#but who knows what i feel like doing by then. might be to busy for that level of documentation | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

illum1z · 3 days ago

Text

Merlot Canvases

paint instructor! seonghwa x f!reader

summary: You feel like you're lacking that artistic flair in your life. Everyone you've met who dabbles in the arts just has this twinge of light in their eyes that you feel like you're missing. So, taking a paint class might ignite that light in you, or maybe it'll ignite something else.

tracklist: hello?, overstimulated, professional,

tags: strangers to lovers, reader is overworked, seonghwa is whipped, reader is also whipped, unprotected sex(you know the drill), oral (f!recieving), fingering, tension tension TENSION, on a desk, mentions of voyeurism, petnames (baby, princess, honey, etc), soft/mean mdom, fsub, seonghwa needs you to breathe, not proofread

wc: 10.1k

notes: wrote this in one session. jeez, sorry guys. i have not read this through, its 11pm. i have work in the morning. there will be spelling mistakes. fuck it we ball

When you ask someone what motivates them, you get a wide array of answers. Some say their job, or their family. Others say their hobbies or their pets. And some people say nothing in particular, they just have a strong drive for life.

You wouldn’t necessarily say you’re depressed. It's not like you hate life and you want it to come to an end. But you could say you feel like you’re watching it fly by like a movie reel. You stand on the sidewalk as you watch yourself walk into your mundane office job 5 days out of the week. Sit in a cubicle for 8 hours before leaving, walking back home, having dinner, and going to bed.

Since graduating from high school, friends have been hard to come by. Making friends as an adult without being a college student or frequenting bars and clubs proves to be a challenge. You wouldn’t say you’re lonely either. You like your quiet life, but it just feels like something is missing. Like you could be doing more besides the repetitive schedule you’ve been following for the past 3 years.

You sat on your couch, a few candles lit here and there as the rain pattered against your window. Your townhouse was dark, no sign of life other than you, and the flicker of candlelight on the dark brown walls. You leaned your head back on the couch, eyes closed, as you listened to the rain beat down like TV static. Cars whirred past the window of your home, rushing to or from work. To or from events. Busy, with things to keep them occupied.

You let out a deep breath, directing your attention to the flyer on your coffee table. Surrounded by unread books and worn-down pencils, a piece of paper you picked up from a pole plastered down the street on your way home from work a few days ago.

A flyer for a painter’s class.

You hadn’t picked up a paintbrush in your whole life. At least not since grade school. You don’t think you’re the most artistic either. Yes, you have ideas and you have inspirations, but you could never put pen to paper. It's always come out janky, or just simply not how you envisioned it. The small town you lived in didn’t have many excursions to do.

You lived on a bustling street, lined with townhouses and little shops. Speakeasy-style bars littered here and there with live music and whatnot, but going out for a drink with the slim chance of getting drunk enough to hook up with some random who will leave you high and dry by morning was less than appealing to you.

You had been in every shop, every library, every single place this shit town had to offer, or so you thought.

Art Workshop

Every Sunday, 7 pm to 9 pm

Supplies provided for newcomers, the instructor will offer a list after the first session, given that you would like to return

Ages 18 and up

We look forward to seeing you there!

With an address printed on the bottom and some cute little drawings strewn about the paper, you couldn’t help but snatch it up in the moment. You weren’t really thinking about it, but at the moment, it seemed plausible. You had just gotten off a pretty rough shift, and a glimmer of possibility that you might do something other than grocery shopping or sitting at home on your weekend was tempting.

But here you are, Sunday, 6 pm, debating if you really should follow through and attend the class. You were reserved, not exactly shy. You spoke when needed to, and you didn't let anyone walk all over you, but you weren't one to randomly engage in conversations at work or on the street. You simply had no need. Like you said, you aren't lonely, just lacking a sort of passion. An urge to create, or the need to have an outlet.

You were so hesitant to go because you truly didn't know what you would make of it. What if it was a waste of time? Or what if it was not what you were looking for? There goes that hope, because this was your last option. That hope that you might finally find something.

So, ultimately, you decided to just go for it, because spending the rest of your life wondering surely won’t do you any good. And that's how you found yourself standing in an alleyway a few blocks away from home, umbrella shielding you from the onslaught of rain.

The streets were dark by now, and the entrance to the class was less than promising. Between two townhomes, illuminated only by a lampost, a staircase led down to a door. It was only a few steps, but the fact that it was somewhat underground raised some questions. You double, no triple, checked the flyer to make sure you were at the right place and the address was indeed correct.

You descended the staircase, the number on the door matching the one on the flyer. You checked your phone. 6:50. You closed your umbrella and shook it out, reaching out a hand and opening the door.

You stepped inside, closing it behind you. It was warm inside, and it smelled like citrus and sandalwood. There was an umbrella basket sitting by the door, with a couple of other umbrellas sitting inside. You set yours in the basket, looking up to take in your surroundings. It was just a hallway, with four doors. Two on one side, one on the other, and a door at the very end, straight across from the entrance.

It was quiet, like nobody was in the building, a yellow light flickered on the ceiling of the cramped hall, giving off a quite eerie glow. The two doors on the left had bathroom markings, one for men and one for women. The lone door on the right did not indicate what was behind; you safely assumed it was storage or for janitorial purposes.

The door at the end of the hall had a sign that simply said, “atelier.” You stepped further into the space, your footsteps quiet as you walked to the door at the end.

You stopped and listened to see if you could hear anything inside. Faint chatter, a couple laughs here and there. When you were sure you did in fact have the right day, you twisted the handle and stepped inside.

Immediately, all eyes were on you. There were about 6 other people in the room, with high ceilings supported by black metal pillars. There were a few large windows that opened to a perfect view of the cobblestone streets, like you could watch the shoes of passersby as they made their daily rounds. The floor was red varnished wood, and the walls matched. There were 10 stools in the room, scattered about randomly, and a canvas sat in front of each one, blank and ready to be painted on. At the front of the room, there was a desk, littered with papers and paint supplies, and a little bit of everything, quite messy.

A larger blank canvas sat in front of the desk, an empty stool beside it where you assumed the instructor would be perched later when class started.

Everyone sat and watched as you walked in, and took a seat farthest from the front, setting your bag on the floor. You directed your attention to the canvas in front of you, and like you never even showed up, everyone continued their conversation. You were just another addition to the class. Nothing special. Nothing notable. They’d forget you were there in 5 minutes.

The conversations around you droned on for another 10 minutes. The instructor was late, but nobody seemed to care. They continued to talk, slowly taking out supplies and setting them around their canvas.

Luckily, the seat you chose was right next to a table of supplies, and you stood and gathered paint palettes of all colors, a wide variety of paintbrushes, a cup of water, and a few pencils. When you had your area set up, you glanced at your phone again. 7:20. You were about to muster up the courage to ask a person nearby about the tardiness of your teacher when the door opened.

The conversations lowered to murmurs before completely dying out as everyone directed their attention to who came in. You looked up from your phone to see who it was, and it was then and there you decided there was no way you could come back to this class.

Sporting a ruffled collared white button-up shirt, black wide-leg slacks, and the most luscious head of hair you had ever seen, you immediately knew this was your instructor. He walked to the desk in front, his back turned, as he set down a bag on the desk. He grabbed a marker from a cup near the corner, uncapped it with a loud pop, and started writing on the whiteboard. Today’s date. And then the words “Impressionism and Perspective.” Neat handwriting, each ending letter had a slight curve akin to once knowing cursive. He capped the marker, threw it on his desk, and turned to face the class.

His face was unreal. Symmetrical, soft skin, plush lips, dark eyes, muse worthy. He was tall, radiant, exuding a calm energy, yet still, his presence had an impact. His eyes moved across the classroom, taking in the faces, bored almost. His eyes landed on you, sitting in the back. Quiet, keeping to yourself, staying out of the way.

He lingered on you for a second longer before looking away again. He smiled, a warm, welcoming smile, and moved to sit on the stool next to his canvas.

“Welcome back to class.” He was soft spoken, with a musical tone to his words. Gentle, he approached, speaking like the words could crack if he enunciated too harshly. A lullaby-worthy voice. His smile was just as smooth; it pulled you in. Your attention was 100% on him.

And he liked it that way.

“Impressionism.” He stated, he leaned forward on the stool, his foot resting on a bar near the bottom of it, an elbow on his knee, with his hands idly playing with each other as he looked out upon the room as he spoke to the class in its entirety.

“Think Monet, Degas. A French style derived from the 19th century that ties into our second topic of the day, perspective. What can you tell me about it?”

Now you were no artist yourself, but that doesn’t mean you don't like to admire. You frequented museums in the area so often that the employees knew you by name. You had seen every piece, old and new, that they had to offer. Sometimes you’d sit on the benches in front of the displays for 30 minutes to an hour, analyzing brush strokes, memorizing colors, taking the full picture in.

And frankly, nothing could compare to him. You could stare at him for hours.

A student raised their hand. They said something about abstractness. You weren’t really listening. Another response from someone else, mentioning the lacking note of finality in impressionist pieces.

A few more answers here and there, all good ones, you assume, but your focus was completely narrowed in on your instructor.

Their answers fell on deaf ears as they prattled on about the art form.

“And what about you?” Snapping from your trance, you realize he is staring directly at you. Eyes boring into yours, unrelenting. A question on his brow, the smile missing from his face, his hand stopped fiddling, and they now pointed in your direction, to your secluded island in the back of the studio. You hoped you wouldn’t draw attention, but you suppose your lack of engagement was more noticeable in a class with only 6 other people.

Feeling put on the spot, your back straightened as you locked eyes with the instructor, your knee began to bounce as the other students turned to look in your direction. You did your best to ignore their prying eyes as you cleared your throat.

“Well, like the name suggests, it's an impression. It's loose and undefined, but your mind is well enough off to piece it together. Not quite abstract, because the picture is clear. But it's the bare bones, just enough to create something beautiful…. I think…” You trailed off, nervousness overtaking you. You noticed the student who mentioned abstractness narrowed their eyes at you like you dismissed their answer as bullshit, which wasn’t your intention.

This was the last thing you wanted: all eyes on you, the center of attention. He didn't speak for a second, eyes staying glued on you. You averted your gaze, feeling so seen was not your favorite thing on earth, and his stare was far more than intense. It was exposing, like he could see every part of you.

“Seonghwa, doesn’t it also center around the way the light is painted as well as open composition?” A student chimed in. He didn't look at them; his eyes stayed on you for a few more seconds before ripping away and looking at the student who spoke. His smile returned, and he nodded.

“Everyone has great points. Visible brush strokes and light colors. Most artists completely avoided the color black as well. It was less of artists trying to capture images of real life, but closer to an idea, an impression of a scene.” You could breathe again, attention was drawn from you, and back on your instructor, whose name you just learned was Seonghwa.

He continued to talk, connected different styles and drew correlations, using his paints to demonstrate examples of brushstrokes and things of the sort. Everyone listened carefully. He was so easy to listen to with that soft voice and soothing demeanor.

He would look out at the class every time he made a new point to gauge reactions, and his eyes always fell on you at the end, before continuing the lecture. You were this close to walking out because every time his eyes locked with yours, he raised one eyebrow and almost smirked as if to ask you silently. “Are you listening?”

After a well-informed lesson, Seonghwa decided it was time for some practice.

“Alright, if you will, as simply as you can, don’t make it difficult yourself, paint your own impressionist piece. Paint something that means something to you. Whether that's a scenic spot you keep in your memories, whether it's a person, or an object. Paint it, but paint it like the image is pictured in your mind, but you spilled water over it. It's blurry and smudged; it's a silhouette. Barely there. Put pen to paper for the next hour. Go.”

Everyone immediately began getting to work, dipping brushes and collecting colors. You sat at your canvas, watching as everyone started. Seonghwa moved to sit behind his desk, looking at a stack of papers and organizing paint palettes.

His eyes locked on you again, catching you staring. His eyebrows raised, and he did smile this time, before mouthing the words. ‘Get to work.’

Obeying, you directed your gaze to your empty canvas, and you thought to yourself. Something, or someplace, that means something to you. This was proving to be difficult because that was the entire reason you attended this class in the first place. To find something that meant something to you.

You tapped the end of your paintbrush to your lips, lost in thought about what you should paint. Your job meant nothing, your place was homey but it was just a roof over your head. You didn’t really talk to your family, and you didn’t have any special places.

So, without a plan in mind, you started to paint. Some strokes of green here, smudges of blue there, pluffs of white and shades of red. You just started painting. What were you painting? You had no clue, not yet at least.

The world drowned out the light chatter from classmates as you painted, like you were on autopilot, your hand simply moved on its own.

You didn’t know how much time had passed, but suddenly you blinked, and actually looked at your canvas.

There were shapes, forms, something was there, but you couldn’t quite pinpoint it. You tilted your head, moved from side to side to try and get an angle where you could decipher what you just made, but it was useless.

You frowned and went to set your brush down when a large, slender hand gently covered yours, gripping your hand softly and guiding your hand back up. A firm chest pressed against your back, and locks of hair tickled your neck.

“Here, like this.” The soft voice against your ear nearly made you shiver as you let Seonghwa control the way you paint. He lifted your wrist to wash the brush in the cup of water, then dipped it into a dark green on the palette.

He guided your hand to sweep the paintbrush across the canvas, adding bits of depth and shadow to the strokes, a few here, some there. The carefulness of his hand holding yours made your heart flutter. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel his steady breaths, smell him, sense him hovering over you.

He continued to paint while holding your hand, and you let him, feeling the warmth of his fingertips, the calluses of his skin.

Before long, he moved to have you set the paintbrush down and then let go of your wrist, his fingers gently caressing, a ghost of a touch as he pulled away.

“Now look at it.” He mumbled, only to you, like the rest of the class didn’t exist.

You squinted your eyes, tilted your head, and there it was.

Strokes of green that formed into a field. A silhouette of clouds against a powder blue sky. A form of a child, which strangely resembled you. The field was vast, and the sky was open. But far from the child was another form. A body, older. Standing under a tree, the leaves fell over her like a canopy. An adult, who once again, oddly resembled you. The child was staring at the sky, back turned toward the canvas, while the other stared directly out at the artist, watching.

In the far upper corner of the canvas, the blue sky faded into grey storms, angry and waiting far off in the distance. The child watched the clouds as the inevitable storm rumbled in from the east, while the older one simply stood in the distance, safe from the clouds but unable to scoop up the child and bring her underneath the canopy.

The paint smudged, and the forms barely even took place. But you could see them with your own eyes. Decipher your work.

Your breath hitched, and you turned to look at your instructor, who now stood off next to another student, helping them with their piece, back turned fully to you. You opened your mouth to speak, but shut it just as quickly. Turning back to your canvas, you stared at it. Not daring to ruin what you had made, you set down the brush and patiently waited for the rest of your classmates to finish.

Your chest bloomed, but your heart withered. How did your brain conjure this up? Sure, it wasn't professional and not even display worthy, but it made you feel something. Something familiar.

You must have zoned out, a loud clap snapping you from the trance as you looked up at the source. Seonghwa stood near the front of the class again, gathering his students’ attention once more.

“Our time is almost up, as always. Great work today. Even if it was just a stickman, your creations will always be beautiful. You can leave your pieces where they are, and when we come back, we can varnish them, and then you’re welcome to explain your piece if you’d like. Until then, have a great night, be safe. See you next week.” Seonghwa smiled that charming, warm smile again, before beginning to clean his desk.

Everyone gathered their supplies and packed their bags, one by one heading out the door as they talked idly with one another.

You stayed in your seat, eyes glued to your piece. It was time to leave.

When you finally stood to gather your things and clean your area, there were only two other people in the room, standing in front of Seonghwa’s desk and talking to him. Asking questions you assumed. You ignored them, and just as you gathered the rest of your stuff, they filed out the door. Now it was just you and him.

The air was still and the rain pattered softly on the windows.

“Will I see you next week?” His voice cut through the silence, almost startling you. Soft, yet firm. Expecting. You turned his direction, realizing you hadn’t even thought about whether you were going to return or not. He wasn't looking up, busy jotting down something in a notebook.

“I don’t know.” You answered simply. “Guess we’ll have to see.” You smiled nervously, and then you realized how rude that must have sounded. You scrambled to defend yourself.

“You’re an amazing teacher, and you really helped me understand what I was doing… I think. It just depends on how the week treats me, I guess.” He lifted his eyes finally, pressing the tip of his pen against his soft bottom lip. His eyes trailed up, then down, before landing back on your face.

“I look forward to seeing you next week, Ms…?” Dumbfounded to say the least at his confidence in the idea you’d come back. You were caught off guard, stuttering out your name in response.

“(Name)..” he stated quietly, like he was taste testing the syllables. He smiled again and set his pen down on his mess of a desk, folding his hands and resting his chin on them.

He nodded his head down at his desk, urging you to come forward. “Your list of supplies is on my desk. Come pick them up before you go, please.”

You hesitated, feet glued to your spot. Before you forced your legs to move and carry you to his desk. He watches you with every step, eyes never leaving you once.

You stopped in front of him, picked up the paper, and glanced down at it. Necessities, with recommended brands, ranging from the most expensive to budget-friendly. Locations of nearby art stores and QR codes to videos in case you’d like to practice on your own time. Thorough. His full name was scrawled at the bottom. Park Seonghwa.

When you looked back up, he was standing behind the desk, eye level with you, as his hands rested on the surface, palms flat, hunched over the papers.

A strange heat flushed your neck as his stare pinned you down, his fingers tapping against the desk in a slow rhythm like he was pacing himself.

Then he straightened, sat back down, and looked back down at the notebook. “That's all.”

What.

You turned stiffly and hurried out the door before anything else weird could happen. You forgot your umbrella and walked out into the street, the rain soaking your clothes as you began walking back home hurriedly.

What the fuck.

There was no way you could go back.

A few days had passed, and work came and went. Draining as always. And even though you weren't even sure if you’d go back to the paint class, it was all you could think about. But was it the painting… or the painter that drew you in?

You found yourself standing in front of a crafts shop, the paper he gave you in your hand as you stared through the glass windows into the store. Were you really going to buy this stuff? Does this solidify your return? Guess you’ll find out.

Stepping into the store, you were met with silence. Like nobody was there/ Maybe one person browsing the paint section, one or two at customer service, other than that it was a ghost town. You looked down at your list and nodded to yourself, stepping further into the store to find the supplies you needed.

Some basic paint palette, an array of brushes, canvases, small and large. The store was homey, stone floors and wood walls, soft music played from the intercom as you meandered about the building, browsing different sections.

You were near the back of the store, in front of a canvas display. They had black canvases, white ones, canvases so large they could probably cover your bedroom floor. You grabbed a couple of 9x12s in case you wanted to practice at home.

You turned to go see what paints they had when you saw him.

Your instructor was across the aisle, looking at stencils and rulers. He hadn’t noticed you yet, and as quickly as you could, you walked the opposite direction, further towards the back of the store.

You could not handle him right now, the intense stares, the strange tension between you two. You pretended to look at the scissors on the wall, taking great interest in the different colors and sizes.

You waited there a few minutes in hopes that he had moved on.

“Need help choosing a pair of scissors? Contrary to popular belief, they are not all the same thing.”

Fuck.

You craned your head up to see the man of the hour standing behind you, a smile on his face and a shopping basket in his hand. Wearing a plain black V-neck that hugged his chest just a little too tightly, and some wide-leg blue jeans. You let your eyes wander for just a second before answering him.

“I’m okay, thank you, though.” He nodded in acknowledgment before raising an eyebrow in question.

“Coulda swore I saw you come in earlier, but I wasn’t sure if it was you or not.” So you were screwed from the beginning he had seen you walk into the store. He nodded down at the list in your hand, his smile widening as his gaze fell over the almost full shopping basket in your hand.

“I see you’re stocking up for upcoming classes. I’m happy to see that.” He stepped closer into your space. You needed to leave before you jumped his bones.

What no. Why would you think that? What's wrong with you?

“Well, I’m still deciding, y’know, I'm so busy with work and whatnot, I have to make sure I have time..” You smiled nervously, trying to sound as believable as possible. Seonghwa cocked his head to the side in confusion, his tongue poking out to swipe across his bottom lip. He bobbed his head, and a small laugh slipped from him, like he was in disbelief.

“That's funny. From what I could tell, you really enjoyed my class. You came in all tense and closed up, but by the end, though you seemed like you really let yourself enjoy something.” Now you were somewhat offended. You scoffed and rolled your eyes.

“And what do you think you know about me? I was trying something for the hell of it. I wasn’t searching for something.” Lying through your teeth. And he seemed to sense that.

His smile only widened at your response, his hand coming up and raking through his long hair.

“Anyone with eyes could look at you and tell there's more to you than you’re letting on, and that's okay. We’re strangers, I don't need to know everything about you. But if you don’t like my assumptions about you, you can fix it by telling me about yourself.”

This asshat.

“I’m glad you’re so sure of yourself, Mr. Park.” You sneered, turning to walk towards the cash register, so you could check out and leave. “But I know what I want, and right now I want to go home. It was nice seeing you, but you are slowly losing me. Sunday might be reserved for nights at home again if this attitude of yours is something I’ll have to deal with every week.”

They pulled a deep laugh from him, one that stopped you in your tracks. “Well, you’re still buying the supplies, baby, so I’m assuming that you’ll be seeing my face sooner than you’d like to let on.”

The stupid pet name made your stomach flip and your cheeks heat. Unfortunately, it was more teasing than in an endearing way, which made you want to put him in his place even more. But before you could retort, Seonghwa took a peek into your basket before looking back up at you.

“Looks like you’re missing just a few more things. Here, c'mon." He placed his palm against the small of your back, urging you to walk with him. You followed without much objection, mumbling curses quietly to yourself as he guided your body to walk to the other side of the store.

You stopped in front of a display of gloss varnish and some easels. Along with a couple gold gold-framed mirrors on the top shelf. He leaned over your shoulder, his lips close to your ear again. “See here.” He whispered, “Some varnish if you’d like to preserve the paintings. And an easel so you can paint without hunching the whole time. I promise you it’ll do your back wonders.”

While he spoke, one hand reached forward and grabbed a bottle of varnish, dropping it into your basket, while the other traced a feather-light trail down your spine. You shivered at the touch, his smile widening at your reaction.

For a moment, it was just you two again. Your eyes met in one of the mirrors. Seonghwa’s gaze was low, calm, but there was a twinge of something else in it. Like a barely controlled sense of need. Want. His eyes were half lidded as he watched your brows furrow at the feeling of his touch along your back. His bottom lip was tucked between his teeth. He hummed against your ear quietly, his hand twitched, like he wanted to hold more of your body. Like he wanted to touch you like you were his.

Or maybe you were crazy, lack of sleep. You barely knew him. Maybe you needed to get laid.

He pulled away and grabbed a couple of bottles of varnish for himself, dropping them in his basket.

“Looks like you got it all, sweetheart,” he smiled, and you turned, ripping your eyes from the mirror and directing your attention up at him. His hand reached forward and held a lock of your hair between his fingers, letting the strands dance between his knuckles.

Seonghwa’s eyes roved all over your face, taking you in, like he was trying to memorize everything about you. “I’d love to paint you someday, beautiful. Would you let me?” It took everything in your power not to let your mouth fall open in shock at his words.

“Me..?” you swallowed, fingers fiddling nervously as your gaze fell to your feet.

“You.” He stated simply, like he was talking about the least intimate thing in the world. His finger pinched your chin gently and tilted your head up to look at him. He tilted your head to the right, then to the left, up, and then down, like he was mapping your face. Trying to figure out what colors would work, what shading to use, and what brushes would perfectly encapsulate the acne scars and the texture of your skin. What brush would perfectly capture the slope of your nose, and what colors would mix for that beautiful shade of your iris.

“Think about it.” He said, leaving no room for argument, before letting go of your chin and turning to walk away.

‘‘See you next Sunday, love.” And he was gone. The fucking audacity. And guess what.

Sunday came faster than you would have liked. And you were in your mirror, touching up your hair. A tote bag filled with art supplies, as you prepared to head to your second class.

The fucker had you. Had you wrapped around his finger. He was alluring, annoying, beautiful, and you didn’t want to give him credit for it. But he was right. You enjoyed the class, and you liked that he was able to pull that creativity out of you. And you liked looking at him. And hearing his voice.

It was raining again today. You decided that being early wasn’t important today. So you left your house at 6:50, showing up at 7:15. Make him think you weren’t coming, but unfortunately, your punctual nature wouldn’t allow you to be any later than that. You did your best.

You walked into the building, stood in front of the door for a second, gathering your bearings. You twisted the knob and walked inside, more confidence in your walk than your first day.

Once again, heads turned to look at you, the same 6 students in their respective spots. However, your seat in the back was gone. And the only empty chair was the one closest to Seonghwa’s desk. He was sitting on his stool, a finished painting on the easel, a wide paintbrush in hand as he demonstrated varnishing the artwork.

His eyes locked with yours, only for a second before looking back at his task. “Nice of you to join us (Name.) Have a seat, we’re just varnishing.” Slowly, you made your way to the empty seat by his desk, sitting down and setting your supplies out.

“While most artists didn’t varnish impressionism pieces, we are for the sake of preservation. They preferred the matte, rough look. But they lived in Europe, where the sun didn’t shine. Your art kind of needs the varnish now more than ever. We're using a satin varnish that keeps the natural look, but offers a bit of protection. So don’t worry, they won’t be ruined.”

He clapped his hands and set down the brush, standing from his stool. “You can come up and grab your pieces from the drying rack and begin varnishing. I’ll walk around, and just let me know if you have any questions.” Everyone stood to grab their pieces, you following suit.

Seonghwa stood by the rack, watching as each individual picked up their pieces. You were last, his eyes following your every move. Pretending you didn’t see him, you grabbed your piece and walked back to your seat.

If he wants to play games, you simply won’t give him the satisfaction. You pulled the varnish that you bought from your bag and a large brush, setting your canvas on your easel. You gave the painting a once-over, still somewhat astounded that you could create something so pretty.

You opened the bottle and poured it into a cup, dipping the brush and beginning. The rain fell steadily as the students' idle chatter once again faded into background noise as you focused on your task.

Carefully as you could, you spread the varnish about your work, admiring as the soft sheen coated the colors and made them more vibrant. Stroke by stroke, you were evening out the gloss, and soon enough, the whole canvas was covered.

You were so lost in your work that you hadn’t noticed that Seonghwa was not in fact walking around the room, but standing at the back of the studio. Back against the wall, arms crossed, head tilted lazily to the side. His eyes were trained directly on the back of your neck.

His gaze followed the curve where your neck met your shoulder, how your shoulder blades poked only slightly through your shirt, down and aligning your waist, admiring your attentiveness. Oh, how he’d love to capture every part of your body and hang it on his wall proudly. He didn’t know what it was about you.

You were nothing special, another young girl finding her way through life, discovering her passions. But there was just something. He couldn't place his finger on it. But he wanted to find out as soon as possible.

He walked back towards the front, striding towards your seat. But just as he was about to speak, some varnish dribbled down the brush onto your hands. Immediately, Seonghwa was at your side, grabbing your wrist, making you drop the brush.

Surprised, you yelled quietly at the contact. “What the hell, what did I do?” Not giving you time to object, he lifted you by your arm, urging you to follow him. However, in his frantic movement, his face and voice remained calm as he walked you both to the door.

“Varnish can irritate if it gets on the skin.” He spoke as he led you into the hall. The other students paid you no mind as he led you to the bathroom.

“It's best to rinse the area for about 15 minutes, because it could cause a burn.” He turned on the light and switched on the faucet, dragging your wrist under the cold faucet water.

“I can do it myself.” You groaned. The bathroom was cramped, his chest pressed against your back as you looked into the mirror. He let go of your wrist, a little too slowly, as you left your hand under the running water. He physically couldn’t step back in the confined space.

He remained behind you, watching you in the mirror. Your gaze stayed on your hand as you twisted your wrist to get the water all over your hand. The bathroom was silent, despite the rush of water and the hum of the air vent.

The air. Stagnant. The tension. Thick.

“Do you need to hover?” You asked, your voice smaller than you had liked. “I’m not 5, I don't need adult supervision, Sir.” You hissed around the last word, but Seonghwa’s breath caught in his chest so quickly you hadn’t caught it.

He was so close, and refused to admit it was driving you mad. You could smell him, and you wouldn’t dare look in the mirror, because if you met his gaze, you just might snap. He was too much. He dripped sex appeal. Control. Authority. But it was gentle. Suggestive, like he would never do anything unless you got on your knees and begged for him. Like if your body cried for him.

You turned off the faucet when you were sure the area was clean, and you were about to turn and walk out of the bathroom.

A hand, slender, large, and firm. With the softness of a mother’s touch, it slipped around the front of your throat, grounding you. His chest pressed harder against your back, almost pushing you against the sink. Your hands gripped the bowl of the sink, holding your upper body up as you felt him against you.

Seonghwa leaned his head down, pressing his lips against your ear. His breath tickled the shell, and your breath quickened.

“What is it about you?” He murmured against your ear. His breathing was heavier, his chest rising and falling against your back. “It's irking me so fucking bad.” His nose dipped into that soft spot between your neck and shoulder, inhaling softly.

Whimpering was your first mistake. His whole body shivered as he placed the softest of kisses on the nape of your neck. “Tell me no.” He whispered. His free hand came up and gripped your jaw lightly, directing your gaze to the mirror.

You locked eyes with him in the reflective glass, your knees going weak at the primal look he was giving you. “Look at me and tell me you don’t want this.”

Your lips remained glued shut. Your eyelids fluttered, and Seonghwa's hand rested on your jaw, his thumb rubbing your cheek coaxingly. You leaned back into his touch, a question in your eyes.”

“Ask.” He demanded, already sensing you had something to say.

“Are you playing with me?” You mumbled, your lips slightly slurred with the hold he had on your jaw.

“No playing. No games, darling. I promise I’ll be as gentle as I can.” There was a false promise in his tone, and he could barely hide the smile that tried to creep onto his lips.

The hand on your throat tilted your head up, craning your neck as his neck tilted down, his nose brushing yours, and his breath fanning against your lips. You were hesitant. But only because you were afraid that if you let him, you might become addicted. Then you’ll come crawling back by the end of it.

But that filthy, shameful dark corner in your mind couldn’t resist him. Your stomach clenched, and your heart battered in your ribcage. Suddenly, the bathroom was too hot, and the tension was so thick you couldn’t breathe. You needed to breathe. You needed Seonghwa to give you air.

So with the last bit of oxygen in your lungs, you parted your lips and whimpered out the softest, most pliant, “Please.” And that was all he needed.

Like he was savoring it, he brushed the skin of his lips against yours, back and forth, before opening his mouth and swallowing your lips. The slowest, most sensual rhythm of lips against lips. And you could breathe again.

You sighed into his mouth, and the sound only spurred him further. His lips moved away, but only for a second, before he turned you around and pressed your back against the sink. His hand around your throat again as he pressed his body into yours, melding with you like he belonged there. His mouth moved against you like you were the most flavorful thing he had ever had the pleasure of tasting, his thumb rubbing the side of your throat, his other hand gripping your hip, pulling you closer to him as he devoured you. Your hands lifted and gripped his hair at the scalp, dragging a groan from his throat, his lips smiling against yours at the feeling of your hands.

“So soft..” he moaned into your mouth, barely giving you time to think as your head spun at the pure intensity of the kiss. “So fucking sweet.”

Your eyes were shut, but his were open, watching himself in the mirror as the hand on your throat moved to grip the back of your neck. He watched his flex tendons flex as he held your neck possessively, like he owned you. The way your back arched and your body trembled.

“Seonghwa…” You whined into his mouth. He almost growled, pushing his tongue into your mouth and drinking the pretty sounds you made.

“Again.” He groaned like it hurt, his eyebrows furrowed, and the grip on your waist tightened. “Say it again.”

You obeyed. “Seonghwa…” His kisses were rougher, claiming and violent. Like he wanted to eat you alive. You were lost in him, his roaming hands, and the way his body kept trying to push itself into you as if you both could even possibly physically be any closer.

“Fucking beautiful.” He pulled from your lips, littering kisses along your neck, both hands sliding up your shirt and tickling the sides of your waist. “Making the most lovely sounds. I’d pick you up and fuck you against this wall if I you’d let me. Would you let me, huh, pretty girl?”

You nodded frantically, thighs clenching at the mere thought.

And suddenly you remember this was your instructor. There were students in the other room. They were bound to wonder where you two were soon.

“W-we have to go back…” You whispered, his large hands kneading the flesh of your waist, like the thought of letting you go might just kill him. He groaned, pressing one last, claiming kiss on your shoulder. He pulled back and let his hands fall from your body, and suddenly you were cold.

Seonghwa took a deep breath, calming himself. He looked at you, pupils dilated and lips flushed. “Stay here. Leave in 10 minutes. Class is almost over. Once everyone leaves, come back to the studio.”

Leaving no room for debate, he opened the door and left. Your back still against the sink, hair disheveled, and lips kiss-swollen. Did that really just happen? Silence enveloped you as you leaned against the wall, waiting.

What must have been the longest ten minutes of your fucking life, the anticipation swirling in your gut. You had never been so soaked.

Seonghwa left so quickly. If he had stayed any longer, he for sure would have had his way with you regardless of whether anyone was in the other room. He’d make you scream just so they could hear. But he had manners, ones that he was slowly forgetting more and more each time he laid eyes on you. He sat in the front of the class behind his desk, eyes void as he tried his best not to think of how pretty you looked, arched over the sink. Hair a hot mess, body trembling, taking what he gave you like a good girl.

His foot tapped against the ground impatiently, and finally. 9 pm. The students gathered their things, waved their goodbyes, and slowly filed out of the studio. The lights were turned off, and the rain beat against the windows harder.

You were sure it had been 10 minutes. Slowly, you opened the door and peeked into the hall. Silence. Shutting the bathroom door, you turned the corner and began walking to the studio entrance. You hesitated, just a moment. Preparing yourself.

You placed your hand on the knob, twisted it, and pushed it open. You got one foot through the door when Seonghwa grabbed your wrist and yanked you inside, shutting the door and shoving you against it. Like an animal, he gave you no time to react, burying his hands in your hair and slotting his lips with yours.

“Finally..” he moaned, pressing his body against yours, rendering you helpless against the wall. You kissed back with just as much fervor, free to be as loud as you want.

“Not enough,” he snarled, hands holding your waist as he picked you up, your legs wrapping around him as he carried you to his desk. Carelessly swiping the papers and such off as he set on the surface, his lips not once parting from yours. His hand slipped between our bodies, tracing down your stomach and landing on the button of your pants.

“Want these off, honey?” He whispered into your mouth, laughing softly at your frantic nods.

“Please, yes please…” His fingers danced along the hem, unbuttoning them slowly, slipping them down and off your legs. His kisses moved lower, mapping a trail down your body until he had sunk onto his knees, dragging his lips along the insides of your thighs.

You looked down at him, his eyes never leaving yours and he placed a soft kiss against your clit through the thin lace of your panties. Your thighs shook, and his big hands spread them open for him, keeping them open with a strong grip.

“Hwa… please…. No more teasing.” He smiled and placed a rougher kiss against your clothed cunt.

“I’ll tease you all I want, sweetheart, if you keep giving me such cute reactions.” His tongue fell out of his mouth, flattening against you as he dragged a long, stripe up your cunt, smiling when your whole body shivered at his touch.

“Such a responsive baby. I knew you’d be so good for me. Want these off too? Want to feel my tongue against that pretty pussy huh?” You were so fogged in the head, shame way past, with the only feeling you had was needed. Pure and unbridled need for him to fuck you stupid.

“Yes, fuck Seonghwa please!” His thumb hooked along the waistband, dragging your underwear down your legs and stuffing them in his pocket. The cold hit your cunt, soaked and throbbing for him.

“Uh huh.” His own voice shook with need, unable to pull his eyes away from you. “Don’t worry, I got you. I’ll take care of you.” Seonghwa’s hands curled around your thighs, keeping them steady as he kissed your clit, so softly, then wrapping his lips around it and sucking.

Immediately, your body pulled taught and your brain felt like it had been shocked, a deep, guttural moan escaping. His hands dug into your thighs like he was holding himself back, losing himself in your taste, drowning between your thighs.

“Fuck baby.” His tongue drew impossible patterns around your clit, one hand moving from your thighs to trace a finger up your soaked slit, gathering your wetness and teasing.

“I’ll fuck you open on my fingers and you’ll take it like a perfect slut right? You’re gonna take it for me?” You nodded, words fleeting and hard to grasp as you focused on the way he touched you. Like he’s known your body for eternity, knowing what buttons to press and what words to say to get your stomach fluttering.

With ease that should have been embarrassing, he slipped his fingers inside your warm cunt, immediately curling them to press against that spot that made your vision go white and your breath catch, all the while his mouth was relentless on your clit.

“Don’t talk, honey, just feel. Moan nice and loud, let me know I’m doing a good job, okay?” He hummed around your clit, sending pleasure ridden vibrations though you that made your back arch and your fists clench. Your hands flew forward and gripped his hair, grinding themselves against his mouth as his fingers dragged in and out of you so delicately, slowly, applying just enough pressure to have you tumbling towards your orgasm fast.

Your head fell back, biting your bottom lip as you continued to grind against his face. “Fuck, cummng Seonghwa…” His tongue only licked faster, his fingers pressing harder inside of you.

Suddenly, his fingers slowed and he pulled off of your clit, a depraved groan slipping from him. You whined in disappointment, so close to falling off the edge.

“Why…?” You whined, desperation lining your voice. He only smiled and placed gentle kisses on your inner thighs.

“Beg,” Seonghwa stated simply, his voice breathless. “If you want it so fucking bad then beg for it princess.” Suddenly, the humiliation was setting in, but not enough for you to not beg.

He rested his cheek against your thighs lazily, looking up at you like you were the most stunning thing he had ever laid eyes on. “Nice and loud. Let me hear you. Beg like if I don’t let you cum you’ll die. Let me know how badly you need it.”

And you did. “Please Seonghwa, please I need you to fucking ruin me. Please, I’ll do anything. Please make me feel so good that I die, please.” So pathetic. So whiny and so desperate, exactly how Seonghwa liked it. Before you could continue he buried his face inbwtewen your thighs again, this time slipping his surprisingly longue tongue inside of you, fucking you eith his tongue. His fingers pinched your clit, rubbing it between his fingers and making noises so sinful, the sound of his voice was almost enough to make you shatter into a million pieces.

“You beg so beautifully for me, baby, cmon. Fall apart. Cum for me. You’ve earned it.” Your whole body shook as your orgasm overtook you, the grip on his hair impossibly tight. He groaned into your cunt from the pain in his scalp, which only spurred him on further. He wasn't stopping until he was done.

He continued to eat you like a man starved, even as overstimulation throbbed in your cunt.

“Fuck Hwa, let up, too much!” he laughed at your pleas, kissing your clit one last time before standing, his tongue coming out to clean you off his lips. He brought his fingers to his mouth, his tongue delving between and licking your slick off himself. Dragging his tongue from the bottom of his wrist and up to his fingertips, eyes boring into yours.

Pulling off his fingers with a loud pop, he ripped his shirt off his body, his pants following right behind. His chest was beautifully toned, a honey gold that was good enough to eat. The dips and shadows in his abs that were so smooth you had the urge to sit on his stomach and grind against it.

But he didn’t give you time, before he grabbed your thighs pulling you to the edge of the desk, slotting himself between your legs and pulling his cock from his boxers, letting them fall to the floor and kicking them off his legs.

Teasingly, he slipped your shirt off your body, hands squeezing your waist, swallowing your lips in slow, deep kisses.

He slid his cock through your soaked cunt, slicking the length of it up with your wetness. “Oh baby can’t wait to have you go dumb on my dick. Want me inside?’

Your arms circled around his back, nails dragging angry red stripes along his shoulder blades.

“Yes Seonghwa, I’m all yours fuck me stupid, please you’re all I can think about…” Of course this only stirred his ego up more, his cock jumping in response to the pure need in your tone.

“Alright, baby, you’ll get what you want. Relax, loosen up for me and just feel…”

He pulled his hips back, pressing his tip against your entrance. “Nice and slow, baby…” He pressed inside, and inch by inch, sinking into your cunt. He groaned, savoiring the feeling, wanting to drag it out for as long as possible before he lost himself and fucked you like he’d never fuck again.

Full was an understatement. You could feel every vein, the heat was burning inside of you, igniting a fire in your stomach that made your hips move on their own, rolling forward to take him deeper. He moans, unfiltered and dripping with want.

“That's it, love, that's it right there. Feeling full?” You moan into his mouth, he sucking your bottom lips into his mouth and savoring your warmth. When he bottomed out, he didn’t move, just feeling you clench and pulse around him.

“Such a creature of wonder you are, gorgeous.” He whispered, words waxing poetic, your head swimming at his praise. “I love the way you shake, the way you cry…” He pulled his hips back slowly, the slick sound vile…

And with a deep thrust, he knocked the wind from your lungs. Your back arched, and your nails bit into his skin harder. “Like it when I take you slow honey? Like it sensual, deep, all-consuming, huh?”

You moaned in response as he found a rhythm, rolling his hips into you, dragging perfectly against your G-spot in a way that could have you passing out at any moment.

“Oh.. fuck Hwa….” your brows furrowed feeling so full each time he slipped out of you and thrusted right back in like he couldn’t stand being anywhere except inside of you.

“You…fuck..” He groaned, feeling himself losing it. “You minx. Look what you do to me.” A thrust so hard it shook the desk, you yelped, throwing your head back. Seonghwa took this opportunity to attach his lips to your exposed throat, no doubt littering you with dark, possessive marks,

“Mine, mine mine all fucking mine. R-right? You all mine, baby?” Seonghwa's hips rolled into you deeper, like a second too long away from you would kill him.

“Yes Seonghwa yours, fuck, yours..” His hands enveloped your waist, so big and so rough, feeling your stretch marks, his tongue tracing your collar bone, his thick cock sliding in and out so smoothly.

“Wet little slut, all for me. Can’t get enough. Lean back, cmon.” You leaned back on the desk, elbows propped so you could keep your eyes on him. His hands holding your waist, his thumbs pressing into your abdomen as he rolled his hips in that delicious way again that made your thighs tremble.

“Gonna fuck you like I hate you mkay?” He whined, rubbing your stomach softly. “Take it.” And with a tough snap of his hips, he kept true to his words,

Seonghwa bullied his cock into your guts like he wanted to hurt you. Rough, sloppy, deep. And you took it.

“Look at you, take what I give you like it's all you deserve. Fucking beautiful.” He let his head fall back as he fucked you, your moans sweet music to his ears. Your broken sounds alternate between gasps for breath and whines of his name.

Relentless, feral, mean. He fucked you like your moans were a drug, hs greatest addiction.

“Fuck Seonghwa, gonna cum.” He laughed, your pathetic whines spurring him on to push you off that cliff, ruin you for any other man. He wants you crawling back to him. Begging him to mold you, to put you on your knees and show you just what it means to belong to someone. Belong to him.

“Dumb baby, gonna cum for me again?” Seonghwa pouted faxuly. You nod, mouth open, only staggering breaths and quiet whines coming out. Your eyelids fluttered and your stomach clenched as you approached that inevitable edge. He pulled you back up by your throat, crashing his lips into yours, nipping at your tongue, and moaning into your mouth. When he pulled from your lips, he pressed them against your ear, blowing air on the shell and nipping at the lobe.

“Then fucking cum (Name.).” Seonghwa moaned, the words traveling straight to your cunt. “Cum on my cock and scream like I’m God.”

Your legs twitched, your eyes tunneled, and you came hard. Seonghwa did not let up, in fact he fucked you harder, dragging you through your orgasm like it didn’t just nearly knock you out.

“Fuck!” you squealed, legs going limp as he held you against his body, still fucking you without abandon.

“Good job baby, good fucking girl.” He praised you, soft like his cock wasn’t turning you inside out. “Gonna cum inside of this pretty cunt. Take it, take it like you’ve been taking me so good all night.”

His hips stuttered and with a final, deep thrust, he groaned, kissing you like you might disappear, as he slowly fucking his cum deep inside of you, being sure not a single drop went to waste.

You both stayed like that for a long while, savoring each other's pleasure and letting your breaths mingle in tandem, existing in each other’s presence. His hands gently caressed your waist, soothing your body and just feeling your skin.

“Still with me?” He mumbled, pressing gentle kisses along your shoulder and massaging your body like you might break in his hold.

“Yeah..” You croaked, voice strained and body exhausted. He smiled against your neck and breathed you in.

“Could you go for one more?” Seonghwa teased.

“Are you insane? I think you broke me.” He laughed, kissing your lips slowly, smiling against you, and caressing your neck gently, rubbing the tension out of it.

Reluctantly, he slipped out of you, groaning and the loss of your warmth. “Cmon, let's get you dressed and I’ll take you home.” His voice soft and alluring, he helped you stand and cleaned you up, kissing up your legs as he wiped you clean and, like the gentleman he was, slipping your clothes back on and pampering you like you deserved.

“You’re dangerous,” Seonghwa whispered as he walked you down the sidewalk back to your townhome, hand interlaced with yours while the other held an umbrella over both of you.

The streets were quiet, well into the night, as he walked you home, his thumb rubbing your hand soothingly.

“You too.” You teased me. “But trust, I'll be in class next Sunday.” His smile widened at your words, stopping in front of your home and turning to face you.

“I do hope I’ll see you sooner, though. Dinner sometime, maybe?” Your cheeks flushed, and suddenly you were shyer than you had been all night.

“How could I say no to such a face?” You embraced, sharing one last kiss, before he walked you to your door.

“Catch you later, teach.” You stood in your doorway, heart fluttering as he looked at you with pure adoration.

“See you soon, (Name),” Seonghwa replied, eyes soft, placing a gentle kiss on the back of your hand, before turning and descending the steps back out into the rain. And your door shut, signifying the beginning to that passion you’ve been craving oh so badly.

#ateez smut #ateez #ateez x you #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa smut #park seonghwa #park seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x you #park seonghwa smut #ateez imagines

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dollkuna · 3 days ago

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⚡︎ fratboy!gojo had been burning a hole through you with his stare all night. you'd been laughing with some random guy, acting like gojo wasn't even there. besides, the way that dude was looking at you? ew, he though.

you batted your lashes, tilting your head with what you hoped was an innocent smile, up at the stranger. one hand twisted a strand of your hair, the other clutched a half-empty plastic cup — a drink gojo hadn't bothered to get you.

honestly, it was grating on him, having to watch you like that. watching some other guy who was practically drooling over you. so, yeah, in his slightly-messed-up mind, his actions were totally justified.

now, your gaze was fixed upwards again — but this time, it was on him. where it belonged, in his opinion. your lashes were slick with tears, mascara smudged artfully across your cheeks, your hair mussed from his fingers tangling in it.

he'd cornered you in the bathroom, cutting the ridiculously long line and just barging in (scaring the absolute shit out of you without so much as a word). but hey, it was his frat house. his rules.

"j— jesus," he grunted, his eyes rolling back in his head. "you say you're virgin, huh? taking my cock like a damn slut, cherry." your hands were busy too, one sliding up and down his length, the other cradling his heavy balls.

you were practically choking on him, your moans and whimpers swallowed by his thick shaft. at first, he'd actually tried. tried to be gentle, remembering that you'd only he one other time you'd only done this one other time — with him.

but patience had gone out the window fast. now, he was using your face, each thrust of his hips sending the blunt head of his cock slamming against the back of your throat.

gojo thought he'd died and gone to heaven. your mouth was so hot and wet, eagerly engulfing every inch he offered. "you— you're doing s'good," he choked out, his jaw tight. (you might've heard a tooth crack.)

you were gagging, and a part of him was terrified you'd actually throw up, but damn, you were determined. and who was he to stop you? after all, the initial idea had been to take things slow, maybe learn a few new things. this definitely counted as new.

"w— was it worth it?" gojo asks, likely rhetorical. "whoring off to some idiot like that, huh?"

drool slicked your chin, followed by a stream of tears. your cheeks hollowed with each deep stroke, feeling the frantic throb beneath your tongue, the way he strained against your mouth. the pressure built, a dull ache spreading in the back of your throat as he thrust deeper.

you didn't get a warning, just a slight tremor in his grip on your hair before his heavy balls clenched, and he spilled thick, hot seed into your mouth.

it caught you off guard, but what really threw him was the way you swallowed every last drop. every single bit.

his eyes were wide as he helped you stand, watching you brush off your sore knees.

"ch— cherry, you know you didn't have to... i mean, i should've pulled out, i'm sorry—"

you give him a lop-sided grin, "don't be silly. i wanted to."

oh. oh.

gojo might not be your boyfriend, but he sure pressed a soft kiss to your tear-streaked, mascara-smudged cheek like one.

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #gojo x you #satoru x you #jjk smut #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x y/n #cherry!reader

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feeder86 · 2 days ago

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Friend-Zone

As a campus rep, Lisa hardly seemed the most enthusiastic. She’d taken on the role as a favor to her boyfriend, and hadn’t wasted any time in telling them all so. Unenthusiastically rattling off all the information from a printout that she unfolded from her back pocket, it was obvious to Adrian that this woman didn’t really care at all how they settled into college that first week. The pretty, athletic-looking girl was about to start her PhD and obviously felt far too busy and important to be wasting her time with a bunch of first years like this. Most of the others had taken the hint and left her be, staying up in their rooms, or heading out in small groups to explore the site themselves.

“What about during the winter?” Adrian asked, having no intention of letting Lisa sneak away. “How bad does the snow get?”

Lisa rolled her eyes and huffed. “It’s Chicago. What do you expect?”

Just then, Lisa’s eyes suddenly grew immediately warmer and a smile spread across her face. “Hello stranger!” she called to someone behind Adrian’s back.

Adrian turned around, spotting a tall, broad and incredibly overweight guy strutting towards them. More than twice the width of a regular guy, his stomach drooped slightly over his belt and the fat in his large double chin vibrated with each step he took. Adrian couldn’t help but feel aroused. This guy was the most beautiful specimen of obesity he had seen so far since arriving on campus the day before. He watched with surprise as the gigantic guy walked by and pulled Lisa into a sweet kiss; the contrast between their two bodies being enough to make anyone’s jaw drop.

“How’re you getting on?” the fat man asked her softly, before turning to face Adrian as well.

“We’re doing great!” Lisa beamed back; her voice suddenly infused with enthusiasm. “I was just explaining to Adam here all about our winters.”

“Is this your boyfriend?” Adrian asked, smiling with delight as he held out his hand to shake with the enormous beast. He noticed Lisa’s hand sliding down the guy’s enormous gut coming to rest on the softest, most enticingly jiggly underside; exactly where he himself would most like to have touched such a fat man.

“He is indeed!” Lisa smiled back proudly. “I met Gray in our first year and we never looked back!”

Gray smiled down at his love and kissed her once more. “Don’t worry about the winters,” the large man stated to Adrian as he was about to walk away. “They’re not as bad as everyone makes out. You’ll be fine.”

Adrian nodded, noting that such a large, over-insulated guy like Gray was unlikely to feel much of the chill. He seemed like exactly the type of guy who went around wearing the same sweatshorts that he wore in the summer, all year round.

“He’s gorgeous!” Adrian marvelled to Lisa as the fat man finally went off; his gigantic, wide glutes pressing against the material of his shorts. “How on Earth are you going to concentrate on a PhD when you’ve got a sexy big boy like that to keep you warm each evening?”

Many women might have taken offense at Adrian’s obvious drooling, or even assumed that he was mocking her. Lisa, however, only smiled back with a wicked glint in her eyes. “You like them big, huh?” she laughed. “I thought I saw you checking out a couple of the fatties earlier.”

Instantly, Adrian knew that he had found someone exactly like himself here on campus. “Definitely!” he nodded shamelessly back. “None of them were like your guy, though!” he replied; his heart still beating faster. “What does he weigh?”

Lisa chuckled. “You don’t hold back, do you?” she replied, seeming pleased and delighted with him. The old, impatient Lisa now gone. “About four hundred pounds at the moment,” she answered. “Maybe a little more. It’s not easy trying to find an excuse to get him on the scales.”

“His love handles are so…” Adrian continued to marvel.

“Oh, I know!” Lisa nodded back, not needing Adrian to finish his sentence. “So soft and squishy! Can you believe he used to play for the college football team when he first got here?”

“Seriously?” Adrian asked, suddenly finding that little piece of information all the more arousing. “He played sports?”

“Oh, I soon put a stop to that, don’t you worry!” Lisa grinned back; clearly sensing that she too had found a kindred spirit. “I saw him gorging himself after a game one evening and I knew right away, that’s the man for me.”

Adrian almost felt breathless with admiration. “How much weight has he put on since you got together then?” he asked excitedly.

“I’ve more than doubled his weight. A greedy little fucker like that, you’ve just got to play the doting girlfriend role and quietly enable it. Then sit back and watch the pounds pile on! I have no doubt that Gray would have ended up this big at some point. All I did was help speed things up a little.”

Adrian looked at Lisa as though she was the greatest person he had ever met. He had never been so deeply jealous and in such great awe of anyone like this before.

“If you want to date a fatty, there will be a lot more of them around here in a few weeks,” Lisa explained, motioning around the campus. “The first few months of college are absolutely savage. You’re going to see a lot of folks putting on a lot of weight very quickly. I added eighty pounds to Gray in the first year alone.”

“The Freshman Fifteen?” Adrian asked. “Is that real?”

Lisa smiled and nodded. “You bet it is! This is my fourth Freshers Week. I can spot the future fatties a mile off! The guy in the room opposite yours, for example.”

“Cal?” Adrian questioned her in disbelief. He’d spoken to the handsome boy only yesterday. They’d both gotten on really well and even arranged to go to one of the Freshers’ Fairs later today. “But he’s a black belt in karate!”

“And?” Lisa laughed, waiting for the significance of such a statement to be explained to her. “The guy has a dad like a beached whale!” she smirked. “He’s a Computer Science nerd at heart. He only came to college here in order to get to know his father better. His parents divorced when he was four and his mom moved him away. Trust me,” she cautioned, seeing Adrian’s skepticism. “Never underestimate the power of having fat genes on your side. I saw him and his father at the fast food place down the street last night when I was picking up some little greasy treats for Gray. That appetite! He’s definitely his father’s son!””

Still shaking his head, Adrian didn’t believe a word of it. Lisa had previously seemed so disinterested by them all. She must have been making it up. He’d come across jocks like Cal in high school. Guys like him always stayed classically handsome.

“Whatever,” Lisa huffed, rolling her eyes. “It’s a fact of life. A few months living here and you’ll soon see how these things really work. Past athleticism doesn’t mean shit when you have an appetitie like Cal’s.”

In the following weeks, Adrian soon learned that Lisa had been absolutely right about Cal’s gigantic father. He’d peered out of his window on several occasions and seen the guy’s truck pulling up outside, with Cal in the passenger seat; both of them nibbling on something they would have picked up on the way back.

Cal was such a sweet guy, he’d been snapped up almost immediately by a girl on the floor below them; the pair of them strolling around campus hand in hand. For Adrian, the development had been something of a disappointment to him. Cal was one of the few guys who seemed to share his sense of humor, and the fact that he’d paired up so quickly meant that there wasn’t an awful lot of time to develop his friendship with him. One thing was for certain though. Cal absolutely idolised his father, usually twisting a conversation so that he could talk about something his dad had told him recently, or something new that he had learned about the man he had been estranged from for so long. Adrian was one of the few who didn’t mind in the slightest. He was quietly fascinated by the large, older, fat man and he listened attentively whenever Cal spoke about him.

“What does your dad think about Kim?” Adrian asked daringly one afternoon, having just listened to Cal talking about how his girlfriend was unhappy that he was off for a fishing trip with his dad that weekend, instead of hanging out with her.

“My dad’s nice about everyone,” Cal shrugged.

“And what about Kim?” Adrian asked, sensing a small chink the armour. “What does she think of your dad?”

At this, Cal shrugged unhappily. “He’s just very different from her dad, I think.”

“She doesn’t like him?” Adrian pressed, trying to sound more surprised than he actually felt.

Again, Adrian shrugged. “She just thinks he’s a bit of a bad influence.” At this, Cal lifted his shirt a little and grabbed at a small roll of fresh fat that had been expertly masked by the guy’s large sweater. “Particularly when it comes to my diet. I’ve gained the Freshman Fifteen and she’s a bit pissed at me for it.”

Despite the surge of arousal and elation that Adrian felt, he did his absolute best not to react, shrugging nonchalantly. “That’s nothing,” he shot back. “She can’t seriously be annoyed at you for that?”

“Well, she is,” Cal sighed. “My dad loves food. So when we go out, of course we grab something to eat.”

“You guys are getting to know each other for the first time in years. Kim can’t begrudge you that,” Adrian replied; his brain whirring with excitement. Had Lisa been exactly right about this guy?

“I just know that this fishing trip is going to add a couple more pounds again. A whole weekend with my dad… we’ll probably be eating constantly!” Cal sighed again.

Adrian could see genuine anxiety flushing across Cal’s face. “Just stop stressing about stuff like that!” he countered, trying to assert himself as the voice of reason. “Kim has no right planting these little insecurities into your brain,” he grumbled. “You’re going to go on that trip and enjoy yourself. It’s no big deal if you gain a couple of pounds, is it?”

Cal nodded, smiling that someone had at last told him exactly what he wanted to hear. He smiled even brighter that Friday night when his father picked him up in his large truck. It had been Adrian’s free afternoon and he had set about baking some fresh brownies for the boys to take with them, surprising them both as he handed them over just as they were setting off.

“Don’t you have some lovely friends here!” Cal’s dad beamed, opening the box and putting one straight into his mouth.

Cal nodded, ignoring his sulky girlfriend who stood to the side. “The best!” he agreed, smiling gratefully at the guy who lived across the hall from him.

“Well, well, well…” Lisa smirked, catching Adrian sitting alone at a computer in one of the labs early one Sunday. “I see you’re making the most of college life, sitting here at seven on a Sunday morning completing an assignment. Why weren’t you out last night fucking all those fatties you were going on about during Fresher’s Week?”

“Who says I wasn’t?” Adrian teased her back. He held it for a short period, then sighed sadly, unable to keep up the facade. “I’ve fucked up!” he finally grumbled, realising that Lisa was the one person in the entire world he could actually talk to about this right now.

“Let me guess…” Lisa smiled playfully back. “Has this got anything to do with that cute little chub you’ve got growing across the hallway from you?”

Adrian rolled his eyes. How was it that Lisa always seemed at least ten steps ahead of him in every conversation they had?

“What is it about watching a guy pushing out a pot belly that has folks like us fall desperately in love with them?” She stopped as Adrian looked at her, a little surprised. “What? Did you think that just because I get my kicks quietly fattening Gray up that I don’t really love him?” she asked with a slight air of annoyance. “Sorry, but life isn’t that simple, is it? And, judging by that glum face, I think it’s a lesson you’re very quickly learning.”

“I thought it was just some straight guy crush, but…”

“You know he has a girlfriend, right?” Lisa asked in a tone that betrayed her limited sympathy. “You’ll need to speed up his gains a lot more if you want to sweep her out of the way. I heard about the brownies you’ve been baking for him.”

“I was just trying to be nice,” Adrian shot back.

“No you weren’t!” Lisa laughed, more than happy to call him out. “People like us are never just ‘nice’, are we?’ It was my anniversary with Gray last night. You really think I cooked the fatty all that food just to be nice?”

“So that’s why you’re here on your own?” Adrian smirked.

“Yeah,” Lisa nodded, checking her watch. “Fatty is still sleeping it all off. I’ll do a couple of hours here, then head back and fry him up some breakfast. You should see the tits on him now!” she sighed in amazement. “Stunning!”

“You’re so lucky!” Adrian chuckled.

Lisa shook her head. “I just know what I want, that’s all. And I’m not afraid to go after it.” She looked at Adrian thoughtfully, recognising his low mood. “I genuinely think you could be in with a chance with Cal, y’know. I’m quite good at sensing these things. You just need to shake off that girlfriend of his. It’s a bit annoying that he’s such a nice guy. It may take a little more than just a little paunch to get her out of the picture.”

Adrian nodded, suddenly feeling brighter. Lisa never said anything that she didn’t mean. If there was no hope, she would have told him straight. “I’ve got to keep ensuring that he puts on weight,” he agreed, already knowing exactly how he was going to start.

The one thing that Adrian had over Cal’s girlfriend was the fact that he had a genuine rapport with the guy’s father. He’d make a point of following Cal down to the parking lot anytime his dad was picking him up and would give up as much time as was required to chat with him as possible. Adrian had always known how to be charming and he’d picked up plenty of bits of information from Cal’s ramblings to know how best to get the man on side. Not only that, but it seemed to make Cal beam with pride to see his estranged father getting along so well with his friends.

“Kim keeps on nagging me to go to the gym,” Cal grumbled a couple of months later, coming specifically into the kitchen area for a chat. He’d started opening up a lot more in recent weeks, telling Adrian a lot more than he did the other guys in the dorms who, on paper at least, had a lot more in common with him.

Adrian had chuckled at Kim’s demand. “Oh, yeah?” he asked sarcastically. “And when does she expect you to make the time for all that?”

Cal smiled back nodding in complete agreement. “Exactly, right? It’s like she doesn’t even realise how much stuff I’ve got going on.”

Adrian agreed. Overfeeding a guy was one way to effectively enable a weight gain, but the other, arguably more effective one, was to simply tell them exactly what they wanted to hear. “You literally never stop,” he rambled. “From studying, trying to spend time with your dad, balancing that with Kim and trying to at least have some social life here, I really don’t know how you fit it all in.”

Cal listened carefully, nodding as though it was just dawning on him how complicated his life was. The puffiness of his stomach was more than apparent now, pushing unflatteringly against the t-shirts he had yet to notice were far too tight; the tight pecs already noticeably softer. When he walked, there was a certain width to his rear now; a plushness that betrayed the fact that Cal had at least bought some larger pants to accommodate it.

“Dad was asking if you wanted to come fishing with us one Saturday?” Cal asked after considering it for a moment. “I said you probably wouldn’t be interested.”

“No!” Adrian shot back instantly. “I’d love to come with you both,” he exclaimed, knowing that it was exactly the type of opening he had been waiting for. His time to shine had at last arrived!

Preparation started days in advance: sandwiches, cakes, brownies, salty snacks, pastries. Adrian was about to show Cal that he was the best person to invite along to spend extra time with. And, if the guy came back a little fatter, it was sure to piss Kim off, just as Adrian needed. His campaign would be to market himself as the exact opposite of the girl who so often stressed poor Cal out about his weight. The chubby boy was about to learn that life could be a lot easier with him by his side instead.

In the blazing sunshine, the father and son set themselves up underneath some shade. Without an ounce of shame, Cal’s father removed his shirt, revealing his enormous torso and giant, sagging stomach. His chair was extra wide to accommodate the wide shape of his butt and, when he sat down, Adrian had the sense that the huge, broad, lardy blob would be unlikely to get up again for quite some time.

Cal followed pretty soon afterwards, taking off his shirt and sighing with relief as he too sat down beside the stream; the ice box filled with sodas resting beside his feet. Thankful that he was wearing shades to mask his stares, Adrian was immediately amazed by the startling way the fat was beginning to transform Cal’s body. In recent weeks, the guy had been trying to cover his body up more on campus, wearing thick layers despite the warmer days. Now, uncovered at last, Adrian could see the clear development of the guy’s new belly. Pounds and pounds of new blubber were stubbornly resting on his formerly trim waist, rippling into a full roll that ran underneath his softening chest. From the side, it was startling just how thick the guy was around the middle; his gut beginning to extend out onto his lap for the first time. Since when had his nipples become so pointed? Had he lost some muscle? Or was it just a layer of chub over his arms that was destroying the old definition?

The two men ate well the entire day, enabled by Adrian who was up and down from his seat, fetching it all and keeping things in order. As expected, Cal’s father had a gigantic appetite and capacity. But, without even realising it, Cal had clearly learned to keep up every step of the way. In his head, Adrian tried to calculate the amount of calories that were flowing into them both as they were sitting there lazily: thousands upon thousands!

“You know, this is the most relaxed I’ve ever seen you,” Adrian smiled at Cal after his father had dozed off in his chair. He held the box of brownies out, knowing that Cal would accept.

“Yeah, this is definitely my happy place,” Cal agreed.

“You’ve got the same sense of humor as your dad. I’ve never heard you laugh so much,” Adrian smiled, watching the chubby boy chew and reach out for more. “I can see why you like hanging out with him so much.”

Cal nodded. “I’m very lucky. My mom would never let me see him growing up, so this last year has been about making up for lost time. When the semester ends, I’m going to spend the summer staying at his place.”

“That’s exciting!” Adrian beamed, his mind immediately whirring at the thought of how much extra lard Cal would be carrying by Fall if he was to continue keeping up with his father’s appetite. “And that means you and Kim will be able to see each other as well,” he smiled, pretending to be supportive.

At the mention of her name Cal pulled a face. “Yeah, that’s not really going to work out,” he confessed. “It’s only when I’m here, chilling out with a few drinks with my dad that I can get a proper perspective on things. Kim seems to think I’m someone that I’m not. She’s pretty shallow if I’m being honest.”

Adrian did his best to keep from smiling. “Well, she’s missing out,” he simply stated. He meant it too. Having spent the afternoon seeing the real Cal, relaxed and carefree, he’d fallen harder for the guy than ever before.

Adrian could remember his shock as he saw Cal for the first time after the summer break. All of a sudden, he was staring into the eyes of a genuine fat guy. Gone was the fluffy chub that had plagued the latter half of Cal’s first year, replaced by a definitive mass of solid fat that rounded out into a full belly of fat. He was dressed better, no longer trying to conceal it all; at least eignty extra pounds on him since they’d met last year. Yet, Cal also seemed more confident and self-assured than Adrian had ever seen him.

Having clearly enjoyed the single life all summer, Cal didn’t seem in the slightest bit interested in the new crowd that had moved into the dorms. “Want ro come and watch a movie in my room later?” he’d asked Adrian, despite the fact that everyone else was heading out for some fun at the clubs.

Adrian agreed instantly, despite knowing that he was going to piss off more than a few of his friends, cancelling on them at the last minute. Without time to bake any treats, Adrian headed quickly to the grocery store to pick up snacks. He knocked on Cal’s door, amazed to see the guy answer it with his shirt off. A sticky heat had lingered in the dorm building all day and, with the added insulation on his body, Cal seemed unable to tolerate it.

Bulbous. That was the only word Adrian could think of to describe the remarkable shape of Cal’s blossoming gut. Full, generous love handles widened the boy from the rear, as he turned and led the way inside; the padded glutes making it difficult for Adrian to not ogle. “What do you want to watch?” the fat guy asked, throwing his oversized body onto the creaking bed.

Without much thought, Cal devoured almost everything that had been bought, too transfixed on the screen to even notice it all going in. It was exactly like Lisa had said when she’d spoken to him in the past about how her boyfriend had blown up since they’d been together. For the most part, the guy wasn’t even aware of just how much he was even consuming. The pathway to Cal becoming every bit as fat and blubbery as his father seemed totally clear. The destination was inevitable, and Adrian had no intention of missing any of it.

Over the coming weeks, it was apparent that Cal had no intention of getting to know more people around the dorms. The guy had found his trusted circle and instead focused on keeping them close. It was obvious that Cal preferred hanging out with Adrian above all the rest. He was the only one Cal could completely relax in front of. His climbing weight was definitely something he had noticed and wanted to talk about, yet Adrian was the only one he could mention it to without having to endure harsh criticisms about his diet and less active lifestyle.

A nasty flu had swept around the campus after the holidays. Cal had barely emerged from his bedroom in days. “I lost fifteen pounds from it all,” the chub had commented, finally back up on his feet, pulling out the waistband on his pants to demonstrate. “It probably would have been even more had you not been trying to look after me and bring me things.”

In truth, Adrian was annoyed at himself for not having done more. Cal had slept so much, many times he had gone in to check on him, the guy had been totally out of it. All he could do was tidy up a little and bring some water and sodas to keep his energy up.

“I’ve been really ill, yet all people can say to me is how much better I look having lost weight!” Cal grumbled, clearly annoyed at the strange priorities of those around him.

“Well, I won’t be convinced that you’re back to full health until I see those pants fitting snugly again,” Adrian nodded, having baked up all Cal’s favorites now that he was able to eat again, at long last.

Cal smiled warmly at him. It was a gaze that never failed to make Adrian turn to mush. People wondered how he had gone almost two full years in college without a single relationship; this chubby boy was the reason why. How could anyone ever come close to matching him?

The weight loss that Cal had experienced turned out to be little more than a minor blip on an otherwise unstoppable upwards trajectory. His portly stomach had transformed into a full tank of lard by the end of their second year; expanding further after another summer working with his father. In total, Adrian assumed the guy must have packed on at least 150lbs, taking him well within the 300lb range. Lisa had agreed, taking a keen interest in the changes and never failing to remind Adrian that she had predicted it right from the beginning.

“He looks like his old man these days, don’t you think?” Cal’s father joked, poking his fat son in the stomach during the fifth or sixth fishing trip that Adrian had been invited along to. “His mother goes mad at me,” he laughed. “She’s worried he’ll never find a nice girl to settle down with, but I tell her, being fat has never done me much harm with the ladies. I was hardly ‘slim’ when when I was with her”

Adrian nodded. He could fully understand why that was the case. Despite Cal’s father’s enormous size, there was an attractive confidence and charm that Adrian could envision many women being drawn to. Owning his own plumbing business, Cal’s dad also wasn’t short of cash either.

Cal rolled his eyes, slurping from one of the cans of soda and sitting himself down in the chair by the stream. “Mom’s priorities are all skewed,” he grumbled.

“You can’t live your life according to what other people want,” his father agreed. “I keep telling you that. You’ve got to go after whatever makes YOU happy in life.”

At this, Cal’s father looked between Adrian and his son in a way that startled Adrian. What was the guy trying to suggest?

“You know I’ll always support your decisions,” his father finally stated, before throwing his fishing line out and sitting himself down quietly.

Lisa had been buzzing when she’d told Adrian the news of her engagement after the summer break. With their final year of the PhD approaching, having something to look forward to after it all was exactly what the pair needed.

“I could tell that he was nervous about something,” Lisa smiled, recalling the memory. “Gray’s a bit of a stress-eater and had been gorging for days - even more than usual!” she boasted.

“I’m pleased for you both,” Adrian chuckled, always surprised that the disinterested campus rep he had met on his first day had turned out to be one of his very best friends here. “So, does this mean I’ll get an invite to the wedding next summer?”

“Of course!” Lisa nodded emphatically back. “Hopefully you and Cal will have got your shit together by then so you come together.”

Adrian rolled his eyes, but tried to keep the conversation on Lisa and her engagement.

“It’s now over two years that the pair of you have been dancing around each other, and still nothing?” Lisa persisted.

“We’re just good friends,” Adrian countered.

“Just ask him out!” Lisa sighed.

“It could spoil everything, though!” he shot back.

Every one of his meetings with Lisa ended pretty much the same way. Surely Lisa had proven her good instincts about Cal. So why couldn’t Adrian just take that one last leap of faith?

Later that semester, the smell of the pizzas filled Adrian’s nostrils as he entered Cal’s room and sensed the frosty atmosphere. It was obvious that the fat boy was comfort-eating, with two large bottles of soda on the side and several boxes of cookies opened, or emptied across the space. Cal’s body was expanding more rapidly of late; his belly peeking out of the bottom of his XXL shirts, love handles cut in half by uncomfortably tight pants. It was difficult not to swoon.

“What’s the matter?” Adrian asked, knowing when Cal was in a bad place.

“Nothing,” Cal instinctively replied, ripping his teeth into another slice. He huffed, seeming to reconsider. “It’s my mom,” he finally stated. “She was staying in the city this weekend so I went over to see her.”

Adran winced. He knew Cal’s relationship with his mother was a tense one.

“I get top grades. I’m focused on my future career. I don’t do drugs. I’m a nice person, and yet… all she wants to do is complain about how much weight I’ve put on!”

“That’s rough,” Adrian agreed, despite quietly sympathising with the guy’s mother. The woman saw her son so infrequently, she must have been in complete shock; especially given how well the double chin had been coming along since the start of the year. Cal must have eaten his way up to at least 350lbs, considering his tall, broad frame.

“She was with yet another new boyfriend,” Cal grumbled on. “But one look at me and she refused to even introduce me to him. She was embarrassed! She kept saying I’m just like my dad, over and over again; like he’s the worst person in the world! But it’s her!” he sighed, taking another bite. “What sort of a woman wants to disown her own son because he’s not slim anymore?”

“She really said that?” Adrian asked. He’d heard some dreadful stories about Cal’s mother in the past, but this surprised even him.

“She told me not to contact her again until I was back to a more presentable weight!” the guy laughed, now stacking two pizza slices on top of each other and grinning. “So, fuck her!” he spat, taking the biggest mouthful as if this was the greatest act of rebellion in his whole life.

Adrian pondered. Should he really say it?

“Your mom’s right,” Adrian sighed watching the grotesquely greedy boy gorging himself. “You really are just like your dad.”

Cal swallowed, caught by surprise at his best friend’s words.

“You’re sweet and kind; generous to a fault, and as loyal as they come.” He sat himself down on the side of Cal’s bed, beside him. “You’re exactly the type of man anyone would be lucky to have. And yes, I do think that’ll probably mean you’ll continue to put on weight. But those of us who love you can definitely cope with that.”

“Love me?” Cal repeated back to him, like it was the only part he had heard.

Adrian’s heart was beating furiously. “Don’t panic,” he sighed. “I accepted a long time ago that you would never feel the same way. I just can’t help it. I never could.”

Cal sat up properly, actually pushing his pizza box to the side. His eyes were clearly filled with a thousand questions. He even tried to voice a couple of them a few times, starting and stuttering. In the end, he reached for Adrian’s hand and held it sweetly. “You’re serious?” he asked. “You really think you could put up with all this?” he nodded down at his fat belly.

Electricity sizzled through Adrian’s brain as he held Cal’s large, sweaty palm. He leaned in, taking that leap at long last, barely comprehending anything as Cal’s lips came to meet his for the first of many, many times.

“I didn’t realise that Lisa’s boyfriend was so big!” Cal whispered months later, seeing the rotund, 550lb man waiting for his bride up at the front of the church.

Adrian smiled back and nodded. “It’s a great suit he’s wearing, huh?”

Cal chuckled. “Forget the suit. Look at the gut on him! It’s even bigger than my dad’s!”

Adrian considered. “You’re probably right,” he agreed, admiring Lisa’s hard work. “I hope you’re not judging?” he teased.

“Quite the reverse!” Cal laughed back. “We both know I’m going to be even heavier than that by the time we get married.”

Grinning, Adrian looked down at Cal’s large tank of stomach fat, only just contained by the enormous shirt they had had to order online for the day. “That’s fine by me,” he smiled back appreciatively.”

Cal reflected the smile, never failing to count his blessings that he had found someone who still couldn’t keep his hands off him, even as he had packed on an additional sixty pounds since they had got together.

“You can’t eat in here!” Adrian laughed, watching as Cal indiscreetly unraveled a chocolate bar he had secretly hidden in his jacket pocket.

“Come on, look at the size of me!” Cal shrugged. “At this weight, people pretty much expect me to be eating wherever I go,” he joked, pushing the long bar into his mouth, chewing and swallowing it all in two gigantic bites.

Adrian smirked as people turned and stared disapprovingly. He wouldn’t change his big, gluttonous man for the entire world.

“At least they’ll all know why there won’t be much food left at the buffet later,” the fat man teased, patting his giant, hungry stomach with pride.

The music started to play as Lisa began to make her way slowly down the aisle, no one noticing the sweet kiss shared between the giant, greedy man on the fifth row and his very, very appreciative lover.

#gayfeeder #gainerstory #gainerfic #gayfeedee #gainer story #gay feedee #gainerstories #gainer stories #gainer fic #gainer fiction

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dark-lord-of-awesomeness · 1 day ago

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Random Question: In a Percy Jackson Au, with everyone being related to the gods, who would be Stan and Ford's parent? B/c I keep thinking either Athena(Ford smart) or Dionysius(madness).

Hmm. Hard to say, because they are twins so it'd need to be the same one, and they're mirrors of each other which makes choosing difficult. Hmm.

Dionysius would work better than Athena, but maybe Eris? The goddess of chaos? Fits their general behavior.

Ares might be interesting, Ford thinking it was wrong only for him losing his temper and showing off his own skills as a son of war (filbrick parallel there maybe?)

Hermes would work too, fitting Stan but making Ford feel alienated? Before he goes on his own 30 year parallel journey and sort of goes 'ah no this feels right actually'

Poseidon seems too on the nose, but i'm partial specifically because he's also the god of horses.

Thats what i've got off the top of my head! Hope this helps!

Waiit!!!! Additional thought!

Athena would absolutely work, because not only does she suit Ford for the obvious intellectual reasons, she suits Stan for also being the goddess of handcraft, and both for being a goddess of war. Fords the stereotypical son of Athena (not actually as wise as he appears lol), while Stan not so much, more creatively inclined.

Because not only would Filbrick still be their dad, maybe impressing her with his business savey? or something? and dumping his terrible parenting on the two kids he didn't really want, you could def add more angst with them showing up to camp, staying at the Hermes cabin, and only Ford getting claimed. They're twins, nearly identical, but Fords her son in all the ways the rest of her children are, exhibits traits similar to the rest of her children, and has six fingers. I'm not an expert, but my brief research into the subject shows that six fingers was seen as something to celebrate by greeks? Could be wrong, but Ford being bullied hard because of his hands with mortals, then getting praised for it when he gets to camp sure does sound like something that would boost his ego and twist his insecurity about it.

And then there's Stan. He's not a stereo typical son of Athena, more creative and loose than his siblings. Leans more towards those craft qualities and warlike, and him being Fords twin makes everyone stop and second guess their assumption that Athena must be their mother, because Stan's so different. Must be Eris or some other minor god or goddess. something that can get two such different kids.

Then Ford gets claimed, and Stan doesn't. Everyone knows Athena is his mom, they're twins, so her not claiming him is a deliberate choice. Another snub in Stan's face, being second best, the unwanted child. Fords moving out to the Athena cabin, and Stans hanging out with the Hermes kids. And he'll brush it off! Say he was just too much to handle, and really the Hermes kids are more his style! Everyone knows the Athena cabin is full of nerds after all! He'd hate it there!

(He'd love it. Surrounded by his siblings, all of them passionately explaining what they're doing to him, sitting there and getting to be a sound board or someone to bounce ideas off of is all he ever wanted to be with Ford. Sure he might not understand what they're doing and might get rowdy, but he's sure they'd have just as much fun as he and Ford did back home)

So while Fords shining as the six fingered newest addition to Athena's cabin, Stan's now the black sheep of camp. Why wouldn't his mom claim him? Whats wrong with him that the goddess wouldn't claim a child everyone knows is hers? Is he even? What if he's some kind of monster, some new beast there to get them while they're guards down.

The simple truth is that his parents are both terrible, and both prefer Ford. Even if Stan proved himself and got claimed later, there's no recovering his reputation, and his relationship with Ford's always going to have that hanging over them, along with the experience Ford got being by himself in the cabin, then feeling like Stan got dumped on him just as he was becoming his own person. Not seeing that Stan's smiling and joking around to hide the fact that no one likes or trusts him, and Fords the only person who talks to him at all.

Then maybe he does something, messes up something up for Ford that endangers the camp, and yeah its not so terrible they'll kick him out, the feeling of the one person who gave him the time of day turning his back on Stan is enough to be the same thing. Maybe Stan just disappears one day, and everyone mutters about how right they must have been not to trust him, not to include him, not to want to do anything with him. Maybe Fords sees it as Stan deciding he was better off alone, didn't want Stan to leave but thought he had all the time to be mad and talk about it later, but now Stan's gone, and no one knows where.

Whew. That got way more intense then i planned. Anyway thats my thoughts on it!

#gravity falls #gravity falls au #stan pines #ford pines #demigod au #i feel like a more vague parent would be better suited?#or at least their parent not claiming them #oooh

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obvithe-bestsoph · 2 days ago

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hey gorg, can you write about reader working with hector’s mom in her salon ! you can decides what you want to do, happy ending please, tyyy

favourite distraction.

masterlist requests word count: 1k

a/n: i think this might be one of my new favourites, but i hate the title and i feel like it's gonna make no one read it 😔🥀 genre: fluff. warnings: none.

summary: hector is constantly flirting with you when he comes to visit his mama at her hair salon.

You’ve been working at Cris’s salon for almost six months now, and it’s honestly the best job you’ve ever had. It’s busy, yeah, but it’s the fun kind of busy. The kind where the coffee machine is always humming in the back, the speakers play early 2000s pop, and Cris is chatting up every client like they’re old friends. Most of the time, they are.

The vibe is less “pretentious beauty studio” and more “your favorite cousin’s house where everyone talks too loud and gossips with curlers in.” You love it. And you love Cris. She’s exactly how you imagined a Spanish salon owner should be, blonde, fierce, and never one to hold back an opinion. You’d been nervous your first day, sweeping hair off the floor and fumbling through shampoo routines, but she’d immediately taken you under her wing.

Now you know all her regulars, all their kids’ names, and all their drama. But your favorite part of the job? That’s easy.

Héctor Fort.

Cris’s son.

A living, breathing plot twist.

The first time he walked in, you didn’t know who he was. You’d been in the back room folding towels when she called out, “Mi amor, ya estás aquí,” and then, casual as anything, he walked through the door like he wasn’t model-level attractive or famous or both. You blinked, stunned, a little bottle of argan oil halfway through falling off the shelf.

He gave you that small, polite smile and mumbled a hello as Cris immediately fussed over him. “He’s so scruffy,” she said, ruffling his curls. “He won’t let me cut it properly.”

And then she dragged him into her chair, rolling her eyes like she wasn’t secretly obsessed with him.

Now it’s kind of a thing.

Héctor drops by the salon every couple of days. Sometimes for a trim, sometimes to drop off Cris’s lunch, sometimes for no real reason at all. And lately, when he comes in, he finds you. Which, weirdly, he never seems to mind.

Today, he strolls in just after two in the afternoon, sunshine and all. His curls are tucked into the hood of his hoodie, sunglasses perched lazily on his nose, and he’s got that mischievous smile you’ve started recognizing as “he’s about to say something dumb on purpose.”

Cris is working on a client at the front, and you’re at the sink rinsing out dye bowls when you hear the bell above the door. You peek out from behind the divider.

“Hola, guapa,” he says to you, not even glancing at his mom yet.

You narrow your eyes. “You only say that when you want something.”

Héctor leans against the counter and shrugs. “Maybe I just missed you.”

“Maybe you’re full of it.”

“Both can be true,” he grins, tilting his head.

Cris peeks over her client’s shoulder. “Héctor, don’t flirt with my staff when I’m busy.”

You snort and shake your head, already turning back to rinse another bowl. But you feel the heat rise in your cheeks anyway. He’s like this every time - joking, smiling, calling you guapa like it’s a regular word in his vocabulary. And even though you know it’s mostly harmless fun, it still makes your stomach do a little kick.

He follows you into the back room like he owns the place.

“Do you even have an appointment?” you ask without looking at him, stacking the bowls beside the sink.

“Nope.”

“So you’re loitering.”

“I brought Mamá a coffee,” he says, holding up a little cardboard tray with two cups. “One’s for her. The other’s yours.”

You hesitate, then look over at him. “Really?”

He nods. “I didn’t know how you take it, so I got it sweet. Like you.”

You groan. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” he says, handing you the cup, “you still take the coffee.”

You take a sip. He’s right - it’s sweet, just how you like it. The warmth spreads through your fingers and your chest all at once.

“You spoil me.”

“I try.”

There’s a beat of quiet while you both lean against the counter. The salon hums with background noise - Cris chatting about someone’s boyfriend, scissors snipping, low music playing.

“You’re always here,” you say, sipping again. “Don’t you train or something?”

“I do,” he shrugs. “But the days I don’t, I come here. Mamá likes it.”

You raise a brow. “You sure it’s for her?”

He tilts his head toward you. “You caught me.”

You glance down at your cup, heart weirdly unsteady. “So… are you flirting, or are you just like this with everyone?”

He looks at you, and for once, there’s no smirk. Just something soft in his expression.

“I don’t bring coffee to everyone.”

Your throat goes a little dry. “Right.”

He shifts, just slightly closer. You can smell his cologne now, light and clean and stupidly good. He sets his cup down and crosses his arms.

“I think Mamá’s hoping I’ll fall for a nice, sweet salon girl,” he says, like it’s a joke. But he’s still looking at you.

You blink. “And?”

He shrugs. “I don’t hate the idea.”

That does make you laugh. “You’re so dramatic.”

He grins again. “I’m serious.”

Before you can reply, Cris shouts from the front, “Héctor! Stop distracting her and sweep the floor if you’re going to be here!”

You both jump a little, caught.

Héctor sighs dramatically. “Slave labor.”

You toss him the broom anyway. “You heard the boss.”

He catches it one-handed, rolls his eyes, and starts sweeping. “Fine. But only if you promise to cut my hair next time.”

You blink. “Me?”

He nods. “Not Mamá. You.”

You glance out toward the front where Cris is still with her client, then back to him. “You trust me with your curls?”

“Dangerously,” he says, giving you a wink. “Besides, you’re my favorite stylist and the only one that makes them look just right.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. “You’re a menace.”

“But your menace,” he says.

And maybe he’s kidding.

But maybe he’s not.

#hector fort #hector fort fic #obvithebestsoph!hectorfort #hector fort x reader #fc barcelona #fanfiction #football #football fic #culer #teenage romance #HF32

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nightcrews · 2 days ago

Text

Pussy Whisperer

Chapter 2: A Homegrown Sex Tape

Chapter 1

✦　✦　✦　✦　✦

Soap x Reader

NSFW | Romance | Miscommunication

Word Count: 4,790

Rating: Explicit

Status: Ongoing

You get some unsavory texts from an ex. Johnny has a few solutions.

Additional Tags/Warnings:

••• ▰▰▰ SECURE CHANNEL OPEN ▰▰▰ •••

“What in the blazes is goin’ on over there?”

You groan, having hoped the incessant vibrating of your phone might slip past the well tuned ears of your SpecOps Scot. It had been going off the entire time he’d blown your back out, paused just enough to give you the illusion that it was over, and then promptly started back up just as Johnny was cuddling his sweaty body to yours.

“Nothing.” You say, and it must be just a little too bitter, because Johnny is frowning suspiciously at you.

“Really? Cause it’s been goin’ off since I got here, lass.” He props himself up on an elbow, resting his head against his palm, “If ye need to take it—”

“It’s seriously nothing, Johnny.” You roll onto your back so that you’re nestled against his front. To emphasize how wrong you are, it buzzes again.

He arches an eyebrow.

You sigh, grabbing your phone to peek at the lock screen and confirm who’s been blowing up your phone for the last hour and a half, “Okay, fine. It’s an old ex of mine, okay? No big deal.”

Immediately Johnny’s face scrunches, “The fuck’s he want?”

“To meet up.”

“So he’s textin’ ye the fuckin’ bible at ten pm?” Johnny’s voice is just a little bit higher than usual, and you do your best not to smile about it.

“He’s very persistent.” You say, “Always has been.”

“How recent of an ex is he?”

“It’s been a couple years. He just moved to the city and wants to get together.”

“Are ye? Gettin’ together?” Johnny asks nonchalantly, eyes trained on the spot where his fingers pick at a loose string in your comforter. He’s the portrait of feigned disinterest.

“Wouldn’t be your business if we did.” You say, if only to see what kind of reaction you’d get.

“No.” Johnny’s eyes slide over to yours, “But meetin’ up with an ex is a whole lot different than meetin’ up with a fuck buddy.”

“How?”

“A fuck buddy doesn’t mean much. An ex, though, could mean ye gettin’ back together.”

You snort, incapable of holding it in, “Trust me, Johnny, I am not getting back with this one. Your fuck buddy position is safe.”

“Ye say tha’ now, bonnie, but wha’ happens when he comes back a braw handsome lad? Sweeps ye off yer feet like a gentleman, and puts me te shame.” Johnny asks, eyebrows risen.

“Johnny,” You grin and put a hand to his chest, “Barry is so far from a gentleman it’s not even funny. And I don’t know if you know this, but being special forces is extremely hot. Like, big dick energy hot.”

“Obviously.” Johnny huffs.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous.” You say with a slap to his chest, grinning from ear to ear as the tips of his own turn red, “You are!”

“Jealous of wha’ exactly?” He raises his eyebrows again, “Accordin’ to ye, Barry isnae much te look at, and I have a big dick. So.”

“I said you had big dick energy. Not that you had a big dick.”

“Oi, I seem te recall ye sayin’ I did a few minutes ago!”

You feel yourself blush even as you laugh with him, Fuck Johnny, your dick is so big, feels so fucking good, ringing in both of your ears.

Your phone buzzes again, and Johnny snatches it out of your grip before you can pull it away. You don’t mind, there’s nothing to keep from him, but you still hesitantly watch his face as it unlocks your phone.

“What’re ye doin’ beautiful.” He reads after scrolling some, “I’m jus’ sittin’ in my new flat havin’ a beer, thinkin aboot ye. A romantic.” He waggles his eyebrows, “Have ye thought aboot meetin’ up, fer old time’s sake.”

“Nope.” You say, popping your lips on the P.

“Ah’d love te meet up with ye. Take ye te dinner sometime. Are ye there, beautiful. Don’ leave me hangin’. Hello. Just tryna have a beer with the one tha’ got away. Christ, put the poor bastard outta his misery, this is painful.” Johnny says with a grimace, then continues, “Answer me. Where are ye. Probably fuckin’ someone else aren’t ye. I’m tryna treat ye right, and yer probably screwin some douchebag with a tiny dick. Bitch.”

“There’s the Barry I know and hate.” You say in mock fondness.

“Fer someone tryna get back with the one tha’ got away, he’s not helpin’ his case any.” Johnny glances down sidelong at you, “He treat ye like this when you were goin’ steady?”

“More or less. Basically he’s just a shitty person.”

Johnny hums, blue eyes glowing in the illumination from your phone. Slowly a mischievous smile curls at his lips, and your stomach dips, “Wanna make ‘im jealous?”

You squint your eyes suspiciously at him, but can’t help but smile with him, “I should say no, but what do you have in mind?”

He snakes the arm propping his head up underneath you, pulling you so that your back is pressed to his chest. The phone switches to the hand whose arm is under your head, and he opens the camera to switch it to front facing before taking a picture.

In it, you can only see part of his face—one of his cobalt eyes, a cut of his sharp jaw dotted with stubble, and not even half of the smirk hidden in your hair. Veins pop in the arm underneath you, and the other wraps around you to grab your breast over the thin sheet draped over you both. Your knuckles are covering your mouth, but your eyes are alight with the way Johnny makes you feel—attractive, sexy, happy—and you want to feel this way forever. But only with him.

He attaches the photo to a text and types Actually, a douchebag with a huge dick, but…

“Eh?” Johnny asks with a grin, arching an eyebrow.

“No we shouldn’t.” You say, but it sounds so halfhearted that it’s not even funny. The picture is hot, and part of you goes warm at the thought that you have it on your phone to look at whenever you wanted now. Pictures of and with Johnny are very few and far between, for obvious reasons, so when you get one, you cling to it.

“Okay, then we won’t.” Johnny says, but doesn’t move to delete the text.

You reach out to grab the phone, and with a sudden burst of courage, hit send on the photo as you do. Johnny gasps lightly, looking at you hesitantly like you were going to be upset with yourself. You grin at him instead, shrugging, and say, “Oops.”

“You cheeky, sly little thing, bonnie.” He says, pulling you into him further to kiss your temple. Your phone buzzes, and Johnny laughs, “What’s he say, what’s he say?”

“Are you serious. Good to see you’re still a slut like always. You have a good guy sitting right here and you’re gonna fuck some loser.” You read, grinning at the end, “You are kind of a loser, Johnny.”

“Lass, ye just said I was a smoke show fer bein’ SpecOps, don’t even.”

“The smokiest of shows, Johnny.” You say, which has him grinning with a light blush to his cheeks, and your phone goes off again, “Bet he doesn’t make you come. You probably fake it like you did with me.”

“Did he…” Johnny laughs in the Loud Scottish way he does when something is particularly funny to him, “Did he just admit te never gettin’ ye off?”

“He did, yes.”

“What a fuckin’ dobber. And ye dated this dafty?”

“I was young and dumb!”

Johnny laughs, squeezing you in his embrace, “Wanna make him even more jealous?”

“Now what?” You ask skeptically, twisting in his arms to face him.

“Well,” Johnny smirks, giving you a quick peck to your lips, “we send him a little home video.”

“Like what, us fucking?” You ask, voice going up an octave, “Like a sex tape?”

“Yeah, show ‘im how to properly get ye off since he doesn’t seem to know how.” Johnny says with a glint to his eyes, somewhat mad looking.

“That’s mean, Johnny.”

“Have ye seen the way he’s speakin’ to ye? He deserves it.”

The phone buzzes again, and you hold it up to read, “No one will ever fuck you as good as I did. Not even him. You lost your virginity to me. You’ll always be mine.”

Johnny hums at that, and you can actually see his eyes go dark, amused grin turning to one just a bit more sinister. More possessive. Like a man who’d just heard something that he really, really did not like.

You also feel yourself bristle at the texts, a sick feeling, not quite nausea, creeping into your stomach. How dare Barry insinuate some sort of claim over you after so many years. You knew he was most likely drunk-courageous, but to have the audacity to say you were still his?

Absolutely not.

“You can go another round?” You ask.

Johnny chuckles, the possessive craze still in his eyes, “Lass, I’ve been hard since we took the photo.”

To emphasize, he grinds his erection into your thighs, and you shake your head at him with a smile, “I will never understand how you have so much stamina.”

“Adrenaline from my job, hen.”

“Let’s do it.” You say, “Send him a video.”

“Ye sure? I don’ wan’ ye to do it jus’ cause I said somethin’.” Johnny says, eyebrows furrowed.

“I was going to say no before. But then he said I was still his, and that is not going to fly with me.” You say, kicking a leg up over his hip, “So I’d like to show him I’m not his anymore.”

“I can definitely help with tha’, hen.” Johnny breathes, eyes dipping down to your lips. He ducks his head, mouth parting as it meets yours to let his tongue curl into it. He twists his upper body to cover you, hand skimming up to twine in your hair and cup your cheek. His kiss is hard, frantic, and if you didn’t know better, you’d say he was laying a claim of his own.

Your head spins with the way his lips mold to yours, tongue sliding hot and wet with your own. The feel and smell of his breath, of him, screws up your stomach, flutters the heart in your chest. You don’t want this kiss to end, don't want his rough hands to stop touching you, don’t want him to wake in the morning and leave to a far away country, to whatever danger lies waiting for him.

But he breaks away from you, and you resist the urge to chase after one more. For a moment he stares down at you with a look you’d never seen in him before. Reverence, heat, possession, and something else. Obsession? Addiction? Affection? You weren’t sure, but your heart beats faster all the same.

You almost tell him right then and there, how much your heart calls to him. How affected you are by him and him alone, that just his presence makes you feel alive. How he’d ruined you for anyone else by only ever asking you to be yourself.

How much you fucking loved him.

He sits up, though, and the charged moment between a look and bitten back words is gone, leaving you hollow in a way that you’d cry about when he left in the morning. But for now you watch him prop your phone up on your headboard, camera switched to front facing again so you could see the both of you.

Johnny turns off the main lights, leaving the little strip behind your headboard to serve as illumination for the video. He changes the color to pink, bathing you both in a glow that’s not so harsh as red, but perfect to set the right mood.

“How ye wanna do it?” Johnny asks, crawling over top of you as you rest on your stomach. His cock rests between the pillow of your ass, hot and twitching as his breath tickles your ear, “Wan’ me te eat ye out for him?”

“No.” You say, looking at him through the camera, “I want you to fuck me and make me come. He never could do it, and I never even tried to fake one. He never noticed.”

Johnny huffs a laugh against your neck, sending goosebumps down your arms, “I can do that.”

Your head swims at his attention, tilting to the side as his lips brush up the side of your neck to your ear, tongue tracing the shell, “You gonna hit record?”

He hums, reaching up to tap the red record button. Instantly your stomach twists, and your mind goes blank on what to do next. You’d never done something like this—make a filthy video just to get back at someone. Make a filthy video at all. In a way it seemed so taboo, but with Johnny it just seemed…fun.

Your eyes flutter closed as his teeth bite at your earlobe, and then he’s straightening to pull your hips up so that your bottom half is propped up on your knees.

Johnny takes the camera from its perch, and you look back to watch as he holds it up to record the way his cock rubs against your ass, fingers guiding it through your slit to get the head of it wet. Deep down you know it’s a power play, Johnny showing off his size after it was called into question, as if he needed to be worried. He hums, slapping his dick against your ass a few times before nudging it at your hole.

“Ye wan’ my cock—?” He asks, your name slipping like velvet over his accent.

“Yes, Johnny.” You sigh, “Give it to me.”

“Good girl.” He says, and you bite your lip at the praise. You moan as he pushes into you, and with Johnny’s theatrics, you know that the camera is capturing every inch of him sliding into you, stretching you around his cock with slick noises coming from your pussy, “Fuckin’ beautiful, ain’t it Barry?”

You clench around him as he continues to fill you, the possessive tone and cockiness to Johnny’s words satisfying some distant, smug part of you.

He groans when he’s fully inside, leaning forward to put the phone back in its original spot on your headboard. His fingers find your chin, turning your head and tipping it up to kiss him. When he pulls away he mumbles, “Now look at the camera real nice fer him, bonnie,” against your lips.

You turn your face to your phone, watching the way it twists as Johnny pulls out to the head of his cock, only to push his hips forward slowly and deliberately into you, before picking up speed. It was strange, seeing yourself react to the way Johnny’s thrusting into you. Distantly you think maybe you should feel embarrassed about the way your mouth falls open as you moan, or your eyebrows knit together when he strokes your g-spot with his cock, but in the moment, you can’t find it in you to care.

Johnny is giving soft moans behind you, gripping your shoulders to drive his dick into you with leverage, and you can tell he’s putting on a show. He isn’t one to deny himself the pleasure of being vocal, but usually he has to build up to it, let it come to him naturally. At the moment, he’s nowhere close to coming, at least not with his track record of fucking you, so you know he’s doing it for the video’s sake.

So you decide that if he’s going to put on a show, you will too. You arch your back, looking up at the camera through half lidded eyes and slightly parted lips, hair falling over your face just right. You smile, rocking your hips back to meet Johnny’s thrusts.

His head falls back as you do, and he lets out a pleased groan, “Fuck me, bonnie, yer so fuckin’ hot. Fuckin’ me like that.”

You hum, “You like that, Johnny?”

His answering hum is nearly a growl as it rumbles his chest, and he leans down to bite your shoulder, running his tongue over the smarting skin. You tip your head to see his eyes flick up to the camera, before his hand reaches between your legs and his fingers rub at your clit.

You gasp in earnest, welcoming the cool air on your back as he rises back up, continuing to fuck himself into your pussy and finger you. His thrusts are harder now, faster, and the sound of his thighs and balls slapping your skin must sound nothing short of pornographic.

“Barry says yer his, lass.” Johnny pants, the hand not fingering your clit pressing you down against the bed between your shoulder blades, “Is tha’ true?”

“No Johnny.” You whine, the feeling of his cock stretching you open while his fingers pleasure you bringing tears to your eyes. Perhaps it’s because of the circumstances—filming yourself being fucked by Johnny to send to another man—that everything feels so good. Or maybe it’s the way Johnny’s jealousy bleeds through his indifference, a natural part of him wanting to puff its chest at the attention of another man, that has you feeling slightly giddy with the prospect. Either way, there’s something different with the way he’s fucking you and the way you’re taking it, and you cling to the notion that maybe it isn’t all just for show.

“No, yer not, are ye lass?” He says, cock hitting you deep, “Cause ye belong te someone else, yeah?”

You shutter, something hot coiling low in your gut as you say, “Yes.”

“Who?” Johnny asks, thrust rocking your body forward, “Tell him who ye belong to.”

“You, Johnny.” You moan, desperately wishing it were true and not just for the camera, “I belong to you.”

“Tha’s righ’. All fuckin’ mine.” He says, almost a growl, the sound of it piercing through your gut right to the spot his fingers are playing with, “Ye’re mine, aren’t ye, lass?”

“Shit—yeah, Johnny, I’m yours.” You gasp, “I’m yours.”

“Who makes ye come now?”

“You, Johnny.”

“Who fucks ye the way ye need to be fucked?”

“Fuck.” You feel the tears slide down your cheeks as his hand flicks your clit faster, cock burying itself in your guts every time he grinds in, “You, Johnny. You fuck me so good.”

“That’s right.” He says raggedly, nearly out of breath as sweat falls from his forehead onto your back, “Me and no one fuckin’ else.”

“No.” You choke on your saliva, hands bunching in the sheets in front of you, “Only you.”

“Aye, ‘n ye love my cock, don’t ye?”

“Johnny.” You whine, unable to stop yourself from trying to grind into his hand as it slows its pace and teases you, holding you back from the edge of your orgasm.

“Don’t ye, lass?” He repeats, hips slowing too, the drag of his cock in your pussy downright blissful.

“Yes, fuck, Johnny, it’s the best I’ve ever had.” You say, more tears spilling down your cheeks.

“Damn righ’ it is. And whose cock are ye gonna come on tonight?” He asks, pulling your head up by your hair to face the camera.

“Yours, Johnny. Please, please, I can’t fucking take it anymore.” You cry, not caring how pitiful you may or may not sound, “Just let me come. I wanna come for you so so bad, please.”

“Hear tha’, Barry?” Johnny says, groaning softly as you clench harder around him, “Because I know ye never did when it was you fuckin’ her. Now listen how good she sounds when she actually comes.”

His fingers speed up on your swollen clit again, pressing firmly against it as he pounds his dick into you. You gasp, and then his name is falling from your mouth with a slew of curses as your orgasm finally tears through you, blinding you behind your closed eyelids. You feel your eyes roll back in your head, whole body trembling as he continues to fuck you through it.

“That’s right—” He says your name, and it goes straight between your legs, “Come on my cock. Ye look like a fuckin’ dream right now.”

“Holy fuck.” You pant as the last of the trembles stop, light headed and limp, “Johnny, that was—”

But then he’s coming, too, head tipped back as he groans your name. His fingers are leaving definite bruises on your hips, and you wince slightly at how tight he’s holding you. His hips stutter into you, cock throbbing as he empties himself deep in your pussy.

Wasting no time, he pulls out and hooks his arms underneath yours, hoisting you upright to bare you fully to the camera. He bites your shoulder again, one hand roughly gripping your breast, the other delving between your legs where his come is dripping down your thighs.

His middle finger slides between your pussy, coating itself with his come, and brings it up to your lips. You open your mouth in a daze, allowing his finger to press against your tongue, and close your lips around it to suck. You can taste him, hot and salty, as you swallow, holding his dark gaze through the lens of the camera as you do. He pulls his finger out of your mouth and tips your head toward his, tongue dipping in before your lips even press together. It slides against yours, licking the taste of himself from your mouth with a soft groan.

Your head falls back onto his shoulder, and you gaze up at him in wonder. How is it possible that he can hold so much power over you, and make you feel just as powerful all the same? How can he be so beautiful even with his mohawk disheveled and swept across his forehead, face flushed, slick with sweat. How can one man be this perfect?

He looks away from you after a beat, in which you nearly spill your guts out again, and smiles at the camera, “Never fuckin’ text her again, Barry.”

And he stops the video, sending it to the thread of texts you’d left unanswered. If he also sends it to himself, you pretend not to notice.

“Think we got the point across?” He asks with a grin, plopping down onto his side of the bed with a groan.

You snort, climbing out of bed to head to your en suite, grabbing a washcloth to clean your thighs off with, “I think you took that personally.”

“No one gets te call ye a slut but me, hen.” He calls, “And ye shouldn’t take that shite either.”

“A simple block would have probably sufficed.” You say with a smile, wandering back in to climb into bed next to him.

Johnny scoffs, “But this was more fun.”

“You’re just happy you got another round out of me.”

“Ah’m gonna be gone for a few weeks again, ye canna blame me.” He says, putting a hand to his chest.

“When do you leave?”

“In the mornin’.” He answers, slinging an arm across your middle to massage your hip, “Price says it’s gonna be a long one. Few weeks at best, couple months at worst. Also says it might be rough.”

You trace your fingers along his toned forearm, “You be careful, Johnny.”

“Ah’m always careful.”

You shoot him a look out of the corner of your eye.

“Okay, usually I’m careful. But if they tell me to blow some shite up, I canna help myself.” He smiles fondly, “Ye ever see a building demolished by C4?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“It’s right fuckin’ beau’iful. The most beautiful thing ye’ll ever see.” He flashes you a sheepish grin, “Besides you, o’course.”

You shake your head and slap his shoulder, feeling yourself blush under his glowing gaze. The same one that had just been dark with desire, taking you from behind while he claimed you from another man, but not as his own. Not really.

“Ye know I dinnae mean all that stuff I was sayin’, right?” He asks after a moment, as if reading your mind. You hum in question, and he explains, “Ye know, sayin’ ye were mine and only mine an’ all tha’. It was just fer the video, ye know?”

“Oh yeah,” You wave your hand dismissively despite the way it feels like he’d just taken a knife to your heart, letting it wilt away, “no I know. No worries, Johnny.”

“It’s just, I ken ye don’ want any commitment righ’ now, so I dinnae want ye gettin’ the wrong idea or anything. Unless, ye—” He cuts himself off with a confused look, as if he wasn’t sure if he’d just said what he did, and continues as if he hadn’t, “Yeah. No wrong ideas.”

“We should get some sleep.” You say, rolling onto your side so he can’t see the way your eyes water, ��You have to leave early in the morning.”

“Aye.” He kisses your shoulder as he usually does, pulling you to his chest and nuzzling against you.

Your phone vibrates once, and you both perk up. There’s one text from Barry.

You’re fucking a dude with a MOHAWK?!?!

✦　✦　✦　✦　✦

“Stay safe, Johnny.” You say later that night, the early hours of the morning still dark and still.

He stands in your entryway, duffle bag slung over his shoulder, and puts his hands on your hips, “As safe as I can be, hen.”

You pull him into a sudden hug, arms tight around his back as your face buries into the crook of his neck. You breathe deeply, willing yourself to remember the way he smells—like laundry detergent and just a little sweaty from earlier; like cinnamon and spice and home.

“Hey.” He says softly, “Dinnae forget I got the whole 141 with me. They got my back just as much as I have theirs.”

“I know.” You say, struggling to let go.

“Dinnae worry yer pretty head, lass.” He says, leaning away from you so you don’t have to, “I’ll be back in no time. Dinnae ye let some other poor bastard come an’ steal my place now, though.”

“You’re the one always telling me I can sleep with other dudes.” You say with a huff.

“Aye, an’ I mean it.” He says, looking just slightly like he really doesn’t, “But no one gets te steal my spot as yer favorite.”

You smile, “Never.”

He leans down and kisses you slow, letting his lips linger longer against yours, keeping his tongue to himself. One hand stays on your hip, keeping you close to him, the other twines in the hair at the back of your head. Your own bunch in the fabric of his hoodie, clinging to him like it would make him stay.

Johnny breaks away from you, leaning his forehead against yours and slotting your noses together, whispering, “I gotta go, lass.”

You nod, swallowing hard.

He tips down to kiss you again, “I’ll see ye again.”

“Promise?”

There’s a slight pause, and he sighs, “I canna do that, lass.”

Your throat burns at the implication, but you refuse to cry. You’re not supposed to cry when your fuck buddy leaves. Even if he’s going off to danger you can’t even dream of.

“Well.” You take his face between your hands, stroking your thumbs over his cheeks, “I’ll keep your favorite coffee stocked, then.”

That look is back on his face, the one from earlier, and you still can’t decipher it. It makes you warm, your heart fluttering an unhealthy amount.

When he leans down this time, he presses a kiss to your forehead, “See ye, lass.”

He steps through the door before you can answer, and you watch it close behind him before you finally break down. Tears stream down your face, and you rest your back against the door, sliding down until you’re sitting on the floor, covering your mouth in case he’s not fully down the hall yet.

Watching him leave is getting harder and harder. Knowing you love him and not telling him, that any mission could take that away from you, is also getting harder.

But Johnny doesn’t want what you do, made it clear earlier that night. If you spilled your heart to him, wouldn’t it just scare him away? The thought makes you sick, and so you deal with what you have, so long as it means you have it.

Even if it tears you apart little by little.

••• ▰▰▰ SECURE CHANNEL CLOSED ▰▰▰ •••

For this and more, come check me out on AO3 under nightcrew! I love chatting with everyone! ☺️

#john soap mactavish #soap call of duty #soap cod #cod john mactavish #soap x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish #soap x you #johnny mactavish #john mactavish x you #john mactavish x reader #call of duty #sergeant mactavish

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curlysswirlywirly · 3 days ago

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Heyyy can you do Mark Variants and reader twerking on them head cannons?🫶🏽🫶🏽

WHEN YA DANCE, I’M ON YA

⋆ MAINSTREAM!MARK is that boy who you caught standing around at a house party he had no business staying at past the first fifteen minutes. he came with someone else, or maybe you dragged him with the promise of “you won’t have to talk to anyone, just watch me have fun,” and now he’s posted up and his entire demeanor is screaming please please don’t look at me. though he’s tucked into the far corner of the kitchen with his elbow braced near a bowl of pretzels gone stale and a stack of neon-colored solo cups that keep toppling over, he looks like he’s trying his best to blend into the refrigerator. he’s wearing something he thought was decent for a party but his shirt’s damp in odd places, clinging beneath his arms and wrinkled weird across his stomach, and he’s nursing a mostly ice cup of something red that he’s clearly forgotten he’s holding. it’s mostly backwash at this point, and he’s been holding it long enough for the condensation to soak through the napkin he won’t throw away yet. he watches the dancefloor with a kind of cautious interest, not quite committed to the idea of participating but clearly imagining what it might be like if someone asked him to. you’re smiley, a little glowy from the heat of the room, and way too pretty to be wasting your hips on anyone but him. you keep passing by, brushing shoulders, grinning like a brat because you know exactly how flushed he gets when you do it on purpose. you’re not subtle, and he’s not prepared. every time you catch his eye across the room and do your little shoulder shake or twist your hips mid-song, he looks away so fast he misses the best part. when you tap his arm and ask if he wants to dance, he stares at you for a full second too long before he chokes out a quick, too-loud and too-hopeful: “uh—yes! yeah. absolutely.” he doesn’t exactly follow gracefully. his legs don’t know where to land. you have to lead him through the crowd, and he thanks you three times under his breath for helping him navigate the sea of sweaty, grinding, freaked out people. once you reach the edge of the living room where the speakers are at their clearest and someone’s dimmed the lights with a makeshift scarf over the lamp, you take a small step back, press into him gently, and his whole body locks because he just lost all the instructions to his own joints. his hands hover awkwardly behind you, fingertips grazing the denim at your hips but never quite landing with any certainty. he makes a tiny hmf sound when you roll your hips back just once. his thighs press together hard. his mouth opens like he’s about to say something useful, then closes with a soft, unvoiced nope. he chuckles under his breath. “sorry, i just—” but doesn’t finish the sentence. you keep it slow enough that he can follow if he tries. and he does try. his hands finally rest on your waist, careful but not enough to come off as cold. he’s trying not to press his face too close, but you’re too silky and smell too good and he ends up brushing his nose through your hair anyway. you don’t mind. you feel his hand twitch at your waist when you grind just slightly deeper. his voice keeps catching in little broken fragments of something unspoken slipping out near your neck. “you’re really—i mean, wow, this is—” then nothing. after a while, he stops trying to say anything at all. he murmurs, “i’m gonna be thinking about this forever,” right before hiding his face completely in your shoulder like he didn’t just say that out loud.

⋆ MOHAWK!MARK had already picked you out from across the room. he was parked up in some grimy couch that hadn’t been cleaned since syllabus week, surrounded by a couple of girls who clearly weren’t keeping his attention, one of them twirling her straw in a flat drink and laughing too hard at whatever nothing he mumbled. his shirt was open past the third button, his leg was spread wide and he had that cheap beer can barely hanging from his fingers, crushed just enough to show he wasn’t really drinking it. he was there to be seen. you hadn’t even stepped fully into the main room when he started his little game, flicking his attention from girl to girl, letting them touch his arms, leaning in when they whispered something dumb into his ear, giving every single one of them that crooked little smile that made him look boyish if you didn’t know better but the entire time, his gaze never once drifted off of you. it was pointed, shameless, and borderline nasty how he held eye contact across the party while some other girl giggled next to his face and touched his thigh. he was taunting you to do something about it. he looked you up and down from a distance and just grinned right at you, full teeth, mouth parted, licking his lips a little just to piss you off, chewing on a comment he wasn’t going to share until you made the first move. the music was shaking the floor and some guy had just tripped over a bean bag to your left, but your attention was locked on him now and you knew he wasn’t going to let you look away. when you finally made your way through the crowd with your hips swinging extra sweet and that sweet little smile stretching across your face, he stood up slow and walked straight toward you with no intention of stopping. once you met in the middle, already chest to chest and heat building between you he leaned in and dipped his head to speak in your ear but loud enough to make sure the girl behind him heard: “i mean, no offense to the rest of these girls, but you’re clearly the only one here with a real ass.” the minute your hand grabbed his wrist, he let you drag him straight to the middle of the dancefloor, not caring who he bumped or who glared as he passed, too busy being hypnotized by the sway of your backside. he was so laser-locked on you that you could’ve set the house on fire and he’d keep going. you spun and pressed your body flush against his and started to grind. he, grateful, responded instantly with hips snapping into place behind yours and both hands grabbing your waist so tight you could feel the imprint of his fingers through your top. he muttered into your neck with a hoarse voice, “feel that? that’s you. that’s all you, baby.” one hand dropped low and stayed there, if anyone tried to cut in he’d start swinging. when you rolled your hips back up into him with intention he just laughed under his breath, too turned on to even play it cool. his hand slid up under your top, fingers splayed across the bare skin of your ribs, and his chest locked tight against your back as he bit his lip and ground into you harder, dragging your hips into his with every pulse of the bass, clearly not giving a damn about hiding how hard he was. he wanted you to feel it. he wanted you to know what you were doing to him. he didn’t let you go all night and he especially didn’t let anyone else get near. and you knew damn well he’d been waiting all party for you to give him the green light to act like it. “nah,” he said, “you really thought you could walk around with all that and not get danced on? be serious.”

⋆ SINISTER!MARK didn’t even pretend to want to come. he stood in your doorway with his arms crossed the second you suggested it, already annoyed at the thought of frat boys in thrifted jerseys and sticky floors and songs chopped halfway through by someone’s phone dying. he said it was beneath him and that he’d rather be arrested. he also said he’d sit on the porch and wait for you like a dad picking his daughter up from ballet. but you pouted, and you promised, and eventually, reluctantly, he came. so now he’s standing in the darkest part of the living room, as mark’s do, tucked against a fake ficus plant and a bookshelf full of mugs and vodka bottles, radiating disdain so thick it might stain the carpet. sweat is fogging the cheap windowpanes, and two guys are pushing each other in a pretend-playful way that’s going to turn into a fight in ten minutes max. he hasn’t spoken in a while. he might just kill you. you’re dancing already, swaying near the kitchen doorway while sipping from a fruit punch jungle juice mix that someone insisted was strong but just tastes like gummy vitamins. you’re happy, though. you look gorgeous under the purple strip lights. he’s not looking at you directly, but his jaw tightens every time some guy walks too close. you glance over at him and he rolls his eyes like it physically hurts to be witnessed in a place like this. so you go to him and decide to end his misery. your cup gets set down somewhere unsafe and you push your way through the crowd with a little skip in your step, jovial on purpose. you wrap both hands around his wrist which are still cold from the porch, and drag him toward the center of the room. he doesn’t say anything when you turn around and lean back into him. he exhales hard through his nose, almost annoyed, but you feel the way his hands land on your hips instantly. your hips grind slowly as you try to give him something solid to hold onto, and his hands tighten just a little too hard. even though he’s not moving with you, you can feel him reacting in the little shifts in how he holds you, the way his breath slows. you whisper something flirty. he doesn’t answer. instead, his hand drops lower, lands flush across the front of your pelvis, fingers splayed to mark his territory. his mouth is at your ear now, voice dry and cold but closer than it was before. “you think this is funny?” he murmurs. “me standing here with my hands on you in a room full of people who i’d rather see dead?” you giggle and reach back to tug on the hem of his sweater. you press harder into him. he’s been hard since you first backed up into him but he’s not going to say anything about that. he doesn’t belong here, and you both know it. he’s violent and mean and bored out of his mind. but when you press into him like this, soft and warm and smug about the fact that you got him to come in the first place, he stays. he breathes you in, you’re lucky he likes you. you’re even luckier he’s not in the mood to make a scene. yet.

⋆ SHEISTY!MARK manspreads on the stained leather couch where someone definitely spilled liquor earlier and the armrest smells faintly of weed and armpit. he’s spread out wiiide, one leg stretched toward the sticky floor and the other cocked at an angle that shows off the elastic band of his boxers (intentional). he’d been danced on at least three times already. once by some girl in a corset who nearly toppled over when she tried to drop it too fast, again by a set of twins who just wanted to say they did it, and once more by a girl in overalls who got pulled away by her jealous situationship mid-grind. none of it stuck. none of them had you. an empty beer can rolls gently off the cushion beside him, and though the song from the kitchen speaker shifts into something even slower and sleazier, he doesn’t move until he sees you crossing the room, jeans hanging low and steps paced deliberately. the second you reach him, he doesn’t wait for conversation or even eye contact; instead, he pushes himself up and lets you take his wrist without resistance. the living room’s too hot now, the crowd thickening with people looking for either someone to grind on or something to steal. you don’t speak, but the moment your ass brushes against his front, he’s already pulling you tighter into him with a low exhale that smells faintly of cheap whiskey and mint gum. there’s no warm-up to it just hands flying to your hips like muscle memory, and his mouth dropping to your ear to mutter something only half-coherent. you’re already grinding sharp and full against the part of him that’s harder than he expected he’d get this fast, and though the lights in the room flicker between red and blue with every beat, his attention doesn’t shift for a second. he moves with you in sync, but not softly; his grip gets tighter every time you roll your hips back, and the way his belt presses into the base of your spine makes it clear that he’s not trying to play it off. when his hand slips under your shirt and across your stomach, he doesn’t ask for permission because he knows he already has it. he keeps whispering, too fast for you to catch all of it, switching between suggestions and commentary with a grin against your skin. his mouth stayed near your jaw. you couldn’t catch half of what he was whispering, but it was nasty. too fast, too breathless, somewhere between promises and instructions. “arch more,” he said, and then, “right there,” and then, “keep going, baby, keep—mm, yeah,” while his hand slides lower like he’s trying to figure out where your underwear starts. the heat of his breath and the movement of his hips don’t slow, and though someone behind you bumps into him hard enough to make him stumble, he barely reacts. he pulls you in again immediately, panting now, saying “damn” under his breath for the fourth time in thirty seconds, as though it’s the only word he remembers. he knows people are watching, but if anything, it makes him press harder, move sharper, speak filthier. embarrassment doesn’t cross his mind, not when you feel this good against him and not when his zipper’s threatening to give out entirely.

might do something separate for omni!mark and viltrumite!mark bc i just can’t see them at a college party

#invincible #mark grayson #xreader #invincible x reader #invincible variants #mark x reader

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aventurineswife · 3 days ago

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hi! can i request for herta with a reader who's a fellow genius society member that's absolutely smitten over her? they compliment her achievements from time to time and even volunteers as her lab parter or assistant sometimes but herta is like no you're my lover!! you have to stay safe!! at first but if they really are willing to be then... she just lets them do whatever they want lol

she also finds it cute if both of them are working in the same place together... nothing but comfortable silence with each other's presence while busy with their own works.

thank you!! i really love your writing!

Love is the Ultimate Equation

Summary: In the quiet heart of the cosmos, Herta finds herself growing accustomed—perhaps even fond—of a fellow Genius Society member who seems utterly smitten with her. Despite her usual insistence on working alone (and delegating via her many puppets), she allows them into her lab, into her routine, and eventually, into her heart. Between teasing banter, protective instincts, and soft silences shared over experiments, their relationship blooms in the most scientific of settings.

Tags: The Herta x Reader, Genius Society!Reader, Mutual Pining, Established Relationship Vibes, Protective Herta, Lab Partner Romance, Soft Sci-Fi Fluff, Banter & Wit, Domestic Science Energy, Slow Burn Feelings Turned Soft Love.

Warnings: Light mentions of lab-related danger (non-graphic), Mild possessiveness (playful/protective tone), Excessive scientific flirting, May induce yearning for someone to share equations and eye contact with in a sterile lab setting.

A/N: You're welcome and thank you!! 🤭💖

In the far edge of the cosmos, beneath the ever-turning hands of the Clock Tower, a quiet hum of machines filled the air—a rhythm only broken by the rustle of data scrolls and the occasional amused sigh of one very specific genius.

“Again?” Herta tilted her head, hair swaying with the motion. “You’re here again.”

You didn’t look up from the console. “Is it that surprising? This is, after all, the most fascinating lab in the entire universe.”

“No. It’s not.” Herta’s voice was smooth and dry. “It’s just mine. And you should be using your brainpower to, I don’t know, revolutionize biology or collapse a quantum paradox. Not fetching beakers for me.”

“I like being your assistant,” you replied, offering her a sheepish grin. “Besides, you said yourself—‘there are only two competent people in this society, and I am both of them.’ I figured being nearby might raise the average.”

Her lips quirked, a rare and dangerous smile. “You’re flattering me.”

You did that a lot. It was hard not to.

Ever since joining the Genius Society, you’d been enchanted—not just by Herta’s achievements, though those were spectacular—but by her presence. There was something magnetic about the way she moved through a room like it belonged to her, the way her thoughts danced between formulas and impossibilities, the way her puppets reflected a mind too busy to be in just one place.

And yet, lately, she'd been... present. With you.

“You don’t have to risk your life in here,” she said one day, arms crossed as she eyed the test chamber. “You know I can handle it all. You’re my lover, not my lab tech.”

The title made your heart stutter. “Lover?”

“You kiss me behind the quantum stacks, bring me tea I don’t ask for, and volunteer to work in rooms where the variables might literally scream. What else would you call it?”

Your throat tightened. “I thought I was just annoying.”

“You are.” Her expression softened. “But annoyingly sweet. Like a protocol that insists on double-checking even when it’s right.”

“And yet, here I am.”

“And yet, I let you stay.” She turned back to the projection screen, feigning indifference. “You win. You can assist. But only under one condition.”

You perked up. “Name it.”

“We work in silence. Comfortable silence. None of that praising nonsense while I’m calculating whether the Simulated Universe can experience recursive self-awareness.”

You raised a hand solemnly. “I vow to only admire you quietly.”

Herta rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth curved just so.

And so, it became routine.

You worked beside her, sometimes fiddling with equations, sometimes running tests she’d deemed "too boring to exist." The Clock Tower became your shared cathedral of science and soft glances, filled with the glow of simulations and the light tap of keys.

Some days, neither of you spoke for hours. And yet, those were the warmest moments of all.

You'd glance over and find her already looking at you.

"You know," she said once, fingers tapping a rhythm on the glass surface of the lab table, "I could have built another puppet for this."

You leaned closer. “But you didn’t.”

“No,” she said, voice quieter than usual. “I didn’t.”

There were galaxies exploding in her mind, experiments spiraling into the unknown—but somehow, she always made room for you.

Not as a test subject.

Not as a variable.

But as her constant.

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jessiarts · 2 days ago

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Finished *A* set. A singular set with plans to make more. I think that distinction is important here. These take time and I'm human, same as anyone who may have misread what I wrote.

I have asked in this and all the other posts in this series for people to feel free to request any specific flags I haven't gotten to yet, but this year I keep seeming to get folks who are mad at me for "missing theirs".

I think we all need to take a beat and try to be kinder where we can spare it.

If you'd like to start over and make a request I'll be more than happy to put that flag next on my list. And I extend the same offer to anyone else who may have already come at me with friendly fire over their frustrations at not feeling seen. Just know that I do these in my limited free time, so it might take a minute for me to post if I'm particularly busy.

All I ask is that next time you see something like this, you take a breath and maybe ask the artist if they'll consider doing the flag you'd like to see, rather than jumping to the conclusion of ill-intent.

So the last couple years I've made sets of blatantly gay Pride Norse designs (because fuck nazis and their appropriation of norse symbols) and this year I had you guys vote on which idea I drew first.

Y'all chose Odin's crows, Huginn and Muninn, and I finally finished a set!

(If there's a particular pride flag you wish to see with this design that I haven't made yet, always feel free to send me a request!) Like always, I’ve got the full-res designs hosted on my Ko-fi as free downloads for anyone who wishes to use them. Print them on a shirt, make yourself stickers, use on gifts for others- whatever.

I also have them available on Threadless for those who don’t want to or can’t print them on stuff themselves but still want something with the design on it. Each sale will also make an automatic donation to one or more of several related LGBT+ charities.

I’ll be making the Thor Bindrune designs next, and probably the Jörmungandr design I mentioned after that, so stay tuned for those. (Idk if I'll have time to finish them all before the end of Pride month- but hey, better late than never, right? lol) Hope you like these, and happy Pride!

#We're all human- and we're all dealing with a lot right now #It's important that we remember not to take our frustrations out on others #we're all just people trying our best

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camdunez · 2 hours ago

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It’s Never Over | s. laforteza

Song Playing: Lover, You Should’ve Come Over — Jeff Buckley | decode — paramore

paring: sophia leforteza x gn!reader summary: you had left sophia in LA to start a band with your close friends. she stayed leaving you voicemails, hoping you’d pick up. this voicemail was no different.. but she drops not so small surprise at the end. genre: angst, hurt/comfort, estranged relationship word count: warnings/tags: use of “yn”, college student!sophia, rockstar!yn, brief ningning x yn if you squint, yn’s so hayley williams coded, sophia misses you so much. a/n: might as well add onto the mom!sophia agenda. and can you tell i'm in love with paramore? expect more paramore au content soon!

hey, yn.. i don't know why i'm still leaving voicemails.. it's not like you're listening to them anyway.

but i hope you're doing okay.. i haven't heard from you since your little band dropped riot. i guess living that rockstar life's got you busy, huh?

i heard that track you guys did for that vampire movie in the grocery store yesterday. dani said you're growing more angsty with every song you put out.. but i'm proud of you regardless.

[sigh]

i feel like i'm stalling so let me just cut to the chase..

i had something to tell you the night you left for new york to start that band of yours...

remember when i told you i was sick that one time?.. that stomach bug i caught from eating manon's food?..

it really wasn't a stomach bug, yn..

[pause]

i was pregnant... just a few weeks then..

i had the baby when you were on tour for that first album.. and ironically, one of your songs came on the radio at the hospital.

[chuckle]

...

her name's salem..

she's about four years old now.. has your eyes.. your laugh.

she knows who you are.. she always tells people that you're her star.

[a longer pause]

i heard you're in LA for a show.. maybe i can drag the girls with me.. show my face and what not.

...

i miss you, yn. call me back when you get the chance..

the hallway was loud, but yn couldn’t hear anything.

not really.

they sat hunched in the greenroom, phone still pressed to their thigh, sophia’s voice still clinging to the insides of their skull like cigarette smoke. their in-ear monitors buzzed faintly from the tech table beside them. they were due on stage in seven minutes.

but time felt stuck.

like a pick jammed between strings.

“yo, we’re on in—” yizhuo’s voice cut in from the doorway, but the second she saw yn’s face, she stopped short. “hey.. you good?”

yn blinked. their eyes stung.

they should’ve known. or at least checked. all those voicemails — ignored, deleted, skipped. that whole year sophia kept calling, leaving breadcrumbs in the dark while yn lit match after match to burn their way forward.

they rubbed a hand down their face. “yeah,” they said. “i’m good.”

yizhuo didn’t move. “is it her?”

yn nodded once.

then, barely above a whisper: “i have a daughter.”

the silence stretched. even the hallway seemed to hush.

“oh,” yizhuo breathed. she stepped in slowly, crouching down in front of them. “you wanna bail? i’ll cover. i’ll fake a stomach bug... hell, i’ll pull the fire alarm.”

yn let out a weak laugh — the first crack of something real in their chest. “no. i need to do the show.”

“sure?”

“I have to.”

because what else was there to do but play?

to pour every feeling — the grief, the longing, the regret, the hope — into the mic and hope Salem would hear it one day and understand.

yizhuo pressed her forehead to theirs for a second, quick and grounding. “then go give ‘em hell.”

yn stood. shoulders squared. jaw set.

the lights were already dimming beyond the stage doors.

and somewhere in the crowd, maybe behind the barricades or just outside the venue, sophia was there. with salem.

waiting.

the first chords hit like muscle memory.

pressure bled into emergency, then into misery business, and YN tore through each song like they were exorcising something — sweat-slicked, breathless, cracking at the edges.

but focused.

tight.

every scream, every note curled off their lips like a confession. the crowd was a blur of lights and hands and mouths yelling lyrics back at them, and somewhere between the third and fourth song, yn finally let their shoulders drop.

the music held them.

it always had.

they hit the break before the final track and stepped forward, fingers flexing around the mic stand, eyes squinting under the pulsing stage lights.

“this last song,” yn started, voice still hoarse from the verse they’d just shredded, “is a little different from the others. we wrote it for a movie about vampires.”

laughter, cheers.

“yeah,” YN smiled a little. “didn’t think we’d ever be on a soundtrack... let alone that one. but when we wrote it, i was thinking about how hard it is to understand the people you love — even when you think you do. especially when they change. or when you do.”

their eyes scanned the crowd absently, words tumbling like muscle reflex.

“so... this is decode. hope you feel it.”

the guitars came in slow, simmering. the synth rippled like dusk over water.

and then—

a flash of pink hair in the front section.

a girl on someone’s shoulders, tiny headphones clamped over her ears, grinning like she owned the sky.

and Sophia.

holding her from behind, eyes wide.

manon was beside her. dani, lara, and yoonchae too — all of them watching, some with hands clasped over their mouths, some just swaying gently with the crowd.

but yn could only see her.

Them.

salem’s eyes — their eyes — stared back.

sophia’s mouth moved around the lyrics, barely audible, but yn didn’t need sound. they knew them already.

i’m screaming I love you so.

the words punched out of their chest harder than they expected.

every strum, every line, cracked with new meaning. years of longing rewired themselves mid-song. and as they reached the bridge, yn stepped closer to the edge of the stage, gaze locked with sophia’s, salem’s hands reaching out.

their voice trembled, but they didn’t stop.

how did we get here when I used to know you so well?

and for the first time in a long time, YN didn’t feel lost.

they felt seen.

they finished the song with a quiet, shaking exhale.

and the crowd roared.

as soon as the last chord faded, YN was moving.

they didn’t wait for the encore chants or the half-hugs from bandmates. they tore the in-ears out, shoved their guitar at a startled tech, and bolted past the backstage corridor like their body knew where it was going before their brain could catch up.

the hallway blurred. someone called their name. they didn’t stop.

out the side doors. Into the humid LA night.

the parking lot buzzed with post-show energy — crew unloading gear, fans screaming behind fences, neon venue signs flickering above.

and then—

there.

by the streetlamp near the side gate.

sophia.

still in that soft sweater from the photo she sent yn about a year ago. her arms were around salem, who was propped up on manon’s hip, babbling something between yawns and giggles.

manon was the first to see them.

she nudged daniela, who turned, then elbowed lara. then yoonchae looked up from her phone and blinked like she couldn’t quite believe it.

“soph,” manon murmured, nudging her gently. “look.”

sophia turned.

her breath caught so visibly it felt like the whole parking lot exhaled.

she didn’t move at first — just stood there, frozen, like if she blinked yn would disappear again.

“hi,” yn managed.

their voice cracked. their whole chest cracked.

sophia stared for another second. then another.

then she walked.

fast.

by the time she reached them, yn’s hands were already out, fingers twitching like they didn’t know where to land — her arm? her shoulder? her cheek?

but sophia didn’t give them the chance.

she shoved her hands against their chest and said, half-laughing, half-sobbing, “you asshole.”

then she threw her arms around their neck and held on.

and yn — dizzy with every scent and warmth and weight they thought they’d lost — hugged her back like it hurt.

which it did.

because this wasn’t a dream.

because she was real.

because she came.

salem’s little voice piped up behind them. “mommy said you were magic.”

yn pulled back just enough to see her — still on manon’s hip, squinting curiously at them.

And yn swore their heart stopped.

“hi, salem,” they whispered.

salem grinned. “i saw you! you screamed a lot.”

they choked on a laugh. “yeah… i do that.”

“sometimes I scream too,” she said proudly. “wanna hear?”

before she could demonstrate, sophia kissed her daughter’s head and gave her a gentle look. “let’s give them a second, baby.”

manon shifted salem into yn’s arms with a practiced ease. “she’s heavier than she looks.”

yn didn’t even notice. didn’t feel anything but salem’s arms around their neck and the tiny heartbeat thudding against theirs.

“you gonna say something profound?” dani teased, nudging sophia gently. “or just keep crying into their hoodie?”

“shut up,” sophia sniffled, laughing a little as she wiped her cheeks.

lara linked her arm with yoonchae’s. “we’ll be by the car.”

the girls gave them all a moment — drifting away slowly, but not without a few meaningful glances and soft smiles over their shoulders.

and then it was quiet again.

just them.

sophia. yn. salem.

and all the time they thought they’d lost.

they walked without speaking at first.

sophia beside them, her arm brushing yn’s every few steps. salem curled in yn’s arms, thumb in her mouth now, her cheek smushed gently against yn’s chest. the adrenaline of the show was gone — replaced by something quieter. heavier. more sacred.

the sidewalk was slick with night air, streetlights casting gold across the parked cars and backstage fencing.

“you know…” sophia finally said, her voice low, rough around the edges, “you have some explaining to do, yn.”

yn swallowed hard.

she didn’t sound angry.

worse — she sounded tired.

“i know,” they said softly.

sophia stopped walking, turned to face them. “you had to know something was wrong when I told you I was sick that night.” she said, referring to the voicemail she had left them.

“i did.”

“but you left anyway.”

yn looked down. salem stirred slightly in their arms, her breath even and warm against their neck.

“i didn’t want to go,” they said. “but i thought… i thought it was just nerves. or food poisoning. i didn’t think—”

“that I was carrying your daughter?” she cut in, not sharp, but precise.

yn flinched.

sophia’s eyes glistened under the streetlight. “I called you, yn. for weeks. i left voicemails until my voice gave out. i went to every show announcement page just to track where you were. i watched bootlegs of your sets, just to feel closer... all while i was bleeding in a hospital bed. alone.”

iI’m sorry,” yn said, hoarse. “i was scared. and selfish. and i thought… maybe not hearing your voice would hurt less than hearing it and knowing i couldn’t come back yet.”

“did it?” she asked quietly.

“no.”

silence stretched between them again.

“you missed so much,” she whispered.

“i know.”

“i had to be strong every day, even when i didn’t want to be... i had to be mom and dad.. a nurse and grown-up, even when i was still just a stupid college girl with lecture notes in her diaper bag... and still i played your music for her. i let her fall in love with you.”

yn looked up sharply at that. “why?”

sophia smiled, but it was sad. “because I never stopped loving you.”

that broke something in them.

yn stepped closer. not too close. not without permission. “i want to know her. i want to know you again, soph. if you’ll let me.”

sophia blinked slow, like she was holding back everything her body wanted to do. scream. cry. collapse. forgive.

she reached out and brushed her fingers across salem’s hair. “let’s start small, rockstar.”

then she looked up at yn.

“you can walk us home.. my apartment's not that far from here.”

sophia’s apartment was smaller than yn remembered.

or maybe they had just grown too much — in distance, in guilt, in time.

the space was warm, lived-in. a scatter of children’s books on the coffee table. a pink hoodie tossed over the arm of the couch. fairy lights strung up around the window, dimmed low now, like even they didn’t want to intrude.

salem had fallen asleep halfway through the walk. she was still curled in yn’s arms, her fingers fisted into the fabric of their hoodie like she knew exactly who she was holding — like she'd always known.

“here,” sophia whispered, pulling the soft gray blanket off the back of the couch. she draped it carefully over salem after yn laid her down.

for a long moment, they both just stood there — watching her breathe.

sophia crossed her arms over her chest. “she likes when you sing.”

yn’s lips parted, startled. “you really play my stuff for her?”

sophia’s gaze didn’t leave salem. “yeah. at bedtime sometimes. when she’s scared. or after a tantrum.”

she smiled faintly. “the softer ones. not the ones where you're yelling about feeling the pressures and all that crazy shit.”

yn snorted quietly. “fair.”

a beat passed.

then sophia walked over to the kitchen counter and poured herself a glass of water. she didn't offer yn one. she didn’t have to. it wasn’t hospitality tonight. it was survival.

“do you know what it feels like to fall asleep next to a voicemail?” she asked, not turning around. “to let someone’s ghost read bedtime stories to your daughter because the real thing never called back?”

yn’s throat closed.

“i don’t expect you to forgive me,” they said quietly.

“good,” sophia replied, taking a slow sip. “because i haven’t.”

she turned then, eyes shining in the low light. but there was no rage there. only grief. only bone-deep tiredness.

“i missed you every single day,” she said. “but i had to grieve you like you were dead... necause you were gone. and now you’re standing in my living room, holding her like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and I don’t know whether to fall apart or push you out the door.”

“i’m not going anywhere,” yn said, stepping closer. “not this time.”

she didn’t speak.

instead, she walked past them — slow, deliberate — and sat on the edge of the couch, beside salem. her fingers brushed the little girl's curls from her forehead. her whole body softened just from the contact.

yn sank to the floor in front of them. they looked up, chin resting on the couch cushion, studying sophia like a prayer they were scared to say out loud.

“i want to help,” they whispered. “whatever that looks like... i know i have no right to ask for a second chance... but i want to be here. for her, for you. even if i have to work my way up from the sidewalk.”

sophia looked at them for a long time.

and for a second, she looked like she might cry again.

instead, she whispered, “she calls the moon her ‘nightlight star.’”

yn blinked. “that’s beautiful.”

“she gets that from you,” sophia said. “she says it sings to her... like you do.”

the silence between them filled again — but it wasn’t heavy this time.

it was more sacred.

sophia leaned back on the couch and tilted her head toward the ceiling. “you can crash here tonight. the couch pulls out.”

“okay.”

“i’m still mad at you.”

“i know.”

she looked at them again — really looked.

but there was a softness now. a thread of something old, something forgiving, maybe not fully healed, but not as shattered as before.

and under the blanket, salem shifted in her sleep. a quiet hum left her lips.

“sing to her?” sophia asked softly. “like you used to.”

yn nodded.

they hummed a familiar tune under their breath as they moved closer to sophia, resting their head on her leg.

and as they sang, salem sighed in her sleep, curling deeper into the couch.

sophia stayed seated beside her.

listening.

eyes closed.

just like old times.

except this time, yn was here instead of in salem's radio.

#katseye imagines #sophia laforteza x reader #katseye #sophia laforteza #katseye thoughts 💭#katseye angst #katseye x reader #katseye sophia

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hey-itsdollie · 17 hours ago

Note

can you do one about how the blue lock characters would react the s/o f!reader being insecure about their weight at the beach? like they are super fit and strong and I often get insecure when I see people who are better than me at taking care of themselves. I am not talking plus size, we have seen that many times (love a plus size girly im married to one but i dont think i should ramble about her in a request lmao) but I want something I can actually relate to so I want to see like a curvy body that is considered over weight even if to anyone else it looks perfectly fine but it's just like- you know you are over weight yk what I mean?

I'm dyslexic btw sorry about how horrible my request might be to try understand

Inner Turmoil.ᐟ.ᐟ

‧₊˚ ┊ In which your thoughts take over at the beach

୭˚. ᵎᵎ featuring » gagamaru. karasu.

⋮ ⌗ ┆cw ⪼ comfort, fem reader, established relationship

── .✦ Gin Gagamaru

You and your boyfriend decided to go to the beach. After an hour of arriving, you started to regret suggesting to have a beach day. It wasn’t like you weren’t physically having fun, hell dating Gagamaru brought enough entertainment to your life.

It was the simple things, ya know.

But it was just. The beach was awfully busy today. Your eyes couldn’t help but look around at the different families, couples, and even singles. People watching as you observe them. Small parts of your mind picking out the differences between them and you. Whether it was swimsuit styles, colors, hair textures, amount of tan you might have, and the curves…

You weren’t necessarily plus size, but you were still a bit overweight in your mind. Though you didn’t make much comments about it verbally. Mentally on the other hand was a different story.

Your eyes lifted to see your two-toned boyfriend walking up to you, his large body completely blocking the sun out of your view. “What is it Gin?” You question tilting your head. “Want to go swimming?” He asked in a blank tone, his wide eyes looking you over as if sensing your discomfort.

“No, Gin I don’t really feel like it…” You smile sadly. He didn’t seem to take that as an answer as he easily picked you up. “You’ll feel better in the water…” He muttered his hands rubbing your skin as he carried you to the water. Only placing you down when you were waist deep. Your positioning caught your attention as he stood in front of you, his body obscuring your view of the people on land.

Catching your strayed attention, Gagamaru splashed you. “Hey, Gin!” You groaned as he kept splashing you. Your hands began to splash him in return as he swam to you and held you close to him.

── .✦ Tabito Karasu

“Everything alright?”

Karasu’s voice brought you out of your inner turmoil. Your vision seems to come together from it’s blurred–out focused state, whilst focusing on the male.

His hands were coated in sunscreen as he rubbed the substance on your back. He had paused his movements, with his questions he gave you his attention. “Yeah, I’m fine.” You answered though your throat was dry.

In reality you weren’t that well. It wasn’t like you were sick, it was simply your mind–your mind and it’s nasty thoughts.

Your eyes dragged over the beach goers, seeing the more slimmer girls with their boyfriends. A match made in heaven. Then you look at your boyfriend, toned and built perfectly, his skin a soft tan as if he was kissed by the sun during his daily runs.

You weren’t nearly as toned nor built as him. Most workouts you did consisted of small walks or cleaning–if anything. Of course, Karasu was part of an official soccer team. He had to work out consistently.

“You’re doing it again.” You looked over at Karasu, his eyes moved over you as if checking to see if anything was physically wrong. Somewhere in your mind you were pleading for him to not look too long–in fear that he might find something that would disgust him.

Instead he leaned over and placed a kiss on your forehead. “You look beautiful in that swimsuit.” He spoke softly, going back to rubbing in the sun screen.

Karasu often made rude comments–though when compliments seemingly only for you, left him it meant a lot.

#dollie's diary #bllk x reader #blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #gagamaru x reader #gagamaru gin x reader #gagamaru gin #gagamaru imagines #karasu x reader #karasu tabito x reader #karasu tabito #karasu imagines

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wordsarelife · 1 day ago

Text

—chloe or sam or sophia or marcus

pairing: mattheo riddle x fem!reader

summary: you can't remember the last thing you said to him. after years of wondering, you finally get an answer to the question that had haunted you for way too long

warnings: angst, mentions of drug use and addiction, fighting, language

note: this haunted me until i was able to write it down, hope you guys enjoy!

the fighting is the first thing you remember when your mind drifts back to him late at night.

it's one of those were you can't sleep. where you stay up past your hours, wondering and wondering. thinking about what could've been. thinking about the last thing you said to him, worrying because you can't remember.

you try to. god, you try.

but it always fades just before the moment it matters. like your brain’s trying to spare you. or maybe punish you. you’re not sure which.

the walls close in as you sit in bed.

you can hear his voice in your head. raw, breaking off, like he has been screaming relentlessly for ages.

then yours, a little more quiet, but just as raggedy, just as angry.

"i'm sorry i always seem to disappoint you, mattheo riddle," you screamed, tears streaming over your cheeks as you looked at him in deep hurt.

"i loved you the way that you were!" he replied almost instantely. he looked like the words had just slipped out. but it was too late.

you recoiled, as if he had struck you. you bit back a sob as you looked at him.

"what?" you muttered. "y-you turn me into this idea, mattheo. into this absolutely unrealistic version of a person and then you're angry because i can't meet those standards?"

mattheo tried to hold himself back, but the anger was so much stronger. "you used to be that version, but then you decide to change and you leave me behind and you—" he interrupted himself, before he added: "and you forget that you loved me"

"i do love you!" you screamed. "still, always. i did not leave anyone behind."

"then why does it feel like you're drifting away from me?" he asked, his voice so much quieter, darker. "why does it feel like you forgot about me?"

"i'm not" you muttered helplessly. "i didn't."

mattheo looked at you wordlessly. both of you not knowing how to go on, how to approach what had just shattered between you.

"i don't know what to do," you said honestly. "you get angry at me, because i'm not who you want, but i try to be that. all the time. it just seems like you're the one who doesn't need me."

"don't be ridiculous" he shook his head in exasperation.

"don't do this," you tried to reach for his arm, but he stepped back. "i've seen you take them, mattheo."

"this—it's different," his voice almost broke. "it's not—i need you, okay?"

"you might need me," you sid softly. "but you need the drugs more."

"i fucking don't!" he screamed, suddenly losing his cool. "you just have to go back to yourself again, to the girl i fell in love with, so we can continue and i can love you and you can love me and we won't fall apart."

"mattheo..."

"no," he touched your cheeks. "it's gonna be alright. it's gonna—it‘s gonna—"

"mattheo"

just then, you're back in your room. back in the present, staring up at the ceiling in the dark. you have no memory of the rest of the conversation.

it drives you crazy that you can't remember.

and it drives you crazy that you always think about the fights. not about the happy times, the laughter, the love. the amazing thing that you once shared.

a week later, you're draped over theo's lawn chair, sipping a glass of rosé.

whatever this is, a party, an over-the-top get together, it's in full swing, with guests looming the backyard.

you're not interested in making conversation or meeting new people. you were just able to escape theo's matchmaker skills as he had dragged you around, introducing every eligible bachelor between 23 and 28 to you.

luckily he is now busy discussing quidditch scores of the latest harpers game with blaise and draco.

"still not a fan of theo's parties, i see"

mattheo's voice makes you perk up. you move to sit straight, but he makes a motion that tells you not to bother and ruin your comfort just to be nice.

he sits down on the chair next to you, sipping a cup of a dark liquor. something strong you presume.

"hi" you say solemnly, raising your glass.

"hi"

"we haven't talked in ages" you announce, like it is news to to him.

mattheo is polite enough not to point that out and simply nods. "yeah," he smiles softly. "i've been keeping tabs on you occasionally. pansy and theo, they're very proud of you." he pauses, before he adds, "actually, all of them are."

you smile softly, not sure if you should understand that as a compliment or if he just shared a simple fact. "i've heard about your accomplishment a few months ago, congratulations."

"thank you," mattheo nods and takes a sip from his glass. "you too."

you mutter your own thanks and silence settles between the two of you. you feel like there is so much to share and at the same time, there isn't. like you have forgotten he exists, but still remember everything about the ghost you have once known.

your thoughts drift back to a few nights ago.

the words are out, before you're able to stop yourself. "it might be a weird thing to ask," you begin, drawing mattheo's attention. "but if you remember: what was the last thing i said to you that night? you know the one where—"

"—we fell apart?" he wonders and you nod. "i remember the look on your face and the way you tried to beg me, before you changed your mind completely, or maybe you just remembered what you had already decided."

"i wasn't trying to—"

"—i know," he nods. "just not back then. i was so angry, felt so utterly blindsided by you. it took me years to realize you were right. that everything you said that night was not meant to hurt me, but help. you had wrapped me in kindness and i was so stupid, i didn't even realize what i had lost, not able to look beside the anger."

"i was so stupid too."

"i don't think so." he thinks back to that night once more. he sees your face. eighteen years old, freshly out of school, so hurt, so honest, so... you. "the last thing you said to me was: 'i love you, but i can't stay to watch you stop loving me'" he shakes his head, trying to hide how much those words move him. "i still think about that quite often."

"i didn't know that was what i said," you admit. "i couldn't remember" you laugh dryly. "but it fits. i was still a kid, barely an adult. and everything about you was tied to so much emotion. it is stupid, really."

"i didn't think it was stupid," mattheo says softly. "not then, not now. you said what i needed to hear from you. you were right to leave. and i had to be angry for a while, before i realized i wasn't angry at you."

you heart flutters at his words and you realize that deep inside you, there is a part that still loves him. but it's the kind of love that doesn't beg to be known. not anymore.

his gaze returns to you. you're not eighteen anymore. you're not broken or raw or lost in the world. you're sitting in theo's garden, in your twenties. you're secure. you're free of him.

and he will always wonder what could've been.

"i wish i could tell you that i never used again after that night," he continues after you don't answer. "but that would be a lie. although i did stop, shortly after. not all at once, but slowly, surely. i always thought that i should be the one to tell you. you made me stop. you did save me, just differently than you would've wanted."

"yeah," you smile, while biting back tears. "thank you for telling me that, mattheo." you mutter. "and for everything else too."

you look at him, really look, and it no longer hurts like it used to. it just aches a little. in the way old songs sometimes do. he is so different, but still feels so familiar.

so much of your mattheo is gone, replaced by new parts of him. new people, new memories, new love.

mattheo riddle. your mattheo riddle. anyone's mattheo riddle.

that night, when going to sleep, you think about him again.

you don't lie awake for long, sleep wrapping it's dull blanket around you as you drift off.

with the security of knowing what happened. no need to wonder how you drifted apart. about the words you left him with, while you left nothing else of you.

maybe you'll always wonder what could've been, what great would've come out of the both of you.

together.

new people, new memories, the same love. the same home for your heart, without regret.

if you had just made it better.

but maybe there was no way to make it better. maybe this was it. maybe this just was the version of your lifes in which you had done your best.

maybe you'll always wonder, but maybe it is enough to just float in his orbit.

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hearts4sturn · 17 hours ago

Text

CAUGHT IN A LIE – MATT STURNIOLO

pairing: heartthrob!matt x fem!reader synopsis: y/n was forced to attend a fraternity party after losing a bet to her friend. she was awkward—never quite sure how to handle parties like this. when a guy (who clearly couldn’t take a hint) kept flirting with her, she found herself unable to say no. matt, thinking he was doing her a favor, stepped in and claimed they were dating. but word spread fast around the university, leaving them no choice but to keep up the lie. warnings: lowercase intended, angst, alcohol, mentions of sex

masterlist | series masterlist

SEVEN: LOUD

things have been different ever since matt and i kissed.

not in a loud, obvious way—no fights, no dramatic fallouts, no explosive moments to point to and say, this is where everything changed. it’s quieter than that. subtler. the kind of quiet that creeps in slow, like fog rolling in over a city just before sunrise. at first, you don’t notice it. not really. but then suddenly, the world feels dimmer. harder to navigate. like maybe something got lost in the silence, and you didn’t even hear it slip away.

he’s been distant.

not in a casual, life-got-busy kind of way. not in a “school is hard and i’m stressed” kind of way. it’s more intentional than that. calculated. like every interaction is measured now. like he’s keeping score. like there’s this invisible tape measure stretched between us, and he’s the one deciding how many inches apart we stay.

it’s not how he used to be.

before, he was easy. not simple, just… easy to be around. effortless in a way that made me feel safe. understood. like i didn’t have to fight to be seen. he used to grin at me like i was something bright in his day. he’d bump into me on purpose, nudge my shoulder just to get a laugh, just to snap me out of my head when i was spiraling. and when we were quiet—which was often—it was never tense. it felt like breathing. like silence wasn’t empty, but full of something unspoken and kind.

but now? now the silence feels heavy. stiff. like a wall i don’t know how to climb.

he’s careful with me. careful in a way that doesn’t feel kind—it feels like avoidance. like he’s afraid of saying too much, or maybe afraid of what i might say if he lets me get too close. he looks at me like i might ask a question he doesn’t want to answer. like he’s rehearsed his lines, and he’s terrified of going off script.

and that’s the thing—he’s acting. i can tell. it’s in the way his smile falters half a second too early when no one’s watching. in how he withdraws the moment we’re alone, like something in him shuts off. like all of this—us, whatever “us” even is—was always temporary, and he’s just waiting for the clock to run out.

but that kiss.

that kiss didn’t feel temporary.

his fingers hovered near mine for a long moment before he let them touch—like he was asking a question without words. like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed, but he wanted to be. and the way he looked at me… his eyes kept flicking to my mouth like he was working up the nerve. like he wasn’t just following a plan, but deciding something real in real time.

and then the kiss itself—soft. hesitant. like he didn’t want to get it wrong. like it mattered.

it mattered to me.

it still does.

but now? now he can barely meet my eyes. now it feels like i’m some obligation he’s trying to escape. like he’s still here because he hasn’t figured out how to leave without making it messier. and when he does speak, it’s short. distant. like every word costs him something, and i’m the one who’s always overbudget.

except when we’re not alone.

when people are around, he slips back into the version of him i remember. he laughs at my jokes. he slings an arm over my shoulders like it’s second nature. sometimes he even tucks my hair behind my ear, and it makes my heart trip over itself every single time. because in those moments, i forget. i forget that it’s fake. that it’s for show. that it might have always been for show.

and the worst part is how easily i fall for it.

i hate that i still want it to be real. that part of me still holds on to the version of him that made me feel like i was more than just a role to play.

but i don’t know what’s real anymore.

i don’t know if the way he used to look at me was genuine or just good acting. i don’t know if the kiss meant something to him—or if it was just part of the lie. something he thought he had to do to make it all seem believable.

we haven’t talked about it.

i’ve thought about bringing it up. over and over. imagined the conversation a hundred different ways. but every time, the words get stuck. they pile up somewhere in my chest, heavy and sharp, and they never make it out. because i’m scared. scared that naming it will break it. scared that asking will mean hearing the truth. and what if the truth is that he regrets it? that he didn’t feel anything at all?

what if that kiss made him realize something he didn’t want to feel? or worse—made him realize he felt nothing?

and here’s what i haven’t said out loud. maybe not even to myself.

i liked him before the kiss.

not in a loud way. not in a way that made sense at the time. but it was there—quiet and steady, like something growing in the background, waiting to be noticed.

and now, even after all this… even after the silence and the pulling away and the ache of being treated like an afterthought… i think i like him more.

my phone buzzed.

i looked down. matt.

hey, let’s talk later?

my stomach flipped. my fingers hovered over the screen for too long before i managed to type:

when?

a few seconds passed. then:

meet me at the cafe in 20.

i stared at the message. like if i looked hard enough, i’d find some secret meaning. some clue about what kind of conversation this was going to be. but it was just words. flat and hollow.

i sighed. leaned back into the couch. something inside me tightened. not nerves. not excitement. something heavier. denser. like dread with teeth.

whatever this was, it didn’t feel like good news.

twenty minutes later, i was at the cafe. our usual table. the one near the window, with the chipped corner and the wobbly leg. i sat alone, shoulders hunched, picking at the skin around my nails like it might reveal something beneath. a truth. a reason. something.

outside, the world moved like it was stuck underwater. every sound was muffled. every motion slow. people passed by on the sidewalk, their laughter distant, unreal. i couldn’t tell if it was them or me who was out of sync. maybe both. maybe neither.

time stretched. pulled thin. warped like heat rising off pavement in the summer. everything felt slightly off. the coffee in my cup had cooled before i even realized i’d ordered it.

then he walked in.

no smile. no warmth. just a nod, casual and cold, like we were strangers meeting to finalize paperwork. he slid into the seat across from me with a kind of practiced ease that made my stomach twist. like he’d already rehearsed this.

“hey,” he said, voice low. unreadable.

“hey.”

and then silence. not the kind that rests. the kind that grows sharp edges. the kind that cuts. that stretches between two people like a wire pulled tight, just waiting to snap.

i looked at him, hoping maybe he’d say something else. anything. but he just sat there, hands folded, eyes on the table like it held all the answers.

finally, he said it.

“i think we should stop this.”

the words didn’t hit like thunder. no dramatic boom. just a quiet detonation. a soft, sudden collapse. like a breath i didn’t know i was holding had just been stolen.

“what?” i managed, though the word barely made it out. it sounded small. thinner than it should’ve been.

“the fake dating thing,” he said, eyes still refusing to meet mine. “i just… i don’t see the point anymore. i know we started this to get the girls off my ass, and for a while, it worked. but now? i don’t think it’s worth it.”

his voice was flat. detached. like this wasn’t about us, just about logistics. convenience.

i felt my mouth go dry. my heart beat louder, but slower, like it was being dragged through molasses.

“oh.”

just that. a single syllable, but it echoed. loud inside me. bouncing off the walls of everything i hadn’t said out loud.

i looked down. traced a line in the wood grain of the table with my fingertip. it was deep, splintered. had it always been there? maybe we had, too.

“so that’s it?” i asked quietly. “we just… stop?”

he looked up, just for a second. met my eyes, then looked away again. like it hurt to see me. or like it didn’t.

“i think it’s for the best.”

i nodded. not because i agreed. not because i understood. just because that’s what you do when someone hands you an ending you didn’t ask for. you nod, like it makes sense. like it’s fine. like it doesn’t rip through you in invisible ways.

i wanted to ask so many things. why it felt real, even when we both knew it wasn’t supposed to be. why he held my hand when no one was watching. why he kissed me like he didn’t want it to end. if he meant any of it. if he ever thinks about it now. if he ever thinks about me.

but i didn’t ask. because some questions only have answers that break you.

and what if the answer was no?

so instead, i said, “okay.”

and he nodded like that was enough. like it wrapped things up in a neat little bow. like that was all this ever was—just a phase, a favor, a storyline we played out for everyone else to see.

the silence returned, but now it pressed in. heavy. unbearable. we were two people sitting at a table, surrounded by the sounds of life—clinking mugs, quiet laughter, the soft churn of the espresso machine—but none of it touched us. we were somewhere else. nowhere.

eventually, he stood.

“i should go.”

i didn’t move. didn’t look at him. “yeah. okay.”

he hesitated, one hand on the back of his chair. like he wanted to say something else. maybe a goodbye that wasn’t so hollow. maybe a truth that wouldn’t come out. maybe just one more lie to make it easier.

but instead, he said, “take care, okay?”

and then he turned. walked out. no looking back.

i watched the door swing shut behind him. just sat there, hands wrapped around a mug that no longer felt warm. didn’t drink. didn’t cry. didn’t move.

just breathed. barely.

and that’s when it hit me.

this wasn’t just the end of a fake relationship. this was the end of something i couldn’t name. something real in all the wrong ways. something we never dared to talk about. something we built in silence and looks and the space between almosts.

and now it’s gone.

and i don’t know how to grieve something that was never official. never labeled. never claimed out loud.

how do you mourn a maybe?

how do you let go of something that never really belonged to you, but still felt like it lived in your chest?

i don’t know.

i just know there’s a quiet where his voice used to be. a missing shape in the air beside me. an echo of a kiss i’ll never be able to forget, no matter how fake it was supposed to be.

and a silence that’s louder than anything he could’ve said.

wc: 2k author's note — yuhh dividers — @toastray

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