#and they could use this to get a restraining order | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

peachm1lkk · 1 day ago

Note

... Wound fucking pretty please... With Edgar...

' The nicest guy I'll ever meet '

Synopsis — Edgar is the most average, plainest, guy you've ever met, and unfortunately, you are his new class partner after his last one disappeared suddenly. Hopefully, you don't piss him too much over the next few months.

Warnings — Rape/Noncon + Inappropriate use of eye socket + Gore, Skullfucking, red room scenario, torture, branding, name carving, Reader death, porn with plot, degradation, arguing, classmates to lovers trope but it's diverted, fluffy-ish first half, betrayal, crying, slow burn, sex on live, gender neutral reader, tons of small time skips, post-canon

Pairing — Edgar x Reader

w/c — 13.5k

a/n — Cross posted to Ao3 // ou, I'm so tired... My longest published fic to date,, I don't know how I kept up the motivation but I'm proud of this

Average.

That’s the only word that fits Edgar.

His appearance? Average. His grades? Average. Everything else about him? Painfully, almost impressively, average. The only things that manage to stand out are his height—which you’d grudgingly admit is above average—and his personality, which somehow remains just as middling unless someone decides to poke at his already razor-thin patience.

And honestly, that’s fine. Edgar’s a decent enough guy. He doesn’t cause you grief beyond the usual snide remark or judgmental glare, and it’s not like you’re tethered to him for life. The semester partnership is temporary—a necessary evil after his last partner mysteriously dropped out two weeks into the school year.

You try not to dwell on that fact for too long. It's easier to chalk it up to coincidence than to let your imagination run wild.

Edgar's glaring at you now, though. The kind of glare that feels personal even though you know it probably isn’t—he stares at everyone like they owe him money. The real trick is gauging just how pissed he is by the sharpness of his words, a scale of tolerance ranging from sarcastic politeness to barely restrained venom.

“I forgot,” you mutter, breaking eye contact and glancing somewhere—anywhere—else. You feel the heat of his gaze drilling into the side of your head, but you resist the urge to squirm.

“How did you forget your textbook?” His voice is incredulous, each word dripping with irritation. “We’ve been working on this for four weeks. I’ve seen you—”

“I figured I’d do some extra work at home,” you interrupt, cutting him off before he can get too carried away, your tone is light but firm, as if that’ll somehow ease the tension. “I just forgot to put it back, alright?”

Your gaze remains stubbornly fixed on the desk between you, refusing to meet the murderous look you’re certain he’s giving you. If stares could kill, you’d already be six feet under.

He exhales sharply, the sound halfway between a sigh and a growl, and drags a hand through his hair. You can almost hear the gears turning in his head as he debates whether to let it go or keep pushing.

“How far did you get?” he asks finally, his voice tight.

“Somewhere around Section D…”

“Alright. That’s…” He hesitates, searching for the right word. His lips press into a thin line before he settles on, “Fine.”

It isn’t fine. You both know that. But rather than explode, he shifts in his seat, shoulders tense as he forces himself to move on. “I’ll just… figure out a way to work around it.”

You don’t thank him, but the small nod you give in response feels like enough. For now, at least, the storm is passing.

“We were supposed to finish sections D through F.” Edgar’s tone makes you wince, the way he leans on the word ‘were’ twisting the knife a little deeper. “But since you barely managed to scrape the start of section D, we’ll just skip the whole thing and work on the essay till we're able to circle back to it.”

It doesn’t sound like a suggestion—it feels like an order. You can’t help the grimace tugging at your lips as it hits you: you’re stuck with this guy for another three months.

“Uh, I can work on—”

“No.” He cuts you off almost t. “I don’t need you forgetting the damn thing when we actually need it.” The irritation in his voice is unmistakable now, at least there’s no guessing how he feels.

The conversation stalls, an awkward silence settling between the two of you like an unwanted guest. You let your eyes drift to the desk, tracing the lines of the wood grain as if it might offer a way out of this mess.

“We could just go to my dorm,” you suggest suddenly, the words slipping out before you can fully second-guess them.

Edgar looks up, his sharp gaze softening just enough to convey a hint of surprise. For once, it’s not outright disdain. You’re not sure if you should take that as a compliment or an insult.

“It’s not too far from here,” you add quickly, gesturing vaguely with your hands. “And it’s gotta be better than working here, with all these people I mean.”

He doesn’t answer right away, his gaze dropping to the textbook in front of him. His fingers drum against the cover as he mulls it over, the silence stretching just long enough to make you regret speaking up.

Finally, he sighs, the sound heavy with reluctance. “Honestly, I think I’d prefer that. It’s too noisy here anyway.”

You nod, biting back the urge to grin at the small victory.

He doesn’t talk much on the way to your dorm. Any attempts at small talk flicker out as quickly as they start, leaving an uneasy quiet between you. The sound of your footsteps fills the gap, and even though you don’t look back, you can feel his presence close behind—calm and entirely uninterested in breaking the silence.

By the time you’re fumbling with your keys at the door, the weight of his stare is almost suffocating, burning into the back of your neck like he’s silently judging your every move. You wouldn't be surprised if he was.

“Uh, don’t mind the mess,” you mumble as the door swings open, hastily kicking a stray hoodie and some other loose clothing to the side in a weak attempt to clear a path.

He steps in after you, eyes scanning the room. He doesn’t say anything about the state of your dorm, but the faint furrow of his brow tells you he’s quietly judging. He moves toward the chair by your desk and takes a seat, his silence a heavier form of critique than any words could’ve been.

The silence stretches again, the awkward kind that makes you want to crawl out of your skin. He looks at you like you've forgotten something important—because, of course, you have. Realization smacks you upside the head, and you quickly excuse yourself, darting into your bedroom to find it exactly where you left it—mocking you with its plain, unassuming cover. You snatch it up and hurry back before he can make any snide remarks about your delay.

How’d you forget it if it was right there in your bedroom?” he asks, his voice laced with faint amusement.

You freeze for half a second, heat creeping up your neck. “I just did,” you mumble, looking anywhere but at him as you take the seat across from him. He doesn't press on the matter thankfully.

That was the start of it. He began coming over more often after that, usually unannounced and always with the same curt demeanor. You barely ever questioned why he never invited you to his dorm, though the thought lingered in the back of your mind.

The one time you did bring it up, he shot you down with a flat, “You’re annoying. Why would I invite you anywhere?” There’d been the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, and then, almost as an afterthought, he’d added, “Plus, my dorm’s further away from the building.”

You’re ninety percent sure the second part was just an excuse—a flimsy attempt to soften the blow. Not that it made it any less cutting.

And at some point in time, you figured you'd just have to force him to open up, bothering him with questions whenever you lost interest in working— Which, much to his dismay, was often.

“What do you even do?” you ask, only earning a mildly confused glance from Edgar that egged you on to elaborate. “For work, I mean.”

“I do independent work,” he mutters, his brows furrowing slightly as he skims over the essay in front of him.

You roll your eyes, wishing—not for the first time—that he’d at least pretend to enjoy your company. You’ve been forcing yourself to tolerate him for weeks now; a little effort on his end wouldn’t kill.

Tilting your head, you watch him carefully, your voice light and teasing. “What? Like selling drugs?”

He exhales sharply—a humorless puff of air that seemed closer to annoyance than amusement. “No, nothing like that,” he murmurs, though his lips twitch into the faintest smile. It’s odd, really, how distant he always manages to be when you've already managed to dump most of your interests onto him.

“You’re staying vague on purpose.” You accuse lightly, pushing yourself up slightly from your lying position, resting on your elbows. “Why aren’t you on the floor, anyway?”

“Why would I?” he countered, not even sparing you a glance. “I’m not laying down there. I could catch something.”

You pout at the remark, though it doesn’t sting nearly as much as it might have a few weeks ago. If anything, it almost feels like a backhanded joke between… well, acquaintances, maybe? Friends feels like a stretch, but you’re starting to think you’ve at least edged into “barely tolerable” territory.

“I cleaned,” you insist, sitting up fully. “I wouldn’t be down here if it was dirty.”

He finally looks at you, his expression a perfect mix of skepticism and subtle amusement. The glance he gives you—a quick up-and-down assessment—it's enough to make your temper flare up, though he doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he does and just doesn’t care.

“Whatever you say,” he says softly, his tone almost dismissive.

Your eyes narrow. “What the hell is th—”

“Anyways,” he cuts in smoothly, leaning back in his seat. “Since we’re pretty much done with the essay, I’ll just take it home and revise it myself. Seeing as you…” He trails off deliberately, the pause dragging out just long enough to make you bristle. “… struggle at writing anything with actual quality.”

“You insisted that I write it,” you snap, pulling yourself to your feet with the help of the couch cushions. “It’s not my fault if you hate it.”

He shrugs, “I insisted because I thought you could at least manage the basics. Clearly, I overestimated you.”

You glare at him, biting back the urge to fire off something you’ll regret. He stands too, gathering his things with that same infuriating calm, leaving you to stew in the lingering annoyance.

It’s becoming a pattern, one you’re not sure how to handle—especially now that Edgar’s started hanging around after finishing his work, treating your dorm like some sort of second home. He interacts with you in that half-interested way, glancing your way just enough to acknowledge your existence before his attention shifts to something else.

Usually, it's some random, insignificant thing like the dusty lamp tucked away in the corner of the room, as if it’s embarrassed by its own existence. The thing’s clearly never been touched; there’s even a layer of dust thick enough to make you wonder how long it’s been since anyone bothered with it. And there’s no lightbulb in it. At all.

You roll your eyes and glance up at him, trying to make sense of his latest behavior. “Who was that guy you were talking to earlier?”

He looks down at you, brows furrowing slightly as if the question caught him off guard. “What?”

“The guy with the blue hoodie,” you explain, already starting to regret asking. “I saw you two talking earlier. It looked pretty rough.” You don’t mention how you were more worried for the guy in the hoodie than Edgar— especially considering how visibly rattled the guy seemed once the conversation was over.

Edgar goes silent, and that familiar, almost menacing glare starts to settle in. This time, though, it feels heavier than usual, like it’s pressing down on you. You backpedal quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush. “You don’t have to tell me. I—I didn’t hear anything, if that’s what you’re worried about. I was just curious.”

His glare softens slightly, and you exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The relief is palpable. He doesn’t seem like he’s going to tell you to fuck off this time. Instead, he shrugs, that guarded look still in his eyes. “Family,” he mutters simply. “He was just telling me something, is all.”

You don’t press further, though a part of you wants to dig deeper, to ask him again, but something about the way he’s avoiding your gaze makes you feel like you’d just be wasting your time. Whatever it is, it’s none of your business, you remind yourself.

The days pass, and you decide to change tactics. If he’s going to keep hanging around, you might as well make it a little more interesting— by harassing him to let you in his dorm.

"Dude, you've stayed long enough that I feel responsible for feeding you sometimes!" you exclaim, catching up to him as he strides across campus. “You’ve literally been in my bed.” Neither of you comments on that particular implication, though it hangs in the air.

“It’s not my fault you felt pressured to treat me like I’m royalty,” he retorts, “I never asked you to feel responsible for me. I just figured you wanted the company.”

You roll your eyes, struggling to keep up with his quick pace. “Edgar—” you whine, almost pathetically so, “Just let me come over once. I won’t judge or complain. I’ll be the best guest you’ve ever had.” You plead, stopping at the door frame of a lecture hall you’re definitely not supposed to be in.

He pauses, sizing you up for a moment, his gaze lingering on your pouty face. You think, for a second, you might’ve worn him down. Then, he sighs—deeply, and you’re sure you’ve lost. “You’re gonna be late,”

You glare at him, the annoyance bubbling up, but he’s not wrong. You don’t have time to argue, so you turn on your heel and make a run for it, barely slipping inside the classroom right before the professor arrives.

The rest of the day feels oddly anticlimactic. After class, you expect him to drag you back to your dorm like usual, but instead, he grabs your wrist and pulls you toward his. You can feel the stupid grin stretch across your face when it hits you—your incessant begging actually worked.

His dorm is surprisingly clean. It’s not just tidy; it’s pristine. You can tell where he spends most of his time—the places he actually uses show signs of life—but there are entire sections of the room that feel untouched, almost sterile. The closets are spotless, like they’ve never seen a pair of worn shoes or a jacket tossed in a hurry. It feels more like a show dorm than someone’s actual living space.

“One word out of that mouth of yours,” Edgar starts, his voice low and firm, “and I’m kicking you out.”

You nod quickly, your attention already drifting around the room. You can’t help but comment, though. “It’s nice. A bit plain, though…” you murmur, your eyes sweeping across the bare walls, the starkness of it all.

“Sorry I don’t have twenty different posters from when I was sixteen,” he grumbles, plugging in his laptop. His action makes you realize something: you’re both done with work for the week. All the assignments are turned in. Why are you even here?

"Aren't we done working anyway?" you ask, watching as Edgar goes through his usual motions—kicking off his shoes, neatly placing them by the door, and tying his hair back. There’s a kind of routine precision to it, but when he turns toward you, his gaze sharp and assessing, you can’t help but feel like a puzzle he’s trying to solve. Or maybe a stray he’s deciding whether to tolerate.

You also make a quiet mental note: you prefer his hair tied back. It makes him look... sharper, somehow.

“We are,” he says casually, as though you hadn’t already pointed it out. “I figured the one time I let you in here, it’d be when we’re free. That way, you don’t whine about how you were ‘too busy working’ to admire or whatever.”

"I’m not that whiny," you huff, though the defensive edge in your voice betrays you. You glance down for a moment, only to realize—with dawning horror—that you’re awkwardly staring at his pelvis. Your face warms instantly, and you force your gaze back up. “Could you sit down? It’s getting awkward, and I’d prefer not being eye level with…” You trail off into barely audible murmurs, your embarrassment reaching new heights.

Thankfully, he doesn’t press you on it. He just sighs and sits next to you, the couch dipping slightly under his weight. For once, a comfortable silence settles between you, the kind that feels oddly rare in his presence.

“You’re… really annoying, you know that?” he muttered, breaking the quiet. His voice was low, almost too soft, like he wasn’t sure if he even wanted you to hear it. "Always whining about something, and if you're not whining, you’re bothering me.”

"What the—hey! Don’t just dump all your frustrations on me because I’m in your dorm!" you exclaimed, twisting to face him, only to notice that, for once, his eyes weren’t on yours. They were locked on some distant point on the wall, as though he was talking more to himself than to you.

“I’m just telling the truth,” he says bluntly, “You don’t know when to shut up, you pry into my private life—and my dorm, quite literally and metaphorically. You’re just... so annoying.”

You stare at him, mouth slightly agape before huffing in indignation, crossing your arms over your chest. “I didn’t know coming here meant I’d get bullied,” you mutter, half to yourself. “And for the record, I brought up your brother once! Everything else you could’ve shut down, but you didn’t.”

That earns you a small, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth, though it’s gone before you can fully process it. “Fair point,” he concedes, though there’s no real apology in his voice. He leans back, resting one arm casually over the back of the couch. “But it doesn’t make you any less annoying.”

You glare at him, but the corners of your lips twitch upward despite yourself. “Yeah, well, you’re still a dick. So I guess we’re even.”

The silence that follows feels a little lighter this time, like neither of you really mind the other's presence.

Edgar leaned back into the couch, his head tilting slightly as he studied the ceiling like it held some profound answer to a question you hadn’t asked. The corners of his mouth tugged downward in thought, but the faintest trace of something else lingered in his expression.

You watched him, feeling a strange mixture of annoyance and curiosity. He had a way of making everything seem calculated, even moments like this, where his guard seemed lower than usual. The silence stretched between you, growing heavy.

“So…” you started, awkwardly attempting to break it. “What do you usually do when you’re not, y’know, being forced to hang out with me?”

Edgar’s gaze dropped back to you, one eyebrow quirking. "Forced? You’re acting like I dragged you here."

"You quite literally did!" you shot back, gesturing vaguely around the room. "I mean, you practically kidnapped me after class. I didn’t even have time to say bye to my friends."

"Kidnapped?" He gave a soft, incredulous laugh, "You begged me to let you come over. I’m doing you a favor."

"Wow, okay," you drawled, crossing your arms and sinking further into the couch. "So what I’m hearing is that you don’t actually want me here?"

Edgar sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "If I didn’t want you here, you wouldn’t be here,"

The words hung in the air, heavier than you expected. For a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. It wasn’t exactly a compliment, but it also wasn’t the outright rejection you’d half-anticipated.

"Well," you said after a beat, forcing some levity into your tone, "if that’s your weird way of saying you tolerate me, I’ll take it."

Edgar rolled his eyes but didn’t respond, instead reaching for his laptop and flipping it open. The glow from the screen cast soft shadows across his face, making his sharp features appear even sharper.

Curiosity got the better of you. "What’re you working on now?"

"Nothing that concerns you," he replied smoothly, not even sparing you a glance.

"Wow, rude." You leaned closer, trying to catch a glimpse of the screen. "Come on, just tell me. Is it for class? A side project? Another mysterious 'independent work' thing?"

At that, Edgar’s fingers paused over the keyboard. His jaw tightened slightly, "It’s personal," he said, not unkindly you note.

"Okay," you said softly, leaning back to give him space. “Are you going to at least feed me—”

“Fuck no, you're a grown adult, not some freeloader.” Edgar didn’t even look up from his screen as he delivered the jab, his tone as flat as ever.

“Well, at least I tried,” you muttered, sinking further into the couch and dramatically clutching your stomach. "Guess I’ll just starve here, all alone, in your boring, overly-clean dorm."

“Good,” he replied dryly. “Maybe you’ll learn to leave me alone.”

But, of course, you didn’t.

Instead, it became almost routine after that, with your visits to his dorm growing as frequent as his to yours. The initial tension that defined your interactions started to soften—not disappear, but shift into something closer to begrudging familiarity.

You developed a habit of showing up unannounced, often clutching some random trinket you’d found that made you think of him. A cat keychain. A stress ball with a terrible pun written across it. Once, a ridiculously tiny cactus in a shot glass-sized pot.

"Why do you keep bringing me this junk?" he’d asked the first time, holding the cactus between his fingers like it was radioactive.

"Because it screams you, obviously," you replied, grinning at his unimpressed expression.

Eventually, he stopped questioning it. You’d catch glimpses of those little items tucked away on his shelves or desk, not displayed prominently but not thrown out, either. It was enough to make you smile.

"You again?" Edgar mumbled, hair damp as if he just took a shower

"Miss me?"

"Not even a little."

Still, he’d step aside to let you in, and you’d settle into your usual spot on his couch like you belonged there.

“Woah,” you gasp, sitting up straight as your eyes lock onto the thin streaks of blood on his arm. “Oh shit, you’re bleeding! Did something happen?” You hesitate, unsure if you should grab a tissue, ask where he keeps the first-aid kit, or just keep staring like an idiot.

Edgar barely reacts, his gaze trailing down to his arm, as if he hadn’t even realized until now. The marks look like they were left by someone’s nails, thin and deliberate. He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck as if your concern is more exhausting than the injuries themselves.

“Right,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “I was busy… with work.”

You bite back the urge to make a snarky comment—something about him being a secret OnlyFans creator or a professional cat wrangler. Instead, you hum softly, leaning forward to get a better look. The scratches don’t seem too deep, but they still glisten faintly in the dim light of his dorm. You hadn't noticed them earlier, not with the shadows of the setting sun masking them when he’d let you in.

“Some interesting work you’ve got going there,” you remark softly.

He scoffs, brushing past you to grab water “Nothing that concerns you.”

“Really? Because it kinda looks like someone took a swipe at you,” you press, curiosity getting the better of you. “Like… were you breaking up a fight or something?”

Edgar rolls his eyes as he takes a sip of water, a flicker of something in his expression, not quite annoyance but it wasn't amusement, either. “Something like that.”

“Okay, Mr. Edgy,” you mutter, leaning back into the couch. “I guess I’ll just assume you moonlight as a cage fighter now.”

“Believe whatever dumb story makes you stop asking questions.”

“You’re lucky it wasn’t any worse,” you mutter, though you’re not sure if you’re talking to him or yourself. It’s a stupid thing to say, especially since he clearly doesn’t care about the cuts. But something in the way he’s shrugging it off bothers you. Like he doesn’t even see it as a problem. Or maybe he’s used to this kind of thing. That’s a thought you don’t know how to deal with.

You let out a quiet sigh, sinking deeper into the cushions of his couch as you mindlessly searched for something easy to talk about. Finally, you spoke up, voice soft, hesitant. “I talked to your brother today.” You winced slightly, already anticipating his reaction. You kept your tone casual, ready to backpedal at the first sign of trouble.

"And before you get onto me, it wasn’t my fault," you added quickly, the words almost tumbling out of your mouth in an attempt to ease the tension. It wasn’t your fault last time either, but you didn’t feel the need to mention that. "Neither was it his fault now that I think about it..."

Edgar didn’t say anything at first, but you could feel the shift in his body language. He stiffened slightly, the air around him thick with silent expectation. Then came the inevitable question, his voice edged with a barely concealed irritation: “Get to the point.”

You winced, tense, and suddenly very aware that the conversation was treading dangerously close to territory you’d rather avoid. The last thing you wanted was to make him snap, especially when you didn’t even fully understand why he reacted the way he did to his brother. “It was a pretty nothing interaction,” you continued, voice light, trying to ease the growing tension. “We just asked about how the other was doing. And, you know, for someone who you always see going to your dorm, you never seem to talk about me.”

Edgar let out a heavy sigh, his whole demeanor sagging with it as if the weight of the day had just become too much for him. "Did he say anything else about me?"

“No, that was the only time you were brought up,” you answered quickly, relieved at the lack of further confrontation. God, it felt like you were walking on eggshells right now, trying to make sure you didn’t say the wrong thing, but there was something else building up beneath your words.

But when you glanced up at him, Edgar wasn’t scowling or glaring. His shoulders seemed to soften just a little as his gaze returned to the scratches on his arm. There was a shift in his demeanor, something a little less guarded, and for a moment, it almost felt like you could breathe again.

Then, as if the weight of everything he'd been holding in had finally pushed him to speak, he asked quietly, “Can you do me a favor?”

“Sure, dude, just don’t ask me to plan someone’s death or something,” you joked, hoping to break the mounting tension, but the joke hung in the air like it fell flat.

Edgar’s eyes flicked over to you, his expression unreadable. He exhaled deeply, leaning against the wall, arms folding across his chest. “Stay away from Kai. I don’t want you talking to him.”

Your stomach drops, the weight of his words hit you harder than you expected. "What?" The word left your mouth almost without thinking, your eyes wide, incredulity etched across your face.

He didn’t flinch, instead stepping closer, looking down at you, his voice suddenly stern, no trace of humor. “Look, I just don’t trust him around you.”

You couldn’t respond immediately, the shock still running through you as you tried to make sense of what he was asking.

“He’s an immature asshole,” Edgar continued, voice low and controlled but edged with something darker, something more personal. “He doesn’t realize that his actions have actual consequences, and I don’t want you to get caught up in my family's bullshit.”

A part of you wanted to snap back, to ask him why it even mattered, why you couldn’t make your own decisions about who to talk to.

“Uh, that’s a bit much…” you mumbled, your laughter trailing off into an awkward chuckle. You could feel the tension radiating off him, making the air in the room feel heavier. Despite your nerves, you couldn’t bring yourself to outright deny him. That hesitation didn’t go unnoticed—of course, it didn’t.

“Answer me,”

You winced at his bluntness, resisting the urge to groan out loud. Could he not have a little tact? “I guess…?” you muttered reluctantly, avoiding his gaze as you tried to form a response that wouldn’t completely set him off. “I’ll avoid him and stuff, but I’m not gonna, like, run away if he happens to come up to me.”

Edgar’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you were sure he was about to push back harder. But to your surprise, he didn’t. Though his expression remained visibly unhappy,

like he was swallowing the bitterness of compromise, he didn’t object.

He let out a long, controlled breath, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. “Fine,” he muttered, though the word carried a begrudging tone to it. “Just don’t talk to him.”

You nodded slowly, unsure of how to respond further. The conversation had drained some of the usual banter from the air, leaving behind an awkward stillness. It wasn’t like you’d been planning on chasing after Kai or anything, but Edgar’s insistence struck you as a little extreme. Still, you figured it wasn’t worth pushing the matter further—not when he looked like he was barely holding his patience together.

You leaned back into the couch, trying to bring some semblance of normalcy back to the atmosphere. “So… are we just gonna sit in silence, or can we watch a movie?” you joked, your tone light in an attempt to diffuse the remaining tension.

Edgar rolled his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching upward for just a second. “I'm not watching anything you put on, I had actual work to do before you barge into my home.”

You stuck your tongue out at Edgar’s back, rolling your eyes with all the theatrics you could muster before letting your attention wander to his TV. Grabbing for the remote to find the whole reason you even came by in the first place. The static hum of the screen filled the silence as you settled deeper into the couch, but no matter how loud the movie's dialogue got, it couldn’t drown out the lingering weight of Edgar’s warning.

His words sat heavy in your mind, stubborn like bad taste that just refused to disappear no matter how much you washed away. You replayed the moment over and over—the way his jaw clenched, how his tone sharpened when he brought up Kai. It wasn’t even protective; it was something else, something more personal.

Your gaze flicked to Edgar, hunched over at the dining table, his head bent in concentration as he worked through what looked like an endless stack of paperwork. He seemed calm now, detached even, but the memory of his earlier demeanor gnawed at you.

What could Kai have done to get under his skin like that? From your brief interaction with him, Kai didn’t seem dangerous—sarcastic, sure, maybe even a bit aloof, but not enough to warrant the kind of intensity Edgar had shown.

You shifted restlessly on the couch, fingers twitching as the urge to grab your phone crept up on you. You weren’t looking to defy Edgar outright—not really—but the unresolved tension clawed at you. It felt wrong to leave it like this, questions bubbling in your chest without answers.

Before you fully thought it through, you found yourself standing in the commons area the next day. The plan wasn’t exactly well-formed, but you figured you’d just... talk to Kai. Clear the air, or at least try to. It wasn’t hard to find him either, which surprised you. He hadn’t exactly gone out of his way to make himself scarce.

Maybe that was the thing. If your older brother told you to stay away from someone, would you really change your whole schedule for it? Probably not. Then again, you weren’t sure if Edgar had even bothered to tell Kai about his little warning. Judging by how casual Kai looked, he maybe hadn’t.

His blue hoodie stood out starkly against the muted greys of the concrete. Kai stood there, hands buried deep in his pockets, his head tilted back, gazing upwards with a detached, almost dreamy boredom. You paused mid-step, suddenly unsure of yourself. Should you even approach him?

Before you could make a decision, his gaze dropped, locking onto yours. His expression shifted as recognition dawned, quickly replaced by confusion, like he was trying to piece together why you were standing there, staring at him like an idiot.

Too late to turn back now. You swallowed your hesitation, forcing yourself to close the distance. Each step made you curse inwardly—why hadn’t you just walked away? Play it cool? But no, here you were, committing to this stupidly awkward decision.

“Wow,” Kai called out, his tone light but laced with amusement as you approached. “Didn’t think you’d go out of your way to find me.”

Your lips twitched into a nervous smile, though his words settled uneasily in your stomach. “You make it sound like I’m sneaking into enemy territory or something.”

Kai tilted his head, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Are you not?” he shot back. “Pretty sure Edgar would lose his shit if he found out you were talking to me.”

“He doesn’t have to know.”

Kai let out a soft laugh, warm and surprisingly genuine. “Spoken like someone who has no idea how good he is at finding things out.” He leaned back against the wall, his grin fading into something more thoughtful. “So, what’s up? There’s no way you’re here without a reason. Risking both our asses has to be worth something.”

You crossed your arms, meeting his teasing with a bluntness that surprised even you. “I’m not risking anything. I just wanted to hear your side before I decide if I wanna ignore you entirely.”

For a moment, his smile wavered, a subtle flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he masked it. “You make it sound like this is some trial. Look, Edgar’s just… Edgar,” he said vaguely, his hand lifting to rub the back of his neck. His gaze shifted away, almost like he was debating whether to say more.

When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “Whatever’s going on, it’s family stuff. Messy, sure, but it’s not your problem. Edgar’s probably overreacting—he’s good at that—but you don’t need to get dragged into it.”

His words were dismissive, almost as if he was trying to push you away without outright saying it. But they didn’t sit right with you. It wasn’t the answer you’d hoped for, though you couldn’t even pinpoint what you were expecting.

All you knew was that his vague non-answer left you more frustrated than before, the knot in your chest tightening instead of loosening.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to rein in the frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. You knew he wasn’t wrong; you were being nosy, poking into something that likely had nothing to do with you. But the way he danced around giving you anything close to a straight answer only made the feeling worse.

“You’re really not gonna tell me what’s going on, are you?” you said, unable to keep the irritation from tainting your tone. “You know, I’m just trying to figure out what’s up. Edgar’s not exactly open to explaining why either.”

Kai sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging as his gaze shifted to the ground. For a moment, he looked almost guilty. “What do you want me to say? Family stuff is messy.”

“You’re not making this any easier, either,” you muttered, your brows knitting together. Was everyone related to Edgar this annoyingly vague?

Kai huffed a low laugh, more to himself than at you. “You’re the persistent type, huh?” His voice softened, almost like he was talking to himself. “I’m only telling you this because I have some decency to at least warn you. But if you keep pushing you're gonna find yourself a part of something you don't want to be a part of.”

“Well, I’m not just gonna back off without some answers.”

Kai looked at you for a long moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Maybe you should,” he said, his voice low and final, with no room for argument. “Well, I should probably get going before Edgar finds us and blows a fuse.”

Before you could respond, Kai pushed off the wall, the casual slouch in his posture belying the tension that still clung to the air. His figure retreated into the distance, leaving you standing there with a strange heaviness in your chest. You lingered longer than necessary, staring at the spot where he’d stood, the faint sound of his footsteps already fading into the hum of campus life.

You sighed deeply, raking a hand through your hair as you tried to shake off the encounter. Answers. Right.

It felt more like you’d just been handed more questions. But what could you do now? Dwelling on it wouldn’t help. With a soft sigh, you turned on your heel and headed to class, hoping the distraction would be enough to clear your head.

The day passed uneventfully, but the conversation with Kai replayed in your mind at odd intervals, the tension building the closer it got to evening. By the time you arrived at Edgar’s dorm, your nerves felt frayed. His door creaked open under your touch, revealing the familiar space—neat, methodical, just like him.

But something was off tonight.

Edgar was unusually quiet, his movements sharp and deliberate as he went about his evening routine. He barely acknowledged your presence at first, and when he finally did, it was with a pointed glance that made your stomach twist. There was an edge to his silence, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface.

“Everything alright?” you asked, trying to sound casual as you sipped your drink, though your grip on the glass was just a little too tight.

He didn’t answer right away, his eyes scanning you like he was searching for something just out of reach. “You’ve been acting off recently,” he finally said, his voice calm but laced with something colder. “Did our little talk last time throw you off that much?”

His tone was unsettling—not the usual sharpness you were used to, but something softer, almost polite, as if he were savoring your discomfort. It only made you feel more on edge.

“Not really,” you replied, keeping your voice even. “Just been busy, I guess.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a subtle but unmistakable confirmation of your unease. He flipped a page in the textbook resting on his lap, setting a pencil down between the pages with deliberate care. “That’s not it, is it?” he asked, almost innocently. “You’ve been talking to Kai.”

Your breath caught in your throat for a moment, but you quickly recovered. “I don’t see why it’d matter if I did, honestly,” you said, forcing a nonchalant tone. “Even if—”

“Don’t start with that ‘if’ bullshit,” he interrupted, his voice still disturbingly calm but the edge of frustration is evident. “There’s no point in lying.”

You hesitated, your eyes drifting back to your own textbook in front of you, pretending to focus on the words that had long since blurred into meaningless shapes. “We just said hi,” you murmured, your voice quieter than you intended. “You’re acting like I went out of my way to talk to him. It was just… coincidence.”

Edgar’s gaze bore into you, unrelenting. “Coincidence,” he repeated, the word rolling off his tongue like it left a bad taste in his mouth. “Funny how things like that seem to happen right after I specifically told you to stay away from him.”

You purse your lips, staring down at the textbook in front of you, the words blurring together. It's easier to focus on them than to look at Edgar. “Why are you making such a big deal out of this? It was one little conversation.”

“I don’t fucking know. Maybe because you did the one thing I literally asked you not to do?” he snaps, the words clipped.

“Dude, it was literally one conversation with him! God, you're so frustrating!” You throw your hands up, genuinely fed up with how blown out of proportion this whole thing had become.

“Don’t call me frustrating when all you ever do is get on my nerves,” he cuts you off, voice low and sharp. “Having to spend time with you is genuine torture, It’s like you get off on seeing me suffer.”

You feel your breath catch in your throat, frustration giving way to confusion. “You’re not my boyfriend, you're just a friend,” you bite back, your voice rising. “Why the hell should I listen to you on who I avoid or don’t?”

“Because he's my brother," he grits out. "You have one little conversation with him, and all of a sudden you act like you’ve known the bastard for years!”

you can’t stop the sarcastic laugh that escapes you. "Christ, why the hell do you even care? You’re my friend, this... this is a stupid argument.”

Edgar stares at you like it's the first time he's seen you, a coldness in his eyes that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. For once, you don’t think you can make this better. And frankly, you don’t want to.

His face twitches, and he stares at you like he’s weighing whether or not he even wants to continue this conversation. “Friends,” he repeats, the word rolling off his tongue with a mix of disbelief and bitterness. He laughs softly, but it doesn’t sound like anything close to humor. “Of course, you do think we're friends.”

Your stomach turns at the way he says it, the implication clear. It makes you sick, the subtle sting of something you didn’t quite want to face.

"Cause... cause we are." His voice falters, but it’s not genuine—it’s forced, like an afterthought, and it makes everything feel even more dubious.

"You should leave," he says finally, voice flat, the finality in his words making it clear that the argument is over, even if it’s not resolved. "I'll... call you later this week, to finish what we haven’t already finished. “I’ll... call you later this week,” he says, voice still tight with emotion. “To finish the project.”

You don’t say anything. You don’t even try to argue. You just nod, your mind blank, as you gather your things and leave the room.

The walk back to your dorm feels longer than usual, each step heavy with the weight of Edgar's words. The cool night air does little to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside you. Anger, confusion, hurt—they all blend together into a nauseating cocktail that sits uncomfortably in your chest.

You replay the argument in your head, dissecting every word, every inflection. The way Edgar's voice had shifted from its usual sharpness to something colder, more distant. The dismissive way he'd said "friends," like the very idea was laughable.

It stings more than you want to admit.

Back in your dorm, you toss your bag onto your chair with a little more force than necessary. The room feels suffocating in its familiarity, offering no escape from your thoughts. You sit down heavily on your bed, staring at the floor as the argument plays out again and again in your head.

The next day in class, the weight of the tension between you is almost unbearable. Edgar still sits next to you, his head bent over his notes, but the distance between the two of you felt more than just physical. You don’t apologize, though. A stubborn part of you refuses to back down, even as the oppressive silence between you grows heavier.

‘He could’ve at least explained what the hell was so bad about what I did,’ you think, biting the inside of your cheek. Ignoring the pang of guilt over breaking his trust, you cling to the argument that he’d given you nothing—no real reason for his reaction, just a vague warning cloaked in anger.

The minutes drag by as the professor drones on, the distance between you and Edgar more than just physical. You steal a glance at him, hoping for some sign that he might break the silence, but his focus never wavers from his notebook.

And you can't help but wonder if things will ever go back to the way they were. Or if they even should.

Four weeks. That’s how long the silence stretches, morphing from a tense ceasefire to an uneasy routine. Neither of you had dared to breach it, too stubborn—or too afraid—to make the first move. So when Edgar finally shows up at your door, it catches you completely off guard.

The sight of him is disarming. He stands there, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched like he’s bracing for impact. There’s a hesitancy in his posture, an awkwardness that doesn’t suit him, and for a moment, it’s almost hard to believe it’s Edgar standing there.

“I’m sorry for showing up,” he says, his voice low, almost cautious. His gaze refuses to meet yours, instead drifting somewhere past your shoulder like he’s intentionally avoiding eye contact. “I honestly thought you’d be asleep by now.”

You’re tempted to ask why he came anyway, but something about his tone makes you pause. Instead, you lean against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely, waiting for him to continue.

“And I’m sorry for blowing up on you like that,” he adds, the words stilted, forced out like they physically pain him. His jaw tightens as he waves a hand vaguely toward himself, the motion as awkward as the apology. “It was out of line. Irresponsible. I’m still…” He trails off, his hand dropping as he exhales sharply through his nose. “Trying to figure out how to deal with that part of myself.”

Hearing him actually apologize feels like a victory, though you’d never admit it out loud. For once, he’s acknowledging his mistakes, taking responsibility for something instead of brushing it off or doubling down. It’s disarming in a way that leaves you fumbling for how to respond.

“It’s… good,” you say finally, your voice softer than expected. “And I’m sorry too. I didn’t realize how insensitive it was to talk to Kai after you explicitly told me not to.”

There’s a beat of silence. For a moment, it almost feels like the start of something better, like maybe this could be the first step toward smoothing things over. But then he mumbles, “It was,” under his breath—so quiet you almost miss it.

Your eyebrow shoots up, your lips parting to say something, but before the words can form, he looks up at you. There’s something in his eyes, something sharp and apologetic, that freezes you mid-thought.

“Do you wanna come in?” you ask, stepping back and gesturing toward the space behind you.

“Ah, no,” he says quickly, shaking his head. “Unfortunately, I came by for another reason. Wanted to kill two birds with one stone.” He shrugs, his hand motioning vaguely as though that explains anything.

Before you can press him, he steps closer, closing the distance enough that you instinctively straighten. “It’s nothing bad, I promise,” he says, his tone steady but still too ambiguous for comfort. He hesitates for a moment, then adds, “It’s about work. When you were out one day, the professor asked me to get you so we could move some documents over the weekend.”

Your skepticism is immediate, the words slipping out before you can stop yourself. “And you didn’t tell me this before because…?”

“I was being spiteful,” he admits without an ounce of hesitation, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Oh. Of course, Edgar would do something like that. He’s stubborn enough to ice you out for weeks over a petty argument, then show up at your door unannounced in the middle of the night as if the silence hadn’t existed. His nonchalance grates on your nerves, but it’s so painfully in character that you can’t even muster real surprise.

The chill in the air bites through your thin shirt, sharp enough to make you regret not grabbing something heavier. Each gust of wind feels colder than the last, and you can’t help but hunch your shoulders in an attempt to preserve warmth. The streetlights stretch your shadows long and distorted against the pavement, painting the empty streets with an eerie stillness.

“You’re not taking me to, like, a drug deal or something, right?” you quip, breaking the quiet with a nervous edge to your voice.

He glances over his shoulder, the faintest huff of amusement slipping past his lips. “You act a lot like them.”

“Like who?”

“Oh, just someone,” he says lightly, as though it’s not worth elaborating on. “They basically asked the same thing once. I just think it’s funny how you’re asking now.”

You furrow your brow at the cryptic response, but you don’t press further. Something in his tone tells you it wouldn’t get you anywhere, and besides, you’re too busy navigating the isolated path he’s leading you down. The campus feels deserted, the usual hum of student life replaced with an unnerving silence.

“Why couldn’t we do this in the morning?” you ask, keeping close behind him.

He slows slightly, his posture shifting as if the question hadn’t occurred to him until now. “Oh,” he mumbles, almost sheepishly. “Guess I just didn’t think that far ahead. I just had the keys to the building and figured I’d get it over with as soon as possible.”

What a bullshit excuse. Your lips part to retort, but all that comes out is a quiet muttering of curses under your breath. It’s not worth the energy to argue. You’re already out here, freezing your ass off in the middle of the night. Might as well get it over with.

The building is exactly what you’d expect—lifeless, stale, and reeking of dust and neglect. It’s the kind of place that seems frozen in time, filled with outdated textbooks no one bothered to throw away and records so untouched they might as well be artifacts. The room Edgar leads you to is tucked away in a far corner, isolated enough that it feels like even the walls have forgotten it exists.

As soon as the door creaks open, the musty air rushes to greet you, thick and stale in a way that makes your nose scrunch involuntarily. “I feel like I’m gonna get sick just from breathing in here,” you mutter, finding that It’s the kind of room no one comes to unless they absolutely have to. The kind of room people forget about.

“We’ll probably catch a lung disease or something,” Edgar deadpans, stepping aside to let you in first. You don’t think much of it when he closes the door behind you, too distracted by the sight in front of you.

The room is cluttered, file cabinets lining the walls like forgotten sentinels, their metal bodies rusted and dented from years of neglect. The books, if you can even call them that, are stacked haphazardly on nearly every surface, some piles teetering so precariously that even the slightest movement might send them toppling to the floor.

You’re too busy surveying the mess to notice the soft click of the lock sliding into place.

"I'm honestly surprised the building is even unlocked at night," you murmur, finally making your way back over to Edgar’s side. The thought lingers in your mind—an isolated, abandoned space like this would be a hotspot for students looking for a place to make bad decisions. "You’d think people would turn this place into a hookup spot with how out-of-the-way it is..."

You don’t get much further before Edgar, with no hesitation whatsoever, grips your shoulders and moves you aside like you’re some inconveniently placed object in his path. It’s so casual, so dismissive, that you barely have time to react before you find yourself a step away from where you were standing.

"I'm just surprised there aren't any junkies here," he mutters, more to himself than to you. He motions towards a slightly smaller stack of documents set apart from the rest. They look… newer, or at least cleaner than their surroundings. The yellowing pages haven’t entirely succumbed to age, but there’s still a lingering mustiness to them.

You frown, stepping closer. "This is what we came for?" The skepticism in your voice is obvious. "I feel like you could’ve done this yourself instead of dragging me along..."

Edgar scoffs, rolling his eyes. "I did do most of it myself, dumbass. I just got tired of doing what’s supposed to be your job too."

You don’t bother responding beyond a quiet, indignant muttering of, "Well, excuse me," under your breath, shifting your weight with a petulant pout.

"Whatever, I’m here now!" you declare, pushing past him with a dramatic huff. You barely think before grabbing a stack of papers that’s, in retrospect, probably too big to carry all the way back to… wherever the hell you were actually supposed to take them.

Your fingers struggle to wedge beneath the stack, the weight of the papers awkward and unwieldy. You consider halving the load—maybe then you'd have a chance of carrying it back down the stairs without tripping over yourself—but before you can commit to the thought, Edgar steps away, preoccupied with whatever it is he does when he gets bored of dealing with you.

"Hey, Edg—"

The scent hits you before you even register the cloth pressed against your face. A thick, cloying sweetness invades your senses, sickly and chemical, like cheap vodka drowned in artificial sugar—or maybe something floral, something sharp, like a pool cleaner laced with perfume. It clings to the back of your throat, seeping into your lungs before you even think to hold your breath.

Your body reacts before your mind does. A frantic jolt, arms flailing, legs buckling beneath you as you twist against the iron grip pinning you in place. It’s funny, in a way that isn’t—this would be an embarrassing way to go.

Somewhere through the growing haze, you hear Edgar mutter, “Can’t this stuff kill you if you inhale too much?” His voice is distant, muffled by the fog rapidly swallowing your mind. He barely sounds concerned, like he’s just remembering a fact he read somewhere.

The last thing you feel is the weight of his hands keeping you upright before the world goes black.

The first thing you notice when you wake up is the pressure.

Your wrists, bound too tight, skin chafing where they press together. Your ankles, similarly restrained, stiff and aching from the forced position. The second thing you notice is the dampness—your mouth, tacky with drool, the fabric stuffing it thick and unpleasantly damp against your tongue. Whatever it is, it scratches at the corners of your lips, the texture rough, used.

What the fuck happened?

Bleary eyes drag toward the only real source of light in the room—a laptop, its screen casting a harsh glow against the darkness. The brightness stings, sending dull, throbbing pulses through your skull. Just beside it, a camera, its lens glinting beneath the artificial light.

If your legs weren’t bound, you might’ve tried to push yourself up, might’ve tried to reach for the screen or maybe just close the damn thing because god your head hurts. But you're stuck, sluggish from whatever the hell Edgar used on you, limbs unresponsive beyond weak, sluggish twitches.

Then you see him.

You recognize him instantly—his stance, the way he carries himself. Even with the white mask obscuring his face, there's no mistaking Edgar. He’s talking, fast and low, words spilling out in a jumbled stream you can’t quite parse. Your ears catch snippets—"requests," "chat," something about donations—but it all bleeds together, too warped by the lingering chemical haze for you to fully comprehend.

But it doesn't take much to put the pieces together, though. The camera. The laptop. The way he’s looking at you like you’re less of a person and more of a prop.

Your pulse pounds in your ears, every sluggish beat a reminder that your body still hasn’t fully shaken off whatever the hell he drugged you with. Edgar, meanwhile, moves like this is just another casual night—like he didn’t just fucking kidnap you, like he hasn’t tied you up and gagged you in front of a camera.

He turns to you, and even though that mask hides his face, you know he’s smiling.

"Hey," he drawls, the word rolling off his tongue with ease as if checking up on a hungover friend. His fingers tap against your cheek—light at first, but when you turn your head away, he follows, his touch lingering just long enough to make your skin crawl.

"Glad to know you didn’t overdose or something," he hums, more to himself than to you.

Your breath stutters against the damp fabric between your lips, a mix of confusion and fury bubbling beneath the surface. You’d scream at him if you could, demand to know what the fuck is wrong with him—but all you can offer is a glare, bewildered and seething.

Edgar chuckles, amused by something you’re clearly missing.

"Come on, smile for the cameras."

His hands grip your head, shaking it far too roughly for it to be anything close to affectionate, your neck straining under the force. He finally backs off, leaving you rattled and dizzier than before.

You don’t have time to recover before he’s back at the laptop, his attention shifting away from you entirely.

"I’m turning on donations now," he says simply, like it’s just another part of his routine.

You hear the faint ping of a notification from the laptop, followed by another. Then another. Your breath comes shallow through your nose, the gag sticky against your lips as you struggle to steady yourself. Whatever high you were floating on is fading fast, but the clarity that replaces it is worse—because now you can fully grasp what’s happening.

Edgar doesn’t move right away.

He shifts, arms folding over his chest as he watches the list of donations grow, each new request stacking atop the last. His head tilts slightly, thoughtful, as if he’s picking out a meal from a menu rather than deciding what to do to you.

"Man," he finally exhales, his voice light, casual, "Some of you are real creative." His fingers tap lazily against the laptop keys, scrolling through the suggestions, occasionally pausing to hum in consideration. He’s waiting. Drawing it out. Letting the anticipation build—not just for you, but for them. The unseen audience. The ones paying for this.

The next notification dings, louder somehow, or maybe it just feels that way.

Edgar perks up, his whole posture shifting as he reads over a specific question, “Metal?” He repeats, giving you a clue as to what the hell was asked, your wide, terrified eyes locked onto Edgar as he moves about the room, his steps unhurried, casual, as if he were merely picking out a snack from the fridge. "Mh, I don't think there's anything like that lying around," he mused softly, his gaze sweeping lazily over the cluttered space. Then, something seemed to spark his interest. His posture straightened, his movements purposeful as he reached into a cabinet and retrieved a thick metal rod.

Its weight was evident in the way he tested it with a light toss between his hands. It was heavy, sure, but small enough for a firm, comfortable grip. He turned it over once before facing the camera, a disturbing spark of excitement lacing his tone. “Someone donate 3k right now, and I’ll brand them with this,” he announced, holding the cursed object up like a prize.

The response was almost instant. The ping of the donation alert startled even him, his soft huff betraying his surprise. “That was quick,” he muttered, shaking his head before sauntering off to place the rod onto a portable stove. His movements were eerily relaxed, his tone almost cheerful.

“Well, while that’s heating up—” He turned his attention back, words dripping with mockery as he tilted his masked head. “Let’s get our guest a little more comfortable.” Though his face remained hidden beneath the smooth, white porcelain of his mask, the grin behind it was unmistakable. His voice held a teasing lilt, cruel and condescending.

Your instincts kicked in, body squirming back as he closed the distance in long, confident strides. He crouched in front of you, bringing his masked face to your eye level. “You make a sound, and I’ll slit your throat,” he whispered, his voice sinking into something far darker, far colder. The threat was delivered with a nonchalant finality as his hand rose to your cheek. His fingers traced your skin with a gentleness so sickening it made your stomach churn, the almost tender gesture in complete contrast to the malice behind his words.

His fingers tug at the damp, saliva-soaked fabric from your mouth, and before you can catch your breath, the unmistakable snick of a switchblade fills the air, freezing you in place. The blade caught the dim light as he brought it close, his tone turning taunting. “Hold your breath,” he said, the smirk audible in his voice. “I don’t wanna accidentally stab you or anything.”

Obeying, you sucked in a shaky breath, your chest rising and falling unevenly as he began to slice through your shirt with carelessness. Each tug of his wrist sent the tip of the blade grazing your skin, not quite breaking it, but enough to make your muscles tense. The fabric tore under his hands, but he didn’t bother removing it entirely, leaving the tattered remains hanging from your shoulders. He stepped aside to give his audience a better view.

The humiliation burned, hot and overwhelming, as the camera captured you. A deep sickness twisted your gut, your shame and anger intermingling with the gnawing fear.

“Hm,” he hummed, his head tilting slightly as though deep in thought. But you knew better. He wasn’t pondering anything. He already knew exactly what he wanted to do. “I’ll carve your usernames into this pig’s skin. A hundred each,” he said simply, reaching out to grab a fistful of your hair.

“Wa—” Your protest was muffled as his hand clamped over your mouth, his grip firm and silencing. The blade pressed lightly against your stomach, his voice sharp. “Ah, ah. Shut up,” he tutted, his tone scolding like you were a child misbehaving. “Nobody wants to see you die,” he muttered under his breath, his voice losing the playful edge for a brief moment. “Not yet anyway.”

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he dragged the blade across your skin, his movements deliberate as he turned his head toward the screen. “Fatal Night seems like a good enough start, right?” His voice was almost casual as if this were just another chore. He tugged your head forward with his grip, forcing you into a weak nod as strained whimpers fell from your lips, quickly breaking into desperate, repetitive cries. “Stop, stop, stop—” The word spilled from you like a mantra, hollow and powerless, as if it would somehow change the inevitable.

The blade pierced into your flesh, each letter carefully etched with a precision that made you sick. His murmurs filled the air as he sounded out each letter to himself, the uneven gashes oozing blood and stinging like fire. Every trembling flinch from you earned an irritated noise. “Keep moving like that, and I’ll cut your stomach open,” he snaps, his tone sharper now, laced with irritation, as if you’re the one being unreasonable. As if you were the one in the wrong for not staying perfectly still while he mutilated you.

Despite your best efforts, your shuddering breaths and tear-soaked face betrayed your terror. The first two names were finished with relative ease, his movements steady despite your involuntary jerks. You could barely make out what had been written though between the dim lighting, the tears blurring your vision, and the searing pain, not that you wanted to know. You're sure you'd be dead by the end of the night after all.

Edgar lets out a satisfied hum, his fingers ghosting over the fresh wounds as if admiring his work. The pain is unbearable, your skin burning as blood seeps from the jagged carvings, warm and sticky against your trembling stomach and staining your pants a dark red.

Another notification pings from the laptop.

Edgar sighs, shaking his head in mock exasperation. "You guys are quick," he mutters, wiping the blade against the tattered remains of your shirt. "I might actually run out of space at this rate." His fingers dig into your scalp as he forces your head back, his masked face looming over yours. “How you holdin’ up?” The question is unnecessary. You know that he can see the answer—your body trembling under his grip, your breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps.

A chuckle leaves him as he tilts his head, feigning thoughtfulness. “Y’know, I probably should've spaced these out a little,” he muses, dragging the flat side of the blade over your cheek, wiping the blood off on your skin. “But then again…” His gaze flickers toward the now-glowing tip of the metal rod.

He lets go of your hair suddenly, letting your head drop forward as he steps toward the stove. The heat distorts the air around it, the metal burning a dull orange. His gloved fingers carefully pick it up, and for the first time since this nightmare started, he seems to hesitate.

It’s brief—so brief you’d almost think you imagined it.

But then he turns back to you, tilting the rod slightly as he watches how the light catches it. “I think it’s hot enough, don’t you?”

“Please don't,” you whisper through heavy sobs, shaking your head as if it'd make a difference. But Edgar ignores it. Of course he does. Because why would he ever listen to you? He crouches in front of you, the heat radiating from the rod brushing against your exposed skin, making you flinch. “You’re gonna want to hold still for this part,” he warns, the grin practically audible in his tone. "Unless you want me to fuck you up further, but I don’t think you’d like that very much."

You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself too little too late— And then the searing agony hits.

It forces an agonized scream from your throat. Your body convulses violently, the unbearable heat from the rod pressing into your skin. The scream that tears from your throat is raw, desperate, echoing through the room as you thrash helplessly against the restraints. Every attempt to move is in vain, the cords of your wrists cutting into your flesh as the metal rod sinks deeper into your chest. The sickening hiss of burning skin fills the air, mixed with the sound of your ragged breaths.

Edgar's laugh rings out, cruel and unaffected by your pain. "Cmon, quit moving if you don't want it," he mocks, shifting the rod ever so slightly, pushing it even deeper, drawing another agonizing scream from you. "You look like you're about to pass out," he observes with faux concern. The heat blisters your skin, but the worst part is the waiting, the anticipation of the next moment of pain. Your mind is foggy, vision blurring, but it's all you can do to focus on the sensation of the rod pressed to your body, the sickening weight of it.

"You’re making such a mess," Edgar comments absently, and you can feel the weight of the metal rod slowly lift, but the burn it left behind doesn’t fade. The wound throbs like a second heartbeat, pulsing with every breath you try to take.

Your breath hitches, chest rising and falling in uneven shudders as you struggle to process his words through the haze of your panic. Your ears are still ringing, drowning out the finer details of the sickening reality unfolding before you.

His attention flicks back to the laptop, and Edgar snorts, shaking his head. "Man, y'all are predictable," he mutters, twirling the knife between his fingers before giving it a lazy spin in his palm. The blade, slick with fresh blood—your blood— is wiped clean on the fabric of his pants, as if it wasn't going to get dirty again "Always with the same shit. But, hey, who am I to judge? I am getting paid, after all.”

He taps the blade against your cheek, the tip of the blade pressing against your lower eyelid. Earning another weak sob and more squirming, “C’mon, don’t be such a baby,” he drawls, angling the blade upwards slightly. "I haven't even done anything yet."

He lifts his other hand, fingers pressing against your cheek, pulling your eye open “Now," he says softly, watching the way you tremble under him. "Let’s see what all the hype is about.”

The sharp sting is immediate, a white-hot pressure that sends fresh agony searing through your skull. Your scream is muffled against the gag, your body convulsing on instinct, trying desperately to pull away—but there's nowhere to go.

Edgar doesn’t falter. He hums under his breath, steady hands pressing the blade in deeper, parting flesh with sickening ease.

“Damn,” he muses, voice almost drowned out by the ringing in your ears. “They weren’t lying about how soft this part is.”

You can’t see anymore. Not from that eye.

But you can feel it.

The blade presses deeper, a sharp, unbearable pressure that sends waves of searing pain through your skull. It isn’t a clean puncture—your eye resists, the delicate tissue stretching, distorting before finally giving way with a wet, sickening squelch. The pain is overwhelming, radiating outward like fire spreading through your nerves.

Your body thrashes instinctively, every muscle screaming for you to pull away, to escape, but the restraints hold firm. Edgar’s grip on your head tightens, fingers digging into your scalp as he forces you still.

"Shhh, shhh," he murmurs, his voice light, almost amused. "You'll ruin the fun if you keep struggling like that."

The blade twists. A fresh surge of agony explodes through your skull, your vision blurring into something incomprehensible—light, color, and then nothing at all. Something warm trickles down your cheek, thick and sluggish.

Edgar pulls back slightly, inspecting his work. "Hah. That’s—" He huffs a small laugh, breathing noticeably heavy "Messy."

And then thought struck him like an idle breeze, entirely misplaced and cruel: You're cute when you're crying. It lingered, despite the grotesque sight before him—tears and snot streaking your face, mingling with the blood that dripped from your chin. Your expression was twisted into something almost unrecognizable, ugly in its pure anguish, and yet he couldn’t look away.

His grip on your head didn’t falter, even as the nerve to your right eye snapped with an audible, nauseating rip. He held the severed piece up, tilting it slightly to catch the dim light, his movements dispassionate, almost clinical. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he discarded the knife, letting it clatter to the floor.

“Shit… Can’t believe I’m actually doing this,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. His hand reached for the bottle of alcohol nearby, the plastic just barely discernible through the fog of your failing vision. “This better work. I don’t want to deal with an infection from you.”

The words were faint, muffled by the static in your ears, but the unmistakable pop of the bottle cap cutting through sent a jolt of fresh panic through your broken body. You wanted to beg, to plead with him to stop, but the sounds caught in your throat, tangled with the sobs that wracked your chest.

And then it hit—a searing, white-hot agony as he poured the liquid directly into the empty socket. Your entire body convulsed, his grip loosening just enough for you to collapse forward, clutching at your face as though that could somehow dull the relentless, burning itch that clawed at your skull. The alcohol foamed as it reacted with the raw tissue, the sickly white froth spilling over your cheeks.

Your screams ripped through the air, hoarse and animalistic, until your voice began to crack under the strain.

“Christ, you’re loud,” he muttered, his tone laced with something disturbingly amused. The sharp grin in his voice was unmistakable, even as your cries finally gave way to ragged, choking sobs. He crouched beside your trembling form, watching as your body shuddered in waves, your mind too overwhelmed by the pain to register his presence fully.

“Hey,” he said, tapping your cheek lightly, as if coaxing you awake from a pleasant nap rather than this waking nightmare. “You still alive?”

You didn't—Couldn't respond, only the shallow rise and fall of your chest, your breaths erratic and uneven. He clicked his tongue, a mockery of disappointment, and slid his hands beneath your arms, hoisting you upright while allowing most of your weight sagged against his leg as he settled you into a kneeling position, his grip firm enough to ensure you didn’t slump forward again.

“Come on now,” he murmured, almost fondly, brushing some of the blood-slick hair from your face. “Don’t die on me. Not yet, anyway.”

Your head lolled slightly, your consciousness slipping in and out as you struggled to process the words, the sensations, the horror of it all. You barely reacted when he began unbuckling his belt, the motion slow, deliberate—practiced.

He ignored your weak attempt to say his name, or whatever it was you were trying to plead with him—honestly, he couldn’t tell the difference. Your words came out slurred, unintelligible, a garbled mess that barely even registered in his mind.

His gloved fingers dug into your eyelid, pulling it down with a dispassionate focus as he inspected the pink, raw flesh beneath, his gaze lingering with morbid curiosity.

"I don’t think I'll be able to fit anything past the tip," he muttered to himself, almost absentmindedly, his eyes scanning the mess he'd made of your face.

He straightened, the thought seemingly pushing him forward, "Well, two thousand is still two thousand. Might as well try," he hummed, tugging your head closer to his pelvis. The warmth of his thigh against your eyelid provided a steady anchor to your hazy mind. A small part of him couldn't help but hope that the socket was still warm and pulsing with life.

"Finally found a way to put that empty head of yours to use," he sneered, angling your head upwards with a tight grip on the back of your neck. The warmth of his skin pressed against yours unbearable as he slowly pushed in. "F-fuck... Shit I knew it," he chuckled through strained breaths, pushing further into the gaping hole in your skull. The pressure against your skull made you sob in pain, but he didn't seem to care. "Can't even get an inch in, it's like breaking in a virgin."

He tightened his grip on your hair, pulling it back as he adjusted himself against you. A low moan escaped your lips as he gave a shallow thrust that elicited a scream from your lips. Your entire body trembling and instinctively trying to pull away, desperate for some distance between you and the source of this pain

”Still..." he began, his voice rough with desire. “It's pretty warm.” He slowly rocked his hips against your head, the tip of his cock cruelly bumping into what must have been the back of your socket.

Tears streamed down your face, mingling with the raw, salty taste of your own despair. Your throat ached and burned from the incessant sobbing, leaving you gasping for air as you begged and pleaded with him. The relentless grinding of his hips against you felt like a physical assault, threatening to shatter the fragile barrier between your eye socket and skull. You could feel the bile rising in your throat, with each cruel thrust only proving to make you sicker.

“To be honest, I never saw the appeal of this kinda stuff,” he mused, breathing heavy and uneven, almost as an afterthought as if he'd just recalled a minor detail. His words were punctuated by the wet, sickening sound of his hips against your ruined eye socket. “But they seem to be—fuck— fixated on something about a 'fitting punishment' and some bullshit about 'karmic justice'. Whatever that means.”

His hand gripped your head with an iron grip as he ruthlessly thrust into your eye. Every ridge, every vein of his member could be felt as he pushed further and deeper, each movement causing a twitch and pull inside your eye socket. It was like he was trying to fuck right through the barrier of your skull, determined to push his way to the very core of your being. Each movement sent a jolt of pain through your body, and you could almost hear the sickening sounds of flesh and bone giving way under his relentless assault.

The initial pressure was almost relieving, a release from the intense sensation that had been building. But then the pain hit, sharp and fiery, like something inside of you had snapped or torn apart. Edgar's reaction was immediate, even though you couldn't see his face, only his thighs in your limited vision. You could hear his gasp and feel his sudden stillness as he takes in your shared realization.

"Holy shit," he exclaims, his voice full of surprise and something you could mistake for concern. "Did you guys hear that?"

Your attention is drawn briefly to the nearby stream before returning to Edgar's hips as they start moving again. But this time there is a new depth to his thrusts, a deeper penetration than before.

"Fuck," he mutters, realization dawning on him. "I think I broke something in there. Did you hear that snapping sound?" You can hear the way shock faded away, replaced by amusement as he picked back his earlier pace. The wet, obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, punctuated by your choked sobs and his grunts. He used his grip on the back of your head as leverage, slamming his hips forward harder, burying himself deeper into your eye socket with each thrust.

“This is what you deserve, I should've done this ages ago instead of coddling you.” He punctuated his words with particularly harsh thrusts, the head of his cock kissing the back of God knows what in your empty socket. The pain was unbearable, white hot agony lancing through you with each movement.

You could feel the sticky warmth of your own blood coating his shaft as he violated your wounded eye, "Fuck... gonna... ungh... gonna fill that ugly socket with my cum. Mark you as my property inside and out.” His fingers dug into your hair as he chased his own high. Spots swam behind your bandaged eyes as you faded in and out of consciousness, the loss of blood and the pain making you dizzy and lightheaded.

With a guttural groan, Edgar slammed forward one last time and held himself there, buried to the hilt in your eye socket. A warm, thick gush of fluid flooding your head.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, a faint edge of exhaustion in his voice. He glances down at you, sprawled limp against his leg, your head lolling slightly with the weight of your lifeless body. For a moment, he’s almost... thoughtful, studying the way your chest doesn’t rise or fall, the way your skin has already begun to pale.

It’s almost cute, he thinks with a detached sort of amusement. Just moments ago, you were thrashing, screaming, begging for mercy like it would make a difference. Now, you’re nothing more than dead weight—quiet, pliant, a stark contrast to the fight you’d put up before.

Finally pulling out with an obscene pop. Blood and semen poured from your ruined socket, running in thick rivulets down your face and onto your shirt, he stares at the sight for a moment before patting your cheek almost affectionately. The gesture feels out of place, like a mockery of tenderness. “You’re really gone, huh?” he muses aloud, tilting your head slightly as though checking for a flicker of life. It’s unnecessary—he already knows the answer. But he didn’t need another slip-up like the last time.

“Well, since they’re dead,” he begins, his tone shifting into something more performative. He straightens up, tucking himself back into his pants, brushing the wrinkles out of his shirt and adjusting the mask that had slipped slightly during the ordeal. He takes a moment to smooth his appearance, glancing at his reflection in the darkened screen before turning his attention back to the camera.

“I guess that marks the end of this month’s stream!”

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despite-everything · 2 years ago

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WHY IS NO ONE I TEXTED AWAKE

SOMEONE IN MY BUILDING CHASED AFTER PEOPLE WITH A SWORD JUST NOW I WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT

#i havent witnessed a murder before #but i was genuinely very scared i was about to #and i havent stopped shaking since #i wish i knew who this man was beyond the fact that he at least doesnt live on my wing of my floor #or that i knew anything about the victims(?) cause i recorded a couple minutes of the alterca #and they could use this to get a restraining order #but jesus christ #i know its not even 7am but i dont have a fixed schedule today. im going to smoke a joint and go back to bed #tree talks

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youvebeenlivingfictionalreplies · 2 years ago

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#not fic #will delete later #welcome back to dany's cunty booksta opinions #sometimes people on social media will be like 'this male love interest is the new standard'#and it's just an emotionally constipated and abusive man that happens to be played by someone that they find hot #or written as someone that could be played a fave #and it's like the new standard for what? The kind of people to file a restraining order against??#also i know that it is fiction and fiction can help us explore the darker sides of ourselves i get it; this is not a moral condemnation #it's a preference thing #but yeah some of these 'new standards' can read as kinda yikes lol

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goodrightreal · 7 months ago

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#so in May my abusive asshole of a father went off on us and started threatening to kill us and chased my brother and I with a knife #and when we said we were going to call the police he decided he wanted to die via suicide by cop #we left the house when he went to the back of the house and called the cops #they did not kill him but he did get arrested obviously #and on top of it he was already out on bail for previous but unrelated charges from a few years ago #so he’s been in jail since then #and we were subpoenaed to go to his preliminary hearing which is or is at least supposed to be tomorrow #(though the nv judicial system is a special brand of shit and it was already continued once and has a good chance of it happening again)#but this morning my mother got a call from someone at the jail #saying they were looking for housing for him and asking if he could come live with us #which we of course said absolutely not #but this implies he will be getting out of jail soon #and we’re very freaked out and also have no idea what’s actually going on bc we haven’t been told anything #we called his pd and he ALSO doesnt know anything and was shocked to find out he might be getting out #so basically: fuck #we changed the locks in May but we just also ordered a security camera to be here tomorrow #and we’re going to the courthouse to get restraining order paperwork #which we initially put off bc we figured he’d be in jail indefinitely until both charges went to trial and such #but now we don’t know what’s going on so #and no he has quite literally no one else who could have paid the bond for the assault charges or that he could stay with

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hellobykittys · 2 months ago

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𝐒𝐇𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐘 ✦ 𝐎𝐏⁸¹

SUMMARY: You are Lando Norris’ twin sister and were completely obsessed with your brother’s teammate, but he was always avoiding you. NOTES: English is not my first language, so there might be some writing mistakes. I apologize for that, and feel free to point out any improvements. PAIRING: Oscar Piastri x Reader! Lando Norris’ Sister. WARNING: Hot scenes, but not explicit; use of Y/N; Oscar is very shy. WC: 4.7k

MASTERLIST | THE (IM)PERFECT PLAN SERIE

“You need to go a little easier on him,” Lando said as soon as he entered the small room, throwing his backpack onto the chair with a tired sigh. “Oscar’s shy, and you’re scaring the poor guy to death.”

You, leaning against the desk with your legs crossed and your eyes glued to your phone, ignored the first part of the comment. But the last part caught your attention.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, feigning disinterest.

“Oh, come on, don’t act dumb,” Lando shot back, crossing his arms with a smirk. “You’re cornering Oscar. I was going to let it slide because, honestly, it’s hilarious. But look, you’re going too far, and he clearly doesn’t know how to handle it.”

You realized denying it would be pointless. Lando knew exactly what you were doing, and probably the whole paddock did too. Maybe it was time to turn the tables in your favor.

“Did he complain about me?” you asked, now genuinely curious, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips. “Because, seriously, I don’t get it. Sometimes it seems like he doesn’t care, but then, in the next minute, he acts like I’m the personification of chaos.”

Your voice carried a touch of frustration. Ever since you met Oscar last season, you had done everything to get his attention. Flirting, glances, little touches. But he always pulled away or acted like he didn’t notice. His shyness, which once seemed charming, was now starting to feel like an impenetrable barrier.

Lando laughed, clearly enjoying himself at your expense. “You know what’s funny? You think you can melt anyone with that smile and some games. But let me tell you, Oscar’s different. He’s more… reserved.”

“I know that,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “And that’s exactly why I’m trying harder. He’s not like the others. It just makes it more interesting.”

Lando shook his head, incredulous. “You’re impossible, you know that? But look, if you keep this up, he’s gonna start running away from you. Like, literally. One day, he’s gonna abandon the car in the middle of the track just to escape.”

You laughed. “He already runs, just in a way less obvious than that. But he’ll get used to it. It’s just a matter of time.”

“Or a restraining order.”

“Funny,” you replied, giving him a sharp look.

After a brief silence, you decided to change tactics. “You could help me out!” you asked, in an exaggeratedly sweet tone.

“No way. Stay out of this, Y/N,” Lando responded quickly, as if he already knew where this was going.

“You’re so heartless!” you retorted, with a theatrical touch. “I come every weekend to support you, and this is how I’m treated? You should, I don’t know, compensate me for always being by your side.”

“Support? You’re kidding, right?” Lando laughed. “The whole team already figured out why you’re always here. And the only person who might not have noticed is Oscar himself.”

“What slander!” you snapped, placing a hand on your chest as if deeply offended. “I come because I like my brother. And I thought he liked me too, but apparently, he doesn’t care enough to help me with something so simple.”

Lando just laughed and raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. What exactly do you want me to do?”

“Simple. Find out if he likes me or not. Easy, right?”

Before you could continue the discussion, someone knocked on the door, interrupting the conversation.

“Come in!” Lando replied casually.

The door opened to reveal Oscar. Your excitement was immediate. He, on the other hand… didn’t seem as thrilled to see you.

“I didn’t know your sister was here,” he said to Lando, hesitantly. “I didn’t want to interrupt. I’ll come back later.”

Before he could leave, you rushed to his side and lightly placed your hand on his arm, still covered by his racing suit.

“You don’t have to leave, Osc,” you said softly, your fingers purposely brushing against the fabric of his suit. “Lando and I weren’t talking about anything important. Feel free to stay.”

Oscar hesitated but eventually gave in. “Alright, if you say so…”

Oscar tried to pull away from your touch without being rude, and you, noticing his discomfort, decided to ease the tension and let him slip away.

“Well… I just wanted to ask about the car adjustments for tomorrow. But I guess I interrupted something…” He seemed genuinely uncomfortable, which only made you want to tease him even more.

“You didn’t interrupt anything,” you replied with a calm smile. “Actually, I’ll just sit here quietly while you two chat.”

With that, you sat down in a chair lost in the room, pretending to fiddle with your phone while you took the opportunity to observe Oscar. The way he spoke, gestured, or even furrowed his brow when something seemed confusing… it was fascinating.

The two of them spent a few minutes discussing technical adjustments for the car when they were interrupted again. This time, it was someone from the PR team, rushing in to inform Lando that they needed him for an urgent photo session.

“I’m on my way,” Lando said, standing up. But before leaving, he gave you a calculated look. “Oscar, can you stay here? Y/N was feeling a bit nauseous earlier, and I didn’t want her to be alone.”

Your heart skipped a beat. It was obvious he was making it up, but the feigned concern in his voice was flawless. You knew you owed Lando a big favor now, but it was worth it. For Oscar, everything was worth it.

“Seriously?” Oscar looked visibly surprised, casting a suspicious glance from you to Lando. “Alright, if she needs anything…”

“Thanks a lot, buddy,” Lando replied with a mischievous smile, giving Oscar’s arm a friendly squeeze before walking toward the door. “I’ll be back soon. Wait for me here.”

As soon as the door closed, you jumped up and practically ran to the couch, pulling Oscar down to sit next to you before he could even react.

“Thanks so much for staying, Osc,” you said softly, as if you were truly vulnerable. “I wasn’t feeling too great, you know?”

Oscar tensed next to you, clearly uncomfortable. He looked around, as if searching for an escape route. “Is everything okay now? Do you want me to get some water or something?”

“No, no, it’s fine, it’s passed,” you replied, placing your hand on his arm. “I just needed some company. I feel better this way.”

Oscar let out a nervous, short laugh and looked away, clearly trying not to acknowledge the closeness between you two.

“You look cute when you’re nervous, you know?” you remarked, a mischievous smile appearing on your face.

He opened his mouth to respond but seemed to lose his words. Finally, he muttered, “I’m… not nervous.”

“Oh, really?” you teased, leaning in a little closer, until there was almost no space left between you on the small couch. Oscar seemed even more restless, the blush on his face now impossible to hide.

“I think… we don’t need to be this close,” he managed to say, awkwardly trying to pull away. But, poor thing, there was nowhere left to escape.

“Osc,” you started, in a fake hurt tone, looking down at your hands. “I think you don’t like me very much.”

He seemed surprised, the tension in his shoulders easing for a moment. “Why would you think that?”

“Because every time I’m around, you try to get away.” Your voice sounded almost like a lament, and you took the opportunity to glance at him before looking down at your legs. “Did I do something to you?”

When you looked back at him, your face was perfectly molded into a sad expression, your eyes slightly glistening, as if you were truly upset. It was almost impossible not to believe it.

Oscar hesitated, looking genuinely puzzled. “No… of course not. It’s just that…” He stopped, clearly trying to find the right words.

“It’s just that…?” you encouraged, tilting your head.

“You’re… too intense, Y/N,” he finally confessed, his voice low. “I don’t know how to handle you, that’s all.”

A triumphant smile threatened to appear on your lips, but you held it back, keeping up the act. “Intense? I just… like being around you, you know? Is that really so hard?”

Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, visibly uncomfortable. “It’s not that. I’m just not used to… attention.”

“So, you’re saying I make you uncomfortable?” you asked, leaning slightly toward him, closing the space even more.

Oscar looked away, his ears turning even redder. “I didn’t say that.”

“Then what are you saying?”

Before he could answer, the door suddenly opened, and Lando walked into the room with that typical mischievous smile you knew so well. “Did I interrupt something?”

Oscar practically jumped off the couch, creating visible distance between you two. It was almost comical, but at that moment, you could only curse your brother. He had ruined the perfect moment. You were so close to getting what you wanted!

“No, no,” Oscar quickly denied, the words tumbling out almost in a rush. “Now that you’re here, I… I think I’ll head out. See you before the next practice.”

And without giving anyone a chance to react, he practically bolted out of the room, as if running away from a fire.

You let out a loud sigh, crossing your arms and shooting a deadly glare at Lando, who was still standing in the doorway, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

“You did that on purpose!” you accused, frustration clear in your voice.

“Me? No way,” Lando responded, feigning innocence as he closed the door behind him. “But you should’ve seen his face. Poor guy, he looked like he was going to pass out.”

“He wasn’t going to pass out!” you retorted, throwing a pillow toward your brother, who easily dodged it.

“Alright, alright. But seriously, Y/N, you’re being way too hard on the guy.” He threw himself onto the couch, taking the spot Oscar had just vacated. “Don’t you think he’s nervous enough already? Every time you get close, it’s like he forgets how to breathe.”

You huffed, sinking into the couch next to him. “Maybe he just needs to get used to me. It’s not that hard, right?”

Lando raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “For you, maybe. But for him? Oscar is… different. He’s not used to someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” you repeated, intrigued.

“You know,” Lando explained, gesturing vaguely. “Someone who’s not afraid to say what they want and go after it. Oscar’s more… reserved. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t like you, he just doesn’t know how to react.”

You were silent for a moment, processing Lando’s words. Maybe he was right. Maybe Oscar just needed a little more time. But giving up wasn’t an option. Not now.

“Okay,” you finally said, a mischievous smile appearing on your lips. “I’ll go easy on him. For now.”

Lando laughed, clearly amused by your determination. “Good luck, sis. You’re going to need it.”

The next day, you positioned yourself strategically in the garage, waiting for the right moment to find Oscar. When he finally appeared, talking to one of the engineers, you calmly walked over with a relaxed smile, pretending you had no agenda in mind.

“Hey, Osc,” you greeted, your voice light and carefree. “How’s everything after yesterday? You seemed in a rush.”

Oscar turned to you, and it was almost funny how hard he tried to appear casual, even though he was clearly uncomfortable. “Oh, yeah… I was just running late for something.”

“Of course, of course,” you responded with a soft smile. “Well, I hope things are calmer now. Maybe we can chat after qualifying?”

He hesitated, shooting a near-pleading glance at the engineer beside him, as if he was hoping they could save him. But this time, something different sparkled in Oscar’s eyes. It wasn’t fear or discomfort. It was curiosity, though still shy.

“Yeah… maybe,” he finally replied, his voice softer than usual.

You smiled, already considering that a small victory.

Unfortunately, finding Oscar after qualifying turned out to be impossible. Lando secured pole position, and you stayed to congratulate him, while Oscar, with a disappointing P5, was swept into endless conversations with engineers and mechanics.

By the time it was late, almost time to head back to the hotel, you went to Lando’s room to grab your things while he wrapped up the last commitment of the day. That’s when fate decided to be kind.

The door next to your brother’s room opened, and who stepped out but the exact person you’d been hoping to see.

“Osc!” you called out cheerfully, a bright smile on your face.

“Hey.” His response was much less enthusiastic. The tone of defeat and frustrated expression clearly showed that he was still upset about the qualifying result.

“Bummed about P5?” you asked, trying to start a conversation.

“It wasn’t what I expected,” he admitted, crossing his arms. “But I’ll make up for it tomorrow.” There was a forced confidence in his voice that you didn’t miss.

“I’m sure you will! And look, I’m calling the podium: Lando in first, and you in second. What do you think?”

You stepped a little closer, almost unintentionally, trying to minimize the distance between you. But for Oscar, there was nothing subtle about your approach. He clearly noticed.

“You’re optimistic,” he commented, trying to ignore how you seemed to invade his space without hesitation.

“I’m not optimistic, I’m realistic,” you shot back, a mischievous smile playing on your lips.

Oscar looked away, clearly looking for an escape route, but you weren’t about to let him slip away so easily.

“Look, Osc,” you began, your tone softening as you leaned in slightly. “I really think you underestimate how good you are at what you do. You’ve got everything to be at the top. You just need to believe in yourself more.”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard by your change in tone. You saw the tension in his shoulders ease slightly, and that was enough for you to close the gap just a little more, your smile now sweeter than mischievous.

“You really think so?” he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.

“I know it,” you replied, sincerity shining through.

Oscar still seemed hesitant, but he didn’t pull away when you placed a light hand on his arm, your fingers resting casually. “You just need to learn to relax more. Maybe I can help with that,” you said, your voice almost a whisper.

Oscar swallowed, his eyes finally meeting yours. For a moment, you thought he was going to give in. He seemed torn between wanting to escape and something he clearly didn’t want to admit. You leaned in a little closer, feeling you were on the edge of success.

“You’re really hard, you know?” he murmured, the words practically floating between you two.

Oscar opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. And just as you were about to close the distance even more, he took a step back, almost stumbling into the wall behind him.

“I… I need to go,” he said quickly, his voice shaky but firm. “Good night, Y/N.”

Before you could react, he was already halfway down the hallway, walking so fast it was almost a run.

You let out a frustrated sigh, but deep down, you couldn’t help but smile. Little by little, Oscar was starting to give in, even if he still resisted at the last second. It was only a matter of time.

And you knew very well that you had all the patience in the world to wait.

The paddock was a well-organized chaos, with mechanics, engineers, and drivers moving around frantically as the grandstands filled with enthusiastic fans. You, of course, were there, strategically positioned in Oscar’s team’s garage, pretending to be just casually walking around but with a very clear goal in mind.

He was there, adjusting his gloves while listening carefully to an engineer. He seemed so focused, he could have blended in with the rest of the team. Almost. You, however, always managed to spot him in the crowd.

“Hey, Osc!” you called, walking into the space without any hesitation.

Oscar quickly turned, his eyes widening slightly when he saw you there. “Y/N? What are you doing here?”

“I came to wish you good luck, of course,” you answered with a sweet but mischievous smile.

“Good luck?” He seemed suspicious, clearly aware that you rarely did something that simple.

“Of course!” You tilted your head slightly, looking at him as if his question was absurd. “You know I’ll be cheering for you too, right? First Lando, and then you!”

Oscar opened his mouth to respond but closed it again, a blush already creeping up his face. He looked around desperately, almost as if hoping someone would save him from the situation. But, as you’d already noticed, no one was paying attention to you two.

“You’re kind of tense, Osc. It won’t go well like this, you know?” You stepped a little closer, lowering your voice slightly, but still clearly teasing. “Are you nervous because of me?”

“No,” he quickly replied, although his tone and the blush on his face said otherwise.

“Hmm… funny,” you murmured, pretending to think. “Because it seems like every time I get close, you get a little… uneasy.”

“Y/N, we’re in the pit… in public,” he whispered, almost as if trying to make you stop.

“So what? No one’s listening, and we’re not doing anything wrong, are we?” you shot back, a smile mixing sweetness and mischief on your lips. “I’m here to support you, Osc. And, speaking of that, I have a proposition for you.”

He squinted his eyes, clearly suspicious. “What kind of proposition?”

“If you get on the podium today… I’ll give you a special gift,” you said, leaning slightly toward him, your voice low but filled with mystery.

“What gift?” He looked at you, nervousness clear on his face, but at the same time, unable to hide his curiosity.

“It’s a surprise,” you replied, winking conspiratorially.

“Y/N…” He sighed, clearly trying to keep his composure. “You know you didn’t have to come here for that, right?”

“I know,” you answered, your smile growing wider. “But what’s the fun in cheering from a distance? Besides, you might not know, but I’m great at picking out gifts.”

Oscar seemed like he was about to say something, but one of the engineers appeared out of nowhere, calling him for the final pre-race meeting. He sighed in visible relief, almost grabbing the opportunity to escape.

“I have to go,” he said quickly.

“Good luck, Osc,” you replied, not hiding your satisfaction. “I’ll be waiting on the podium. And after the race… the gift is all yours.”

He didn’t reply, just nodded quickly before disappearing toward the engineer. You watched as he walked away, even more flushed than before, and let out a soft laugh.

This time, he had no way of backing out of the promise. And, knowing Oscar, the thought of a “special gift” would be enough to keep him thinking about you the whole time—on or off the track.

The end of the race was electrifying. You, as usual, were glued to the screen, following the final minutes with the anticipation of someone on the track. The last lap was a mix of tension and excitement. Lando crossed the finish line in first, and you couldn’t hold back your shout of joy. But what really made you jump out of your seat was when Oscar secured third place, holding off a fierce battle until the final flag.

“Yes! I knew you could do it, Osc!” you murmured to yourself, smiling proudly as you watched the celebration on the screen.

Soon, you were following the team toward the podium. The paddock was a party, with team members rushing to celebrate their drivers. You blended in with Lando’s engineers and mechanics but kept your eyes fixed on Oscar as he got out of the car, exhausted but visibly satisfied.

The celebration on the podium was contagious. Champagne flew from side to side, and Lando’s smile was so wide it seemed to light up the entire circuit. But your gaze never left Oscar, who looked more shy than ever as he raised his trophy. Even amid the celebration, he shot furtive glances at you in the crowd, which only made your smile grow.

As soon as the ceremony was over, everyone went back to the garage. The team was euphoric, celebrating the incredible result of the race. You found Lando first, who came running toward you with his trophy in hand.

“So, what did you think?” he asked, still sweaty and covered in champagne.

“You were amazing! Doesn’t even seem like my brother,” you joked, laughing as he hugged you and got champagne on your clothes.

“And Oscar, huh?” Lando commented, winking at you. “Are you proud of your favorite driver?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. “Don’t start, Lando.”

After the initial excitement, you began preparing to leave. Lando had some team commitments to take care of before heading back to the hotel, so you walked through the paddock, waiting for him. You bumped into Oscar, who seemed more relaxed, still talking to a few engineers.

“Congrats, Osc!” you said, with a genuine smile.

He quickly turned his head, as if he hadn’t expected you to appear there. “Oh, thanks,” he replied, a shy smile forming on his lips.

“I told you’d make it to the podium. Now you know what that means, right?” you teased, leaning slightly forward.

Oscar turned bright red, looking away at anything that wasn’t you. “I… think so?”

“Great.” You winked and walked away before he could respond, knowing exactly the effect you were having.

After a while, Lando finally appeared. “Ready to go?”

“More than ready.” You smiled, following him to the car that would take you back to the hotel.

Back at the hotel, the exhaustion from the race still lingered, but the excitement pulsed even stronger. Lando was sprawled on the couch in his room, talking nonstop about the race and, of course, the party that was about to happen.

“I need to get ready. What, you’ve got about 30 minutes before I drag you to the party?” you teased, grabbing your bag.

“Thirty? You’re being way too optimistic,” he laughed. “You wouldn’t be able to get ready in 30 minutes even if Oscar asked you to.”

“Oh, Lando…” You smiled slyly as you walked toward the door. “For Oscar, I’d do it in fifteen.”

Lando’s expression was priceless, but you didn’t give him a chance to respond. You walked out laughing and went straight to your room, already imagining how you’d make the night unforgettable. After all, a P1 for Lando and a P3 for Oscar was more than enough reason to celebrate in style.

You chose a stunning black Versace dress, fitting just right, and paired it with high heels from the same brand. But the special touch was in the details that no one would see—or rather, that almost no one would see: a papaya-colored lingerie set, matching the team’s colors, chosen especially for the occasion.

The team had reserved a table in the VIP section of a luxurious club. The atmosphere was pure euphoria—champagne, loud music, and laughter filled the air. As soon as they arrived, you made sure to sit strategically next to Oscar, who seemed out of place, unsure of what to do with all the attention around him.

“Osc, relax,” you murmured in his ear, smiling as you noticed he seemed more nervous than he had been during the race.

“I’m relaxed,” he replied, but the hand holding his drink was trembling slightly.

The conversation flowed with the team, but you made sure to provoke Oscar in little moments. You brushed your leg against his, made comments about how well he did in the race, and, of course, mentioned the “special present.”

“If I knew a P3 would make you this happy, I would’ve tried harder earlier,” he joked, trying to appear more confident.

“Oh, Osc, you have no idea,” you replied, smiling with an enigmatic tone.

As time went by, more people started to drift away from the table to dance or talk in other corners. Before long, it was just the two of you. That was your cue.

“So, Osc…” You leaned in a little closer, the loud music muffling the conversation. “About my present… do you want to know what it is?”

Oscar blushed instantly, looking away as he always did when he felt uncomfortable. “I… I don’t think I should ask.”

“Oh, you definitely should.” Your voice dropped low, almost a whisper, as your eyes challenged his. “I did something special to celebrate your P3. And maybe to encourage you to get more podiums in the future.”

He swallowed nervously. “I need… to go to the bathroom,” he said quickly, standing up before you could react.

You smiled to yourself. “So predictable,” you murmured as you followed him with determined steps.

Oscar looked genuinely surprised when you appeared in the hallway, blocking his escape route. “Seriously, Y/N? I just wanted a minute of peace.”

“No chance.” You took a step forward, cornering him against the wall, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. “I followed you to show you my present.”

Oscar looked at you, clearly uncomfortable, but his curiosity won out. “I don’t know if I want to see that,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, though the sparkle in his eyes betrayed his curiosity.

You laughed softly, almost amused, and slid the strap of your dress down, revealing a glimpse of the papaya lingerie, the color of the team. “See? Something special for my favorite driver.”

For a moment, Oscar was speechless, his face turning a deeper red than usual. But something seemed to have shifted in him, as if the provocation had awakened something. He took a step forward, closing the distance between you. The look he had now wasn’t shy, but challenging, almost provocative.

“You like to tease, don’t you?” His voice was low but filled with a newfound confidence that you didn’t expect. “But you know what, Y/N? You can’t last three minutes when the roles are reversed.”

The smile on his face made you hesitate for a second, and he immediately seized the opportunity. Without saying another word, he pulled you closer, his hands firmly gripping your waist. The warmth of his body against yours made your heart race, and before you could say anything, Oscar’s lips found yours.

It was an intense, heated kiss, as if he had been swept away by the wave of provocation you had started. Oscar's hands glided over your skin, as if memorizing every part of you, while you couldn't think clearly anymore.

When he pulled away slightly, his eyes glowing in a way you didn't recognize, you were speechless, your body still burning from his proximity and touch.

He leaned in again, whispering in your ear:

"Lost your voice, baby? Always knew you were just talk."

Your breathing was uneven, but you could only stare at him, completely lost.

He grinned to the side, satisfied with the effect he was having.

It didn't take long for him to attack you with even more intense kisses.

You were getting addicted to the taste, to the feeling of being touched by him.

One of his hands slid up your thigh, slowly rising inside your dress. He squeezed your butt firmly, and you couldn't contain a moan. He played with the waistband of your panties, starting to pull them down.

"What are you doing?" you asked, breathless. "Someone might see."

"Now you're afraid of being seen?" he continued, dragging the fabric down your leg. "You never cared before."

He knelt down, completely removing the piece of lingerie.

"But don't worry, baby!" He stood up, pressing his body against yours again.

"I'm not going to do anything here."

He kissed you quickly and pulled away, looking into your eyes while slipping the piece into his pocket.

"If you want it back, find me in my room later."

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you there, completely speechless and hungry for more.

#f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri x reader

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yumeboshi · 9 months ago

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𝜗𝜚。．．❛ #03. CORPSE BRIDE

𐙚 topic。．when you turn down yandere hsr men’s proposals.

．。𝜗𝜚 cw。general yandere themes, suggestive content, MINORS DNI

．。𝜗𝜚 a/n。aven, sunday, and boothill. sunday and aven are regular additions to my posts lol, wrote boothills less intense bc he’s too silly to imagine

#AྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིVENTURINE ⇢ ‘convinces’ you

。he will actually try to coax you into it. he doesn’t want to just force things onto you, that isn’t really what he wants 。“ill make you the happiest pretty bride, doll, just believe in me, hm?” 。continues to sweet talk you, telling you what he can do- buy you pretty dresses, give you anything you want, and he lists luxury after luxury. 。and he follows through his promises. even if you are being really disobedient, he’d still buy you more luxury than you could ever ask for. you will start questioning if you really don’t want this marriage- which is exactly what he wants you to do, to make you doubt yourself. 。his list goes on and on- a vip ticket to the Reverie, first row tickets to robin’s concerts, only the finest things that only his class of people could ever get their hands on. 。but in that list, he conveniently puts out ‘freedom.’ 。if you disagree, he’d pout, asking you why- and when you tell him you want to be free from him, he’d laugh, calling you a silly girl. 。“i already gave you a choice when we met. it was your choice to pick a card from an unknown pile.” 。he’d have the wedding commence in some really luxurious property of the ipc, and he will, invite your family over- he’s merciful. but is it mercy when you know you won’t see them ever again? 。“it would be a shame if they don’t see the happiest moment of your life.”

STANDING there with the most beautiful dress you could humanly ask for, your expression is nothing but a shell as Aventurine smiles at you through those shades. Your eyes are everywhere but on his eyes, when you stare at them, you feel like you’re losing yourself.

you are glad your gown came with a veil over your head, nobody can see your dead eyes, except him.

As the officiant goes on with the questions, you grip your bouquet a little harder to the point you feel their stems crumple, just like your shriveling heart.

You snap out of it after hearing silence- you see his expecting eyes on you and you nod blankly. “I do.”

And your husband smiles even wider, and he steps closer and slowly, while staring at you with uncomfortable adoration through those tantalizing purple eyes, he kisses you. You are expecting a tender kiss in a ceremony; but his gloved hand sneaks onto the back of your head, pulling you in hastily.

“I love you so fucking much, princess—” he breathes into you, brushing aside the saliva that trickles down your chin after his intrusion. “It took quite a while, but you’re finally all mine.” He pulls up your hand that has your forced vow on it, he chuckles and softly kisses your fingers.

“‘m gonna make you so happy, so ecstatic, that you’re gonna thank me for it, love. you will thank me that I restrained you from everything else.” he whispers, and the people clap, cheering; your family too, who smiles, knowing nothing that it would be your last reunion.

#SྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིUNDAY ⇢ breaks you

。he just takes it on another level (and does not find your struggles entertaining unlike the former) 。he will be, really heartbroken at first. the head of the oak family asking you to be his lifelong sweetheart is almost like him giving you his life. you are his entire world- and the world has rejected him. 。“…I see. was I not good enough for you, angel?” 。although his emotions will be very hard to control, he’s very used to commencing plans. he’d tell you that he could ‘talk this out’ with you. unfortunately, it’s not a choice, but rather, an order. 。sunday is a ‘the end justifies the means’ kind of person. he will do any means to make you eventually accept your fate. that will include imprisoning you in some faraway place and leaving you abandoned for so long, you will be broken, wishing for any interaction. food is only given to you through a remote device, with no human interaction. 。sunday itches to be with you- he is compassionate for you, his heart will ache to see you sob into an endless cacophony. a part of him will be tempted to go to you and be with you physically, not watching you from a screen. 。he will repeat it- he will visit once a blue moon, comforting you, asking you if you changed your mind. when you ask him when he’d release you, his expression will harden. 。“it seems you haven’t learned anything, sweetheart.” 。if you are still stubborn, he will be a little impatient. he will speed up the process by adding new things in- maybe making you dream of a lovely, free life and when you wake up, you’re just alone. he will not resort to anything violent, he cares too much about you to hurt you. although, ‘hurt’ in his dictionary doesn’t apply to mentally hurting you. 。you will sob and show your most dramatic, fragile sides to a descent of madness, thinking you are truly alone until sunday comes to visit. you are wrong, though- sunday has always been with you, just not physically. 。he has always been watching you cry into the void through a screen. always.

MAYBE you have finally lost your mind, because when Sunday comes to visit you and your dull prison, you collapse to your knees and immediately plead him.

“Please,” you sob, clutching his legs desperately- he doesn’t crouch, but looks down- almost like a god addressing its follower. Sunday is no god for you, but you beg like he is.

“Please what?” He looks at you, fingers brushing over your hands, tilting his head just the slightest. His golden eyes glitter in the dim light. He is waiting for only one answer, there is only one correct answer to his question.

But you do not give him the right one. “Please just let me go,” you break down. Your heart is throbbing from all the crying, vision blurry and your head is light with no energy to talk anymore.

His gentle, serene smile immediately warps into that of a cold one. “Try again?” His fingers grip your hands hard, warning you that his patience is running thin.

When you remain silent except for your sobs, he crouches down to stare at you on eye-level, boring holes into your fearful expression. Unlike his deadly gaze, his words are soft and flow out quickly like a river- albeit with a sigh of exasperation. “Sweetheart, I’m not going to stop this just because you beg.” His hand pushes yours against the floor to knock you down, figure towering over you as he leans in to whisper- “—although, they’re very pleasant to listen to.”

“Honestly, I don’t get why you are struggling right now. It’s so easier to accept your eventual fate. Unless, you do like to seek pain.”

His other hand goes over your stomach, then slides tantalizingly slow up your body- you shiver and tremble at each touch that is too foreign to you. Cold fingers cage your neck and you choke on your breath.

“I’m not planning on hurting you, angel.” His voice is still gentle, but his eyes are telling another story, they seem keen to hurt you again and again. “But I did say I’ll resort to other… methods. Since none of them seem to work, I suppose the only solution would be caging you with a baby.” When your eyes widen, he laughs dryly. “The look on your face tells me that you didn’t expect it. But you will be my loving wife, dear. You will not be able to run or reject me, not when your own child is at stake. It makes only more sense to… make you bear children. My children.”

As he watches you struggle under him, trying to breathe, he feels like he has entered ascension. Soon, one of your pretty fingers will have his ring, and very very soon, he will have his first child- the very thought of him makes him lose his mind. He so wishes to make you his, claim you inside, watch your pretty pussy gush out his cum while he’s pressing deep into your womb- but he also wishes to see a mini version of him, or you. He finds it too adorable to withstand. He will vow that his children will grow up pure and innocent.

“We will be the happiest family in the world,” he purrs. “And I’ll make sure of it.”

#BྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིOOTHILL ⇢ will try to prove himself

。maybe a little similar to aven. but while the latter will materialistically give you things and spoil you around to convince you, boothill will more likely show himself off instead. 。“i can fudgin’ shoot an ipc lackey in the head from miles away, sugar- ya can’t see that ‘n any other guy.” 。he’ll try to show you his capability to protect you- which will likely end up in multiple people dying but as a galaxy ranger, he has morals, so he will probably use the ipc as his shooting dummies 。overall he’s sweet even if you reject his proposal- he will likely be furious, just not at you. 。oh lord but during the day you rejected him, be prepared for multiple news flashes of dead people across the street. the amount of emotion will be too much for his consciousness to restrain 。when you confront him, he’d apologize, albeit a little too nonchalant. 。“‘m sorry sweetie, got a lil outta hand last night.” 。per your wish, he won’t kill anyone who’s unrelated and innocent- but he’d still go on a killing spree in the ipc headquarters to the point you are blacklisted on their list because he would shout your name and rant why you didn’t accept him while he shoots his gun all around the place.

“BOOTHILL, what the hell are you doing?” You frown when he returns- even after rejecting his proposal, he drifts around you like a lost stray dog. And he is always covered in blood, looking furious- but when you talk, his expression simply melts away like butter to a grin that shows his sharp teeth.

“What do ya mean what I’m doin’? Makin’ sure nobody hurts you.” He snickers. He smells like metal, like he always does, but this time it’s overpowering, which lets you know what he’s been doing.

“I don’t need protection, Boothill. You can just leave me alone.”

You’re beyond annoyed at his clinginess. No matter how many times you reject him, he’d always come back, showing something new off to you, and half the time it wasn’t anything pleasant, but rather his list of crimes.

“Aww, don’t be so uptight, sugar.” He chuckles and flashes a grin and his other metal hand spontaneously pulls you into his embrace— you jump. When did his hand get there? “All I wanna do is to make sure my future wife is safe and sound. Nothin’ wrong with that, hm?”

“I told you, I’m not going to accept-“

“Ah ah! Wait and see, you will be, I promise. But don’t drag the chase a lil too long. Even I get impatient.” Something cold pressed against your forehead and you realize it’s his gun. When your expression turns aghast with fear, he barks an amused laugh.

“You scared of this? Nah, I’d never hurt ya. Won’t wanna turn your body into metal like mine.” Although he says this with a dark smirk, he doesn’t remove the gun. “The sooner you agree to it, the merciful I become. Ya don’t wanna see innocent guys die because of your stupidity, hm?”

#𐙚．。articles #honkai star rail x reader #Honkai star rail smut #yandere sunday #honkai star rail yandere #sunday x reader #sunday smut #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #yandere aventurine #boothill x reader #boothill hsr #hsr smut #yandere hsr #hsr x reader

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magicfaealaric · 2 months ago

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Alaric didnt ever grow up with much... in fact he lived on the streets since he was a child and would stay in little abadoned buildings he saw. He tried to never steal instead would try and work only most places were afraid to hire him, not with the rumours of who his parents had been or at least his mother. "into dark magic so she was, a sorcerer" said another. "Can you believe her husband almost worked in the castle kitchen...? I heard their spawn even used to play wiht the prince.. disgraceful." They would say. There was one small llittle place barely staying open itsself that would give him anything left over. In return he would help with repairs. Alarics father wasnt father of the year up and leaving when he didnt want to sahre his wifes attention but he did teach him some things. His little shed had a whole in the roof but he didnt mind, Alaric loved watching the stars and when he had more energy painting them.

A loud eruption in the streets and suddenly a banging at his door sent him suddenly falling out of bed and rushing towards the opposite wall just to get a glance out of the window. Heart pounding he clutched his chest and stiffened before starting to barricade the door with anything he could find, iced objects suddenly flew across the room his hands quivering. "BY ORDER OF THE KING OPEN UP IMMEIDIATLEY. the king?? What did the king want with..

"BY ORDER OF-" enough of this" Anorther said and kicked the door down. Alaric fell back against the wall. "Grab him.. hes to be taken straight to the king.. this is the one... he owes the kingdom a great deal.. thinking they could rob the kingdom.. marry off to nobles.. pathtic. He'll do well as a servant." Alaric didnt understand a word of what they meant and yelped as he was grabbed. "Restrain him.. we dont want him possibly trying to escape or hurt our prince."

The queen knocked gently on Ferre's door. " I do hope you are up by now.. its nearly 9." She chided. "Its a beautiful day come down darling." @combeferre-the-mothman

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fanfictionismyaddiction · 2 months ago

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The Gossip Chronicles

Word Count: 835

Pairing: lando Norris x reader

Summary: Lando and Y/n, both lovers of gossip, eagerly dissect the drama after the drivers dinner

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The low hum of the air conditioning filled the room as Y/n lounged on the plush hotel bed, scrolling through her phone. The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminated her eager expression as she refreshed Twitter for the umpteenth time, hoping to catch a glimpse of what went down at the drivers’ dinner. She loved drama, and being with Lando Norris only fueled her insatiable thirst for F1 gossip.

She glanced at the clock. 10:45 PM. He’d been gone long enough.

When the door finally clicked open, Y/n practically leapt off the bed. Lando walked in, pulling the hood of his light blue hoodie down as he set his keycard on the dresser. The hoodie was slightly wrinkled, and the sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, giving him that effortlessly casual vibe that Y/n loved.

“Finally!” Y/n exclaimed, grabbing a pillow and chucking it lightly at him. “What took you so long? You know I’ve been dying to hear everything.”

Lando laughed, dodging the pillow with ease. “Nice to see you too, love.”

“Don’t ‘love’ me,” she said, crossing her arms and pouting. “Spill. Now.”

Lando tugged off his sneakers and flopped onto the bed beside her, the faint scent of cologne lingering as he did. “Alright, alright,” he said, adjusting his hoodie. “Where do I even start?”

“Max and George,” Y/n said immediately, her eyes lighting up. “I saw the clips from the press conference earlier, and you can’t tell me there wasn’t tension. What happened? Did they fight? Was it awkward?”

Lando chuckled, running a hand through his hair, making it stick up slightly under his hood. “Oh, it was so awkward. Max barely looked at George the entire dinner. He was polite enough to everyone else, but you could tell he was still pissed about the whole sprint race thing.”

“I knew it!” Y/n practically squealed, sitting up straighter. “Did George say anything to him?”

“Well,” Lando said, stretching his legs out, “George tried to be civil—like, he even made this joke about the weather or something—but Max just gave him that look. You know the one.”

Y/n nodded eagerly. “The ‘I’m about to crush you on the track’ look?”

“Exactly,” Lando confirmed, smirking. “It was so uncomfortable that even Carlos had to jump in and crack a joke to break the tension.”

“Of course Carlos did,” Y/n said, rolling her eyes fondly. “What about Lewis? Was he Switzerland as usual?”

Lando snorted. “Pretty much. He was sitting between Charles and George, though, so he didn’t really get involved. But I swear, Valtteri was eating it all up. You know how he loves watching chaos unfold without actually being in it?”

“That man is the definition of petty,” Y/n said, laughing. “What about Charles? Was he just… being pretty and clueless as usual?”

Lando burst out laughing. “Pretty much. He was just sitting there, sipping his wine, probably wondering how he got stuck in the middle of all this drama. Carlos kept nudging him like, ‘Just stay quiet.’”

Y/n leaned forward, her eyes wide with excitement. “Tell me more. Who else was doing what? Did Pierre and Yuki cause a scene? Did Oscar say anything?”

Lando laughed, pulling his hood back up for dramatic effect. “Yuki almost spilled his drink trying to get Pierre to stop flirting with the waitress. And Oscar… well, Oscar just looked like he was mentally filing for a restraining order from all of us.”

Y/n laughed so hard she had to clutch her stomach. “Poor Oscar. He didn’t sign up for this chaos.”

“No, but he’s learning quickly,” Lando said, chuckling.

“So,” Y/n said, leaning closer and dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “what’s your personal take on the Max and George drama? Whose side are you on?”

Lando gave her a playful side-eye, tugging on the drawstrings of his hoodie. “You trying to get me in trouble, love?”

“Always,” she said with a grin.

“Well,” Lando said, drawing out the word dramatically, “Max is definitely holding onto a grudge, but George isn’t exactly innocent either. I think they just need to have a proper shouting match and get it over with.”

Y/n nodded sagely. “Agreed. Maybe I should lock them in a room together during the next race weekend.”

“Or we could just sit back and enjoy the show,” Lando said, smirking. “You know there’s bound to be more fireworks soon.”

“True,” Y/n said, settling back against the pillows. “I swear, F1 is better than any reality TV show.”

Lando wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. “And you’re my favorite co-star.”

Y/n smiled, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “You’re just saying that because I let you gossip as much as I do.”

“Maybe,” Lando admitted, laughing. “But hey, it’s our thing.”

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dream-with-a-fever · 4 months ago

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ron weasley did not

come to privet drive to rescue harry from his abusive home after he hadn’t been replying to any of his letters and he was worried

almost back out of following the spiders bc they’re his biggest fear, but upon seeing hermione’s empty seat at dinner, find the courage to go

defend hermione from any and everyone who called her a mudblood

constantly worry about hermione’s workload (especially in 3rd year) and notice that whenever she disappeared

offer to teach hermione his entire family tree so that she could pretend to be pure blood to keep her safe from death eaters

defend harry to everyone (percy, seamus, half the school) when everyone thought he was lying about voldemort’s return

stand up on his broken leg in front of harry and say that “if you want to kill harry, you’ll have to kill us first!” to what they believed to be a raving lunatic mass murderer

gift dobby his newest weasley jumper and the new socks he got given for christmas

stand up against snape when he was bullying hermione (and got a detention as a result)

beg the deatheaters who were torturing hermione to “leave her alone!! take [him], have [him] instead!”

always check up on his friends when he notices something is up, even if it’s in subtle ways

immediately befriend harry on the train in ps and teach him about the wizarding world

write to charlie immediately so he could help hagrid out of trouble (re the dragon, norbert)

encourage neville to stand up to people, and praise him when he actually does it

help harry put on his pajamas after he broke his arm during quidditch

have to be physically restrained from attacking malfoy after he said he wished hermione had died in cos

worry about harry’s preoccupation with the mirror of erised and how it was affecting him

remind hermione to eat her meals and get a good night’s sleep when she’s studying 24/7 for their owl exams

display acute levels of emotional intelligence in the way he interacts with harry and hermione, essentially being the glue that keeps them all together

get splinched almost in half, lose blood and suffer agonising pain but seem more worried about the cattermoles and whether or not they were okay

realise his mistakes & own up to them, acknowledging his role in certain falling outs (especially in deathly hallows)

be genuinely hilarious and fun, and lighten the load in everyone else’s’ lives with the humour he brings to

write to his mother in ps asking her to give harry presents too because he doesn’t think he’ll received any

go to the department of mysteries to help harry without a second a thought

go on the run with harry to hunt for horcruxes without a second thought

run to hermione’s aid when malfoy hits her with a nasty hex outside snape’s classroom and take her to the hospital wing

help hermione with buckbeak’s appeal, spending hours upon hours reading up on the case

extend the first olive branch after fighting with hermione because of scabber’s “death” and apologising, after which she then apologises too

demand to re-try out for the position of keeper on the quidditch team because he wanted to earn it himself with no favouritism or help

choose to stay on the quidditch team despite the bullying from the slytherin team and his nerves about his flying ability

stand up to malfoy at every opportunity, when he was insulting him, but more importantly, insulting his family & his friends

save harry’s life in dh by pulling him out of the lake, and then kill the horcrux

remember the houseelves during the battle of hogwarts and worry about their safety

continue to admire and adore his older twin brothers despite the fact that they were sometimes cruel to him

become almost annoyingly protective of his little sister (ESPECIALLY after the diary situation)

single-handedly out smart and escape five armed and deadly snatchers

try his best to overcome his insecurities and feelings of being overlooked, in order to support the people around him

sacrifice himself without a second thought during the chess game in ps because he knew harry’s survival was more important than his

for y’all to speak on him the way you do. calling him cruel, evil, selfish etc??? open your fucking eyes

#ron weasley #ron weasley’s defence lawyer #harry potter #hp #ron x harry #hermione x ron #romione #ronald bilius weasley #weasley family #hp thoughts

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chuluoyi · 11 months ago

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࿐ ࿔ 🕰️ 「 11:07 P.M 」

divorce scare apology fic🤞🏻 yes people, in the spirit of april 1, it’s gojo who is having dreams :)) and i promise you it’s straight up comfort fic~

a part of gojo's love entries

you’ve known something is bugging satoru as he hasn’t been teasing the heck out of you for these past three days.

and you were proven true when tonight, on your marital bed, he said—

“so… i’ve been thinking…” he started, seemingly deep in thought, playing with your hair. “oh, more like it’s because of this one bad dream…”

“what are you on about?” you raised an eyebrow. okay, you knew something was up with him, but him being a bit skittish made you a bit worried.

“umm, yeah. so, the other day i had this dream about us in tokyo district court—”

“district court—?”

“—getting a divorce, yeah.”

your eyes rounded, and satoru could feel himself almost regretting his words seeing your stunned expression, so he added a band-aid—

“no, it was just a dream! i’m not divorcing you, okay?!”

however, your expression had soured, as you looked down, visibly heartbroken. alarmed, satoru immediately pulled you to his chest.

“oh, ooh— there, there,” he soothed you, stroking your hair. “sweets, no. never. okay? i’m just telling you, just like what you did the other day.”

you had a dream of him cheating on you once, but this was wholly different.

“you’re the worst,” you accused, and despite yourself, you felt an ache in your chest. “how could such thought even cross your mind— that you dream about it?”

“if i can pick my dream… i’ll pick the memory from our honeymoon— precisely when i ripped your black and pink lingerie off and made you scream my name, you know that.”

you huffed, burying your face in his chest. “hmph. explain.”

satoru smiled, finding you so incredibly precious. silly wifey.

he proceeded as he pat your back. “nothing really, i’m still bitter too! no way in hell! but then i started thinking… what would you do in 0.001% chance of us being divorced?”

you pulled away, growling. “…so there’s still a chance—!”

“noooo! that’s statistically impossible! aren’t we having a late night talk? we’re always talking about imaginary scenarios at night, aren’t we?!”

what was the point of this? it was only upsetting you with each second.

“how could you ask me that?” you glared at him resentfully. “if we’re divorced, then—” you grabbed his hand and placed it on your belly. “what about baby? do you not want to see him anymore?”

and in that moment it seemed like he just realized it too as he sheepishly scratched his head, mouth gaping. “ah—”

his response caused your hormones to stir, and combined by your disbelief, you spitefully threw his hand away and turned to your side, refusing to face him.

“if you dare to divorce me, i’ll move out japan at a moment’s notice,” you spat out, crossing your arms. “i won’t let you see my baby— and i’ll put a restraining order on you too, just so you see.”

“whoa, wait—”

“or i can also jump from yasohachi bridge and then become a curse—i’ll haunt you to your dying days!”

“—?! you can’t do that!”

“oh, i can also remarry! i’ll marry ichiji so fast and by the time the baby is born, your kid will have his name instead!”

“ichi— hey! that’s insulting! i would’ve forgiven if it was nanami, but ichiji?!”

“shut up! you’re— you’re annoying!”

in hindsight, this wasn’t something you should get this much worked up for. satoru was obviously just being his dense self and you knew it, but somehow the thought of him suddenly not by your side anymore hurt you— and perhaps your unstable hormones played a part too.

. . . but then his strong arms wrapped around you in that instant, enveloping you in his warm and reassuring embrace from behind. “hey… sweets, don’t be mad…”

“…”

“if you do, baby will also be—”

“you are making us mad.”

“okay, okay.” satoru sighed, his right palm reaching out to caress your five-month baby bump, and his voice was tinted with slight regret as he replied, “sorry…”

you melted a bit, but still gave him the cold shoulder, showing how cross you were that he brought it up in the first place.

and both of you stayed that way for a while, and you started to get sleepy, until you heard him muttering—

“still… whatever you do,” his voice sounded strained, and it made you awake again. “even when i’m not here… you can’t get yourself hurt, alright?”

“what does that mean?” you finally turned towards him, your eyes shone with slight panic. “what do you mean with you not being here?”

“nothing, sweetheart.” satoru grinned, pinching your cheek. “just saying—since i’m away often, don’t do anything reckless, you can get hurt.”

“don’t put it as if you’re going to go some place far away.” you didn’t know what you were spouting now, but you were tired and just didn’t want to pursue this conversation any longer.

you bit your lip, not looking at him. “or… i’ll get sad.”

seeing you so vulnerable and open like this made satoru realize that as much as he needed you to stay sane, you also needed him. the clarity stirred something within him, causing warmth to rapidly spread in his chest.

and he felt soft. so soft for you. and he adored you, more than anyone else in this wretched world.

“aw, look at my baby girl.” your husband cradled you close to him with a wide grin, patting you soothingly, his heart fluttering. “how can i leave you be a single mother? i’m here, yeah? always.”

and you believed him. otherwise, you were willing to risk it all just to get him home, by your side.

you smushed your face into his chest, ignoring your burning face. “hmph, being a single mother isn’t that bad. i can still drain your wealth.”

“huh?! wait, you just said you’ll be sad without me!”

and you thought, being in his embrace is the most comforting place of all.

epilogue

“by the way, i just realized…” satoru fixed his frown on you accusingly in the next morning. “how is your taste in men so bad? why ichiji as your first pick?”

“uh,” you were at a loss of words, totally not expecting this discussion on a brand new morning. “because… he’s kind? he’s easiest to sway—”

“so you’re saying… you can seduce him easily?!”

“…sort of? but you’re right, i should go for nanami. he’s way good-looking. or his apprentice… what’s his name again? ino takuma—”

“nanami? ino?! wait a minute…! y-you’re my wife… but you’re also thinking about which man is easier to seduce and which is more attractive?!”

“uh— you’re the one asking first!”

“still! so you do think about them! about weaker, lesser men who are not me!”

“nanami is not—!”

“hoh?! so it’s nanami, huh!?”

“don’t you dare to start anything, gojo satoru,” you hissed. “you said my taste in men is bad. so that includes you too.”

“wha?!”

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biteyoubiteme · 4 months ago

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blue raspberry flavored

soobin x fem!reader

synopsis: he’s so cute when he asks, he’s even cuter when he doesn’t

warnings: 🔞!!! breeding kink, baby trapper, dubcon/manipulation, nipple/breast play, use of teeth, marking, no protection, creampie, talk of pregnancy, soobin calls reader bunny a few times prob forgot some sorry

wc: 1.5k

an: don't know how this one will go over but hope you guys like it feedback is appreciated :)) [m.list]

this is apart of my mini kinktober event check out the other fics here [dumdum m.list]

Soobin was never really forgetful of anything. He never forgot your birthday, missed an anniversary, messed up on your coffee order, he never even had to write down what he needed when he went grocery shopping. But bringing a condom always seemed to slip his mind.

At first it was easy to write off in the beginning of your relationship, every time the two of you got closer to having sex and not just messy make outs every pouty ‘its okay ill just pull out’ sounded more and more appealing. But you bought a box of condoms for your apartment and didn't realize the way his jaw clicked at the sight of them.

Soon after soobin was suddenly into pda. Purposefully teasing you out in public, hand slipping up your thigh under the table at a friends house, pulling you into heady kisses out at events, pushing you into bathroom stalls to try and undress you. You didn't make the connection until later that he was avoiding taking you home. ‘I just can't wait i need you right now,’

He knew exactly what to say for you to fold, slowly chipping away at the idea that the two of you even needed protection at all. It was so easy for you to remember when in your own bed, the nightstand right there. But in the back of the car with his lips all over you, hands kneading your thighs, pushing your knees apart; you let so much slide. Mumblings for him to pull out lost between moans. Where was he supposed to cum in the car anyways? He’d hate to ruin the interior or your pretty skirt.

In the beginning it wasn't so bad, soobin could restrain himself. If you two didn't use a condom he would make sure to pull out and if you did use one he was easy to comply. But it only took one time and it was an accident, a real accident where he didn't pull out fast enough. It was in the mix of his fucked out apology that he realized he wasnt sorry at all, not when he was watching the way your abused cunt was pushing out his cum and all he could really think about was going right back in for more.

post nut he was a bit ashamed but as soon as he thought about it for long enough he had his hand down his pants begging in an empty room to get you pregnant. And when you're ovulating it's only worse. Not only does he know it would be so easy to knock you up but it's like you're beckoning him to do it. Your hands squeezing your boobs, pushing up your bra while you're watching movies together. “Ugh im so sore,” the pout on your lips instantly makes him hard. His imagination taking over thinking about just how big they would get if he did get you pregnant.

And when you wear that tiny little tank top he is insatiable. Nipples peeking through the thin fabric as you lay against the pillows on the bed. You didn't even notice that soobin is paying no attention to the tv, his eyes watching the way your chest rises and falls. Adjusting in his seat to not make it too obvious he was already leaking in his sweatpants. Only it does the exact opposite, your eyes drawn to the bulge outlined in the gray fabric.

“Need help there?” it's the slight invitation he needs to roll over on top of you, lips working down your throat, hips rutting against yours.

“Please bunny, i need you,” he begs as you run your fingers through his hair pushing the strands behind his ears. Pleading brown eyes working on you instantly, he was always so desperate to have you and he knew it always made him get what he wanted.

He tugs down your tank top far enough for your boobs to spill out, hands reaching up to cup them both, thumbs sliding over your skin as he groans. “Look at your pretty nipples,” he squeezes his hands, pushing them together to watch the way your cleavage deepens.

You whine softly, “gentle i'm still tender,” the reminder only adding to his want, mouth coming down to suck on your nipple, your moan going straight to his aching cock.

Kneading the handfuls he has of your breasts, your back arches, lips popping off obscenely from one nipple only to capture the next. He's rough as he massages, your nails scratching along his scalp, his moans reverberating through your chest as he swirls his tongue over the hard bud.

He's humping you like you don't have layers of clothes separating you two, every slow drag of his hips pressing his hardness right against your clit, his teeth softly biting at your nipple tugging to watch how you react. Soobin knows that getting you off at least once before actually fucking you led to your inhibitions being weakned enough to forget about the condom all together. His hand slipped down between you two, pushing past your waistband to rub on your clit.

Lips coated in his spit he starts sucking marks along your chest, watching the way your head rolls back, fingers sliding through your slick as your hips buck up into his hand. He knows your body well enough to see the first orgasm coming, relishing in the way you tremble against him. With no time to let you ride out your high he's pulling down your shorts and panties, kicking off his sweats using all your wetness to lube up his cock.

But even in your haze you reach out beside you fumbling for the drawer to the nightstand pulling out the little shiny packet. You don't even see the disappointment on his face as you rip open the packet helping to slide the condom on him.

And he wants to be good, truly, only when he slowly pushes in he cant think about anything else except fucking you hard enough the condom breaks, neither of you knowing until its too late, until all his cum is spilling out of you. It’s that thought alone that makes him pull all the way out, his fingers slipping along the condom as he tugs it off. “What-”

“It's okay,” he mutters, tossing the condom to the pile of your clothes on the floor. “I need to feel all of you please,” and he tries to kiss away the worry on your mouth, and you shake your head.

“No you need another one we have extra in the nightstand,” but he's already prodding your entrance, tip slipping in as he begs, "I'll just pull out I promise, please, please,"

You don't even get to respond before his hips slam into yours, fully seating himself inside you, promptly shutting up anything else you could say. Even if after the two of you were done you were upset it's not like you would leave him would you? Not if he got you pregnant, the two of you were ready, and he'd take such good care of you. “Fuck,” his drawn out moan pressed right into your neck as he bullies his cock into you, “you feel amazing bunny,”

You're clinging to him, moans mixing with the obscene wet sounds coming from between you two. “Soobin s-slow down,” but you're not sure you want him to, not when he's hitting just the perfect spot inside of you, pressed so deep you swear you can feel him in your stomach.

“No,” he pants pulling you closer, “im going to stuff you full of my fucking cum, we will stay here all night if we have to,” your clenching gummy walls aiding him on. “Don't you want my baby?”

You can't even think straight let alone answer his question, his long fingers moving to work on your clit, “you'd be so pretty full of me, my cum, my baby, everyone would know youre all mine,”

The room is full of your desperate moans, your legs wrapping around him as if you could pull him any closer. “You like that idea huh?”

“Y-yes,” you're practically crying, tears welling up in your eyes, “i want it, please,”

That alone makes soobins balls tighten, cock jerking inside you before he spills the biggest load he's ever had inside you. He presses his hips against yours making sure you're flush together as you cum, fluttering walls sucking him in deeper milking him dry of all he has. He takes your hand in his lowering it to press over your pelvis, pressing it down enough to make you moan, “i don't think once will do it,” deep slow thrusts pushing his cum further in making you dizzy, “but you did such a good job im sure you can handle the rest,"

a very special thank you to @aduh0308 and @chyuuiung for beta/proof reading this for me ily you're the best

🏷 taglist: @kissmekissykissme @bts-txt-ateez @apeachty @stwq2349 @isa942572  @tomorrowxforever @beestvng @soobingf-blog @lovinjjong @lola-horore-553  @cypher-03 @midnight-mochii @hueningwhy @choibeomning @soobinbunnie5  @yunjinswifee @cupidtaehyun @bamgeutsz @prince-jjae

#soobin x reader #soobin smut #soobin txt #txt soobin #choi soobin #choi soobin x reader #txt x reader #txt smut #yeonjun #beomgyu #taehyun #hueningkai #kpop smut #kinktober

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hairyjocktf · 5 months ago

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A Full Dose of Country

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh huh, sure.”

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

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

The morning came abruptly with a banging on his door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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rmview · 1 month ago

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hard to handle | san, m.

summary: san, a cocky boxer with a notorious temper, meets his match in his resilient physiotherapist who refuses to quit despite his antics. he does a good job keeping you at a distance, but during a playful bout, unintentional feelings surface and cause things to get a little physical.

pairing: boxer!choi san x physiotherapist f!reader

genre: boxing!au, pwp, tension, smut

words: 4.2k words

warnings: explicit & messy & unprotected sex, mean!san, cocky dom!san, big cock!san, sub!reader, size kink, pinning/restraining, teasing, clothed grinding, biting, praise, marking, fingering, clit play, orgasm control, edging, handjob, penetrative sex, choking, tears, creampie, almost public sex (?) and voyeurism themes — they’re in a public room with the door unlocked, interruptions.

minors do not interact! | masterlist | more ateez content

“you’re not allowed to quit.”

the words came sharp and sudden, slicing through the air with the same precision san delivered in the ring. you froze mid-stretch, hands stilling over his sore leg. slowly, you turned to meet his gaze, confused by the uncharacteristic weight in his tone.

“…okay,” you replied cautiously, trying to gauge his mood.

san’s brow furrowed deeper, and the irritation etched across his face didn’t waver. “coach kim told me you were planning to leave,” he pressed, voice edged with something almost accusatory.

you blinked, letting his words settle. with how insistent and demanding san was, it wouldn’t have surprised you if that rumor had sprouted legs and started running. after all, you weren’t the first physiotherapist to step into this circus — and judging by the quick turnover before you, most had found the door far more inviting than the job.

but you stayed.

why? it wasn’t some deep-seated need to prove yourself or a traumatic past molding you into a masochist. no, it was simpler than that: the paycheck was solid, and once you learned to see past san’s gruff exterior and insufferable tendencies, he was just… tolerable. like dealing with an overgrown five-year-old throwing tantrums in the body of a professional fighter.

“well, coach is wrong,” you said, shrugging as you resumed your careful movements on his leg. your voice was calm, steady, not betraying the flicker of amusement rising in you at his sudden concern.

but san wasn’t convinced. his dark eyes narrowed as if searching your face for a crack, a lie, a tell.

“he said you’re thinking about it,” he countered, his scowl deepening. “you can’t leave. i need you.”

it wasn’t romantic — far from it. his words came out firm, almost commanding, the way you’d expect from someone used to giving orders. someone used to winning.

still, something about this moment felt different. the commanding façade faltered ever so slightly, and there was a flicker of something raw in his voice. vulnerability, maybe? you weren’t sure. but it was there, buried under the frustration, and you couldn’t ignore it.

what was his deal? what was it about the idea of you leaving that got under his skin?

you paused again, letting your hands rest gently on his leg as you glanced up. his expression hadn’t softened, but you could see the edges weren’t as sharp. your lips twitched, a small smile creeping in despite yourself.

“are you sure coach kim wasn’t just teasing you?” you asked, your tone light as you tried to ease the tension. “you know, considering your, er, personality? because honestly, i haven’t thought about leaving.” even though it’s the saner option, you thought, but didn’t say it out loud.

san huffed, leaning back against the mat, his lips pressed into a thin line. he looked at you for a long moment, his jaw clenching before he finally spoke. “are you calling me a problem?” his voice was low, sharp, and cold enough to send a chill down your spine.

your breath hitched as his piercing gaze locked onto you, unrelenting and unreadable. his tone alone made your stomach twist, but it was the way his leg pulled away from your hands that had you stiffening. the dismissal in his actions was clear — he didn’t want you there.

“i…” you faltered, feeling the weight of his words press against you. “of course not, san. you’re not the problem.”

your voice was soft, careful, an attempt to diffuse the tension. but his eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched, signaling that your words did little to soothe his frustration.

“then leave,” he snapped, turning his head to the side, arms crossing over his chest like a fortress. “i don’t need you.”

his dismissal stung more than you’d like to admit, but you swallowed the lump forming in your throat. “i’m not going anywhere,” you replied, your tone hushed but steady, a small smile twitching on your lips. “i enjoy working with you too much.”

he scoffed, his lips curling into a mean sneer. “don’t bother lying, princess, you’re terrible at it.”

his words were biting, but the way he leaned slightly closer didn’t go unnoticed. he was testing you, waiting for you to crack under the weight of his intimidation.

“i’m not lying, i wasn’t lying.” you whispered, shaking your head. “just teasing…”

“well, stop it,” he growled, his voice dropping an octave. the air around you grew heavier as he glared at you. “it’s annoying. i don’t like it.”

“i know,” you murmured, your voice almost playful as you reached out, lightly brushing your fingers against his arm. “but that’s exactly why i do it. you’re kind of… cute when you’re like this.”

his eye twitched at your words, and the next thing you knew, he moved. with one swift motion, he shoved you back against the couch, his body towering over yours. his knee pressed into the cushion beside your hip, locking you in place, while his other hand braced against the armrest, boxing you in completely.

the weight of his presence stole the air from your lungs as he leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours. the glint in his eyes was sharp, teasing yet dangerous, and his lips curled into a sneer that sent a shiver down your spine.

“cute?” he repeated, his tone mocking as he pinned your wrists above your head. his grip was firm but not enough to hurt, though the dominance in his posture had your heart pounding.

you stared up at him, wide-eyed and breathless, your cheeks heating under his intense scrutiny. “san…” you started, but your voice faltered.

he leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours, his breath mingling with yours. “do you think you’re immune to being kicked to the curb just because you’ve been here the longest?” he murmured, his voice low and laced with warning.

your lips parted, a soft laugh escaping despite the way your body trembled under his. every part of you that he touched sent sparks flying through your veins, down your spine and between your legs. “you’d never. i’m your favorite,” you whispered, trying to mask your flustered state with a teasing edge, your words holding truth.

his expression hardened, but he didn’t pull away. instead, his grip on your wrists tightened slightly, his eyes boring into yours. “you wish,” he scoffed, though the slight hitch in his breath betrayed him. that and the subtle twitch of his cock in his shorts that you definitely felt from how you froze.

you weren’t sure whether to feel thrilled or terrified, but one thing was certain: you were treading dangerous waters, and san didn’t look like he was about to let you off easy.

“...this is a very risky, er, position,” you choked out softly, voice slightly strained. your gaze flickered between his narrowed brown eyes, to the door of the break room that you both were in, it’s door unlocked. your thighs rubbed together almost unknowingly and you resisted the urge to squirm. you were trapped.

“mhm.” san hummed dismissively, his gaze not leaving you. every twitch in your expression was noticed by him, especially the growing warmth on your cheeks and ears, that made him smirk. “and?”

“and coach could walk in...” you cleared your throat, mind fogging and something in the pit of your stomach clenching. you couldn’t imagine the look on the old man’s face if he walked in and saw you under the star fighter you were supposed to be healing. “it would be embarrassing.”

san chuckled, and your gaze snapped to his. it was mocking and you shivered — from fear or arousal, you didn’t know. “why? we aren’t doing anything... yet.”

“yet?” your heartbeat was wild, throbbing in your ears. you were sure san could hear it. if he was being so mean, he definitely could and was taking advantage of how meek you were. he knew you could never say no to him, not that you wanted to. “what do you — mmpf!”

the next thing you knew, you felt a tongue slipping past your lips, swirling inside your mouth. your breath was stolen from you, and with his free hand, san grabbed both of your wrists and pinned them to the couch, using his body to keep you in place.

it was a sloppy and dominating kiss. he explored and claimed every part of your mouth without pulling away. his body pressed against yours, and the kiss slowly grew more heated. his hand wandered down your sides, squeezing them softly for a moment before he pulled away from your lips, breaths mingled.

san studied your expression, eyes still narrowed in a cold glare. he smirked at how out of breath and dazed you looked, and pushed his knee between your thighs to part your legs. you were practically shaking and san didn’t even do anything yet.

“stupid.” he mutters out, tone rough and husky. leaning down to your neck, san began sucking on the sweet spot under your jaw that made you squeak.

his body pressed against you, almost uncomfortably, and you were practically trapped underneath him. your wrists were still pinned down, and you were hyperaware of every ridge and pane of his body on top of your curves. his broad chest, beefy arms, strong thighs and hard cock were suffocating you, and there was nothing you could do about it.

“you’re so stupid and cute, i could eat you right now.” he rasped, lifting his head to look down at you. his face was inches from your own. san looked obsessed.

you shivered at the unusual glint in his piercing glare, his smirk almost evil and you flushed. “eat me?”

“every last bit.” his voice was rough. a stark contrast to his actions. his hands would rub up and down your sides gently, his face still close.

a low and sensual growl spilled from between his lips as he kissed you again, lips rougher. he brought one of his hands up to thread into the hair at the base of your neck, tilting your head so he could have more access to your lips. his arm wrapped around your waist, tugging your body as close to him as possible.

everything was fine — as fine as san eating your face off could be — until you felt something long and hard press right against your clothed clit. “ngh... san!”

he merely chuckled against your lips, sharp teeth tugging your bottom lip, and then smoothing the sting with his warm tongue. “what?”

“i’m...” you started, but were unable to continue, gasping when you felt his hips grind against yours once more. small sparks shot from your clit to your spine, and you arched softly, voice a pitch higher. your pussy clenched around nothing. “...sensitive.”

“i know.” san groaned in your neck, and you felt his thick fingers of his free hand undo the drawstrings on your uniform scrubs. he silenced any of your gasps with another kiss, slipping his fingers into the front of your pants to push past your panties. you barely had time to register his next actions, until you felt the rough pads of his calloused fingers run over your quivering clit and folds.

your wrists were still held down with one of his hands as you moaned shakily, eyes squeezing shut. you felt san’s long fingers smear your slick all over the folds of your cunt, cursing lowly under his breath.

“fuck, you’re so wet.” he exhaled, his fingers circling your swollen clit and making you twitch. the feel of you writhing under him, feeling you squirm and hearing you moan, it only made san want more. he leaned down, his lips on your neck, nipping and sucking as he slipped a digit into your pulsing pussy, feeling your tight walls clench around him. “fuck.”

san gritted his teeth and, his body trembled with restraint.

“san... ah...” you squirmed softly as you felt his fingers pump and prod your spongy walls, gushing wetness the longer he stretched out your cunt. your eyes were glazed, and your arousal was dripping down his knuckles the longer he curled and scissored you open on the couch. “we... we shouldn’t be doing this.”

the sounds of your pretty voice, the feeling of your hips moving against his hand, the soft moans and gasps — san was losing himself in you. he added another finger, feeling the heat of your cunt around his digits, wanting to hear those sweet sounds of yours. “oh?”

“t-the door... it’s unlocked.” it was a miracle you could still think from how deliciously he played your cunt, but your ears were still hyperaware of the faint yells and sounds of sparring from the main gym. you throbbed around his fingers, almost in fear of being caught.

san grunted, reaching as deep as he could with the tips of his fingers before slowly pulling the digits out, and glancing down to see the way his skin glistened with your juices. “doesn’t matter.”

“but...” “but nothing.” san scoffed and sat back on his knees, undoing his shorts and pushing the cloth down along with his boxers so his hard cock sprung out. the veiny length was twitching and leaking precum from the angry red tip, and your flushed gaze was drawn to the sight while you rubbed your sore wrists. he used your slick smeared on his fingers to pump his hard cock, taking in the sight of you panting and sprawled half-naked on the break room sofa, thighs parted and folds glistening. “the only one coming in this room is you.”

your gaze met his smirking one and you tried to scowl softly, propping yourself up on your elbows shakily. “very funny.”

“i’m not done with you, princess.” san crawled back over you, pushing his face in your neck to nip at that spot that made you squirm, shifting between your legs.

you were so tired of him toying with you that you reached out to grasp his cock with your hands, experimentally stroking the hard length. your fingers couldn’t even wrap fully around the girth of his thick shaft, but that didn’t stop you. san let out a choked groan, his teeth gripping the flesh of your neck as you flicked your wrist at an agonizingly slow pace.

it was your first time fisting a cock and your hands were almost shaking. yet you loved the feeling of the large man practically turning into jelly above you from a few strokes. it only motivated you to try and squeeze tighter, pumping up and down, as your flustered gaze met his weak one. san was still trying to keep up his facade, but not for long.

san couldn’t hold back any longer. “that’s enough!” he hissed weakly, smacking your hand away and pulling you to lie back down on the couch, while he positioned the bulbous head of his thick cock at your entrance. “no more playing around.”

san was looking down at you, his eyes dark and focused, his body trembling with restraint that was held by a thread. he was so tightly wound and needed to cum now, before he actually lost it.

“o-okay...” your clit throbbed as he rubbed his cock against your wet folds a few times. your eyes were almost hazy from pleasure, and you pawed at the leather of the couch for stability. suddenly san couldn’t hold back any longer.

he grabbed one of your legs, to rest it over his shoulder, and pushed it up before he leaned over you, his body hovering above yours as he nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin on your neck. san’s hand gripped one of the small throw pillows for a moment, moving it underneath your hips, and then he slowly started to push his cock forward into your entrance.

as he sunk his thick shaft into your cunt inch by inch, the feeling of you clenching around him, the feeling of your breath catching in your throat, the way your body shook at the slow bottoming out — san’s eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head.

he grunted through his gritted teeth, his hand leaving the pillow by your hip to reach up and grasp your wrist, to hold it down again. san looked down at your face, his hips rocking slowly at first to get a feel of stretching out your small stretchy cunt, as his words came in short bursts. “god… ah… just like that…”

“san...” your voice was a soft breathless whimper, the sight of him above you making you quiver and clench more. all your dazed eyes could see was a beefy and sweaty san on top of you, jaw clenched and grunting, and you nearly came on the spot. “y-you... you... i hate you.”

he sight of you below him, so docile, flushed and soft, made his chest swell with something, his lips pulling into a slow mocking grin. “yeah?”

san was so desperate, so fucking hard at the thought of claiming you all night, to mark you and keep you under him. you had no idea how much he needed you. how could you, when he’d never said a word?

your cunt was so tight and warm. like nothing he’d ever had, or imagined in his long showers after training, eyes closed and fisting his cock for a quick release while he wished it was your cunt milking him instead. now, having you under him for real felt like a fever dream, and san’s hips had a mind of their own from the way his thrusts started to pick up pace.

“yeah.” your breath hitched softly, already forgetting your previous train of thought from the way san’s hips angled. the tip of his cock continued to repeatedly bully the spongy sensitive spot in you, making you see stars. “you’re so mean to me... all the time... a-and... and...”

you trailed off, eyes squeezing shut softly as you nearly found yourself cumming all over his cock. san was close too, and he just needed a few more thrusts before —

knock, knock.

fuck.

both you and san froze, and for a moment you felt your soul leave your body. whoever it was, could just twist the knob of the unlocked door and see you sprawled under san, with your leg over his shoulder, and his cock buried ten inches deep in your cervix.

“san, sparring practice in ten minutes!” coach kim called out cheerily from behind the door, unaware.

“we’ll be out soon.” san’s voice rumbled, and your wide-eyed gaze snapped to him, clenching almost in fear. san felt the twitch of your walls and glanced down at you, something almost evil lighting up in his eyes. “doc is still busy working on my bad leg, aren’t you doc?”

the color drained from your face when you felt san’s hips resume their thrusts, and you almost fearfully tried to push him away. shaking your head, you tried to stop him and whisper-yell, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to say a word without moaning shakily, so you stayed silent. something neither san, nor coach would let you do.

“is everything okay in there, doc?” coach kim asked, as you squirmed under san, his large palm holding your hip in place under him, and your ankle in place over his shoulder. his thrusts were still quick, aimed to make you and himself cum as soon as possible, whether coach walked in or not.

“answer him.” san’s lips brushed against your ear as he whispered hotly, smug. “you don’t want him to — fuck — come in, would you?”

it was hard to gather the courage to speak without screaming, especially when you opened your mouth, and the asshole above you took that as the exact moment to decide to rub your clit, coughing softly to disguise your noises. “i, uh, — ngh — we’ll be coming! in sometime... just... go on, coach... no need to — stop that! — wait up!”

you blurted between whimpers, trying to swat san’s wandering hands away as he pinched and rubbed all sensitive spots on your body, even dipping down to bite at your clothed nipples. you were still on edge as coach could walk in anytime, but that didn’t bother san. if fact, his hips pistoned into your cervix at a mind-numbing pace, all thoughts blown from your mind.

“you heard the man,” san grunted in your ear. his smooth skin was drenched in sweat, slight red marks left on his shoulders from your nails, and his brows were furrowed in concentration. “we have five minutes to finish.”

you let out a strangled noise when you felt the sudden onslaught of stimulation, his large palms grasping your hips as he fucked you hard. guiding your hips to match his, san made sure his hips were angled to fuck right up into your womb, smirking to himself when he noticed the slight outline of his cock bulging from your stomach. “t-there’s no way... that we can f-finish... in 5 minutes...”

“you wanna bet?” san rasped, forcing his mouth on yours, kissing you deep and slow, his own grunts and sighs barely muffled by his lips. san could feel you tightening around him, hear the breathy, soft pants coming from your lips.

how could he hold himself back when you responded so eagerly?

san pulled his lips away to look down at you, his hand leaving your leg to grasp at your throat, his calloused thumb resting on your jaw, and his grip firm. you looked so good under him like this.

“that’s it, princess,” san groaned, his hips pushing forward, his voice uneven from all the pleasure. he didn’t think he’d last the next 30 seconds, let alone 5 minutes.

but he wouldn’t cum before you. that would almost be insulting, making sure to use his free hand to fondle your swollen clit, bringing you to finish as soon as him.

“san!” you cried out, already feeling your release building. you tried to bite at your knuckles to keep yourself quiet and muffle all the whimpers and gasps that could reach outside the room. your nails dug into his biceps, eyes squeezing shut.

both of you were so close, san’s hips moving more erratically, and your body losing control. your voice was choked and a pitch higher, every noise you made streaming into soft sobs, tears blurring your eyes. you felt too good. “san... i’m gonna...”

san could feel your body trembling, your breathing getting shallower, and when you spoke, it only made him feel closer. he panted, his breath coming out in hot, uneven puffs, his nose rubbing against yours, his hand on your throat tightening.

“go on… squeeze that cunt of yours tight… i’m almost done.”

you didn’t need to be told twice, and when you squeezed so beautifully for him, san lost himself.

he came with a strangled groan, his movements stuttering, his hand squeezing on your throat for a moment. his eyes squeezed shut as white hot pleasure coursed through his veins, his mind blanking out and ears ringing. for a few moments, he thought he saw the pearly white gates of heaven, as he unsteadily pumped ropes after ropes of his hot cum into your pussy.

you could feel your insides being painted white while san grunted curses under his breath, the hot seed almost burning your walls. he made sure to thrust a few more times so his cum filled your insides snugly, fucking it deeper.

your overstimulated whimpers were what bought san back to reality, the ringing in his ears fading as he looked down at you, disheveled and naked waist down, his cock still buried deep in your cunt.

he was momentarily distracted by the sight of your puffy folds wrapped around the base of his cock, a creamy ring of cum around his shaft. he felt himself twitch, just barely suppressing the urge to fold you in a mating press and take you again.

“still hate me?” his voice was slightly strained. san couldn’t find it in himself to pull out yet. his gaze flickered down to your disheveled shirt stretched over your chest, and he couldn’t help but grasp your breast and squeeze. he’d play with them next time.

you were too out of breath to reply or swat his hand away, exhaling shakily as you slowly got down from your high. “i’m still deciding.” you needed a moment, or ten, to get your thoughts in order. “and you didn’t finish in 5 minutes, you took 8.”

“whatever.” san chuckled, nipping your cheek playfully.

he slowly pulled out, his muscles tired. but he wasn’t fast enough. because the next thing you knew, there was a soft click, and the two of you didn’t even have time to freeze, before the break room door swung open.

“san, you little shit, you’re late for — what the fuck!?”

author note: my first smut fic, yay! if this sounds familiar to you, it’s because this plot is heavily inspired by the love of my life, joo jaekyung from the bl manhwa jinx (he’s the best guy around)! please do interact and tell me what you think! also, i made the banner myself so pls show some love if you think it looks nice :3

tag list: @tsukisrants ; @dawn-iscozy ; @vixensss

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