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cheolism · 2 days

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OH, AGONY

✰ — teaching assistant & boyfriend!lee jihoon x f!reader ✷ — summary: when you both find out that your boyfriend, lee jihoon, will be the ta for your classic literature class, it is agreed your relationship will take a temporary pause . no public dates, no pda; and, most tragically, no sex. nothing that can give away the truth to your relationship. only, it really is easier said than done. or: four times you and jihoon totally didn't have sex plus one time you did. ✰ — wc is approx. 14.5k ✷ — genre: TA au, secret relationship au, forbidden relationship au, smut ✰ — warnings: spanking, pussy spanking. derogatory language (f receiving), pet names (baby (f receiving), hoonie). rough sex, unprotected sex. masturbation (f&m) and sex toys. penetrative sex. extreme levels of delusion as to what "qualifies" as sex or not; jihoon and reader bully one another. talk pertaining to the greek tragedy oedipus rex (self-blinding is mentioned as it pertains to oedpius but not discussed in detail). ✷ — rating: 18+ ✰ — note: this fic represents two delusional adults. they are both consenting to what is going on. this fic is not an accurate representation of what is and not considered sex. also the word count may be scary, but i promise it is pretty much all smut. this fic is part of @camandemstudios first ever collab, back to school with seventeen. please make sure to give the other works lots of love!

“we have to set up rules,” jihoon announced a week before classes were to start. he closed the zoom tab, which he had preciously been using to talk to the classics professor he was ta-ing for this semester, kicking back from his desk.

“rules,” you said, peeking over the top of your book. it was hotter than hell outside, the sort of heat that suffocated and made you feel as if you were being wrung like a wet towel. inside, however, you had a blanket tucked around your body and socks pulled up to your calves.

jihoon wandered over to the thermostat. he frowned, reaching and dialing it down once again. if he was going to pay for air conditioning, he believed, he was going to be cold in the comfort of his own apartment.

“it’s not fair to other students that you’re dating your ta,” he said.

“if this is literally you breaking up with me –”

“don’t be dramatic,” jihoon chided, crossing the room to you. he picked up the edge of the blanket, slipping under and pressing his toes against your feet. “i didn’t say that. i just mean that we shouldn’t advertise our relationship to everyone.”

you closed your book, keeping your forefinger inside to mark your place. “just keep it a secret then. can’t be hard.”

“we can’t let anyone know,” he enunciated. “for real. the professor doesn’t even know. if he did, he’d reassign me.”

“then we just don’t say anything.”

“you shouldn’t stay the night.” jihoon laid his arm over the back of the couch, inviting you to cuddle into his side without him verbally giving invitation. you abided, shifting to rest your head on his thick bicep. “and no dates.”

you huffed. “jihoon, i don’t know if it’s really that serious.”

he scoffed back at you. black bangs hid his eyes. “they could accuse me of favoritism, accuse you of academic dishonesty. we need to treat this seriously.”

“maybe i should just request to change to a different section.”

“too much work.”

“oh,” you laughed, reaching over and pinching at his side. jihoon flinched, instinctively slapping at your hand. “and pretending we aren’t dating isn’t.”

“that’s why we need rules.” you kicked out the blanket, pulling it from jihoon; he grumbled, snatching it back. “don’t be a hog. anyways. we need rules so we can stick to a strict routine. that way we don’t lapse in judgment or anything.”

“so no sleepovers,” you recited, “no dates. what else? no walking to class? no kissing?”

jihoon leaned his head back against the couch, exposing the length of his pale neck. you let your eyes linger. “sleepovers, dates. no meeting in public unless in a group setting.”

you let out a great sigh, pushing the blanket from you. snatching your bookmark, you stuffed it into the novel you had been reading. “so we’re strangers.”

“yes,” jihoon confirmed. “easy enough.”

you gasped, mouth dropping open. “easy!”

jihoon bit at his lip, and you could tell that he was already regretting his choice of words. but he wouldn’t back down – that wasn’t in his nature. “easy,” he said.

“fine,” you hissed. you left the couch, retrieving your backpack. you brought out your notepad and pen pouch. “no sex, either.”

“what –”

“if it’s so easy,” you retorted sharply, walking back to the couch while ripping out an empty page of your notebook, “then no sex won’t be a problem for you, mr. lee. i mean – it needs to be believable, right? no getting caught.”

jihoon grimaced, moving to a sitting position on the couch. “yeah. believable.”

“we write it down,” you said, taking back your spot next to jihoon. you opened your pen pouch, letting the pens and markers spill out onto the coffee table. “we write it down and shake on it. it’s a contract.”

jihoon hesitated. “this is a little severe, don’t you think?”

you shook your head. “nope. can’t let anyone know, yeah? otherwise i’d be academically dishonest, wouldn’t i?”

jihoon grabbed your paper, creating a bullet point. “i really don’t think this is necessary.”

“but you do,” you shot back. “i mean. you were the one to bring it up all serious-like. no kissing, no sleepovers, no sex. the whole five yards, lee jihoon.”

“but a contract –”

“oh? so you’re wrong?”

jihoon huffed, pressing his lips into a firm line. “fine. no dates, no marks, no pda.”

“and no sex.”

W E E K O N E

your eyes immediately catch onto jihoon as soon as you walk into the classroom, and while you really should’ve guessed that he was going to play dirty – because as hard as he tries to maintain an indifferent air, jihoon is just as weak of a many as any – you didn’t realize he would be playing this dirty.

he’s wearing black trousers that fit to his thighs and ass, cinched tightly at his waist by a thin leather belt. his white dress shirt is loose around his neck, the first button undone. your eyes, unwillingly, smooth over the silver chain that winks out from underneath his shirt, alongside the harsh lines of the white tank-top he wears underneath the dress shirt and you feel, horribly, a strike of want hitting you.

jihoon turns to you. “hello,” he says, voice perfectly neutral. his eyes don’t stray from your face despite the fact you’ve worn his favorite jeans, the ones that cling at your own ass and show off flashes of skin underneath rips strategically placed; rips jihoon has made worse over the months of being together, slipping his fingers underneath the loose threads to touch your skin.

“go ahead and take a seat,” jihoon instructs, gesturing about the room. the desks are all modern despite the discussion taking place in the historic – well – history buildings. the desk shifts underneath you as you try to slide in, bottom of your water bottle clanging against the hard surface, and wheels carting across the marble floor.

you stretch out your legs, staring at jihoon unabashedly. it isn’t a sin for you, the student, to be attracted to the teaching assistant. and so you look him over, watching as he turns this way and that way, trousers showing off the plush of his ass and shirt showing the wide line of his shoulders.

you are jerked from your admiration of your boyfriend-turned-teaching assistant by a large man hurrying to the desk next to you. he’s jihoon’s opposite in almost every way: he’s easily a foot taller, and his skin is a gorgeous dark bronze that seems to draw emphasize to the bulge of his muscles.

the man slides into the desk. it’s comically small for him, his knees hitting the underside of the desk. the desk moves as he situates himself, prompting his backpack to fall over from where he had propped it.

“shit,” he mumbles, reaching down with one long arm, biceps bulging rather nicely, to righten the backpack. “stay up, please.”

rather endearingly, to top it all off, he has a lisp.

he glances at you, eyes apologetic beneath his curly bangs. “sorry. not my day today.”

you huff a laugh. “i don’t know if it’s anyone’s day, let alone week.”

“true,” the man says, grinning. his teeth are white, his canines more pronounced than most people’s. “hey. i’m mingyu.”

you introduce yourself. “are you a classics major, then?”

mingyu wrinkles his nose. “no offense to classics, but i’m doing something interesting.”

“yeah?”

“business.”

you let out a loud laugh, startling not only yourself but the people around you. mingyu grins triumphantly, tongue flicking out to run alongside his teeth. you hide your smile behind your hand, trying to quiet your laughter. jihoon, you notice, is frowning at the two of you.

“so interesting!” you say. “definitely a major filled with the best.”

“the very best,” mingyu agrees.

the two of you continue chatting, conversation flowing naturally. he’s charming, you think, charisma practically radiating off of him. you don’t miss how your boyfriend watches the two of you more often than not, not engaging in conversation with any of the entering students who greet him so he could keep an ear open on your conversation.

jihoon starts class as soon as the electronic clock on the classroom computer switches to three on the dot, the projection cast onto the board.

“first thing’s first,” he says. he leans a hand against the table set at the front of the room, though it, too, is on wheels and skirts a little as he puts weight against it. “my syllabus, you’ll find, is stricter than professor burns’s. if you come in after the clock hits three, you’re tardy; you’ll contribute to all discussions in this class, and if you don’t you’ll forgo any participation points; if you miss three classes in a row, which translates to nearly a month of absences, your grade will automatically fall to a fail and you will have to take not only this discussion over, but professor’s burns’s lecture as well.

“if,” jihoon continues to say, voice a rasp, “you find any of this in contradiction with professor burns’s syllabus, you are more than welcome to email the both of us and address it.”

the class is silent as jihoon grabs a piece of white chalk. naturally, despite the gleaming projectors and furniture on wheels in the building, nearly every classroom is a remnant of the late 19th century: chalkboards; coat hooks; door and window frames made of real wood.

“remember to use proper emailing etiquette when contacting anyone in the college,” jihoon announces. he begins to write on the board, chalk tapping against the black surface as he decorates it with his chicken scratch. “and to address me as mr. lee. there is a pdf uploaded to our discussion course detailing how to address certain faculty members within the college for you to browse and keep.”

jihoon steps back from the blackboard. there he’s written the title of the course, ancient grecian dramas.

he runs a hand through his black hair, pushing back strands. “we’ll begin properly next week, once professor burns assigns the first drama for reading. i recommend printing out the reading and annotating, practicing close reading. that way when you come to discussion we can go over your notes as a group and analyze the text further.

“now. we’ll begin today by doing a writing exercise. i want you to tell me what you think of when you think of ancient greek dramas. this will also be how i take attendance – so make sure to do it.”

you rifle through your bag, pulling out your notebook. next is your pen pouch, though the surface area of the desk is hardly large enough to fit your notebook. pouch, and water bottle.

“you can email it,” jihoon clarifies after a moment of silence. “make sure you label it accordingly.”

hurriedly you pull out your laptop, pushing your pen pouch aside and setting it on top of your notebook. you shift in your seat as your laptop boots back up, and you can’t help but glance up at your teacher’s assistant.

jihoon, being a classics major and your boyfriend, has introduced you to ancient greek plays before. it’s not like you’re completely foreign to the subject; he’s dragged you to more than one play in order to get some assignment credit, notebook on his thigh as he jotted down notes in the dark of the theater.

sometimes he takes to reading to you different passages – especially those that move him or he thinks are particularly ridiculous. he pours over the text religiously, like a priest would the gospel; analyzing every line, drawing meaning from the colors of robes to what isn’t being said at all. he looks at these little black words on white pages, words written thousands of years ago, and is simply transported into another lifetime.

it’s endearing; it’s special.

the first time you had noticed him, jihoon had been surrounded by pages of a poem. later you’d learn it was by some jeffrey guy from the medieval period and was about a group traveling for worship. whatever it was, didn’t matter.

what had mattered was him.

he was disheveled. the white printed-out pages of the poem were scattered along the table in the university library, the uniform black-and-white pages interrupted by annotations written in colors of the rainbow. the highlighters and pens were scattered themselves, abandoned by post-it notes stuck to every page.

he had three empty energy drinks in front of him. the hood of his hoodie was pulled up over his hair, the black fabric matching the dark circles under his eyes that told you he had been at this for far too long.

you had gone and got him a water; brought it back to him. listened to his theories about color, about how he thought it meant something; how this poet had chosen every word so carefully there’s no way that color didn’t mean something.

you, a distinctly not literary fanatic, had not understood; you still don’t.

but his eyes always light up and his voice begins to carry this urgency that betrays his adoration for the art, and you just can’t help but let yourself get caught in his orbit.

so you open up an email and begin to write.

Mr. Lee,

My boyfriend is a Classics Major, so when I think of Ancient Greek Dramas I think of him. He’s shown me quite a few, and we’ve attended more than a handful plays

you shift in your seat, thinking. as you move, however, your arm knocks against your pen pouch and sends it to the floor.

the noise as it hits the floor isn’t as thunderous as it would have been if your water bottle had struck it, but it’s still loud enough for you to wince. it breaks the still of the room, your classmates shifting in their seats and throwing glances at you.

before you could move from your seat, mingyu is. he’s quick to grab your pouch, smiling gently at you as he offers it. his hands are so big they span the length of the pouch, a beautiful golden tan that only seems to boost his natural beauty.

“think you dropped this,” he says in a harsh whisper.

you bite back a laugh, teeth digging into your lower lip as you smile. grabbing the pouch from mingyu, you whisper back a quick thanks.

you glance up towards the front of the room as you settle back into your seat. jihoon is looking right at you, frowning, arms crossed over his chest. his white shirt isn’t fitted, and it struggles against his bulging biceps as he crosses his arms.

for a moment you just look at him, taking in your boyfriend’s form; how the shirt clings to his arms, trousers to his thighs.

there’s a dinging noise of an email landing in an inbox, and then jihoon is moving from the front of the room and around the table to his laptop.

you return to your email.

Mr. Lee,

My boyfriend is a Classics Major, so when I think of Ancient Greek Dramas I think of him. He’s shown me quite a few, and we’ve attended more than a handful plays. A lot of them are different than what I’ve expected. Some of them seem like they came right from Ancient Greece; others are more modern. I have noticed Ancient Greek plays seem to be more twisted than what a modern author may come up with.

Sometimes I don’t understand really what a play is about. It gets all muddled, especially when they don’t change the words for a modern audience. Still, my boyfriend is super sweet and helps me along.

you hesitate for a moment, and then you sign your name. opening a new tab, you pull up a bookmark and add one last finishing touch beside your name.

– °˖✧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚✧˖°

you are more exhausted than usual.

it’s as if all of the good vibes and rest you had managed to scrape together over the summer break were eradicated in one day. as soon as you managed to get to jihoon’s apartment you were discarding everything; shoes at the door; backpack next to the couch; bra onto the floor.

his bed was perhaps the most comforting place you knew besides his arms, and so you slunk towards it. you made quick work of your pants, one knee pressing against the mattress as you shook your other leg, jeans flopping to the floor dramatically.

you followed suit on jihoon’s bed.

burrowing into his sheets, you couldn’t help but breathe him in. he was a hot sleeper, and so more likely to sweat during the night. his sheets smell like his sweat, though not the stinky sort he gains from his daily workout. instead, it's the natural musk of him that permeates your nose, deep and distinctly lee jihoon.

you allow yourself to drift. nothing exists besides jihoon’s bed and you.

then the door to his apartment is opening and closing, a voice with a slight rasp calling out to you.

“here!” you call back, voice slightly muffled by the sheets. you press your face against them again, eyes fluttering shut.

jihoon slowly makes his way across the apartment. he mutters something about your discarded clothes and backpack, but you pay it no mind. jihoon pauses when he enters his room, and you can practically feel his eyes on you; roaming the bare expanse of your back, the supple flesh of your thighs.

“good day?” you kick out a leg, wiggling your toes.

he makes a humming noise, and then he’s stepping further into the room.

“long one,” he says. “forgot how fucking awkward everyone is on the first day.”

you shift, moving your face so you could watch him. jihoon crosses to his dresser, fingers messing with the cuffs of his white dress shirt. you can see the moment he gets the button, the fabric sagging around his wrists.

oh.

sitting up on the bed, you watch as he begins to work on his other cuff. he peers out the window, chatting as he does.

“professor burns is the usual,” jihoon announces. “hasn’t changed in the – what? five years i’ve been here? i swear she rambles like no one’s business. if it wasn’t my job to babysit the students and not her, i’d say something – but fuck, you know?”

once he’s undone the buttons on the cuffs of both of his sleeves, jihoon begins to work on the buttons falling down the middle of the shirt. his fingers are deft and quick as he presses them through their holes.

you can’t help but think of his fingers on you. how nimble and skillful they are against your skin; how he dances them up and down your flesh as he presses kisses against your skin; how they seem to know just where to go and just what to do against your body, rubbing at your nipples and pinching at the undersides of your tits to get reactions from you.

because fuck, jihoon’s fingers –

sometimes even watching him write you can’t help but get horny. how his fingers grip his pen, how he spins it around his fingers absentmindedly. how they alleviate pressure on the pen as he writes and stops. watching him write, sometimes you can’t help but think about his fingers at your clip, a harsh presence as they rub down on you once moment and gentle the next, fingers skimming your clit as they massage the gummy area around it.

watching his clever fingers as they make quick work of the buttons on his shirt, you can’t help but yearn. your eyes see nothing but his fingers; ears hear nothing of his conversation. it’s just you and jihoon’s hands and the way your cunt clenches, pussy leaking into your panties.

then jihoon’s pulling off his dress shirt, and he’s wearing a tank top underneath.

you want to scream.

not to say jihoon doesn’t look good in a tank top. because he does. fuck, he does. you always find yourself admiring jihoon’s shoulders and arms when he’s in a tank top no matter what sort of mood you’re in.

(one instance in particular you had been full of energy, ranting about a coworker who didn’t know what she was doing and had been kept around for far too long. and then you had looked up at jihoon and let your eyes selfishly roam over the broadness of his back, the curves of his bulging arms as he cut up meat. all sense had abandoned you in that moment, and before you knew it you were grabbing at his shirt and pulling him to you, tongue running along his skin.

not exactly your proudest moment, but.)

maybe the combination of his trousers and tank top shouldn’t be as sexy as they are, you think hysterically. his tank top his tucked into his pants, and, torturously, his fingers reach down to pull the hem free. the hem of his tank top settles around his hips, showing off just a sliver of skin.

jihoon raises a hand, running his fingers through his black hair as he continues to talk about something-or-other.

and his white tank top rises up his stomach.

you can see the hairs that lead from his belly button down, down, down. you can see the pale expanse of skin that you know is soft and smooth to the touch. you can imagine your hands pressing against his skin and sliding underneath his trousers; can imagine the restrictiveness of his trousers as you tuck your hands into his underwear, fingertips skimming alongside the base of his cock.

you’ve never pretended to innocent when it came to lee jihoon; never pretended your mind didn’t run wild with salacious thoughts.

and you weren’t going to pretend now, because –

because in your mind your hands were rubbing at the base of his cock, mouth at his collar and licking along his collarbones. he was moaning in you ear, soft and breathy, and you were moving down onto your knees, your own fingers unbuttoning his trousers.

jihoon reaches down, fingers swiftly pushing off his socks. “hey, by the way, i sent you an email response to your attendance discussion for today.”

you don’t speak, eyes roaming over the expanse of his back, still covered by fabric, like a starving man before a feast.

jihoon peeks at you. “it was sweet.”

“yeah?”

he doesn’t say anything else. jihoon’s eyebrows raise, silently prompting you.

you let out a loud, horrible groan that tears at your throat. the insides of your thighs are warm as you move across the bed to grab your discarded phone, the wet fabric of your panties catching against your skin, cold and shocking.

jihoon begins to chatter once more as you swipe on the email notification. he’s quiet in public but you can’t help but treasure how talkative he becomes afterwards; how all the little snide comments he’s kept to himself are let loose.

you look at the email.

you furrow your brows. you look over it again.

I am glad to see at least one of the students in our discussion section will not be a complete novice to Greek theater. I hope after this semester you will be able to engage with your boyfriend in a more informed matter when it comes to his passions.

However, despite how sweet your email was, I do have to remind you to please stick to proper email etiquette. Your use of – °˖✧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚✧˖° is highly unprofessional, and I urge you to not include such things when emailing any staff or faculty or teaching assistants. For this misconduct, you will be deducted a point from your discussion grade for today. Please keep this in mind for the future.

Well wishes,

Mr. Lee

your jaw drops open.

“you fucking deducted me for my emoticon?!”

“we agreed to be strangers,” jihoon reminds you. he removes his pants. you can’t even find it within yourself to be horny. the warmth of your cunt is overtaken by the red-hot anger that licks through your veins. “and it’s inappropriate to send your ta heart and sparkle emoticons.”

“it’s a fucking – oh my god,” you reach towards the top of the bed, fingers grabbing the corner of his pillow. you tug it to you. “it’s not that serious.”

jihoon steps out of his pants. his thighs are thick and pale, and when he turns towards his closest you can see how snug his black underwear is against the supple curve of his ass. fleetingly, because you are angry at his audacity, you allow your eyes to follow the curve of his asschecks and how the band of his underwear rests low on his hips.

“teaching assistants and students aren’t to have any sexual relations,” jihoon recites. “it’s contract. if something happens, your little not-that-serious emoticon is evidence.”

you grab the pillow fully, swinging it around your body and at jihoon. it hits him in the middle. he lets out a soft noise of surprise. “you’re such an ass.”

jihoon shrugs. “we signed a contract, baby.”

he tucks his thumbs underneath the waistband of his underwear, and then he’s pulling them down his legs. you don’t even have it in you to look away. you marvel at his naked lower half. his cock, thick and flaccid, hanging between his thighs. the dusky color of it; the dark hairs that travel from underneath the hem of his tank top to the base of his cock.

jihoon pulls on a pair of grey joggers, concealing his cock and thighs from your eyes. “listen. i don’t want to be the bad guy. but we really can’t be risking anything.”

his cock is covered and he’s talking about something entirely different, but you’re still thinking about his dick. you’re still thinking about his dick as he walks from the bedroom, bare feet softly hitting the hardwood floors.

you trail two of your fingers along your bare thigh. his dick, flaccid and thick in your hands. it feels like it’s been forever since you’ve had your hands or mouth or fucking cunt around his dick; forever since you last pressed your thumb against the slit of his cockhead, since his raspy, gentle groans were being pressed into your skin.

you skim your nails along the soft insides of your thighs.

it’s not like you’re sexually depraved. you and jihoon just had sex the other day. but there’s something about this, the situation, being strangers, that makes you feel as if you’re starving.

your fingers move to your panties. you let your nails delicately linger alongside the lips of your cunt through the fabric, little sparks – little pieces of glitter, almost – making your toes curl.

fuck lee jihoon, you think, and then you’re sliding your forefinger down between your pussy lips. you don’t move the fabric of your panties. leaning back against his bed, you let your finger drag down and push up, your wetness soaking your panties.

his bed envelopes you as you lean back. tilting your hips up and bracing your feet against the mattress, you add another finger to the stimulation of your pussy. you let your fingers grow rougher, let them dig in slightly to the sensitive area around your clit.

your fingers find your hole, stretching the fabric of your panties to reach in.

“fuck.”

your eyes flutter open – when did they shut? jihoon is standing at the entrance to his room. his long hair is pushed back from his face by a black headband. in one hand he holds a metal water bottle.

his eyes are wide, his sweet lips parted as he stares at that spot between your thighs.

jihoon shuffles further into the room, placing his water bottle on top of his set of drawers. you’ve begun absentmindedly petting your pussy, once again dragging your fingers over your clit lazily.

jihoon presses his knees against the foot of his mattress.

you hum, twisting your wrist. you press your thumb against the side of your clit, your fingers dipping once more to your hole. this morning you had chosen to wear a pair of pink panties. you don’t regret it now. you’re so soaking wet that you know jihoon can see the shape of your cunt through the fabric.

your fingers begin to contract. you massage your pussy through the fabric leisurely, rhythmically. you drag your thumb down from your clit to meet your fingers, press your fingers down to barely sink into your hole.

jihoon lets out a deep noise. he braces his hands against the mattress, makes a motion to crawl towards you.

“no,” you say, words slightly slurred. “no. one point, remember?”

jihoon’s brow furrows.

you reach down with your other hand, legs spreading wider. with your other hand you pull at the flesh of your pussy lips, offering your fingers more space to work with. you shift your hand, making sure to keep one lip in place. your other hand – the one with soaking fingertips – strokes up and down, up and down, up and down.

jihoon’s hand settles on your ankle. you kick out. “no sex, yeah?”

jihoon lets out a strangled noise you’ve never heard from him.

you let your eyes fall shut. you can feel the weight of his gaze on you. letting out a soft breath, your fingers begin to glide up and down your cunt more quickly.

you begin to focus on your clit more. your hand that was holding your cunt lips moves up, focusing on baring the area around your clit. with your other hand you begin to stimulate the direct areas on either side of your clit. you are still working through your panties, but you’re so wet that the friction is almost nonexistent; your fingers just slide, massaging into the flesh.

you begin to set a rhythm. you rock your forefinger and middle finger against the sensitive area around your clit. you rock once; twice; then you’re dipping your fingers down the length of your cunt, down to your hole; you drag them back up, and begin your elaborate play once more.

it’s somewhat treacherous. it would be easier if it was jihoon. you would be able to fully relax back into the bed, just have to lay there and take it.

but: no sex.

so you slowly build up a climax, toes curling and chest arching up. it’s not sudden, not unexpected. it’s a slow climax that has your cunt tingling, head dropping back against the pillow.

you continue to slip your fingers against your clit, dragging out your climax, continuing through it.

eventually you come back to yourself.

your wrist hurts; your fingers are cramping. discomfort takes over you more than lust, and so you relax your body back into the bed, hands moving from your pussy.

and you look at jihoon.

your boyfriend drags his gaze up from your pussy to your face. one of his hands is wrapped around his cock. he hasn’t taken it out of his joggers, just as you hadn’t taken off your drenched panties. you can see the thick outline of it through the grey fabric. the dusky head of it rises from the waistband of his pants.

his hand disappears into his pants. you can see his knuckles as he drags his hand down the length of his cock. you pay special attention as his hand reappears, thumb bullying the fat head of his dick.

you hum, stretching your arms above your head. you extend one of your legs, the other leisurely arching against the mattress.

you let your hands wander along your chest. you aren’t doing it to stimulate yourself but to draw jihoon’s attention. to help him along, you suppose.

his eyes follow the trailing of your fingers. one of your hands cradles a tit, the thumb of your other pinching a nipple against your forefinger.

eventually jihoon lets out a groan, dropping his head. short spurts of cum pulses from his cock, soaking his hand. jihoon continues to fuck his fist through it, hissing and letting out breath moans.

you feel sedated; satisfied. so does he. jihoon crawls up the length of the bed to plop next to you. he doesn’t cuddle against you. he just lays his body next to you, thick muscle of his arm against yours.

“no sex,” he breathes out.

“no sex.”

W E E K F I V E

you are going to murder your teaching assistant.

the halls of the history building are nearly vacant save for the lone straggler. lee jihoon has his office hours late enough in the day to where most classes are over. most everyone’s day is over.

but you are far from being done.

the ta offices are tucked back with the professor offices, closed off behind a heavy wood door that matches the old style of the rest of the building. you get to the door a few minutes before his office hours officially start, glaring down at the screenshot on your phone.

While your writing response over Medea is sufficient, I am loath to remind you to use proper citations in the responses. Otherwise it will be considered plagiarism. As a warning, your letter grade for this assignment will fall a whole grade.

again: you were going to murder him.

why couldn’t he just let you off with a warning? why did he immediately jump to taking your grade for the assignment down? he was being completely unfair and you weren’t going to stand for it.

the clock on your phone switched to a minute closer to his office hours.

still five minutes away.

whatever.

you reach out for the door knob, twisting the cold metal in your hand. the door is heavy to open, but you jam your shoulder against it and swing it open.

the teaching assistant office is a room with three desks pressed against the wall on each side. there’s hard, uncomfortable chairs; two sockets in the entire room.

and lee jihoon, sitting in one of the chairs with his cock in his hand.

immediately your boyfriend flinches, eyes wide as he looks towards you. once jihoon sees it is, in fact, you and not some poor student walking in to request help.

then, like you weren’t even there, jihoon turns away and begins fucking into his hand once more.

you hurry through the door, shoving it shut behind you and pushing in the lock.

all the while you don’t look away from jihoon.

his teeth sink into his lower lip, and his head tips back to reveal the long column of his pale throat. his black bangs fall around his face, not obscuring a single centimeter.

jihoon’s hand works quickly, furiously, over his dick. precum drenches the head. when he drags his hand down he hisses, face wincing.

you move across the room, shrugging your backpack onto the ground.

the assignment and grade having left your mind entirely, you kneel before jihoon. he peers down at you, eyebrows raised wearily. “no sex,” he reminds you.

“no sex,” you agree.

you raise your hand to your face. it’s the easiest thing to spit into your palm, to replace jihoon’s hand with your own. as soon as you squeeze around his dick jihoon lets out a low, raspy noise.

his cock is thick and perfect in your hand, the heavy weight of it tempting. you want it in your mouth; want him to be fucking his cock down your throat.

instead you let him fuck your hand. you move your hand down. the slide is slightly rough, your spit and his precum not quite enough. jihoon likes it, though; you know he does. his breath is harsh and labored, his eyes squeezed shut.

you twist your wrist as you move your hand towards the head of his cock. you press your thumb into the slit of his dock.

“gonna cum,” he warns you.

then you think back to your letter grade.

meanly, perhaps even cruelly, you drop your hand to the base of his cock and squeeze, cutting off his orgasm. jihoon lets out a startled, irritated noise.

“my assignment.”

“fuck,” he grumbles, one of his hands raising to push back his bangs. “are you serious?”

“let me off with a warning,” you say. you keep one hand around the base of his dick, tight and trapping. your other hand goes to his balls. you hold them, thumb gently swiping over the flesh.

jihoon’s breath shutters in his throat.

“a warning,” you demand.

“fuck,” he says again. “fine. a warning.”

triumphant, you let a large smile take over your face. you begin to move your hand once again.

W E E K N I N E

“now that you’ve finished properly with oedipus rex,” jihoon begins, rounding the table at the front of the classroom, “let’s get some opinions. raise your hand if you enjoyed the play.”

more hands than not raise around the room, including mingyu’s. you shoot him a betrayed look. the past nine class weeks the two of you had been close, sitting next to one another during lecture and discussion. you traded conversation and thoughts more often than not, using one another to bounce ideas and theories.

and for him to have enjoyed the play?

jihoon moves to lean against the desk. he crosses his arms over his chest. this time he’s wearing all black. it seems to lengthen his figure, stretch him out, as well as broaden the line of his shoulders.

he looks good.

“let’s get some opinions on people who didn’t like the play.” immediately his eyes are on you, calling out your name. “you didn’t enjoy the play.”

traitor.

you shift in your seat. “uh. no, not really.”

“why?”

you were going to suffocate him in his sleep.

“it’s rather –” you break off, searching for words. you weren’t the literary student; he was. “i don’t understand him, i guess.”

jihoon tilts his head. “him? sophocles? or oedipus?”

“oedipus,” you clarify.

“can you explain a little further? what exactly don’t you understand?”

you bite down on your tongue for a moment, trying to gather yourself. the classroom is silent as you wait, unintentionally putting pressure on your shoulders as you realize they were all waiting for you to speak up.

“he – oedipus – he’s sort of stupid, isn’t he?” someone chokes behind you. you ignore them, looking at jihoon. despite him putting you on the spot like an asshole, he’s still your boyfriend. his face isn’t harsh, isn’t judging as he watches you struggle for words. for a moment he isn’t your ta – he’s your boyfriend. he’s your boyfriend and you’re having a plain, casual discussion. “i mean. he knows the prophecy. but he just does whatever he wants anyways? he’s just – he’s got no common sense.”

jihoon hums, tapping his fingers along his forearms. “so his arrogance has made him entirely unlikable to you. are there any redeeming treats, do you think?”

you shake your head. “it makes him deserve his ending, i think. he thought he was above it all.”

jihoon nods. “i see. remember that argument for your paper. that’s a big question that needs answered: does oedipus deserve his ending? you could analyze that further and get a pretty solid base for your essay.”

he begins to question other students about whether they liked the story or not, leaving you alone. the remainder of class flows as such, ending with jihoon gently urging everyone to write down their thoughts to revisit for the essay.

you gather your things and put them into your backpack. mingyu loiters next to you, hands stuffed into the pockets of his dark jeans.

“what’re you doing after this?” he reaches down and grabs your backpack after you’ve zipped it up, slinging it onto his shoulder. “wanna hit the library? we could bounce some more ideas around.”

smiling, you begin to agree.

jihoon calls your name, having gathered his own things and lodging his foot in the heavy wooden door, keeping it ajar. “do you mind coming with me to the office for a minute or two? i want to talk about what you’ve said during class.”

you swallow back a sigh, throwing jihoon a firm-lipped smile. mingyu swings your backpack back off his shoulder, handing it to you. “good luck.”

you make a face at him. mingyu doesn’t know the true nature of the relationship between you and jihoon, but he does know that you’ve visited jihoon during office hours more than once. not a week has gone by without you setting foot into the little ta office, setting your printed-out versions of whatever classic the class was working on.

“print every story out,” jihoon had advised, voice carrying that air of superiority he always seemed to gain when the two of you were sat in the dark office. “mark it up. it’ll help you pay close attention to every line.”

jihoon leads you to the ta office, weaving through the throngs of students making their way through the marble halls. you sort of want to reach out and grab onto his shirt, just to ensure he stays visible. but you don’t.

another ta is in the office, steadily working away at their own homework. she throws a smile at the two of you as you enter. “hey, jihoon.”

“hey.” he crosses into the room, setting his laptop in front of the chair that he had, only a few weeks ago, received a rather satisfactory hand-job from you in. “your office hours are over, aren’t they?”

the other ta nods. “yep. just working now. never seems to end.”

jihoon settles into the wooden chair, flipping up the screen to his laptop. he had to change it from the selfie the two of you had taken during a hike, matching dandelion flowers tucked into your ears. now a mountain range greets him. “we’re gonna be discussing oedipus rex.”

“won’t be a bother to me!”

you push over a chair close to jihoon, the feet of it scraping against the floor.

“pull out your notes,” jihoon says. he pulls up his own version of the play on his computer; they’re scans of his own copy, scribbles and highlighted passages littering every single page. “we’ll go over what exactly prompted you to think this way about oedipus. it’ll help you get a real solid foundation for the essay.

“so,” he says once you have your notes spread out. “oedipus is a flawed character. there’s no doubt about it. the stage directions themselves reveal as much.”

as he talks, raspy voice droning on and words blending together in your mind, jihoon’s foot begins to slide across the floor. you can’t help but look at it, watch it. his black leather shoe moves from in front of him, slowly, silently, gliding across the floor to nudge against your own shoe.

“he does whatever he wants, that’s what you said?”

you nod.

“during discussion you mentioned that he knew the prophecy and ignored it,” jihoon says. his foot now fully rests against yours. it’s just one point of contact, and yet it seems to electrify you; warm you up. you can’t help but focus on it, like a cat watching a bird through the window.

“but he doesn’t,” jihoon says. “he thoroughly believes his parents to be the king and queen of corinth. according to oedipus, and forgetting the context we ourselves know, he has escaped his fate.”

his words fade out. jihoon’s hands settle on his keyboard, a single finger absentmindedly tapping at a key. it’s not hard enough to do anything. it’s just a simple tap, a fumbling gesture.

his shoe shifts. he presses his foot against yours from toe to heel.

the other ta in the room begins to collect her things. you listen to her as she moves about, closing her laptop and shuffling papers.

jihoon shifts in his chair. his knees spread out. his trousers strain, just slightly, against his thick thighs. the barest sliver of pale ankle slips out from beneath his trousers, his black socks hidden beneath the leather lip of his shoes.

the ta opens the door; closes it behind her.

“his character is one the citizens of greece would have identified with – at least the ones in athens,” jihoon says, and then he’s turning his face towards you. feeling rather caught, you meet his eyes. “so why do you think he deserves his ending?”

you furrow your brows. you’ve gone over this. “because he actively chooses it through his arrogance. he ignores the prophecy.”

jihoon sighs, lips pursing together. “you haven’t paid attention to a single word i’ve said.”

your mouth falls open a little. “i have!”

“haven’t,” he corrects.

jihoon stands from the chair. you miss being able to see the skin of his ankle. he crosses the room, hand falling to the door knob. he locks it. “i think we need to work on your attention span, don’t you?”

your mouth goes dry. he begins to unbutton the cuffs of his black shirt as he moves back across the room. he pushes up his sleeves, shoving off his thick forearms. “jihoon?”

jihoon sits back in his wooden chair, legs automatically spreading out. one of his hands rests on the armrest of the chair, while he set his elbow on the other, using it to prop up his head. jihoon raises his brows at you. “well?”

“what?”

he sighs, as if burdened. “take off your pants and underwear.”

you snap your head towards the door. after verifying no one had magically walked through, you look back at jihoon, hissing his name. “what are you going on about?”

“we need to work on your memory,” he explains matter-of-factly, voice taking on that arrogant lilt he so often gets when in this room. jihoon likes this, you think; likes being in a position of power over you. likes being able to boss you around; able to tell you what to do.

with one last glance at the door, you stand from your wooden chair. jihoon watches unabashedly as you work your pants down over your ass. you leave both your jeans and underwear on the hard floor of the office.

jihoon pats his thigh wordlessly.

you feel heat rush towards your cheeks. you’ve sat on his thighs before, have ridden them before. but it felt so fucking different to be lowering yourself onto the thick muscle in a university office, your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, the backs of your hands lightly brushing against the wood of his chair.

you don’t do anything for a moment other than just sit on his thigh. the fabric of his pants is like silk against your skin, and you can’t help but slowly, hesitantly, rock your hips down onto him.

jihoon’s hands go to your hips. he tilts his head back, the curls framing his temples brushing against the corners of his eyes.

“now,” he says, “you think oedipus ignores his prophecy.”

you look down at your boyfriend, pouting at him. “you’re punishing me because i have a different opinion than you? about some old play?”

jihoon presses his lips together. then his hand is coming down sharply on your outer thigh, the sound acutely piercing your ears and reverberating in your head. he rubs roughly at the skin after, thumb swiping against the patch of skin as it turns violent with anger from his slap.

“because you’re ignoring the text,” jihoon says. his hand slides from your thigh around to your ass. his fingers dig into your asscheek, contemplating the weight of it. “it’d be one thing if you had actual evidence that wasn’t in conflict with what sophocles was telling us.”

“if you’re trying to get me wet,” you say, thumbs tapping against his shoulders, “i’m not sure this is the way to go.”

jihoon moves the hand that was on your ass back to your hips. he squeezes the flesh beneath his hands, and then he’s slowly leading you into a rocking motion. it’s not much, but there’s enough connection between your cunt and his thigh to have a gentle swell of lust licking at your pussy.

“don’t be smart,” he says.

“you act smart all the time,” you snap back. you keep rocking your hips. “why can’t i?”

he scoffs a little, nails slightly digging into your skin. instead of any pain, they send a little spark of heat through you. “i’ve got degrees in this,” he explains. “i’m literally allowed to talk about this.”

“now,” he says, “oedipus never ignores his fate. he says as much. he believes polybus and merope to be his parents. when he becomes doubtful, he confronts them: ‘. . . i went to mother and father, questioned them closely . . . so as for my parents i was satisfied . . .’”

for a moment you’re speechless. and then you let out a loud laugh despite yourself. “you little fucking nerd, reciting oedipus rex to your girlfriend while she’s rubbing herself on her thigh.”

jihoon’s jaw tightens. he moves, hands on your hips pushing you up and off of him. once you’re standing, he joins you. as soon as jihoon is on his feet he’s pushing you around, moving so your bare ass is against his front. then he pushes further, pressing your body against the table in front of you. the edge of your table reaches your upper thigh, and so it’s easy for jihoon to place his hand against the middle of your back and press you until your front is firmly against the surface of the table.

as soon as your chin is touching the cold table, jihoon is bringing his hand down sharply against your ass. you can’t help but let out a startled shout, body jerking from underneath him.

“be good,” he murmurs, hand now gentle as he rubs at your skin in apology. “listen to your ta. trying to help, baby.”

“you’re being mean,” you say, toes curling against the frigid office floor as his hand travels to rest against the curve of your ass.

“wouldn’t have to be if you’d be good,” he says. jihoon moves his hand down, the tip of his forefinger gliding against the area where your ass and thigh meet. “you gonna be good for me?”

you shift, moving one of your arms so you can rest your face against it. forehead pressing against your forearm, you nod.

“good. now oedipus believed polybus and merope to be his true parents. he was still desperate to avoid the prophecy, so he abandoned his princely title and corinth. he wanted to be free of it, baby.”

his fingers tip inwards. your entire body tenses as his fingertips press alongside your folds. he doesn’t do anything further; doesn’t insert them. instead he just keeps them there, absentmindedly shifting his hand.

“he is arrogant,” jihoon absconds, allowing you a single point. “we see that in the beginning. ‘. . . the world knows my fame: i am oedipus.’”

jihoon waits for a moment after quoting the play. when you don’t do anything other than let out a shaky breath, he rewards you. jihoon slowly moves his fingers against your cunt. he trails his fingers up and down your length. he maps out the full expanse of your pussy. his fingers slide up over your hole, which was now leaking and clenching properly. he brushes his digits over your clit almost clinically, giving it no more attention than the rest of you.

“but he doesn’t ignore the prophecy. he believes he’s foiled it until he forces the shepherd to tell his story. he refuses to stop; refuses to listen to reason. he’s arrogant, yes, and hurtles straight towards the horrid truth of his parentage and marriage without a second thought.”

jihoon slowly, tortuously, slips a single finger into your cunt. his finger isn’t so thick to cause any discomfort. instead your pussy welcomes it, clenching around the digit. you can’t help but bare down on his finger, hips searching for more.

later you’ll remember to be mortified by the fact your boyfriend got you wet while talking about sophocles.

but now you press your eyes shut, fingers lightly scraping against the surface of the desk.

jihoon pushes his finger all the way inside of your pussy. you can feel it when it’s fully in, his knuckles scraping against your flesh.

you cart your hips back, trying to get his finger to graze that special spongey place.

“be good,” jihoon says, and then he’s retracting his finger from your cunt entirely.

you let out a small gasp, brow furrowing. you turn your head to peer back at him. “hoonie….”

jihoon laughs at you, and then he’s lowering himself to press his chest along the line of your back. jihoon presses a kiss to the corner of your lips, one of his hands still holding tight to your hips. “you’re so cute when i’m fucking you,” he says, mouth moving against your cheek as he speaks. “you always get so cute. what is this?”

you pout at him. jihoon presses another kiss to your cheek, and then he’s standing.

this time jihoon slides in two fingers. you frown, insistently pressing your forehead against your forearm as the stretch of his fingers slightly burns. it’s not unpleasant, of course. just a gentle burn that signals the walls of your pussy stretching to accommodate him.

“there,” he says, satisfied. “now. where was i?”

he’s silent. you realize he’s waiting for you to speak, to prove you were listening.

you let out a strangled groan, trying to think back. he had a single finger inside of you and it wasn’t enough. you try to think. you try to think of a single word to say that isn’t fuck or more; try to think despite the way jihoon is slowly angling his fingers towards your front, pressing them up.

you can’t help but press your thighs together in anticipation.

jihoon clicks his tongue, and then he’s pulling his fingers out. you let out a whine, trying to push yourself away from the desk.

both of his hands go to your shoulders, keeping you firmly against the surface. “stay still,” he warns you. “i know you have a listening problem but i didn’t think it was this bad.”

there’s a rustle of clothing behind you. “don’t look,” jihoon says. “keep your face against the table.”

you can’t think of a reply, can’t think of anything to do other than what he says. you wonder if you should feel ashamed of how easily you become compliant for him.

“oedipus doesn’t ignore the prophecy,” jihoon restates, and then he’s pressing his front against your ass. he’s taken off his pants and is just in his underwear. you can feel the shape of his thick cock against your ass, can feel it’s hard length along you. “he just believes polybus and merope when they say they are his true parents. there’s no harm in that. anyone would want to believe it when the people who raise them say they are their true parents.”

jihoon rocks his hips against you. his hands are holding your hips still as he, essentially, humps against your ass.

“so in that regard your argument has a fallacy,” jihoon announces.

a fallacy?

you want to say something biting about how he’s able to even think about fallacies and arguments when he’s humping your ass, but then jihoon is returning two of his fingers to your pussy and you elect to keep silent.

“he is arrogant, though,” jihoon says. he pushes two of his fingertips into your hole. you clench hungrily around them as if your pussy was trying to suck them in. you wonder if you’ve always been so – so whorish for him, or if it was a recent development from not having been properly fucked in nine weeks.

“his pride is something that transcends time,” jihoon carries on. he doesn’t press his fingers any deeper inside of you. he rests the tip of his ring finger just barely against your clit. he doesn’t move it either; just rests it there, taunting.

“everyone can think of a political leader who is too arrogant for their own good,” jihoon says. “it’s a tale as old as time. sophocles set the precedent with this story. a king on top of the world who listens to no one, only to be brought down to his knees by fate.”

jihoon begins to slide his fingers in. he does it leisurely, slowly, as if he has all the time in the world.

“the evolution of his character is a fascinating one,” jihoon says, his ring finger leaving its place to instead rest against your hole. he doesn’t slide it in. you want to buck your hips back and force it inside. “arrogance to being humbled in every sense of the word. he is only wise until he can no longer see; only sees the truth once he is blinded

“do you remember,” jihoon says, “what he says after he blinds himself?”

you shake your head against your arm. his two fingers are nearly settled entirely inside of your pussy. you want them so deep inside of you that you can feel them in your throat.

involuntarily you clench around his digits.

jihoon clicks his tongue. his fingers stop moving in you. “what did i say? be good. none of this shit.”

you let out a little whine, your free hand curling into a fist. “sorry,” you say, unable to keep your voice from pitching up in desperation. “i’m sorry, hoonie.”

“say you won’t move,” jihoon instructs, voice seemingly detached. “say you’ll be a good girl for me and won’t move.”

your lower lip wobbles. you feel somewhat humiliated like this: your front pressing against the surface of a ta desk, shirt rucked up along your stomach and bare toes curling against the marble floors of the university history building. your boyfriend pressing all up against you, fingers stuffed into your cunt, telling you what to do as if you were some pathetic whore, desperate for a cock inside.

but, because you are exactly that, you repeat his words, feeling wetness trickle from your pussy. “i’ll be good,” you whimper out. “i won’t move. i’ll be a good girl.”

jihoon lets out a quiet, nearly-silent huff of laughter. he retracts his fingers from your pussy, and immediately you’re feeling panic strike you.

“be patient,” he chides you as you begin to press back against him. three of jihoon’s press against your hole. “be a good girl.”

jihoon pushes his three fingers into your pussy. you let out a high keening noise like a wounded animal, eyes squeezing shut and cunt eagerly drinking his fingers up. they’re nothing like his dick, aren’t as thick or delicious, but they’re something.

the stretch burns and you wiggle absentmindedly, relishing in it. the burn is acute and hot and you yearn to press into it, to take more and more and more.

“good,” he says once all three of his fingers are stuffed inside of you. “you look pretty like this, baby. you know that?”

you whine. you don’t move.

jihoon’s three fingers press up, and when they bump against your bundle of nerves you can’t help but wiggle back, searching.

“do you remember?” he repeats. “what’s the first thing oedipus says after he’s blinded?”

you shake your head. you don’t know how he expects you to think about anything. you feel as if you’ve been strung along, as if he’s been tugging at a chain and you’ve been stumbling behind him.

“‘oh,” jihoon quotes, and then he’s lowering himself to press against you. his mouth it against your ear, his fingers shifting within your pussy due to his change of position. when he speaks again you can hear his voice as clear as day despite how he murmurs, and it’s as if he’s wrapped entirely around you; as if he’s consumed you. “‘oh, the agony! i am agony.’”

jihoon presses his fingers back into you so the tips of them were pressing against your pleasure spot once more.

“he’s felt true agony now,” jihoon explains. he keeps his fingers still now. “he’s an icarus fallen to the earth. his wings of wax have melted. he’s a king with his word left in crumbles; with his queen dead and children made of sin. he’s nothing.”

jihoon’s nose presses against the shell of your ear. “his arrogance was his destruction. can you tell me more about it?”

you open your mouth to speak. you can’t. and even if you could, it isn’t as if your brain is working. there’s nothing inside of your mind. the lust, the desire, that takes over your body is so big it swallows up everything else and renders you dumb.

jihoon huffs out a laugh, mean. “fine. at least do this to prove you’ve listened to me: tell me the first thing oedipus says after becoming blind.”

you feel as if he’s surrounding you. you can feel jihoon’s weight along your back, can feel his fingers inside of your cunt, stretching you out. you feel so keyed up, so ready for something. not something – him. you want jihoon. you want him carnally. you want his dick stuffed inside of your pussy. you want his mouth on your neck; want his hands on your tits. you want him pressing your face into the desk and drilling into your pussy.

you open your mouth. an embarrassing noise comes out.

“come on,” jihoon says. “you can do it.”

“‘oh,’” you breathe out, trying to remember the exact words. “oh, agony! i’m — i’m agony!”

jihoon must judge your vague quotation as good enough. he moves off of your back, and you can’t help but whine, wanting his weight settled against you once more.

his hand shifts inside of you.

he slides his fingers out. you can feel your cunt resisting the slide, pussy clenching down on his fingers.

“hoonie,” you beg.

“be good,” he chides you. “remember. no sex.”

and then jihoon is thrusting his fingers so forcefully into your pussy that you can feel the sting as his knuckles hit your ass. the sharp noise of skin hitting skin rings out. you can barely process it before he’s withdrawing his fingers and fucking them back in just as quickly.

jihoon finger-fucks you harshly, as if it were his dick he was shoving inside. your ass jiggles with each thrust back in. you whine and cry, and you can feel your ass begin to smarten from the sting. but you still arch back and meet each thrust of his fingers eagerly, craving the pleasure-pain.

it’s rough and you can feel the orgasm, that string he had been messing with for what seems to be hours, begin to tighten.

“want,” you pant out, fingernails scraping against the desk. “want you, hoonie. please, please, please.”

“beg, baby.”

you let out a cry. there’s tears at the corners of your eyes. “please, hoonie. i want you. want you, want you. i want you, hoonie.”

your voice breaks off, tight with emotion.

jihoon lets out a curse, and then he’s dropping behind you. jihoon shoves your leg up, and you follow suit, placing your knee on the able and giving him access to your pussy. jihoon shoves a hand against your thigh, keeping it in place on the table.

his mouth licks a stripe from where his fingers plunge into your pussy to your clit, taking that aching muscle between his lips and suckling.

when you orgasm it’s harsh and loud, fluids gushing from your pussy and soaking jihoon’s face. he takes you into his arms, pulling you to the floor with him and pressing kisses to your face.

“good girl,” he murmurs, voice raspy and comforting. the office is drenched in the smell of pussy – of your pussy – and his nose shines with your release. he ignores it, his clean hand pushing back stray strands of hair from your face so he can press a sweet kiss to your nose. “good girl.”

W E E K T H I R T E E N

you think, fleetingly, that you’re not being fair.

but then you remember that girl – girl, because she can’t be any older than eighteen, fresh out of high school and far too young to be sniffing around your boyfriend – and how she pressed close to jihoon as she showed him something on her computer, and you can’t help but think you’re not being harsh enough.

with that in the forefront of your mind, you ease the hot pink dildo in your aching cunt. you can feel fluid gush from your pussy, a slick combination of your own desire and the generous amount of lube you had massaged onto the dildo.

the stretch burns, stretching the walls of your pussy. it’s a stark, acute contrast to the three fingers you used to stretch yourself, and you couldn’t help but arch your back up off of jihoon’s couch, toes curling and mouth dropping open.

you can feel the fluids leak down your pussy, sliding along the curve of your ass.

good, you think. sink into the fabric of the couch so from now on, whenever he sits here, he has to smell your cunt.

your hand stills once the base of the dildo is flush against your ass. you shift, hips tilting as you try to relieve some of the sting.

you stretch out for your phone, glancing at the time. the dildo is pushed from your pussy by the movement.

jihoon will be home any minute. your hand returns to the dildo, pushing it back into your pussy. your cunt sucks it in, eager and greedy.

clenching down on the dildo, you can’t help the thrill of satisfaction that shoots through you. you feel so delightfully full, as if some part of you was a gaping hole that needed to be filled.

well –

you suppose that line of thought isn’t too wrong.

you grab the dildo, fingernails digging slightly into the jelly-like texture. you slide the dildo from your cunt. despite how much lube you used, despite how wet your cunt is, the dildo still is slow to slide out, your pussy clamping down to try and keep it in place.

you pull it out until just the tip of the dildo is pressed against your hole. your juices glint evilly on the dildo, a long, thick string along the side of it.

slowly you ease it back inside. you tip your head back, foot pressing down on the cushion of the couch in an attempt to mentally steady yourself. it’s a dragging sensation that has impatience licking at your brain, trying to push its way to the forefront.

you pump the dildo in and out, in and out, until you are satisfied that the burn from your pussy stretching to accommodate it is no more.

you draw it out.

and then you force it back in, sharp enough for the gelatin balls to slap against your ass in a poor mimicry of the real thing.

your free hand goes to your tit, framing a pebbled nipple between two of your fingers. you massage it, pull it, as you harshly fuck the dildo in, soft pants escaping your mouth as your body begins to ignite with pleasure and the wanton desire for more.

you can’t help but want. it’s as if the desire is written into your dna, lining the fabric of your entire being. you want to be fucked, want to be thrown onto your front and taken from behind; want jihoon fucking his fat cock into your pussy in one swift motion, forcing your pussy to stretch around him.

you want jihoon.

you could devour him, you think as you crook the dildo up towards the front of your body, searching for your g-spot. you would devour him whole. you would take and take from him until he’s entirely yours, body and soul.

the lock to the door clicks. you hurriedly bring the fingers messing with your nipple up to your mouth, licking at them before taking the nub between them and rolling.

the front door to jihoon’s apartment swings open, your boyfriend stepping through. his eyes immediately catch on you, naked and wanton.

“what – fuck –” he shoves the door shut behind him, loud and firm. “what the fuck are you doing?!”

you slide the dildo from your pussy, slow and torturous, ensuring he’s watching. jihoon’s eyes, naturally, flick down to your pussy. the dildo is still slick with fluid, and you can where the more dense of your fluids stain the pink of the dick.

“what are you doing,” he repeats, dropping his leather bag to the floor.

“taking matters – ah,” you moan out, massaging your gummy g-spot with the head of the dick. “taking matters into my own hands, jihoon; what else?”

his hands go to his shirt. jihoon hurriedly pushes at the buttons of his white dress shirt, letting it fall to the floor after he’s done. his trousers follow suit, and he leaves them behind with his shoes and socks.

“what are you doing?” you grin at jihoon toothily, echoing his words. “no sex, remember?”

jihoon moves towards you regardless. he had done his hair that morning, gelling it back. now a few stray strands frame his temples, giving him a perfectly disheveled look. his tank top does nothing to conceal his collar bones, the line of his shoulders proud and wide.

his hands find your thighs. he separates your legs, baring your pussy entirely.

you still your hand, just keeping the dildo snug inside of you, refusing to move it further. “what are you doing, jihoon?”

“looking,” he retorts, eyes dancing around your body as he takes you in. you think you look like some perverted creature, carnal desire and desperation written onto every centimeter of skin.

“don’t touch,” you chide him, moving an leg from his grasp. jihoon tightens his hold on the other as you press your foot against his chest, lightly pressing in a piss-poor attempt to push him back.

jihoon rolls his eyes at you, nose crinkling and mouth twisting into a sneer.

“oh,” you breathe out, sheathing the dildo fully inside once more. his eyes meet yours. you let a grin take over, unable to help but tease him. “‘oh, the agony! i am agony!’ isn’t that right, hoonie?”

for a split second you can see shock take over jihoon’s features, catlike eyes widening. a strike of triumph hits you, feeling as if you are the cat that got the canary.

but then jihoon is grabbing the dildo from your hand. he pulls it out, the slide making your mouth drop in a gasp and body arch up off of the couch.

“h – hoonie –!”

“agony,” he hisses, and then jihoon is shoving his boxers down to his knees.

his cock bounces from his underwear, slapping against the fabric of his tank-top. it’s thick and angry, and when he runs his hand along it, rubbing at the head, a thick marble of precum leaks from it.

“no – no sex,” you say, voice hoarse as you subconsciously keep your eyes on his cock. you’ve been starving for jihoon’s dick for so long, and here it is, thick and pulsing in front of you.

and like a starving woman in front of a table overflowing with food, you eagerly welcome jihoon’s dick when he presses the tip against your hole. you spread your legs, knees knocking against his hips as he presses against you.

jihoon keeps his dick in hand, not entering you. he rubs his dick up between your folds, a soft curse escaping his lips at how wet you are. once he’s at your clit he stops, rubbing the head of his dick against you.

“fuck –” your voice is taking on a whining tone, and you can’t help but fleetingly wonder what happened to you showing jihoon who’s boss, making him witness just what he’s missing. but that thought is gone from your mind as soon as it enters, and instead you’/re pleading with jihoon. “please, hoonie – please fuck me, please.”

he sighs, the tip of his cock pressing against your hole. still, he doesn’t enter you. “i thought we agreed on no sex,” he says. “no sex until the semester is over.”

you cry out, hips trying to shift upwards and force his dick inside. jihoon pulls back. “please – put it in. it won’t count – won’t count if you don’t cum in me, yeah? won’t count if i don’t cum around your dick.”

jihoon lets out a loud, shivering groan that seems to release from the depths of his soul.

jihoon presses his dick into your cunt. the head pops past your entrance, and then he’s sliding home.

your pussy takes jihoon eagerly, sufficiently prepared by your fingers and the dildo. his dick is just slightly thicker than the dildo, and so there is a pleasurable sting that burns at your core. it’s not horrible, and you let out a moan as you cant your hips up.

jihoon doesn’t stop pressing into you until his balls are against your ass. his hands are on either of your legs, keeping you spread for him. jihoon uses his grip on you to push himself back, bringing his cock out of your cunt slowly. the drag of his dick is delicious, is everything you’ve been missing for months.

you’re not sure if this is just because you haven’t been fucked appropriately since august and it’s in the middle of november, but you feel completely overwhelmed by jihoon.

his cock feels so good inside of you. it’s thick and warm, and when he shifts his dick presses up towards your core. his blunt head presses against your g-spot, and you can’t help the little mewl of approval that escapes you.

“feels good,” he breathes out. his eyes flutter, nails digging into your skin. “you feel so fucking good.”

jihoon pulls his hips back, leaving your pussy save for the tip of his dick. he lingers, the fat head of his dick keeping you plugged.

when jihoon thrusts in, it’s rough and well-aimed for your g-spot. you let out a shrill noise, eyes rolling back. you don’t know if sex has ever felt like this before – if you’ve ever felt so overwhelmed just by a single thrust.

your hands scramble, grabbing at the couch. “hoonie!”

he slides out; fucks back in.

jihoon’s pace is rough, as if he’s making up for lost time. as if he’s determined to mold your pussy back into the shape of his dick. he uses your pussy, uses you. he uses your cunt in an almost detached way, as if you were some random fuck and not his treasured girlfriend.

eventually jihoon is pulling from your cunt with a strangled moan. his dick is drenched with your fluids, thick strings decorating it like lewd jewelry. jihoon palms his dick, and then he’s thrusting into his hand once, twice, thrice before he cums onto your stomach.

he lets out a moan, a gasp of your own joining. his cum is thick and hot. you want to shove it into your pussy.

jihoon’s hands go back to your thighs, and then he’s dropping to his knees.

“can’t wait to fuck you,” he groans, “can’t wait to fill you up. as soon as finals are over, you’re mine. got it? you’re mine.”

then his tongue is licking a stripe up from your cunt to your clit, and all other thoughts leave you.

W E E K S I X T E E N

the lecture hall, just like most of the rest of campus, is nearly deserted.

you had left your apartment as soon as the email about your final grade dinged your phone, delight and want immediately turning at your stomach. you had been looking forward to this day for months: the day you and jihoon were finally free to fuck (and publicly be in a relationship, but that wasn’t the most pressing matter at the moment).

jihoon was at the front of the large room, talking to the last stragglers of the exam he had to oversee. you rush down the steps, unable to help the broad smile on your face.

your boyfriend looks up as you thunder down the auditorium, and you catch the moment his own face breaks out into a wide grin.

he calls out your name as you step off of the last step.

the student he’s talking to waves goodbye, and you take the spot where he had been standing.

“hey,” you say, unable to keep your smile tamed. “how’s it going?”

jihoon rolls his eyes at you, folding his arms over his chest. this close to him you could smell his cologne, the sharp smells of amber and vanilla. he was wearing his white dress shirt again, though this time it was dressed up with a simple black tie.

“glad it’s over,” jihoon murmurs.

you glance around the room. there’s two girls at the back, talking excitedly as one of them packs up their things.

“took you forever to grade the exams.”

jihoon scoffs. “as if. you turned it in last night at midnight.”

you shrug. the girls begin to make their way out of the room, calling out good-byes to jihoon.

“all things considered,” he says, raising a hand in acknowledgement towards the girls, “this semester wasn’t so bad.”

you laugh at him. “it’s been agony to me,” you say, knowing how loaded the word is for the both of you.

the heavy wooden doors shut solemnly behind the girls. it’s as if a switch flicks off in jihoon’s mind. his eyes visibly soften before you, his smile taking on a gentler shape.

“i missed you,” he says. he doesn’t say anything else; that isn’t jihoon’s way. he’d write a thousand poems for you and keep them locked away. he’ll say three words, i missed you, and his meaning will include a hundred other things: i love you; i adore you; i want you close to me always; you bewitch me.

“i missed you, too,” you echo, hoping he feels the weight of your simple response.

jihoon keeps his face passive as he opens his arms, and you go easily into his embrace. you burrow your face into his neck, breathing him in. he wraps his thick arms around you, pressing you close to his body.

for a moment the two of you just exist in this little universe.

jihoon is the first to pull away, though he doesn’t go far. as if magnetic, you tilt your lips towards him, meeting his mouth halfway.

the kiss begins gentle and solemn. it’s the end of a sentence, finishing the semester, which had been filled with tension and desperation, with a sweet embrace and soft lips.

you separate your mouth from his. you skim your lips along his chin, following the edge of his jaw. you trace the edges of his face with your mouth, trying to memorize the shape of him.

“i missed you,” you say again.

jihoon is silent. he sinks a hand into your hair, cradling the back of your head. he guides your face back to his, his lips pressing a long kiss to yours.

this time when jihoon kisses you it’s firm. his mouth is insistent against yours, devouring you in a way that leaves you breathless. he presses you back, his tongue sliding past your lips.

jihoon walks you backwards until your thighs are bumping against the table. he keeps your head still, tongue licking into your mouth and exploring.

his free hand slides beneath your shirt, grabbing at the flesh of your hip.

“hoonie,” you say, pulling back from his mouth. jihoon hums, pressing kisses to the corner of your mouth. “want you.”

“got me,” he returns.

despite his gentle words, jihoon’s hands move quickly against you. he tosses your shirt and bra aside, mouth attaching to your neck as soon as you are bare. his hand slides down to the waistband of your pants, fingers dipping past it. jihoon presses open-mouthed kisses to your skin, eager to reefamiliarize himself with your body entirely. his nips at the curve of your tit, and then his mouth is suckling at a pebbled nippple.

you whine against him. you run your hands overh im. you feel the curve of his own pecs, feel the flat plane of his stomach, still hidden by his shirt. you tug at his tie, and then you’re molding your hand against his straining erection.

jihoon groans against you. “careful,” he says.

“we shouldn’t get too carried away,” you return. your fingers find the button of his trousers nonetheless. it’s the easiest thing to pop it through the hole, loosening his pants. “we should go home. anyone could walk in.”

“‘oh, the agony,’” jihoon says, and then he’s turning you around and pressing you against the table.

he’s quick to pull your pants and underwear to your ankles. jihoon helps you step out of them, leaving them in a discarded mess by the leg of the table.

he smooths his hands over your legs and thighs as he stands, his tough heavy and warm. jihoon positions you; slides his hand along your leg and pushes it up onto the table, foot dangling over the edge.

he slides two of his fingers inside of your pussy. you clench down on the intrusion, biting down on your lip.

“don’t –” you sigh out, turning over your shoulder to look at him. “i’m ready.”

jihoon blinks at you for a moment, and then he’s cursing. “slut,” he says, though his lips twitch up into a grin.

he doesn’t bother undressing all the way. you can feel the fabric of his pants bunch against your ass when his cock is buried deep inside. his cock stretches you so delightfully. you feel as if you’re finally whole after an eternity of missing something.

maybe you really are a slut.

jihoon slides his dick out slowly, making you feel every centimeter of his cock. the glide is nearly on the side of too-dry, but your eyes roll back nonetheless, nails scraping against the wood of the table.

“fuck,” he breathes out, and then he’s punching his dick back into your pussy.

you rock forward on the table, the edge of it digging into you. you don’t mind it. instead you push back, meeting his thrust.

“missed you,” jihoon says. you wonder if he’s talking about your pussy. you wouldn’t blame him if he was: you missed his cock, afterall.

you missed out his dick feels within you, heavy and stretching you out. you missed how he fucks into you, how his hips slap against your ass. you missed the sting of him fucking you, the sting of skin against skin coupled with the electric sparks of pleasure that shoot through you when the blunt head of his cock hits your g-spot.

jihoon fucks you as if you were reuniting. which, you suppose, you are. he fucks you as if he’s treasuring each thrust, as if he’s making sure each rock of his hips is perfect to make up for lost time.

you can feel the fabric of his shirt when jihoon presses his front against your back. his black tie dangles beside your face. he uses his weight to keep you against the table, his hips picking up pace.

he practically jackrabbits into your pussy, hips frantic.

“missed you,” he says, and then he’s grabbing your face to press another open-mouthed kiss to your lips. there’s no finesse: it’s just as messy as the way he fucks you. spit slides from mouth to mouth, tongues meeting and tangling.

he’s devouring you, you realize. he’s gobbling you up, owning you inside and out.

jihoon reaches down, his fingers finding your clit easily. he slips his fingers against your clit, the wetness of your pussy making the glide easy. his fingers against your clit are just as frantic as his hips fucking into you, and the combined sensation brings your orgasm crashing down around you more quickly than you would like.

he slows his hips to a stop as you cum around his cock, whining high at the back of your throat. it’s overwhelming. you haven’t cum around his dick in months. his cock stretches you still, and every minute shift of your hips back against him has his dick pressing against all the sensitive places.

“good?” his voice is raspy against your hair.

you nod.

jihoon pulls back, and you hiss at the feeling of his dick leaving your pussy.

he doesn’t stay gone for long. jihoon maneuvers you onto your back. he grabs each of your thighs, holding them up and baring you to him. you can feel the juices of your release as they slide down your cunt.

he thrusts back in. immediately you’re tossing your head back against the table, eyes rolling back. your toes curl.

jihoon hooks your legs over the crook of each of his arms, and then he’s setting a harsh pace once again. his grunts are loud againsts the quiet of the room, the slapping of skin against skin sending heat rushing up towards your face. you feel too high strung, feel as if your neurons and electrons are buzzing around underneath your skin. you want to move away from his cock and how it tortures you, pressing against your g-spot as sensitivity rears its ugly head; you want to fuck down onto his dick until you’re unable to walk.

when jihoon cums, it’s copious. it’s too much. you feel his dick throb within you as he spills, filling you with hot seed. it’s so much; you want more.

jihoon pulls his dick from your pussy only once he’s finished. he isn’t done with you, though.

he slaps his palm against your cunt, the sensation acute and electric.

you want to cry. you don’t want him to ever stop.

jihoon slaps your cunt again, and then he’s hooking three of his fingers inside of your pussy. he thrusts him inside in the same fashion he did his cock: harshly, roughly. the sting of his knuckles against your flesh isn’t unlike the sting of his hips.

when you cum, it’s with a loud sob. he presses the fingers of his free hand against your clit, rubbing it once more while his fingers keep pressing up against your g-spot, relentless in his mission of wringing you dry.

after it’s over, you hold out your arms.

jihoon gathers you into his embrace easily, pressing a kiss to your forehead. you know you should hurry and dress, know that it’ll be a matter of time before someone wanders into the room.

you don’t care.

instead you just bask in the attention of your boyfriend, forehead pressing to his shoulder.

#svthub #ksmutsociety #my writing #✏️— writing #lee jihoon x reader #lee jihoon fic #lee jihoon oneshot #woozi x reader #woozi fic #woozi oneshot #lee jihoon smut #woozi smut #svt #svt x reader #svt smut #svt oneshot #svt fic

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charliemwrites · 2 days

Text

Part 12 SpecGru reader!!

No content warnings for this chapter.

You mull over your captain’s words in the hours before dinner. Sitting behind Nova in her temporary room, Doctor Who’s opening theme warbling from your laptop’s speakers. You gently work oil into her scalp, following the precise alleys formed by her braids.

It’s a soothing ritual, not just for her, but for you. An act of care for a woman who’s been so kind and patient with you. Who always stood her ground on your worst days, and never allowed herself to be goaded into a useless argument. She’s warm beneath your fingers, soft against your chest, the scent of coconut and cinnamon sweet in your nose.

Slowly, you begin to card through memories you put great care into neglecting.

The day you left the hospital, feeling more pathetic than you ever had in your life. A packet of care instructions folded over in one hand. You remember the way Gaz hadn’t quite looked you in the eye, mouth tight and regretful at the corners. Almost guilty. Even when he handed over a bag of fresh clothes, saying he was glad to see you on your feet.

Did you know then? Was there some twinge of foreshadowing in your gut? Did you hear a foreboding whisper in your mind, of how the following twenty-four hours would devolve?

Maybe you did or maybe hindsight is a liar.

What really stands out, even after all this time, is how betrayed you felt (still feel) when you reflect on that interaction with Gaz. That the best he offered was a weak warning that Ghost and Price were pissed off at you. The hurt that he didn’t even ask how you felt before disappearing for the rest of that awful day. You never saw him after your initial discharge, he might as well have borrowed his lieutenant’s namesake.

And then there was Johnny.

Soap, who made himself perfectly visible, if only to express how pissed off he was. He never bothered to ask how you were doing either – didn’t even seem relieved to see you conscious and in one piece. He was tight-jawed and tense; the few times he deigned to speak to you was clipped and terse.

When you finally left, you remember how your chest ached, knowing (intending) you’d never see his thousand-watt smile again. A fair few of your tears on that flight had been in self-deprecation for expecting anything but his total, unwavering loyalty to Simon. It stung that for all his crowing about being a team, looking out for each other, no one left behind – he couldn’t spare you a crumb of forgiveness for a mistake in the field.

Price and Ghost had almost made sense, really. But Gaz and Soap had been a peculiar sort of pain. Your fellow sergeants, who had made you feel welcome and comfortable in the beginning – who had been the bridge and buffer between you and your intimidating superiors. And maybe it wasn’t their fault that you never quite felt like you had a seat at their table, but they’d tried.

Still… at least you can look at them. You can’t imagine opening your mouth to face Price or Ghost and anything but acid pouring out.

“What’s on your mind, babes?”

You blink, palms automatically cradling Nova’s head as she tilts it back to peer at you. On autopilot, you dip down to kiss her forehead, then the gentle curve of her lips.

“Hmm?”

“Don’t get me wrong, the massage is nice,” she teases, “but you’ve gone over my whole head at least twice now.”

“Oh,” you intone, swiping your thumb behind her ear. “Just thinkin’ is all.”

“I can tell,” she giggles, “there’s practically smoke comin’ outta your ears.”

You grimace a bit, arms lowering down to circle her shoulders in a hug. She curls her clever, slender fingers around your forearm, tracing soft patterns with her blunt nails.

“Sorry, love,” you mumble, flicking your eyes to the screen. Realize you’ve only got a vague idea of what’s going on. “I’m being a bad date.”

“You’re not,” she insists, squeezing your wrist. “This s’all been a lot, yeah? I just don’ want you being on your own in there.”

She taps two fingers against your temple. You used to spend all your time alone in your own head. Not because it was safe – it wasn’t – but it was familiar. It took her and the rest of the team concerted effort to pry anything of value from you.

Now, you muster up an appreciative smile as you nuzzle into her hand.

“I’ve just been trying to decide…”

She pauses the show and wriggles to get a better look at your face, hums for you to continue.

“If I should try talking to the 141,” you continue. “Cap said I should consider it. See if we can put all that old shit to rest.”

“Do you want to put it to rest?”

“I should.”

“But do you want to?”

The question brings you up a bit short. Being mad is easy. You’ve been mad at them for so long, one step short of loathing, that you’ve settled into the feeling. Dug your heels in. It’s an easy way to put a stopper on all the complicated hurt lying beneath.

“I want to talk to them the same way I want to go to the dentist,” you muse.

She picks up what you aren’t saying.

“You don’t want to, but you know it’s healthier if you do.”

You grunt, still too proud to admit it outright.

“The wound closed over, but it never healed properly,” she says. “Maybe you’ve got to reset it, yeah?”

You sigh. “Yeah. Just not sure where to start.”

She shrugs. “Wherever you want to. Do it on your own terms. Only way you’ll be able to stomach them.”

You chuckle. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“’Course I am,” she chirps. “I’m used to navigating bad weather.”

You nip at her fingers, prompting a bright peel of laughter as she tries to squirm away. As you wrestle her back into your lap, your nerves soften and settle.

Even if you excise this wound, you know you won’t be left bleeding alone. Not ever again.

You haven’t come to any concrete decision after dinner. Not that anyone asks. Nova isn’t one to push and your captain has already said his piece. You haven’t told Nikto or Keegan about your dilemma yet, and you’re not sure if you will.

Nikto’s take on the situation isn’t obvious – though if you had to guess, it would be similar to Nova’s. But Keegan? You already know what his answer would be.

Of anyone in SpecGru, he had to work the hardest to earn even an iota of warmth from you. He reminded you too much of Ghost – and how could he not? The perpetual mask, the sharp one-liners. Gruff and closed off, frighteningly capable, and a crack shot with a sniper rifle to boot.

It used to take everything in you to pull your punches during spars. The rare instances that you would agree to eat with your new team were never if Keegan was present. And more than once, you walked into the rec room, saw his looming figure, and turned right back around.

The only time you could stand to look at him was during missions, but your captain was always sure to receive a killer glare if he paired the two of you together.

Keegan was your partner on the mission that changed things.

It had been a week straight of shit sleep and bad memories, sick on loneliness and anger. When boots hit the ground, you stormed right in, eager to prove to yourself (but really, to them) that you were valuable. Didn’t wait for Keegan, but that had never stopped him from keeping pace with you before.

You didn’t clear your corners, got sloppy and hasty.

Took two stab wounds before Keegan shot the hostile in the temple. When he tried to call the others, you demanded that he finish the mission first. Would have rather bled out than be the reason another mission failed.

The pain and blood loss dragged you under as soon as you choked out the demand.

Then, Keegan’s face was the first thing you saw in the hospital room. Not the mask, him.

Even with dirt and black paint smudging his face, you could see the dark, worried circles beneath his eyes. Could read regret in his angular jaw, relief in the slant of his scarred mouth. For the first time, you looked in his eyes and saw more than an echo of your former lieutenant.

You saw your teammate. The partner you’d left to fend for himself because you’d been handicapped by your own pride. You saw Keegan.

“Did you finish the mission?” you rasped.

He frowned, but your captain stepped forward. “He did – once we were there to stop the bleeding.”

You never saw Ghost in the weave of his mask again.

And soon after, Keegan was the first person you opened up to about the 141.

It was that very same week. You’d been sick on shame and embarrassment, using your injuries to nurse your wounded ego. Skipping meals in exchange for raiding your snack drawers and moping in your cot.

Keegan hadn’t made himself scarce after your discharge. None of your team had, really – but he’d made a point of checking on you. And lacking your usual sharpness, he hadn’t been deterred by your comparatively mild standoffishness either.

Which was how you found yourself stubbornly tucked into the corner of your cot one night, while Keegan sewed the holes in your shirt. He kept shooting you amused looks – probably because you hadn’t taken your eyes off him once. Half wondering why he was there, half waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You gonna say something, or you just glare all night?” he drawled eventually.

You narrowed your eyes. “Do you plan to stay all night?”

He shrugged, but his eyes flicked to yours, the corner of his mouth ticking up. (No mask. He hadn’t worn one around you since the hospital. Not unless people outside your team were around.)

“If you’ll have me. Been meaning to get you caught up on the show we’ve been watching.”

You huffed, frustrated. “Why?”

He arched his brows at you, needle paused. “Because I like you, despite your best efforts.”

You stared, a little appalled, a little touched. Keegan just chuckled and went right back to mending your shirt. You drew your knees up tighter and hid your quivering mouth with your arms.

“Cap says your last team was shit to you,” he said into your sullen silence.

You scowled. He put a hand up as if in surrender.

“He hasn’t said more’n that, don’t worry,” he continued, “I’m just sayin’… I don’t take any of it personal. You’re a good teammate, I trust you with more than my six.”

Why, you wanted to demand, flabbergasted and all the guiltier because you knew you didn’t deserve it. Why did he trust you? Why was he so patient? Why was he there at all?

You sniffled, but he just kept talking.

“I want to return the favor, ya know? I’m not askin’ you to trust me after the mission, but you don’t gotta be on your own either.”

You were crying quietly by that point, face so hot that your tears felt cold, stomach aching from more than stab wounds. He finally looked up, saw how you were falling apart. But he didn’t shy away, didn’t close himself off. It wasn’t pity or sympathy that softened his eyes.

“The shit you and I carry, we’re not meant to do it alone, sweets.”

And what else could you do, but spill your sorry guts?

You remember the expression on his face when you got to the part about Ghost. Remember how tightly he held you on your cot, all the distance (emotional and physical) closed between you two. Remember waking up the next morning, Netflix still open on your laptop and flopped gracelessly over Keegan’s stomach like a childhood sleepover.

You couldn’t have iced him out again even if you wanted to, after that.

No, there’s no question what Keegan would tell you, if you asked about talking to the 141. He would say there’s no good reason to waste oxygen on a single one of them.

So, you don’t ask.

You climb into his lap in your temporary room that evening, peeling his mask up and off with slow hands. His eyes are already half-lidded, the corner of his mouth curved fondly. His hands spread across your thighs, warm and rough. The scar twisting across his left palm is sweetly familiar when he draws it along your skin.

“I’m going to try talking to the 141,” you admit.

His jaw twitches, eyes flickering. “Now why the hell would you do that?”

You sigh, curl your fingers into the brassy crop of hair he’s been growing out. He’s got a quick temper, and a habit of misplacing it when it’s been triggered by something out of his control. You don’t take it personally, you never have – it’s gratifying to see how much he cares.

“There’s no good reason to waste oxygen on a single one of ‘em,” he growls.

“There might be.”

He sits back, skeptical but waiting.

You continue, “I’ve got a lot of shit to say to them, and they seem eager to hear it.”

“Why give ‘em the satisfaction?” he asks.

“Maybe it’ll help with the nightmares.” That gives him pause. You draw your thumb soothingly across his temple – a bullet graze from saving your life. “We’ve got too much shit to carry, you and me. Unloading some of it is as good a reason as any.”

His hand drifts up your side, grazes the tattoo coiling down your arm. (The second you ever got – a big piece that took hours, Keegan never leaving your side. Nikto, Nova, and your captain periodically dropping in to provide snacks and water.)

He cups your jaw, guides your face down until your foreheads touch. You stay there, breathing him in. He smells like yours.

“What if they make it worse, huh?” His thumb caresses over your cheekbone the way it has a dozen times before, wiping away tears. “I’ll have to kill ‘em.”

You huff softly, amused. “Then kill ‘em. But I’m stronger than I was, Kee. There’s nothing they can weigh me down with that I can’t carry.”

“I know,” he whispers, tilting his chin to drop a sweet, aching kiss on your lips.

“Besides, I wouldn’t be carrying it alone anymore.”

His expression lightens, pride shining from his eyes. “Damn right.”

It’s nearly midnight when you wake from a light doze. Keegan is snoring softly, an arm and leg each hanging over the side of the bed. Your mouth is dry, but you realize it’s your stomach that woke you – pangs of hunger from picking at your dinner earlier. You need to eat.

Quiet and careful, you crawl out from beneath the sheets. Keegan is a heavy sleeper compared to the nearly supernatural senses of Nikto; he hardly stirs as you pad for the door. The hall lights are dim, but you only open it a crack to slip out.

The hall is quiet, no lights on beneath any of the other doors. You hope that means the rest of your team is sleeping peacefully. If you remember right, Nikto and Nova crawled in with your captain this evening. They’re all in good company if nightmares creep in; you pray Keegan doesn’t have any while you’re up.

Thankfully, the rec room is only two halls away. Light is spilling out as you turn the corner – there’s a sensor that shuts them off if no movement is detected for a while. Someone is either in there now or was recently. You half hope it’s the latter, but that doesn’t deter you from entering.

Your surprised to find Soap leaning against the kitchenette counter, a steaming mug in hand. His expression is flat, grim. Tired. You pause just inside the doorway.

“Might as well come in,” he says, voice low and rough. “I’ll clear out in a mo’.”

Even from where you’re standing, you can see that his cup is mostly full.

You exhale and shake your head. “Don’t have to.”

“How gracious,” he rasps, brows twitching like he wants to scowl. Like he can’t quite commit to being as bitter as he should be.

You’re too tired for your usual acid, as well. Just sigh and reach for the fridge door.

“Is that how you want this conversation to go?” you ask.

“Is this a conversation?” he replies.

You pluck out a yogurt cup. “It can be.”

He’s glaring into his coffee now, index finger tapping at the ceramic. Thinking. Or maybe just leashing all the things he wants to say but knows will drive you right back out.

“Why now?” he says finally.

You shrug. “Because I’m ready now.”

A tendon in his jaw twitches. “That’s not fair.”

A hot flicker of anger ignites in your chest. You tamp it down with a spoonful of yogurt, measuring out your words and tone.

“How do you reckon?” you inquire.

“You left,” he says. It’s been a while, but you can detect the hurt underlying the accusation. You suspect it’s something he’s wanted to say for a long time. “You left us behind.”

You click your teeth off your spoon, take a deep breath. It’s factually true. You are the one that left but—

“I wasn’t going to wait for you all to kick me out officially.”

He finally raises his eyes, a dark storm of emotion swirling within them.

“We wouldnae have.”

You tilt your head, cynicism in the flat line of your mouth. “Didn’t seem that way to me.”

“I ken you and Simon were—”

“Don’t.”

His mouth snaps shut, brows furrowed. You point at him with your spoon warningly but bite back the sharp remark on your tongue. Arguing isn’t the point here.

Settle instead to say, “Don’t speak for the others.”

There’s a beat of silence as he digests that, then finally nods. “Alright. Just you ‘n me then.”

You turn back to your yogurt, swipe up another spoonful as you reorganize your thoughts.

“I didn’t leave because of Ghost,” you begin. “Not entirely. I left because I was never part of the team. And what happened after that mission just… made it all very clear.”

Soap frowns, opens his mouth like he wants to deny it, but you hold up a finger to stop him. He takes a long sip of coffee and waits.

“You didn’t check on me at all. You weren’t there when I woke up. You never asked if I was okay,” you continue. “You were too busy being angry on Ghost’s behalf.”

“You almost got the both of you killed,” he argues.

“But you cared more about Ghost almost being hurt than the fact that I was,” you say. And dammit, you feel your sinuses burning, but your eyes stay blessedly dry. The anger disappears from his face all at once as realization sinks in. “I mattered to you less than Ghost.”

His hand tightens around his mug, knuckles blanching. “No. No, lass, tha’s no’… you were always… you survived.”

“I felt the worst I ever had in my life, but you didn’t care because I crossed the almighty Ghost,” you insist.

“I cared about you,” he denies.

“But not more than you did about Ghost.” You drag your gaze up to his. Even his eyes look a little wet now. “And that… that wasn’t enough for me.”

You suck in a shuddering breath, trying to loosen the tightness in your chest. Clear your throat once you feel the threatening prick of tears subside.

“I didn’t… it wasnae that,” he rasps. “I ken you think I’m full of shite, but ‘s true.”

You do think he’s full of shit. Maybe not on purpose, maybe he really does think he cared about you as much as Ghost, but you know better.

“I was just… so angry wi’ you,” he explains. “You could have died. Nearly got Simon killed, all because you thought you knew better.”

You exhale hard. “You’ve never made a bad call?” you challenge.

“It wasnae your call to make. You should have listened to Ghost. Instead, you—”

“I what?”

Your fingers tingle, numb. Can’t even feel the spoon, or the chill of the yogurt cup anymore.

“You disobeyed orders, it was so—”

“I didn’t.”

He stops. Stares. “What?”

You stare right back, “I didn’t disobey orders.”

First | Previous | TBC...

Masterlist

#cod #my writing #reader fic #from specgru with love #specgru reader #keegan p russ #john soap mactavish

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moonlight-prose · 2 days

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A CASE OF YOU

a/n: happy fall season! i have been struck with a type of brain rot that can only be appeased with the start of a series. well okay not really a full blown series. more of a short one and one that can absolutely be built upon if you guys want. old man logan and older joel have me craving to be with both of them. if only for the way they're so similar. so this is basically me rambling about how much i love both of them.

summary: life in jackson was quiet. serenity in a bottle that'd been poured out along the side of a mountain. a haven to finally grasp some parts of life that you thought were lost forever. you had your apothecary shop, your home, but still some piece of your heart was missing. until you meet your neighbors and come across the full picture of your future you didn't have before.

pairing: jackson!joel miller x f!reader x old man!logan howlett

each part has its own warnings, but the story as a whole is 18+ only!!

INSPO TAG

THEIR LOVE STORY

➻ life was a willow, and it bent right to your wind {COMING IN OCTOBER}

➻ call me a lover, disaster, whatever

➻ interlude: amas veritas

➻ love is the being unknown

BLURBS + ONESHOTS

#logan howlett x f!reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x y/n #logan howlett smut #logan howlett #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller #my writing

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froody · 1 day

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Imagine you hired an obscenely drunk Union soldier in a saloon to kill your husband. He manages to accomplish the deed by removing the bullets from your husband’s gun through a sleight of hand trick before challenging him to a duel. This is somewhat impressive but what is more impressive is his strong work ethic, ingenuity, Irish accent, subtle chivalry and big brown eyes. You marry him and move onto the 15 acres of semi-arid land on the edge of the Chihuahuan Desert he stubbornly wants to farm. He wants to name your firstborn daughter after his cavalry horse in the Civil War and your firstborn son after his commanding officer. He calls you widow woman as a term of endearment. He’s a good shot, he’s a good cattleman, a great husband and a subpar father. But what else can you ask from a man who lost his entire family in the Famine and came to this country alone at the age of 14?

Imagine you are a former Union soldier. You are 22 years old. You were only 19 when you enlisted, an Irish immigrant who worked in a livery stable in Cleveland until the outbreak of the war. You fought valiantly. You survived. In lieu of wages, you accepted a parcel of land in New Mexico territory. You’ve never had anything that was truly your own. Except for, perhaps, your horse. You arrive in New Mexico for the first time in your uniform, your horse goes lame the second you step onto your parcel, it’s so dry and rocky and red and you do not think it’s arable. You have to put down your horse. She dies with her head in your lap and you cry so hard you think you’ll die with her. When you’re done giving her a wake, knowing you have no ability to bury her, you begin walking in the direction of Las Cruces. Maybe you can sell this cursed land. Maybe you can get a job. First, a toast to Lula, the mare, the closest thing to family you have had in this country.

You’re seeing double by the time a little woman with an appraising expression approaches you. She is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, perhaps even better in double. A little older than you. Long, dark wavy hair that cascades over her shoulders, a perfect round face, a warm brown complexion and the most troubled eyes you have ever seen on a woman. What is most miraculous is that she wants to talk to you. You, drunk, sunburnt, covered in dust, the blood of your horse soaked into your pant leg. She motions to your pistol. She says she will pay you to do a job, pay you handsomely, enough to buy another horse. She says her husband is rich, he enticed her away from her family when she was very young, he holds her captive in his hacienda, he hurts her. He must be killed so that she can return to her sisters and live without fear. You will do it, you must do it. You do not care how much of the story is factual. You do not care if she intends to have the sheriff string you up after the deed is done. You do not care if she cannot pay the money she promised. You would do anything to remove the sorrow from her eyes. You kill her husband and sleep fine afterwards.

You do not buy that horse. You stay in the hacienda while she is out selling the bits and pieces of her husband’s life. You meet her sisters when they come, you help her pack away the pieces of her life so that she may start anew. You tell her of your own plans to start anew, of the patch of rocky soil that is your own. She tells you she grew up on land like that, tells you that it has always been her dream to work it. When her sisters leave for the mountains, she leaves with you.

#my ocs #my writing #domestic violence #animal death #long post /#emotional support straight couple and they don’t even have names yet

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lost-in-fandoms · 2 days

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"Tell me again."

Max hums, moving his hand in slow circles along Daniel's back, feeling his chest move against his side, his face hidden in the folds of Max's t-shirt.

He bows his head, pressing a kiss against Daniel's hair, shifting against the hotel's pillows until he's comfortable again.

"It's going to be sunny," he says, voice low, letting Daniel's curls tickle his lips and nose. "It's going to be sunset, orange, the trees all golden in the way you like."

Daniel's back shifts under his hand, his fingers twisting in Max's shirt.

"We'll be sitting in chairs, because you have old man knees, and would complain about sitting on the floor."

He twists away from the halfhearted poke in his side, then settles back.

"They will be those garden ones, the ones with the straw?"

"Wicker," Daniel corrects him softly, voice scratchy.

"Yes, wicker." He tugs Daniel even closer, not knowing how it is even possible. "With pillows, so you can curl in them like a little cat."

He smooths his hand down Daniel's back, like he does with Sassy, when she stretches out beside him on the bed, similar to how Daniel is now. Does it again when he feels Daniel's shoulders uncurl slightly.

"We will be drinking your weird beers, the expensive ones that taste worse than all the others."

"Craft beer isn't weird," Daniel argues, just like Max was expecting him to. He sounds like there's something stuck in the back of his throat, and Max kisses his hair again.

"It is weird, Daniel. Beer does not need to be that expensive."

He gives him space to reply once more, but Daniel doesn't.

"We will drink your weird beer, and we will talk about that time we ate pasta in your hotel room."

It wasn't just one time, but Max knows he doesn't need to specify. They're both thinking about the same one, illegal spaghetti ordered from room service, hidden from their trainers, sauce on the corner of Max's mouth, cleaned by Daniel's thumb first, Daniel's mouth later. And even if they aren't thinking about the same, it doesn't matter. Every plate of pasta shared, in every hotel room, would matter just as much, stepping stones in their story, just as important as that first kiss.

"And it will be rainy," Max continues, voice even lower. His t-shirt is damp, stretched by Daniel's tense fingers. Daniel's back is shuddering, even when he holds him closer and closer and closer.

"It will rain, and you will have a blanket, because you always get cold, even more when it is humid."

The thing that was in Daniel's throat is in his too now.

"We will talk about how stupid everyone was. We will say it was all unfair. But we will not be angry anymore, because it will not matter anymore."

Daniel's hair smell like Max's shampoo, even if he usually doesn't use it, because he hates how dry it makes it feel. Max can taste salt on the back of his throat as he shifts his head slightly, trying to at least keep his ears dry, now that his cheeks are a lost cause.

Daniel's breathing is a stuttered rhythm against his ribs.

"We will cook eggs," Max pushes on, pressing every word against Daniel's skin, hoping every one feels like the i love you that it is. "Because we will have chickens on your farm, like a real farm, so we will be good at cooking eggs. And you will drink your wine, and sing your songs."

His voice breaks, sudden betrayal, just as Daniel trembles in a sob, but Max pushes through. They've both always known how to push through.

"And I will ask are you happy and you will say yes," he says, making it sound like a promise, because it is a promise. "And we will not regret any of it."

He knows they won't. Not the angry moments, not the painful moments, not the annoying little moments they will never even remember. They will take all of them and throw them into the jar of their lives, little pebbles, and colorful marbles, and shards of glass smoothed out with time and love and distance, all mixed together.

"We will sit on your chairs, and they will have nothing, and we will have us."

He holds Daniel closecloseclose, because he's never learned how to let go of the things he cares about, has always clung to things with his teeth and desire bared, and he has no intention of starting now. He has no intention of starting ever.

Even if this is not the way he wanted things to happen, he doesn't believe in letting go, especially when it comes to Daniel.

He swallows, clears his throat to try and dislodge the tight knot of feelings there, raises a hand to swipe his thumb along Daniel's wet jaw.

"We will have chickens, and a garage full of dirt bikes, and I will ask Grace to teach me how to make the pasta sauce you spilled all over the carpet when you were five."

Daniel nods against his chest, fingers relaxing. His breathing is still uneven, Max's t-shirt is still damp, but he can feel him going lax against him, relaxing bit by bit.

"We will," Daniel murmurs, voice shaky enough it sounds closer to a question.

"We will," Max tells him, firm. Would be happy to tell him again and again, until Daniel's voice doesn't shake on it anymore. "We will eat so much food, and we will become fat, and we will be happy. We will."

Daniel nods again, then shifts, wiggling in Max's hold until he can properly climb on top of him, pointy elbows planted on the bed, above Max's shoulders, trembling fingers tracing the wet lines on his cheeks, red-rimmed eyes soft.

When Daniel kisses him, they both taste like salt, exhaustion and the future.

#i made myself cry and i don't even know if most of this makes sense #but yesterday i was crying because (among other things) i was scared i would not have been able to write again #and today i am writing again even if it's just a little thing #so hey one step at a time #maxiel #my writing #if there are typos blame the tears not me #i only wrote a single i love you in this but i hope you could read it in every line and i hope you know every i love you is for you too #and i hope you know we all will be happy too and we will not regret it and we will sit in the metaphorical tumblr porch #and the higher ups and media will have nothing but we will have them and we will have us #im gonna go be emotional somewhere else now

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kisakis-boyfriend · 2 days

Note

🎃 nsfw headcanons for fyodor, nikolai, and sigma (+dazai and chuuya if you’d like) with a werewolf s/o?

Author's Note: I'll do Dazai and Chuuya in a separate post, thanks to tag limitations 😔

Pairings: Fyodor, Nikolai, Sigma x male reader (separately)

Warnings: Male werewolf!reader, dom/top!reader, sub/bottom!characters, mentions of breeding, knotting, biting, scratching, leashing, mindbreak (Fyodor), virginity kink (Sigma)

Fyodor

The 'fake dom' Slut

Fyodor likes to pretend that he's in control, but really, who's he fooling?

Trying to control a semi-feral beast. Yeah, good luck, buddy

You'll allow our favorite skinny Russian to put you on a leash, but it's only because you know that he can't hold onto it while you're railing the brains out of him

Fyodor is literally folded in half in a mating press, drooling like a whore. And you're loving every second of it

He definitely keeps track of the moon cycles — clearing his schedule on full moons and coming up with an excuse to be around you those nights

If your human form is also bigger/taller/more muscular than him; Fyodor will swoon

Not that he wouldn't swoon anyways, no matter what your human form looks like. He's just possibly got a little size kink 🤐

Nikolai

The Overt Slut

Nikolai is so not subtle…

"Oh my, what sharp teeth you have. You could totally bite me and make me bleed haha :)"

"Such sharp claws… it would be a shame if you accidentally scratched me with them!"

"What a big, thick cock! I could never take one that big… unless? 👀"

He'll sit next to you, knowing that you can see his phone screen, and look at werewolf knotting porn 😐

I mean, literally. NOT subtle in the least

Nikolai loves when you take control and breed all of his little holes

Just manhandle him and cover him in your seed please. You'll have a very happy jester in your possession

Personally, I think Niko has higher than average stamina; so he'd be able to go quite a few rounds, even after you knot him. If you want to keep rutting into him, he's all the happier ☺️

Sigma

The Shy Slut

“I am not taking that! You'll never fit!”

30 minutes later, Sigma is crying as you pound the virginity out of him

Sigma acts like he doesn't enjoy being filled and having some rough sex, but it's just his insecurities, really

If you make him feel loved, he will eventually agree to certain things :)

Always screaming "I can't take it!" Or "it won't fit" but, again, none of that is true

Sigma easily becomes your moaning slut once your dick is fully sheathed within his gummy walls

Full moons make him nervous — he, conveniently, hangs out with you on those dates though…

Sitting in your lap as the sun sets, cupping your face and requesting kisses too

In a rare, confident display, your pretty boy will ask you to fuck him in your werewolf form all on his own

Still complains about his sore ass and the scratches covering his body tomorrow though 😶‍🌫️

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misteria247 · 5 hours

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I'm realizing that Stan is actually incredibly smart. Like in a Ford kind of way to some extent.

Like yes Stan's street smart and life smart but he's also got the smarts that Ford's praised for. Because he had rebuilt the portal and figured out his brother's notes and equations.

Like do you know how hard math is on Ford and Fiddleford's level of expertise??? How complicated and delicate it is????? Especially the kind that brings portals to life???? And Stan figured it out. Had taught himself to read and comprehend these difficult things. Difficult things that requires college degrees in science and mathematics.

And Stan did this on an incomplete high school grade level of academics.

That's fucking nuts. Sure it took 30 years but he learned it. By himself, can you imagine how frustrated he got, teaching himself Ford's educational level??? Using his mechanical skills of fixing his car to be up to par to Fiddleford's impressive craftsmanship????

And I can just see how Ford and Fiddleford react post apocalypse. Ford doing equations and science stuff and talking while Fiddleford listens and gives his input when Stan pipes up unintentionally and puts his hat into the ring. And it's mathematically sound?? And these two men are just blown away cuz what the actual hell?? Ford's immediately questioning Stan, wanting to hear his thoughts while Fiddleford watches impressed and Stan's mortified and a bit overwhelmed. Or Fiddleford working on something and Ford's watching him when Stan points out a better way to make a part work and Fidds is like omg thank you Stanley??? And Ford's looking at his little brother dumbfounded and itching to bomb him with questions and whatnot.

Stan never knows peace afterwards.

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hairyjocktf · 2 days

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A Full Dose of Country

Cody was exhausted. He was a star on the wrestling team at his university, but over winter break he’d been conscripted to be a helping hand on his uncle’s farm out in central Texas. After arguing for weeks with his very angry mother over the phone he’d submitted to spending his month off on the ranch. His mom had said that his uncle really needed the help for the season, and to put that athletic body of his to use. Cody rolled his eyes at that; he needed to be training for the next season. Instead he’d spent the past two weeks in the middle of nowhere helping out his uncle Shane, far from his friends and anything fun. Every day was long and exhausting. Cody thought he was in excellent shape but the long hours and excessive manual labor had started to wear on him quickly.

After putting some equipment away in the shed Cody trudged his way back into the small house, finding Shane slouched on the couch in front of the TV. He craned his neck around and gave Cody a quick up and down.

“Damn son, you look rough today! You better get in bed early, we’ve got a hell of a task tomorrow,” he said. Cody’s shoulders slumped at the news.

“What could possibly be worse than what you’ve had me doing already?” He snapped. Shane was unfazed at the attitude.

“There’s some new bovine flu or something goin’ round. Heard it on the news the other day. I ordered some shots for the cattle to keep ‘em healthy, and I need you to help me get them all handled. Shouldn’t be a challenge for a hot shot like you right?” He snorted. Cody gave him a solemn look.

“Uh huh, sure.”

“I’m just messing with ya, y’know that,” Shane said with more sincerity. “Go on and get some sleep now boy,” he said as he shooed Cody off to his room.

Cody made his way down the dimly lit hallway to the small room he’d been staying in. He wasn’t the neatest guy on the planet but the state of his room was awful, but he’d been run too ragged to care. He pulled off his jeans and shirt and fell onto the bed, and within minutes he was out cold.

The morning came abruptly with a banging on his door.

“Cody! Get dressed and out here we gotta start this operation early if we wanna finish today!”

His uncle’s slightly muffled voice was still too loud for whatever hour it was. He threw on his hoodie and jeans from yesterday before making his way outside. The darkness was just starting to give way to dawn as he followed his uncle’s silhouette out towards the barn. The morning breeze was frigid, blowing through his hoodie like it was nothing. Cody shivered as he caught up to his uncle, who was setting up the chute for restraining the cattle. He stood there staring, in disbelief at what he was doing. His friends were partying in Cancun and he was up at 5 am herding cows?

“Well don’t just stand there, help me secure the pens!” His uncle’s bellowing voice snapped him out of his daze. Cody had unfortunately spent enough time on the ranch already to know what to do, and he got to work moving fences and prepping the area. By the time the sun had finally risen above the horizon they were ready.

“Alright, now you’re gonna herd the cows in here one at a time, I’ll catch them in the chute, hit them with the needle gun, and let ‘em out into that second pen. Simple enough right?” Shane said, again with too much energy.

“Yea, sounds good.” Cody huffed, already feeling fatigued. He jogged back outside to start herding some of the cattle into the pens. He was surprised at how smoothly the entire operation was, within an hour they’d processed a dozen cattle. The problem now was getting the bigger ones in. Cody wasn’t normally afraid of a longhorn but in this situation he was tense, to put it lightly. Keeping his distance as much as possible, he slowly ushered the bull towards his uncle. As they neared their setup he had to get closer and more forceful, before finally spooking the animal into running into the chute. Shane slammed down the gates, holding the frantic bull inside the shaking apparatus.

“Cody!” Shane yelled over the racket, “Come hold this down so I can get a good shot!”

Cody hopped the fence and darted over to his uncle, holding the lever down against a raging bull. Shane was right next to him fiddling with the needle gun to refill it.

“Damn thing always jams at the worst times I swear…” he muttered before finally loading it properly. He squeezed up next to Cody to get close to the animal’s neck and leaned in to administer the shot. In that instant, the bull thrashed. Cody saw the massive horns swinging his direction and panicked, jerking to the side away from the head, directly into his uncle. They both toppled to the ground, and Cody felt a sharp pain in his abdomen. The bull knocked open the gates with no one to hold them down and dashed out into the pasture.

“Jesus Christ,” Shane said as he climbed to his feet, “You alright Cody?”

“Yea… I think so,” Cody mumbled as he stood up, feeling a pulsing pain in his gut. He lifted his shirt to find a small pinprick on his stomach surrounded by a reddened area.

“Aw shit, I must’ve hit you with the gun when we fell.” He walked over to Cody and kneeled down to look closely. “It’s a big needle for the cattle is all, you should be fine I think,” he said. Cody felt less than convinced. He scratched at the slightly itchy spot before letting his shirt down.

“C’mon, we’ve got plenty more cows to handle today. None of ‘em should be that aggressive again,” Shane said while inspecting the chute. Cody was a little shocked at how nonchalant his uncle was about what just happened. Cody headed back out to the pens to continue his job, but the slight itching on his stomach kept his mind divided. Surely nothing in a cow vaccine would be dangerous to a human right? They ate the cows in the end anyway, he thought with a slight chuckle.

Eventually the cows' persistent mooing brought them back to the present, and Cody’s thoughts slipped away from the earlier events. The work got his blood pumping, sending the vaccine’s contents all around his body. While the itch on his stomach finally subsided, a growing uncomfortable feeling was arising in his groin. The viral load had reached his balls, and while it was dormant for cows, the same couldn’t be said for Cody. It entered his cells and began making some changes down there. His balls began to swell, first to the size of walnuts before stretching his sack even more, plumping up to the size of large eggs. His newly enlarged testicles began to flood his body with more testosterone than ever before, laced with some bovine hormones.

His cock was the first to respond, twitching as it slowly grew hard, pressing against Cody’s compression underwear. His cock pulsed, head flaring as it stretched out, engorging to his full size of seven inches. Cody reached down to try and relieve some of the pressure, unaware of what was happening. He adjusted the band of his underwear, allowing more space for his cock to grow. And grow it did, pushing well past seven inches. The sensation of his throbbing member against his tight underwear was driving his body wild, even if he was distracted. His cock reached 11 inches, fully visible with a rock hard imprint in his underwear. Cody tried to adjust his growing package through his pants, oblivious to the situation below. As it capped out a glob of precum shot out of the tip, before the entire shaft thickened to a girth he could’ve only imagined before. A steady stream of precum began to flow afterward, creating an ever growing wet spot through his jeans.

As Cody continued wrangling cattle, the steady stream of hormones from his massive balls continued to spread. An itch reappeared, but this time in his groin. He’d always kept himself clean shaven down there, but a slight shadow had appeared around the base of his cock. Clear cut hairs were starting to crop up again, a wave of short but dark stubble expanding outward. The hairs didn’t remain short for long, as his bush began to regrow with a vengeance. They pushed out of his skin, curling together as new hairs began to fill in between the old. The hairs pushed out longer and longer, weaving into a dense mat. The forest continued to spread, with thick hairs coating his low hanging balls and expanding out onto his thighs. The hairs began crawling up his lengthy shaft, covering the lower half in a furry sheath. Cody again scratched at his crotch, not noticing the dense growth from outside his jeans. As he finished up working for the day, hairs were slowly popping up further and further up, building a trail from his forested bush to his navel. The thick rug was pushing out against his compression underwear, slowly growing thicker as more hairs filled in.

Cody wiped the sweat from his forehead as his uncle was finally putting away the equipment from the day. He was more exhausted than he’d ever felt, and he didn’t believe he’d ever say that after enduring countless grueling wrestling training sessions with his coach. Thinking on them, he found it harder to recall those experiences despite his muscles aching, but he chalked it up to the brutal day he’d had. The sun was already below the horizon by the time they got back to the house. Cody figured he’d take a shower while Shane was throwing some kind of dinner together, and headed back to his room. He pulled off his hoodie and sweat-soaked shirt, revealing the crawling vine of dark hair making its way up his abs.

“What the fuck?” Cody blurted out in shock. He ran his fingers through the wiry curls exposed above his waistline. He quickly undid his belt and jeans and stuck his hand down in his underwear, deep into the lush sweaty forest that’d been absent when he pulled on his pants that morning. His jaw dropped. What the hell was happening here? He pushed his hand farther in only to find his now massive cock, and his eyes went wide. He darted into the bathroom and yanked down his underwear. In the mirror fully exposed was his flaccid nine inch cock, drooped in front of his comically large balls, all buried within the thickest bush he’d ever seen. Cody delicately handled his dangling member, and the slightest touch had it growing hard, leaking precum from the tip. He was stunned, standing there with precum spilling over one hand and the other buried in the thicket of hair.

As he stood there staring, the virus reached his brain. His panicked face slowly morphed into a grin. This was kinda hot, he thought. Who doesn’t love a massive dick, right? Cody began to rub his hands through the thick tangle of hair, feeling the curls catch around his fingers. His cock throbbed as it grew hard, reaching its full size. He grabbed it with his other hand, feeling the softer hairs that were poking out of his shaft. Cody, overcome with pleasure, let himself go. He stroked with one hand and explored his furry groin with the other. Within a minute he was ready to climax, grunting as he shot thick ropes onto the mirror.

“Fuck,” he groaned, senses returning. He collapsed back onto the toilet behind, taking a moment to catch his breath before cleaning up his mess.

“Cody! Dinner’s on the table!” His uncle shouted from the kitchen. Cleaning would have to wait. Cody stuffed his still partially hard cock back into his tight underwear and threw on the rest of his clothes before heading out. He still had a grin plastered on his face, and Shane noticed.

“What’s got you in good spirits now, boy?”

“Aw nothin’ just proud of a good day’s work” Cody replied, suddenly caught off guard with his manner of speaking. That voice was his but didn’t sound like him, it was almost… country. No, he’d always spoken like that, he was from Texas after all. The smell of the sizzling food on the table grabbed his attention and he swiftly forgot about his concern. He scarfed the meal down, his body subconsciously needing the fuel. He suppressed a large belch before standing up, thanking Shane for the food, and heading back to his bed. Cody stripped off his shirt and jeans before flopping down onto the mattress, exhausted and stuffed.

As he laid there, twirling his new pubes between his fingers, he let his thoughts drift back to his friends from school off on their vacations. He wasn’t as jealous anymore. In fact, maybe he was on the better end of that deal. All this manual labor was keeping him in shape for the season; getting drunk daily on the beach wouldn’t do that! His cock began to chub up at the thought of him finally putting on the mass to be at the top of his weight class. Precum leaked down his shaft and into his musky forest as Cody drifted off.

Cody woke in a sweat to a familiar banging on his door. He peeled himself off the sheets, looking at the vaguely body shaped sweat pool he’d left. He himself was also soaked. Then the smell hit him, a musky sweaty stench had filled the room throughout the night. Cody was confused, he’d never sweat like this, not even after his gym sessions, it wasn’t even hot inside the house. He looked down at himself to see drops slowly streaming down his chest and stomach, which had grown slightly more covered with hair. He thoughtlessly scratched at his chin, fingers raking through small bristles that hadn’t been there before. With no time to ponder more he threw on some jeans and a tank top and ran out towards the barn.

Cody and Shane quickly got to work on the day’s tasks, eager to get as much done as possible before the sun got too harsh. Cody found it easier to get into what he was doing, it felt more natural somehow. As he worked up even more of a sweat than he’d woken up with, the combination of virus and testosterone got pumped around his body at an accelerated rate. The bristles on his chin began to poke out a little more; a shadow of stubble spread across his jaw and up onto his cheeks. Cody scratched at the growing stubble, not noticing the difference from his baby smooth physique before.

That smooth skin was quickly becoming a memory, as his upper lip was covered by the same shadow, dark spots turning into short hairs that pushed out longer and longer. The wiry hairs sprouting from his face grew thicker by the minute, new wisps shooting out between the maturing hairs. He’d grown into a scruffier version of himself, the shadow of stubble creeping down his neck as the hairs on his chin, upper lip, and cheeks fluffed out more.

As he worked, Cody’s arms pumped up more than usual and his legs following suit. His already well defined pecs began to feel sore as they pushed out, stretching his tank even more than usual. What had been rolling hills turned into mountains as muscle packed on. The soreness was quickly replaced with a subtle itch; the tendril of thick curls reaching up from his groin began to climb higher. Hairs shot up north of his navel, growing in a line up towards his beefier chest. His collarbone was the first to react to the cocktail of hormones surging inside him. A lone dark hair shot up over the collar of his tank. Another curled out, and then another. Wispy hairs began to crop up along the top of his chest, cresting over the neck of his tank. The beads of sweat covering his chest only seemed to fertilize more growth, matting the hairs to his skin in swirls and spirals of masculinity. Before long a rug had begun to form on his chest, hairs pushing out and puffing up his tank as it struggled against his growing body.

By mid afternoon, they’d finished everything for the day. Cody’s sudden burst of work ethic surprised Shane, who didn’t seem to notice his nephew’s burgeoning beard. Cody could feel the pump in his body, it was sore but he felt electric after working all morning.

“Whew, that went smoother than I ever figured,” Shane laughed and slapped Cody on the back. “Why don’t we enjoy a beer and take the rest of the day off.”

“Can’t say no to that I s’pose,” Cody responded with a smile. The two walked back to the house and settled out on the back porch. Shane grabbed some beers from inside and tossed one to Cody.

“Seems like you’re getting the hang of all this work around here, son. I could use a hand like yours more often!” Shane howled and cracked open his can.

“Well, y’know, I guess I’m startin’ to enjoy it all a bit. Somethin’ about it out here makes me wanna stay,” Cody said with a heavier accent than even his uncle. Shane smiled back at him. The two chatted with a better rapport than ever as Cody downed his beer, and then another, and then two more.

His stomach gurgled as more hair spread across his stomach, fully burying his abs under a dark coat of hair. The line reached up to his chest widened, small fuzzy hairs spreading out before thickening up. Cody’s sweat covered chest followed suit. In the cleft between his pecs, hairs pressed their way out, spreading outwards as they grew in denser and darker and caught more sweat. What had been light fuzz across the wide expanse of his muscular form was corrupted by testosterone, follicles going into overdrive pushing out thicker darker hairs. The rug spread out around his nipples and upwards, merging with the hairs covering his collarbone as more continued to pop up towards his shoulders and up his neck.

Cody was in the middle of downing another beer when a rank stench filled his nose. It was familiar, almost like the one from when he’d woken up. He lifted his arm and was greeted with a faceful of powerful body odor; his pits had become ripe and full of hours worth of sweat. He watched as the carefully shaven skin tinted dark as hairs sprouted en masse. It seemed like a waterfall in slow motion, watching the dark hairs pour out of his pit, growing longer and longer as they trapped more sweat in his damp pit. The growth spread, hairs pushing beyond the edges of his pits and growing the forest larger until it blended with the rug on his chest. His other pit itched as the same growth began to take place, a thick tuft of hair erupting. He could feel the wiry hairs pushing out between his arm and torso, growing bushier and escaping the bounds of his underarm.

He should’ve been shocked, alarmed, panicked, anything of the sort, but instead he just stuck his hand into the damp jungle to scratch it. His fingers dug into the thick forest, digging deep to get at the sweaty skin below. Upon pulling his hand out he automatically sniffed it, as if he’d done so for a lifetime. The aroma filled his nose, the ripe stench causing his cock to shoot out a spurt of precum. The virus had gotten its foothold, altered his thinking enough to not only be nearly unaware of the changes, but to be aroused by them, to desire them. He leaned back in the chair, lifting his arms behind his head and exposing his hairy matted pits to the world.

The chair groaned under Cody as his body slowly swelled, muscles growing larger and thicker. His back popped as it grew wider, shoulders broadening as his traps and delts exploded with size. His tank top, already at its limit, began to tear at the sides where his lats were widening. Cody scratched at a slight itch on his shoulder, not thinking much of it, but the dusting of hairs on his shoulders had begun to spread, new curls cropping up all over. The wave of fur stretched from his forested chest up over his collarbone to his traps and shoulders before starting its descent. The itch crept down towards his shoulder blades as thin hairs pushed out, quickly growing from fuzz into fur. It almost looked like Cody was developing wings made of hair, as the patches knit together, creeping towards his spine to join into one hairy coat. The bristles continued working down, sprouting into thick stands that tangled together as they pushed out, growing denser as testosterone drenched each and every follicle. The burgeoning trail of hair reached his waistband, where it exploded into a sweaty tuft just above his ass. The hairs continued to fill in until his entire back was coated, a sweat-matted rug that was even curling around his sides to connect with the field of hair on his stomach.

Cody shifted in his seat, trying to shake an uncomfortable feeling growing down in his underwear. His ass had been filling out all day, stretching his underwear to its limit, but this was different. Deep between his cheeks, thick hairs were slowly pushing out around his hole. They grew dark and wiry, tickling him as they squeezed between his massive cheeks. More hairs began to press out, surrounding his hole before spreading outwards. The shadow of loaded follicles crept over both his cheeks, and shortly after the hairs burst forth in a wave, pushing against his tight underwear as his ass disappeared beneath the growing fur. The hair continued to spread, connecting to his furry back and to his jungle of pubes which similarly thickened even more.

Cody reached down to scratch at his crotch, and paused for a moment after seeing his hand. It was much thicker than it’d been, with rough, calloused palms and thick sausages for fingers. He flipped it over and watched as a thick dark hair wormed out of his knuckle, followed by another, and in seconds there were dark tufts of hair popping up across his hand. The hairs crawled up towards his forearm, where his once soft dusting of wispy brown hairs was overrun by new dense growth. The hairs pushed out long and wove together into a puffy forest that climbed up his arm, the growth not petering out in the slightest. His beefy triceps vanished beneath the growing fur as it reached towards the thick hairs on his shoulders.

He watched the hairs overtake his once smooth and tanned skin but, rather than alarm. all Cody felt was arousal, with his cock chubbing up in his pants. He was half tempted to use that newly hairy hand to grab it, but he restrained himself. Not in front of Shane, it could wait. The sun had started to set, and as if on cue his uncle spoke up.

“Welp, better get workin’ on some supper,” he said, hoisting himself out of his chair. He left Cody out on the patio, finally giving his nephew a quiet moment to himself. Cody gazed out over the pastures, glowing in shades of orange and gold from the sunset. He could get used to it out here, he thought to himself. The desire to get back to wrestling with his team had slipped even further, he’d barely mentioned them during his and Shane’s multi-hour banter. The virus had been multiplying in his head, suppressing those neural connections in favor of those made recently on the ranch. He wanted to stay here on the ranch with the cattle, giving the virus more chance to spread to others. It would do anything to make that a reality.

Cody watched the sun slip below the horizon and headed back to his room. He tried to pull off his tank but instead it shredded, unable to cope with his massive body. He laid down on the bed, feeling the thick hairs on his back rub against the sheets. It was an electric feeling, and very quickly the bulge down there had doubled in size from the sensation. He brought one hand up to the dense rug of hair on his chest, not questioning how it’d grown since the morning, raking his fingers through the wiry swirls of hair. It felt amazing. A wet spot appeared on his jeans and grew as he stroked the thick chest hairs, before he stripped off his pants and underwear to free his fully erect cock from confinement, dribbling precum down its side.

His other hand he brought up to his face, feeling the fluffy growth. It was lighter than the rest of his new growth, but as he scratched at his cheeks he could feel new hairs poking out. The hairs grew in thicker and denser, his beard filling in as skin vanished underneath. The follicles continued to pump out hair after hair, thicker and darker than before as hormones completed his change. The beard hairs pushed out longer and longer, tangling into a solid block of hair that hid his face and neck as it grew down. The bristles poked out higher up on his cheeks, claiming as much of his face as they could. Cody was in ecstasy, feeling his beard come in around his fingers. His cock pulsed without him even needing to touch it, the testosterone coursing through his body thickening all the hairs into a seamless pelt.

He loved his new body, his new fur, and he had to make it permanent. The virus guiding him, he reached down to his cock, his grip not even enough to surround the girth, and pumped it once up and down. With just that, Cody moaned in a newly gruff voice as he climaxed, his cock erupting with a geyser of cum. Rope after rope of thick cum landed all over his body, getting stuck in the forest of hair engulfing him. As the last load dribbled out of the tip his body relaxed, so did his old life of college and wrestling. Cody laid there, plastered with his own load as waves of pleasure echoed through his body. This was the life, he thought, still rubbing his hands through his cum soaked fur.

Cody managed to clean himself up a bit by the time Shane called from the kitchen. He sat across from his uncle at the table while they ate, resuming the banter from earlier. At the end of the meal Cody finally decided it was time.

“Y’know Shane, I think I’d like to stick around for good.”

This story is my submission to @occamstfs 2000 follower writing challenge. Definitely my longest one yet, thanks everyone for reading to the end! I hope y'all enjoyed it, and thanks to Occam himself for the motivation, inspiration, and editing he did!

#occam2000 #hairy tf #male tf #country tf #hairy #hair growth #hairy chest #beard #hairy pits #hairy torso #hairy back #my writing

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