#rest in mathematical equations

[saltypearl712]

Rip Baldi pillow I believed in you 😔😔😔

Fly high girlie 🕊️ 💐 🕯️

The memorial service for the Baldi Two sided Doughboi will be held in Micah’s backyard tomorrow at 99:99 am exactly 🙏

[technically-human]

How do you think Robotnik would react when he found out that Stone has a 301 IQ and one singular more than him?

I imagine Stone does something smart and Robotnik’s like “Huh. Maybe he isn’t as stupid as the rest is of those buffoons.” Then he pulls up Stone’s file, and is shocked and maybe a little begrudgingly impressed.

He spends the next few weeks laying out “tests” for Stone, which are either the most basic things or extremely convoluted like a mathematical equation for the Wifi password.

Meanwhile, Stone is just very confused by all these random tasks, but he’s having fun.

He's coping

Also lol the Wi-Fi equation, was that a reference to my fic?

ko-fi

And bonus horrified Rob because it made me laugh

[aninipanin1]

A FAIRYTALE

Notes: Its been a while since I wrote about Young Manager! So I'm doing this before continuing my requests hehee

"You mean, none of you haven't seen Y/n-chan ever since the practice earlier?" Isagi asked Yukimiya and Hiori, face contorted in confusion. Usually, you'd be walking around the facility, doing your rounds and chores. But, it had been a few hours since any of the players have seen you and they were starting to get a bit worried.

"It's not usual for her to suddenly be gone. Besides, you know how she doesn't know the word 'rest,' that girl, I swear." Hiori sighed, peeking through any rooms they passed by, to see if you were in any of them, but to no avail.

"It's almost dinner time, and Y/n-chan and some of our teammates are still not here. Ego-san will not be happy." Yukimiya added. As the trio turned a corner, they heard a muffled voice in one of the rooms, the familiar soft voice immediately registering in their heads, that voice was definitely yours.

Sighing in relief that they won't be scolded by Ego tonight, they entered once the automatic door opened to let them in.

"Y/n-chan, dinner is al- Eh?" Isagi, along with Hiori and Yukimiya, can only blink in confusion, taken aback by the rather...unique and odd scene in front of them. The room where Kaiser and Ness were staying in was in a huge mess, with many books scattered, there was even one mini board on the floor with what looks to be mathematical equations written on them.

But the weirdest scenery was what was in the middle of the mess. You sat, criss-crossed on the ground holding what seems to be a children's book of sorts due to the rather whimsical cover as you read the content in a soft voice, similar to that of a mother singing her lullaby. Charles' head was on your lap, head in between your arms that was holding the book as he seemed to be so focused on the book that his little fangs were sticking out.

Bachira was resting his head on your left shoulder, eyes listening to your voice and looking at the book. While on your other shoulder was an uncharacteristically quiet Shidou, who looked to be taken and focused on your voice as well. Ness, meanwhile, sat beside Bachira, listening and peeking at the book with a calm smile too.

Kaiser, Loki and Lorenzo were the most shocking ones in the equation as they were not as clingy to you, but they seemed to be listening to the story, too, yes, Kaiser was bad at hiding his interest.

'This looks like...a daycare.'

The three Bastard Munchen players can only comment in their minds at the scene. To think that these people, who are quite the opponents on the field, with some having questionnable ethics (ehem Shidou, Kaiser and Bachira ehem), can be calmed down by a mere children's story was unbelievable.

They were all hyper-focused on your voice, too. Like your mouth held the tongue of an angel, ready to give them the tales of the future. And so, they were really wondering now; what the hell did they walk into?

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!" He chortled in his joy."

Your vouce narrated the poem, trying to mimic a much deeper voice for the supposed persona of the dialogue.

"Huh? What the hell is frabjous?" Charles pointed out at the word, you stopped to try and remember what it meant.

"Hmm, in this context, I think it means joyous. Like that day is a joyous day, Charles."

"Oooh, okay! Continue!"

'Are we statues here?'

Isagi, Hiori, and Yukimiya wondered as it seemed that none of them there noticed the three of them standing in front of the door. Then as if on cue, Bachira turned his head to find the three of them to which his grin only widened as he waved at the trio.

"Isagi! Oh and Yukki and Hiorin too! Join us! Y/n-chan is reading us the Ja-Jawoc...Jawocky..."

"Jabberwocky..." You softly corrected him.

"Right! Jabberwocky!" The male cheered as he went back to resting his body and head against yours, causing you to flinch a bit due to the heaviness. It was not easy to have three males who are probably double your muscle mass resting their body against yours.

"I understand Bachira and the other two. But what are you four of all people doing here?" Yukimiya turned his head to Kaiser, Ness, Lorenzo, and Loki. To which Loki shrugged his shoulders.

"I searched for Charles and Shidou and ended up here. I don't mind it though...the story reminds me of when I was younger!" And it did. He remembered his mother telling him stories ranging from the typical fairytales like Hansel and Gretel or Snow White to the weirdest ones, like Alice in Wonderland, The Wizard of Oz and the Jabberwocky, the one you were currently reading. The nostalgia was quite heavy, especially now that he's on the other side of the world, feeling homesick at times, because, even if he is a world-class striker, he is still a child at heart, a fact he would never admit to anyone.

"It's our room, idiot. Of course we'll be here." Kaiser rolled his eyes and pointed to Ness and him. But, truthfully, it wasn't just that reason as to why he was there, listening to your words. Growing up, he was not taught how to read, let alone read to by any adult. He has seen those scenes in movies before, but he never experienced that nor did he think he would want that.

But, he kind of liked the soft tone to your voice, the way you ennounciate your words, trying to make impressions on each persona or character of the stories.

It added heaviness to the situation when he remembered that he never went to school and just started learning how to read proper books when he was out of the hell he was once in. So, classics like fairytales were something he did not know of. He would even quip questions about the story and some words he does not understand of, partially because most of the words and ideas were so silly in his mind.

Did adults think kids are that stupid? Although, even if it was stupid...it was entertaining and well, warming. Naive, yes, but not offending. Was this the childhood of those other kids? He was someone who did not dwell on the past, but he still could not help but wonder.

Ness, on the other hand, was the opposite. He was someone who would tear up at even the memory of his rough past. He grew up being alienated and deprived of love by his family just because he believed in something they did not. The books you were currently holding was his, a stash he hid and bought with him to this stupid facility to kill time.

But instead of tearing it apart like his siblings would have done, you took it seriously, reading it happily to him and the others. It felt so satisfying...so joyful to see that the girl he loved was more than happy to support and take his love and belief in something impossible, instead of making fun of him and shunning him out like the people of his past.

"Heh, what's wrong with a lil sprinkly sparkle in your life every once in a while?" Lorenzo smirked, shrugging at Yukimiya before turning hisbhead to face you again.

Like with Kaiser, life has not been kind to a young Lorenzo. He has not been imparted any books of those kind, nor was he even given the chance to get an education. How would he, when he did not even have enough money for a few bread scraps? In life, you need to sacrifice, and for him, survival was the definite better option than some paper and a chance to wear some sort of ugly toga.

But, he would be lying if he said he was not curious what it would feel like to have grown up in a normal place, a normal environment with normal people who do not struggle financially? To have learned how to read better than what his current skill is due to his lack of education. To know any references or fairytail the others would inquire you about, due to the familiarity of the story. He wondered how it feels to have that privilege of familiarity.

But, he digressed. The past is the past, and dwelling on it was just the shittiest way to live. He was here for a good time, for God's sake!

"Geez..." Hiori sighed as he watched your cheeks plump up mainly because of the hugs Bachira, Shidou and Charles gave you, squeezing your cheeks along with it which made him let out a low chuckle. God, were you just adorable.

"C'mon Y/n-chaaaan! Read the next story!"

"But, Shidou-san, dinner is about to-"

"We can eat dinner later, Y/n! You can continue reading!" Charles encouraged as he looked up at you from your lap, a mischievous grin on his face matching that of Shidou's and Bachira's.

You can only sigh at the three's childlike brhaviour before relenting.

"Okay, one more story then we eat, okay?"

In the end, the one story became five as Hiori, Yukimiya, and Isagi also joined in on the fairytale marathon you gave them.

ADDITIONAL TIME!

• BACHIRA saw Ness' books un this and asked you to read the first story, Cinderella to them, since he thought your voice fitted the beautiful maiden in the story. Like Loki and Charles, he missed his home and his mother's voice, remembering the nights where he would sleep next to her on her bed as she would lull him to sleep with mindless stories about fairytales and mystical wonders that let his mind go wild.

• CHARLES, having to grow up with so many siblings, has always had to share the attention of his parents, hence why he is a bit touch and attention starved. That included the bedtime stories and many pleasantries before bed, having to give up that privilege at a young age because of his younger siblings coming into the picture. So, he loved that he got to rekindle those memories and with you of all people in the midst of it!

• SHIDOU is not a believer of magic nor fairytales. He hates it, the impossible to him is something that can be broken apart by anyone, but magic was not the impossible that he believes in. Magic was just plain unethical, not true, fictional. Completely different in his brain. But, your voice was quite pleasant to listen to, and for the first time ever, he was willing to sit down and listen to a dumb fairytale, just to hear you.

This became a lil too angsty than I thought it would be LMAO

Blue Lock is WRITTEN by Kaneshiro Muneyuki and ILLUSTRATED by Nomura Yusuke. All credits to the both of them.

[writers-hes]

t-shirt | c. berzatto x reader

A grey shirt reveals your secret.

gif not mine navigation

It started with small clues that a keen eye should have seen and a sharp mind should have figured out. But then again…it’s not like you were making an effort in telling everyone in the kitchen that their boss and their boss’ business manager was in a relationship. You took over Sugar’s role when it came to accounts when she gave birth to her beautiful daughter. It made the most sense. Save for the fact that you had a degree in business management, you grew up with the Berzatto’s, you were the favourite daughter of Cicero’s friend (which made you his most trusted in that goddamn wormhole of a restaurant), and you were Carmy’s girlfriend.

Bottom line is, you were the most trusted and most capable and—-

“Babe,”

“Hm?” He shuffles from his side of the bed and hides his face deeper into the pillow. 

”You told me to wake you up five minutes ago,” you whispered, chuckling when he threw the covers over his face.

”Five more minutes…”

”But Syd’s coming over here soon and she’ll see you,” 

“Fuck Sydney,” he mumbles, remembering the plans that you and Sydney had today. She was taking you to the best breakfast spot in the city. Carmy pauses and wonders if it would be worth it to disrupt the peace that your relationship had by letting Sydney in on your shared secret. 

You sighed, going under the covers with him. His eyes were still closed and his arms pulled you closer instinctively. 

”Just…five more minutes,” you told him. He smiles sleepily and nods.

He leaves your apartment just less than ten minutes before Sydney knocks on your door. He had to pull your Disneyland beanie on his head to hide his distinctive golden hair and even covered his face with a surgical facemask that you had. 

You greeted her with a smile and told her to go inside. Before you left though, she swore she saw one of Carmy’s coats on your kitchen counter. 

-

Tina asked if you could pick her up on the way to The Bear. The produce that she was able to buy was not ideal for a public commute and you always told her that you’d be happy to accompany her anytime.

”Hey, T,” you smiled, opening the trunk of your car to help her load the produce. “How’s the market?”

”Not much produce,” she frowns. “But I did find these cabbages that we can probably grill over a really creamy sauce,”

”Will you let me taste it?” you asked, closing the trunk.

”Of course,” she replied. You both got in the car and she looked around as you drove out. ”You know, isn’t it the age where you’re supposed to date?”

You coughed, not expecting the question. 

“Uh—I mean, I…I am dating,” you replied. “Just…I’m just not telling everyone,”

”You can tell me,”

”Oh, but the guy I’m seeing would like to keep things lowkey, you know? Like-like not really—“

”I know what lowkey means,” You chuckled at her tone. “But…he’s treating you good? Is he keeping it a secret because he’s ashamed? There’s no reason to, you know? I bet Richie and I will beat that son of a bitch—“

”He’s fine, T!” you laughed. “Thank you, though…for caring but he’s fine. He’s great. He treats me great and-and I’m happy,” you told her. “We just want to keep the relationship between us for a while,” Tina sees the small smile on your face and she’s convinced that you’re happy. 

-

“So, we’ll need 27 more little spoons,” Carmy said, looking at the mathematical equation he just solved in front of his staff.

“58, ba—Bear,” you replied, cursing yourself for almost saying ‘babe.’ “You, uh, need 58,”

“Oh,” he nods, suppressing a smile from your slip-up. He looks at you from his peripheral vision. “Well, she says 58. Oh, uh Y/N? Can you come to the office for a bit?”

You looked at Sydney, as if asking her for help but she just shrugs. 

“Sure, be right there,” You followed Carmy to the office while the rest of the staff looked at the prep for tomorrow. Carmy locks the door and envelops you immefiately. 

“Tina’s been talking about a little boyfriend of yours,” he mutters, his head on your shoulder. “What do you have to say about that, hm?”

“He’s distracting me at work,” you chuckled, running your hands through his hair. “I’ll see you tonight?”

“You'll wait for me?”

“Of course,” 

“Hm,” he hums before completely detaching himself from you. “Anyways, Y/N,” he clears his throat, switching his voice to a more serious one. “I need you to run some spreadsheets,”

“On what?” you asked, he didn’t miss your teasing face. 

“On…logistics. Yeah,” he nods to himself. He mouths “Go” and you nodded, pecking his lips quickly before leaving. 

“I’ll send the files to Sugar and CC you,” you told him before leaving, just loud enough to make everyone else hear. 

Marcus was just about to go to his station when he saw Carmy come out of the office. The head chef was blushing and he was looking at you.

-

It was a busy day at the Bear. There were shipments being made on top of the prep work that they have to do for that night. You were at the dining area with your laptop, some receipts, sales invoice, and disbursement forms. The Excel sheet glared at you from the brightness of the laptop screen. Carmy had kept you up all night last night and the bags under your eyes were proof.

You were taking note of Computer’s recommendations and trying to work everything out when Richie came in. 

“Hey, can you help me with picking out Eva’s gift—Motherfucker!” he suddenly shouted, causing you to look up in alarm. 

“Richie?” you asked, clueless as to why he was having his third meltdown of the day.

“Motherfucker!” he repeated, pointing at you and you looked at him, even more puzzled. The staff came running to him, with Carmy rushing out to see what his cousin was screaming about. Carmy’s eyes widen as he sees the t-shirt that you were wearing. 

“Yo, cousin—“

“Don’t cousin me!”

“Richie?” you asked. Sydney, Tina, and Marcus watched everything unfold from the side when it suddenly clicks. You were wearing Carmy’s shirt. It’s a pretty common shirt, a grey t-shirt with a logo on the sleeve that he’s worn multiple times before. 

“Does your dad know you’re dating this jagoff?” Richie asked, making you sputter the coffee that you were sipping.

“What?”

“That’s his shirt!” Richie points at the grey shirt and you paled, looking at Carmy who was looking at everything but you. 

“The guy that you were dating is Jeff?” Tina asked. “Oh…oh!” she gasps, realization dawning upon her. It now explains why you’d disappear with Carmy to the office randomly or going home together under the pretense that his apartment was on the way. 

“I knew it! It was Carmy’s coat that I saw in your apartment two weeks ago!” Sydney exclaims. “Oh, you’re good,”

“Fine! Fine,” you gave up, playfully glaring at a bashful Carmy. “We’re dating, get back to work,”

“Since when?”

“How did that happen?”

“I’ll answer these questions and then no one’s going to talk about it anymore, alright?” you asked, pursing your lips. “We’ve been…we’ve been dating for two months after I started working here. My father doesn’t know yet nor does Cicero. He’s…he’s uh, been really nice to me since I started so we dated and uh…that’s all,”

-

When the restaurant closed, you waited for Carmy in the passenger seat of your car and you both drove home. When you were about to sleep, you turned to him. 

“You have no help, you know that right?” you teased.

“Sorry…I-I didn’t know what to say,” he replies, the guilty feeling sinking in his stomach. 

“I’m kidding, Carm,” you said. “I’m happy they know,” 

“Yeah?” 

“Of course. I can’t believe Richie was the one who figured it out, though,” 

“Me too…but now I can kiss you more without hiding,” he says, pulling you closer. 

“Yeah?”

“Mm,” he nods, inching his face closer to yours. He looks at you and smiles before kissing you. “Good night,”

“Good night.”

A/N: Hope you liked it!

[itelya]

nerd in love. nerd bf! gojo satoru x fem! reader

The library was almost empty at this hour, bathed in dim lighting. Only a few dedicated students remained at the tables, absorbed in their studies. Gojo, however, was absorbed in everything except his coursework.

Sitting across from you, he was staring at you instead of reading his quantum physics textbook. His glasses had slipped slightly down his nose, but he made no effort to push them back up. His chin rested on his palm, and his other hand absentmindedly played with the corner of a page.

“You’re doing it on purpose, aren’t you?”

You barely looked up from your notes.

“Doing what?”

Gojo let out a long, dramatic sigh and slumped against the table.

“Being this beautiful. How am I supposed to concentrate when my handsome girlfriend is sitting right in front of me?”

A small, amused smile tugged at your lips, but you didn’t respond immediately. You scribbled one last note before setting your pen down and crossing your arms.

“You do realize this is a study session, not a date, right?”

Gojo pouted.

“Why can’t it be both?”

“Because you have an exam tomorrow, and you don’t want to end up crying over your test paper.”

He shook his head, looking mock-serious.

“Wrong. I can ace my exam and flirt with my girlfriend at the same time.”

To prove his point, he adjusted his glasses and proceeded to recite a complicated theorem while maintaining unwavering eye contact with you. When he finished, a triumphant smirk stretched across his lips.

“Impressed?”

You raised an eyebrow, a small smile still playing on your lips.

“A little, I admit. But you do know that doesn’t mean you can stop studying, right?”

Gojo pretended to think for a moment before nodding.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I’d rather focus on you. You’re more than just some variable, Y/N. You’re a constant in my heart. That’s way more complex than any mathematical equation. My heart beats irregularly just like a complex curve.”

You sighed, but his nerdy analogies made it impossible to hide your smile.

“You’re such a nerd, Gojo.”

“Correction. A nerd in love with you.”

His smirk softened as he took your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles.

“And a nerd who plans to keep you forever.”

Shaking your head, you let out a laugh, knowing there was no escaping Gojo’s antics. He was insufferable, dramatic, and a certified genius. But at the end of the day, he was your nerd. And that was an equation you had no intention of solving.

a/n: I decided to do a series of drabbles on nerd gojo🤓 soo if you want me to tag you let me know.

nerd gojo series - masterlist

[celuere]

lockjaw

pairing: sub!arlecchino x fem!reader

context: when your husband comes home drained of her energy and completely exhausted, you decide to return the favor and give her a nice… treat…

cw: needy arlecchino, faceriding, teasing, overstimulation, there is only one hing that can make the knave scream and it‘s her wife‘s mouth, will be using wife and husband on arle in this one because i see her not minding what of the two you‘ll use on her, she lowkey loosed it idk man

word count: 2.5k

art creds: lilly of the valley

on a rather rainy saturday you were sat comfortably underneath the warmth of your covers, dragging a red pencil over the children’s recent homework. with the clock chiming in for 11pm, the other side of your bed was still suspiciously empty. 

weird. usually she should be home by now… perhaps she is staying in her office at zapolyarny palace tonight due to the heavy downpour, which would be inconvenient. the two of you still had to plan the upcoming vacation for the hearth, a break with the children has been long overdue. you were thinking of visiting inazumas‘s watatsumi island, the cultural aspect and stunning scenery of the inazuman region always appealed you, but given your husband‘s status and the latest events between the last fatui harbinger and the shogun… maybe chenyu vale would also be a lovely destination.

your head jerked up as you were pulled out of your train of thoughts by the sound of a heavy door being shut, followed by some faint fontainian cursing echoing through the halls.

seems like your husband did make it home through the awful weather. you did not bother leaving the comfort of your bed as you already heard the soft thuds of her feet dragging her up the stairs while your gaze was still fixed on the mathematical equation before you.

eventually you‘ll have to give the kids another lesson about addition and multiplication. the old metal hinges of the door creaked softly in response to your husband pushing her way inside. 

„i‘ll get them oiled tomorrow.“, she‘d say almost every time, only to end up forgetting it in the midst of her harbinger work.

but not today.

today you were simply just greeted with a soft, almost inaudible „good evening, love.“. the lack of her usual deeper, serious tone caused you to lift your eyes up from the papers you were currently holding and… dear archons.

„what on earth happened with you?“

„don‘t mention it.“, with her hair dripping wet from getting caught in the weather, down to her… dirty and crinkled clothes… your husband looked like she‘s seen hell. you could swear she looked around five years younger when she left the house this morning. even her hair looked like a mess.

you watched your spouse slowly starting to shed out of her clothed, starting by unbuttoning her silken blazer, you could audibly hear her taking a very deep inhale through her nose, „i wanted to be home two hours ago, if it were not for the glorious ideas of our children.“, by now you could see they’ll steam slowly emitting from her wet strands, gotta put that curse to use somehow.

„what kind of idea required you to come home looking like… a dirty cat...?“, you put the homework aside to focus your attention fully on her as her hands fumbled with the buckle of her belt. what a sight.

„they thought it to be a clever… almost glorious idea to play hide and seek in the forest nearby the town. only to come back with not one but two of their siblings missing.“, your eyes widened as she explained the recent events to you, but just as you wanted to speak up, arlecchino raised her hand and continued talking, „i naturally… reprimanded them and walked with them back to their… playground where i spent the last two hours looking for the rest of these buffoons. with my footwear. in muddy terrain. [name], they will spend the rest of the month helping around in the house. no missions. strict bedtime. the garden is long overdue for a change anyway. and we‘re not getting them the two dogs they have been begging for.“, she clicked her tongue in frustration as she failed to open up the belt before simply giving up and letting her head sag along with her shoulders.

it has been a while since you saw her so fed up. 

„honey… calm down now…“, sighing, you pushed back the blanket that was covering your lower half and rose up from the mattress. crimson eyes fixating your face as you came to a stop before her and slowly started to open up her belt.

„the children learned their lesson… sure, that idea was indeed not of high intelligence but they‘re kids at the end of the day. nobody got hurt and they‘re all safely tucked away in the security of our house now… and that is all what matters.“, your hands slowly pulled the leather away from her pants and placed it neatly over the chair in front of your make-up desk.

„i am very well aware of that, it‘s just… archons above, they scared the living daylights out of me…“, a sigh so deep and heavy left her throat that it had you staring up her for a good few moments, finally taking a closer look at her beautiful face which was laced with exhaustion.

„i can understand that more than well enough… but getting yourself worked up all over again will do you no good, darling. was the rest of your day at least better?“, you hooked your fingers underneath the hem of her pants to tug them down for her.

„don‘t. get me started. not now. not when i‘m with my wife…“, her black hand reached up to tug some of your lost strands back behind your ear.

and something clicked inside your head.

it has been a while since she was on the receiving end. actually… it has been months since then. and seeing how… exhausted she was right now as she got changed into her sleepwear…

before you could stop yourself, your hand grabbed after her wrist just as she wanted to put on her pants. your husband raised a questioning eyebrow at your move.

„something the matter?“

„get on the bed. please… i have just the right idea to relieve you.“, tugging her now gently towards the bed by her wrist… arlecchino did not protest. at all. maybe she was clueless. or maybe she was just too exhausted to care.

she wordlessly watched you crawl onto bed and lay down flat on your back before she sighed, „ma cherie… i would love to take care of my wife, but i really am not in the mood to buckle up one of our various toys today.“

she gave you one of her rare apologetic smiles as she wanted to proceed with putting her pyjama pants on.

„peruere.“

the usage of her real name caused her to look back at you in slight bewilderment. that name was reserved for serious, intimate situations after all. whenever you wanted her to either listen to you or when she had you gripping and moaning into the sheets until your voice grew hoarse and your knuckles white.

„sit. and i don‘t mean in front of or besides me.“, your face showed not a single sign of amusement nor sarcasm as you gestured with one of your manicured nails to your head. you could see her visibly gulp at the realization of what you were implying.

„i… ma chérie, tu ne peux pas t'attendre à ce que je…“

„my darling, you can‘t possibly expect me to…“

„i am. now sit. please… you‘d do the same for me, i‘m certain…“, that seemed to do the trick for her because just mere moments later her pants found themselves discarded on her side of the bed and she making her way up to your face, even if she was hesitant at first.

„don‘t be shy now… come here, gorgeous…“, you allowed yourself to grab onto her hips to speed up this torturously slow process, the mattress sinking down further beneath her weight. she lets a soft gasp out at your grip before you were met with a wonderfully sweet view on the small wet spot that formed on your wife‘s plain red panties.

„excited, are we, hm…?“, you could not keep that teasing grin off of lips even if your life depended on it. seeing the usually composed and dominant woman struggling to maintain eye contact with you was too adorable to not bathe in her embarrassment.

„quit that attitude or i‘ll-“, a sharp inhale followed as you interrupted her by pressing a soft kiss right onto the wet stain on her clothed pussy before you invited yourself to pull the fabric aside.

„i barely touched you and you‘re almost dripping over my mouth… who would think the knave is so easy to rile up…“, your mouth almost started to water at the sight of her slick folds, waiting to be licked clean by none other than you.

„a-are-“, she had to clear her throat, „are you done with torturing me- Oh-!“, a strong hand found its way almost immediately into your hair the moment you pressed her down on your mouth, your tongue gliding up her cunt, gathering her arousal before you almost eagerly swallowed. this woman tasted so unbelievably good and she had no idea. not a single clue of how every small gulp of her fluids snapped the restraints of your self control one by one. sharp nails scratched along your scalp as you finally paid her almost aching clit some attention by sucking her into your mouth, nibbling on the sensitive bundle of nerves and believe it or not. it did not take long until her hips started moving against your face. 

arlecchino peruere tried her utmost to keep her voice down, to not let you know how badly she enjoyed her wife eating the living the daylights out of her pussy, but she gave it all away by how she almost desperately humped your face. one hand keeping your head in place as the other had an almost deadly grip onto the wooden headboard. she did not know how badly she needed this, to just hand over the leash every once in a while. 

and as expected. it did not long for your husbands first high of the evening to hit her like an aquabus. thighs quivering around your head. her juices running down both sides of your face as she rode out her orgasm on your face, but even then she barely made any sounds besides the occasional gasp and „shit“ being muttered underneath her hot breath. 

much to your dismay.

that is why you kept her pressed down. kept her wet pussy right on your mouth as you pressed your tongue flat against her before you let movements of her own hips do the rest as her arousal ran down your throat. 

„fuck…yes…“, the humping slowly turned into a more rocking motion, dragging her whole cunt over your messed up face. you ignored how soaked your own panties were by now. or how you were clenching around nothing. all of that did not matter when the first soft moan slipped past her lips as her second orgasm came crashing down on her way sooner than expected. she was trembling by now. you could even feel the hand gripping your hair shivering slightly and she has the ridiculous idea to try and get off your face. we couldn‘t have that. right?

„you are not going anywhere…“, bringing her dripping pussy back down on your face by her thighs, you knew exactly what do with your tongue this time. 

„ah-!!! hold on-! th-that is not- hah-!!“, a moan from the depths of her throat so guttural bounced off the walls, it sent a fucking shiver down your spine. slipping your tongue inside her obviously seemed like the perfect choice. 

she was so incredibly sensitive, every little move of yours seemed to sent her jolting against you. and she was whining. whining and whimpering, begging for a short break, to just let her breathe for a second when you continued to tonguefuck her, your nose nuzzled against her swollen clit, your whole face was covered in sweat and other bodily fluids by now from her earlier faceriding. 

so celestia help this tortured soul when the wooden headboard seemed to slowly start cracking underneath her literal deathgrip. she could not handle her wife. she couldn‘t handle the overwhelming pleasure sending bolts of ecstasy through her body and she certainly couldn‘t handle the third orgasm you shoved down her throat. you could barely see anything down there other than few black and neatly trimmed pubes, but you were drowning in her.

and did she really think it would stop here?

„b-break- l-love please… i-“, was the knave sobbing right now? sobbing over getting her literal soul sucked out of her pussy? you will never let her live this down. ever.

but in the back of your mind you already knew she will pay you back. tenfold. but that was a problem to worry about for another day. the only thing that mattered now was getting her through a fourth orgasm now. 

clearly, you weren‘t nearly as skilled as her when it came to mouthwork, but you memorized quite a lot from your past experiences with her. for example how to nicely curl up your tongue in an enjoyable manner for her and you didn‘t know if hated or loved it by the way her moan rung in your ears.

pathetic, was she not?

amidst the fog of her taste covering your mind, you could not help but moan into her warmth, pressing your legs together to somehow soothe the almost hurting emptiness between them. it has been a while since you were this down. you are sure that there must have formed a stain on the sheets underneath you already.

and you did not even notice when the juices from her fourth climax dripped into your mouth. you were so fixed, so obsessed with savoring every single drop of her arousal as the poor woman above you tried calming down from the raw energy clouding her mind, lungs burning along with every single one of her poor muscles. her thighs were practically numb by now.

but neither of you noticed the smell of burnt wood filling the room until you finally opened your eyes to look up at your poor husband.

only to see the headboard she was holding onto for dear life simmering and smoking underneath her hand, with a small flame slowly starting to form right underneath, her arm completely drowned in a bloody red.

„m-mh-!!!!“, now slapping her thighs and trying to catch her attention, you were the one getting nervous now.

��hm…? what is it now…?“, she groaned as she slowly lifted her head up- and groaned even more at sight of the destroyed headboard.

„archons above, not again.“, she ran a hand over her sweaty face before snapping her fingers and getting off of your face. the fire simply seized from existence.

with a soft tint of pink decorating her face she looked down at you, crimson eyes screaming anything but soft, „just to be… clear… this never happened.“

„you were a bit too loud for that to be true-“, another snap echoed from somewhere far away, rendering you silent. you just stuck out your tongue to her.

but it was worth it when you watched her try to get out of bed the next morning without looking an old grandma.

[austinbutlerslovers]

Teachers Pet

Label Mature 18+

Summary When you begin to fail Professor Butlers advanced math class in college because you can’t stop fantasizing about him, he comes up with a way to satisfy your lust and increase your grade simultaneously. When you are finally on the verge of receiving an F he propositions you. The more you sexually gratify him the higher he will raise your grade.

Student teacher relationship

🚨 Depraved smut 🚨 sex for benefits• unequal power dynamics •sex with position of power• sex with a teacher •manipulation •coercion• long con• forced exposure to self pleasure • coercion seeing self pleasure• romance denial • sexual obsession• edging •fingering • clit play• panty play• oral sex fem receiving• size kink• p in v•multiple orgasms•squirting• ejaculated on •dubcon

The VIPs 🏆 (I struggled w too many ideas for this & they saved me) 📖Plot Consultant @purejasmine 📕 Scenario Consultant @darlinboypresley

Master List ••• Upcoming List

Teachers Pet

‘Professor Butler’ You wrote his name in your note book encircling it with hearts as you smiled to yourself.

He was your advanced mathematics teacher in college and even though his class became extremely difficult you still wanted to be so smart for him.

You look up from your note book in his class and watch him drawing odd shapes on the board explaining a theory for the test tomorrow. You already know you are definitely going to fail.

All you do is get lost staring at him on full display in front of the class now.

When he would walk around the room being engaging you would stare lustfully at his fit body.

When he neared your desk reading from his math text book to the class you would study his handsome face.

When he would explain a new theory looking sternly as he wrote out the equations you would stare into the depths of his blue eyes.

You were especially drawn to his full lips, the way they would curve into a smile when he was passionate about an idea.

His voice was like rich honey and his body was tall and trim. With his perfectly feathered sandy brown hair, and gorgeous smile you were no longer able to pay attention to any of his lectures.

The way he dressed was classic and masculine. You especially loved the blue button up shirt he had on today. He’s worn it over a dozen times and you think it must be his favorite. He paired it with blue jeans that maybe be didn’t realize completely accentuated his cock.

It drove you wild when he would rest back on his desk and his crotch would bunch up at the zipper. You already knew he had an obscenely large cock and it made you shiver at the thought.

As he rests back on his desk in the compromising position again you began to reminisce about the time you saw his large erect cock. You squeeze your thighs shut and quickly look away biting your lower lip trying to regain composure but your core is already throbbing at this point.

You search the room to see if anyone else is aroused in the front row instead of learning math, but you are only one.

It hadn’t always been this way, before it was a simple crush, he was your very kind and handsome math teacher who adored your brilliance.

The infatuation began the first week of second semester. Professor Butler requested you to come to class half an hour early which wasn’t unusual you were his top student then.

He would go over your notes with you and have discussions about upcoming class assignments. His stance was always kneeling by you with one hand placed on your desk and the other resting on the back of your chair.

Being so close with him was very intimate. It made you feel like you were being drawn into his orbit and that every breath he took resonated with yours.

In the magnetic pull of the shared space, you could feel his warmth and his rich voice as it carried even more weight being so near.

He had you going over an advanced equation that was giving you difficulty for the upcoming test. You had never struggled in his class before and it made you apprehensive.

As you worked out the problem he began to slowly trail his thumb across your back as he held your chair. It was the first time he had ever touched you.

The air become charged with anticipation, and his touch, intentional or accidental, sparked a cascade of sensations. It is a moment you distinctly remember when time seemed to pause.

As he continued to slowly trail his thumb across your back you understood it was intentional.

You stared at the pencil in your hand which had come to a stand still on the paper.

“Does it distract when I encourage you?” He asked gently.

“N-no it’s fine” you stammered and willed yourself to finish the equation even though his touch completely altered your mindset.

He pulled the paper from your desk when you set your pencil aside and he examined your work. He slowly smirked

“You got it wrong” he said looking back into your eyes. “Try again.” He said placing the paper on your desk.

You blinked in shock that you gotten it wrong but began to work again as his striking blue eyes studied you, the pressure had never been so intense.

In that moment you weren’t sure if you were doing the work to be a good student or doing the work to be good for him.

He was only focused on you, lingering on every curve of your face and every movement of your hand as you willed it to stop shaking. You began scratching out your current work to start over. Your confidence was wavering you wanted to prove yourself so badly.

He tenderly placed his hand around yours to stop you and guided it back to a certain set of numbers in your formulation “Here is where you went wrong, this is where you second guessed yourself” he revealed. You stared over at his handsome face and desired him greatly your eyes immediately fell to his full lips before you quickly looked away.

You forced yourself to focus and found your mistake beginning to do the math correctly the second time. Thats when he slowly trailed his thumb across your back again sending ripples of sensation through your skin, igniting a spark of connection that transcended words.

You stopped working and stared straight down at your paper only able to focus on his touch. Seeing you so distracted he slowly trailed his hand up to your shoulder giving it a tender squeeze.

“I’ll let you get back to your work, but I want you to come in early again tomorrow.” He stated as he stood. You nodded in agreement and he left you to complete your work.

As you watched him walk back down to his desk you wanted him to come back you wanted him so badly. But you felt very guilty because you were well aware Professor Butler was married, he clearly wore a wedding ring on his left hand.

Due to the amount of time and proximity together you developed a deep crush on him and with just a touch it clouded your entire judgement. Was he attracted to you or was he encouraging you?

You found out the answer the next day.

Compromised

You arrived to Professor Butlers class early as he requested and entered the room silently not to distract him as he worked.

As you quietly closed the door behind yourself you finally looked to him and caught him in a position of complete compromise. With his laptop open he was pleasuring his very large cock.

You stood frozen watching him, his eyes were closed in bliss and he was making short breathy noises. You fell into a daze of arousal until his eyes opened locking with yours and shocking you out of your trance. You scurried across the room trying to pretend you didn’t see.

He quickly clicked the buttons to turn off his screen and fidgeted with his hands beneath the desk to put his large cock away before quickly standing.

He knocked over his thermos in the rush and reached for it but the container clattered to the floor sending tea flying everywhere. Hearing the noise you stopped in your tracks.

“I’m so Professor Butler I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you like that .” You said in a panic. You don’t know why but you are the one who felt embarrassed.

“What did you see?” He asked a little breathless

“N-nothing Professor Butler” you said as your hands fidgeted nervously from the lie.

You eye his shirt completely ruined as well as his desk. “Are you okay?” You asked because you know the tea must’ve been very hot.

He slowly relaxed his composure and began unbuttoning his shirt as he responded.

“Yea I’m fine I always bring a change of clothing incase of accidents like this.”

You sucked in a breath because before your could even turn he had already stripped the shirt from his body.

You blinked stunned staring at him instantly aroused by his muscular physique. As he looked up his eyes met with your gaze you quickly turned on your heels to give him privacy.

You heard him mutter “Fuck my pants are wet too” making your face blush you’d never heard him upset or cuss… ever. Nothing phased him.

You began to climb the steps to your seat as you heard him open his desk drawer. By the time you were seated he was almost finished buttoning on the new clean shirt he retrieved.

“I have to go to my office .” He announced glancing at you as he left the classroom.

The room became eerily quiet without his presence and sitting in silence you noticed the tea was still spilled on his desk. Wanting to be helpful you decided to clean it up while he was out of the room. You were also secretly dying to know what he was looking at on his laptop. Collecting a towel from the white board you came to stand at his desk wiping it down.

As you got close to his laptop patting up the liquid spilled near the keyboard you pressed the space bar and it turned on to reveal your college id picture on the screen. Your knees went weak with all the information flooding your mind at once. He was pleasuring himself to your photo before you arrived to see him.

You quickly pressed the sleep key to turn the screen off and put the towel in the class hamper. You rushed to your desk and sat down in a daze, should you leave? Should you stay? Is he going to cheat on his wife with you ?! Your heart was pounding as he entered the classroom wearing a pair of new jeans.

He walked to his desk and saw the mess had already been cleaned then he pressed his laptop screen on seeing the display, he looked up directly at you. You panicked averting your eyes quickly to your desk, you were frozen you couldn’t even pretend to do anything else.

You had such crush a crush on him yet finding out he felt the same stunned you. You wondered what would be the bigger problem for him if the school found out or his wife found out.

As he made his way up you avoided his gaze by staring down at your hands on your desk as you picked at your nails. He slowly crouched down next to you peering at you like he had done a dozen times before but this time it was different.

You watched his finger trace down your hand to get your attention as his voice broke the silence

“What did you see?” He asked again more directly.

“I didn’t see anything Professor Butler.” You answered knowing the ramifications of your next actions.

He studied your body language for the tell tale sign you are lying. Your knee bounced uncontrollably under the desk and he coyly smiled.

“You have tells when you lie.” He said gently.

“Professor… I don’t want you to get in trouble.” You blurted out.

He smiled. “What did I do that would get me in trouble ?” He said beguilingly.

You finally looked over to him and his eyes were soft and kind as he looked into yours. His gaze shifted down to your lips. He was deep in thought as he leaned closer before he hesitated regaining his senses.

“I should get ready for class” he said standing and leaving you at your desk.

Your heart broke into pieces. He had wanted you but he calculated it, and he didn’t like the odds.

After that day he no longer looked at you or smiled at you, what was far worse is that he completely ignored you. The test you studied for with him you passed but you began to fail every sub-sequential one soon after.

You knew not to an ask him for help because he would refer you to the tutoring center like he did for all his other students. When you got to a C- you finally went, and to your dismay the tutors only gave you the answer key. They were cocky and rude talking down to you and even out right dismissive when you asked for help.

You missed the way Professor Butler would gently tutor you, he helped you immensely. But he never requested to see you again and you never asked.

Knowing he desired you made you physically crave him on a subconscious level. All you could do was think about him in class, and in your dorm, you lost track of your studies in his course entirely.

Once you were at a D- you sat in bed in your dorm wondering how you lost the concept of math so quickly. You also contemplated how badly you were going to fail him for the upcoming test. You couldn’t accept your fate of receiving an official F in Professor Butlers class it was too painful.

Satisfy Your Lust

When you finally snap to attention in class Professor Butler is handing out the practice tests. You quickly put your notebook away, the test is tomorrow and you desperately hope this will help you pass.

He addresses the class as he walks the room. “Okay so now that we’ve gone over all the concepts this week, here is what you’ve all been waiting for the practice test!” he says holding up a thick stack of papers smacking it lightly in his hand.

The class groans as he begins handing a stack to the first person of each row as he continues “Hey you guys this is mandatory stuff this is what’s going to help you pass the test tomorrow I wouldn’t misguide you.” he affirms.

Professor Butler drops a stack at your row and you collect one test before handing the stack to the next student.

You feel the room shrink as you look at the hieroglyphs on the paper. You want to curl up into a ball.

Professor Butler checks his watch and then the clock above the board for the second hand.

“Okay I’m gonna call it right… about…now. You have thirty minutes to complete the practice test when you are done drop the completed packet in the basket on my desk and return to your seat” he announces to the entire class.

Everyone begins working.

Your eyes fill with fear as you look at question one, you are going to fail so badly. You shakily write your name and start. The first question is multiple choice. You work through the math on a sheet of scratch paper to get your answer.

When you check the choices your answer isn’t even there. You try question two and three before the defeat starts eating you alive. The questions only increase in complexity and you begin circling multiple choice and filling out word problems at will.

When Professor Butler kneels next to you it catches you off guard but you are hopeful that maybe he can tell you have no clue what you are doing and will finally offer assistance.

When he is eye level you look to him and are mesmerized by his stunning face again. You missed being so close to him and are comforted by his presence. He has a look of perplexity as he leans in to speak privately with you.

“I don’t know how to tell you this but…” he glances around then back to you whispering very closely not to be overheard “your legs spread open like that is very distracting to me” he confesses and checks your reaction.

Your face flushes bright red as you snap your legs together faster than lightening. His eyes soften looking at you as his full lips curve into a smile.

“Our little secret.” he says smiling at you. Being so stressed you forgot to cross your legs and the embarrassment swells inside of you.

He stands up and returns to his desk. As he is seated you can see he has full view to look directly between your legs the entire time …. and of all days you wore a mini skirt with pink panties that have little red hearts on them. You want to die.

One by one everyone stands and places their tests in the basket and you quickly fill in the remaining answers to seem timely. As you place your test in the basket Professor Butler collects it and immediately begins circling your answers in red. Your confidence plummets.

The bell rings with his stopwatch signaling the end of the practice test and you let out a sigh. You feel completely hopeless about receiving your first F tomorrow and quickly gather your back pack.

As you pass Professor Butlers desk he calls to you.

“Hey wait up a sec.” He says from his seat gesturing you back. You stop in your tracks stunned, this is the first time he’s addressed you to speak with him in days. A few girls push past you in your disorientation.

One of them even turns back to mouth “teachers pet.” to taunt you before she exits the class.

Though you were once top student of his class you are definitely not teachers pet anymore, you are going to fail him and there’s nothing you can do about it.

You stand in front of his desk as he sits and waits for everyone to leave the class. He is leaned back in his seat, fingers interlaced and elbows on the arm rests. He is in deep contemplation as he looks at you.

“How confident do you feel on your knowledge of the test tomorrow?” he asks staring at you with eyes full of inquiry.

You shift on your feet and bite your lower lip as you lie “Really good.” He watches as you nervously fidget tugging the hem of your skirt, your body obviously betraying you.

“Fail this test tomorrow and it’s an F in my class.” He says sternly and as he stands he gives you a look that adds to the sting of his words.

“I know Professor Butler“ you confess almost out right apologizing for your actions.

“What is happening with you? You were my top student?” He asks as he collects a spray bottle and cloth to wipe the board. You gaze over him lustfully as he wipes it down remembering him shirtless.

“I…I-I’ve been really distracted lately.” You admit regaining your thoughts.

“Distracted by what? This is the answer you give me every time, why won’t you tell me.” He asks earnestly as he puts the bottle and cloth away.

Professor Butler then firmly places his palms flat on his desk as he stands behind it. His blue eyes are piecing as they search yours. “If you won’t say what it is how do you expect me to help you?” He asks directly.

You bite your lower lip at the mere thought of telling him to help in the way you need him. Yes Professor Butler I sexually fantasize about you in class and want to make it a reality. I saw you pleasuring yourself and I know you want me too… you cut your thoughts short. You know he’s already made up his mind about how far he will go and he would never go for that.

The tension amplifies between you two quiet moment.

“Let me see your notes.” He demands and your eyes go wide.

“M-my notes?” You ask in shock, you know only his name is written in your notebook surrounded by hearts.

“Yes your notes the ones you should’ve been taking as I was speaking today. I practically outlined the test, but you would know if you were paying any attention.” He says giving you a glance.

Your heart beats wildly from his direct line of questioning, when he sees you are speechless he continues it.

“What are you always thinking about when I’m talking?” He asks as he walks around his desk and sits on the edge. He crosses his arms and slightly rests back directly in front of you. Your eyes immediately fall to the outline of his enormous cock in his jeans when he sits that way.

Your face flushes pink as you begin to feel so much arousal you can’t breathe all you keep thinking about is him pleasuring his big cock.

“Professor Butler I…” your words stick because you are very apprehensive to straight admit your feelings for him now.

You try again changing your answer “Professor Butler I think about other things when I should be focused on your class.” You admit.

He gives you a look of disappointment. “You second guess yourself” he says and you nod quickly hoping to be off the hook.

“Let’s go over the practice test we did in class today to see where the second guessing starts, would you like that ?” He asks uncrossing his arms.You are so grateful you literally want to kiss him.

“Yes please Professor Butler I would like that so much.” You say feeling hopeful.

He walks across the class and pulls a chair to his desk replacing it with his so you can sit with him. He motions for you to sit in his desk chair.

You feel a smile form on your face as you walk around his desk. This is the first time you’ve been alone with him in weeks and you know he has the magical key that will unlock math in your brain. You drop your back pack and sit down in his comfortable desk chair.

Your heart flutters wildly as he sits directly next to you. His sandy brown hair is feathered beautifully, his smell is pleasant, and his side profile is stunning.

You watch how his eyes sternly study your practice test looking over each answer encircled in red. He suddenly leans over you making your heart skip as he reaches his hand into the desk drawer pulling a pencil and a piece of paper.

He places them on the surface in front of you getting right to business.

“Write out this equation for me” he says placing your practice test down and pointing to question one. You slowly write out the equation in your nicest handwriting.

“Okay start breaking it into smaller equations to simplify it” he instructs. You look up to him clueless obviously you don’t know how.

He takes a deep breath. “Always so distracted ” he mutters under his breath. It shocks you that he would call you out so harshly and your heart sinks thinking this is the last time he will ever help you.

He begins to break down the equation easily his hand scribbles across your test quickly with his years of expertise on the subject.

“Try again” he says pointing to number three. You peer at his handwriting from number one to discern what he did because number three is a similar equation.

You complete the work and slide the test to him after encircling a new answer. He looks it over and his mouth curves into a smile.

“I did it right?” You ask eagerly awaiting his response.

“Well there’s a reason you’ve always been my favorite student, you are a quick learner.” he admits smiling at you before he leans over to collect your scratch paper. You can’t contain your grin when he says you are still his favorite.

“You did that so easily your steps are flawless, I taught this on Tuesday why couldn’t you grasp the concept then?” He asks earnestly studying your scratch work.

You think back in your mind to Tuesday that was his blue sweater day with light denim jeans you weren’t thinking about a thing when he wore that outfit.

“On Tuesday I wasn’t feeling well” you muster up picking at the hem of your skirt.

He tilts his head down catching your lie.

“Because your were too focused on me instead of what I was saying right” your eyes go wide all you do is stare at him and daydream, it’s impossible not to you want him so badly.

He sits back and smiles “Eye fucking is what I believe they call it “ he says smugly resting his hand across his chin gauging your reaction.

You begin to squirm and fidget as your breathing increases. You feel as if you've committed some illegal crime.

“Professor Butler I would never do that” you lie panicked tugging harder at the hem of you skirt. He suddenly gets up leaving you at his desk and goes to the door of the classroom. He locks it while you sit in place.

The energy in the room immediately changes once the lock clicks and he walks back toward you with his demeanor changed.

He stands in-front of you so closely in your chair you have to stare up at him. “Do you already know you are going to fail the test tomorrow? Be honest with me.” He says directly.

You nod “Yes of course Professor, I haven’t been taking notes or paying attention in any of your classes for weeks. I already know Im going to fail.” You say honestly.

“Is that why you flashed me your panties today?” he asks sternly as his breathing increases. “Is that what your are doing now hm? Soliciting yourself to me to improve your grade?”

Your eyes snap up to his in shock “Professor no I-I wasn’t I wouldn’t” you confess. He waits for you to nervously fidget but you are telling the truth.

You look up at him innocently “It was an honest mistake…but I can see why you would think it was on purpose. I do think of you sexually during class Professor Butler.” You out right admit

He smiles and kneels down placing his hands on the armrests trapping you in his desk chair. He turns you to face him loving the fact that you finally admitted it.

“I feel your eyes staring at me all the time during class. Doesn’t matter what I’m doing I’ve caught you staring at my cock over a dozen times now.” He says studying your body’s reaction to see how badly you want him.

Your privates begin to pulse just from him saying the word cock and you squeeze your thighs together tightly trying to contain your arousal.

The move doesn’t go unnoticed by him and he goes all in to have you.

“That’s why I never look at you during class. You have the most lustful eyes I have ever seen.” He says seductively.

Your breathing increases as he stares at you trapped by him in his chair. His eyes wander your body lustfully until he meets your gaze again.

“When I look at you I lose all my focus because I can’t get it out of my head how badly you need me to fuck you.” He says deliberately.

You let out a slight whimper

He leans in closer as you stare at his lips absorbing every word. “I think I have a solution to both of our problems, one that will fix your grade and satisfy your lust at the same time.” when he says those words your arousal goes through the roof. “I know you saw me pleasuring my self to your photo, I know I’m the reason your failing.” He confesses staring down between your thighs.

“Do you want me to improve your grade?” He asks staring back into your eyes as you readily nod. “Do you want me to satisfy your lust for me?” He asks staring at your lips.

“Y-yes please help me Professor Butler” you desperately beg. He smiles at your eagerness. “alright I’ll help you.” His says seductively.

“Before we start I have ground rules” he affirms as you stare back at him. “I’m separated but I’m still married, I could get in big trouble for this.” He says holding up his wedding ring finger as he continues “My job will be in jeopardy as well but I really want you to pass, so this has to stay our little secret, can you do that for me?“ he asks with his eyes locked on yours.

“Yes Professor Butler it will be our little secret.” You agree.

“Call me Austin” he says with a grin.

“Yes Austin it will be our little secret” you confirm

"I know you’ll keep our secret because you want this just as badly as I do. Now lift up your skirt for me” he commands

You look him in the eyes and theres a brief moment you think of stopping, but you know how badly you want him deep inside. Your hands lift your skirt pulling it all the way up your thighs exposing your panties to him.

“Fuck.” He says above a whisper seeing your already wet for him. “This is even hotter than I imagined it” he admits.

“Y-you imagine being with me Profess- - Austin?” You ask in surprise.

He trails his hand along your thighs as he speaks

“I have imagined you like this so many times, fucking you on my desk as you stare at me with those lustful eyes.” He confesses as his hand slides under your skirt skimming his fingers across the silk material of your panties. You gasp in pleasure from the feeling. “Have you ever touched yourself while you think of me” he asks as he rests his hands on your knees.

“Yes Austin” You pant out and he smiles.

“Tell me how you do it” he asks and you whimper as he leans in close and his lips slowly brush against your neck. He gently sucks onto your skin and you finally touch him reaching your hands up and running your fingers through his soft sandy brown hair as you answer.

“I-in my bed at night I think of you on top of me” you confess as he sucks your neck harder. “ a-and in the shower I imagine you infront of me.” He pulls his lips from your neck and smiles.

“The way you obey me so easily you must have been aching for me badly haven’t you?” He asks teasingly and it makes you want him even more “Open your legs for me.” he commands.

You obey and spread your legs wide open as he touches both of your thighs sliding his fingertips higher up to your pussy. You whimper as he trails them back down to stroking your legs again.

Your body is already craving his every touch and your chest begins rising and falling rapidly as he brings his hands up your thighs again. This time he strokes your pussy through the smooth fabric of your panties making you lightly moan.

“You are so wet for me” he observes as his finger tips trail your folds stopping at the nub of your clit.

"My touch feels good doesn't it?" he asks pushing his fingers against the fabric over your clit. You clench inside as he continues to guide his fingers down your pussy pressing the fabric into your folds

“You feel so good Austin” you admit with your eyes closed in passion.

Your breaths are already fast and shallow trying to hold yourself together and he hasn’t even done anything yet

"Do you know what I want to do to you?" He asks peering into your eyes as you open them.

It is very obvious what he wants to do to you as he plays with your pussy, but you still desperately want to hear him say the words, and as if he was waiting for you to ask he answers

“I'm going to play with your little pussy until I make you cum, and then I want you to make me come too” he says and slides his fingers up and down your slit, forcing the fabric against your folds as you moan.

Your back arcs as he finds your clit and presses down on it flicking his fingertip to it and making you moan even louder. He stops flicking your clit and slowly massages it alternating with stroking your pussy.

"Oh god! Austin" you cry out, gripping the edges of the chair as he fully focuses on flicking your clit.

Hearing the squishing sounds of your wetness he stops and pushes the band of your panties to the side. His fingers touch your naked flesh and you begin moaning and clenching around nothing as he fingers your bare clit and teases the inside of your folds. He doesn’t stop until you are dripping for him.

"Get naked for me.” He commands and you obey with your fingers shaking as you take off your shirt and your bra.

Once you are topless he leans in and begins licking the smooth skin around your nipples.

His fingers are still playing with your pussy, holding the band of your panties aside with his middle finger plunging inside of you as his thumb slides around your clit.

"Do you like what I’m doing to you " he asks between licks of your nipples as he slides his fingers into you. You nod with your mouth open panting because you can’t even form the words. "You're going to cum, aren't you?” He asks smiling as he feels your legs quiver against his hand.

“Y-yes!” You struggle to say.

This has always been his secret desire playing with your body for his sexual gratification.

He drew you in to push you out he wanted you afraid yet enraptured to have him, it thrilled him to manipulate you. He had been right about you all along, his favorite student, to be used and pleasured by him and only him it drove him absolutely crazy.

“You’re going to cum for me, cum right in my fucking hand and I’ll give you a C” He says increasing his pace.

"Oh god Austin," you moan out and buck your hips in time with his hand to give him exactly what he wants. Your hips and thighs flex pushing onto his fingers and his eyes hyper focus as he feels you clench down and orgasm.

He is so satisfied when he feels your warm cum pour over his plundering fingers that he begins cursing “fuck yes give it all to me” he pants out with his hand getting covered in your clear cum.

Your head falls back in ecstasy as he removes his fingers. “Lay over my desk I want to eat your pussy.” He commands your actions are delayed from the orgasm so he lifts you to stand from your chair and guides you to lay face down bent over his desk. He pulls the fabric of your skirt up to expose your ass and places his hands on the backs of your thighs kneading his thumbs on the soft flesh.

“Fuck your so perfect”. He says pulling the band of your panties to peek at your pussy “Your gonna taste so good Im presumptively raising your grade to a B” he says as you moan from his words. He focuses all his attention between your legs pushing the silky fabric of your panties into your clit “You gave me such a hard on today with your legs spread like that.” He says pulling your panties down as they cling to your wetness.

Once you step out of them he hides your panties in his shoulder bag under his desk. He immediately spreads your thighs apart with his hands and dives his mouth onto your pussy. “MMmmf” he sounds out clearly enjoying it

“M-my…god…A-austin” you moan out as your brain goes fuzzy from so many sensations running though your body at once.

He cups your ass licking your pussy harder and lifts your hips thrusting his tongue into your core as he groans. “You taste so fucking good” he says coming up for air as you whimper and moan on his desk.

He returns his mouth on you and it begins making slopping wet sounds as he flicks his tongue into your entrance and sucks your folds. Your core tightens so quickly you gasp for air from the pleasure as you squirm on his desk.

He pulls his mouth back. “Your pussy tastes so good that’s definitely B+” he admits and slides his long fingers into you pumping them in and out preparing you for his cock .

“A-au…Aus…tin…you…feel ….too …good.” you moan out on each thrust of his fingers.

“You gonna go back to your dorm after and touch yourself like this? You gonna play with your pretty pussy while you think of me?” He rasps

“Y-yes A-Austin ”you moan out louder than you expected losing your mind about to cum.

He slows his fingers inside of you. “Shhh shh we’re having too much fun I dont want to get caught.” He says smiling. You nod and he continues sinking his fingers into your soaked pussy.

You bring your hand to your mouth to stifle your moans as he goes faster thrusting his fingers into the sweet spot that makes you go weak for him.

You begin to moan louder feeling your core tightens as you clench on his fingers. “You’re close.” He says breathlessly. “You gonna cum again so I can give you an A?” He asks and you nod feverishly as you moan out “Yes… Austin” your words muffle as you moan through your hand.

He removes his fingers leaving you empty and picks your limp body up against him. “Come on home stretch I want to look at you while I fuck you.” He directs lifting you easily by your waist to sit on his desks. He spreads your legs apart and then unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants.

He pulls his erection out and the sheer magnitude of its presence leaves you in awe. It’s a moment of revelation surpassing all of your expectations as you are humbled wondering how he will fit it all inside of you.

You look into his eyes with a clash of curiosity and desire, and that’s all he needs. He pulls your body flush with his trapping his cock between your navels as holds you tightly against him. His lips collide with yours in a hunger that borders on primal. There’s a rawness to it and an urgency that ignites every fibre of your being.

As you open your mouth to his it is a tumultuous dance of tongues and lips, where the line between pleasure and pain blurs as he bites your lower lip in the heat of the moment. In that whirlwind of sensation, you’re swept away by the intensity of Austins kiss, unable to resist the magnetic pull of his embrace. You whimper in his mouth as he kisses you already so overwhelmed you can no longer think.

He pulls his lips back from yours panting as he studies your face “You’re so gorgeous to me I’ve always wanted you” he admits. His fingertips trace delicate patterns on your skin leaving a trail of tingling sensations in their wake as he looks into your eyes. His gaze is instilled with so much intimacy and connection you instantly feel the silent reassurance that you are safe and cherished.

“I’m going to make you mine now” he says sending chills all over your body.

He takes his long cock in his hand, pumping it as he spreads your legs apart again and positions himself at your entrance. He slowly pushes in taking his time to fill you with his entire cock making sure each inch is more pleasurable than the last .

“A-A-Austin!…Oh my fuck” you moan out feeling him stretching you full of him. You grip the back of his neck and moan loudly as he settles in you.

He sucks harshly on neck while tweaking your nipples and it makes your core throb as you clench on his large girth. He begins moving and your mind empties of every rational thought as you loudly moan out his name and he covers your mouth. His skin slaps against yours as he takes control of your body. His thrusts are hard and fast as he grunts against your neck kissing and sucking it.

“Fuck you're so tight” he finally says focusing on thrusting even harder “you …feel so damn good …on my cock…even better than I imagined it.” He admits staring into your lustful eyes.

His thrusts begin to falter as his timing grows erratic and you feel the familiar tightening in your core again. Your moans are desperate and can no longer be held by just his hand.

He kisses you roughly to hold your loud pleasurable screams in as you experience the pure raw mind altering passion that can only be delivered on a huge cock. It’s something you’d never experienced in your entire life and now you were addicted.

“A-Austin I’m cumming .” You cry out gripping the edge of his desk as the orgasm sends a wave of ecstasy crashing over your entire body leaving you breathless. Your pelvic muscles tense and relax in rhythmic waves as pleasure pulses through every nerve ending of your body. “ oh fuck Austin oh fuck!” You cry out feeling yourself release cum all over his cock, onto your thighs and even his desk.

It’s dripping down your thighs as he says “holy shit” feeling you so wet his large cock practically glides in and out of you “That’s ……an ……A+… fuck I'm gonna cum!-“ he gasps.

When you feel his large cock twitch it make you cry out much louder than you should have and he pulls out shooting hot ropes of white hot cum all over your navel, moaning, grunting sweating and swearing until he’s empty.

“Hold still .” He says breathless leaning down to open a drawer. He pulls several sheets from a paper towel roll and gently cleans up your thighs and pussy before patting your stomach clear of his cum. He places paper towels over the puddle on his desk between your legs to absorb it. He keeps one hand on your waist as he leans to discards them all in the bin under his desk.

He pulls you to the edge of the desk and holds you close as you come down from your incredible high. You are euphoric as he kisses you, but this time it is tender and passionate and you feel the softness of his full lips against yours.

His finger tips caress your jaw as he smiles. “I’ve wanted you from the first day you started my class, I was never going to let you fail.” He reveals making you smile.

“Cmon we have work to do. He says pulling you down from his desk. He collects your bra and shirt handing them over to you while he zips and buckles his pants. When you pull your top down he makes a confession. “Your panties are mine now.” He admits grinning as he pulls a clean test sheet from his desk.

He sits down and pulls you onto his lap. “Let’s go over the practice test together to get you a 90% and for the rest of the semester I’ll help you pass okay.“ he says handing you a pencil.

“Really Austin?“ You say feeling so elated you smile at him.

“Yes of course you are my favorite and I made you a promise you’re getting that A+ you earned it.” He says pressing an affectionate kiss to your shoulder.

When he says you are his favorite again your heart flutters and you eagerly get to work. He helps you with each equation gently instructing you over your shoulder until the entire test is a polished gem.

“Mm look how smart my girl is” he says making you bashfully smile looking over your shoulder at him. He stares at you mesmerized. “You made me so happy that every time you step into my classroom now I’ll have to hide my smile.” He admits staring at you as he affectionately trails his thumb across your shoulder.

“How do you feel now by the way.” He asks with genuine concern. Your smile says it all

“I feel really good Austin” You admit feeling the stress and tension lifted entirely.

He pulls you around on his lap to face him and looks into your eyes. “I don’t ever want you to fail my class ever again. I want to pick you up from your dorm every weekend, so we can go over the class work at my house. I know all of your teachers and I don’t want you to stress about college anymore I’ll help you with all of your subjects. I just want to spend as much time with you as I can, ultimately I want you to be happy and succeed, can you do that for me.” He asks honestly.

“Yes Austin” you say peering into his blue eyes. You feel very safe and secure as he wraps you in his arms sitting on his lap.

Knowing that he’ll guide and mentor you is a bonus you are grateful to receive. As you sit up in his lap your breaths mingle as you stare into each others eyes and his warmth envelops you completely. With a gentle approach you press a soft and tender kiss on his lips and he closes his eyes holding you tighter.

His lips explore and trace the contours of yours with a gentle connection of intimacy that makes time seem to stand still as you seal your connection of obsession and passion. As your fingers weave through the strands of his sandy brown hair, you realize everything in this moment feels right and you wish you told him your feelings sooner.

❤️‍🔥End ❤️‍🔥

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[dastardly-imbecile]

RIGOR MORTIS

AO3 HERE

Jealousy petty enough that you know it’s childish, but still, you look at Simon—always straight-backed, at attention, watching Price with something that approaches reverence, worship for the hands that shaped him from the great primordial mire and brought him to this glorious cage of esse—and you wonder what he has that you lack. --- As the good Doctor's research assistant, you must take care of both him and his monster. | Frankenstein AU OR this is all an excuse to make a throuple, isn't it?

---

Wordcount: ~7k

TW for dubious consent

The good Doctor Price likes many qualities of yours: your quick, nimble fingers, your obedience, your willingness to get down on your knees when he asks you to. Sometimes, you can delude yourself into thinking he also admires the quickness with which you pick up mathematics in science, how you can replicate the circuitry of a machine with a glance, how you can lean over his shoulder and whisper, timidly, the solution to an equation before he finishes writing it down. 

Most of all, though, you think he likes your ability to hold a skull by its decaying hair and suppress your gag. 

Certainly, at the moment, that’s your most useful skill. Price does not spare you a glance—only a murmured, “there, keep still,”—as he sews careful sutures into the space between head and neck. The head was taken from a prisoner’s cemetery—those executed via guillotine. You do not know what crime the man went under the blade for, but it doesn’t really matter, not anymore, not when his face has decayed to the point of being unrecognizable as human. A gaping hole where a nose would be, eyes picked apart by carrion birds, and lips peeled dryly back to reveal yellowed teeth in blackened gums. 

Not ideal. You tighten your grip around the remnants of his hair and try not to look at the maggot peering out from his left eardrum. Avert your gaze, examine the rest of his half-body. His chest is in marginally better condition—taken from some fallen soldier, muscles well-defined, if bruised. Hip narrows down to a sexless pelvis, lean legs that you do not know the origins of. No hands, wrists cut off in flat longitudes of bone and tendon and nerve. 

Price finishes the last suture. Looks at you with that characteristic pleased look that has your chin inching forwards, smile brightening. 

You’re not a stupid girl. He wouldn’t employ you if you were, no matter how much he likes you to act pliably obsequious. He knows that you know that, and he knows you love him most when he praises you for your intellect, not only the fineness of your features, not only the warmth of your mouth and your quiet, docile moments. 

All that and more runs through his head, easily read in his eyes, when he turns to you. Gestures a single calloused hand towards the severed wrists. 

“Find a good pair of hands for me, Pet. That’s all I need.”

You nod eagerly. This, you will do. In a world where your kind, those of the fairer sex, are either housemaids or whores, you’ll do anything to stay in this rare position—in which you are not only an assistant to a greater man, but sometimes his muse. Sometimes—during late nights, in which he’s hunched over some problem of physics and electricity, trying to puzzle out the supernatural intricacies of the biological—you sidle up to him, whisper a solution that has his eyes widening, and you feel like an equal. 

So you will serve. You will please him, however he desires ((even if you prefer when it’s tasks like these, and not those that require your other womanly wiles (though, you’ll never complain, in that case, either.))

—

You spend a month roaming the city streets, pattering over the rough brick inlays and listening for words of gossip. Doctor Price has given you a handful of money on top of your usual monthly stipend—in case you must do something so uncouth as bribe a mortician, as pay your way out of a constable’s scrutiny—and your hands fiddle with the clean, crisp bills. 

It is one of those weeks in which you are distant from each other, which is not necessarily bad. You endure plenty of long stretches of partnership, crammed into a lab from dawn to dusk, midday to midnight, until you cannot smell anything but formaldehyde and leather, cannot see anything but dancing numbers and the crook of his smile. The perennial cycle of the binomial must be naturally balanced out by reserve, by your brief detachment into singular units. 

He spends his days penning through stacks of papers and fiddling with beakers of chemicals, working through the more conventional of his experiments—those that he displays to his fellows at the international symposiums, those that aren’t contained and rotting in the cellar beneath the house. You spend your days flipping through newspapers, sitting in patisseries, watching the ebb and flow of life, trying to pinprick where it falters, where you can reach in and staunch the flow. 

Nights, he spends in his study, penning letters to his distant, faceless family. You pad through gated cemeteries, toe at the freshly-dug graves. Peer through the window of the morgue, cataloguing the bodies within; trail behind the undertaker’s cart, handkerchief held delicately over your nose. 

It is practically a carnival of hands, that week, a catalogue, narrows your view to a single pinpoint. Strolling through the market, you look not at the shopkeepers’ wares but instead at the conditions of their fingers. When a handsome gentleman stops you in the street, whispers at you some honey-steeped woo, you brush him off with a smile and an admiring glance at his manicured fingernails. Gloves and rings, wrinkles and wrists, all the intricacies of the human body distilled to twenty-seven bones and thirty-four muscles. 

More than anyone else would, you take the job seriously, which is another reason that Price keeps you under his wing. He’s told you, many times, that it is not the eyes that are the window to the soul, but instead the hands—you may know everything about a person in the space between those five fingers. The callouses and dirt of a laborer, the grease stains of a factory worker. Know the washerwoman by the lye-beget cracks, know the noble by the pristine skin, as smooth and pale as cream. Spot the restless with their fiddling fingers, the murderer with the flecks of blood beneath the nails. 

The hands of the common, you rule out immediately. Too rough, skin sloughed away to reveal bone, jaundiced and colored with the grime of a hard life. Head of a prisoner, chest of a soldier, legs of some unknown class, you want something fine, something unique, perhaps even noble, for this final piece of the puzzle. 

You consider, briefly, finding a woman’s hands—you like the leanness, the slender fingers—but no, the image of a man must be entirely preserved. Besides, you think Price may see that as a bit of a slight—as putting too much of yourself into his glorious creation, diluting it with a feminine soul. Eve needs Adam’s rib, but Adam eschews all but what lays between her legs, perfection already, beget by the hands of God. 

As the week ekes on, you get closer. A sewer’s hands, a painter’s, a jeweler’s—that last one, you almost take. The fingers are long and svelte, well-proportioned, and there is just the right balance of callous and burn, teetering on the edge between pampered and industrious. The type of hand that knows both the sting of the flame, the thrum of the saw; and the heavy weight of gold, the feeling of opulence in the palm. 

Almost. Almost, but you shy away at the last moment, some dim part of your mind whispering that you can find better. 

Sure enough, it is on the seventh day that you do. Price watches you leave the dwelling with the same light, good luck, as always, but you can smell the impatience brewing, even if it has not yet materialized. He found the head in two days, the chest in three—he understands the necessity of perfection, but does not always adhere to those values. Sometimes, you fancy yourself—if not a better scientist—then, a better artist, a better eye for purpose than function. 

So, you set upon the streets with a mission. It is not yet midday before you find it, find the body in the morgue—a surgeon, cold and pale upon the table. Young, for both his occupation and his death, perhaps a decade and a half over you, yourself. If pressed, you could not name a single feature of his face, not the color of his hair nor the hue of his eyes, whether he smiled in death or snarled or wept. 

There is another thing to focus on. 

You look, and you know that they’re perfect. 

A physician’s hands. As dextrous as the jeweler’s, perhaps even moreso, hands well-worked. Same balance of both worlds, but instead of burying themselves in fire and metal, these fingers have known the body. Have known the push of the liver and the warmth of the blood, have touched the womb from the outside, performed some perverse violation of the art of birth—leave the mother through nature and instinct, return with the cold precision of a scalpel and the impersonality of rubber. 

It fills you with a brief joy to imagine. 

There is, as well, a connection to Price that you think he will appreciate, if not consciously. Doctor maker, Doctor monster. On those sleepy fall nights in which he indulges in the bottle, he tells you, sometimes, about his family—always his cousins, nieces and nephews and siblings. Never a wife, never a child. The topic is always skirted around with a reserved sort of sensitivity, despite the fact that you’re sure he would have both, if he could, if there was not some unknowable obstacle. 

So perhaps you will not make the monster into a son, with these hands, but you will connect them in a way you think he’ll be pleased with. 

Acquisition is a far easier task than location, funnily enough. You slip the morgue’s night guard a fistfull of crinkled bills, a coy smile and the promise of more, if he waits. Spend a few hurried minutes sawing at the hands with one of the Doctor’s serrated blades—less bloody, this many days dead—and shove them into a burlap sack. 

When you return home, under the cover of night, you first change your clothes from the formalin-soaked gore, scrub your hands down, and proceed down to the bereavement lab, where you upend the bag’s contents upon the great white table. Arrange the hands neatly, five fingers all splayed out, and only then do you ring for Price. 

With careful anticipation, you watch his face as he crests over the stairs, as his eyes alight upon your gift. First a contained interest and then, as he draws closer, it melts into flat-out intrigue. When he stands before the table, lifts them up and turns them about in the light, and you babble something about doctors and meat and dexterity, he smiles, turns to you. Wraps a single hand around your neck to tug you closer, brush a kiss over your hairline. 

“Good, Sweet,” he murmurs, “I knew you could do it. Good.”

You bask in his praise, as you have always done. Meet his eyes, and without needing to be asked, sink down to your knees. 

The mixing of the flesh and the theoretical is not too uncommon for Price. When he’s not in the mood to hear your input—or, when the problem he’s puzzling out is too complex even for you—he sometimes likes you under his desk as he scribbles overhead, finding the derivative of cosecant while you find the same in the gleam of his shaft, the heavy weight against your tongue. 

“A moment,” he says, moving swiftly off to one of the great refrigeration cabinets lining the room. He opens it to extract, of course, the half-man, the thing that is lining up to become his magnum opus: frost clouding his limbs, vaster than any human man would have the right to be. 

Price’s been refining it, in the time you’ve been gone. The face is still scrappy, almost repellant to behold, but he’s grafted upon it some other soul’s aquiline nose, refined the lips and cleaned the teeth to just off-white. It is eyeless, but you don’t miss, upon the shelves, a jar with two white orbs suspended in gray-green formaldehyde. 

With a grunt, he hoists the limp body up, carries him to the table and drops him with a limp thud. As he grabs a long silver needle and a spool of suture thread, you undo the buttons on his pants, slowly ease them down. Move to his boxers next, fingers looping under the waistband to tug them away for ease of access. 

If it were not for the hardness of his cock, you would not have thought he was aroused at all. Above you, his hands move with the practiced ease of someone who is utterly focused—threading the needle in a single thrust, picking up the hand and lining it up with the wrist. You hum in satisfaction when you see that it’s a perfect fit. 

It’s that that finally pulls an iota of attention towards you. He reaches down with a languidness that approaches absent, buries his hand in your hair and pushes you gently forwards, until your nose bumps against the tip of his cock. 

Right. The time for your scientific contributions is over, for the moment. Now, all it is is the widening of your mouth, the movement of your tongue as you flick it over the slit, lapping up salty drops of precum. He moves his hand back up to the creature, but not without an approving sort of pat, as gentlemanly as one would do to a dog. 

You lean forwards, taking more of him into your mouth, until he hits the back of your throat. Give him a light suck, tongue running over the most prominent of the veins. With your own hands, you reach up to cup his balls, squeezing them as gently as one would an overripe fruit. Not the most appetizing of metaphors, but you’re not in the mood to think of something more palatable. 

As you close your eyes, tears trailing off the edges, pushing his cock further into your throat, you almost laugh to imagine what your mother would think of you now. Somehow, you suspect she’d be less distressed over the image of you on your knees than she’d be over the visage of you in a lab coat, hair done up and graphite stick in hand. 

“I’m almost through with this side,” Price says, and you take it as the cue it is—hold your breath, move forwards, sucking and licking as much as you are able, cup his balls in the way you know he likes, after a thousand other nights in the lab. As his hand above ties off the final knot, his stomach stiffens, and he lets out the only indication of enjoyment this whole night, a low grunt that quickly dissipates. 

You have no opportunity to do anything other than swallow, as he unloads into the hollow of your throat. Another moment of rapturous tension before you cannot take anymore, before you must eject yourself backwards, draw a desperate heave of air into your lungs. You look up at him, trying to catch his eye, searching for approval in this art of yours as well. 

He does not meet your gaze, but he does extend a hand down—it smells faintly of rot and alcohol, of the sharp and the dull comingling into one—and uses his thumb to wipe a stray tear from your cheek. 

“I can handle the rest alone,” he murmurs, “thank you, Pet. Get some sleep.”

Obediently, you stand, brushing the concrete dust from your skirt. Proceed up the stairs and leave him to the darkest experiments of mankind. Down a glass of water to cleanse your mouth—necessary, if you’d like your tongue to taste any sort of pleasant come morning—but still, you mourn that bit of reminder, the tactile proof that you are loved, if only in a half, twisted way. 

—

It is not until the end of the month, until the autumn season begins to slide into an entropic sort of winter, that you’re called back into the lab. Also not entirely unusual, though the span of time is longer than you’re used to—but you find other ways to amuse yourself. Go rummaging through the market for dresses that you’d never find an opportunity to wear, spend morning hours people-watching in cafes and readjusting your comprehension of the human body from the phalanges to the face. 

Otherwise, you get to exercise the intellectual side of your mind by maintaining Price’s experiments, balancing chemical pHs and feeding the lab rats, marking down long lines of decimal-counted data. Even grade the rare student’s paper, when it passes across your desk. You’re sure that they—these gilded young men, hailing from rich families in distant, green lands—would throw quite the fit, had they known a woman’s hand gave them that red-inked, merely satisfactory, but that’s part of the fun. 

In all that time, you hardly see hide nor hair of the Doctor. A passing in the halls, wherein you do not have enough time to note any of his features except for the bags beneath his eyes. Half of a meal, during which he hurries out midway through, and you pack up his dinner for the next day (and, a week later, must throw it out, because he never came back for it). A quick suck in his study, where he leaves before you’ve finished swallowing, and you must wash blood out of your hair, scrub the crimson handprints off your cheeks. 

The night he finally calls you down, the sky is midway through birthing a storm—lightning striking indiscriminately at the ground, thunder speaking tongues of the ancients to the cosmos. His facial hair is thick and unruly, and his lab coat looks as if he has spent the entirety of the past month sleeping in it, but you cannot help the excitement bubbling in you as you descend the stairs—all this dishevelment only speaks of better things to come. He only ever loses track of his carefully-maintained facade when there is something bigger to worry about. 

Below, the basement is far messier than when you left it. The air is wet and heavy, permeated with a haze of decay. Every possible surface is crowded with opened jars, pooling discolored liquid, tools coated in gore. 

Most obvious, though, is the body laid out across the white table. Wrapped around its limbs like coils of chain are thick cords of copper wire, all of which spiderweb out to long, rodlike structures. As you draw closer, you’re able to make out more of its features, and they tell the story of work. 

Its—his, you suppose—face has graduated from ragged to defined, bones shaved away in some places, augmented in others, patchwork skin grafted over the wounds. Hair threaded like a wig, some dirty-blonde color that looks too smooth for its host. 

The rest of his body hasn’t been spared alterations either. Already-muscled chest padded out to gargantuan proportions, biceps almost as large as your head—when standing, the man must near seven feet. All decay cut away, replaced to a corpse in pristine condition. 

You hide a small smile when you notice he’s barely altered the hands, if at all. 

“What is this?” You ask, as Price buzzes around the room, checking the wires, flipping switches in small black boxes. He turns to you, and you do not miss the half-manic look in his eyes. 

“The boundary,” he says, looking up as if he can see through the basement floor, “that has never once been breached. The recreation of life, as God never intended.”

You draw in a quick breath. 

“What can I do?”

He shoots you a smile. You cannot tell whether it’s fond or patronizing. Probably both, but you choose the latter. 

“Watch, Pet.”

Thunder booms overhead. He steps back, moving to the doorway. A moment—the pounding of rain, the aftershocks of a storm, the buzzing of indeterminable power—and then, the room lights up. 

Every cord of wire flares bright white, and the body upon the table begins to jerk, spasming and seizuring with a force that would crack a normal human’s spine. Price rushes forwards, places a hand upon the chest, and though you know the art of science—frog legs twitching at electric shock, exposed muscle convulsing with a bit of salt—it looks, for a moment like magic. 

Moreso, when the lightning fades, and the body is still twitching, when its head slams each cheek against the table and…

And it is the hand that moves first. The twitch of the fingers, breaking free from the stiffness of quietus—and then, they clench into a fist. Price steps back. 

It fills you with a horrible, heady sort of terror to watch. You stumble back, pressing a hand against the wall, as you watch what you feel humans were never meant to behold—the cleaving of the veil, the swing of the elbow and the slow opening of the eyelids, revealing the rutilence of half-life behind them. Your stomach churns, pushing nauseous bile up your throat, and you must turn, retch some vile green liquid onto the ground. 

Intellectually, you prepared for this—no good result could come out of six months of collecting corpse parts, after all—but it is different to watch, as different as voyeuring a murder versus feeling the knife across your own throat. If it hurts this much to watch, you cannot imagine how it feels to engender—to bring life back to the dead, to buoy along the soul like Charon and his ferry. It would have driven a lesser man mad, you suspect. John Price is not lesser. Nor, at times, do you think he is a man. 

Certainly, he doesn’t look the part now, wild-eyed and laughing and cursing all at once, spitting the language before humans knew languages up at whatever Gods he purloined this soul from. You shy away, despite yourself. 

Upon the table, both hands move in unison. Even Price backs away a step as, with the clumsyness of a newborn foal, the monster pushes himself up to a sitting position. You resist the urge to put a hand over your face as he looks around, head ticking slow as a clock’s hand. Some animal instinct kicks up in your hindbrain, archaic warning of predators before humanity divined gunpowder from the womb of the earth. 

He opens his mouth, closes it again. 

“...Where?” He croaks out, eventually, the word so mottled by disuse that you only translate it when Price answers. 

“Life,” he says, “you are alive.”

He tilts his head. Surprisingly innocent, childish, but then—you suppose that this man, large as he is, is an infant in the technical side of things, in the eyes of God, if God dares to peer at this small crescent of His earth. If you were Him, you would let this storm rage until forty days of inundation wash all traces of this from the land. 

“I… I. I am? Am?”

Above, the rain lessens. Looks like you have once again escaped the merciful wrath of your maker. 

“Simon,” Price murmurs, reaching out to brush a single finger down the space between his eyes, as one might anoint the holy with ash, “Simon.”

“Simon,” he repeats. Slowly, he turns, and the dully-rising dread peaks when his eyes land upon you. They are a strange, electric blue, as striking as the storm that birthed him. 

Price says your name, but you don’t hear it, caught in the nexus of those eyes. The monster repeats it as well, and it’s only when his scarred lips form the shape of your soul that you snap back into reality. 

“Your hands,” you say, swallowing past the lump in your throat. He looks down at them, as if he’d not realized he had these limbs. “I gave them to you.”

You chance a look at Price, afraid that he will anger at your presumptiveness—really, you only found them, it’s him who gave them—but all he does is nod, a paternal sort of pride painted clear on his face. 

“And I, the rest. Price. Doctor.”

“Doctor,” Simon says, and this one comes with a low, hungry sort of growl. You must concentrate on not letting your legs give out beneath you, not letting the rasp of his voice shake you to the core. 

—

There is much to do during winter—a deceptive amount, especially with the new addition to your household. In the early days of spring, Price tells you, he has a yearly symposium—the largest, the glitziest—and there is only one creation he will be presenting. 

And so, besides the normal jobs, now, you must contend with the monster stalking your home. At the best of times, Simon is unnervingly quiet, an unknowable presence that lurks in the corners of the house, watching you with those eyes like midsummer noon. At worst, he trails hardly a step behind you, hands so close that they brush the small of your back. 

Hard to tell which one of you he takes to more. Spends more time with you than Price, of course, but that is simply because you have been set to the task of glorified governess. Smarts at you, at times, because you know your skills are higher than teaching a half-man the alphabet, but he takes to it surprisingly quickly. By two weeks' time, he can tear through any book you give him, discuss it in that gravelly, halting voice (that is, if he deigns to speak, which is not often). Mathematics, similarly, he soaks up like a sponge—arithmetic in two days, algebra in a week, trigonometry by the end of the month and calculus in three. 

Sometimes, when you perch upon the plush chair in Price’s office, teaching him in one subject or another, he seems to be hardly listening at all—fixes that queer gaze upon you, hands fluttering like caged birds, like he wants to grab something, twist something, break something. 

Quite the contrast to his manner around Price. Him, he watches as well, but there is a shade of devotion to his gaze that is off what he gifts to you—he is utterly still and utterly proper, always a polite distance away, speaks when ordered to and seems to leave you by the wayside. It smarts at you in the same way that catcalling men do, that your crisp University rejection letter did—the idea that you are somehow, automatically lesser, that you do not deserve that same measure of respect despite your competence. 

Perhaps it’s loyalty to his maker—nothing personal. Still. You cannot help it if you’re a bit snippier, next time you’re instructed to teach him something as inane as the history of the Greek city-states. Cannot help it if you try to meet his gaze, which is both bright as flame, and dark, dull as pennies, avert your eyes almost immediately. 

Spring approaches. There is a strange, thrumming energy in the air that you cannot quite capture, no matter how many times you attempt to revert to homeostasis. Help Price in the lab, and he is there, standing in the corner with hands behind his back. Spend time for yourself, those rare snatches that you can flee into the city streets, and it simply makes his presence all the more suffocating, when you return home. 

One night, you seek some release of your own, huddling under your sheets and running a finger through the slickness between your legs, only to see the gleam of blue in the darkness, the shape of someone in the doorway. 

“Out!” You shriek immediately, bolting up, smoothing your nightgown over your thighs. It is not even so simple an issue as a casual glance—he must have opened your quarter doors, stood there for who-knows how long. 

When you complain as much to the Doctor, he simply hums in acknowledgement. Does not even bother to look up from his newspaper. 

“It’s his way, Pet. He watches. Doesn’ mean he knows what he sees.”

Your neck bristles, and you turn to see him standing a ways behind you, watching, listening. “Price, Sir-”

“Relax,” he says, “lock your door, next time, if it bothers you so much.” 

You know that it’ll be no use arguing. Don’t bother to say you did, don’t bother to point out whatever smug satisfaction radiates from his broad shoulders. 

It is as if you are a moth, and Price, your lantern, your light, has been dimmed. Sometimes, taken entirely. Strangely, you find yourself missing those quiet moments in which he’d take his pleasure from you—now, all his time is monopolized by the hulking creature. Wherein once you would have had a brief snatch of free time, now, he stands in the lab and runs a magnifying glass over the expanse of his back, takes small samples of skin from his chest to biopsy in spinning machines. 

Jealousy petty enough that you know it’s childish, but still, you look at Simon—always straight-backed, at attention, watching Price with something that approaches reverence, worship for the hands that shaped him from the great primordial mire and brought him to this glorious cage of esse—and you wonder what he has that you lack. 

He plays into it too, you’re sure, though not sure enough that you can call it out without fear of appearing hysterical. Tilts his head up and exposes his neck in the way you know that Price likes, in the way that you perfected. Rasps quiet questions about his family, about his life outside the bounds of a lab, those that you have always wanted to ask, but have never mulled up the bravery to do so. 

When Price answers—muses on a childhood among the Swiss alps, talks briefly of some beguiling young love who he does expand upon—Simon fixes you with those eyes and you can swear he almost smiles. 

It all makes, of course, for a tense carriage ride to the Symposium, held in the center of Ingolstadt. You join, as you enter the city outskirts, many other carriages, all carrying scientists of varying ages and echelons, all carrying a menagerie of experiments. Tall machines of glittering copper that spin and squeal, animals with too many heads and too few limbs, anywhere on the spectrum from stark white to tar-black, great bushels of papers that are marked from top-to-bottom with lines of text crammed tightly as ants.

Price leads you through the streets with a hand upon your waist, the other wrapped around Simon’s arm. Two equal measures of possessiveness that somewhat shift your idea of the balance of power—he puts the same level of control over both of you, exerts it like a driver might the carrot and the stick, a scale balanced by a ton of feathers and a ton of hearts. 

The day of the Symposium is a blur of motion, sights and sounds and lights, until, suddenly—before you can even really think to process it—you are standing in the centre of a grand amphitheater, Price to one side and Simon to the other. His voice is strong as nails, carries to the edges of the space, as he details the process of resurrection—makes the act of the unholy into a simple recipe, a checklist of ever-increasing sins. 

It’s not until Simon steps into the limelight that the crowd gasps. Even without the necessary backstory, he is a striking sight—man of scar and gnarl, standing tall enough that he could hold the earth on his shoulders. Somehow, it puts him in a suddenly different light, than the one of half-vertigo, half-abhorrence—you can find traces of the grandiose in the space between his shoulderblades, see some ancient regality in the strongness of his features. 

He raises his hand as Price withdraws a long knife, so sharp that the edge is invisible. You bite your lip as he carefully steeples the blade against the skin and then draws a slash that has the crowd clamoring. Blood, red as jewels, seeps from the wound, but before your eyes, it closes, drawn tight by the suture of some invisible angel. 

After the dramaticism of the presentation, you flee back to your quiet room in the inn. Night falls, is long-past, by the time the Doctor returns—you’re sure he spent much of that time explaining the further intricacies of drawing life from the earth like thread from a spool. Simon, of course, trails behind him, but you’re gratified to see Price direct him into his own room. 

When he approaches you, you fall upon the bed, already assuming your position, eager to let him fill the ache that has had an entire season to fester. He does not, however, seek the warmth of your mouth—but, instead, undoes the clasp of his pants himself, and tells you, with a low voice, “undress.”

Your heart picks up pace. In all the five years you have served Price, he has taken plenty of climaxes in the warmth of your mouth, under the pressure of your fist. More rarely, has coaxed one out of you with the help of his fingers and his mouth. Only twice, though, has he truly fucked you—some hang-up that you have never questioned him about. Something that transcends the expected boundaries of the master-apprentice, the bounds of the illicit, and makes it into something that approaches a partnership. Puts you on the level of equals, somewhat, exposes a soft vulnerability that Price does not trust you enough to show. 

Today, though, you suppose he is exhilarated by a successful demonstration. Perhaps, also, on the glass of whiskey he no doubt had while talking business with his fellow men. In any case, it’s enough that, when you extricate yourself from his undergarments, he starts immediately upon your neck, sucking wet bruises into the skin. Moves to your clavicle, where he plants one right in the hollow center, and then down to your breasts, where his mustache tickets the sensitive skin enough for your nipples to harden. You wrap your hands around the back of his head—perhaps, the only time you have ever felt in control of this man—and allow him to take his measure from you. 

When his fingers dip into your slit, he groans. “Already, Pet?”

You can only whimper in response. When he withdraws from your breasts, you are suddenly near the point of shivering—but it only lasts a moment, as he lines up his cock with your hole, too desperate to continue his ministrations. Desperate for your gloved embrace, desperate for this to end—as with the previous two times he has had his fill of you, you can already sense that some vulnerable part of him is withdrawing into the darkness, that he is already half-regretting letting you take so much of him. 

When he thrusts into you, all that goes fleeing from your mind. He fills you to the brim, hips locked together, and though his kisses tastefully avoid your mouth, you take your pleasure where you can get it—this case, in the nips upon your throat, your earlobes. 

And then, everything freezes. 

The door to Simon’s room is open. He stands there, watching you with an unpracticed curiosity, and you freeze immediately, hands splaying against Price’s forehead and chest. 

“Stop,” you say, “he’s- he’s watching, he’s-”

Price doesn’t pause. Quickens, if anything, another powerful thirst that blows your words out from under you. Leans down, to whisper in your ear, “let him.”

When rapture washes over you, when your walls begin to stutter, and he pulls out to spray his spend across your stomach and breasts, your eyes are still locked onto Simon’s. 

—

Back at home, things are different, a buildup that escalates over the course of a week. Simon, now, does not only deign to follow—sometimes, you turn, to find him near-pressed to your skin, breath fanning out against the back of your neck. Dinners are somehow both more and less awkward—you are suddenly acutely aware of the balance of power in the room, the idea of the Doctor and his hounds. The hunter and the chaser, the killer and the lapdog. 

But you do not know what it is building up to—at least, not until you stand in your room, one hazy afternoon, perusing your books, and turn to find Simon—as per usual—close enough to stab. This time, he blocks your exit from the room. 

“Excuse me,” you say sharply. He does not move—simply tilts his head down, regarding you with those peculiar eyes. 

“You,” he says, voice deep and husky as laudanum, “you and the Doctor.”

Your skin prickles with discomfort, with the memory of being watched. 

“...Yes.” An attempt to sidle around him is quickly aborted by the shuffle of his body, and now you find yourself cornered against the wall. 

“What he does t’ you,” he says, drawing a step closer, chest now practically pressed against your face, “You must… must find a way.”

You blink up at him. He lifts his hands, flexing his fingers. 

“A way for what?”

“Y’ gave me these,” he says, reaching for the hem of your skirt, and you are suddenly acutely aware of the pace of your breath, “find me a cock, as well.”

The sentence is so absurd that it takes a moment to process—and, the instant it does, you’re trying to move, dodge past him. “I-”

He catches you before you can spit a denial, hand around your throat, the other coming around to your waist. Effortlessly, he lifts you, pinning you against the wall, bringing the one at your neck to traverse under your skirt, hemming you in with his body. 

“Can do so much,” he grunts, fingers navigating past your undergarments, “with only this, Dove, imagine-”

His finger sinks into your hole, aided by the slickness. You let out an inarticulate sort of cry, half-speech, half-moan, still wriggling in his grasp. The memory of his body flashes before your eyes—the smooth stretch of skin, between his legs, missing the masculine that characterized the rest of his bulk—but the thought flees as he adds a second finger, driving it deeper inside of you. Simply one of them, those long, surgeon’s instruments that you hand-picked, is enough to fill you—two borders unbearable. 

It’s enough to make you cry out. “I can’t,” you manage, but he shakes his head, growls something about need. 

You feel a third finger probing at your folds, and gather the last of your wherewithal to yell, “Price!” 

Simon does not quite laugh, but the rough exhale of breath might be a chuckle on any other man. He draws his fingers back, then thrusts them back in, curling them into your warmth. 

Just barely visible over his shoulder, you see the crest of the Doctor’s head, see the way he halts at the door. Steps into the room with a far more measured pace, circles around Simon to observe you with the same idle detachment that all of his specimens get. 

You can’t summon the breath to plea. Useless, in any case, as he places a hand upon Simon’s arm. 

“She likes it,” he says, “when you touch the clitoris. It should be higher.”

You jolt when Simon finds it, shockwaves pulsing at the rough brush of his thumb. You sob something, back rubbing up against the wall with the intensity, but all he does is smooth a hand over your hair, coo a few gentle words. 

“Shh, Pet. This is what I made him for.”

You throw your head back, not caring that it collides against the wall, as Simon slowly adds a third finger into your hole, stretching it beyond its limits. 

When you climax, it’s with a special sort of violence, that that pumps adrenaline into your heart, exacerbated only by the four pairs of hands running down your skin. Good thing you are being held up, because all the tension bleeds out from each joint, rendering you into jelly and pigfat. 

“Come, Simon,” Price says, and he spares you only a single further glance, as you’re lowered, not ungently, to the ground, left to recover yourself and reorient your mind, recover the memory of this encounter in the first place. 

—

It’s not a surprise when he calls you down to the laboratory. When Simon is naked upon the table and Price stands behind him, a hand upon his shoulder. Nods to you, benevolent smile upon his face. 

“I have a new job for you. Did so well on the last one, Pet.” 

Your eyes flick first to Simon’s hands, then, to the space between his legs, the emptiness. Swallow once, trying to harness the saliva to quash the arousal burning behind your naval. 

“Of course,” you say, dipping your head once, “anything, for you.”

You’re not sure who you’re talking to. You’re not sure if it matters. You’re all, in the end, one entity, lightning and flesh and eyes that pierce you like a butterfly to a pinboard. If this is another chance to seek approval, to prove worthiness, then so be it. There are, after all, many things to like about you, but it all narrows down at this moment to your ability to perform (though, of course, the body of a courtesan and the mind of a virtuoso don’t hurt, either).

[almostwisegalaxy]

Love is so scary. What if he she

Yeon Sieun x Ballerina reader x Ahn Su-ho

The reader has a shy character in this story

Music to listen to for the atmosphere: Golden Brown the stranglers

..................................................................................

Wednesday. 5:04 PM.

The gymnasium smelled of waxed wood, sweat, and muffled music. In the mirror at the far end, reflections overlapped: the rapid movement of a fist against a punching bag, the straight back of a boy sitting on the bleachers, and, further away, the silhouette of a young girl dancing silently.

She always arrived at the same time. Right after her classes at the downtown classical dance academy. She would drop her things in a corner, isolate herself, plug in her headphones – old, black models, worn at the edges – and begin to dance. Not to rehearse a passage, nor to impress. Just for herself. For the silence she found in movement. To breathe.

Y/N.

Si-eun had known her name for three weeks. He had heard it by chance one day when her teacher had called her on her phone, which had been left on the bench. That day, he had written her name in the margin of his notebook. Like an important fact to remember, like a mathematical data point that should not be forgotten. "Y/N. 5:04 PM. Wednesday."

Since then, he had observed her. Discreetly, without ever disturbing her. He noted the movements she repeated, the music he managed to guess through her headphones, the rhythm of her breathing during the grand jetés. It wasn't a morbid obsession, no. It was a form of study. Si-eun didn't yet understand why he felt this calm watching her dance. So he did what he knew how to do: he analyzed.

Su-ho, on the other hand, was less subtle.

He would sometimes stop between rounds to admire her in the mirror. He said nothing, but his gaze would soften, almost fragile, a rare thing for him. He would pretend to stretch when she passed nearby. And when she briefly looked up to glance around, he would immediately look away with the agility of an actor.

They had never exchanged a word. Not a hello. Not a smile. Nothing. And yet, every Wednesday, tension slowly wove itself into the margins of their days.

Y/N had seen them. Of course, she had seen them.

Si-eun always sitting in the same place, his eyes fixed on his papers – or rather, on her. And Su-ho, who would smile for no reason when Si-eun cast a quick glance at him between two equations. She didn't listen to them, she didn't really dare to. But sometimes, they would touch. Simple gestures – a hand on the shoulder, a brush of fingers while passing a water bottle – but for them, it was almost intimate.

What had struck her wasn't the gesture, it was the permission. Si-eun, the boy with the closed-off air, didn't let anyone approach him. Yet, he never recoiled from Su-ho. And when their eyes met, it was as if the rest of the world faded away.

She found them beautiful. Together. She admired them.

And yet, that Wednesday, everything slightly changed.

5:22 PM.

The wooden platform where she danced had just been waxed by the center's employees. A detail that Y/N hadn't noticed. She wanted to test a sequence: arabesque, pirouette, saut de chat. But as soon as her foot left the ground, she felt the slip. A fraction of a second too long, and her center of gravity betrayed her. She let out a small cry, muffled by her music. No one would have heard her. No one except him.

Su-ho had jumped up without thinking.

For a moment, Y/N saw the ceiling spin, then two strong arms caught her before impact. He had slipped a little too, but he had held on, absorbing the fall, holding her with unexpected gentleness.

She was in his arms. Just for a second.

"You almost broke something," he murmured, almost in a whisper.

She looked at him. Up close, he had soft eyes. A little worried. And he smelled... of sweat, cheap shampoo, and something reassuring.

"Thank you..." she breathed.

He smiled. Not his usual arrogant smile, but a sincere, almost tender one. He helped her up gently.

On the other side of the gymnasium, Si-eun watched them. He had stood up without even realizing it. His notebook had fallen at his feet. He didn't know exactly what he was feeling – relief? Worry? A shiver ran between his shoulder blades, a sort of vertigo.

But it wasn't jealousy. It wasn't anger. It was... something else. A dull vibration. A new feeling.

When Y/N turned briefly towards him, their eyes met. She tilted her head gently, a hint of a greeting, shy but sincere.

He responded with a slight nod, but his eyes remained fixed on her longer than intended.

6:02 PM.

Y/N had sat down again, legs folded against her chest, her headphones still on, but without music this time. She occasionally glanced at the two boys.

They were laughing now, one tapping the other on the shoulder. A natural, fluid complicity. Y/N smiled to herself.

She thought that whether they were together or not, there was something rare between them. A silent loyalty, a light in their gestures. She blushed slightly as she watched them.

Maybe one day, she would dare to really talk to them.

Or maybe they would come to her.

---

An April evening. The air smelled of a light chill and cherry trees that were taking their time.

Y/N had found this corner of the park by chance a month earlier. It was isolated, set back from the too-bright lampposts and children's shouts. Here, the light was yellow, warm, flickering like a nightlight. An old bench creaked beside a patch of cracked asphalt – not the ideal place to dance, but she loved it for its solitude.

That evening, she wasn't alone.

Su-ho had insisted on accompanying her. He hadn't really asked permission; he had said, smiling, "You know, it would be much less dangerous if you had an audience."

And against all odds, Si-eun had followed. Without a word, as always, but his hands in his pockets and his eyes curious.

Y/N wore an oversized sweater, her headphones around her neck, and a slight smile she tried to hide. Su-ho wore his laughter. Si-eun, his silence. The three of them formed a strange tableau, like a poem in three different languages.

She began to dance. Not a strict choreography, but free gestures, guided by the music escaping from her phone placed beside her. The lamppost light drew soft shadows around her. Sometimes her feet would slip a little on the asphalt, but she compensated with the grace of her arms, the undulation of her neck, that natural fluidity she never showed at school.

Su-ho clapped his hands.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed, exaggeratedly. "Did you see that, Si-eun? She's floating, seriously. She looks like a spirit!"

She laughed. A real laugh, not discreet. That laugh made Su-ho's eyes widen. He started to imitate her, clumsy, hopping in place, twirling with his arms raised in a chaotic version of her movements.

"Look, I'm doing the same! Bring on your critiques, I'm ready for the Seoul Opera."

Y/N doubled over with laughter, holding her stomach, and Su-ho voluntarily fell to his knees in an absurd bow. She applauded him, her eyes shining.

Si-eun, for his part, didn't speak. He was filming. From the bench, he had taken out his phone without even thinking. He captured the images: Y/N dancing, Y/N laughing, Su-ho twirling and falling, and that warm light on their faces. A rare smile – thin, almost shy – slowly spread across his lips.

He hadn't seen this moment coming. He had come out of curiosity. But at this precise instant, something shifted within him. Like a cloud sliding past a star and revealing it even brighter.

Su-ho stood up, breathing a little heavily, his hands on his hips. Y/N sat down on the bench, between the two of them.

"Are you always like this together?" she asked softly.

Su-ho shrugged, teasingly, "Like what? Talented?"

"Like... close."

The word hung in the air for a moment.

Si-eun turned his head towards her. Su-ho raised an eyebrow, surprised. She lowered her eyes, almost regretting her words.

"You're beautiful, together. I mean... You understand each other without speaking. It's rare."

Su-ho remained silent. Si-eun, for his part, observed Y/N for a long time. He had never thought of their bond in those terms. But he knew it was true. They understood each other. And now, she too seemed to be gently entering this fragile equation.

Later that night, each went home.

***

Y/N, in silence, lay down on her bed. Her hands resting on her stomach. Her heart was beating too fast.

She had wanted to kiss them. Both of them. Tonight, she had felt the urge more strongly than ever. When Su-ho had watched her dance as if she were a miracle. When Si-eun had looked up from his phone and she had seen his smile. A real smile. The thought had flashed through her mind: to place her lips on Su-ho's, then turn her face and do the same with Si-eun.

But she hadn't done it. Because she didn't want to spoil the sweetness. Because she didn't know if what she felt had the right to exist. And a wave of guilt had enveloped her, as beautiful as it was painful.

***

At Su-ho's house, the emotion had hit him like a hook to the heart.

He couldn't stop replaying her laughter. That sound, light and raw, had imprinted itself on him like a song he didn't want to forget. He didn't understand exactly what he was feeling, but it burned. Sweet, pure. He wanted to see her again. Not in a setting, not in a gym, but there, under the stars. Just to make her laugh again. He would have danced a thousand times like an idiot if it could offer him that.

He turned over in his bed, arms behind his head, a silly smile plastered on his face. He didn't need to understand. He just knew he was falling in love.

***

At Si-eun's house, everything was silent.

He was sitting at his desk. His notebook open. His phone placed beside it.

He launched the video.

Y/N was dancing. Su-ho was laughing. And he... was smiling.

He watched again. And again.

Something tightened in his chest. An emotion he knew poorly, but could no longer deny. It was Y/N. What she exuded. That mix of strength and modesty. That soft light, not overwhelming, but persistent. He understood that night that he was falling in love. Slowly, gently. Like falling into a dream he had never dared to imagine.

And it was beautiful. Not painful. Just pure.

He didn't know what it meant for them. For Su-ho, for him. There was no jealousy. Just a strange certainty: he wanted her to be there. To stay in their world. She had found her place, somewhere between their silences, their gestures, their gazes.

Three hearts, suspended in a silent equilibrium.

A girl who danced.

A boy who laughed

Another who wrote.

And love, timid, silent, luminous like a lamppost in a forgotten park.

---

There was something strange since the night in the park. Since the laughter under the lampposts, the dance steps, the stolen smiles in the silence. An invisible thread had stretched between them, not taut with anger, no. Rather with questions.

Su-ho had been the first to say it out loud. They were alone on the high school roof, where they liked to hide from the noise. The wind played in Su-ho's hair, and Si-eun was reading, sitting against the wall. Su-ho stretched and then said, without malice:

"Hey, Si-eun... You like her, huh?"

Silence. Si-eun slowly raised his eyes.

"Y/N."

He didn't need to specify.

Si-eun looked down at his pages, but his fingers had frozen.

"I..."

"It's not an accusation," Su-ho added with a smile. "Because me too."

This time, Si-eun raised his head. Not with anger. But with a dizziness. The world was too vast for their emotions, so recent, so fragile.

"It's... weird," he murmured. "I'm scared."

Su-ho blinked.

"Of what?"

"Of liking her. Of losing her. Of destroying what we have. You and me."

Su-ho burst out laughing, but without mockery.

"Love is so scary. What if she..."

He waved his hands in the air, mimicking an imaginary catastrophe. But in his eyes, there was a poignant tenderness.

"Si-eun... even if we're both in love with her, there's no war between us. There's just us. And her."

There was silence. Then a smile. Small, but real. They didn't yet know how to exist with that truth, but they knew it wasn't going to break them.

...

Y/N, on her side, suffered in silence.

She thought about them every night. About the looks, the gestures, that invisible thread. And she also thought about what she couldn't have. She still believed they were together. And she cursed herself for loving both of them. For wanting their arms, their voices, even their silences.

But she didn't want to be a threat. Not to be the grain of sand in their perfect mechanism. So she stayed. She stayed near them, always shy, but smiling. Her smile was an armor. And a call.

...

That day, she appeared at the high school exit.

Si-eun and Su-ho were leaving together, bags on their backs, looking peaceful. And there, on the sidewalk, she was waiting for them. Standing in her dance academy uniform, her arms loaded with a cardboard box.

"Love is so scary," Su-ho murmured with a mocking smile. "What if she comes to pick you up all excited after school?"

Si-eun gently nudged him on the shoulder, but his gaze didn't leave Y/N.

She was smiling. For nothing. For everything.

"Hi!" she said. "I... I'm selling cakes for my school. For the trip to Busan."

Su-ho scratched the back of his neck.

"Ah. Uh. I'll take... two, then."

He paid, out of politeness, and bit into one immediately. He grimaced.

"It's... different."

Si-eun, silent, took a small shortbread. The taste hit him suddenly: sweet, simple, a little lemony. He took a second one. Then a third.

Y/N lowered her eyes, a little flushed.

"I like to cook. Especially when... I'm thinking of people I like."

They nodded. Nothing more. But the bond tightened.

...

The day after, Y/N came back. She was holding a small kraft paper bag, tied with string.

She ran into Su-ho in the hallway of the sports center.

"Hi. This is for... you. Well. For your boyfriend."

"My... huh?"

"Si-eun. I mean, I think it's adorable. And I wanted to do something for you."

Su-ho stared at her, blinked.

Then burst out laughing. Loudly. So much so that two high school students turned around.

"Wait, wait. You think Si-eun and I are together?"

She blushed, looking flustered.

"Sorry! I... I thought. I mean, the way you look at each other. I was wrong. That's stupid."

He grabbed her hand.

"Come on."

"Where?"

"We're going to clear up a misunderstanding."

...

They arrived in the courtyard. Si-eun was reading, of course. When he saw Su-ho arrive, dragging Y/N by the hand, he closed his book.

"We have a problem," Su-ho said, still laughing. "Our Lover thinks we're a couple."

Si-eun blinked slowly.

Y/N stammered:

"I-I'm so sorry! I just got the impression, the way you look at each other... I was mistaken. It's silly."

Silence. Then Si-eun spoke, for once without hesitation.

"You weren't mistaken. There's a lot of love between us. Just... not the kind you think."

Su-ho added:

"But there's also a lot of love for you. And that's more confusing."

Y/N froze. The bag fell to the ground.

"I..."

"Me too," Si-eun said. "I love you. For a while now. It's scary. But I love you."

Su-ho, arms crossed, nodded.

"Same. I love you. Seriously. And even if it's weird, even if it complicates everything..."

They were looking at her. Both of them. Their eyes full of fire, fear, beauty.

She took a step back.

"But you... both of you..."

"We don't want to make you choose," Su-ho said.

"We don't want to fight," Si-eun completed.

She looked at them for a long time. Then she took a step towards them.

She hugged them. Both of them. An arm around each.

And said, in a breath:

"Me too."

Three heartbeats. Three silences.

And the beginning of a story outside the classic lines. A story where love destroys nothing. Where it simply adds.

Where they learn, together, to love with multiple voices.

---

Their world had shifted silently, like a breeze changing direction. Since that day in the courtyard, they were no longer just three searching for each other, brushing against each other, holding back. They had found each other. Without awkwardness, without grand speeches. Just simple words. And the naked truth: they loved each other.

First Moment: The Rooftop

They often returned to the high school rooftop. It was their refuge. Y/N would sit between the two of them, legs crossed. Su-ho would massage her shoulders when she said she had danced too much. Si-eun would offer her pieces of dark chocolate that he always kept in his pocket. She would grimace each time because it was bitter, but she accepted anyway.

One day, she fell asleep against Su-ho's shoulder, and her hand brushed against Si-eun's. He didn't dare to pull it away. He left it there, just underneath. He watched her sleep for a long time. Su-ho too. They said nothing to each other. But they both knew they were exactly where they wanted to be.

Second Moment: The Storm

One evening, a storm surprised them as they were leaving the sports center. They ran in the rain, laughing like children. Y/N slipped in her ballet flats, and Su-ho hoisted her onto his back without thinking. She shouted, laughed, and hit his shoulder to make him put her down. He refused.

They took refuge in a deserted bus stop. Y/N was shivering. Si-eun took a sweatshirt out of his bag and put it over her shoulders. She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling the faint scent of the fabric.

Then, without any of them knowing who had started it, there was a kiss. Light. On her forehead. From Su-ho to her. Then another. On her cheek. From Si-eun. She opened her eyes again, her cheeks pink, and said simply:

"I love the rain."

And they all three laughed.

Third Moment: Small Attentions

Y/N, although shy, loved taking care of them. She prepared bentos that were too pretty, too well-organized, with clumsy handwritten notes.

"Don't forget to drink water. You sweat a lot! (It's cute though.)" was stuck on Su-ho's.

"I put tuna even though I know you don't like it much. But I do. (Sorry.)" on Si-eun's.

They kept all these little papers. Su-ho stuck them in his training notebook. Si-eun slipped them between the pages of his books.

And they returned the favor. One day, she found a pressed rose between two pages of her dance notebook. And a word, scribbled in stiff handwriting:

"You bring beauty to places where I only saw emptiness."

She melted. And sulked the next day because neither of them confessed who had written it.

Fourth Moment: Funny Arguments

Y/N had a strong personality. She would laugh at nothing but sulk at even less. When she dropped a glass and Su-ho said, "Do you have two left hands or what?", she would cross her arms and turn her head.

"It's not me. It's karma."

And Si-eun would raise an eyebrow. She would point at him.

"And you, stop judging me in silence."

He would say nothing but hand her a towel. She would grumble, then eventually smile. And everything would go back to normal.

Fifth Moment: The Day She Kissed Them

They were alone in the dance studio of her academy one Saturday evening. She had the key. She wanted to show them a step she couldn't master.

They had watched her, focused, sweaty, luminous. She fell, again. Then, on the floor, she looked at them, one knee bent, her cheeks pink:

"Can you love me even if I'm not perfect?"

Su-ho knelt down first.

"I love you because you fall. And because you get back up."

Then Si-eun, simply:

"You are perfect for me."

She kissed them. Lightly. One after the other. Without fear. Their hands on her cheeks, her fingers in their hair.

A kiss that asked for nothing. That gave everything.

Sixth Moment: The Festival

At the spring festival, they got lost in the crowd. They eventually found each other near a lantern stand.

They bought one.

Each wrote a word on it:

"Protection." – Su-ho.

"Peace." – Si-eun.

"Us." – Y/N.

And they let it fly away, their hands joined, their eyes raised.

The boys changed.

Su-ho became more tender. Less defensive, more attentive. He was no longer just the protector. He was the man who loved without hesitation, without limit.

Si-eun, for his part, opened up. Slowly. Like a book that had been closed for a long time. He said "I love," "I'm scared," "thank you" more often. And he looked at Y/N as one looks at a miracle they hadn't asked for but thank every day for existing.

And Y/N... Y/N was growing. She laughed. She asserted herself. She danced for them. She loved them with a gentle but deep strength. Without possessiveness. Without fear.

They were three. Not a triangle. But a circle. Closed. Complete.

And under the soft light of their shared days, love also danced.

---

That day, the air was thick, almost heavy with heat, but the silence that reigned around Y/N, Si-eun, and Su-ho seemed to freeze time. The afternoon had begun ordinarily, but very quickly, everything changed. Five boys appeared in their field of vision, and the atmosphere became charged with a palpable tension. Si-eun and Su-ho had already made a name for themselves in the high school, and not for the right reasons. There were people who envied them, and these five were part of that group. But today, it was mainly Si-eun they were after. Why him in particular? Perhaps because of the reputation he carried or the past stories that lingered in the hallways.

As soon as the boys approached, one of them, with a menacing look, sneered:

"You really think you can get away with that, Si-eun? Aren't you ashamed to hide in your friend's shadow? You're just a coward."

There was no immediate response from Si-eun. He didn't want to fall into the trap of confrontation, but the escalation was inevitable. Insults began to rain down, and before they could understand what was happening, a fight broke out.

The boys threw themselves at Si-eun and Su-ho without the slightest hesitation. Su-ho, always so impulsive, plunged into the fray, landing a punch on one of the guys with surprising force. Si-eun, for his part, fought with measured precision, each movement calculated, but his body tense, like a spring ready to break.

Y/N, seeing the escalation of violence, tried to move away so as not to get involved. But she was grabbed by one of the boys, who brutally pulled her into the fight. She struggled, trying to push the assailant away, but in an awkward movement, she lost her balance. The sound of her ankle cracking echoed in her ears. She fell to the ground, tears in her eyes, curling up on herself.

"Y/N!" Su-ho yelled, his heart pounding as he caught sight of her, blocked by two other boys.

Si-eun also reacted quickly, but he couldn't afford to completely turn away from the fight. His gaze darkened when he saw Y/N on the ground, a dull ache settling in his stomach. It was because of them that she was hurt. They hadn't been able to prevent it. Their fight had gotten out of hand.

The boys eventually retreated, not without difficulty. Each of them was injured, but victory was theirs. But as the last gasps of their opponents faded into the wind, a heavy silence fell upon them. Y/N, trembling, held her ankle, trying to get up. Su-ho and Si-eun rushed towards her, their concern clearly visible. But the looks between the two boys were different now. There was a new distance.

A few days passed, and while the three friends usually met at school, a strange void had settled in. Si-eun no longer came to their usual spots. He would slip away, without explanation, without a word. The silence between them had become heavier, more oppressive.

Su-ho was the first to notice. He hadn't seen Si-eun for a week, and it was eating away at him. Every minute without news from him was like a stab in his heart. Why this silence? Why this distance? He felt like something between them, something he couldn't identify, was slowly breaking.

One afternoon, after days of silent frustration, Su-ho couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed his phone and sent a message to Si-eun, but the reply was slow in coming. When he finally got a response, it was just a short "I'm fine, don't worry." But the words had no warmth, none of those comforting gestures that Su-ho knew so well from him.

One afternoon, they finally crossed paths on the street. Si-eun approached, his hands in his pockets, his gaze evasive. Su-ho didn't need more to understand that something was wrong. It was as if Si-eun was carrying a heavy burden, a guilt he couldn't share.

"Si-eun... you've been ignoring me for a week," Su-ho said in a tone harsher than he intended. "What's going on? You haven't even bothered to come talk to me. We're supposed to be... we're supposed to be friends."

Si-eun stopped, taken aback. He lowered his eyes, as if every word he had to say was too difficult to pronounce. Then, he sighed, almost imperceptibly, as if he was exhausted by the tension that gripped him.

"I feel guilty, Su-ho," he finally murmured, his voice flat. "It's my fault. Y/N got hurt because of us. We should have avoided all this. But I... I felt... vulnerable. And I put you in that situation. You fought for me. It's because of me. And I don't know how to handle it."

Su-ho, struck by Si-eun's sincerity, remained silent for a moment. But his frustration quickly turned into a pain he hadn't been able to express until now.

"It's not your fault, Si-eun. Do you really think we were going to let you down?! What do you think we are, huh? If you think we're going to walk away because you're in a tough spot, then you don't know me."

He stepped closer to him, his gaze suddenly piercing. The words that followed were simple but hard to hear.

"Did you really think I could abandon you, Si-eun? I feel like I'm losing everything. You're my friend, my brother. And when you pull away like this, when you do this, I feel... lost. It's like I've lost you, and Y/N too, and it's destroying me, you know?"

Si-eun's gaze darkened. He knew Su-ho was right, but a part of him couldn't break free from the guilt that gnawed at him. He wanted to protect the others, to love them, but he felt like he was messing everything up every time.

Y/N, for her part, was at the heart of this torment.

She had followed the whole story without daring to interfere in their tension. She had gradually distanced herself, thinking that she was causing this suffering, thinking that it was because of her that things were becoming so complicated. If Si-eun was withdrawing like this, it was her fault. If Su-ho was so lost, it was because of her. She had done nothing to deserve their pain, but that didn't change anything. She moved away, thinking their lives would be simpler without her.

The days passed in unbearable tension.

Su-ho, prey to his own anger and confusion, and Si-eun, who was fighting his own demons. They kept their distance, like two lost souls in a sea of unspoken words.

And that day, everything exploded.

The argument erupted abruptly, without warning. It wasn't about Y/N, but about the insecurities that gnawed at each of them. What they thought was a simple misunderstanding turned into a painful confrontation.

"Why are you acting like this, Si-eun?! Do you want us to drift apart? Do you want us to get lost?! Why are you like this?"

Su-ho's words hit Si-eun like a slap. He recoiled, as if the shock paralyzed him, his gaze darkening further.

"It's not for you to understand, Su-ho. I've always felt like a burden to you. I don't have the right to... I don't have the right to do this to you. You deserve better. She deserves better."

The words broke in the air, heavy with regret and suffering. Each of them was too fragile to handle love, friendship, and guilt. But there was no turning back.

---

The days that followed the altercation were both long and silent. Yet, something, somewhere, had begun to change.

It was Su-ho first. He had never been one to stand back, and even less to let tensions settle. But this time, he was taking his time. Because he could see that Si-eun wasn't just being evasive. He was hurt. Broken, inside.

And it was in this silence that one gesture made everything shift.

That evening, on the rooftop of the building where they usually met, Si-eun was sitting cross-legged, looking at the city lights, lost in his thoughts. Su-ho joined him without a word, sitting down beside him.

A long moment passed.

Then Si-eun, in a flat voice, murmured:

"I thought you wouldn't come back here."

Su-ho shrugged:

"I didn't feel like waiting any longer. I'm not good with silence."

A small laugh, barely audible, escaped Si-eun's lips. And in an almost clumsy gesture, he gently rested his head on Su-ho's shoulder. A soft silence enveloped them, comfortable this time.

Su-ho didn't move. He didn't say anything either. But his arm wrapped around Si-eun's shoulders, slowly. He held him close. It was a new gesture. Not just from a friend. Not only that.

They didn't talk about love. Not yet. But the bond was there, palpable, warm, and reassuring.

One day, Su-ho said, his voice soft:

"You know, you have the right to need others. I need you. It's not a weakness. It's just... human."

Si-eun looked at him, and for the first time, he didn't try to run away. He nodded silently.

But there was still an open wound. Y/N. And Su-ho wasn't one to leave things hanging for too long.

"You have to talk to her," he said one morning. "You can't keep hiding."

"I can't..."

"Yes, you can. And I'll come with you."

So they went to the conservatory where Y/N took her ballet classes. The atmosphere was calm, hushed. In a large room with mirrored walls, Y/N was dancing, surrounded by little girls in pink tutus. She was graceful, even with a slight limp. Each gesture was precise, gentle, and you could feel the passion in her eyes. She smiled at the children, encouraged them, corrected them with patience.

But when she saw Su-ho and Si-eun through the window, her smile slowly faded. She didn't greet them. She finished the session, then left without a word.

Su-ho scratched the back of his neck:

"Okay... She's not thrilled. We're going to have to do better."

And so he dragged them to a small neighborhood restaurant that all three of them knew. An old place where the smell of stew still hung in the air before you even opened the door.

They sat down. The waiter brought them kimchi, rice, steaming dishes. The silence was heavy, except for Su-ho's stomach, which was growling so loudly that even Y/N let out a twitch of a smile.

But no one spoke. Until Y/N broke.

She slammed her chopsticks down, her throat trembling. And tears sprang forth, brutal.

"You... you both let me down!" she cried between sobs. "You fought, you dragged me into it, and then you disappeared! Si-eun, you just... ignored me!"

Si-eun remained frozen.

She continued, unstoppable:

"And you, Su-ho, you think you can fix everything by forcing me to eat soup?"

Su-ho tried to put a ball of rice in her mouth to appease her. She accepted it between sniffles, chewed slowly, tears streaming down her face.

"I can't take it anymore. I want to break up with you, Si-eun. I don't love you anymore. I... I just want Su-ho, at least he stays!"

Su-ho choked on his own bowl of rice. He coughed, his eyes wide:

"Eat, love. You're starting to talk nonsense."

Y/N hiccuped, swallowed wrong, continued, her nose red:

"I'm tired of broken boys who run away from their responsibilities and make me feel guilty because they have sad eyes! I'm tired of your silences, your Korean drama stares!"

Su-ho tried to give her something to drink. She drank, wiped her cheeks, then started crying again, all while continuing to talk.

"And then why are you both so beautiful, huh? It's not fair! And now you're hugging like in a boy's love?! What am I supposed to do?!"

The waiter arrived, hesitant, placing a plate of fried chicken on the table.

"Not the moment," Su-ho said, politely sending him away.

Y/N grabbed a piece of chicken, bit into it, sobbed harder.

"It's so good... I hate you..."

It was then that Si-eun finally moved. He leaned towards her slowly. He didn't know what to say, so he did what he knew how to do: he looked at her sincerely.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I'm really, truly sorry. I messed up. I wanted to protect everyone by staying away. I thought I was the problem. But I understood. I was just a coward."

She looked at him, her eyes full of tears, her mouth full of rice, kimchi stuck to her cheek.

"You're really stupid," she murmured. "But I love you anyway."

And Su-ho, a piece of tofu balanced on his chopstick, sighed:

"You guys are impossible..."

Then he added with a smile:

"Good thing you have me."

And all three of them, in that small neighborhood eatery, between laughter, tears, food, and mumbled confessions, slowly began to piece their story back together.

---

The days that followed their confrontation saw things slowly settle, but with a new depth. It wasn't like before, when everything was easy and fluid, like a light song you listen to while walking under a summer sky. No, now everything seemed imbued with a greater complexity. A kind of tenderness, of fragility. But also strength. Because somewhere, between the laughter and the silences, something solid had formed. Something that none of the three had anticipated, but that was there, omnipresent, in every gesture, every look.

They often found themselves together. It was no longer just to chat or confide, but to share simple, almost mundane moments. Like that evening, when Y/N, in an excess of generosity, invited them to her house for the weekend. She had assured them that her parents were never there, and so they had prepared for a quiet weekend, just the three of them, laughing and relaxing. But as soon as they crossed the threshold of the house, they understood that Y/N had something else in mind.

The door opened onto a large, silent house. Daylight barely filtered through the thick curtains. They had expected relaxed moments, lounging on the sofa playing games or listening to music. But Y/N greeted them with an innocent smile and a "Oh, I've invited you for such a special weekend! You're going to love it." Immediately after, she gave them a mischievous look.

"I'm going to go relax on the sofa for a bit. You know... I work so hard, I deserve a little rest."

The boys exchanged a look, a little lost. Then, before they could protest, she added:

"If you could do a little cleaning around the house in the meantime... I love you so much for that!" She gave them a sugary smile, one of those smiles that removed any possibility of protest.

And so they found themselves, armed with brooms and cloths, cleaning Y/N's house. The task seemed endless. The living room, the bedrooms, the kitchen, everything was a mess. Su-ho, with his usual sense of humor, said while sweeping the floor:

"Love is so scary, what if she... makes us her servants for the weekend?"

Si-eun turned to him, a tired smile on his lips:

"I think that's exactly what she's done..."

And that was it. The weekend they thought would be idyllic had turned into a series of chores. Every time they finished a task, Y/N would get up from the sofa, her eyes shining, to assign them a new mission. A bit of dust to remove here, a cushion to rearrange there. And between each task, she would shower them with sweet words, sugary nicknames: "My little darlings, my loves, my adorable heroes..." But these words were just a sweet coating to mask the weekend's scam. Y/N rested while they slaved away.

Su-ho, increasingly exasperated, let out a groan.

"Love is so scary, Si-eun. What if she... continues to make us do all her chores? I’m starting to wonder if I’m in a romantic comedy or a horror movie."

Si-eun, wiping his forehead, nodded with a desperate look.

"I think we're in a bit of both. But hey, you know, it could have been worse. She could have made us cook too."

"That would have been the icing on the cake," Su-ho replied, continuing to sweep, looking dramatically exhausted.

Humor allowed them to hold on. But they were clearly realizing they had been tricked. Yet, even in this ridiculous situation, there was something beautiful. They were together, facing this absurd situation, and despite everything, they felt close. Their complicity was growing. Gestures became more tender, gazes longer. Even in the most mundane task, they found themselves connected in a new way.

Finally, evening arrived, and Y/N "woke up" from her restorative sleep. She invited them to sit around the table, dinner ready. This meal was the perfect excuse to "forgive" them for their hard labor. The table was beautifully set, and the food looked absolutely delicious. Y/N, with a triumphant smile, looked at them both and said:

"Well, you've certainly earned this feast. Thank you for your hard work. You're truly angels."

Su-ho collapsed into his chair, a sigh of relief escaping his lips.

"You know, Y/N... If you do this every time we come to your place, I'm going to end up being an expert in housework rather than romantic relationships."

Y/N laughed softly, a laugh that instantly warmed the atmosphere.

"I'm so sorry, my littles sweet. I promise tomorrow will be a perfect weekend."

And then, they spent an evening full of laughter, tender teasing, and good food. They had found their rhythm again, like a slightly wobbly but close-knit family, bound by ties stronger than simple chores.

Night fell, and after eating, they prepared for bed. But what awaited them was a little more... intimate. Y/N had invited them to sleep over, and it was clear she wasn't just sharing her bed. The bed was gigantic, but it didn't seem big enough for three. Once they were all lying down, Y/N snuggled against them without hesitation, immediately finding her place between Si-eun and Su-ho, her body brushing against both boys.

The problem was, she didn't really grasp the concept of personal space. She nestled against Si-eun, then, after a moment, turned towards Su-ho, moving a little closer. Neither of them dared to move, content to breathe deeply in the warmth of the night.

Su-ho, a little uncomfortable, murmured:

"Love is so scary, Si-eun. What if she never lets us sleep again?"

Si-eun, slightly tense from the proximity, shrugging, replied:

"I think you're going to have to get used to it."

The boys exchanged a nervous smile. The situation was both strange and sweet. They were so close to each other, but there was still that unspoken question between them. What exactly was this bond that had slowly woven itself, but undeniably linked them?

Then, in the middle of the night, Y/N woke up slightly, leaning over to kiss Si-eun, gently, almost like a wake-up call. The kiss was slow, almost shy. Si-eun didn't move, his eyes half-open, letting it happen. There was no rush, just a quiet tenderness that flowed through their gestures. It was like an attempt to explore this intimate space between them, to tame it.

Su-ho watched them, silent. A discreet smile formed on his lips, but it was neither jealousy nor anger. It was emotion. He watched them, moved by the tenderness of the moment. Then, without a word, he leaned towards them, kissing them in turn. Y/N turned to him, a mischievous glint in her eyes, but there was no drama or conflict. Just a silent love.

"You guys are unbearable," Su-ho murmured, teasing them, his smile widening. "But luckily you have me."

In Y/N's big bed, amidst laughter and shared moments of intimacy, the three young people let themselves be carried away by the sweetness of the night. The boundaries between friendship, love, and everything beyond seemed blurred, but there was no doubt: something intense was weaving itself between them. Something that went far beyond simple labels.

..................................................................................

@mariii-0001

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: you're so deeply in love with rollo flamme.

COMMENTS: this is my entry for my event the chimes of comfort!!

It’s hard not to admire Rollo when he works hard, his brow pinched and a scowl on his face. It takes everything in your power not to tuck those loose hairs behind his ear and trace the prominent cheekbones that make his pale face seem so hollow. He makes a soft tch noise, lips pursing in frustration, and you swoon.

You’re staring like a sap, you know that, but it’s hard not to when everything about him is absolutely enrapturing. His hooded eyes scan the mathematical equations faster than you can blink, his mind computing just how many ingredients he needs for each potion at unimaginable speeds. Your eyes drift down to the hand that grips his pen, the bones of his hand pressed against his skin as he writes, and you rest your cheek on my palm as you observe him.

It’s just so easy to love him. Serious, prickly, dedicated Rollo. It’s so easy to stay by his side, to know that he’s what you want. It’s so easy to imagine a future with him by your side, the only person who doesn’t see your lack of magic as a weakness, but a strength. Your heart flutters softly in your chest as you stare, taking him in like a work of art, a masterpiece.

You love him. You’ve loved him since you met two years ago and you'll love him forever, you just know it. Oh, what you would give to add a ring to those pretty hands of his, and him to call you his husband, for you to be Mx. Flamme, tied to him forever and always.

“Mon chou chou.” he murmurs, sounding almost mocking but you know otherwise, his eyes trained on your face, “Is everything alright?”

You can’t stop the dopey smile that blooms across your face, or the way your hands squeeze each other to stop themselves from reaching out to him. Mon chou chou, what a beautiful sound!

“It’s more than alright.” you laugh, as soft as the little bells he rings for you when you ask, the two of you indulging in gentle chimes right before bed.

It’s more than alright because I have you. And you’re beautiful.

“Focus.” he reminds you softly, a single elegant finger pressing against your review packet for potiontology, “I won’t permit you to slack off.”

“Right, right, it’s our final year.” you sigh, looking down at the half finished packet.

Your final year at Noble Bell. Graduation was a heartbeat away, your diploma almost within your grasp. Where were you going now? Would you go search the workforce for jobs, or continue schooling? You knew Rollo’s plans—ever the planner, that man—but had put very hesitant thoughts into your own. You didn’t want to mess up, or to become a burden on your family and him. The thought alone was almost too much to bear. You purse your lips, eyes drifting over to his face, searching his visage for answers.

There was that scowl again. Such a sweet sight from such a sweet man. Any focus you might have had melts like butter, and your smile returns, soft and full of love, completely distracted. You hear him scoff and mutter something under his breath (which sounds very much like oh for heaven’s sake) before he scoots his chair closer to yours. It’s like an electric jolt shoots straight up your spine when his knee knocks unceremoniously against yours, his hand resting on your thigh to keep you both steady.

“Tell me what’s on your mind.” he demands, leaning closer to you.

“I just...love you.” you say softly, a bit embarrassed at how intense your thoughts are and how little those four words cover it.

“I love you too.” he says it back and his voice is as stoney and soft as ever.

 He’s new to being vulnerable, to letting his walls down, to being him.

“I love you so much.” your cheat heaves with your overwhelming emotions, your lips and mouth moving before you can think to stop them, “I love how sweet you are, I love your hands and your cheekbones too and I love how you pout when you’re having trouble with a problem, I love how you sound when you call me mon chou chou, it makes my heart race.”

Rollo blinks, staring at you with his usual standoffish expression. Even when he’s so close, he feels so distant. You take a deep breath and continue to talk, choosing your words more carefully and speaking slower.

“I want to stay with you as long as I can. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. You’re everything I will want. I want to spend forever with you, when we graduate I just want to be with you. I’m not certain of anything in my future except for that. I just want to be with you. I want to live with you, to come back home to you or have you come back home to me it doesn’t matter, I want to make dinner with you and make breakfast for you, I want to wake up to your face everyday and I...I...”

You bite your wobbling lower lip—why are you starting to cry—and gaze upon your love with what you believe is the most yearning you have ever displayed.

“I just love you.” you repeat, because everything in your future is so uncertain, because you never know what could happen tomorrow, because magic could very well take you away just like it took his brother away, because he has nightmares about such things every night, because you want to grow old with him and die by his side, because you want your hearts and souls and everythings to be one.

“I...I don’t pout.” he huffs, turning away from you with red cheeks and shaking hands.

Ah. Of course he would be hung up on that.

“You’re pouting right now.” you giggle, “It’s cute.”

Rollo is silent for a few beats before he turns back to look at you, brow furrowed in that cutely serious way you know and love.

Vulnerability. He may not know he displays it so openly with you (and maybe he doesn’t, maybe you can just read him well enough), but you’re glad he does.

“You want to...marry me?” he clears his throat, placing his ringed hand over yours.

The symbolism of such an act is not lost on you.

He’s checking if he heard you right. If he read your intentions right.

“After graduation...I’d like us to think about it.” you reply, flipping your hand to intertwine your fingers.

Mx. Flamme sounds lovely. It sounds right. You know the name will sound sweet on your tongue when you tell people it’s your name, when you’re called over by a coworker, when your friends tease you with formalities. It’s the type of name that will give you happiness for as long as you live, the type of name that only the man in front of you can give you.

And that’s because it’s so irrevocably his.

“Your wish is my command.”

He raises your hand to his lips and kisses it—his lips brush over the knuckle of his ring finger and you shiver,  It’s a promise.

No, more than that, it’s a vow.

“My sweet lamb.” he whispers, the words slipping under your skin and into your veins, passing right through your beating heart and rattling you from the inside out.

His lamb. His pure, unblemished lamb.

Your heart sings like a choir at the new name.

[cleovee]

+　๋࣭ ✴︎ ARISTOTLE | Ollie Bearman x smart-student!reader

Summary: A math genius and a rising racer meet by chance, constantly challenging each other. What begins as playful debates slowly grows into something more, making them question where they truly belong.

Warning: Um kinda out-of-character ollie ig

Notes: I literally wrote this on class because I’m so bored, so this might be kinda messy but I’ll fix it later (if I remember it tho-) And this is kinda long so i hope u enjoy it <3

Y/N had always lived in a world of numbers, equations, and the thrill of solving problems that most people found impossible. At sixteen, she was already a prodigy in the math olympiad scene, effortlessly tackling problems that left even seasoned mathematicians impressed.

But then, she met Ollie Bearman.

She had seen his name before—a rising star in Ferrari’s junior program. Nineteen years old, fast, confident, and already making waves in Formula 2, with whispers of an impending F1 seat growing louder. He was a name that mattered in motorsport, but to Y/N, he had been nothing more than just a name.

She found herself standing in the Ferrari garage, an unwilling spectator as cars roared through the narrow streets of Monte Carlo. Unlike the rest of the team, she wasn’t watching the cars themselves but the screens, the numbers flashing in real time, painting a picture of the race beyond what the eye could see.

That was when he noticed her.

Ollie pulled off his helmet, shaking out his damp curls, still breathless from the session. He had expected to be met with the usual engineers, mechanics, or even an occasional sponsor’s representative. Instead, his gaze landed on her—a girl who looked out of place, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the screen rather than the track.

“You don’t look like a racing fan.” he remarked, walking over.

“Because I’m not.” she replied without looking up. “But I like the real-time data. And you brake later than most in Turn 4. It’s an unnecessary risk.”

Ollie blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Then, to her irritation, he grinned.

“Risk is part of racing.”

“And probability says it’ll cost you a race if you keep doing it.”

His grin widened. “Let me guess, an engineer?”

“Unemployed.” she corrected.

He tilted his head, intrigued. “So, what’s your verdict? Am I good or just lucky?”

She hesitated. Math was clean and predictable. Racing was not. It was a tangled mess of speed, instinct, and physics-defying precision. And yet, even she had to admit that Ollie’s driving wasn’t reckless—it was calculated, refined in a way that most people wouldn’t notice. “You calculate your risks well. It’s not all instinct, even if you pretend it is.”

Ollie smirked. “So, you have been watching.”

“Only because my dad makes me.”

At that, Ollie raised an eyebrow. He had a feeling she wasn’t just any guest in the Ferrari garage. “Wait, who’s your dad?”

Before she could answer, a deep voice cut in. “Y/N, I see you’ve met Ollie.” Ollie turned and felt his stomach drop slightly. Standing behind her was none other than the CEO of Ferrari himself.

Oh. His easygoing confidence flickered for just a second. “Ah. That explains a lot.”

To most people, Y/N’s father was one of the most powerful figures in Formula 1. To her, he was simply the reason she had spent more weekends at racetracks than she cared to count. She gave Ollie a knowing look. “Told you I don’t have a choice.”

From that moment on, Ollie seemed to make it his mission to get under her skin. At every race she attended, he sought her out, tossing math problems at her just to see if she’d take the bait (she always did). In return, she picked apart his driving with ruthless precision, pointing out every inefficiency like a strategist rather than a fan.

—

One evening, after hours of solving functional equations for preparation for the International Mathematical Olympiad, Y/N sat at the dinner table with her family. Her two older siblings, Kai and Isa, had been listening to their dad talk about Ferrari’s recent races.

“So, Dad.” Isa started, smirking. “Are we going to talk about how your daughter is lowkey running strategy for Ferrari?”

“I am not running strategy.” Y/N said immediately, stabbing her fork into her food.

“But you could.” Kai pointed out. “Dad literally offered you a spot.”

“Not a real spot.” she muttered.

Their father sighed. “She’s brilliant with numbers, but she refuses to apply them where they matter most.”

“They matter in math.” Y/N shot back.

Kai leaned back. “Okay, but let’s be real. Why are you really turning it down? Is it the pressure? Or…” He smirked. “Would working in F1 mean seeing a certain driver more often?”

Isa grinned. “Ohhh, this just got soooo interesting.”

Y/N groaned. “You guys are ridiculous.”

Her mother, who had been quiet, finally spoke up. “You should do what makes you happy. Whether that’s math or racing—just make sure it’s your choice. Not something you’re avoiding.” Y/N hesitated.

She had been avoiding it, hadn’t she?

But it wasn’t because of Ollie.

Or at least, that’s what she told herself.

—

Her presence in the paddock didn’t go unnoticed. Carlos was the first to bring it up. “You and Bearman seem close.” he mused after bumping into her in the hospitality area.

Lewis, who had been listening in, smirked. “More than close. Kid looked like he was waiting for her approval after his last win.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “I’ve seen him stare at telemetry less intensely than he looks at you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You’re all being ridiculous.”

“Are we?” Charles grinned. “Because Ollie is watching you right now.”

She turned, and sure enough, across the paddock, Ollie was mid-conversation with an engineer but still stealing glances at her. The moment their eyes met, he smirked and gave her a lazy salute before turning back to his conversation.

Kimi Antonelli, the youngest among them, just chuckled. “You should probably just put him out of his misery.”

Y/N ignored them.

Mostly.

“So, when’s this big math thing?” Ollie asked, catching up with her after a long day in the paddock.

“July.” she answered.

“Alright. If you win a medal, I’ll let you call strategy for my next race.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And if I don’t?”

“Then I take you on a hot lap, and you have to admit that racing is cooler than doing equations.”

It was a ridiculous bet.

But Ollie looked so smug, so certain he’d win, that she couldn’t help herself. “Fine.” she agreed, shaking his hand. And for the first time in her life, she wasn’t sure which outcome she wanted more.

—

Despite their deal, Y/N and Ollie had fallen into a routine. She was deep in training for the olympiad, and he was busy racing across Europe, but somehow, they still found time for each other.

Their conversations started out competitive, Ollie sending her video clips of his best overtakes, asking for her "mathematical analysis," just to get a reaction.

Ollie: be honest, did I calculate my braking perfectly or what?

Y/N: you cut it too close in Turn 7

Y/N: if you keep doing that, probability says you’ll get penalized eventually

Ollie: probability also says I’ll pull it off every time.

Y/N: that’s not how probability works??

Ollie: that’s how I work :)

At some point, the conversations became… more. Late-night texts about nothing and everything. Ollie asking about her training, even though he barely understood half of what she was saying. Y/N watching his races, even when she pretended she didn’t care.

One evening, she was deep into a geometry proof when her phone buzzed.

Ollie: do you ever take breaks, or do you just absorb math through osmosis?

Y/N: breaks are inefficient.

Ollie: you know what else is inefficient? overworking your brain until it melts.

She sighed, rubbing her temples.

Y/N: and what do you suggest i do instead?

Ollie: something fun

Y/N: define ‘fun’

Ollie: call me XD

She hesitated. Their texts were one thing, but a call? It was different. But before she could overthink it, she hit the button. Ollie picked up instantly. “Wow. Didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

“You said fun. I’m testing your definition.”

His chuckle sent a strange warmth through her. “Alright, genius. Let’s see if I can impress you with something other than lap times.”

They talked for hours. About racing, about numbers, about everything in between. It was easy. Natural. And maybe, just maybe, she didn’t mind it.

—

The weekend of the Monaco Grand Prix arrived, and Y/N found herself back in the Ferrari garage, standing in the same spot where she had first met Ollie. She wasn’t a racing fan. She kept telling herself that. But her eyes still sought out the timing screens, scanning for his name.

He was starting P3. A solid position. But Monaco was unforgiving. Overtaking here was a different kind of battle—one that required both patience and risk. As the race began, she gripped her headset tighter than she intended.

Lap after lap, Ollie stayed behind the two leaders, waiting. Her father, standing beside her, noticed. “He’s playing the long game.”

Y/N nodded, focused. “Like he should.” With ten laps to go, the car ahead made a mistake. A lock-up.

Y/N held her breath.

Ollie pounced.

A daring move down the inside of Turn 10. Inches from disaster. She exhaled as he made it stick. Now, it was just him and the leader.

“Come on, Bearman.” she whispered.

With five laps left, she saw it before it even happened. The leader’s tires were gone. Ollie had managed his perfectly.

One chance. A gap opened. He took it.

The Ferrari garage erupted as Ollie crossed the finish line first. Y/N let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. But the moment that hit her the hardest?

His first radio message.

“This win goes to my strategist.”

Her heart skipped. He found her in the celebrations, helmet off, eyes searching—until they locked onto hers. And suddenly, it wasn’t just about the race.

For the Bearman, racing had always been everything. It was all he had ever wanted. But lately, something had changed. It started with little things—how he’d instinctively look for Y/N in the paddock, how her absence at a race bothered him more than he’d admit, how their late-night texts had become something he needed rather than just enjoyed.

Then came the bigger realization. The moment he won, he didn’t think about the trophy, the team, or the celebrations.

He wondered what she would say. Would she analyze his lap times? Admit he was right about Turn 4? And that’s when it hit him.

He was completely, absolutely in love with her

—

Ollie had barely made it through his post-race interviews before the questions shifted. “So Ollie, your radio message—who’s ‘your strategist’?”

Ollie chuckled, shaking his head. “Just someone who keeps me in check.”

“More important than your race engineer?”

“She’d say yes.”

The reporters paused “She? So, it’s a girl?”

Ollie sighed, but the grin never left his face. "Next question." The speculation exploded. Social media flooded with theories, blurry pictures of him talking to Y/N in the paddock, clips of their earlier interactions.

Her dad wasn’t surprised. "You should have known he wouldn’t keep it quiet."

“I did know.” she muttered, scrolling through an article titled ‘Ollie Bearman’s Secret Strategist: The Genius Behind the Headset?’

Isa sent her a text on their groupchat.

Isa: girl u are literally trending rn

Kai: do we get paddock passes🥺🥺

Y/N: lol no

She was still debating how to handle it when her phone buzzed again.

Ollie: pls tell me ur not mad

Y/N: mad? no, slightly horrified? yas

Ollie: at least they didn’t find our bet lol

Y/N: give em some time

She could practically hear his laughter through the screen.

—

Y/N had never been one to get attached easily. But Ollie? He had a way of making it impossible to keep her distance.

It started with the small things. The way he always found her in the Ferrari hospitality unit, plopping down across from her with that infuriatingly easygoing grin. The way he’d text her after every race, win or lose, as if her opinion mattered more than anyone else’s. And the way he made her care about racing.

“You seem happier lately.” Charles Leclerc teased one evening in the Ferrari motorhome.

Y/N barely glanced up from her laptop. “And you’re getting slower in Sector 2.”

Carlos Sainz, sitting beside Charles, burst out laughing. “She got you there, mate.” Charles rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, his gaze flicked toward Ollie, who was casually leaning against the doorway, watching Y/N with that same look he always had when she wasn’t paying attention.

Carlos smirked. “So, when are you two admitting it?”

Y/N frowned. “Admitting what?”

“That you like each other,” Max Verstappen cut in from the other side of the room, completely unbothered as he scrolled through his phone. “It’s obvious.”

Y/N scoffed. “We’re friends.”

“Sure.” Max drawled. “And I drive slow.” Lewis Hamilton, who had been silently sipping his tea, finally looked up. “It’s fine if you’re in denial. Just don’t let it distract you. Relationships in F1 are complicated.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Good thing we’re not in one, then.”

Ollie, who had been suspiciously quiet this whole time, finally spoke. “Yet.” The room fell silent.

Y/N’s head snapped up. “Excuse me?”

Ollie grinned. “I said ‘yet.’”

Carlos let out a low whistle. “Bold move, boy.”

Y/N, meanwhile, felt her face heat up. She was used to Ollie’s teasing, but this? This felt different. “You’re insufferable.” she muttered, focusing back on her laptop.

“Maybe,” Ollie said easily. “But you’re still stuck with me.”

And the worst part? He was right. But now, there was something unspoken between them, something neither of them dared to acknowledge.

Until one night in Monza.

It was late, the paddock mostly empty, the distant hum of the circuit lights buzzing overhead. Y/N had stayed behind to finish some work, and Ollie, as usual, had found her.

“You know,” he said, sitting across from her at one of the hospitality tables, “for someone who doesn’t like F1, you spend an awful lot of time in the paddock.”

She shrugged. “Force of habit.”

“Right.” Ollie leaned forward. “Or maybe you just like being around me.”

She snorted. “Delusional.”

He grinned. “I prefer optimistic.” There was a pause. A rare moment of quiet between them. Then Ollie, unusually serious, asked, “Do you ever think about what happens after this?”

“After what?”

“This. Us. Me in F1, you off solving the world’s hardest equations or whatever it is you’ll end up doing.”

Y/N hesitated. Because, for the first time, she realized she didn’t have an answer. Numbers were predictable. Racing was not. And neither was Ollie Bearman. He stepped beside her, hands in his pockets. “So. What did you think?” He said breaking the silence.

“Of the race?” she asked, though they both knew that wasn’t what he meant.

“Of everything.”

The room was quiet for a moment, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning. It was a ridiculous situation—two people who were too proud, too stubborn, yet somehow always orbiting each other.

Ollie exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You know what? No, I’m saying it. You’re—” He paused, visibly struggling with the words. “You’re annoying.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You’re annoying. You always have to be right, you never let me win an argument, and you act like you don’t care when you clearly do.”

She blinked. “First of all, I am always right. Second, you’re the one who keeps picking fights with me. And third—” She faltered for just a second. “I don’t care.”

Ollie let out a dry laugh. “Yeah? Then why do you always wait for my race results before you go to sleep?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Wha- how do you even know that?”

“Because Charles told me. Apparently, you asked about my sprint race before anything else last weekend.”

Damn it, Charles.

Y/N felt her face heat up, but she refused to back down. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Right. Just like how I don’t notice when you’re in the garage, even though I somehow always drive better when you’re watching?”

She swallowed. “Coincidence.”

He huffed, looking almost amused. “You really don’t make this easy.”

“You don’t either.” she muttered. A beat passed. Then another.

And then, with a voice quieter than before, Ollie said, “You know what? I like y- No. I love you.” She stiffened. The words felt so foreign coming from him—blunt, direct, but still carrying that same defiance he always had.

She hesitated for a second too long, so he quickly added, “Not that it matters. I mean, if you’re going to pretend you don’t feel the same way, then—”

“I never said that,” she interrupted.

He froze.

She exhaled slowly. “You’re annoying too. Always teasing, always acting like you don’t care when you obviously do. And it’s exhausting.”

Ollie tilted his head slightly, eyes searching hers. “So, what are you saying?”

She looked away, glaring at the Ferrari logo on the wall as if it would save her. “I’ll give you my answer,” she said quietly, "after my olympiad.”

Ollie blinked. “You’re making me wait?”

“You make me wait every race weekend to see if you actually listen to my advice.”

He groaned, running a hand through his curls. “You are impossible.”

She shot him a glare. “Take it or leave it, Bearman.”

He let out a short laugh. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll take it.” His answering grin was slow, filled with something dangerous—because Ollie Bearman never backed down from a challenge.

—

The International Mathematics Olympiad arrived faster than she expected. Almost 6 weeks of nothing but numbers, equations, and the thrill of proving the impossible. When the final results were announced, she stood on the podium, a gold medal around her neck, her country’s flag draped behind her.

She had done it.

And the first person she texted?

Y/N: i placed first!

Ollie: so that means I get a strategist, right?

Y/N: guess i owe you an answer

Ollie: finally

When she returned home, he was already waiting. She met him at the Ferrari garage—after hours, when most people had already left, and the place was quiet except for the hum of machinery and the faint smell of oil and rubber. Ollie was leaning against the side of his car, arms crossed, but the moment he saw her walk in, his expression softened.

“So,” he said, watching her carefully. “Did solving equations help you figure things out?”

“Yeah,” she said simply. Ollie raised an eyebrow. “And?”

She tilted her head slightly, eyes glinting with something unreadable.

“I like you.” It was so effortless, so blunt, that it completely threw him off. He had expected a debate, some kind of teasing remark, maybe even a dramatic build-up. Not this.

“You—” He blinked, mouth parting slightly. “You really waited this long just to say that?”

She shrugged. “Had to be sure.”

Ollie let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “God, you’re impossible.”

And then—he kissed her.

It wasn’t careful or calculated. It was instinct, reckless and real, like something that had been waiting to happen for too long. She froze for a second, then kissed him back, just as certain.

The sound of a camera shutter snapped them out of it.

Ollie pulled back just enough to glance toward the entrance—where, through the gap in the garage doors, a group of photographers had their lenses pointed directly at them.

His jaw clenched. “You have got to be kidding me.”

She blinked up at him, a little breathless, then exhaled sharply. “Guess we’re making headlines tomorrow.”

Ollie groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Unbelievable.”

—

You’re right, the headlines the next morning were everywhere.

“Ferrari’s Rising Star Ollie Bearman and Mystery Girl—More Than Just Friends?”

“Caught in 4K: Young F1 Driver’s Late-Night Garage Romance!”

At first, people were just trying to figure out who the mystery girl was. But then, someone zoomed in on the photo and noticed about who that girl is.

“WAIT. ISN’T THIS THE GIRL WHO JUST PLACED FIRST AT THE IMO??”

“YOU’RE TELLING ME FERRARI’S FUTURE STAR JUST BAGGED A MATHEMATICAL GENIUS???”

“Ollie Bearman. Sir. How did you pull THAT?”

Ollie nearly threw his phone across the room when he saw the last comment. “You’re kidding me.” he muttered, scrolling through the article. The picture was clear, him and Y/N in the Ferrari garage, mid-kiss. There was no way out of it.

His phone buzzed.

Y/N: wow we’re famous

Ollie: you think this is funny?

Y/N: a little

Ollie: i’m going to eat whoever took that photo.

Y/N: too late, my mom already sent it to all my relatives

Ollie groaned. His face was burning. Great. A few hours later, Y/N showed up at his place, looking way too calm about the whole thing.

“You look way too amused.” Ollie said, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorframe.

She shrugged. “I think it’s funny. Besides, it’s not like we were planning to keep it secret forever.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah, but I was hoping for a little control over how people found out.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You? Control? Ollie, you kissed me first.”

His face turned red instantly. “That’s—shut up.” She smirked, stepping inside and flopping onto his couch like she owned the place. “And now the whole world knows. Congrats, loverboy.”

He groaned. “You’re the worst.”

“You like me, though.”

Ollie sighed, defeated, before sitting beside her. He nudged her shoulder lightly. “Unfortunately.”

She grinned. “Lucky me.”

Despite the chaos, despite the headlines and the teasing texts from the other drivers.

Lewis: Look at our little Ollie, all grown up!

Charles: I expect wedding invites.

Kimi: can you two not do this in the Ferrari garage next time?

He groaned dramatically, but when she laced her fingers through his, he couldn’t help but smile. Maybe the whole world knowing wasn’t so bad. Maybe, for once, he didn’t mind being the center of attention.

Because if there was one thing that mattered more than racing, more than headlines, more than anything—It was her.

© CLEOVEE 2025, please do not translate or repost my fics without my permission.

[kalizzz]

Bound by Knowledge, Broken by Him

PAIRING - bully l.hs x tutor y/n

GENRE - Dark romance

WC - 1091

WARNINGS - DUBC0N, EVERYONE IS OF AGE!, toxic, dirty talking, oral sex, p in v, unprotected sex (don’t do this okay guys), rough sex, sadistic, (lmk if i missed something)

Don’t like, please don’t read. MDNI ‼️

I hate Lee Heeseung. Ever since I moved to a new school, he had been targeting me. Every. Single. Day. I don’t even know how’d it happen. Why he was doing this.

The last interaction I remembered with him was when I accidentally spilled orange juice on his black leathered jacket he wore on top of his smoothed fabric uniform from getting tripped by group of girls during lunch time. Relieved, he didn’t do anything but glared at me as many eyes of students looked at us lock eyes. He then walked away without saying a word, his group of friends looking back at me with disgust, following his steps as he left.

After that day, the bullying began. It started with only silly pranks. Afterwards, it gradually became worse and worse. Being pushed, tripped, even my things have been missing and it obviously was not by accident. We all know who’s all behind this. Lee Heeseung.

Whenever they purposely trip and push me, causing me to fall back, he was there, always laughing with his group of friends. I hate that smile of his. I hated his friends. I hate this school. I hate him.

Even though I had been bullied continuously, I was pretty gifted with knowledge. Unfortunately, that caught the attention to my professor, complimented me and assigned me to tutor one of his failing students. I felt my soul escape me as I heard Lee Heeseung’s name being mentioned. I couldn’t back down either since the professor mentioned I would be getting paid. I do need extra cash.

Now, we’re here. In Heeseung’s bedroom. I sat across him from the desk, looking down to analyze his mathematics paper he just did. Though, I could feel his intense, piercing gaze on me. I sighed and looked up to lock eyes with him,

“Your number 5 and 9 are both wrong.” I handed him the paper. He took it and purposely grazed his finger on mine. I quickly took my hand back, then avoiding his eye contact. He was awfully silent today. It had been a week since I have been tutoring him, he would usually not listen to me as I teach or play ridiculous pranks on me. But today.. something was different.

“Come here.” He suddenly spoke, having to hear his dark voice made me nervous. “Do you need any help?” He sighed hit the table hard, making a loud thud sound. “Do I need to repeat myself?” His tone becoming more irritated. I immediately stood up and walked to his other end of the table, hesitantly leaning down.

He smirks and suddenly graze his hand on my waist, lowering it down to my hip, bringing me in closer. “What are y-“ I get cut off, “Teach me how to do number 5. But do it here, I can’t concentrate properly when you’re so far away.” I gulped and in defeat, I agreed. Who knows what he would do to me if I wouldn’t.

I was about to teach him the equation, till I glance at him spread open his legs, his grey sweatpants stretched. “You like what you see?” He spoke in a deep voice. I quickly look away. “Sit.” I look at him in disbelief. “W-what..?” He scoffs, “sit. here.” He taps on his lap. “Heeseung, I shouldn’t.” He rolls his eyes and yanks my arm hardly, causing me to trip lightly and fell on his lap, my back facing him.

He taps and rests his head on my back as his body roams around my body. “Heeseung.. stop.” His inhales sharply, I could feel his bulge growing underneath. “Fuck..” He quietly groans, continuing his roaming around my body.. finally reaching to my mounds, giving them a hard squeeze that made me let out a whince. “S-stop!..” I quickly stood up to get out of his grasp, though that didn’t work as he pushed me down the table, bending me over. He used one hand to pin my hands on top and used his free hand to flip my skirt up, revealing my white lingerie, somehow soaked.

“Shit..” He lets go of my hands to grip my thighs, opening them, as he kneeled down, face to face with my covered cunt. I could have used that opportunity to run away, but my legs gave out. I could feel his breath blowing on my clothed cunt. “No.. please!” I say with the amount of energy I have, getting ignored, he dives his face onto my clothes cunt, sniffing and licking the slit. I let out a whimper. “What a perfect pussy. Just for me.” I hear him stand up, untying his sweatpants as it drops onto the floor. I glance behind me, seeing him take off his boxers as his dick slaps onto his stomach. My eyes widened, can I not escape at all?

He pushed my head down to the table and took off my panty harshly. I whimper as I felt his tip rubbing between my folds. What do i do? I’m a virgin. I never done this before. Am I about to get..

Thoughts vanished when I felt agonizing pain between my walls. I let out a squeal, gasping for air, feeling his dick enter deeper. He shivers, “So tight. Am I the first to pop your cherry, baby?” You couldn’t respond. Your hands shake as they reach your mouth, covering it from letting out sounds you don’t want him to hear.

He pulls it back out, then ramming in harder inside you, hitting your cervix. You swear you felt your hymen rip. You let out a painful moan. It was music to Heeseung’s ears. Seeing you like this made him ram harder and harder. His hips moving faster after each thrust, the table moving fast as well. You can only hear lewd noises inside his room. Skin slapping, squelching noises and loud moans.

“I’m c-close.” You realized, he didn’t even have a condom on. “Heeseung! Please- n-not inside!!..” you beg desperately with all the energy you had left. You continue to whine and moan as he thrusts even harder, fucking you like an animal. “I’m gonna breed you, fuck.”

“Just like that.. be a good girl.” Finally, he reached his pleasure. Releasing his whites, painting my walls. I pant, gasping for the air left in me while my body trembles. I feel him leaning down, whispering in my ear, “you’re so beautiful. fuck, i want to hurt you even more. let’s do one more round.”

You accepted your fate. You tiredly nodded.

[hopefulidiocy]

Crawl

SG!Salesman x Fem!Y/N

Warnings: smut with no plot, humiliation, good girl kink, spanking, teasing, gagged, choked.

MINORS DNI 🔞

👔👔👔👔👔👔👔👔👔👔👔👔👔👔👔👔👔👔👔

👔👔👔👔👔👔👔👔👔👔👔👔👔👔👔👔👔👔👔

The student in front of you had his hands in his hair as you attempted to walk him through Pythagoras theorem, no matter what he could no get to the right answer so, you called it a day. Shutting your tutoring books, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder as you escorted him out; your mind scrambled from the amount of energy you had put into trying to make mathematics easier for him… sadly it wasn’t working. You wondered whether you were truly the right tutor for him, even though you were exceptionally gifted at numbers and scientific equations. When you shut the door behind him, you pressed your back against the strong white wood and massaged your temples; aching for some kind of realise. The bottle of red wine he bought you a week ago for being such a good girl was sitting in your fridge, gagging to be opened so, naturally, your feet glided you towards your silver fridge; the blue light shining in your eyes as the wine stood in the middle, shimmeringly untouched. With your wine glass in your hand, fluffy socks and silk pyjamas you collapsed into your feathered couch, switching on the tv, flickering through the channels until something caught you.

Knee deep in your show, a knock sounded, your head whipped towards the door… who could be calling? You thought. You set your glass on the coffee table, softly padding your feet towards the door. The man. In his grey blazer and pant suits with a white shirt pulled taut against his lean body, his famous briefcase pulling tight to his legs; as always, his little smirk that sent your mind reeling.

“Y/N,” he stated, smirking.

“I-I had no idea you were coming over today…” you admitted to yourself that the wine had gone to your head, probably because you hadn’t eaten much,

“Hm… I see that,” his dark gaze wandered down your pink silk pyjamas, “you look nice.” That simple compliment was enough to make you blush, juxtaposing the strict but fair teacher you were during the day. He slithered beside you and the door frame, striding in with that confident gate he had and placed his briefcase on the counter, eyeing the wine. Shyly, you followed him, finding your abdomen drop when he turned around, his wicked smirk gone and instead a strict, straight line as he looked at you,

“Get on your hands and knees.” The command wasn’t out of nowhere, you knew he must be arriving for one thing and one thing only. A sane person, who could stand up for themselves would spit at his feet, but you weren’t sane. You were his through and through, and you loved every moment of it.

You sank to your knees, keeping his eye contact and rested your body on your palms, flat into the cold ground as you watched him turn away from you, walking towards the chair that was turned in your direction. He sat there, his legs spread, his curved groin apparent to you so much that you felt your mouth water and your throat turn to mush as he cocked his head,

“What are you waiting for, y/n?” His voice was laced with amusement and darkness, creating a deep, warm flip deep within your gut, “crawl to me.” He sat there, so proud and smug as you began to crawl to him; keeping eye contact despite the humiliation that had him sneering at you. Once you reached his knees, he leaned down, grabbing you by your face, looking deep within your soul as his free hand ducked under your top, smirking when he found you had no bra on,

“I want to have a little fun with you,” he whispered, his breath fanning your face. His voice alone made you whine. He pulled you onto his lap, your arms hanging over the chair as your belly rested painfully against his muscular legs. He teased you, painting circles with light fingertips but once he reached the waistline of your shorts, your silk shorts, his light touch diminished when he yanked them down with so much force you heard a rip. The cold air hit your ass, but it wasn’t for long before he landed a savage spank onto it, so hard you gripped the arm of the chair and yelping. He chuckled from your response and landed another one, carefully watching your reaction. He knew he had you wrapped tightly around his finger, he could make you do whatever he wanted and you would drop everything to keep him satisfied. Both of you knew your role in your dynamic and it was so beautiful to fulfill it.

“Count.” He demanded, his voice sultry as he smacked you again, harsher than before,

“One…” you croaked and he hit you again, “two…”

The moonlight shone in through this sordid moment, you strung against the lap of the man that could make you cry and scream… all in the best of ways. He hit your ass more than twenty times before his touch became softer, he rubbed the red hand marks and travelled towards your heat, where you swore you had made a mark on his thigh. He would love it. His index and middle finger found its way to your clit, he hummed as you mewled in the crook of your arm, bucking your hips upwards,

“Be patient, baby,” he cooed as his fingers began to circle around your clit, adding just enough pressure that made your eyes flicker and your jaw slackened as he painfully pressed against your clit. You moaned out as his fingers perfectly tuned you, his fingers knowing exactly what to do that made you become all his, the shiver that he sent up your spine when his hand began to work faster could not be written by the perfect author. You ground your hips into his thighs as you felt the world begin to spin, squeezing your eyes shut you submitted to his will and let go of your stress over his hand. He chuckled darkly, shoving his fingers into your mouth, curving them deeply down your throat as you lapped up your own taste. He enjoyed you tasting yourself, he groaned as he hooked your mouth, pulling you harshly upwards,

“You’ve been good to me, now show me how much you want it.” He sneered, pushing you off his lap, not hard but enough force that made you tumble. You trailed your hands up his thighs, your eyes making one spotlight over his groin and massaging it with the base of your palm before hungrily pulling down his zipper and pulling out his cock. It shocked you every time just how long he was, it was a miracle you could fit him in. You spread kitten kisses all over him before licking from the base to the tip, making his thighs shiver. He looked at you, his eyes drunken with lust as you took him whole, his cock full in your mouth; beginning to bob up and down, letting him violate you. He pulled your hair into a makeshift ponytail, gripping tightly onto you, almost controlling your eagerness. He grunted as your strong tongue licked as you sucked, giving him a wild look in his eyes, his hair slightly disheveled as his hand pulled you completely off his cock. He watched you for a moment before slapping your cheek as gentle as he could, which wasn’t that gentle at all. He smirked when the red mark appeared on your face, you loved the way he ruined you, you loved how much of a slut you were whenever he visited you. He stood up, grabbing your elbow along with his movements, dragging you towards your couch where you had been sitting just a half hour earlier in such innocence and now, in that exact space, you were being dragged back down to hell. He bent you over, your cheek pressed hard against the feathers as his cock teased your wet folds, dragging his leaking tip up and down until it pressed so beautifully against your clit. The absence of movement had you craning your neck towards him, and in that moment he had never looked more beautiful; moonlight behind him making him look like an angel fallen from grace as he undid his top button and harshly pulling his tie off his body, winding it into a ball, his eyesight caught you,

“I like your neighbours hearing what a whore you are for a man you hardly know, but I also like to see you struggle,” he shoved the material in your mouth, muffling your noises as he spread your cervix around him. You squeezed your eyes shut, breathing deeply through your nose to accommodate to his size; but he didn’t allow you that luxury as he began snapping his hips in and out of you, your eyes rolling hard to the back of your skull. His cock, thick and hard, hit that spot that had you crying out, bringing water to your eyes. He imprinted his fingers into your hips as he brought you towards him, the slapping sounds bouncing off the silent walls that became fucking classical music to you. Chewing down on the tie, you made a feral groan that did not release any of the stress that had built up within your core. His movements sped up, his hip bones hitting your ass cheeks with every animalistic move he made, your eyes and stomach went wild for him as his ground his cock deep within your stomach, reaching around to press your abdomen so the space between your bladder and cervix became almost nonexistent. You loved it when he knew how to play you so perfectly like a violin. His hand painfully pressed against you, threatening to release all over him, but both of you loved the mess you made so you relaxed allowing yourself to feel the mixture of pain and pleasure he gave to you. His hips snapped, his tip hitting your gspot, sending your head rolling back, your eyes at the back of your skull as you groaned harshly into the material.

“Let them hear you, baby,” he pulled the tie from your mouth, bucking his hips so fast you hardly had a moment to breathe and you curled your fists around the sofa as you shrieked loudly for all to hear. He chuckled mockingly before wrapping the tie around your neck and pulling harshly so your head was yanked backwards. The pressure of the material around your neck only had you begging for more, you vocalised it and he commanded your wish because his movements were so feral it had you seeing stars. You closed your eyes, feeling the drop in your stomach, the world nothing but a slight glimmer, his groans and disgustingly seductive curses blessing your ears as his movements slowed down to a painful pace, aching for more, aching to let go you pushed your ass back. With one swift thrust, he had you gushing all over him, coming undone once more as he painted your walls with his perfection. You collapsed into the sofa, curling into the foetal position as he squeezed himself behind you, his arms strong around you as you came down from your undoing,

“You were so good for me,” he whispered as his hand travelled down to your sensitive clit.

[andreafmn]

Kinktober ⛓️ Day 3

Word Count: 2.5K Paring:  Lip Gallagher x Fem!Reader Prompt @kinktober2023: Hate Sex WARNINGS: SMUT 18+ (minors DNI),  p-in-v sex, foul language, reader is technically underage

Summary: There is no one that (Y/N) despises more than Philip Gallagher, but having his brother as her best friend forces them in close proximity more than they would like. Or maybe they do?

A/N: This is set some time during season 3 so Lip is around 18 and reader would be 17 since she's contemporary with Ian's age, so do with that what you will.

<- Previous

“Yo, Ian,” Lip’s voice rang through the house. “Your girlfriend’s here!”

“Oh, fuck off, Lip,” (Y/N) said as she bumped past him into the Gallagher home. “I know you wish I was here to see you, but I don’t do charity work on Tuesdays.” 

“Fuck you, (Y/L/N). You’d be lucky if I was the one you were studying with.” 

“Of course, the genius Philip Gallagher that doesn’t even want to go to college,” she snickered, stopping at the rest on the stairs. “I’ll take my chances with my own brain. Thanks.”  

“You’ll regret helping Ian with math,” he called as he walked to the front door. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

With an exasperated scoff, (Y/N) walked up the rest of the stairs, clutching her backpack tighter than she should have. She didn’t understand why she and the older Gallagher son didn’t get along. She had a wonderful relationship with everyone else in the family –even Frank was courteous enough with her– but something never clicked with Lip. Every time they were in close proximity, they would bicker and fight until someone else got in the way. It made it especially difficult when (Y/N) came over to spend time with Ian. 

She would never say she hated Lip. But the sentiment was close enough that others would notice. Between the terrible side-eyes and the snide comments, being around the two could easily become suffocating. Granted, everyone but them knew what was truly happening. They had met their match in each other but were too stubborn to admit it. 

“You ran into Lip, didn’t you?” Ian chuckled as his friend walked into his room. “It’s all over your face.” 

“Unfortunately, I did,” she sighed, plopping down next to him on the floor. “But he seemed to be going somewhere, so I didn’t have to talk to him for much.” 

“Just long enough to make sure you got annoyed. Perfect mood to study Geometry with you.” 

“Fuck you, I’m always a delight.” 

“Sure. Until you spend a second with Lip, and then everything goes to shit.” 

“Shut up, Ian,” she said, rolling her eyes. “If you want me to help you study, you’ll stop talking about your despicable brother, Phillip.” 

Hours passed between textbooks and worksheets, notebooks and loose papers, and somehow the bright afternoon sun had shifted into night. Ian had already gone to bed, tired from a long day of shapes and mathematical equations. Almost everyone in the house had done the same, tucked into bed early, which was a luxury for anyone on the South Side. 

Meanwhile, (Y/N) was still wide awake, taking advantage of the tiredness of the family to use up what was left of the hot water. She could have gone home, to her packed house and probably cold water, but she found comfort staying with the Gallaghers. The family was a melting pot of chaos, there were more fights than a WWE ring, and every single day brought a different kind of adventure. Her house had all of that, except the real warmth of a family. And being there made her feel like she was a part of something. 

The water ran across her skin, soothing the tight muscles that stiffened her body. The smell of soap filled her nose as she lathered herself, and she was glad that the bar seemed new still. They were small luxuries that she was grateful she could partake in every once in a while. And in the quiet of the night, it was almost peaceful.

Until a sound that did not fit into her spa-like scenario filled the air. From behind the curtain, she could hear a strong stream of liquid falling into the toilet. But she knew she had locked the door —not that it would have worked in that house anyway. 

She moved the curtain slightly to reveal Lip standing in front of the toilet. “What the fuck are you doing?” (Y/N) exclaimed, making sure her body was covered. “Can’t you see I’m using the bathroom?” 

“You’re in the shower. Toilet was up for grabs.” 

“Why couldn’t you have gone downstairs?” 

“Because I was already upstairs,” he shrugged, shaking his cock above the toilet as he finished. “Stop gawking, (Y/N). I know it’s impressive, but staring is kind of rude.” 

“Fuck you, Lip. I’ve seen better,” she said, closing the curtain to conceal the way her skin was flushing. “I’ve definitely been with better.” 

“Keep telling yourself that,” he snickered, turning on the sink. “But we both know the guys you’ve fucked are not exactly Adonises.”

“You’re such an asshole, Lip,” she scoffed. “If you’re gonna be here, at least pass me my towel.”

“Why should I? You can just step out.” 

“You’re not seeing me naked, Lip.” 

“It’s only fair,” he chuckled. “You saw mine, I get to see yours.” 

“Stop being a perv, Lip. I’m not one of those chicks you fuck for fun. I actually have standards.” 

“Right, and they’re so high, right?”

“They are.” 

“Is that why you fucked Billy Spencer two months ago or lost your v-card with Jesse Suarez in his car? Yeah, those standards are skyscraping high.” 

In a fit of rage, (Y/N) ripped the curtain open and sauntered out of the tub, getting as close to Lip as possible. “You don’t get to fucking judge my decisions, Philip,” she spat, jabbing her index finger against his chest. “Who I sleep with or don’t sleep with is none of your business. And you sure as hell are one to talk. Your list is not the most pristine, either. Starting with Karen, for example.”

“Don’t you fucking talk about her,” he said through gritted teeth, pushing back on her as she had. “You don’t talk about her.” 

“What? You can dish it out but can’t fucking take it, huh?”

“I can take whatever you fucking throw at me, (Y/N). I ain’t scared of you.” 

“Maybe you should be,” she continued. There was almost no space between them. She had him pressed against the wall, their noses almost touching as they heaved in anger. “There is no one else that can put you in your place like I can, and you know it.” 

“I don’t need you to put me in my place.”

“Are you sure?”

“You’re so fucking infuriating!” 

“Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?” 

Lip’s next move was a surprise to her. She was expecting him to keep yelling or stomp out of the bathroom. Instead, he placed a hand on either side of her face and crashed his lips onto hers. He was all kinds of rough and forceful, clashing teeth and lips together without any care. But somehow, (Y/N) found herself kissing back just as roughly, grabbing onto the lapel of his jacket. 

But it wasn’t until she felt the roughness of his hands on the skin of her back that she realized she had jumped out of the shower, naked and still dripping with water. She jumped away from Lip as though his touch was fire and scrambled for her towel, trying her best to cover her body from him.

“Why are you covering yourself now?” he laughed. “I already saw everything, (Y/N).”

“Fuck you, Philip.”

“I was gonna let you,” he grinned. “But it looks like you got performance anxiety. Maybe you’re not as good as guys say.” 

“Not that it’s any of your concern, but I’m great in bed,” she argued. “But I would rather do it with someone I actually like.”

“It’s just sex, (Y/N),” he countered. “This is not to fall in love.” 

(Y/N) kept quiet for a beat, thinking over the boy’s request. His reputation for being a good lay preceded him, and she would have been lying if she said she had never thought about it. But the fact that his personality was almost revolting made her wonder if it was worth it. 

“God, you’re so fucking infuriating,” she said before doing the same thing he had done. “This means nothing. You’re just convenient.”

“Right,” he chuckled against her mouth. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“Oh, shut up already.” 

“Make me.” 

Her lips did all the answering, molding to his mouth perfectly, their tongues dancing together in perfect symphony. If she had believed in fate and the alignment of the universe, she would have deluded herself into thinking that they were meant to be. 

Lip’s clothes were rough against her unclothed skin, the zippers and the fabrics scratching at her body and rubbing the most sensitive parts of her body that were exposed. Warmth pooled between her legs with the kiss alone, and her body’s reaction scared her. It was almost instantaneous, and it had been the first time it had happened. 

“It’s not fair that I’m the only one that’s naked,” she said breathlessly.

“Do you ever stop fucking talking?” 

“Not when my mouth’s unoccupied,” she snickered. “And I have a lot to say.”  

“You’re too fucking much,” he grumbled as he took off layer after layer of clothing, letting them fall to the floor. “Now come here.”

He kissed her roughly again, pressing his chest as close to her body as he could, his hands snaking to the small of her back. As their mouth moved in synch, they walked backward until her back was pressed against the wall, the coldness making her skin erupt in goosebumps. But his hands were enough to build a fire inside her. The way they mapped every inch of her body and worked in tandem with his mouth to find her most sensitive spots. 

Lip nipped at her jaw and her neck, traveling down to her collarbone as his hands tweaked the hardened peaks of her breasts. Somehow, he was able to annoy her within an inch of raging ire and could bring her to the brink of orgasm with just his mouth and hands. 

In a swift move, Lip turned (Y/N), bending her against the wall as he pulled the zipper of his pants down. The clothes pooled at his ankles as he held his cock and lined himself up with her wetness, running the head across her fold and teasing her clit. 

“For someone that is just doing this out of convenience, you’re really wet,” he chuckled darkly. “Have you been dreaming about this?” 

“I could ask the same of you, Philip,” she retorted. “Because for someone that doesn’t really care, you’re really fucking hard.” 

“I’m only just a man, (Y/N).” 

“How about you shut up and prove it already, then? Maybe…” 

(Y/N)’s words died in her throat as she felt him sink into her completely, stretching her walls like no one had done before. He took the air out of her lungs, a moan getting strangled in her throat at the suddenness. 

Lip didn’t move instantly, allowing her body to get used to the size. At least, that was what he would have said if she had asked. Truthfully, being inside her was the most overwhelming experience he had ever had. He needed a moment to compose himself before he busted too early. The last thing he needed was for (Y/N) to have more ammo against him. He enjoyed their bickering reparté, but he had quite the reputation when it came to sex, and he wouldn’t let her ruin it. Even if his body was trying to betray him. 

Once he felt he could control himself, he started moving hips, quickly setting a pace that had (Y/N) letting out a string of moans that he wanted to listen to for the rest of his life. Her hands gripped the towel bar before her, her knuckles turning white from the tightness. She met his every move, pushing against him as he pummeled into her. 

“Harder,” she meweled. “Fuck me harder, Philip.” 

Lip did exactly as told. Skin met skin at a rapid pace, filling the otherwise quiet room with pants, moans, and slaps. Even her using his full name did not put a damper on his mood, rather loved the way it sounded in her mouth. And for the first time, it didn’t sound like she was saying it with  hate. At least, not completely. 

He snaked his hand around her body, his hand finding the mound of her clit and pressing two fingers on it. They circled and rolled the bud, making her walls clench around him as he pistoned into her. He knew both of them were reaching their end. The tightening of her cunt and the tightening of his balls told him enough.

“Fuck, don’t stop, Lip. Don’t you dare fucking stop.” 

“I wasn’t planning to.” 

And he didn’t. He kept thrusting until (Y/N) let out a pleasurable yell that had him covering her mouth. As he did, she bit down on his skin unconsciously, making him moan and awakening something in him he didn’t know was dormant. It brought him right to the brink of his end, and it took everything in him to leave her warmth and explode all over her ass. 

His body slumped over hers, absentmindedly kissing the skin of her shoulder as they both came down from their orgasm. They felt comfortable in their silence, their pants synching and their bodies melting against each other. If they could have, they would have fallen asleep in that very position. 

But a knock on the door startled them apart.

“Yo, I need the bathroom,” Carl called from the other side of the door. “I’ve gotta piss real bad.” 

“Can you go downstairs, Carl?” (Y/N) asked. “I’m just finishing up in the shower.” 

“Ugh, fine! Just hurry up. There’s more people in this house, you know?” 

“Yeah, sorry!” 

After wiping themselves down, Lip and (Y/N) started getting dressed, neither meeting each other’s gaze. “We don’t speak about this to anyone,” she finally said. “Especially not Ian. And this can’t happen ever again.” 

“Sure,” he mumbled. “Whatever you say.” 

“I’m serious, Philip,” she pleaded, placing a hand on his chest to get his attention. “If Ian finds out, I’ll never hear the end of it.” 

“I won’t say anything,” he laughed, looking at her in a way he never had before. “But I wouldn’t mind if this happened again.” 

“Are you serious?” 

“What? The rumors are true. You are a good lay.” 

“You’re not too bad yourself, Mr. Gallagher,” she grinned before stopping at the door to exit first. “But I don’t think this will happen again.” 

“Keep telling yourself that, (Y/N).” 

“Fuck off, Philip,” she whispered from the end of the hall before disappearing into the boys’ bedroom, leaving Lip to think of just how he could make this a repeat situation.

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[itelya]

in class. nerd bf! gojo satoru x fem! reader

The sun shines through the windows of the physics lab, casting beams of light onto the wooden tables. The atmosphere is studious, but a lingering distraction sits right in front of you.

Gojo, still a little too relaxed for a physics class, seems completely absorbed in something other than the equations covering his textbook.

His glasses are a little too low on his nose, a position he clearly doesn't mind. He watches you out of the corner of his eye; you can almost feel his lingering gaze. Every time you look up from your notes to look at him, you catch sight of him, his lips slightly curved in an amused smile.

"Seriously, Gojo, you're not really planning on studying, are you?" you ask, trying to mask the curiosity in your voice.

He straightens slightly and looks at you. His fingers make slow circles on the edge of his textbook, his smile widening. "Oh, I'm studying." "And you're going to explain how?" You raise an eyebrow, amused by his insolence.

He pauses dramatically, as if weighing his words before replying, "Because the only thing I need to understand is why you're so irresistible."

A nervous laugh escapes your lips despite yourself. You shake your head, not wanting to be swept away by his attempts at flirting. "This isn't a time to be romantic, Gojo. You need to be focused, and this is physics we're talking about. You know the complicated stuff we're learning today."

Gojo tilts his head, an exaggeratedly serious expression on his face. "Physics, you say?" He picks up his textbook and turns it over, placing it on the table in front of you, showing a page full of equations and diagrams. "I'm an expert on this subject, baby."

"Of course."

Gojo leans forward, his face almost against yours. "Of course. But my real question is: How do you expect a guy as brilliant as me to focus on that when his girlfriend's beauty shines brighter than any constant?"

Your heart skips a beat, even though you try to remain impassive. He has a way of melting you with his mathematical words. You sigh, trying to stay focused, but he doesn't seem to be letting you.

Suddenly, a commanding voice cuts through the atmosphere. "Gojo, Y/N, please come back down to Earth and focus."

The professor stands in front of you, a piercing gaze directed at Gojo, who seems surprised. "I see your study of the theorem of relativity is taking a rather... personal direction." He raises an eyebrow, a small, wry smile playing on his lips.

Gojo immediately straightens up, brightening up. "Oh, professor, I assure you, we're working. Personally, I'm trying to understand the laws of the universe, and now the universe is telling me that my girlfriend is a fascinating phenomenon."

You blush and cover your face with your hand, but the Professor doesn't seem at all impressed by Gojo's attempt. "You have a test coming up, Gojo. And your constant right now should be studying, not flirting."

Gojo gives him a wide smile. "Of course, of course! You're right, Professor. Don't worry." He then turns his gaze to you, his expression innocent. "But I have priorities, and you, Y/N, are at the top of my list."

The Professor sighs before continuing on his way, his gaze fixed on the rest of the class. "You're incorrigible, Gojo. But I'm sure you'll pass this test without a problem, even if I'm not convinced by your study method."

Gojo waits for the teacher to disappear to the back of the room before turning back to you, a mischievous smile on his face. "See, Y/N? Even the teacher admits I'm a genius."

You shake your head, trying to regain control of the situation. "You're not a genius, Gojo. You're just a nerd who can't concentrate."

He smiles wider, a little softer this time. "A nerd in love with you, and that's an equation I have no intention of solving."

He takes your hand and places a light kiss on your palm, whispering. "And I plan to keep you forever."

"Idiot."

nerd gojo series - masterlist

[tieredentropy]

Hello! I was wondering if I could request a scenario/short story with Ratio x reader, where the reader is his S/O and while he's ranting/yapping passionately about something or trying to solve some equation or something like that, the reader just stares at him and says "Your mind is beautiful" or something along those lines? I do think that given what we know about him that would be the easiest way to actually make him flustered and appreciated.

Please and thank you.

Intellectual beauty —

Thank you for the request! I hope you enjoy the short story :)) I like to think Ratio is quite subtle about affection generally, and has an interesting love language. Maybe I’ll make a separate post on that too..

“I just do not understand how exactly my students, so called top of the list, cannot possibly comprehend quantum mechanics.” The ranting began the same as it always did - his disbelief, followed by unfortunate victims of his fanaticism in a subject and the point in question. It became a routine for Ratio to settle in his armchair, reading glasses perched atop his tall nose, as he waited for his partner to join him and listen.

By the time they were there, settling a cup of tea by his open book, he was already in the middle of another nag at his ill-fated students.

“How do they expect to move further if they cannot grasp this concept? It is a fundamental aspect of further physics, one that explains what traditional physics does not.” Veritas ranted on and mindlessly placed a large hand over the steaming cup, his brows furrowed inwards with a form of disbelief, his partner noted.

For a moment, they listened ardently as he continued to spout further aspects of quantum mechanics, its importance to sub-atomic structures and whatnot, not without also mentioning at least one form mathematical vectors. Though for the most part it went over their head, his partner gazed upon him with a deep fondness. Yes, as boring or frustrating as some may find his rambling, his partner found it as endearing as any habit of his – the rubber ducks, how he liked his coffee and his peculiar taste in cologne.

“All those things you’re passionate about .. your mind is just beautiful, you know?” They cut him off mid sentence, causing the doctor to pause. His wine-hued eyes flickered up to gaze beyond the gold rimmed glasses, and for a moment it looked like he would scold them for poor manners before his purple brows rose. That.. was new.

Veritas often heard his mind was a thing of pure erudition, yes, enlightened, certainly. But beautiful? That was a sentiment he wasn’t quite used to hearing. For a moment, the corner of his lip upturned into a faint smile, acknowledging what his partner said and attempting to not appear so bashful as to get teased.

Reaching over, he cleared his throat and already began to rant once more as his hand delicately held the tips of his lover’s fingers, other hand gesturing passionately as the book he was reading previously rested in his lap, forgotten.

Acknowledged, they noted, looking down as his thumb caressed their knuckles with reverence that belied his annoyance with ignorance all around. How endearing.