#i first focus on the actual content and read subs

[mariasont]

I know youre working on a fic right now but can you sometime make a fic where a new agent comes to work at the bau (the reader) and early seasons Spencer catches her interest, to which he's completely oblivious? Like just a cute little fluffy fic where two genius idiots can realise they like each other throughout their case together.

(also a lot of jokes from Morgan lol)

Reading Between the Lines - S.R

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x reader

warnings: reader just being in love with dr. reid

wc: 1.2k

The two of you were alone in the police station break room, which had become something of unofficial workspace for the team during the case. You'd been sitting there for a while, mostly pretending to read through a file while Spencer, across the table, actually read his — flipping through pages faster than should be humanly possible.

You'd been watching him out of the corner of your eye for the last ten minutes, trying (and failing) to keep your focus on your own. You couldn't help it. He was enthralling to watch. His long fingers moved smoothly over the paper, turning each page with that ridiculous speed-reading technique of his.

And when he tilted his head slightly, his eyes scanning the words so quickly it looked like he was barely reading at all, you were sure you'd never seen anyone more unfairly attractive in your entire life.

And you did mean unfairly in the purest sense. It was undeniably unfair — no, unnatural — for a man to possess such a perfect plethora of qualities, like Spencer Reid did.

You hated how obvious you were being. Every time Spencer glanced up at you, your face grew hot, and you had to fight the urge to duck your head like a nervous schoolgirl. It was absurd. You were a grown adult — a professional in the FBI, for gods' sake. You had no business mooning over someone this hard. But... it was Spencer. How could anyone not?

Eventually, you gave up trying to work and leaned forward on the table, resting your chin on your hand. "How do you do that?"

Spencer glanced up, blinking. "Do what?"

"Read that fast," you said, gesturing toward the file in his hands. "I mean, it's like you're just flipping through the pages for fun, but you're actually... reading them, right? You're not just pretending?"

Spencer tilted his head, his lips twitching into a smile. "No, I'm not pretending. I'm absorbing the information. It's called speed-reading."

You raised an eyebrow. "And you just... taught yourself how to do that?"

He nodded, setting the file down in front of him. "It's not as hard as it looks. Anyone can learn it with enough practice."

"Anyone?"

"Anyone," Spencer said, leaning back into his chair. "It's all about training your brain to recognize patterns in the text and absorb information in chunks rather than word by word. It's just a matter of rewiring how you process what you're reading."

You stared at him for a moment, then a grin spread across your face. "Teach me."

Spencer blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Teach you?"

"Yeah," you said, sitting up straighter. "If anyone can learn it, prove it. Teach me how to speed-read."

For a second, he just stared at you, like he wasn't sure if you were serious. But then his expression morphed into something that looked almost... excited. "Okay. I can teach you."

You tried not to look too pleased as he reached for a book sitting on the nearby counter and slid it across the table toward you. It was some dry academic text about linguistic patterns across extinct languages — typical Spencer reading material — but you figured it didn't really matter what the book was. You weren't here for the content.

"Alright," Spencer said, pulling his chair closer to yours so he could see what you were looking at. He leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours, and every single coherent thought you had ever had evaporated into thin air. You swallowed hard, staring at the page but unable to actually read anything. "The first thing you need to do is stop subvocalizing."

"Sub... what?" you asked, already lost.

"Subvocalizing," he repeated patiently. "It's when you say the words in your head as you're reading them. Most people do it without even realizing it, but it slows you down. If you can train yourself to read without subvocalizing, you'll process the text much faster."

You nodded slowly, though you weren't sure you entirely understood. "Okay. So... how do I stop?"

Spencer smiled. "It takes practice, but one way to start is by using your finger to guide your eyes. Like this."

He reached out and gently took your hand, guiding your index finger to the first line of the text.

Your brain short-circuited for a second. His hand was warm, touch light as he moved your finger along the page. Did he notice the way you tensed up? Did he feel how clammy your palm was? If he did, he didn’t mention it, his focus entirely on the page. Meanwhile, your focus was entirely on him.

"Try to keep your eyes moving with your finger," Spencer said. "Don't focus too much on each individual word — just let your brain take in the whole line."

Every time you inhaled, you caught the faintest hint of soap and coffee — clean, warm, him — and it was becoming impossible to think straight.

"Okay," you said softly, moving your finger along the line as he'd shown you. "Like this?"

"Exactly. Now, try to pick up the pace. Keep your eyes moving."

You tried, but your focus kept slipping — not because of the text, but because of the way Spencer was leaning so close, his shoulder almost brushing yours as he watched you. You could feel his breath, soft and even, against the side of your face, and you were suddenly very aware of the fact that this was probably the closest you'd ever been to him.

"Am I doing it right?"

"Mostly," Spencer said, his hair brushing his forehead as he leaned even closer to point at a section of the text. His long fingers hovered just above yours, and your heart stuttered at the proximity. "But try not to pause at punctuation. Just keep your eyes moving in one fluid motion."

"Okay," you said again, though honestly, you weren't sure how much you were actually absorbing. Your brain was too busy screaming Spencer Reid is touching me. Spencer Reid is this close to me.

For a few more minutes, Spencer guided you through the process, his hand occasionally brushing yours as he helped you adjust your pace. You couldn’t tell if you were actually improving or if you were just doing your best to survive the moment without completely embarrassing yourself.

"You're doing better already," he said. "It just takes time to get used to."

You smiled back at him, cheeks warm. "Thanks. You're a good teacher."

Spencer’s ears turned pink, and he glanced down, his fingers brushing idly at the edge of the book. "I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before. A good teacher, I mean."

You couldn't stop smiling.

"Maybe next time, you can teach me," he said suddenly.

You laughed. "I don’t think there’s anything I could teach you that you don’t already know, Spencer."

"I wouldn’t be so sure about that," Spencer said, his voice quieter now, almost teasing. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and for a second, his eyes met yours, before flicking back to the book.

Correction, you wouldn't be able to stop smiling for the next 3-5 business days.

Morgan was leaning against the hallway wall just outside the break room, holding his phone and scrolling casually, when you finally stepped out of the room.

You didn't see him at first — you were too busy floating on a cloud, practically glowing as you replayed the last few minutes with Spencer over and over in your mind. You were smiling so much your cheeks hurt, and you could still feel Spencer's hands on yours.

"Well, well, well," Morgan voice cut through your daydream, startling you so badly you almost tripped. You snapped your head toward him, your heart jumping to your throat. He was grinning like a cat who'd just caught a mouse. "What's got you all smiley? Pretty boy say something sweet, or are you just thinking about those magic hands of his?"

You felt your face burst into flames. "What? No! It's not —"

Morgan held up a hand, shaking his head as he chuckled. "Save it, girl. I know the look of a lovesick rookie when I see one. Trust me — you've got it bad."

You sputtered, desperately trying to come up with a convincing rebuttal, but Morgan was already walking away. "Better make your move before he speed-reads right past you!"

You groaned, burying your burning face in your hands as Morgan’s laughter faded down the hall. Lovesick rookie? Was it really that obvious?

Yes. Yes, it was.

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[mischievousmoony]

Mayhaps , can I request a part 2 of steamy fantasies ? Kinda obsessed w perv!roommate James, actually. lol maybe r can torture can him some more b4 actually *helping* 😉😏

got unbelievably carried away. he's so pathetic in this mwahaha

𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗

⟢ pairing: perv!roommate!james potter x fem!reader ⟢ summary: you show james how little you mind his pervy habits, but not without torturing him a bit first ⊹ 5.1k ⟢ warnings: smut mdni, jerking off, hand job, spit play, kinda very sub!james, begging, praise, hair pulling, shame (james, he does lighten up), dubcon (?) for the pervy things he did in the past, someone pls tell me what else, feels like there's more but idk ⟢ read part 1 first ⟡ series masterlist

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

James called out of work that morning, said he was sick. There was absolutely no way he’d be able to focus on anything, not with the mess of emotions churning in his gut.

Truth be told, he’s embarrassed that you caught him, and all the shame he’s been burying—for all his filthy little habits—has risen to the surface. A debilitating, confusing combination of shame and arousal keeps him glued to his bed all day, the same memory gnawing at him.

“All you had to say was please and I would’ve helped you out. Next time, kay?”

James replays your words on a loop, trying to dissect every possible meaning while ignoring how painfully hard he is thinking about it. His fingers twitch with the urge to scroll through that hidden photo album on his phone, the one full of pictures he’s taken when you weren’t looking, and take care of the ache. But the guilt of even having those photos is too heavy.

What would you think if you found out about that too? Or what if you knew that a single smile in his direction could send him rushing off to his room, hard and desperate, jerking off to the thought of you. Or if you knew about the increasingly frequent visits to your bedroom when you’re not home? Not just to get off to the lingering scent of your perfume, but sometimes, just to lie in your bed and imagine what it would feel like to fall asleep next to you.

Fuck, he’s pathetic. You’d surely think so too. He’s convinced he must’ve misheard you earlier. Or maybe you were just teasing him. Mocking him because you didn’t know how else to react. God, maybe you were just uncomfortable and trying to have a laugh at his expense to ease your own discomfort.

Even if you really didn’t think much of it, he’s sure that if you found out about everything else, you’d send him packing.

James finally leaves his room when the takeout he promised to order arrives—because, of course, he always keeps his promises when they’re made to you. Even if the thought of you right now makes him want to hide out in his room for the foreseeable future.

He is sitting on the sofa now, picking at a loose strand at the hem of his shirt as he waits anxiously for your arrival. He’ll have to face you eventually, he figures. Besides, he wants to do right by you. He has to. He’s not quite sure what he’ll tell you. Sorry for being a perv, seems a little audacious.

He’s still mulling over possible excuses for his behavior when he hears the jingle of your keys at the door. For some reason, he’s memorized every cute little keychain you have. Can picture them perfectly, dangling next to the key to the flat you share. His whole body stiffens when the lock clicks open.

The first thing you notice is the brown takeout bag on the kitchen table, the receipt stapled to the front displaying the contents in bold letters. All of your favorites. You smirk as you slip out of your shoes and hang your blazer on the coat rack.

You pop your head into the sitting room, seeking him out.

“Hi, there,” you say, an air of smugness in your tone, finding James sitting on the sofa, looking downright miserable. Shoulders slumped and eyes fixed on the floor. Oh, poor thing, you think.

He clears his throat, barely looking up at you. “Hi,” he replies, his voice sounding smaller than he intended.

“My meeting went well. I’ve gotta admit, it’s in small part thanks to you for that little… confidence boost this morning.”

James shrinks into the cushions, mortified. Any whisper of an idea to play it off like his jerking off in the shower had nothing to do with you vanishes. It was simply a bad morning for you to need to use the mirror, he could have told you. He could have tried to excuse it. Impersonalize it. But if you had any doubt about his reasons that he could have played into before, he’s certainly crushed it with the way he just reacted.

It’s obvious to you how much all of this is weighing on him, how his thoughts seem to be running a mile a minute.

“Something on your mind, James?” you ask in a low, teasing tone that makes James’s cheeks burn. That, and the sudden proximity as you step closer, almost standing between his legs.

James stammers, staring up at you with big, wide, chestnut eyes. The shame burning in his chest is urging him to tear his gaze away, hide. But you look so beautiful. With your hair falling in front of your face as you look down at him, your kissable lips curved into a slight smirk. There’s something tantalizing about your work clothes. A white, collared shirt with short puff sleeves, tucked neatly into striped gray trousers that hug your curves just right. The top two buttons are undone, as if to tempt him.

“James?” you murmur, pulling him out of his trance.

“I- I really like you,” he blurts out in a shaky, almost whiny voice. This isn’t exactly how he imagined confessing his feelings—if he was ever going to in the first place. And it’s not exactly how he planned to start this conversation either, not that he was able to come up with much of a plan, but anything might’ve been better than turning into mush.

“You’re amazing and brilliant and so pretty and- and I can’t stop thinking about you. Ever. I know I shouldn’t have done that in the shower with you… there. But I just can’t control myself when it comes to you. And I’m sorry because I don’t want to make things weird or- or uncomfortable because I really don’t want to lose you.”

The words don’t feel like enough. James's hands flex restlessly in his lap as he fights the urge to reach out and touch you. Hug you. Shake you and beg for forgiveness.

“Oh, baby.”

His breath hitches at the pet name.

“I thought I was being clear,” you say as you drag a hand down the side of his face, following the sharp curve of his jaw to his chin. He shivers at your touch—barely there, he could be imagining it. “I like that you like me so much. Honestly, I’m flattered.”

James’s lips part like he has something to say, but no noise comes out. All he can manage to do is look at you like he’s already completely at your mercy.

“C’mere,” you purr, pulling his head to your chest. He goes easily, like he’s been waiting for this, because he has. His big arms finally encircle your waist, holding you tightly, like he’s afraid of what will happen if he lets go.

His body practically sags against you as you card your fingers through his curls. His cheek is pressed against your chest, and he can hear your heartbeat. It’s a lot more controlled than his and it helps him relax a little.

You slide a hand back through his hair, gripping it at the roots this time. He sucks in a sharp breath as you pull his head back. The room suddenly feels several degrees warmer.

“But if you’re feeling like you have something to apologize for, we can work something out,” you tell him in a low, sultry tone that has him choking on air.

His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, neck craning back farther as you give his hair another little tug. He doesn’t understand what you mean. Hell, he can hardly understand how this is even real. All he really knows is that the words that come out of your mouth sound so pretty.

“I’ll do anything you want,” he whispers hoarsely.

“Aw, yeah?” you murmur, your tone patronizing. Your eyes trail down his body to the obvious bulge in his sweatpants, straining against the gray fabric since you first touched his cheek. His eyes follow yours and he’s hit with another wave of embarrassment.

“Why don’t we lay everything out in the open?”

“What?” he asks, his voice cracking.

Your eyes flick back up to his. “No more secrets. I want to know what you do when you think about me.” Your gaze turns down to his bulge again. “I want you to show me.”

Of course he’ll show you. Anything you ask. But that doesn’t mean he’s not a nervous wreck. It’s not just about exposing himself, it’s about laying himself bare. Showing you the most depraved side of himself.

He can’t do that without making something clear first.

“I don’t just think about you when I’m horny. It’s not just that. I- I think about you all the time. As much as I think about how badly I want to touch you, I think about how badly I want to be with you more.”

Your hand drops from his hair to cup his cheek, stroking gently at his cheekbone. “I know,” you say softly. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, James.”

You had. It really is so cute how in his head he gets, completely unaware that every time you catch him looking at you lustfully, you revel in it. You find little excuses to expose more skin, flaunt yourself, just to watch his eyes go wide. But maybe it’s a blessing in disguise. Because he also doesn’t notice how affected you are when he looks at you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. It’s easier to maintain the upper hand when he doesn’t know how much he does you in.

“You have?” he asks bashfully.

“I’ve seen more than you think.”

James’s gaze drops shyly to the floor, which you’re having none of, and you promptly turn his chin back up with a press of your thumb.

“You don’t have to be shy,” you whisper, a reassuring smile overtaking the cocky smirk on your lips. Your thumb swipes across his lower lip, teasing, before your hand starts to trail slowly down his toned chest over the soft black cotton of his t-shirt. “Can I help?”

James nods quickly, his heart skipping a beat as your hand travels lower and lower. You toy with the string of his sweatpants before tugging it loose. Then, you hook your fingers in the waistband of his sweats, tugging them down just enough for his hard cock to spring out.

He mutters curses under his breath. He’s halfway convinced this is a dream—he’s definitely had one just like it before.

“Pretty boy,” you muse. Shit, you hadn’t expected him to be that big. Long, thick, and already flushed and leaking for you. You watch a bead of precum trace a path down his length, imagining how he’d stretch you out, and you have to fight the urge to press your thighs together.

Seeing the way you look at him, hungry and wanting, a shiver runs down his spine. His blush has crept all the way up his neck to the burning tips of his ears now, and his hand grips the arm of the couch like a lifeline.

James is disappointed when you put a bit of space between the two of you, backing up to sit on the edge of the coffee table behind you. He already feels the loss of you keenly, missing the closeness of your body. His cheek still burns where you had touched him.

You get comfortable, leaning back and supporting your weight with your hands on either side of you.

“Go on,” you say coolly, watching his cock twitch under your gaze. “Touch yourself for me, baby.”

“Oh, fuck,” James mutters, breath shuddering out of him. His jaw clenches, but he starts to lift his right hand at your command.

Oh, you’re going to have fun with him.

He slowly traces a trail up his thigh, buying time. A groan slips past his lips as he tentatively wraps his hand around himself. Pushing through his embarrassment, he starts with slow strokes.

“Hm, wait,” you say, and he stills his hand immediately.

You wrap your fingers around his wrist and pull his hand towards you. His eyebrows furrow in confusion. Then, you spit in his palm.

“Oh, fuck.”

You place his hand back over his cock, covering it with your own to guide a single, slow stroke over his length. Then, you pull away, leaving him to continue what you started.

“Better?” you ask, watching the way his face contorts in pleasure.

A hopeless, breathy noise is all he can manage in response as he continues, starting at the slow pace you set. Your spit lubricating his cock makes it feel unbelievable. It’s not just the slickness, it’s the fact that it’s yours. His grip tightens, and his eyes screw shut as the pleasure builds.

You click your tongue. “Look at me.”

An embarrassing whimper slips past his lips as he forces his eyes open. You look equally amused as you are turned on. He watches as your eyes trail down his body. The way your teeth catch your bottom lip when they fall on his hand pumping his cock.

Fuck, this feels unreal. It’s different with you watching. So different. Nothing like the countless fantasies he’s had about you. No, this is better. Real. Even the low burn of embarrassment has nothing on how turned on he is right now. And all you’ve done is get him to use his own fucking hand. But that look in your eyes, trained on him, it’s enough to wreck him.

“Have you ever done this here before? On our sofa?” you ask, settling back on your hands again.

James tries to swallow, but his mouth has gone dry. “Y- yes,” he chokes out, trying to maintain the pace of his hand.

“When?” you ask, tilting your head.

You don’t even look up from his dick when you talk to him. Like you’re transfixed. Fuck, James can’t take it.

“When you’re—fuck, not home. Or—mmh—in the shower.”

“Where else?”

Your voice is too calm. It’s unfair, really. You just sit there, looking pretty, level-headed. And he’s falling apart.

“I-” James hesitates. Your eyes flick up to his face and you can see the embarrassment written all over it. You’ve never seen him blush such a deep shade of pink.

You lean in slightly, encouraging him gently. “Go on, baby. We’re being honest, yeah?”

“Your- your room. I’m sorry, fuck.”

You smirk as if that’s what you were hoping to hear.

He has to fight the urge to look away, but he knows you wouldn’t like that, so he keeps his eyes on your pretty face. But admitting that is humiliating, terrifying. And it turns him on more than he’d like to admit. He’s getting worked up fast under your command, under your smug, expectant gaze—you’re watching him like he’s all yours to play with.

He would wholeheartedly agree that he is.

“On my bed?” you ask knowingly.

“Yes,” he cries out, thumbing the sensitive head of his cock as he throbs in his hand, heat pooling in his gut with every stroke.

“Why there?” you ask, squinting. It’s almost a dumb question, you think, because it’s obvious. But you want to hear him say it.

He squirms, choking on his words. “I like to feel- feel close t’you.”

It’s a tame answer. True, but doesn’t quite capture the depravity he really feels. And it’s like you can see he’s holding back, but you let it slide, this time.

“And what do you think about?”

“You. Always you,” he sputters, dumbing down fast, all coherent thoughts slipping away as his hand speeds up.

“What about me?” you prod.

“Everything. The way you look—so fucking pretty—the way you sound, the way you smell,” he groans. The scent of your shampoo fills his nostrils, and he’s not sure if it’s because you're right there or because he’s memorized it. “I think about your mouth,” he continues.

“Yeah, you fuck your fist thinking about my mouth? Want my lips on your cock?”

Your filthy words send a shockwave of heat straight through him. “Fuck, yes, yes,” he cries out, squeezing himself hard.

“What else?”

“Think—hmmf—‘bout how you’d taste. How you’d sound if I—ah—ever got the chance to touch you. I think about you looking at me like- like I’m yours.”

That makes you smile. So sweet. Somehow, it all feels that way. So very sweet.

“I think about you touching me,” he continues. “Want your-” He’s cut off by his own moans.

You take pity, filling in the blanks. Or maybe you’re being cruel, knowing how your words affect him.

“What? Do you think about fucking me, James? Sinking your cock deep inside me?”

A series of humiliatingly high-pitched whimpers falls from his lips. Your words are doing horrible things to him, and he wishes for you to never stop.

“Dunno, baby,” you continue your teasing. “You’re a big boy, dunno know if I could fit you.”

“You could, you could do it, mhm, know you could, you’d feel so good,” he pants, words meshing together lazily.

Your lips stretch into a wicked smirk. “Yeah? You think about how good my pussy would feel when you jerk off to the panties you stole from me?”

James lets out a broken sound, his strokes faltering as he stares at you, wide-eyed. “You-? Fuck! How did you-?” he gasps, shame crashing down on him, his thoughts too scattered to form a full sentence. This is mortifying, you look so fucking hot, his head’s spinning, how did you find out?

You smile like you’re satisfied with yourself. Like you’ve caught him. Fuck, you were guessing.

Well, you suspected it when you noticed the missing pairs. Maybe hoped, because of how hot you get at the thought of him touching himself with your panties in his free hand. Maybe pressed against his face. Shit, maybe tangled between his fingers as he works himself raw with the same hand. You should feel violated, really, you know that. But you’re far from it, pressing your thighs together subtly, you're pulsing with arousal instead.

“Stole half of a matching set, baby,” you reveal how you caught onto his little habit, sounding like you pity him for being so foolish. “Hard not to notice they were missing. ‘S okay, though.”

James whimpers softly, unable to do much else.

“Kinda hot. You want to fuck me that badly?”

“Yes,” he whines. “Please, I- I-”

“Bet you're thinking of bending me over this sofa right now. What if I told you I’m not wearing any panties?”

You are. But torturing him is just so much fun.

“Fuck! Please, I’m-”

His hand starts to get sloppy, his rhythm faltering as his hips lift helplessly off the couch, chasing his own hand. Every breath comes out in a whine.

“Please. Not gonna last.”

“Aw, you can handle it. Just slow down for me, yeah, that’s it. Good boy,” you coo as his hand stutters, then slows.

The praise makes his head spin. His hips thrust up into his hand desperately one more time before he manages to rein it in, his grip on himself slacking a bit. “Fuck… just, please,” he pants, his breath coming out in uneven puffs, unsure of exactly what he’s even asking for.

“Wanna know what I think about when I touch myself?”

“Fffuh—oh, god.”

James’s mind goes blank. The mere idea of you, naked, with your hand between your legs, is undoing. He’s afraid your words alone will make him come. Even if he stops touching himself altogether, your voice might be enough.

“I think about you, too. About how it’d feel to have your fingers instead of mine. I bet you would make me feel so good,” you say, watching the way his fingers tense around his cock. James really does have nice hands. Nice long fingers, you can’t help but wonder what they’d feel like buried inside of you. You feel yourself clench around nothing. Shit, if James only knew how wet you are, he might go insane.

James moans, unable to form words—or thoughts. This is too good to be true. He can’t help the way his grip tightens and his hand pumps faster despite you telling him to slow down just a second ago.

“Something tells me you’re even better with your tongue,” you continue, every word meant to push him close to the edge as your eyes fix on his lips. “Oh, how I’d love to sit on that handsome face.”

You turn your attention back to his cock, drinking in the sight as it twitches desperately in his hand.

“Shit, and I’d ride your cock so good too. I’d take it nice and slow, bet you’d like it.”

Your voice, combined with the image your words put in his head, nearly sends him over the edge. “Please, I’m so close. Please, can I come?”

“Oh, but I haven’t even touched you yet,” you emphasize.

That gets him to really slow down. “You- you-” he sputters. His chest rises and falls heavily with every breath, his whole body is thrumming with need but he forces himself to slow down.

“Want me to touch you, baby?” you ask, your tone a touch mocking.

“Yes, god, yes,” he responds eagerly, his hand stuttering to a stop at the base of his cock.

You tilt your head down, looking at him expectantly. Waiting for more. A low whine escapes his throat when he realizes you want him to beg.

“I—fuck—I need you,” he pants, fingers of his left hand digging into the armrest. His eyes are filled with desperation and his eyebrows are pinched together, almost in anguish, as he begs for you. “W- will you touch me? Please. Please?”

Your lips stretch into a satisfied grin. “Move your hand, pretty boy.”

As you say it, you push off the coffee table to kneel on the carpeted floor in front of him and his heart just about stops. He mumbles something incoherent as he spreads his legs a little more to make room for you, moving his hand to lie flat on the cushion beside him.

It’s obvious how desperate he is, but you’re determined to drag this out. Tease him. You start by lightly touching his knees, running your hands over the soft fabric of his sweats, stopping just under where they bunch up at his muscular thighs, then trailing back down. Goosebumps litter every inch of his exposed skin.

He holds his breath when you finally touch him, looking up at him through your pretty eyelashes as you drag a finger down his length, your touch barely there as you trace along a thick vein. He moans loudly when you finally wrap your hand around the base of his cock.

You push yourself up on your knees, leaning closer with parted lips. So close, he can feel the warmth of your breath. But you don’t touch.

“Want my mouth, baby?” you whisper, your lips millimeters away from his leaking tip.

He lets out a pathetic little whimper, using every ounce of self-control not to buck his hips into your face. “Please,” he whines, his voice strained with desperation.

“No, not yet, I don’t think,” you murmur. Your voice is smooth as silk. Unfazed, completely casual. As if you’re not driving him insane. He thinks he could actually cry, he needs you that badly. He’s so desperate for you to open your mouth a little wider and take him. For you to move your hand even an inch. Anything. He’s about to whine, beg some more, when a slow strand of spit drops from your mouth. You catch it with your thumb as it paints a trail down his length, and rub it into the head of his cock, applying a delicious amount of pressure that makes him writhe against the sofa.

His breath catches in his throat, but when he recovers, he’s crying out for you.

“Oh, fuck! Please, I need-”

“Shh, be patient, baby,” you say, shooting a stern look up at him. But you give in to his pleas. Slowly stroking his length, taking your time bringing him back to the edge.

His eyes dart between your hand and your face, unable to decide what’s more captivating. He raises his hand from the armrest, itching to touch you, but unsure of what he’s allowed. He reaches out anyway, hovering near the side of your head. You look up at him, a dazzling smile on your lips that completely melts him, and you lean into his hand. He doesn’t hesitate anymore, grabbing a fistful of your hair.

A faint gasp falls from your lips, which only encourages him to hold on tighter. You find yourself getting lost in the blissed out look on his face. His pupils are blown wide, and he watches you like you’re the greatest thing to ever exist. Is he crazy for thinking that you are?

“You’re so—fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

His words make your heart thud harder against your chest. The way he looks at you does something to you. Twists something tight in your belly, and you’re eager to give him more.

You pick up the pace of your hand. You’re tempted to take him into your mouth, but you want to take your time with him. You want to give him everything, but not yet. You’re determined to make him wait. To take things slow (albeit not that slow).

He fights the urge to throw his head back in pleasure as you play with the tightness of your grip, squeezing him teasingly, then loosening up, pulsing your hand around him to drive him mad.

“That feels so good. Mmff, fuck. You’re perfect,” he babbles, getting lost in a thick haze of his own pleasure.

His praise spurs you on, and you add a second hand, one hand pumping his length while the other plays with his tip, smearing another ribbon of your spit with slow, filthy swipes.

He starts to lift his hips off the sofa, meeting your hands. You tut, but he’s too far gone to hold back now, rutting shamelessly into your touch.

“Please, please, I’m so close,” he whines, clutching your hair so hard there’s a dull ache in your scalp that has you biting back a groan.

“Yeah? You wanna come?” you ask, your teasing hand curling fully around his shaft now, matching the steady pace of the other. You twist your hands in unison, the wet heat of your palms drawing a ragged, guttural moan from his throat.

“Please, please, please,” he chants breathlessly like it’s the only word he knows, fingernails scratching against the sofa cushion and your scalp. It stings, but you don’t mind at all.

“How bad do you want it, baby?” you ask, just to drag this out.

Tears sting the corner of his eyes. He can barely answer you, mumbling almost unintelligible nonsense—pleas for you to let him come. He looks at you with a wrecked expression, features crumpling in on themselves.

A deep sense of satisfaction settles over you. You have him exactly where you want him.

“Come for me, baby,” you finally say, murmuring your words in a soft, honeyed whisper.

James comes with a broken, strangled cry of your name, coating your hands in his sticky release the very second you give him permission.

“That’s it, there you go,” you coo.

His back arches from the cushion behind him, muscles trembling as a shudder rips through him. And his grip on the edge of the couch turns so tight he tears a hole in the already fraying fabric. Better that than your hair, which he loosens his hold on significantly, afraid he could really hurt you. Even lost in the heat of his climax, you’re his greatest concern.

“Did so good for me,” you hum, gently working him through his high with just one hand now, not wanting to overwhelm him. His chest rises and falls heavily as he tries to catch his breath.

He’s a whimpering mess as he comes down, pulling on your hair gently as a silent plea for you to come closer. You oblige, climbing up onto the sofa next to him. He doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around you and curl into your side, his nose nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He inhales deeply, addicted to the scent of your perfume, and it helps ground him. His other hand is still in your hair, combing through it lazily.

You keep your hands still, hovering over his lap, trying not to make more of a mess than he already has. But it’s hard, with the sudden urge you have to hold him too. Instead, you turn your head to press your lips to his forehead, staying just like that until his breathing evens out.

“We should get cleaned up,” you murmur against his skin. “After, do you wanna cuddle in your bed or mine?”

James is pretty sure he’s dreaming.

It’s only when he’s in your bed, snug under your duvet with your body tucked into his side and reheated takeout containers in your laps, that he accepts this isn’t a figment of his imagination. He didn’t scare you away with his obsession. Somehow, it helped him win you over.

And he doesn’t plan on ever letting you go.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[kireilien]

Hope u dont mind the spam 😣

Reader is maki's gf buuuut maki lets nico eat you out. Why? Cause he wanted to learn "properly". Everything else is history.

-#

ur giving me a run for my money this was so nghhhh da inspo nd that one comment “why they running a 2man on a burger” LOL but i had to make this into a love letter this is so mind blowing ty # anon

tw/cw. nsfw content, cursing; bf!maki, bf bsf!nicholas, sub!reader, fem!reader, race neutral reader, “condescending,” “objectification,” thoughts of this being pseudo-cheating, maki sharing you, oral (f receiving), clit stim, ruined orgasm, lwk they pretend like you’re not there..., reader is referred to as “maki’s girl” a few times, the tws i’ll explain under the cut!

this was also inspired by one of my favorite nsfw asmrists on reddit u/-basilbasilbasil- and their audio about pussy inspection it just screams this scenario which is why i added those tags just in case if someone reads it and finds it uncomfortable! was also totally inspired by fumabun’s kissing ranking, just translated it to pussy eating lolz anyways

“okay. pretend like they aren’t wet already.” 

“how am i supposed to do that.” 

“just pretend, dude. i’m teaching you how to eat box, they’re not supposed to be wet already.” 

your bottom half is already bare, pussy open to both nicholas and maki. embarrassingly wet in front of them, you still couldn’t believe that maki– your fuckass boyfriend– was scared to try eating you out, so he asked nicholas– his best friend– to eat you out. it’s hard to pretend to sit there like a sex toy for their use, but i guess it’s all worth it for maki’s experience– and better yet your sex life and pleasure. 

“some guys just lay there, some guys just spread their legs, but you gotta hook your arms under their legs like this,” nicholas demonstrates by using his strong arms to clutch onto your legs. his hands slide down your inner thighs to spread them out a little more. maki sits up further on your bed to see nicholas’ next moves. “see when you have them like this, you have your eye on the prize.” maki nods at nicholas as he starts lowering his head. 

he flicks his tongue only slightly against your clit. you jolt at the sudden movement, “you wanna start off by only focusing on the clit. this is the clit. remember it. don’t be stupid and not know where it is because if the two of you break up, that’s gonna spread.” maki side eyed nicholas at his passive comment only for a bit before nicholas continued. “bob your tongue like this– it makes them wet, making them ready for you to eat up.” although nicholas’ tongue was out, causing his speech to get slightly unintelligible, maki still knew what he was talking about.

as nicholas carries on, your thighs twitch and soft moans fall from your lips. maki was good for calling nicholas out of everyone to eat you out. nicholas pull back only slightly, “see how they’re flowing? you can also thumb at them like this to get the same effect. just focus on the clit for a little bit.” nicholas’ thumb is rough, different from maki’s hands. your breath hitches and start breaking when your head is thrown back in your pillows. “see that? notice how they react too. if they’re unfazed, that’s how you know you’re fucked.” 

maki simply nods and hums once more. “and listen too. listen for the smallest things. you wanna know if they’re groaning like they’re hurting, humming like they’re bored, or actually whimpering for you.” nicholas points at his ear to indicate his ‘teachings’ to maki. 

“okay, after a few minutes, clit stuff isn’t it anymore, focus on their hole,” nicholas starts off first before coming back down to your pussy. “pussy juice is addicting, so don’t go all in. savor it. if you go crazy style, they’re just gonna get weirded out.” maki peers over your thighs once more to watch nicholas. “watch. take your tongue, cup it like this,” nicholas shows maki his tongue slightly curled before coming back down, “scoop up their wetness.” nicholas uses his curled tongue to push your leaking pussy juice against his tongue to taste you. nicholas smacks his lips once before muttering and flexing his jaw, “fuck, your girl tastes good.” maki jerks his head, “wait, what’d you say?” nicholas shakes his head, “nothing.” 

continuing on, nicholas starts up once more, “use your tongue and mouth at their entire pussy– like make out with it– watch.” nicholas uses his plush lips to envelop your pussy. his tongue drags up your labia and back up to your clit while closing his lips around it. maki’s looking intensely as if he’s taking notes up in his brain. nicholas keeps at it, “here, you kinda just freestyle. watch how they move and react. you might wanna snake your tongue down… kiss up in it… bite and suck at their lips… flick your tongue inside… tongue them back up… do whatever they like.” as nicholas talked, he reciprocated his words to his actions. if he talked about tonguing you, he tongued you. if he kisses you, he kisses you. almost down to an art. 

nicholas’ hands found themselves squeezing at the flesh of your thighs and ass as he watches you unfold on his tongue. your hands are gripping at your sheets, knees are bent up, legs closing in on the sides of his head. while your cries are growing louder. each moan, whine, and croak of pleasure is getting nicholas so fucking hard. his pants are tent up by how his cock is straining at his boxers. shit. if he had a girl too, he’d feel so fucking bad, but your pussy is heaven to him. the way you’re melting on his tongue and taste like pure gold. thank god this isn’t technically cheating on maki. 

right when you feel the knot in your stomach inches away from snapping, nicholas pulls away. you whine, “what–! fuck–!” nicholas lips his lips from your sweet juices, his eyes are zeroing into yours. fuck. he feels so wrong for not letting you cum but, you are maki’s girl. “you’re up, man. eat your girl out like i just showed you.” maki exhales deeply before switching with nicholas, “i’ll do it better than you. no one will make my girl cum like i do.” 

“sure, dude.”

might extend this with the maki part and make it like a ramble?

back 2 maki catalog / back 2 catalog

[moonalumi]

getting fucked by ellie in every position all during one round <33

bc fucking ellie in only one position is not enough when she looks so hot n is so good, always

warnings- horndog ellie, strap on sex (r receiving), eating out ( r receiving), scissoring/ tribbing, dom!ellie, sub!reader, sub!ellie for like one sec, rough messy sex like rrly messy, manhandling, squirting, breeding kink, degrading names slut, bitch, ellie calls strap her dick like once

this is actually filthy so like read at your own risk

innocent couch cuddling sesh; that’s it right? no, never with ellie. not with her hands skimming up and down your body. well, it was lovingly at first but her fingertips getting more and more grabby the longer she caress your curves. turning your chin, she kisses you. kisses you reallllll good. lips sucking in your bottom lip, tongue asking for permission to be let in. saliva covering your mouths. that kind of kiss that ellie knows gets you right where she wants you. under her.

“gnna put it in babe okay?” ellie asks, her breath fanning your neck as her tip slips into you.

“shut up just hurry” you mumble as you take ahold of her strap and push it inside you. ellie smirks at your desperation and the little moans you let out as she pushes deeper and deeper until her tip hits your cervix.

sighing contently at the feeling of just being full of her. that’s until she pulls out and rubs at your clit with her thumb.

“ellieee go back in pleaseee puh lease, inside!” you whine, inching your hips closer to her.

“i know i know, just wanna make sure she’s ready” ellie then spreads your folds and before you know it, strings of her spit are running down, collecting at your hole.

a whine of her name and ohmygod… ellie thrusts back into you, roughly grabbing the back of your thighs and lifting them up to your chest. that whine of her name turns into a scream at the sudden intrusion. your body jerking up and up at each slam of her hips that’s digging her strap inside you.

“ugh uah mmm el- lie… tooo de-ep” you can barely form a sentence, she’s just going so fast all you can focus on is how she’s in and out in and out.

“you feel me in your tummy? ohmf fuckkk l-look babe”

ellie guides your chin down to look at the imprint of her strap bulging out from inside you. that sight alone causes your eyes to roll back, head hitting the seat of the couch as you lay back again and your back to arch.

the rougher ellie slams into you, the more you get pushed up the couch until your head hits the jagged wooden arm rests of it. head hitting it over and over again as she thrusts in.

“owww oof el…”

“yeah…y-yeah shut up take it take it” she mutters through her thrusts.

“ellie!” you have to sit up and yell to get her attention. confused eyes scanning your face until she sees you rubbing your head.

“oh shit m’sorry baby” a quick peck to your forehead and she’s now kneeling on the floor, flipping you over and bending you over the couch. your face all smushed in the pillows of it.

she’s quick to push back into you again and pound you as she pleases without your complaining; or so she thought because the endless muffled whines and begs asking her to slow down or that she’s too deep just causes her to grip your ass and force you to meet her thrusts.

“thought you wanted it now your complaining it’s too much? just take it, know you can.”

“oh goddd elll… mmhp ellie ellie ellie”

that’s all you can muster up. brain going blank and all you can say is her name. all you can feel is her filling you. the only sounds in the room being the constant smack smack smack of your skins hitting, the sound of your pussy squelching, and of course the sound of heavy breaths, moans, and ellie muttering filth in your ears as always.

“filling this pussy up, you feel that? gonna get you fucking pregnant….what a slut i betchu like that”

“say my name bitch, let everyone know who’s fucking you right now”

“taking care of her so well i can hear ‘er…godamn you’re so wet, just love getting fucked like this don’t you?”

tears threatening to spill down your eyes, choked moans at every particular harsh slam to your cervix.

ellie’s thrusts stutter and lose rhythm n she’s grabbing your hips and pulling you on top of her as she lays back on the floor. strong hands bouncing you up and down on that strap.

loud moans fall from your lips at the sudden change of positions again, you hold onto her skinny but muscular thighs for leverage. digging your nails into them.

“shit babe—ohh nnnghm fuck! you’re never this loud”

you can even put enough thoughts together in your brain to answer her. just mindlessly fucking yourself onto ellie. n she’s just as fucked out as you are. needy hands gripping and smacking your ass as it jiggles all in front of her eyes. those eyes that roll back as the base of the strap rubs against her throbbing clit.

“ride it baby just like that… mm fuck me” ellie’s voice turning whinier by the second. she notices your bouncing slowing down and she lifts you up n practically slams you back on the couch. she’s just manhandling and throwing you around wherever she wants at this point.

spreading your legs and putting them on her shoulders; shes back inside you. thrusting even more ferociously. those sloppy wet lips of hers kissing and licking up and down your neck, jaw, everywhere she can reach. her groans and breaths getting louder and louder. even letting out a little whimper here and there.

“i love you so much” you breathlessly whisper, shaky arms wrapping around her neck to pull her closer.

ellie’s lips find yours, capturing them in a tongue filled messy kiss. your moans seeping into the kiss as she trys to burry herself deeper; if that’s even possible, if she had balls she’s actually be balls deep.

but els always finds a way. she pulls away from the kiss and forcefully lifts your hips up and off the cushions.

“i love you more, mmpf shittt take this dick” holding you up, she fucks you like her life depended on it.

“ohmygod e-llieee” you moan and push on her lower stomach to get her to pull out some inches just a bit. that’s until she hits that spot and you’re so overwhelmed with pleasure every sense of yours just shuts down and all you can feel is those bolts of pleasure running down your body and hit your clit.

back arching into her, legs shaking on her shoulder n you’re gushing and covering her strap with your cum.

ellie’s own orgasm approaching but she just can’t get there. frustrated, she throws her strap off herself and fucks her clit against yours. all during your high so instead of creaming all over her dick you cover her pussy in your slick.

“baby baby mmm i’m gnna cum—” couple more circles around your clit and her hips are jerking, face scrunching up in that cute orgasm face she always puts on, n her pretty moans and whines are spilling from her agape jaw.

with your eyes fuzzy you watch as she coats your cunt with her babies. ellie falls ontop of you; your sweaty tired bodies resting for a moment til—

“hold’up m’not done—gotta clean you up” you don’t even process what she said or what’s she’s doing until you feel her tongue against your sensitive clit.

you gasp and squirm away, but she chases after you, following wherever you move like her mouth is actually attached to your cunt.

“no no els it’s too—mm!” you shriek at the feeling of her sucking your clit in n tongue moving in circles. it rrly is all too much you can feel every little movement and groove of her tongue. you attempt to push her head away but she latches her arms around your thighs and moves her head side to side. her eyes squeezing shut at the taste of you and her combined.

you squeeze around her head n lift up off the couch again, squirming every which way to escape that mouth of hers. even pulling her hair and roughly pushing her head away isn’t getting her off.

“m’not stopping til you cum again if you really want me to stop say the safeword” she mumbles all muffled into your pussy then continue her attacks.

“i cant cum ellie! it’s too muchhh” you whine but ohh her tongue pushing in you and her lil button nose rubbing your clit has got you over the edge again so quickly.

instead of pushing her away you push her face deeper into you. tugging on her hair as spurts of squirt dribble from your pussy all over her lips and chin.

ellie moaning into your folds and finally detaching herself and wiping her face clean with the back of her hand.

“m’sorry love i couldn’t help myself” ellie mutters as she lays and nuzzles her face in the crook of your neck. pulling a blanket over you two.

“it’s okay” you whisper while catching your breath, “it just hurts now, n it’s so wet i feel dirty”

“well take a bath together babe just- can we lay here for a bit..m’so tired” ellie’s voice trailing lower.

“that’s your fault you put me in like 7 different position all in ten minutes” you say giggling and kissing her forehead.

“mmph shut up” ellie whines and stuffs her face in your neck. she’s just so cute you can help but kiss her all over her face <33

[r0b1ns]

SQUID GAME HEADCANONS

MALE READER

ARE THEY A SUB/DOM/BOTTOM/TOP

CHARACTERS: 001 (in-ho), 456 (gi-hun), 333 (myung-gi), 388 (dae-ho), 230 (su-bong/thanos), 246 (gyeong-seok), 124 (nam-gyu), 125 (min-su), 218 (sang-woo), 199 (ali abdul), jun ho, recruiter

CW: AMAB reader, n/sfw content

keep reading under the cut;

(why is there a 10 gif limit😭)

001 (IN-HO)

-He's definitely a top. No way he's bottoming

-he does like subbing something

-when he subs he likes you riding him, gripping your hips and watching you

-but most of the time he prefers domming

-he can be a rough dom, choking you and slapping you

-and he can also be gentle when he's in the mood

-calling you sweet names and caressing every part of your body, like you're his god

456 (GI-HUN)

-switch

-prefers bottoming

-i mean, did you see his arch, he's definitely done this more than once

-he also likes it sweet and rough, depends on his mood

-one time he can ask you to destroy him until he can't walk, and other times he wants you to just hold him

333 (MYUNG-GI)

-he wants to think he's a top

-but he's really not

-he also not a dom

-he tries to top you the first few times, but it's pointless

-he loves your cock too much

-he likes it rough

-but not too much, don't overdo it

388 (DAE-HO)

-he'll do whatever you want

-you want him to fuck you? Done

-you want to fuck him? Please do

-you tried asking him multiple times what he prefers, but every time the answer is the same; whatever you prefer

-he truly takes pleasure in YOUR pleasure

-he is very passionate, like he's doing a task, in a good way

230 (SU-BONG/THANOS)

-switch

-it depends entirely on his mood

-he's very versatile, he can top, bottom, be dominant, be submissive

-he usually likes it rough, to the point of leaving marks

-and he's very proud of them, wether it's on you or him

246 (GYEONG-SEOK)

-he prefers topping

-but doesn't mind bottoming if you're in the mood

-he's a very soft person

-when he's on top he likes fucking you slow, kissing you everywhere

-whispering worships

-if he's on bottom he wants you to go slow and gentle, kissing him every once in a while

-he's a service top, he'll do anything you ask him

124 (NAM-GYU)

-oh man

-this little evil twink

-he's a bottom no doubt

-he'll literally melt if you ask him to top you, and not in a good way

-he can be a dom and a sub

-most of the times he's a sub tho

-he likes being used by you

-just fuck him and he'll forget everything he had to worry about

-just do whatever you want to him

-RUIN HIM

125 (MIN-SU)

-bottom leaning switch

-he prefers recieving

-you fucking into him slowly

-but if you want him to top you he won't mind

-he's shy at first, but later you'll come to find out he's a little freak in the sheets

218 (SANG-WOO)

-most definitely a top

-his brain will literally stop working if you'd ask him to bottom for you

-like, are you actually asking this?

-are you sure you're not confused?

-in your dreams

-anyway

-he's a dom, even if you think you're in control

-you're not

-you think you're controlling the speed while riding him?

-nope

-he just wants you to think that, but he's the one controlling it, or rather you

199 (ALI ABDUL)

-he's a top

-he tried bottoming for you, only for you

-but he didn't like it, not really

-so he really prefers being the one inside if you

-he's soft and passionate

-doesn't matter if he's domming or subbing right now, he'll focus his everything on you

-hugging you and touching you everywhere

JUN-HO

-bottom.

-submissive most of the times

-he likes letting go of control, while also feeling safe with you

-he really is a pillow princess

-he wants you to do all the work

-position him however you'd like, but make it comfortable for him

RECUITER

-mostly a top

-he bottoms on really rare occasions

-he likes it rough

-doesn't matter who's inside who, who bites or slaps, it has to be rough

-sometimes he'll want you to tie him up and abuse him untill he cums

-and sometimes he'll tie you up and won't stop untill you're begging (if you're lucky)

[allurer23]

TURN THE PAGE TO US

YOU ANNOTATED MY SOUL

In Focus: Mark Lee × Reader

Synopsis: You and Mark Lee: two English Lit majors, one department, zero peace. You can quote The Waste Land by heart, and so can he—but your shared talent for verse usually ends in verbal warfare. Forced to co-lead a competitive research project, Mark’s infuriating intelligence and maddening focus drive you up the wall. Yet, rivalry softens into playful banter, and late study sessions stretch longer than expected. Turns out, the line between rivalry and something softer is written in pencil—easily erased, effortlessly rewritten.

Warnings: Rivals to lovers, Explicit sexual content / verbal kink, Mentions of sexual tension, arousal, and suggestive dialogue, Dom/sub implications (voice kink, praise/degradation mix), Consensual power play, Intense academic rivalry dynamic, Emotional repression / internalized longing, Some strong language (casual swearing), Alcohol (minor party scene), Academic stress / intellectual elitism, Brief reference to being interrupted post-kiss, Heavy use of literary references / sarcasm / metaphor, No actual smut scenes occur, but it’s very hot

Author’s Note:

This is the first footnote in TURN THE PAGE TO US—because nothing screams ‘healthy coping mechanism’ like falling for the one person who annotates your entire existence.”

I didn’t mean to write something this long, but apparently, Mark Lee + academic rivalry + literary thirst = me losing all control. This ended up way longer than planned, and I still haven’t finished it—so I’m posting it in two parts.

This is Part 1, guys

You can read Part 2 here

This is for the girls who annotate their fantasy smut and the guys who smell like books and think arguing about Kafka counts as foreplay. This fic is messy, wordy, and borderline unhinged in the best academic way. To everyone who's ever caught feelings during a debate—this one's for you. Engagement means the world: likes, reblogs, comments, screams in the tags.

Please be 18+ if you’re reading.

"You underlined metaphors. I read between the lines. Somewhere between ink and irritation, we annotated each other."

Third coffee of the day. And I hate coffee. It tastes like existential dread steeped in burnt hope. But like Gregor Samsa waking up as a bug, I didn’t choose this life—I just…adapted. Caffeine is my metamorphosis.

Sips, grimaces, and watches Mark Lee walk in, perfectly on time, of course.

And there he is. Mark Lee. Human punctuation mark. Probably thinks the sun rises because he quoted Woolf at it. He writes like he’s got a personal vendetta against mediocrity and walks like he’s never been told he’s wrong. Spoiler alert: I’ve told him. He didn’t listen.

The academic rival I never asked for but somehow ended up stuck with since freshman year. Ever since our first clash over whether The Waste Land is genius or just a fever dream with footnotes, it’s been intellectual warfare. I don’t know why, but every time I see him, I feel this irrational irritation—like my brain knows it’s about to be challenged, and my ego's already rolling up its sleeves.

And of course, can't forget to mention his group. The ever-infamous Dream boys. The campus golden group. Seven of them, like some mythological fellowship but with more hair gel and less emotional regulation. A cocktail of charisma, chaos, and misplaced confidence.

Professor Jung walked into the classroom with the kind of smile that only meant one thing: chaos was coming. Not the scream-and-run kind. The academic kind. The kind that ruined friendships, ignited crushes, and made someone cry in the hallway after overanalyzing Jane Eyre.

“Let’s start today with a wonderful question,” he said, practically rubbing his hands together like a Bond villain with tenure. “Fate versus free will in literature.”

Of course. Of course. The kind of question that turns polite English majors into caffeinated gladiators wielding highlighters and wounded pride.

“Think Kafka’s labyrinths of absurdity or Austen’s cages of etiquette,” he continued, eyes gleaming like this was the TED Talk he'd been preparing his whole life for. “Who really writes the story—the characters, or some invisible puppeteer called fate?”

Naturally—and I mean this with every ounce of disdain in my soul—Mark Lee’s hand shot up. Instantly. Like he had been waiting for this moment since the womb. Like fate had chosen him, which is ironic, considering he clearly sides with it.

He wore that insufferable smirk—the one that made girls sigh and me want to throw a Norton Anthology at his face. His glasses glinted like they were part of some book-boy cosplay, which, tragically, only made him hotter. Tragic for me, I mean. Not the population of people who thirst after tortured literature boys who quote Woolf on first dates. (Yes, he did that. I overheard. He used To the Lighthouse. Someone really should’ve drowned him there.)

I raised my hand too. Because if Mark Lee was jumping into the ring, I was showing up with verbal brass knuckles and annotated Kafka.

We both started speaking—of course—and Professor Jung smiled like his plan to cause chaos was going exactly as intended.

“Y/n, go ahead,” he said. And I did. With glee.

“Fate? Please. That’s just what authors use when they don’t want to admit they wrote themselves into a corner. The Trial isn’t an ode to inevitability—it’s a primal scream from a man being smothered by bureaucracy and desperately trying to claw meaning out of the absurd. Free will exists. It's just ugly and panicked and gets drowned in paperwork.”

Mark’s smirk—God, that smirk—deepened. Probably because he thought he was about to say something clever. Spoiler alert: he wasn’t.

“Delusional,” he said, all smooth confidence and unjustified cheekbones. “Austen’s characters are textbook fate victims. Emma? Lizzie? They ‘choose,’ sure but only within the bounds of societal programming. It's not free will, it’s conditioned responses. Fate, just wearing a petticoat.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I saw my ancestors. “You’re reducing character arcs to algorithms. Emma isn’t doomed—she’s flawed. And she changes. Growth is a choice, Mark Lee. Free will is messy, but that’s what makes it beautiful. Fate is a cop-out for people too afraid of consequences.”

He leaned back like he was lounging in a coffee shop, not verbally brawling in front of thirty people. “And yet the greatest tragedies rely on fate. Romeo and Juliet, Gatsby… Doomed from the start. Fate is the poetry of inevitability.”

I gave him a smile that could peel paint. “And maybe you just like sounding poetic while ignoring the fact that most tragedies are people screwing up, not the stars aligning. Gatsby wasn’t doomed. He just made garbage decisions and idealized a girl who liked shiny things.”

He adjusted his glasses like he was preparing to deliver an epiphany. “So you’re saying free will is just people being dumb?”

“Exactly,” I said, triumphantly. “Free will is people being dumb, brilliant, selfish, selfless, human. Orwell’s 1984? Winston tries. He chooses resistance. That’s the whole point. Even a doomed choice is still a choice.”

Mark tilted his head, all faux-curious. “And he’s crushed. Crushed by the inevitability of the system. Free will doesn’t win. Fate does.”

I could practically hear the air crackling. Our classmates were silent, hanging on every word like this was a courtroom drama and someone’s scholarship depended on it. Maybe mine did.

Professor Jung finally clapped his hands, grinning like a man watching two tigers fight over a Shakespearean soliloquy. “Exactly what I wanted. Good. Very, very good.”

I slumped back in my seat, heart thumping, and glared at Mark’s profile. He looked entirely too pleased with himself. His smirk. His glasses. His perfect posture, like he didn’t just ruin my blood pressure for the day.

After the verbal warzone had been declared over by Professor Jung, I packed up my notes with all the casual serenity of a boiling kettle. Mark was still smugly tucking his glasses into his collar like he hadn’t just played devil’s advocate for fate, of all things. Fate. I mean, who chooses to side with destiny in 2025?

“Y/N and Mark, please stay back,” Professor Jung said, just as I was plotting the most satisfying way to avoid him for the rest of my life.

I glanced sideways at Mark—or as I affectionately referred to him in my mind, the walking thesis footnote of my irritation. His brow arched, clearly intrigued, and I hated that it looked good on him. Could someone’s face be grammatically correct? I didn’t want to talk about it.

Once the last student dragged their bag out and the door clicked shut behind them, Professor Jung beamed like he’d been waiting to drop a literary bomb.

“I like the way you both think,” he began, steepling his fingers like some benevolent academic overlord. “You don’t just read literature—you wrestle it. Respect it. And occasionally stab each other with it.”

I said nothing, just nodded politely while standing as far from Mark as physically possible without flinging myself out the window.

“There’s an international literary conference hosted by the University at Veritas,” he continued. “It’s prestigious, competitive, and… paired.”

Mark straightened beside me like someone had just offered him a sonnet and a scholarship. I, on the other hand, was already sensing doom wrapped in MLA format.

“It’s on the notice board, but I’m telling you two specifically,” Professor Jung went on, smiling that same evil-genius smile he’d worn this morning. “Because I think—no, know—that if you teamed up, your chances of getting accepted are incredibly high.”

My brain short-circuited.

Team up?

With Mark fate-is-a-poem Lee?

We’d kill each other before we even chose a font.

“That’s… very kind of you, Professor,” I said, my voice politely strangled.

Beside me, Mark let out a soft, amused hum. Like a man already composing the opening paragraph of our academic obituary.

“I’m in,” he said. Instantly. No hesitation. Of course.

I looked at him like he’d just offered to co-author my nightmare.

“I mean,” he added, shooting me a sideways glance that felt like a challenge dressed as a compliment, “if Y/N can handle it.”

Handle what? His metaphors? His smugness? His perfectly organized notes that somehow always smell like cinnamon and ink?

“Oh, I can handle it,” I said sweetly, a dangerous smile curving on my lips. “Just don’t start talking about Austen like she’s a 19th-century NPC again and we’ll get along just fine.”

Professor Jung clapped once. “Perfect. Submit a proposal by next Friday. Surprise me.”

As we stepped into the corridor, I could already feel the words crawling up my throat like they were too irritated to stay inside.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” I muttered. “This isn’t a prize. It’s community service.”

Mark had the audacity to laugh. “I don’t know, I think we might actually work well together.”

I stopped walking. He did too, turning slightly with that same irritating eyebrow tilt like he thought this was a scene from some academic rom-com. It wasn’t.

I crossed my arms. “Meet me at 4 p.m. in the book cafe outside campus. We need to figure out a topic before your ego writes a paper all by itself.”

He gave a mock salute. “Wouldn’t dream of being late.”

Then he walked off, all easy strides and unbearable confidence, like we hadn’t just declared a ceasefire for the sake of intellectual dominance.

I stared after him, jaw clenched.

This was going to be a disaster. A well-researched, peer-reviewed, highly-cited disaster.

I walk toward the field where my so-called friends are lounging like overfed cats under the sun. Chenle’s playing basketball, all fluid limbs and annoying laughter. The rest? Already grinning like they know something I don’t. Which is impossible. Unless…

“Hey, Mark Lee,” Haechan calls, eyes glinting like he’s logged into my brain. “You look like someone tore your ego again today. Was it our Lit Queen?”

I flop down onto the grass beside them with the dramatic energy of a tragic Greek hero. “Today’s topic was free will vs. fate in literature,” I mutter, tugging blades of grass like they personally offended me. “Obviously, I sided with fate—because hello, I’m not naive enough to believe I have control over anything in life—but now I don’t know if I won or if she did or if I just got verbally suplexed by a girl in winged eyeliner.”

Haechan snorts. “Verbal suplex. That’s a new low, even for you.”

“It’s like she thrives on chaos." I continue like a man possessed. "The moment the professor mentioned fate, her eyes lit up like she was summoning literary demons just to argue.”

“She probably lives in hell, Mark. Maybe she’s just giving you directions,” Renjun says without looking up from his notebook.

“The worst part isn’t the debate,” I mumble. “It’s the fact that I’m teamed up with her. For the inter-college conference.”

That gets them. A collective gasp like I just announced I’m marrying her tomorrow.

“Oh,” Jaemin says, eyes wide. “You mean her? The girl who corrected Professor Kim when he misquoted T.S. Eliot?”

“She’s the same one who once sent Sunwoo a list of grammar corrections when he asked her out,” Haechan adds, cackling. “Imagine trying to flirt and getting a red-inked Google Doc back.”

“She brought up Plato at that party last week,” Jeno says, shaking his head. “And they were literally talking about their dating lives. I think someone asked what her type was and she went ‘philosophically or emotionally?’”

Chenle jogs up just in time to drop the final blow. “Rumor says she turned a guy down by sending him a bibliography on why she’s emotionally unavailable.”

“A bibliography?” Jisung blinks. “Like… with citations?”

“I think there was APA and MLA formats involved,” Chenle grins.

I sigh, dragging my hands down my face. “You guys don’t understand. I notice… things now. Like—like the way she rolls her eyes every time I speak. Which is always. She does this dramatic slow blink and I swear, I hear ‘disappointment’ in 4K.”

“She probably keeps a thesaurus in her bag just to judge your vocabulary,” Renjun mutters.

“And the eyeliner,” I continue like I’ve lost control of my mouth. “You know? That perfect little wing at the corner of her eye? Like she’s ready to slice me with it.”

“Oh my god,” Jaemin groans. “He’s noticing eyeliner. This is terminal.”

“She bites her pen when she’s thinking,” I say, ignoring them all now. “Like the cap is a life-or-death decision. And when she drinks coffee, she winces. She hates it. I know she does. She drinks it like it’s a punishment, not a preference. That’s not someone who likes caffeine. That’s someone who’s forcing herself to function in a coffee-drunk world.”

“You’re in deep, man,” Jeno laughs, clapping my shoulder. “You’re starting to sound like her.”

“I am not—” I stop, because, okay. Maybe I am. Maybe the worst part isn’t even being teamed up with her. Maybe it’s the fact that I can’t stop thinking about how her voice sharpens when she’s passionate about a book. Or how her handwriting looks like it belongs in some old library archive. Or how her smirk makes me want to argue with her just to see it again.

“She’s going to destroy me,” I say aloud.

“She already has,” Haechan smirks. “And we’re just here for the literary funeral.”

I walk into the book cafe and spot Mark Lee instantly—half-slouched in a corner booth, dressed like a Pinterest board for "hot literature major energy" and scrolling through his phone like he hasn’t been waiting here early on purpose.

He looks up the moment I sit across from him and slides a caramel frappuccino toward me like it's a peace offering.

“I don’t drink frappuccinos,” I say, pulling out my laptop and notebook. “Especially not ones pretending to be desserts.”

“You should,” he says smoothly, “it’s better than wincing like you're in physical pain every time you drink coffee. Just spare the Americano your judgmental stare.”

He says it like he’s read the last ten pages of my life.

Which is the worst part.

Because he kinda has.

“I’ve already chosen our topic,” I announce, ignoring his smirk. “‘The Quiet Catastrophe: Literature as a Witness to Absurdity and Human Frailty.’ It’s in line with the conference theme and—”

“Of course you chose that,” he cuts in, leaning back like he’s bracing for impact. “Tell me, what’s your word count goal this year for Kafka-Dostoevsky Existential Crisis Essays? A hundred thousand?”

I glare. “It’s a strong theme.”

“It’s a recycled theme.” He raises an eyebrow. “I'm just saying… have you considered that Franz and Fyodor might want you to move on?”

I open my mouth, then close it. Because damn it, he’s not wrong.

“I was thinking,” he continues, voice casual but eyes very not, “what if we pitched ‘Ink as Ammunition: Literature as Resistance in Postcolonial and Feminist Texts’? It’s bold, fresh, and maybe—just maybe—you’ll meet authors who don’t end their novels in total despair.”

I hate that it’s a good idea.

I hate that my face reacts before my pride does—because he sees it.

His smirk deepens.

“I don’t want to waste time arguing,” I mutter, crossing my arms. “So fine. We’ll go with your idea.”

“Wow.” He places a hand over his heart dramatically. “Mark this day, for she has spoken the word: fine.”

We fall into a silence so deep it might as well have its own heartbeat—the kind of silence that says.

I catch his brown eyes catching the light every time he lands on a good point, like he’s just uncovered some secret cheat code for the paper. His eyebrows furrow into that “serious genius” crease, and of course, his damn glasses betray him by slipping down his nose as he leans in to sneak a peek at what I wrote. The way he pushes them back up with one lazy finger? Too casual, too precise—like he knows exactly how distracting he looks.

Focus, Y/N. Focus on the paper, not the guy who plays basketball to ease his tension and somehow looks like he just walked off a runway. And yes, he looks damn hot when he plays, but this is strictly an academic observation, no judging.

Mark’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

“Handmaid’s Tale?”

I nod, trying not to make it obvious that I’m really thinking about how his hair falls perfectly messy when he pushes it back, and how the sleeves of his shirt roll up just enough to make me wonder if he knows the effect he’s having.

“What’s running around in that head of yours?” he asks, eyebrow raised, suddenly silent like he’s waiting for some grand revelation.

Definitely not how good you look right now.

"Oh nothing"

“And seriously,” he adds, eyeing my pen like it’s a secret weapon, “you should stop chewing on that thing. I know you’re hunting for a sentence to obliterate me with.”

“I’m not,” I snap, yanking the pen away like it’s a live bomb.

We’re both silent for a while — a rare event, considering we usually argue over everything from font sizes to who gets top billing on the title page. But right now, it’s just the clack of keyboards and the soft hum of the café.

“I don’t like this,” he says suddenly.

I glance up. “What, being productive?”

“No. You being quiet. It’s weird. It’s like I’m watching a thriller with no plot twist. Where’s the snark? The dramatic sighs? The eye rolls?”

I shrug. “Maybe I’m saving all my energy for the bibliography.”

He grins. “Oh, I get it now. You’re lulling me into a false sense of security before you hit me with the footnote from hell.”

I sip the Frappuccino — the one I swore I wouldn’t drink. He notices, of course.

“It’s good, isn’t it?”

“It’s tolerable.”

“You say that about everything you like. Just admit you love it.”

I raise an eyebrow. “That line working on anyone else?”

He leans back, smirking. “Only the ones who can spell ‘conscience’ without autocorrect.”

I can’t help the laugh that slips out. He notices that too.

“You laughed,” he says like he just won a bet.

“Congratulations. What do you want, a trophy?”

“No, just acknowledgment. It’s rare. Like finding a happy ending in an existential novel.”

I grin. “You’re really trying to make metaphors happen today, huh?”

He shrugs.

We fall back into silence.

Two weeks had passed since our abstract got the green light from Mr. Jung. Since then, it felt like we’d been living in a war zone—bickering over everything from fonts to spacing, to whose point held more weight. Every tiny detail turned into a battlefield.

“I’m taking you to the party,” Giselle declared, even though I was standing right next to her.

“I’m not coming,” I replied, flipping through Onyx Storm. Honestly, can you blame me? The ending was right around the corner.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m taking you. That’s not a request, Ms. Litlady. And please, don’t start in on Plato or whoever. People are still talking about that.”

“They asked me a question,” I shrugged, marking my page before closing the book. “I just answered.”

“It’s a party, not a philosophy lecture. Dress up and come with me. Jungwoo’s picking us up.”

“It’s not like I hate parties.”

She grinned. “Exactly. You like parties—you’re not one of those typical bookworms who lock themselves away all weekend.”

“Yeah, well, I like finishing Onyx Storm more.”

“Whatever. You can finish it later. You’ve been working on that paper with your academic rival nonstop. You need a break from that hot nerd.”

“He’s not hot. More like a mosquito buzzing in my ear and I'm just tolerating him.”

“Speaking of that hot nerd, only you can hold a conversation with him. I heard Jia finally snagged a date with him last month, and he went on about the Renaissance and its impact on literature, the printing press, the first Bible—all that jazz.”

A small smile spread across my face. “That sounds exactly like him,” I said, walking to my closet.

“The red one or the black one?” Giselle asked.

“I like the red one. It looks good on you.”

“Done and done.”

The music was loud, the air smelled like cheap cologne and spilled cider, and the lights were dim enough to make everyone look ten percent more attractive than usual—which meant nothing to me, obviously. I was here for a drink and maybe a reason to leave early.

Then she walked in.

Giselle first—grinning, glossy-lipped and glitter-eyed. Jungwoo next, bouncing like the Labrador he was. And then her, in black. Not the mournful academic black we lived in, no. This was dangerous black. Skin, collarbone, the glint of a necklace that caught the light every time she tilted her head and laughed.

And she laughed.

At him.

Jaehyun.

The golden boy. Soccer star. Her brother’s best friend. The type of guy who didn’t have to work for charm—he just breathed and people adored him. She was leaning in, brushing his arm, and throwing her head back like he’d just told the best joke in the world.

I hated it.

I didn’t even know what he said, and I hated it.

Haechan appeared next to me with a red cup and a knowing look. “You’re staring.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re glaring.”

“Same thing.”

“She looks good tonight,” he said. “Not that I noticed. I mean, Jaehyun noticed. And half the team. But not me. Just saying.”

I rolled my eyes, took a swig of something that burned, and tried not to look back. Failed.

“She laugh like that with you during group projects?” Haechan smirked, the devil in a hoodie.

“She doesn’t laugh with me. We argue.”

“And yet,” he drawled, “here you are. Third drink. Sixth stare. First stage of denial. Classic.”

I turned away. “Shut up.”

“She’s just talking to Jaehyun, man. Your crush is allowed to talk to people.”

“She’s not my—”

I paused.

He grinned.

I hated him.

____

I walked into the room after attending a call from Renjun. She was laughing again. That sharp, carefree kind of laugh that somehow always managed to echo over the music. And of course, it was Jaehyun standing next to her. She tilted her head slightly when she laughed, like whatever he said was the cleverest thing she’d heard all night. Whatever.

I made my way to the bar. Not toward her — just the bar. The fact that she was already there? Unfortunate timing.

I stepped into the space beside her, nodding at the bartender. “You do remember our submission’s due next week, right? Or is your strategy just charming Jaehyun into doing it for us?”

She turned toward me, a slow, amused look crawling up her face. “Mark Lee at a party and talking about work? I’m shocked. Blink twice if you’re being held hostage.”

I grabbed my drink. “I just figured your attention span might need the reminder.”

Her smirk widened. “Worried I’ll outshine you again?”

“Again implies it happened once.”

“You’re right. But let’s not forget all those other times I accidentally outdid you — it’s kind of a pattern by now.”

I took a slow sip. “Delusions are getting bold these days.”

She laughed under her breath. Not the same kind of laugh she gave Jaehyun. This one had teeth. “The cafe’s closed tomorrow,” she said, casually, like it was no big deal. “So if you want to get this done before the deadline, you’ll have to come to my place. I’ll text you the address.”

I raised an eyebrow, letting a beat of silence stretch before answering. “You sure your Wi-Fi can handle all that ego in one apartment?”

She looked at me over her glass. “Guess we’ll find out.”

And just like that, she turned back to her conversation — not sparing me a second glance.

Fine by me. I got what I came for. A drink. And a reminder that this partnership was going to be the end of one of us.

Probably her.

___

She said her place. Her place. I didn’t ask questions—just said yes like a man trying to win a debate by proximity.

But now I’m standing in front of her door with a backpack full of citations and a mouth that can’t stop thinking about hers. This isn’t about the paper anymore. Not really.

She’s let me in—literally. And I don’t know what I’ll do when she forgets I’m the enemy and starts looking at me like I’m something else entirely.

He stepped into my apartment like he owned the place, tossed his bag onto the floor beside the low table in the hall, and sank onto the opposite side without a word. We didn’t need pleasantries—not in our world of rivalry laced with disdain.

I shouldn’t have said my place. I could’ve picked the library. A cafe, The quad. Literally anywhere that didn’t have soft lighting and shelves full of books that double as secrets and i didn't realise it tho.

But the way he looked at me—like he knew something I didn’t—made my mouth move faster than my brain. And now we were meeting in a space where my defenses didn’t work.

My apartment wasn’t neutral territory. It had favorite pens and worn notebooks and a bookshelf I’d never let anyone touch. Not even the friends who knew what I read when I wasn’t trying to impress professors.

He pulled out his laptop and the familiar clack of keys filled the silence as we settled into rhythm, working through the final citations. I was focused, eyes scanning a paragraph on postmodern consumption—but I felt it the moment his attention drifted.

Not to me. Not yet.

His gaze had shifted—toward the corner.

Bookshelf.

I followed it too late. He was already rising, curiosity pulling him like a magnet to the shelf I usually guarded with selective disclosure. His fingers grazed the spines, pausing over a particular set of titles that didn’t exactly scream Kafka.

Twisted Love. Fourth Wing. Iron Flame. A Court of Thorns and Roses.

I didn’t have to look up to know the smirk forming on his lips.

“Interesting collection,” he murmured, voice laced with something that wasn’t entirely mockery.

I turned my face toward him slowly, schooling my expression into bored defiance. “It’s called research,” I said coolly, though I could feel the heat creeping up the back of my neck.

He pulled a book halfway out. “For our project?” he asked, taking a step closer.

“For the sake of literature as a whole,” I countered, folding my arms across my chest.

Another step. “Didn’t know you were into… dragons, morally grey men, and explicit tension.”

I didn’t move. “Didn’t know you had time to read spines while pretending to be better than me.”

That earned a short laugh, rough and low. He closed the distance until he was standing right beside me, the book still in his hand, his fingers brushing the edge of the cover like it was a dare.

“I guess I underestimated the kind of stories that get your attention,” he said, his voice quieter now, deeper.

I tilted my head. “And I overestimated your sense of boundaries.”

His gaze flicked to my lips for a fraction of a second too long before settling back on my eyes. “So… which one’s your favorite?”

I reached out, plucked the book from his hand with deliberate slowness, and placed it back on the shelf.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I said, and turned back toward the table and settled into the chair.

I could still feel his stare on my back. Heavy. Unspoken.

The citations could wait a few seconds more.

He didn’t come back right away.

I could feel him still standing there. The air around the bookshelf was thick—static, electric. His presence dragged across my skin like a storm waiting to break.

And then he came back after grabbing another book from my collections.  Not quietly. Not carelessly.

He sank into the chair like he owned it. Like he owned the moment. Like he’d found a secret and was now deciding just how deep he wanted to bury it in me.

No glance at the screen.

Only me.

His eyes were darker than before. Focused. Sure.

“Research purposes, huh?”

Low. Laced with something that tasted like trouble.

I didn’t flinch. “You know—methodology, citations, critical discourse—”

“You mean your collection over there?”

He jerked his chin toward the shelf. “Looks a hell of a lot more like late-night escapism than anything academic.”

My throat tightened. “You’re making assumptions.”

He smirked. “Am I?”

Then he leaned in. Slow. Measured. His voice dipped into something filthy and deliberate.

“You’re the girl who quotes Barthes in class, who sighs at Kafka like he ruined you—but you’ve got a whole row of books with titles like Thorns and Temptation, Credence and Twisted series.”

I blinked.

He didn’t stop.

“Let me guess. The main guy’s always a tortured immortal. Says he’s a monster. Calls her little mortal, my mouse, my princess or butterfly, before bending her over a throne.”

“That’s not—”

He cut in, brutal and soft. “You like that shit.”

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

“And I bet you read it one hand on the page, the other under the covers, acting like you’re too good for it. Telling yourself it’s just fiction. Just tension. Just... literary curiosity.”

He grinned. Dark. Triumphant.

“But you keep going back to the same scenes, don’t you?”

I crossed my arms. “So what if I do?”

“So nothing.” He shrugged. “Except you walk around like your head’s above it all. As if you wouldn’t come apart if someone actually pressed you up against a wall and whispered the things you pretend you hate.”

He was too close. I could smell his cologne—woodsy, dark, intoxicating.

“You think that’s all it takes?” I tried to say it steady, but my voice betrayed me. Too tight. Too breathless.

He tilted his head, eyes on me like a predator amused by how long his prey thought it could pretend.

“No,” he said. “I think you want someone who gets it. Someone who won’t judge you for reading smut dressed in metaphors.”

His hand reached forward. Not touching. Just close. Suggestive.

“I think you want someone who’d highlight those lines with you. The ones where she begs. Where he growls. Where the line between danger and desire blurs and she likes it.”

I felt heat rush to my face. My stomach twisted. My legs didn’t move.

“And I think,” he continued, “you’ve spent so long playing the good girl with her annotated classics and tragic quotes... you’ve forgotten how much you crave someone seeing you. Really seeing you.”

“You don’t know me,” I whispered.

“I do now.”

His voice was a promise. A threat. A challenge.

“And you know what’s wild?”

He leaned in just enough to ghost his lips near my jaw. “I’m not judging you. I’d read them with you. Out loud. Every filthy line. Make you admit which parts made your thighs press together. Make you say it—this one, this is the line that made me want to be ruined.”

My breath shuddered.

His knee slid against mine again. Pressed there. Solid. Heavy.

“You still gonna act like you’re above it?” he whispered. “Or are you gonna let me peel that good girl persona off you page by page?”

I didn’t answer.

Because if I did—I wasn’t sure if I’d stop.

Because the thesis wasn’t the only thing unraveling.

I was.

And God, maybe I wanted him to keep pulling.

He didn’t pull away.

He leaned closer.

Still no contact—just his presence, thick and heavy and humming with a kind of heat that felt almost unfair.

“You’re really going to sit there and act like your thighs haven’t been pressed together for the last five minutes?” he murmured, voice low, velvet over something razor-sharp. “Like you’re not wet under that skirt and trying not to squirm in your seat?”

I raised a brow, careful. Steady. “You always talk like this during research sessions? No wonder your GPA’s hanging by a thread.”

He smirked. “Cute. Deflecting.”

He dragged his chair an inch closer, the scrape of wood jarring in the silence. His knee bumped mine. Intentional. Firm. And then his fingers tapped the table, slow and steady, inches from where mine rested.

“You know the parts you reread the most?” he said, gaze dropping to my mouth. “The ones where he doesn’t even touch her yet. Just tells her what he’s going to do. How he’s going to make her lose control.”

“Sounds like someone’s projecting,” I said coolly, even though my pulse was sprinting and I could feel the heat crawling up my throat.

He leaned in further, his breath brushing my cheek like a secret I wasn’t allowed to hear.

“I bet you love the build-up. His mouth at her ear. The words he says when no one else is listening. You’re already soaked for me, aren’t you? Look how easy it is to make you squirm.”

I didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Because if I did, he’d know.

“You act like you’re above it,” he said, voice going lower. “Like none of it gets to you. But I see the way you shift in your chair. How you stopped breathing when I said ‘wet.’”

I scoffed, leaned back just a little. “You’re giving yourself too much credit.”

“Oh, I haven’t even started,” he murmured, eyes locked on mine. “Want me to read aloud your favorite passage? The one where she’s told to shut up and take it? Where he pins her wrists and tells her, You’re not going anywhere until I’ve ruined every part of you?”

I stood abruptly.

His eyes tracked every inch of the movement like a dare.

I didn’t speak. Just reached for the book near his elbow—my copy, spine cracked, pages dog-eared and traitorous—and walked to the nearest bookshelf to shelve it. A small act. Simple.

But it was enough.

He was behind me in seconds. Catching my wrist to turn me towards him.

His hand landed on the shelf above mine, boxing me in. His body close. Too close. Heat radiating from his chest to my neck, not touching, but god, it felt like he was.

“You’re not fooling me,” he said, voice dark against the shell of my ear. “You can act cold all you want. Witty. Detached. But you’re the kind of girl who reads the dirtiest pages twice, then closes the book just to sit there and feel it.”

I gripped the spine of the book tighter.

“You want someone to make it real,” he said. “To tilt your chin up, press their mouth to yours, and say, Don’t run. Take it.”

My chest rose too fast.

“You’d hate how much you’d love it,” he whispered. “How fast you’d fall apart. How easily you’d beg when I tell you, Keep your eyes on me while I make you mine right here.”

I should’ve told him to back off.

Should’ve moved. Should’ve breathed.

Instead, I froze.

And that’s when he kissed me.

Hard. Fierce. Like he’d waited too damn long and couldn’t hold it in any longer.

His hand slid to my waist, dragging me closer. His mouth crushed mine, no hesitation, no apology. Just fire and hunger and everything we’d been pretending not to want.

I gasped against him, hands fisting in his shirt as his body pressed against mine, pinning me lightly to the shelf.

He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating between us, his mouth moving over mine with brutal precision. Tongue teasing. Teeth grazing. Every second pulling me deeper, tighter, unraveling something I hadn’t even realized was wound that tight.

The book fell from my hands, hit the floor with a thud I barely heard.

“You feel that?” he breathed against my lips. “That spark when I touch you? That ache? You think I can’t tell how wrecked you are right now?”

He kissed me again, slower this time, more purposeful. Like he wanted me to remember it later—alone, frustrated, aching.

“I could fuck you with just my voice,” he whispered, mouth trailing to my jaw. “And baby—don’t lie—you’d let me.”

The bell rang.

Sharp. Final. Echoing down the hallway.

“Y/n?” My brother’s voice, too close.

I jerked back, panting.

His eyes were wild. Lips swollen. Still breathing hard.

I wiped at my mouth with the back of my hand, heart pounding out of rhythm. He didn’t say anything. Just watched me.

“Y/n?” Louder now.

“I’m—coming!” I shouted, hating how wrecked my voice sounded.

I didn’t look at him as I turned.

But I felt his stare all the way to the door.

And long after I left, his kiss still burned like it hadn’t finished yet.

“The problem wasn’t that he kissed me. It was that I kissed him back.”

or

“We were supposed to write a paper. Not rewrite every boundary I ever built.”

___

Author's note:

Well, if you’ve made it this far, congratulations—you survived Part One of You Annotated My Soul without throwing your device across the room. This story is basically my caffeine-fueled brainchild, packed with all the awkward academic tension, chaotic vibes, and just enough cursed chemistry to keep you hooked. If you liked the drama (or even just the mess), drop a comment or reblog—it’s like digital high-fives that keep me writing.

Part Two is brewing, and spoiler alert: that kiss? Just the appetizer. Stay tuned for the main course.

Thanks for sticking around—and try not to ship them too hard.

Now, I see this fic is not that long.

[maedae-maedae]

Perverted

☆ Reigen Arataka x F!Reader

☆ Chapter 1/3

☆ Genre: Smut

☆ Warnings: NSFW 18+

☆ Contents: Sub!Reigen, Co-workers, Office Masturbation, Humiliation Kink, Caught in the Act, Mutual Pining

☆ Word Count: 6.7k

☆ Summary: A boss and his employee is quite the forbidden love affair. It could never happen, really it shouldn't. He would never let his feelings for you get the better of him and let you see. But Reigens worst nightmare is where you find out about what he allows himself to do and think in private. What would you think of him? And why does the outcome arouse him anyways?

Or at least it does until it becomes his reality.

☆ A/N: i am incapable of being normal about this man.

Read on AO3

Chapter 1 - Cause

Reigen was never one to be perverted, especially at work. He knew how to separate business and pleasure. Even when certain cases walked into his office (like a spirit mark on a woman’s breasts, or giving a full body massage to particularly attractive customers), it was important for him to keep his business composure. And maybe he’s had a perverted thought or two in moments like those, but who wouldn’t? The mind wanders. What’s important was that it never left that moment. Once it was over, those thoughts were out of his head, and he would never act on such thoughts.

Something weird has been happening lately, though.

He’s been feeling strange. Having perverted thoughts when he shouldn’t. It started off at home, he started watching porn more often, which he rarely does, and that’s to say of course he started touching himself more often. But then it started happening at work in the morning too. Getting aroused and having a strong urge to relieve himself, sometimes he couldn’t even get his head straight with customers in the middle of a session with him. It was quite troubling to say the least. And recently he realized why it started.

It was you.

Having you in the office wasn’t really that much of a change from before, other than being able to get work done more efficiently of course. He wouldn’t say just having a woman in the office itself did this to him, because that would be gross. But really in the beginning everything was fine. The two of you had normal co-working banter while you did your work, nothing special really. And you were very respectful in the beginning towards him so you weren’t really close. That is, until the “company dinner” together, when all three of you got fairly drunk. After that, the two of you have been closer, like friends more than boss-and-worker honestly.

He cant put his finger on exactly when his perverted feelings started coming into play. Maybe it was the day you gave him a ride home. Being alone with eachother outside the office (like actually alone, just the two of you), he remembers it feeling pretty intimate. And also being extremely nervous, but playing it off cool of course (you could see him sweating).

Ever since he’s started seeing you as more of a friend, his mind started to wander into the danger zone. It’s like his business filter is flipped off when he thinks of you now, and he can’t find it to turn it off anymore. He always keeps it appropriate at work of course. But maybe sometimes when you stand up to get water, or talk to a customer, perhaps you could catch him looking at you for a bit too long. And maybe if you looked over at the wrong time, you would catch his eyes wandering to places they shouldn’t be. That he scolds himself for afterwards every time.

Just like he’s doing now. You’re taking a customers payment and having him fill out some forms from across the office, your back facing Reigen. He can just never get over how good you look in that skirt. It’s not like it’s even particularly short, it’s appropriate length, but the way it hugs your figure….

Work. You’re at work. You need to focus, Reigen.

He turns to the computer again.

The thing is, he didn’t like being like this. And he tried to fight it at first, but it’s like you’ve put some kind of horny spell on him or something. Are regular crushes supposed to make you more sexually driven? He doesn’t think so. There must be something wrong with him.

“Okay, Reigen,” You call out, snapping him awake, “I’m gonna start running the calculations for this weeks total income. Do you need me to do anything else before going home for the weekend?” You ask politely, turning your body slowly to face him, tapping some documents together in your hands. The guy from before is gone now. When did that happen?

He buffers for a second looking at you, and probably for a moment too long, because you turn to look back at him curiously.

“Oh- No, no. You’re all good to go home after this, (Y/n).” He finally replies.

You crack a smile at this statement, looking pleased to hear that. He watches as you turn to sit in your chair and start typing with a newly determined end-of-the-workweek energy. He ends up also smiling at this, managing to turn his attention back to his work as well.

The next hour or so goes by in mostly silence, only the sounds of tapping and the occasional thinking noises that comes from Reigen. The sun starts to set now, orange tinting the room through the slightly-open shades.

You push yourself up to stand, clicking the shut down on your computer, all while smiling. Finally you get to go home early. And not late like you always tend to do.

You alert his attention again at this, and he looks up at you. “Heading out?” He asks.

You smile proudly at him, “Yep! Unless you want me to stay. But if you do, I think I’m qualified to start asking for overtime pay at this point.” You say, partially joking.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “No, no. Really, you’re good to go.”  He reassures you.

You squint your eyes at him, leaning on your hand placed on your desk. “This is suspicious. You never let me go home early.” You accuse him.

He frowns at you, leaning back into his chair and crossing his arms. “What am I, some kind of ceo villain? It’s not like I try to trap you here. If you’re done with your work, you can go.” He states simply.

“Yeah, you say that but,” You stand up straight and take your purse, moving around your desk to make your way to the coat hanger. “There seems to always be something you want me to help you with, even if I finish my work. You’re sure you don’t need anything?” You finish and turn to face him again.

“What? Do you want to stay later? If you really want something to do I can make something up and-“

“No! I just…” You cut him short and then trail off, holding eye contact for a weird amount of time in silence.

He tilts his head at you, confused. “What is it? Is something wrong?” He asks, a sudden concerned tone in his voice. You are acting a little strange, so it makes sense. You stand there for a few more seconds without answering.

“Are you going to be going home soon?” You blurt out, and he blinks a few times at the sudden question.

“Uh.. No, I don’t think so. I’ve got some more things I gotta take care of before the weekend, so I’ll probably be here for a while.” He says, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck.

You frown at this, and he starts to see what’s going on now. It’s cute, and he tries not to smile and make it obvious what he’s thinking. Or at least he puts on a fake, sly smile, prepared to tease you about your reasonable concern instead.

“What? Are you worried about me? That’s oh so sweet of you, but don’t be. I’ll be fine. This won’t take too long. Believe it or not, I don’t especially love working past close either.”  He does his best to reassure you, but you’re still frowning at him, clearly not convinced. “Hey, don’t give me that face. Just go home and get some rest. I’ll see you on Monday, yeah?” He says again, trying to wave you off as he directs his attention back to his monitor, pretending to do something.

Of course he doesn’t want you to go either, but as your boss he really didn’t have anything to give you. And as your— what he guesses could be called “admirer”— he did want you to actually get some rest.

You watch him sadly for a few more moments, and then let out a sigh. You reach for your coat, and he can hear it ruffle as you put it on.

You don’t know why you’re suddenly sad about leaving, since you were just over the moon about it a minute ago. Maybe it’s because lately you get out so late that you end up closing with him most nights. When this happens you’d always be a little annoyed, since no one likes working beyond their hours, but now you’re realizing maybe you actually grew to enjoy it? Or at least to be accustomed to it. Since you feel weird like this about leaving early now. It’s not because you want to work obviously, but you guess…

You just really like being in Reigens company.

You glance over your shoulder again at him before you go for the door. He’s busy at work again. You know he probably has more than he’s letting on, and he’s probably just letting you go since you were so happy about leaving early.

You suppose you’re lucky to have a boss who’s also a friend. So much that he cares more about your health than work. So much that you dread leaving his side…

You spot the heating/ac control panel on the wall next to you. You realize it’s pretty hot, forgetting you just put your jacket on.

“Is it hot in here? Do you want me to turn the heat down for you while I’m on my way out?” You ask, breaking the loud silence.

“Hm? Oh, no, it’s fine.” He mumbles back to you.

“Okay..” You mumble and finally head for the door.

You stop again.

“Oh! By the way,” You start and turn to him again. “I’m gonna go to the supercenter this weekend to pick up a few things. So, let me know if there’s anything I should pick up for the office.”

He cracks a smile, leaning his body to the left from behind the monitor, his chin coming to rest in his hand. “Alright, I’ll make sure to do that. Anything else you wanna ask me?” He teases, giving you a smug look.

You smile back at him, rolling your eyes. You’re about to have a witty comeback, but suddenly remember another thing. You can’t believe you almost forgot.

“Oh! Okay, one last thing!” You hurry over to your desk, and his eyes follow you as you make your way over and bend down to open up a drawer. He’s doing the thing again, his eyes lingering.

You find a folder you were searching for immediately and take out the first paper in it. You make your way over to him, still not looking at him yet. As you approach, he shakes himself out of the daze he had just gone into.

You stand next to him, staring at the paper for another second as he waits for whatever you have to show him. Then finally, you hand it over to him.

“What’s this?” He immediately asks.

“The first client that came in today had a follow-up session request. It was pretty detailed and picky so I had him fill out a form about it. I told him you’d call back about it in a few days.” You inform him.

“Huh. Must be serious if he’s so strict about it. Or maybe he’s just picky, I guess.” He says, skimming over the several paragraphs of writing under the ‘extra comments/requests’ section. “Guess I’ll just have to charge extra. I can give him a call tomorrow.” He finishes with a signature grin.

Then to his surprise, he suddenly feels you next to him, as you bend over him to point to something on the page.

You start to make a comment about something the client wrote, but Reigens mind kind of stops working for a moment. He glances over at you, your face dangerously close to his. He can smell your signature perfume, already familiar with it from the times you’d get close to him, pass him by, or give him rides home in your car. He loves the smell, the smell of you, and he remembers times where he’d wished he could get to experience it even when you’re not around. He starts to let himself admire you as you continue to talk to him about something he should probably be listening to.

“-And I mean I told him that might be out of our control, but he insisted on writing it. So, it’s up to you.” You finish your explanation that you didn’t realize was going unheard. But when you get no response at all, you finally turn your head. Your eyes meet for a moment, and his widen a little, snapping out of his daze again.

He immediately snaps his head forward and nods. “Mm, Okay. Understood. I’ll take care of it, (Y/n). Thank you.” He says quickly and very matter-of-factly.

You blush a little from your one second of intimacy, not expecting for him to have been staring at you like that. You slowly bring yourself to stand again.

He won’t look at you now, placing the piece of paper down next to him and pushing himself further into the desk as he goes back to scrolling on the computer.

You stand there for a little too long, like you’re a stunned animal, just looking at him curiously, wondering ‘what was that?’.

He can feel you still next to him, and there’s an awkward air. Was that too obvious? Did you finally catch him? Gotta play it off.

He clears his throat, glancing up at you again with a straight face. “I’ll take care of it, so you can head out, (Y/n).”

You jump a little, face flushing darker at how awkward you were probably making him feel just standing there in silence. “Oh, right. Thank you.”

“And, you have something in your teeth. By the way.” He adds on bluntly.

Very smooth.

Your brows furrow as you cover your mouth, tongue feeling around for something. Now you feel especially embarrassed.

Of course he just saw something in your teeth, idiot. Why else would he stare like that?

Your internal dialogue as you make your way to the door again, not dragging your pace this time.

He watches you subtly as you go, feeling a bit guilty now.

“Have a good weekend!” He calls out, but you don’t stop or look back, feeling too humiliated at the moment. You just nod and hum a “you too”, and then you’re gone.

He throws himself back, his chair reclining with him, throwing his hands over his face. His hands run back through his hair.

He wishes he had thought of a different excuse, but he was frantic, and he really can’t have you finding out about the way he feels for you. On the likely chance it makes you weirded out and decide to quit, he’d still be able manage same as he did before you were hired, but of course that’s not the reason he doesn’t want to loose you.

Once he gets over his regret or whatever this is, he gets back to work, and then an hour or so passes quickly. He finally takes a break to look at his phone.

No messages.

What was he expecting?

He thinks about you again, and all the different ways the two of you interacted today. This became a pass time for him, thinking about you, and replaying you in his mind. Before he knows it, he’s been staring at the ceiling for 10 minutes. A sigh leaves his lips.

“Damn. I need to go home too… I should wrap this up.” He speaks to himself, pulling his attention away from your temptation.

But as he tries to finish up the last of his to-do list for today, he can’t stop letting his mind wander. Every time he starts to get into the rhythm, his focus gets lost again, and there you are. Work that should’ve only taken about another hour or so turns into 2 hours. And as time passes, his thoughts of you only get more perverted.

This was like clockwork, when he couldn’t get you off his mind, his fantasizing eventually ended up a little X-rated. He finds himself starting to palm at the buldge that had appeared under his pants, staring blankly at the screen in front of him with an unfinished email, totally spaced out now.

He pushes out a shaky breath, gently massaging himself to the thought of you. The fantasy of getting to have you in any context, but right now his fantasy scenario is one that takes place in the office. You tying his hands behind his chair, straddling his lap and having your way with him. His cheeks are bright red, engulfed in his imagination. The PC fan, clock ticking, and Reigen’s unsteady breathing being the only sounds in the empty office. He’s started to work himself up without realizing.

Ding!

The sound of a notification suddenly brings him out of his daydream, his actions stopping all at once, his eyes refocusing. At first he searches the computer screen, thinking he’d have gotten an email, but there’s nothing new. He reaches for his phone, and sure enough, a text notification. From you.

The text reads:

[hey! you still at the office?]

And as he’s reading it, he receives another.

[better not be.. if you end up sick from overworking im not coming in for you! :p]

He laughs through his nose, running his hand through his hair again. He sighs. You’re right, he really needs to finish up here. If only you knew what he was really doing right now.

He was basically finished, just needed to send this last email that he’d already started. Yet, when he tries to finish it again, he just can’t seem to focus at all. He got himself too riled up, and there was only one real way he knew how to fix it, of course.

He contemplates it for a minute. Masturbating in the office… It’s a terrible idea, right? But it’s not like anyone would come after close, and he could just make it quick.

He wastes more time contemplating, but eventually comes to the conclusion that the only way he can finish up today is if he can be relieved of his thoughts of you first. This is a lie of course, he really could make himself power through, but he convinces himself otherwise. After all, he is very convincing.

He gets up from his chair and makes his way to the door, checking to make sure it’s 100% locked. God forbid something unthinkable occurs.

As he’s about to walk back to his own desk and finally get down to “business”, he stops in front of your desk, spotting something.

Your scarf is left on the headrest of your chair, and he doesn’t know how neither of you spotted it before you left. You always take it with you.

He stays frozen in place for a moment. An awful idea occurs to him.

He cant even believe what he’s doing as he saunters over to the chair, taking the scarf in his hand and bringing it close to his face. It smells like you. And your perfume. Just like he thought it probably would.

This is bad. Dangerous, even. He shouldn’t be doing this.

But then he’s sitting down in your desk chair, nuzzling his face into your left-behind apparel laced with your scent, his hand slipping down to massage himself again.

And then before he knows it, his length is out in his hand, and he’s pleasuring himself. In your chair. Surrounded by your things. Everything around him reminds him of you. The cute trinkets on the desk, the colorful paper clips keeping papers tidy, the dog-shaped sticky notes on the monitor with reminders written in your pretty handwriting. And your scent. God, he goes crazy for it.

Sighs start to escape his lips, and then soft moans begin to follow. His pumping gets faster, his hips start to buck up into his hand, his breathing getting more unstable.

This is so so wrong. Horribly wrong. You’d probably kill him if you found out.

You.

The things you’d do to him, if you knew.

His shame only fuels his arousal for some reason. Even though it’d be a nightmare if you walked in right now, for some reason the thought still turns him on. You seeing him desperate and needy like this, his dirty secret finally out. You’d finally know what you do to him, and he could confess that only you make him act like this.

“Fuck… (Y/n)…” He whines into the soft fabric in his hand.

As his imagination runs wild in his mind, he just gets more needy. All this time of touching himself to the thought, but he wants the real thing more than anything. So badly. He wants you— no— he needs you.

This prompts him to start letting out short whines, your name leaving his lips again and again. He keeps fucking his hand, wishing that somehow he’d open his eyes and see you around him instead.

“Please.. please-Ah-.. fuck..“

He starts pleading and babbling nonsense, head tilting back to look up at the ceiling.

Faster. He strokes himself at a faster pace now, sometimes stuttering as his hips jerk up involuntarily.

He cant believe he’s doing this. But it feels so good, there’s no way he could stop.

He’s nearing climax now, and his noises get less controllable as he continues to get immense pleasure from this perverted situation he’s cultivated.

He brings the scarf back up to his face, the scent renewing and giving him a better illusion of you. The fabric helping to muffle himself as well. His eyes squeeze shut and with your aroma so close to him, he can make out the image of you. Wrapped around him, moaning his name into his ear, your plush skin pressed against his own.

Finally, with one last hard thrust, he reaches his climax, his hips thrusting up and locking for a moment as he shakes with pleasure. He’s not able to catch the first line of semen that comes out way more intense than he expected. It gets on the top of your desk, but thankfully not on his clothes somehow. The rest he catches with his hand.

He sits there shocked for a moment, breathing hard and heavy. He hasn’t finished that intensely in a while.

Then he lets himself lean back into the chair to relax for a moment, sighing heavily at his intense relief.

Jesus, Reigen. You’re a fuckin creep. Look at what you’re doing right now.

He thinks to himself in his post-clarity.

He sits there in silence for a while, letting himself wallow in the shame of his actions tonight.

Then he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. He’s ready to just put this behind him, pretend it never happened.

“Alright… Guess I should-“ His own speaking to himself gets cut off as there’s a knock on the door.

He immediately goes into panic mode for a few moments. He almost answers, until he realizes it’s probably a customer. They’ll go away once they realize the shop is closed.

So he stays still and silent.

Then probably one of his worst case scenarios takes place.

He hears the security system unlock, followed by the door opening slowly, and then-

You pop your head in slowly as you look around the room, eventually locking eyes with Reigen. His heart sinks.

Luckily for him, your desk faces the door, so he’s still in the clear from your point of view. Of course not the most ideal situation to be in right now.

“Oh! You’re here,” You step inside, shutting the door behind you. “You didn’t say anything when I texted. And usually I knock before I come in during close, incase you might be busy with something, but-“ You come to a stop when you realize how in-shock— and sweaty?— he looks right now. And just the overall weird tenseness in the air. And-

“Why are you at my desk?” You ask with a slight tilt of the head.

He’s suddenly snapped back into reality, realizing the urgency of this situation. He needs to figure out how to get out of this smoothly, and fast. His hand is literally full of his own-

“Reigen?-“

“HEY!” He startles you with his sudden volume. “(Y/n)! Hey! Funny seeing you here so late I thought you went home already!” He smiles as genuinely as he can manage as he pushes out that regrettable concoction of words.

You blink a few times. “Uh… Yeahhh, well I did! I mean I was on my way, but-“ He nods along as you speak, eyes glancing around for something to wipe off the desk. “-then I found that brand of salt you like so much when I stopped at Daiso and yknow it’s always sold out so I brought it back for you. Never a bad thing to have extra stock right? Just in case.“ You tell him sweetly. He now notices the three bags of salt in your arms. Normally he’d be very pleased with this. In ideal circumstances.

“Wow, look at you! You’re really an amazing employee, (Y/n), yknow that? Have I ever told you that?” He starts to babble, giving you a big fake smile. “Thanks so much, hey, uh- Why don’t you just put them on the couch and I’ll put them away when I’m done over here. You should really head home and actually get some rest for tonight, right?”

“Oh, right.” You remember how badly you want to put these bags down now. They’re kinda heavy. You move over to the couch, hunching over to drop them down.

While you’re looking away, Reigen glances around frantically for any sort of paper towels on your desk. His eyes lock onto your box of tissues, grabbing a handful and quickly wiping the mess on the table, just before you turn back around with a labored exhale. He’s wiping himself off discretely under the desk when you make eye contact again. “So what is it you’re doing over there anyways?” You ask to his dismay. Of course you’re curious about the situation though, since he is in your work space after work hours.

He opens his mouth to answer, and he only buffers for a moment. Almost suspicious, but not quite. “Ah, I just wanted to restart your computer, I do that with mine every once in awhile. Keeps em running smoothly. But yknow then it started acting strange, so I was just checking it out.” He comes up with an adequate excuse on the fly.

“Oh, seriously? Strange how? I can help you, let me-“

“NO!” He practically shouts when you take a step towards him, making you jump. Then he clears his throat immediately. “I mean, seriously, I got it. Cmon, you don’t trust your own boss? Just get home, will ya? You worked hard today.”

His rare compliment/considerateness blinds you to how weird he was being for a moment. You start to grin a little.

“Hmm.. I mean, you’re right. But honestly I’m not sure how comfortable I am with you fixing my computer, considering I was the one who had to fix yours the last time it started having issues.” You say in a joking tone, placing a hand on your hip.

He lets out an awkward, but still believable laugh. “Ahhh, that’s right! BUT I do know my fair share about computers. I did have to function somehow before you got here, right?”

“Yeah, it’s almost unthinkable.” You roll your eyes smiling. “I’ll go home after, but I can just help real quick. I’m sure you were doing something more important before this.”

He certainly was. And he definitely regrets getting off track now. Lesson learned. And as much as he appreciates your eagerness to help him, it literally could not be a worse time for it.

“(Y/n), it’s fine. You just stay right there and watch the master at work-“

“Master? Is there a spirit in the PC or something?” You say sarcastically, crossing your arms.

“Will that convince you to leave it to the professional?”

“Well if that’s the case, maybe I should call Mob?”

Woooow. Okay, that makes him crack an actual smile, his tenseness losing up a little. “What are you talking about? You know what mob calls me, right?” He says cockily, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Oh whatever, just let me help you!” You say letting out a laugh, like this is some kind of game.

“I don’t need your help!”

“Yeah right!” You take another step towards him.

“Don’t move another muscle!”

“What, are you naked behind the desk or something?” You ask jokingly.

He lets out a loud “Ha!” At your (scarily close) accusation. “I’m sure you’d love that, wouldn't you?” His words come out as quickly as he regrets them immediately afterwards. Both of your eyes go wide at the same time, and a blush quickly surfaces on your cheeks.

His expression and his heart drop the same.

“I am so sorry. That came out wrong.” He apologizes immediately, and he’s genuine because he really did not mean for it to sound that way. With you being both his friend and now secret desire, the line between professional and unprofessional is sometimes a little foggy. He has to remind himself to tone it down maybe.

Your mouth hangs open slightly, trying to think of something, anything to say after that, but you can’t seem to form anything together. You’re not really offended, just embarrassed. What did he mean by that? Why would he think you want to see him naked? Does he know you like him?

Stupid! Idiot! Why would you say that! His mind practically screams at him. He has to say something else.

He clears his throat. “Anyways!” Of course, perfect segway. “Just watch this. Like I said, master at work.” He says quickly and slides himself out of your chair and down under the desk where the PC box sits.

You just kind of stand there awkwardly. You don’t really have anything to say to him anymore, overthinking about whatever just happened.

“Alright, come here.” He finally calls out to you after a few moments and you oblige, coming over to behind the desk. He comes up again, clicking the start button on the PC before he does. And then of course your totally-fine-in-the-first-place computer boots back up.

He gives you a satisfied look. “There. Fresh as new. You’ll thank me later.”

You cross your arms, rolling your eyes. “Wow.. I guess you really are the master.” You reply sarcastically.

“I told you, didn’t I?”

Now being this close to him, you notice again how worked he looks. Like he’d just done a workout or something.

“Why are you sweating so much? Are you sick or something? I told you not to overwork yourself..” You scold, leaning over to take some tissues out of the box off your desk and taking a few to hand to him.

He clears his throat again, hesitantly taking the tissues from you with his free hand that doesnt already have crumpled up ones in it. “Ah, no.. It’s just hot in here. I should’ve let you turn down the heater earlier. I’ve been too busy to bother getting up to adjust it.” He makes another excuse. Truly, he feels gross being this close to you right know, knowing what he just did, and that there’s still evidence of it lingering. Normally this is very much an at-home-only activity. He never thought he’d get himself in a situation like this.

You tilt your head a bit, forgetting that you had even offered to do that earlier. “Oh yeah…” You eyes trail over to the control panel across the room, while Reigen wipes his face, watching your expression carefully.

When you look back over, the two of you makes eye contact for a moment. For some reason, it feels intimate, and Reigen thinks maybe it’s just his imagination still. He should say something to get you to leave though. This situation feels way too weird.

Right before he can say anything though, your eyes finally pull away, coming to spot something on the floor.

You make a slight “Oh!” sound, noticing the scarf you left behind, now on the floor.

Reigen follows your eyes to it and doesn’t stop you when you walk around him to pick it up.

“That’s funny, I left my scarf here. I didn’t even notice I was missing it.” You shrug.

His heart beats faster watching you hold it. Maybe because he can’t stop thinking about what he was just using it for.

He watches as you unravel it and wrap it around you, still filled with anxiety, like you’d sense his filthy use of your precious accessory just by touching it. You look at him when its back on, and you make the same strong eye contact again.

This is so weird. For the both of you.

The atmosphere feels unreal, like you’re experiencing a dream right now, being alone together in the dim-lit office way after hours. And reigen was acting so strange to how he normally is, though you don’t want to address it and let him know you’re that observant to his behaviors.

“Um.. I still have more bags of the salt in my car. I couldn’t carry them all in one go.” You finally say, eyes still connected to his.

“Oh. I can help.” He replies with no real emotion, like he’s in a trance right now.

“No no, it’s okay. You finish up work. I’ll just bring the rest in.” You assure him, still not breaking eye contact.

“I should help you. You already went through the effort of buying and transporting them here.” He says and finally breaks the contact for a moment to glance over at his desk. “Actually… if you want to do something, there’s an unfinished email on my desk. I’ve been trying to write it for a while but I don’t know, I guess I’ve just lost my work energy for the day.”

“Oh! Okay yeah, I can do that. Then,” You begin to take your scarf off again, taking it and reaching up to wrap it around Reagan’s neck instead. He blushes slightly at this, but not flinching or acting bothered at all. You can feel his eyes on you as you adjust it correctly into place. “You need this instead.”

He laughs through his nose slightly, and for some reason, he’s no longer tense or anxious. Smiling at you, and you smiling back, he feels his nerves calm, and he nearly forgets about whatever the hell he was worried about.

The eye contact continues, and it feels like you might… kiss? Or that’s what would happen if this was some cliche movie or something. But neither of you would ever be brave enough to make that risky first move. So you just stand in silence again for a weird amount of time.

“So..” Reigen finally breaks it when he comes back to earth before you do “Keys?”

You jump a little “Right!” You agree and fiddle for them in your coat pocket, pulling them out and handing them over.

Then for the next 20 minutes or so, the two of you say nothing to each other. You finish up his emails at his computer while he comes in and out of the office a few times with the salt.

You’re shutting the computer down when he puts the last sack of bags down with a heavy last heave of breath. You admire the way he rolls his neck and rubs at the muscles on his arms. His sleeves are rolled up and he pulls at his tie to unloosen it a bit as he turns to look at you. You pretend like you weren’t just having questionable thoughts about him.

You offer him a ride home, and he reluctantly takes it. During the ride, the two of you get back to your everyday conversational banter, like nothing happened. And really, nothing did anyways. When you turn the corner to his apartment, the two of you are still laughing at something stupid he just said.

You’d normally pull into the parking area in front of his place, but some idiot parked on the side of the ride is too far into the entrance. Definitely not legal, and also incredibly annoying.

“What the hell. What was this dumbass thinking?” You say in disbelief, gesturing out to the car in front of you.

“Ugh. They’re notoriously bad at parking, everytime I see that car there’s always some type of note on it. Guess there’s no free spaces.” He comments, peeking out the window to try to see into the gate.

“Yeah, but they couldn’t have just parked a little further up the street? This is actually laughably bad. Like illegal, even.” You say to him and just put the car in park where you are on the side of the road. You’re obviously not getting in.

“You think we could get compensation if we reported it?” You ask, turning to him with a mischievous look. He turns to face you and can’t help but mirroring your expression.

“I’ve taught you well. I’m sure I could somehow.” He tells you to confirm your question. “But, if I’m being honest, I can’t be bothered. I just want to sleep right now.”

You give him a disappointed look and he shrugs.

“Well. Then… are you okay walking in from here then?”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine walking a few extra feet to my front door, yeah.” He answers you sarcastically and you roll your eyes immediately.

“Oh okay, attitude. Go ahead then.” You tell him with your own tone, but you’re clearly teasing with the smile across your face.

“Wow I can’t believe you’re really going to make me walk so far, (Y/n). After everything I do for you, really. If I-“

“Oh my gosh, gooooooooo!” You say, cutting off his silly monologue and pushing him towards the door with both hands.

“Alright! Alright! I’m going!” He obliges with a laugh and you let him go. When he opens the passenger door you can feel the wave of cold air and you involuntarily shiver. You’re watching him step out and come to stand, when you notice that he’s still wearing your scarf.

“Wait!” You call out on impulse and he turns around to face you, his hand placed on the hood of the car.

You think about it for a second, looking at your scarf around his neck. It looks… cute on him. And you feel like he kinda needs it, he’s not really dressed very warm. Even though he’s only walking a few extra feet like he said. You want him to use it.

You’re about to say it’s nothing and let him take it, but he seems to notice where you’re looking and looks down to notice for himself.

“Oh, right. Here.” He says and starts to take it off, but you stop him.

“No, no! Take it.” You insist. He looks at you confused, eyebrow raising.

“What? Why? You wear this everyday.” He says.

“I have other ones. You never dress warm. Just use it for the weekend and give it back to me on Monday, kay?” You tell him.

“But-“ He starts and then trails off with seemingly nothing else to say.

You just smile at him and give him a wave goodbye. He buffers there for a moment before just going with it, nodding and waving back.

“Thank you.” He says as he reaches for the door.

“Goodnight.” You tell him gently and watch him go even after he shuts the door and walks off. You sit there just for a moment, wondering why you wanted him to have your scarf so bad. And also why he agreed. He has his own, you’ve seen it before, though not often.

Hm.

Well, whatever.

Chapter 2

[sadnymi]

Mattheo making a girl cum by praising her and its in class just little whispers and she dry humps him so desperately in a slytherin party he calls her bunny

「 ✦ Duel of Desires. ✦ 」

Mattheo riddle x reader

Summary (Request) : Furious at what Mattheo did in class, I set out for revenge. But my carefully crafted plan takes an unforeseen twist

Warning : Dry Humping , public sex ,fingering , dom/sub dynamics , praise kink

Words : 2.8k

A prickling sensation on my thigh interrupted my meticulous Charms notes. Glancing down, I found Matteo's hand, his fingers tracing idle patterns against the soft skin of my thigh .

A playful annoyance bubbled up inside me. Here we were, Professor Flitwick droning on about the Levitation Charm, and Matteo was turning my thigh into his own personal canvas.

"Mattheo," I hissed, swatting his hand away without breaking eye contact with the restricted professor.

He winked at me, a devilish glint in his eyes. "Just admiring your concentration, love. Makes you look positively fierce."

My cheeks flushed, not entirely from his suggestive comment. Professor Flitwick, with his booming voice and magnified eyes, felt like a hawk perpetually circling the classroom.

"Focus, Mattheo," I murmured, trying to reign in my scattered attention. Transfiguration had been a disaster this morning thanks to his constant teasing, and I wasn't about to let Charms suffer the same fate.

"But you're so much more fascinating than Levitation," he countered, his voice barely a whisper. He brushed his hand against my thigh again, this time lingering a beat longer.

Frustration bubbled over. "Mattheo! We have an exam coming up, and I need to actually learn something."

He chuckled, the sound low and warm against my ear. "Relax, love. You're a natural. Besides, who needs a wand when you have me?"

My irritation morphed into something a little more heated. This wasn't the first time Mattheo's playful teasing had crossed the line in class. The thrill of stolen moments was undeniable, but the risk of detention or worse, Professor McGonagall's withering stare, loomed large.

Taking a deep breath, I decided to play his game. Leaning in close, I lowered my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Alright, Romeo," I said, using a nickname reserved for those rare, stolen moments,"but if you distract me any further, your punishment will be far more… delightful than detention."

A surprised laugh escaped his lips. He met my gaze, his eyes darkened with desire. "Game on, then, witch."

As I attempted to focus on the lecture, a sudden touch on my knee jolted me. Glancing towards Matteo, I found him diligently transcribing the board's contents into his notebook, a mischievous grin playing at the corners of his lips. His left hand remained hidden under the table, adding to the clandestine nature of his actions.

I tried to discreetly shake my leg to deter his advances, but his hand deftly maneuvered to my thigh, securing a hold on my skirt. His touch sent a tingling sensation through me, disrupting my concentration.

Professor Flitwick's voice cut through the room, requesting me to read aloud from the textbook. Despite my racing heart, I began to read, acutely aware of Matteo's lingering touch inching closer to a more intimate area.

Despite the electrifying distraction, I forced myself to continue reading, attempting to ignore Matteo's provocative gestures. However, his subtle movements became more daring, culminating in a direct contact that made my breath hitch.

His whispered words added to the tension, leaving me flustered and unable to fully focus on the task at hand. The classroom seemed to fade into the background as Matteo's actions dominated my senses.

As Professor Flitwick instructed Matteo to continue reading, a mischievous smirk played on his lips while his hand, hidden under the table, ventured into forbidden territory. His index finger delicately teased my clit, sending a shiver down my spine as I tried to maintain composure and focus on his reading. The weight of Professor Flitwick's gaze lingered, making every movement feel amplified and dangerous.

"Thank you, Mattheo," Professor Flitwick's words acted as a temporary interruption, drawing attention away from our covert exchange.

His touch became more daring as his whole hand began to rub circles against my clit, causing me to clench my legs tightly together. “ don’t close your legs bunny “ A hushed command slipped from his lips when he ensured that Professor Flitwick wasn't observing our clandestine interaction.

"You're so beautiful when you struggle for me," he murmured, his words a tantalizing mixture of praise and provocation.

As his fingers sadly ceased their movement, I closed my eyes in an attempt to steady my racing heartbeat. Our pretense of innocence continued as we both feigned concentration, with him jotting notes in his notebook and me doing the same, all the while feeling the lingering heat from his touch between my thighs.

My quill trembled in my hand as his middle fingertip teased my entrance, a subtle reminder of the delicious tension that pulsed between us.

"You're doing such a good job," he whispered, the words dripping with desire and satisfaction.

As his finger continued its tantalizing dance on my clit, my senses heightened, and the room seemed to blur around us. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me , his right hand came to my notebook and reading what I wrote

His whisper in my ear sent shivers down my spine, his words laced with admiration. "So smart," he praised, his voice barely audible over the classroom's ambient sounds.

A soft moan escaped my lips as his finger teased my sensitive clit, drawing attention from those around us.

“Is there a problem Miss (Y/L/N)?”, Professor Flitwick's inquiring voice momentarily broke the spell

Mattheo sped up his pace and i gulped, shaking my head “Nothing just…I hit my leg.”

His thumb pressed against my clit, a silent command for me to focus, even as waves of pleasure washed over me.

"Silence, darling," he whispered, his touch igniting a fire within me, making me stand at the edge of my seat “it makes me smile when you drip like that before i even touched you “

The intense sensations brought tears to my eyes, but I fought to maintain composure, desperately searching for any distraction. ,and then I noticed his bulge deliberate flex of his thigh muscle all added to the dizzying mix of pleasure and tension I moved my hands but he catch them with his free hand .

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he warned firmly, his smirk evident in his voice.

Mattheo's skilled fingers pushed me to the brink repeatedly, each pause amplifying my desire. I felt like I was on the verge of losing control, his smirk and chuckle signaling his triumph.

"I admire your strength, bunny," he praised, pushing me closer to the edge. "Cum for me, pretty one," he commanded, igniting a blazing inferno within me with his mere touch. It was a paradox of ecstasy and frustration, and I cum so hard it was insane, leaving me questioning how such intense desire could be evoked with such minimal contact.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

I sat in my dimly lit room, wrapped in a cozy blanket, my favorite book lying forgotten on my lap. The decision weighed heavily on my mind—to go or not to go to the Slytherin party. Earlier that morning, Mattheo's teasing in class had left me flustered and frustrated, but now, as I replayed those moments in my head, a mischievous smile tugged at the corners of my lips.

The memory of his touch, his whispered words, and the forbidden thrill of our secret interactions still lingered, leaving me feeling a delicious ache between my thighs. I pretended to be mad at him for crossing boundaries during Professor Flitwick's lecture, but deep down, I knew I was equally to blame for letting the tension build to such intoxicating levels.

As I contemplated my next move, the allure of the party beckoned to me—a chance to indulge in the forbidden, to dance on the edge of danger. I could almost feel the pulsating music, the dim lights, and the whispered promises of excitement and pleasure.

"Two can play this game," I thought, my heartbeat quickening with anticipation. The thrill of the unknown, coupled with the lingering desire from our unfinished business, fueled my decision. With a determined grin, I tossed the blanket aside and rose from my bed.

I selected a tiny, short green top , hugging my curves in a way that exuded confidence. Paired with a sleek pair of black shorts, a bold statement . Adding a touch of glamour, I applied a vibrant red lipstick that accentuated my lips, and I let my hair cascade down in loose waves, framing my face.

To balance the daring look, I threw on a large black hoodie( that won’t stay on for too long) , leaving the zipper slightly open.The contrast between the snug, the revealing outfit

Tonight, I would embrace the tantalizing dance of temptation and desire, fully aware that every step taken towards the Slytherin party would lead me deeper into the seductive web we had woven together.

"Hey, y/n! Glad you made it," Enzo greeted me with a mix of surprise and warmth as I entered the party. He glanced at me, momentarily taken aback, before announcing my presence to everyone in the room.

"Y/n's here!" Enzo exclaimed, drawing attention to me. "Matt said you were sick and wouldn't be able to come."

I flashed a smile, inwardly amused by Matteo's excuse. "I feel so much better now," I replied, playing along and maintaining an innocent facade. Despite trying to act casual, I couldn't help but notice the gazes lingering on my chest, emphasizing the alluring effect of the green top I had chosen. I met Matteo's eyes, silently acknowledging the unspoken game between us.

He was clearly irritated by the attention I was drawing, but I couldn't help but feel victorious in my little game. With a determined smile, I made my way over to where he was seated, bypassing the available seats and settling directly onto his lap.

I leaned in, planting a kiss on his cheek and greeted him, "Hi, handsome." His eyes reflected a mix of frustration and anger as he tightly wrapped his arms around my waist, though I played innocently by running my fingers through his hair.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked with a harsh tone, clearly not pleased.

"Just here to see you," I replied, my gaze batting innocently at him. "Felt terrible staying angry after our little disagreement this morning." A sly smile played on my lips. "Didn't you miss me?"

Before he could reply, a voice cut through the charged atmosphere."Matteo, mate, another drink?" Jack, or perhaps that was his name, stood beside us, his gaze politely averted. A flicker of something unreadable crossed Matteo's face.

After Jack melted back into the crowd, Matteo's voice dropped to a low growl. "I see what you're doing."

I opened my mouth to respond, but he cut me off again. "And zip up that damn hoodie." His hand reached for the zipper, but I caught his wrist , realizing how close it was to my sensitive areas.

"No," I countered, my voice firm but playful. "It's stiflingly hot in here. Perhaps I'll just take it off ."I strategically brushed my hips against him, scanning the surrounding area for any watchful eyes. Thankfully, the party was in full swing, a blur of dancing bodies and overflowing drinks.

"Stay still," he said through gritted teeth, a hint of desperation lacing his voice.

Despite his demand for me to stop moving, I couldn't resist the temptation to tease him further. My actions were deliberate, a playful challenge to his control.

"Why? Does it bother you?" I asked, feigning innocence but knowing exactly the effect I was having on him. His grip on my waist tightened, a silent warning.

"You're playing with fire, sweetheart," he warned, his voice low and tinged with desire.

I leaned in closer, our faces mere inches apart. "Maybe I like the heat," I whispered, my lips brushing against his ear.

A startled gasp escaped my lips as his hand squeezing the plush of my ass , a possessive gesture that sent a tremor through me. The heat of his gaze seemed to sear through the carefully constructed facade of innocence, the tell-tale flush creeping up my neck a stark contrast to the coolness of the room. My breath hitched, a silent whimper escaping my lips as I unconsciously pressed closer, the frantic rhythm of our breaths mirroring the rising tension.

He could see the flustered look i had on because of the thought of being caught trying to dry-hump him. But he could see the reddened tips of my ears and hear my small whimpers along with your breaths heavying the more i pressed myself against him.

He leaned in, his lips trailing a path of fire down my neck before finding a more sensitive spot. A jolt of electricity shot through me, a strangled moan almost escaping my lips.

"Did you truly believe you held the reins, darling?" he murmured, a sardonic edge to his voice.

"Still dwelling on this morning, aren't you, my love?" His words came out in a murmured tone, a sly smirk forming at the corner of his lips. "I find this new side of you quite appealing—so eager and yearning for me that you couldn't resist acting on your desires."

He could discern the flustered expression I wore, a result of the daring move of trying to dry-hump him. Yet, he also noticed the reddened tips of my ears and heard the soft whimpers escaping me, blending with the deepening breaths as I pressed myself against him.

After a teasing kiss to my neck, his tone turned huskier as he remarked, "Did you honestly believe you were in control, bunny?"

"Still dwelling on this morning, aren't you, my love?" His words came out in a murmured tone, a sly smirk forming at the corner of his lips. "I find this new side of you quite appealing—so eager and yearning for me that you couldn't resist acting on your desires."

In response, I nodded, a small whimper escaping my lips, as I ground my throbbing need against his hardened bulge. "P-please, I need you," I pleaded, my desperation evident.

"You look exquisite when you're craving my cock to fill you up, love," he whispered, his voice filled with lust and desire.

"How badly do you want me to satisfy you, baby?" He inquired, his hand moving forward to gently stimulate my neglected bundle of nerves with the pad of his thumb.

"Badly, very badly," I replied quickly, my voice trembling with desperation, as I lifted my head to meet his gaze, my eyes silently imploring him to fulfill my intense yearning.

I took a deep breath, my voice quivering with need as I angled my hips to align my still-covered entrance with his cock.

"Please," I breathed, my plea hanging in the air as he teased me, moving my hips against his bulge with his hands firmly gripping my ass.

His teasing sent shivers down my spine, making my heart race. "Please, Matt, I need you. Please stop teasing me," I begged, leaning forward to press soft kisses along his jawline and down to his neck.

A guttural groan escaped him as I sucked on his skin, leaning his head back , giving me more space marking him as mine, marks he would wear with pride the next day. "Fuck, bunny, you don't know what you're doing to me," he grunted.

His hardened cock rubbed against my clothed pussy, sending a delightful tingling sensation through my entire body. "Feels so good," I moaned breathlessly, my hand entangled in his dark hair, while I moved on him with increasing fervor.

His hips bucked against mine, his cock rubbing me just right through our clothes. "I could cum like this. Do you feel good too?" I asked, pulling his hair slightly to lift his face as I demanded his lips to meet mine. Our kiss was messy, his tongue taking the lead effortlessly.

Despite us being almost fully dressed, he made me feel incredible, my pleasure building rapidly as I rode him and rubbed my clit on his cock eagerly.

Suddenly, he took control, moving me faster. My head fell back, and I trembled heavily in his hands. "Don't stop, please, Matt. I'm close," I whimpered, my hands balling into fists on his chest, crumpling the fabric of his shirt.

He encouraged me with soft kisses, his hips bucking harder against mine, causing me to feel him twitching. That was my breaking point.

I came hard, my moans and profanities filling the air. I barely noticed how tightly I had clenched my hands into his chest, quickly withdrawing when I realized I might have left a few marks. What would our friends say? Panic started to set in.

But he cut through my thoughts, burying his face in my neck, his lips grazing against my shoulder. "Don’t panic, bunny. No one was watching, and if that makes you feel any better, I would kill anyone who did."

I smiled, reassured by his words, and felt his hands roam around my back.

"Now, lets take this to your room. Enough with the games " he said, zipping up my hoodie before standing up.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

[gravity-between-us]

Gravity Between Us

Chapter 4: Dark Matter

Summary: Caleb and I have known each other for as long as I can remember. We were once childhood friends, our bond as natural as the stars in the sky. But now, everything has changed. What used to feel like a safe, familiar orbit between us now pulses with unspoken desire.

Our friendship is no longer enough to keep the tension at bay, and the distance between us feels unbearable. Secrets, lies, and unhealed wounds stand in our way. I don’t know if we can survive this new gravity pulling us together... but I can’t keep pretending I don’t want to try.

Pairing: Female! MC x Caleb

Spoilers: Spoilers for Caleb's Myth's as well as memories. Read at your own risk for these. Lore spoilers.

WARNINGS:

Unlikely to be completely canon. The other love interests will not be likely to appear in this fic.

MC is named. MC is socially awkward. MC can be depressed at times.

Very? Slow Burn.

Very explicit smut (Chapter 12 onward): PiV/oral (male and female receiving)/anal sex. Fingering. First time. Pet names (angel, babe, baby, pip-squeak). Kinks: Praise, breeding, creampie, light dom/sub. Rough. Some consensual degradation talk (MC is into it). Probably many, many more that I am forgetting to name. If you see one that should be listed that isn't, feel free to let me know. (MC is a repressed deviant, and so is Caleb.)

Awkward blend of darker moments, angst, fluff, and humour.

Drinking. Questionable life decisions. MC spirals.

Protective Caleb. Both MC and Caleb are a little obsessive and overly protective of each other, which could be considered an unhealthy relationship.

We will revisit memory scenes, but they will be different from the memories in-game.

As proofread as I can get it, but not beta read, so probably some mistakes.

Limited plot - most focus is just on their relationship and interactions.

More warnings could be applied, but as a general rule of thumb, please read at your own risk and do not continue if you find the content triggering.

I stare at the picture for a solid five seconds, my sluggish brain struggling to process the sheer magnitude of my own shame. The imprint on the glass is undeniable—a perfect, smudgy crime scene of my face, pressed up like a damn cartoon character. I groan, rubbing my forehead as if that will somehow erase both the memory and the evidence. The notification on my phone blares, and the text message that pops up makes me want to sink to my knees and rewind time.

Caleb: “You’re the worst spy I have ever seen.”

Is it possible to simply perish from embarrassment? Maybe if I stand really still, like a deer in headlights, my problems will lose interest and leave.

Caleb: “Like. Actually. I am CONCERNED. You just stood there?? Like that?? What was the plan?”

I type out a response, delete it, then type again. I consider throwing my phone in the sink.

Inara: “I was just… admiring the structural integrity of the glass.”

Caleb: “Oh, obviously. And what was the verdict? Solid craftsmanship?”

I resist the urge to let out a strangled noise. I am never drinking again.

Inara: “Shhhhhhh. Stop talking.”

Caleb: “So that’s a no, then?”

I hate him. I hate him so much. Fuck his precious forearms and his delectable elbows! 

Caleb: “Did you even look at the rest of the house yet?”

My stomach sinks. Oh. Oh, no. I see it. A full-blown pyramid of shoes stands gloriously by the door. My masterpiece. My drunken magnum opus.

Caleb: “Tell me you at least remember the pyramid.”

Fuck…. I do. A vague, wobbly memory of me standing, arms raised in triumph, shouting something about ‘engineering genius’ flashes through my mind.

This is the worst morning of my life.

Caleb strides in, a takeout bag in one hand and a coffee in the other, grinning like he’s already three steps ahead of me in whatever conversation we’re about to have. His eyes shift between deep amethyst and the soft glow of rose quartz, as if light itself bends to them. Dusk trapped beneath glass. 

I could get lost in them—maybe I do, just for a second—until he presses the coffee and bag into my hands, snapping me back to reality.

“How are ya feelin’, pip-squeak?” he asks, amusement braided into every syllable.

I groan, peeling back the wrapper on the breakfast he brought me. “Better than I deserve.”

He chuckles, leaning against the counter. “So, whose ridiculously attractive forearms inspired you to drink yourself into a home renovation meltdown?”

I nearly choke on my food. I do not remember telling him anything about forearms last night, and I have no clue if I admitted that it was his stupid, unfairly sculpted forearms that did it. Heat flares up my neck, blooming across my chest and ears, and I can physically feel my face turning beet red.

My alcohol-soaked brain hasn’t fully recovered, and in a kneejerk attempt at self-preservation, I bumble, “Mine.”

Caleb’s eyebrows shoot so high they might escape his face entirely. “Your own ridiculously attractive forearms somehow made you want to drink and assault the furniture?”

I don’t trust myself to speak again, so I just nod.

He stares at me for a long moment, then lets out a slow, impressed whistle. “Damn. That’s some next-level self-infatuation.”

I scowl at him, but it lacks heat. Mostly because my brain still feels like it’s wrapped in cotton and my stomach is busy trying to digest both food and humiliation. “If you tell anyone about this, I will kill you.”

Caleb grins with too much smug satisfaction, before nudging my foot under the table. "Well, since you’ve clearly spent too much time in the house, how about coming to the Fleet party tonight?"

I hesitate. Those events are always stiff, filled with too many officers who talk in clipped sentences and judge you based on the polish of your boots. Caleb in those settings is different, like someone flipped a switch, and suddenly he's another perfect soldier in a sea of disciplined postures and unreadable expressions.

He must see the reluctance display on my face because he leans in, tapping his fingers against the side of my cup. "C'mon, pip-squeak. It won't be that bad,” he places a hand over his heart dramatically. "I will not, under any circumstances, discuss fleet protocols or combat formations."

"Fine," I grumble, pointing a warning finger at him. "But if I see even one salute from you, I’m out.”

The party hums with low conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional bark of laughter that doesn’t quite reach the eyes of the people making it. I nurse my drink, more for something to do with my hands than any real interest in it, while Caleb shakes yet another person’s hand. His expression is pleasant but distant, a well-practiced ease in the way he carries himself. He makes eye contact, nods at the right moments, but I can tell he isn’t fully listening.

I’m not, either.

Instead, I watch. The way the officers hold themselves, the way some linger too long when speaking to him, like they’re searching for something between the lines of his answers. The way others barely hide their sneers when they turn away. There’s a current running through the room, subtle but there, like the tension before a storm.

Caleb finally breaks away from the latest well-wisher and turns to me, eyes softening. “You doing okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say automatically, but I’m still thinking about the things I’ve overheard—the anomalies, the equipment failures, the way people keep bringing them up just for Caleb to immediately shut them down, like he doesn’t even want the words in the air.

Like he’s trying to pretend they don’t exist.

Before I can press, someone calls his name, and he glances over my shoulder, his posture going rigid for the briefest moment. When he meets my eyes again, there’s an apology in them.

“Sorry, pip-squeak. Just a sec.”

He steps away, swallowed back into the sea of uniforms. For the first time tonight, I wonder if I should stop trailing behind him like a shadow—and start looking for the things he doesn’t want me to see.

I swirl the drink in my hand, watching the way the light catches against the glass. My reflection warps in the amber liquid, a distortion of myself—fitting, considering how out of place I feel.

I drift.

Not too far, not enough to be obvious, but enough to slip between groups unnoticed, catching snippets of hushed conversations.

“…not adding up. They’re saying it’s just fluctuations, but—”

“The logs don’t match. If command thinks we’re just going to ignore—”

“I heard the last patrol didn’t even make it back intact. They’re covering—”

Caleb’s name comes up more than once. So does deepspace. So do anomalies. And each time, the voices drop lower, wary, glancing around as if the walls themselves are listening.

I make my way toward the outer edges of the room, where the air feels less stifling, and lean against one of the pillars, pretending I’m just another disinterested plus-one waiting for the night to end.

But I keep listening.

What I hear makes my skin prickle. Something is happening out there, beyond the safety of planets and stations, in the vast emptiness of deepspace. Whatever it is, Caleb is right in the middle of it. It reminds me how many secrets lay dead and rotting in the valley that has grown between us. It also reminds me that every time he goes to work, he might never come home…

Before I can fully process that, I catch movement in my periphery.

A woman approaches—sharp uniform, sharp eyes. She doesn’t look at me right away, but I know she’s heading toward me. There’s a deliberateness to her stride, a certainty. When she finally turns her gaze on me, it’s assessing.

“You’re the one Caleb won’t shut up about,” she says. Not a question.

I arch a brow. “Depends who’s asking.”

The corner of her mouth twitches, but her expression stays neutral. “Commander Aurelia Voss.” She extends a hand, and I take it, her grip firm. She studies me for a beat, as if weighing something, before speaking again.

“You might want to ask your boy what’s really going on out there.”

Then she releases my hand and disappears into the crowd before I can ask what the hell that’s supposed to mean.

I stand there, my pulse a slow, steady thrum. The crowd shifts, a ripple of movement, and then Caleb is there, slipping through the sea of uniforms with that effortless grace of his. His eyes find me quickly, like he knew exactly where I’d be. The moment he sees me, his expression eases until I open my mouth.

"Who's Voss?" I ask, keeping my voice level.

His jaw tightens, just a fraction, but it's enough to tell me there's something there.

"Why?" He deflects, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve without meeting my eyes. "She talk to you?"

"Someone mentioned it. And you’ve been quick to change the subject every time. So?"

He shrugs. ”It’s nothing important. Just Fleet matters."

I narrow my eyes, unconvinced. "Fleet matters, huh?"

His voice sharpens, a bite to it now. “Forget it. It doesn’t concern you.”

I bristle, ready to fire back, but before I can, he extends his hand. "Come dance with me."

I eye him, suspicion clawing at my chest. "That’s your distraction?"

He smiles, and damn it, it works. "Humour me."

With a quiet sigh, I let him guide me onto the dance floor. He takes my hand in his, and places the other against my waist. The music is slow, lilting, pulling at something deep inside me. I step into it—or at least try to. Within seconds, my heel catches the edge of his boot.

He chuckles. "You’re not very good at this, are you?"

"Wow, what a revelation," I retort, forcing a sarcastic smirk. "It’s almost like I never took ballroom dancing at the academy."

"Shocking," he teases, effortlessly steering me back on track, his movements controlled and precise, like he's piloting a ship. "I, however, am exceptional at it."

"Humble, too," I mutter.

"Always." His grin widens before he leans in, his breath warm against my ear. "Stand on my feet."

I scoff, amused. "I’ll ruin your perfectly polished boots."

"You’re right." His grin shifts to something more wicked. Before I can protest further, the air around us seems to shift. A faint hum brushes against the space between us, lifting me ever so slightly, my toes no longer touching the floor. He keeps one hand on my waist, the other still holding mine, guiding me effortlessly across the floor as if I weigh nothing at all.

I should call him out for this ridiculous, unfair advantage, but I don’t. Instead, I allow myself to be swept up in the movement, the distance between us narrowing. His hold tightens, pulling me closer—closer than is appropriate, than any social rules would permit, but neither of us seems to care.

His amethyst-rose gaze locks with mine, intense and burning, something unspoken crackling between us, drawing us in. My pulse stutters, a traitor to my calm exterior. I don’t know who leans in first, but the space between us is closing rapidly, our breath mingling, the tension drawn tight like a wire about to snap—

Then, applause erupts, shattering the fragile bubble around us.

Caleb blinks, as if coming back to himself. Someone calls his name.

He exhales, brushing his thumb absently over the back of my hand before he releases me. "I’ll be right back."

I watch him slip away, his colonel’s mask sliding into place, but my mind is already elsewhere. Voss's words echo in my head. 

You might want to ask your boy what’s really going on out there.

The decision comes to me in an instant. I turn, slipping into the shadows of the crowd. This base is familiar from my time here, and I still have the skeleton key Caleb gave me.

I move cautiously through the halls, alert to every detail. Cameras track my every move, but I know their blind spots well. The guards follow predictable routes, easy to anticipate. When I hear the clack of boots approaching, I duck into an alcove, melting into the shadows. A few pass by without so much as a glance.

The heels of my shoes, however, are a liability. I slip them off, leaving them behind a pillar. Barefoot, I move more quietly, more swiftly, weaving through the corridors towards Caleb's office.

The tension coils in my gut as I approach the door. One last glance over my shoulder. No one.

I press the key to the panel, and the lock clicks open.

Slipping inside, I close the door behind me, exhaling the breath I didn't realize I was holding. The air is thick with his scent—clean, sharp, faintly metallic, like the cockpit of a ship. I move quickly, my eyes scanning the room, searching for something, anything. If answers are hidden here, I’m going to find them.

Caleb's office is pristine, a sterile shrine of black, white, and silver. The screens along the walls are dark, the room still. At first, it seems as if I’ve found nothing. Then I hear it. A faint hum. Barely perceptible, but there, beneath the silence.

I run my fingers along the panelled wall, feeling for something. Eventually, I find it—a thin line, almost imperceptible. A hidden panel. But there's no keypad, no handle, no lock.

I pause, thinking like him. Caleb doesn’t leave things unguarded. He doesn’t trust locks. He trusts himself. I exhale, resolve settling in my chest. Reaching out, I press my palm flat to the surface, right where his hand would naturally land if he leaned against the wall.

A faint click.

The panel slides open.

I step inside, and the lights blink on automatically. The room is small, filled with technology I don’t recognize—screens displaying data that makes no sense, sleek robotic parts, wires humming with energy. A mechanical arm hangs from the ceiling, its design intricate, precise, and unnervingly advanced.

I take a step closer, running my fingers over the edge of a console. None of this explains the whispers I overheard at the party. None of it accounts for the anomalies, the close calls, the name Voss.

And yet, something tells me I’ve stumbled upon something I wasn’t meant to see. The hum behind the panel still lingers in my ears when I hear the door to Caleb’s office slide open. My stomach drops. I turn just in time to see him standing there, silhouetted by the white light spilling in from the hall. His eyes lock onto mine, and the easy warmth that usually resides in them is gone.

“What the fuck are you doing?” His voice is low and controlled, but I can hear the barely restrained fury beneath it.

I straighten, meeting his gaze head-on. “What the hell is all this?”

He exhales sharply, stepping into the room, the door hissing shut behind him. “You shouldn’t be here, pip-squeak.”

“Yeah, no shit. That’s why it’s hidden behind a fucking secret panel. Now, are you going to tell me what this is, or do I get to keep playing detective?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he moves past me, as though trying to block my view of the room, as though I haven’t already seen too much. I push forward, refusing to let this slide like all the other times. “I’m serious, Caleb. Enough with the dodging, enough with the cute little diversions. I want the truth. Right now.”

“It’s classified.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, fuck off with that. I’m not one of your Fleet officers, Caleb. I’m not some clueless civilian, either. You don’t get to ‘classified’ your way out of this conversation.”

His jaw clenches, the muscle ticking. “You don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“Then explain it to me.”

His hands curl into fists at his sides. “It’s not that simple.”

“Bullshit.”

Something cracks in him then, his control slipping. “You always do this,” he snaps, stepping closer. “You push and push until you’re standing at the edge of something you don’t understand, and you don’t care. You never fucking care.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Should I just keep letting you lie to me? Keep pretending everything’s fine while you disappear deeper into whatever the hell this is?”

His lips press into a thin line. “Drop it, Inara.”

“No.”

This expression wavers, the anger giving way to something darker. He reaches for me, and I instinctively pull back, but he’s too fast. His hand clamps around my wrist.

“Let go of me.”

“You shouldn’t have come here,” he says, his voice eerily calm now. The rage is still there, but it’s muted, controlled—like a blade honed to a fine edge.

I try to yank my arm free, but his grip tightens—too tight. “Caleb—you're hurting me.”

He doesn’t react. It’s like I’m speaking to a stranger, someone who doesn’t recognize me. His expression is vacant, devoid of the boy I knew, the man I thought I still understood. I’ve seen him angry before, but this is different. This is cold. This is something else entirely.

“You should’ve just left it alone,” he hisses, and his tone sends a chill through me. There’s a hint of something threatening in it, something that twists my stomach into knots.

I struggle again, my bare feet scraping against the smooth floor as I try to pull away, but his grip doesn’t loosen. “Caleb, let go.”

He lifts his wrist, flicking two fingers toward his earpiece. “Liam. Get my plane ready. I’m leaving.”

Panic surges in my chest. “You’re not going anywhere until you explain what the fuck is going on!”

He doesn’t even glance at me. Instead, he lifts his free hand, fingers twitching—and suddenly, I can’t move. The floor seems to drop beneath me, but I don’t fall. My body locks up, frozen in place by an invisible, suffocating force. I can barely breathe. I can’t fight it. He holds me there like I’m nothing—like I’m an inconvenience, an afterthought.

“I warned you, pip-squeak,” he murmurs, his voice devoid of warmth.

My heart hammers in my chest, a mix of fear and realization—fear, not of him, but of what this means. Fear that I’ve just confirmed the worst of my suspicions.

The Caleb I knew is gone, and I have no idea who the hell is standing in front of me now.

He doesn’t give me a choice. His grip tightens around my wrist, dragging me toward the plane, his stride steady and ground eating. I dig my heels into the floor, my free hand clawing at his hold, but it’s useless.

“Caleb, stop! Let me go!” My voice echoes through the empty corridor, but he doesn’t even flinch.

The plane’s ramp lowers with a mechanical whirr, the interior dimly lit, sterile. As soon as we’re inside, he hauls me into a seat, securing the harness around me. My pulse throbs in my wrist, where the bruises are already blooming beneath his fingers. I yank my arm free the moment he lets go, cradling it against my chest. The skin is marked with angry shades of blue and purple—proof of his strength, of how far he’s willing to go.

Tears sting my eyes, but they’re not from sadness. No, I’m furious. Furious that the Fleet has turned him into this. Furious that I don’t know how to fix him. Furious that this is what we’ve become.

He settles into the pilot’s seat, running a hand through his hair, exhaling like he’s come down from whatever dark place he’d been. When he speaks, his voice is softer—almost normal.

“Let’s go home.”

I stare at him, my fingers curling into fists in my lap, and shake my head. “No. Drop me off at the station. I’m going back to Linkon.”

His hands tighten on the controls. “Inara, don’t be ridiculous—”

“I’m not staying, Caleb. Take me to the station. Now.”

For the first time since he dragged me out of that hidden room, he looks at me—really looks at me. The bruises on my wrist. The set of my jaw. The way I refuse to back down. He opens his mouth, maybe to argue, maybe to reason with me, but I see it in his face: he knows he won’t win this one.

His grip on the controls flexes before he exhales sharply through his nose. “Fine.”

The word lands between us, heavy and final. The engines hum to life, the plane shifting as it prepares for takeoff. Neither of us speaks. Neither of us looks at each other.

But something in the air between us has already changed, and I don’t know if we’ll ever get it back.

Chapter Masterlist Friends! Caleb's Myth!?! YES PLEASE! My wallet cries in Sylus + Caleb main already. May everyone who pulls for Caleb's Myth get it in the first 20 🙏🏻

[piracytheorist]

Welcome to the Twilight Eyes Project!

This is basically my excuse for yet another rewatch of the entire anime, with parallel comparison with the manga :D My point during it is to get screenshots of Twilight's eyes during crucial moments, and sort each one of them into one of three categories, with a bonus fourth:

Twilight eyes

Loid eyes

Real eyes

Sad eyes

Based first and foremost on Endo's styling choices in the manga:

First:

"Twilight eyes": They're narrowed, focused, even at times that he's alone and not directly facing a threat. They're meant to show us he's fully alert.

Possible sub-category, focus on investigative eyes:

Second:

"Loid eyes": They're wide open, usually accompanied by a crafted smile, portraying a willingness that looks almost uncomfortable if you know better, as the audience does. They're meant to show us that he's making himself look nonthreatening, welcoming, trustworthy, pleasant enough for someone to spill all their secrets to. A clear manipulation tactic.

Third:

"Real eyes": Moments when, most likely unbeknownst to him, his eyes lose both the narrowed, calculating look and the over-willing, forced smiling look. Instead, his eyes pick up on his emotional state and express it fully.

Bonus:

"Sad eyes": Panels and shots focusing almost exclusively on his eyes, that usually portray a deep sadness. They're separate from Twilight eyes, because even though they're narrowed, it's in emotion and not focus, and they're separate from the "Real eyes" category because in their particular case there's direct focus on his eyes. And it's usually a sad expression, therefore the title.

Of course, there are times that his eyes have a neutral expression, or an exaggerated comical expression. Those won't be featured here, this is mostly a study on how he swifts between focus and cover, and on the times some emotions slip through his look.

This post series will be tagged "sxf tep" along with related fandom tags, if you want to follow through it, and I will mostly analyze one anime episode per post, unless there's too little content (where I'll combine two or more episodes in one post) or too much content (where I'll break the post in two parts).

Reminder that I am anime only, I don't want manga spoilers, and I won't analyze screenshots from manga chapters that haven't been adapted yet, as I haven't actually read any past chapter 59, which was the last to be adapted. I will post my usual reminder at the end of each post.

[jeonghansbunny]

Next Page | Mingyu

Rating: 18+ | Read at your own discretion

Content warnings: dom/sub, manhandling, edging, unprotected sex, creampie. Please keep in mind that I wrote this with the idea that everything is consensual!

Mingyu 

who is bored and decides to interrupt your reading time

He disturbs you by asking you frequent and irrelevant questions 

At first you reply but once you realized what he was doing you stop responding

Desperate he starts sitting beside you

And asks you what you're reading

And what's it about

While putting a hand on your back 

And starting to rub it up and down

But you ignore him

This isn't the first time he's doing this

And you know once you answer

There's no going back 

So you don't respond

He laughs at you

At your audacity to ignore him

So he becomes a bit naughty

And starts to lower his hand more and more

Until he's reached your butt 

And gives it a squeeze

"You seem tense. Should I give you a massage" he asks

But you still don't reply

"if you don't say anything I'll take it as a yes"

With that he climbs on top of you

And starts giving you a back massage

Still showing no reaction

He decides to move lower

To your bare legs

He starts with your ankles and moves up to your calves 

Then above your knees to your thighs

Getting closer and closer until he reaches the end of your shorts

He notices you're breathing heavier

But your focus is still on the book

Since you're not telling him to stop 

He decides to have his own fun

So he starts sneaking his fingers inside of your shorts

Until he's reached your sensitive parts

He brushes his fingertips against it

He looks at you

To see if you're reacting 

But you continue reading as if nothing happened 

He starts to become slightly frustrated

But also very turned on

So he decides to become more bold

He gets on top of you

He pushes your clothes out of the way

And pulls out his cock

And starts to rub his cock alongside your wet folds

Until his tip touches your entrance

Then he starts to slowly push it in

You start to squirm

And clench around him

Once he's all in he starts pulling it out and pushing it in again

Repeating this movement in a dreadfully slow pace

To torture you

Because he knows you're horny 

And he knows you're desperate for more 

But your pride just won't let go

You grip your book tighter

Not being able to focus on the content or even the letters

"you haven't turned that page in a while now, could it be you're actually enjoying this and not reading?" he asks in a mocking tone

You tell him that you're in fact reading and that he should mind his own business 

Well if that's the case he asks you to read it out loud

Since he's curious about it too

You tell him he wouldn't be able to understand what's going on anyway and there's no point to that

He stops all of his movements 

And insists that you read for him

Or he won't continue

So you start reading

You try to keep your voice under control but it's shaky

Satisfied with his accomplishment

He starts moving again

At first brutally slow

Then quickening his pace more and more

Which makes you lose your mind

And even miss a few words

To which he keeps pointing out

And making you reread the whole sentence again

Not being able to think clearly 

You follow his instructions and read it again

Properly this time

The more you read

The whinier your voice gets

Which turns him on

Hearing your voice so shaky and desperate 

Feeling you clench around him

Seeing you become so weak under pleasure 

The pleasure he's giving you

Even he finds it difficult to focus at this point

So he takes the book out of your hands

Lays his entire body of top of yours

Puts a hand gently around your neck

And starts pounding you hard

You start screaming in pleasure 

At his dick hitting the deepest part of you

Brutally and repeatedly

Making your eyes roll back

You feel him become bigger 

"I'm about to cum. Where do you want it?" he asks

You don't reply

Not because you're ignoring him

But because you’re incapable to

You try to respond

But it comes out in whines and screams

"If you don't say anything I'll do whatever I want" he says in a humming tune 

Knowing very well you can't reply even if you wanted to

"If you don't say anything I'll just cum inside of you”

You clench even harder around him

Turned on by his words

Desperate for his load

"this is what you get for ignoring me" he says

And with that he shoots his load inside you 

Making your legs shake and cum all over his dick <3

[genericpuff]

The FAQ link sent me straight to the inbox. Do you have a Patreon? (Sorry if you've answered this before.)

Oops, that's not supposed to happen!! I'm at the shop rn but once I'm home I'll take a look at it, I recently changed my site theme so the link might have just broke 🤣

I do have a Patreon, and a Ko-Fi now too as well!! (just recently started a secondary page for Ko-Fi, I haven't finished sprucing it up yet but it's at least setup enough to function lmao) Both are setup for monthly subs, but Ko-Fi is frankly my favorite as it also allows for one-time donations, it supports community goals (which Patreon got rid of, bleh) and its fees are WAY lower, meaning more of what people send me actually gets to me!

That said, I do want to include a disclaimer for anyone finding out for the first time:

Obviously with the nature of Rekindled being fanfiction, I can't directly profit off it, so I'm limited in what I can offer in terms of tier rewards. I'm not exactly keen on running the risk of offering stuff like early access pages or sellable digital downloads of the comic itself, that sort of thing, as it could be held against me as selling Rachel's characters / story / etc. for my own profit. While Patreon overall does offer the "legal grey area" of operating as more of an optional tip jar than a commercial storefront, I would still rather mitigate the risk of legal consequences before they've happened, rather than push my luck and get screwed for it later LMAO

Aa such, most of what I post rn are backlog Twitch VODs from past streams (which includes live footage and commentary of me making "new" episodes) and time lapses of completed episodes ! Stuff that contains Rekindled goodies without it being a direct sales item ;p

Aside from balancing on legal tightropes, I've also just... learned the hard way from past experiences that I'm not the best at maintaining a robust and regular tier reward system 🫣 (thanks ADHD) If I were able to do this as my full-time job, maybe, but ultimately I prefer keeping my crowdfunding platforms simple so I can focus on making what people are really paying for - the continued production of more episodes!

Sooooo with that big disclaimer / explanation aside , if you do decide to check it out, just keep in mind that both platforms are operating more like optional tip jars, with the odd piece of bonus content every now and then from what I can feasibly (and legally) provide !! I try my best to upload regularly enough for the monthly subscription to be "worth it", but that's why I also have a Ko-Fi setup now too, for people who would rather just make one time donations or don't want to deal with another monthly subscription cost (mood)

Regardless, all the money that I earn from Patreon, Ko-Fi, and Twitch goes back into Rekindled in some way or another! Whether it's helping cover costs for my drawing software or paying for new brushes / assets, or even just helping with our Internet bill so that I can keep posting LMAO I'm super grateful to those who have or are currently tucking some extra change into my pocket to help support my work and get me by, every little bit counts 🤗💖

(and ofc for those who don't have the means to support with money - reading my work, commenting on it, reblogging it, etc. is super helpful too!!! All your kind words and fun discussions and theories in the tags and fanart and everything in between are their own form of compensation, because it brings me immense amounts of joy and constantly reminds me why I do what I do 🥺💖)

[dlamp-dictator]

Okay, I know it's been awhile since I've been into Arknights, but I gotta' talk about this real quick, because it really does feel like some actual insanity that Lappland has something like this. I know the developers tend to make some weirdly cracked modules, but this is some madness that's almost on par with Eyja having Res-shredding on her first module.

But first, a not-so-quick disclaimer. It's recently come to my attention that Lappland's name is a known slur in some Scandinavian circles, and while I've read a handful of things that imply her name is meant to come from a specific location/region in the Nordic/Scandinavian area I will play things safe and refer to her as Saluzzo from this point on in this little analysis/discussion out of both recognition of the above and to be mindful of others reading this as I believe this is still a hot-button issue in some areas of the fandom. With that said, I'll only be doing this in deeper discussions like this, as... well, frankly, I've neither the time nor energy to police people on the internet and until Hypergryph actively changes the name themselves we'll all be very confused if I suddenly start talking about a character named Saluzzo off-handedly in a random post I make.

With that said, onto the craziness.

So, Saluzzo here's a Lord, a sub-class of a Guard, which specializes in (usually) physical DPS, High HP, and some minor laneholding depending on the archetype. Lords specifically deal physical ranged damage on ground tiles, which tapers off the further away the enemy is. But that's not important. For Saluzzo, the main thing is her talent: Spiritual Destruction, which silences enemy abilities. This disrupts a handful of the more annoying quirks that some enemies have like exploding on death, having some sort of passive shield/resistance barrier, passing through blocking units, stopping those damn Artificers from summoning the artillery shell, so on and so forth. Combine this utility with her already good damage and stats has given Saluzzo a very vital role in almost any new event or chapter. Namely, neutering some of the more... interesting quirks that come into certain chapters and event maps and made her a cornerstone for any new content.

And I feel I should mention that Saluzzo is a game launch unit. She's been here since the start and still has a place in modern Arknights' meta. The only other units I could say are comfortably in this position are Ejyafjalla and Saria, and those are Six-Stars.

Her module, by extension, is just as nutty. Combined with her already good physical damage, she can now deal a minor amount of arts damage with her base attack. This makes her ability to already shred through physically tanky enemies even better. But the true nuttiness is that additional fragile debuff along with her silencing when upgraded, letting enemies take an additional 8% of damage from all sources.

Including true damage.

For six seconds.

In a tower defense game.

Oh, and her Skill 2, her main skill, can attack two enemies at once to inflict the debuff.

Yeah, this chick is insane, both in lore and in game. She's so cracked that the only way to powercreep her was to make an alter of her even nuttier.

But yeah, that's Saluzzo. Looking forward to the coming 5.5 storyline. I don't keep track of Arknights' story nowadays, but I do keep up with the handful of extra chapters that focus on characters I like, and I like Saluzzo and the Siracusa storyline a lot. Here's hoping things keep moving up from here.

Now to finish Chapter 14 this week... and catch up on Wuwa afterwards.

[satancopilotsmytardis]

For the prompts:

"Keep your eyes on me"?

Pairing: Shigadabi

Rating: E

Contents: Chronic pain/illness, dissociation, (brief) derogatory mentions of sex work, anal sex, anal fingering, BDSM, dom/sub dynamics, aftercare

Sex is possibly the only good thing in his life. Broken body, homeless for years, isolated throughout that time, and not having a hope of getting justice for what was done to him? Yeah, no, after the first time he'd stumbled into a situation that ended up with him losing his virginity when he still felt like his body wasn't even his from how much it changed after his coma, Dabi was hooked. It was the only time when he didn't hurt. Actually, that probably isn't entirely accurate. Because things tend to go like this when he manages to get someone into his bed:

One: Things start heating up. Everything is already at a low level of pain unless he's already high or drunk. 

Two: Get into proper foreplay if there's time for it. Pain starts to spike everywhere that his partner is touching. Pretend it doesn't. Focus on the ways that it can feel good. Suck it up if they're being too rough, it's worth it in the end. 

Three: Actually fucking. Usually the pleasure is starting to outpace the pain at this point, but his nerves still feel like they're going to snap apart. 

Four: Orgasm. Bliss. Everything goes away for ages. He's gone. The only other time he's ever felt this distance from his nerves was in the last few seconds before he lost consciousness as he burned. When the shock that the severity of the burns had caused enough nerve damage to make everything so perfectly numb. 

He's addicted to that time when he can't feel anything at all. So if he's not plotting his revenge, trying to survive, or, now, doing work for the League, Dabi is looking for someone to get off with. The League is not a great place to do that. Compress is gay, but not interested. Magne is interested, but wants a top and Dabi can't float as high when he tops, which doesn't really make it worth it for him. Toga and Mustard, of course, are literal children that he is absolutely not interested in. Spinner is kind of repressed and he has big inexperienced vibes that don't work for him either. Kurogiri is a robot, he's pretty sure, and not of the fuckable variety. Muscular is such a violent, repulsive douchebag that Dabi's pretty sure he'd come away from that encounter with so many staples pulled out he wouldn't even get off. Moonfish, similarly, would probably be more interested in actually eating his skin than he would getting Dabi to a good climax. And Twice is blatantly, and painfully, heterosexual. Which leaves Shigaraki. 

Dabi can't quite get a read on Shigaraki. His initial reaction put him in the same ballpark as Spinner, inexperienced gamer bro who would probably dust him instead of going to bed with him, or nut way too soon to be worth his time if he propositioned him successfully. So Dabi doesn't bother, he just starts to go out whenever he can get away from the League and finds other ways of getting what he needs. Does it quite a lot, but given that it's the only thing that he can do to take away his pain, Dabi doesn't really care what the others think about it. Not until Muscular throws a handful of bills at him to get him on his knees. He burns the money, is about to go further than that before Shigaraki steps in and makes the barbarian fuck off for a while. 

"I'm not thanking you for that, I had it handled." He snarls as he heads upstairs. It has been an awful pain day, the first thing he did today when he woke-- three A.M., tears bleeding from his eyes-- was run to the bathroom to puke. Has been pale and shaky all day, can't even clench his fist without his whole arm shaking, and had had to run off to puke from the agony twice more throughout the course of the day. He needs the relief, but that had been a loud and clear message that says what the rest of the League actually think about him and his antics. He thought that they would just ignore it. He likes to sleep around, so what? But if they're not taking him seriously, if they think he's been prostituting himself this whole time, then he's definitely not going to get taken seriously when they start to do actual villainous shit whenever AFO lets them off their leash. Shigaraki stops, foot on the first step to follow him up, nails in his neck, brow furrowed, frowning at him. 

"...You don't have to thank me. I just wanted to make sure you're alright." He hesitates, "Toga said that you smelled like blood all day." 

Dabi stiffens, which really just makes everything worse, the tensing of his muscles makes his nerves scream, and he needs to get off. "Stapled together, sometimes they bleed. It's not a big deal, Duster." Fine, pivot then. He moves back down a couple of steps so that he's right in Shigaraki's space. At this point, a dusting might actually be the lesser of all evils just to get rid of the pain. "Not a whore fucking around for cash. I just like to have a good time." Lowers his voice, makes his eyes half-lidded as they drag over Shig's body, tilts his head to the side a bit and gives him the slow, lazy smile that has gotten so many other people into his bed. "Something wrong with that?" 

And Duster doesn't go bright red or look like a deer in headlights like Spinner had. Instead he blinks, like Dabi's managed to surprise him, and then his gaze goes a little more calculating. "No, I don't care about that, Dabi. As long as you don't get caught or lead anyone back here, you can do whatever you want."

"Whatever?" Nearly a purr now.

"Dabi," slight warning in his tone. But he hasn't moved an inch to dust him and Shigaraki can't seem to help the way his eyes flick over him before he can stop himself and refocus. 

"What? Thought you liked to have a good time too. Or are you really always just playing your games for the achievements?" Risks reaching out slowly, deliberately, and is allowed to hook a finger in the v of his shirt, moving even closer, until they're barely six inches apart. 

Shigaraki doesn't even blink. "Are you sure this is something you want to do?" 

"I know what I want, Duster." He wants to stop hurting. He needs this to make that happen. "Just a matter of if I'm allowed to have it." 

Duster moves then. Hand catching Dabi by the hip and backing him against the wall of the stairwell. He thinks that should probably worry him, but it just makes him desperate. "What do you want, Dabi?" And his voice is definitely lower, hotter. 

He chances dancing his fingers over Shig's collarbone, up his neck and to the scars scratched into his skin. "I want you to get me off. If you do that, then you can do whatever you want to me short of anything that'll fuck up my seams." 

"'Anything'?" 

He hums in agreement. As long as he gets off, he won't even notice anything else. He'll be too far away. "And once you're finished, you leave. No cuddling, or a smoke, or chatter, we both get off and you let me enjoy my afterglow in peace." 

Duster hesitates for a second. Huh. Didn't take him for the cuddling type really-- but then he says, "I can do that." And he's caging him against the wall, mouth slanting over his. Dabi gives into this readily. He knows how to make a kiss good, how to make things hotter, and he uses every trick in his book to have them both out of breath and making their way upstairs as soon as they part.

One. 

They stumble into his room, Duster kicking his door shut behind him, and Dabi already has his hands in the other man's shirt. His seams are screaming over being made to move as fast as Dabi wants them too, but the sooner they get to the good part, the sooner they'll stop hurting. Clothes get scattered around his room, and when Dabi pulls Shig to the bed, the other man doesn't even hesitate to push Dabi down onto it. He bites his lip. It hurts, but it won't for long. 

Two. 

Shigaraki is definitely not a virgin. He knows exactly how to wrap four fingers around his cock and stroke him, knows how to keep his touch safe even through lust, and is completely undaunted about taking charge and pushing forward. Which is perfect for Dabi. Doesn't even make him get on his knees or anything first. Instead seems more keen on finding every place on Dabi's body that draws out a whine or a moan-- and he doesn't need to know that there's a fifty-fifty chance of those being from pleasure or pain as things get hotter and hotter. 

Three.

By the time Shigaraki's pulling his fingers out of him, Dabi is desperate for it. He was already desperate, his nerves have been on fire all day, but now the added heat of his pleasure is making him burn for it. Moans so loudly he shoves his knuckles between his teeth as Shigaraki sinks a gorgeous, big cock inside of him. He wants to give him time to adjust, but Dabi rocks back immediately, and when he keeps doing it with more little gut-punched sounds of pleasure, Duster starts to fuck him, hard. 

Four. 

No idea how long it takes, but his nerves are screaming. They're going hotter and hotter. Dabi is lost in his own world. He can't survive this. He's going to combust, he's going to fall apart, he's going to--!

Calm. Gone. 

He stays gone all night. Doesn't come out of it until the sun is doing its damndest to come in through the mostly sealed window at the back of the building. And there's no Shigaraki in sight. Fucked him good, tossed the condom, got his clothes and left from what he can tell. And his nerves are back to the constant low-level pain that he can tolerate. He's also got a fresh, but familiar ache in him, but that one he doesn't have any complaints about. It's the best lay he's had in ages and it was definitely also the most effective too. 

So a couple days later when the pain gets bad he goes to Duster again. And Shigaraki doesn't seem to mind. Sends him a million miles away again. And again. And again. Dabi stops having to look for other hookups. He ends up permanently shoving a blanket behind his headboard so that the cheap frame doesn't slam into the wall and alert anyone to what they're up to when he drags Duster into his room in the dead of night. And when he accidentally tears one of his staples biting his knuckles to keep his moans quiet, Shig gets him a ball gag which probably should not feel as sweet or hot as it is. And they keep fucking. All the way to the training camp job. 

After it too, even when everything falls apart. When they're in a shitty two-bedroom apartment safehouse and the rest of the League absolutely knows they've been fucking because they immediately give the two of them one of the rooms. Toga and Magne have the other bedroom.  Compress, Twice, and Spinner are on the shitty couch and air mattresses in the living room. Not sure how long they'll manage to stay here, but it's a place for them to catch their breath temporarily as Kurogiri runs down some cryptic final lead that AFO left for them. 

They're settled for all of a day before Dabi can't wait anymore, pain wracking his body, and he really doesn't think the others will ignore it if he ends up locked in the bathroom puking his brains out if he lets it go any further. Gives up and doesn't hesitate to go over and get into Duster's lap. Shig blinks, but immediately settles his hands against Dabi's hips. 

"Sir," Got a little more into things the longer they've been doing this, and he grinds into his lap, letting him feel how badly he needs it. 

Tomura doesn't protest, wraps a hand around the back of his neck and draws him into a kiss instead. Doesn't make Dabi beg. Just takes him to bed and, he thinks, lets go of the stress and loss that have been pulling at him for the past few weeks now too. 

One. Two. Three. Four. 

Dabi has no idea what time it is when he comes back and stretches out on the bed like a cat. His nerves give the slightest twinge, but it's so mild compared to what he's been dealing with lately, it might as well not have happened. Startles slightly when he finds that Duster is still in bed too, though he's dressed again and has made his half of the bed-- might have tucked Dabi in given the current state of the blankets-- watching him with the slightest frown and furrow in his brow. Oh. Yeah, they are sharing a room now, would have probably been weird and kind of rude to expect him to fuck off like usual. 

Still, he doesn't get that look. "What?" 

"...Do you always get like that after I leave?" 

Dabi frowns too now. "Get like what?" 

"...Unresponsive. I noticed," he says before Dabi can snap at him. "That you seemed to slip away. I just thought it was your subspace. But this was different, Dabi. You were fully dissociated for hours. I couldn't get your attention, you didn't react to anything--" And there's a building worry in Shig's voice. He stops and takes a slow breath. "If I had wanted to hurt you, I could have. If heroes or police showed up here, I don't know if you would have even noticed." 

Dabi wants to snap, wants to argue. But he knows that too. And... at this point, he and Shig may actually be kind of dating. Probably should actually give him an inch of vulnerability if Duster is going to keep giving him miles of relief every time he goes to bed with him. Can't quite meet his eyes when he does though, "...Yeah. Can't help it. Feels so good not to hurt for a little while. Turns everything in my head off." 

There's a long pause. Duster lets out a slow, even breath. "Okay, but Dabi, this is dangerous. Especially with how things are right now." His gut turns into a pit. Is he going to stop sleeping with him? Until they've got somewhere safe to go? The pain will fucking ruin him. And the thought-- the thought of having to give up Shigaraki so he can go back to just finding anonymous one night stands, makes him think that physical pain won't be the only kind that does such a number. "Okay, have you ever tried to pull yourself out?" He shakes his head. "Never let a partner do it." More sure, connecting the dots about why Dabi must always demand his partners leave him alone as soon as they've finished. "Can we try, next time? I would like to have a way to help bring you out of it," his voice a lot softer, gentle as his hand that cups his cheek and runs a thumb carefully along his staples. "I want you to be safe." 

And a couple of months ago he would have set Duster on fire for that. But now-- "...Okay." He gives in without any protest. If it delays Shigaraki telling him that they can't fuck anymore until they have a good hideout, then he'll do whatever he has to. 

 Takes a couple of days for the pain to build again, for them to have the time to actually do anything without being interrupted by the others, and at first everything seems the same. Tomura works him up, makes him feel so good. 

One. Kisses against his lips and trailing down his neck. 

Two. Fingers stroking inside his body and opening him up as his tongue teases his nipples. 

Three. Fucked full of his cock so deep and perfect that there are tears slipping over his cheeks and he's got three of Duster's fingers in his mouth to keep the others from overhearing him. 

Four. Gone--

"Focus, firefly." Confusion through the bliss. Cool hand against his cheek. "Come on, baby. Keep your eyes on me. Stay right here, beautiful. Stay with me." More pleasure in his body. His vision is swimming as he tries to find Tomura. Still over him, still rolling his hips to meet his, hands stroking over his skin that doesn't hurt anymore. Dabi lets out a weak mewl. "That's it, baby. Right here, focus. Do you still hurt?" 

It's so hard. He's never had to focus after cumming like he's being asked to now. But after a second he manages to shake his head. Can't get his tongue to work. 

"That's good. Can you hold on? Keep those eyes on me a little longer?" 

He can try. 

Tomura fucks him for a while longer, pressing kisses to his lips and cheeks, bringing him back into focus any time he starts to drift away. Does that until he's letting out a rougher breath against Dabi's lips as his hips still as he cums. And when he pulls out, he gathers Dabi close and keeps petting at his skin. "There, you're doing such a good job for me. Now, can you give me a little spark, firefly?" He catches Dabi's wrist and brings his hand up. Oh. Dabi focuses, and his quirk dances around his fingers. Doesn't hurt when Tomura's nuzzling in and giving him more kisses and telling him, "Perfect, sweetheart, you did such a good job. We're going to lay down for a little while, alright. I want you to count to sixty, you can do it in your head if you don't want to talk, but every time you get there, I want you to tap your fingers, right here." Dabi puts out the fire on his fingers so that Tomura can rest his hand over his heart as he pulls him in closer. 

Dabi settles against him. One, two, three, four... five. 

He counts and taps, starts to trace the numbers against Tomura's skin eventually, and Tomura presses kisses to his head, strokes his hands along his hair and back. Makes Dabi's nerves keep singing with the aftershocks of his pleasure instead of their usual caterwauling of pain. And he decides that this is better. Would rather be right here, in Tomura's embrace than that endless void where nothing hurts, but nothing feels good either.  

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[deerboybreeder]

Dom breeder here. First off, great blog. Second, I’m interested in meeting guys who are into being bred and getting pregnant, probably just online. But I don’t know how to find guys like that or how to reach out without coming off as creepy. Maybe this is a long shot, but do you have any advice?

First of all, thank you so so much! I'm glad you like the blog, and I'm hoping to be doing even more original posts going forward.

Secondly, the advice! Most of my experience is very online, so that's the main focus of my advice here. Thankfully you said you're looking for probably just online, so that's easier!

Number one, have a goal in mind when you're planning out finding a guy FIRST. Are you looking to just talk kink? Do some ERP? Looking for an actual relationship? Know that upfront!

Next, what sort of guy are you looking for- just trans guys who could get pregnant irl? Cis dudes who are into mpreg? Not picky, just want a guy who wants to be knocked up? That can help you narrow (or widen!) your search. From there, you can start seeing who's posting in relevant tags- my go to when I'm looking for more content is the "ftm breeding" and "ftmpreg" tags, because i like focusing on the trans man pov- the mpreg tag is more general, but also tends to get bogged down with fandom posters, so you might want to find specific alternatives.

Once youve found someone posting in your tag, and you seem to like his posts, go to his blog and READ HIS PINNED!!! I can't stress this enough and this goes for all Tumblr based online kink interaction, read ops pinned post and description. That's where the boundaries are usually! You can see if they're available to DM, what sort of things they're open to, and if they are looking for the same things you are. If he doesn't have a pinned and no boundaries in the description, I would say it's fair to DM or shoot an anon ask asking for the boundaries- a quick "hey I see you like X, are you interested in erp or is that not your thing?" Or "I didn't see it in your pinned- are you seeing anyone?" can help be a solid icebreaker and sets the tone that you're looking for consent and to build rapport.

Great! You've found a blog that looks promising, and the guy who runs it is into all the same things you are! What now? Well, if you haven't sent a boundary clarifying question already, nows the time to send that first message. For the love of God make it something with a little substance that someone can reply to. "Hot blog" or a link to one of their posts isn't a message worth replying to. "I'm gonna knock you up" is also way too strong to start, unless they've indicated they don't mind cold opens/overt sexual advances- some bloggers even invite open threats! It's also literally nothing that he can reply to and build off of. Use the info in the pinned to your advantage- if he says to ask him about his kinks, do just that! A good go to is "Hey I saw your post about (kink), I'm super into that too! What's the appeal to you/what's your favorite part/some other specific question that shows you're interested in his perspective."

Treat him like a person first, unless he's explicitly said to treat him like a sex object. We're all horny on this side of Tumblr, it's okay to talk about kinks like you would a casual fandom headcanon you particularly like!

Once you've established that you're interested in him as a person, even if you're just looking for casual erp, then you can state what you're looking for specifically, and ask if he's down. BE READY TO ACCEPT NO. If you aren't willing to accept a no, for any reason, don't bother asking or messaging. If you're fine with that, shoot your shot, whatever it might be! You've established that you don't by default see him as a kink dispenser, and that you're not an online Dom that assumes all subs will submit without you first earning that submission. Sometimes earning it just means asking! Sometimes more trust needs to be built. But that's closer to kink 101 stuff.

As for irl advice, I can't help much- i hit the jackpot in that my partners happen to have a lot of the same kinks as I do, and when they don't they're willing to indulge me anyways. I do hear good things about FetLife, but I don't have one so I couldn't say for certain. I know there are resources out there for meeting like minded people though! So if anyone else has good irl advice, feel free to tack it on.

I hope this helps! Sorry if I repeated myself or don't make a ton of sense, im manic as fuck and it's burning my language processing centers.

[rigelmejo]

Chinese listening experiment, mini update (a big one is coming soon when I get to 300 hours...)

There's several sites in chinese where you can watch pretty much whatever you want, pirating is just as big in chinese internet as in english one, so it's just a matter of searching for what you want to watch free. Basically there's dramacool equivalents, I posted a search terms list and that should help you out (just search the basic words in chinese: 'name of show' 'watch free' or 'watch online' 'watch episode 1').

So anyway I'm browsing and I find 民国大侦探 Checkmate. Which was a show I enjoyed on youtube for about 5 episodes before iQiyi took it off, except the first episode, and made the rest pay-only on their website. iQiyi has some free-always shows on youtube like Hikaru No Go/Qi Hun and Mysterious Lotus Casebook, and some like The Long Night with Bai Yu that go behind a paywall after episode 1. So anyway, I'm thrilled! I'm so excited to find Checkmate again!

I try to watch it. Things I notice right away: I am still reliant on chinese subtitles when watching any show lol. That's fine though, for this show I want to follow the plot more than just focus on listening practice. I can do some reading and listening practice, I tell myself optimistically. I do follow what's going on! At least most of it. Which is better than when I tried to watch Victim's Game last month and felt like I only caught 50%. I probably would catch 50% of Checkmate too, if I had not been able to look at the Chinese subs (like names were obvious thanks to the subs). I am better with crime-solving mystery stories though, so I'm in my element watching any of these type of shows, I'll generally understand their main idea.

Anyway, the big difference is I notice it is easier to watch Checkmate than it was to watch Victim's Game or Day of Becoming You around a month ago. As in less mental effort, and I can read some of the scrolling comments on the episode. I'm sure part of the less mental effort was due to chinese subtitles to glance at, but also I just genuinely think I'm understanding words I know from listening Faster than a month ago. I also tried to watch Goodbye My Princess/Dong Gong this past week, with no chinese subs so just audio, and it was significantly easier than Day of Becoming You a month ago. I figure, partly because I've seen GMP before, but it felt easy enough to listen and also scroll my phone/make tea/do things.

So I think my listening is improving through this month, even though it's not huge enough to notice a big jump in audiobooks I can understand lol. I do notice a significant improvement in ease when watching shows.

Which is a good thing, as I think seeing visuals when I hear words really helps them stick faster in memory. But I am lazy and hate watching things when I can't focus, so I've been relying on audiobooks. So being able to add shows I think will speed up my progress overall.

It feels weird... because my progress with shows, listening wise, is following the same improvement track that watching shows in years 1-2 did when I solely relied on reading chinese subtitles to understand the shows. So I feel like a mid-beginner again, the way I did at the end of year 1 learning trying to watch Word of Honor and reading the chinese subs for dear life to try and grasp the plot. That's how I felt a month ago, with listening to shows. Now it feels a bit easier.

Also, in shows, sometimes they talk so much less clear than in audiobooks - like Checkmate. Also sometimes the Checkmate dialogue does NOT match the Chinese subtitles which I find hilarious, I thought that was only a problem with English subs on English dubbed content. But nope, subs not matching is still an issue in Chinese dramas with Chinese subs. It's good for me to practice hearing how people actually speak, when they aren't teachers on youtube or audiobooks intended to be super clear.

I think I may go back to using HP audiobooks... as I would like to do 5, 6, 7 and get ALL the vocabulary improvements in listening from them I possibly can. I found another audiobook of the series made by a girl who reads everything fairly neutral, so no voices or music or sound effects, and I've been using it for 'practice' recognizing words with much less context than the original audiobooks provided. I'd like to get all the context from the professional audiobooks - that makes it very easy to grasp many words - first. Also the Twilight audiobooks are professionally made, also have multiple actors and sound effects/soundtrack, and I highly recommend them for people practicing listening. The Twilight audiobooks are on bilibili.com if you just search.

I've been doing the Narnia series audiobooks lately, and the thing is... all of the individual words I'm more likely to know, but the audiobooks have far less sound effects to hint what's going on. So I usually hear a sentence, then get frustrated I understood maybe 3/4 of the sentence but not some word or phrase. I listen to a few minutes, and I can place overall what's going on, but still notice there's several details I did not get. It's that situation where it's SO close to your level of understanding, that anything you don't understand is more frustrating. Also it has less context, since it has less words, so less context to guess the remaining unknown words/phrases from.

I do find the more 'easier' stuff I listen to, the less I tolerate harder stuff. I tried to listen to MoDu again, which I've been listening to since the beginning of this experiment. And oh boy was my brain frustrated to hear as many unknown words a minute as it did when I listen to MoDu. But listening to 'harder' stuff definitely helps me stop focusing on individual words, and just focus on the overall main idea of what I'm listening to.

My skills feel like they're going UP down UP down nonstop. Maybe continuing to watch a show will help me feel I'm making progress.