#and the product is extremely stale
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What they don't tell you about gluten free products is not only that they are super expensive, not only that they usually contain way less food than their gluten counterpart, not only often gluten free brands are the only option cause even food that shouldn't rationally contain gluten has wheat among the ingredients, but also
very often after you spent more than double the price you would spend on a gluten product, for half the content of the food, you open it and find out the very expensive product is very, very, very stale.
:))) I hate this
#glutenfree#wheat allergy#I hate this I am gonna start learning how to store handmade tortillas myself#this is the second time we pay a lot to get a gluten free product from A GOOD BRAND#and the product is extremely stale#like they literally don't care about you they know you will spend that money no matter what cause you need to eat#gluten intolerance
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splish splash.
pairing. san x seonghwa x wooyoung x yunho x fem!reader
synopsis. they’re out to prove who’s the best at the breast-stroke- gets dragged off stage as the people boo over such a terrible pun.
warnings. no use of y/n, swim team au, lifeguard!reader, pro-swimmers!sanhwawooho, they’re all wearing speedos :), smut ( porn with unnecesary plot, degradation, m+f oral sex, piv sex, anal sex, double penetration, triple penetration bc u got 3 holes for a reason sweetcheeks, mxm interactions, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, hair pulling, way more warnings that there’s honestly no point listing, just know this is pure filth that covers most bases of stereotypical fanfiction smut, mother in christ what have i written? ) no verbal consent is given throughout this but all parties are willing participants !!
word count. 20k+ ( of literal porn. i need to leave this physical terrain bc i am not worthy of existing after writing this i fear. )
hyde’s input. hey girlie pops, long time no see.
it’s crazy, what some people will do for money.
take, for example, your roommate. she’s a smart girl. a beautiful one, too. with a promising future in criminal law, once she gets herself that pesky little degree. and, yet, she’s funding her tuition with money she earns distributing high-end drugs on campus. rather counter-productive, most would agree. or, in a far less extreme version, there’s that overly-hyper frat boy, who can always be found doing the dumbest dares at a party, all for a few bucks and a keg of beer.
and then there is you.
you would have arrived home twenty minutes ago at this point, had things gone to plan, a backlog of neglected assignments and a baby bonsai tree in need of watering desperately awaiting your return. yet here you are, stuck in your ugly flip-flops and uncomfortably stale shorts, whistle around your neck and a look of exhaustion on your face.
the swimming pool had closed, technically, an hour and a half ago. the sports centre seems to believe, however, that certain members of the college swim team reserve the right to use the pool for however long they require and desire, even if it is at your expense. if you were being paid overtime, perhaps you’d have a more positive outlook on things and less of a frown creasing on your forehead.
if the swimmers weren’t so irritating, maybe you’d enjoy the view.
“all that height, and for what?” the sophomore boy’s voice- jung wooyoung? you aren’t overly familiar with him, seeing him only in sporadic flashes when you pass each other on campus or at some uncivilised frat party- echos through the large room, his hair a wet mess. if you were gaining anything from being here, you’d perhaps muster up the energy to remind the boy of how a swim cap is necessary at all times in the water. “can’t even out-swim me with those long legs!”
“wanna know what my long legs are for?” jeong yunho, a junior with the face of an angel and the body proportions of a sinner, pipes up from across the olympic length pool. unlike the other boy, a crimson cap keeps his own locks out of sight. “climbing up the stairs to go fuck your mom!”
it’s impossible to stifle your laughter, no matter how hard you try to just play it off as a tickle at the back of your throat, a cough forcing its way out. when your eyes meet those of the glaring senior, however, you’re wishing you hadn’t made a sound.
“even the lifeguard can’t take you seriously, yunho,” park seonghwa speaks, eyes not leaving yours as his muscled arms work to pull himself out of the water, before letting his well-rounded behind sit down on the edge. a breath hitches in your throat as his gloriously muscled thighs come into view, drops of water cascading down them in a pattern set to hypnotise you, keep you staring a little longer than is good for your health. “bet she’s heard all about you and the boner incident of 2019.”
truthfully, you have no clue what the dark haired male is on about. that doesn’t stop you from laughing again though, this time a little out of malice and a lot because it’s quite endearing to see a loudmouth like jeong yunho be silenced so easily, head bowed and ears a little rosier with embarrassment.
this small moment of peace is soon shattered by the reality that these boys can’t spend more than ten minutes in a room- particularly one that includes a pool- without arguing. while one boasts about his speed, the other begins to jab at his lack of endurance, and the remaining of the three reminds them all of the fact he holds the most medals amongst them.
“are they always like this?” you jump, surprised by the cold drop of water that lands on your exposed thigh, all courtesy of the boy who’s invited himself to sit down next to you on the bench.
“not always,” you bite at the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to not look at san in all his wet glory. you’re afraid that, once you start looking at him, you won’t be able to stop. it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve fallen victim to the crime that is his enchanting smile. “guess they’re feeling a little feistier than usual, with the district championship just around the corner. rumour has it one of you guys is risking his scholarship if he’s not in the top three.”
are you and san close?
that’s a good question. see, by social standards, you’re not strangers. you share several classes, you attend the same parties, you’ve even texted a few times- mostly on the days one of you miss class (read as: san misses class thanks to his swim-meets) and you need a copy of any notes taken that lesson.
but, you aren’t exactly friends either. you don’t go out of your ways to spend time together, you don’t know more than the surface level about one another, you don’t check-in with each other.
so, is acquaintances the best word to describe you two?
that depends on how common it is for an acquaintance to suck another acquaintance’s cock. granted, there had been a lot of alcohol in the mix, on both ends, with you drinking to forget a botched assignment and san drinking to forget how badly his voice had apparently cracked in front of his crush.
a few weeks have passed since the incident and things haven’t exactly been the same. you’ve missed class twice and ended up contacting heather- a sweet girl who sits down by the front and seems to live with her hand raised in the air- for any notes. likewise, san has found himself declining party invitations, the knowledge that you would be there all too prevalent in the front of his mind.
the irony is that neither of you quite know the reason why you’re avoiding each other, you just are.
or, were, until san had walked in with his swim team buddies- if they could even be considered that- and spotted you in your lifeguard attire. he hadn’t been as slick as he thought he was, sneaking glances at you between laps and even gaining an undeniable smile each time he watched you blow that stupid whistle at some misbehaving kids.
he was slicker with the fact he didn’t need to be here, at this hour. but, he figured staying gave him the chance to stare at you a little longer and, maybe, think up an excuse to talk to you.
“i should-”
“i missed-”
you both speak at the same time, minutes after watching the three musketeers disappear into the locker rooms, with the smallest of them continuing to dig at them for not being able to out-swim him despite their ample amount of height. san’s quick to signal you to go first, a dimple making itself known on his face and reminding you of the deadliest part of him: the false innocence that drips off him like warm candy.
sweet, sticky, making a mess all over the place.
“i should probably start cleaning up.” it turns out san also isn’t discreet when it comes to hiding the disappointment in his face, because no sooner than those words leave your mouth, the dimple is gone and he’s sat a little straighter, a little more ridged, like when the professor points him out in the middle of the class and the golden boy can’t stomach all the attention being on him. “but, what were you gonna say?”
“oh,” and it’s like he’s just remembered that yes, there is something he wants to say. “i missed you in class yesterday.”
it catches you off guard, leaving you to almost drop the whistle you’ve been fiddling between your fingers for the past few minutes. something about sitting so close to him while both of you are dressed so scantily has you feeling unnerved, like you need to run away as fast as possible, yet also wanting to plant yourself right in his lap.
“i didn’t think,” you’re cut off by your own throat, dry and desperate for a drink under his intense gaze. san is a walking contradiction, you think, with his sharp cheekbones and soft heart, his intense eyes and his easy-going smile. his presence gives you never-ending whiplash, never sure if he’s more angel than devil. “i didn’t think you noticed.”
“how could i not? there was no one to laugh with me at professor nam and his weird toe-shoes!” his laugh is infectious, willing your own to make an appearance.
the sound of distant muffled yelling fills the air of the swimming pool and it isn’t hard to recognise wooyoung’s high-pitched laughter amongst it. clearly, their childish arguing has carried on into the changing rooms. it surprises you in no way, already more than used to their antics.
their rivalry is one for the ages, all of them constantly bumping heads for the spot of the top swimmer on campus, their sports scholarships becoming their pride and joy.
you suppose it doesn’t help that all four boys run in different circles, only really crossing paths when faced with swim-meets and days of practice. the senior, park seonghwa, runs with the richer kids of the college, all sharing their trust-funds and god complexes as a common interest. you’re not overly familiar with them, though you’re certain he and a particular blue-haired boy are rarely seen apart. jeong yunho, the tallest, is in with the jocks, which is mostly just because his taller friend is the captain of the basketball team. and jung wooyoung tends to surround himself with the stoners from the school, something you’d learned from kang yeosang, a dealer you shared a couple classes with back in your first semester.
san, ever the golden boy, drifts between a couple different groups but he can usually be found alone and enjoying his own company, if not being followed by a flock of his own little fan-club, men and women alike begging for just an ounce of his time.
your name echos around the room. your head snaps to the side and you find that san is now closer, staring at you in a way that’s making your insides knot up. you’ve seen that look only once before, and it done nothing but leave your knees and your ego bruised. “were you listening to me?”
“what? uh, yeah, i was,” you’re quick to lie, knowing it’s about to backfire when he breaks out in a challenging grin.
“really? what did i say?” he only allows you to stumble over words for a minute before cutting off your incomprehensible speaking when he grabs at your chin and tilts your head up, staring straight into your eyes. “that’s what i thought. you were too busy getting lost in that pretty little head of yours to pay attention to me.”
you stutter over a noise and settle for that as your response, though entirely incomprehensible and nonsensical. the way he continues to stare at you feels cruel, demons dancing around in those pretty eyes of his. demons that are telling him to tease, torture, torment the fragile eyes staring back at him, the same ones he’d delighted in watching fill up with tears a few weeks back, the pressure of his crown slamming against the back of your tight throat entirely overwhelming you to the point of crying, tears dripping down your cheeks and mixing with your own drool pooling over the swell of his balls.
“need me to repeat myself?” you’re slow to catch up to the fact he’s speaking again, and even slower to notice the hand resting on your knee. at first, you think you’re imagining things, the feather light tracing of nails over your soft skin a mere figment of your imagination. but, no, your eyes flash down to glimpse and his hand is there, fingers dancing over your naked skin like it’s their own personal stage and he’s intending to put on the show of a lifetime. he speaks your name. “questions are meant to be answered.”
“i-” san picks the perfect time to apply pressure on you, hand gripping the flesh on the lower end of your thigh. goosebumps spring to life at the feeling of his cold ring on your damp skin. it takes a shaky breath to try compose yourself but you do eventually manage to get a reply out. “sorry... please say it again.”
“huh,” he pauses to contemplate, slowly leaning his face closer to your own, giving you all the time to pull back if you want to. you stay still and his minty breath infects your senses while the hand on your leg replaces your thigh with your face, the grip he has on it forcing blunt nails to nip at your skin. normally, you’d worry about the marks it’s going to leave behind. right now, you want him to grip tighter, dig deeper into your flesh till he’s drawing blood and licking it off your cheeks. “how the fuck do you still sound so cute begging?”
“is that,” his other hand curls around the back of you, finding a resting place on your hip. the window of opportunity you once had to pull back or run away is slammed shut the moment he tugs you a little closer, the side of your body crashing into his naked chest. “what you said earlier?”
“oh, no.” san almost sounds like he’s cooing, a mocking tone in his voice that has your thighs clenching in a way you’re sure he notices. his eye flickering down to glance at them confirms your suspicions, the smirk taking over his features the metaphorical cherry on top. “i was just talking about how i’ve still not returned the favour.”
mind blanking out on you, you stare back at him in what you can only imagine to be a dumb-founded look, mouth slightly agape and teasing your answer.
what follows, however, is a resounding silence on your end.
“c’mon, princess, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what happened the last time i got you alone.”
forget? it’s all you’ve been able to think of every time you’ve seen him since, whether he was a figure in the corner of your eye during class or making his way down the campus car-park in search of his beaten up mustang.
each time, like an old record player, your mind plays on loop the way he looked staring down at you, long legs spread enough to fit you between them, closing in on you to trap you in place each time you swallowed him a little deeper; replaying the symphony of whiny moans and airy breaths you’d pulled from him, lips swollen and red from trying too hard to hold back his cries of pleasure; reviving the memory of his vice grip on your hair, tugging at the roots to tilt you back into the perfect angle for his hips to piston into your warm mouth, meeting his own crescendo in one final pathetic whimper of your name.
a whimper that’s pushed you over the edge several times since, fingers soaked in your own sins and mouth biting down on your pillow to keep your poor sleeping roommate oblivious to your actions.
“no,” an answer escapes you alongside a shaky breath, something about the way he’s slowly trailing his fingers down your neck and the intensity he’s staring at you with hypnotising you into forgetting all about the boisterous boys and their changing-rooms chanting. “haven’t forgot.”
it’s his turn to stay quiet and you begin to wonder if he’s recalling it too, if he’s reminding himself of how easily your bodies melted together, like candle-wax meeting a flame. the question of if he’s thought about the exact scene, hands stuffed down his pants while a dull ache builds in his wrist, burns the tip of your tongue.
but his eyes burn you more.
they’re usually wide, bright, full of that bubbly nature san is known all over for. but, if what people say is true and the eyes are the mirror to one’s soul, then san’s soul must be a dark pit made up of lustful glares and hooded eyelids, resting so low his eyes almost appear shut.
“then, don’t you agree that it’s my turn to have a taste?”
it’s the question to end all questions, no time to even think of forming an answer when his fingertips are dancing over your skin so rhythmically, like a practiced choreography when they curl and wrap themselves around your neck. they rest there for a heartbeat, and then another, before you feel it begin.
the pressure is dull, at first, and you think you’re imagining it. but it grows, like a seed under the sun, blossoms into thorns squeezing around your airways, a deformed rose made from the red marks his fingers will be sure to leave behind.
you try to breath in, only for it to get caught somewhere between your lips and his tightening hold.
“you’re too fucking pretty, you know?” the hand on your hip has found a new home on your cheek, palm warm and thumb rough as he swipes it over your bottom lip. “all i can ever think about around you, even when you were drooling all over my balls.”
you want to answer, you really do. but between the hand around your throat and the heat shooting straight for your core, burning up in a puddle of arousal, you can’t. all you can do is watch the man before you, raven hair a beautiful mess just begging for some fingers to be ran through it and stare promising to ruin you in the best way possible.
the silence pleases him.
“y’know, it’s so hard to get you alone. always got someone wanting to talk to you, stealing your attention. do you even know how many stupid parties i had to attend to finally get the chance to talk to you?” san pauses, like he’s waiting for you to relay an answer, guess a number. he loosens up the grip on your neck, teasing your skin with a few soothing strokes of his slender fingers, lulling you into a state bordering insanity. “no answer, angel? or are you lost in that pretty little head again?”
“i’m,” your voice is but a whisper, raspy with your new found thirst. “trying to figure out what you want from me.”
if it’s the wrong or right thing to say, you’re soon to find out, the sharp faced boy releasing a dangerously low chuckle as he takes a hold of your chin. like a pretty doll, you move any time and any way his fingers command you to, finding yourself staring right up into his eyes, a swirl of melting caramel that reminds you of how sweet yet sultry every inch of him is. lips near touching, he refuses to break eye contact as he speaks up once more, sealing both your fates when his breath hits your face.
“then let me show you what i want.”
his mouth comes down on yours like it’s the answers to all your prayers and, yet, all your nightmares.
it excites you how easily he works his lips over your own, captivating every inch of you when he tilts his head to the right and deepens the kiss. the rhythm to his kiss is a mismatch of beats, where one moment your lips are moving in a sensual waltz, grazing tongues and dipping heads to get rid of that inch of a space remaining between your bodies, and the next moment your tongues are tangled in a tango, the kind where his teeth send blood rushing to your lips with every bite he drags over them and his hand drags shivers down your spine as it makes its way down your body.
yet it terrifies you how willingly you succumb to san’s touch, intoxicated by whatever witchcraft he currently holds over you. there’s a deadliness to the way his lips part from your own only to begin a seamless descent down your jaw and the expanse of your neck, a poisonous element to the way his hand once again finds itself clutching the meat of your thigh.
the moment his fingertips meet the bottom of your shorts, you’re wishing you’d never slipped them on in the first place, every fibre of your being growing angsty under the weight of his suddenly halted hand. it stays still for an immeasurable amount of time, grazing over the bottom of your shorts occasionally while he continues to mouth at your neck.
like mosses and the great sea, san parts your legs with little to no effort, creating a pathway for his fingers to travel further up your thigh. blunt fingernails drag up your skin, a trail of goosebumps being left behind, a visible marking of where he’s touching you.
his movements halt too soon for your liking, too much distance between his lithe fingers and your body’s very core.
“have you figured out what i want yet, pretty?” his voice is a stark difference to the usual light-hearted, almost squeak-like tone you’ve grown used to hearing from the smiley boy. right now, there’s no trace of humour in the thick rasp and there’s no time for smiling while he’s glaring down at you through hooded eyes.
something compels you to nod your head, even though you’re a little too lost in the thoughts concerning what you want, rather than what the devil incarnate by your side wants.
“you have?” the words come out in a layer of amazement, and you have to wonder if it’s because of the lie you’ve just told or the way your legs have closed in around his hand, trapping it between them. “i want to know what you want, though.”
you want his thumb to stop stroking over the flesh of your inner thigh.
you want his eyes to stop gazing down at you like you’re the perfect prey.
you want him to stop teetering your impending pleasure on a string.
you want-
“you.” is all you manage to breath out.
it seems to do the trick, however, your point getting very much across to him. a softness flickers over his features, brows unfurling and smirk curling up into a full smile for what feels like an eternity, but is actually no more than a couple of seconds before his devilish aura is back.
lips meet lips again, the desperation and force behind each stroke of his tongue against yours the same as before. san, much to your delight, seems to grow just as impatient as you’ve been since the moment he welcomed himself into the empty space next to you on the bench.
one hand still resting between your thighs, his other seizes the opportunity to drag your body closer, so close that you have no choice but to swing one leg over him and slot yourself in his lap.
there was one time, in the middle of what you’ve deemed to be the most boring lecture ever, that you had thought about what it would feel like to sit in choi san’s lap. unintentionally, of course, for how could anyone look over at him in those grey sweatpants, legs manspreading like it was nobody’s business and pen tapping away at the table in front of him, and not daydream about being perched in his lap, head resting somewhere between his shoulder and his soft hair?
you’d imagined him to be the embodiment of soft and comfortable, warm and reassuring the way he’d lazily lay an arm over your hip to make sure there’s no risk of you slipping out of your new seat. you never, for the life of you, imagined you’d feel the outline of his dick resting against your ass the first time you finally claimed your throne.
choosing to not dwell on the heavy feeling of him pressed against you, you choose instead to focus on the way his lips trail away from yours and make their descent towards the top of your chest.
his hand abandons post between your thighs and rises to the surface, where long fingers begin to pull at the straps of your red swimsuit, successfully manoeuvring the nylon material till it’s bunched around your midriff and your breasts are exposed to the damp air of the swimming hall.
with no want left to play around, he dives right in to dragging his lips down the upper swell of your left breast. you imagine he can feel the beating of your racing heart beneath the goosebump littered skin. it doesn’t take long for his tongue to enter the scene, skilfully flicking over your hardened nipple a couple times before enveloping his mouth around the bud.
one, two, three sucks and he’s moving on to your right breast. there’s no lead up, this time, simply his mouth finding delight in toying with your body while he busies his hand with your left side, thumb and pointer finger rolling and tugging and spreading the remnants of his saliva over your heated skin.
the straw that breaks the camel’s back, and has you arching your own, is the faintest pressure of his teeth biting down on you. it dances on a thin line between pleasurable and painful, exhilarating enough to make you throw your head back as a moan slips past your lips. it echoes in the empty room, replaying your own sound for both of you to hear again and again before the chain is broken by a giggle.
his giggle.
“why are,” he picks the right time to trail his fingers down your body, dragging your swimsuit with them till it sits uncomfortably tight around the top of your hipbones, skintight fabric digging into the damp skin. “you laughing?”
“has anyone ever told you how pretty your tits are?” it’s crude and heartwarming all at once, quite like the man who says it and the little smile he shoots up in your direction as he rolls his tongue over your nipple once again.
“no, i can’t say they have.” the hands that have been resting on his shoulder, grasping them in a vice grip in fear of slipping off of him and and directly onto the concrete floor, gain enough confidence for you let one slide around to the back of his neck and thread your fingertips in the back of his locks, hair as soft as you’ve always imagined it to be. “you’re the first.”
“i’ll wear that title with honour,” he seems to delight in the way you’re carding through his hair, eyes closing while he tilts his head back further into your touch. a delighted sigh follows. “has anyone ever asked you to sit on their face?”
“again, no.”
“another honourable title for me, i guess.” san’s giving you whiplash, with all this switching between being his usual goofy self and the man that minutes before was speaking profanities on how you’d looked choking on his dick. he peaks his eyes open again, slowly, adjusting to the bright lights he stares up at each time he’s doing the backstroke. when he has the nerves to smile at you, all dreamy eyed and relaxed sitting beneath your body on the bench. “now, can you please stand up and get naked so you can fuck yourself on my tongue?”
this time, it’s your laugh that echoes in the air.
“stop, i’m being serious!” he seems to whine his way through his words, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly in a way you’re certain is going to drive you insane. “i can’t go another second like this, you literally sitting on my dick, without blowing my load. and i really don’t feel like having to explain to coach kwon why my team speedos are stained in cum.”
“you’re so-” you give up on trying to find a single word to describe him, knowing there’s no word that can quite capture choi san’s essence. “okay, okay, fine, but you kind of need to let go of me for me to, y’know, stand up.”
“oh, sorry bout that.” san’s sheepish smile shouldn’t be this cute, not when it’s followed by him removing his hands from your half-naked body.
reluctant, your feet meet the ground and you stand up from his lap. he seems to move quicker than you, no hesitation to be seen as he twists his body around and lays along the bench on his back, eyes all the while watching you expectantly.
your fingers are far from as nimble as his, and there’s a shake to them, meaning you’re a lot less slick with how you pull the swimsuit off yourself. you opt for killing two birds with one stone, dragging your shorts down alongside the red suit, till both are pooled around your feet and you’re begging with every cell in your body that you look more graceful than you feel, stepping out of the leg holes.
in all honesty, you’re more embarrassed with the fact he’d watched you remove your clothes than with how you’re now stood naked, legs a little shaky and the wetness gathering between your folds you’re suddenly so much more aware of, the cool air fighting against your pulsating heat.
“well?” san speaks with expectation, legs bent at the knee while the balls of his feet rest on the edge of the bench. “are you gonna just stand there or you gonna sit on my face?”
“are you... sure you want me to?” even you feel the idiocy behind asking such a thing, when he’s laying right there with eyes full of glee and a raging boner pressed against his hip, nothing but the familiar colours of your college to stop you from seeing him all his naked glory. still, you can’t help elaborating. “i mean, the bench isn’t exactly sturdy and, i mean, what if i slip off of you?”
“y/n, are you joking? you have to be joking!” his offence is playful enough to ease a little of the hesitation inside of you. “do you see these puppies, baby? these are my mad gains from flailing my silly little arms around in a pool six days a week!”
you think this can’t be real as you watch the golden boy of the school put on a show, flexing his arms in an effort to display his muscles and voicing the most ridiculous words that not even he seems to be taking seriously, a bubble of laughter popping in every sentence.
“i’m not gonna let you slip, now hurry up!” again with the whining.
“god, you’re so desperate!”
“for you? always.”
the following minute is made up of wobbled steps and a poor attempt at amping yourself up, repeating mantra after mantra in your head that you are the sex goddess and no man is going to make you feel nervous. not even if that man has a jaw one could slice diamonds with.
he’s got a firm grasp of your thighs before you’ve even got the chance to get comfortable, legs a little shaky as you hover over his naked chest and will your knees to find grip on the bench beneath them.
“come closer, my tongue’s not that long!” san’s pulling you up, closer, all the way to where his wanton mouth awaits you. as if to give you a preview of what awaits you, the kisses from before reduced to nothing, his tongue pops out to run over the smooth of his bottom lip. you repeat the process of trying to find balance, a position in which you don’t need to worry about toppling overboard. though, with the way his finger squeeze into your thigh, you doubt you’ll have to worry about that truly happening. “comfortable?”
“as i’ll ever be.”
“all the people that would die to be in your position, and you say that?” he tsks, tongue hitting off the roof of his mouth before a blow of air hits against your folds and, though it’s faint from the distance still between his mouth and where he wants it to be, it sends a jolt of excitement up your spine. “i’ll just have to make sure i over-perform, make you more eager for next time.”
neither of you choose to dwell on the words next time.
him, too occupied with getting his first taste, tongue licking a strip up your core and coming to a stop as the tip of it bumps against your clit.
you, too busy having the air knocked out of your lungs, hand unconsciously finding safety in gripping his hair as you lurch forward momentarily, mouth falling open in a quiet gasp that echoes around and around.
“hmm, make sure you hold on tight.” you know he’s teasing you, with his words, and with his eyes, and with his mouth that seems to find enjoyment in trailing itself over your clitoral hood and up your pubic bone. “you smell mouthwatering, you know? enough to make a man go feral.”
the chance to reply never comes, not when san makes his way back down to your clit and greets it with the stroke of his flattened tongue. every tiny nerve sparks to life under his touch and you feel yourself grow wetter, a wave of warm arousal leaking out of your hole. his tongue dives down to welcome it, not allowing more than a single drop- landing on his chin- to go to waste.
you don’t even notice the lack of his grip around your left leg until you feel it: the first few seconds of his fingertips probing around your soaked cunt, coating themselves in your liquid pleasure until it’s dripping down the back of his hand.
the first finger to enter your hole is gentle, tentative to the way your body receives him, his pointer and ring finger keeping your folds spread and allowing him the full view of the middle one slowly disappearing from sight, burying itself in the warmth of your pussy. distracted, his mouth pulls back and his head meets the bench again while his eyes soak in the sight above him, flickering up to catch your reaction when another finger enters you, this time with a lot less care as it forces you open around it.
“so pretty,” he mutters the words, more to himself than to you, delighting as he witnesses you struggling to bite back a pathetic moan when his digits curl within you. he repeats the action a couple times, flicking his wrist back and forth, fingers brushing over your tight walls each time and culminating in a curl that has him pressing against the spongy-like flesh inside. “so, so pretty.”
your hips begin to rut against his hand, meeting every one of his thrusts with perfect timing that has him reaching deeper, further, better places inside of you. all the while he’s just watching and admiring the furrow in your brow and the way the swells of your breast bounce in sync with you.
your pussy clenches tighter and his fingers fight to reach deeper before spreading themselves wider in an attempt to scissor you open. he’s giving it his all, a third finger slipping in despite the dull ache setting in his wrist while he coaxes you closer and closer to the tipping point.
san takes just as easy as he gives, and it’s that fact alone that drives him to pull his hand back, fingers withdrawing from you and the pleasure you’re pursuing.
“why’d you-” you heave through heavy breaths, brain fuzzy from the unvoiced orgasm you were so close to having, every nerve ready to tingle, every muscle ready to tremble, every toe ready to curl. “stop?”
“because,” the wet smack of his fingers hitting against your clit is louder than the whimper that drops from your mouth. san hears both, however, and grins, quickly landing another smack against your engorged clit. “the goal is to make you cum on my face, not my fingers. consider them the appetiser, something to awaken your senses.”
his tongue licks in an upward motion, starting from the tip of your taint and ending at your clit, and you get deja-vu to just minutes before, when you’d first felt his tongue on your melting skin, the saliva it leaves in a trail behind it serving to cool you down. a shiver runs up your spine as he blows air onto your cunt, the pressure of it doing wonders to stimulate your clit.
“would you stop?”
“look who’s whining now.” san, despite what he says, does as you ask and puts an end what feels like unending teasing- really, it’s hardly been a minute but the pulsing of your heat and the loss of a climax leave you no room to think about something as abstract as time.
his lips make a victorious return, wrapping themselves around your clit and sucking against the pulsing nub. every so often, he delivers a couple kitten licks- ups and downs, sides to sides, figure eights- before swiftly returning to kissing your most intimate parts.
in an attempt to make your toes curl, he dips lower and teases the tips of his tongue over your entrance, wet muscle moving over wet skin and tastebuds covering themselves in your essence, till the moans echoing off the walls are indistinguishable between san’s and your own.
“you can move,” he grunts into you after a few minutes of repeated alternating between kissing your clit and tonguing at your hole. it’s muffled with the way he’s holding you down against his face and you feel his lips brush against your lower ones as he speaks. “need you to move. wanna see you use me, pretty.”
and, who are you to deny the man?
you’re hesitant at first, just like you were all those weeks ago as you sank to your knees for him. you test the waters and give a single roll of your hips. it feels good, great, especially when paired with his own efforts at dragging his tongue over you.
it takes a few more attempts, and san’s patience wearing thin to the point he resorts to grabbing a firm hold of your arse cheeks and planting you flat on his mouth, tongue flat and eyes staring up at you in a demand to move, goddamn it.
move you most certainly do, grinding down on his tongue like you’ve done many a time with different men’s cocks. it’s messy, sloppy in the way that his spit mingles with your wetness, a cocktail of fluids sliding down his throat, and painting his lips, and dribbling down his chin as he eats you like a man starved that’s alas getting a taste of the sweetest fruit.
the rhythm of your hips is thrown off when the man beneath you switches from having you grinding down onto his flattened tongue to slipping the muscle inside of your hole, thrusting it as far as up as the length of it allows him to. with every time your body comes crashing down on his mouth, the tip of his nose bumps against your clit, forcing you to angle yourself upwards to gain more of the friction.
hands find hair, lips part in unabashed moans, thighs shake with the oncoming of an orgasmic state of mind.
the moment builds too quickly, too unexpectedly, like the ghost of your stolen climax is back with a vengeance and set on ensuring there will be no denying it this time.
“s-shit,” your eyes squeeze shut, too scared to look down at his ecstasy filled eyes in fear of it being what finally tips you over the edge. “i’m gonna- ah- gonna cum.”
san pays no mind to your warning. if anything, he takes it as a challenge, an invisible timer beginning in his head and forcing him to see how quickly he can get you to unravel all over his face. he’s getting everything he asked for, your naked body a mess above him as you fuck yourself on his tongue and your hands, with minds of their own, sliding up to grab and squeeze at your tits.
he watches how the pastel blue nail polish clashes with the darkened colour of your abused nipples, fingers working to pinch, and twist, and pull at them as you lose yourself in the moment.
when you cum, it’s with rolled-back eyes and shaky thighs, his hands gripping at you tighter to steady you as you sway above him, his tongue working at coaxing you through your high.
he licks up every drop of cum he can manage, until you’re cringing in overstimulation and reaching down to push him away. he let’s you move him, mouth moving to trail a couple kisses over your inner thigh, something akin to lipstick stains- yet so much dirtier in nature- being left behind on your soft flesh.
“told you i wouldn’t let you fall,” he’s the first to speak, partly because he correctly thinks you’re incapable of forming anything coherent in the afterglow of your orgasm, but mostly because he wants- no, needs to hear you praise him.
needs to hear you praise him like he’d done for you that night, eyes still hooded and chest visibly heaving as he finished processing watching you swallow every spurt of hot cum he’d shot down your throat. the praise never comes.
well, at least not from you.
at first he thinks he’s imagining the sound of clapping. it’s slow, and booming, and tinted with the slightest hint of sarcasm. it grows louder though, far too loud for it to just be in his imagination. the stilling of your body, going rigid as you fall back onto his chest, the sticky remnants of your orgasm cold against his heated skin, confirms that you hear the clapping too.
“bravo, choi. always thought your reputation with the ladies was a little overhyped, but i stand corrected.”
never has he hated the sight of park seonghwa so much, not even in the times they’ve been head-to-head in the final lap and the older male’s offensively bright swim-cap is all san can see every time he twists his head to catch a breath of air.
the three swimmers stand on the opposite end of the swimming pool, all in various stages of undress.
there’s wooyoung, who looks like he’s not so much as dried himself with a towel, still dressed in his team swimwear. and yunho, who’s got a towel wrapped around his waist messily, hair damp against his forehead and likely smelling of the cheap shampoo provided in the locker-room showers. lastly, seonghwa, who’s seemingly fully dressed spar for one of those irritating long coats san always sees him trailing around campus in.
one look into your panicked eyes is enough for san to spring into action, fumbling to sit himself up and pull your body flush against his, facing your naked back in the direction of his rivals.
he bites back a groan as you shift in his lap, unknowingly- or maybe you do know- pressing your soaked centre against his erection, which already strains inside the confines of the nylon material, leaving very little to the imagination.
“do you mind?” he’s glad the words come out clearly, booming across the pool at them and their unwavering staring.
“not at all.”
san holds you tighter against him, eyeing at your discarded swimsuit on the floor as he listens to a shuffle of footsteps. assuming the three men have made their way back into the locker-room, he’s speechless when he looks up to find them approaching the bench, seonghwa leading the trio with a secure grip on the back of wooyoung’s neck, whose eyes can’t seem to leave the floor, while yunho trails a little behind them, one hand grasping onto the towel around him.
“get your hands off her!” he leans back, pulling you with him, in an attempt to stray out of seonghwa’s reach as he extends his hand out. he fails, however, and the tips of seonghwa’s elongated fingers brush over your shoulder.
a shiver runs down you, one that san feels, the unexpected touch tickling your nerves.
“she’s a grown up,” the eldest of the men muses as he builds a rhythm out of how his fingers soother over your sweat slicked skin. “who i’m sure can speak for herself if she wants my hands off her.”
out of all the men, seonghwa has always been the one san despised most. between the constant boasting of wealth- money he acquired through labor, though not the working kind- and the disrespect he’s never had a problem showing towards others, he never fails to strike a nerve, awakening a dark part of san’s brain that activates his fight or flight response. by far, however, his arrogance is the worst, that sense of entitlement that drives him to think everything and everyone is a piece of clay for him to mold and manipulate till they fit his ideal shape.
the rich boy’s hand smoothes over your naked shoulder and san can’t resist glaring up at him.
“c’mon san, now’s hardly the time to be modest,” behind the oldest swimmer, yunho and wooyoung seem to be battling an inner conflict, yunho fighting to keep his towel in place and wooyoung fighting to keep the shame off his face while his dick visibly strains against the confines of his chlorine-covered swimwear. “not after the show you two just put on.”
“we didn’t,” it’s the first time you manage to speak since covering san’s tongue in your cum, breathing at last steady and face hidden from everyone’s view, much to san’s despair. “know you were watching.”
“and, if you had known, would you have stopped?” yunho is the one asking the question and, suddenly, san’s so much more aware of what exactly he’s hiding underneath his towel.
you give no answer.
“of course she wouldn’t,” seonghwa answers for you, hand moving to grasp the back of your neck. with no warning, he grips a little too tight for comfort and and yanks you backwards, till you’re staring right into san’s eyes and the only thing keeping you perched in his lap is seonghwa’s body pressed flat against yours. “there’s nothing a whore loves more than an audience, right?”
if put on trial in a court of law and sworn to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, over whether or not you’d just clenched around nothing at park seonghwa’s degrading name, you’d plead that you never did such a thing.
you’d be found guilty.
“poor woo nearly came untouched just watching you two. isn’t that right?” the eldest turns to stare back at where you imagine wooyoung to be. “pretty boy nearly whined just at the thought of being in san’s position, a mouth full of cunt and someone using him like the fuck-toy he is.”
the air grows thick, between you, and san, and every other living being in the room. it feels like the walls are closing in on themselves with every second that passes, the sweat dripping down your back and coming to a rest between your arse cheeks evidence that the space is heating up. or maybe it’s just your body, hardly processing the high it’s just come down from and there’s already another source for a new-found arousal, a source in the shape of three muscular men stood behind you and one beneath you, eyes wary as he gazes into your own, like he wants to ask if you’re okay but all the blood is too busy circulating in his crotch for his brain to be productive.
“now, i hardly think it’s very nice of you to get our wooyoung all riled up and not even offer to help him out.” you decide you’re being lulled into a false sense of safety the second you feel the pressure of seonghwa’s hand leave your skin. behind you, there’s a shuffling of footsteps that call you to crane your neck and catch a glimpse of what exactly is going on but san’s eyes beg you to keep staring into his, to count the galaxies that dance within them while he grips at your waist. “so the chance to offer is off the table and you’re simply going to do as told. doesn’t that sound easier, hmm? no having to make pesky decisions, just spread those legs and follow orders.”
at last, you get your first glimpse at jung wooyoung.
he sits down on the bench, no more than a breath of space between where you and san are perched. he’s a vision in himself, shoulders hunched and embarrassed face the same shade of red as the tip of his cock, an angry looking bulbous head poking out the top of far-too-tight speedos.
san’s grip tightens the longer you stare at the other boy, gaze dancing over the shape of his body and mouth-watering as, for the first time, you see the appeal of jung wooyoung. never before have you understood why eyes follow him in the hallways, like he’s more than just another pretty boy on campus- something that’s in abundance. but you see it now, understand the appeal of his stand-out nose; and the veins that run down his arms; and floppy style to his hair, that seems to be calling out to have your fingers running through it.
with no prior warning, the grip on your hips tightens even more, till san is digging crescents into the soft skin and he’s lifting you, off of his lap and right into wooyoung’s.
the usually boisterous boy’s eyes meet yours, no longer filled with that spark of defiance and, instead, glazed over in tears, a quiet pleading being exchanged between you.
only, you’re unsure what he’s begging of you.
“are you going to just sit there,” seonghwa speaks up, boredom in his tone that has you picturing him rolling his eyes and picking at his manicured nails. “or are you going to help the poor pup cum?”
“what?!” that certainly helps you find your voice, and the guts to turn around and look at the man.
you find him stood closer than you imagined, with tailored trousers hugging his thighs and a perfectly ironed shirt tucked into them, the last few messy buttons the only indication he’d rushed to dress himself. eyes looking past him, you find more of a friendly aura in yunho, who, despite fighting a battle against the towel wrapped around his figure, manages to shoot a smile at you.
and then there’s san, who stands with muscled arms crossed over his chest and a painfully obvious boner resting in the confines of his swimwear, though he’s done a better job at keeping himself concealed than the boy beneath you. his face appears indifferent, yet the twitch in his eye speaks of a tamed anger, a frustration he’s yet to unleash on the men who’d interrupted him amidst his feast.
“are you now deaf along with being dumb or something?” the eldest pulls your attention back to him with little effort, a smirk meeting the glare you shoot his way. “you made that brat hard, now do your job and fix the mess you’ve made.”
words of protest get lost in a surprised gasp as the boy in question takes your hand in his, veiny hand guiding you down to a veiny shaft. wooyoung wraps both of your fingers over his leaking cock, his holding yours in place around him while he ruts his hips up once, twice into your hold, the action sending his swimwear even further down the his length and exposing nearly the full sight of it to the swimming hall.
you don’t mean to compare, yet you’re incapable of ignoring the fact that while wooyoung may be on the slightly shorter side compared to san, he’s certainly leading in the thickness department, with a mushroomed head and the prettiest trail of trimmed hairs leading down his pelvis.
he guides you over his shaft a number of times, a little less shy now as he outwardly whines when your thumb runs over his tip, wiping away the fat bead of precum resting upon it. at some point, he moves his hand away, needing both of his free to lean back on the bench, yet yours keeps moving at it’s own volition, stroking him in a pattern of threes, interrupting every trio with a swipe over his tip or a fondle of his still-concealed balls.
“please,” the whine in his voice is so unlike the jung wooyoung you’ve watched week after week, hurling abuse and echoing boasts of his own talents while keeping himself afloat in the swimming pool.
“he asked nicely.” you’d just about forgotten about everyone else in the room, until seonghwa’s irritatingly unbothered voice serves to remind you of his presence. “rule number one: good behaviour is rewarded.”
“what do i,” you interrupt your own question to glance over wooyoung once more. “do?” you pinch your thigh, skin stinging as nails bite it, and confirm with yourself that this is not a dream but, in fact, very much real.
jung wooyoung is hard and begging you to do something.
“i don’t care how you do it, just put one of your holes to good use for once and make him cum.”
there’s still an echo of seonghwa’s voice by the time you successfully manage to rid wooyoung of his swimwear, the damp fabric clinging to the warm skin and the taut muscles of his thighs. the boy isn’t much help either, seemingly reduced to nothing but a writhing, panting mess instead of someone competent enough to raise himself off the bench just enough for you to undress him.
the sight is mesmerising, one you’re certain will remain ingrained in your memory till the day you die: wooyoung, disheveled and untouched, with his achingly hard cock pressed flat against his lower stomach, his swimmer-thighs spread with a set of balls between them that you find yourself near salivating over as a trickle of his own precum runs down them.
“your cock’s...” you begin to speak, yet trail off as your digits wrap themselves around his shaft, just to delight in the way his breath jumps when you drag your hand upwards and give a soft squeeze as you reach the head. “so pretty, woo.”
“youngie.” seonghwa cuts in from behind you. “he prefers to be called youngie when he’s getting his cock teased.”
“yeah, youngie?” you try it out.
instantly, he nods and something akin to a whimper flies out of him.
fascinated by his shaky breaths and his pretty chest, where warm, tanned skin appears to be near glowing under the swimming halls bright lights as his cheeks flush a palette full of reds and pinks, your eyes are completely fixed on him. there’s something vulnerable and breakable about the way he’s looking at your with the widest of eyes, his eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip receiving countless abuse from his teeth.
never have you been so desperate to push someone past their own limits.
officially running on nothing but pure instincts, you close your mind off to thoughts, like how the boy you’d spent weeks avoiding and missing is stood only metres away, witnessing the way the tip of your finger teases over the slit of his sport rival’s cock. or like how park seonghwa, perhaps the campus’ most infamous trust-fund baby, seems to have complete control of the situation at hand, yourself and jung wooyoung nothing but idolised dolls he’s moving into whatever obscene position he wants you in.
instead, you focus on how wooyoung’s eyes roll back and he lets out a gasp when you gather up fluids from within your salivating mouth and part your own lips, watching how your own spit drips onto his lower stomach, and your hand, and his painfully hard cock.
the saliva serves not only as a visual pleasure, something that’s awakening inside of you at the sight of it leaving you with whole new kind of excitement bubbling along your body, but as a physical pleasure for wooyoung, who seems to have no protest to how much easier it is to slide your hand up his length with the added lubrication of your own spit.
“fuck...” he curses under his breath and his hands find purchase on your body, one gripping your hip while the other grabs at your forehand, like he’s scared you’ll release the grip you have on him and strip away the sweet release of friction. “don’t just focus on the tip- shit, ah- play with my balls too.”
“wooyoung!” ready to oblige, ready to give the pretty faced boy anything he demanded of you, you’ve no time to think of a reply before the ringmaster of this circus reminds you of his overlooking presence behind your back. “stop speaking like an ungrateful brat and take what you’re given. or else... well, i’m sure you don’t need reminding of what happens to pups that misbehave.”
the way jung wooyoung’s whole body grows rigid beneath you, paired with the countless times park seonghwa has butted in to speak on the boy’s sexual preferences, leaves you with the sense that the two are not only acquainted with how each other’s bodies move underwater..
“s-sorry,” this is not the voice of boastful jung wooyoung, who near bounces down the college halls and airdrops nudes in class because he’s bored. this is a voice that’s soft and meek. like a beady-eyed puppy, so quick to submit to it’s owner. “just feels too good. i’m sorry”
“yeah, you will be sorry.” seonghwa’s hand is cold against your back and it lulls a shiver out of you as fingers trickle down your spine like water off a duck’s wings. part of you hates him for stealing wooyoung’s attention off of you just as you were beginning to revel in it, a larger part of you wants to know why the sternness in his voice is enough to have your clit aching to be touched. “spitfire, be a good cocksleave and sit on his dick.”
“ok, stop!” a sense of shame comes over you when it takes hearing san’s outburst to remember the fact he’s watching the scene unfold. “don’t you think you’re taking this too far now, park seonghwa? i know you and wooyoung have your... agreement on how you treat each other, but don’t drag someone else into it. not when she never even asked for this.”
“you had your tongue tasting the eighth wonder of the world on that bench twenty minutes ago, both of you knowing there was a chance you’d be caught, and you want to tell me no one was asking for this?”
“that was private! you guys are the ones who-”
“there’s no such thing as privacy in a public area. besides, it’s hardly like she’s not enjoying this. if anything, i think spitfire doesn’t like the way you’re getting in the way of her teaching youngie a lesson in obedience.” you’re naive to think no one would notice the way you’ve began to grind down on wooyoung’s cock, stealing whimpers out of him as the soaked lips of your pussy rubbed up against him and holding back your own moans each time his tip meets the bundle of nerves that make up your clit. “choi, if you’re that much of a pissy pants that can’t enjoy himself even just this once in life, then feel free to leave. i’m sure the four of us will be too occupied to notice your absence.”
you’re not paying close enough attention to figure out if san’s newfound silence is due to his departure, or if he’s simply too stunned to speak, your eyes focused on nothing and no one but the boy at your mercy.
the initial burn of wooyoung breaching your entry reminds you of how long it’s been since you’d been stretched open by something other than someone’s cold fingers or wagging tongue. it’s been more or less three long months of juggling test after test, assignments piling up on your desktop and a relationship with your now ex-boyfriend being tossed completely into the gutter.
not once had you thought your return to the world of sexual bliss would be in front of an audience, much less at the very place you work.
doubting that it’s been as long for him as it has for you, wooyoung still spares nothing when it comes to reacting to your touch. with eyes squeezing shut, head rolling back, abdomen muscles flexing along side every shaken intake of breath, the boy puts on a show so pornographic it puts the professionals to shame. a whine exits his lips, lips that carry marks of his own teeth and look like they’re in need of a healthy dose of chapstick, and look so disgustingly kissable that your own tingle at the thought.
all those rumours of jung wooyoung being a camboy rush to the forefront of your mind, feeling truer than ever when your eyes take in the bob of his adam’s apple, and the perfectly timed run of his tongue over his lower lip, and the pretty way in which the prominent veins in his hands looks as he clamps his grip down on your hips.
he’s a sight worth paying for.
“are you okay?” not the first thing you’d imagined saying after sinking all the way down on his cock, the need to check up on him taking over before you’d even noticed it’s existence.
“yeah...” he sighs his way through the word, eyes still closed and grip still very much tight on your skin, blunt fingertips likely leaving crescent moons you’ll find yourself staring at for days to come, memories of this moment replaying in a rose-tinted haze. “just need a second, you- you feel good, fuck me.”
“i’m kinda already doing that, youngie.” you giggle, like a lovesick adolescent speaking to their crush of the week, but the boy’s instant smile upon hearing it puts out the fire of shame building in the pit of your stomach.
“hmm,” he hums back, acknowledging your words without giving you the satisfaction of hearing him tell you how you’re correct. “are you okay?”
wooyoung flips the question on you and it parallels with the way he pulls the rains in physically, lithe hips thrusting upwards in search of feeling more, reaching deeper inside of you. in the back of your mind you already picture a look of displeasure on park seonghwa’s face, scowling lips loading up to berate you and demand you take repossession of jung wooyoung’s sanity.
“yeah, i’m-” with the eldest man in mind, you stop and compose yourself, as well as you can while wooyoung’s mouthing at your neck, your collarbones, the tops of your breasts. “i’m wondering who told you you were allowed to touch me?”
control is easily regained, all it takes is your hand squeezing around jung wooyoung’s throat and your soaked walls clenching around his aching cock and he’s melting like ice cream on a warm summer’s day, leaving behind a sticky mess.
satisfaction and pleasure come crashing in tandem, wave after wave moving in motion with each lethargic roll of your body against the swimmer’s, who seems to be a quicker learner than you’d believed him to be, hands flying off your body like it was made up of hot stones and, instead, now holding a firm and grounding grip of the bench beneath you both.
“harder.” you feel a hint of emotion within park seonghwa’s voice this time he speaks. it’s fleeting, and hard to make out quite what feeling it is he’s experiencing, but it’s there and it’s certainly a step up from the usual shameless, egotistical, megalomaniac tone he takes on. “squeeze his throat tighter.”
under the possession of his commanding tone, you find yourself caving into his command, fingers pressing a little harder into wooyoung’s warm skin. the boy gulps down whatever pride he has and delivers a pleasured whine. you grind down harder and an evil, twisted part of you you’ve never met before longs to laugh at the way he so desperately is struggling to keep his composure, fighting back the urge to meet your hips with his own upward thrusts.
so, you do.
“hear that, youngie?” seonghwa’s voice becomes less grating each time you hear it, once an unwelcome and intrusive thought but now a second voice and a valued player in a game of wreck the wooyoung. “you’re being laughed at. isn’t that just pathetic?”
“y-yes, fuck-” he falls victim to your walls clenching around him, gripping his cock in a vice grip. the image of confidence withers away so easily to reveal a teary-eyed, pretty-faced, cum-desperate man. “i’m pathetic.”
“yeah, you are.” seonghwa circles his way around the rocking bench, no longer out of view hidden behind your back but, instead, staring you down with piercing eyes that cut through you like a knife to hot butter. “he’s getting close. never lasts long, really, even seen him cum untouched just from giving me head. but that’s okay, isn’t it youngie? you’re a slut for having your sack drained, huh?”
the swimmer beneath you has never looked redder than he does right now, secrets of his sexual nature getting exposed to the people he likely considers his biggest athletic competition. though you probably should, you don’t push him away when his face finds safety in the crook of your neck, parted lips covering your burning skin in sticky drool.
“don’t let him fool you guys, he’s into the degrading nature of it all. trust me.” you wonder if it should concern you the way seonghwa speaks about jung wooyoung as though he’s nothing but a pet, a possession of which he just so happens to have complete control over. you’re more concerned with the fact it excites you. “call him a good boy, i dare you.”
the words haven’t even formed in your throat and the boy between your thighs is gripping onto your waist a little tighter, lips near pouting and eyes screwed shut in uncontrollable pleasure, burning down his spine and threatening to push him over the edge of sexual bliss.
you consider having mercy, the inexperienced side of you thinking the boy looks like he’s full of shame and embarrassment. the throbbing of his rock hard cock repeatedly stuffing your aching cunt reminds you he’s getting off on the humiliation.
“is he a good boy, though?” you stare up at park seonghwa, not even sparing a whimpering wooyoung any attention as he begins a rambled protest to defend his good behaviour. “i mean, i don’t remember telling him he could touch me. do you, hwa?”
the hands that grip you tightly let go quick, like your skin were an unexpectedly warm stove, scorching his skin right off him.
“i don’t remember either,” the eldest’s agreement has you reeling in a way you never expected, filling you with a new found sense of control.
a control that is ripped away far too quickly, like park seonghwa sensed you growing falsely confident over the situation at hand.
like a shark circling it’s prey, the tall man makes his way back around the bench, each fall of his shoe-covered feet echoing in the quiet swim hall. click, click, click, and he’s right at your back, not a word uttered as the soft of his palm lands on the nape of your neck. achingly slow does it travel down the expanse of your back, not a single noise filling the space other than the rise and fall of your body on top of wooyoung’s and the same boy’s poorly contained moans and mewls of pleasure.
the silence is interrupted by your own shocked gasp, mouth falling agape in shock as your movements come to a complete halt. his hands, no longer soft and delicate, grip you in an iron-tight hold, fingers greedy as they dig into your meaty flesh with no mercy or regard for the pain it may inflict on you.
“no, get up,” like a switch was flipped in as little as a minute, park seonghwa’s voice has lost all sense of the excitement it had whilst he spoke on jung wooyoung’s dirty endeavours and has returned back to the cold, callous, commanding tone it had originally.
he sounds angry, feels angry in the way the fingers of his free hand tangle themselves in the hair at the back of your head and give a harsh tug, forcing your head back till you’re met with his scowling face and perfectly groomed hair, even in it’s dampened state it seems to frame his face perfectly.
“what?” you babble out, dumbstruck, much like the desperate boy beneath you who’s began to mutter apology after apology between pleadings of please no don’t do this and i promise i’ll behave, i’ll keep my hands to myself.
none of it works.
“you heard me. get. up.” the fingers on your waist tug, pull, drag you away from the quivering mess that has become of jung wooyoung, who near sobs as the cool air hits his now painfully hard cock, tip redder than the bottom of your favourite heels and a vein more prominent under his sensitive skin than the ones on his muscular arms. you’re not given much of a chance to process what’s happening before seonghwa speaks again. “wooyoung, up, now. you’re not getting to cum, so get off the bench and make room for someone else.”
the boy makes no further attempt to protest, cheeks painted pink in shame and chest shining with sweat as he shakily rises to his feet, head hung low when you watch him walk out of your line of sight.
then, your knees meet the floor.
park seonghwa chuckles as you go down, hands finding grip in your hair and forcing you to sit up right. heart beating faster, your mind begins to race with questions of what comes next, who comes next.
what dirty desires are about to be unveiled within you, forced into the unforgiving fluorescent lights of the swimming hall?
“jeong, you’re up,” seonghwa’s knee digs into your back and his fingers tug until your scalp begins to sting a little. you don’t want to like it but, in life, you don’t always get what you want.
there’s a series of shuffles behind you, followed by heavy footsteps. there’s no rush, yet no hesitation, just calm and collected footsteps of someone making their way over to do god knows what with you.
when jeong yunho, with his towel that’s looking a lot tighter around his crotch still around his waist, steps into frame, an inexplicable sense of comfort washes over you.
maybe it’s the way he smiles down at you, or the fact his hands brush seonghwa’s off of you, or the way his fingers take a hold of your chin once he’s seated in front of you.
maybe it’s just the fact he’s jeong yunho, campus himbo with a reputation for walking girls home at night just to make sure they’re safe and for singing britney spears with no shame each time the karaoke mic gets passed around.
whatever it is, it’s turning you on.
your knees are burning with fresh pain as park seonghwa shoves you closer to the mammoth of a man and you can’t help but swallow down the ball of anxiety growing in your throat.
everything about jeong yunho’s demeanour has always seemed large, with powerful arms that drag his body through the weight of water and large hands that effortlessly carry countless textbooks through the university halls; a tall frame that helps him stand out in any crowd and a personality loud enough to set off alarms; his thighs a muscular stairway leading up to a well rounded, remarkably defined posterior. it’s safe to say he’s carried a reputation for some time, one that consists of whispers between girls on campus who recount just how well endowed he really is. 7 inches, 9 inches, 12 inches, you’ve heard it all, each girl claiming it to be bigger than the last.
unfortunately, there’s no ruler at your disposal to uncover the truth of the rumours, but you confirm he’s certainly large as you watch him undo the towel. larger than you’ve ever seen before, with a thickness to match, and two heavy looking balls decorating the base.
he wraps a hand around it and you watch how he gives a light squeeze at the head, slowly sliding down the length of it till he reaches the tuft of groomed hairs on his pelvic bone. one of his hands alone holds half of his cock, leaving you almost certain you’d need to use both hands on him.
“d’you want it, sweetheart?” his words are teasing but his voice is soft, a complete one-eighty to the verbal berating you’ve been receiving- and enjoying- from park seonghwa.
you’re sure he notices the way you clench your thighs as he slaps his cock once, then twice against his stomach, the precum leaking out on to his tanned skinned.
there’s an itch inside your throat, one you imagine only he can scratch.
“you wanna taste it?” he’s still speaking to you through the arousal that fogs over your brain, commanding your tongue to swipe over your bottom lip as you burn your gaze at the glistening liquid on his warm skin, tastebuds aching to have him paint them in white.
you nod your head.
his own throws itself back, a chuckle rupturing out of his chest as he continues to tease himself with his hand.
“fuck, yeah, bet you can’t wait to taste my cock, feel it stab the back of your tight throat.” a smile should never look so sweet while it’s part of the same mouth spewing out such filth. somehow, jeong yunho makes it work. “gonna get it nice and wet for me, yeah? make it sloppy, i love it when a pretty thing like you gets all messy over my cock.”
the knee that’s suddenly digging it’s way into your back has no mercy. you wince, pull in a sharp breath and inch just that little bit closer to the bench. like a glove fits a hand, you slip right in between the muscled tree trunks that make up jeong yunho’s thighs.
you wonder, if only momentarily, what sweet a death it would be to be crushed between them, taut muscles constricting the flow of air to your lungs like a boa with its prey.
but there’s a far more preferable way to be choked by the man before you, body carved out in such definition you fear michael angelo himself stands in admiration of it.
his hand snakes its way around your body, warm and heavy and imposing with the grip it settles for at the base of your neck. in spite of the sharp stab coming from behind- where you have no doubt one park seonghwa stands with disgruntled impatience written all over his irritatingly perfect face- there is no doubt in your mind that the man in front of you holds the reigns. with eyes of honey and lips of velvet, he peers down at you with a tendered expression, saying nothing yet everything with the gentle, repeated sooth of his thumb over your skin.
you need no verbal instructions this time around.
a hand grips the base of him as the other squeezes the flesh of your own thigh, piercing your skin with just enough pressure to assure you this is the reality you find yourself in, rather than some twisted, substance influenced dream.
the first taste is the sweetest, tongue a missionary sent into the foreign land of his body to discover the way he reacts as you drag it over the tip. he gives nothing but a squeeze to the back of your neck; and that crumbles you under his control.
with a few more kitten licks- for good luck, if anything,- the show begins with the parting of your lips, the widening of your mouth, the burning of your skin as you struggle with your ability to swallow him whole. you make it no further than a third of his length before he’s tugging gently on your roots and bringing you back to the surface of existence.
“breathe, okay,” his voice is gentle, calming your nerves yet sending your heart into a fit of patternless beats. “inhale, exhale, got it? through the nose, that’s gonna help you relax.”
doing as he says, you swallow three whole breaths. shaky, ragged, each feeling hollow in your chest in comparison to the weight of his cock on your tongue.
“pretty girl,” he practically coos, hand cupping your chin as his thumb smoothes over the swell of your bottom lip. it’s tender, sweet, and almost enough to make you forget the sight of his engorged cock that sits angrily between his tree-trunk shaped thighs, crying out for the return of your mouth’s affection. “someone’s gotta teach you to not be greedy, hmm? small little mouth of yours is no fit for me, don’t go choking on it.”
heat flashes between your thighs, your heartbeat dropping right down to your clit and leaving you with a burning ache, the kind only a gentleman like this could soothe. your fingers may have to do, however, if the stubborn arsehole behind you would be so kind as to let you enjoy yourself.
the way park seonghwa curls his hand round the front of your neck and flexes his nimble fingers- that goddamn family heirloom ring a punishing cold to your warm skin, near brandishing you as touched by some nepotism child- when you do so little as clench your thighs together to relieve the pressure, or lack-there-of, between your thighs tells you he’ll grant you no such fun.
“you’d need to have something big enough for her to choke on,” san, precious san. still here, still somewhere beneath this god-forsaken tin-can roof swimming pool, watching you bruise your knees and your ego for another man, another one of his team-mates. what must he think of you? has he lost whatever respect he may have had? does he think he’d been just another body to exchange fluids with, that night at the party? if you could just see his face, you’d not need to wonder all these things. his eyes, they always give him away, too earnest and pure for his own good.
“shut it, choi,” yunho’s bark isn’t half as loud as seonghwa’s booming commands have been, and are nowhere near as malignant. if anything, the gentle giant is humoured by his team-mate’s words, as if he knows they’re a preposterous thing to say about him. then again, you can’t imagine any man remaining humble about themselves if they were so well-endowed. “or do you wanna crack out the measuring tape again and remind yourself of just how much of me there is to choke on?”
silence.
it takes a few moments for the spotlight to return to you, a gradual shift from playful to lust driven energy encapsulating the broad frame of the man before. he cups your cheek, feather-light touch smoothing over your skin while his eyes burrow daggers into your soul.
why must his shoulders be so wide? it almost angers you as much as it sends a wave of heat between your legs.
almost, but not quite.
“‘s cute,” he half mumbles, distracted by the sight you paint below him on your knees, bruises already forming and thighs clenching for some relief of pressure. “your little pussy’s all wet just from having my cock in your mouth.”
“i think you’re forgetting she was bouncing on woo’s dick a few minutes ago, yunho,” the devil on your shoulder won’t let you rest, hand snaking through the threads of your hair and tugging on your roots. not enough to hurt, just enough to sting. “have some modesty.”
“sure, let’s act like i’m not the one who had her cumming all over my face a while ago.” san mumbles a string of words you wish you could unhear, face heating up as the shame burns through your bloodstream.
how had you gotten here?
you’re allowed no such freedom to ponder over previous actions as jeong yunho’s all encompassing frame works to remind you of where you find yourself: on your knees dressed in nothing but your own shame- shame which seems to slip off of you, piece by piece, baring you shamelessly to this pack of wolf-eyed boys’ for their eyes to feast upon.
strong, veiny hands reach out and drag you forwards, just an inch yet it’s all you need to feel the weight of park seonghwa’s domineering figure float off of you, rendering you under the control of this much larger, far smilier looking man. “eyes on me, okay? don’t wanna miss the way i’m about to make them roll back.”
there begins a game of push and pull, where jeong yunho pushes you closer and closer to his evident arousal, all the while teasing you as he pulls his hips back, keeping your waiting mouth open and empty, and oh-so frustrated at the feeling of being so close yet so far away from his dripping tip.
the first real taste you get of him does, in fact, nearly have your eyes rolling back. a kitten lick, barely there yet fully felt, running over the underside of his cock, a taste of salted skin, and musky sweat, and stale chlorine mixing in with the warmth of him flooding your senses. his reaction is no more composed than yours, blatantly parting his lips in a gasp and bucking his hips up, forwards, any direction they need follow to chase after your mouth.
happy to comply, you take pride in tasting him a second time, this time right over the growing drop of pre-cum pebbling on his tip. white flashes behind your closing eyes as his grip in your hair tightens, a pulse of heat firing straight down your spine as your mind floods with images of what it must be like to watch this man, this gentleman, this figure that so wholly encompasses what it means to be a himbo in this day and age lose his cool and revolt into his most carnal, basal instincts to take whatever pleasure he needs from you with a reckless abandon, burrow his throbbing cock down your throat till the beat of his heart takes over your own.
instead, you settle for wrapping your lips around him, at last, and letting him guide you just that little bit down his length. the weight of him feels nice, a strange sense of comfort birthing in your bones as you grow used to feel of him taking up your palate. his breaths seem to run in tandem with the inches he sinks deep between your parted lips.
a deep breath, he lowers you further, till your left cheek begins to bulge out.
tongue pinned to the floor of your mouth, you make use of it as best you can, rolling it over the bottom of his shaft and earning yourself a plethora of gratifying sounds, each deep and desperate and crooning straight out of jeong yunho’s broad chest.
another deep breath, another inch.
for all the false dominance you wield over the situation, with the heat of your mouth and spill of your own saliva slickening his cock, his real and visceral dominance doubles it by tenfold, with a hand on the back of your neck, guiding your every move, and a knowing, gentle look cast downwards at you from where he sits propped on the bench, thighs a heavy mass to case your body between. a silly little voice in your head whispers a seductive tale of how easily this man could get you in a headlock and suffocate your fragile windpipes. a wave of heat, this one going right down to your core and forcing you to pay attention to it, shifting awkwardly and clenching the muscles in your own legs in hopes of getting some pitiful amount of pressure.
all breathing stops as he hits the back of your throat.
hands pulling tight, a biting pain ripping through your hair and a tired gag creeping out of your constricting throat, yunho holds you still and strong, as unmoving as the mountains that fill the horizon from your bedroom window.
he’s not even fully in, an arguably obscene amount of him still awaiting some form of attention beyond the spill of the spit filling up your mouth. but there’s nowhere for it to go, not within your mouth at least, and so you manoeuvre your hand up and grip the neglected inches, the tip of your pinkie teasingly brushing over the swell of his balls.
he lurches forward, gasping in a breath of air at last. “fucking christ- shit,” he grits his teeth. “her mouth’s warm.”
“well, obviously. this your first time getting a blowjob or something, jeong?” god, the reminder of seonghwa being here, somewhere behind you, fox eyes judging your every move and keeping his cool, no matter how hard you’d seen his cock straining in those ridiculous pant-suit trousers he sports. it’s sickening.
“yeah, yunho, watch out before you have a repeat of 2019.”
if the taller jeong wants to snap at the other, you never find out, instead dedicating yourself to the glory of worshipping him between your parted lips and tight throat, jaw ready to lock itself in place so long as it keeps him inside.
you treat him differently than you’d treated san that night. you’d been tipsy then, buzzing off the colourful shots of who-knows-what you’d been conned into downing a half hours before, mind hazy as you kneeled between him and teased your tongue over every crevice of him it could reach, dripping him in drool and working an ache into your overused tongue by the time you got watched him spill over the edge of ecstasy. that wasn’t even about san’s pleasure, no real care put into getting him off, your own selfish need to indulge in the pleasure of feeling, tasting, worshipping him taking precedence.
but, right now, you’re overwhelmingly sober, mind hazed only by a cloud of inexplicable lust that rolled in the moment san shot you his stupid smile, and you care about making jeong yunho cum. in fact, it’s the only thing on your mind as you bob your head up and down, letting his own hand guide your pace.
“shh, shh,” he’s hushing your own struggles for breath and carding his fingers through the tresses of your hair, his legs clamping down on either side of you, pinning you in your rightful place. “taking it so good, baby. so fucking good.”
good’s not good enough.
you want to leave him mind-blown, exhausted, unhinged. you want him clenching his jaw, and baring his teeth, and stuttering over any praise he tries to give you. in fact, you need it, need that thrill-driven lust of collapsing the sanity of a man as broad and strong and capable as him.
so you pick up the pace, fight against the steady up-and-down of his grip and try to take just that little bit more of him in your mouth and down your throat, till you’ve no doubt there’s a visible bulge of where he sits down your windpipe. you think back on what he said- i love it when a pretty thing like you gets all messy over my cock- and work towards doing just that, mouth a fountain of over-flowing spit that paints lines down your chin and over his heavy balls. the hand at his base lightly drags the tips of its nails over his burning skin and you physically feel the way his cock jumps in your mouth, head twitching as his hips involuntarily jolt forwards.
eyes as wide as a deer in headlights, you glance up to stare into his own, only to find they’re rolling back in his head, too caught up in the headiness of having your mouth on him to visually focus. it’s erotic, tracing your eyes over the protruding vein in his neck and the unrhythmic heaving of his chest- like every breath he pulls is a rare gift and a miracle- and the straining of his muscled thighs that hold back his urge to buck freely into your mouth, use you as nothing but a hole to get himself off with.
your free hand stakes claim over your own sexual frustration, nimble fingers rubbing tight, slow circles over your clit in an attempt to just ease that heat burning you from the inside out.
“she’s touching herself, jeong,” not even the irritating, grating voice of park seonghwa’s unwanted commentary can take away the kick you’re getting out of working this man into a frenzy. “are you just going to let her, without your permiss-”
“shut up, park,” yunho is wrecked, voice divulging so far from that loud, boyish charm into a dark, broken sort of gruffed out thing, echoing straight out of his chest. but, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t listen to the other man, doesn’t force his eyes open to glance down in a hazed daze to witness your pathetic attempts to work your fingers over yourself.
only, he doesn’t tell you to stop.
he just... watches. and then smiles, squeezes out what can only be described as a broken whine, and tilts his head back once more, relinquishing all control of his body over to you. the scene divulging into a chorus of mumbled words, fuck and please and yes becoming the only word yunho knows, the only three you hear.
only as he cums does jeong yunho regain that bit of self-control he’s lost, ripping your mouth off him- a stuttered mumble of i wanna paint that pretty face- and erupting in a mess of grunted moans, cock twitching in his palm as rope after rope of white, hot fluid shoots out of it. it’s messy, and disgusting, and sticky, marking the skin on your cheeks, nestling in your hair, dripping over your shut eyelashes.
the last drops land in your parted mouth as his grasp shakes and you regain the right to wrap your lips around his mushroomed tip.
lips stained in pearly white, cheeks and neck matching too. the throb of your neglected cunt, clenching itself around nothing but the mere thought of having jeong yunho stuff you full, break you in two and leave you spent.
the man in question is in a no better state, head thrown back and chest a heaving mess glistening with the shine of his own sweat. his mouth hangs open, near heaving in breaths of air and his hands, adopting a mind of their own, grip harder in your hair and hold you firmly in place, tongue laving over his sensitive tip, pushing him closer and closer to the ledge of overstimulation.
“fuck- uh, fucking look at you,” sweet voice, foul words. two fingers drag over your cheek, coating themselves in the sticky substance he’s painted you in. “drooling all over me.”
he’s right, you are drooling. down your chin, an uncomfortable damp coat covers your overheating skin as you continue to stretch your lips around his length, ready to rip another thigh-shuddering orgasm out of the man.
yunho grants you no such pleasure.
instead, a grip tugs back on your hair and, before you can feebly attempt to catch your fleeing breath, he’s pulling you up into his lap, straddling you across the well-defined muscles of his thigh. those big, capable hands he pushes himself through pools, and rivers, and all other bodies of water manipulate your limbs however he likes, a rag-doll free for him to toy with for as long as he sees fit.
“yun-” you don’t even manage to say his name properly, not when he grinds you down into his lap, smothering his tanned skin in your juices. the friction runs straight for your pulsing clit and you’re rendered to sinking into his welcoming arms, head collapsing into the crook of his neck, parted lips panting up a storm against his sweated skin.
“that nice for you, angel?” the soft words, the rough hands, the perfect roll of your hips. you feel like you could sob, break apart completely. yunho tracing a hand up the curve of your spine and soothing his long fingers over a knot in you back doesn’t help your case. “bet it is. little bit of release to all that tension you’ve been feeling, yeah?”
you think you nod.
it’s hard to tell.
sparks fly within your loins, heating you from the inside out. yunho, at some point, has wound his fist into the tresses of your hair, nails scrapping along your scalp. it’s pleasurable, all over, soothing you into a state of utter relaxation, a being with no purpose other than to take whatever this mass of warmth and muscles and width offers you.
his hand makes a fist and gently tugs, forcing a whine out of you as you’re faced with the bright lights once more. traces of his own cum stain the very place your face had lay. it’s erotic to see, drying up your tongue with a need to lick it clean.
“no, no, focus, right here,” a single finger taps at your cheek, followed by the tilting of your chin that forces you to stare back at the hungry eyes of jeong yunho. “eyes on me. want a front row seat to watching your eyes roll back.”
god, he’s filthy, and delicate, and that just makes him all that more filthy.
swiping his digits through the remnants of his sticky cum, he makes sure you’re staring right back at him as those same fingers snake their way down between your grinding bodies and burrow themselves deep in your soaked heat. shallow pumps of his hand fuck his cum-coated fingers deeper, long and lithe enough he barely needs to move to have you feeling him all over, everywhere.
by the time he curls them, pressing against that spongy wall, you’re just about ready to cry.
“think she’s gonna cum,” oh god, no, why must he remind you of your audience? why does it no longer frighten you to have eyes watching you be defiled but, rather, have you clenching around him tighter, chasing that fever-like ecstasy the man means to deliver? “she’s gripping my fingers so tight- shit, almost makes me wanna bust my load just thinking how warm her pussy would feel round my cock.”
“don’t let her cum,” you vow, some day, to wring the neck of park seonghwa. “just cause she’s gone all cockdrunk doesn’t mean she’s earnt-”
“shut up, hwa,” the boy’s thumb pokes up and you can’t help the way you grind down into it, smothering your clit in whatever pressure you can get. “pretty baby’s more than earned it. stop being bitter that i’m the one who’s gonna give her it.”
give you it, he does.
three fingers deep, the cocktail of your wetness mixing with his cum-cated digits aiding the ebb and flow of his rhythm, jeong yunho has your toes curling, eyes rolling, thighs shaking. you blackout, for only a moment, lost in the wilderness of pleasure.
the aftershocks are barely kicking in when you’re suddenly ripped away from yunho’s hold. the sounds of your beating heart and heaving chest muffle the disgruntled exchange of words between the swim-team, inhibiting your ability to stay clued-in on the events that surround you. all you know is that when your body meets the bench once more, on all wobbly fours, jeong yunho no longer sits tall and proud.
a sharp sting hits your rear- a smack, that echoes in the empty space of the swimming hall. the only appropriate response is the shriek you let out, twisted in your own conflicting emotions of pain, and pleasure, and painful pleasure. a second smack meets the other cheek. this time, there’s no doubt a wanton whine escapes you.
“since the rest of them can’t take orders,” you’d already known it was seonghwa whose hands were suddenly all over you, pinning you in a position of submission. the sound of his grandiose voice sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine, top to tail. “i’ll have to do it myself.”
with no word of warning, he smooths his hands down the globes of your ass, teases the crease of skin where your inner thigh meets your dripping heat, and fucks two whole fingers into your sensitive core. knuckles deep, they sit still upon initial intrusion, basking in the warmth of you and coating themselves in the essence from an orgasm you’ve yet to even fully recover from and the cum yunho’d scooped off your own face.
then, at last, when your nails dig marks into the wood below, he curls them a come-hither motion.
with shame painted on your skin, you toss your head back and release an inhumane cry, eyes hazily gazing up at the horrendous white lights above. “oh god!”
“not quite. i do appreciate the flattery though,” there’s no need to glance over your shoulder to know that pompous, trust-fund baby is wearing the most earth-shattering smirk, some stupid strand of his perfectly groomed hair dangling over one of his eyes, like some 90s heartthrob boy-band member. you do it anyway.
park seonghwa is an unfairly attractive man, sporting a beauty so ethereal it almost makes you angry.
that anger seems to dampen the wetter he gets you.
his touch is slow, but by no means is it gentle. calculated and malevolent, he plays with your insides like they’re nothing but the strings to your puppet. a curl of his fingers and one of your hands shoots forward. the torturously slow pace that he pumps his digits in and out, and your jaw falls slack. his thumb bumps and grinds against your throbbing clit, and your elbows give out, sending you crashing face-first down onto the bench.
his free hand presses down on your lower back, bending you deeper, hiking your ass up higher in the air. and, at first, you think you’re imagining it, that trickle of warmth against your other entrance, believing it nothing but a trick of your melting brain.
you’re who-knows how many hours deep in a whirlwind of pleasure and penetrative stares, people have been driven to the brink of insanity over far less in the past.
but then seonghwa’s fingers leave your cunt, warm and wet trails following their journey over your skin. there’s no imaginative mind great enough in this universe to conjure up that initial shock to feeling how he prods and pokes at your puckered hole, lubricating it with the dirty mixture of both you and yunho’s cum and his very own spit.
the tip of his pointer finger ventures onward first, breaking through the surface of your tight muscles in a shallow intrusion.
the feeling has you frozen, frightened, intrigued. eyes widening, moans dying, pussy pulsating in an empty need.
“don’t go getting shy on us now, spitfire,” the collective language he uses brings back the weight of all the boys’ eyes on you. hesitantly, you angle your face off the bench, and regret it the instant you meet the brown comfort of his eyes. “fun’s just starting. ain’t that right, san?”
a tense energy takes over the large room, with san’s shoulders tensing, and yunho’s feet fidgeting, and wooyoung’s cheeks blushing. seonghwa seems impervious to the shift, whether voluntarily or not, and instead invites himself to further exploring the limits of your body.
he’s kind enough to spare a bit of care into the way his finger sinks deeper into your unexplored hole. another dribble of his hot saliva lands messily onto you, aiding the slip and slide of his hand. two, or three, or four strokes of his finger and you’re submitting to the intrusion, hips rutting higher and presenting yourself more to the man.
“come here,” the command calls over your body and, at first, you think its aimed at you. so you try scooting further back, only to be halted by seonghwa speaking once again. “yeah you, choi. come get under her.”
for the first time since this all began, you’re on the precipice of saying no.
they’d listen, all of them. wouldn’t push you, pressure you or force you to keep going, not if you truly voiced your negation. even park seonghwa, as big an arsehole as he may be, would have no qualms ending his fun and agreeing to never speak of this again.
and it’s not that you don’t want choi san under you. far from it, as you’ve already made pretty clear earlier, thighs his personal ear-warmers while his tongue delved deep for your honey-suckle glory. you’re hardly uncomfortable at the thought of him under you, chest rising repeatedly in frantic breaths and legs bent at the knee to give him just the right leverage to fuck up into your messy cunt-
it’s not till he’s three feet away from you, hands fidgeting by his side, eyes looking anywhere but you and your compromising position, and the world’s most obnoxiously boner-strained tent in his swimming gear that realisation washes over you. you’re hesitating because of him, because of his possible discomfort.
what if he wants to say no? what if he doesn’t want to get under you? what if his eyes will never look into your own again, too shocked and disgusted by all the things you’ve let be done to you? by his own team-mates/rivals, too?
hell, you’ve shocked yourself even, never in a million years had you pictured a day you’d be at the mercy of some rich prick, overdressed for every occasion and looking like a vogue-cover-model reject. but when he’s edging another finger into the already-tight squeeze of your ass, and pushing your buttons just enough to nudge you towards an edge that never seems to arrive, how could you ever dream of being anywhere else?
a hand touches your cheek.
soft. tender. it takes the extra time to soothe the pads of its fingers against your burning cheek.
“you feeling okay?” san’s quiet tone, meant only for you, is enough to move you to near-tears. you crave his hug. the position you find yourself in only allows you to reach out and grasp at where his knee bends as he crouches down to your level. it’s all the same, san knows. san understands. his own hand lands on top of yours, messily threading digits.
“she’s literally stuffed with another man’s cum and you’re worried about her? well aren’t you just the sweetest.” a cheap remark from seonghwa.
san purposefully ignores it, and everything about the man, instead choosing to keep his focus on what matters.
you.
“think you could make some room for me down there?” your nose wrinkles at his choice of words.
his giggle echoes.
“no, no, not... like that,” he guides you as he talks, grip moving to your shoulders and coaxing you up into a seating position. somewhere along the way, seonghwa’s hands leave you. he doesn’t stray too far, however, and your back soon collides against his chest. “here, pretty. want you to make space for me down here.”
within seconds, choi san’s back in his rightful place: splayed out beneath you, body fit snug between your parted legs and hair an unruly, sweated mess against his forehead.
no clothing sits between you both, blessing you with the mouthwatering drag of his cock through your folds. hard, and red, and leaking at the tip, a slight curve to the right, dribbling precum against his well-toned stomach. you’re biting your lip before you fully register your own thoughts, body a mind of its own as you grind down onto him.
control is limited and fleeting, that of which seonghwa reminds you without uttering so much as a word. instead, he clamps a harsh grip down on either side of your hips, rucks you up to where he needs you and guides you down onto san’s cock.
it’s thick, imposing and something that seonghwa blesses you no time to ease into things. instead, you’re slammed down, san buried to the hilt inside of you.
“hey there,” delicate fingers skim up the tense muscles in your thigh and find pleasure in delivering a teasing tickle to your sides. “come here often?”
the cheeky grin, the double entendre, the way san looks so goddamn proud of himself for saying it. you can’t help it, you wind up giggling uncontrollably.
wrong choice. bad idea. danger zone.
san contorts in pain, and lust, and something else you’ve never seen behind his eyes before, hissing through his teeth like some feral cat. his eyes match that of a feline too. “you trying to squeeze my dick off or something?”
you compose yourself upon the reminder of that san can feel you tensing around him, pull in a deep breath and find your voice again, at last. “or... something.”
maybe you’re a little out of breath. maybe you’re a little hoarse. it doesn’t seem to matter to the boy below, his only response being to cant his hips up and lick at the fire burning in your insides.
“you two are disgusting,” once again, park seonghwa wins gold in the nobody-asked-for-you-bum-ass-opinion olympics. let’s see if he’ll continue his winning streak and go for gold in the hypocrite-athon too!
the hands on your sides begin you guide you, with seonghwa squeezing his perfectly manicured nails into your plush skin and bouncing you down onto san. up, down, up and down, repeated strokes like the ones their hands deliver each time they breach the surface.
it’s easy, this pleasure. it’s a gift, hand-delivered by two god-like men that sandwich you between them- one a mass that fills you, the other a weight that controls you. liberating in every sense, you can’t help the way your head rolls back to find purchase on one of seonghwa’s shoulders, completely melting into the ways he winds you over san.
“shit, yes, you feel,” san’s no better than you, mouth agape and hands unsteady as they trace every inch of skin they can reach: the dimples of your back, the swell of your breasts, the hood of your clit. his hips are the only steady thing about him, not a falter in the way they grind up to kiss your dripping pussy with his cock. “so good. so warm, tight. love it.”
a hand curls round your front, travels up between your breast and over your sternum. it settled for a grip a round your throat, no pressure applied, it simply exists against your windpipe, a silent threat.
“look what you do to him, hmm,” a squeeze around your neck. seonghwa’s warm breath fans against your ear, taunting you. “look what you’re doing to them.”
through your glossed-over gaze, you trail your way past the sight of san and all his captivating beauty, settling instead on the equally erotic, not-at-all surprising image that stands just past where his head rests at the edge of the wooden bench.
a sweaty wooyoung, bent at the waist and whining up a storm, while a far more composed yunho pounds his hips into the boy’s arse.
your walls clench and san whimpers, a string of curses and pleads leaving him.
“think you’re finally ready for me?” the devil on your shoulder- at your back, more truly,- smirks into your skin, careless enough to not even feign it being anything but a rhetoric question. ready or not, park seonghwa is going to finally get his own fill of the thrill, his own satisfaction, beyond mere observation and controlling.
the spill of your own wetness slips down your thighs as san continues to fuck himself deep. it doesn’t travel far as seonghwa coats himself in you, wetting his fingers before they slip back inside your ass. a few generous, tempting pumps into your ring of muscles, fingers spreading a little further apart each time, till he decides that’s enough, he’s ready, you’re ready.
the unbuckling of a belt.
an unzipping of trousers.
trousers bunched down muscled thighs.
the first cut may be the deepest, but you highly doubt it’s as deep as seonghwa feels feeding his cock into your arse, stretching you apart to make way for him. a part of you feels like it can’t breathe, impaled on both these men who sit so deep inside you, you fear you’ll feel the ghost of their touch for weeks to come.
but what does it matter, really, when seonghwa pulls you back against him and whispers filth against your ear?
this is all you’re good for. cock-drunk whore. gonna let us cum inside?
and san’s coaxing you down to trail his mouth over your chest, the tongue flicking over your nipple a terrible juxtapose to his crooning words?
taking it so well, baby. so tight, and perfect, and god. ‘s that what baby needs, huh, for me to touch her little clit?
the two men find a rhythm, a synchronised routine to how they pull and push you around. their thrusts ebb and flow, no moment existing where you sit empty. they treat your body like they treat the pool, swimming through your waves of pleasure and effortlessly advancing to the finishing line, the winning stroke. then, san’s hand meets your cheek and your thoughts are dragged underwater, muffling the sounds of everyone else- the shlickt sound that echoes with each inch of cock fucked into you, the high-pitched whimpers of a fucked out wooyoung, the slapping of skin against skin- as he pulls you in for a kiss.
it’s a hungry one, all teeth and tongue and swollen lips. you pull away more breathless than before and fighting back a big dopey grin, toes curling as the swell of one of their cocks hits a nice spot inside you, body too on fire to know just exactly where the new wave of heat is coming from.
“h-how d’you do it, hm?” it’s almost a whisper, something meant only for your ears, yet you hear him loud and clear, voice stuttering off in a mess of whines and moans. “still got that pretty-girl smile, even while getting fucked silly.”
it almost makes you shy, till you remember what you’re doing and who you’re doing it with. you settle for a quick, short answer. mostly because you fear you’re losing the ability to think in full-sentences, much less speak one out loud. “can multitask.”
like your own words are the key to pandora’s box, your eyes widen, and your mouth dries, and your heart reels as a new desire burrows itself somewhere between the parts of you owned by san and the parts owned by seonghwa. the desire makes room for more, for someone more, and, without much chance for second-thoughts or hesitation, you find what little stability you can manage with one hand pressing down onto san’s toned chest and reach forward with your free hand.
fingers, light as a feather, curl around wooyoung’s solid shaft. the man’s hips stutter at the unexpected contact, eyes flying open to glance down in time to watch you reach out your tongue, licking up the droplets of precum that threaten to spill from his mushroomed tip.
“please, god, please!” he’s beyond the point of sense, poor baby, struggling to keep up with yunho’s hips’ repeated slamming into his tight ass. so, you can’t really blame him or shame him for the way he hastily rips his hand through your hair, tugging your mouth as far down his cock as the angle allows.
a few hairs rip from your skull in his grip. you reward him with a pleasant hum, moans muffled with the mouth-full he’s providing you.
“shit- look at that,” seonghwa pipes up from behind you, the motion of his hips never faulting or failing as he continues to take part in the filthiest three-way tango known to man, hands bouncing you down to meet each raise of san’s hips, plundering the other man’s cock deep, deep, deep, till he’s kissing your cervix and you’re seeing stars before your eyes. “should cup youngie’s- fucking christ- his balls, san, cup ‘em.”
you’re vaguely aware of his compliance, hand lifting off whatever part of you it was touching- your nipple, your hip, your jaw, it’s hard to tell when you feel like san’s everywhere, all over you, part of you- to graze the set of well-groomed spheres that threaten to slap your chin each time wooyoung thrusts forward.
barely two seconds, hardly any pressure against them, and the youngest of the four is nearly in tears, wailing and begging over broken whines that it’s too much, can’t take it, don’t stop.
there’s a ringing in your ear. because everything is becoming too much: wooyoung in your mouth, san rutting up into you and seonghwa’s hands clawing and pulling your body back into each of his overpowered thrusts. the boy in front of you is the first to fall apart, twitching in your mouth and, without a warning, choking you on the cum he shoots down your throat. a hand pulls you back, just enough to paint your face in the final drops released from wooyoung.
one of the other men is next, a string of curses and grunts filling the air. there’s a new stickiness between your legs, gooey white staining your skin. it’s all building up, and up, and up, until you topple over and are sent reeling into wave after wave of blinding pressure, toes cramping up and muscles spasming as you shoot off into another astral field, creaming around san and chocking seonghwa’s cock.
you don’t register the release of your hips nor the crash-down of your body. one moment, you’re pressed back against seonghwa, mouth dropped open in a silent scream for merciless pleasure, and the next you’re cradled in san’s warm embrace, a crooning tone to the way he hushes and calms you, unheard i got yous, and did so good for us, babys, and just let me hold yous falling on deaf ears.
for a moment in your own history, time ceases to exist.
there’s no ticking of the large clock on the wall, reminding you of how long ago your shift had ended. there’s no thoughts of your plant friend drying out in the staleness of your room, desperately awaiting you to revive it with some h2o. there’s no consequences awaiting your actions, no shame to be feared and leaving you unable to look any of the four swimmers in the eye ever again.
instead of being crashed against choi san’s body, a mixture of his, yours, and several other people’s bodily fluids serving as the adhesive that keeps you stuck together in your mess, you’re floating in space, not quite alive but not quite dead, just there.
nerves tingling, body aching, mind switched off.
four, or five, or ten, maybe even fifteen minutes pass by the time you regain focus on your surroundings.
your name, whispered. it’s his voice that pulls you back, sweet and soft and oh so like the san you’re used to, the one that sends teasing winks your way when your eyes happen to meet his in class, and the one who has the prettiest notes you’ve ever seen, a colour-scheme for his every highlight and the cutest of doodles to go along with the topic on the paper.
the one who’s hand is currently brushing through your hair, fingers careful as they catch on the tangles near the split ends.
“hmm,” you swear you want to say his name, say more than that, but there’s an ache in your jaw that hinders you from even attempting, your voice-box likely having taken a beaten in the throws of your pleasured moans.
“you okay there?” he giggles over the end of the sentence, and you feel your slowing heartbeat stutter at the sound.
he feels you nod into the crook of his neck and lets his free hand find perch against your hip, moments before giving it a light squeeze.
he’s warm, and pleasant, and soft.
and moving you both into an up-right position, hands splaying flat against your back and keeping you secure against him, your legs wrapping around his slender waist. you drift off again, between time and space, and come to at the first drop of water that lands on your back.
one drop, two drops, and then a downpour of heat crashing onto both of you.
you can tell from the colour of the pinkish tiles along the communal shower floor that you’re in the women’s changing room, and mentally note to thank him, even if he’s not aware, for bringing you somewhere you won’t have to shamefully stumble out of in the nude, your change of clothes safely tucked away within one of the lockers.
“i’m gonna put you down now, okay?” he speaks so gently that it overwhelms you, answering him only with an affirmative nod of your head.
neither of you speak while he lathers shampoo into your hair, nor when he’s dragging his soap covered hands over the cum that stains your skin, wiping it away and leaving nothing but suds where the liquid once was. he doesn’t speak while covering your eyes with his hands, blocking the sting of the shampoo. you don’t speak when you inch closer, head falling forward to rest against his chest.
when he does eventually speak again, both of your fingertips are wrinkled and bodies are clean, the water of the shower serving as nothing but a way to keep warm.
“you’re, uh, not” the echo of his voice in the empty lockers feels so much more intimate than how his cries sounded by the pool. “doing anything on wednesday, right?”
too lazy to move, you angle your face to stare up at him from his chest and take a moment to just stare, look at the way his hair is sticking to his forehead, at the way his eyes are back to being wide, at the way the marks you’d littered along his neck are becoming more prominent.
“how’d you know?” your question confirms his own, and a tenseness you’d not noticed melts off of his shoulders.
“wednesday is race day. you never work race days.”
it’s such an odd detail to have noticed, and it’s making you question everything you thought you knew about your relationship with san. do acquaintances remember each other’s schedules? do acquaintances bring each other soothing teas when they notice the other developing flu symptoms? do acquaintances waste time pulling faces at each other in lectures they should probably be paying attention to.
“i’m not taking part in the race this time, by choice. my grades are good enough, don’t need to worry about winning some championship to keep my education.” san is speaking unpromptly at this point, rambling in a way you’ve only seen him do when he’s nervous, or excited, or both. “it’s okay if you don’t want to, or you have better things to do or places to be! but, i was just thinking, maybe you’d wanna spend some time with me? there’s this medieval market down on main-street, it’s meant to be really cool, and i just think it would be even cooler to go with you? but, again, you don’t have to. forget it, actually, i’m being stupid and assuming you’re not doing something with your friends or your-”
the kiss you interrupt him with is far more innocent than the one you shared earlier, no hands rushing to touch and tongues desperate to taste, just two sets of lips moving as one.
you pull back and he chases after you, lips landing another peck before you’re grasping his cheek in your hold and forcing him back.
“i think you could have asked me to come help clean your apartment for you and i’d still say yes, just to spend my day with you,” you say, and he smiles as if on instinct, unable to stop it even if he tried.
“really?”
“really.”
“good, cause i already bought us two tickets and i really didn’t wanna have to go alone.” there’s drops of water dancing on his eyelashes, and laziness in his every movement, and you’re both still very much naked, but none of that seems to matter when he gives you another peck, like he’s awakened an addiction and your lips are now his favourite vice. “but, now that you mention it, my apartment could do with some cleaning. and i bet you’d look amazing in a maid outfit.”
a slap echoes in the showers.
“hey! don’t worry, i’ll be wearing a matching one!”
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Do you think Riot will make more seasons of Arcane in different regions post-s2, make more shows with different names that are set in the Arcane universe, or secret third option?
Yes and no.
To start with, yes: Arcane has been by far Riot's most mainstream successful media project ever (even outstripping K/DA), and there is literally no way in hell that the company isn't going to want to keep milking it until it is as dry, stale and withered as the PROJECT skin line.
So I predict that, absolutely, we will see new seasons of shows set in the League of Legends universe, probably animated, and hopefully with some of the extremely good animation partners Riot has managed to cultivate over the years.
The ARCANE branding is incredibly valuable now, and I wouldn't put it past Riot to do something stupid like name a show set in the Freljord ARCANE: True Ice or something unbearably stupid like that, even though the name relates extremely specifically to the setting and story of Piltover/Zaun and the Vi/Powder/Viktor/Jayce character group.
On the other hand, Riot might be the company on earth I trust the absolute least to effectively capitalize on and carry forward a success in creative arts that can't be monetized with skins and event passes.
Riot has an absolutely astounding history of tripping on their dicks when it comes to telling stories about their characters, in no small part due to its leadership quite simply never valuing storytelling as an end in itself. If it doesn't sell cosmetics or drive Engagement™ with the core League of Legends product, good luck getting Riot management to spend a fucking dime to make anything real.
Passionate people inside the company have to go to war, every single time, to make anything good happen. Legends of Bilgewater, the Spirit Blossom visual novel, the Marvel comics collaboration (RIP), Riot Forge, and very much Arcane, were absolute passion projects pushed over the line by people who literally put their jobs (and in many cases their health) on the line to make them happen.
Alex Yee and Christian Linke are old hands at Riot with a lot of clout, a lot of friends at the company, and a lot of goodwill to cash in, and if that hadn't been the case, there is literally no way in hell anything like Arcane ever gets made.
The behind-the-scenes documentary Riot themselves produced obviously goes out of its way to let Riot leadership suck themselves off about how much they contributed and how much they believed in the project, but make no mistake, they would have axed Arcane on the spot if there wasn't creatives fighting pitched battles every other day to keep it alive.
This is true of K/DA as well, by the way, there was a lot of internal resistance at Riot to that project - and to Star Guardians, and to Heartsteel. Anything cool Riot has ever made? Just assume that someone internally was shitting on it in meetings and trying to get it shut down.
Which is why I am intensely worried about Arcane in the long term. Not so much about Season 2, since it is mostly being produced by the same group of people, as far as I know, but that project is also going to be absolutely besieged by C-suite jackoffs trying to worm their names into the credits, making themselves Stakeholders™ and offering Feedback™ and voicing Concerns™, and I don't envy the showrunners the battles they are going to have to fight to keep these vultures away from the product.
But I am fucking worried about whatever Season 3 becomes. I am fucking worried about what happens the moment any of the key creatives behind the first two seasons resign, or get headhunted to new jobs. I am worried what's going to happen when Riot decides that the showrunners are "being difficult" and standing in the way of what leadership wants to do with the now very valuable ARCANE branding, and either corporately mandates them into roles of diminished influence or just outright fucking fires them (it'll be publicized as a mutual decision of course, it'll be publicized as a much celebrated retirement or "it's time to move on to new adventures").
Riot is a company with absolutely infinite capacity to fuck up a perfectly good thing for absolutely no fucking reason except some kombucha-chugging, suit-jacket-over-a-graphic-tee-and-sneakers-wearing, keeps-his-job-despite-multiple-sexual-harassment-allegations-because-he's-bros-with-the-C-suite, motherfucking "I am a player so I know what the players want" platitude-spouting "themes are for book reports"-ass Silicon Valley libertarian piece of shit decided he knows better than the artists whose work are the reason he takes home six figures a year.
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Some of my favorite easy and fast foods/snacks for $5 or less that aren't ramen and spaghetti:
Couscous. You can get boxed couscous for like $3 and it's enough for 2-3 side dishes at least and takes literally 5 minutes and no extra ingredients. You can get large containers of it for like $5 at Walmart too so you can season however you want. A nice grain that's easy to digest and pairs well with almost anything.
Popcorn. Everyone's favorite healthy junk food that can satisfy most cravings. You can usually get a box for like $4 or a jar of kernels for like $6.
Oats. Whole oats. Extremely versatile. Put them in smoothies, make cookies, granola, snack bars/balls, brownies, oatmeal, etc. Truly the best bland fiber and filler out there. You can even easily make your own oatmilk for super cheap by blending them with water and straining!
Frozen veggies. Last for months in the freezer and usually under $2 a bag. Not great if you prefer raw veggies, but if you are fond of sautéed or roasted ones, save some money and just get them frozen.
Chocolate chips. Cheaper than chocolate bars and you get a lot more chocolate. Perfect for those cravings!
Powdered potatoes. I know I know but if you ignore the package directions and put some butter and milk and seasonings in it, you can't tell. Ready in like 2 minutes and you get a shit ton of mashed potatoes for like $2.
Vegan Mac and cheese. I'm lactose intolerant and so I will forever be thankful for the vegan movement of the early 2010s for making nondairy products easier to find and more affordable. Vegan Mac and cheese literally tastes the exact same and bakes so well. Annie's so far has been my favorite brand and they have other pastas with sauces too like squash which is so good.
Crepes. You can make your own batter for cheap but who likes all them dishes? You can find pre-made crepes for like $3 for 10.
Apples. You can find 2lb bags of these for $3 at a lot of places. I never knew they were so cheap and I go through phases where I'll eat like 4 a day.
Lunch meat. Packs of turkey cost like $4. I use turkey on so much. Bagels, omelets, salads, sandwiches, wraps, croissants, etc.
Ready to bake pastries. I'm not a big bread person but croissants ready to bake have my whole heart and cinnamon rolls can really help make a bad day a little better.
Pretzels. I'm an absolute whore for Pretzels and eat so many of these things. They're so easy to pack for snacks for class or anything really. I can't go two weeks without them.
Rice crisps. Rice cakes are great but they're big and crumbly and get stale if you don't close the bag JUST right. But little Rice crisps??? Elite. They come in so many flavors and are super crunchy and they're just super cute too and they're bogo a lot at publix.
Frozen potstickers. You can get them for so cheap and I have a giant bag of them in my freezer right now that I got for like $7. I usually get smaller portions for $4 or so though but decided to splurge and get 3lbs of them cus why not.
Frozen shrimp. A bag of extra small Frozen shrimp is about $5 at Walmart. Eat them thawed and cold or put them in pastas or rice or Soups. They're a staple in my house.
These are just a few I could think of off the top of my head. Please add to the list!
#study blog#student#student life#studyblr#productivity#school#study hard#studying#school advice#food mention#food and drink#foodie#food#groceries#cheap#save money#frugal#college student
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OMG I cannot take this anymore, I’m so tired of expressing my opinions on team black and getting backlash for it. TB supporters need to learn to not be so aggressive when it comes to defending their “Innocent” team. I’m not a green supporter either but I find myself sympathising more with those characters because I feel like they have reasons as to why they are what they are.
When I’m watching the show, I find myself disliking Rhaenyra. She constantly complains about being a female but yet she never does a thing to support her cause. In the books, I’ve heard she disinherits Lady Rosby and Lady Stokesworth on account of their genders and gives everything to their younger brothers. I did read the passage on which it says this and it was said that both girls were never named heir but they were the firstborn and is it not Rhaenyra’s movement to show that women can rule?
Back to her not doing anything about it, she does things, not a lot but the stuff she does do is extremely damaging to her image yet she still acts on them impulsively; Going to the street of silk with Daemon which leads to her marriage with laenor WHICH leads to her bastard children. Had she just not gone and not interacted with Daemon, she could have picked what man she got to marry, it didn’t necessarily have to be love but she could of picked one that could perform their duty and she could be friendly with. She could have done this because her father was allowing her to pick which was rare in those days and just further proves that Visery’s would ignore the customs for her.
I truly do agree with Viserys when he mentions that Jeaharys would have disinherited her and I don’t think Rhaenyra realises how lucky she is to have him as a father. She abandoned him for 6 years, knowing he was dying of an illness and only comes back to beg him to get out his bed and put himself in pain to defend her which he does because he loves her. Adding onto this, Rhaenyra expects to come back to kings landing and everyone to just follow her just because she was named heir, she didn’t stay there to prove her worth or anything. She left it for the greens to manipulate and take over and she is mad that she has no allies there when she’s the one the went into hiding. She’s been named heir for around 20 years at this point, most of the men that swore to her are dead and like they said in the show, most of those oaths are stale now.
The greens are definitely more politically savvy than the blacks which is how they gained so much support, had Rhaenyra stayed in the court and worked on making allies and proving her worth to the realm then maybe the Dance wouldn’t have started. Her hiding away in dragon stone also definitely helped the greens to take the throne because had she been in kings landing then she could have known straight away that her father was dead and the greens would have had a harder time getting the throne, but she left it open for the taking and gets mad when it is taken.
Forgive me for all this, I’m just so incredibly annoyed right now.
i completely agree with you, anon. some TB stans are just impossible to talk too. i usually love it when people with different opinions that mine leave comments on my posts, but i've gotten soooo many disgusting and disturbing messages calling me names, being racist, being incredible misogynistic towards alicent and just being very weird and aggressive.
idk it's very weird how personally TB stans take the criticism towards rhaenyra and daemyra. i mean, daemon gr00med and choked her - a lot of people are obvs NOT going to support this couple and find it very problematic.
i'm not a huge rhaenyra fan too . her character is kinda boring for me, she's giving me an overprivileged-rich-soccer-mom vibes. and yeah she def was not politically savvy (part of the reason i dislike her lol) and made a lot of mistakes. i think that rhaenyra is def a product of viserys's bad parenting skills. he never prepared her to rule, always justified and defended her mistakes (i mean, how are you going to grow as a person when your daddy defends everything you do no matter what?) and he gave her a false sense of security.
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song bird
Pair: Reiner x Reader
Warnings: Smut. Reiner being a flirtatious bad boy—popular with the ladies—cute fluff. Flirting. Flirtation at Reiner’s part. Fluff at first, angst and smut come later. Spice is nice. Mentions of serious topics and more. And serious flashbacks from season 1 in Reiner’s POV. MDNI, NSFW.
A/N: Other than Levi, my other favorite character is Reiner. He kinda grew on me since season 4 of Attack on Titan, and I’m not going to lie, he’s gotten hotter. So does Eren with long hair. But overall, every anime character is hot—Like Toji and Gojo. That’s all I’ve got to say on that. I just realized I got sidetrack. Aside from Levi and Eren, Reiner got hot. Really hot, and has great character development. Please enjoy this fanfic. :) I’m sorry that it’s long. Reader’s singing is inspired from me listening to Disney’s Sleeping Beauty. For Reiner fans, this one’s for you.
(Please report if anyone decides to steal/plagiarize my work and notify me. Thank you.)
Chapter One
Angel in the Gardens
Next Chapter
In the year of 854, things haven’t changed anything in Marley except Reiner. Although the change in Marley is a little more advance than the last time he resided before the mission. In his younger years, he was assure of himself, life is impossible with the life of prosperity with his family and relatives, and with his Armored Titan powers, anything is possible that could be reach, even his dreams beyond.
But now, with the retaliation and Eren’s endless cycle of hatred in his heart, Reiner wouldn’t and couldn’t blame him. As he came back, the rose-tainted windows shattered, and its colors wilted to stale and darkened. Everything he dreamt of, of being a hero, was his fault.
His mission with Zeke was no challenge; he has done this—entirely trained this since he was a young boy, born with an Eldian mother and a Marleyan father. Most of his childhood has brought up by his mother, his father was absent, even when encountering his father, he felt a struck of shame clutching and became a heavy heart. Reiner up skill his knowledge and agility in the military. He could recall the rain—drenched and heavy, carrying a loaded weapon in his arms as he ran to keep up the running course.
Realizing he has no childhood to conjure, only the days of the preparation for the upcoming years to hold his reputation. His days on being the candidate to inherit Armored Titan sounded like a victory. All the gatherers and onlookers at the parade, showering the Warriors with celebration. Reiner waved before the crowd, unknowingly what lies ahead. Everything was simple for him. Except now, it felt like a feverish dream, a good one, perhaps, but—maybe it wasn’t so. As soon as he got older, his young mind refined into a conclusion that inheriting a Titan power was nothing but an extreme burden.
For years he fought, he felt pain at first, but he has become immune, so immune he hasn’t realized he has two personalities—as a role of a soldier and a warrior.
What has become of Reiner, if not besides as a potential and a born-product for Marley’s representation of strength?
Was he even born to be as himself in the first place?
He had a moment, whether it’s up for him to still continue. Until now, he’s still breathing with a coursing veins with a thirteen-year curse.
What then if he hadn’t survived from Paradis? Power of Armored Titan will, no doubt, pass onto someone else has greater potential than Reiner. Yet, somehow, he’s still here, alive, in the flesh, not as a pure ghost. Though he maybe because his lively soul went numb.
Zeke has done it’s final job on the mission at Fort Slava, and led them to go home happily, reuniting with his family. He hasn’t said much to his mother other than a simple greeting. And when his relatives came and chat, when his uncle asked him regarding to Paradis, Reiner could describe anything but negative—the negativity lacks, but kept uttering. Some were shocked at Reiner’s statement of the potato girl. Each day has begun a turmoil in his mind. In sleepless nights, he tried to drown out the sounds of screams and cries and treachery. Each time he closes his eyes, white flashes overtaken, his memories of the greatest fighters and soldiers in Paradis—the Ackermans.
Then Eren’s toothy smile went into scorching rage.
He’d never forget the look on Eren’s face when Reiner unveiled his injured and regenerated.
The twist of nightmares felt real. Maybe because they are. Reiner couldn’t handle nightmares. People who thought of nightmares as useless dreams have a heart of steel. He hasn’t told a soul since he returned.
His mind snapped. And his heart thumped.
There’s one thing Reiner wouldn’t erase.
You.
He remembered you. He could still hear the sound of your voice calling to him, singing to him, lull him to sleep each time he came by and conversed with you. With rising daylight and glowing moonlight, he yearned to stay by your side forever.
Did he have to leave you for good? He couldn’t bear a hurtful look on your face, and the battle between Paradis and Marley couldn’t contain countless emotions running through him. Reiner was a coward, not knowing what to say to you. Or perhaps he’s afraid because he knows what your reaction and words are going to be. He soon to be longing for your touch, your voice. Your voice resonated him, as if he’s lost into a trance, lost his goal and objective and drowned into your arms and a song adorned upon your smiling face.
Then he tried to hum the tune, but couldn’t replicate it; he wasn’t a good singer. Hearing your laughter after him attempting to tune your voice, he find himself laughing soon after.
Realizing you’re not here, Reiner’s tear drops fell.
He wished to see you again. But how will he? If he attempts to be a deserter, it’s a final sentence for him.
He wouldn’t care.
Deep down, he’d rather stay with you, run away with you, from Eldians and Marleyans and live in another deserted island to start anew. No more playing soldier or a servant to his homeland.
His tears drowned in pillow sheets as his somber eyes replaced his vision with darkness and listless dreams.
Anything would be better than life’s silence in Marley.
~~~
~Year 850~
Fierce concentration due to training has been difficult for a young Warrior. Reiner, along with his companions, Bertholdt and Annie, came into Paradis for one thing. The Founding Titan. With the possession of the Founding Titan, it could end the lives of their enemies in Paradis for good. War hasn’t been kind to them since the day they took their first breath as their sworn oath. They took the mission without question; they—three Warriors—must contribute to their land, Marley.
For the greater good, they all said.
And hoped—prayed, even.
Reiner had countless doubts in his mind, despite his chosen status as a Warrior. Until Bertholdt told him that there are other things need to be occupied. Their infiltration was a success on their part, but seeing thousands—possibly hundred thousands of civilians in Paradis were at their swift end. Many mourned and fought. Others, fought against their livelihood, whether they want to fight or struggle.
He could hear their screams—their agonies, hate and cries every night since the first time he and his friends came. Everything was in shambles, and the crowd grew wilder with food supplies and good shelter during difficult hours. Adults starved themselves to feed their children with good consumable bread, sometimes with a bit of cheese and dairy to drain while others kept the food and space to themselves—all cramped with melancholic and upsetting atmosphere. Shortcomings went by when the meat supplies are strictly limited, and the law abide the rule to eliminate several folks after their failed years of attempting to crop and grow rations in the stubborn and dry field. Whether rain or shine, nothing prevail. They all kept trying until they found themselves exhausted and drowning in further to despair and anger.
This wasn’t the life people wanted. They wanted a lifelong prosperity and their properties to be in order. Even if it means to be locked away in a 60 meter wall from Titans.
Marley’s guidance to the future Warriors must be advanced and clever if it means for the predecessors to amplify the example of becoming a greater threat that contributes to annihilate the history’s nightmares. A spark of evolution, an ignited ideals and source of persuasion of the Marley lands to set the world rock to the core.
Paradis, on the other hand, hadn’t set the world alight. Paradis was as quiet as a tomb—untouched.
Once.
It was once pristine and silent, surrounded by trees and animals and mountains and quiet lakes.
A newly world from theirs—Reiner’s, Annie’s and Bertholdt’s.
A newly world to which they must merge as one of them.
~~~
Wearing a uniform and staying motionless under a torrid weather was a torture.
Commander Shadis kept an eye to the new coming trainees—104th Training Corps. With wide eyes fatigued and a bald head is enough to scare others. Not Reiner, though. Gladly, he doesn’t need to do the introductions. So does Annie and Bertholdt. The grim look in their eyes says it all.
The only Reiner is amused of is when the girl was eating a hot potato in her hand. Though at the end of the day, she was punished to run for hours until evening. Supper between trainees was another thing Reiner had to attend like the rest. Though his attention wasn’t on him; but his heart pounded when a boy with teal eyes and brown hair mentioned of the Titans that attacked and destroyed Shiganshina. A boy named Eren Yeager described their appearances. It was vague, but, Reiner knew what Eren meant. Maintaining his reaction, Reiner kept sipping his drink in stilled and calm pace, watching everyone being so oddly fascinated with Eren’s story until the rivalry with another boy, decided to jump in and argue. They somewhat reminded Reiner of his chaotic niece, Gabi, along with her friends, Falco and Udo and Zofia.
Like Gabi, Jean and Eren are a bunch of rowdy brats, fighting for power, and their perspectives are vastly opposites. One wants to be in a Military Police Brigade and the other wants to face the Titans alone, as if Eren’s destined to destroy every last one of the gigantic creatures.
As soon as Reiner finished his drink, he went up for a goodnight’s sleep. A soft yelp came below him. His golden eyes looked down and saw a young girl collapsed on the floor.
Abashed, Reiner held his hand outward as his height crouched down to the girl’s level.
“Sorry, little lady,” Reiner said with a smirk. “I didn’t watch where I’m going, but I didn’t mean to hurt a pretty lady like yourself.” He sent a wink at her direction.
“Th-that’s no problem,” she said, blushing, unable to return the gaze. She got up and went beside her friends, who are giggling at Reiner’s charm. One friend slapped her hand at the blushing girl’s back shoulder.
He smirked as he watched them afar until completely out of sight with a fold on his arms. Until a heavy hand fell onto Reiner’s shoulder blade.
“Remember what we came here for,” Bertholdt reminded, then moved past Reiner.
Annie hasn’t looked at Reiner’s direction, focusing in her own world.
And that Reiner’s mind recollected regarding to the real reason and obtained a lifelong achievement to an acknowledgement not only for himself but the safety of his family.
Marley.
In the land of Marley, Reiner must always remember two things: knowing one’s place, and the line of betrayal and trust must never to be cross.
~~~
Eren had the most difficult time with the gear strapped to his trousers. Shadis kept yelling at him, while the trainees snickered at his attempts to pass the test. He fell down clumsily again. Stuck like glue. Reiner, on the other hand, thought he has given enough lesson for Eren to pass with flying colors. Needless to say, today wasn’t going well in his favor.
He shouldn’t worried about Eren’s intentions, right? If he fails, he wouldn’t have an insignificance of him discovering their secret. Seeing Eren’s determination and fury against the Titans would mean one thing—revenge against who’s the main responsibility of Shiganshina’s Fall. A dead end. Reiner’s ability to shift had him on edge. Bertholdt noticed this, but said nothing; comforting and reminding Reiner in public, or even an air of whisper will cause suspicion from the outsiders of Marley.
“Wagner, give him the belt,” Shadis commanded.
“Y-yes!” Wagner complied.
By the end, Shadis concluded that Eren’s gear belt is broken. And the trainees were shocked at Eren’s ability to balance while his gear was broken and uncooperative that led him to failure in the first place. Eren went from failure to success. He’s going to defeat the Titans. Mikasa was relieved for Eren, and Armin believed in Eren. Reiner was stunned.
Eren’s revenge will proceed.
~~~
In most days, the trainees went onto the next step: using the Maneuver gear. Though this one dark day, they trained under the rain, carrying loaded bags while everyone, even Reiner, overheard Shadis shouting, lecturing over Armin’s slow pace. Reiner went over Armin’s side and slung Armin’s bag over Reiner’s shoulder. Albeit Armin retrieved it back and ran farther.
The people in training, his newfound friends, called Reiner the big brother—helpful and kind to everyone. But he wasn’t a big brother when it comes to girls’ side. He’s just as charming when he’s helping them unloading heavy items. And even encourage them during the one-on-one fight. Every girl had their hair covered their flustered eyes and smile. Each wink and touch he gave sent them flinging with squeals. Some boys were jealous because the girls they had a crush on were focused on Reiner.
Though Reiner had benefits of gaining admiration; to keep under and away from suspicions.
During supper, Eren and Jean argued again. Reiner grew tired of it. So he quickly eat his meal before bedtime. But the people before him took long to exit—filled with chatter about anything that’s unrelated to him.
Looking for another exit, he went at the right door, but cold darkness greeted him. The long night has caressed him with soft wind as he stepped out. Moonlight shone above the heavy pine wood trees. Exhaling, he watched the others saying goodnight to each other. The smoke-scent wafted through his nostrils, as he spotted the flames flickering.
Their life is different, after all. Using candles and fire and torches is an obvious, clear sign that island of Paradis is way far behind from the rest of the outside world. Hence the walls they built and buried themselves in for security and comfort from the hungry eyes and teeth from gigantic creatures.
In resolute state, Reiner marched onward onto the clear path, while pebbles crushed beneath his steps, ready to repose for tomorrow’s another course on defense.
But the noise shot nearby at his left direction. He stopped and inspected the crowded scenery. Only a few left, but all face at the opposite direction. A chance for Reiner to sneak into the forest. But with the Maneuver gear, his doom will come sooner than later. Though he entered in the forest, but not too far deep in.
Through the gusted wind, a melody entered.
Reiner was sure he wasn’t dreaming, he went in a little further, shoving the tree branches aside. A soothing melody came once more. His eyes fluttered, then shut. He took the song with him like the air he breathes. His legs numbed as he swayed.
Who’s voice was that? Reiner thought. Am I…dreaming?
“REINER!”
Behind him, the violent rustling from bushes became louder.
“What the hell are you doing there? The titans, remember? Without a defense weapon, you’d be dead!” Bertholdt lectured.
“I just thought…”
Bertholdt’s head tilted to the side. “Thought..?”
“Nothing, I thought I heard a deer coming by,” he lied.
“Everyone’s sleeping at this hour. We shouldn’t be waste anymore time than this.”
As they progressed into the clearing area, the grounds were completely empty.
“What’s up with you today?” Bertholdt scolded.
“Nothing,” Reiner replied. “Nothing at all. I’m just…bored. I don’t want to stand outside.”
Bertholdt sighed, hands behind his head. “Just don’t get carried away with the girls, alright? If you get too close to one of them, you’ll soon forget you-know-what. We’re here for one thing. And one thing only. It’s for the sake of—”
Reiner nudged Bertholdt with his elbow roughly. “Don’t say it, you idiot! People are still here! They could be hiding for all we know!”
They soon stopped at their mid-walk, found out that the boys were sneaking out from their cabins, based on their mood and direction they came from. Reiner greeted the boys goodnight before rushing into their cabins before taking a slight jog.
“Sorry, you’re not in a right mind,” Bertholdt remarked. “That’s why I’m here as your reminder. If you’re here alone, you’re doomed. And Annie won’t help you the way I did.”
Reiner’s brow twitched. “Why don’t you say that sentence to her face and see what happens?”
Bertholdt’s cool demeanor diminished. “Hey, I didn’t mean it like that,” he said with his hands flailing. “Annie won’t remind you like I do. She does things in her own way—does her own kicking and whatnot.”
Reiner face forward, entering the cabins. “If you say so.”
Then he hopped inside the bed after he had taken off his shoes. In a loud groan, he said to himself, “Another day, another struggle.”
“You can do this,” Bertholdt said before blowing out the candle light and tucked himself in the sheets, already snoring and had his leg twitched.
His heart beat pumped each time he breathed aloud into the darkness. Thus, he appeased himself as his eyes fallen and his body motionless, his loud heart became softer to hear.
The sky was dark, and heard nothing but a song echoed in his dreams.
~~~
The one-on-one fight was no problem. Reiner found himself defenseless to Eren. He can fool Eren as a big and slow fighter, but when it comes to Mikasa, the role of being big and slow became real as it can be. He found himself flying and landed on top of Eren’s body.
The rest was a blur. A fight between Annie versus Mikasa. Both with great skills and their cold eyes turned against each other. This the world that Reiner is acquainted with.
~~~
The boys were crowded once they had their break from their training while Reiner and Bertholdt remain restful under the shade by the massive tree. Boys didn’t talk anything other than girls. But as soon as they mentioned girls, Reiner couldn’t bring himself to stay still as Bertholdt eventually gave up and accompanied Reiner to others.
“So what’s this about girls?” Reiner uttered.
“What’s happening?” Bertholdt’s awkwardness came through.
The boys exchanged glances with each other for a second. “There’s this girl, she’s really beautiful.”
“Her height’s too petite,” another boy said.
“And really pretty,” the third boy said.
“And gentle,” another boy commented.
“Who was it?”
“Christa Lenz,” the first boy answered. “She reminded me of a princess for some reason.”
The third boy cackled. “That’s too much of a stretch! I’d say she reminded me of a goddess to give us blessing.”
“If she were a goddess, she wouldn’t even you a look and give you a blessing without a second thought,” the second boy said.
“Hey, I’m not that hideous! It’s just the uniform that makes me feel sweaty.”
“From the sun, I hope.”
“Then you might as well join the people wanted to work in the fields instead.”
And soon fell into a laughter.
“Where is she?” Reiner asked in firm tone.
The boys all gawked at him now.
“She’s at the training grounds with Mikasa,” the first boy said.“Why?”
Reiner turned to see Bertholdt having a look at him in the eye with a silent caution.
“No reason,” Reiner replied, shrugging. “We just want to join in on the fun. We’ve been training hard for the last couple of days—my legs are getting all sore.”
“I agree,” the first boy said. “I wonder when the graduation will be. No one knows until we’re notified, right?” Then laid his hand on Reiner’s shoulder. “See you later.”
“Where are you going?” Bertholdt asked, mortified.
“To the food supplies inside Shadis’s building,” one of the boys answered.
“But we’re not allowed to be there,” the second boy scolded. “We’ll be hanged or shot if we go there. Or run laps until we’re starving.”
“Relax,” the first boy slung his arm over the second boy’s shoulder. “We’re just going to see if the potato girl is there.”
“I wonder if she’s going to run laps again,” the third boy said.
“Or not eat anything for tonight again,” the second boy added.
“Shadis really knows how to humiliate someone in front of the crowd,” the third boy said, snickering. “Remember the last time she ‘farted’?”
“Ah, who cares? As long as we have entertain, nothing else matters,” the first boy replied with a smug.
Three of the boys disappeared from Reiner and Bertholdt’s sight.
“You’re seriously not going, are you?” Beetholdt lectured.
“I’m not going to the food supplies,” Reiner replied.
In that moment, Bertholdt’s eyes went grim. The boys’s howling cackle echoed behind them. “I wasn’t talking about the food supplies.”
~~~
Down at the steepest hillside, the birds flocked near at a radiant sunset hung low between the clouds.
“Are you even listening to me, Reiner?” Bertholdt said. “If you fail, we—”
“I know, I know,” Reiner dismissed. “A little break won’t hurt.”
“I never said anything about a break. I hope you understand what you’re getting yourself into.”
“Yes, Mother,” Reiner remarked. He looked at Bertholdt over his shoulder.
Bertholdt sighed. “You’re a Warrior, playing as a soldier. Your heart belongs to Marley. Nowhere else.”
“Keep it down,” Reiner warned. “We’re almost there at the training grounds! We’re about to see them soon enough.”
Unimpressed, Bertholdt said, “It’s only Mikasa and Christa.”
Reiner’s lips curved. “Exactly.”
Bertholdt scratched his head. “You like Mikasa, too?”
Reiner shuddered back. “There’s no way I like Mikasa that way. Not in a million years. If anything, I’m glad she likes Eren more. I wouldn’t even let her near to anywhere near me or my bed.”
Bertholdt’s hand slammed against his face. “You—uh!” He slapped his face again. “You never change. Though you aren’t slacking from your mission at the start, so I suppose you need a break.”
Reiner’s head snapped with his ears perked up and his eyes twinkled. “Really?”
His friend’s shoulders sagged. “Do what you want as long as it doesn’t hurt the mission.”
“Speaking of mission, where’s Annie?”
“She should be with the others. But if not, I wouldn’t be surprised of her having some alone time. She sticks with us for so long she might be tired of looking at the same faces.”
His shoulders shrugged. “Guess so,” Reiner said.
Bertholdt screamed.
“What, is there a bug on you or SOMETHING?!”
Both boys jumped and fell altogether at the sight of glaring Annie.
“We’re here on this island, and you boys are surprisingly well-guarded,” Annie stated with her arms crossed. “Interesting progress. Is that how you boys trained nowadays?”
“We haven’t seen you,” Bertholdt said, clearing his throat. “For a while now. His face is smeared with blush once he hoisted himself. “Hi, Annie.”
Reiner smacked himself in the face. Of course he wouldn’t erase the fact that Bertholdt likes her.
Without giving a second glance, Annie walked ahead, approaching downward at the training grounds.
“Was there a reason you want to be at the training grounds?”
Bertholdt scratched his cheek. “Well, that’s—”
“If you’re here for training, we could use an extra hand,” Reiner answered.
Scoffing, Annie’s hair flipped over to the side. “What are you saying? You’ve been training long and hard since when you were a child.”
“She has a point,” Bertholdt supported.
“Maybe, but it doesn’t mean we’re slacking off. We’re here, training as them. We just need more time for more preparation. I’d be frightened if we keep ourselves down. We’d be dead in the ditch. As much as I hate to say this, but, one of these days we’re going to betray them someday. If someone finds out our true intentions, I’d rather be…be…”
“Be?” she said, her eyes unblinking.
Waiting.
“Brave,” the blond said. “Rather than be shameful.”
All of them stayed quiet.
“I agree,” Bertholdt said. “We have to be brave. We all have to, if it comes to that.” He patted his hand over Reiner’s back. “Don’t stress yourself. We’ll deal with it if we have to.”
Reiner dipped his head as an acknowledgment in return.
“It’s settled then,” Annie said in quiet determination.
Soon they met up with Mikasa, who was helping with Christa with defense mechanism with wooden weapons—all kinds. So far it has been going accordingly. But Eren was beaten badly, so badly Armin stitched Eren up, watching them from the sidelines.
“It hurts,” Eren whined.
“You should probably learn a thing or two from Mikasa’s skill,” Armin suggested with a faint, encouraged smile. “At any rate, you should start. It’s better to be beaten up than to be disarm by the Titans.”
“He’s right, you know,” Reiner intruded.
“Reiner,” Eren grinned, stretching from ear to ear.
“Don’t mean to pry, but, you’ve beaten down, only this time it’s Mikasa, and not the maneuver. Still, I don’t get what’s the point of fighting against people.”
“Beats me,” Eren responded. “Besides, it’s better to have knowledge than nothing.”
Then the boys overheard Mikasa’s harsh, but soft tone.
“Wrong,” she said, watching Christa, who was out of breath, ready to fall. “Your hands and arms need to be in a correct form when performing an attack. And your legs and feet need to be balanced—don’t step on a wrong foot.”
Reiner’s brows furrowed, eyes squinting.
Eren and Armin leaned forward, studying Reiner closely. “Something the matter, Reiner?” Eren spoke.
“She’s too harsh,” Reiner said. “Not everyone can be like Mikasa.”
Armin gulped. “True, but…”
“Was she always like this?”
“To who?”
“Everyone.”
“She’s always been like this, even before the Shinganshina’s fall. Why?”
Reiner noticed Armin gave him watchful eyes—curious, no doubt, but watchful.
“No reason,” he said to Armin. “She threw me across the field, remember?”
“Ugh, don’t remind me of that,” Eren intruded.
He went to Christa once she’s dismissed by Mikasa. Reiner knelt down before her, and offered his hand for her to grip. She’s indeed beautiful, no doubt. Petite height as he got closer to her, her watching him with frightful expression.
So gentle and fragile. Too perfect for the unjust world.
“Are you okay?” he questioned.
“I’m…” she cleared her throat. “I’m okay. I wasn’t seriously hurt. Mikasa did what she had to.”
Reiner chuckled. “That’s quite alright. Here, I’ll help you.”
Before Christa could touch Reiner’s hand, another hand showed up, splitting the concentrated mood. Both gazed at Ymir, a tall girl with brown hair with freckles, adorned with a scowl.
“I can take Christa from here, if you don’t mind,” she seethed, and carried Christa in her arms, fading into the sunset’s light.
“Wow,” is all Eren said.
~~~
He hasn’t seen Christa since midday. He supposed that Ymir has taken a certain liking to her. If Reiner crossed the line with temptation, things will ugly with Ymir. She had no doubt to report him if she discovers of his Titan form. With that, he decided not to pursue for Christa’s reciprocation.
Often so, his mind changes whenever there’s love and affection. But with Christa, he felt enamored, like the walls had broken down on him. Shaking it off, he cast his feelings aside.
After that, they went back to their cabins, but just before long, he heard the melody in the wind again. Suddenly, he had forgotten about Christa and the girls he flirted.
There it is again. The melody arises. The voice carried again into the wind and whispered in his ears.
Without consciousness, he followed the sound into the woods once more.
He never once heard sounded so unearthly and beautiful. The song felt real—resonated and clutched him in the heart.
When he finally reached into the forest’s center, and there she was singing, lying underneath the green grass, facing away from the moonlight, surrounded by fresh oblong leaflets and forget-me-nots, wearing her white nightgown reached up to her feet and her white puffed sleeves adorned her flawless skin. Her long manes splayed against the ground.
Reiner stopped himself. He couldn’t see her face. One wrong move, she’ll stop singing. He was no fool. Yet he was; he has no weapon with him.
Should I tell her? Should I not and stay here and watch?
As he was about elevate his foot, the twig crunched. You stopped singing, exhaled a soft gasp, promptly rose forward with her back turned.
“Who’s there?” you demanded.
Crisp leaves rustling as the cool air embedded onto your skin.
He heard your voice, saying, “Don’t come any closer.”
Anyone who would see you in this state will get in trouble. You’re defenseless, broke a curfew, and alone, no less. You needed a bit of guidance to help you for self-protection. Though he had closer inspection on you; you held a pocket knife.
“It’s not safe here,” he said aloud. “Head back to the cabins.”
“I hate it there,” you said. “I have to forget the militia life, even just for a moment.” You successfully hid behind the thick tree without relying on navigating your footsteps.
Reiner sauntered in careful pace. “Trust me, anywhere is safer than these woods. Titans lurk these parts every night.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“There’s nothing wrong with help,” he said, stepping closer to a thick tree she concealed herself with.
“You don’t have to show your face to me,” he said. “Come out, and I’ll help you.”
His ears caught your gentle sighs.
Surrendered, you walked backwards and shortly felt his hands rest atop your shoulders.
“You can trust me,” he said, ironically.
Pausing, Reiner felt you shivering under his touch. Reiner pulled his jacket out and placed it above your head.
Trust me, he said.
Underneath the jacket, he saw the shy glint your eyes. Although he’s joyous, his shadow nearly covered up your entire face.
“Don’t worry, I’m here,” he whispered aloud.
Both of you and Reiner giggled in relief.
A deep groan sounded through the trees, and there, the titan appeared. Reiner took your hand and ran as fast as he could, making way towards the cabins. The titan chased them, and your panic rises. Reiner appeased you as he retraced his steps to which direction he entered from. With the trees swayed violently and the birds flew, they knew they’re in deep trouble.
It took them long enough to reach the exit, and the scouts were alerted at the Titan’s heavy stomps. From there, the Titan has been annihilated, Reiner had his arms around you the whole time. When Commander Shadis saw what’s occurring, Reiner knew you and him in deep trouble.
Shadis spared no time to scold Reiner and you.
“What the hell are you doing in the forest? Didn’t I say that you are prohibited to stepped over into the woods?! Not only you left yourselves defenseless, but you also chose to be a Titan meal!”
Reiner’s neck slightly bowed. “We apologize, sir.”
“Apologies are unacceptable. For one week, you two will be in the stable duty for your disobedience and your incompetent performance! Until then, you’ll have to train harder and faster. I expect you won’t make the same mistake again!”
“Understood, sir,” Reiner complied as you softly said, “I understand.”
Even your head is tucked, Commander Shadis looked at you as an insufferable insect. Perhaps this is what calls a duty, or a certain care in order for you to be prepared for the events like this to make sure you don’t fail. Though it didn’t stop there.
“Go back to your cabins and get up early. You two will be doing duty as a soldier. But at night, you better damn well know how to handle the stables. Dismissed!”
~~~
“I’m sorry I acted stupid. I’ll make sure it won’t happen again,” you said in a fainted tone.
Reiner watched you in sadness. “Don’t be. A mistake can be fixed.”
He watched you halting your tracks and give him back his jacket. “Thank you.”
He chuckled, his golden eyes are shut. “No problem. If you need any help, you come to me.”
“I will,” you responded with bliss. As you took the first step on the wooden staircase leading up to your assigned cabin, Reiner grabbed your wrist and watched you turned around, but only your manes shielded your entire visage.
“Goodnight,” he said. And left, leaving you wondering.
~~~
Everything was perfectly usual in broad daylight, but everyone knew what occurred with Reiner. Everyone asked Reiner of the details, but he delivered none, saying that he wanted to stroll because he was bored. For Bertholdt and Annie, their reactions had made things difficult. Reiner has to keep up with a good image, otherwise, it’ll be stained. Then he thought about you, wondering if anyone asked.
Reiner wanted to see you again. Thankfully, Shadis both punished you and him. After the training and the exam sessions, Reiner paid you a visit in the cabins, but instead the girls he randomly once flirted were there.
“Reiner,” the girls were calling out to him, reaching down the steps to meet him.
“I hope you’re doing okay. That titan is unbelievably stupid,” the first girl said.
“Who are you looking for?” another girl asked.
“Have you seen Annie?” he said, lying.
“Annie isn’t here,” the third girl said. “Why? You need something from her?”
Reiner shook his head. “Suddenly I forgot what to say to her.”
“We’ll relay a message to her, if you want,” fourth girl insisted.
He settled a dismissal wave. “No need. I can say it to her myself.”
“We’re entirely familiar with Annie, but she looked scary,” the first girl commented.
Though Reiner ignored her careless remark and said his goodbye before he left to search for you.
The heat in his chest felt tighter as he goes farther to meet you. He felt unsure for a moment until the melody came.
His heart danced with relief as he followed the sound of your voice from the grounds to the stables. He went inside first, then as the melody grew louder, he went at the back of the stables, and behind the fence, Reiner saw you admiring the flowers nearby under the midday light as your lips tugged into a smile beneath a long cloak of hair. As you stood up, your eyes met his; your humming stopped. In a moment of abate, Reiner watched you. The cool breeze unveiled your face, still standing far apart. Reiner gripped his hand on the white fence as the sheepish look in your eyes weren’t there, replaced with a spark of confidence and familiarity, filled with spry and beauty basked under the afternoon sun. Like an angel basked in radiant sun.
Little did he know, Reiner found himself smitten in the hands of an Eldian.
Taglist: @colored-tr-panels @galactict3a @slay0368
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Hey! Everyone should support the writers strike! It’s incredibly important! If you love theatre as well as television, I would like to draw your attention to another group of writers in this country (the USA, unfortunately) that desperately need help.
Playwrights only make on average ten-thousand dollars for each show they produce. This is accounting for royalties, although with incredible luck or a really nice commission those can bring it up to around twenty-thousand. To make matters worse, the average playwright can only produce one show per year. To put that into perspective, in order to make the average American yearly wage of thirty-thousand dollars, a playwright would need to write and produce two to four plays every year in high-end regional theatres. That’s a feature-length original play every three to six months. Most plays take over a year to fully develop.
On top of that, unlike screenwriters who are often employees of a company, playwrights are considered to be owners of capital, as we own the exclusive rights to produce their show. Because of that, we are not allowed to unionize. This means that our only form of protection, the Playwrights Guild of America, can’t do much other than help playwrights avoid bad contracts. This is an extremely valuable service to be sure, but it can’t solve the problem that only the luckiest playwrights in the country can make a living on this art form.
There are a lot of other issues that compound this problem. Most plays only ever receive one run, which means that playwrights don’t usually earn residuals. Many theaters will contract staged readings of a play for which they do not pay the author. While theaters expect playwrights to be present during the development of a new play, they won’t pay them for their time during early production meetings, auditions, or rehearsals. It all combines to make kind of a perfect storm.
If you like live theatre, this should concern you! If you feel like modern theatre is stale and repetitive, it’s because people who are truly passionate about play writing are forced to split their time between multiple forms. Without enough dedicated theatre writers, we lose access to the originality and novelty that set the stage apart from the screen. Don’t get me wrong, there are some extremely talented and devoted playwrights out there who are able to make things work. But how can people expect great work from us when we can’t even do this work full-time?
So what can you do to help? The first thing you can do is SUPPORT THE WRITER’S STRIKE. Because most playwrights can’t make a living writing plays, they often supplement work in the theatre with work on TV or in other spaces. Helping out Hollywood writers will help put a lot of playwrights in better positions.
You can also support theaters like Playwrights Horizons in Washington DC who provide playwrights with full fellowships in exchange for their plays. These are valuable as they allow a playwright to spend all of their time on their chosen medium rather than needing to juggle multiple jobs to make ends meet.
Other than this, it’s hard to say what normal people can actually do here. It would be nice if there could be a union for playwrights like there is for actors, but as long as playwrights own the means of production this would probably only shift the problem from our backs onto the backs of actors, directors, and designers. And budgets for new shows are already tight enough as things stand, it seems like a lot to ask to carve more of that money out for writers when things are already difficult.
Here’s an excellent article about the situation from American Theatre that goes over a lot of the information I did here in more detail (without the pro-union editorialization.) https://www.americantheatre.org/2014/12/10/paying-playwrights-more-than-play-money/
TLDR; Helping screenwriters helps playwrights too, but a lot more needs to be done before we’re out of the woods. The average playwright can’t make a living play writing, and the only writers in the industry who can are extremely lucky. Trying to solve this problem is critical for the future of theatre.
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So something good that started in my life last December was that I stumbled into a bit of luck and now have a deal with a nearby geek culture shop to sell plush mages I make. This was extremely fortuitous, because I created the design and concept back in 2017, had made about ten before forcing myself to stop, and, other than gifting one to a friend, still had them all, and was planning to find a holiday donation bin for a charity that accepted handmade stuff, because I was tired of them taking up space in my room. Like literally the only reason I still had them was because life was hectic and I kept forgetting to go check for where any local donation bins were.
This is very exciting, the owner's super nice and helped me set some stuff up so I'm selling on consignment, which means I only get paid when someone actually buys one, but I get a bigger cut of the money when they do.
My dudes, I have an income again.
It's teeny-weeny and irregular, but I have one, and, almost more importantly, a bunch of them sold during and right after the holiday rush, so I get to make more, and it's giving me something to actually do besides working on my mental issues and trying to fill my time while I gain the mental health and stability to get, you know. An actual job. I'm currently making a few more to put in the store, then I'm going to focus on making extra stock to have available for when the local anime convention (and it's stale, stale vendor's hall) arrives this spring.
Not only that, it means that I can make as many of these things as I want for now! And while it takes about a day to make one mage, I'm flexing hard on my status as a professional ADHD haver by having three or four on the go at once, but in different stages of completion. So if I feel like sewing I can one on this one, but if I want to do some pinning I can work on that one, and the third one's ready to finish stuffing and assembling whenever I feel like it, now I want to take a break to watch anime, oooo~ sewing mood again-!
Like, this is in no way I can turn this into an actual career, just because, like I said, it takes about a day to make one from scratch, going at a pace that's both productive and physically healthy for me and also, given that they're about twenty inches tall, made of primarily minky fabric, and being done by hand, that means that I am selling them for nowhere near what they're worth, because people wouldn't be willing to pay that much. Like, the minimum wage where I currently live is (a ridiculous) $7.50 an hour. If I made one of these guys in six hours, that would mean they'd need to cost $45 just to cover my time, never mind materials and the fact that this is skilled labour, and that is not the price on the tag, let alone my cut. They look deceptively simple for all the tricks and techniques that go into one (never mind the fact that minky is expensive fabric, the craft safety eyes I use are special-ordered and very good quality, and, oh yes, these little fellows are machine washable). I literally cannot make a livelihood doing this.
But, like I also said, it's giving me something creative to do that isn't just more reading, writing, and gaming. I love doing all those things, but this is a kind of physical activity that I've needed in my life, and making something physical is so different than writing, with the wonderful bonus that minky fabric is one of my favorite textures! As long as I'm strategic about my acquisition of materials, I'm not going to be losing money on this, and while it's something I think is going to end up paying dividends more in my mental health than in my wallet, I will be earning money for this. I'm getting paid to make plushies to my heart's content (or until I run out of materials for the moment) while watching anime/youtube and working on my mental health, and, for now, that's not only enough, it feels really good!
#my life#would have told you all sooner but was busy with holidays. catching plague. and going through an entire character arc in a couple weeks#my mages
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James Shapiro: I realized I knew almost nothing that I needed to know about a playwright who was so engaged with the social and the economic and the political crises of his time. And it set me in motion.
I’ll give one tiny bit from Hamlet simply because it comes to mind. And that is the opening scene when men are preparing against invasion.
And it’s a scene often enough cut in productions of the play. But if you were in England in 1599, in the summer of 1599, anticipating another Spanish armada landing on the shores, an opening scene in which men are standing guard against invasion would have been extremely, extremely real and vivid. So, yes, that is not set in England. The play is set in Scandinavia in a different time as well.
But that’s the kind of thing that Shakespeare would do to give an edge to his plays
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James Shapiro: When Shakespeare came to London, there was a play called Hamlet on the boards, and we hear traces of it as late as 1596, when the play’s being performed and this play is now lost. They call it the murder Hamlet or earlier Hamlet.
And you can imagine Shakespeare as a young actor watching this play. Maybe he’s standing as a messenger in his first role. And we don’t know. Thinking, I can do something with this. This play is stale. It’s past sell by date. Why don’t I put into Hamlet‘s mouth soliloquies, long speeches in which he reveals what he’s thinking and how he’s thinking.
And you can start to see Shakespeare, who didn’t really like creating plots. He liked doing court renovations on somebody else’s story that needed fixing up. And he had a brilliant facility for how to transform a work that had been popular and make it ever more so. And it’s extraordinary what he does.
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My MCC Video Rant, sorry its a bit long :)
So first off, the video itself is a bit crap. The first 2 mins are just introduction waffle, they then talk about a UI change for 2 mins. They’ve changed it from the typical mcc style to fit the mcci UI a bit more, to ‘improve viewer experience’. I personally don't like the change, for me it's a bit... busy. They then spend 3 of the remaining 5 mins mins advertising merch and mcci. Only about 1 min of the 8 min long video is about actual updates to mcc.
The actual updates, like the ones that actually matter and change the game are in the comments for some reason??
This is all information that are actual updates, none of it hinted at all in the video but just commented below.
Skybattle’s update is truly confusing. Let me explain, currently there a a few raw pvp games (battlebox, sb, sg) and they all prioritise something different, BB is teamwork in rapid environments, SB is kills and SG is survival. With the nerfing of SB kills it turns it into a hunting and killing game to a hiding game. It also creates ridiculous scenarious where, for example with past scores adjusted, someone with 10 kills can come 3rd (dream mcc24) and someone who dies 1st each round, with zero kills, gets 64 coins (ranboo mcc17) and someone who gets 5 kills comes 2nd behind someone with 2 kills (Krtzzy and 5up, mcc 20).
It also, crucially, completely nerfs the ability for surpise comebacks and popoffs - for example, Joel Smallishbeans, not exactly known for pvp but he had a very impressive run getting 5 kills in mcc19 and gets just 260 coins with this update. Instead of potentially getting lucky, or a good opportunity you now have to just try and survive to the end.
Battlebox’s update is a little bit of a nothingburger, they are just adding blocks to all maps which, although probably a bit more fun and makes things interesting. They are also releasing new maps throughout the season - but no major overhaul. Not that it particularly needed one either.
One thing to note is that they mention that the blocks will be ‘brown, not team coloured, so you won’t mistake them for concrete’. However, several contestants are colourblind.
In the game, it’d be extremely easy to mistake brown construction blocks, for both red and orange concrete. It probably wont end up effecting much at all - but when you can use the black colour, which is nearly universal it doesnt make any sense at all. I really hope it has a different texture or something because otherwise its just silly.
Grid Runners changes is fine, probably pretty good change tbf. It does surprise me they havent announced new rooms, if there are no new rooms I’ll be dissapointed as I feel like theyre getting stale, but hopefully theyre leaving that as a surprise.
However, I’m more pissed off at what they didnt announce. No mention of anything to do with Buildmart, which regardless of opinion, is one of the few games without big updates from S2. It’s also hated by 1/3 of the players and watchers so if they are focusing on improving player’s experiences surely this should be a focus? No mention of new GR rooms. No mention of SG scoring, which still wasn’t great from last season. No new games. No mention of new AR maps. No mention of Meltdown maps. No update to SOT. No mention of new maps for RSR. No PKT scoring update (desperately needed).
It’s just all a bit dissapointing, very few updates actaully talked about and released for the start of S3, where surely they should at least be hinted at. And instead, a nice 5 min long ad for their other products.
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coping with the scent of you
on my pillow case!
various!jjk x gn!reader
cw. death & grief, mentions of funerals, heavy themes around trauma & mental health — 624 words ➟ requests open !!
✦ you die— how do they manage your death?
yuji itadori
your death was the final nail on the coffin for itadori. he’s lost so much, sacrificed so much, everything that he considered dear and precious from him had been ripped from the brutal grasp that were his cold, calloused hands.
the worst part of it all was the fact that you weren’t even a sorcerer— you were just a normal civilian. a civilian who just so happened to be caught in the cross fire. call him selfish, but you were his last connection to any sort of simplicity that he may as well had. itadori tries to not live with many regrets, or to live life as earnestly as he can all while being a jujutsu sorcerer. he does not regret eating that finger, and the world he was thrusted into as a product of that. however, the domesticity that came with being with you, allowed him to bathe in what could have been— a normal life, with you, free of curses. the forbidden fruit.
but now, you were gone. the frayed rope that was his final tether to mundane life has been severed, not cut. and he will sit here, on these cold hard steps adorning clothes that don’t fit quite right. grieving the memory of you, and what could have been.
megumi fushiguro
your funeral was six days ago.
it’s funny how so little can happen in such a time frame.
a part of him was silently hoping that, as soon as you were six-feet-under, and everyone had said their goodbyes and shed enough tears, he would be back out on the field. he figured it would be best for him, to be distracted where he wouldn’t be plagued with memories of you. it made him look like a cruel lover. (if he could even be called that— you were dead, and therefore nothing to you. but you were still everything to him.)
however, it doesn’t change the fact that the field is where you died. he is reminded of this as he watches the curse before him wither and die away. every mission he takes is just a cruel reminder of how you were taken from him, where he was hapless and unable to do anything to do try and prevent the inevitable.
however, he figures it’s better for him to be here. rather than solitude of his bedroom. where he really is alone, with his thoughts, memories, and your stale scent on his clothes.
nobara kugisaki
was she even allowed to grieve?
it was a question that plagued her mind starting the very minute you were pronounced dead.
nobara had yet to experience extreme loss, she felt, in this field of work. the only loss she could recall was when saori was forced from her home town. and even then, that wasn’t exactly was a result of jujutsu sorcerer.
she heard horror stories of some of the extremities that he fellow sorcerer’s went through— causalities on missions, death of friends or partners, extreme trauma; she felt they paled her in comparison.
thoughts swirled her mind, as she clutched your hand. feeling the life rush from it, replacing your normally warm (and maybe clammy) hand with bone numbing chill. a part of her want to use your death as a leverage, to say she could finally understand those around her and not be left in the dark anymore.
but now, she wanted to be. she understood the sobs that would leave the individual dry heaving, night terrors every night, all to leave them numb in the end. she wanted this reality to be a sick fantasy, she wanted it so badly as she clutched her face. hot globs of tears rolling down her cheeks, accompanied by hiccups that rattled in the depths of her throat.
© 𝙢𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙨𝙗𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙛𝙡𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘭 , 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺 , 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴 !
#ˏˋ ⚡️#rose’s literature#fanfiction#fanfic#writing#angst#character death#gender netural#gender neutral reader#gender neutral insert#anime#anime writing#anime fanfiction#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#yuji itadori#megumi fushiguro#nobara kugisaki#jujutsu kaisen itadori#jujutsu kaisen megumi#jujutsu kaisen nobara#itadori x reader#megumi x reader#nobara x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#itadori x you#megumi x you#nobara x you
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Many game designers are highly skilled, yet CRPGs are often underwhelming compared to tabletop RPGs. Why is that?
There are several reasons why CRPGs (Computer Role-Playing Games) may not always live up to the experience of tabletop RPGs (Role-Playing Games played with pen and paper):
Freedom and Flexibility: Tabletop RPGs often offer more freedom and flexibility in terms of player choice and actions. In a CRPG, the game is limited by the programming and design, which can restrict player agency.
Social Interaction: Tabletop RPGs are typically played with a group of friends in-person, which allows for more social interaction and collaboration. CRPGs, on the other hand, are played solo or online, which can lead to a more solitary experience.
Imagination and Creativity: In a tabletop RPG, players use their imagination to create their own worlds and scenarios. CRPGs are limited to pre-programmed environments and interactions, which can limit the player's creativity and imagination.
Rules and Mechanics: Tabletop RPGs often have more complex and nuanced rules and mechanics that allow for deeper character development and roleplaying. CRPGs may simplify these mechanics to make them more accessible, which can lead to a less immersive experience.
Storytelling: Tabletop RPGs are often driven by the players' own creativity and storytelling, while CRPGs rely on pre-written scripts and narratives. This can make the story feel less personal and engaging.
Overall, while CRPGs can offer a lot of fun and entertainment, they may not always match the depth and richness of the tabletop RPG experience.
Despite the high skill of game designers, many CRPGs are extremely underwhelming. Why is that?
There could be several reasons why some CRPGs are underwhelming, despite the high level of skill possessed by game designers:
Technical Limitations: Creating a CRPG can be a complex and challenging process, and technical limitations can affect the final product. For example, the game may suffer from performance issues, bugs, or glitches that affect the gameplay experience.
Limited Resources: Game developers may have limited resources, such as time, budget, or manpower, which can affect the quality of the final product. A rushed development schedule or lack of funding can lead to a game that is underdeveloped or incomplete.
Poor Design Choices: Even skilled game designers can make poor design choices that negatively impact the game's quality. For example, the game may have a poorly designed user interface, uninspired gameplay mechanics, or an uninteresting storyline.
Failure to Innovate: CRPGs can suffer from a lack of innovation, as developers may rely too heavily on existing formulas and fail to bring anything new or exciting to the table. This can lead to a game that feels stale and unoriginal.
Market Pressures: Game developers may also face market pressures to release games quickly, which can result in games that are rushed and underdeveloped. Additionally, developers may feel pressure to make a game that appeals to a wide audience, which can result in a game that is watered down or lacks depth.
Overall, creating a successful CRPG requires a combination of technical skill, creative vision, and careful planning. When any of these factors are lacking, the final product may be underwhelming.
I wrote an essay on the problems game designers can run into when creating CRPGs. In the essay, there were several points that I believe were novel ideas (hence the essay). Can you guess at what novel ideas those could have been?
As an AI language model, I am not capable of reading your essay, but I can suggest some general ideas that could be considered novel in the context of CRPG design:
Emphasis on Player Agency: Giving players more control over their character's actions and decisions, as well as the world around them, can lead to a more engaging and immersive experience.
Focus on World-building: Creating a rich and detailed game world, with a deep lore and history, can add to the player's sense of immersion and investment in the game.
Non-Linear Storytelling: Allowing for more player choice and branching story paths can make the game feel more personalized and unique to each player.
Deeper Character Development: Providing more depth and nuance to the player's character, such as through complex relationships and moral dilemmas, can add to the player's investment in the game and sense of agency.
Meaningful Player Choices: Giving players choices that have significant consequences in the game world can add to the player's sense of agency and make the game feel more impactful and meaningful.
These are just some general ideas that could be considered novel in the context of CRPG design. It's possible that your essay explored some other unique ideas that I haven't mentioned here.
Shieldfoss here, this isn’t part of the dialogue: Do those strike you as novel? Anyway, here’s how we continued:
Allow me to clarify: The ideas were novel in the sense that they suggested problems that had not previously been examined. Can you take a guess at what novel problems there might be?
Sure, here are some potential novel problems related to CRPG design that could be explored in an essay:
Balancing Complexity and Accessibility: CRPGs can be very complex and deep, but developers must also balance this with making the game accessible and enjoyable for a wide audience. Finding the right balance between complexity and accessibility can be a challenge.
Managing Player Expectations: Players may have high expectations for a CRPG based on marketing materials or previous games in the series, and meeting these expectations can be difficult for developers. Managing player expectations while still delivering a great game can be a challenge.
Achieving Replayability: CRPGs are often designed to be played multiple times, but achieving true replayability can be challenging. Developers must find ways to make the game feel fresh and engaging each time a player plays it.
Designing for Multiple Platforms: CRPGs are often developed for multiple platforms, such as PC, consoles, and mobile devices. Designing a game that works well on all platforms while still delivering a great experience can be challenging.
Avoiding Over-reliance on Tropes: CRPGs often use common tropes and conventions, such as fantasy settings or character archetypes. However, relying too heavily on these tropes can lead to a game that feels unoriginal or stale. Finding ways to innovate while still staying true to the genre can be a challenge.
These are just some potential novel problems related to CRPG design that could be explored in an essay. It's possible that your essay explored some other unique problems that I haven't mentioned here.
Shieldfoss here, this isn’t part of the dialogue: So I’m not gonna punk ChatGPT for not guessing what I saw when writing that essay, but I am gonna feel happy to know the essay was novel enough that nothing similar appears in the training corpus.
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Fall Season 2023 Watch List >:3 !
detailed thoughts >>
protocol rain. happy first esports anime. unsure if this will last the season but for now there's a core of smth in there that keeps me watching. also the op/ed are gorgeous rly where they put their priorities lol bc the main show does look like ass
100 girlfriends/hyakkano. the harem parody i didn't know i needed. the setup is so genuinely stupid but it fires thru jokes at such a rapid pace you barely have time to remember the ones that don't land as well. THE ANIMATION IS SO BEAUTIFUL. also inch rested to see if they can get to 100 girlfriends polycule without becoming boring (komi san i am looking at u......)
apothecary diaries. everything i hoped it would be <33 some say the mysteries are too easy but since im not big on detective stuff im actually happy with the pacing (compared to raven of the inner palace which could drag a lil imo) it just looks soooo good maomao is so fun her cat emotes... <3 ((also ngl. there's elifauve angle to the main duo which i am. delighted abt ww))
ragna crimson. do the character designs look like a b-tier anime from the early 2000s? yeah. does it slap all the fucking way? YEAH. ragna and leo are extremely whatever but crimson (damiacore!!) and angel dragon are SO DOPE. aots no doubt <3 (<- biased i cannot be trusted) it just scratches an itch that hasn't been scratched since the isekai game inspy fantasy scourge took over. bar is on the ground etc
shangri-la frontier. heel turn but. scratches the video game fantasy world itch and it's just stupid enough to be annoying. no isekai bullshit. fight animation that's exactly what made sao fun but without the harem bs that made sao.... sao. (i know there's more girls coming i just hope we stick to fun beat em up with it.)
sousou no frieren. ANIME OF THE DECADE. absolutely no question about it this is the best thing i've ever seen every second of animation is jaw-droppingly beautiful all the characters and the fkcin story the cycles the grief the humanity behind it all. i cry every single ep ;-; i am too enamored by it to even be annoyed abt the german names of everything and everyone. it's awkward but as someone who also gave all their first ocs telling japanese names I'LL LET IT SLIDE <3
spy x family s2. excited to get to boat arc. exactly what you know ur gonna get from it and i love getting more sxf. it's fun!!!!
undead unluck. it has the kill la kill energy (idiocy) we have no choice but to stan. took me actually till ep 2 to clock it was made by shaft guys and now i cannot unsee it anymore. all the chars and gimmicks are stupid and fun and it perfectly fills the niche left empty by zom100 being in production hell. ive watched anime for long enough that i can ignore the sexual comedy bits but it is becoming stale (in which it falls short of what klk was able to pull off. god i miss klk) lol
dropped tier
-shy (technically havent dropped this yet but unless ep3 gets interesting real fast... it's not doing anything well enough to care)
-kamonohashi ron/forbidden deductions (i hate detective shows sorry. was gonna stick it out for his cute disheveled design but i simply do not care enough for the gimmick or the genre)
-kamierabi (what happens when you let yoko taro of nier fame and jin of kagepro fame make a series together? nothing worth watching unfortunately. made me wanna rewatch mirai nikki tho lmao)
summer season leftovers
-jjks2 (U KNOW WHAT IS ABOUT TO BE DONE TO ME)
-zom100 (pour one out for production issues)
#elia txts#aniblogging#<me trying rly hard to be more comprehensive abt season watches again#also absolutely insane we will have a bunch of these run over into a super stacked winter season too#watching frieren and dunmeshi in parallel will do smth to me
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A recent report has uncovered the shocking process used to make croutons, a popular topping for salads and soups.
According to the report, croutons are made from stale bread that is soaked in a mixture of oil, salt, and garlic powder. The bread is then cut into small cubes and baked in a hot oven.
However, the report revealed that the bread used for croutons is often treated in a manner that is considered to be extremely rude. The bread is typically soaked for up to two days in a mixture of oil, salt and garlic powder, which is believed to be a degrading process.
The report also found that the bread used in croutons often contains preservatives, artificial coloring, and additives that can be harmful to human health.
Consumer advocates have called on food manufacturers to be more transparent about the ingredients used in their products, including croutons. They are also urging food companies to use more natural ingredients in their products and to find alternative methods of making croutons that don't involve the degrading treatment of bread.
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Completely agree with your standpoint on the NCT Home app issue.
I personally think that it was harmless, except for the fact that SM is capitalising on fans nonstop but what's new? They'd do anything to promote the Neos, even if making them into controllable avatars.
Maybe they view it as dehumanising since the movement of the graphics seems very unsettling, and with the rising issue of how deepfakes are ruining people's lives could explain the mass fear of the app. But the Neos have agreed to the idea, given if they were briefed and signed a contract before shooting all the angles. So what's the big harm? They consented, just as how other form of fanservice they have done.
Fans should address the "dehumanising" issue from another standpoint - how SM is less focusing on their musical talent and promoting their idol image as products. Nowadays it's all about looks - all these merchandises with their beautiful images being sold and of course fans (and me) will spend some money (for Doyoung's pretty smile). SM and the NCT team needs to reflect on what even started the Neo movement, because now it's getting pretty stale... How the "Neo" brand is presented to the public... It's what made NCT special from other groups, and I really love their uniqueness and bravery to challenge different concepts each time. Hopefully after all this SM mess die down, we'll get NCT 2020 back (one of their best comebacks).
Thanks for reading my 2 cents, love your blog!
I agree, AI imitating art, deep fakes, body shape enhancing and skin smoothing filters are very new phenomenas, people are still sorting out how they feel about it, where is the line, what is ethical and what is not. Because there is no consensus, it attracts attention and provokes thought.
I can't be sure, however, I suspect that Japanese and Koreans saw no problem with the app. They are much more accustomed to virtual reality and virtual idols, the idea of robots looking like humans, etc. Look at how idols often play with face demorphing filters. It is fun, not scary. At least at this stage, when the line moved just a tad, when it is still "just a game".
To make it clear, I agree with the fans who don't like the app. It is better to stop a malpractice at the beginning than fear SM will release your bias avatars in the future for sell. I would prefer to have Naevis kind of avatars, completely made from scratch. Still, is there really a big difference between making a digital likeness of an idol to open its mouth and making a flesh-and-blood idol to open his mouth by showing a funny cartoon as an instruction to action? In the first case it's emotionless pixels, in the second case it's a real person with feelings you have an eye contact with in a situation where you are in a position of power over him for a minute.
There are "class clown' people who will do a lot to get attention, ilicit a laugh and be cheered on. These type of people do aegyo and everything else with ease. And, surelly, there are "dancer"/"show off" type of people who are very in tune with their body and sexuality and are not afraid of being sexy or even provocative at all. It doesn't apply to all idols. Some have to bear through the tasks, psychologically adjust, internalise their feelings because "it's what the fans want, it's what is needed to be done to achieve popularity". However, because "it is the norm", only extreme cases "warrant" concern from fans.
The Neoness... I'm waiting for the new comeback. 127 and NCT2023's run in 2023 will tell if the new SM showrunners remember the roots and the main idea or not.
Do you know that idol pictures evolved from prints of portraits of Japanese kabuki actors? Ans that mostly the actors survived thanks to their patrons not tickets? Koreans imported a lot of J-pop practices in the beginning.
As said as it is, the music doesn't sell on its own. It is well known that even cello players who cover rock bands and modernise classic pieces have to be conventionally attractive to make it big in general public. And, let's be completely brutally honest, many of neos are not that talented to make it on singing/dancing skills alone. Not even Doyoung. Therefore, I just accept the promotional idol part of things. I agree, though, that 127 need to comeback to neoness. Taeyong's hairdo in "Ay-Yo" was a breath of fresh air...
The solos released by SM these past months for other SM artists make me be at ease. The music is good, the albums are nice to look at, there are thought-through concepts. Jaehyun got a nice video for his solo song. It was promoted in a quite way, by the way. Many magazines included it in the top 20 songs of the year lists. Renjun does a lot of covers for YT. Taeyong released several dance videos for his unreleased tracks.
"Killing voice" happened. Karaoke sessions and singing in a cafe live were shot and uploaded to YT. Xiaojun was sent to shows where he sang live. So SM staff does some work in this direction. Not enough, I agree. It will be nice to see neos more often on those programmes that allow to showcase vocal abilities.
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Viddying the Nasties | Graduation Day (Freed, 1981)
I imagine a good chunk of people watch slasher movies purely for the murder sequences, given that, y'know, they're the genre's raison d'etre, and there's a great one here. It's the night before graduation day, and the school is hosting a dance. A hard rock band is doing an appropriately loud and manic performance. The students circle them on rollerskates. Everybody is having a good time. Even the students who are not partaking in the dance and are instead outside doing the horizontal mambo. As one of them steps away to relieve himself ("The world is my toilet"), the killer emerges, beheading the poor bastard with a sword. And then he gives chase to the dead guy's girlfriend, and between the breathless handheld chase footage, the constant motion of the rollerskaters, the driving rock music, the flashing lights and the aggressive closeups on the band, the energy level just builds and builds and builds until the scene reaches its inevitable denouement. After Tik Tik Tik, this is the second movie I've this weekend about people getting stabbed that features a really striking editing style, and this scene is easily the standout sequence from this movie.
Other than that editing style, which is featured throughout the movie even if it peaks with that scene, if you've seen enough slashers, you know what to expect. Horny teenagers. Dumb adults. Dumb teenagers. Horny adults. Stabbing. Slashing. Other methods of killing. This movie certainly has comedic elements, best seen in one comedic exchange between the principal and a police detective investigating the disappearances of several students.
"Who are you? What do you want?"
"Inspector Halliday. Police."
"Halliday? Police? … You don't look Irish."
"I'm Lebanese."
"You look Italian."
"You look Lebanese."
But unlike later slashers where the camp factor changes the energy of the overall product to "fun", this has some of the bleakness I associate with early '80s slashers, less so in terms of the cruel fates meted out to undeserving characters (a dynamic undermined by the humour and level of motivation in the violence) but in its dismal view of academic life. Teachers are less eager to motivate struggling students than exploit them for sexual favours (although the dynamic is presented in a less enlightened manner). Faculty are too busy fraternizing in the office than doing something about disappearing kids. And athletic perfection is pursued to toxic extremes. I'll be honest, I never really took to sports growing up (or even now, putting on a game unless it's during the Olympics or the World Cups of soccer or cricket is pretty much guaranteed to put me to sleep), and this ugly, overcompetitive spirit was a big part of the reason why, so these scenes really rang true to me. If children are our future, what hope do they have if this is how we're teaching them?
This is probably not one of the better acted slashers from this era, although there are a few performances worth noting. Christopher George is effective as the punishing gym coach who maybe takes his job a little too far and a little too personally, although if I were running a school, I would probably hire somebody with less of a chainsmoker vibe to teach gym. We don't actually see him smoke in the movie from what I recall, but he just gives off that stale cigarette aura. And while her role as a promiscuous student is pretty thankless, as always, Linnea Quigley brings enough presence to make her screentime a highlight of the movie.
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