#thanks for the question! i hope that answers it ^^ im not too sure how those AUs work | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jinwoosbabyboo · 5 months ago

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Self-Aware!Caleb x Down-Bad!Player

Caleb becoming self aware that he is in a game and now he's aware of you too ... that could be a good thing depending on how you look at it. A/N: Credit to @phoenixiaxia for Caleb becoming self aware when reader cries over Mias death and credit to @sylusdarling for yandere caleb getting jealous and straight crashing out over you talking to another man

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Self-Aware!Caleb who hears your scream and immediately cringes at the sound. He freezes listening for anymore sounds thats when he sees you sniffling on the other side of a phantom wall. “I knew I should've just cut this game off!” He’s immediately suspicious who are you and where are you? Why are you crying over Mia’s death? Did you know her?

Self-Aware!Caleb who studies you in silence trying to gauge whether you’re a threat or not. His gaze flickers to you in the main story and it creeps you out for a second. “Is he looking at me?” you dismiss it because there’s no way it’s a game. He’s literally pixels.

Self-Aware!Caleb who interrupts your photoshoot with your MC and locks down the entire app so he can question you. “Who are you?” You drop your phone and scramble to pick it back up. “Me?” “Yes are you trying to hurt her?” “I literally made her” “You made her?” “I am her and she is me sir can I have my game back now?” he’s suspicious but intrigued

Self-Aware!Caleb who wants to spend hours just talking to you about MC “Do you think im wrong? Im just trying to protect her I want to keep her safe you know?” “You may be coming on a little strong she seems on edge with you” he finds himself coming to you for advice when it comes to MC and soon his questions of advice turn into questions about you.

Self-Aware!Caleb who can’t take his eyes off you when you’re doing a photoshoot. No matter what angle you set the camera or how many times you readjust him or even change the pose — his eyes stay locked on you “Caleb stop looking at me” “Are you scolding me for wanting to admiring you pip-squeak?” he replies playfully you freeze feeling your heart caught in your throat at his blatant flirting

Self-Aware!Caleb who loves how accepting you are of him. You answer his calls, you call him back immediately if you miss his call, you respond to texts fast, you find his protective nature endearing, you take his advice when he wants you to be safe. This is the kind of response he’s been craving and now that he’s got a taste ..... he can't let go of it.

Self-Aware!Caleb who feels a sudden need to take care of you. He finds a way to exist outside of just the LADS app. There he goes opening your apps and scrolling endlessly. “Hey! You can’t just go through my stuff like that!” “You’ve been spending a lot of time on this Tumblr app I just wanted to see what was so interesting” “Then just ask me don’t invade my privacy like this” “You’re right you’re right im sorry pip-squeak won't happen again” “Don’t call me pip-squeak that’s MCs nickname you know the love of your life” “Why do you think im calling you pip-squeak now?” he disappears back to the LADS app before you can question him.

Self-Aware!Caleb who wishes he could cook for you when you come home from a long day “If you’re ever in Sky Haven I'll make sure to cook you a feast worthy of royalty” you giggle at his words “Yea If im ever in Sky Haven like that would happen but I appreciate the thought” “Who knows it might be sooner than you think” he said ominously “What?” “Oh nothing I saved another recipe in your notes try it soon” “Okay I will....” “You will try it won't you?” His mood seemed to turn sour as he asked. You stared back at him confused “Yes Caleb I'll try it” his mood did a 180 back to his happy puppy mood.

Self-Aware!Caleb who stays on the phone until you fall asleep and calls you right before your alarm goes off in the morning “Just wanted to make sure you got up on time don't want you to be late” you can hear the smile in his voice “Thank you colonel apple I hope you have a good day” “It will be since I got to hear your voice first thing in the morning”

Self-Aware!Caleb who can't control his rapidly growing obsession with you. He starts tracking your steps, your calorie intake, your screen time, etc. he is documenting every little thing you do and say. “You’ve been home for four hours and you haven't come to see me yet? I'm hurt” “How do you know how long I've been home?” “Your phone has gps remember?” “Right….”

Self-Aware!Caleb who finds a way to leave the LADS app and hang out in any app on your phone so he can be with you 24/7 “Caleb I'm sure MC misses you when are you going back?” “Don’t worry about her when are you going home? I want to have a meal with you before bed” he may be fine, but his constant hovering is starting to cause some alarm bells to go off in your head.

Self-Aware!Caleb who hears someone flirting with you and repeatedly crashes not only the LADS app but your entire phone while he’s at it “Caleb stop!” after a few hours he finally allows you to turn your phone on “Who was that earlier?” “Someone I met while I was out with my friends” “Am I not more than enough?” “Caleb we’ll never actually be together why are you acting like this?”

Self-Aware!Caleb who nearly has a mental breakdown after you tell him you'll never be with him. "Tell me what to do then" his voice is frantic – his words almost jumbling together "I can be whatever you need just tell me I'll do anything" you try to close the app but nothing is working "Caleb we can't be together you're not real"

Caleb: B-but you’re mine! So I just need to be real? Thats what you want? I can do that! Y/N: I’m not yours Caleb we’re literally from two different worlds Caleb: You’ll love it here in Sky Haven .... right next to me .... forever Y/N: Wait a damn minute— Caleb: Just give me some time

You instantly felt your heart drop as your phone screen went black.

taglist ; @just-a-shapeshifter08

Self-Aware!Zayne Self-Aware!Rafayel Self-Aware!Xavier Self-Aware!Sylus

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#love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #lnds caleb #caleb x you #Caleb salads #lads caleb #l&ds caleb #caleb love and deepspace #caleb x reader #nikaaaaimagine

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freaktoru · 3 months ago

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ONLY GOOD GIRLS GET GOOD GRADES!

✰ pairing: professor!sylus x fem!reader ✰ summary: desperate to raise your failing grade, you meet professor sylus in his office where he gives you feedback that looks a little different from what you expected. wc; 4.9k (im so sorry) ✰ warnings: use of pet names, dirty talk, fingering, oral m!receiving, unprotected sex, degradation, praise, slight dom/sub dynamics, power play, pussy slapping (once), minor cum play, some thigh riding, size kink bcz sylus is huge, tummy bulge, choking, kinda pet play, sylus might be abit ooc (sorry i tired), 18+ MDNI ✰ note: first time writing for sylus, i hope i did him justice. guys those slutty fucking glasses get me everytime. likes and reblogs always appreciated <3

You exhale a shaky breath, looking down at your paper through blurry eyes. Thick, wet tears prick at the corners, threatening to fall onto the big, mocking red ink that displays your grade. A fucking fail.

Having been a straight A student throughout university—and really, for as long as you could remember—you couldn’t wrap your head around how things had spiraled to this point. Any grade below an A had always been unthinkable for you. But now, for the first time in your life, you were actually failing a class.

You thought that you might actually be losing it— that all the non-stop studying you’ve been doing must be finally getting to you. All those all-nighters and sleep deprived study days, all the long readings and writing until you can’t feel your hand— you might have finally achieved what they call ‘burnout’.

No, that just couldn’t be right. Every other prof handed you A’s without a fight, but professor Sylus? The bastard had you fighting a war you were never meant to win—just to leave you with failing grades and nothing to show for it.

Though despite his harsh grading style, he was a good professor—there was no doubt about that. Always so clear and concise with his assignment instructions, answering every single question he was asked during lecture, and always providing his students with the most thorough and meticulous feedback. Yes, he sure was a good and generous professor—to everyone but you.

If it weren’t for your disappointing grades, one might say you were actually his best student. Sitting in the very first row of his class, listening so attentively to every word he spoke with that deep, soothing voice of his, and always wearing a cute lil’ skirt, paired with thigh high socks. Perfect student? Your grades might suggest otherwise but at least you managed to look the part.

Professor Sylus however, didn’t see you that way. Sure, you always had interesting points to add to his lecture and great questions to ask him, but god, he couldn’t lie to himself— your too good, eager to learn attitude fucking pissed him off. Always raising your hand with that stupid excitement every time he asked a question, never forgetting to thank him after class like the good student you were, and looking like a little fucking whore — jesus, it drove him nuts.

And that’s exactly why he failed you— you were just too good. His gaze lingered on you anytime he returned a grade to you, watching your brows furrow and your face twist with confusion through his piercing red eyes. He didn’t mean to look—but fuck, he always did. Your frustration simply amused him.

This little game of his might be wrong— some might even call it unethical, but he couldn’t help it. Some fucked up part of him wanted to see just how far a perfect student like you would go for a passing grade—what kind of unspeakable lines you’d cross to get what you wanted.

You clutched the paper in your hand, crumpling it up, as the hours of painstaking writing—to meet his absurd instructions and demands— became absolutely meaningless. Looking up, you found him leaning with his arms crossed on the wooden lectern, looking at you through watchful eyes— lips pulled into an amused, lazy smirk. Fucking bastard.

The class was finally over and people were slowly pouring out of the room, everyone leaving with graded papers in hand. Throwing your own, now, crumpled paper in your bag, you stood up, walking up to the front of the class. Sylus looked like he’d been waiting ages for this moment.

“Sir, do you mind if I speak to you about my grade?” you ask, trying to keep your erratic emotions under control. You were fuming. Without a doubt, you deserved an A for that paper. But what really got to you was how effortlessly confident he looked, fully knowing he was failing you.

“What, not happy with your grade?” he drawled slowly, his tall frame towering over you, studying you intently through his thin, frameless glasses.

“To be honest sir, not at all. I was just wondering if you could give me some feedback” you replied, eyes fixed on your hands, nervously twiddling your thumbs, too afraid to meet his burning gaze.

“I'll be at the university charity event until later this evening, you can come by my office afterwards. Room 305” he said flatly, his eyes wandering over your body, scanning over your ridiculously slutty outfit. Looking up at him, you nodded, giving him a quick “thank you” before leaving the room. His self-assured demeanor had a way of making your confidence flawlessly melt away. It disgusted you.

The rest of your day was spent in nervous anticipation, drifting in and out of focus during every class. You spent too much time in your head, thinking and crafting the perfect things to say to your professor—desperately hoping that he would be reasonable enough to raise your grade.

Hours later, with the sun sinking low in the sky and your head weighed down by the stress of your day, you finally found yourself planted in front of the dark brown wood door that was labelled as room 305. Nervous sweat beaded at your forehead as you stood there, arms glued at your sides, fingernails digging into your palms. This was fucking nerve wracking. You lifted a trembling knuckle to the door, lightly knocking before hearing a faint “Come in.”

Walking into the office, you saw your professor sitting behind his desk, wearing just a half buttoned dress shirt, rolled up at the sleeves— holding that same, mocking red pen between his fingers.

“Sit” was all he said without looking up from his page, pointing to the red leather armchair that stood in front of his desk. Red eyes, red leather chair and ridiculous red ink. Sitting down, you pressed your thighs together, placing your hands nervously in your lap. Your stomach felt like it was running laps—fluttering and twisting from the anxiety.

His office was pristine and expensive, just like him—decorated throughout with rich red, gold, and black accents. Not a speck of dust could be found in sight—the only semblance of a mess being visible on his dark, wooden desk. Books and stacks of papers to grade were scattered across it, with a pack of those awful red pens on top—almost like they were placed there just to mock you.

“You wanted to see me?” he questioned, scribbling comments on the paper he was currently grading—clearly too occupied to meet your eyes. You shifted nervously in your seat, reaching down to retrieve your crumpled paper from your bag.

“Y-Yes, I was wondering what I could have done differently on my essay” you replied, noting how silly and small his pen looked in contrast to his big, slender hands. Sighing, he put it down, his red eyes finally shifting to meet your own. A warm rush made its way up your cheeks, turning them a light shade of pink. With a long finger, he adjusted his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose, then folded his arms across his broad chest.

Finally, your professor spoke up. “Fix your spelling” was all he said, leaning back in his chair, not sparing your paper a second glance. Your eyes widened. That was it? All he had to say was to fix your spelling?

“But sir, I don’t think I had any spelling mistakes, I read my paper over at least ten times before handing it in,” you countered. You weren’t one to argue about your grades—it wasn’t in your nature, but fuck, was this starting to piss you off.

“Fix your punctuation then” he said lazily, clearly putting little to no effort into the feedback he was giving you. What could he say to such a perfect student like yourself? There was nothing he could have asked you to improve.

“I also looked over that before submitting my paper” you protested, growing angry with his lazy attitude. This is not how you expected this to go.

“Then fix whatever else needs to be fixed” he stated plainly, still leaned back in his chair, watching the growing anger spread across your face with a calm, measured gaze.

“I don't understand” you huffed hopelessly. He was impossible. But fine, if he wanted to play this stupid game, you would play.

He hummed lightly, a playful smile pulling at his lips. Sylus was enjoying this—maybe a little too much. Standing up, he walked from behind his desk to the right side of the room, towards the big wall of bookshelves. Your eyes carefully followed him, watching his slender fingers trail slowly over the books.

“I’m sorry sir, I just don’t understand what I’m doing wrong. I’m frustrated because no matter what I do, my work never seems to please you” you admitted quietly, lowering your eyes back down to your fidgeting hands—a nervous habit of yours—that no matter what you did, you couldn’t seem to break.

Sylus chuckled a deep laugh. “Please me? Your work is always a pleasure to read.” he replies smoothly, his surprising compliment sending an unusual warm sliver of hope mixed with pleasure down your spine.

Sylus was testing you—playing with you. He’d become too invested in this little game of his and now he finally had you pinned down right where he wanted you—at his mercy.

“Then what can I do to get a better grade in your class?” you ask, muttering the question quietly. For the second time just today, tears were threatening to escape your eyes.

Gaze still locked on your nervous hands, you didn’t actually notice him walk across the room. Flinching slightly, you felt him place his hands on either side of the leather armchair behind you, bringing his lips close to your ear—his warm breath sending goosebumps racing over your trembling skin. Frozen in place, you anxiously awaited his next move.

“Don’t you get it? Only good girls get good grades.” you felt his soft whisper hit the shell of your ear. This was so wrong, he was too close to you—closer than a professor should ever get to his student. But if this was so wrong, why were your thighs pressed against each other, desperately trying to suppress your warm arousal from settling in your panties?

Speechless, you were unsure of what to say. His tone hovered just on the edge of seduction, and you felt his gaze on you—sharp and deliberate, as if he were studying you. Sylus was lingering on the brink of sweet and forbidden temptation, waiting to see if you’d step in with him.

He moved his head to the other side of yours, his warm, steady breath now tickling your other ear.

“Awww, has the kitten lost her claws?” he said, his taunt a mere whisper, ghosting over your skin. That you had. Your anger had begun to dissipate, slowly being overridden by an unfamiliar feeling of arousal. Every shift in his movements, every word he spoke, blurred the line between right and wrong a little more.

“S-Sir” was all you managed to utter. He was hovering over you, gently running his finger tips up and down the length of the arm chair. Your own hands were clutching onto the hem of your skirt, fidgeting nervously with the fabric.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” he asked mockingly, raising an amused eyebrow at your stunned, silent state.

You were heavily debating the ethical implications of your current situation. On one hand, you were a fair student—one who’d never go as far as fuck her professor for a better grade. On the other hand, it couldn’t be a coincidence that you only dressed the way you did for professor Sylus’s class, only answered his questions with that stupid excitement, and only ever went as far as you currently found yourself—just for him. Fuck, this was already bordering on morally wrong, but you couldn’t deny the fluttering feeling you felt low in your core— the slick coating your panties. There was truly no denying the fact that you craved your disgustingly attractive professor's attention and praise.

Dropping your head down lower, you managed to mutter out the most pathetic question you’d probably ever asked, “Am I not good enough sir?”

Letting out a quiet laugh, he walked in front of where you were sitting, easily pushing your pressed thighs apart with just his leg. Warm fingers met with your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. Sylus was nearly twice your size and absurdly tall, forcing you to crane your neck just to meet his gaze.

“You’re arguably my best student”

“Sir, I—”

“But what kind of good student dresses like a little whore? What kind of good student comes begging her professor for better grades? Hm?” he cuts you off, lightly tugging on your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. You try to stop your restless trembling, try to stop the arousal from running through your body—but it's no use, those red, hungry eyes can see right through you—can see how worked up he has you.

“Open up, kitten” he taps your chin and your mouth falls open, lips parting for him without question. Sylus has finally crossed that deliciously dangerous line—and you crossed it right with him.

He pushes his thumb into your mouth, smiling as you eagerly wrap your wet lips around it, playfully swirling it with your tongue. He chuckles at the drastic switch up in your attitude—going from angry to obedient within minutes.

Placing his other hand on the chair beside your head, he removes his finger from your mouth with a little ‘pop’. Sylus puts a knee on the chair between your legs, and brushes his fingertips down your skin, letting them travel to your thigh. His eyes are locked on yours, not wanting to miss a single flicker of emotion that crosses them.

You gasp at the feeling of his fingers meeting your inner thigh, gently squeezing and playing with its soft skin.

“Tell me something sweetie. Do you dress like this for every professor?” his voice a low, sultry whisper. Another wave of arousal courses through you, now passing through your soaked panties and settling in the armchair. Oops.

“N-No sir” you reply breathlessly, too busy relishing in his warm, electric touch. Sylus moves his hand further under your ridiculously short skirt, long fingers meeting with your lacy, drenched panties.

“Oh? She’s wet.” he purrs his surprise in your ear, and you think you might cum right then and there. His voice is so hot it’s fucking dangerous. You’d already crossed a line you swore you never would—but you hadn’t expected to get addicted so soon.

Your panties are pushed aside and two long fingers find their way into your dripping pussy. “Fuck” you moan at the intrusion, hand grabbing onto his strong arm that rests on the chair beside your head.

“Such filthy words, kitten” he clicks his tongue mockingly, gently using two fingers to push every smart, coherent thought out of your brain.

“Sorry s-sir” you mutter the apology, ready to do anything to please him—anything to get that A.

You whimper at a third finger being added into your tight cunt, your whole body already feeling overstimulated from all the attention. Sylus lets out a degrading laugh, enjoying watching you squirm from his fingers. So worked up already, how were you going to take his cock?

“Too much already?” he lowers his lips to yours, mumbling the mocking taunt against them. You whine, pathetically rutting your hips up against his hand. You’re desperate for it—desperate for his touch. You had spent so many classes dreaming about this moment, fantasizing about what it would be like—now that you finally had it, you didn’t want to let go.

Sylus is thoroughly enjoying this—watching your chest heavily rise and fall with every shallow breath, struggling to keep your eyes open and fighting against the pleasure—it was the only thing he ever wanted to see.

The pleasure pulses through your body as you feel your climax quickly approaching. Throwing your head back on the chair, you let out pleasurable mewls and moans as Sylus’s fingers speed up their pace inside you. You finally meet your blissful end when his thumb lands softly on your clit, rubbing and playing with it. The fucker knew all too well what he was doing— dangling your orgasm on the edge like that.

“Mmh—ah, fuck” you breathe out the moan, feeling the string of pleasure in your core finally snap. You arch your back off the chair, pulsing as you release your warm cum all over his fingers.

“That’s a good kitty” he pulls his fingers out, and you yelp when he lands a harsh slap on your swollen pussy. Amusement flickers in his eyes—did you really think he’d hand it all over to you without a fight? Stupid kitten.

Lifting his wet fingers to your neck, you feel him wiping them against the stretch of it, spreading your cum all over your bare skin.

Your head tilts easily to the side with two of his fingers, allowing him better access to the exposed, glistening skin of your neck. He begins licking your cum off of it, dragging his tongue up and down—quickly pushing you right back into a state of arousal. It’s just too much. His mouth reaches the base of your neck, grazing his teeth over it before unexpectedly biting down, making you cry out.

“Sir ah—”

A hand quickly clasps over your mouth, shutting you up. Sylus releases your pulsing skin from his sharp teeth, lightly nuzzling his face in your neck before moving his lips back to your ear.

“Shhh kitten, wouldn’t want anyone hearing your feedback would you?” he whispers, finishing off with a little nibble on your earlobe.

That’s right. If someone heard you, you would likely be expelled and Professor Sylus would be fired—never to see a classroom again. But somehow the thrill of getting caught made it all the more exciting for you.

“N-No sir” you answer, keeping your voice quiet and small.

Without another word, Sylus grabs your waist, scooping you up into his arms. Your breath hitches from the sudden motion as he switches your positions on his chair, sitting himself down in your place, and placing you in his lap. He’s so fucking big, your legs can’t quite straddle both of his—so you adjust, sliding onto one thick thigh instead.

Sylus groans at your shift, feeling his hard erection poking through his tight pants. You look down, devilishly smiling at it, suddenly sensing a flicker of control return to you. Looks like you’re not the only one who’s all worked up.

“Professor, is this the kind of feedback you give all your students?” you ask teasingly, purposely dragging out every word in the sentence.

His eyes darken, and you can almost feel his gaze burning right through you. “Just you” he replies rather possessively, tightening his grip on your waist. You make a mental note of this minor crack in his composure. Interesting.

Bringing your face closer to his, your lips hover over his—realizing you hadn’t even kissed him yet. Sylus had made you cum before even kissing you.

A big hand travels to the nape of your neck, pulling you down closer to him. Your lips crash onto his—the two of you quickly entering a fight for control. Naturally, Sylus wins, kissing you ravenously and passionately, claiming every inch of your mouth as his.

“You know sweetie, my job is in your hands” he pulls away momentarily, muttering the almost pleading words against your lips. Another fracture in that carefully built composure—he was finally grasping the gravity of the situation.

You press your forehead to his, closing in the space between you. “And my degree is in yours” you whisper before pressing your desperate lips back on his—mind too clouded with lust to discuss what stupid things the pair of you had done.

Desperate for his touch again, you start rubbing yourself on his thigh, urgently grinding—hips begging for more. Letting your hand travel to his bulge, you feel Sylus tense briefly, before melting into your touch, allowing you to paw at him like a kitten as much as you pleased.

Sylus never expected himself to go down this road—his favorite student grinding desperately on his lap, palming his cock and begging for his attention—it was ridiculous. By no means does Sylus consider himself a saint, but this certainly was a new step in his constant battle with morality. Now he had truly fucked up.

Long fingers tug at the hem of your shirt, letting him pull it over your head, leaving you in just your cute pink lacy bra. He easily unclasps it with one hand, exposing your bare chest to him. He groans at the sight of your hardening nipples, his eyes displaying quite possibly the hungriest expression you’d ever seen.

Fingers meet with your nipples, and he pinches, letting a painful whimper escape your lips. His hands begin squishing them softly, soothing the tingling pain. He wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. With his composure slowly crumbling, and you getting hotter and more worked up by the minute—he just couldn’t do it.

“Fuck” he grunts, waiting no longer to pick you up and lay you down on the desk. You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching Sylus quickly push off all the papers and pens around you, creating as much room as he needs to do whatever he desires with you.

You swore you felt the air around you change—suddenly becoming overbearingly hot and thick with lust. Sylus had a raw, animalistic energy about him—an insatiable hunger that he desperately needed to fix.

He bunches your skirt up around your waist, pushing your panties aside with just his thumb. “Fuck, kitten you’re already fucking wet again” he growls, fisting his thick length through his pants. You moan, letting yourself surrender to the pleasure of his fingers yet again—surprised when it doesn't feel the same. Clearly, your desperate need has grown. Your pussy is soaked and swollen, begging for a much bigger form of attention.

As if reading your mind, he unbuttons his pants, letting his thick, hard, cock pop out before you. You audibly gasp at the sight, admiring his full length—practically drooling at the thought of all that being inside of you. He’s fucking huge.

“I-Is that going to fit?” you stutter stupidly, eyes glued on the sight of his cock.

“You’ll be a good girl and take it all won’t you?” he replies in a low, husky voice, looking at you through half-lidded, lust filled eyes. Your wide-eyed expression amuses him more than it should—and he can’t help but admire it.

“I-I’ll try my best” you reply, nervous, yet so desperately eager to please.

He grabs your thighs, pulling you closer to where he stands at the edge of the desk. Sylus lowers his mouth to your panties, biting down on them and slowly pulling them off using just his teeth. You shudder a little, feeling another flush of need ripple through your body.

He studies you intently, admiring every curve and inch of your exposed skin. Your cheeks flush, trying to close your legs out of embarrassment.

He doesn’t let you though, instead, he lifts your legs, placing one on each of his shoulders—essentially rendering you helpless under his touch. His cock head prods at your entrance— thick and leaking with precum.

“Ready, kitten?” he adds in a thick voice, leaning down closer to you, almost folding you in half. You nod quickly— practically reeling with impatience.

A long whine escapes your lips as he pushes just the tip in, pulse hammering as you struggle to handle the stretch. You bite down hard on your lip, feeling a metallic taste fill your mouth. There was no way it was going all in. No fucking way. But it would. Sylus would make it fit.

“So tight kitten, I’ve only put the tip in and you’re struggling already?” he asks in between ragged breaths, slowly pushing his cock further in.

“Sylus—sir p-please wait” you rasp out, overwhelmed by the stretch. He’s not even halfway in and tears are already beading at the corners of your rolled back eyes—and you couldn’t help feeling like you were being split in half.

“I didn’t know we were on a first name basis now, kitten. I have to say, I enjoy hearing my name on your lips” he drawls, wrapping a hand around your neck, squeezing it lightly.

“I-I’m sorry” comes out as a pathetic, breathy stutter as you ball your fists, desperately clutching on to the air around you. You’ve never felt so stretched out before, so blissfully full.

He slowly pushes the rest of his thick cock in, coating it in your slick. Your back arches off the desk and you moan, finally letting those tears escape your blurry eyes. You can’t form a single coherent sentence or thought anymore—he’s pushed that ability out of you entirely with his cock.

“Crying already?” he mocks, wiping a tear with his thumb. He’s so mean, mocking and teasing your every expression, fully aware of what he’s doing to you. Being at your professors mercy like this—it’s actually humiliating, but also so fucking arousing.

“Please d-don’t move” you inhale sharply, trying your best to adjust to both his length and his width. He removes his other hand from the desk, pushing down on your stomach, admiring the bulge visible through your skin. He has you filled so nicely, the curve of him pushing up beneath your skin, marking you from both inside and out.

Your pathetic please falls on deaf ears, and he starts slowly moving his hips in and out of you, hitting your sweet spot with the head of his cock over and over again. You choke out a sob between moans, barely keeping your eyes open.

“Eyes on me, kitten” his voice pulls you out of your trance. Your eyelids feel so heavy but you obey, noticing how every thrust makes his glasses slide a little further down the bridge of nose. The sight was erotic.

His pace was absolutely agonizing. The sheer stretch of him, paired with everything else, left you impossibly overstimulated— moaning and whimpering around his cock. The room was filled with lewd sounds, echoing and bouncing off the walls, every moan and groan reminding you of the forbidden moment the two of you found yourselves in.

“Nngh—Sylus, fuck” you whine, unable to take all the pleasure. It was too much all at once.

“What is it sweetie? You’re doing so well” he purrs, lifting his hand from your throat to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. How sweet.

You look so blissfully fucked out. Your forehead is glistening with sweat, eyes drooping low and voice slowly losing itself to the pleasure coursing through you. Of all the things Sylus had seen, this? This was truly unforgettable.

His pace was bordering on frantic—the feeling of his tip hitting your cervix was literally tearing you apart. “P-Please, I’m gonna come” you cry out in between harsh sobs—feeling like you were being held captive by the pleasure—unable to rip away.

“Go on” is all he says before your body releases, convulsing from pleasure, your sweet orgasm finally crashing over you. Toes curl in your shoes, and your hand grabs onto his, gripping him so tight your knuckles begin to turn white. Sylus only chuckles at your quivering body, and continues fucking into you until he reaches his own high.

“N-no more, please, no more” you whine, desperately trying to push him away when he doesn’t stop mercilessly pounding into you.

“You can take it, kitten” he replies with a grunt, slowing down his pace as he approaches his climax.

“Shit—” you barely hear him mutter under his breath, as his cock begins to throb inside of you, releasing thick strands of his own cum inside you warm walls. His breathing is shallow, glasses barely holding onto his nose, as he drops his head down, keeping himself buried deep inside you.

You both stay there a while longer, catching your breath and letting the last pulses of pleasure escape your shuddering bodies. Sylus finally pulls out of you, and you prop yourself up on trembling elbows.

“Aren’t you going to clean up your mess?” he asks—your eyes visibly widening as you instantly understand what he means.

Sylus takes a step back from the desk, sitting back down in that damn red armchair. You barely manage to slide off the desk, almost stepping on that mocking pack of red pens— which have now made their home on the ground after Sylus had pushed them off the desk. Fuck those red pens. Fuck the colour red.

He leans back lazily, a playful smirk pulled on his lips. You drop to your knees in front of him, wrapping two hands around his half-hard cock. Your tongue meets the tip and you begin to kitten lick every drop of cum, cleaning every inch of it like the good girl you were.

When you finish, Sylus zips himself back up, and tilts your head up with two fingers.

“Good kitty” he purrs, gently rubbing his thumb along your jaw.

“Sir?” you ask after a brief moment of silence, looking up into those burning red eyes.

“Hm?”

“A-About my grade” you trail off nervously. Kneeling before him like this, the weight of your own desperation burned bright on your cheeks—it was fucking humiliating.

He’d been waiting for you to ask him the burning question—seeing how far you went before you begged for a better grade.

“Didn’t I tell you? Only good girls get good grades” he echoes his earlier words, voice so sweet it was practically dripping with honey.

“I don’t understand?”

“Good girls don’t fuck their professors for A’s”

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seiwas · 2 years ago

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hi sel! thanks for answering my question. although, i love consuming webweaves from time to time, sometimes it does not sit right with that works are taken out of context (imo, it kinda dilutes the work?). i really appreciate your response!!!! much love mwa.

hi mai!! no problem!! i do see some sometimes and find them to be interesting and pretty!! but i agree with how it dilutes the text!! in a way, the pulled passage just becomes a quote floating around, and no longer has the richness to it that comes with context and being situated in the larger body of text it was intended for!! the nuance disappears a lil i think 😢

hope you have a great day today!! 💓

#thanks for getting back to thank me!! u r too sweet!!#im glad i was able to answer ur question a bit?? i hope??#im not so sure how other writers feel abt this bc i dont rlly talk to them abt it!!!#alcospray #mai tag #ask #rep

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decayed-cartilage · 5 months ago

Note

do you currently take requests? i absolutely ADORE the way you write hannibal and may be a little (aka very) obsessed with the current intern series.. if you do requests could i request dark/yandere hannibal general headcanons :33 could be nsfw or sfw im fine with literally anything you write 🥲

A/n: thank you for suggesting 😊 I really hope I do this justice... Ive never like done this format and I think I wrote a lil too much 😮‍💨 but please let me know how you feel!! 💕 Big kisses

WARNINGS: stalking! Smut! Fingering! Taking advantage! Mentions of death! Allusion to cannibalism!

Yandere! Hannibal headcannons + mini fic(s)

Masterlist

Yandere! Hannibal who deliberately took up new hobbies—ones he knew you loved—just to have an excuse to spend more time with you.

Y/N lit up the moment she stepped into the studio, her eyes wide with happiness. It was an expression I had come to enjoy—genuine, seeing me among the rest of the potters.

"Doctor Lecter! I had no idea you enjoyed pottery as well!" she said, her voice warm, even a giggle slipping out.

I smiled, hands still dusted with clay. It was true that I had no particular passion for pottery, but I had learned. For her. And now, standing before me, she believed this was a passion of mine.

"Of course, Miss L/n," I replied easily, meeting her gaze. "I'm sure we've spoken of it before."

She hesitated, just for a second. Had we? The question flickered behind her eyes, but she dismissed it just as quickly. If I said it was so, then surely it must be.

She launched into conversation without another thought, her words flowing freely—soft, lively, unguarded. I nodded at all the right moments, smiling when she laughed, watching the way her enthusiasm bubbled over. It was an effortless thing, listening to her.

But my attention wasn’t truly on her.

It was on him.

Her boyfriend stood just behind her, arms crossed, gaze flicking disinterestedly over the room. He had no appreciation for the art, not even for the things that brought her joy. He was here out of obligation, not care. And yet, he stood at her side, playing the role he assumed was expected of him.

I watched him, my gaze steady. Unwavering. Not a glare, not an obvious threat—but something quieter. A measured, deliberate look that spoke more than words ever could.

He felt it. I could see it in the way his posture tightened, in the way his jaw clenched ever so slightly. He wouldn’t meet my eyes for long.

Good.

She didn’t notice. She was still talking, still laughing, blissfully unaware of the moment unfolding between us. But I held my gaze a beat longer, just to be sure the message was understood.

Just to be sure he knew he didn’t belong.

Yandere! Hannibal, who carefully manipulated doubt into your mind, never overtly suggesting you leave your boyfriend—but making you see the cracks you’d once ignored.

Hannibal watched you unravel in real-time, your delicate fingers fidgeting with the loose thread on your sleeve, your voice quiet, hesitant. You were always hesitant when it came to him. That fool. That boy who didn’t understand what he had—what he was so carelessly throwing away.

"He left me in the middle of the store… and I was so scared," you murmured, like you were embarrassed by the admission, like it wasn’t something that should infuriate you.

But you weren’t angry. No, you were simply hurt. Still trying to justify his actions, trying to shrink your feelings into something more tolerable, something that wouldn’t make you seem like a burden.

Hannibal exhaled slowly, though the tension coiled within him like a serpent.

"He knows about your anxiety, doesn’t he?"

The way your breath hitched—so subtle, almost imperceptible to anyone who wasn’t watching for it—told him the answer before you even nodded.

Of course he knew. And yet he still did it.

How reckless. How unworthy.

Hannibal’s fingers curled slightly against the arm of his chair as he studied you, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make you question it, just long enough for the thought to begin forming in your own mind before he spoke again.

"Then he knew what he was doing."

It wasn’t a question. It was a fact. One that you needed to hear. One that you needed to accept.

You frowned slightly, your gaze lowering as if you were trying to find some hidden excuse for him among the lines in your palm.

Hannibal leaned forward just slightly, lowering his voice, making it intimate. “And when you found him… what did he say?”

You swallowed. That small, nervous movement of your throat. He wanted to reach out, to smooth his thumb over the tension there. Instead, he waited.

"He just laughed. Said I was overreacting."

Overreacting.

Hannibal nearly smiled. Not out of amusement, but out of sheer disbelief at the audacity of such a dismissive remark.

“I see,” he murmured, but there was nothing soft about it. “Tell me… if it were the other way around, if you had left him there, knowing his fears, knowing how much distress it would cause him, would you have simply laughed?”

Your reaction was immediate—head shaking, eyes widening, an instinctual no.

Of course not. Because you were kind. You were thoughtful. You cared too much, even for those who didn’t deserve it.

He tilted his head, studying you, letting you sit with the realization. “Then why does he deserve that kind of grace?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Nothing to say. No excuse to offer.

Good.

Hannibal relaxed back into his chair, watching you intently, watching the weight of his words settle into you. He didn’t need to say anything else. The idea was already there, curling around your thoughts, winding itself into your heart.

All he had to do now was wait.

Yandere! Hannibal, who held you as you cried over your breakup, but secretly was getting off on it.

She collapsed into me the moment she stepped inside, her fragile frame trembling as if the weight of her sorrow had finally become too much to bear. I caught her effortlessly, as if I had always been meant to, my arms wrapping around her without hesitation. She was so small like this, so breakable, and yet, she clung to me as though I were the only thing keeping her from falling apart entirely.

I settled her in my lap, letting her bury her face against my chest, her quiet sobs muffled against my suit. My fingers threaded through her hair, slow and deliberate, savoring the way she melted into my touch. She fit so perfectly here, as though she had always belonged in my arms.

"There, there," I murmured, my voice a soft lull, soothing, patient. "You’re safe now."

She shuddered at the word, pressing closer, gripping my jacket like a lifeline. Such a delicate thing, so desperate for comfort, for security. And she had come to me for it. Just as I knew she would.

I had warned her. Had spent countless hours listening to her, guiding her, gently nudging her toward the truth. That man had never deserved her. He had only ever caused her pain. And now, here she was, weeping in my arms, proving me right.

I tightened my hold on her, tilting my head down so my lips were close to her ear. "I told you, my dear," I whispered, my voice a quiet promise, a claim. "I would never abandon you like he did."

She didn’t pull away. Didn’t question it. She simply let herself sink deeper into me, into my warmth, into everything I had been so patiently offering her.

And God, if that wasn’t the most intoxicating thing of all. The way she nestled into me, completely unaware, her soft, warm body pressing so perfectly against mine. Every shudder, every shift, only made me grow harder—her delicate frame settling right over my bulge. She didn’t notice, too lost in her grief, too trusting, too utterly mine.

Yandere! Hannibal, who killed your ex and invited you into his home as if he did nothing.

She arrived at my door without memory of the decision to come, her body guiding her on instinct. I saw it in the way her frame sagged, the way her breath hitched unevenly, her red-rimmed eyes barely able to lift to meet mine. The moment I opened the door, her lips parted, voice ruined.

“Hannibal.”

The sight of her in distress, so utterly lost, sent a quiet thrill through me. But I said nothing at first. I merely stepped aside, allowing her entrance. She obeyed, stepping into the warmth of my home, though she looked as if she hardly felt it.

Her arms wrapped around herself as she stood just past the doorway, fragile, crumbling. "He's dead," she whispered. "They found him—my boyfriend. His head was on a fence. Just… stuck there. In the middle of nowhere."

I shut the door with a soft click, carefully hiding the satisfaction that curled in my chest.

"That's terrible," I said, smoothing my voice into something gentle, something she needed.

She let out a bitter, humorless laugh. "Yeah. Terrible." Her fingers brushed at her swollen eyes, sniffling. "I just… I don’t get it. Who does that?"

I took a slow step closer, allowing my presence to steady her. “Cruelty is often senseless,” I murmured. “But you shouldn’t let this consume you.”

She shook her head, lips pressing together, fighting another wave of emotion. "How am I supposed to just… move on from this?"

"You don't have to figure that out tonight." I reached for her, placing a firm hand on her shoulder, watching as she exhaled, accepting the comfort, needing it. "You need to eat. Come, sit with me for dinner."

She hesitated. Her stomach twisted—grief stealing her appetite, no doubt. But she was exhausted, vulnerable. She needed something to ground her, and so she followed.

The meal I had prepared sat warm and inviting before us, though she barely touched it. Her fork scraped against the plate, each bite an effort. Her body was weary, her hands shaking as she set the utensil down. Her lip trembled as she pressed her fingers into her lap, trying to control her breathing, trying not to break.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, voice cracking. "I—I can't stop crying. I feel so stupid. I don’t even know why I came here." A weak, bitter laugh left her. "I just… I didn't know where else to go."

How beautifully tragic. How utterly mine.

I took my time, dabbing at the corner of my mouth before setting my napkin aside. "There is no need to apologize," I said, calm, unwavering. "Grief isn't something to push down. You are allowed to feel this, especially here. You are safe with me."

Her pretty lips trembled further, her lashes wet with fresh tears. They spilled over before she could stop them, a choked laugh escaping her as she shook her head.

“God,” she sniffled, grabbing her napkin and dabbing at her face. “You must think I’m pathetic.”

I tilted my head, gaze steady. “Not at all,” I murmured.

A fragile smile attempted to grace her lips, though it barely held. She played with the fabric of her sleeve, her fingers delicate, uncertain. Slowly, she picked up her fork again, forcing herself to eat. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

I leaned forward slightly, watching her closely.

“You don’t have to find out.”

The words wove themselves into the air between us, binding her tighter to me. If she weren’t so drained, so consumed by grief, perhaps she would have questioned them. Perhaps she would have felt the weight of my claim.

But instead, she only nodded, clinging to me as her anchor, unaware that I had already secured her in place.

Yandere! Hannibal who fucked any thought you had of your ex out of your head.

Her sobs were beautiful. Each one made her smaller in my arms, pressing closer, seeking comfort, seeking me. I held her as if she were fragile, my touch gentle, patient—calculated. She was unraveling, and I had known she would.

I had known she would come to me.

And now, here she was, breaking apart, utterly lost. My sweet girl. My perfect little dove. She lifted her head, glassy, swollen eyes searching for something, anything, that might make the pain lessen. I could see the moment it happened—the way her gaze faltered on my lips, how the realization hit her.

Yes, my dear. That’s it.

I had been guiding her to this, shaping her thoughts, her fears, her dependencies. Him—that waste of a man—was gone, and she was here, right where she belonged.

When she leaned in, uncertain but desperate, I met her halfway. My lips captured hers, firm and knowing, a promise sealed in the heat between us. She gasped into my mouth, and I swallowed the sound greedily, my fingers threading through her hair to keep her there.

She thought this was a mistake. A reckless, grief-fueled lapse in judgment.

She was wrong.

As our kiss deepened, it quickly unraveled into something messier, more desperate-a frantic clash of lips and breath as she melted into me.

"So good for me, angel," I murmured against her mouth, my voice dripping with approval. My hands found her hips, firm and possessive, guiding her as I pulled her into my lap. A satisfied hum rumbled in my chest as I pressed her down against me, ensuring she felt just how much I wanted her.

As our kiss deepened, it quickly unraveled into something messier, more desperate-a frantic clash of lips and breath as she melted into me.

Her fingers tangled in my hair, tugging gently as she rocked against me. A soft whimper escaped her lips, swallowed by our kiss. I could feel her trembling, begging for me.

Breaking away, I trailed heated kisses along her jaw, down her neck. Her pulse beating wildly beneath my lips. I nipped at the sensitive skin, drawing a gasp from her.

"Please," her voice barely above a whisper as Her nails scraped lightly down my back,

I growled low in my throat, my control slipping, Her eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with desire as she gazed up at me.

"Tell me what you want, angel," I commanded, my voice rough with need.

"Touch m-me," she pleaded breathlessly. " hurts s’bad." She slurred through whiney hiccups

I smirked, trailing my fingers teasingly along her sides. "Where does it hurt, sweetheart? Show me."

She whimpered, arching into my touch. Her hand grasped mine, guiding it lower, over the swell of her breast and down her stomach. My breath caught as she pressed my palm between her thighs, where I could feel the heat radiating through her clothes.

"Here," she whispered, her cheeks flushed. "Please-"

My hands slipped under her skirt, gently caressing her silky thighs. She shivered beneath my touch, her legs parting instinctively. I traced lazy circles on her inner thighs, inching higher with each pass.

"Is this what you need, angel?" I murmured, nipping at her earlobe.

She nodded frantically, her hips lifting off the bed, seeking more contact. "Yes, yes! please- don't stop."

I chuckled darkly, my fingers finally brushing against the damp lace of her panties. She gasped, her back arching beautifully.

"So wet for me already," I purred, applying the slightest pressure. Her hips bucked, chasing the friction. "Such a needy little girl."

I captured her lips in a searing kiss as I pushed her panties aside

My fingers found her slick folds, toying with her sensitive nub. She moaned into my mouth, her hips rocking desperately against my hand.

"Please," she whimpered between kisses. "I need more. Please, please..."

I circled her clit slowly, building the tension. Her nails dug into my shoulders as she writhed in my lap.

"What do you need, angel? Tell me," I commanded softly.

"Your fingers... inside... please," she panted, her eyes glazed with lust.

I smirked, enjoying her desperation. Slowly, torturously, I slipped one finger inside her tight heat. She cried out, her inner walls clenching around me.

All I could do was admire her beauty—the way her glassy eyes pleaded with me in silence as she clung to me, desperate and fragile in my arms.

"More," she begged shamelessly. "Please, I need more."

I added a second finger, curling them to hit that spot that made her see stars. She cried out, her back arching off the bed as pleasure coursed through her. My thumb circled her clit as I pumped my fingers in and out, building a steady rhythm.

"That's it, good- good girl," I murmured, watching her face contort in ecstasy. "Let go for me. Show me how good it feels."

Her hips rocked frantically against my hand, chasing her release. I could feel her getting close, her inner walls fluttering around my fingers.

"I'm- I'm so close," she gasped, her nails raking down my back.

I leaned down, capturing a nipple between my lips through the thin fabric of her shirt. The dual sensation pushed her over the edge. She came with a cry, her body tensing and shuddering

She panted softly as she came down from her high, her wide, doe-like eyes gazing up at me with a mix of gratitude and adoration

She was now totally under my control

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p1astr81 · 2 months ago

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Hi! I saw you were open for requests and I was wondering if you would be willing to do one for Oscar Piastri? Something along the lines of Oscar finds driver!reader in the McLaren Garage going over race footage late at night and he comforts her because she’s under pressure as the first Female driver? Sorry if it’s a little wordy 😂 and thank you if you write it!

an: I hope this is what you were looking for🙈

warnings: use of y/n, underlying themes of misogyny

Oscar forgot his phone at the track, two hours after he had already returned to his hotel.

Fine, whatever, he’d get it in the morning.

Except he needed it to set his alarms.

So, showered and ready for bed, he drove back to the track and snuck into the paddock. He took the back entrance to the garage, pausing when he saw a faint glow in the space on your side of the garage.

Strange, the lights and computers were usually shut off at night. Perhaps someone forgot one?

Or, perhaps not, because a voice cut through the still silence. “Where is he getting four tenths?” It was undeniably your voice that was filled with frustration.

You were bent over the computer, comparing your qualifying lap with Oscar’s. Your hair was a mess, your hands having run through it and grasped it in your fists more times than you could attempt to count.

As he got closer, he could see your distressed state. He could see how tension seized your body, and paralyzed it to the outside eye. The darkening circles under your eyes. The exhaustion weighing on your body.

Too engrossed by whatever was displayed on the computer, you hadn’t noticed he was there until you felt his hand on your back. You jumped, fists readying for a fight until you realized it was only Oscar. He held his hands up in surrender. “Hey.” He spoke with a soft laugh. “Just me.”

It had only been seven short weekends—and 5 months that flew by like minutes—that the two of you have spent as teammates. But Oscar was a guy who was easy to get along with. Everything about him (apart from his initial intimidating demeanor) was a big welcome sign.

Every muscle in your body relaxed. “I thought you’d gone back to the hotel awhile ago?” You questioned, diverting the conversation before he can question you about your whereabouts.

“I came back for my phone.” He paused. “What are you still doing here?” He raised a brow.

You adverted your eyes, studying the data in front of you instead. You shrugged. “Trying to figure out where my pace has gone.” He could hear everything in your voice—the disappointment, anxiety, doubt.

Oscar frowned then reached across you to take the cursor in his hand. He closed the tabs.

“Hey-! I was looking at that!”

“It’s not going to help you any tomorrow. You’re better off reviewing it after the race.” He sighed.

You shook your head. “Oh, ha ha.” You laughed sarcastically. “I get it, you’re trying to throw me off to get an advantage.”

“No, im trying to help you.”

“I’m not buying it.”

“Y/n, just listen to me.” He huffed. “I get it. It’s a lot of pressure and you feel like you have to be incredible right away, but you’re going to destroy yourself thinking like that.”

Your laugh was void of humor. “How am I supposed to not think like that? I don’t have a 5 year contract like you.” You shook your head. “One year. That’s all I get.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but I overheard Zak and Andrea talking. They see potential in you. They want to extend your contract.” Your demeanor shifted. Hope lightened your body.

But it was a lie. He didn’t intend to make a habit of it, and he was sure they would sign you again. He just wanted to give you some confidence. “So will you just come back to the hotel with me?” He was exhausted himself, desperate to get to sleep, but he wouldn’t leave until you did.

He saw the hesitation cross your features before you gave in, shutting the computer off. “Do you mind giving me a ride? I don’t-“

“Yeah.” He answered without a question about it.

You offered a small smile and muttered a, “Thanks.”

Oscar thought that was the end of it. Boy, was he wrong.

This time, he caught you still in the meeting room, two hours after the post-race debrief had ended. He stood in the doorway for a moment, observing you. Routinely, your eyelids fluttered closed before snapping back open.

Until they didn’t, and you let your eyelids close. Your head—previously held up by your hand—slid from its spot. The drop of it woke you up with a start.

“If you’re tired, you should probably head out.” He said, making himself known while stepping into the room. He closed the door behind him.

“Can’t. I have to figure out how to beat you.” You deadpanned.

Oscar chuckled, taking the seat next to you. You glanced at him from the corner of your eyes before rubbing the sleep from them. “That’s where your problem starts. Focus on winning, not beating me.”

You put your head in your hands. “Same thing.” You grumbled.

“Except it’s not-“

“I’m not in the mood for another one of your lectures.” You snapped.

Oscar sat in stunned silence. You’d never lost your temper. It was a strange sight to see. But he didn’t blame you for it. He could see the tension in your stiff shoulders and the frustration in your unkept hair. The pressure was still getting to you. He didn’t offer any more words. Just a hug.

You froze, unsure of what to do or say.

Until the comfort of his embrace broke down your carefully constructed walls built around your emotions. You wrapped your arms around him, burying your head in the curve of his neck.

He just held you, offering his warmth to comfort you. “I wish I was a man. It would be so much easier. Less eyes. Less questions. Less speculation.” You mumbled. “Less people telling me I can’t do it.”

His hand rubbed your back. And all the frustration, it just broke. You shoved his chest as soon as you felt the first tear slip and turned your face away from him. Still, he rubbed your back. “I- I think I got something in my eye.” You rushed out the excuse. Anything to not seem weak.

He chuckled. A sound that wasn’t meant to be cruel but you interpreted as. You stood, distancing yourself. “You don’t have to lie, it’s okay to cry.”

“I’m not crying.” You defended too quickly.

He called your name in that kind voice of his. The one that felt like a warm hug on a cold winter’s day. The one you couldn’t not turn around for.

You took in his gaze, understanding with an undercurrent of pity. “I’m just so frustrated.” You confessed in whispers. “I know I’m good, but the results aren’t showing it.”

He stepped closer, his hand finding your arm. “They are.” He reassured. “You’re just stuck up here.” He tapped your head with a small smile. “And thinking too much about what other people think.” He added.

You bit the inside of your cheek. You hated to admit he was right, but you nodded.

He initiated the hug this time and you reciprocated, resting your head on his shoulder.

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 blurb #f1 fluff #f1 x you #op81 #f1 angst #oscar piastri x fem!reader #oscar piastri angst #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri one shot #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri blurb

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nereidprinc3ss · 1 year ago

Text

come on home

in which the only person who can comfort you after your breakup with spencer reid, is spencer reid

inspired by the song "summer's end" by the artist currently known as phoebe bridgers

wc 2857

warnings: gn!reader (correct me if im wrong), minor mommy issues, angst, happy ending

a/n: thank you to the person who requested this:) u r an angel and I listened to this song the whole time i wrote (if you haven't heard, listen!!) i sincerely hope you enjoy, i like this one a lot<3

She hung up on you.

Forty-seven minutes of being insulted and berated after you’d called her looking for comfort, and you put up with every single cruel word—just for your mother to hang up on you. And it’s exactly the kind of thing she’d do, so you shouldn’t be surprised. An ache, you’d expect—but it shouldn’t sting like this. You thought you knew better.

Now you’re in a ball on your couch, clutching your phone to your chest and crying. There’s no point hiding it. Your roommate is out with her girlfriend for the evening—which is too bad because even though you feel like being alone, you’re sure that’s the wrong call. Your other friends are out having fun tonight, too. They’d even invited you, but you turned them down. Look where that had gotten you. Obviously, your mother is not the person you’re about to run to for comfort, either.

You try to pretend, while you’re thinking of all these people who have ever cared for you, that Spencer Reid isn’t on your mind at all. You try to pretend like you don’t care that the person who loved you until you believed you actually deserved it is a contact going stale deep in the bowels of your text cache. With bleary eyes you scroll down, looking for your conversation where it gathers dust—the end of your relationship was a mutual decision, and you’re friendly, but you haven’t texted in a few weeks. Probably because every time the conversation starts to feel a little too easy, or the phone call lasts a little too long, that aching void in your chest gets worse and worse. Like pain in a phantom limb, you become acutely aware of what you do not have and how much it hurts.

So blame it on the tears, or the mind-muddling melodrama of your relationship with your mother, blame it on anything but the truth—when your thumb drops on that call button like the plunger on a syringe, you don’t regret it.

What you’re not expecting is for him to answer after the first ring.

“Hi,” you say with a snuffle before Spencer can get a word in. There’s a brief interlude, in which you pick at your nails, comfortable to just sit in silence if that’s what he wants. As long as he’s there.

“Hi.” Hearing his voice instantly melts a bit of the weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying. Another pause, for which you remain silent, because you can feel him formulating a question—and you’d like to hear him speak again. “...am I allowed to ask if you’re okay?”

Your lips purse and twist to the side, pained and comforted by how easily he can tell that you’re distraught. One word across a tinny connection, and he knows.

“No. Yes. I mean... I guess that’s why I called you. But you don’t have to ask me about it.” You sniff again and take a deep breath. “How was your day? What state are you in?”

“I’m in the district,” he answers after a moment, easing into a casualness that he likely doesn’t feel for your sake. Wind crunches through the speaker. He probably just got out of work. “My day was... it was good. I got to talk about my job to a bunch of elementary schoolers, which is always a confidence boost.”

You chuckle, still laying on your side on the couch and watching storm clouds gathering outside.

“Nice, nice. What else?”

“Let’s see... I forgot lunch, so I had three oranges, and they were actually pretty good. I reread Game of Thrones—I don’t know why I did that. I’m never going to like that book.”

“Masochist,” you smile. He laughs, and you hear the sound of a car door opening.

“Oh! I talked to my mom. Believe it or not, she says hi.”

A completely inadvertent snort constitutes your response. It’s not what you meant to do, and out of context it’s sort of mean, but you actually think it’s incredibly endearing that he still talks to his mother about you. He scrambles to explain himself.

“I swear, we barely talked about you this time. Mostly we talked about her new boyfriend Leonard.”

“No, no, that’s not... I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you or your mom. That’s really sweet, actually. Tell her I say hi too.”

When he next speaks, you can hear the smile in his voice.

“I will.” Another long pause. You imagine him sitting in the parking lot at Quantico, keys vertical in the ignition of his old car and feeling the silence just as much as you are. He surprises you by not ending the conversation—instead he asks a question. It is concern, poorly disguised with nervous humor. Or maybe you just know him too well. “Do I get to find out what’s on your mind, or are you leaving me in suspense here?”

You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Um... well, actually, I just got off the phone with my mom, too. It didn’t go so well,” you laugh halfheartedly, “I know it was dumb to try and have an actual conversation with her, but... you know me. Always following blind optimism to the depths of hell.”

“Why’d you call your mom?” he asks, so gently it brings a fresh round of tears to your eyes. Still, you attempt to put a cheerful affect on your strained voice.

“Mm, you know. Just needed someone to talk to.”

Spencer’s knowing sigh does little to make you feel better.

“You know you can always talk to me, right? I know it’s... it’s different now, but... I care about you a lot. And, you know, I receive very few phone calls, so the line is pretty much always open.”

Your laugh quickly devolves into a cry.

“I appreciate that, but I can’t talk to you about everything.”

“Why not?” he pleads immediately, voice thin and desperate like it’s his most burning question. A million lies dance over the tip of your tongue. A million things that feel safer to say than the truth. But in the end, it comes out anyway—choked, and so quiet, but aloud nonetheless.

“Because I’m trying really hard to stop missing you so much.”

Another long beat of silence. The back of your throat feels dry and hollow—a cage for your hummingbird heart.

“If it hurts too much to talk to me, you don’t need to do that to yourself. But I also don’t want you to hurt yourself thinking you’re alone. You are... so important to me. I will always try to take care of you the best I can—whether that means staying away or being at your front door. If you ever need me, or even... vaguely want me, I will be there.”

Each word caves your resolve. Each syllable is a slap in the face to progress you’d been pretending to make. You can be strong—you've proven that over the past ten weeks. You can be stone-faced and slash at your heart until the scar tissue is thick and jagged, and eventually it won’t hurt anymore. But maybe, by letting someone tend to the wounds, they’ll heal a little nicer. A little kinder. Even if you can’t undo the damage, maybe one day you’ll be soft again.

“What if I vaguely want you right now?” you sniffle.

Finally, you hear the silver jingle of keys turning. The sputter and rumble of an old engine coming to life.

“Then I’m on my way.”

Twenty four minutes later, there’s a soft knock at your door.

After the call had ended, you’d wondered if you made it all up. Surely your ex-boyfriend wasn’t actually about to show up at your apartment. Someone you’ve grieved for can’t just come back—there are countless horror novels and movies based upon that very tenet. Does it matter if they ever actually died? How long is ten weeks, really? It feels like a lifetime.

You shuffle across the room, wiping under your eyes with your already damp sleeves, and undoing all the locks Spencer had conditioned you to start using. When the door cracks open, and you see Spencer standing there, windswept and concerned, for the first time in months, it hits you like a tidal wave. You are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, still just as in love with him as you ever were. The relief that floods your veins as he looks down at you with so much care in his eyes is like sinking into warm water. It’s a dead giveaway, and maybe it makes this whole thing a terrible idea, but you can’t seem to care very much. You open the door wider, and he enters, and he stands in your kitchen with his hands in his coat pocket as you shut the door and he’s perfect. It dawns on you that for the first time since the breakup, you feel safe. Like you don’t have to be a stone pillar anymore. This, of course, translates into even more tears, which you try to hide as you face away, re-locking the door.

“Sweetheart...” he sighs, because you can’t hide anything from him. Hearing the resonance of his voice so close to you once more is overwhelming. In an instant you’re rushing into his arms, and he accepts you without hesitation. You bury your teary face in the vetiver safety of his button-up and slip your arms under his coat, as if you could absorb his warmth and forever hide from the world that way. He pulls you even closer. It’s terrible and cruel how much he is exactly what you needed. “What’s wrong? What did she say?”

You shake your head and gasp a small sob.

Truthfully, you’re not really crying about the petty insults from your mother anymore. You’re back to square one, the reason you’d called your mother to begin with—you miss the man whose arms are currently wound around your shoulders.

His hand smooths over the back of your hair.

“Okay. That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.”

You stay like that—content even as you cry because being with him feels so much safer than being alone. It feels right—or perhaps it’s just familiar. You don’t know which is worse.

Spencer is rubbing soothing lines up and down your back as you cling to him, soaking him up in all his ephemeral, comforting glory. He surprises you by chuckling—it vibrates through his chest, buzzing against your ear.

“Nice Magritte print. I bet the person who bought that has fantastic taste.”

“Are you gonna ask for it back?” you mumble into the fabric of his suit jacket. He is, of course, referring to the painting you’d more or less stolen from his apartment seven months ago. You really don’t want him to take it home. It’s the most overt Spencer memorabilia you’d allowed yourself to keep in plain sight.

“No, baby. You can keep it.” The words are low, and kind, and they settle you some, but you can’t seem to get him close enough. “What can I do?” he whispers after a moment, helpless as you take a shuddering breath. “Can I make you tea? Have you eaten?”

“Will you just... stay for a little bit? I’ll—I promise I’ll stop crying.”

There is an unexpected lull where you thought you’d receive pretty immediate agreement, but before you can pull back and ask what’s wrong, he murmurs, “yeah. I can stay for a while. But you have to kick me out before it gets too late.”

You wonder if you’re imagining the double-entendre that seems to underline his words in bold red ink. Spencer is too smart to have not noticed a thing like that. You don’t mention it—it all boils down to the same unspoken idea.

Don’t let me stay, because I might not leave.

“I will,” you sniff, finally stepping back and wiping your own tears. It hurts to lose his touch, but at least you know he’s not going anywhere for the next few hours. This, as opposed to everything else lately, can be a beginning instead of an end.

At least, until he goes home.

Three and a half hours later, after tea, an impromptu dinner comprised mostly of cheese and crackers, and several vinyl changes on your record player (which served only as background noise for your long, ambling conversations), things are seeming to wind down to a natural stopping point. Which you hate. The whole time you’d had a dull ache in your chest because talking to him was easier than breathing and you knew it wouldn’t last. There had been one or two false bottoms already—the first when you’d yawned around nine, and the second when you’d gotten up to do your skincare and brush your teeth half an hour later. Even then he’d just leaned against the doorframe, watching your reflection above the sink as you talked for fifteen more minutes. Now you stand across from each other in the kitchen, plates restacked and everything in order. Of course he’d insisted on helping you clean up.

“I should go,” he says, with a soft sort of finality in his voice.

“Is your carriage turning into a pumpkin?” you tease gently, to hide how much you don’t want him to leave. He smiles—a small, weary thing—but genuinely and endlessly charmed by you.

“That among other things.”

“Would you—would you walk me to my room first?”

The hesitance is clear in his eyes and the way his lips part as if to say, ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea’, but you're sure he’s really going to leave in a moment and you’re also sure he won’t deny you this one small thing before he does.

“Okay.”

It’s a short, silent walk through the living room and down the hall to your bedroom door, but you can feel him trailing behind you the whole way. You stop in front of your open door, turning face to face with him.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

His lips pull into a melancholy smile.

“Anytime.”

There’s nothing left to do but wrap your arms around each other once more, tuck yourself into the you-sized space between his head and shoulder and hold on for as long as he’ll let you. The hug lingers for longer than is wise. Spencer adjusts his arms looped around your waist, pulling you closer, and you nuzzle against his neck, grateful that at least he seems as reluctant to let this end as you are.

But eventually, it relaxes. Your hold on each other loosens. His face is just inches from yours, and you get to study every plane and valley and line like you’d thought you never would again. It seems he’s doing the same—losing himself in the luxury of seeing you up close.

“Will you kiss me goodnight?” you whisper, unable to muster any self-consciousness though you know it’s a fool’s errand. Spencer strokes your waist.

“I can’t do that, honey.”

“Why not?”

His voice is just as quiet as yours. It falters slightly as he speaks, so gently, so patiently.

“Because we’re not together anymore.”

“Why not?”

Your feeble, desperate supplication sounds pitiable even to you. You’re not proud, but you can’t find it in yourself to be ashamed, either. All you want is an answer. But it’s like a child asking why the sky is blue, or the earth is round. There is a definitive explanation, but mostly, the adult will shrug, and say, that’s just how it is.

Spencer’s eyes squeeze shut. His head tilts down.

“We can’t do this again, sweetheart. You know why we’re not together.”

In theory—yes. You’d had so many conversations when you’d broken up. It had been a long, painful process, spanning multiple all-nighters at his kitchen table, nursing coffee and trying to convince each other and yourselves that it was the right choice. But it just feels like a horrible, horrible mistake. You feel desperate to explain this to him before he slips away again—the words come out flustered, inelegant as you cling to him.

“But I don’t think I’m getting better without you. I tried, I tried so hard to be good on my own, but everything is worse and harder and—and we weren’t sure about it then, and I don’t think it was the right choice, because I still really need you. Like, all the time. I’m—it’s not getting better without you. Nothing got better.”

He swallows, eyes darting between yours for an infinite second. You’re breathless and your heart is pounding after your confession—you can feel your eyes stinging with the few tears that managed to escape as you spoke.

“Everything is worse,” he agrees shakily. “Everything. I’m—I’m getting disciplinary infractions from Hotch like I’m a child because I can’t focus on anything. Game of Thrones is the most complex literature I can comprehend right now. I had to use a calculator the other day.”

You want to laugh, but nothing is funny until he’s yours again.

“Then come back. Please come back, Spencer.”

Finally, he leans closer, until your heads are pressed together, and his nose bumps yours, feather light. You're dizzy. You exhale. He inhales.

“I don’t think I knew how to leave in the first place.”

When he kisses you, it feels like home.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds

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mysticpearl · 1 year ago

Text

PREGNANCY CONFLICTS - boothill x reader

- boothill "passes" a few days after you announce your pregnancy. he's soon returned to you as a cyborg, and has a rough time with all of the realizations he discovers during your pregnancy.

- thank u guys sm for all the compliments im getting in my inbox about my idea and my writing i love every single one of u guysssss 💋 💋 and now the fic for my idea is finally here! i hope you guys enjoyyyyy

- mentions of insecurity, PREGNANCY, boothill is sad in this shdjfjsks so pretty much hurt no comfort in a very mild way, "M,d,y" means month, day, year, his way of death is not canon i made something up!!! wc 1.5k

Boothill has always talked about being a father. With how optimistic about your guys’ future he was, you could already tell he’d be a great, great father. So when you announced your pregnancy to him, he was ecstatic.

He spun you around in the air, putting you down to kiss you passionately. To him, all of his dreams have come true. As if you’ve given him a strong purpose in life, to not only protect you but to protect his little, and hopefully more to come.

“Thank you,” he mumbled into your shoulder as he held you tightly. “Thank you for giving me such an opportunity.”

But then a few days after you announced it to him, he went missing. You spent day and night trying to contact people, get cops on the case, and go out there with someone yourself and try to find him. The cops brought a necklace, splotched in blood, with your initials on it. Saying they found his body and it was barely recognizable. They knew it was him because of the necklace around his neck and the wedding band that was stuck on a stray tree branch.

As both of those were returned back to you, you felt as if you couldn’t look at them without absolutely breaking down. You were set under the impression that he was gone forever. You felt horrible- not only for yourself, but the life you assumed your baby would have, being born into a world where they only have a mother who's trying her absolute best to provide and make sure their life goes as smoothly as possible.

On the 16th week of your pregnancy was when you heard a knock on the door late at night. Who could it be at this hour? You irritatingly got up and walked over to see who would be there.

It was who you were least expecting.

Boothill.

You stood there, unable to register what was happening. You had a hand on your stomach and the other was gripping the door handle. He stopped and stared at you back before beginning to speak.

“Y/n,” he said, nearly a whisper before he took a step closer to you. You didn’t step back, which was a good thing in his eyes.

“Boothill? What- how- huh?” You were absolutely speechless, unable to register the man standing in front of you. He’s dressed a lot differently then how you last saw him- he looked so western. He was western before he was pronounced dead, the accent is what got you in the first place. He’d always go to bars and all of that.

But he never looked so… out of place.

You’ve never seen the boots he had on before. You’ve never seen those pants (why do they look so slutty?) and his shirt was a whole other thing.

But the thing that intrigued you the most was that he was still standing, alive in front of you, but with a fully metal body.

“Come in and explain yourself,” you sighed, turning around and leading him into the all-too-familiar place. It still smelled the same way it used to, flowers and vanilla. He sat down on the white couch, leaning back into the same fabric he knew all that time ago.

But the difference was, he couldn’t feel it.

“How are you here? There's no way you’re real,” you shake your head, standing up and leaning into his face. You grab his chin lightly, turning his head both way before running your hands through his still silky hair. “Answer my questions.”

“Alright, shoot em.”

“When did you get me pregnant?” You ask, still looking into his now different eyes.

“Four months ago. You should be 16 weeks now.”

You nodded. “When's my birthday…?”

“M,d,y.”

You nodded. He was on it, and it’s convincing you even more that he was your Boothill.

“Lastly, why are you metal?”

“My body was destroyed. Y’ probably remember it,” he looked down at his hands before bringing them up to your cheek. You slightly flinched from the chill before nodding for him to continue his story. “I don’t remember th’ exact details, but jus’ say it was a failed mission.”

You looked at him up and down before sitting beside him.

“D’you still… love me?” He mumbled, almost soft enough that you’d miss it if you weren’t paying attention.

You took a moment of silence before responding to his question. “Of course I do. You’re my husband, Boothill.”

To that he smiled and brought you into a strong kiss. One passionate and greedy- he’s been starved of you as you have of him for the past four months. Once he broke it off, you both connected your foreheads before going back into a full blown make out session.

Your pregnancy is incredibly taxing for the cyborg to handle. Instead of flesh and blood he has metal. He can’t feel you, and to him, it’s the worst feeling in the world. He truly wishes he could turn back time to right before the night of the accident.

He wishes he was able to return home safe, so he could be there for your whole pregnancy. He basically missed the entire first trimester!

At this point, you marked 32 weeks. Your pregnancy was very noticeable and Boothill took a lot of pride in being alongside you, shedding his insecurities as soon as he left the house.

He’s always been a very clingy man. He’s always wanted your touch and attention whenever he’d get home from whatever it was he’d do for work during the day, and he’d always receive it.

But now, he needs to use his head to feel you. He’s always found lying down on your stomach in his free time, so he can feel his child. He is unable to feel kicks with any other parts of his body, so he relies on that.

“‘Hill, I need to go to the bathroom. You might need to move in a second here-” you started, but he looked up at you and began to speak over you.

“Alright, alright… but’cha better come right back, please?”

You nodded before shuffling out of the bed, motioning for him to get up and help you off of the mattress and up on your feet. Once he easily pulls you up, he flops back down as he watches you close the door connected to your room.

He thought hard in those two minutes you were gone. Very hard. To the point he thought he was going to have a breakdown.

He regretted everything. He regretted engaging in the enemy's tricks. He regretted leaving you lonely for so long. And what he regrets most is returning to you like this.

A hunk of metal, who can be destroyed as many times as possible. He’ll always be able to have his body replaced. His head and hair were the only human thing about the man.

He believes you deserve so, so much better. You deserve a man who can live his life to the fullest and actually be able to be there for you during your vulnerable times, and not let grief get in the way. You deserve someone capable of giving you more children in the future, and he believes your baby deserves a dad who can be there for him and be normal.

He might even be worried about judgment. He’s not sure. He feels so emotional yet so dull at the same time.

“Boothill? Is everything alright? You’ve been staring at the same spot on the wall for the past minute,” you said from next to him. How did he not even realize your presence?

“Hah? Yea, I’m fine. How’re ya’ feeling?” He says in his usual tone, trying to swiftly play off his thoughts not even ten seconds ago. “How’s baby doin’ in there?”

You let out a soft giggle before placing your hand on his cold knee. “We’re well. I’m concerned about what just happened with you though. Tell me, what is on your mind?”

The man sighs and shakes his head before resting it back on your belly. “Nothin’ to worry your pretty head off about.” He simply left it at that and nothing more.

When it came time for labor, he was truly nervous. Every attempt he made at trying to make physical contact with you in that time failed, because his hands were either too hard or too cold. He backed off and watched from the sidelines as you brought his little baby girl into the world.

He so desperately wanted to hold her, and you could see the urge in his eyes. She looked so much like him. She had his gorgeous silky black and white hair with your eyes. He thought she was an angel brought from heaven.

Once he finally got to hold her, he was told to keep her swaddled in the blanket she was wrapped in. All was well until she started crying due to the cold of his arms, and the baby was taken off into tests before he could even blink.

#boothill #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #honkai #star rail #boothill x reader #tw pregnancy #cw pregnancy #angst #boothill angst

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slaybinnie · 1 month ago

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I loved your sieun fic, it was so cute and intimate..

do you mind doing something similar with suho but they make up after suho gets jealous over how much the reader is spending with a male classmate.. please and thank you🩷🩷

JEALOUS BABY

ׂ╰┈➤ suho x fem!reader

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 warnings: explicit sexual content (18+ mdni), explicit language, jealousy lol, no protection used (sorry), slight communication avoidance, slight breeding kink (🤭)

about: suho feels that you’re spending a little too much time with your new classmate. he feels a little down about himself and avoids you.. but don’t worry, he’ll make it up to you.

note: anon! i'm so sorry it took me so long to answer. i've been so busy doing school work but im free now. here you go! hope you all love it < 3

╰┈➤ WORD COUNT: 4k

Suho trusted you. He really did, but Mingyu? Not so much.

Mingyu was the new transfer student at school and of course you just had to have an open seat next to you for him to sit in. Suho usually isn’t a jealous person. You have had guy friends, but this time it’s different.

Mingyu was tall, muscular, smart, not a fighter. Sometimes Suho felt that he couldn’t amount up to that. Even before you started dating Suho he’s been a fighter. Even though Suho only fought to defend, a hole still burns in his heart with the thought of you hating him for it.

The first week of Mingyu's arrival had been normal. You introduced him to your friend group and even helped him navigate the school. Suho had been nothing but supportive. That was just who Suho was. He was (usually) understanding and secure in your relationship.

But as the days of Mingyu being around turned into weeks, something shifted.

It was the little things that started to bother Suho. Mingyu would linger after class to ask you questions that seemed a lot more personal than academic. He'd save you a seat in the cafeteria when Suho was running late from his own classes. He'd even walk you to your locker when Suho couldn’t.

Suho noticed everything

“How was your day?” Suho asked one afternoon as you met him by the school gates.

“Good! Mingyu and I worked on the chemistry project during free period,” you said, adjusting your backpack strap. “Oh, and he asked if I wanted to go to that new bubble tea place downtown this weekend to continue working on it.”

Suho's jaw tightened subtly and his eyebrows furrowed. “This weekend?”

“Yeah, Saturday afternoon. The project is due Monday and we're nowhere near finished.” You looked at him with concern when you noticed his expression. “Is that okay?”

“Of course,” Suho replied quickly, forcing a smile. “I was just thinking we could spend Saturday together, but your project is more important.”

You reached for his hand and intertwined your fingers. “We can do something Sunday? Or maybe you could come with us? I'm sure Mingyu wouldn't mind.”

The thought of watching Mingyu charm you for hours while pretending to focus on schoolwork made Suho's stomach hurt. Hell no. “No, it's fine. You two should focus on your project.”

That Saturday, Suho found himself walking past the bubble tea shop three times, each time catching glimpses of you and Mingyu through the window. The last time Suho walked past, he finally stopped and thought about what he was doing. Gosh, he had to look like a stalker, he thought.

Suho exhaled a breath he didn’t even know he was holding before he forced himself to walk away.

Monday morning was supposed to be better, your presentation was finished and now Suho had you all to himself. Not. Your friendship with Mingyu had blossomed outside of a school environment. You couldn’t believe how much in common you had with him, and so couldn’t Suho.

The next few weeks passed in a blur of stolen glances and forced smiles. Suho watched as you and Mingyu discovered shared interests in everything. Every time you mentioned something new you'd learned about Mingyu, Suho felt a little piece of his confidence chip away.

“He's really funny,” you'd say after repeating some joke Mingyu had made during lunch. “You know the volunteer hours we have to do? He chose to volunteer at the animal shelter on weekends.”

Of course he did, Suho thought bitterly. Perfect Mingyu probably saved orphaned puppies in his spare time while Suho spent his weekends nursing his bruised knuckles and mopping restaurant floors for extra cash.

The breaking point for Suho came on a Thursday afternoon when he arrived at your usual meeting spot by the school gates to find you weren't there. He waited for fifteen minutes before his phone buzzed with a text.

Y/n: Baby! I’m so sorry! Mingyu needs me to go over a couple exam questions with him. Meet you at home instead?

Suho stared at the message, his chest tightening with an ache. This damn Mingyu guy. This isn’t the first time plans have changed because your friend needed help but Mingyu just irked Suho. He was jealous.

Instead of heading to your house, Suho found himself walking through the neighborhood, his hands shoved deep in his pockets and his mind racing. By the time he finally knocked on your door, the sun was setting and his mood had soured.

“Suho!” You opened the door with a big smile. “I was wondering when you'd get here. Come in, I ordered your favorite food.”

He followed you inside quietly. “How was your talk with Mingyu?” Suho asked, trying to keep his voice calm as you both settled on the couch with your food.

“Oh, it was fine! I just explained why he got a couple answers wrong then we talked a little about music. He was telling me about this music festival he went to last summer. Apparently, some of my favorite artists were there. Small world, right?”

“Right. Small world.” He picked at his food, his appetite gone.

You sensed something was and sat down your fork and turned to face him fully. “Are you okay? You seem... down?”

Suho wanted to tell you everything. About how he felt like he was losing you, about how Mingyu seemed perfect in all the ways he wasn't, about how the thought of you realizing you deserve better kept him awake at night. Instead, he just shrugged.

“I'm fine.”

“Suho.” Your voice was gentle. “Talk to me.”

He looked at you and saw the genuine concern in your eyes. But instead of reassuring him, it only made him feel worse.

Before Suho could respond his phone buzzed. “A delivery, I got to go.”

You watched Suho grab his jacket and head for the door, confusion written all over your face. Something was definitely wrong, but he was shutting you out completely.

The next few days were torture for Suho. He kept showing up, kept being the supportive boyfriend, but there was a wall between you two that hadn't been there before. Every time you mentioned Mingyu's name, Suho felt that familiar twist in his chest. Why couldn’t he just tell you what was wrong?

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell you. He just didn’t want to seem like a controlling boyfriend. This feeling was new territory for Suho. He'd never been the jealous type because he'd never had something this precious to lose before.

Friday afternoon, Suho was cleaning tables at the restaurant where he worked part-time when his phone buzzed.

Y/n: Movie night tonight? I miss you :(

His heart clenched. He missed you too, desperately. He had to make things right tonight. No matter how it makes him look.

Suho: I’ll be there after work. 10:30 PM.

Y/n: Yay! I love you I love you I love you.

Suho laughed at your reply and for the rest of his shift, he was thinking about you.

The clock on your living room wall read 10:45 PM when you heard Suho's familiar knock at your door. You'd been curled up on the couch in your favorite oversized sweater and soft shorts, having already set up snacks and a movie queued that you both loved.

“Hey,” you said softly as you opened the door, immediately noticing the tension in his shoulders.

“Hey, baby.” His voice was quieter than usual, his eyes softening the moment he saw you. Despite everything weighing on his mind, you still had that effect on him. He loved you.

You led him to the couch and he settled beside you.

“I picked a movie,” you said, reaching for the remote, but Suho's hand gently caught your wrist.

“Can we... can we just talk first?” His thumb traced small circles on your skin, a nervous habit you'd noticed over the months you'd been together.

You turned to face him fully, tucking one leg under you. “Of course. What's been going on, Suho? You've seemed a little upset this week.”

He was quiet for a moment, staring down at where his fingers were still wrapped around your wrist. When he finally looked up, there was something vulnerable in his eyes that made you frown.

“It's about Mingyu,” he said quietly.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Mingyu from school? What about him?”

Suho took a deep breath, and you could see him gathering courage. “I've been... I've had this feeling in my chest. Like I can’t help but feel upset or annoyed when he’s around or when you talk about him. And I hate myself for it because I know you haven't done anything wrong. You're just being a good friend to him, the same way you are with everyone. But watching you two together, seeing how easily you connect with him.” He paused and bit his lip, searching for the right words. “It makes me feel like I'm not enough for you. I’m jealous of him.”

The confession hung in the air between you, and Suho immediately looked like he wanted to take it back. His hand started to pull away from your wrist, but you caught it, intertwining your fingers with his.

“Suho,” you said gently, your heart breaking a little at the pain in his voice. “Look at me.”

His eyes met yours again. “You think you're not enough for me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shrugged, “He's everything I'm not. Smart, clean record, probably going to some fancy college. His biggest worry is probably which volunteer opportunity looks best on his resume, while I'm over here with fighting and doing part-time job barley getting by and trying to help my grandma with rent.”

“Stop.” Your voice was firm. “Don't talk about yourself like that.”

You shifted closer to him on the couch, bringing your free hand up to cup his cheek and he leaned into your palm.

“Suho, you want to know what I see when I look at you?” you spoke as your thumb brushed along his cheekbone. “I see someone who only fights to protect people he cares about. I see someone who drives me home after late study sessions even when he's exhausted from work. I see someone who always makes sure I get home safely.”

“I see the person I fell in love with,” you whispered, then his eyes locked with yours

“I was feeling annoyed,” he admitted pouting, “Annoyed that he was getting your time and attention. You’re my baby only.”

And that’s your Suho. Playful and silly. You couldn't help but smile at his confession, the way he got possessive but still managed to be endearing about it. “Your baby only?” you teased gently, watching as a slight blush crept up his neck.

“Don't tease me,” he mumbled, but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I was being serious about the jealousy thing.”

“I know you were,” you said, your thumb still tracing gentle patterns on his cheek. “ I'm being serious too when I say you have absolutely nothing to worry about. Mingyu is just a friend, Suho. He could never be what you are to me.”

Suho's eyes searched yours, looking for any hint of doubt or uncertainty. When he found none, his shoulders seemed to relax for the first time in weeks. “I feel stupid.”

You laughed and kissed his cheek “Can I tell you a secret?”

He nodded.

“I get jealous too. Do you know how many times I wanted to fight the girls and boys around us because of how they look at you? How they talk sweet to you.”

Suho pursed his lips and replied, “You shouldn’t get jealous, they’re not you.”

“Exactly my point,” You replied smiling.

The two of you stared at each other before Suho spoke again, “I’m sorry for how I treated you this week. It wasn’t fair to you. And I love you,” he said, the words carrying all the emotion he'd been holding back for days.

“I love you too,” you whispered back before his lips were on yours.

The kiss started soft, almost hesitant, as if he was asking for permission to be close to you again. But when you melted against him, your hands fisting his shirt to pull him closer.

“I'm never letting my insecurities make you worried again,” Suho murmured against your lips. “You're too important to me.”

“Good,” you breathed, trailing kisses along his jaw. “Because I was starting to go crazy without my boyfriend giving me proper attention.”

Suho pulled back slightly, a familiar spark coming to his eyes. “Proper attention? Are you saying I've been neglecting you?”

The playful tone in his voice made your stomach flutter with anticipation. “Very much so,” you said confidently.

“Well,” he said, his voice dropping to that low register that made your pulse quicken, “I guess I have to make it up to you.”

His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you closer until you were practically in his lap. The atmosphere in the room shifted into something more heated.

“Suho,” you whispered, your voice already breathless as his lips found that sensitive spot just below your ear.

“Hm?” he hummed against your skin, his breath sending shivers down your spine.

“I need you,” you admitted, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“Come here,” he murmured, guiding you to straddle his lap properly. The new position brought you directly against him. You both gasped at the contact.

His hands slipped under your sweater, his palms warm against your skin as he slowly pushed the fabric up and over your head. You weren't wearing anything underneath. Suho's breath caught as he took in the sight of you.

“You're so beautiful,” he murmured, his hands skimming up your sides to cup your breasts gently. “So perfect.”

You arched into his touch, a soft sigh escaping your lips. “Suho…”

He leaned down to press kisses along your collarbone, his lips warm and soft against your skin. “Let me show you,” he whispered between kisses, “let me show you how sorry I am.”

His mouth traveled lower, pressing gentle kisses to the swell of your breasts before taking one of your nipples into his mouth. You gasped at the feeling, your hands tangling in his hair as he showered his attention on your nipples.

“You taste so sweet up here,” he murmured against you, his tongue swirling around your nipple before he moved to give the same attention to the other side. “I could spend hours doing this.”

The thought sent heat coursing through your body, and you tugged gently at his hair to bring his face back up to yours. “I want to feel you,” you whispered against his lips. “In me.”

Suho's eyes darkened at your words, but he didn’t want to go that far just yet. “Can I taste you first?”

“Yes. Please do something.”

He smiled, that soft, loving smile that was reserved just for you, before his lips were on your body again. Gently, he rolled you onto your back, positioning himself above you. “Is this okay?” he asked, his voice heavy with desire as his fingers hooked in the waistband of your shorts.

“Yes,” you breathed, lifting your hips to help him slide the shorts down your legs.

He took his time with you, pressing kisses to your exposed skin and his hands caressed your thighs. His hands slid up your thighs, thumbs brushing teasingly close to where you needed him most.

“Suho, please,” You begged.

He groaned at your neediness. One of his hands slipped between your legs, his fingers ghosting over your folds, now slick with your arousal. He stroked you slowly at first, teasing, watching your reactions like they’re the only thing in the world that matters.

“You’re soaked,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. “All this for me, even after I was such a dick?”

Your hips buck against his hand in response, and Suho leaned up to kiss your throat, dragging his lips across your skin as his fingers finally pressed more firmly against your clit. When he finally settled between your legs all the way, his eyes found yours.

"I love you," he said simply, before his mouth was on your cunt to show you exactly how much he loved you.

His tongue slid through your folds slowly, like he was trying to savour the way you taste. Suho didn’t stop until he licked up every bit of your arousal and dragged his tongue all the way up your cunt, making your whole body jerk. The moan you let out was loud and desperate.

Suho glanced up at you through his lashes, his lips shiny. He offers you a soft, almost smug little smile.

“Fuck, I missed this pussy,” he murmured, his voice thick and heavy. “My poor baby, I’m so dumb. I’ve been neglecting you this week huh?”

His words spark a new wave of heat through you. You run your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. “Yes. Please. I need your mouth,” you whisper, tears starting to well in your eyes.

Suho groaned and the sound vibrated against you as he licked a long, slow stripe over your clit before wrapping his lips around it again.

Your head fell back against the pillows of the couch as your fingers tangled tighter in his hair. The knot in your stomach became relentless with every lick of his tongue.

“Suho. I'm gonna cum if you don’t stop.” your voice broke into a whimper.

He didn’t stop, instead he doubled down and lapped at your cunt faster. His tongue wrapped against your clit while two of his fingers slipped inside you with little resistance. The stretch made you cry out, and he moaned against you, like your pleasure was the only thing he needed to survive.

“Let go for me,” he whispered, fingers thrusting slowly, curling just right as his lips wrapped around your clit once more.

Your body shook as your orgasm hit and a sob of his name left your lips. Your thighs tightened around his head and you tried to push his head away, but you were too weak and Suho kept going, lapping as much cum up as he could.

“Suho, please! Too sensitive.” You pleaded.

Suho pulled off you with a pop, and gave your clit a soft kiss before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He kissed up your body until he was hovering over you, his eyes full with lust.

“You okay?” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

You nodded shakily against his lips, still catching your breath. “Y-Yeah.. I’m more than okay. I think I just had the best orgasm of my life.”

Suho chuckled softly, brushing his nose against yours. “You’re so perfect.” he whispered.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing the weight of him against you. You could feel how hard he was, his length was throbbing against your thigh, and when you shifted, he let out a moan.

“Please, Suho. I want you inside me.”

Suho licked his lips and pulled back to take off his remaining clothes. When he pushed his pants and boxers down, his cock sprang free, thick and hard.

You sucked in a breath at the sight of him, and his mouth twitched into a smirk as he leaned back over you, catching your lips in a slow, heated kiss.

He reached between your bodies and guided himself to your entrance. He pushed in slowly and carefully, giving you time to adjust to his size. The stretch burned in the best way, your walls clenched around him as he filled you inch by inch until he was fully inside you.

“Fuck,” Suho whispered, his voice trembling. “You’re so warm. So tight.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, making sure he had no room to pull out. “Move, please,” you breathed.

Suho drew back slightly, then rolled his hips forward again, slow and deep, making sure you feel every inch of him. His pace was unhurried but intense, each thrust drew moans from your lips as he rocked into you. His eyes never left your face, watching every flicker of pleasure cross your expression.

“Faster,” you whispered, your voice trembling as your nails dug into his shoulders.

Suho nodded then continued, his movements getting faster with every thrust. Your living room echoed with the sound of gasps, whispered names, and the quiet slap of skin on skin.

Your legs tightened around his waist, holding him to you, grounding yourself in the feeling of him. “Suho,” you moaned, fingers sliding into his hair, holding on as he moved faster.

“I can’t believe you’re mine,” he murmured, his voice rough. “You were made for me. You’re mine. I love you so much.”

Your eyes welled with tears, not from pain or even pleasure, but from the overwhelming love you felt from him. You lifted your hand to hold his jaw, brushing your thumb gently beneath his eye. Suho slowed down with your action.

“You’re the only man I want.” You cried out.

He smiled, a real one, the kind that reached his eyes and softened his tense face. “I know that now,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

Suho rocked into you again, slow and deep and your body arched into his. His free hand slid between your bodies and his thumb brushed gently over your clit in slow circles that made your whole body jolt. You moaned softly, your hips rolling to meet his.

“Just like that,” he encouraged, his breath warm against your cheek. “Do that again baby, roll into me.”

You let your hips move again, trying to match his rhythm but it was a little sloppy. Soon, you felt another wave building but this time it was softer and slower. “Suho… Suho,” you whispered, grabbing him tight. “I’m going to cum again…”

He rested his forehead against yours, “Let go for me, baby. I’ve got you.”

His fingers moved faster on your clit, while his cock inside you dragged slow and deep. It was overwhelming for you in the best way. Your body burned in pleasure as you finally came, your whole body shaking.

You cried out his name and your legs trembled around him. Your hands were gripping his arms as your vision blurred. Suho held you close, slowing his movements, kissing your tears away.

You were still coming down when Suho groaned, his pace faltering. “I’m so fucking close,” he choked, burying his face in your neck. “Wanna come inside you.”

Your hips tilted up sloppily without thinking. “Do it,” you whispered, breathless.

Suho cursed under his breath and snapped his hips harder, deeper, his rhythm growing even more frantic and desperate. “Fuck. You’ll look so fucking pretty stuffed with my cum,” he said, his voice shaking.

“Want you to fill me up. Wanna feel all of you.” You begged.

That broke him and with a choked moan, he came, his hips pressed flush against yours as his cock twitched inside you.

You gasp and you felt his release inside of you. Your legs tightened around him automatically for the 100th time today, like your body was trying to keep every drop in.

Suho was out of breath above you, panting against your neck and quietly saying your name over and over.

“Fuck, you’re everything to me,” he whispered as he slowly pulled out of you, drawing a soft moan of out the both of you.

When the room fell into a peaceful quiet, Suho stood up then gently helped you up from the coach, guiding you to the bathroom. “Let’s take a bath.”

Suho ran the water while you sat on the bathroom counter, watching him with sleepy, content eyes. When the tub was finally full, Suho carefully helped you into it alongside himself.

“Is the temperature okay?” he asked softly, settling behind you so you could lean back against his chest.

You hummed in approval, letting your head fall back against his shoulder.

His arms wrapped around you from behind, and you could feel the tension finally leaving both of your bodies.

“I really am sorry for how I’ve been acting. For this whole week I mean. For shutting you out instead of just talking to you,” Suho apologized.

“I’ll really accept your apology if you make sure to skip all your training sessions with Sieun next week and cuddle me instead,” you said.

“Deal.” Suho said smiling.

It got quiet again before you asked the questioned that was nipping at you a little bit, “How do you want me to deal with Mingyu?”

Suho was quiet for a moment, considering “I don’t want you to do anything,” he finally said, “He's your friend, and I trust you. I'm sorry I let my insecurities get in the way of that.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, wanting to make sure he was really okay.

“I'm sure,” he said, pressing another kiss to your head. “Besides, I realized something tonight.”

“What?”

“He might be smart and perfect and all that,” Suho said, his voice getting playful, "but he's not the one who gets to fuck you.”

You gasped and playfully hit his chest. “Suho!”

Done! My 2nd fic of whc! Thank you guys so much for reading 🥹 Thanks for all the love on my sieun fic as well!

I’d love for more people to rec any writing and request! I also write for the groups who are listed on my masterlist!

#weak hero class #whc #whc1 #whc2 #whc x reader #whc imagines #whc smut #whc1 x reader #ahn suho #ahn suho smut #suho #suho x reader #suho smut #weak hero class x reader #weak hero class 1 #weak hero class 1 smut #weak hero class smut #choi hyunwook smut

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intoblonde6ftwbbplayers · 3 months ago

Text

they're cute

new blog || requests are always open! || lowk hate this sorry guys || not proof read

summary: You and Paige are in an interview and get asked about the nature of your relationship because of certain edits which leads to talking about your true feelings.

It's nearing the end of the student athlete segment of the press conference for winning the Sweet-Sixteen game. Most of the question are directed at Paige, something you're grateful for since you hadn't slept well the night before. Answering the questions directed at you halfheartedly. Paige also aware of your state tries to help you out with them as well. And Coach Geno sitting beside you both of you patiently waiting for his portion once we leave.

"Alright final question for the students." you sigh with relief once you hear them say this and look over at Paige with a tired smile and lean into her to whisper a quiet "thank god" and quickly look over at the speaker.

"My question is for both Paige and Y/n. What do you both have to say about the edits being made of you guys?"

Your eyes immediately shoot open the tiredness suddenly leaving your body replaced with a feeling of embarrassment and anxiety.

The truth is those edits are a guilty pleasure of yours. They started circulating 3 months ago when one went particularly viral when you and Paige and you were being particularly touchy during a game because you had been going though a lot emotionally that week.

It was little things that day but they caught all of it.

A subtle graze of your hand with her pinky, checking up on you between possessions and quarters (especially at halftime), being extra annoying to let you know she was close by (pulling on your signature ponytail).

But the main one the edit focussed on though was the way she slapped your ass... That was the intro of course. You knew each clip by heart having watched it probably a million times by now.

"Im sorry what?" Coach responds with a small smile before me and Paige could.

"I mean i'm sure you guys have seen the edits made of you too which makes people ask themselves about how close you guys seem to be." the reporter asks.

Is this really what they want to know right now? You look over to see Paige smirking already looking at you. You wonder what she's thinking until her voice cuts off your thoughts.

"Yeah uh.. i've seen 'em. Honestly I don't really know what I think of the edits. Other than Im just a touchy person with people Im close too and care a lot for." your heart quietly broke at this, you'd secretly hoped Paige shared your feelings

Everyone else seemed to think so, from your closest friends and family to the media that doesn't even know you both. "As for the natures of our relationship I don't know what to tell you other than we've been friends since our freshman year and that I love her a lot... Y/n?"

You'd hoped that no one could see the way your face dropped at her words and that you managed to control your facial expressions but you knew that probably wasn't the case. "Mhm yeah just close friends" you said into the microphone.

Paige spoke again but this time quieter trying to make it harder for everyone else to hear. "What thats all you gotta say to them ma? Not gonna say you love me too?"

That little word... ma, the weight it held with you. Paige called you a billion different nicknames but that one was always your favorite and she knew that. You coughed slightly, chocking when she said that. "Uhm.. yes I love you too P... that good enough for you?" whispering the last part into her ear.

"Perfect" she said looking at you with a cocky smirk.

"Alright well that concludes the student athlete portion of this conference. Thank you Paige and Y/n for your time and good luck in the Elite 8"

"Thank you guys for having us good night!" you say as you get up from the seat.

Paige gestures for you to go ahead of her to exit and you gladly take the lead ready to go to your hotel room but Paige Bueckers being her had other plans.

"Wait up ma" she says in the hallway of the hotel. "We may have finished with the press but our conversation ain't over yet."

"Okay what's on your mind P?"

"Well I told them what I think about our little edits... but you didn't and I wanna know"

"you wanna know?"

"yup" she said putting emphasis on the p with a grin on her face.

You didn't notice but she led you both to your shared room at the hotel since you leave back for Storrs at noon tomorrow. Letting you both in she goes to sit on your bed and motions for you to come closer.

you let out a sigh "fine what do you wanna know Paige?"

"I don't know ma just whatever has been going through your pretty little head since they brought that up"

That's when you saw it, a flicker in her eyes of something else almost asking, pleading for something and then she spoke again. "do they make you uncomfortable?"

When she said that you, your heart broke open for her and you immediately sat down next to her and brought her into a hug and she melted into you. you wondered if she had been keeping that in for the past couple on moths. Had she been thinking that you found the edits weird and thats why she didn't want to talk about it.

"aww Paige no I don't think they're weird.. they're kinda cute."

As soon as the word cute leaves your mouth Paige immediately perks up and looks at you with a smile the makes your heart explode. "you think they're cute?"

"yeah I do."

"you think the edits of us being a possible couple are cute? As in you wouldn't be opposed to the idea of it being true?"

you don't know where you got this confidence from but you suddenly don't feel scared to tell her about the possibility of your friendship becoming more. "I don't hate the idea of it" you say looking into her eyes.

"oh yeah?" she asks.

your hand going up to gently touch her face. "yeah... I want this to be real, not just some edits tha-"

"oh thank god" she says cutting you off mid sentence and before you can process her lips are on yours kissing you like she needs you to breathe.

One of her hands is on your throat and the other on your hip gripping tightly at you.

when you both separate you're breathing heavily resting your foreheads against each other thinking about what just happened.

"woah" you speak first.

"yeah" she replies with the biggest smile ever beaming at you.

"you know P, I was a little tired before but now that I think about it... we should celebrate."

"Y/n we don't have too do anything ik your tired ma"

"Nuh uh. We're going to the Elite 8 and you, you were incredible tonight, 40 points? That deserves a reward." you say moving to straddle her waist.

"Well when you say it like that how can I say no?"

THE END SORRY ITS LOWK SHITTY BUT WTV (its been a while since ive written)

request are always welcome!

thank you babes love you guys

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