him forever, to break down, let me see him, really see him, for the first time. I had glimpses, here and there. Moments in the field, on base, at the bar with the team when we’d decompress but… it took a lot of work. He tried to push me off, hide away.”

“Why?

“It’s his story to tell ye, bunny. An’ he will, in time.” He sighs. “He’s always been like this, strong, steadfast, more serious than me, but he buried a lot of things, deep. Always was very aware of it, jus’ not willing to show it to anyone else. Wanted to be a ghost.”

“But… he’s okay."

“He’s okay. Has some moments where he gets lost, still, but works through ‘em, wit’ me or on his own.” He kisses your neck, soft enough to tickle, and you shiver. “He’s really good at this, bein’ a da, takin’ care of a family. Treats us all like his little unit. I miss him too much when ‘m away. Pen too.”

“I’m sure.” His lips graze your shoulder, humming.

“An’ ye. When I go back, I’ll be thinkin’ of ye all the time.” When he goes back. The idea is chilling, a douse of cold water. It’s felt so far away, the idea of Johnny returning to his job, the thing that brought you to him in the first place.

“But that won’t be for a while, right? I mean, you’re still healing.”

“It won’t be for a while.” He assures, though there’s something in his voice, pinched and pained. You don’t ask, don’t push, choosing to close your eyes instead, nestled in his arms, safe.

“This is the worst.” You’re whining. You know you’re whining, know you sound like a child, but it spills out of you without stopping.

“I know sweetheart.” Simon screws the cap onto a travel mug, giving you a sympathetic smile. They’re both up with you, before the sun, listening to you moan.

You shouldn’t be going to work at this hour. You should be awake, puttering around, working your rhythm back to normal, getting oriented to working at night.

You’ve never hated your manager more. She insisted she was sorry, that she had no choice but to fill the overnight shift. She assumed, she said, the new nurse would want to go to days when you got back, but she’s taken a liking to it.

She’s taken your shift.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad? An’ ye’ll see me tomorrow when I come in for therapy.” That is an upside at least, knowing you’ll be able to see him, see them both, at work.

But the rest of it, simply put, sucks.

“We should probably get going.” Simon kisses Johnny goodbye, and you’re drawn to them, sidling up in their orbit. Johnny wraps an arm around you, mouth to your temple.

“Have a good first day back, bunny. I’ll be thinking of ye.” You turn, grazing your lips on his, and he seals the kiss, drenching it in care, sweetness.

“Bye.”

Simon walks you all the way to the door.

Your resistance at the initial idea slowly fades as the sun peeks over the city. It’s different with Simon at your side, the paranoia and rampant fear infecting the atmosphere wherever you go is farther away.

You trust him. You’re starting to believe they may be able to keep you safe.

He holds your hand for most of the trip.

It’s… nice. Once you make it to the door, he turns and tucks his fingers under your chin, holding your gaze like a magnet. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will.” He presses his lips to your forehead, and you lean into it, eyes closed.

“Have a good day, bunny.”

Work is absolute hell.

Dayshift is so different from nights, and you have trouble adjusting. The turnover rate at the hospital is fairly high, so when you badge in and get started, you hardly recognize anyone.

Except, Marshall.

He’s standing outside the pit when you round the corner, devilish grin aimed at one of the nurses you don’t recognize. New probably. Sheep in a lion’s den.

You clear your throat. His head snaps up.

“Well, well, well… looks who back from vacation.”

“Marshall.” You greet, barely looking at him, tapping through your tablet. “I wasn’t on vacation. I was out on medical leave. Big difference.”

“Right.” He takes you in from head to toe. “Rotator cuff, huh?”

“Mhmm.”

“Surgical?”

“No.” The other nurse watches you with interest, before scurrying away when a bell chimes. “Still having inappropriate relationships all over the hospital, I see.” He raises an eyebrow.

“You’re one to talk.” Ice cracks across your forced smile. He smirks. “Heard you’ve got yourself two boyfriends.” You suck your teeth. Nia.

“Considering he’s no longer my patient, it’s hardly inappropriate.” With the best timing, his phone rings, pulling his focus, and you slip away.

Fucking asshole.

Simon opens the front door for you and is careful not slam it closed.

“Penny asleep?”

“Johnny’s trying now. We’ll see if he has any luck. She’s been fightin’ it.” The kitchen smells like garlicky lemon, and you peek over his shoulder to see a large saucepan filled with linguini, capers, and shrimp. Your mouth waters.

“That smells amazing.” He takes your bag from you and hangs in on a hook from the hall tree.

“Scampi. We remembered you said it was one of your favorites, and we thought we’d spoil you a little bit. Celebrate your first day back.” Your cheeks burn hot, and to your horror, tears build up through your nose to your eyes. His brows crinkle together. “Hey, what is it?”

“That’s just… it’s really nice. You don’t have to.” Someone celebrating something with you, for you, is alien. The memories of the beginning of your relationship with Phillip are long gone, twisted and gnarled into black rot. It’s how he charmed you, wooed you, brought you closer and closer until they all but faded and you were left with only the darkness. The vice grip of his hands. His satisfied, sickening smile every time you closed your eyes.

“It’s not a ‘have to’ thing, sweetheart. We want to.” He skates his fingers over yours, pulling them to his mouth. “I know it’s hard to get used to.” You’re a little bewildered by it, the care, the consideration, even the memory of something you mentioned off hand.

“I… thank you.” He kisses your temple.

“Go shower. You smell like a hospital.”

“This was so good. Thank you again.” Your hands are woven together under your chin, rich wine sauce still present on the back of your tongue.

“Aye, thank ye.” Johnny winks at Simon, who rolls his eyes.

“Here, let me-“

“I got it.”

“No, you cooked.” You protest with a pout as they both rise.

“Johnny, sit.”

“Can wash dishes, ye know. I’m not helpless.” A sliver of twilight passes over Simon’s expression, not quite darkness but still full of a looming shadow until he sighs, relenting.

“Alright.” Your lips purse.

“What about me?”

“Ye jus’ sit on the couch and look pretty, bun. Willnae take us more than a few minutes.”

‘Just sitting on the couch’ lasts for all of five minutes before you’re antsy, rolling to your feet and padding into the kitchen.

You stop dead at the corner of the counter.

They’re making out. More than making out, Simon is swallowing Johnny’s whines with big breaths, his hand down the front of his pants. You buzz, thighs pressing together without permission, spine tingling heat awakening in your blood with zeal.

“Ah, shite-“

“Shhh. Be good.” Simon admonishes, but smiles into the kiss, wrist working a rhythm in Johnny’s sweatpants. He pulls away, chin tilted, looking down his nose with an eyebrow raised, almost condescendingly, but still grinning. “Feel good? Just need some relief?” Johnny’s moan is strangled in his throat, and you’re about to turn the corner in the shame, mortified you’re essentially spying on them, when Simon looks at you like he knows you’ve been there the whole time. “Like what you see, sweetheart?” You whimper. It slips out, unbidden, and Johnny turns, forehead pressed to Simon’s cheek. His hips are trying to jerk into the grip that has slowed, and he groans.

“Si.”

“Relax.” Simon stills him, pulling his hand free. “Maybe bunny wants to play too.” You give them a nervous smile, butterflies building in your stomach. You’re scared, there’s no other emotion to describe it. There’s fear, bad memories, anxiety building in the back of your throat, but at the same time, desire pushes you forward. You trust them, and it’s reached a critical point. You want to try.

“I… maybe if we s-started slow… I’m not sure…”

“That’s okay.” Simon coaxes, wrapping an arm around Johnny’s waist, hand splayed possessively on his stomach. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Their bed is an enchanted place.

There’s love in it, beguiling affection that transfers to you, dots down your throat to your chest, your clavicle, ass pressed into the hardened swell of Johnny’s cock.

It’s enough to strike down your fear, pry you open, lecherous want infiltrating your mind, your soul.

Their dynamic is crystal clear. Simon is natural in his mastery of both Johnny and you, the leader, the maestro. His forbearance at slowly peeling you free, layer by layer, puts you at ease, calms you enough you let him take your pants off, leaving you in only your underwear and the t shirt you put on before dinner. He folds you up against Johnny, careful to mind his sore spots, the pieces still healing, lips finding the plush fold at your ribcage.

“Sweet little bunny.” He glides careful fingertips over your panties. “Can I touch you here?” You draw a deep breath.

“Yeah.” Johnny’s lips graze your neck, and he sweep up over your belly towards your nipples, under your shirt.

“An’ can I touch ye here?”

“Mm- mhmm.” You buck into them, sensation building between your legs, lust cascading to where Simon’s fingers slip into your underwear and down the seam of your pussy.

“You’re wet, sweetheart. Is this for us?” You nod, Johnny tickling circles across your breasts, playing back and forth, pinching and stroking gently.

They’re both taking it slow, cautious, and there’s one half of you wanting to rip into them, and vice versa, while the other half is terrified. So far, the reckless abandon side is winning, but when Simon grazes over your clit, the crest of your fear bottoms out in the pit of your stomach. Johnny flexes his hips, the weight of his cock between the curve of your ass, and the combination of it, the touch now overwhelming, stream of thoughts turning panicked and unstoppable like a bolder rolling down hill, steals your breath.

In the wrong way.

“S-stop.” You freeze, immobilized, muscles turned from molten lava to stone, eyes wide, lungs rasping. Simon immediately creates distance, while Johnny jerks backward, palm steady on your shoulder, but separated otherwise.

“Ye’re alright, bunny.”

“Take a breath.” Simon coaches, maintaining eye contact, and you nod shakily, anchoring yourself to Johnny’s tender hold. You manage a breath, not so far gone you’re spiraling, and it’s deep, without a hitch or a studder. “That’s great. You’ve got it.”

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, disappointed. You’ve let yourself down, let them down-

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He murmurs, understanding and slow. “We’re done. There’s no rush.”

“No!” You blurt. He raises an eyebrow. “Sorry, I just… I don’t want it to end I’m just not sure I can… do it.” His head tilts, surprise contained with a slow smile, and Johnny hums.

“Do ye wantae watch, pretty girl?” You nod shyly.

“Is that… is that okay?”

“It’s more than okay.” Simon rasps, stroking your cheek. “Sit up against the headboard.”

The two of them move into position seamlessly, sweat and breath thick in the air, a wet fog blanketed around you. A bottle of lube discarded on the mattress, a pillow under Johnny’s hip to cushion him. He’s settled on his side, arranged carefully to avoid pressure on his injuries, and they both face you.

Simon kisses his neck, sucking urgent marks into his skin before he palms Johnny's ass, hard and then slips between his cheeks. You’re unable to see his hand, but when Johnny’s eyes go wide and he groans hoarsely, your clit throbs.

“There you go.”

“Simon.” He whines, high pitched and needy.

“Bloody tight, Johnny. Been so long since I’ve taken care of you, huh?”

“A- fuck, aye.” He presses backwards into Simon, and pants. The scene makes you drool, the eagerness on Johnny’s face, the slow movements of Simon at his back, his lips against Johnny’s cheek, neck, murmuring gently. You’re nearly shivering, ache screaming between your legs, and instinct takes over as your slip your hand inside your underwear. You’re slick, so wet it dampens your curls, and your fingertips slide over your clit, zaps of electricity echoing through your nerve endings.

Simon looks up at you through heavy lids, mouth obscured by Johnny’s shoulder. “Are you touching yourself sweetheart?” You nod, not trusting yourself to speak, afraid it will come out a garbled mess. “You want to come when I fill our boy up?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Keep going.’ He orders, and then shifts, pressing his cock to Johnny’s entrance. Johnny moans, and your own hips jerk.

Simon pushes slowly, focused on Johnny’s face, cataloging every expression. “Y’alright?” Johnny nods, lip tucked into his teeth. “Christ. You’re strangling me.” He thrusts sharply, sealing his hips to the soft curves in front of him, and Johnny cries out in a high-pitched wail, eyes slamming shut. He fumbles with his cock, squeezing at the root, but Simon pulls him away. “Not yet, sweet boy. Need you to last for us.” You’re trapped in a shockwave that hasn’t quite reached shore yet, tension building with each swipe over your sensitive bud.

“Bunny…” Johnny rasps, and your apprehensions wane.

“Does it feel good?” you whine, and he nods, groaning. Simon builds his thrusts into an unrelenting pace and cups Johnny’s belly, stroking down, pushing against the strain of muscle there, Johnny’s eyes rolling into the back of head. You wonder if Simon can feel it, the pressure, the bulge of his hard cock, shoving deeper and deeper.

“Daddy-“ Johnny shrieks, and Simon’s mouth curls into a satisfied smirk.

“That’s right, good boy. Fuck… perfect little hole f’me. All mine.” He practically growls it, and you writhe, flicking down your pussy and back up, breathing hitching in a frantic pace. Johnny’s delirious, hands scrambling across the sheets, half reaching for you, half reaching for nothing. “Isn’t he perfect, bunny?”

“Ah- yeah.” Your tongue is numb, body burning. Sweat slicks down the middle of your back, and you ride your hand violently.

“Please.” He’s begging, frenzied, fingers twisting, and Simon reaches for his cock, wrapping his fist around his length. It doesn’t take long until Johnny’s back bows, and your toes curl. You hiss. They move together wildly now, a push pull in a frenetic dance, and your eyes slip closed, sinking into the slick sounds of Simon fucking Johnny open, Johnny moaning, whispers passed back and forth. Simon cups his jaw, tilting his face towards you, and they both watch, drifting from your eyes down to where you’re trying to make yourself come, clit swollen and throbbing.

“She’s such a good girl, isn’t she? Touchin’ herself, watching you take my cock.”

“Pretty girl.” Johnny slurs through his gasps, body shaking with the power of Simon’s thrusts. He’s close, judging by the fevered look on his face, little gasps and whines tumbling from his mouth. Simon squeezes him, thick thumb rubbing over his slit.

“Come, bunny. Be good for daddy.” Simon coaches, and you tighten, cosmic explosion streaking behind your closed lids, the same time Simon grits out something under his breath, jaw tight, tugging relentlessly on Johnny’s cock until he’s crying out too, cum splattering up his belly and chest, Simon milking every last drop from his cock as he lazily strokes inside him.

Immediately, you gasp. Shocked at yourself, but not scared. Not nervous just… emboldened.

They both read it on you, and Johnny’s head lolls with a satisfied, lazy smile. Simon pulls free, rubbing Johnny’s hip sweetly, ducking into the bathroom to get a towel. He cleans him up carefully, gently, and Johnny’ reaches for your hand. You don’t turn away.

And when Simon urges you to tuck in between them for sleep, you do. More than willingly.

“He looks good.” Hot tea wafts from the cup in front of your nose. You’re on break, somewhat, watching Johnny work through his last few minutes of physical therapy, his face broken out in satisfied smile. His biceps flex. “Really good.”

“He’s been workin’ out at home, a bit. In the garage.”

“He shouldn’t be pushing it.”

“I know.” Simon squeezes your good shoulder. “He’s okay, bun. He’s strong. A bit too stubborn for his own good sometimes, but strong.”

“Dada.” Penny smacks an open palm against Simon’s chest, and he covers it with his own, bouncing her slightly.

“Look, Pen. Is that your Da in there? Is that him?” The therapist smiles at Johnny and pats him on the back, rubs his shoulder down to his elbow with wandering fingers. She’s pretty, and fit, tight ass, tiny hips. A sliver of self-doubt, self-consciousness pokes at you, and then jealousy nearly turns you green. Simon cocks his head with a laugh. “Easy, bun. She’s just doing her job, you know.”

“What? I know that. I’m fine.” You immediately blurt, and it does nothing for your cause.

“It’s cute. That you’re jealous.”

“I’m not,” you roll your eyes, “whatever.” He chuckles, and then starts to pass Penny to you.

“Can you hold her while I help him get his stuff together?”

“Sure, c’mere girlfriend.” You tuck her up into your chest, playing with her hair as she curls into you. “Sleepy huh? It’s past your nap time. I bet Dada keeps you up for an early bedtime tonight.” She coos. Her fingers tighten in the collar of your shirt.

And then a freight train rams itself in the deepest parts of your heart.

You lean against the wall to keep your balance.

This is not your baby, but she feels like yours. Her weight is familiar now. Her routines. Her signs and sounds.

It’s easy to close your eyes and imagine she’s yours.

It’s been days since you touched yourself in bed as Johnny and Simon had sex, and the scene, the desire, is burrowing itself in your brain.

You want more.

You want more so badly you wind up touching yourself in the shower, fingers stroking your clit until you're muffling a moan in your elbow when you come.

It doesn’t soothe the ache. You’re not sure what will.

So, when you’re done, and find them relaxing in bed, Johnny in boxers, an idea abruptly runs through your head.

Could you?

Your fingers twiddle with the hem of your shirt.

“Hi.”

“Hi?” Simon raises an eyebrow. Johnny stops his sketching to smile.

“I um. I wanted to… see… or ask for something.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Nothing, I just… I was wondering if I could… sit on you.”

“Sit on us?” Simon’s brow furrows, but Johnny’s face lights up.

“Like, ye wannae sit on one of us?” He emphasizes the word sit, and Simon murmurs.

“Ah.”

“I just… I really want to… I want to move on.” The words take you by surprise. “I want to feel like a human again, like how I used to feel. Before I was like this. I think…”

“Taking back control of your body will bring you closer to healing.” Johnny looks at Simon, and there’s desperate sadness in their eyes. Their hands intertwine, gripping onto each other so hard it looks like it hurts.

The moment passes, gone like it was never there in the first place. Johnny turns back to you.

“Ye’ll have to sit on me, pretty girl.”

“But... your hip.”

“I can take it.” You nod. Not that you prefer one to the other, but you’re curious.

“Is there a reason why…”

“I’m too big, bunny. Especially if it’s been a while for you. We’ll need to ease you into it.” Johnny smirks, and you hide an excited shiver.

“Okay.”

You stretch yourself out with your own fingers at first, the process made easier by your orgasm in the shower, all the while both Simon and Johnny encourage you, coo at you, praise you.

You stay present. Focused.

“Take it slow,” Simon coaches when you straddle Johnny’s hips, “don’t rush it. Just take your time.” Hands on his shoulders, Simon reaches for his cock, sliding it through your lips, brushing your clit before angling it at your entrance. You take a deep breath.

“Okay.”

The first inch makes you whine. Johnny’s fingertips draw circles up and down your spine, his lips in your ear. “Good job, pretty girl. Just like that. Nice and easy.” Your eyes slip closed, and you take more, sliding down his cock, the burn of the stretch smarting tears in your eyes. Simon wipes them away.

“Our brave girl. You’re doing so well. Feel okay so far?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Ye alright? Does it hurt?”

“A little.” You wince, taking another inch, glancing down. Your equilibrium pitches.

“Look at me.” Johnny redirects, head tilted back on a pile of pillows. “Jus’ look at me, bunny. You’re safe. I’ve got ye.” His hands guide your hips, keeping your pace even and slow, careful. Even when the anxiety invades your control, he steadies you. “It’s us, just us. We’re here, bunny. You’re okay.” The ache, the open sore spot spilling sticky, blackened tar, seals up. It's zippered shut, away from you, packed tight for another day. Another moment. The only thing you need to focus on is here, and now. With them. Johnny's jaw clenches. “Christ Si. She’s really tight.”

“I know.” He pushes some of Johnny’s hair from his forehead. “You’re both being so good. I’m proud of you.” The praise, the warmth from the both of him, glows in your heart. You’ve never felt so safe, so cherished, in your life. Again and again, they surprise you, teaching you how things you used to dread or shy away from can be enjoyed, valued.

This is how it should be. Love without fear. Intimacy without fear.

You’re fully split open on Johnny, stuffed full. It’s tender, calm in the low light of the bedroom, almost cozy. His thighs blaze under your ass, and the heat creeps like lava to your fingers and toes, turning you boneless, languid in his arms. Simon leans in to kiss your temple.

“How do you feel?”

“R-really full.”

“Are you in pain?”

“No just… stretched, I think?” You wiggle a little bit, and Johnny finally breaks eye contact, looking up at the ceiling with a groan.

“Try to be still bunny. We just want to get you used to the feeling. This isn’t about sex.” Simon's last comment earns Johnny a warning glance, and he nods, straightening.

“Right. Even though your perfect little pussy is drivin’ me mad-“

“Johnny.” Simon chides. “Bunny, can you lean forward for me?” His hand presses to the middle of the back, guiding you to rest your cheek on Johnny’s shoulder. “Good girl.”

The room lapses into silence that lasts, rhythm of your chest rising and falling syncing with Johnny’s, Simon humming, working a hand up and down your spine.

Up and down. Up and down.

You think you could do it now. Roll your hips and rise on your knees, sink back down to feel the pressure, the bludgeoning tip of Johnny’s long cock nestled at your cervix. You’re not sure, not confident, but somewhere in your dreams, you picture yourself milking him dry, riding his cock until you’re shattering.

“Si.” Johnny’s voice pitches to something you’ve never heard, low and heavily accented. “Will ye read?” Pages of a book flutter. You hadn’t realized your eyes had closed, but as Simon’s voice picks up a page with no pretense, you don’t fight it, allowing yourself to drift between them, cradled on Johnny’s body with a piece of him pulsing inside you.

It’s bliss. It’s love. You’re…. happy.

#peaches writes #simple math #ghoap x reader #simon riley #john soap mactavish #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #John soap mactavish #ghost x soap x reader

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kisskuni · 3 months

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pet names

↳ pet names that the demon brothers like to call you by. [all brothers x gn!reader]

tags: just fluff! + pet names lol. ‘doll’ is used once, i wouldn’t consider it feminine but take it as you will. otherwise gn :)

notes: first fic on this blog heheh. reblogs are super appreciated, please and thank you <3

lucifer ━━━

a gloved hand runs through black hair, the eldest brother glaring at the paperwork covering his desk. you wonder for a brief moment if he thinks the look he’s giving it will force it away.

“stressed?” you ask him, a teasing tone to your voice.

he hums in discontent. “something like that.”

you straighten from your spot leaned against the door frame and walk over to him. your hands come up to his shoulders and rub at the muscles there, hoping to bring him some sore of relief.

“need any help?” you ask.

“i’m alright, darling, but thank you.” though still clearly stressed, he offers you a small smile.

mammon ━━━

“you will not believe what i just got!”

mammon walks into your room previously unannounced, dorky smile painting his face. he holds up two slips of paper, waving them in front of your face. it takes you a moment to read the writing.

“ooh, are those tickets? for that movie i wanted to see?”

he beams at your excitement. “i’m the best.”

“yeah, you are,” you smile and reach for the tickets in his hands. “thank you so much.”

“anything for you, doll.”

leviathan ━━━

“hey, can you—“ levi speaks to you, but frowns at his game. “no, i can’t heal you. there are two other characters who can.”

you watch him curiously, watch as he rolls his eyes at the person he’s playing with. “what’s up?”

he takes one side of his headset off. “i’m sorry. can you grab me my water? it’s on my nightstand.”

“oh, sure.” you reach over from where you’re tucked comfortably into his bedsheets and grab the water bottle on his nightstand. “here.”

he turns around him his chair to grab the water bottle you toss at him. he catches it easily and smiles at you. “thank you, honey.”

satan ━━━

“are you comfy?”

you sit upright with a small yelp. you look around, gathering your thoughts back. what was supposed to be a quick lie-down on the couch in satan’s room turned into a nap, apparently.

“i- uhm. yeah.” you answer quickly. one hand comes up to rub the sleep from your eyes.

“you can rest if you’re tired, my love. i have some reading i wanted to catch up on anyway.” satan says, moving to sit beside you.

you take a deep breath and ponder the offer for a moment. instead of responding, you simply lay back down and use his lap as a pillow. he’ll get the idea eventually.

asmodeus ━━━

the squeal asmo let out was beyond exstatic. he clasped his hands together, smiling ear to ear.

“ah, i’m so excited.” he said, running off to some corner of his room.

“is it really that exciting?”

asmo frowns at you rather dramatically. he feigns a look of offense and continues to his closet, you following a few steps behind.

“oh, i love how this would look on you, cutie.”

you smile fondly at the nickname and continue to watch as he picks out various clothes for you to try on.

beelzebub ━━━

“y’know… doesn’t matter how strong i am, you’re a demon and i really don’t think i’m capable of spotting you at the gym.” you say.

you know he likes to work out, but him lifting weights worried you sometimes.

“it’s alright. i promise i’ll be fine, sweetheart.”

you glare at him. you know he will be, but a little voice in the back of your head won’t let you stop worrying about him. you suppose its a good thing.

belphegor ━━━

“good morning,” you tease, nodding toward the alarm clock that read 4:38 PM. “nice of you to rise so early.”

he grumbles at you, wiping sleep from his eye. he takes one of the pillows he’s been snuggled up with and tosses it at you, playful smile making its way onto his face.

you bat the pillow away, smiling back at him.

“you are so mean.” you claim, though still smiling.

“mhm. whatever you say, lovely.”

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idkyetxoxo · 17 days

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Aemond Targaryen - Made for Him

Summary - She was made for him, a truth never far from her thoughts. Unable to restrain himself any longer and knowing their union was inevitable he simply could not hold back anymore. His need for her was overpowering, compelling him to possess her completely.

Pairing - Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!!), getting caught in the act (very brief)

Word count - 2219

Masterlist for Aemond • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

We were created for them and that is what we were told.

From the moment Helaena and I were born, our destinies were predetermined. We were aware of our fates since infancy. Our roles had been assigned to us by the whims and desires of others, shaped to fit their fantasies and ambitions.

Helaena, being the elder twin, was destined to marry Aegon, the future king, a decision decreed by our mother and her father, the Hand of the King. My own fate was to be bound to Aemond, the one-eyed prince.

"Brother," I greeted as Aemond entered the library.

"Sister," he replied, his gaze never leaving my figure as he selected a book from the shelves.

He settled into a chair opposite me, ostensibly to read, but his attention was fixed on me, his gaze intense and unwavering.

As I flipped through the pages of my book, I could feel his eye tracing my every movement. He watched me with a fascination that seemed to grow stronger with each passing year.

Aemond had never objected to our arranged match, on the contrary, he welcomed it. To him, I was more than just a sibling. I was his confidante, the one person who saw beyond the scarred face and understood the depths of his soul.

His anticipation for the day of our union was obvious. Ever since Helaena and Aegon's union, Aemond had been counting the days until our own. His desire was a tangible force, barely restrained by the conventions of courtly decorum.

Aemond's gaze moved over my face, lingering on my lips, which he longed to touch. His stare drifted lower, taking in the curve of my neck and the neckline of my dress, which revealed just enough to inflame his imagination. His eyes settled on my breasts, pressed against the fabric, and all sane thoughts eluded his mind.

Suddenly, he stood up, his book crashing onto the chestnut table with a resounding thud.

"Aemond, what is the matter?" I gasped, placing my book down to look up at him.

His eyes burned with fierce intensity. "I cannot do this," he suddenly said, striding toward me with determination. I gasped as he grabbed my arms, pulling me up and closing the distance between us.

"I want you," he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. I swallowed hard.

"Aemond, we cannot," I chided, placing my hand on his chest. "Not before we are wed."

He exhaled sharply, his frustration evident. "You were made for me," he said lowly, his breath sending shivers down my spine. "Does it really matter when we give in?" His burning gaze pierced through me.

Before I could fully comprehend his words, I shook my head.

"Then let me have you," he said, and without waiting for an answer, his lips crashed into mine with a fierce intensity.

Aemond's lips trembled as they met mine, the fierce exterior faltering for a brief moment. In that kiss, I felt not just desire, but a plea, a desperate need to be seen, to be understood, to be loved despite the darkness that lingered within him.

His hands wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer as the kiss deepened. He motioned for me to wrap my legs around him.

Supporting my weight with one hand, he used the other to hastily clear the large chestnut table of its books and papers, laying me across it. He crawled on top of me, his hands finding their way to my chest, squeezing my breasts through the fabric of my dress as he continued kissing me.

A soft groan escaped my lips, music to his ears, as his hands continued exploring my body.

"Aemond, not here," I mumbled against his lips, attempting to push him away, but he shook his head.

"Do not torture me by making me wait any longer," he breathed out, and I nodded, unable to tear my eyes away from his needy look.

I lay back fully as Aemond moved to hike my dress up to my hips, granting him access to what he most desired. He began laying small kisses up the inside of my thigh, the pressure making my back arch.

His head was barely visible over the ruffled fabric of my dress, yet the intensity of his actions was unmistakable. I could feel the warmth of his breath against my skin, heightening my anticipation.

His intensity both thrilled and terrified me, and as I felt his mouth travel up my thigh, I was caught between the urge to surrender and the instinct to flee.

When his tongue finally made contact with my most sensitive part, the sensation was overwhelming. A rush of heat surged through me, my legs shook uncontrollably, and my mouth cried out his name in sheer ecstasy.

"Aemond," I gasped, my voice quivering as he continued his ministrations with unrelenting skill.

My legs trembled, and despite the mounting pressure urging me to close them, Aemond's firm grip kept them spread wide, ensuring he had unrestricted access to my every reaction.

His tongue moved with precision, exploring every inch of my core, driving me to the brink of madness. Just as I felt myself nearing the peak of pleasure, he abruptly stopped.

My body ached with need, and I couldn't help but let out a frustrated whimper. Before I could protest, his face appeared before me, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

His hands worked to remove my dress, but the intricate laces proved to be a challenge.

Impatient and driven by desire, Aemond's frustration grew. With one swift, decisive pull, he tore the delicate fabric, the sound of ripping cloth echoing in the room, leaving me completely exposed and vulnerable before him.

I met his gaze, a mixture of anticipation and desire swirling within me. He looked over my body, a hungry stare of appreciation evident in his expression.

He began kissing up my stomach, the trail of his lips moving toward my neck, sucking and nibbling at the sensitive skin.

"So beautiful," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. My hands moved instinctively to remove his clothes, needing to feel his skin against mine.

"Eager now?" he asked with a low laugh, amusement dancing in his eyes as he saw my urgency. I nodded quickly, as he helped me, stripping off his clothes with practised ease.

"Are you sure?" he asked one last time, his eyes searching my face for any sign of hesitation. The concern in his gaze was touching, a reminder of the depth of his feelings for me.

"Please," I pleaded, my voice barely more than a whisper. He smirked a confident and knowing expression, before crawling on top of me once more.

His body aligned with mine, the heat of his skin against me sending waves of anticipation through my veins. The world outside the library faded, leaving only the raw intensity of our desire.

"Don't hold back," Aemond murmured, his voice a comforting rumble as he gazed down at me. "I want to hear you, feel you, know everything you're feeling."

As he entered me, the connection between us deepened, binding us together in a way that transcended duty and obligation. It was a union forged in fire, destined to burn brightly through the corridors of power and ambition.

Our movements were synchronized, driven by a shared need that had been smouldering for years.

He seemed to sense my hesitation and paused, looking deeply into my eyes.

"It's okay," he whispered gently, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. "I've got you. Just focus on me."

I gasped, my hands clutching at his shoulders as he moved above me.

The sensation of our bodies joining was both overwhelming and exquisite, a fulfilment of the desire that had been building between us.

"You feel so perfect," he groaned in response, his pace quickening as he buried his face in the curve of my neck.

"You were made for me," he whispered, the words heavy with possession and reverence, as if by speaking them, he could bind me to him more surely than any vow. "Don't ever forget that."

His words sent a shiver through me, my body responding to the depth of his passion. "I won't," I promised, my voice breathless. "I need you, Aemond. I've always needed you."

"Show me," he urged, lifting his head to look into my eyes. "Show me how much you need me."

Encouraged by his words, I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Like this?" I asked, my voice a mix of challenge and invitation.

"Yes, just like that," he groaned, the intensity of his gaze burning into mine. "Don't hold back. Let me feel all of you."

His movements became more deliberate, each thrust deep and measured as if he were trying to imprint himself onto my very soul. I could feel every inch of him moving within me, the friction igniting sparks of pleasure that radiated through my entire being.

He would pull almost all the way out, leaving me aching with emptiness, only to drive back in with a force that made me gasp, filling me completely.

The sounds of our mingled breaths and whispered names filled the room, creating a symphony of shared desire. His hips moved with a primal urgency, a perfect blend of strength and tenderness, each thrust pushing me closer to the precipice of ecstasy.

His touch was fire, branding my skin with a heat that seared through every nerve, leaving me breathless and wanting.

"Aemond," I cried out as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak. "I'm so close."

"Cum for me," he urged his voice a low growl. "I want to feel you shatter."

With his words, the tension within me broke, waves of ecstasy crashing over me. My muscles tightened around him, drawing him deeper as I clung to him, my nails digging into his back as I cried out his name.

Aemond followed moments later, his own release a powerful, shuddering surge that left us both trembling.

He held me tightly, our bodies still intertwined, as we came down from the heights of our passion. His breath was warm against my skin, his heart pounding in time with mine.

"You were incredible," he murmured against my hair. "Every part of you."

Just as we settled into the aftermath, the sound of the library door creaking open shattered our intimate cocoon. We froze, eyes wide with shock, as no one other than Aegon stepped into the room, his expression one of disbelief.

For a moment, silence reigned, the three of us suspended in a tableau of surprise. Then, to our astonishment, Aegon burst into laughter, a rich, mocking sound that echoed through the library.

"Well, isn't this a delightful surprise," Aegon said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Carry on, then. Don't let me interrupt."

With that, he turned on his heel and left, still chuckling to himself. The door closed behind him with a definitive thud, leaving Aemond and me staring at each other, the reality of what had just happened sinking in.

For a heartbeat, we remained still, the echo of Aegon's laughter ringing in our ears. As the silence returned, I could feel a wave of uncertainty washing over me, a flicker of guilt I hadn't expected.

Was this love, or merely the inevitability of our shared fate? I couldn't be certain, but in that moment, with his heart beating in time with mine, I allowed myself to believe in the possibility of both.

Aemond's smirk faded as he caught the change in my expression, his eyes narrowing with concern.

"Do you feel bad about this?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with vulnerability as he gently held my gaze.

I hesitated, my thoughts swirling. "No, it's not that... I just don't know," I admitted, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "I didn't expect this, and now... I'm not sure what to think."

Aemond's grip on my waist tightened slightly, his hands warm and steady. He leaned closer, his forehead resting gently against mine as he spoke. "We won't do anything like this again until you're sure. I don't want you to feel uncertain or pressured, ever."

His words were firm, but there was a softness to them that made my heart ache. I could see the sincerity in his eyes, the way he was trying to protect me, even from himself.

I looked up at him, my breath hitching slightly as I processed what he'd said. "It's not that I don't want this," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I'm just... nervous."

Aemond nodded, his hand moving up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing softly against my skin.

"We'll take our time," he reassured me, his voice gentle. "No more surprises, no more rushing. I'll wait until you're ready, until you want this as much as I do."

A sense of relief washed over me at his words, the knot of uncertainty in my chest slowly unraveling. I leaned into his touch, finding comfort in the warmth of his hand.

"Thank you," I murmured, my eyes closing briefly as I allowed myself to relax.

With a final, tender kiss, Aemond pulled me close, his embrace protective and soothing. "You are mine," he whispered.

"Always," I whispered back, the tension in my voice easing as I felt the strength of our connection.

Our bond, once ignited by the fiery blaze of desire, had now mellowed into a gentle ember, glowing with the warmth of understanding and the tender caress of patience.

A/n - Crazyyy

#house of the dragon #house targaryen #hotd #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #hotd one shot #hotd season 2 #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #team green #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #prince aemond

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svtcrus · 1 year

Text

unlawful duties || neuvillette x fem!reader

a/n : Im going against myself and ended up writing this big crazy ass smut of neuvillette. I WANT HIM SO BADDDD

disclaimer : dom!neuvillette , extremely sexual descriptions, implications of bondage nd choking , office s3x , slight aftercare

"im sorry but the chief of justice is busy right now madam!"

"really.. monsieur neuvillette? agh are you sure?" the beautiful blonde lady who is well known as the president of the spina di rosula was pestering poor sedene. arguing with the unfortunate melusine whose trying to prevent her from entering. navia completely doubtful at how the chief of justice was busy. when all he does is "stay cooped up in his office, if he's not in his playhouse" she quotes.

and while the madamoiselle is not wrong in some aspects, this very chief was busy with a different case.

"be quiet darling, seems like miss navia is right outside." here you were bent over the desk that is scattered with piles of paperwork, the feeling of a slender gloved hand trailing along your bare back. lips bitten harshly to the point of them bleeding, holding back any noise.

however your efforts are in vain upon the force of another hand gripping onto your neck pulling you up. the feeling of neuvillette's hot breath lingering near your ear, your forced to listen to the inappropriate words of the monsieur himself.

"you wouldn't want her to hear how dirty your moans are now would she?" he licks your neck before his lips find your sweet spot, suckling on your skin making you whimper through red stained lips.

this man who withholds so much power of the nation of justice has you wrapped around his own finger. has you bent over his very desk moaning his name loud beneath him, and it's making him go insane.

he breaks his composure at the very sight of you, feeling his breath hitch as his eyes linger between those crystal eyes and your soft lips.

those same lips which he kisses feverishly as he pounds himself into you, concealing your loud cries which beg him for more.

neuvillette's stamina is unpredictable just as he is mysterious. he could go on for hours of him shoving himself into you sweet cunt that's swallowing him ever so well. your walls which squeeze him so tight as he's pushing you further onto his desk, the court papers now long gone amidst the floor. he simply cannot get enough of you.

the chief's clothes are loosened, his white scarf is now used as restraints for your dainty hands. his own two? they are feeling every crevice of your body up from behind. his hand kneads against the plump of your ass, boldly pushing it to see your wetness engulfing him. your slick intermingling with his as he enters and exits your swollen hole. he could see all his love marks tracing from your neck and along your shoulder line, the sight makes him swell.

neuvillette lets out a breathy hiss as he feels your velvet walls tighten around him once more.

"s-so dirty for me darling. not caring if we..- ahhh, get caught.." low growls are leaving his mouth, the sound of skin touching skin echoing amongst the office. the attempts of being quiet long gone. you're moaning, whining, begging, his honor for more.

"please monsieur..."

"please what my love? I need you to use your words sweetheart." two of his long fingers are shoved in between the plump of your lips, you can taste yourself. all while he pounds one more time with his obscene force, before halting. awaiting for you to beg for his cock for his own pleasure.

"harder-mmf! please.. fuck me!" immediately he's back in his feverish rhythm, snapping into you like it's his last time fucking you.

"profanity is forbidden here sweetheart." he manages to say through clenched teeth, both of his hands now gripping onto your hips harshly.

hah, proper etiquette? the fact that you and the chief of justice are performing such debauchery in his place of work? the mannerful thought was long gone in neuvillettes head the moment you had pushed his buttons. now he's enjoying every second of ramming into you in his open office, where someone could very much catch you two committing an unlawful act at any time.

neuvillettes's ego rises at the sight of your naked back is covered in his slick, his godly handsome face is blushed from his efforts. long silver locks disheveled, his bangs damp from sweat. your cunt is dripping cum onto his hardwood floors, oh how will he explain such a mess to sedene?

"ah.. is sex also forbid-" you gasp at the sudden action of him pushing one leg up onto his table, solely so he can push even more deeper into you.

he's hitting all the right spots inside, nudging against the part you need him most and it's driving you crazy. his length proves it all, and god is he so big. you can feel him pulse within you as you both find release. your lover grunts while his wet fingers begin to fondle your clit. motioning them in the way he knows to make you quiver. all while he's leaning down to kiss you, as his seed makes you feel so full.

you could feel the bruises beginning to form on your lower back, his length now long gone. your legs still shaking upon orgasm.

"I hate you..." you manage to say between heavy breaths, your hands are finally freed from his scarf.

your nakedness is replaced with warmth, his coat being draped over you as situate yourself. your lover is already back in his dress pants, and a buttoned up shirt. you glare at him once reality has struck your head. yet he only smiles at you as he begins to clean you up from his mess.

"are you pressing charges on me now after you begged for my cock so well?" neuvillette whispers, those purple orbs are looking down at you. displaying how much lust he still has in him.

blushing at his sudden remark, he lets out a low chuckle.

"you love me sweetheart, lying is a crime you know?"

@svtcrus || 08.16.2023

#cowon.writings #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x y/n #neuvillette smut #genehin impact neuvillette #genshin impact neuvillette x reader #genshin imagines

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wandasfavv · 2 months

Text

Fuzzy

Wanda x Fem!Reader

Summary: You’re embarrassingly told to do something out of the ordinary for Wanda as she watches.

AN: was supposed to be like a 100 word drabble to fend you horny mfs off but I got carried away and became the horny one instead</3 so sorry if it seems a little rushed !!

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Mommy!WandaxFem!Reader, dom/sub, stuffie humping??(r receiving), breast and nipple play, mostly soft Wanda, kinda very really super need this

Below by the small crack between the bottom of bedroom door and the wood floors shined a gleam of soft orange light from the hallway against the darkness you laid in. You remained in your shared room for about an hour so, lying mindlessly and sleepily until the gentle racket of the door handle was heard. Your head perked up at the sound as you’d already foreseen the sight of Wanda coming in. The door opened slowly with a subtle creak, more light spreading inside and hitting your face before her head poked through and casted a shadow over the bed.

She was careful to be quiet as her eyes searched for your closed ones until she was met with just the laziness of them. “Still awake?” She questioned softly, further pushing the door with a little more force once she saw your conscious state only tucked in. The entrance behind her closed with a small sound. Although the room was plunged into darkness, some of the light from the street lamps outside came through the parted curtains in front of the window, allowing Wanda to find her way to the side of the bed where you heard a click of the lamp turning on before light hit your eyes again blindly. Blinking repeatedly to get rid of the blur, you see a clearer image a loving smile plastered on her while she leaned over with both hands holding herself up against the bed to kiss your exposed forehead.

In response, you groggily answered, “Mhm, I was waiting for you.”

Her smile widened and she took a seat at the edge of the comfortable and plush surface. With the sight of your eyelids barely lifted she sensed that maybe tonight wasn’t a time for anything more than cuddling. After all, Wanda took a longer time in her home office finishing up left over papers than she expected whilst you waited patiently. She stared down at you adoringly and took in how your tired self was holding up for her sake. “That’s sweet, baby.”

You shifted under the covers a bit, turning your body to lay on its side, facing her. But in the process, the thick blanket on top moved down from your shoulders to more so below your chest, revealing the adorable scene of you clinging onto the stuffed bunny Wanda gifted you all those months ago. Her head quirked to a tilt. “What’s this? My replacement?” She playfully remarked, gazing down at half of the animal’s head peeking out.

Your tired expression contorted into a matching grin at her words, only holding onto the squishy object slightly tighter within the crook of your arm. “Uh huh.”

Wanda a feigned a scoff, moving and getting under the comforter with you. A sigh of satisfaction left her from the warmth of you once arms twisted around your waist and gently tugged you towards her. However, the fluffed animal stayed in between both your bodies like a wall separating you two. She stared down at it, a faux frown playing on her pink lips before words slipped through them. “I don’t know if I like this little thing.”

“What do you mean? You got it for me.”

“Yeah and now it’s just… in the way.”

You gave her somewhat of a deadpan look at the unserious response until you decided to please her and prise it out from the crevice, onto the empty side of the bed behind you. “Better?”

Wanda confirmed with a nod and a smile returning. With nothing there blocking her, she pulled you in again, this time flush against her front as your cheek was flattened by the area below her collarbone. And like usual, she was snuggling with you while whispered affirmations left her mouth which gently pressed against your head from time to time.

For a moment, one kiss lasted longer as her nose was in your hair. She muttered more sweetness in your ear with a rasp. “You smell so good.” Nails then dragged carefully on your lower back, a soothing feeling that would usually lull you to sleep.

Yet, unlike most nights, you suddenly couldn’t feel the drowsiness take over. There was a lingering and sensual tingle from Wanda’s gentle touches. Every brush of her fingers against your body was for some reason taunting you despite being innocent and with no intent. You were already so pliant and focused on her without much effort. It was strange, but you guessed that it was the fact that she left you for so long the whole day.

Shifting within Wanda’s small embrace, a noticeable change in your breathing caught her hearing. Her head tilted down to you as she saw your eyes already looking up, and she was met with a knowing roused and pleading cloud in them. So different from your earlier expression. A huff of a small laugh broke out before she could’ve contained it. “What, sweetie?”

You didn’t respond, but instead let your hand find hers to drag it down between your thighs. She let you with no protest, if anything encouraging it as her fingers willingly pressed up against your center. The tips of them teasingly went back and forth against you, only thin cotton separating her as you didn’t wear anything over your underwear.

You bit inside your lip, trapping a moan from the pressure before she let her hand slip away purposely. A rush of disappointment took the place of the previous satisfaction. Your hands came to the hem of her shirt, fingers clinging onto the cloth before tugging on it eagerly but lightly.

“Mommy, please…” your muttered begging was typical, but of course still so so pretty for Wanda. She didn’t think you’d be needy from just a normal routine and especially from how late it was getting, yet the heat emitting from you proved otherwise. A part of her wanted to give into your pleading without a second thought, but there was an underlying idea that pushed itself in front.

You watched her with only a single thing in mind, your body just itching under the few clothing that stuck on loosely. As she suddenly but slowly moved and sat up her gaze fell on the forgotten fuzzy toy. Extending one arm, she reached over your body and took one of the bunny’s legs to bring it to herself. She looked at it carefully while it sat in her lap, her eyes then flickering over to your confused face. Maybe you were unpredictable, but so was she.

“Use this.”

Wanda looked down at you as she gestured the stuffed animal, lifting and gradually swinging it over in your direction before it just dangled in her hold. Your brows furrowed, not knowing how to reply or even take in her soft demand. Her face read nothing for you to study, and that heightened your uncertainty. But with silence fuming from you, she took the lead and signaled a hand motion before grasping the covers and pulling it off you. “Cmon, get up for me.”

The rush of cold air against your skin caused little bumps to appear while you took your time sitting up like Wanda said, still unsure about what she was wanting from you. For a short moment you stayed still once her hand came up to your head, patting down some of the strands of hair that frizzed and stuck out. Her touch was so gentle, so comforting. Like her voice, despite the lingering control and dominance it held.

“Get on your knees,” she continued, watching you do just that without any complaints in the mean time. With your knees slightly parted as you obediently sat on your legs, Wanda instantly took her chance to lightly shove and position the plushie in between, having it pressed up against your core. Though, with your panties still on, your wetness didn’t make evidence on the toy yet.

As your eyes trailed back up to her blank expression, you weren’t sure of what or how you should go about it. Just the thought of pleasing yourself without her touch as she watched was enough to make your body shudder. But of course, it was also completely embarrassing. You’ve had this gift taken care of since you received it, yet now the woman who gave it to you was making you do something so dirty with it.

“Mommy…” you quietly whined, your hands fisting the sheets at your sides in a subtle frustrated manner. You only wanted her to make you feel good.

“You agreed that it was replacing me, right?” Wanda quipped with a small pull of her brows together, making up a look you’ve familiarized.

“But I didn’t mean it like that-“

“Shh, just do as mommy says,” her interruption shushed you up quickly, leaving your pathetic refusal to shrivel. You cowered looking down at the soft bunny again, seeing it squished between your thighs while trying to avoid the look on Wanda’s now smug face. And her gaze on you left you even more sheepish than merely doing the impure action she went on to announce. “Go on, move your hips and use it to get off.”

You sighed lowly as your center partially moved against it, starting off slow to see how much you could get out of it. And to no surprise, it didn’t feel as good as you wanted. Your stiff movements were viewed through Wanda’s eyes, them roaming all around from your pursed lip in frustration to then your lower half that tried to speed up in search of more pleasure. Although the friction was enough for you to feel heat course through, it didn’t match the unforgettable feeling of her fingers, mouth— anything of hers.

You continued to look down, shifting every once in a while as you wanted to discover some sort of special spot you haven’t felt yet. Your attempts were futile though, only prompting Wanda to smile as she bit down her bottom lip in amusement. “Uh huh, just like that, baby.” She noticed the way you nervously fumbled with the ears of the plush, focusing solely on that while you let out small huffs.

At some point you gave up on the goal of an orgasm, seeing how useless it was despite the evident growing arousal. You were soaking more than just your underwear now. As Wanda saw your hips halt after slowing down, she was tempted to tut at you to make the previous pace return. Although, once you raised your head back up to look at her, the sight of your pleading and glossy eyes pushed her over.

“Fuck… you make it so hard not to touch you,” she muttered with an exhale. Internally she wanted to yell at her own defiance, but you were acting so good for her. How could she help herself.

You responded with another beg, not caring about how desperate you sounded. “Please- please mommy I need it.”

“Aw do you? My little girl needs mommy’s help?” she asked, speaking to you more belittling but also lovingly. With the return of your nodding head forcefully shaking nothing but thoughts of her inside, she moved behind you in leniency and imitated your kneeling stance.

Her hands grasped the end of your shirt, urging you to lift your arms up so she could pull it off for full access. The moment it was just your bare skin exposed, the feeling of her hands gliding all over made you want to lean back into her body. But they came downwards to your hips, a gentle push from her to coax you into grinding again.

“Mhm, there you go princess. Keep humping your little stuffie for mommy. You can do it.”

The sound of Wanda’s pleasant voice in your ear and the feeling of her breath left you to heat up, making you jerk in response as a large warmth spread throughout you. You started up a pace again, looking back down still shyly all while you felt your rear push back against Wanda in the process every time you moved. And louder moans came out from your lips, filling the semi illuminated space. It was nerve wracking having her watch from afar before, but now that she was up close and touching you, there was really nothing to hide.

“You sound so pretty, you know that?” The continuous tone and husk in Wanda’s words work you up impossibly more. She pecked behind your ear before making her way down to your neck, kissing it gently until her mouth attached and pulled at it. Her gaze fell down to the stuffed bunny trapped under the weight and pressure of you moving helplessly against it. Your pussy left a damp area on it, making an overlapping mess. It was like the feeling of her on you just amplified the sensitivity of everything, considering how your clit was more stimulated from the fluffed toy even through your panties.

And just as you thought this would be it to bring you over the edge, Wanda’s hands smoothly made their way up your torso. To your hips to your waist and to your chest— you were surrounded by her. You closed your eyes shut as you felt lost in it all, sensing her fingers brush over the perky buds that begged for attention. Her hands fondled your breasts until a certain rougher grope made you utter her name again.

She played with them shortly until fingers came in contact with your nipples again, pinching lightly as your hips stuttered. “Mhm, cum for me just like this. Make mommy proud, come on sweetheart.” Her mumbled words of encouragement took your movements further, your head thrown back on her shoulder while she continued to nip at your neck.

The bubbling sensation inched closer every time you gasped, signaling a close high. Part of the stuffed animal that you clung onto was scrunched harder in your hands, knuckles becoming more apparent with a lighter shade. It was even more difficult to ignore the increasing soreness of your lower half as well from the force and weight of the repeated motions, but it felt so good that you couldn’t stop. Then finally the continuous bend of the feeling inside your lower portion snapped, leaving your movements out of pattern and shaky. Wanda’s hands moved back down to your sides again to support you, leaving your nipples still tingly from the slight pain but pleasure she caused.

“There you go, see? I knew you could it. So good for mommy,” Wanda praised you once you settled back and heavily into her. Feeling limp and out of breath by the effort you put in, you didn’t bother to pull the stuffie out under you. Eyelids lifted back up as you caught her stare again, only adoration swimming in the green that shimmered slightly from the light. Your body was lifted upward for a second as she removed the plush between your legs.

And like Wanda expected, the lower half of it was damp with a subtle darker area. The corners of her lips tugged upward once again, tilting her head back down to where she saw you looking flushed because of the wet object presented. A tiny snicker escaped her before she leaned down, placing a short kiss on top of your head from that uncontrollable love for you.

“I’ll put it in the washer for you in the morning.”

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #mommy!wanda #elizabeth olsen #wanda x fem!reader #lesbian #scarlet witch #woof woof

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bad268 · 5 months

Note

a kimi story where the reader is ollie’s sister and they’re a secret and ollie finds out please

Impromptu Meeting (Andrea Kimi Antonelli X Bearman! Reader)

Fandom: RPF/F2/F3

Requested: Clearly (AHHH I LOVE THIS)

Warnings: Making out, brief sex joke (if you squint)

POV: Second Person (You/your/They/them)

W.C. 1253

Summary: Maybe sharing a room wasn't a good idea...

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Pinterest)

It was not how you imagined introducing your boyfriend to your family, let alone your brother.

You were supposed to be there to support Ollie (which you were!), and it wasn’t like you were sneaking off to another garage or wearing another team’s kit. Thankfully, Kimi had signed to Prema at the beginning of the season, so that was not something you needed to worry about.

When you first met Kimi through a mutual friend, he did not know your brother. Granted, you only introduced yourself by your first name, but drivers stuck with drivers. You assumed he knew that you were associated with one of the drivers. It wasn’t until the middle of the Formula 2 season that Kimi finally made the connection.

You had stayed up the entire night before, catching up on assignments you had been putting off in order to spend more time with Kimi. You had traveled to the track a few days early to meet with him, and you told your family it was for a school trip. You would meet them at the track by Thursday.

It was currently Wednesday, and you were cuddling with Kimi in your hotel room. You may or may not be struggling to stay awake, but that was not really a problem since Kimi had done all of the promotional things he needed to do that morning. Plus, the whole team, namely one of their drivers, was not there yet, so they did not want to get too far ahead without the rest of the team.

You were watching some random lifetime movie on the television as you laid on Kimi’s chest. He may have been reading race strategies, but you were not going to force him to pay attention to the movie when you weren't paying attention anyway. You were more captivated with listening to his heartbeat and watching his concentration focus on the piece of paper. At one point, you moved up a little to lay your head on his shoulder, so you could look at the paper too. Despite growing up surrounded by racing, you still could not understand most of the strategies for the life of you.

“Y’know,” You broke the silence as you shifted your attention to his face. He looked down at you, his concentration being broken as soon as you moved, but he did not say anything. “I really wish I understood any of that jargon. Sometimes I wish I could read it and think ‘Ah, yes! This will be a one-stop race and we’ll pit for mediums.’ I really do sometimes.”

“I thought you just liked the sport,” Kimi laughed as he set the papers to the side. “You really don’t care about the behind the scenes or the strategies. You like cars going fast, and you like the people in the cars.”

“Sometimes, I really wish you didn’t know me as well as you do,” You giggled as you leaned up to peck his lips. He reciprocated immediately, pulling you onto his lap as he wrapped his arms around your back to hold you to him. Your lips moved in sync for who-knows how long, and you were only broken apart by the sound of bags being dropped on the floor. That’s when you finally pulled apart, thinking it was Kimi’s dad or Anthoine, but no. It was Ollie with his jaw on the floor and his hand over his eyes. You moved away from Kimi and approached Ollie, but it’s not like he could see you. You approached him cautiously, reaching out your hand, “Ollie, I can explain.”

To say Kimi was confused would be an understatement. He knew Ollie was going to come today, but why would you need to explain to Ollie? The Prema boys almost always shared a hotel room. He had walked in on Ollie with a few people, so why was he reacting this way when the tables were turned?

“I don’t need to see this!” Ollie complained as he turned around and walked back into the hallway.

“Ollie, wait,” You followed after him, causing Kimi to also climb out of the bed, wanting to get to the bottom of this. He grabbed a keycard just in case as he followed you both toward the stairwell and out to the back of the hotel. “Ollie, please. Give me a chance to explain.”

“You and my teammate? Really?” Ollie sighed, turning around to face you. It did not sound like a disappointed sigh, just a confused one. You could work with that. “Why my teammate? Also, I thought you had a boyfriend!”

“I do! It’s Kimi,” You explained as you moved to stand in front of Ollie. “It’s been Kimi this whole time. We’ve been seeing each other since Paul and I went to the FRECA race at Mugello last year but became official after Hockenheim.”

“All this time I thought you liked Paul,” Ollie commented to himself, but it caused you to laugh. “What?”

“I’ve been around Paul for too long,” You laughed, finally letting out a breath you had been holding. “He’s like a brother too much.”

“Hey! You already have a brother! Don’t go replacing me already!” Ollie protested, and that caught Kimi’s attention. He had been hiding by the stairs, watching you two converse in the parking lot, but at that point, he could not hold back his shock.

“Brother?” He said out loud on accident, causing both of you to look at him. He never realized how similar you looked until that moment. Not identical, but now that you both stood side-by-side, looking at him, it was fairly obvious that you were siblings. “You’re related.”

“Maybe,” You chuckled at the look on his face. Just as much, maybe more, shock than when Ollie saw you and Kimi.

“Yeah, that’s my younger sibling,” Ollie said as he pointed at you before brushing past you to walk up to Kimi. “I get that you’re my teammate, but if you screw this up, I will push you off the track.”

“You’re not gonna forbid me from dating your sibling?” Kimi was confused, but he would accept it with open arms if it meant he got to stay with you.

“No,” Ollie sighed with a smile. “I’ve heard enough about how well you treat them, so I’m not concerned. Don’t make me concerned, Andrea.”

“I’ll try my best,” Kimi replied back with a smile as Ollie pulled him into a hug. Having your older brother’s approval was something you always wanted, so you smiled as well.

“Oh, one more thing,” Ollie started as he turned to look at you, still standing in the spot you were at previously. You slowly walked over to join the two. Ollie turned from smiley to downright serious in the blink of an eye; it almost scared you. “I don’t wanna walk in on you making out ever again.”

“Then, the same rule goes to you,” Kimi joked back, causing you to gape at Ollie.

“You’re making out with people? Ew.” You jokingly pushed away from Ollie, wiping your hands on your shirt.

“You did the same thing! Don’t even try to flip this on me!” Ollie tried to defend

“I have a feeling we should not be sharing a room anymore,” Kimi trailed off to himself as he slowly started moving towards the stairwell again.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Andrea?” Ollie accused as Kimi took off up the stairs. “No! Get back here! We’re not done with this conversation!”

~~~~~

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rafecameronssl4t · 3 months

Text

All for her || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: canon fic based of s3 ep4

Warnings: swearing other than that, nothing really

Word count: 665

A/n: this actually concerning how much canon fics I’ve written/abt to write but if anyone has any request for anymore canon fics I’m more than happy to do them :)

MASTERLIST

divider by @yoonitos

As you close the front door to Tannyhill, Rafe is on the phone, pacing slightly. "Yeah, they said, um, two days on the transfer," he says," his voice strained with barely concealed tension. "it's in the works though, no worries," he assures Ward, trying to keep his tone steady as he leads you upstairs.

"Yeah, I'm upstairs, why? You said you wanted to talk about something. What's up?" Rafe questions, sitting on the edge of the bed while you settle into an armchair, your eyes on him, concerned. Rafe's expression shifts from curiosity to apprehension as he listens intently to Ward.

A heavy silence fills the room as Rafe's face drops, the weight of Ward's words hitting him hard. "Everything okay?" you ask softly, your concern growing. "Wait, wait, are you being serious?" Rafe's tone hardens, his confusion mirroring your own as you raise an eyebrow.

Pulling his phone away from his ear, Rafe looks at you with a mix of disbelief and anger. "He's giving away the fucking cross," he states, his voice filled with frustration and disbelief. Your lips part in shock. "I was just with you. What changed since then? What are you talking about?" Rafe returns back to the call, trying to piece together the sudden shift.

Rafe's struggle to maintain his composure is evident. You rise from your seat and rub his back gently, hoping to calm him. "Dad, no, no. Dad," Rafe pleads into the phone. "This cross is mine. You're taking it from me," he exclaims, his voice breaking slightly as he places a hand on your thigh for comfort.

"Listen, this is something that I got through my work, and now you're trying to make yourself feel better by giving away my shit?" Rafe's anger bubbles to the surface as he switches to speakerphone so you can hear. "And you didn't even tell me?"

"This is me telling you right now, son," Ward responds, his voice calm and steady, a stark contrast to Rafe's agitation. Rafe throws his head back in disbelief, his hand coming up to his forehead. "We've done some things, Rafe, you and I, all right?" Ward continues, and Rafe lets out a scoff. "Oh my god."

"Things that we need to atone for, and donating this cross, it's a good first step in the right direction," Ward explains, his tone calm. Rafe shakes his head at you, as you sigh knowing he won't understand his dad's reasoning. "I know that in my heart. Okay?" Ward adds. "I don't know. Maybe if Sarah finds out—"

"Sarah? Sarah!" Rafe interrupts furiously, standing up abruptly. "There it is! That's it!" he exclaims, slamming his hand on the dresser repeatedly, causing you to flinch. "There it is, Dad!" he yells into the phone. "Any more of my shit you wanna steal from me to impress Sarah?" he spits out in annoyance. "Who doesn't even give a shit about you?"

"It's Wilmington. It's tomorrow night. Get a pen. I'll give you the cargo information," Ward's voice is stern, leaving no room for argument. Rafe breathes heavily, his frustration evident. "Calm down, Rafe," you say quietly, coming up behind him and hugging him. At your touch and voice, Rafe begins to calm down.

You pull him onto the couch as he lets out a shaky breath, your thumb rubbing circles on his forearm to soothe him. "For the record, this is bullshit. Okay?" Rafe splutters. "This is my thing."

After a few seconds of silence, Rafe's features shift, and he forces a calm demeanor. "But of course, you can count on me," he says, though you can tell he feels betrayed.

Ward sighs in relief on the other end. "Okay, so listen," he begins. Rafe gets up, finding a pen and paper. "One second. Okay, Wilmington. Tomorrow night. Car 750X. Got it," he repeats, scribbling down the information.

A sudden creak from the floorboard makes both of you look toward the door. You and Rafe exchange a knowing look. "Hey, hang on—hang on. One second," Rafe says as you follow him out the room.

"Hello?" you call out as Rafe looks down the stairs. Another creak comes from the room you were just in. Rafe raises an eyebrow at you before heading back to retrieve his phone and continue the call.

"Yeah, from the wharf to the train yard," Rafe continues, his voice fading as he heads downstairs. You remain in the room, sinking back into the armchair and scrolling through your phone, trying to distract yourself.

Suddenly, another creak catches your attention, making you whip your head around. You find yourself face to face with Sarah, her eyes wide with panic. "Sarah..." you gasp, your eyes widening slightly as you take in her distressed appearance. Realization hitting you that she must have overheard the conversation.

"You shouldn't be here. Rafe will go crazy if he finds out you were here—" you begin, your voice urgent. But before you can finish, Sarah lunges forward, grabbing a lamp from the side table and hurling it towards you. Instinctively, you dodge to the side, the lamp crashing against the wall behind you as Sarah bolts from the room.

Heart pounding, you scramble to your feet and chase after her, calling out, "Sarah!" The urgency in your voice is palpable as you race down the stairs, desperately trying to catch up to her before Rafe sees her.

"Sarah!" you call out, your voice echoing through the hallway as you quickly follow her downstairs. Your heart races as you look around, but Rafe is nowhere to be found. Sarah dashes through the parlor, her footsteps quick and frantic, before she sprints out the front door.

You turn the corner sharply, only to collide with a solid form. The impact nearly knocks you off your feet. "Whoa—whoa, babe. What's wrong?" Rafe's concerned voice cuts through the chaos, his hands coming up to steady you, rubbing your arms in an attempt to calm you down.

"Sarah," you manage to gasp, your mind still reeling from the encounter. "What? What about her—" Rafe's eyebrows knit together in confusion, but you cut him off, the urgency clear in your voice. "Sarah was just here. She heard everything."

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constantmourning · 1 year

Text

Silly

[Buggy x AFAB!Reader]

Summary: Not being allowed in Buggy's meetings was hard, especially when you craved his attention. So, you came up with a foolproof plan on how to get his attention back on you.

Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI! Fingering, finger sucking, thigh riding, Buggy calling you baby, not beta read

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Buggy got me in a chokehold... He's plaguing my mind... I've only watched OPLA, and haven't finished it just yet, so I do apologize if this is OOC.... I just want him, carnally. My friend sent me two prompts so this was formed from that!

“Please,” You ran towards one of Buggy’s crew members. “I need you to give this to Buggy.” You held an envelope.

“Um, he’s in a meeting…” She gave you a concerned look. “He said to not bother him-”

You pouted at her, “It’s so important! It’s for his eyes only! There is no way Buggy is going to let me in the meeting, considering what happened last time…” You rubbed the back of your neck. “But, really, this is important. He needs to see it.” The crew member narrowed her eyes, about to protest, “I won’t let him do anything to you! I promise! He’ll know what it means!”

She agreed. You thanked her. You hightailed it back to Buggy’s quarters, a smile pulling at your lips the entire time. You waited, and waited. And waited. Then you finally heard it.

Buggy’s wrath.

His scream rang through the ship and you grew giddy. You threw your clothes off and jumped into his bed, covering yourself up with just a sheet. You bit your lip in anticipation and waited for the door to open.

Buggy’s foot slammed into the door and it came swinging open. You smiled at him as you lay waiting. His for the taking. Buggy slammed his door.

“You sent me pictures of you naked while I was in a work meeting!”

His voice was full of anger. His fists were balled and you noticed crumpled papers in one of them. You stared at him with an innocent expression. You sat up and let the cover fall slightly, exposing your cleavage.

“They’re nice, aren’t they?” You cocked a brow at him. “The pictures.”

Buggy growled and your stomach flipped. He held up the photos and let out a guttural noise, and you were sure you could not get anymore wet. He took a step closer and you saw the two photos in his hands. One was your wanted poster, but instead of your face it was your naked body, head out of the shot. And the other was you lying on Buggy’s bed, also completely naked.

Buggy tensed, the papers crumpling in his hands. He looked at you with a darkness in his eyes you had not seen before, and it was extremely hot. “Alvida saw one.” His teeth were gritted.

“Oh!” That wasn’t supposed to happen… “What’d she think? Does she still think I’m ‘just a cutie’? Or is her opinion different now?”

“Why does her opinion matter?!” Buggy was on you in a matter of seconds, caging you in.

You swallowed hard. "I mean, it doesn't I guess-" Buggy was inches from you, "I'm just being-"

"Silly?" Buggy asked, head cocking to the side. "You know, I really think you have forgotten what silly means…"

"No, not really," You speak without thinking, "how can I forget when you're so silly!" You smiled widely at him. Buggy did not move, he watched you unblinking.

Finally he threw himself off of you and stood up, grumbling, "You're just as bad as the lion…"

You pouted. Buggy was not looking at you though, he was looking at the crumpled pictures of your naked form. You leaned forward, pulling your knees up and pressing your chest to them. "I can make it up to you… after all, I am all yours." When Buggy turned to you, you continued, "I was being silly sending those, but fuck, Buggy! I'm so tired of feeling like an afterthought. You're with Alvida or scheming to get that map-" Buggy dropped the photos to his side and looked at you. "I just want attention sometimes." You placed your chin on the top of your knees and played with the cover.

The papers dropped from Buggy's grasp and he crawled back onto his bed. His gloved hand moved to your chin and he forced you to look up at him. "All you have to do is ask," his eyes stared into yours, his voice low and full of lust. "But I'm afraid I can't stand for the stunt you pulled today…"

"That's what you said last-" You stopped yourself. You did not want to ruin whatever it was Buggy was about to do.

"Hm?" Buggy was not going to let you be quiet. "When did I say that?" He questioned you. "When you decided to act out during the last meeting I let you in? When you were grinding against my thigh and you thought no one would notice?"

Your face was on fire. You nodded.

"And then-" Buggy was inches from you, "-you moaned so loud I had to kick you out?"

"I get it…" You looked away from him. You were just horny and needed an outlet and when Buggy wasn't giving you attention, what were you supposed to do? “My fingers just aren’t cutting it…”

“I can fix that,” Buggy smirked, eyes crinkled. “But, first-” He sat on the edge of the bed and motioned to his thigh. You cocked your head. “You’re going to get yourself off. On my thigh.”

You blinked. “No spanking?”

“‘Cause that worked so well last time, didn’t it.” Buggy rolled his eyes. “Come on, don’t be shy now.”

Your face, going down to your neck, was on fire. You scooted towards the other side of the bed and stood up, making your way towards Buggy. He smiled at you; a knowing, shit eating grin. Your heart jumped into your throat. You settled on Buggy’s clothed thigh and inhaled sharply. Your fingers moved towards your clit and Buggy was quick to grab your hand.

“No.” His voice was stern. “Use my thigh. Just my thigh.”

Your hands moved to his shoulders and you gave him a shocked expression. You swallowed hard and began to grind down. Your arms wrapped around Buggy’s neck and you looked down, noticing his pants becoming wet from your pussy. Buggy grabbed your chin and forced you to look up at him. He was smug to say the least.

Buggy moved one of his hands to your hip and helped you. His leg bounced slightly and you let out a whine. Your grinding continued, you only grew wetter and hornier as you did so. You wanted nothing but to be fucked and Buggy had you using his damned thigh.

“Tell me,” Buggy drawled out, “what do you want?”

“I need you.” You whined, still rocking and grinding. A heat pooling in your stomach. You pushed forward slightly and your clit rubbed against his pants. Your brain malfunctioned briefly. “I need you to touch me-”

“Just cum for me, baby,” Buggy whispered. “I’ll give you everything you want if you can cum for me.”

You let out a whimper and moved your hips faster. Your hips rolled and bucked into his thigh, each time you felt pressure on your clit you whined. Finally you could feel it, your orgasm was getting close.

“Buggy-” You moaned his name, eyes shutting tight, “I’m gonna-”

Buggy’s hands moved to your hips and he stopped you from moving. You froze. You let out a low whine and looked up at him. He cocked his head. “What?”

“Buggy!” You wanted to scream, “I was about to- I was-” You stuttered and stumbled on your words.

“I know, that’s what happens when you pull silly stunts.” Buggy smiled. “But, now… Do you want my fingers?”

You were going to go mad. You could not answer fast enough. “Please! Please, just touch me Buggy. I want to feel you.”

“Anything for you, baby.” Buggy brought his hand up to his mouth and bit his glove, pulling it off in one swift motion. He pulled his other glove off and placed his hands back on your hips. He flipped you easily onto the bed and was looming over you. He watched you for a moment while his hand slowly slid down your side. Goosebumps rose on your skin. Once he reached your pussy, you were sure you were going to combust.

One of his fingers slid into you and and your hips bucked upwards. His fingers reached spots yours could not. He knew what he was doing. Not like you didn’t. But Buggy’s fingers were a lot better than your own, by a long shot.

You wrapped your arms around him once more and pulled him closer to you, close enough for you to kiss his neck. He slid in another finger as you kissed his neck and he was easily making quick work of you. You were puddy in his hands, and he couldn’t enjoy it more. His fingers pumped in and out of you, before he found your clit and rubbed over it. Electricity jolted through you.

“Buggy- Mph!” You mewled for him, “I’m so close. Please-’ Please let me-”

You couldn’t finish your sentence. Buggy decided to be generous at that moment. All he said was “Okay,” and you were coming undone by his fingers alone. Buggy You bucked and cried and pulled Buggy as close to you as possible. Buggy laughed in your ear, and you arched back. Another cry escaping you Buggy started to slow down. He pulled his fingers from you and immediately, without seemingly thinking, popped his fingers in his mouth, sucking.

You watched him with wide eyes. His fingers popped out of his mouth and he smiled down at you. He lowered himself to your face. “You taste delightful dear… It’s a good thing we have all night.”

“You don’t have any other obligations?”

Buggy chuckled, “Not tonight. I’m all yours.” Buggy pushed himself up and over you. “And you are all mine.”

“All yours,” You agreed, nuzzling into him.

“Now, where did you get those pictures taken, hm?” Buggy questioned.

“That’s a secret.” You laughed. “A silly little secret.”

Buggy did not like that answer. He was going to get it out of you one way or another…

#buggy one piece #opla buggy #buggy smut #buggy x reader #opla smut #one piece #one piece smut #op buggy #buggy the clown

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colleendoran · 1 year

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How Do I Do Stuff

The question was phrased a little strangely, and I don't want to embarrass the person by posting exactly what was said, but I'll answer it and hope this clears everything up.

I do almost all of my drawing by hand. No, I don't trace in Photoshop. Not a judgment on those who do, but I come from a generation of artists who did not use Poser programs or other digital tools. We learned to draw using a technique called the Sight Size method. I know a lot of people assume everyone - including the old masters - traced everything using optical tools, but while it is true some people did, it is just as true that most didn't, and you can draw with great accuracy if you learned how to draw the old fashioned way.

Sight Size breaks everything down into its barest components of geometric shapes and you build from there. Once you learn it, you never forget, and it applies to everything you will ever draw.

I learned it using a set of Famous Artist Course books my mom had since she was a kid, and they are still the gold standard. They're often on ebay. If I were you, I'd buy them.

I actually find using figure reference really annoying because I like exaggerations and modifications from reality in my final work.

This page from Neil Gaiman's Chivalry was drawn and painted without figure reference of any kind.

I don't know why people assume I trace all the time. If you were to try to use photographs to replicate these figures, you would find they are slightly off. There is no tracing here.

This is not to say I never use reference. This page, for example, was referenced from a photo of my mother. Isn't she pretty.

But this page of Sir Galaad was drawn and painted without reference.

He's pretty, too.

If he were real, I'm sure a lot of people would be very happy about it. But he's not. And had I reference, the art would have gone a lot faster. I had a time trying to nail this face that is very alive in my head but doesn't really exist.

Back in the ancient days, all cartoonists had to learn to draw and paint extemporaneously because reference was limited and digital tools didn't exist. While some high end artists had photography studios and professional models with costume and sets on hand, small fry like me were limited to what was in the house or available at my small local library, which was no bigger than a few rooms of my current house.

Artists kept extensive "morgue files" or "swipe files" which were collected from magazine clippings and photographs so we would have as much of what we might need on hand for quick reference. These ephemera collections could get unwieldy. I have thousands of photographs I've simply never sorted. I finally dumped most of my files this past year.

Have I ever traced anything? Of course, especially if I have to re-use a shot or setting over and over. Making extra work for myself is just silly. It's my job to make pictures, not to perform magical feats, like copying one shot after another over and over without making a mistake.

However, for almost 15 years of my career, I refused to copy or trace anything, and did not even own a lightbox. On the one hand, that forced me to learn to carefully examine what I saw. On the other hand, it was a stupid hill on which many deadlines died.

Only after I realized many professional artists had lightboxes and overhead projectors did I finally break down and get one.

The one thing I use my lightbox for more than anything is for tracing my thumbnail sketches to the final drawing paper. Instead of trying to capture the liveliness of the original sketch by copying what I see - only bigger - I blow the thumbnail up to the size I want the final art to be, then I trace over the thumbnail using a lightbox onto the final drawing paper.

Here's a look at thumbnails from the graphic novel Neil Gaiman's Snow, Glass, Apples.

I enlarged these on my computer to fit onto 11"x14" paper, and traced the thumbs before finishing the art which was drawn in pen and ink and colored in Photoshop.

While I obviously made some changes, the essence of the thumbs is there in the final work. Tracing my thumbs retains some of the looseness of the original sketches, which is often lost otherwise.

So, there is a valid purpose to tracing at times, though in my opinion, too much tracing can weaken drawing ability, substitute for developing skills, and make the work kind of stiff.

If you want to, I'm not your judge. But it's weird to me that people think I must be faking my skills in some way.

Ironically, the word cartoon comes from the Italian word cartone, which is a large heavy sheet of paper - also, the origin of the word carton.

Preparatory sketches were made on this paper which was then transferred to the final work surface via either tracing or by stamping little holes in the paper through which dust was sprinkled, recreating the contours of the drawing for the artist to follow.

So the origin of the word cartoon comes from a process often used...for tracing.

#snow glass apples #chivalry #neil gaiman #drawing

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misctf · 7 days

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I had a dream once I found a pair of cleats and tried them on, and transformed into a big, dumb, horny football jock, then came load after load of cum , all sweaty and drooling as my new team arrived. How I wish I could experience that, do you know a way?

Huh, a dream you say? And just once? Part of me doubts that. And I can tell by how you’re blushing that you’ve likely had this dream a few times. And each time, you’ve woken up with your boxers soaked with jizz. Okay, okay... maybe I didn’t need to call you out like that. Anyway.... A big, dumb, horny football jock. Look, I’m not here to judge, but are you... of course you are.... Sigh.... Well, I’ll stop wasting our time. Risks yada yada, things going wrong yada yada... You get the point. Now follow me...

You follow close behind as I lead us through a few pairs of double doors. I have to unlock a few more doors and suddenly, we find ourselves within a large warehouse. There are thousands of articles of clothing. Underwear, socks, athletic shirts... you look around in awe.

Yes, I know, very impressive. We have a lot of magical items that we’ve collected over the years. Let me just grab a pair of gloves... Some of these items are quite potent actually. Like just a touch and bam! Stupid jock! Okay, maybe not that dramatic, but... And here we go! A pair of red football cleats... Just like in your dream? Well, what can I say, I’m a miracle worker. Okay, I’ll put them down right here. Look at that, they’re brand new too, they even have the paper still stuffed in them... Just give me one second, I have to grab a special tool. I can tell this pair is quite potent.... Wait... Don’t try to remove the paper with your... Fuck.... Didn’t I say... Hey! Don’t get too close!

The cleats are stuck around your hands. You’re shaking your hands, looking up at me desperately. No matter how much you flail, they seem locked in place. You’re breathing heavily. A sense of panic filling you. Something feels very wrong. You feel warmer and you’re sweating profusely.

This is very bad... Okay, give me a second to just... what do you mean your hands hurt? Oh fuck... Ok not good, not good... I need to...

You cry out as you feel your hands start to shift and change within the cleats. It feels like your hands are lengthening, while your fingers are painful shortened. But it’s not just your feet. You watch as your forearms start to shift and change. Packing on muscle that more resembles thick calves rather than forearms.

Oh yeah, these cleats are quite potent. Okay... uh, I would be lying if I said I’ve dealt with this before. This is something we in the business call a... okay yeah, maybe I’ll spare you the details. But... Oh careful now!

Your legs suddenly give way and you’ve fallen onto you’re abdomen. You let out another cry as your arms start to shift and change even more. They’re forced above your head and you yelp as thick muscle starts to fill in. Your once mediocre arms are now a set of two built legs, crushing your head in between new thighs. But the pain in your new legs pales in comparison to the feelings from your dick. It’s throbbing in a mixture of pain, then pleasure. You feel nauseous as the room is filled with the sounds of your body cracking and shifting. Yet you moan as your body continues its metamorphosis.

Oh fascinating... I’ve never seen this before... So the pecs become the abs, and the abs become the pecs. Fuck, they're getting huge too... What am I talking about? It’s uh... oh! Give me a second! Well, hello there... Huh, still barely a whisper... Who am I talking to? Well, uh... it’s complicated. But...

You yelp when you suddenly feel your body push itself up. You’re forced to look down at the floor, and it feels like you’re doing a handstand. You clearly see the red cleats, and the firm calf and thigh muscles that used to be your arms. You try to crane your neck to look up, but are unable to.

Well fuck... this is, uh... What did you say? I can’t... your voice is a bit garbled now... Something salty? Yeah... I think that might be semen... Really? Come on, isn’t is obvious? Are you getting the idea now? Oh, don’t look at me like that, there were risks...

You yelp as a firm hand suddenly wraps around your neck. You’re afraid you won’t be able to breath, but instead, you just feel the salty liquid leave your lips. And as the hand moves up and down, more of it dribbles from your mouth. You try to speak, but you find your mouth has been forced to remain in a small “O” shape, no matter how desperately you try to move it. Worse yet, you watch as your hair falls from your head, decorating the floor beneath you.

Yeah, I doubt he’s gonna be able to talk much at this stage... So what did you say your name was....? Brett? Makes sense, you definitely look like a Brett. I gotta say, watching your arms grow in was quite the sight. And the muscle here... your biceps are so firm... oh sorry... right I’ll let you finish...

The deep moans that fill the air are not your own. You’ve never heard moans like this before. But soon your vision and hearing dwindle significantly. Instead, all you can feel is the rough calloused hand that jerks your hardened body, as well as the stream of cum that’s leaving your new mouth. And as the pressure builds and builds, so does the pleasure. It’s numbing. Numbing to the point you feel your complex thinking dwindle. All you can focus on is pleasure. Anyway, anyhow. And then you feel it. Cum bursts from your new mouth, and Brett lets out a loud moan, falling back against the wall. You feel your body softening, your mind only able to focus on your need for more.

Okay... I guess I’ll be cleaning that up... Oh? What’s happening? The room is spinning and... Wait, where are we...? The locker room? Damn, those cleats were potent... Oh sorry, you gotta get ready for your game. And I can hear your teammates coming in... Wait... You’re already getting hard again? And you’re already leaking? Shit... Well, I guess this isn’t what we expected. But, you’re certainly a horny, dumb football jock. And you’re certainly drooling there quite a bit, just in time for your team to see.... Well I guess I should go....Huh? Wait for you...? After the game...? In the locker room...? Sigh.... you stupid jock types are my weakness... see you soon...

#male tf #male transformation #inanimate tf #cock tf #jock tf #inanimate transformation

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little-diable · 4 days

Text

Pleasure - Prof!Tom Riddle (smut)

Just a small Drabble about our fave fucked up, dark professor. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Professor Riddle threatens to fail the reader, something she won’t accept. Just pwp

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, choking, degrading, orgasm denial, Tom being Tom, power imbalance

Pairing: Prof!Tom Riddle x fem!student!reader (1.2k words)

“You threaten to fail me? Are you out of your mind?” Her voice boomed through the class room, eyes set on the professor whose assistant she had been for the past months now. His piercing eyes didn’t meet hers, he kept his gaze set on the papers, correcting the homework she had collected minutes ago. All before he had dropped this bomb on her, telling (y/n) that she was about to fail his class. “Look at me!”

“Careful, (y/n).” His eyes snapped up to meet hers, voice sharper than a knife. He leaned back in the chair, arms crossed in front of his chest while staring at her like a snake about to snap at its prey. He had always been a dangerous man, a man whose aura was a warning itself, set on pulling her into his dark trap. But today he had something else to him, something even more ruthless.

“Tell me why!” She was fuming, set on letting go of a piercing scream. This must be a joke, a prank he was pulling on her - her grades were better than most, she was always on time, and when she was working for him, she did everything he asked of her.

“I don’t owe you any explanations. And your behaviour proves to me that you’re not mature enough to work on it. Leave.” (Y/n) didn’t move, she kept staring at Professor Riddle who slowly rose to his feet. A part of her screamed at her to leave, to run before it was too late, but the more stubborn part forced her to stand still and watch his every move. “Is this how you want to play? This is my last warning, (y/n).”

Her body was trembling in anger and need, all while her mind brought back flashes of a similar moment that had happened weeks ago. Back then she had left this room with trembling thighs and his handprint burned into her behind. The following hours had been spent hidden away in her room while pushing herself over the edge numerous times with his name burning on the tip of her tongue.

“I am not scared of you.” She cocked her head, chin pointed in his direction while she looked up at him. It was a foolish game she was playing - a game she was about to lose, but she didn’t care, couldn’t worry about any wins or losses, knowing that whatever would happen between them would count as a win in her book.

“You should be.” His ringed hand found her throat, tugging (y/n) in for a teeth clashing kiss. She moaned into the touch, unable to stop her hands from wandering, from finding the back of his neck to keep him close. (Y/n) felt her surroundings spin, throwing her into another dimension while the professor moved her backwards to heave his TA onto his table. With her legs wrapped around his waist, (y/n) kept him close, not daring to think of parting just yet. “You try to distract me with those pretty little things you wear, you try to make a fool out of me, but you’ll never have this much power over me. You’re mine, (y/n), I’m the one guiding you.”

She could only moan in delight, feeling his hand disappear beneath her skirt to press his fingertips against her clothed heat. Slowly, he began to circle her bundle through the fabric of her panties, feeling them grow damp beneath his touch. A soft chuckle let him, buzzing through both their bodies while his lips moved down her throat, sucking on the spots that drew moans from her.

“You’ve been asking for it for months, so now you’ll take my cock like the desperate slut you are. But I won’t let you cum, not this afternoon.” His words drew a protesting moan from (y/n), eyes wide while she stared at him. No words managed to pass her parted lips, unsure how to speak up as the sounds reaching her distracted (y/n).

Within seconds he had freed his cock, pushing a condom down his length before her panties were tugged aside. Her fingernails left crescent marks on the spot where his shoulder met his neck as he pushed into her, forcing her tight walls to adjust to him. A part of her wanted to beg him to slow down, to give her some moments to relax before taking all of him, but that part didn’t get a chance to speak up, silenced by her loud moans.

Professor Riddle fucked her ruthlessly, he was using her body, set on chasing his own high while sticking to his promise. Tonight he wouldn’t let her cum, at least not for a few hours before finding his way to her.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, dripping from her chin onto the back of his hand which was still holding her throat. She was torn between focusing on the way he perfectly stretched her, about to push her over the edge, and the way he held onto her all too possessively, leaving her heart jumping in excitement.

“This is why I need to keep you around, love.” The nickname had a condescending touch to it, leaving her gasping while she tried to focus on his words. “You’re all for me to use, all for my own pleasure.”

(Y/n) nodded her head while another gasp left her, head wanting to roll back - though without any luck as he kept holding onto her. She felt his cock tearing her apart with every thrust, drunk on the feeling of him fucking her this posessively. With moans ripping their way through her, she clawed at his skin, giving into the subconscious need to mark him up to have the same claim on him.

“What would you ever do without me, huh? You’re so needy, such a pathetic little girl.” She was close to letting go, high on the low tones of his raspy voice, on the way he spoke to her with spite and adoration dripping from his tongue. With one hand still clinging to him, she let the other find her pulsing bundle, circling it a few times to give herself the needed push. Something he instantly stopped her from doing after a second or two.

“I told you I won’t let you cum for now. I don’t make empty threats, love.” More tears fell from her eyes as she stared up at Professor Riddle. Her walls clenched his cock, hoping to pull him into her trap - something he didn’t seem to care for as he pulled out of her to cum on her thighs.

“You’ll wait for me tonight, and perhaps if you’re good, I’ll let you cum.”

#Tom riddle smut #Tom riddle x reader #professor fic #Tom riddle imagine #Harry Potter smut

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rainrot4me · 2 months

Text

Take It

Summary: Nightmarish visions drive you to seek out their sender, constant paranoia driving you mad. But when you find out he intends to make you work for him, he realizes you can’t be broken like the others. So he must take a more… intensive approach.

Characters: Slenderman x Male Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Mental torture, hallucinations, phantom touch, description of organs and blood, tentacles, eating out, overstimulation, mind-breaking, forced submission, dub-con, painful pleasure, masochism, gagging, choking, blood, tentacles, anal, stomach bulge, tearing, size-difference, suffocation, forcing, clawing, manipulation, kinda stockholm syndrome at the end

Words: 6.5k

A/N: This was my first time writing for a male pov! I hope it wasn’t too unrealistic lolol

It had been nonstop for weeks.

Visions. These crazy, nightmare-induced images continuously haunted your thoughts and dreams, leaving you nauseous every time you closed your eyes. Seeing dead family members, imagining noises and people that weren’t there, even feeling physical pain with no explanation. Sleep was nonexistent at this point, brain on high alert and checking every corner of every dark room you entered. You had no idea what was setting them off, sleep medications doing absolutely nothing for your new insomnia that kept you up into the late hours of the morning until you watched the sunrise. Quitting your job came next. Unable to stay awake and alert through a shift caused you a bad reputation, paranoia driving you to leave after imagining seeing a dead body in the garbage can.

No matter what you tried: medicine, sleep, meditation, nothing calmed the pounding in your head. However, one thing was constant, a recurring entity that seemed to be the center of every hallucination—this grotesquely long-limbed figure with stark white skin. He was giant, towering over you and making you feel so tiny and weak, thriving from the fear it gave you. But the worst part of it, despite his rather nice suit and tie, was the complete lack of a face. His head was smoothed over, skin warping almost to resemble expressions but wrinkling and stretching against the muscles of his face buried underneath. Despite the horror, he was so intriguing, mind-wrapping around the concept of him. This figure always showed up in the corners of your vision, in the dark areas of a room or behind tall objects, like he was truly there watching you.

But you had to convince yourself it was just a trick in your mind, closing your eyes and breathing deep to center yourself back. Sometimes it was hard, body and mind under so much stress you felt like you were genuinely dying, but you always came back eventually. You were just never sure if that time would be your last.

Dropping your groceries onto the counter, you pulled the fridge open, grabbing a bottle of water. You were scrounging now, desperate to use your money wisely to buy the things you needed now without a job. It was rough, losing a lot of the things you once took for granted due to your own mental decay. Having friends was out of the question now, your hallucinations creeping onto them as well and ruining any social ability you once had. For lack of a better term, your life was falling apart before your eyes. And there was nothing you could do about it.

Turning back to your groceries, you gripped the paper bags, dragging them to the edge of the marble counter, reaching your hand in. At first, you were confused, wet sludge touching your hand and pulling out quickly. Nervously you peered into the bag, eyes widening and throat constricting as you jerked back, gagging.

The paper bag was filled with organs, thick blood coating the goopy tangle of insides as the sack tipped over, contents spilling onto your counter and hardwood floors. You retched, gripping the counter behind you as you forced yourself to look away, a lung landing near your foot. It wasn’t long before you were sobbing, the retched smell filling your nose and sending you hunching over, gagging as you clenched your stomach. It was everywhere, blood staining the floors as livers and kidneys slid from the marble and fell onto the ground with a wet slap.

This couldn’t be real, this wasn’t. You closed your eyes, breathing deeply and trying your hardest to silence the screaming panic inside your body. The sounds and smells sent you reeling, sobbing into your hands as you tried to calm down, praying to whatever would listen to take your hysteria away.

As the smell dissipated, you peeked from behind your hands, stomach nervous at the sight you might find. However, apples and cans of food spread on the ground, rolling under counters and resting beside your feet. Breathing deep, you crouched down, sobbing into your hands as you tried to clean up the mess you had caused. Your mental strength was deteriorating, morale so low you couldn’t even bring yourself to care for your well-being anymore.

Googling the creature’s appearance was enough to get at least some information. This thing was called ‘Slenderman’, a well-known cryptic being around the area that was a big folklore agent. Most of the blogs you found circled a weird fan base, cultish intrigue following the lengthy being wherever it appeared. It was cringy, hysterical almost, but at least it gave you some sense of what you were working with.

This creature was haunting you, torturing you, and you had to do something about it before it killed you.

The woods were dark even with a flashlight, dense trees blocking the view of the full moon overhead. Why you were out here, you weren’t sure, but it felt like a good place to start. Considering your visions, most of them took place in the forest, the tall creature always cradled amongst the branches and leaves and just barely out of view until he decided otherwise. So as you pressed through bushes and overgrown grass, it just felt right to be here, eyes scanning eagerly with every step.

You know you should’ve been scared, should’ve been consulting a therapist or a priest for these sorts of things, but your mind just wouldn’t let you rest. He was terrifying, sure, but your intrigue overruled any hesitation you might’ve had, beckoning you towards him. Maybe it was all a part of his game, luring you into a false sense of curiosity just to take advantage. But, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. You never feared a little game of cat and mouse. If this thing wanted your mind, he was gonna have to work for it.

But your mental strength reflected poorly as you shook in your skin, heart pounding at every rustle of leaves or snap of a twig. There were no telltale signs that you were going in the right direction, having no clue if he would even be in these woods in the first place, but something in your gut told you he already knew you were here. It was like this weight holding your mind, a claw gripped tightly around your consciousness until it was suffocating you, dragging you down into the worst parts of yourself. So, if that bastard could do that, he could very well buck up and face you if he really wanted to. Taking a deep breath, you stopped, for no particular reason other than your pants becoming too loud and your body becoming too eager.

“I know you’re watching.” You stated calmly, but just loud enough for it to echo throughout the trees. There was no immediate response, just the subtle breeze wafting through the limbs and noises echoing back to you. It was unsettling, but you could feel something building, sliding through you unnaturally. It was calm at first, an irritating chill pushing up your spine and to the back of your head, throbbing gently. A normal person could have passed it by as the start of a headache, but you knew better, irritation growing.

“You’re real good at that, y'know? Hiding and teasing. What, you get off on it? Pain and all that?” You chuckled through grit teeth, flicking your flashlight off and tossing it to the ground, crossing your arms. The tension pulsed, making you flinch as you felt phantom claws curl against your insides, quickening your heartbeat. You hissed, holding your ground and examining the trees, searching for that familiar energy you had seen too much of. “Why don’t you come say hi?” You growled, digging your nails into your arms to stop you from gagging. The feeling was nauseating, mind tensing and swirling until you felt dizzy, cold energy running through you. He was here, it was evident now, but he hid behind your mind, nestled just between the corners of your consciousness just where you couldn’t reach him, couldn’t flush him out. It was torturous, but in some sadistic way, it felt good.

Your mind tensed, neck craning as you rolled your eyes shut, pushing back against the grip. “Or are you too scared?” You smiled, shuddering as the tension pressed against your skin, faint phantom claws pressing against your back. Now it really felt good, teeth grit as you tried not to groan, back arching slightly as they slid up to your shoulders and gripped to your neck. Gasping, you open your eyes, dizzy against the dual sensations as your mind whispers a secret to yourself, begging to find the creature somewhere out here instead of just in your thoughts. “Please…”

Like a prayer, your eyes stopped, the sensation against your neck dissipating as you found that familiar stark white skin nestled just perfectly into the shadows. There was no difference between what lay before you and the image that showed in your mind, that familiar suit and energy radiating all the same. However, your idea of his height was skewed, his head almost reaching the top of the branches on the pine he stood behind. He was… huge. Towering almost an entire other person over you, your head barely coming up to his waistline as you watched him, your heart pounding against your chest as the tension in your mind gripped harder, making you groan.

He was several yards away, just visible enough to see his jaw twitch as he watched through a blank expression. You wanted to move, to press towards him and interrogate, but your mind was so numb, so mushy you couldn’t think of how to take another step.

“Bastard…” You hissed, palms clenching as you glared, fighting against the nauseating feeling. Maybe it was the intensity of it all, the pressure and chilling sensation that crept all over your body, but you couldn’t stop your stomach from fluttering gently, thighs clenching together. Slenderman tilted his head in amusement, curiously watching as you felt the pressure creep from your skull down your chest, finally settling into the pit of your stomach. You hunched over, clenching your gut as you gasped, staring through heavy eyes at the lanky being finding amusement in your uncomfortable position. “Such a bitch… hiding…” You gasped out, stomach-lurching as you let yourself fall to your knees, jeans digging into the wet grass as you groaned, tugging at your clothes. You couldn’t compare the sensation. Almost like someone was digging their fingers into your gut, teasing and prodding at your insides until you were squirming and whining for relief. The one thing you could describe, however, was the irritable way your cock began to twitch in your boxers, curiously flinching to life. You tried to press your hands down, covering yourself as your bulge grew and pressed against your pants.

Now Slenderman was really interested, taking a calm step out of the shadows and slowly towards you, clasping his long claws behind his back as he watched you squirm, desperate to push your aching cock back down. There was so no fucking way you were getting excited from this feeling. You were closer to throwing up than you were to cumming, but for some reason, it lit a fire under you, turning you on in some nauseating way. But as his dress shoes crunched against the wet grass closer to you, you couldn’t help but moan under your breath, gripping your jeans tightly as he stood in front of you, towering over you so tall you had to lean back to see his face.

He was bent at the waist, chest tensing against his suit as he breathed slowly as he leaned down closer to you, the weight in your gut growing the closer he got. “Fuck… Fuck you…” You whined, tears pricking on your waterline as he finally stopped, hot breath blowing against your face that seemingly came from nowhere.

“Interesting.” Slenderman chuckled, his voice smooth and low, every word laced with the undertone of a darker grumble, like two voices were speaking at once, overlapping each other subtly. You flinched, him speaking with the lack of a jaw movement making you uneasy, body beginning to tremble under him. “You have such a strong resolve. It’ll be satisfying to crumble it.” He stood back up, readjusting his tie around his neck as his bony stature swallowed yours. You wanted to snap something back, but your mind was cut short, swallowed by pain as phantom claws dug into your skull, piercing your mind with the nauseating noise of chalk scratching. You groaned out, gripping your head as you rolled your eyes deeply, whining against the feeling as your stomach rolled. The pain should’ve pushed your arousal down, should’ve scared you, but all your cock could do was strain, twitching with excitement the deeper it felt like the claws sunk. What the hell was wrong with you?

A crippled moan rolled from your lips, thighs tensing together as your knees dug into the ground, palming at your jeans for some sort of relief from the strain on your mind. Slenderman was watching, amusement gauging his features as he poked and prodded at you, infesting your senses. “So sensitive.” He cooed, putting pressure against your chest and stalling your breathing, forcing your lungs smaller than they wanted to be. It was exhausting, heart and mind running a mile a minute as you wheezed, staring straight into his expressionless face. “So fickle.”

“Why-” You managed to push out between coughs, head dizzy and congested with nausea. Slender pushed forward, reaching his claw out to wrap around your face, thin fingers enveloping your entire jaw in one firm grip, squeezing your cheeks close together. “You’re going to work for me. Your strength, your abilities, they’re all admirable. They would make a great asset to the little group I have,” He smiled behind the stretch of pale flesh, skin pinching into a strained grin. “I just have to crack that determination you so desperately hold onto.”

He squeezed down tighter, claws digging into the sides of your head and making you whine, your skull feeling like it could crack under the pressure. All the while keeping your eyes trained on his smug face, flesh hot under his touch, cock twitching as you relished in the feeling of being overpowered, fear mixing with arousal uncontrollably. Your jeans pressed way too tight, sensation overloading you to the point of it hurting, begging to be touched as your sadistic brain ran rampant.

Slender took notice too, peeking past his arm and down towards your groin, spotting the obviously large bulge nestled between your legs. “Hmm…” He inquired, easing the phantom pains that pressed into your head and dragging them achingly slow down towards your legs, making your eyes widen and breath quicken. You tried to push back, reaching your hands to claw against his arm, tugging at his jacket sleeve and whining desperately. The lanky creature snickered, deep voice holding you irritable as the touch stretched down to your cock, putting heavy pressure against it.

Groaning deep into the palm of Slender’s claw, you wrapped your hands around his arm, holding yourself steady as the phantom touch pushed down teasingly against your clothed cock. You nearly choked out a sob, pushing your hips up eagerly to create friction as your cheeks grew dark, embarrassment being lost in the relief of being touched. Slender watched eagerly, brows tensing as he hummed, mentally pushing and rubbing down onto your bulge.

It was heavenly, eyes rolling and soft gasps muffling out, eagerly chasing the touch as it began to retreat back off of you completely. You whined, clawing at his thin arm until he let go of your face, standing back up straight.

You had been so skewed by your hazy mind that you hadn’t realized the absolute presence of the creature before you. He was terrifying, sure, and powerful too. But you couldn’t act like you didn’t notice how powerful he felt, how easily he could mutilate or destroy you, but just how easily he could command and dominate you. It turned you on in the worst kind of way. You wanted to be angry, to tear him to shreds for the insanity he’s caused you. But as he looked down, crossing his long arms across his chest and tapping a claw onto his suit sleeve, nothing could stop your cock from aching.

“Stop looking at me like that, bastard.” You growled, sniffling your tears back at the strain against your jeans, clenching your thighs closely together for at least some friction, but more so out of embarrassment. “Quiet. I’m trying to figure out what to do with you, boy.” He snapped back, tension growing in his face. You wanted to growl, but more desperately you wanted to beg. Beg for whatever that sensation was to come back, to give you more. “Hm, I know,” He grinned, unbuttoning his suit and sliding it off of his shoulders, his white collared dress shirt sitting snug against his bony figure. “You can’t be broken like the others, it seems. You’re… in need of special treatment. Something that’ll break you in ways pain can’t.” His voice was low and husky, eagerness lacing his echoing voice as he rolled up his sleeves, tucking them up to his elbows in that hot way older men did. You were writhing, caught in the middle of terror and excitement, mind unsure of which one to pick.

But it seemed Slender was going to pick for you. As you leaned back onto your haunches, body straining, you stared wide-eyed as dark, slimy tentacles began to push out from his back, the lanky creature breathing deep as they caged around him, several veins pushing towards you slowly. To you, they blended in with the tree branches around, thick limbs curving and jagged like the wood of a tree, perfect for camouflage, you realized. But as they began to slink around you, cold warmth snaking across your arms and into the sleeves of your shirt, you couldn’t help but gasp, leaning into the feeling. It was so odd, unlike anything you could compare it to as they gripped around your legs too, pushing themselves under you and lifting slowly, stretching your body off of the ground as you tried not to panic. They held you tight, pushing your shirt up and into your pant legs, odd slime spreading across your chilled skin until you were moaning.

They worked quickly to tug your shirt over your head, Slender clasping his hands behind his back again as he watched, controlling the tendons to tug open your jeans and slide them down your legs as well, bulge embarrassingly evident against your thin boxers. “Wait… Woah…” You mewled, straining your arms to push the tentacles away but they wrapped around your wrists, holding them clasped together as they fully undressed you, finally slipping your boxers down and hooking off of your ankles. The night air was so cold, body tensing and shaking as you held suspended in the air, gasping as the slime slid scarcely close to your ass. “Where to start…” Slender crept, neck craning to examine every inch of your nude body as he pulled you closer, a large claw wrapping around your waist and smothering your hips entirely. He held your thighs, neck, arms, pale claws wrapping around them completely, easily holding your limbs in one grasp. But turning you around, suspending you higher in the air, your head dropped quickly, tentacles turning you upside down as Slender palmed at your ass, blood rushing to your face as he tugged your cheeks apart. “Here seems right.”

Wrapping his claws around your waist, he pulled you snugly against him, back pressed to his lower abdomen as tentacles repositioned, angling better to hold you in the right position. Your arms strained, grasping onto his suit for balance as you teetered upside down, bangs falling from your face and head already beginning to feel dizzy. Your heart thudded, cock hanging lazily down against your abdomen, bobbing in the air as you felt claws spread your thighs apart, asshole puckering from the cold. There was nothing you could do, no fight you could put up that wouldn’t result without you dropped on your head or thrown for distance. No matter how much your brain screamed at you to fight, you were forced to settle, forced to hold onto his clothes and beg your determination would hold out against whatever plans he had. Whines slipped as your head pounded against the pressure building between your ears, your face growing deep red as you hung.

Then came the cracking, the ear-straining tears that sounded from above you. Fear pushed you to look up, neck straining as you watched with intrigue as Slenderman’s expressionless face began to change, skin stretching right about where his mouth would be. He was creating a mouth, or better yet, exposing the one he already had. Shreds of skin tore open, pale flesh cracking to form a mouth as his jaw craned open, tugging the skin apart. That’s when you saw the teeth, rows and rows of jagged nestled inside of his wide mouth, a long tongue slipping out between the razors and lulling above you, already soaked in saliva. How was he able to conceal an entire mouth? How was he able to conceal that tongue? It was long, the muscle curling and flicking like his tentacles, wet and dark and pointed at the tip. You wanted to whine, to tug away and run. But as he slid his head down, wrapping his claws tighter around your hips, you moaned, cock twitching as he slid his tongue between your cheeks. It was cold, saliva spreading between your plump cheeks and pressing against your hole, tip teasing before continuing to wet the rest of the area. You were groaning loudly, hands gripping tight as pushing your hips back, aching for the feeling but oh so nervous as well.

“It’s going to taste so good when you submit. When I break that willpower to resist inside of you.” Slender chuckled between laps, growling as he licked up your thighs, teeth knicking against your skin. You tensed as he finally settled between your cheeks, claws tugging your ass apart to give him clear access as he began to shove his tongue against your tight rim, giving you no time to adjust before he was shoving further. You were howling, back arching uncomfortably as Slender disregarded your body’s restraint, forcing the thick muscle deeper until it felt like you were going to tear, lower body screaming. “Oh my god-” You snapped out, teeth clenching as you forced your eyes shut, body straining against the thickness slipping inside of you. It was uncomfortable, pain snapping at your muscles but only feeding your cock to ache more, pulsing against your stomach eagerly as Slender growled against you, brows knotting. Your jaw hung lazily as he bottomed his tongue out inside of you, thick muscle straining against your tight walls as your rim stretched too wide. You were dizzy, being upside down made you nauseous now, brain pulsing between your ears.

Slender was quick now, tugging his tongue out just enough to push it back in fast, clawing your hips back against his mouth, Lazily fucking you up onto his tongue, you moaned out loud, the wet schlick of his tongue moving inside of you echoing against the trees. You tried to resist, tried to hold your mouth shut and muffle your moans to not satisfy the cryptid, but it only irritated him, moving faster. His tongue curled inside of you, nudging against your tight walls and pressing down hard against your prostate, enveloping the bud wholly. “Oh, fuck-” You whined, hands clenching tight around his pant legs as his tentacles roamed, slithering against your hot skin and prodding at any sensitive spots you revealed. Behind your ears, curling onto your nipples, even wrapping tight around your ribs, anything to get you to make a noise. You tried to push back, to withstand, but as you clenched your eyes shut, the tentacles moved down, curiously sliding around your thighs. Tensing, you tried to clench your thighs together, Slender’s thick claws holding them wide and still, tongue continuing to milk your ass as you whined.

You flinched when the tentacles slid around your aching cock, slithering around the girth and holding tight, slime covering the length and poking at your tip. Your back arched into the feeling, Slender grunting as he followed your hips, pushing his head forward back between your legs. The tentacles began to stroke your cock slowly, going only half the pace that the cryptid’s tongue was, gripping tight and pulling hard to milk precum from your tip already. You babbled, grinding your hips in time with Slender’s movements but failing as he read your body, speeding himself up. His goal was the break you, so he couldn’t let you become comfortable, needing to push your body further than it wanted to go.

So a large tentacle pressed to your face, sliding against your jaw and shoving itself between your lips, filling your mouth quickly. You tried to relax, tried to take the tendon easily, but it forced itself in, shoving its way down your throat until you were gagging, throat straining against the size. If hanging upside down wasn’t bad enough, having your breathing cut by a large slimy tentacle made it all the more intense. Your lungs screamed, begging for air as the tentacle matched the pace of Slender’s tongue, tugging itself out of your throat just to shove itself back in, filling your senses with gags and slobber. Eyes rolling, slobber running out of your mouth, and body falling apart, you were already losing, already having to strain not to slip into some lost headspace. But even with the lack of eyes, you could feel his gaze burning into you, feel as he beckoned unfamiliar sensations and noises from your body.

Your whines began to sound cracked, your voice high and pitchy as it gagged around the tentacle, vibrating around the intrusion. You tried to push, tried to pull your arms loose of the grip wrapped around your body, bucking your hips the deeper Slender probed his tongue, trying to escape. Every drag of his tongue, his tentacles, even his claws was becoming painful, overstimulation scratching at your brain as you cried, sensations becoming filled with nothing but him. It hurt so bad, the suffocation and the strain, so you couldn’t explain why a knot was growing in your gut, cock leaking desperately as it was tugged and swallowed in thick warm slime. It just hurt so good. Slender could read it too, pulling the tongue out as far as he could before slamming it back inside, curling it onto itself to stretch your hole wider, crying out as you felt your rim tear, blood pooling against the muscle. The sting sent you, body convulsing into itself as you came hard, strings of hot seed shooting down and onto your chest, eyes rolling into the back of your head as the tentacle stopped deep into your throat, nearly making you puke. Slender’s tongue rode you through your orgasm, relishing in the way your walls clenched as your cock fell flaccid, sensitive in his grasp. He slowly tugged his tongue out, groaning at the taste of blood soaking in until he was completely out, slurping up the taste vulgarly.

He still had his tentacle pressed into your throat, your hands slamming down against him as you cried for air, slobber and obnoxious choking sounds getting so loud he almost feared you’d throw up. But maybe that would be good…

Deciding against it, he tugged the tentacle out, your lungs gasping for air as your eyes clenched shut and your face returned to a normal shade. The tendons slithered, repositioning to turn you upright, flinging your body off of Slender’s warmth and into the air, dropping you hard against the ground. You groaned, hunching into yourself as your body slammed into the cold grass, bare body wrecked by the cryptid. You were still gasping, chest heaving as you tried to wipe the cum from your chest, wiping the sweat from your brow. Slender seemed unimpressed, slipping his tongue between his teeth as he readjusted his button-up, refolding the sleeves back up to his elbows as he knelt down at your feet. “You can take more.” He stated cooly, standing back up and shooting a tentacle out, wrapping tight around your ankle and dragging you back up again.

You clawed desperately at the grass, pleading some unheard begs to stop as he slid another tentacle around your chest, pulling your eye level with his chest. You watched through heavy, tired eyes as Slender tugged another tentacle down towards his slacks, unbuttoning them as he slid his claws around your chest, pulling you closer to him. “I can’t…” You gasped, head spinning as the tentacle shoved his pants down, tugging his cock out. You watched in horror as Slender placed his length on top of you, nestling it beside your own weak cock and resting it on your stomach. It easily reached right below your chest, almost tripping your length when hard. It wasn’t normal thought, the texture and curvature more like another tentacle, but the rosy head already leaking told you it wasn’t just another tendon. Slender smiled rabidly, length twitching and pulsing on top of you as more tentacles wrapped your body, pressing and poking against all those obnoxious spaces again. “You will, boy. You’ll take it.” He snarled, tendons pushing you back as a separate one wrapped around his length, stroking himself as he crossed his arms again, watching you eagerly.

You thought his tongue was bad. But as you watched his cock line up with your ass, you nearly screamed, heart pounding in your ears. You were so terrified, cock twitching back to life involuntarily as you watched his claws snag around your hips again, tugging you close as his head pressed against your asshole. He was going to tear you in half.

Slender groaned at your little panicked sounds when he finally began to push through, watching you as tears filled your eyes and your voice cracked with pleas of how it wouldn’t fit, how it’d kill you. He smiled, teeth glimmering as you began to stretch, rim catching impossibly tight the deeper he pushed, your body thrashing as a tentacle wrapped around your throat, clenching to alleviate your tension, but also to silence your mindless protests. Slender wanted to forfeit all restraint and tear you up, caring less if you ruptured something. But there was a science to this, a cool calculated way to make you fall apart, to make you want it more than he did. “Don’t fight it, yeah?” He growled, stopping his press when you began to gasp for air, sliding his tentacle across your cheeks and nipples to take your mind off of the sickeningly wide stretch your ass was experiencing. “Just give in already.”

Slender snapped his hips shallowly, just barely pressing an inch in more, but it was enough to make you scream, fists clenching and throat sobbing as you arched, the fullness making your head light. You tried to hold your eyes open, tried to fight against the pain and the stretch and keep your head right, but you just couldn’t. So, eyes heavy, you let your head fall, jaw unhinging as you went boneless in his grasp, cock snapping against your abdomen. Slender took the opportunity, pushing deeper until he caught on your rim again, growling at the tightness holding him still. But as he looked down, he smiled, a wicked chuckle echoing in your dizzy head as you peeked at him, and then down to what he was seeing.

Your stomach bulged, the tip of Slender’s cock pushing against your abdomen and making a clear outline for you to gawk at, eyes watering as you felt your body shake with excitement. You watched carefully as Slender slid a claw over top of the bulge, pressing down and making you gasp, tension building in your gut already. “You think I can get deeper?” You shook your head quickly, begging desperately for him not to as your body already felt like it was going to fall apart, overstimulation overtaking you wholly now. “I think I’m gonna try anyways.” You could’ve puked.

Slender tugged his hips back, replacing his claw back onto your hip and giving you a clear shot as the bulge disappeared, eyes wide as you watched him steady himself, tentacle clenching down hard around your throat as he grinned. He snapped back in quickly, length making it halfway inside of you before pushing against your walls, the bulge reappearing and making him stop. You cried out, back snapping as you cried, clawing against your own skin as your brain tensed, pain rocking you. You cock bobbed in the air, body straining as Slender hunched over you, curling his body to engulf you as he snapped again, pushing his cock in and out roughly. The cryptid didn’t seem to know the word gentle, claws already digging into your hips and drawing intensive amounts of blood, pale fingers coated in deep red. But the sight of the bulge pressing and retreating in your gut made you dizzy, throat tensing to scream as the tentacle found its way back to your mouth, shoving itself back inside as you gagged again.

Slenderman knew this was a torture method, a technique catered just to you to break your mind, making it easier for him to use you; as a proxy or otherwise. But as you cried out, cock twitching with every thrust of his thin hips, the cryptid found it hard to restrain himself, failing to hold his composure the deeper he pressed. He was supposed to be the one in charge here, supposed to break you and go from there, using you however he needed. But you just felt so good. The way you clenched around him, the way you fought but failed to disguise your secret want for the pain he was giving you, and especially how you resisted. He liked the way you tried to act hard but fell apart the moment he pushed himself onto you. It was addicting.

Slender was panting, hot breath pushing from his mouth and brushing against your face, his nonexistent eyes baring into you at the sight of his tentacle choking you, slobber dripping down your chin as you cried. You were stunning, in the worst kind of way.

Thrusting faster, you wanted to scream, wanted to keep yourself from tearing in half as he pounded against your walls, half words and babbles falling from your full lips. Slender groaned, pushing his phantom touch onto you and pinching your skin, prodding at your mind and body, sending you further into hysteria. “Break. Break for me, boy.” He snapped, trying his best to push more of his length into your tight ass but failing miserably as you went dumb, body hanging limp as twitching and aching at every hard thrust. You had no choice, nothing left in your body to push back with as you came, cock pulsing between your legs and cum shooting across your stomach. It was nauseating as your ass clenched, letting even less of Slender’s length enter until he was snapping his teeth, growling as he dug into your hips, rutting like an animal into you. “You wanted this, you want, you wanted thi-” Slender gripped as his tongue slipped from his teeth, hanging as saliva dripped onto your face, running down your dark cheeks. He couldn’t stop himself, fully aware that you were already beyond pliable, but his own chase for pleasure making him stay. If this was bad, then why did it feel so good? Why did he need to come so deep inside of your ass you’d be feeling it for hours? He didn’t know, didn’t want to know, all he knew was to keep thrusting, keep digging into your hips until his own cock pulsed, tension building in his gut.

Slender growled low and heavy as he came inside of you, milking his cock with your tight ass as the bulge pushed hard against your stomach, a tentacle quick to wrap around and press down, making the two of you holler out. “Fuckin- Take it.” He snapped through moans, tongue slipping down across your face and lapping at your tears, teeth shining as they nipped at your hot skin. The cryptid stayed there for a minute, relishing in the feeling of you falling apart on him, fully submitted as his hot cum began to leak from your rim, speckling down your cheeks. You could barely breathe, tentacle retreating from your mouth and sliding against your stomach, mixing your cum against your skin. But when he pulled out, rim stinging at the tug, you whined, holding onto his claws as he pulled you off of him, letting his cock fall between his legs. “Boy…” Slender cooed, watching as his cum spilt from your puckered hole, the muscle tensing and untensing as you leaked, whining at the feeling.

You couldn’t remember much after that, Slender’s tentacles laying you to the ground gently as he redressed himself, letting your cold body numbly shiver as your mind went blank, watching the leaves rustle above you. It wasn’t long before you felt his tentacles circle you again, scooping you off of the ground and covering you with his suit jacket, the fabric covering your entire body and keeping you warm against the night air. You wanted to push away, to forget this ever happened, but more than that, you wanted to sleep.

You truly had no clue how you had gotten into an unfamiliar bed, let alone one in a mansion. The place was huge, with old architecture and a weathered feel surrounding you as you tried to move, sore body preventing you from doing so much as rolling over. But it didn’t take long until you were recovered, Slender appearing every so often to give you mystery food and water before disappearing again. You soon learned of the ‘others’, the proxies that were manipulated, much differently than you, but broken all the same.

You soon learned the purpose of your visions and the reasons behind the horrors you were experiencing. Slender wanted you, and he got you, traditionally or not. You worked for him now, mind pushed well past reason and compliant to his every command with the help of that pesky phantom touch. He used it well, touching you just enough to get you stirred and motivated, eager to please him.

However, instead of horrific visions of organs and torture, you were met with vibrant flashbacks of that night in the woods, the reason you were even here. It was teasing, almost, like an invitation to sneak away to Slender’s office where the others didn’t dare go, where only you spent the quiet parts of the night.

So, as you sat on his lap, tentacles twirling around your body and pushing into your lips, you couldn’t be happier.

This was an anonymous request!

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