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#(( she has been spared oh god ;; ))
penandinkprincess · 7 months
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ok but imagine in bb ellie + sarah + charlie verse when they reunite in kansas city and have to survive the hunters. joel is mortified that sarah has a gun and learned to keep watch at night and protect the group. and joel insists that he’ll be The Protector (tm) so sarah can just be a kid — but sarah is not having it. before he can do anything abt it the hunters attack a Sarah jumps into action and gets involved in a shootout. (+ sarah killing someone for the first time for angst)
so in my head, sarah knows how to shoot a gun (bc texas and also bonding time with tommy), but she's just gotten to bluff this whole time
the hunter trap happens and then crash, and tess, joel, and tommy are providing cover, and she's conflicted bc she wants to help and stay with the grownups, but ellie and charlie need her, so she runs to the hole first, charlie sends ellie running so she can grab her, and then charlie runs over and she helps haul him through
and by then, they've gotten some good shots in, but one sneaks up on her dad while tess and tommy have already moved to better vantage points so she's the ONLY one who sees, so she grabs her gun and walks over and she's SO scared but she has to, so she shoots. she flinches so it's a neck shot and not a head shot, but it's DEFINITELY fatal
and joel is HORRIFIED that his kid who loves butterflies and once tried to keep a bird with a broken wing in a shoebox in her closet to nurse it back to health had to hurt someone.
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datastate · 9 months
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shin would apologize for his bed being a mess even if it’s overall fine, meanwhile keiji’s out here like “hey, let’s uh. keep this in the hallway alright? maybe find a nice, grassy spot to talk this out...” and then when he moves out of the doorway to close his apartment door you’re briefly face-to-face with the fact that he. needs severe help.
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discoreptile · 7 months
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Wee ha
#Arright here I go again I gotta do some of these when I gotta vent#posting this on the 17th of August#So the elestral thing is going alright. My focus has shifted a LOT there but I'm still working with em#But the majority of my work comes from another client now. It's another one of these things that I'd love to make by myself#But someone else is making it and wanting me to do the art and music. It's gonna be huge. What a life it is. Anyway#This gif is from yet another project I started recently. Separate from Smile More HoaM and anything else. I keep fucking doing this#But this one's strange. It reflects my current working skills I've built up all these years. A multimedia experience that has a start n end#featuring all your favourite elphame characters in a new style. I'm enjoying making it but there's one problem#I haven't worked on it in like a month and a half#Work is piling up. Pixel art is something I don't do for myself anymore#It's not even a case of “as soon as I have time to myself my fingers can't move" it's that I just do not have any spare time lmao#I meet Ashley once or twice a week. We still play digimon a lot but we're taking this month off since she's petsitting and can't go out lat#My flatmate has basically taken the summer off work since his job pays well enough for him to do so#so having him around to play games with is nice. Feels awkward taking baths with him in the house tho lmao#He is kind of the only reason I take breaks. I got pikmin 4 and it is incredible. Genuinely might have replaced Digimon World as 1st place#Mum took Andy and I to Netherlands recently. It was incredible. I played in a local digimon tournament and ate shit#Have just been so excited about travelling lately. Ashy taking me to manchester soon and I think we'll go london next spring or sooner#Worried I'm overdoing it with the tags so I'll sign off here. Work is stressing me out but it looks like big things are happening.#OH MY GOD I HAVE STOPPED BLEEDING BTW. Like almost altogether. Haven't in like a month. The trick is in the big box I rest my feet on.#It's too tall. I tried replacing it with a pile of folders half as tall and my bleeding fucking stopped. No crohn's disease or anything.#Just a big stupid fucking box. Anyway see you
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archonfurina · 9 months
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Unfortunately ever since I realized I'm often uncomfortable being called a woman or girl I can no longer read female reader/fMC fanfiction which has left me with about 1-10% of things to read
Anyway my relationship with gender is weird and I'm glad Finnish doesn't have gendered pronouns = I don't have to figure this shit out in my everyday life
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zreamy · 4 months
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i'll love you forever
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pairing: park sunghoon x fem!reader
summary: you were sunghoon's first everything; first friend, first love, and first heartbreak. after years of quietly crushing on you, he was finally ready to confess. so ready to confess, that he told his parents the two of you were already dating! it was an easy enough lie to keep up and he kept it up for months, what could possibly go wrong? he thought. little did he know, you would have a falling out and stop talking for months.. and then, you'd both get invited to spend a week at home with his parents, who still believe you're his girlfriend.
genre: smut, fluff, angst, college au, childhood best friends to lovers, fake dating
warnings: minors dni, fake dating is pretty mild (sorry), she kinda doesn’t rate him at the start, these two kind of exist in a vacuum a little bit idk i had a self-enforced word count to stick to and broke it.. (im within the 10% allowance !), sunghoon in a vest, sunghoon arms, sunghoon
word count: 21,858
playlist: click here.. (for my non-spotify babes, the main song is light by wave to earth (which for some reason i put last.. whatever))
author's note: for silly @asahicore. happy birthday pooks i hope it's amazing and that u enjoy reading this when u have the time !!! LOL (lots of love) also im never writing without telling you things again this was so absurd.
to everyone else.. ok happy reading also emma did not beta read this so im sure it's missing its charm .. anyway it's for emma not you 😭 anyway i hope u enjoy regardless and lmk ur thoughts! omg this is the first fic im nervous about posting.......... please enjoy or else.
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In the three years since Park Sunghoon moved away for university, he’d been doing a pretty good job of going home to see his parents. They’d welcome their baby back to the nest with open arms and wide grins. With a rehearsed level of indifference, his younger sister, Yeji, would say, “Oh, I didn’t know you were coming home this weekend.” when she saw him at the dinner table. Sunghoon pretended to only be marginally hurt by this. 
In the last three months, he hasn’t so much as sent a text to his parents. 
Or to you. 
Ignoring texts from his mother is devastating. Between classes, he watches as, “Hi, sweetie, I love you 😍,” turns into, “Missing you, honey, know you must be busy but spare some time for your old mummy, no?” which turns into, “Getting really worried now, are you doing okay? Has something happened with YN? Talk to me, I love you, my baby boy!” 
Ignoring texts from you is easy because texts from you never come. 
Sitting at the end of his bed, Sunghoon rereads a text his mother sent a few minutes ago: Please talk to me, son. Really worried and YN isn’t answering calls either. What’s going on with you two?
When he leaves his room, he finds Jake lying on the couch, and with his keys in hand, Sunghoon says, “I’m going home.” 
And the drive is great! At least, he tells his mum it is. In truth, the drive home without you was nearly impossible. Your ever-expanding home time playlist buzzed through the speakers in his car, but without you there to screech along to the songs, it wasn’t the same. He felt your absence the most when he stopped to get petrol and you weren’t there behind him struggling to carry enough snacks to feed a small family without offering to pay. 
The look of worry on his mum’s face stirs a pit in his stomach. “Why are you so quiet these days? God, you look so tired,” she says, frowning. “Is it school? Or something with YN? It’s not like her not to text back.” Her brows crease as she whispers the word unless. She pulls him into a hug, her chin resting perfectly on his shoulder, and her comforting hand strokes the hair on the back of his head. “Breakups are never easy, honey. I’m so sorry, I know how much you love her.” 
Breakups are never easy. The sentence hangs heavy over his head. 
Whether she knows it or not, she’s handed him a get-out-of-jail-free card, the opportunity to set things straight, to end this mess once and for all. No further questions, and most importantly, no more lies. 
For the first time since he left your flat three months ago, Sunghoon lets himself cry. He’d imagined this moment countless times, his first cry since you ended things. In his mind, it was always intense. Today, as it happens, only a few salty tears leak from his eyes, spilling onto the cuff of his sleeve, darkening the blue cotton in tiny indigo splotches. 
“We didn’t break up,” he says in a small voice—for some reason. “I’m just having a hard time.” Neither statement is technically untrue, but the words taste rotten in his mouth.
The tightening grip of his mum’s arms around his body is what brings on the harsh, shoulder-racking sobs he’d been anticipating. For a while, they stand like this, Sunghoon weeping into his mum’s cardigan until she sends him upstairs to lie down, promising a cup of tea that never comes. 
His childhood bedroom is chilly, so he changes into clothes he left behind and climbs into bed, pulling his duvet up to his chin. He turns his head to look at the walls and the room around him, everything is exactly where he left it in the summer. It should be comforting, but it’s weird to be home without you. 
There are photos of you and him everywhere, growing up and around each other through different stages of life. The two of you together during the summer your family moved in next door, you wore glasses back then and were the first friend he’d made in his life. Sunbathing and sharing earphones at the beach, listening to music together on your iPod classic. Sunghoon in thick glasses with a stiff smile and your arm around him on the first day of high school. Wide grins at the start of this summer, the last time things were okay between you. 
Overwhelmed, he stares up at the ceiling, only realising he’s crying when a hot tear slips from his eyes to tickle his ear. Because Sunghoon likes to upset himself, he screws his eyes shut and thinks about the night before you stopped talking. 
Though he didn’t know it at the time, you’d left Yeonjun’s place to sit with him in a tiny restaurant on campus, the one you’d only visit to toast to each other’s heartbreaks. It had become a ritual — ever since your first year boyfriend dumped you after two weeks — to cry as much as you wanted and drink as much soju as your bodies could handle before stumbling back to your apartments. 
Having spent years suffering from an unrequited crush on his best friend, Sunghoon was always the one to comfort you. But that night was different; you were there to comfort him. It was easy enough to play the part of ‘boy whose crush likes someone else’ because he spent your entire friendship in that role. He’d had no problem accepting his fate, but his composure started to slip when you met Yeonjun. It was the first time you’d dated someone who Sunghoon had reason to be jealous of. In every way, Yeonjun was better than him—taller, funnier, hotter. Sunghoon knew he didn’t stand a chance. He took it personally, you liking Yeonjun instead of him, and let his jealousy consume him from the inside out. 
This jealousy led him to start telling you about Minjeong—lying to you about Minjeong, and his feelings for her. She was a girl from a college out of town that he saw on his Instagram Explore page. He followed her by accident, and by some stroke of luck, she followed back. Sunghoon didn’t really have feelings for her — he didn’t even know her — but she was a girl that you didn’t know, so you wouldn’t be able to meddle. 
It only took a few weeks for Sunghoon to become so upset about your relationship that he couldn’t hide his emotions anymore. So, in a fit of tears, he told you over the phone that things ended badly with Minjeong, and he was in urgent need of a soju ceremony. 
But the night was missing its usual comforts.
It was strange to be the one crying, to see you looking put together and ordering the food. To see you pouring the drinks and raising your glass to propose a toast to ‘Hoonie’s first heartbreak’. You were driving that night, so you only had a tiny sip of soju and let him drink as much as he needed, the way he always did for you, at the same table, in the same restaurant for years. 
Hours later, in your car, you entertained his drunken rambles, though he remembers how your lips were set into a frown that he wanted to kiss away while you gripped the steering wheel like you thought it would run from you. Sunghoon was more drunk than he’d been in a while, drunk enough to let you sling his arm over your shoulders and keep him upright until you reached his flat. 
The voices coming from Yeji’s room disrupt the memory. He’s thankful.
“Your brother’s going through something, so be nice to him this weekend.” His mother’s voice is her version of hushed—a loud whisper. 
Yeji’s response is harder to make out, but he doesn’t miss the way their mum says, “I mean it, missy.” 
A dramatic sigh rumbles through Yeji as she barges into his room without knocking. Sunghoon sits up, feeling an ache in his back and crossing his legs. 
“Mum told me to lay off you today, which is fine, but before I do, I need to tell you something.” 
Yeji pushes the door shut behind her, and the open window makes it slam, both of them flinching from the sudden noise. She pulls her hair out of a silk scrunchie and throws herself on the floor. A pang of irritation forms in his chest, knowing that he could immediately find the empty hanger in his wardrobe where the shirt she’s wearing used to live. 
“I hate you and your perfect golden boy image, Hoon. Would it kill you to fail a class for once? I don’t know how I’m supposed to carry on your legacy.” She’s looking up at him, her chin in her hands and irritation written in the crease between her thick brows. 
It’s impossible to know if it’s because of Yeji’s complete lack of boundaries or the fact that her ‘perfect, golden boy’ big brother is on track to fail three out of three classes and get cut from the hockey team, but Sunghoon immediately bursts into tears. 
“Oh, uh.. I’m sorry?” Yeji offers. “I was kidding if that helps.” 
“I’m alright, it’s okay.” The tears don’t stop stinging his eyes. “Why do you want me to change everything about myself?” 
With a frown, Yeji pours out her frustration and mild resentment. She doesn’t understand how Sunghoon effortlessly conquers every aspect of life while she struggles. Neither do their parents, who had been baffled by her plummeting grades since she moved to boarding school, especially when Sunghoon’s academic performance has only soared since he left for university. The weight of this perceived injustice pulls Sunghoon’s shoulders down with guilt as she talks about the expectations he has inadvertently set for her. 
“But other than that, I’m good.” She shrugs, sitting with her legs out, and leaning back on her palms. “How’s YN?” she asks. It’s clear from the brightness in her voice that she thinks she’s helping. 
Sunghoon cries again. 
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Back on campus, he’s trying to scrape together what’s left of his academic career with the help of two of the smartest guys he knows, and their friend Jay. Though the word ‘friend’ feels a little strong at the moment given the way Jay’s goading him. 
Sunghoon rolls his eyes, sitting back in his seat. “There’s nothing you can do that I can’t,” he says, meaning every word. 
Jay scoffs, shrugging and raising his brow in a way that, over the years, Sunghoon knows to interpret as his ‘about to say something ridiculous’ look. “Pretty sure I could call YN right now, and she’d answer.” 
There’s a pit in Sunghoon’s stomach as Heeseung turns his head in the other direction like he’s been slapped, trembling with stifled laughter. At least Jake doesn’t hide his amusement, throwing his head back in a fit of giggles that draw nasty looks from the other students in the library. Sunghoon doesn’t waste his energy trying to argue because Jay’s right.
Now composed, Heeseung turns back to the table, flipping through some of Sunghoon’s course materials to find whatever his class was doing in class that week. The English Literature class he’s taking — The Modernist Movement: Joyce, Woolf, and Hemingway — is the same class he had to send a million emails over the summer to get enrolled in, but it’s the same one Heeseung aced two years ago. Lucky for him none of the boys seem to be in the mood to make fun of him for trying so hard to have a class in common with you, and then practically failing out of it before the term had started properly.
“This class is, like, beyond easy, dude.” Heeseung pauses to sniffle and twist the stud in his ear. “Everyone in my class aced it. How are you doing so badly already?” 
“I only took it because YN thought it’d be fun if we had a class together, but.. I kind of haven’t been going since we stopped talking.” Sunghoon shrugs, pretending to be unaffected. 
As if the mere mention of your name has some sort of summoning power, like saying Biggie Smalls in the mirror three times, you appear in his eye line, rounding the corner with a furious stride. Your demeanour crumbles when Jay waves at you, and you grin, waving back, but as soon as you look Sunghoon in the eye again, the rage comes back, and you smack a hand on the table when you reach it, leaning over to him. 
“Sunghoon, a word?” you ask.
He thinks you’re asking, but it’s hard to tell with the way you set your jaw afterwards, and the way the warmth of your signature vanilla scent hits him hard. Dazed, Sunghoon lifts a hand, pointing at himself. “Me?” 
“Does anyone else at the table answer to Sunghoon?” 
“Okay,” he says, somewhat pathetically, nudging Jay for laughing at him. 
As slowly as possible, Sunghoon pushes his chair from the table and stands up, following you to the corner of the references section where only anthropology students in scratchy thrift store knits, and Jay, come to check out encyclopaedias by volume. You look good, save for the rage written all over your face—which, honestly, Sunghoon thinks he likes.
Sunghoon isn’t sure what to expect, so he says, “Hey.” He’s being cautious, waiting a moment to gauge your reaction. “What’s gooooood?” His cheeks burn as soon as he closes his mouth around the vowel, but you laugh. You laugh, and it’s beautiful and happy, and you’re laughing because of him—or at him, but he’s glad either way. 
Annoyance quickly clears all traces of amusement on your face. “Were you ever going to tell me we’re spending next week at Mum and Dad’s?” you ask. 
Sunghoon gasps dramatically, clicking his fingers. “I knew there was something I’ve been meaning to do.” 
His attempt at lightening the mood falls flat, and you only nudge his shoulder gently, sighing. “Can you be serious? For once in your life, even for a second, can you please think about how the things you say affect me?” You’re frowning, crossing your arms over your chest and looking at your feet. “It’s not fair, Sunghoon. For you to keep saying things—making plans involving me and then acting like I’m the bad guy when I turn you down.” 
“I don’t think you’re the bad guy at all,” Sunghoon admits. “If anyone is in the wrong, it’s me, I guess.”
You scoff, looking at him like you hate him. “You guess? Are you serious?” You look furious, but you sound hurt and Sunghoon hates it. Hates himself. “I can’t have this conversation with you right now. Tell mum I’m sick, and it’s contagious.” You roll your eyes and walk away, leaving Sunghoon alone with his thoughts and judgemental stares from students in crochet scarves so long they graze the floor. 
He sighs, slumping against the wall. How does he keep getting it wrong with you? 
Back at the table, Sunghoon manages to act like he’s not falling apart and makes some serious headway on his missing assignments with Heeseung’s help before they call it a day as the sun starts to set. 
When he gets home, he lies down on his bedroom floor, spending hours poring over the conversation you had. Over the minute changes in your facial expression, the tone of your voice, and the endless list of things he should have done, rather than watch you walk away. 
The moment feels familiar, both identical to and worlds apart from what happened after you left three months ago. When he managed to scrape the last shreds of his dignity from the kitchen table, he dragged his feet to his room and lay down like he is now, face to the rug. That day, he left his door open and lay so still that Jake thought he was dead. Sunghoon remembers wishing he had been. 
For once in your life, even for a second, can you please think about how the things you say affect me? The words run on a loop in his mind, over and over, until he can’t remember the order of the sentence or where you put emphasis. They’re cutting all the same. 
Sunghoon sighs into the itchy fibres of his black rug before rolling onto his back. In the diminishing purple light of the setting sun. he looks at the walls of his room. At the Fleetwood Mac poster, he stole from Jay when they moved out of their first year dorm, that curls away from the wall towards the ceiling—a diagonal strip of shiny tape being the only indication of the otherwise invisible tear through the face of Stevie Nicks. 
He’s glad when his phone rings, cutting through the quiet, though the sight of your name and the anatomical heart emoji next to it only dampens his spirit. Reluctantly, Sunghoon answers the phone, holding it to his ear. 
“I just got off the phone with Dad..” You trail off. Tangible silence follows, so thick it weighs on his chest. “I’ll go home with you.” 
“You will?” 
“Yes. Goodbye.” 
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Sunghoon reaches your flat at five in the evening. You don’t smile when you open the door for him, nor do you invite him in. Instead, you dump your bag at your feet and he cringes, looking from the floor to you. You’re aggressively beautiful and cosy-looking as you pull a jacket over the sweater you wore that night. Sunghoon’s heart aches in his chest and he wonders if you even realise. Suddenly, the memory of the last thing you said the morning after hits him like a truck: Then let’s not be friends at all. 
A familiar weight lands on his shoulder—your hand. Concern lines your eyes as you ask if he’s okay. 
With a lump in his throat, Sunghoon nods. 
In the discomfort of his car, the two of you sit in silence while he starts the drive home. 
“How’s Yeonjun,” he asks, eyes flicking towards you but regretting it immediately when he sees how you clench your jaw. 
“No,” you say simply, shaking your head. “You don’t get to ask me about him.” 
These are the only words you exchange until Sunghoon stops for petrol. He has enough fuel for the rest of the journey, but he feels like dying and thinks the fresh air might quell his thoughts of running his car off the road. Like always, the two of you get out and head into the kiosk, where he follows you wordlessly through the aisles, watching you debate on snack choices before settling on the same things you always get. Sunghoon pays for your snacks and you roll your eyes but don’t protest, mumbling thanks as you take them into your arms, leading the way back outside.
He knows he needs to tell you before you reach the house, but he’s not entirely sure how to say it—so he just does. “My, uh.. my parents think we’re dating.”
You stop so suddenly in front of him that he almost bumps into you. Stepping around you, Sunghoon keeps walking. 
Over the top of his car, he watches your face cycle through all five stages of grief until anger comes back around in the loop as you scoff. “Why do they think that?” Your face is devoid of expression now, the blankness over your features dragging a sharp chill over his spine. 
He stares blankly at you, processing. “Because I told them we’re dating,” he mumbles. 
“Why did you.. do that?” You tilt your head, eyes pressing shut in a long blink. “What are you even talking about? Why did you.. What?” 
A thin layer of sweat coats his palms despite the cold. Why did he do that? “We can stage a breakup during the trip or say we broke up right now,” Sunghoon offers. “Just one night, YN, please.” 
The wind whistles by, ruffling your hair and jacket that you hug tightly to your chest. Behind you, Sunghoon takes note of the group of girls standing by the pumps, all five of them jerking their heads abruptly when they notice him watching, suddenly finding interest in the scattered litter and flickering halogen bulbs in the steel canopy over their heads. 
You’re staring when he looks back at you, nostrils twitching with a sniffle before you sigh. “Or we could say that you’re a liar and end things there,” you say. “Or better yet, you go down there on your own and tell them the truth.”
Sunghoon’s gaze drops, his thoughts racing in his mind. He knows you’re right. At some point, his parents will have to find out, and it’d be better for them to find out now. Sunghoon sighs, nodding. “Alright,” he concedes. “I’ll take you back.”
An angry laugh comes out of you as you shake your head. “No need, I’ll walk.” 
The station you’re at is neatly nestled in the middle of nowhere, on a road so narrow he’s not even sure it has a pavement. You’re halfway through the three-hour drive, so there’s no telling how long the walk would be, never mind the fact that the sun is already setting and it’s deep enough into October for the wind to sting. 
“From here?” he asks, incredulous. 
“Yes, open the boot so I can get my bag.” 
Sunghoon can only bring himself to say your name, a desperate whisper. 
“Open the boot.”
He repeats your name as if it’ll make a difference, he’s pleading with you, begging—though he doesn’t know for what. 
You go to the back of his car where Sunghoon joins you, a pit in his stomach when you step away. With misty eyes, you look up at him and his heart breaks. “Please.”
Sunghoon knows you well enough to know that you’re not actually going to attempt the walk home but also knows that you won’t back down if he keeps challenging you. He nods, opening the boot for you and getting into the driver’s seat—your move. 
You stand there, unmoving, and long enough passes that he thinks you’ll actually leave. The boot closes softly and you join him in the passenger seat. You sigh, buckling your seatbelt. “Let’s just get this over with.” 
For the rest of the journey, you sit in silence as Sunghoon briefs you on the relationship, fighting a smile as he thinks about being your boyfriend—even if only for a night. You scoff when he ‘reminds’ you that you’ve been together for four months now and the only reason you haven’t been able to come home recently is that your schedules don’t match up very well anymore—which couldn’t be further from the truth as, before term started, you went out to celebrate the fact that your class schedules couldn’t be more suited for seeing each other. 
Finally, at Sunghoon’s childhood home, the two of you smile and laugh for his parents before going to bed. Your relationship has only made his mother more averse to the idea of you sharing a room under her roof than she had been when you were younger. He’s relieved about this, and in the solitude of his bedroom, he lies on the duvet of his twin bed, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about the last few hours. 
With his parents, you’d sat up in the living room watching TV. They sat on the couch together, his mum nestled in his dad’s side, while you two sat on the couch opposite, mirroring their position. If your complete stiffness was anything to go by, you were less than comfortable with his arm around you and Sunghoon felt terrible for begging you to go along with this. It was after midnight when you all went upstairs and you let him kiss your forehead before all but slamming the door to the guest room in his face. His heart twirled and his mum beamed at him before saying goodnight again. 
Now, at 3 a.m. he can’t sleep. Flinching at the knock on his door, he furrows his brows and goes to open it. It’s you. Standing there with your hair scraped away from your face in one of his t-shirts. Your eyes are red, brimmed with tears as you step into his room and sit on his bed. 
He closes the door softly, heart aching at the sight of you so upset, and when he sits next to you, his heart tears apart because you move over, putting a distance between you. It falls out of his chest onto the floor when he realises you’re not wearing your necklace. 
Sunghoon suspected you might have stopped wearing it, it only made sense that if you didn’t want him, you wouldn’t want the necklace he bought for you either, but at least earlier, your sweatshirt sat so high he couldn’t see if you had it on or not. 
It was a gift for your sixteenth birthday, after your first heartbreak. He was so upset and angry that you let some loser hurt you that way, upset and angry that someone could be loved by you and fuck it up. Sunghoon was inspired by Jay, who’d gotten a pretty necklace for his girlfriend, and talked about her cute reaction for weeks, how happy she was to have a piece of him with her all the time. It was a locket, with a picture of Jay in one side and a picture of her in the other so the pictures would kiss when she wore it. 
While at the jewellers with Jake, Sunghoon thought something like that might be a bit much for the two of you and eventually picked out an equally pretty piece with his first initial on it. He wrote a corny note to put in the box, something about how ‘boys come and go but Sunghoon is forever’ and gave it to you with trembling hands a few nights later—it was the first time he ever made you cry. Immediately, he thought he’d done something wrong and was ready to snatch the box and run back to the jewellers (even though he trashed the receipt). You hugged him and told him you loved him. Sunghoon’s been riding that high ever since. 
Until tonight at least. 
“Are you okay?” he whispers. 
“I’ll do it, Hoon.” Your eyes lift from the floor to meet his gaze. “For as long as you need me to, I’ll pretend.”
As soon as the words leave your mouth, Sunghoon feels lighter, an unbearable weight slipping from his shoulders. You haven’t called him ‘Hoon’ in ages, and he can’t tell if you’ve said it out of vulnerability, or even noticed that you’ve said it at all, but it warms his heart nonetheless. However, he’s not fully at ease, still curious about your sudden change of heart and why you’re crying. 
“What happened?”
You pull him into a hug, and his eyes bulge out of his head. “It doesn’t matter,” you say, the words muffled by the skin at the base of his neck. 
For as long as he’s known you, you’ve smelled like vanilla, a sweet warmth that grounds him. Yet it’s only after these months apart that he’s able to put a name to the sensation: home. The realisation of how much he’s missed this feeling, missed you, floods him with a rush of emotion so overwhelming he can’t find the words to press the issue. A moment passes before he remembers to hug you back, his arms finally wrapping around you, pulling you close, and you sink into his hold. Months ago, he would have kissed the top of your head and mumbled reassurance into your hair, but tonight, Sunghoon settles for stroking the back of your head and hopes it’s enough. 
“You can talk to me, you know? You can always talk to me.”
A heavy silence follows, sharp as a dagger—scraping his skin, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on edge and lodging itself between his shoulder blades. Sunghoon’s breath hitches in his throat when you cling onto him even tighter, shifting so close you’ve had to settle in his lap. His heart races in his chest, pounding a rhythm so loud it fills the room. 
Finally, you speak, assuring him that you know and that you’re okay. At this, Sunghoon holds you as tight as he can, and neither of you speaks for the rest of the night. You fall asleep like this, in his arms, so deeply that you don’t even stir when he lies down. 
Rubbing your back, he watches the clock on his nightstand, the piercing green LED digits cycling through two whole hours right before his stinging eyes until you wake up. Sunghoon presses his eyes shut, pretending to be asleep when you kiss his cheek and leave his room. 
For the entire morning, you stay in your room, and although Sunghoon is concerned, he decides not to bother you. In the afternoon, he sits at the dining table with his mum, listening as she talks about work. When she asks him, he gets up to make a cup of tea for her. It’s at that moment when you finally come downstairs, looking so effortlessly pretty. Your hair is still damp from the shower, and you’re bundled up in one of his old sweatshirts. There’s a bright grin on your face that leaves his heart thudding. 
“Baby!” you squeal when you see him, charging towards him and wrapping your arms around him from behind. “Good morning.” Your words are muffled against the back of his t-shirt, and the four-letter word, and the sugar coating it, make his cheeks burn. 
“It’s great to see you too, YN,” his mum says with a smile. “My night was amazing; I slept very well and had no dreams.” 
You let go of Sunghoon and walk over to the table, kissing his mum on the cheek and wishing her a good morning as well. “Sorry, mum, how are you?” 
His mother doesn’t seem to have the heart to correct you either, allowing your 3 p.m. ‘good morning’ to go unnoticed. 
Sunghoon carefully fills both mugs to the brim and, with extra caution, carries them to the table. He places a steaming cup of peppermint tea in front of his mum and a milky coffee in front of you. A warm smile spreads across your face as you mouth a ‘thank you’, and his knees turn to jelly. 
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The next day, after eating an early dinner with his parents at the table, the four of you go out on a walk along the bike path you used to take for school. His parents have gone ahead, not intentionally, but because Sunghoon can’t stop you from dragging your feet. 
As with most things in the town where you grew up, nothing about the trail has changed. The leaves are yellowing in standard form for the season, and crunching under his feet with each step he takes. The only foreign experience is the silence that you’re determined to uphold. Everything Sunghoon says to you is met with either a hum, a nod, or no acknowledgement at all. At this point, he feels like he could drop dead at your side and the most you’d do is step over his body like a fallen branch. 
After letting you go ahead, the weathered slats of the wooden footbridge sag in the middle under his tread. It’s been like this for as long as he can remember and he wonders how nothing has been done about it. The stream rushes under it, loud and unruly, the smell of wet grass both comforting and suffocating as you look over the railing. It’s like something from a postcard, the low-hanging branches sweeping back and forth under the breeze, the grass lush and green around the path, murky water thrashing against the mud and rocks underneath with you in the middle of the frame, peering over the edge.
You keep walking when Sunghoon approaches, leaving him alone on the creaky bridge with nothing but the ache in his chest. He looks up, staring at the grey clouds in the sky through the gaps in the leaves, and sighs. 
Eventually, he catches up with you, grabbing your hand and locking his fingers with yours when his parents slow down. You stiffen, looking up at him with cut eyes and a creased brow. “What are you doing?”
Sunghoon matches your clipped tone. “Holding my girlfriend’s hand.” 
“No one’s looking, boyfriend.”
“You think my parents aren’t going to wonder why we’re lagging behind?” 
A scoff—your fingers remain defiantly stiff. “Do you think your parents are going to care whether or not we’re holding hands?” 
“My mum might after the show you put on yesterday afternoon, baby.” Bitterness covers the word like a blanket, a stark departure from how you said it. 
A long sigh rumbles its way out of you before you fix your lips into a strained grin. “Sorry, sweetheart, this is my first time pretending to be in love.” 
As your words hang in the air, Sunghoon’s emotions brew like a storm within him. Frustration gnaws at his patience. All hopes for a smooth week are dashed, though determination simmers in his chest with a strong resolve to make this work, to fix your relationship. It doesn’t stop the sharp pang of hurt piercing his stomach—he knows you don’t feel the same way, he knows you’re faking, but the word ‘pretending’ hits him like a truck anyway. 
“We held hands all the time when we were friends,” he points out.
Your smile drops immediately, hurt flashing behind your eyes. “Yeah, and now we’re not.” 
If there was a competition for who could hurt Sunghoon’s feelings the most, you’d be a shoo-in for first place. With distinction. 
“Exactly!” he says, feeling the sting of his own words. “Because now we’re dating.”
At the sight of his mum turning around, you switch up in an instant. Lock your fingers with his, wrapping an arm around his bicep, leaning into him, giggling. It’s forced but his parents are far enough away that all that matters is the curve of your lips.
“You two okay back there?” she asks. 
“Perfect! I feel like a kid again!” you call back, beaming up at Sunghoon in a way that makes his stomach flutter even though it doesn’t meet your eyes. 
The two of you don’t talk at all when you get home, with you hugging his parents goodnight and running up the stairs. 
“She’s not feeling too well,” he explains, nodding when his dad tells him to make you some tea. 
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His parents spend the whole day at work, and you spend the whole day following him around like a shadow until the evening when they return. He doesn’t pretend not to like it.
Sunghoon helps you make dinner, turning leftover rice into fried rice with the help of some eggs and vegetables. It’s nice moving around the kitchen with you, watching you scramble eggs in his t-shirt and bump his hip with a playful frown when he eats some of the peppers you’re chopping. 
His parents watch from the table, cooing over the two of you and he does his best to fight the blush forming on his cheeks and neck. Embarrassed, he hugs you from behind, hiding his face in your neck—the scent of your coconut conditioner mixing with your vanilla perfume doesn’t do anything to stop the flush. 
Over a bottle of wine, the four of you eat together at the table, swapping stories about your days. Sunghoon tries to hide his surprise as you lie about the time you spent at the play park by your primary school, competing for height on the swings and spinning on the roundabout until you couldn’t stand up. You grin at him, and it meets your eyes as you hold his hand under the table, and kiss his cheek.
After eating, his parents head upstairs, leaving to clean up together. You hum a song he’s never heard as you load the dishwasher, carefully placing the plates and cutlery in the rack, shaking your head when he hands you the glasses you’d used. 
“Leave ours,” you say. “If you want.” 
Sunghoon nods, putting them back on the table, where you sit in the seat across from the one he was sitting in. He sits too, staying quiet rather than saying the wrong thing. You don’t speak either. It’s reminiscent of the past—the hours you’d spend in the same room, only speaking to share a funny post you’d come across or to ask if you were hungry. 
His eyes track your movements—reaching for the half-empty bottle on the table to pour yourself another glass, filling it to the brim. Before putting it down, you offer him some, filling his glass too when he nods. The three glasses of wine he’s already had must be the reason he wants to reach across the table and hold your hand, run his thumb over the soft skin on the back of it. 
Sunghoon doesn’t know why you’ve been so nice to him all day or why it makes his chest hurt. 
“You know you don’t have to be nice to me when we’re alone, right?” The words come out before he can stop them.
Over the top of your glass, your brows knit together. A sound of confusion, a low hum, comes from your throat as you try to finish your sip. “What?” you ask finally. 
“I only asked you to do this because of my parents, you know? You don’t have to sit or talk with me when they’re not around.” 
Sunghoon’s known you long enough to recognise the look that flashes across your face. The way your eyes narrow and your brows tug together, the little pout that sets on your lips before you speak; you’re hurt.
“Why can’t I just be nice to you because it’s the right thing to do?” 
Because it hurts, is what he wants to say. He wants to cry, to beg you to forget everything he said that day. “Because I don’t want to make you any more uncomfortable than I already have.” Is what he settles for. 
Your face softens. “I don’t feel uncomfortable around you, Hoon. We were best friends for ages, I don’t think you could ever make me uncomfortable.” You pause to take a gulp of wine. “Why can’t I just want to be nice to you?” 
Sunghoon has to chew on his cheek to distract himself from how much your word choice stings. The implications of were and all of your past tense. “I’m sorry,” he says. 
“What for?” 
“Everything.” 
There’s a sadness in the way you run your fingers on the base of your glass. The way you chew on your lip, how your hair falls when you tilt your head and how it moves when you shake it. “It’s not your fault,” you say. “I don’t know anyone who would choose to have unrequited feelings for their best friend.” 
Wow, he thinks. You’re on a roll. Sunghoon wonders if you’re meticulously choosing your phrasing to upset him. Wonders why you feel the need to remind him that his feelings aren’t reciprocated as if he didn’t live through and spend hours reliving the day he confessed. 
“But I didn’t have to tell you about it. It was unfair of me to spring that on you when I knew about Yeonjun.” 
“Did you.. did you think I was going to leave him for you?” 
“Maybe?” Sunghoon chews on his lip—he has no idea what he thought would happen. “I think I thought I loved you enough for both of us, that you might play the part for fun or out of curiosity, and.. I don’t know, just learn to love me.”
“Hoon,” you whisper, frowning. “How could you even think about settling for something like that?” 
Sunghoon shrugs. “It’s not settling if it’s you.” 
Silence takes a seat at the table after he speaks, interrupted only by the ticking clock on the wall—a glittery mess of scrapbooking paper and washi tape layered over each other that Yeji had decorated at summer camp years ago. You’re picking at your fingernails, letting flecks of black polish fall to the table, stark against the varnished oak. 
“I know it’s not my place to ask,” Sunghoon starts after a while, hesitant and only continuing when you nod. “But what did Yeonjun say when you told him? About.. everything?” 
You take a long sip from your glass and sit quietly for so long that he thinks you’re not going to answer him—he doesn’t blame you. 
“I didn’t.” 
He waits for you to elaborate. You don’t. 
Sunghoon nods slowly, deciding not to ask any follow-up questions. Instead, he takes another drink, scrunching his nose at the bitter taste. “He didn’t ask why we stopped hanging out?” he blurts out.
“I told him we fell out but I didn’t say why.” You shrug, but your posture is stiff. 
“Where did you tell him you were going to be this week?” He knows it’s not his business at all, that he’s pushing your boundaries, but he can’t help his curiosity.
“Nowhere.” 
“You told him you were staying on campus?” 
“I didn’t tell him anything.” Your gaze shifts, avoiding his as you toy with the stem of your glass. You drum your nails against it, letting the dull clink ring out. 
“So you just left?” 
“Does it make a difference to you?” 
Sunghoon nods.
For a while, you tug at the drawstrings on your hoodie, pursing your lips to the side, considering this. “Yeonjun and I aren’t together anymore.” Your admission is so shocking that Sunghoon’s jaw drops. He tries to cover his surprise by coughing, his tongue sticking out like a small child. “I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want you to think it was because of you.” 
Sunghoon’s thoughts move at lightspeed, too fast for him to catch onto any of them and process this information. His emotions compete with each other—disbelief, guilt, and a painful glimmer of hope he hadn’t dared to acknowledge until now all at the forefront. 
“Was it?” he asks. “Because of me?” 
You scoff—an incredulous sound that doesn’t match the sad look on your face. “I don’t know, Sunghoon. Do you think my boyfriend used me to make his ex jealous because of you?”
He’s not sure what he expected you to say, but this is.. Complete disbelief eclipses him as his heart sinks in his chest, shock, and guilt bubbling in his stomach. 
“I’m sorry,” he says after too long. “That I wasn’t there. That I haven’t been there.” 
“You didn’t know,” you say, gaze softening as you look up at him. 
“But I made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me about it.” 
You shake your head. “I made me feel like I couldn’t talk to you about it. All you did was change the friendship, I’m the one who ended it.”
“I still should’ve been there.” 
“You’re here now, right?” 
Sunghoon nods, earnestly. “Always.” 
Only one thing comes to mind when you repeat the word ‘always’ before taking a sip from your glass, downing its contents. Sunghoon gets up and crosses the room with wobbly steps to open the fridge, where he pulls out as many bottles of soju as he can hold in his hands and puts them down on the table. He goes back to collect some glasses from the cabinet, puts some of the leftover fried rice from dinner into the microwave, and brings it all over when it’s done, with bowls and utensils. You watch him with a fond smile as he opens a bottle and he hopes you think the flush on his cheeks is from all the drinking you’ve been doing. 
“Is it bad that I’ve missed doing this?” You’re grinning now.
Sunghoon shakes his head, raising his glass. “To YN’s fifteenth heartbreak.” 
You grin, clinking the rim of your glass against his. “To YN’s fifteenth heartbreak,” you repeat. 
Both of you down the glasses, and Sunghoon refills them, pouring the soju with an oddly steady hand. As you eat spoonfuls of rice and sip your drinks, silence settles over the room. The soft glow of the kitchen lights forms a warm ambience, a cosy familiarity that brings up simple memories—doing homework together at the table while gossiping about your classmates, the first New Year after you were both eighteen and had your first drink with his parents. 
For at least an hour, the only sounds are the occasional clinks of forks against bowls, glasses hitting the table, the faint hum of the refrigerator and the steady tick of Yeji’s clock. Sunghoon’s eyes meet yours, and he can’t help but notice the slight change in your expression when they do. 
You clear your throat, running a hand through your hair. “This is my sixteenth, actually.” 
“What?” 
You take a small sip of soju, staring down at the table. “My fifteenth heartbreak was losing you. Yeonjun is my sixteenth.”
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In the two days since your soju ceremony, Sunghoon finds himself sinking into the role of your boyfriend like a hot bath. But there’s no use pretending it doesn’t hurt. Pretending it doesn’t hurt when you kiss his cheek before bed, or when you reach out to push the hair out of his face or snuggle into his side on the couch; because it does hurt—a lot. It hurts to think that in three days when you put your bags in the boot of his car, you’ll sit in silence all the way home. When he drops you off at your flat, you’ll close the door in his face and stop talking to him again. These realisations are harder to confront when he’s alone in his room, like now. 
About an hour ago, you asked if you could borrow his car, saying there was something you needed to do on your own. It seemed important, so he handed over his keys with no question. Sighing, Sunghoon gets up from his bed and heads to the shower, where he jerks off to clear his mind. On his way back to his room, he notices the light leaking from the open kitchen door that illuminates the landing. 
He hears the lock on the front door clicking, and stands at the top of the stairs, dripping water onto the carpet while listening attentively. His ears perk up when he hears a gasp—his mother. 
“What’s this for?” she asks. 
“I just..” You trail off. “I know it’s not much, but I wanted to thank you both for always looking after me.” You pause, and Sunghoon holds his breath, waiting. Your voice trembles as you continue. “It’s been hard since my parents went back home, and I guess it was still hard when they were here, but you both supported me. I don’t think I could’ve managed without you guys. I want to make you guys proud, you know? And I’m trying, really, so this is me saying thank you. I’m sorry it took me so long.” 
He grips the railing by the landing, digging his nails into the wood until they start hurting—an ache in his fingertips that makes him wince. 
An odd feeling settles in his stomach, a bittersweetness tinged in his fondness for you, and the gentle shock of realising how much his parents have done for you. Growing up, you became an honorary member of Sunghoon’s family. His parents showered you with gifts during holidays and birthdays, which you often celebrated with them rather than your own family. 
The memory of your parents’ sudden decision to move across the country still lingers, and Sunghoon vividly recalls the tearful conversation he overheard at the top of the stairs. Your parents understood the enormity of their request but had earnestly asked if Sunghoon’s parents could continue looking after you. 
His chest tightens when you start crying. 
“You don’t have to thank us for anything, sweetie. Just you being here and taking care of our boy is more than enough thanks. You never forget our birthdays, and you always come and visit when you can. You’re doing a great job, and you should give yourself some credit,” his dad says, a little choked up. “We’ve always been proud of you.” 
Sunghoon’s eyes sting with tears and his skin gets dry in the spots where the water from the shower is evaporating. He presses his fingers to his closed eyes, forcing a few tears to fall and walks the rest of the way to his room with his eyes shut. He can’t hear anything through his closed bedroom door, which he decides is a good thing as he coats himself in moisturiser and swipes deodorant under his arms with intention to spend the whole night alone. Once he’s dressed, he gets into bed and pretends not to be bothered by the way his wet hair dampens his pillow. Under the duvet, he tosses and turns before sighing and heading to Yeji’s room.
In her absence, the room’s subtle transformation is stark. The sage green-painted walls, once a backdrop to the A3 faces of Wave to Earth and Beabadoobee, now bear the faint imprints of those missing posters. Tiny, shadowy rectangles are the only remnants of the 6x4-sized pictures of her and her friends, of her and Sunghoon, that she took away with her to school.
Her hairdryer is still on her desk where she’d left it for him to use and he sits in her stiff wooden chair, plugging it in. The airflow starts immediately, hot and loud, humming throughout the space as he runs his fingers through his wet hair, feeling cosy under the heat. His shampoo is fresh and soapy scented under his nose, and his reflection watches him in Yeji’s mirror, eyes red and concerned while his hair blows around his head. Sunghoon closes his eyes and finishes his hair, sighing as he lets his worries slip under the whir of the fan. 
Finished, he shuts off the dryer and opens his eyes, flinching at your reflection in the doorway behind him with a soft smile on your face. “Mum and Dad are going to open a bottle of wine if you want to join,” you say, meeting his eyes in the mirror. 
Sunghoon can’t find it in himself to speak, only nodding in response. You smile wider but don’t move. He unplugs the hairdryer and leaves it on the desk where he found it before crossing the room. Without giving himself a chance to think about it, he pulls you into a hug and kisses the top of your head, smiling into your hair when you wrap your arms around his waist, holding him closer. 
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You’re sitting on the edge of the bathtub, mumbling sleepily that you’re never going to drink again, and Sunghoon leans over the sink brushing his teeth, he’s glad you have the decency to cover your mouth as you speak. 
“Brush your teeth and go back to sleep then,” he mumbles around his toothbrush. 
You don’t respond. 
Sunghoon sighs through his nose, spitting foamy toothpaste into the sink, leaving bubbly, blue splatters on the porcelain. “And quit staring at me, I can feel your beady little eyes on the back of my neck and it’s freaking me out.” 
“But you’re so pretty,” you coo. 
There’s a flutter in his stomach and he rinses off the sink and his mouth, buying himself some time. With a hand on the Listerine, he lifts his gaze to meet yours in the mirror and stops short. You’re still staring at him, features soft and glowing under the afternoon light. You look like an angel; a gentle smile spreading over your lips, and a sleepy glint sparkling in your eyes, wide and gorgeous as you watch him. Sunghoon gulps, mumbling his thanks and looking back at himself. He hopes you can’t see the flush on his cheeks. 
“Go back to sleep,” he says. 
“Will you come and lie down with me if I do?” Your voice is a sleepy drawl, coming out in a slow, high-pitched slur, and your eyes are closing on themselves. 
Lying down doesn’t sound like a terrible idea, especially not if it’s with you, so he nods. “If you brush your teeth, then yeah, baby, I’ll lie down with you.” 
You chuckle softly at Sunghoon’s agreement, the sound carrying a mix of exhaustion and genuine amusement, showing no repulsion to him calling you the B-word. He didn’t mean to, it’s been a confusing few days. You nod, saluting to him and getting up to join him by the sink, using your hip to bump him out of the way, but he feels like he’s glued to the spot. 
“Move, baby,” you mumble sleepily, reaching for your toothbrush. “We can cuddle in my bed,” you suggest, to which Sunghoon only nods, taking your words as a cue to unstick his feet from the floor and go to your room, playing the word ‘baby’ on a loop in his head. 
He stands in the doorway staring at your bed, the duvet is all crumpled in the middle, and the pillows are in an L shape at the top corner. He sighs, he can’t go on like this, can’t stand around hoping even a tiny part of you called him ‘baby’ and it meant something for you as it did for him. It’s not fair for him to project his feelings on you like this, but he can’t help it. You’re already pretending for his parents, so would it be so bad to pretend for his sake as well? Even if only until the day after tomorrow when you leave? 
The sound of the bathroom door shutting behind you snaps him out of his thoughts, your bright smile making his heart race when you tug him by the sleeve to your bed where the mattress dips underneath you as you curl into his form, resting your head on his chest and falling asleep. You’ve shared the bed before, countless times, but he knows you’ve only asked him because you’re tired. Because your brain is foggy with drowsiness that clouds your judgement, not because you want him there, not because you miss him when he’s two doors down the hall, tossing and turning at night thinking about you. He wonders absently if you can feel his aching heart beating through his chest, a painful, yet all too familiar rhythm that pulls his own eyes shut, plunging him into a deep sleep too.
It’s dark in the room when he wakes up, the sun already down behind the curtains and the soft yellow of the bedside lamp casting a glow around the space. You’re staring up at him, smiling and you don’t look away when he catches you. “What is it?” he asks, voice thick with sleep. 
“Nothing,” you mumble. “I just missed you.” Sunghoon has no time to respond or even register what you said before you clear your throat, speaking again.  “Come on, dad’s cooking tonight, he’ll need help.” 
Helping Sunghoon’s dad with dinner always looks an awful lot like Sunghoon eating snacks on the kitchen counter and staring at you as you help his dad cook. Tonight is no exception, he’s sitting on the island, and his snack of choice is a family pack of Chilli Heatwave Doritos his mum bought for Yeji. He’ll have to remember to replace them before leaving seeing as he’s reaching the halfway point. 
You go back and forth with his dad about measurements, with you rummaging through the drawers for measuring cups while his dad says it’s best to trust your gut. Reluctantly, you nod, chewing the inside of your cheek as you watch him eyeball the seasoning. 
The gas stove turns the kitchen into an oven, and you complain about it while opening a window, pulling your hoodie over your head and leaving it in Sunghoon’s lap. Time stops when you grin at him, the light from the stove hood illuminating the necklace you’re wearing, his initial resting on your chest and glowing under the light. He chokes around a crisp when he sees it, catching your attention with his coughing. 
“You’ll spoil your dinner, snacking like that, baby,” you scold, using a hand to push his knee. “We’re almost done, I swear.” 
All he can do is nod, cheeks burning as he folds the crisp packet over before putting it back in the bread bin where he found it. 
“Wow,” his dad says, resting his hands on his hips and shaking his head in amusement. “Being in love looks good on him, he’d never have listened if I said that.” 
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It’s already your last day when Sunghoon picks up Yeji from school. She grumbles for the entire half-hour drive and all the way to the front door about why the two of you couldn’t have started the trip today instead of ending it, but all of her irritation dissolves when she sees you in the hallway, leaving the front door wide open to fling her arms around you. You and Yeji exchange compliments for a while — You look so pretty. No, you look so pretty. I love your hair. I love your hair. — as Sunghoon locks the door and watches with a smile.
“God.” Yeji sighs, holding you by the waist and craning her neck up to look at you, as you push some of her hair from her face, pinning back her wispy bangs with the palm of your hand. Yeji giggles. “I’m so happy you two are together, even though I have no idea what a girl like you sees in my loser brother.” 
Sunghoon rolls his eyes, leaning back against the wall. Despite his mild irritation at Yeji’s words, he finds the sight of you with her so adorable his stomach flutters. Over the top of Yeji’s head, you look at him with a fond smile. “He’s not so bad.” 
It doesn’t sound like a compliment, but Sunghoon takes it to heart. 
Like always, Yeji manages to capture your undivided attention and the two of you giggle and whisper with each other all afternoon while Sunghoon watches, too enamoured by the sight to care about being left out. An hour or so passes like this, until his parents get home from work, excited to see Yeji after a few weeks, and you leave her side, coming to cuddle with Sunghoon instead. 
It’s nice being home with everyone, laughing and sharing a meal before his family walks the two of you to his car with at least a month’s worth of cooked food for you to share at university. Yeji makes you pinky promise that she can visit you and waves with a pout on her face until the car is out of view.
Contrary to what he’d been expecting, the drive back is nice. Your playlist is on, and you’re telling him about all the new songs you added, catching him up on things with Chaewon and Yunjin, and all the things you got up to in the time you spent apart. You tell him about a new café that opened up near your place and how you’ll have to go together when he has the time, and Sunghoon bites his tongue before telling you that he always has time for you. The first half of the trip goes on like this but you start dozing off around the halfway mark, your sentences becoming few and far between, eventually turning into half-mumbled thoughts that end prematurely. 
You’re still asleep when he reaches your flat, head propped up against the window with your soft lips parted, looking too pretty and cosy to wake up. Instead, he drives in circles around your block, deciding to wait for you to wake up on your own. It only takes a half-hour but you blink your eyes open, stretching your neck before looking around and out the car window, recognising the street. You don’t say anything, only smiling when you look at him, a small curve of your lips that makes his heart race.
He gets out of the car with you, opening the boot to get your bag before pulling you into his chest for a hug, liking the way your arms settle around his waist. “Thank you,” he mumbles into your hair. 
Sunghoon doesn’t follow you when you take your bag from him, only watching from the back of his car. You don’t notice until you reach the main door, looking over your shoulder and frowning at him. “Aren’t you going to walk me up?” 
The two of you walk in silence up four flights of stairs as the lift in your building is out of order. Your bag feels much heavier in his hand now than it did outside. At your door, he watches you dig around for your keys, sighing with relief when you find them. 
“Do you want to come in?” you ask from your open doorway.
“I—uh—I have training in the morning and I’m already pretty tired, so..” He trails off.
Unfazed, you nod. “Right, of course. I had fun this week.” 
“Yeah, me too.” 
You smile at him, sweet and sincere. “Text me when you get home, yeah?” 
Sunghoon nods, saying goodbye. Out of habit, he doesn’t leave your doorstep until he hears the lock click shut, and walks back to his car with his head down. 
True to his word, he sends you a text to let you know he got back to his place safely and you read it immediately but don’t reply. It’s empty in the apartment, Jake is out with his football team and the space is larger than usual in his absence. Far too tired to even consider going out and joining him, Sunghoon goes through his night routine, putting his phone on the charger and stepping into the shower where he spends entirely too long wishing he could live in this week forever as he scrubs his body. With brushed teeth and damp hair, he goes back into his room where his phone lights up with a notification; a text, from you.
YN🫀: i’m glad you got home okay, i just got into bed :) i don’t want to make you uncomfortable or overstep or anything and you can say no (obviously).. i’ve been missing you so much and didn’t know how to reach out or if you wanted me to but i had soooo much fun this week and spending time with you again made me happy, so i’d like it if we could keep hanging out, like before yk? ik it’s a long shot ahahaha but just say you’ll think about it? 
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hoonie: You’re not overstepping at all, I’ve missed you too, so bad. I had soooo much fun this week as well and I’d like it a lot if we kept hanging out, thank you for agreeing and coming along 😚 If you’re free after Lit tmrw you could come over? Or we could go out and do something, whatever you prefer
hoonie: I missed you so much.. 
hoonie: 🤍
The texts greet you as the first rays of Monday morning light filter into your room, instantly lifting your mood. Your bright smile doesn’t escape Chaewon’s notice as you find her in the kitchen, bathed in the soft light seeping through the sheer curtains. The kettle is boiling with a loud rumble that fills the whole room and leaves her yelling as she speaks to you. 
“Good trip?” she asks, coming over and hugging you. “Never leave me for that long again,” she mumbles into your shirt. 
“It was a week, Wonie,” you say, rolling your eyes even though you missed her too. 
She leans away, looking at you with knitted brows. “It was nine days.” 
“The longest of my life.” 
Chaewon pulls air through her teeth, tilting her head and releasing you. “That bad, huh?” she asks, walking back to her seat at your tiny square table and shooting you a look that tells you to join her. 
During your trip, you gave her nightly updates over text, so you know she knows how much you enjoyed yourself, but you elaborate anyway, sitting across from her. 
“No, not at all,” you say, shaking your head and trying to fight a smile. “I had fun.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, you have to bite your bottom lip to stop the grin curving them; it doesn’t work. 
Chaewon raises a suggestive brow, crossing her arms over her chest. “How much fun?” 
“You’re disgusting.” 
“I didn’t even say anything!” she defends, holding her hands up. “I made an implication. It was only a matter of time, you two have that whole.. lifelong best friends to lifelong lovers thing going on, and it’s hot.” 
“Shut up.” 
“You’re telling me, you spent nine days playing lovers with Sunghoon and you still don’t want him? You’re a lost cause, people would kill for that chance,” she says, tilting her head. “I think I would kill for that chance.” 
“Don’t touch him.”
“Oh?” 
“Jesus, Chaewon, it’s not like that. Hoon’s too sensitive for your roster.” 
“I never said it was like anything, you’re the one who’s dangling me over the ledge for saying I want to fuck your hot best friend.” 
“Sunghoon isn’t hot; he’s..” You find yourself at a loss for words, unsure how to continue your lie. Of course, Sunghoon is hot, you’ve known since you were seventeen and spent the summer at your grandparents’ house, only to come back to find your previously scrawny best friend having ditched his LEGOs for dumbbells. You sigh. “Just leave him alone.”
Chaewon grins, eyes sparkling as she leaves the table. “Okay,” she says in a singsong voice, leaving you and the irritation in your stomach alone in the kitchen.
You sigh, pressing your eyes shut and trying to will away your discomfort. It’s not like Chaewon would actually try anything with Sunghoon. Right? Even if she did, it wouldn’t bother you, nor would it be any of your business. They’re grownups and reserve the right to explore their options. Still, there’s a nagging feeling you can’t shake, an uninvited guest in the back of your mind. 
When you check your phone, you realise you have half an hour before you need to head to campus, so you leave to get ready and text Sunghoon back on the way to your room.
you: sounds good, see u later 🤍
After showering, you stand in front of your wardrobe, towel hanging from your body as you pick an outfit. For some reason, you feel under pressure, picking a pair of jeans that do the most for your ass and a low-cut top that Sunghoon once — drunkenly — said he loved on you.
You have the residual sting of mouthwash on your tongue, and one foot out the door when your phone vibrates in your hand. 
hoonie: Do you want to head to class together? 
you: sure! i’m omw out, where should i get you? 
hoonie: .. I’m outside your building :D 
Breathing a laugh through your nose, you don’t fight the giddy smile on your face as you make your way downstairs to meet Sunghoon. Through the glass in the main door, he’s standing at the edge of the pavement and kicking a stone between his feet. The top of his puffer jacket covers the bottom half of his face, and the draught nips your skin when the door opens. Two girls you vaguely recognise stumble in with smudged makeup and heels in their hands, smiling at you while holding the door to let you out.
“Hey!” you call out, jogging over to him. 
Sunghoon turns around, his head poking out of his jacket to grin at you, holding a travel cup and an abundance of tinfoil in your direction. 
“I wasn’t sure if you’d have eaten anything yet, you don’t normally in the morning,” he says, a sheepish smile spreading over his lips when you take it. “Matcha. Ham and cheese toastie.” 
“Did you make these?” you ask, inspecting the familiar cup and appreciating the warmth it provides. 
He hums, nodding his head.
You ignore the heat spreading over your cheeks and thank him with a hug, grinning when he offers to hold your drink while you eat on the walk. The toastie is still hot, the cheese coming close to burning your tongue as you chew, but you appreciate it wholeheartedly, humming contently with each bite. When you’re done, you shove the foil into your pocket, taking your drink from him and smiling around the sweet taste of a matcha latte as he tells you about his schedule for the day. 
“I’m meeting with Coach after class to talk about my grades, but I’m all yours after that.” 
“Talk about your grades? What’s wrong with your grades?” 
Sunghoon groans, head falling back and highlighting the bump of his Adam’s apple. “My grades are.. I failed my coursework this month, so I have resubmissions during finals, and I think he’ll bench me if I fail again.” 
He sounds like he’s being serious, and if the look on his face is anything to go by, he is. The news creases your brows because for as long as you remember, Sunghoon’s grades were your parents’ favourite point of comparison.
“Really?” you ask. He nods. “What’s up? Is something the matter?” 
A humourless laugh slips out of him before he pulls air through his teeth. “Yeah, my best friend didn’t talk to me for three months.” 
“Oh..” Guilt stirs your stomach as you look up at him. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not blaming you, it’s not like I was trying to talk and you ignored me.” He nudges your arm with his elbow, giving you a warm smile. “But if you feel as guilty about it as you look, you can tutor me for Lit.” 
“Deal.” 
Sunghoon grins, wrapping his arm over your shoulders and holding you close; the action itself isn’t unusual, but the increased heart rate it brings about is. “You’re too good to me,” he says, holding onto you for the rest of the walk to class.
At his request, you sit with Sunghoon in the back row, watching as the lecture hall gradually fills up in front of you. He seems well-prepared, with his laptop and a small notepad and pen neatly arranged on the desk in front of him.
Throughout the class, your eyes inadvertently track his every move. He diligently types up colour-coded notes, occasionally pausing to write things in his notepad before continuing to type or stopping entirely to listen. There’s something melodic about his actions and the way his fingers run over the keyboard. 
During a five-minute break, you glance at his screen. What you find is more than just lecture content; it’s a document adorned with Sunghoon’s own musings about Hemingway’s style and carefully analysed quotations that go beyond the class discussion.
“How are your notes so good?” 
“I picked up the book over the summer when you mentioned it,” Sunghoon replies with a shrug, a shy smile playing on his lips as he leans back in his seat. “I liked it.” 
A slow nod is your response, though your thoughts swirl like autumn leaves in a breeze. The last time Sunghoon read for leisure, you were in primary school, buddy reading Diary of a Wimpy Kid. But this—this is different. You can’t help but stare at him, awestruck as you take him in. His eyes are wide, shining amber in the sunlight as he pushes some of his hair from his face, frowning when it falls back where it was. 
“Don’t look at me like that,” he mumbles. 
Sunghoon takes a new line in his document and points at the screen where you watch the cursor move through the words he’s typing: I would’ve read and annotated the Bible if you wanted me to..
There’s no time to digest what he wrote or the funny feeling in your chest as you reread it before he deletes the whole sentence, pressing his lips together and looking out the window. Speechless, you stare at his side profile, willing your heart rate to slip back to normal. Steep-sloping nose, plump lips flattened into a line, two points of the triangular mole constellation on his face. Analysis worsens your condition, breath hitching in your throat before stopping entirely. Warmth and trepidation blend within you, fuzzy enough at the edges to seem like one thing—a single force that makes your palm itch with desire, desperation, to reach out and run a finger over his features, feel the bump of the mole on his nose — the most prominent — against your skin. 
You remain this way — silent, watching — even when your lecturer resumes the lesson, and Sunghoon starts typing, writing, and listening again. Polite enough to pretend he doesn’t notice your gaze searing into his face.
After class, and his meeting with Coach, you let Sunghoon lead the conversation and the way to your flat, where you find Chaewon and Yunjin sitting on the couch, whispering to themselves while the two of you study at the coffee table. It’s uncomfortable, an awkward height, too high for the way you’re sitting but you feel calm under the supervision of Chaewon and Yunjin—you won’t do anything to merit teasing in front of them, no matter how badly you want to feel Sunghoon’s face in your hands or stroke his cheekbones with your thumbs. 
To the best of your ability, you answer the questions he has for you—he’d written a ton in his tiny notepad during class, his own concerns clear with each neatly-penned iteration of: How to see actions/dialogue for what they are and not what I want them to be? written in the margins and you try not to feel heartbroken for him.
Three hours have passed by when you walk him to the door, the two of you wrapped up in a bubble so secure you’re surprised to find Chaewon and Yunjin still sitting on the couch. They don’t say anything about Sunghoon in his absence, or the fact he’d given you his sweater when he noticed you were cold. You’re not sure why their silence disappoints you.
Instead, Yunjin asks you about trivial things like dinner while Chaewon sits in silence. 
“What flavour for ice cream?” Yunjin asks, rolling her eyes when you tug on the blanket but not complaining. “And don’t say something ridiculous like mint chocolate, YN.” 
“That happened once! And it was three years ago.. How was I supposed to know you hate fun?” 
Chaewon leans into you, letting you curl your limbs around her from behind as you rest your chin on her shoulder, liking the way her clean scent tickles your nose. 
“Mint-cho isn’t that bad,” she starts. “It’s a little jarring, sure, but it’s kind of sweet. Like watching people come to terms with their feelings for each other.” 
You nod your head, humming in understanding and furrowing your brows when Yunjin scoffs, staring straight at you. Her tone is equal parts cutting and loving, so you know she’s not trying to insult you, but don’t know what she means when she says, “It must be so nice to be as oblivious as you.” 
Yunjin never elaborates, and you never ask, actually feeling the statement’s journey in through one of your ears and out the other when dinner arrives. The three of you share pizza, ice cream, and secrets — the three pillars of 20-something-teenage-girlhood — at the kitchen table, with Chaewon sitting in your lap and picking pepperoni from your slices. 
It’s only hours after Yunijn’s gone home, that her words circle back to you, the statement and all of its weight perching on your chest with all the debilitation and persistence of a sleep paralysis demon.
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“I think I’m getting sick,” you say as soon as she opens her door. “It’s been coming on for a while now, at least a week, maybe more.” 
Unimpressed and exhausted, Yunjin looks down at you through half-closed eyes. “Do you..” She pinches the bridge of her nose, sighing. “Do you have any idea what time it is right now?” 
“Yes. It’s three a.m.” 
“Exactly. See a doctor if you’re sick, I’m going back to sleep.”
“This is an emergen—” Yunjin cuts you off by pinching your lips together. “It’s three in the morning,” she reminds you. “You can’t yell like that in my hallway, come in.” 
You nod, crossing the threshold and taking off your shoes next to hers. “Sorry,” you whisper when the door is closed. 
Using her hand, Yunjin lifts your chin, squinting as her eyes adjust to the light when she flips the switch to inspect your face. “You don’t look or sound sick,” she mutters, flicking the light back off and going to her room. “What are your symptoms? And why did you come here?” 
You don’t have an answer for her last question so you ignore it, following her and tripping over a pair of her shoes in the process. “My cheeks start burning like crazy and my heart races, sometimes it gets hard to breathe.”
“You seem fine to me.” 
A shoulder-slumping sigh slips from your lips. “That’s the thing. I’ll be fine and then Sunghoon shows up with his pretty smile and perfect hair and I feel like I’ve run a marathon.” You know how it sounds, choosing your wording meticulously to let Yunjin be the one to say the words out loud instead of you—it’ll be easier to confront that way. 
From the doorway, you watch as she arches a brow, her interest piqued. “Oh?” 
“I know.” You nod, head bobbing rapidly in furious agreement. “It’s only a matter of time before I cough up a lung and die in his bedroom.”
At your words, Yunjin doesn't reply, only lifting her duvet and getting cosy underneath. You feel like you’re glued to the spot, waiting for her to say something, anything, but nothing comes. All she does is pat the empty spot in her bed. 
“What are you smirking for?” you ask, entering the room properly and closing the door. 
Her response only comes after you’ve taken your jacket and hoodie off, sitting next to her under the covers. “It’s nothing,” she says, laughing. 
“Tell me.” 
Yunjin sighs, resting a hand gently on your shoulder. You think it’s meant to be comforting but it’s the opposite. “You’ll be fine, I promise. Lovesickness isn’t deadly.” 
Feeling the weight of her reassurance, you settle down properly and sigh when your head hits the pillow. Lovesickness. Hmm. 
Closing your eyes, you try to sleep but can’t help tossing and turning as Yunjin snores behind you. You pat blindly around the end table for your phone, grabbing it and wincing at the brightness of your screen. Chewing on your lip, you open Google, looking up ‘lovesickness’ and frowning immediately at the results. Endless negativity fills the screen, terrifying words like ‘unrequited love’ forming a pit in your stomach. There’s nothing negative about what you feel for Sunghoon, nothing unrequited—you think. 
It was obvious during the trip, painfully so. In the way he’d tuck your hair behind your ear when his parents weren’t there to see, or how he slipped up and called you ‘baby’ in the bathroom, blushing when you said it back. You can’t fake something like that.. Can you?
Yeonjun did.
Shaking your head, you open Instagram to distract yourself. Jake’s story comes up first; he’s at a party where Jay is losing a game of beer pong, and at the other end of the table is Sunghoon grinning with a bright red lipstick kiss on his cheek. You lock your phone, using your hands to press on your belly to stop the stirring. 
Oh, you think. Lovesickness. 
When you wake up, the first thing you do is check Jake’s story again. The video is still there and that terrible stir in your stomach churns on, burrowing deeply into a pit of canyon-like proportion—so vast there’s a safety railing lining its edges. 
You eat breakfast in silence with Yunjin, zoning out mid-chew to figure out the origin of these feelings and how to handle them. Suddenly, the moment hits you clear as day, vivid like you’re watching it on a screen—it was your third night at his parents’ house, after your walk. 
You felt bad about how you acted, and what you said, so went straight up to your room. With nothing but the bedside lamp turned on, it was dimly lit, shadows cast on the walls as you sulked, replaying everything in your head. Guilt wrapped its long arms around your body, making you feel sick as you thought about it all. About the hurt etched over his face with every word you said, and the frown that stuck around for the rest of the walk as his hand clung limply to yours. 
There was a knock at the door, so gentle you almost missed it, and Sunghoon was standing there when you pulled it open, chewing on his lip with a mug in his hand. Steam skated over the opening, a rich chocolatey smell hitting your nose but the real kicker was the mug itself. In its place on Jake and Sunghoon’s mug tree, it was unassuming, a regular white mug, but upon meeting hot water, the face of young Sunghoon appeared, grinning with his tiny glasses on. It was a gift from one of his old coaches and though he never used it, it was your absolute favourite cup in the world. 
You felt soft around the edges when you looked up at him, his eyes wide and unsure as you met his gaze—he brought that mug three hours across the country so you could use it again. The thought shifted your heart into a comfortable position, settling in your chest with overwhelming warmth and an increased rate. 
“Hi,” you said, clearing your throat. 
“Hi,” he repeated, holding the mug out for you to take. “It’s still hot so be careful.” 
Nodding, you covered your hands with your sleeves, taking the cup from him and asking if he wanted to come in. Sunghoon nodded, shutting the door behind him and standing by the bed, watching you set the hot chocolate on the bedside table as you sat down. The two of you stayed like that for a while, with him only moving when you patted the spot next to you on the duvet. Your train of thought escaped you as soon as he sat down, the warmth of his familiar fresh, citrusy scent taking over and becoming the only thing you could register. The smell of summers with him, long days at the beach and short nights spent on the couch at random parties, cuddled into his side with his arm over your shoulders. The smell you’d come to associate with comfort and home—with Sunghoon. 
“It’s not fair for me to treat you like shit just because I’m annoyed, I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that earlier. I’m sorry.” 
A crease ran over Sunghoon’s thick brows as they tugged together, he shook his head. “You don’t have to apologise. I roped you into this whole thing and didn’t even try to think about how you would feel. I’m sorry.” His eyes carried a mix of regret and sincerity, mirroring the weight of his words.
“Anyway, I only came to bring you that,” he said, pointing at the cup. “And to check up on you, I’ll get out of your hair for tonight.” Sunghoon wiped his palms on his pants before standing up, reaching behind him to pick up the cloth he brought. For a moment, he stood there, staring down at it in his hand while you thought about telling him to stay, telling him that you wanted him in your hair—whatever that meant. But he spoke before you had the chance. “You left this, at mine, after.. well, you know. I’m sure you left it intentionally, I mean it was folded up perfectly on the end of my bed, so I know you did, but it didn’t feel right keeping it, you always wore it more than me.” 
Sunghoon extended his hand, holding it out to you and you knew exactly what it was as soon as the fabric touched your skin after so long. It was the shirt Jay bought him for Christmas in first year—they were roommates still trying to get a feel for each other. For a few weeks, Sunghoon had been pestering you about what he should get for Jay, saying it didn’t feel right not to get him anything, and you suggested a targeted t-shirt, one you’d been laughing at all day after seeing an ad for it on your timeline. Sunghoon was sceptical, but bought the red shirt anyway, hoping Jay would find BEING DAD IS AN HONOUR, BEING PAPA IS PRICELESS funny. He did. And Jay bought Sunghoon a targeted shirt too, your favourite. It was black and two sizes too big, with I NEVER DREAMED I’D BE A SEXY FIGURE SKATER BUT HERE I AM KILLING IT written over the chest. 
“Goodnight, YN,” Sunghoon said, crossing the room to leave but hesitating before closing the door. He poked his head through the opening and sighed. “I really am sorry.”
That night, you fell asleep in the shirt, the thinning, yet cosy, fabric wrapped around you like a hug as your heart started to beat a new rhythm, one that eerily echoed the five-foot-eleven figure skater who you let break it. 
This morning, Yunjin claps her hands in your face, seeming irritated when you look over at her. “You have class in an hour, what are you doing?” Before you have the chance to speak, realisation covers her face. “Oh, the feelings.” 
You nod solemnly, too caught up in the butterflies raiding your stomach to come up with something to say. 
At lightspeed, you scarf down the rest of your food, apologising for showing up so late as you head out the door. When you get home, you take the fastest shower of your life and feel grateful Chaewon isn’t around to tease you about the smile you can’t wipe from your face thinking about Sunghoon—you’ll text her later.
You run to campus, feeling the brisk autumn wind beating against your face while the rest of your body overheats under your jacket, hoodie and long sleeve. Despite the discomfort and ache in your lungs, you don’t stop until you reach the door of your lecture hall, huffing and puffing into the faces of classmates who don’t take any notice. Of course, in a stroke of pure luck, your lecturer is late, and you realise bitterly, that all of your huffing and puffing was in vain—you would have gotten to class with time to spare even if you walked.
It’s not a total waste though; you use the time to update Chaewon. 
you: i have news wonie..  i like sunghoon
wonie: …………….. fork in the kitchen yn what’s the news? 
wonie: OHHHH news to YOU.. can i call? 
She calls you immediately. You answer without thinking because your lecturer still hasn’t arrived, and there’s no one sitting close enough to hear or notice you taking a call. 
“Are you going to tell him?!” Chaewon’s voice is so loud you wince, pulling the phone away from your ear. 
“I don’t know.” You shrug even though she can’t see you, still holding the device at a distance just in case. “I don’t have any confirmation that he still.. likes me. It’s been a while, and I was pretty mean that day. 
Chaewon groans and you can picture her throwing herself onto her bed, exasperated. The rustling that comes through the receiver only frames the image, hanging it up. “Did you have to tell him to get a grip?” 
“You know..” You trail off, chewing on your bottom lip. “In hindsight, probably not.” 
A beat passes, she’s thinking. “Don’t worry,” she says. “I’ll help you.” 
“I.. have never been so worried in my life.” You sigh, picking at your freshly painted nails. “But I know you’ll do something no matter what I say, so do what you want, Wonie, but please be subtle about it.” 
Chaewon squeals down the phone. “I love youuuuu!” And it’s the last thing she says before kissing the mic a few times and hanging up. 
Slumping in your seat, you don’t have any time to stress about Chaewon’s plans because your lecturer walks in, with a travel cup in her hand and a paperback tucked under her arm. 
She apologises for being late, running a hand through her hair as she announces that you’ll be watching a film, an adaptation of a book you read at the start of term—Ian McEwan’s Atonement. You spend the first hour of the movie falling in and out of sleep until a text comes through from Sunghoon, and sheer excitement keeps you up.
hoonie: Wanna study together after class? 
you: of course!!!!!! 
hoonie: 🤍
The rest of the movie goes by in a drag, and you come away from it with a mild irritation towards Saoirse Ronan.
you: class just finished, heading to lib rn 
hoonie: Shit, still in the locker room, sorry !!! Omw, can you get a table? 
you: i’ll try..
It takes a while but you find an empty booth on the second floor, and set your bag on the plush green seat to take pictures of your surroundings to send to Sunghoon. You sit on the side facing the stairs so he can see you when he arrives. The thought of seeing him makes your heart race and you try out a few natural-seeming poses for when he’s here, cycling between resting your palm under your chin and sitting with your arms crossed a few times until the top of his head comes into view. 
Seeing him knocks the wind out of you as he approaches the staircase, taking them two at a time with his damp hair clinging to his forehead and neck. It doesn’t help that he’s wearing a tight black vest, and his sweats are hanging low on his hips. A breath you didn’t realise you were holding slips out when he lifts his head, spotting you immediately as a grin spreads over his lips and he raises his arm to wave, the veins in his forearm peeking out to say hi too. You can’t tell if it’s his lack of winter wardrobe or your newfound appreciation for him that’s making his biceps look so huge but it’s hard to look away, even when he reaches the table. 
“Are you hot?” you blurt out. 
Sunghoon laughs, raising a brow and something about the way he’s looking down at you makes your cheeks burn. “Depends who’s asking.” He takes his backpack off, leaving it on the table as he sits down, dumping his jacket and hoodie in a pile beside him.
“I’m asking,” you mumble. 
“Then, yeah, I’d hope so.” 
Is he flirting? It sounds like he’s flirting. Flirt back! “Nice arms.” 
He looks down at his biceps for a beat before looking at you warily. “Are you flirting with me?” He can’t fight the smile twitching at the corners of his lips but he tries his best, pressing them into a straight line.
“A little. They are nice though,” you admit.
Sunghoon grins. “Thanks, I’ve had them for a while now.”
You can’t come up with anything to say, too distracted by the way his smile reaches his eyes, lighting up his whole face and forcing a flustered heat to spread over your cheeks and neck. It’s only when you look away from him that you remember what you’re here for. It’s a study date, not a study date—there’s a difference. 
You hand Sunghoon the material you’d printed for him over the weekend, excerpts from texts you’d studied in class, so he can practise close reading and proper citation. As he makes his way through them, you can’t help stealing glances, smiling at the way his tongue sticks out a little while he focuses, or how he twirls his pen in his fingers while he’s thinking. You aren’t making the best use of your time together, copying out the slides from class yesterday, but you can’t help noticing the way he watches you when he thinks you can’t see. The small smile on his face while he does so only flusters you, an odd weakness settling in your knees as your cheeks heat up. 
After a while, Sunghoon sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Could you stop watching me?”
“If you noticed me watching, that means you’re watching me.” 
He shrugs, chewing on his lip. “Well, yeah. I’m always watching you,” he says like it’s a given. “But you don’t normally watch back, it’s distracting.” 
“You’re distracting.”
A playful smile curves his lips as he arches a brow, smugness painting his face. “Am I?” 
Too scared to verbalise your response, you nod slowly, hoping you don’t look as wound up as you feel. 
Sunghoon’s eyes flick over your face, flashing with something you don’t recognise. At least not from him. He sits back in his seat, assessing you and eventually shaking his head. 
“You know,” he says, eyes glowing with something you do recognise: cockiness. “If my sexy arms are getting to you that much, I can always put my hoodie back on. Wouldn’t want my little tutor getting distracted, would I?” 
Oh. 
Your stomach turns with want, mind reeling from his tone and the way his gaze lands on your lips. Sighing, you roll your eyes and try to seem unaffected. “Sunghoon, I never said your arms were sexy.” 
His phone starts to go off, buzzing against the table and he turns it over immediately, screen down on the surface as he shifts his focus back to his work. He chews on his lip while he does, eyes flicking back and forth between his phone and the words on the page. Curious, you lean over the table, elbows propped up as you rest your chin in your hands. He doesn’t spare you or his phone, which vibrates another four times, a glance.
“Are you going to get that?” 
Sunghoon shakes his head. “It’s nothing.” 
You hum, letting just enough curiosity seep into the sound that he’ll elaborate without being asked to. It doesn’t take long for him to deliver.
“It’s just Chaewon,” he says, running his hand through his hair and lifting his head. Sunghoon smiles. “We’ve been texting a lot these days.” 
“Cool.” You nod a few times, aiming for nonchalance but hitting bobblehead as you wait for him to continue. He doesn’t, only humming in response, nodding too. 
After a beat, he picks up his phone, angling it just high enough that you can’t see the screen. He reads the messages, an exhaled laugh coming from his nose as the tips of his ears redden—Fuck. This is worse than you thought. 
Chaewon’s commitment to girl code runs deep—she’s been rebuffing Jake since first year when she overheard a girl she’d never seen before telling her friends she thought he was cute. So you know without having to read the texts that nothing she’s saying is even remotely flirty, you can smell the auto-caps and use of the word ‘buddy’ from across the table. 
What you hadn’t counted on, however, was the potential for Sunghoon’s feelings to shift. If they really have been texting more, can you rule out the possibility that he might like.. her? Chaewon is a catch, beyond a catch, and you’d already turned Sunghoon down. Brutally. Of course, he’d move on, he has moved on. 
The rest of the study session is spent manifesting, writing Park Sunghoon over and over in the back of your notebook. You fill three pages while brainstorming ways to snatch a lock of his hair until he suggests that the two of you call it a day. He walks you home, telling you about how Jake’s been bribing him with food to get a ride to the LEGO store across town for the new Marvel set. 
“With or without the meals, I would’ve taken him, but his ramen is my favourite, so..” Sunghoon says, climbing the last step of your building and holding the door open for you. “He even brought a slice of tiramisu to the rink for me after practice.” 
“You’re terrible,” you say, frowning up at him as you search for your keys. “Do you want to come in?” 
Sunghoon chuckles, shaking his head. “I have a meeting with one of my lecturers soon, I’d have to leave in—” He pauses, rolling up the sleeve of his jacket to check the time. “—eight minutes.” 
“I’m cool with that if you are,” you mumble, suddenly shy. 
A bright smile spreads over his lips and he nods, following you in. 
Chilled by the harsh wind, the only thing on your mind is a hot drink as you lead Sunghoon to the kitchen. He shakes his head when you offer him one, sitting on the countertop and exhaling into his palms before rubbing them together. You can’t help but frown at the sight, feeling guilty that you can’t change the weather to suit him. At your thought process, your brows raise. Wow, you think. Is this who you are? 
You busy yourself with the selection of hot drinks you and Chaewon have accumulated, eyeing each container from top to bottom. A purple tub of Cadbury’s hot chocolate that you’re sure is on the brink of expiration, coffee—sachets of the instant stuff you’ve grown to like since leaving home, Earl grey from one of many brands, or the fancy silk tea bags Chaewon’s mum brought home from a trip—rooibos or plum-apple-cinnamon. 
Craving something sweet, you settle for hot chocolate, pulling the heavy container from the cupboard next to Sunghoon’s head and setting it beside your cup. He’s on his phone, scrolling too fast to take in anything he’s seeing and he shakes his head when you ask if he wants something to drink. 
On the dish rack, Chaewon’s mug catches your eye, so you pick it up to dry it off and put it down next to yours. “I’m going to check if Wonie wants any,” you say, wiping imaginary crumbs from the counter onto the floor. 
Sunghoon only clears his throat, shaking his head. “She’s not home, one of her acrylics popped off so she’s at the shop waiting for a cancellation.” 
The information itself isn’t jarring but hearing it from Sunghoon is. You put on what you hope is a neutral smile and nod, taking milk from the fridge and assembling your drink on autopilot while thinking of ways to redirect the conversation. 
“If you knew you’d have to go back to campus so soon, why’d you walk me home?” you ask, watching your cup spin in the microwave. “I could’ve walked on my own.” 
Sunghoon is already looking at you when you turn your head, his cheeks puffed out with air as he blinks slowly. Because I love you, is what you hope he’ll say. You think you need him to say it. 
“Because you don’t have to do anything on your own when you have me,” he says instead, and it’s infinitely better. 
The words seep through your every fibre, his intonation and lucid affection making a home for themselves in your heart, spreading warmth from head to toe. Your smile becomes a radiant grin, only brightening when he shakes his head, smiling down at his feet. 
Sunghoon hugs you in the kitchen when it’s time for him to leave, his arms holding you tight to his chest as he rocks you back and forth. You inhale his scent, all warm citrus under freshly washed cotton and something exclusive to him.
Wiping the smile from your face feels impossible. You don’t let go when he does, and a sweet laugh — a giggle, you think — tumbles out of him as he mumbles that he really has to go. Still, you cling onto him, taking clumsy steps backwards, with your arms locked around his waist, to your front door, smiling as you watch him put his shoes on. 
“You don’t have to walk me downstairs, honestly,” he says, looking down at you in the doorway.
“I want to.” 
His lips quirk up at the corners, a full smile breaking through and causing your stomach to flutter with so much force you’re sure it’s visible through your shirt. His eyes fall to your lips, lingering, before he clears his throat, looking away. 
“I’ll text you when I get to the door, promise.” 
You lock your pinky with his. “Send a selfie, just so I know it’s you and not someone else using your phone.” 
Sunghoon’s head falls back in a laugh. “Should I just call you? That way you can make sure I get back to uni in one piece.” 
You nod.
“That wasn’t anything with Chaewon earlier, I just needed advice on some girl stuff..” He trails off, searching your eyes. It’s obvious that he’s telling the truth, that he wants you to believe him. You do. “I wasn’t sure if that was something I could talk about with you.” 
Girl stuff. Hmm. You try not to read too much into it and look at the bigger picture instead—your best friend is going through something and doesn’t feel like he can come to you about it.. You squeeze his pinky reassuringly, a flutter in your stomach when he smiles. 
“You can talk to me about anything,” you say, meaning it. 
Sunghoon presses his lips together, humming and unlinking your fingers. “Next time,” he says after a beat, waving at you. 
You shut the door, locking it while watching through the peephole, he leaves as soon as the lock clicks shut. In the kitchen, your hot chocolate is cooling down, and your phone rings in your back pocket. Sunghoon’s calling. 
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Hanging out with Sunghoon. Making sure he sticks to the time-blocked schedule you made for him. Quizzing him on biology terms until he gets restless. If the last two weeks were an episode of Family Feud, those would be the top three answers to the question: Name something YN is doing right now.
Thankfully tonight, it’s the first one. 
You’ve been sitting on the couch for so long, Jake has both left for football practice and arrived from football practice. Conversation ebbs and flows—an hour or so of nonstop talking, followed by another hour or so of comfortable near silence. 
It’s during a quiet hour that Sunghoon sits up straight, clearing his throat before saying, “Let me ask you something. He retreats to the other side of the couch, turning to face you with his whole body. “I don’t want things to be weird after I ask, so no matter what your answer is, I won’t bring it up or ask again.”
Arching a curious brow, you nod. “You can ask me anything,” you say, meaning it.
Sunghoon’s face is impressively blank—minus the motion of sharp teeth worrying plush lip, there’s absolutely nothing behind his eyes that seem to stare right through you. 
Eventually, he asks, “Can I kiss you?” He says more. Big, scary words like for closure and moving on, but they don’t register. They don’t matter. 
Your heart pounds at the base of your throat as you find interest in your hands that sit in your lap. Even without looking at him, you can’t get over the slight crease he had in his brow and the slight tremor in his hands. 
“For closure,” you repeat, though your voice doesn’t sound like it’s coming from you, muffled under the thump of your heart. 
Sunghoon nods. “For closure.” 
A humourless laugh sneaks past your throat as you look at him. You shouldn’t have. In the lamplight, Sunghoon is golden and glorious. Warm light casts one side of his face, diffusing gently over the steep slope of his nose, highlighting his moles and the look in his eyes, gentle and curious all at once. Unwillingly, your gaze falls to his lips, parted, tempting. 
One firm nod of your head brings Sunghoon’s hand to your face, his palm cupping your cheek with soft skin as his thumb traces your cheekbone. You grow anxious under his stare, under the drag of his eyes over your features, taking them one at a time like he’s committing them to memory.
Leaning in, your eyes flutter shut as your lips meet his and he freezes, mouth completely still on yours. Delicately, your tongue traces the seam of his lips, soft and plump, until they part for you, moving with yours. Sunghoon’s kiss is unpolished when it reaches you. It’s hesitant but tender, clumsy but sweet, he’s trying and he’s perfect; your favourite. 
The kiss is.. it’s everything. It’s the racing of your heart, the thudding, the vibrant buzz you can hear, feel humming against your ears. It’s a rush of blood to the head, a lightness all over that pulls you out of your body. It’s Sunghoon’s soft lips curving into a smile against yours, his gentle hold on your face never letting up as he holds you as close as he can manage, and it’s every bit as lovely as the rest of him.
Palpable is the heartbeat of your friendship, beating to a lull under the surface of the kiss, fizzling out into nothing, a steady silence, flatlining to give way to something more, something bigger. 
Every brush of your lips against his is a revelation, a confession. You’re all I’ve ever wanted, you tell him with your kiss. You’re everything I need. His free hand finds yours, locking your fingers and squeezing, the action timed well enough to make you think he hears you, to make you think he’s saying, we’ll be okay, I still love you. 
With that, he pulls away, a delicate tension piercing the air. Blown eyes and laboured breathing—he’s beautiful, fuzzy around the edges with warm orange and all of the love in your heart. Breathless, you chew on your lip, cognisant of Sunghoon’s hand in yours and the sparkle in his eyes as he looks at you. 
Belatedly, you squeeze his hand back, smiling. “Was it everything you ever dreamed of?” you whisper, part teasing, all curious.
Abruptly, Sunghoon stands up, letting go of you in the process. “I have to go.” 
You want to stop him, you think you’re supposed to. To grab him by the arm and kiss him again, to yell in his face that you love him until he understands. But you don’t. Instead, you stay seated, staring at Sunghoon’s back and following him with your eyes out of the room and down the hall until he’s out of sight. 
It’s your first time being so upset after a kiss, and you can’t tell if it’s his leaving or the mention of him moving on that’s tripping you up so much. That’s causing melancholy to crawl from the shadows, sinking its jagged nails into your skin to pull you under. 
You love him. He’s gone. 
Eyes stuck on the doorway, time stretches over the room around you, thick and malleable, wet and cloying—clay stuck under your nails for days as the fire in the kiln rages on. 
Sighing, you get up and wait at his door. You ball your hand into a limp fist, knocking weakly. Sunghoon doesn’t reply. You try again, harder. Still nothing. 
Barging into the room, you find him sitting on the end of his bed with his face in his hands. 
“Don’t move on.” The words come out before you realise and Sunghoon lifts his head, squinting at you. 
“Huh?” He tilts his head, watching closely as you approach him, tipping it back enough to meet your eyes when you stand over him. 
You take a breath, holding it until your head starts to spin. “I don’t want you to love someone else, Sunghoon. Please don’t move on.” 
The stillness that follows is disconcerting, a long quiet you can feel on your skin, amplifying the blank stare on his face as he looks up at you. His eyes flash, a spark of hope behind them so bright it stings to look at.
“Do you..” He trails off, his lips moving to form the next word though stopping short.
“I do,” you whisper, nodding. “I’m sorry for taking so long.”
An exhaled laugh comes from his nose as he grins, shaking his head. “You like me?” he asks, excitement and disbelief fighting for authority over his voice, his hands holding your waist and pulling you down into his lap.
“I love you,” you admit, settling on his thighs. 
“You do?” His eyes are wide and gleaming, searching every feature on your face before settling on your own.
You nod. “So much.” 
Sunghoon’s chin tips up, his lips pressing against yours, excited pecks that can’t turn into much more for the smiles on your faces. You rest your arms on his shoulders, hands clasping behind his head, nervous fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. 
“So.. will you be my boyfriend? For real?” 
Tilting his head, he tries and fails to fight a smile. “I will. I’m a little bummed though.” 
“Why?” You raise a brow, and the word tips up at the end with it. 
“I wanted to be the one to ask you.” Sunghoon’s honesty warms the room, endearing you completely. 
You grin, loving the heat spreading over your cheeks. “Ask me anyway.” 
“Please can I be your boyfriend?” 
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In the weeks that followed, it became immediately clear that boyfriend Sunghoon operated on a pendulum swinging between sexual ferality and terror. He’d get distracted during study sessions at home, finding more interest in biting at your neck than stream-of-consciousness prose, but closed his eyes if a sex scene came on TV. He’d buck his hips against yours while making out but flinch at the sight of condoms in the store.
He wasn’t ready to have sex and didn’t know how to tell you, so you took matters into your own hands, asking if you could wait until after his results for resubmission came in, saying you didn’t want the distraction for either of you. Sunghoon agreed, pecking your cheek and holding you tight to his chest. 
The only thing was that your lecturer hadn’t given him an exact date, so every morning, you held your phone in a vice grip waiting for Sunghoon to update you, and every morning, you got the same text: Nothing today, baby ☹️ 
This morning, you’re brushing your teeth when he texts you, in all caps: NO FUCKING WAY I GOT A 98 !!! LOOK !!!
When the picture comes through, it’s of him in the mirror and you choke on mouthwash at the sight. He’s smiling, bright and beautiful, in a black vest that he’s holding up a little to show his stomach, though his palm is in the way of his toned abs, and it cuts off right at the top of his grey sweatpants. 
Your mouth goes dry as you click on it, fixating on every little detail you can find: the thickness of his fingers against his phone, the dip in his collarbones, the breadth of his shoulders and the cinch of his waist. In a fit of desperation, you try swiping at the bottom of your screen, willing the picture to magically extend. It doesn’t. 
hoonie: Finger slipped.. You like?
you: mm.. 
you: 98??? HOLY SHIT, LOOK AT YOU!!!
hoonie: All you.. do you like the picture?
you: i love it………….
hoonie: My girl 🤍
Another picture comes in, and sure enough, through the glare of his laptop screen, you see: Course name: The Modernist Movement: Joyce, Woolf, and Hemingway. Marks Awarded: 98.0.
you: well done baby !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
hoonie: Thx 😁
hoonie: Can I have my prize now ha ha .. haha 😈
you: just for that emoji, no you absolutely cannot.
Your resolve isn’t strong enough when it comes to Sunghoon, because purple devil emoji and all, you show up at his door with condoms in your bag and a bouquet of lilies behind your back. 
The door creaks open and Sunghoon greets you with a grin. “Hey, gorgeous. You proud of me?” 
You beam at him, holding out the flowers. “I’m very proud, Hoon, well done.” 
“I don’t want to ruin the moment,” he starts, taking the bouquet from your hands and sniffing the flowers with an approving smile. “But hearing you say you’re proud of me is awakening something I didn’t know existed.”
“A good something?” 
“Mm,” he hums, arms finding your waist before he pecks your lips. “A very good something.” 
Sunghoon’s words hit your lips and your core, a desperate heat flooding your stomach as he kisses you deeply, his body pressed tightly against yours while he pulls you into his apartment. He kicks the door shut with his foot, slipping his hand under your jacket to settle in your back pocket, not quite squeezing but holding your ass as gently as he can manage. 
He breaks away from you, love in his eyes as he stares down into yours, catching his breath. “I don’t think we own a vase.” 
In his kitchen, you rifle through cupboards to find something to hold the flowers, eventually finding a whiskey decanter in the cupboard under the sink, and holding it up for Sunghoon to see.
“Oh, yeah,” he says. “It’s Jay’s. It’ll work right?” 
You nod, taking it to the sink to rinse it. Sunghoon wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder watching you fill the decanter with water and flower food before grabbing the bouquet. He presses open-mouthed kisses to your neck and you struggle to stay focused as you cut down the stems on the flowers, arranging them neatly. 
“Can I take a photo?” he asks when you’re done. 
He’s smiling when you turn around to look at him, a soft curve of his lips that makes your heart race, a deep tenderness in his eyes when you meet them. You smile too. 
“They’re yours, baby, do whatever you want.” 
“A photo of you with the flowers,” he clarifies. 
Warmth settles in your chest, a grin spreading over your lips from ear to ear. You nod, taking the decanter in your hands when he lets go of you, holding the flowers up beside your face and smiling for his camera. As his phone shutter clicks away, you steal glances at his face behind it. He’s watching the screen with a smile, telling you how beautiful you are.
“I want pictures of you too,” you say, handing the flowers over. 
“I’m yours, baby, do whatever you want.” 
Sunghoon poses for your photos, smiling sweetly in some and sniffing the bouquet appreciatively with closed eyes for others. He’s glowing and he’s beautiful and your heart triples in size while taking picture after picture until your phone tells you it has ten percent. 
“Thank you, YN,” he says. “I’ve never gotten flowers before, I love them.” His arms settle around your waist, lips pressing against yours before you have the chance to respond. 
You try anyway, mumbling against his lips that you love him. In response, Sunghoon grins, but the feeling of his cock growing hard against you is distracting, a lust-coated thorn in the side of the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. With locked lips and uncertain steps, the two of you bump into corners and trip over your own feet, stumbling to his room and parting only to tear his hoodie over his head.
Breathless, you pull away, eyes trailing over him and picking up on everything, from the tremble in his hands to the lust-addled worry in his eyes. He’s nervous, you think—though it escapes you, the last word coming out like a question.
Sunghoon scoffs, his hands resting on your waist under your shirt, skin clammy against yours. “Of course, I’m nervous.” 
“You don’t have to be.”
“I just want to be good for you.” 
“Don’t worry about that, let me take care of you, Hoon.” Your palms drag up his torso — firm abs through soft cotton, defined chest over racing heart — to rest on his shoulders. “Sit,” you say when he nods. 
He gulps, taking a seat on the end of his bed under your gentle push, eyes widening when you sink to your knees between his legs and reach for his drawstring, pulling the ends to untie the knot. 
“Wait,” Sunghoon says, breathless, scrunching up his face and dropping his head. “Let me calm down, baby. At this rate, I’ll come just seeing your hand on it.” 
You giggle, resting your head on his thigh and wrapping the drawstring around your finger.
“I’m serious, YN,” he mumbles, laughing as he takes his vest off. “I need a minute.” 
Sunghoon’s eyes are pressed shut as he tries to collect himself, lips pouty and kiss-bitten, slightly parted with ragged breaths slipping out. You wait patiently for him. He’s so pretty like this, with the crease in his brow and the pretty pink flush dusting his cheeks as his chest rises and falls. You can’t help but smile, leaning into his touch when his hand rests on top of your head, his blunt nails grazing your scalp. After a while, he seems more at ease, his eyes finding yours and he smiles shyly, telling you he’s ready now and lifting his hips from the bed to let you pull his sweats and underwear down. 
Free from the constraints of fabric, his cock slaps his stomach with a wet sound as the tip meets his skin, leaving a pearlescent streak over his abs. The sight makes your mouth water and you can’t look away. “Pretty,” you whisper.
Wrapping a hand under his tip, you swipe it with your thumb, taking time to memorise the flutter of his eyelids, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple, and the soft sigh he lets out. You stroke him slowly, liking the way his breath picks up as his brows knit together before you take him in your mouth. It’s a tight fit but you do your best, spurred on by the way he tugs at your hair and stutters through a holy fuck as you take as much of him as you can. 
Sunghoon goes silent, only squirming when you use your hand to stroke him near his base. Self-conscious about his lack of vocal affirmation, you look up at him through your lashes, and the pure bliss on his face is unbearably attractive. His eyes are rolled back under furrowed brows, his mouth hanging open as he throws his head back.
“Am I doing okay?” you ask, using the moment to catch your breath.
He nods, inhaling shakily and screwing his eyes shut while his hips buck up into your fist. “I’m.. You’re doing such a good job, baby, so good.”
Satisfaction courses through you from the praise, a high that dulls the ache in your jaw. Still watching him, you massage his balls in your palm, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his tip when he whines. You tongue at his slit until he thrusts back into your mouth, tip hitting your throat, and he gasps when you gag, his arm coming up to cover his eyes. A belated apology slips from his lips, mumbled as he strokes your hair with a shaking hand and goes quiet again. When you speed up, his breath stutters, the muscles in his thighs contracting around your head as you suck and lick and drool on his cock. 
A moan of your name, and his hand holding your hand down, are the only warnings you get before Sunghoon comes, spilling his load right down your throat. Whining, his hips buck up against your face, pushing further and further until he falls back onto the mattress.
Your throat is hoarse and aches while you use the back of your hand to wipe at your lips, enjoying what’s left of his taste on your tongue. Deep red tints his neck and chest, a pretty flush gleaming under the sheen of sweat on his skin. He’s mesmerising, as he tries for air through swollen lips and looks up at you through squinted eyes. He reaches for you, cute grabby hands tugging your shirt and pulling you down so you’re lying next to him with your head on his chest. 
“You’re amazing, baby, so good for me,” Sunghoon whispers, eyes fluttering shut as you drag your nails over his torso, feeling the subtle heave of the slick, sculpted muscle over his stomach and chest. 
Pride heats your chest, satisfaction rolling over you like a wave. “Really?”
He hums in affirmation, nodding his head. 
“You were so quiet, I couldn’t really tell,” you add, hungry for more praise. 
“The walls are so thin in here, I just got used to being quiet,” Sunghoon says, frowning. Hand meeting your chin, he tips your head up towards him, pressing a soft kiss to your lips and mumbling, “I’m sorry. You were perfect, I swear.” 
It’s a sweet kiss. Until lips move harder and hands get lower, desperate as he thumbs the top of your leggings, palm unmoving but a dangerous heat blooms in your stomach anyway.
“Can I..” Sunghoon pinches you softly through the material, unsure eyes boring deep into yours. 
You nod. “You can.” 
Slipping under your waistband, his fingers skate across your skin dipping between your thighs. He grazes your slit, satisfaction clear in the groan he lets out as he feels the wetness there, pulling it over the length of your slit to cover your clit. Your breath hitches, a strangled gasp, pleasure and surprise meeting in your throat under the pressure of his thumb on your clit, the gentle sting of his finger pushing into you. 
What Sunghoon lacks in experience, he makes up for with the sheer length and thickness of his fingers. It’s almost jarring, it’s enough to force your eyes closed and bring a sigh rumbling out of you, ache and relief settling between your legs, where he curls a finger against your walls and drags slow circles over your clit. 
“Can you take these off, baby?” he asks, hand away to touch your leggings. 
You don’t waste a second, sitting up to pull them off, throwing them and your underwear across the room. Sunghoon licks his lips, tugging at the hem of your shirt. 
“And this? If you want..” 
You nod, pulling it off immediately to let it join the rest of your clothes in a heap on the floor. The way he gulps is a confidence boost, his dilated pupils taking in every inch of your body, though his gaze always pulls back to your bra—white and lacy, thin enough for your nipples to push through the fabric and Sunghoon can’t seem to get enough, though he waits until you’re lying down again to touch you. 
Sunghoon props himself up on his elbow, leaning over you. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, dragging a finger over the lace at the top of your bra, toying with the material and the little bow sitting between your breasts. His eyes flick up to meet yours. “So beautiful,” he repeats. 
Hiding your face in his chest, you mumble, “Thank you,” into his skin while trying to ignore the heat spreading over your body wherever he touches you. His hand trails from your arm to your waist, resting on your hips to slip over your ass for a beat, where he grabs and squeezes the flesh there before coming back around to slot between your legs—you lift one of them, resting it over his body, and he’s smiling sweetly when you look up at him.
Sunghoon’s movements are unchanging, though the sensation is heightened by the unbridled desire in his lidded eyes that urges white heat to lick over every inch of your skin—this time he pushes two fingers into you.
It doesn’t get better than this, you think. But it does, quickly. 
Leaning over you, his eyes flick across your face, one feature at a time as he chews on his lip. Reaching up, you push some of his hair from his face, holding it back and saying, “Relax, baby.” 
“Don’t want to hurt you.”
Moving your hand, you blink when his hair flops back over his forehead, tickling your eyelashes. His eyes are focused now, staring straight down into yours, want and worry flashing behind them. 
“You won’t, I promise,” you say, locking your pinky with his, feeling relieved when he smiles.
Sunghoon pushes in slowly, his name slipping from your lips when he exhales shakily, head falling forward. The sting, the pleasure, make it hard to breathe, molten desire taking hold of your lungs as he carves out a place for himself as far as you’ll take him, all the way to the hilt as slow as he can manage. 
A moan tears out of him, lewd and whiny as his hair tickles your collarbone, head falling into the crook of your neck. His skin is hot and damp against yours, his breath burning your shoulder as he tries to calm down. It’s difficult to register much else, tethered only by the sound of his voice when he asks, “Am I hurting you?” 
“Hoon,” you whisper. 
“Can you look at me, baby?” He lifts his head, resting a hand on your cheek. You blink your eyes open, gaze locking with his, where concern pushes through his desire. “Am I hurting you?” he asks again. “Are you okay?” 
You nod. “I’m okay, just..” You sigh. “Full. Need a minute.” 
Sunghoon kisses you, lips moving gently with yours, passing breathy whines between your mouths until you feel yourself relaxing. Pulling his plush bottom lip between yours, you suck on it, nodding. “Want you to move, baby,” you mumble. 
He scans your face, eyes meeting yours as he pulls his hips back. He’s slow, so slow with his thrusts that your belly turns with want, your fingernails sink into the taut skin of his back, and jagged sobs fall out of you with each drag of his cock along your walls. 
Everywhere his skin touches yours is set ablaze with scorching heat, goosebumps pushing past the surface as his breath fans your neck and his sharp teeth graze your skin. He bites hard enough to sting, and you wince as his tongue flicks over your bitten flesh to soothe you.
You were so worked up earlier, writhing against the sheets and coming undone in his palm, so bliss quickly pushes through the ache between your legs. “Good, Hoon, feels so good,” you manage, struggling to convey how perfect it is.
“Just want to make you feel good.” His words melt into each other, vowels soft and elongated as they curl around each other. He’s working up a steady rhythm, his tip consistently nudging you where you need it—the spot that makes the room blur around you. “That’s all I want.” 
Before long, the knot in your stomach pulls you up from the mattress, arching your back towards the ceiling. Mouth to mouth, chest to chest—it’s the closest you’ve ever felt to someone else, the closest you’ve ever been. The thought alone knocks the wind out of you, and his persistent whining does nothing to help.
Your want and adoration for Sunghoon run bone-deep, inching up your spine and creeping over your shoulders, intertwined with an all-consuming pleasure that turns the heat in your stomach molten as a shudder zips through you. Even though you can’t find the words to let him know, he lifts your hips from the bed to fuck you deeper, harder, into the mattress until shaky orgasms pull both of you under. 
You let him fall into you, fingers curling around his hair, whispering I love you into the skin of his neck as he comes, most of his weight on top of you while you catch your breath, relishing in the fullness you feel as the last waves of your high pull back. You stay like this for as long as he needs, his head coming up from the crook of your neck to smile at you before pressing his lips to yours. A sleepy haze fills the room around you, tongue swiping tongue as you giggle happily into his mouth. 
After a while, he gets up, tying the condom to throw it away and comes back with his shirt. He uses it to clean up—gentle between your legs, pressing kisses to your calves while he does. Sunghoon’s tenderness wraps around your heart, and love clouds your vision, forming a blurry trail that follows all of his movements, glowing like something from a dream, ethereal, an apparition. 
The bed dips beside you, his arms around you, pulling you in so his chin rests on your head. You push your cheek into his chest, hoping the two of you will meld into one—the thought makes you warm all over, a fuzziness that reaches every part of your body while he presses kisses into your hair, rubbing your back. 
“I love you,” he says, voice as soft as the rest of him. “I’m glad I exist.”
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mama park: Hi lovely 😍 missing you lots, wondering when you’ll be home for Xmas………..love ma
Sunghoon stirs, nose scrunching as he snores softly into the quiet of a winter morning. His chest rises and falls steadily under your head and he doesn’t move when you sit up. The lamp on his desk is still on — neither of you could be bothered getting up to turn it off last night — and under its dim glow, you admire him. Perfect lips gently curved—long lashes kissing the skin under his eyes. 
Love hits you from all angles, warmth all over from head to toe despite the chill in Sunghoon’s room. You can’t help but grin, leaning up to nose along the underside of his chin, his natural scent so soft yet dizzying as you nuzzle into him. He stirs again, turning his head this way and that before resting, you feel a bit bad, deciding to leave him be and text his mum back. 
you: hi mum !!! missing you sooooooo much :((( will be home asap
mama park: BTW Sunghoon told me everything. I raised such good actors LOL make sure he looks after you and keeps you happy!
you: i’m so sorry we lied to you..
you: but i’m really happy with him and he loves me a lot
you: i love him so much .. never been so sure of anyone in my life
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© zreamy (2023), all rights reserved. do not repost, translate, or plagiarise my work. do let my know your thoughts !
permanent taglist: @asahicore
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tatoda · 8 months
Text
Wanting You || conrad fisher x fem!reader
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masterlist
request
summary: you get a call and it happens to be your drunk boyfriend just wanting your love and attention
pairing: conrad fisher x reader
warnings: stressed conrad and mostly just fluff
wc: 800 (i think)
put some drunk conrad in to help with the storyline!! not majority edited just wanted to get this out
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It was supposed to be a boy's night. To drink and talk about sports or just hang out in general. But here conrad was, looking at your pictures on his phone showing the guys around him. Even if they were at a party where there were over 100 people, you were still the first thing on his mind.
“she’s just so pretty guys,” he told steven and jeremiah who were sipping on beers
“oh we know, for how much you talk about her.” jere muttered over his drink
“man, as much as i love how you’re in love with my sister, but please spare all details.” steven rolled his eyes
“she’s just so sweet, she’s helped me with so much. like that one time she snuck me into your house because i missed her and my roommate was having sex,” he admitted
“oh god! you snuck into our house. if laurel ever hears this you’re dead meat.” steven leaned forward
“relax steve, i’ll have you know your mom likes me too much.” conrad took a sip of his beer when he should have stopped drinking for a while now “i miss her.”
“he’s so whipped.” jere laughed watching his brother be lovesick for you
“do you think she will answer if i call her?” his eyes lit up
“she’s probably sleeping.” steven looked over his shoulder to the crowd of people spotting taylor dancing with some of the volleyball girls
“just make your move already.” jeremiah pointed out
“you know belly would absolutely murder me if i touched her best friend.” steven sighed and looked away
“hey! look at me man.” conrad put a hand on his shoulder “you haven’t murdered me yet.” he smiled
“that’s because i’m building up to it.” conrad shook his head
“i’m gonna call her, i miss her.”
“dude-“ it was too late he already clicked your contact.
Meanwhile, you were on your bed watching netflix and having a self-care night. With conrad with the guys, you felt like he needed to get out of the apartment they all shared because all they did was play video games and sleep. Your phone rang on the comforter causing you to jump not expecting any calls. You turned the phone seeing conrad’s name on the screen.
“hey.” you paused your show leaning back on the pillows
“hi baby.” he slurred. this wasn’t the first time occurrence he’s called you drunk, you soon found out he was clingy and wanted your attention when drunk
“hey you, how’s the boy's night?” he sighed on the other side of the phone
“it’s good, it’s good. i wanted to call and say i miss you, like a lot.”
“you just saw me yesterday dummy.” you laughed into the phone
“i just really love you.” your heart fluttered as he said the words, you don’t usually say it because it meant a lot to the both of you with what happened to your parents
“can you do me a favor baby?” he hummed on the other side “can i talk to my brother really quick?”
“yeah! here, steven she wants to talk to you.” you heard him hand the phone over
“hey sis.”
“hey can i come get him? i think he’s had enough and i know he’s gonna want me to come get him soon enough.”
“oh yeah please,”
“thank you for taking him out tonight, i know he’s stressed with everything with adam and everything.”
“no yeah i understand, see you soon.” the phone was pulled away from him and back in the hands of your boyfriend
“hey lover.” he chuckled “i’m gonna a come get you okay?”
“yeah, thats sounds good.” you knew after a while he would start overthinking and then the stress would come back
“just stay with the guys and no more drinking, okay?”
“okay, see you soon baby.” you both hung up and you got out of bed
The drive over to the house was over 20 minutes. But you didn’t mind you wanted to see conrad. There has been a lot of stuff going on recently with his dad. you knew their relationship wasn’t the greatest and it really got to him sometimes.
You parked the car in search of your boyfriend. Steven texted you saying they were in the backyard in some chairs, and you saw the back of your boyfriend's head as he talked to the boys in front of him. You wrapped your arms over his shoulder and leaned your head down on his shoulder.
“i have a girlfriend!” his head snapped and he relaxed seeing it was you “oh. sorry.”
“that’s okay, you ready to go?” he nodded “you boys have a ride back?” you looked towards jere and steven
“yeah, taylor said she would take us.” you smiled at steven “when are you gonna ask her out?” conrad moved his arms to rub against yours that were draped over him
“chill, i just don’t wanna upset belly.”
“for fucks sake i’m dating your best friend and you didn’t beat me up.”
“told you.” conrad muttered
“this is different.” he sighed rubbing his face
“it’s not really.” conrad moved to lay his head on your arm giving you the signal it was time to go “just do something at least, con and i are gonna head out.” you pulled your hands away and the man stood from his seat “ready.” he nodded taking your hand in his “be safe tonight, call me if you need anything.”
As you drove home, conrad kept a hand on your thigh but he didn’t say anything and you knew the quietness and depression were slowly coming back from the side effects of his drinking. The whole ride was quiet up until you made it into your room closing the door facing him.
“come here con.” he walked towards you slowly and dipped his head into to crook of your neck and wrapped his arms around you “let’s sleep okay?” he nodded but didn’t let go “con?”
“hm?”
“let’s lay down handsome.” he stepped away from you and you helped him take off his shirt as he slipped out of his jeans left in his boxers and slid into bed “ill be right back, going to get you water.”
“okay.” he softly spoke into the pillow he was laying on
Walking downstairs your mom was also grabbing a midnight snack. She knew he would come over and she also knew he was going through a lot in your 2 years together.
“how is he?” she leaned against the counter as you opened the fridge to grab a water bottle
“it’s a lot, he won’t really talk to me about some of it and i understand.”
“you’re a great girlfriend for him. susannah always loved the thought of you two together.” she grabbed your hand and squeezed it “speaking of conrad.” she nodded behind you, turning around you saw your boyfriend standing at the end of the stairs
“hey, what’s wrong?” you walked towards him
“you left me for a long time.” he rubbed his eyes and you smiled
“come on you big baby, good night mom.”
“night laurel.” conrad muttered
“night kids.” you could hear the humor in her voice
Back up in your room you were both now in bed with the light of the tv shining on the both of you. Conrad’s eyes drifted but he just stared at you.
“can i cuddle you?” he asked softly
“you don’t need to ask.” he moved closer to you hugging you to him, his head on your shoulder and you moved your hand to run though his hair “con?”
“yeah?” you moved to look at him and leaned down to kiss him for the first time that night
“i love you.” he smiled genuinely the first time since you saw him
“i love you.” he closed his eyes and kissed your neck
Soon enough his soft snoring filled the room as you continued to watch your show until you followed him into the dream state.
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messylustt · 11 months
Note
i had this on top of my mind today
imagine ethan with a huge crush on y/n, having all these fantasies on her. once a week they would call each other for econ homework, but that day he's just too horny so he gets off to her voice. y/n is too oblivious, he would be palming himself through his pants. his breath becomes a little too loud and she kind of guess what's happening and takes advantage of it to tease him/make him embarrassed.
this makes me feel things
a little help — ethan landry + reader ( scream ) : ethan can’t help but get off to your sweet voice.
male jerking off. teasing. innuendos. ethan has fantasies. wc 2.0k
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Ethan felt slightly embarrassed with how eager he picked up the phone His heart was already beating fast as your sweet voice filled his ears.
"Hey, Ethan!" You smile, placing your assigment and study papers on your bed, as you got yourself settled.
"Hey, y/n." He says, a smile he can never force down appearing on his lips.
"Did you get the new assignement from this morning's lecture?" You ask, as you flip through your pages to find it.
Ethan does the same, putting you on speaker as he placed his phone on the bed. "Yeah...I think so... yes." He says, placing the assignment details ontop of the rest of his work. "Why did Mr. Harold give out papers, instead of just sending it?"
"Ah, he's old, which can sometimes mean old-fashioned, I guess." You say, clicking your pen. "Oh my god, though did you see Sophie?" You chuckle, remembering the way she had tried to flirt with the poor old man, leaning forward as she pushed her breasts together.
"No...Sophie was in today?" Ethan knew of her vaguely as the girl who would fuck for good grades. But his focus had been on you in econ, sparing glances down your body when you weren't looking.
"How could you not notice?" You ask, shifting more comfortably on your bed. "I was scared her tits were gonna fall out."
Ethan stiffened at your words, and not because you had mentioned Sophie's tits, but because the his mind wandered to your own, and how he'd always have to readjust in his seat when you'd wear a tight top. Wondering how they'd feel in his—
"We should get started." You unintentionally break his train of thought, as he gulps, silently cursing at himself. "Because I barely understood Mr. Harold."
"Uh, yeah." Ethan coughed, forcing himself to focus. "What part didn't you get?"
"The third paragraph, where he talks about the inflation and economic growth. His question after confuses me. I'm not sure what he's asking us to answer." You speak so innocently, brows furrowed, as Ethan furrows his own for an entirely different reason.
For some reason your voice was sending small electric jolts through him. All the way down to his dick, which has begun to strain painfully against his pants. Christ, not now-he thinks to himself. He licked his lips, answering your confusion, as you hum with an "ah, that makes makes more sense."
Ethan's mouth has salivated, as all his built up fantasies of you fill his head. "So, when he spoke on analyzing the economy as a system, the list he followed on from..."
Ethan doesn't mean to drown out your words. Because he's listening. But more so to the hilt of your voice, and how it would sound much more breathy, as you gazed up at him. One of his fantasies had you on your knees, licking at his cock, as your innocent eyes held his. He had orgasmed extremely quickly, multiple times, when he found this imagine in his head.
"...he could have meant that these are the elements," you had continued, completely oblivious to Ethan's wandering hand.
He couldnt help it. He palmed his cock, as he listened to you speak. You always spoke so pretty. He could imagine your confused expression as you spoke on your problems. He began to rub himself, restricting himself to just over his pants, as he bit his lip.
He won’t do more. Just…relieve a hint of tension. You continued to speak and your words began to sound like something he wished he could grab, as his hand tightened on his bulge, his rubbing growing messy.
His breathing had grown heavier but he covered it up by saying ‘yes’s and ‘no’s, answering your questions.
“Sorry, I’m rambling. Did you have any questions?” You ask. You were there to help each other, not him only help you.
Ethan had to spare a glance at his work, scanning to see if he’d written down any problems, trying to remember if he had any. Because the only problem he could think of right now is how his over-the-clothes rubbing was doing little to satisfy his need.
His cock was rock hard, and his mind was beginning to cloud over with lust, and want for you. “I—I don’t think so.” He mutters out, his fingers reaching the button of his jeans, as he pulled the zipper down.
It was shameful, but he just couldn’t help it. “Okay, do you mind if I ask another question?—sorry I just saw it now.” You ask as Ethan absentmindedly nods wanting to hear you speak more, before he manages a ‘sure’, trying to act casual.
“Great, thank you,” and you began to speak on either the 8th or 9th paragraph as Ethan stuck his hand in his pants, feeling his pre-cum practically staining his boxers.
He imagined the way you would touch him. Would you be gentle and slow, or would you deep throat him immediately. Ethan’s breathing stutters as he strokes himself. The little hums you make when you think have begun to make his hips thrust up into his palm.
His other hand had tightened around the sheet, praying that you can’t hear him jerking off to you. Ethan grows lost in your tone as his cock twitches.
“Ethan?” You slowly ask, making his hips jolt at the utterance of his name from your lips, but he tries to keep his voice of some composure.
“Yes?” He had to press his lips together after a needy whimper nearly falling.
“Are you…okay?”
Your question makes him halt-much to his cock’s dismay. “W-what?”
“You sound out of breath.” You say, behind the line trying to think of why. Because he can’t be running, he’s in his apartment with his papers on his bed like you.
“I’m not.” He coughs.
You nod to yourself, but then you catch the smallest of sounds fall straight from Ethan’s lips. You had to be mistaken, because that noise sounded like one due to pleasure.
Your mouth opened in shock as you realise. He’s out of breath because he’s…
“Ethan.” You say again, hearing a stuttering whimper from him before he tries to cover it up by asking ‘yes?’ again. “What are you doing?”
Ethan curses himself because you sound suspicious. “I’m studying. Going over the study. Like you.” He says, really forcing down his cock’s want to just ask you to keep talking so he could reach his orgasm.
“Ah huh.” You hum, unconvinced. “And you’re sure you have no questions?”
“No. No, I’m all good.” He says, really forcing his words to sound normal, as he had slowly began to stroke himself again, his cock angry.
“No questions for me?” You ask now instead. Slowly coming to the definite realisation of Ethan jerking off.
“What do you mean?” Ethan asks, your tone going straight to his cock.
“Oh, nothing.” You hum, before you intentionally make your voice come out breathier, seeing what he’ll do. “Did I mention how nice your hair looked this morning?”
Ethan’s breath hitches as his hand quickens around his cock, seeming to have a mind of its own. “N—no.”
“Oh. Well, it looked really good, I just wanted to run my fingers through it constantly.” You pause hearing Ethan’s surprised whimper. “But that’s weird isn’t it, sorry.” You were teasing him now, your study forgotten.
“I—it’s not weird. You’re not weird. At all.” Ethan’s words are broken up by his panting.
“Aw, that’s so sweet, Ethan.” You hum, making Ethan’s hips thrust up into his hand, his legs having widened as you spoke.
“Y—yeah?” His eyelids have begun to feel heavy.
“Yeah. Your always so sweet to me. Helping with my study, making sure I have a seat in econ.” You shift on your bed, debating on if you go bolder. “You’re also very good at studying, hence why you never have too many questions. You’re also very good at teaching, making sure I know what I’m doing. Your just such a good boy.”
Ethan chokes on a moan. This makes his eyes widen, because you definitely heard that. So he quickly goes to speak. “T—that’s sweet. Really sweet. You’re…really sweet.” His tone is still breathy though, as he imagines how sweet you really are…or taste.
“Am I?” You tease, as Ethan’s rapidly nods on the other line.
“Always so…sweet.” He says, his tone unintentionally dropping an octave.
“But I never seem to be able to help you.” You say. “I’m the one always asking questions.”
“That’s fine.” Ethan says. “I like hearing you talk.” He pauses, shit. “I—I mean, I like hearing your questions because then I can help you.”
A smile had edged your lips. “But that’s exactly it. You help me…” you drift off, speaking closer to the phone. “Let me help you.”
Ethan didn’t know what you meant but the tone you had dropped to makes his hand quicken as his hips had begun to grind into his palm. “W—with what?”
“Oh, you know, with many things.” You say, appearing innocent again. “One specifically would be your tension.”
Ethans chokes on a whimper as he places his hand over his mouth, still thinking you don’t know. “My…tension?”
“Yeah.” You say lightly. “I’m very good at massaging.” You hold back a chuckle as you tease him.
“You’d give me a massage?” In Ethan’s mind that’s the closest he could get to you.
“Yeah.” You say. “I’d start with your shoulders of course, getting essential knots out.” You fake normalcy in the conversation.
“Then I might let my hands drift down your back.” You pause. “You’d have to lie down, so I could get a good angle.”
Ethan’s mouth has opened in pleasure at the thought of you touching him on the bed.
“I’d have to ask where feels the nicest, before I’d drag my hands down your body.” Your words were growing bolder and if Ethan’s mind wasn’t hazed over with lust he might have been able to pick out your innuendoes.
“Really?” He asks, his stroking quickening.
“Yeah. Though, through your clothes it mind be hard to properly get that tension out.”
Ethan moans through his teeth, as his hips pathetically thrust at your words. “No clothes?”
“No clothes.” You confirm. “Would that be okay? I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable—“
“Yes.” His answer was immediate, cutting you short. He coughs. “That would be fine.”
You grin. “Good. Because that way I could really relieve some tension. I’d have to straddle you of course.” You pause to hear Ethan’s heavy breathing and the faint sound of his hand gliding along his cock. “You may even have to flip around, because I’ve heard that the most tension can be by your collarbones and neck.”
Ethan nearly orgasmed at the thought of you straddling him, as your hands wandered his body. “As in straddling..my front?”
“Yeah, is that okay?”
“Uh huh.” He hums, his cock twitching with a soon need to release.
“I could give you that massage the next time we study.” You say, making Ethan’s breathing quicken at the possible reality of all that. “I could come over to yours.”
At this point he couldn’t care how desperate he sounded. “Yes. Please, come anytime.”
“Or maybe you should cum?” You ask, your innuendo strong, as pleasure began to rock through Ethans body. “W—what?”
“Come to my apartment.” You play it off, listening to the wet sounds his cock was making as you could hear how close he was to his orgasm.
“No. You should—should come here.” He says breathlessly.
“Do you prefer yours?”
Ethan just wants to see you on his sheets, all his fantasies having happened on this bed. He wanted to make one a reality, even if it was just a massage.
“I just have all the extra study stuff here.” Not that he couldn’t easily bring it, but he ignored that, and so did you.
“See, you are such a good boy.” And that did it. His orgasm wracked through him as quiet whimpers and moans left his lips his hips grinding into nothing. Wishing the air was you.
When the pleasure slowly ceased he heard words he never thought you’d utter. “Maybe next study session I could jerk you off?”
“W—what?” He chocked. Fuck, of course you had heard him. By the end he was being pretty obvious.
“Yeah, Ethan.” You grin. “Let me help relieve some tension.”
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© messylustt.tumblr please don’t steal, copy or translate my work onto other platforms.
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valeskafics · 5 months
Text
"Late Night Visitor" - Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Aegon's Girlfriend!Reader
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a/n: request from my beloved @ophelialaufey - hope this measures up to what you had in mind bb heheheheh
Summary: Aemond has always wanted you, his big brother's girlfriend, and when he sees a chance to have you, he takes it.
TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, afab reader, slight dubcon but not really, mask kink, knife kink, glove kink, brat taming, spanking, daddy kink, finger sucking, fingering, oral f receiving, ass eating, p in v sex, unprotected sex
Word Count: 3,500 words
Rating: 18+, MDNI
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️
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For the last three years, there’s been one thought echoing in Aemond Targaryen’s mind over and over.
Aegon doesn’t deserve you.
You’re the most gorgeous, sweet, funny, and witty girl he knows. He doesn’t understand how Aegon sunk his claws into you so quickly, but he hates it. Aemond liked you first. It’s fucking bullshit. He knows he could treat you better than his asshole brother does. You’re the perfect girlfriend, always so fucking supportive of Aegon, always there with open arms and a kind word. And Aegon just doesn’t appreciate it. It makes Aemond angry beyond belief. 
He hates sharing a flat with Aegon because it means you’re always there. That he doesn’t even get a chance to try to get over you. He just has to watch you being all sweet to his ingrate elder brother, hear the two of you fucking at all odd hours, that sexy voice of yours moaning Aegon’s name. He doesn’t think Aegon’s ever actually made you come. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking on his part, but he digresses.
You use your spare key and come bounding into their flat that morning, all smiles as you greet him, “Hey, Aemy!”
Gods, he loves how you call him Aemy. Aegon makes fun of him for it and he pretends that he hates it, but he loves that it’s something special between the two of you. A name only you call him. It’s almost as if you’re his girlfriend instead of Aegon’s, something he fantasizes about all too often. You greet him with a quick peck on the cheek, your soft lips grazing against his skin in a way that has his pants growing uncomfortably tight. How pathetic is he that something as simple as a kiss on the cheek gets him hard as a rock for you?
“Hi,” he says stiffly, his eye moving along your body, admiring how good you look in the blue dress you’re wearing, one that is more similar to his own eye color than Aegon’s, “You look nice. Big plans with my brother?”
“It’s the end of my midterms,” you tell him, grabbing a glass and pouring yourself some water, Aemond never once looking away from you, “Egg said we’re gonna go out to dinner. How’ve you been? I feel like I haven’t seen you in a while.”
He clears his throat, his gaze lingering at the hint of cleavage that shows through your dress before he replies, “Just been busy. No time to mess around like the two of you.”
Aemond feels guilty for a fleeting moment at the slightly wounded look on your face, wondering if he pressed his lips to yours if he could kiss his way to forgiveness, if he could just grab you and bend you over the kitchen counter and-
“Anyway,” you say, smiling once again, “Is Egg here? Our reservations are in half an hour.”
“He left,” Aemond says dryly, looking you in the eye, “Party at Sigma Tau. Guess he forgot about your little dinner.”
“Oh,” you mumble, “Okay, well I’m sure he didn’t mean to. He’s just forgetful sometimes.”
“Very forgetful,” Aemond supplies before speaking again, his voice a bit more gentle, “You don’t deserve to be treated like this, you know. Like you’re second best.”
“Egg doesn’t do that,” you protest weakly, though there’s no real conviction behind your words.
Aemond knows he’s struck a chord with you and decides to drive his point home, “Remember when he forgot your anniversary last year? Your birthday?”
“Stop,” you mumble quietly, “Aemy, don’t be mean.”
“I’m not being mean, I’m being honest,” he retorts sharply, “Maybe you should think about what I’m saying and reevaluate your relationship.” Aemond pauses before resting a hand on your shoulder, noticing how the way your lower lip trembles - fuck, you’re so pretty when you cry, “Look, I’m saying this as someone who cares about you, yeah? Just… Just think about it.”
You nod, “I know. I know you’re right. I’m gonna head home. Could you just tell Egg I stopped by?”
Aemond nods, pulling you into a tight hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck, thinking to himself how perfect you feel pressed up against him like this, his arms wrapped around your waist and yours wrapped around his neck. This is how it was meant to be. He watches you walk down the hall to your own flat a few doors down, waving as you lock your door for the night.
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When Aegon comes back, completely inebriated, barely able to stand on his feet, Aemond is tasked with helping his older brother to his bed. He lets out a huff of annoyance, his face set in a grim line as Aegon starts talking about you. He could just about strangle his brother. He wants nothing more than to punch him in the face.
“She’s so good to me,” Aegon rambles, “Always there for me.”
Then why aren’t you there for her? Aemond wants to ask. Aegon’s words do nothing to help the crush that Aemond has been harboring for years now, even before you started dating his brother. Jealousy consumes the younger Targaryen and he grits his teeth, his mind filled with thoughts of how it should be him holding you, him kissing you and making you feel good. He knows he could make you feel better than Aegon ever could, the drunken piece of shit.
“Such a good fucking kisser,” he says, falling into his bed, “Lips are so soft, so sweet, gods, I could just kiss her forever, you know? And don’t even ask about how it feels when she’s sucking my-”
“Can you shut the fuck up?” Aemond snarls, “I don’t want to hear about your girlfriend sucking your dick, okay? I don’t care! I don’t give a fuck, Aegon!”
Aegon ignores his younger brother’s outburst and continues, “She looks so sweet and innocent but she’s just so fuckin’ kinky, you know what I mean? She’s secretly such a little freak and I love it.”
Now that… That captures Aemond’s attention. Aemond’s lips part in surprise and he listens silently as Aegon continues his rant.
“Get this, little bro, she even has a fucking mask kink. Such a freak. She asked if I’d get a Ghostface mask and gloves and a fuckin’ prop knife and sneak into her apartment. Isn’t that wild? She’s nuts.”
“W-What did you say?” Aemond asks, his mind filling with fantasies of donning that mask and having his way with you, “Say that again.”
Aegon repeats himself, already falling asleep, face buried in his pillow. And Aemond just stands there, frozen in place. You are literally the woman of his dreams. This little fantasy you expressed to Aegon is something he’s always wanted to do, something he himself has always fantasized about. A wicked idea takes root in his mind.
What if he stole Aegon’s Ghostface mask and made your fantasy a reality himself? He knows he’d do a better job at it than his oafish brother. Aegon doesn’t have a creative bone in his body. He wouldn’t be able to satisfy you the way Aemond would, bring your fantasy to life the way Aemond would.
He watches his brother lay there, snoring like a bear, and sees the Ghostface mask, gloves, and prop knife on his nightstand. A little smirk flashes across Aemond’s lips and he follows his instincts, grabbing them and resolving to claim you in the way you need and deserve.
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Aemond stands outside your apartment, donning the Ghostface mask, the leather gloves, holding the knife in his hand. He takes a breath before grabbing the spare key to your flat out of his jean pocket, unlocking it quietly. He steps inside, completely silent as he starts walking through the apartment. He hears the shower running, and smirks to himself under the mask as he thinks about how vulnerable you are, naked in your shower and not suspecting a thing. He’s spent so long wishing he was Aegon, imagining it was him fucking you, that this is almost too much for him to bear. Aemond’s adrenaline is pumping the closer he gets to you, hearing you singing along to your shower playlist.
He gets closer and closer to your bathroom, opening the door, his hand trembling in anticipation. It’s steamy and fogged up to the point he can hardly see six inches in front of him. You must really enjoy hot showers, he muses. His heart beats out of his chest as he sees your silhouette behind the glass door of the shower. He watches as you rinse out your hair, your curves on full display for him, his pants growing uncomfortably tight as he weighs his options. He could just burst in there and surprise you, but he wants this to be perfect. So he steps back outside, watching as you grab a towel and wrap it around yourself before exiting the shower. He hides behind the door, waiting for you to enter your bedroom before following after you.
His breath catches in his throat as he watches you drop the towel and change into a pair of pink cotton panties with a little bow on the front and a matching tank top, no doubt ready to go to sleep for the night. For a moment, he just stares at you, frozen. You look so fucking perfect. Everything in him is dying to reach out and touch you. He watches as you get into your bed, laying back and grabbing your phone and scrolling through it. Aemond walks slowly to the side of your bed, admiring the strip of skin that’s visible between where your tank top ends and your panties start. He swallows thickly, just standing there and staring for a moment.
Then, a loose floorboard creaks, breaking the silence. Your head whips up and you see him, yelping slightly.
“Seven hells, Egg,” you say, clutching your chest, “You scared the shit out of me!” Aemond stares at you, watching the little smile that plays on your lips as you admire him, “I can’t believe you actually did it, you look so good…”
Aemond feels his face flush beneath the mask as he takes another step closer to you, standing over the side of your bed, tilting his head to the side as he stares at you. You move to sit on your knees, grinning up at him.
“Oh, no, Ghostface, what’re you doing?” you ask, feigning panic, “You’re not gonna hurt me, are you?” You give him the cutest little pout, one that has him struggling to stop himself from palming at his hard-on over his jeans, “I wanna be in the sequel.”
He moves the knife to brush some of your hair off of your face, tracing the blade across your cheekbone, watching in admiration as you shiver ever so slightly, “No, baby, I’m not going to hurt you. I came for something else.”
His voice is lower than usual as he tries to disguise it, not wanting you to recognize him quite yet. You sigh dramatically, shaking your head as you continue playing along with the ruse, looking as if you’re really enjoying it.
“Oh, Ghostface, I can’t, I have a boyfriend…”
“He’s not here right now,” Aemond hums, dragging the knife down to your cleavage, then tracing it over one of your breasts, smirking to himself as your nipples begin to pebble as he moves the knife along them, “Now be quiet, baby, I’m in charge here.”
You bite your lip as he moves to tilt your chin up, his gloved hands caressing your cheek. You lean into his touch and Aemond smirks to himself. You’re so fucking responsive, he loves it.
“Open your mouth,” he demands, tracing your lower lip with a gloved finger.
You part your lips, closing them around his fingers when he pushes them into your mouth, gazing up at him through your lashes. Aemond lets out a low groan, barely able to hold himself together as you suck on his fingers. He nearly lets out a whine of protest as you move your mouth off of him and giggle to yourself. You move your hands to push up the fabric of his tee shirt, letting out a quiet gasp.
“Damn, babe, Have you been hitting the gym? You look amazing…” Aemond can barely move as he feels your soft hands tracing his abs, “I love it, you look so good.”
You let out a squeal of surprise as Aemond manhandles you, flipping you onto your stomach.
“Babe, I wanna see you…”
“No. I’m in charge here, remember?”
You nod, letting out a soft moan as he caresses the flesh of your thigh, fingers moving to the waistband of your panties, “Yes, Daddy…”
Aemond’s heart stops for a moment, his eye going wide. Never, in all the times he’s overheard you and Aegon, have you ever called him “Daddy”. And it sends a thrill through him. He removes your panties, admiring the exposed skin of your ass. His hands moved to squeeze at your plump flesh, a low groan escaping his lips. He lets his hand fly, spanking you hard on your ass, grinning at the way your flesh jiggles against the impact and the little whine you let out.
“Daddy… Stop teasing,” you whimper as he smacks you again, this time on the other cheek, running a hand over the abused flesh to soothe it.
“Don’t rush me, baby,” he murmurs, “Wanna make it good for you.”
“You’re so mean,” you grumble under your breath, feeling his gloved fingers tease your pussy, bucking your hips against him, chasing the feeling, but he just pulls them away.
Then, when you don’t expect it, he pushes two fingers inside of you. You let out a surprised little mewl as he moves his fingers in and out of you at a breakneck pace, the feeling of his gloves running against your sweet spot being almost too much to handle. It’s like you’re an addict and he’s the only way you can get your fix. He brings you closer and closer to the edge, your pussy squeezing his fingers so tight, but just as you’re about to reach your peak, he pulls away with a dark little chuckle.
You let out a pathetic little whine, glancing back at him over your shoulder, wiggling your ass ever so slightly as if to tempt him with a cheeky grin, “Please be nice to your baby girl, Daddy…”
Aemond is almost delirious with lust as he demands, “On your stomach, baby.”
You sigh and listen, grabbing your pillow, hearing the bed creak slightly as he climbs on it, pulling you up so that you’re balanced on all fours. Aemond tosses the gloves aside, his bare hands feeling your soft, smooth skin.
“Babe, your hands have gotten so rough,” you comment, shivering slightly, “It’s so sexy…”
He lets out a quiet laugh, removing the mask and placing it to the side with care, moving to press a kiss to your soft flesh, “You like it rough, baby? I’ll give you rough.”
You gasp as he grabs you and buries his tongue inside your cunt, a loud moan ripping from your lips as he laps at your folds eagerly, holding your thighs apart. You grab your pillow, desperate for some form of purchase as he fucks you with his tongue, dragging it along your folds, one of his hands moving up to tease your clit, rubbing at it agonizingly slow. Your cries of “Daddy, please” spur him on as he continues devouring you. Your entire body trembles in his grip, your sweet moans and mewls driving him to move even faster, circling your sensitive nub, his tongue dragging against your walls as you finally spill yourself on his tongue with a near scream.
Aemond doesn’t even give you a moment’s respite before burying his tongue in your ass, making you bury your face in your pillow as he moves his tongue along your puckered hole, pushing it inside, the sensation being altogether new and thrilling. He fucks you with his fingers as he continues to taste you in this exciting new way, your last orgasm leaving you sensitive to his touch, your second climax hitting you faster and harder than the first. You’ve never experienced this before, and gods, you want it again. It feels so wrong and yet so write at the same time as his tongue moves in and out of you, his fingers filling you up so perfectly as you spill yourself on them.
As you start to turn over, Aemond quickly grabs his mask, putting it back on just as you face him. He immediately makes quick work of your skimpy little tank top, lifting it up over your head and tossing it aside. Aemond undoes his jeans, just enough to free his cock, already achingly hard for you, leaking precum from the tip. He gives it a few quick tugs before smacking his cockhead against your clit, loving the way you squirm away from him, only to go completely pliant in his grasp as he sheathes himself inside you.
“Daddy,” you whine, “You’re so big, oh my gods… Never felt like this before.”
Aemond knows he’s more well-endowed than Aegon, but hearing you whining his name, squeezing around his cock like this as you tell him how big he is? That’s something else entirely. He grabs the knife, holding it to your neck as he begins snapping his hips against yours, loving the sweet little noises of pleasure you make, the way your legs wrap around him.
“Daddy, feels so good…”
“Fuck, baby,” he moans, squeezing one of your tits, the knife still held to your neck, staring down at you through the mask, watching as your face twists in please, “You look so fucking pretty, all fucked out like this.”
You gaze up at him, dazed, lips parted as he continues slamming into you, over and over, the tip of his cock brushing against your sweet spot just barely, making you cry out, “Fuck, Daddy, please, right there!”
He renews his ministrations, his thrusts growing faster, sloppier, deeper the closer he gets to his own end. He feels like everything in his life has been leading to this one moment, you laying beneath him, crying out for him, begging for him, your tits bouncing in time with your hips as he fucks you, leaving you a nearly incoherent mess.
“Gonna come for me, pretty girl?” he murmurs, moving his hand away from your breast to circle your clit once more, “Gonna soak my cock like a good little girl?”
“Yes, Daddy…” you nearly sob, tears pricking at your eyes, one escaping and trailing down your cheek.
Aemond wishes he wasn’t wearing this fucking mask so he could’ve licked it off of you.
His hips stutter slightly as you reach your peak, squeezing him impossibly tight as you reach your end with a cry of, “Yes, Daddy, fuck!”
Aemond reaches his own end, cumming deep inside of you with a low groan of your name, collapsing against you, his body weight feeling almost like a warm blanket as it envelops you. He gathers you into his arms, holding you tight, like he’s afraid all of this will end if he lets you go. You’re shivering, overstimulated, and so he quickly gets up, grabbing you a glass of water and a towel, wiping you off with care.
That’s when you say it, “I know it was you, Aemy.”
His eye goes wide as you grab the mask off his face, “I… I’m so sorry…”
“Don’t be,” you say simply, “I knew all along. I… I wanted it.”
Aemond stares at you, pleasantly surprised, a smile spreading across his face as he leans in, brushing his nose against yours, “Yeah? You wanted me too, pretty girl?”
“Always did… I just said yes to Aegon because I figured you didn’t want me, Aemy,” you murmur, pressing your lips to his.
Aemond holds you close, pressing himself against you, “Fuck, sweet girl, you make it impossible for a man not to want you. Wanted you since the day I saw you.”
You giggle, feeling him mouth at your neck, biting down and leaving his marks against your skin, “You know, Egg doesn’t even have a daddy kink. That’s how I knew it was you. Also your,” you glance downward meaningfully before biting your lip, “Abs, you know.”
“Cheeky little minx,” Aemond growls, pushing you back down onto the mattress, “First thing we’re going to do after you break up with my brother is I’m going to teach you some fucking manners, baby girl.”
“You promise?” you smirk, pulling him in close, kissing his jaw, “I can live with that, Daddy.”
“Yeah, I know you can, little one,” Aemond chuckles, feeling himself growing hard against your thigh, already planning on claiming you again, “Don’t think we’re anywhere near done.”
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togrowoldinv · 6 months
Text
The Teacher
Milf!WandaNat x Female Reader
When Wanda’s boys need tutoring, you offer to help with the small stipulation that you do at her house. While at the home, you meet Natasha. What happens one day when Wanda forgets to cancel tutoring and you happen upon her and Nat in a compromising situation?
Warnings: Smut! 18+ please! Kissing, cursing, oral (R, W, N receiving), strap on sex, dominant Natasha
Note: I could not stop thinking about these two. Enjoy!
WandaNat Masterlist, Main Masterlist
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You’re anxiously waiting in your classroom for the mother of two students to arrive for a conference. You hated to call her, knowing that she is very busy, but her sons have been falling behind in class. And you never want that to be prolonged by your own nerves.
So, you wait for Wanda Maximoff to arrive for your scheduled after-school meeting. The door opens with five minutes to spare. In walks in a woman with an air of confidence you haven’t quite seen before. Her blonde hair rests over the lapels of a red suit. She looks like a million bucks in every sense of the phrase.
“Hello, I’m Ms. Y/l/n, you must be Ms. Maximoff,” you greet her.
“That’s me,” she says. “Please call me Wanda.”
“Nice to meet you, Wanda,” you say. “Thank you for taking time out of your day to meet with me.”
You gesture for her to sit in the chair across from your desk. She does so and looks back to you with waiting eyes.
“I am concerned about Billy and Tommy falling behind in class,” you explain. “They’ve taken a dive the last few weeks in grades and participation.”
“Well, Billy has always been shy,” Wanda supplies. “And Tommy just can’t sit still.”
“Yes, that’s true. But they’ve been my best students all year until recently. I just wanted to be in touch with you to maybe find the cause and take steps to correct this misdirection,” you say.
You hate this part of your job. Every parent thinks their child hangs the moon. They don’t want to hear they’re struggling. You prepare yourself to face rejection, but Wanda just thinks for a moment.
“How can I get them back on track?” She asks.
“I can tutor them before and/or after school,” you say. “If their in-class participation improves that will also help with their grades.”
“Okay,” Wanda says. Her green eyes look you over. “I have a hard time getting them to school early because they ride a bus. And getting here right after school is very difficult.”
“Right,” you say. “I understand.”
“Maybe you could tutor them at my house?” Wanda asks.
“Oh, I’m not sure if that’s really allowed,” you say.
“Please?” Wanda asks. You don’t think you have the strength to say no to her soft expression. She is almost pouting. You feel an attraction to her in your gut. She leans forward. “I will pay you anything.”
“Oh, I definitely can’t take payment, Wanda,” you say. She pouts completely now. “But I can tutor them at your house.”
“Thank you!” Wanda practically cheers. “I appreciate it. Really.”
“Of course, Wanda. I can start as soon as possible.”
With that, Wanda leaves your classroom with the exchange of phone numbers and the shake of your hand. It’s probably a bad idea, but you keep the success of your students in mind as you push away any worries about the tutoring.
The next day you drive to Wanda’s house after school. The boys let you in on instruction from their mother to only let you inside and not strangers. You set up at the table and teach the boys some math. To your surprise, they don’t put up much of a fight about the work.
When you’re almost done for the day, the door of the house opens. The boys run to the door to hug the mysterious woman who enters. She wears a leather jacket and black pants. God, she is attractive. Her red hair is tied back in a braid.
“Oh, hello,” she says once she sees you. “You must be the teacher Wanda was telling me about. I’m Natasha.”
“Hi, yes, I’m y/n,” you say as you shake her hand. Her green eyes sparkle like Wandas.
“Nice to meet you,” Natasha says. You think you see her look you over briefly before the kids grab her attention again.
“We’re done for the day, so I’ll head out,” you say, gathering your things.
“Okay. Thanks for helping them. I hope to see you again soon, y/n,” Natasha says.
She disappears into the kitchen, and you wonder about the nature of her relationship with Wanda.
The next few weeks of tutoring go smoothly. You see Natasha a couple of times. She doesn’t say much but she always thanks you for your time.
Today, when you knock on the door and wait for an answer there is a long delay. The boys usually open the door immediately. Five minutes go by, and you decide to knock a couple of more times.
Finally, Wanda comes to the door. She is never here when it’s time for tutoring. And especially not in a robe with messy hair.
“Oh shit,” Wanda remarks at the sight of you. “I forgot to cancel today. The boys are visiting family.”
“That’s alright,” you say. “I’ll just be on my way.”
At the time you go to turn around, Natasha emerges from the other room. She has only a t-shirt and underwear on. You try to look away.
“Who is it, detka?” Nat asks.
“Ms. Y/l/n,” Wanda says. She doesn’t look away from you. “I forgot to cancel tutoring.”
“Oh,” Natasha says. “Don’t be rude, Wanda.” She walks to the door and looks at you. “Come on in, y/n.”
You don’t even argue with that despite the very little clothes either of them are wearing. You enter and Nat pours you a drink.
“I’m sorry for interrupting,” you say when she hands it to you.
“No worries,” Nat supplies. “Just an afternoon meeting. Right Wands?”
“Right,” Wanda agrees. She seems a little uneasy, but when Nat places a hand on her thigh, you see her nerves calm. “A meeting.”
It’s quiet for a few moments. You try hard not to notice how far up Natasha’s hand has moved or the way Wanda’s thighs look so delicious. Natasha’s too. Nat catches you looking.
“You know we could use help with our meeting,” Natasha says.
“Nat,” Wanda warns.
“Look, sweetheart, she is looking at us,” Natasha says. “I think she wants to join.”
Wanda looks directly into your eyes. Her gaze is hypnotizing. Natasha’s hand dips completely between her thighs. Wanda moans quietly.
“Do you want to join?” Wanda asks. It’s the first time you’ve noticed she has a bit of an accent.
“I- um- yes?” You phrase it like a question.
“I need you to be sure,” Wanda says.
She reaches her hand out towards you. You get the memo. You cross the room and Wanda takes your hand. She pulls you onto her lap. Nat’s hand remains between her thighs and as a result brushes against you too.
Wanda brushes your hair off of your face. She keeps her hand on your face. The long digits hold your face tight. She leans in and kisses your lips softly. The feeling makes your head dizzy.
“So good,” Wanda whispers when she pulls away. “Natasha, you need to taste her.”
Natasha pulls you by the back of your neck over to meet her lips. She moans into the kiss as she deepens it. Her tongue invades your mouth. The kiss is rough, but you want so much more. Your hips stutter over Wanda’s lap.
“Hm, needy girl,” Natasha says once she pulls away. She lifts your shirt over your head and Wanda immediately starts sucking at your breasts.
You kiss Nat as Wanda stimulates your nipples. She leaves no inch of your chest untouched. She unbuttons your pants and you stand up to let her pull them down your legs. Wanda instructs you to stay standing. Nat stands up behind you and kneels while Wanda kneels in front of you.
“Your pussy is so wet,” Wanda says. “Hm, I just want to taste it.”
“Taste it, Wanda. Make her feel good,” Natasha says. “And I’ll do the same.”
The two women dive into you. Natasha’s hands help spread you as Wanda eats you out. Natasha joins her and you feel both of their mouths hard at work. You would fall over if it wasn’t for Natasha’s strong arms holding you up.
“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” you mumble way too quickly. But they don’t care. They keep up their ministrations until you’re shaking with pleasure.
“So fucking good,” Natasha says.
“Mhm,” Wanda agrees.
The two women pull away from you and share a filthy kiss. In the process, Wanda sits back on the couch and takes her robe off. Her entire body is exposed to you. You’re sure your mouth is watering.
Natasha pushes you gently to kneel between Wanda’s legs. You waste no time kissing her soft thighs. Exactly as delicious as you thought she would be.
“Such a good girl,” Natasha says. She takes her own underwear off and reveals she’s wearing a strap. You’re not sure how you hadn’t seen it before.
Nat gets it wet before she gets on her knees. She angles the fake cock perfectly to enter you from behind. You’re already wet, so it goes in easy. Nat moves her hips at an excruciating pace as Wanda pushes on your head to keep you between her legs.
You lick stripes over her folds and take her clit in your mouth. Wanda watches as Natasha pounds into you.
“Fuck that’s so hot,” she says.
“She takes me so well, Wanda,” Natasha says.
The words drive you crazy. You pick up your pace on Wanda and she comes in no time. You clean her up as Natasha brings you to another orgasm.
You and Wanda turn your focus to Natasha. You take the cock in your mouth and Wanda’s juices coat it. Natasha groans at the feeling. Wanda maneuvers herself to lick Natasha’s pussy that’s not covered by the strap.
The two of you get Natasha off quickly. And you all rest on the couch. Natasha and Wanda hold you between them as your limbs tangle together.
“I’m really glad I forgot to cancel tutoring today,” Wanda says.
“Me too,” Natasha adds.
“Me three,” you say and share a laugh with the women.
You hope Wanda invites you over more often now. Especially if Natasha is going to be there.
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makoodles · 1 year
Text
ミdaddy issues
part one | part two
🍓pairing: recom!miles quaritch x human fem reader
🍓tags: nsfw, interspecies relationship, temporarily one-sided attraction, second-hand embarrassment, vaginal sex, oral sex, (v brief) anal fingering, dirty talk (it's quaritch, come on)
🍓word count: 14k (there's literally nothing i could say to excuse this)
masterlist
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Miles Quaritch is the kind of man whose reputation precedes him.
Everyone has heard of him. His ruthlessness and his skill are legendary, his authority absolute. The army guys talk about him like he’s the stuff of myth, the scientists talk about him like he’s the biggest bastard to ever walk the earth. Even before he had returned to life as a recombinant, he was positively infamous. Now though, his return has raised his reputation to near mythological status.
But it’s not just his name and reputation that is known around Bridgehead City. Recently, your crush on him has become equally as infamous.
It’s not your fault. It's not like you’re trying to make it obvious. The man is just so damn fine, blue or not. In the beginning, all you do is appreciate his form from a distance. It’s not like you see him all that often, anyway, so your admiration is mostly contained to quick glances in corridors and across the mess hall, whenever you spot him talking with his squad or walking with any of the higher ups.
 It’s perfectly innocent! There’s nothing wrong with having a little crush on someone that will never notice you, after all.
The problem is that your crush, while innocuous, isn’t exactly subtle.
“Quaritch, huh?” It’s Anjali that asks, an older, pretty microbiologist with a sometimes off-puttingly blunt manner.
You pause, but don’t look up from the microscope you’ve been peering into. For a moment, you consider denying it. But what’s the point? If she’s asking, that means that she’s already noticed your shy, flustered glances in the colonel’s direction.
“Yeah,” You sigh, a little defeated. “I guess.”
Because you’re so focused on the plant specimen you’re studying, you don’t notice the way all the others in the lab start looking over, clearly eavesdropping. If you had, you might have backtracked – maybe you would have downplayed your embarrassing little crush.
“He’s just...” You fiddle with the glass slide beneath the lens, still fighting not to make eye-contact with Anjali. “He’s very handsome, isn’t he?”
Anjali snorts. She’s an older lady, with her grey-streaked hair scraped back into a severe bun, accentuating her harsh appearance. She’s working on her own report one desk over from you, but you can still see the way that she’s peering over her glasses at you.
“Is he?” She asks archly. “I wouldn’t know. I can’t see around his enormous sense of entitlement.”
You laugh a little awkwardly, and duck your head back down. God, you don’t know how else you expected that conversation to go. Everyone knows that Quaritch’s overzealous attempts to exert control over Pandora was what caused the whole war and resulted in the human population being forced off-planet all those years ago. Damn, you know that too! 
But it’s not as though you like him as a person or anything! He’s not even really the same man as the one that did all that. Your fascination with him is really just… aesthetic appreciation.
“I just think he’s attractive, you know?” You mumble, embarrassed. “I don’t know what he was like as a human, but… I don’t know. There’s something about the- the height, and the muscles-”
“Oh, spare me.” Anjali mumbles sourly.
“You asked!” You snap, mortified. “I’m just saying-!”
That’s when another voice cuts in.
“He could break you in half with his pinkie finger.” Dr. Geiszler points out from a desk behind you. He’s not even trying to pretend that he’s not listening in, leaning right over his workspace as he eavesdrops.
Your eyes widen a little, and for the first time you realise that nearly everyone else in the laboratory has been listening in the whole time. Your face grows hot with humiliation, and you shrink a little in your stool. Oh fuck, why did they all look so interested? 
Geiszler watches your reaction, and then his face slackens in an expression of realisation. “Oh shit, you’re into that.”
You genuinely can’t think of anything more humiliating right now. They’re all looking at you as though you’ve just grown an additional head.
“Oh, fuck off!” You say reflexively, scowling at them all. “You can’t pretend like you haven’t ever thought that the Na’vi are sexy!”
Anjali looks as though she’s just sucked on a lemon, but several other scientists start shiftily avoiding eye contact.
Geiszler just snorts. “That’s different. We’re not talking about just any Na’vi here, we’re talking about Quaritch!”
“He’s old enough to be your father.” Anjali points out, clearly disapproving. “Maybe even your grandfather.”
“So?” You say without thinking, before realising that this isn’t really an argument that you want to get into. “I mean- Not in his current body! No, fuck, I don’t mean- fuck. Look, can we just forget about this? Pretend I never said anything!”
Mercifully, they go silent at that, though you can still hear the faint sound of someone snickering in the back of the lab. They may not say anything more, but you’re all too aware that they’re still looking at each other and smirking. Laughing at you. 
You hunch your shoulders and keep doing your work. You wouldn’t feel embarrassed or guilty over something as stupid as a harmless little crush that you can’t control. You wouldn’t.
Bridgehead really isn’t all that big, so you see the colonel semi-regularly. It’s always from a distance, but it’s still enough to give you a good look at those long legs, those big muscles, and that lithe, narrow waist. If you’re truthful with yourself, you go out of your way to organise your paths crossing.
You’re not even a fully-qualified scientist just yet. You don’t actually have an official title – you’re more like an intern. You work under the highly decorated scholars in xenobotany, running tasks and projects for them as part of your doctorate degree. You had been allowed out here to Pandora as part of your degree, in order to get the experience you needed to qualify, and it has treated you well so far. The whole internship position means that you have a little bit more freedom with regards your schedule, which works just perfectly for you.
So, yeah. What started out as innocent admiration has turned a little… stalkery. You’re willing to admit that. But it’s harmless! 
So what if you know Colonel Quaritch’s schedule off by heart? So what if you linger around the areas that you know he frequents at opportune moments, like just after his workouts or drills? It doesn’t really matter if your eyes linger around his big biceps and his sculpted chest, especially when his deep blue skin is all heat-flushed and sweaty, right? And it surely doesn’t matter if you wander past the Recombinant areas of the base far more frequently than you need to, right? It’s not as if anyone is going to notice.
It doesn’t really matter how much you stare, because the colonel is utterly oblivious to your attention. He never notices you, not even once. And that’s fine too, you tell yourself. It makes it easier, in fact! You can admire him all you want if he never looks at you, after all.
It gets a little bit more challenging to hide where your attention is straying when other people start to figure it out.
It’s like your little crush is an inside joke in the science department. The scientists on base tend to be pretty good at minding their own business (mostly because they’re usually so damn focused on their own work and little projects), but in this case you’ve become an endless source of amusement for them.
You can see the way the entire xenobiology department giggle together when you perk up at dinnertime as soon as the Recombinant soldiers enter the mess hall, and you know that they’re nudging each other when your attention strays to the Colonel as he eats. He’s got such sharp teeth, and your eyes fixate on him as he licks the sorry excuse for food he’s been served off his canines.
When you start dressing up a little bit more, the science guys start sharing smirks. It’s a little bit humiliating, but honestly you think you’re starting to lose your sense of shame. You start wearing tight little pencil skirts and thin blouses, under the guise of professionalism, and you start to do your makeup a little bit heavier too. Quaritch never so much as bats an eyelid in your direction.
“Not that I’m complaining, per se,” Geiszler drawls one afternoon, leaning lazily against the worktop as you painstakingly organise tissue samples. “But aren’t you trying a little too hard?”
“Shut up.” You grumble, chewing on your stick lip-glossed lower lip. “It’s just a skirt.”
“Right.” He drawls, eyes trailing down over the length of your body as you shift on your uncomfortable little stool. “And the makeup?”
“It’s not breaking any uniform protocols.” You say simply, scratching just under your eye. 
Geiszler sniffs, amused. “Is it true you’ve been following around the xenobiologists when they go to check on the recoms?”
You peer very closely at the tissue sample in your hands, a little more closely than entirely necessary. “Maybe.”
“Jesus.” He lets out a short, disbelieving sort of laugh. “Fuck. Why? D’you get off on being ignored or something?”
That’s a little crass, and you raise your head to scowl at him. He really doesn’t need to rub it in like that – it’s pretty damn obvious that your crush is unrequited. It’s cruel to point it out like that. 
“It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t notice,” You mutter, aggravated. “I’m just- I just like looking, that’s all.”
Geiszler snorts again, but he appears to be somewhat sympathetic now. “Right. Just looking.”
Finally, you tear your attention away from the samples so you can scowl at him. “What do you want, Dr. Geiszler?”
“I want to put you out of your misery.” He replies simply, leaving his elbows against the worktop and smirking at you. “Recoms are being sent out tomorrow. Just a small run – Ardmore wants to put those new bodies to the test before she sends them out after Sully.”
“Why are you telling me this?” You ask as though you’re not hanging onto every damn word.
“They’re heading to the lowlands, at the base of the mountains,” Geiszler levels you with a significant look. “You know what that means, right?”
You perk up instantly at that, your eyes growing wide.
“Panopyra.” You breathe.
Your entire damn doctoral dissertation is centred around the unusual, jellyfish-like plants that grow on other Pandoran plants. It hovers somewhere between plant, animal, and fungi, having evolved a primitive sort of nervous system. It grows a cuplike body that collects water from dew and fog and condenses it down into a thick, syrupy sort of liquid. That liquid is then collected by the native Na’vi for use in their healing drinks. It is that medicinal property that fascinates you so much.
“Yeah, I thought that might get your attention.” Geiszler grins. “You’ve run out of the samples you’ve been using, right? You’re not gonna be able to write any more of your thesis without more specimens.”
“Yes,” You breathe, your brain already scrambling to think of all the things you need to do. “I need- oh, I need some cuttings of the sensory tissue, and I need a lot more samples of the internal liquid. The stems, too-”
“Right, right,” Geiszler interrupts, nodding. “The problem is, it’s just the Recoms being sent out. They’re not bringing any of the science team.”
Your shoulders sag a little at that. How are you meant to get a proper sample if there’s no one qualified to take samples going on their reconnaissance trip?
As if he knows exactly what you’re thinking, Geiszler’s smile turns a little sly. “If you want those samples, you’re gonna have to ask the big man in charge of the mission to bring some back for you. And you’re gonna have to ask real nicely.”
Colonel Quaritch’s office is empty when you call at it, and so you’re forced to go searching for him.
You find the recoms in the little recreation room just off the hangar designated for soldier use – Na’vi-sized beanbags had been thrown into it as an afterthought for the recom soldiers, and it’s almost comical to walk in and find so many of them sprawled across the squishy chairs. Some of them have instead decided to squeeze them into the regular armchairs, with one Na’vi-sized body occupying an entire sofa. They’re playing poker of all things; they’ve been provided with a set of over-sized playing cards and everything.
They’re a rowdy bunch, shouting and roaring with laughter, and so they don’t immediately spot you when you edge your way into the room. For a moment, you think that the colonel isn’t here. But then you take another look, and you spot him. 
Quaritch is standing to the side, his spine taut and his shoulders back and straight. It’s a very formal position just for watching his squad relax, but there’s a certain softness to his expression as he watches them that you’ve never seen from him before. Your heart skips a beat; this is the most unguarded that you’ve ever seen him, and your eyes fixate on his face eagerly as you try to drink in all the details.
It’s Fike that notices you first.
“Aw, man,” He groans, tilting his head back dramatically before gesturing at you with his cards. “Not another checkup. We told the other doc, if something feels wrong we’ll tell you-”
“Ah, no.” You’re beginning to get flustered. Fike’s exclamation has drawn the attention of the other recoms, and all of a sudden you feel as though you’ve been placed under a spotlight. “I’m- I’m not actually a doctor!”
There’s a very brief pause, and then one of the female soldiers sits up from her beanbag to squint at you. You think this one is Walker.
“Why are you here all the time, then?” She asks. “Weren’t you here for our checkup yesterday?”
Oh. They had noticed. Embarrassed heat is beginning to build in your cheeks, and you can’t help but dart a quick look over at where Quaritch is still leaning against the wall. For the first time ever, he’s looking right at you. The realisation sends little jolts of electricity racing up your spine. His expression is entirely neutral, almost bored, but that doesn’t matter. He’s seeing you.
“I was just, um, shadowing the xenobiologists,” You say quickly, “For my internship.”
One of the other recoms turns to another and mouths 'internship’, and they both start to snicker. You pretend not to notice.
“And what does the intern want with us?” Fike asks, already having turned back to his cards.
It’s terribly embarrassing having to stand here and have these 9-foot-tall soldiers basically look you up and down before disregarding your entire existence. But you’re here now, and you have to push through.
“I’d..” You begin, before your throat goes dry and you have to clear your throat before trying again. “Could I please speak to the colonel?”
All the snickering and whispering dies down for a moment as the recoms look at you before swinging their heads around to look at their superior officer. There’s a moment of silence, but then the subtle sniggers start right back up again.
“So polite,” one of them whispers, and you feel yourself burn with embarrassment. But it doesn’t matter how many of them are sharing smirks or whispers, because Colonel Quaritch has pushed himself off the wall and is beginning to step towards you.
Oh god, he’s so big. You have to actually tilt your head back just to look at his face as he comes to a stop in front of you, and you begin to fidget nervously with your fingers. Up close, he seems so much bigger. Every movement has the skin around his muscles flexing, and you have to work hard not to stare like an absolute moron. 
He doesn’t crouch or bend down to make it easier for you to talk to him. Instead he just raises a brow, clearly waiting for you to speak.
“I, um- hello,” You start off clumsily, growing flustered under the weight of his intense, golden gaze. God, does he even realise how intimidating that is? “I was wondering if- I mean, I heard that you’re being sent out into the Pandoran lowlands tomorrow, and I was wondering if you might be able to bring me back something-”
God, you sound like such an idiot. There’s no way he doesn’t notice the way your voice trembles, or how you can’t quite meet his eyes, or how you keep stumbling over your words, but he just watches you evenly with no expression on his handsome face.
You fumble for the datapad that you brought with you, tapping clumsily at the screen before holding it up for him. His eyes dart to the photograph that’s being displayed, but he still doesn’t speak.
“This is panopyra.” You say, and your voice grows a little stronger. This, at least, is something you feel comfortable talking about. “It’s a plant that’s displaying characteristics of a new line of evolution toward a primitive nervous system. My entire dissertation is focused around my research into this plant, and I really need some samples. The body of it is hollow, and it collects a liquid inside-”
Finally, Quaritch speaks. 
“We ain’t bein’ sent out to do gardening.” His voice is deep and rumbly, edged with that Southern drawl. It has a hint of danger, even when he’s not actually threatening anything.
“I know!” You say hastily. “I know that. I just thought- I thought that maybe if you happened to see one, you might be able to take a sample of the liquid inside of it and, um… and bring it back.”
You end up trailing off a little pathetically, feeling overpowered by his intense stare. God, he looks so unimpressed with you right now. You bite your glossy lip and try not to shrink into yourself entirely.
At last, Quaritch sighs and holds out his hand. “Give me that thing.”
You hand over the datapad at once, your eyes growing wide at the possibility of him actually accepting. Asking for this favour had served the dual purpose of fulfilling your work needs and getting to talk to him, but you hadn’t actually expected him to agree.
He squints at the photograph on the screen, and swipes lazily through the mass amounts of text accompanying. “I ain’t reading all that shit. Give me the run-down on it.”
You had actually written ‘all that shit’, but no matter.
“It grows similar to a fungus, so you’ll likely find it attached to trees or other plants,” You rush to explain, excitement beginning to bubble up into your chest. “You won’t be able to take an actual sample of the tissue without damaging it, so forget about that. What I really would like is a sample of the fluid that collects inside the cup on top, see?”
His eyes follow you as you reach up on your toes to point out what you’re referring to in the photograph, and his ears flick back in acknowledgement.
“It poisonous?”
You hesitate a moment. “...No.”
Quaritch shoots you a look of obvious disbelief. “You wanna try that again?”
“It’s not poisonous.” You say, a little bit more convincingly this time. “But it does have a sort of defence system. Just… don’t touch the little tendrils.”
Quaritch’s face is set in stern disapproval, but he isn’t saying no. 
“I’ll provide you with the instruments you need,” You continue, starting to bounce a little on your toes at the prospect of him agreeing. You really need these samples. “Oh, I’d be so grateful!”
There’s a muffled sound from somewhere over your shoulder, where the rest of the recoms are no doubt watching and listening with great interest, but you don’t turn. Quaritch’s gaze flickers only momentarily towards them, and they silence instantly. God, he’s so effortlessly commanding.
When he looks back to you, he just sighs through his nose and hands you back the datapad. “Fine. Send me the details.”
For a moment, you just stare at him. It takes a beat to register that he’s just agreed, and then a wide, beaming grin begins to grow across your face.
“Thank you-!” You start to squeal, but he cuts you off with a quick wave of his hand.
“Cut that out,” He grumbles, already beginning to scowl as he steps back. “Never let it be said by Ardmore that I was unco-operative with the goddamned science department, yeah?”
You’re not willing to press your luck any further than you already have. You just nod, a little frantic, before sending him one last smile and scurrying your way out of the room. The laughter from the rec room follows you all the way up the corridor, but you don’t care – you’re getting your samples and you just had your first conversation with Quaritch. He looked at you, he spoke to you. He knows you exist!
You’re smiling to yourself the entire way back to the lab, flushed with the pleasure of your success.
For the next couple of days, you’re waiting on tenterhooks for the recoms return. 
You still work away on your projects and your research, but you’re hyper-attuned to everyone that comes and goes from the lab. It’s not as though you’re really expecting the recoms to come into the lab, but you’re listening desperately for any news of their return.
The day before they’re due to arrive back to base, Geiszler comes to irritate you at your desk.
“Go away.” You grumble before he can say a word.
“Oh, come on!” He laughs. “I come bearing gifts!”
That catches your attention, and you raise your head from your work to squint at him. He’s standing there with a stupid sort of grin on his face, the kind that makes you uneasy, and his hands are tucked behind his back.
“What?” You ask suspiciously.
With a flourish, Geiszler pulls his arms out from behind his back. When you see what’s in his hands, you nearly scream.
“Oh my god, what the fuck is wrong with you-!” You hiss, whirling around to look frantically over your shoulders.
Mercifully, there’s no one around to witness the enormous blue dildo in his hands as he offers it up to you.
Geiszler is laughing, as though this is just the funniest shit he could have imagined. “Oh, the look on your face-!”
“Get that away from me!” You hiss, scandalised. “Oh my god, you do realise that I could report you for workplace sexual harassment-”
“But you won’t, because we made this specially for you-”
“We?” You hiss in disbelief. “Who the fuck is we?”
Geiszler waves that away as though it’s unimportant. “Me and some of the other guys in xeno. Look, it gets boring in the lab. We thought this was funny. It’s a Na’vi dildo, to scale. You’re welcome.”
“You are such an asshole.” You snap, mortified. “God, what is wrong with you!”
Geiszler just snorts, and places the big dildo on your desk, right in the middle of your papers. It’s almost comically large, made with bright blue silicone and featuring a prominent, squishy head. It’s even ribbed down the underside, with bumps that admittedly look rather attractive. Your face burns at the sight of it.
“Do you have any idea how hard it was to get that 3D-printed-” 
“Take it back!” You pick it up and try to push it at him, but he’s already backing away with his hands up in the air. The stupid prick is laughing at you. 
“Nu-uh! It’s all yours!” He’s already backing away, all sniggers. “You can imagine the colonel-”
“Oh, you freak! That is so invasive-!” You nearly drop the dildo entirely, both horrified and mortified. 
Oh my god, it was to scale. This was the size of what the colonel was packing? It feels as though the silicone is burning in your hand, and you feel horribly hot and prickly. Oh, this was such an invasion of the colonel’s privacy. Whether it was the standard size of a Na’vi cock or not, the idea of using it while imagining Quaritch over you has you flushed and embarrassed.
Geiszler is still laughing when he ducks out of the lab, leaving you alone and absolutely humiliated.
After that, you avoid the lab. You know that the scientists all think that your crush on Quaritch is just one big joke, and you really don’t want to see them all smirking and sniggering when they see you, and you really don’t want to have to field any sly comments about the stupid dildo. 
You’ve been too mortified to even look at it too closely, so you take it and hide it away under a load of papers in a separate work area that’s usually used as storage. You’ve been hiding away in this separate little work room for days now; you can’t do any important experiments here, but it’s as good a place as any to work on your dissertation and at least you can be alone here.
You’re in this little work area, typing furiously, when the door slides open behind you with a hiss.
“Geiszler, if you’re here just to harass me again, I will fuck you up.” You bite out without turning, your shoulders turning tense as you glare at your monitor.
There’s a moment of silence, and you hope that he’s taken the hint to go away and leave you alone.
“I’m not sure I appreciate that tone, girl.”
You turn so quickly that you nearly overbalance right off your chair, eyes wide and horrified. The workroom that you’ve practically claimed for yourself is small, with low ceilings designed for human use – that means that Quaritch has had to duck down to fit through the door, and remains standing hunched and visibly irritated, with one hand lifted against the ceiling so he doesn’t hit his head.
“Oh-!” You scramble to get off your chair and fix your skirt, tugging it down straight as you hope and pray that your hair looks alright. “Sir, I- I didn’t realise that you were back!”
Quaritch just grunts. He does not look particularly happy, but he sets a large sample container on one of the empty desk spaces. Inside, it’s filled with a clear liquid that could easily be mistaken for water, but you know better.
“Oh!” You gasp, jolting forward to take a better look. “Oh, such a big sample! This is amazing, thank you!”
Quaritch says nothing, his big alien face impossible to read.
“It better be worth it.” Another voice cuts in, and you jolt in surprise at the realisation that there’s another big blue figure ducking in through the door after Quaritch.
You pause, uncertain in the face of this newcomer and already nervous from Quaritch’s overbearing presence. Oh, god. He’s brought company. Why has he brought company? Another blue head appears over the shoulder of the first soldier, and your eyes dart between them. You’ve spent enough time watching the Colonel to recognise them as Corporal Wainfleet and Private Fike, though you don’t have so much as a passing acquaintance with them.
“I thought you said they were harmless.” Fike grumbles, before raising his hands up to show you rather brutal looking purple bruises along the backs of his hands. “Fucking look at this.”
“Oh.” You breathe, wincing. “No, I said they weren’t poisonous. I did tell you to watch out for the tendrils. The defence system is really quite amazing-”
“Oh yeah, it felt fucking amazing when it was stinging the ever-loving shit out of me.” Fike interrupts, though he appears to have lost interest in speaking to you in favour of peering curiously around the work room.
You can imagine that the place looks fairly dismal; you hadn’t been expecting visitors, so your research is scattered everywhere. Coloured sketches and photographs of cross-sections of the panopyra plant are stuck up on the walls all over, not just around your own desk. You’ve taken advantage of the desks that are never in use, piling your notes and research high all over the place. Writing your dissertation is exhausting work, after all – there is just so much to learn from these plants, so much potential.
“Well, I think that it is worth it.” You say, stepping towards the counter that Quaritch had placed your sample on and reaching eagerly for the beaker. “It’s difficult to get samples like this – there are so few excursions into the jungle these days. But one this size might actually be enough to fuel my research for the next two months at least! I might actually be able to finish my dissertation at last-”
No one is listening to you, you’re quite certain, but you don’t let that deter you as you babble away, raising the beaker to your eye level so that you can examine it. The liquid inside is pure and uncontaminated – the perfect specimen.
“Whoa,” Wainfleet is peering at the sketches on the wall. “You’re really into these weird little plants, huh?”
“They’re the whole reason I’m here on Pandora.” You say matter-of-factly, placing the beaker back down on the desk. “Everything I’m doing here, all my research, is all centred around them.”
It’s the most you’ve ever said in the presence of the recoms, and you find yourself mentally patting yourself on the back. You really are intelligent and driven, though you’re sure that the recoms would never have guessed it based on how moronically you act around Colonel Quaritch. They seem quite surprised to discover that you have actual interests other than their beefy commanding officer.
Fike and Wainfleet both poke around the work room curiously, snickering with each other as they peer blindly into microscopes and push around enormous reference books like big kids.
“Hey, careful with that!” You say reproachfully, though they pay you no mind.
Quaritch himself is still standing silently, taking in the room with alert but judgemental eyes. He doesn’t seem all that impressed by your work, but then again it’s almost impossible to read him. He makes no effort to chide his underlings at all, and they continue messing about unchecked.
“Took us a while to find you.” Quaritch speaks suddenly, and your attention is drawn to him immediately, a swoop of excitement juddering through you at the fact that he’s speaking to you. “You’re not in the lab with the rest of the science pukes.”
Your silly excitement at being on the receiving end of his attention dims a little at that. Science pukes? Seriously? You’ve worked damn hard for this degree! 
“That’s not nice.” You say, then mentally curse yourself. It’s not quite the scathing reproach you had intended – it comes out a little wobbly and uncertain. God, why do you have to come across as such a sad little wet blanket whenever you’re in front of him?
“Not nice?” Quaritch repeats, sounding partially amused and partially disbelieving. “And when have I ever been known for bein’ nice, sweetheart?”
Good lord, he’s terrifying. You don’t normally have a difficult time standing up for yourself, but something about being on the receiving end of that bright yellow stare makes your stomach twist. You don’t know if it's fear or arousal, and you also don't know which would be worse.
“I just mean-” You start, trying hard to keep your voice strong and confident. “That calling people names isn’t nice.”
Calling people names isn’t nice. Fucking hell, you sound like a goddamn five-year-old. What is even happening to you? You swear you’re not normally like this. Has your brain just rotted thanks to all the stupid ogling of his big biceps you’ve been doing? You’re mortified.
“Jesus Christ.” Wainfleet’s voice calls out from somewhere behind you. “What the fuck is this?”
For a moment, you’re desperately relieved that they’ve called attention away from you. Quaritch is looking at you with scathing disbelief for that calling people names comment, and you’re quite sure that whatever he was going to say in response to that would be so biting that you’d wish you were dead.
But then you turn to look at Wainfleet, and you actually do wish that you were dead.
Because in his hand, looking almost regular sized against his much larger body, is that stupid, evil giant blue Na’vi dildo that Geiszler had given you last week. You had stuffed it behind a whole load of old papers on an unused desk and forgotten about it – it was just your fucking luck that these gormless blue bastards would unearth it accidentally as they poked around.
Mortification erupts through your body, so overwhelming that it roots you to the spot. No way. No way. No way.
“Holy fuck!” Fike bursts out laughing, and holds his hands up. “Give that here!”
Nothing can describe the sheer humiliation that sears through you when Wainfleet tosses the dildo to Fike. You just stand there frozen, watching the two enormous Na’vi soldiers throw a huge silicone dick between them in the middle of your workspace.
“Damn, the little intern’s a freak!” Fike says in mock approval, his voice dripping in amusement. 
He makes a show of holding the dildo up to the light and peering at it, faux-admiring the bumps and ridges along the shaft.
“No, that’s not-” You start, and your voice cracks. “That’s not mine-”
You go entirely ignored as the two soldiers roar boisterously.
“Damn, you think of the Colonel when you use this?” Wainfleet asks, cackling as Fike throws it back to him. “Is this why you follow him around everywhere? You want the real thing?”
The humiliation is so intense that it’s actually difficult to breathe around it, stifling and choking. You glance at Quaritch, hoping that by some miracle he’s gone temporarily blind and deaf and has missed this entire exchange so far. The idea of him knowing that you’ve been following him around is shocking, and you feel yourself shrinking.
Quaritch has just pressed his lips together. As you watch, he gives a deep sigh through his nose. 
Your stomach quivers with mortification. Oh my god. He knew already – how long has he been aware of your crush?
“No,” You choke out, your skin burning hot. “No, I don’t- I don’t use that, it was given to me as a joke-”
Quaritch is still so difficult to read, but even still he looks as though he would rather be literally anywhere else right now. His gaze flickers briefly over your face, which is all contorted in mortification as you just barely bite back tears, and he rolls his eyes with a sigh.
“Alright, that’s enough-” Quaritch starts, but it’s too late.
Wainfleet has just reached out and smacked Fike around the head with the dildo, laughing as he did so, and Fike stumbles back with a playful roar as he tries to escape the silicone cock. He throws his arms out to catch his balance, but his big hands splay across one of the work tables and knock some of your reference books to the floor.
But it’s not just the books he knocks into. His hand smacks into that precious beaker full of panopyra liquid, and you let out a startled shout as the force of the blow of his hand breaks the glass container, the liquid inside showering all over the desk with all your papers.
Everyone goes silent, as though the sound of breaking glass signals some kind of change in the atmosphere. 
You let out a sound that’s positively wounded, jerking forward to the destroyed sample. You needed this specimen so badly – it was supposed to inform the research that you needed to finish your dissertation. How long would you have to wait for another sample like this one? You’ve been working on this research for years, and you were so damn close to the end. So damn close to being qualified, to stepping up the ladder and being taken seriously by your peers rather than just being seen as an intern.
“Shit.” One of the recoms mutter; you don’t bother looking up to see if it’s Wainfleet or Fike. “Didn’t mean to-”
Your eyes trace over the mess of broken glass, but then you realise what the sample has broken on and you feel your stomach drop to your feet.
“No!” You shriek, launching yourself forward. 
The recoms all jerk in surprise at your shout, but you pay them no mind. It’s like they’re invisible to you now. All you can see is the way that your papers, your precious research, is being soaked through and destroyed by the liquid that has spilled all over the desk.
“No, no, no, no.” You breathe to yourself, biting hard at the inside of your cheek to keep from crying as you struggle to pick up your research, shaking it out in an attempt to get the worst of the wetness off.
It’s too late. Your research, all your painstakingly-taken hand-written notes, tears like wet tissue-paper in your hands.
You raise your head to look at the three recoms in your workspace, still clutching your destroyed research to your chest. You must look crazed, breathing heavily with wide and wild eyes, because Wainfleet and Fike share a wincing look with each other.
Awkwardly, Wainfleet reaches out and places the large dildo on the counter next to the ruins of your work. Everyone in the room struggles not to look at it.
Quaritch’s jaw is clenched hard, his ears pinned back against the sides of his head. He appears to be holding himself back from shouting, though you’re not sure at who. Slowly, he turns his head to look at his two subordinates, who are now standing with their heads ducked as they try not to make eye contact.
With trembling hands, you drop your ruined research back down on the counter. Your mortification is swiftly being overtaken by pure rage. 
How fucking dare they? It would be one thing for them to mock you about your crush (that apparently Quaritch was already fucking aware of) but it’s entirely another for them to humiliate you by parading around with that stupid fucking dildo that you’ve never even properly touched. And then to go and destroy your sample, the one that you’ve waited so long for and that you needed so desperately for your dissertation? And to destroy a chunk of your existing research too?
“Get out.” You whisper, your fingers shaking as you pluck at the ruins of your papers.
Quaritch sighs through his nose. “Look, we’ll get you another sample of the damn thing. There’s no need to-”
“Get out!” You raise your voice for real, whipping your head up to shout at them. “God, you assholes! Get out!”
Fike laughs nervously, glancing towards Quaritch. That only sets you off even more. They have the audacity to follow their commanding officer into your workspace and mess around, ruining things, and now they’re not going to listen to you after destroying your work? God, they look down on you so much it’s sickening. They’re not even listening to you after humiliating you so soundly, choosing instead to look towards Quaritch as if his opinion matters so much more than yours.
Your rage is only fuelled by your earlier embarrassment, your face flushed with heat as you glare at them. Oh, you’re furious. You can’t remember ever being so humiliated and livid in your life.
“I want you fucking out!” You roar, and when they don’t move you reach for a reference book on the table beside you and launch it at them. “You’ve fucking ruined it-”
Wainfleet ducks to avoid the book that soars over his head, but you’re already reaching for another one. He throws his hands up in a gesture of surrender, but you’re so blinded by rage that you barely even see it.
“Oi!” Quaritch lets out a shout and steps forward with his hands outstretched as if to physically stop you. “Enough! You’ll be written up for assault if you keep this up-”
You let out an inarticulate noise of fury as you throw a second book, this one bouncing harmlessly off Fike’s shoulder. “I’ll be written up for murder if you don’t get the fuck out of here-”
Wainfleet lets out a sound that sounds like a nervous giggle that’s been choked back. You can imagine that it’s a little bit of a shock for them to see you go from shy and mild-mannered to absolutely fucking insane, but your crush on Quaritch really had made you act like a total idiot around them. You feel so stupid about it now – you had become so enamoured with someone who totally ignored your existence, shrinking into yourself like a goddamn wallflower because you were so shy around him.
But Quaritch is looking at you, for possibly one of the first times ever. Not just looking at you, but seeing you. 
When you grab at a microscope to throw, heavy and metal and definitely capable of doing some damage, Quaritch lets out a sharp hiss and steps forward with a single hand outstretched towards you as though to physically restrain you.
“Get out.” He says without looking at his soldiers.
Wainfleet and Fike share a look with each other before practically scrambling to leave. They can’t seem to leave fast enough, though you have no doubt that they’re snickering together as they go. 
“You too.” You grit out, fists clenched around the microscope as though it’s a weapon. “I want you gone too.”
Despite your obvious anger, Quaritch makes no move to leave. His big honey-coloured eyes trace over the broken glass on your desk, your ruined research, your big teary eyes. You probably look like a mess; you’re practically sweating from all the embarrassment, your hair is in disarray, your eyes are all swollen from the angry tears that are threatening to spill over.
“You need to calm down, darlin’.” He says, his voice low and a little bit rumbly. Ordinarily that might make you melt, but as it is you just feel as though he’s being condescending. “It’s just some goddamn plant water. You’ll get more on the next run.”
“Oh, fuck off.” You snap without thinking, your chest still heaving with poorly stifled emotion. “It’s not just about the sample and you know it.”
Quaritch’s golden eyes cut towards the big dildo on the counter, and you feel your temper flare all over again.
“It’s not about that either!” You snap, embarrassed and defensive. “This research is my life! Without it, there’s no point to me even being here on Pandora. Your fucking knuckleheads have just destroyed months worth of work. Do you have any idea how much harder I have to work than the fucking men out there?”
You gesture towards the door to the main laboratory, where you’re sure they’ve walked past all the overwhelmingly male scientists working away. No doubt they can hear the shouting, but no one has been brave enough to come looking to see what’s wrong. 
Quaritch’s expression doesn’t so much as twitch as he watches you rage, and he doesn’t interrupt.
“Do you have any idea how difficult it is just to claw my way up to equal standing with them? They laugh at me enough already, that’s why they gave me that stupid thing-” You wave at the dildo without looking at it. “Just because they knew that I liked you. They laugh at me for having a stupid crush on you, and I… I’m so sick of people looking at me like I’m just pathetic, because I work so hard! And now you’re here, and you’ve just ruined my work-”
Quaritch lets you rant until you run yourself dry. You’re breathing heavily, exhausted and furious and so fucking sick of the sight of him.
“Look, kid.” He says at last, when you pause for breath. “You’re sweet. Pretty. Smart, clearly. But I ain’t looking for anything like that. I need to focus on this mission-”
“Oh, what the fuck.” You breathe, staring at him in total disbelief. “Is that the only part you fucking heard? I have a crush on you, that’s it! All I wanted was for you to look my way, and it took a giant fucking dildo for you to actually acknowledge that you knew about how I felt? You’re such a dick-”
“Hey,” He barks, stepping forward. He’s so huge, his bulk alone throwing you into shadow as he looms over you. “Watch your mouth-”
“No!” You snap, although your voice is a little thin. He really is an intimidating bastard. “No, you don’t get to tell me what to do! God, I am so sick of men thinking they can tell me what to do-”
Quaritch’s chest erupts in a little rumbling snarl, and you have to fight not to flinch away from him. He’s like a beast, lip all curled up over his fangs as he growls at you for your attitude.
“So what, your solution is to hide away in this miserable little room?” He demands, stepping forward just so he can look down his nose at you. “Some of those dickless little science guys were mean to you, so you’re gonna lock yourself away like this?”
“It’s not-”
“What’s the point in dressing up all pretty in those little skirts with all that makeup if you’re hiding away in here, huh?” He continues, insistent as he keeps pushing forward until you start to back up. “Maybe that’s why they don’t take you seriously. You need to stand up for-”
“That’s for you!” You shout, temper flaring up all over again. “I do that for you, because I thought you might look at me!”
Quaritch pauses at that, blinking as though you’ve just taken him by surprise. It infuriates you; how could he be so stupid, especially when he has known about your crush all this time. It’s not like it was subtle.
Suddenly, you feel absolutely exhausted. It’s like every ounce of your energy has been leached out of you, and you turn your head and sigh. The amount of emotions that have washed through you in such a short space of time has left you feeling drained and drawn, and you just want to be left alone now.
“I don’t want to look at you anymore.” You say tiredly, turning away from him and burying your face in your hands. “Just get out. Go away.”
There’s a long pause, but mercifully Quaritch doesn’t try to argue any further. You’re still turned away and facing the wall, so you hardly hear his quiet footsteps as he turns on his heel and marches out of the room. The door whooshes closed behind him, leaving you alone and hunched in the middle of the room.
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In hindsight, you may have overreacted with the recoms a little bit. 
You had been careful to back up some of the most important points of your research to your hard drive, so you hadn’t truly lost as much information as you had initially feared. It’s more of an inconvenience than a tragedy, really. The loss of the sample does sting quite a bit, but you’ll get more. It just might take another couple of months – the wait is frustrating, but there’s nothing you can do about that.
All you can do is try to recoup some of the notes that you’ve lost, and struggle to write more based on the samples that you’ve already studied. It’s very difficult to come up with any new material when you don’t actually have anything to work with, but all you can do is your best, as usual.
Geiszler creeps into the small workroom a few days later. 
For several days after the incident with the recoms, none of your colleagues have dared to say a word to you. You’re sure they had heard the shouting, the glass shattering, the sound of you throwing books. If they had somehow missed all that, then they surely would have noticed the recoms that had stalked from the workroom, all agitated and pent up from the argument. Yet none of them have even asked you if you were okay.
“Still avoiding us, huh?” Geiszler asks, his question accompanied with a nervous laugh.
“Fuck off.” You bite out without looking away from your computer screen.
“Ouch.” Geiszler mutters. “I suppose I might deserve that.”
You can hear him approaching, but you still refuse to turn around. You just keep stubbornly working away, acting as though you’re too busy to spare him any attention. Unfortunately, Geiszler doesn’t let your inattention sway him; he just settles in a stool nearby, fidgeting with his fingers.
“I, uh… heard about that little blow up you had with the Colonel.” He says, clearly a little awkward. “I wanted to apologise. Upon reflection, the, uh… the dildo thing might have been a little inappropriate.”
You fight the urge to sigh. God, what did you do to deserve being surrounded with morons like this?
“Yeah, no shit.” You mutter, finally looking up to glare at him. “Why are you here? All I want is to be left alone.”
Geiszler, to your gratification, looks positively shame-faced. He’s looking down at his hands as he twiddles his thumbs, sighing.
“Wanted to apologise, I guess.” He mutters, shrugging.
“Yeah, well, whatever.” You mutter, finally abandoning your attempts to appear busy as you turn to him. “Plenty more Na’vi on Pandora, right?”
A nervous giggle bubbles out of his chest, as though he’s not certain if he’s allowed to laugh or not.
“Yeah, yeah, right.” He says, starting to grin. “And, uh… are you.. Are you strictly Na’vi-sexual, or are you-”
You burst out laughing, turning to look at him in disbelief. “Na’vi-sexual? There’s no way you just fucking asked me that.”
There’s a bizarre sort of blush on his face, but he laughs along with you anyway. “Right, right. Well, you can’t blame me for wondering, right? With your crush, I mean.”
Your smile fades, and you look back down at your work scattered all over the desk. 
“I don’t want to talk about that, actually.” You murmur, “I think I’ve made enough of a fool of myself as is.”
Geiszler nods awkwardly, looking distinctly guilty.
“Yeah. You, um,” He breaks off, scratching uncomfortably at the back of his neck. “You look nice.”
You just raise a sardonic eyebrow at him. You’ve gone without makeup today, and you know that going bare-faced makes you look younger, but who were you kidding with all that makeup, anyway? You’ve abandoned the sleek pencil skirts and pretty blouses, too. Under your lab coat you wear a simple sort of sundress, one that stops just below the knees. No heels, either, just sneakers.
“Yeah, well.” You shrug a shoulder lazily. “No one to impress.”
Geiszler’s smile twists as he nods again. “Sure, sure. Um… look, I was wondering-”
You never do get to know what it is that Geiszler is wondering. The sound of the door to the workroom hissing open cuts him off, and he falls silent as the two of you look to see who has just encroached into your space.
The sight of Quaritch’s big blue form ducking in and then straightening up has the two of you stiffening, staring at him in disbelief. 
You’re absolutely rooted to the spot at the sight of him, but when he turns to look at you, you whirl around and immediately feign being busy. You grab blindly at papers and datapads, and peer unseeingly at your computer screen as you try to look preoccupied. What is he doing here?
Geiszler, meanwhile, doesn’t even try to pretend that he’s not gawking stupidly. 
Quaritch glances his way, and his expression drops into a sneer. “What’re you looking at? Get outta here.”
Irritatingly, Geiszler scrambles to do just that. He sends one last glance towards you before practically fleeing from the room, nervously ducking around Quaritch’s imposingly large figure.
Your eyes bulge a little now that you’re left alone with him, and your eyes dart around frantically around the room in search of something to do. Why is he here? Why the fuck has he come back? It’s been days since your embarrassing breakdown in front of him, and you’ve been blissfully unaware of him since. You’ve basically just locked yourself up in this room, working on your research. You’ve even taken meals here – it’s a much more productive use of your time than wandering around the base after Quaritch in the hopes of catching a good glimpse of his ass in his camo.
Fighting to resist the urge to look his way, you tap urgently at the datapad in your hand.
“Do you need something, Colonel?” You ask icily, your attention focused down on your pad. “I’m very busy.”
There’s a momentary silence, but you’re not willing to look up to see his expression.
“Was that one of the cockless little deadbeats that’s been giving you a hard time?”
Giving you a hard time. God, it sounds as though you’re a bullied little kid. How embarrassing.
“He’s the one that gave me the dildo.” You say simply, tapping on the datapad screen. “But he’s not so bad, I guess. Just a bit of an idiot. That doesn’t answer my question.”
The next pause is much longer.
“Haven’t seen you around.” Quaritch drawls, his voice slow and even. “Couldn’t get away from you, before.”
Oh my god, this man is just determined to humiliate you. 
Pursing your lips, you turn and march towards the specimen fridge in the corner of the room. It’s really just a mini fridge; a low, hip-high box that contains various biological specimens, and you kneel down and stick your head inside in an attempt to look busy.
“Not like there was any need to come see you.” You call out simply, your voice slightly muffled from inside the fridge. “You made yourself pretty clear, before.”
“Oh?” His voice is closer, though his steps are so light that you can’t hear him approach. “About what?”
“About me.” You snap, though you keep your head firmly buried in the fridge. It’s so much easier to talk to him when you can’t see his face. “Just go back to ignoring me, please.”
There’s another long pause, and you keep staring blankly at the bright white wall of the mini fridge. But then a touch comes to your hip, and you jolt in surprise. 
Quaritch’s hand is big and hot, the heat of it searing through the fabric of your labcoat and your sundress. It engulfs your whole damn hip, curving around towards your lower stomach.
“What’s with the change in clothes, sweetheart?” His voice has dropped an octave, rumbling into you as you feel him shuffle closer. “I thought all those little skirts were for me.”
Your fingers clench around the door of the fridge. What the fuck is he doing? All that time you had spent dressed up, made up, simpering like a damn idiot at him, he had barely even given you a sideways glance. But now, after screaming and crying at him like a lunatic, he’s making a pass at you while you’re wearing a simple dress with no makeup. What the fuck?
“I’m not trying to impress you.” You say simply – you feel braver inside the fridge.
“No?” His thumb strokes over your thigh, and you feel the hem of your dress hitch higher. “Well, I like this little number. Better than the others, maybe.”
You swallow thickly, staring blankly at one of the little labeled test tubes beside your face. You don’t answer, but you don’t protest either. Quaritch seems to take your lack of response as encouragement, because his whole hand drifts from your hip to just under your dress. You jerk as you feel the skirt being flipped up over your ass – but you still don’t pull away.
“Hey, kid,” He murmurs, his voice soft and a little condescending. “I gotta question for you.”
His hands are moving slowly, as though waiting to see if you’re going to kick out or try to stop him any way. You know you probably should (where is your goddamn self-respect), but for some reason you allow the touch to travel all the way up your thighs.
Your belly tightens, heat flooding between your legs. Oh god, why aren’t you stopping this? You’re already embarrassed enough about the show of yourself you’ve made in front of him – this is surely going to make it worse by making you seem like a total slut. But then again, you’ve been desperate for him since you first locked eyes on him. Maybe you are a slut.
“What?” You breathe, your voice trembling a little as his big fingers leave red-hot trails over the bare skin on the back of your legs. A large palm strokes over the inside of your thigh, the soft calluses tickling your sensitive skin.
“That dildo. You ever use it?”
The question startles you enough that you jolt, the top of your head smacking into the top of the fridge. 
“What?”
He chuckles, and then you feel those big fingers curl around your cotton panties. “You coming outta there?”
“No,” You blurt, grabbing at the sides of the mini fridge. “No, I’m very busy.”
There’s a sharp tug to your underwear, and you gasp as you feel him pull the back of your panties up so that they’re wedged right up between your ass cheeks, the fabric stretched taut and tight over your cunt. You’re admittedly wetter than you’d like to be, and you feel your cheeks burn at the thought of him noticing.
And yet, you still don’t pull away. If anything, you’re holding your breath, waiting to see what the fuck he’s going to do next.
When you feel warm breath on your exposed ass cheek, you nearly choke. Oh my god, how closely is he looking at you right now? Is his face pressed right up between your legs? It sure fucking feels like it.
“Answer the question.”
You swallow thickly. “I, um.. I don’t-”
His hand twists, and you gasp as your panties are pulled up further. The message is clear – tell the truth.
“Once,” You choke out, mortified. “Just once! I just- I threw it out after, I didn’t-”
You don’t even have time to fully process the fact that you’ve just admitted that. It had been a moment of total weakness, your decision to smuggle that stupid dildo back to your room. Or maybe it had been morbid curiosity – you just wanted to know if you would be able to take it. You had binned it straight after, mortified by your own weakness. 
There’s a sharp pain on the soft pudge of your ass, as though he’s just nipped at you there. Your thighs twitch together, horrified by the little electric zap of arousal that jolts between your legs.
“Could you take it?” He wonders, and you can hear a grin in his voice.
Holy shit, is this happening? Are you dead? Hallucinating? Have you just lost your goddamn mind?
Emboldened by the fact that he can’t see your face where you’ve stuffed your head and shoulders into the fridge, you mumble, “Pervert.”
Two hands grip at your hips, and you let out a wheezing, startled gasp when you feel a wide, rough tongue lick a stripe across your pussy through your panties. His spit soaks through the delicate fabric, making it cling to your already sticky cunt. 
“Whatcha say?” He mumbles, his muffled words vibrating against your clit. He sounds smug, the bastard.
Your thighs clench around his face, but he just reaches up and pushes them back open again with no effort.
“What are you doing?” You gasp out, dropping your forehead down onto the tray of the fridge and making the sample test tubes clink together dangerously.
He huffs a short laugh and pulls his head back to nip right at the juncture of your ass and thigh, making you jolt away from his mouth. “What, you don’t like it? Want me to stop?”
“No!” You blurt, reaching back to try and grab at his head to keep him in place.
He knocks your hand aside, but you can feel him laughing. “Get your head out of that goddamn fridge then, before I drag you out.”
You feel like staying inside the mini-fridge just on principle, but you can’t bear the thought of him pulling his mouth away from you. Not when he’s finally started to touch you, after so long of you yearning for it.
Slowly, you pull your head out. No sooner have you started to move then Quaritch uses his grip on your hips to pull you out. You let out a startled sound as his big hands grab at you and flip you, throwing you on your back in front of him. The display of casual strength is unexpected and very, very attractive, and your legs spread eagerly before he even moves to open them himself.
When you actually get a look at him, it nearly bowls you right over. His pupils are so blown that they’re swallowing his irises, leaving just a thin ring of gold around the edge. His ears are held high and alert, and his mouth is quirked in that infuriatingly cocky little grin right now. 
Fuck, he’s just as horny as you are. The realisation is shocking.
“Fuck, all this for me, baby?” He asks, hooking his fingers into your panties and tugging them right off with no effort.
You don’t put up a single ounce of fight, arching your back with an excited gasp as you’re left exposed in front of him with your dress all hiked up around your waist.
He lets out a soft groan as he reaches a finger out and drags it through the folds of your cunt, clearly marvelling at the wetness that has collected there. That same finger slips inside of you and you moan, wanting more, wanting to roll up into it, wanting the ache inside of you filled to the brim.
“Look at you, kid, all sexed up like this.” He says, pulling that finger out and admiring the glistening slick on his hand.
“You’re just a-” You gasp, heaving for breath as you struggle to regain yourself. “A dirty old man!”
That makes him laugh, a low groan of a sound that makes your eye twitch. Holy fuck, does he like being called names?
“Oh yeah?” He rumbles, sounding delighted. He doesn’t wait for you to answer before he’s licking at you again.
He flattens his tongue and guides it up, sliding across your slit before enveloping your clit in his mouth and sucking. You’re arching into his mouth, breathlessly stuttering his name as your hips twitch. His hands on your hips are so big and so strong, holding you so firmly in place as his mouth devours you. 
The flat of his tongue is rough and textured like a cat’s, and you let out a low gasping sound as it catches against your clit. Two of his fingers push into you as his tongue works over your clit, as thick and meaty as a well-hung cock. He must feel the flutter of your cunt around his fingers, because he growls low, his powerful form all but vibrating with tension. 
Oh god, he’s so big. You had known that, of course, but it’s so different having him all up in your space like this, your legs thrown over the bulge of his biceps as his big head worms its way between your legs, licking insistently at you. The bulk of him is enormous, simmering sexuality about to boil over - it’s insanely arousing to you, the sheer energy of him sending your head spinning. 
The onslaught of sensation from the wet heat of his mouth has your head dropping back to the floor, staring up at the ceiling as your eyes go wide. You’ve never felt anything like this before, and as much as you don’t want to give Quaritch the satisfaction of knowing that he affects you like this, you can't help the way your back bows as he licks and sucks at you. 
He grins against you when he feels you shiver against his mouth. When your thighs clench closed around his head he groans softly against you. Embarrassed, your legs spring back apart, but Quaritch reaches up and grabs at your thighs to prevent them from spreading too wide.
“Squeeze if you want to.” He grunts, before devoting all his attention to licking and sucking at you once more. He tugs encouragingly at your thighs, and when you wrap them tentatively around his head he gives an appreciative little hum.
You shiver, chest heaving. When he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, his textured tongue rasping over the bead of nerves, a strong white current washes over you and you arch into his mouth as you come.
You can’t speak, can’t think. The feeling is too overwhelming, too all-consuming before the come down eventually starts and words are coming out, your body shaking. 
“Oh fuck, god – oh my god,” you sob, slapping your hand over your mouth, biting down at your palm. “Quaritch– please, shit.”
You jerk your hips up, partially in an attempt to escape from the relentless stroking of his rough tongue over your oversensitive clit, but Quaritch moves with them. He’s basically on his knees following your cunt like a dog as you try to twitch away, using his huge hands on your ass to keep you pulled tight against his mouth.
He goes on licking at your clit and the swollen puffiness of your cunt, and when the rough texture catching against your most sensitive spot gets too much for you, you have to push at his head. He pulls back just slightly, but then continues to lick at the insides of your thighs, as if to lap up every last glimmer of your slickness.
Your head rolls on your neck, all boneless and loose as you wheeze for breath. Jesus Christ, you’ve just come so hard you can’t feel your toes. Colonel Quaritch has just eaten your pussy so goddamn good that you nearly blacked out. What the fuck?
Your cunt is still pulsing with the aftershocks of your orgasm when you feel Quaritch’s big fingers pressing inside of you, testing the stretch and slickness.
“You never answered me,” He murmurs, his tone almost conversational despite the huskiness of his voice. “And I hate repeating myself. So tell me; could you take that dildo?”
“Yes,” You sob, twisting your body around as his thumb rolls over your too-sensitive clit. “Yes, I could take it.”
“Yeah?” He says and it comes out on a purr, the vibrations rumbling in between your legs. “Think you could take me?”
You hardly have any idea how you’ve gotten into this position, but you’ve been imagining this for months now. You’re not stupid enough to throw away this chance.
“Why don’t you come and see?” You breathe, leaning back and arching your back boldly. You can hardly believe your own bravery, but maybe your own horniness is just making you stupid.
But Quaritch laughs, as though he finds you stupidly amusing, and his hands drop to his belt. You watch with wide, eager eyes as he flicks open his cargos and pushes them down and oh! There it is.
You push yourself up to get a better look, mouth falling open a little bit as you get a look at his cock. It’s big and blue and ridged, just like the dildo, but you hardly think it’s fair to compare the two. Quaritch’s cock is real, and looks velvety soft to the touch with a prominent, purplish head. Opalescent precum is beading at the tip, tinged slightly blue and glowing a little bit, what the fuck? He’s so hard that it looks a little painful as it strains against his stomach, though he’s still grinning so slyly that you would never guess.
You want to touch, but you don’t get the chance. His big paws for hands close around your hips and flip you again so that you’re on your hands and knees once more – he seems to like you in this position, because his hands grope insistently at the soft flesh of your ass as he grinds his hips into yours, the thick hardness of his cock rutting against the inside of your thighs.
He’s rough with you by human standards, but never enough to hurt. Just enough to send a little thrill up your spine when he pulls your hips into his, the thick ridge of his cockhead beginning to prod at the entrance of your cunt. It’s hot and large, but your mind feels like liquid, too drunk on all the pleasure he’s given you so far to deny more. 
You choke weakly, but you don’t try to wriggle away. You can do this, you can take him. He’s prepared you well, you’re relaxed and so wet, and you had managed to take that dildo inside you, if only for a brief time. You try to stop tensing and relax yourself as you take shaky breaths.
Quaritch pushes his cock in a little further, almost unbearably slow. You feel yourself being stretched open, small stings of pain shooting through you as you drop your forehead to the ground and grunt. One of his big thumbs strokes over the small of your back, the motion soothing and unexpectedly sweet as he slips another inch inside. 
“Oh, fuck.” You squeak, eyes wide. 
You can feel little bumps and ridges squeezing their way inside as he penetrates you, your lungs seizing up. Quiet cries and gasps fall out of your mouth as you adjust to the feeling of his cock filling you up. No human had ever given you this overwhelming sensation before, the feeling of being impossibly stretched open beyond belief. Not even that stupid goddamn dildo had come close to this.
Every time you think the length of his textured cock has finally ended, he’ll push a little more of himself in. You keep your eyes tightly closed as you continue panting heavily. He’s going incredibly slow too, careful and deliberate in his movements. You had stupidly thought that you would adjust quickly, but it feels as though you’re just barely hanging in there. 
Then, finally, Quaritch pauses. It’s a mercy, because your breaths are coming in wheezing pants now as you clench up around his cock, tightening up around the intrusion in flutters. You must be tight to the point of causing pain, but he just lets out a rumbly sort of groan against your back. His hands tense around your middle, impossibly long fingers holding you in place.
Right as you begin to accept the size of him, he uses that grip on your waist to pull you away from his cock and then back down onto him again. It knocks the wind right out of you. You gulp wildly for air, soundlessly. You can’t even cry out, you’re so stunned.
“Fuck,” Quaritch moans. “Like wet velvet, honey. Well done.”
Before you can process or even think, Quaritch pulls out and then pushes back into you, again and again. Every bump drags against your walls and snags on every sensitive part of you. It feels like you had never been fucked before this, the sweet, dull pain and overwhelming sensations of Quaritch looming over your body ruining you. 
He huffs and growls as he begins to thrust up into you, no longer slow and careful. Each time he pistons his hips, it’s powerful and keeps you from taking deep breaths. The way his body presses into yours, the way every part of you touches his burning skin, is intoxicating.
His need, his hunger borders on bestial. His wet breath condenses against your skin as he ruts into you fervently, destroying your thoughts. You’re totally at his mercy, whimpering pathetically and whining. 
It’s all too much, his size, his pace, his sharp teeth nipping the back of your neck and shoulders. He’s like a wild animal, his hard cock burying itself inside you over and over again. It’s the first time that you really begin to appreciate that Quaritch isn’t human anymore – it extends far beyond his looks and into his behaviour and instincts as well. There’s no reprieve; you can only accept his intense pace.
Unbelievably, your abdomen is tensing again, reeling up tighter and tighter. You’re on the brink of coming again, but it feels like it’s impossible. You’ve never been so pleased by a partner before, hardly ever able to come at the hands of someone else, and you’ve never come so quickly twice in succession before. You feel like you’ll die if you come again, it was too much. Everything was too much.
“Come on, mama, let me see that back arch.” Quaritch mutters to you, his voice thick and growling as his big hand settles across your shoulderblades and pushes you down.
All you can do is obey, shivering as his big hand keeps your upper body pinned to the floor, his other hand using its grip on your waist to pull your ass up higher so that he can pound into you at a better angle.
“I’m going to-” You gasp, your thighs trembling as you sob against the floor. “Oh, god, oh fuck, oh shit, I’m going to-”
“Gonna cream on me?” Quaritch grunts, his pace taking the air out of you. “Go ahead, kid. Go on. This is what you’ve been wanting, isn’t it?”
His hips slam into your ass with every thrust, every drag of his cock working those ridges against the sensitive nerves inside of you. You can feel him twitch inside of you, a sure sign that he’s approaching his own release. The thought makes you moan as the strength behind his hips sends you skidding forward on every thrust before getting yanked back by his hands.
Your lashes are all clumped together from tears, your mouth hanging open stupidly – not only are his thrusts knocking the air from you, it feels as though they’re knocking the thoughts from you too. It feels as though he’s giving fucked stupid an entirely new meaning. Your entire world has narrowed down to the sensation of his cock rutting between your legs, his balls grinding against your clit. Your release is winding up in your belly, and you feel your eyes roll and toes curl as it approaches.
“You been watching me, wanting this. If I’d known what a little spitfire you were, maybe I would have given it to you sooner-”
He rocks into you, his pace now rough and deliberate as he claims you in short, fast strokes. Your little workroom is filled with the unmistakable sound of slapping flesh, his hips snapping against your ass with every feral grunt. He has you pinned so firmly beneath him, every thrust feeling as though it’s punching right up into your chest. It aches, and that ache spreads throughout your pelvis, your belly. It’s warm and sweet as syrup. It feels like he's going to break you in half. You think you might want him to break you in half.
“Look at you go.” Quaritch mumbles, seemingly to himself, and then you feel the broad expanse of his hand slap against the soft flesh of your ass. It seems like he just wants to watch it jiggle as he ruts you like an animal. 
He leans forward, his sharp teeth grazing the shell of your ear as he murmurs to you.“This is what that limp-dicked bitch from earlier wanted with you, you know. Bet he imagined you just like this, all stretched out and wanting on that dildo he gave you. Little pervert. He wouldn’t know what to do with you. Think he’s outside listening? I bet all those cockless motherfuckers are listening right now, trying to imagine what you look like. Let them hear you, honey. Go on.”
It’s too much for you. Your elbows give out, your face smushing against the floor as Quaritch uses his grip on your hips to pull your ass back against him, his huge torso plastering itself against your back. His cock is spearing into you so deep that you feel as though you’re going to feel him inside you like this forever, feel the ghost of his cock plowing into you long after he’s gone. You feel every ridge, every vein, every throb.
“Oh god, oh fuck, shit, please!” You wheeze, shuddering as he fucks you into the floor. “I need to come, I need to come-”
You’re cut off from your babbling when one of Quaritch’s big, thick thumbs hooks into your mouth and presses down on your tongue. You moan, closing your eyes and sucking desperately at his stupid blue finger.
“Fuck, you’re hungry for it, ain’tcha.” Quaritch snickers, but he sounds breathless and a little disbelieving. “And here I was thinkin’ you were such a shy little thing.”
Just as suddenly as his finger had pushed its way into your mouth it’s removed, and you almost whine at the loss of it. But then, to your shock, you feel the spit-slick pad of his thumb stroking over the exposed rim of your asshole. He presses inside, the blunt thickness of his fat thumb wiggling inside as your whole body clenches around the intrusion hard.
With an overwhelmed scream, your entire body pulses like a heartbeat and your vision goes white. Your orgasm rocks through you like fire, as relentless and merciless as Quaritch’s rocking hips as he continues to fuck you through the quivers of your release.
“There you go,” He coos at you like you’re a goddamn animal. “Oh fuck, you needed this, didn’t you?”
Choked moans and hitched breaths bubble out of your mouth uncontrollably. It’s like he’s just been waiting for you to come, because now he loses that edge of controlled restraint that he’d managed to maintain. His thrusting is sloppy, uneven – he’s unmistakably nearing his own finish.
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about, darlin’.” He snarls. “Look at you gushin’ all over my cock.”
You yelp as he buries himself deep inside of you one last time, a rumbling snarl tearing its way out of his throat. You can feel the ridge of his pubic bone against your ass, his muscular thighs bracketing your own. He is rooted to the hilt, burrowing as far as possible, and you choke at the sensation of impossible fullness.
Quaritch hisses like an animal when he comes, and you squeal at the feeling of his hot come splashing inside of you then overflowing. It’s so hot that it feels as though it’s burning, but Quaritch just keeps going, the squelching shamefully loud in the quiet of the room.
Soon you’re forced to reach back and slap at his hip, gasping for breath and whimpering under the onslaught of his spent cock rubbing so insistently at your hypersensitive sex.
“Enough, fuck! Enough!” You wheeze, your forehead dropping down against the floor in surrender.
There’s a pause, and then Quaritch stops moving, his slowly softening cock buried deep inside and staying there. The heavy weight of him feels good, and you go lax on the floor as his big hands hold you up so lazily. Your chest is still heaving as you try to regulate your breathing, and Quaritch makes a couple of condescending cooing sounds to keep you quiet as he rolls you over beneath him. 
“Ow, fuck.” You breathe when he pulls out of you, leaving you awfully empty and clenching around nothing as you feel the wet dribble of his come spill out of you.
He pauses, glances down at your cunt. You can imagine you look nothing short of ruined right now, but Quaritch seems to be immensely satisfied at whatever he sees. He chortles a soft laugh, and reaches down to stroke his fingers through the sticky mess he’s left between your legs.
Your head lolls on your shoulders as you swat at him, grumbling at the electric shiver that the oversensitivity sends through you. He just snickers at your weak attempt to smack his hands away, unphased, and closes his hands around your waist before bodily picking you up to hold you against his chest.
You groan, unhappy to be moved. “Jesus Christ, gimme a minute.”
He ignores you, snorting another quiet laugh before standing with you, unbothered by the way you hang limp in his arms as he carries you towards one of the desks. His breathing is slightly laboured, and he practically drops you on the surface of the desk as he reaches for the respirator that he seemed to have abandoned when he first came in. His determination to fuck you through atmosphere that he struggles to breathe in is admirable; the Na’vi may be able to breathe oxygenated air for up to an hour, but it can be a challenge and that’s without strenuous physical activity.
Still, you can’t help but snicker yourself.
“What's wrong, old man?” You crow at him, grinning as you lay splayed out and exhausted on the desk below him. “Out of breath?”
Quaritch takes deep breaths from the respirator, clearly trying to regulate his body again after so long without proper air, but he still manages to choke a faintly disbelieving laugh.
“You used to be so sweet.” He mutters, slapping lightly at your thigh. It’s not a harsh smack, just enough to have you jolting a little under him. “What the hell happened, huh?”
“You didn’t look twice at me when I was sweet.” You grumble, reaching down to push the skirt of your dress back down self-consciously. “So don’t go acting like you’re disappointed.”
Quaritch snorts. Respirator abandoned, he leans down and nips at your shoulder, grinning against your bared skin as you jerk and cry out ow, fuck.
“Mm, I like a bit of fire.” He mutters, allowing the respirator to hang down around his neck as he licks over the little bite mark he’s left. “But you’re wrong about me looking. I can’t say I didn’t like those little skirts.”
“Oh.” You breathe, starting to smile. “Okay.” A little flustered now, you start to push yourself up into a sitting position, embarrassed about your spread legs. “Um… where’s my underwear?”
Quaritch grunts as though he doesn’t care for the question in the least. “D’you need them?”
“Yes!”
That big, stupid smug grin again. You’d dearly love to smack it off his face, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still send butterflies fluttering in your stomach. He doesn’t make any effort to seek out your lost panties, but you can’t be too irritated with him when he keeps nipping so insistently at the base of your neck, leaving hot twinges of pain-pleasure in the wake of his mouth.
“Asshole.” You say, though without any heat. Your eyes slide closed, enjoying his rough tongue against your collarbones. “Hey. You never told me why you came looking for me, anyway. Was it just to laugh at me?”
Finally, Quaritch raises his head. This close, you allow your eyes to trace over his face; his features are so alien, big and bold and more expressive than he intends. His ears twitch, and you fight back a smile at the sight. Sweet.
“Brought you more of that damned plant water.” He grunts. “It’s on your desk.”
Your eyes widen, and you immediately try to sit up, pushing roughly at his chest. “What?”
Quaritch allows you to push him away, though it’s not without an irritated sort of groan. Still though, he doesn’t look annoyed as he steps back to allow you to scramble off the counter he’s had you propped up on. If anything, his swishing tail reveals his sense of satisfaction.
Your knees nearly buckle when you hop down on the floor, but Quaritch’s enormous hand wraps around your elbow and keeps you upright. You don’t pause to try and regain your balance – you’re too busy trying to stagger over to your own messy workspace, your eyes wide and fixated on the sight of a sample beaker perched atop your desk.
“No way. No fucking way-!” You crow, your face splitting into an irrepressible grin. “Holy fuck!”
If possible, this sample is even bigger than the one that Wainfleet and Fike had smashed all over your notes. You take it in with disbelief, your hands reaching for it eagerly.
“A sample this size will let me do all the tests I need for my dissertation and more,” You breathe, awed. “I can- oh, wow. I’m going to finish my whole thesis. I’m going to get my motherfucking PhD.”
Quaritch’s mouth quirks, clearly amused by your foul mouth. He leans back against one of the spare desks just so he can watch you fuss over the sample he’s brought. 
“Do I get something in return?” He asks, and you can feel his big golden eyes dropping down over the length of your legs. His gaze feels even more heated now, as though knowing exactly what’s under your dress has lit some sort of fire in him.
You snort, stepping over to the sample fridge with the beaker clasped very carefully in your hands. 
“You certainly do not.” You say archly, hoping to maintain an aura of aloofness as you tug the fridge door open and place your precious sample carefully inside. “As far as I’m concerned, this sample can be considered reparations. If you bring me a sample of panopyra sensory tissue, however… then we can talk about rewards.”
You half wonder if maybe that was too bold, but Quaritch’s next chuckle holds an edge of heated delight. It seems like he wasn’t lying about liking a little fire. You’re so distracted by the careful tucking away of your sample that you jolt when you feel huge blue hands coming to land at your waist, tightening over your hipbones.
When he leans in to murmur in your ear, you shudder helplessly at the rumble of his chest. 
“Sounds good to me, sweetheart,” He mumbles, a hand reaching to stroke boldly over the curve of your ass. “And maybe next time we can get going without you wearing this damn fridge as a hat.”
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gay-dorito-dust · 6 days
Note
Soft Dami is my favorite, especially when he has a partner or friemd and hides it from his family.
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This became a ‘Batfamily trying who Damian is hiding from them.’ Type fic.
Damian hates sharing. Absolutely loathes it.
He already bore a shared moniker with his older siblings who -for the most part- have moved on to bigger and better things, creating their own versions of justice as vigilantes, leading teams of their own.
He shared a lot with his siblings and has come to hate the phrase sharing is caring, to Damian it was nothing more then a phrase that was so overused and abused by the likes of Dick and Jason, so much so to the point that the word had lost it’s dictionary meaning.
So when he entered in a relationship with you, Damian vowed to keep your name out of his mouth within the presence of his family. Which at first was extremely hard as all poor Damian could think about was you and how blessed he was that you’ve given him a chance; He had to bite down on his tongue a most of the time whenever he was asked if there was anyone at school that he had taken a liking towards.
Of course he has someone he’s taken a likening to, you. However he couldn’t let himself falter so easily and only scoffed at the question as though it was beneath him, before then reminding everyone at the table that he was only at school for academics and honing his artist skills, nobody in that rathole of a school could ever hold his attention for longer then five minutes.
Luckily his family believed this excuse and let the dropped the topic not long after, much to his relief in knowing that he was spared another day from ever having to share the one person in his life -outside of his family- that he cared deeply for.
However luck tends to run out and the glaring fact that his family was sharp as knives- especially Tim- at detective stuff, so much so that in retrospect Damian knew he shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was the day his siblings eventually figured out everything…
‘He’s…smiling.’ Dick looked back at Jason, Tim, Duke and Steph before looking back at Damian who was subtly smiling down at his phone. ‘Oh my god he’s actually smiling.’ Dick repeats as Jason shoves him out of the way to get a better look.
‘He’s smiling alright, but what about.’ Jason said.
‘Or who.’ Steph piped up and the others looked at her.
‘Wanna elaborate on that Steph?’ Jason asked, raising his brow and she shrugged. ‘I’ve been noticing recently how Damian’s been more on his phone than he’s ever been since getting one.’ She begins. ‘He never engages in the group chat, not once but here he is, using his phone and smiling at whoever’s on the other side. Damian is actually talking to someone.’ She finishes, feeling happy at the fact that Damian had opened his heart to at least someone
‘Or he could be planning a murder.’ Tim said sarcastically and Steph playfully punches him in the arm. ‘But let’s go with the idea that he’s talking to someone for convenience sake.’ He adds on, rubbing his arm.
‘How do we prove it though?’ Duke pipes up, catching the other’s attention. ‘We’d have to somehow get Damian away from his phone long enough for us to check but the question is,’ Duke then looked at Jason, Steph, Tim and Dick, ‘who’s going to be the one to lure him out while the rest of us have a look?’
‘I think we should take a-‘ Dick was greeted with a face full everyone’s pointed fingers aimed in his direction like guns. ‘Vote.’ His face fell as his siblings gave him false sympathies before shoving him into the library with Damian and slamming the door behind him. Hard.
‘What do you want Grayson.’ Damian said, the smile upon his face now gone the moment he realised that he was no longer alone to freely text you, at least not without someone looking over his shoulder.
‘Oh hi Damian.’ Dick greets as he moves towards him, taking note of how he kept his phone close to his chest, almost as if he was hiding something he didn’t want anyone else to see. ‘I overheard Bruce this morning saying that he had something to talk to you about, something about implementing harder training modules for you?’ Damian practically perked up at this and Dick found his opening and honed in on it by shrugging his shoulders. ‘I’m not entirely certain that’s the case, so I’d double check with Bruce if I were you.’
Damian looked at his sibling for a long period of time and sighed. ‘Fine, I shall check in with father but Grayson I swear to god if this is a lie…’
Dick crossed his heart. ‘Scouts honour.’
‘Tt.’ Was all Damian uttered before leaving the room, not realising that he had left his phone on the plush couch in the library.
Bingo dick thought as Jason popped his head in through the doorway. ‘Is little Robin gone?’
‘Little Robin is gone.’ Dick confirmed and watched as Jason’s head disappeared as he, Steph, Tim and Duke came into the room, closing the door for extra measure in the instance Damian realised his fault and comes running back with his sword to skewer them all.
‘Now,’ Stephanie rubs her hands together maniacally, ‘let’s see who our Damian has been talking to.’ She then picks up the phone, expecting it to be locked but to her surprise, it wasn’t, she gasps.
‘What? What is it?’ Tim asked, trying to get a look at the phone screen.
‘He’s left his phone unlocked. Rookie mistake.’ She replied and Dick, Tim, Jason and Duke only stared at her, unamused.
‘Just…tell us who he’s been texting so we can put this to rest.’ Duke said as the others agreed, the anticipation was killing them at this point, but so would Damian if he comes back just when they were so close to discovering the truth.
‘Okay, okay sheesh, I’ll look.’ Steph said and looked away from her brothers and back down at the screen, looking intently before her face became one of confusion as he read the contact name aloud. ‘My treasure.’
Dick blinked. ‘What?’
‘Give it here.’ Jason snatched the phone from Stephanie and it wasn’t long for his face to be one of confusion as he looked towards his other siblings, holding up the phone. ‘The contact name is literally just my treasure. No photos of them, nothing.’ He tells them as Tim snatched the phone from him.
‘I could find us a name in under five minutes maximum but-‘
‘What’re you doing with my phone, Drake?’
Tim, Duke, Steph, Jason and Dick froze upon hearing Damian’s voice, followed by the unsheathing of a sword.
‘Should we run now or?’ Dick asked.
‘Running sounds good.’ Duke agreed.
‘Running sounds great.’ Steph joined in.
‘And it has beneficial effects on the body.’ Tim chimed.
‘Running it is by unanimous vote.’ Jason then said as all of them sprinted for their lives as Damian chased them out of the library, sword in hand, and eyes full of fury and other conflicting emotions.
He knew he made the right choice in changing your contact name on everything, but knew if they had been given just a bit more time and looked deep into his photo album, they would’ve saw a beautiful portrait of you that he drew a while back that would’ve gave everything away.
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halucynator · 7 months
Note
LUCY BESTIE I GOT A FIC IDEA THE READER ABSOLUTELY JAW DROPPED SHOCKED LIKE REALLY REALLY SHOCKED WHEN SHE SEES MATTHEO TAKE HIS SHIRT OFF AND SHES HIS ABS, ARM VIENS, HANDS- AND SHE FOLDS LIKE A TACO-
Red Wine
Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x fem!reader
Warnings: cursing, kissing lmk if there are anymore
Summary: where your best friend, Pansy, "accidentally" spills wine on Mattheo at a Slytherin Party and volunteers you to help him clean up.
Hope this is to your liking 💕
Reader is Slytherin x the divider is by @firefly-graphics xx check them out for more!! This is their post with the dividers x
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You entered the Great Hall and walked up to the Slytherin table. The table was filled with chatters about the Slytherin Party happening this very evening. Your head was kinda hurting so you decided not to go. Until...
"Y/n darling! You can't turn down an invitation to a party! Especially not a Slytherin one!" Pansy said appalled at your decision as you sat in your dorm.
"Pansy my head is throbbing." You replied trying to convince her.
"No way. You are going to that party. Mattheo will be there! And I know how much you like him." Pansy said far too loud.
"Louder Pansy. I don't think they heard you over at the boys dorms." You said irritated at the fact that she spilled your secret.
"Sorry." She muttered slightly taken aback. "Please come! I promise I'll make it worth you while."
"Ok fine. Wait what do you mean?" You asked.
"You'll see." She smirked to herself.
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You got into a green body fitting dress, exaggerating your curves. You had to admit you looked stunning. You paired it with black heels that Pansy let you borrow and silver snake earrings as well as a necklace. You had your hair in a bun with a few strands out at the front which you curled.
"Wow! Darling you look amazing!" Pansy said as she saw you all ready.
"Thanks!" You replied smiling at her.
As you and Pansy walked down the stairs, your friends stared at you in shock. One of them being Mattheo.
Pansy was daring so her response didn't shock you.
"I know we're hot but you might want to close your mouth before your jaw falls off." She said making you chuckle and lightly smack her arm.
"Pansy!" You exclaimed as you giggled.
"You look nice." Mattheo complemented you.
"just nice?" You joked.
"I mean, very nice. Like gorgeous i-" Mattheo said flustered.
"I'm joking. You don't look too bad yourself. Turns out you clean up way better than I expected.". You cut him off before he had a crisis. He softly smiled at you as you noticed he was... blushing?
You and your friends sat in the back corner of the room as you usually did. None of you were heavily into the dancing and the lights. You were just there for the alcohol.
You and Pansy went to grab drinks. Pansy got red wine which you found weird since she never was fond of it.
"I didn't know you liked red wine." You said.
"Does the job." She replied.
"Wh-" you began.
"Careful, your drinks gonna fall!" Pansy exclaimed as she saw you tilting your glass unconciously.
"Oh shit! Thanks." You replied.
You walked back to the table where your friends were sat. You saw Pansy pull a face as she gulped down the wine. You sat down next to Mattheo. As she went to take the seat next to you, she tripped due to the table leg and spilled her red wine all over Mattheo's white suit.
"Oh my god! I'm so sorry!" Pansy exclaimed.
Mattheo took a deep breath before responding.
"It's fine." He muttered. "Unfortunately all my white shirts have just been washed so I don't have any spare."
You stared at Pansy in disbelief refusing to believe it was an accident. You saw right through her little facade. Pansy gave you a look to say something, but in that moment you had no idea what to say.
"Y/n has some spare oversized shirts she could lend you?" Pansy suggested. "Don't you y/n?" She nudged.
"Uh... yeah yeah! I have some spare oversized shirts, if you can just follow me to my dorm." You said realising Pansy's endeavour.
"No it's fine I don't want to bother you." Mattheo replied.
"Don't worry about it!" You said. Mattheo gave in and followed you to your dorm.
You took a towel and wiped off the red wine before reaching in to your cupboard and grabbing the shirt.
As you turned around you saw Mattheo unbuttoning his shirt and your jaw dropped. You almost dropped the shirt in your hands on the floor.
His abs, his arms and his hands were perfect. He was perfect.
"I know I'm hot but you might want to close your mouth before your jaw falls off." Mattheo repeated Pansy's exact words, smirking as he did so.
"Sorry I- I should probably turn around." You said flustered.
"No, I don't mind. Unless you do, that is?" Mattheo questioned.
"Looking at those abs? Fuck no, I don't." You said half joking as you turned around still blushing. He chuckled.
When Mattheo was fully dressed you suggested that you both go down back to the party before anyone got suspicious.
"Will they be wrong?" He asked.
"What do you-" you started. Before you could finish your sentence his lips were on yours. The moment was surreal and you wished it would last forever.
Fucking Pansy and her red wine.
2K notes · View notes
alonetimelover · 8 months
Text
pairing: Harry Styles x booktuber!reader
summary: A new series on ynrecommends channel on YT called Celebrity Book Club grabbed Harry's attention. Now, they are simply joined at the hip. As friends. Right?
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yourinstagram
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liked by harryupdates, yourbestfriend and 17 291 others
yourinstagram hello! i started a new series on my YouTube channel - celebrity book club! my first victim was the one and only - Harry Styles. he has an... interesting library to recommend. click the link in bio if you want to watch me gush over harry, new bookshop I found and the best coffee ive ever made!! byeee, xx
also, you harries are too good with photoshop. i was sure he was reading book lovers...
view all 2 302 comments
yourbestfriend bestie gettin' famous!!!!
⤷ yourinstagram i knew it was a bad idea to listen to you...
⤷ yourbestfriend people need to know how great of a booktuber and reader you are
harryupdates that's a great video! i immediately subscribed to your channel!
⤷ yourinstagram thank you! I hope you'll find something for yourself there, xx
user22 came here from yt! fantastic video
user39 your editing skills are amazing!!
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harryupdates
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liked by hArrysbtch, yourinstagram and 34 402 others
harryupdates yn from ynrecommends on yt did a video where she read all the books that Harry has ever recommended. she is hilarious, very sweet, and absolutely clever. watch it when you have some spare time, you won't be disappointed!!
view all 5 201 comments
hArrysbtch ive been watching her videos for months!!! thank god she finally gets the spotlight she deserves
⤷ harrysmoustache does she (like most of the booktubers) sugar-coat everything or she's just blunt?
⤷ hArrysbtch oh she's super down to earth! she also does those instagram lives where she talks about the latest book(s) she's read. super funny and laid back
⤷ harrysmoustache oh, thank god! i was looking for someone like that! im diving into her channel right now!
yourinstagram thank you so much! thanks to you, you harries are flooding my socials!! (im not complaining) xx
⤷ harryupdates can't wait for another video!
harryshoee she's so beautiful, too! and loves cats!
harrysmylife "harry, if you ever watch it, let's pretend you guys, if you ever watch it, i recommend you diving into Toshikazu Kawaguchi" she has TASTE, let me tell you
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harrymylove
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liked by harryupdates, hArrysbtch and 22 301 others
harrymylove I'VE MET HARRY YESTERDAY!!!! look at him and my doggy Bart. i still can't process it...
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hArrysbtch how was it???
⤷ harrymylove it was so lovely! he was kind enough to take a photo and talk with me for a while!
⤷ hArrysbtch what did you talk about? pls spill the tea
⤷ harrymylove im an English major so i asked him about some book recommendations. he answered with "i didn't have much time to read anything new recently. but was recommended and just bought Toshikazu Kawaguchi's books, so maybe this author"
hArrysbtch Kawaguchi???? after yn recommend that to him in a video???? he watched her video??? yourinstagram
harrysmoustache I've just started reading 'before the coffee gets cold' and looooove it!!
harryupdates do we think he actually watched yn's video?
⤷ hArrysbtch i hope so!
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harryupdates
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liked by hArrysbtch, harrymylove and 45 302 others
harryupdates HARRY'S official YT channel left a comment on ynrecommends latest video!!
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hArrysbtch that bish said 'let me break the internet and use me fuckin phone'
hArrysbtch unbelievable...
harrymylove he watched the video that's why he recommended me Kawaguchi... im melting
harrysmoustache i hope that he loves it as much as i did!!!
harrysmylife 'love, h xx' let me go cry in the corner
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yourinstagram
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liked by yourbestfriend, harrystyles and 67 492 others
yourinstagram hopefully, this date will be successful
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yourbestfriend was it?
⤷ yourinstagram after a couple glasses of wine, we moved to the bedroom
⤷ yourbestfriend STOP
⤷ yourinstagram never praise a ford till you get over...
harrystyles Assuming it wasn't successful, do you have any dates free?
⤷ yourinstagram i'll need to check my calendar, although i only attend when coffee (or wine) and good books are provided
⤷ harrystyles Done.
⤷ yourinstagram i'll think about it 🫣
harryupdates oh those are so tricky!!!
hArrysbtch stop, i also had an awful blind date with a book...
⤷ yourinstagram that's the worst! i just need to read the synopsis and thena few pages to decide if I want to buy it
harrysmoustache why is nobody talking about harry being in the comment section??? ASKING HER OUT??? who is this man??? what's happening
⤷ user93 well, it's clearly not him typing or even controlling it! the managmet took it over long ago!
⤷ harrysmoustache and they say im delulu...
harrysmylife SHUT UP !!! avtivrry is my favourite harry, like??? what do you mean he can type the comment? the flirty one? the one asking a girl out? like???
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harrystyles via close friends IG stories
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harrystyles
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liked by yourinstagram, harryupdates and 4 292 294 others
harrystyles 11.08.2023 📚
view all 23 292 comments
yourinstagram you did not buy them just for yourself
⤷ harrystyles Wouldn't you like to know 😎
harryupdates Well-read king that we stan
hArrysbtch I'm connecting the dots here
harrysmylife welcome back 2013 Harry, how have you been?
harrysfan83 since that girls yt video, he became obsessed with books...
⤷ harrymylove it's called getting a crush on somebody
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hArrysbtch
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liked by harryupdates and 4 492 others
hArrysbtch sooo, this is a still from yn's latest video... that stack of books looks awfully familiar to the one that Harry posted a week or so ago... coincidence? i don't think so. plus!!!! she did say she didn't spend a penny on those books
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harrysmoustache if they are together, i feel like the fandom would love her
⤷ hArrysbtch i would hope so!
harrysmylife relationship, friendship or whatever -ship it is, im here for itttt
user94 y'all are really reaching now...
harryupdates it's the way she was glowing in that video for me! she looked so happy
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yourinstagram
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liked by hArrysbtch, harrystyles and 76 301 others
yourinstagram when they read your recommendations>>>
view all 8 492 comments
hArrysbtch now let him play patroclus in a movie, i dare you Hollywood
⤷ harrysmoustache who would you choose as Achilles??
⤷ hArrysbtch you know what? let him be Achilles and Timothee would be Patroclus
⤷ harrysmylife this adaptation with this casting would cure me, for real
harrysmoustache he's in his lover era
harrystyles I love reading your copies of books with all the 'cute' and 'slay' and 'I LOVE THEM'.
⤷ yourinstagram it's called active reading
⤷ harrystyles No, its not.
⤷ yourinstagram party pooper
yourbestfriend thanks for inviting me!!!
⤷ harrystyles Do yo want to join us?
⤷ yourbestfriend I knew I liked you for a good reason
harrysfan45 so she is the girl from those pap photos
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harryupdates
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liked by harrysmoustache, stylesbabie and 87 392 others
harryupdates HARRY taking photos of YN in Italy!!
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hArrysbtch melting
harrysmoustache what in the world...
stylesbabie i know exactly what that photo is focusing on
⤷ user42 what?
⤷ stylesbabie (•) (•)
⤷ harrysmoustache in the wise words of Steve Harrington: BOOBIES
harrysmylife so they are dating
⤷ user93 no one confirmed it
⤷ harryupdates good luck with waiting for Harry, confirming that he is/isn't in a relationship
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yourinstagram
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liked by harrystyles, yourbestfriend and 291 492 others
yourinstagram the promised vlog is up on my channel! grab some good drink and a snack for a quick talk about being single, vulnerability, loving your friends more than anything and - of course - some good books I've read in Italy!!!
view all 16 302 others
harrystyles I see the similarities between pictures 3 and 4
⤷ yourinstagram well, one is a cute little creature and the other is a sweet creature
⤷ harrystyles Good one.
hArrysbtch best vlog I've ever watched!!! Good job!
harrysmoustache being single??? what do you mean? i was rooting for you...
⤷ stylesbabie ...we were all rooting for you
harryupdates great recommendations as always!!! my tbr is growing with each of your video
celebrityupdates Single? Our sources are saying quite otherwise!
⤷ user56 spill the tea!!!!
⤷ celebrityupdates Link in bio to all the things you need to know about this romance!
⤷ harrysmylife it's like a man and a woman cannot be friends
⤷ hArrysbtch here we go again...
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a/n: do we want to see more of them?
1K notes · View notes
wandagcre · 7 months
Text
fall apart | sam carpenter 🔞
(Normal college gfs! Sam Carpenter x Fem reader)
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Living with Sam is thrilling. You wore her favorite boxers and accidentally ended up teasing her. Of course, she gets her way with you.
WARNING: dom!sam, sub!reader, thigh riding, praise, degradation, daddy kink (sam), subdrop (reader), mild corruption kink, possessive sam, aftercare +18 / men & minors dni.
Words: 2.7k | [ AO3 ]
This morning had been different, there was something in the fresh air – it's promising as you woke up on Sam’s strong arms, you were snug, and she’s already pressing kisses on your face – progressing from gentle to sloppy ones just to tease you until your eyes were fully opened. Sam loved mornings like this. More so that you have a couple minutes to spare before both of you prepare for classes. She felt giddy enough to insist on being in charge of making breakfast today. 
You sit up on your bed as soon as Sam dips out of it. Unbeknownst to you, Sam can't help but sigh and stare at you lovingly. From her view, you’ve got bed hair, a little cranky expression, and wearing her old sweater - every detail is so endearing to Sam’s sight.
"What’s up with you? Am I missing an important date?" You question, voice raspy and head tilted in confusion.
Sam has a winning smile and she laughs at you. She sees your face obviously racking your head over the milestones you have with her in a span of less than a year.
"Can’t a girl be this cheesy without a reason?" Sam retorts with a hand on her hip.
"I suppose you can be," she has proven to be unpredictable for a lot of moments already. You frown at her. "You didn't eat my leftovers in the fridge, didn't you?"
"Excuse me, I do have some self-control!”
"That’s very debatable. I’m begging you to not burn the kitchen, baby."
"You had me at begging." Sam had a glint in her eye and she stuck her tongue out playfully. She chuckled when you returned it just as childish. “Are we having breakfast in bed or at the counter?" She asks.
Sam was confused by the delay in your answer, she turned around only to see you with a spreading crimson on your cheeks. She clicked her tongue at you once she understood.
Of course, you only heard “breakfast” and “counter” and then saw Sam. 
It isn’t hard to recall your activities in those areas, especially if it was only made last night.
"Perv. I'm trying to be sweet and here you are... thinking of dirty this early? Come on. Have some decorum.”
Why did you have to say that? Now you’re temporarily revoked of goodies. “Ugh. Shut up, you’re one to talk.”
The crankiness starts to appear on the surface with you rolling your eyes. Sam ended up giggling a little because God, she adores you so much and everything you do.
“Maybe you’re the one with no self-control. Don’t give me that attitude, baby.” Sam gives you a pointed look and you yield immediately, nodding your head.
“I know. Sorry. Can I… get a proper kiss?” you sheepishly say.
Sam approaches you. She tucks her loose hair behind her ear and slithers her arms around your waist. She simply held you close, not kissing you just yet.
“Mm, dunno baby, aren’t you missing something?” she moves her face closer to yours.
“Please?” 
Sam finally leans in and brushes her soft lips against yours. It was slow and gentle, different from how intense she can be sometimes. Nevertheless, you loved her just the same.
You ended up eating her special pancakes and even if you giggled at the slightly burnt edges, Sam still showered you with kisses. Both of you proceed to have a PG-13 shower and you thoroughly enjoy it. Sam continued to take care of you and you loved the sight of her bending her knees so you can reach her hair better to wash it. So far, your morning is normal. 
Until you were changing with Sam who was going through her wardrobe. You look at her amused when you see her going through every single of clothes, and her movements between confused and frantic – like she was looking for a specific thing.
“Baby! Have you seen my– oh.”
She saw you in front of the mirror, nothing with your ordinary bra and the boxers that Sam cherishes oh so much. It’s her favourite. There’s nothing special about the details, simply in the color of blue, but it's one of her most comfortable undergarments that she owned for ages. She remembers having told you in passing that she'd like to see you in these inner clothes some time, just because.
So, yes, she's more than ecstatic to be graced with this view, paired with her girlfriend's body still drying up from your shower together earlier.
“Hm?” you hum non-committedly, putting on your shirt.
You appeared so casual while Sam was losing her mind and as though you weren’t responsible for igniting the fire in her loins. She ended up coughing to cover her flustered state.
Sam shook her head, “Nothing. You look good, boxer thief.”
“Thanks!” You grin innocently at her words. You twirl around, looking and feeling the material. “It is really comfy, just like you said.”
“That’s why it’s my favorite.” Sam says, her voice going an octave lower. You still did not notice, even with her blatant staring and you only naturally nod in agreement. 
She shook her head, bearing her thoughts and decided to wear a sweatshirt, pulling it above her head and then some shorts. It was fairly breezy and Sam was easily sensitive to the cold.
It’s safe to say that you were testing her self-control now. 
More so when Sam laid to the couch, opening her notes. She was about to recompose herself, calming her breathing pattern, and begin to study in peace. Maybe she’ll watch a show with you. However, she can’t help but continue ogling at your figure. She let her eyes follow each of your moves, watching you flit with ease at the kitchen, doing the dishes from earlier. Sam had long forgotten the notes in her lap as you presented her an insanely inviting appearance of your ass.
You just had to drop low, emphasizing the curves of your ass, and she saw the way your shirt rode up as you reached the cupboard. From the distance, you hear Sam exhale sharply and this makes you turn around as you dry your wet hands.
“You okay babe?” you look at your girlfriend with concern and Sam merely hummed in response.
She ran her fingers through her dark tresses before speaking. “Babe, what’re your plans for today?” 
A part of you worried that Sam probably wanted a distraction because she knows your schedule by heart. But it could’ve been nothing too, simply wanting you to reiterate your agenda and then squeeze some time with you.
“Um, I want to watch something with you before I read later. Continue that horror movie we’ve been binge-watching, maybe?” 
Sam bounces her legs rapidly, seemingly…impatient? A deep sigh comes out of her mouth.
“Come here – sit on my lap.” She tapped on her thigh, voice stern, leaving no further questions to be asked.
Shiver ran on your spine yet you do as told, straddling one of Sam’s thighs. You hold onto the top of the couch. It felt odd – the uneven pressure felt heavy on your part and it easily pressed against your cunt. It doesn’t help that Sam’s a gym rat – meaning her muscles were defined and stern and you feel most of it even with the fabric of her boxers. 
“Wanna know my plans for today?” You see your girlfriend give you a wolfish grin as she feels you pulse. 
“Yes,” you shortly answer. 
You expressed in passing on earlier times of your relationship that you worry you might be too heavy for Sam, when she first made you sit on her lap. It was in a wholesome context then, yet even now as turned on as you were, you still cannot help but think about how you might inconvenience her.
Sam senses your troubles. She trailed her hands to hike up underneath your shirt and holding you from your lower back, then to your hips – squeezing them. Your breath hitched at her ministrations.
“I plan on doing just you, princess.” She husked out, looking at you deliberately. “This is how I want things to go: I’m gonna need you to ride my thighs and cum while wearing my boxers. You look so good in it baby. I’m losing my mind here and you’re completely unaware of it.”
“O-okay,” you respond, dumbly agreeing with ease.
“But first, I’m going to strip you out of that shirt.”
Your girlfriend tugged at the hem of the material and was painfully slow with her pace. As the shirt revealed more of your skin, her eyes suit followed, you feel as if being eaten at the intensity of her gaze alone. You sharply inhale when you feel Sam’s touch moving to your ribs then up to your breasts, palming and squeezing them. 
She smiled at your reactions – loved how easy it was to pull it out of you. 
You feel Sam much closer as she wraps her arm around you, reaching for the clasp of your bra to remove it next, and her mouth pressing wet kisses all over your shoulder.
“Beautiful.” she whispered before sucking on the skin of your neck. You moan, already feeling the angry red and purple patches she’ll leave there. “I love how your tits bounce. Not gonna spare the chance of not seeing them as you ride me while wearing my favorite boxers, baby.”
You were so lost in anticipation that you grew quiet, and so ready for her to take. Sam was more than happy to see this. She slaps your thigh out of nowhere, startling you. 
“Do it.”
Nodding, you prepare and have your hands depend on the couch to support the rest of your weight. You were less conscious but blood still rushed on your cheeks, feeling embarrassed by your position. It was your first time doing something inappropriate like this and to see Sam looking at you intensely while not exerting any other effort, made you feel so heated.
You wet your lips and sucked your breath. You finally move your hips, rolling them, albeit tentatively – testing out the waters. 
You hear Sam grunting along with your attempt at grinding on her thigh.
“Ah, sorry Sammy, I- I’ve never done… this…” you breathe out, almost finding the rhythm. You feel the cotton material of the shorts being sucked in by your cunt, folding, and the friction felt so new to you.
With your words, Sam growled possessively, her hold by your lower back and hips tightened. 
“I sure hope not. This,” Sam husks, hands more harsh this time as she firmly placed both on your hips, guiding your rolling. “is for me only. Mine alone.”
You sighed in content, nodding stupidly at Sam’s words. The breeze on your dorm did not help as it added to the pebbling of your nipples besides being so turned on.
“Yes, yes!” 
Desperately, you roll your hips more, eyes screwed shut. The fabric was melting deliciously to your liking and the wetness gushed out of you. 
Sam had her full attention to you, cherishing the view unravelling in front of her. Even with eyes closed, you can feel how she’s burning a hole with her siren eyes, staring at you. The thought made you wet as you humped her, now soaking beyond the cotton material and Sam felt it seep on the exposed part of her thighs.
“Are you sure that you didn’t plan this? To whore yourself out to me?” Sam pries, grabbing a handful of your ass and lifting it in a different angle for you to grind better. 
“No- I didn’t, just want- to be comfy,” you stutter on your words and Sam only darkly chuckled at this.
She clenched the firm muscles on her thigh. “Of course, my little innocent angel could never think that way. Look at you, right now.”
You mewl at Sam’s words, your grip only worsened as much as Sam did on your skin, feeling her fingernails deepening too. You feel your folds secreting more slick and you’re absorbed with the odd friction as you hump faster, it’s like a drug you can’t get enough of, as the rubbing is hitting your sweet spots.
Sam bit your shoulder. The sting of her teeth was raw and fresh, making you let out a throaty moan.
She plays with your pebbled nipple, tugging them with force. You groan at the simultaneous feeling while riding her and Sam had to capture your mouth agape, kissing you to oblivion.
You were glistening, moaning, so fucking desperate and it's so beautiful.
"You’re so pretty this way. Head full of nothing, just relying on me alone.”
Your hips become somewhat aimless, completely reckless with your grinding. You just wanted to cum right now.
"Babe. 'm not gonna last- if you- you keep on..."
“Keep on what? You’re the one humping so desperately at my thighs like a bitch in heat. Are you enjoying this?”
When you gave no answer and continued riding Sam’s clenched thighs, arched back, she squeezed your cheeks together.
“Answer me.” she demands with a deep voice. 
“Yes I- I love this,” you struggle to answer.
“Yes what?”
The coil on your lower stomach increased tenfold. You knew what Sam was referring to. Your clit throbbed harder. You bit your lower lip, riding her on a faster pace this time.
“Yes, Daddy.”
Sam grinned at your answer. 
“Good girl. I thought you fucked yourself too dumb already.”
It made your pussy pulse stronger and contracted rapidly and crazy against the fabric and Sam’s thighs. She sees how ruined her boxers were now, thoroughly dark and wet, marked with the damp that was caused by your arousal. The slick had spread to your inner thighs and all over Sam.  
The fact that you looked like this, made Sam so proud of herself. She has rightfully claimed you, in ways that only she could do so. She successfully had her do it in her way, too. The touch of possessiveness in the action that made Sam feel giddy on the inside. 
“God- oh my god, Daddy, I think I- I’m cumming, I’m cumming!” you moaned, gasping for air, having no shame now in how loud you could’ve been.
Your thrusts were rapid and stronger, tits wildly bouncing as you rode Sam.
She moans, white hot breath tickling against your bare skin. You felt her rubbing your lower back to comfort you.
“Let go baby. I got you – cum for Daddy.”
You felt the stimulation becoming unbearable yet so good for you. The friction did its thing as you continued to ride Sam’s continuous clenching, as your cunt did and dripped. You feel your orgasm washing over you in relief, coming out of your soaked cunt. It was like a puddle of your mess, but you can’t bring yourself to worry about it right now. You tremble at the new sensation right after you fell apart on Sam, a few tears escaping your eyes.
Sam had you in her grasp, holding you dearly.
“I got you. It’s okay, it’s okay.”
Her arm slithered to keep holding you firm to her grasp, while the other hand was tracing patterns and rubbing you in comfort. Sam’s chin was tucked on the crook of your neck. It was enough to ease you.
Finally, you move slowly to look at your girlfriend and meet her mesmerising eyes – partly heavy lidded – but what strikes you is the way her eyes crinkled by the corners. You can't help but return it warmly. 
“You did so good for me, princess.” Sam whispered as she stared at you. Her hands cupped your face and had her thumb running to the apple of your cheeks to soothe you.
You resume to your position earlier, moving closer to Sam’s embrace, letting out a gasp as your sensitive core accidentally grinded again as you moved. Sam hushed you, murmuring careful - it’s alright. You wanted to be gently rocked in a hugging position for a few minutes to which your girlfriend sighs contentedly in.
“I hope you do know that I won’t be able to get back on studying for today.” you quip at Sam and you feel her laugh vibrate against you.
“Not my fault you had to look so scrumptious in my boxers, baby.”
 
You shake your head when you feel her exhale heavily again, with her strong hands wandering back to your ass. She gives it another squeeze, although it wasn’t as harsh as she previously did.
“You are such a bad influence to me.”
“You love me. Whatever.”
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do not repost/translate on other sites. © wandagcre
1K notes · View notes
ohimsummer · 16 days
Text
TROUBLEMAKER ft. CAT! STSG AU
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— cat! au (gojo + geto), afab! reader, shoko cameo, stsg cat shenanigans, crack, some explicit language, gojo is the most annoying and insufferable he’s ever been ever (/affectionate)
⭑ ࣪ ˖ sum’z notes.ᐟ part 1! finally got around 2 finishing this :3 idk about satoru yet but suguru is a fluffy oriental shorthair in my head. no I will not debate this ♡
wc 4.2k
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“They’re…cats…?”
There’s an incessant sound of scribbling on Shoko’s clipboard. Her voice is almost drowned out by a white feline’s cries for your attention. “Yup.”
The other cat, the black one—Suguru, apparently—lies content in your arms, purring into your chest as you thread through long, sleek fur. A voice nags at the back of your mind that petting him is a little peculiar, but his hair is like silk. You can’t help it.
Satoru, ever the asshole, batted away all your efforts to pet him, and is now left in his regret to wander circles around your ankles. Angry, dilated pupils never leave Geto—who remains blissfully indifferent—as Gojo paws at your feet to be rewarded even a glance.
“It’s the side effect of a cursed spirit. I’m assuming it went ‘whoosh’ and they went ‘psshhh’.” Shoko makes a shrinking motion with her hands. “And now they’re cats.”
A frown weighs down your lips at her lackluster explanation. “I don’t think I understand—”
“Anyway, it should wear off in a couple days.” Her pen swivels in your direction, eyes steady trained on her paperwork. “You gonna need my help buying supplies?”
“Huh—!” The words choke up in your throat. “Why are they coming with me?”
Shoko finally spares you a glance, an audacious look as if you asked something idiotic. “Oh, please, you really think they’d be happier staying with me? Besides, I don’t wanna do it. Duh.”
There’s also the unspoken assumption that she wants the apartment to herself for a couple days. Or to have Utahime over in peace but, ultimately, you’ll be stuck catering to this feline duo.
“God, I—, fine.”
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The journey back to your place is going smoothly, save for when Gojo conveniently decides to figure-8 between your steps. Or stop in front of every sweets shop to blink his giant, round cat eyes at you over his miniature sunglasses.
“He’s so cute!,” a passing older lady stops to fawn over him. “Look at him and his little glasses, how adorable!”
And you just offer up a grin, afraid to dip a toe into this awkward small talk as if Gojo has always been this talkative, adorable kitty—knowing just yesterday he had you in a headlock over not sharing your own dessert with him. You also don’t want to be susceptible to any related teasing whenever they turn back, brushing off her comments with forced laughter as you continue onwards.
Gojo lags behind, responding to the woman with some proud cat noises before running ahead to reach your side again. Unfortunately, right on his heels is this persistent older lady.
You can hear her firing off a barrage of questions and statements: “What’s his name? Is he a Persian? I have a little gal at home that looks just like him!”
It’s a struggle not to roll your eyes. Sure, her chatter is innocent, but you don’t want to be bothered. Besides, these are not some childhood pets accompanying you on an errand—they’re two, 6-foot-tall boys in feline bodies, primed to snag onto any questionable comment you make as ammo to bully you in the future.
“His name is Gojo. Not sure of his breed. I just got him.”
Uninterested tone, closed-off body language, pace picking up—none of it seems to be enough to deter her.
“He looks so nurtured!”
Said he looks cranky and tired, legs a blur as Gojo runs to keep your pace. He growls out obvious complaints, nipping and clawing at your ankles to slow you down.
“You must be such a wonderful cat momma to him! I bet he’d make some pretty babies—“
Suguru makes a stuttered, breathy noise in your ear, an amused chuff that must be his cat version of laughter.
An incoming crosswalk threatens to leave you at the mercy of her conversation. Your eyes are trained on the mocking, red hand, the one thing that prevents you from booking it to the other side of the street.
You’re forced to slow down as you draw nearer to the heap of people awaiting the signal change.
Her “Could I get a picture of him?” sends a shudder down your spine. Perhaps jaywalking would grant you a ticket out of this.
The crossing icon switches right before you’re forced to a complete stop, and a sigh of relief escapes as you maneuver through a a confused crowd. Mutters of apology are left in your trail of dust, along with the ear-catching clamors of a white kitty.
You only peep behind you for a brief second, Suguru’s ticklish fur floating around in your nose, and you spot the lady getting swept away by the wave of ongoers. Her voice is lost beneath the sea, a camera-yielding hand flailing above unbothered heads.
Geto flicks a bushy, dark tail over your face, thoroughly getting hair on your tongue this time around. You’re about to turn and scold him before skidding to a halt right before colliding with a large, metal pole.
His white-furred partner is not so lucky, though he only makes an abrupt faceplant into the back of your lower calves. Gojo plops back on his rear, giving a low meow as he uses a paw to straighten his crooked sunglasses.
“Thanks, Suguru” you mutter, and he flicks an ear in response, continuing to guard his spot on your shoulder for the remainder of the journey. Geto is mostly silent, save for the occasional silky mew to either grab your attention or get his explorative friend in line.
Upon entrance to your apartment building, Satoru only seems to grow more unruly. He leaps onto the front desk, spitting sharp grievances as you gather him up and layer apologies to the worker behind the counter. Suguru makes sure to land a few light warning taps on his head, almost slipping off your shoulder when Gojo retaliates with his own irated slaps. The scene of you tottering into the elevator while also breaking up a literal cat fight makes for quite the show for the few people in the lobby.
“Looks like you’ve got your hands pretty full, eh?,” a man chuckles, arm held over the elevator doors so you may stumble inside.
“I don’t—stop it, you two—know what I’m gonna do with them,” you sigh, and he replies with a sympathetic head shake.
The doors ease shut, and then what should have been a short trip to your room is prolonged when Gojo decides he wants to swat at the buttons. Now, on top of stopping at floors where there are actual people waiting, you’re stuck visiting six others that he and his mischievous paws have so chosen. And also forced into more awkward interactions of people complimenting your wonderful animal caretaking skills.
“The black one is so well-behaved.,” a young brunette fawns. She raises a hand to scratch under Suguru’s chin, face falling in embarrassment when he pulls away from her. “O-oh, I’m sorry.”
You can’t tell if she’s apologizing to you or him.
A short cough disguises your giggle, and you inform her, “Ah, it’s fine, he’s just weary of other people.”
She seems reassured at your words, glancing at a wriggling Satoru in your grasp. “He doesn’t look too interested in being pet, either, haha.”
Gojo weighs heavy in your arms, and you readjust to get a better grip on him, ignoring his meows of complaint. “Yeah, he’s kind of an asshole—“mrrow!”—and he might scratch, so I’d advise against it.”
A shy grin spreads on her lips, and then the girl is exiting the lift, waving goodbye to you and the two kitties.
Upon reaching your own floor, Gojo zooms out into the hallway, vocalizations echoing in the empty corridor. Geto remains carefully seated on your shoulder, leaning onto your head and surely leaving strands of cat fur in your own hair. The white cat speeds ahead until he arrives at your door, and then immediately begins another cacophony of loud meows, seemingly in an effort to rush you.
“Satoru, be quiet!”, you whisper-shout at him from down the hall. The words are barely audible in your own ears over the sound of his impatient yells.
They only die down once your keys enter the lock, and Gojo slithers inside the second the door is cracked, Geto not far behind as he leaps from his anchor point. You roll the joint in a circle—he’s so cute as a little parrot on your shoulder, but the lack of weight is a welcome relief.
“Jeez, Suguru, you’re kinda heavy.” The obvious offense in his low ‘mrow?’ makes you giggle. “I’m gonna get changed and then I’ll make dinner after. Be right back!”
There’s a pitter patter of steps, and Gojo is sidling up next to you for your upstairs trip. He pounces onto the bed, watching as you grab a shirt (his) off a chair at your desk, and a pair of leggings from the closet. Geto resides at the top of the stairs to supervise, ready to intervene should his idiot other half start causing more trouble.
With the clothes in your hands, your next stop is the bathroom, though you halt in the vacant doorway with Gojo right on your heels.
“Ummmm…,” you scoff a laugh as blue eyes blink up at you. “Satoru, you’re not watching me change.”
He replies a conjoined, high-pitched ‘mrow-row?’, not making an effort to move. Geto strolls over and bats at his fluffy, white rear, an unamused look in his violet eyes. While Gojo turns to defend his haunches, you giggle a ‘Thanks, Suguru!’ for the second time and disappear into the bathroom, promptly ignoring the dull smack of a paw and a loud hiss as your hip bumps the door shut.
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A white head snaps in your direction upon your reappearance. Gojo trots forward to greet you, bushy tail straight up in a friendly gesture. His calmer counterpart is nowhere to be found when a flash of black catches your attention, and you spot Geto balanced on the railing of your bedroom.
“Keepin’ an eye on Satoru?” You realize you’re talking to him in somewhat of a babified pet voice, but he doesn’t seem to mind, only purring happily as you scratch a finger under his chin.
Someone doesn’t like that, and your hand rapidly recoils as an angry Gojo steadies on his hind legs, shouting angry yowls and hisses and furiously slamming a paw at any part of Geto he can reach, sending the black cat plummeting off the railing and you hear him land on the level below with a loud thud.
“Satoru Gojo!” Named cat looks back at you like he didn’t just essentially push Suguru to his doom. “You’re gonna behave in my house, sir, or I’m sending you back to Shoko!” He opens his mouth to complain, but you cut off Gojo’s meow with another scolding. “Nah ah, I don’t want to hear it! Don’t start trouble or it’s to the shelter, ya hear?”
His ears flatten back, expression akin to what you can only describe as intense worry, and Gojo grants you a final, pleading meow as he stands again, front paws against your leg. You reach down to pet behind his little ears, and he leans a fuzzy head into your palm, tail swishing as the rumbling in his throat grows louder.
“You’re such a baby.”, comes your gentle coo as Satoru’s lids ease shut. “Could’ve asked for pets way better than that.”
You only reward his bad behavior for a moment. The caress of your hand stops far too soon for Gojo’s liking, and he’s right behind to follow you back down to the first floor. Geto meets you halfway, looking behind you and leaving you to continue on interrupted. There’s the sharp sound of a ‘smack!’ and a pair of tiny, blue sunglasses tumble past to land at the bottom of the stairs.
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“Ah, ah! Satoru, get down!”
The guilty feline goes skedaddling off the countertops, casting Geto an envious glare as he scampers to sit right at the threshold where your kitchen meets the living room.
Your eyes narrow at him, suspicious and distrustful, before returning to your cooking under Geto’s careful examination from the marble surface. His tiny nose livens up at the savory smells wafting around the kitchen, pink tongue darting over a furry mouth as he curiously eyes the fried rice in the pan.
The delicious scent of cooked meat creeps up his nostrils, and Geto turns to eye his slice of the chicken breast you’ve so graciously blessed him with. It’s only partially nibbled on so a third of it still remains, but if Satoru had his way, both he and Suguru’s servings of the meat would have long since been given a home on his endless stomach. It’s why your gaze keeps traveling around the room. You’re keeping tabs on Gojo and his greedy whereabouts.
Speak of the devil—barely two minutes later and the snowy thief is back. His shrill meows pierce your eardrums, restless paws tracing steps between your feet, scurrying behind your couch when he almost trips you only to eventually return when your scowl has disappeared.
The air of your apartment feels happy, jubilant. It’s so serene considering these two are in the same room together. Just the sizzle of food, the background noise of the television, and Gojo’s constant yowling for any smidge of your attention—though it feels domestic in a way if you don’t think too hard on the fact that it’s Satoru. Maybe there’s also the quiet sounds of chewing whenever Geto decides he wants another bite of his chicken.
The hassle comes whenever you turn your head and Gojo makes his move, leaping onto the counter to cause havoc. His troublemaking comes in a plethora of ways, but his favorites seem to be taking a bite out of Suguru or attempting to steal whatever leftover scraps are in his sight. His sneaky plans are foiled by the black cat either wrestling him back onto the floor or meowing an alarm so that the Gods (you) may banish Satoru from the kitchen once again.
Matters are only made worse when you offer Suguru a piece of egg from your now-finished dinner, and the exiled, white cat screeches in a show of utter betrayal.
“Oh my god, Satoru.” You pluck another chunk of poultry from the skillet, kneeling to present it in your palm. “Here.”
Suguru’s eyes narrow at his dramatic feline partner, ears twisted back and dropped to flatten against his head as the tip of his black tail flicks back and forth.
Gojo pads over. His pink nose looks adorable, scrunched up as he sniffs your hand for a second or two before licking his lips, and then he snatches the cooked egg from your hand and scurries off. There’s a large sigh behind you; Geto gives you a half-lidded eye-roll from his new spot at the edge of the counter, before voicing a short ‘mroh’.
You grin at him. “He’s such a goofball, isn’t he?” ‘Mrow-ow’.
With your meal finally ready and a grumbling stomach, you curl up on the couch, bowl of oyakodon in hand. The movie playing on the tv is boring, and also halfway done so it doesn’t hold an ounce of your interest. Even so, you try not to notice the pair of blue eyes peeking at you over the coffee table.
Ignoring Satoru and his hungry gaze makes for a far more entertaining game. The tip of his bushy, white tail is visible from where you sit, swaying side to side as Gojo eyes your bowl of food.
“You’re not getting any, Satoru, you’ve already eaten most of the kitchen, today.”
‘MrraAAH!’ He lets loose a dramatic scream, squinting sky blues at you.
Gojo’s so focused on vacuuming up any possible crumbs that he doesn’t notice the black shadow creeping up behind him. It’s not until Suguru paws at his snowy-colored fur that his cerulean eyes turn towards him. They hold each other’s gaze before Geto ducks out of your sight, and soon Gojo with him. There’s a sound of scuffling, someone’s frantic meows, and then the white kitty skids into view with Geto pinning him down, both wrestling as he tries to sink teeth into Satoru’s back.
You take another nonchalant bite of food. “Get his ass, Suguru.”
Gojo’s continual wriggling finally grants him freedom from the black feline’s clutches. You watch in amusement as he flees the scene, Geto hot on his tail. Satoru goes careening around the corner of the coffee table, nails scraping your hardwood floors so he’s stuck gliding like a cartoon character before disappearing from view; Suguru takes a more parkour-ish approach, rebounding off the wall and he goes flying into his target if the following ‘thud’ and ‘MRAH!’ is of any indication.
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A late-evening shopping trip wasn’t on the schedule for today, but there was an unfortunate flaw in today’s system: the call of nature for your two new kitties.
Your original plan was to get everything tomorrow. Cat food and bedding could be improvised for tonight, and Satoru was enough entertainment for he and Suguru together. One thing had slipped your mind until you found the two causing a racket atop your closed toilet—a litter box.
One quick trip later, and now you’re back home arranging their little tray, pouring the grey pebbles inside and hiding it on a mat in the corner of your living room where they could have more privacy.
“There ya go!” Your hands fall to your hips, looking proudly over your work. The two large cats stand on either side of you, glancing between you, each other, and their new bathroom. “Go on, now, don’t be shy.”
Satoru grants you an offended glare over his shades, while Suguru turns and walks away entirely, the tip of his tail flicking in annoyance.
“Hey, I went through the trouble to go out and get this thing for you two and this is how you repay me?” Satoru nips at your leg in response. “Ow! Stop that! Fine, hold it then, but you two better not do your business on my floors.”
Though they seemed adamant about not going in the litter box, you can see the idea nudging it’s way into their little heads as the urge to go grows stronger with time. You catch them sneaking glances at their designated corner, easing closer and closer to the box. Suguru sniffs at the entrance before leaving it again. Satoru apparently thinks keeping his back to it will make his need to use it go away.
“Mrooww!”, Geto voices to you, clawing at your front door.
You sigh at him. “Suguru, just use the litterbox.”
He produces a sound between a meow and a low growl, still showcasing his irritation with flat ears and a swaying tail.
“Is it too little? You two want something bigger? Or two separate litter boxes? Either way, it’ll have to wait until tomorrow because it’s late out and I’m not walking you all the way to the park for this.”
“Mroh..?”
Arms fold beneath your chest. “And you’re not going by yourself, either.”
Gojo circles your legs, letting out a low chuff. No doubt this is amusing to him. His pouty friend sighs and struts away like a stubborn child, hissing as Satoru bats at his lowered tail and leaving to hide somewhere in your room.
You move on with your nightly duties—tidying up your kitchen, putting away leftovers, keeping an eye out for the shenanigans of a white-haired feline. Maybe twenty minutes have passed, and you suddenly hear the scritch-scratch of litter being tossed around.
From the corner of your eye, you see a bundle of black whisps protruding from the entrance of the box. It’s not any of your business until you have to clean the thing out. For now, you’re just content he’s using it and not tampering with the health of his liver.
Then, through your peripherals, Gojo pops up next to the box, sitting just outside of it. He peeks inside, meowing, and jolts back as a black paw reaches out to slap him away. There’s an exchange of curious cat noises and irate yowls, before a screech echos from the litter box and you rush over to break up their impending battle.
“Satoru—,” you snatch him away, spitting out clouds of his shedding, white hair,”—give him some privacy, damn.”
You heave Gojo and his massive self up your stairs throughout another set of his meowed complaints, watch as he cranes his head at the sound of more scratching litter.
“Why are you being a pervert trying to watch him pee?”, comes your exasperated question.
He wriggles expertly in your arms, instantly escaping your grasp around his upper body and goes fleeing downstairs no doubt to harass Geto again.
It’s the end of the day. You’re over it for tonight. “GET UP HERE.”
His swift steps and the scraping of litter both halt at the tone and base of your voice.
Satoru turns his shiny, blue eyes to you, head slightly lowered in shame like a child who knows they’ve angered their mom. He turns-tail, creeping back up the stairs with cautious steps. Once he reaches your side, blacks of his eyes wide and round, he gives you a squeaked ‘mrow…?’.
Geto peeks around the corner to peer up the steps at the sudden commotion, retreating when he sees your crossed arms and the fed-up taps of your foot.
“Up the stairs. Now.” Gojo skitters past you without a second thought. “You two, Suguru, let’s go. It’s bedtime.”
A short pause, and then he comes trotting up to the second floor, tail raised straight up and he gives a flurry of bright meows as he obeys your command.
They’re both on the bed by the time you travel the remaining few steps to your bedroom. Both sit side-by-side, obedient and still and awaiting your next move.
“I’m gonna finish my routine. Don’t you two start any trouble while I’m busy, ya hear?”
A harmonized ‘mrrow!’.
“Good boys.” You clap your hands together with a grin. “Now get ready for bed.”
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“Satoru, you can’t sleep there.”
While Geto has, of course, chosen a more ideal, comfier spot for bedtime near the edge of your bed, his counterpart takes a more…spacious approach. They’re both rather large cats, so him laying sprawled out on his back, smack-dab in the center in a spread-eagle is not the most suitable place for Gojo to slumber.
Your words elicit no reaction from him—not besides the flick of his ear, anyway. Geto’s tail swishes from side to side, a tell that he’s about to bop Gojo with a harsh paw to the face and a hiss. And he does just that, but it seems Gojo has caught on as he grabs hold of the furry black arm with his paws. You watch the duo wrestle as he tries to sink fangs into Geto’s shoulder. They’re like toddlers fighting over a toy, and the scene just elicits a shake of your head in defeated amusement at their childish antics.
He’s got Gojo pinned to the bed, the latter bunny-kicking his hind legs in futile efforts to shove Geto off him, before they both go tumbling onto the floor, breaking up their little quarrel. The two scurry off in opposite directions, Geto under the bed and Gojo into the open door of your bathroom. Two loud thumps. Your butt hasn’t even hit the mattress before the sound of things falling catch your ears.
“Satoru…?,” you call out, disappointment evident in your tone. A second passes before his purred 'mrrr?' and you feel Geto’s whiskers brush your bare ankles as he peeks from his hiding spot. “Did you break something in there?” More silence, and then the smallest, cutest squeak followed by a blue eye that peeks around the corner.
Walking into the bathroom, you’re not met with completely heinous results. He must’ve ricocheted off the walls to make such a mess in such few seconds. Your toothpaste and a few makeup products are spilled onto the floor, and Satoru approaches with your toothbrush carried in his teeth. Hands on your hips and a brow quirked, you just take it and make a mental note to get a new one in the morning.
“Alright.” The sound of your double claps echo off the tile. “Out. Both of you.” And off they go.
It takes a few extra minutes to clean up Gojo’s small mess, and bedtime this time around is easier when a large white cat isn’t trying to take up majority of the bed. You settle beneath the sheets, Suguru curling up on the other, unoccupied pillow this time, and Satoru so graciously plops down to lay on the curve of your back.
“Comfy now?,” you crane your neck to address the cat whose head rests at the incline of your ass. He murmurs a low meow in return, and you turn to Suguru, who’s eyes are the only thing you can see in the darkness. “And you?” The subtle sound of purring emits from his throat.
“Okay. G’night, you two.” And you are lulled off to sleep with their low, harmonious rumbling.
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tagz: @anthoosies @staryukis @elusivemoon @yunymphs @hellkaiserinphoenix @plutowrites @babytoshiii
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rineptune · 27 days
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Heeeeeyyyy pal
Can we get a continuation of that fic with the pregnant reader who's Lucifer's sister
Like what if her water broke at like, the *least* convenient time and Lucifer is freaking tf out, Alastors chill as usual and readers just like
:) "I'm just glad to be here" while having contractions
Love your work btw 🤗
inconvenient timing.
summary: inconvenient timing for your water to break, but what else could you do?
warnings: foul language, brief description of the horrors of pregnancy and labor
a/n: here it is n tysm!! the second part to devil’s paradise
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during your pregnancy, all is well. 
regular visits from the doctor became part of the routine, and alastor made the effort to be the one accompanying you to every last one of them, and on the rare occasion that he couldn’t accompany you, charlie—your ever optimistic and kind niece—was the one who came with.
the crew of the hotel treated you as if you were made of glass, not wanting you to lift too much on your plate, so they did their best to cater to your every need and demand (not that you needed much and bothered them often).
you took care of yourself, too.
though your belly had gotten swollen, you were feeling fine, as if you weren’t carrying the unborn child of the feared radio demon in pride ring. you thanked whoever it is you could thank that you didn’t experience morning sickness, however, you were no exemption from the fatigue and discomfort that came with being pregnant.
lucifer’s worry for your well-being throughout all of this still hasn’t completely faded away. you were his only sister! and his brothers in heaven would surely have his head if something did happen to you now that you’ve fallen from the skies and are now under his domain.
everything was going well, until it wasn’t.
you went with charlie during another meeting with heaven’s official court in place of your brother. obviously, all eyes wandered to your stomach because, how could they not?
a former angel pregnant? that stirred whispers and disgusted expressions from those who were from the court.
“as you can see, the population in hell is—“
charlie was cut off when the angels gasped in unison. confused, she turned to you, and her eyes widened when she saw the bottom half of your dress soaked. 
“oh my go—! aunt yn, your water broke.” she says in a panic.
“i see that, my dear,” you answer with an awkward cough. 
“it seems that i’ll be taking my leave early, uhm... excuse me.”
“wait! uhm, i’ll take you back!” she tells you. “we’ll be back another time, sorry! this is very important for us.” charlie tells the angels present at the court meeting.
alastor swore you were about to snap his hand into two.
“darling, are you nervous?” he asks smoothly.
“no? why would you ask that, al?”
“hmm.”
he glances at the hand that gripped his, remarkably so tight that he feels all the blood from that particular area stop flowing. your free hand caressed your belly through the hospital gown, taking slow and even breaths to somewhat soothe the contractions.
“i was only wondering,” alastor answers.
you may have a high pain tolerance, but when you’re having contractions, you might as well swear on every god and angel to spare you from the agonizing pain—promising to never think of having any children in the future again. 
because, god, it hurts like a bitch.
as calm as you were, lucifer, on the other hand, had no calm bone in his body.
“oh, god. gabriel’s calling,” lucifer says, looking as though he’s about to throw up.
“and the nursery still has renovations that need to be done—“
“i’m going to be an uncle, holy shit—“
“what if something goes wrong? what? no! i shouldn’t think that—“
“should i prepare the gifts—“
“where are the doctors and nurses? they should’ve been here by now—“
“i knew we shouldn’t have taken you to sloth ring, yn—“
“lucifer,” you breathed out. “calm down.”
“i am calm! fucking calm,” he said, wiping away the sweat on his brow. 
“you sound like a dying goat, my lord,” alastor smiled.
“fuck you, deerface.”
“ok, ok. no one should be fighting,” you amusedly sigh, groaning when you feel another sharp contraction that had you biting your lip.
this got the attention of the other two, and lucifer asked you if you were okay as alastor placed a comforting hand on your belly.
well, at least they got along when need be.
“look, she has your eyes and smile, al.”
after long, painful hours of labor and practically dying on your hospital bed due to the procedure of bringing a new life into this hellish world, a healthy baby girl was born.
she took on alastor’s ears, eyes, and smile, while she had your wings and charm. the little fawn was sound asleep in your arms after almost tragically biting off a nurse’s finger when he was checking for anything wrong with your baby—to alastor’s dismay, he wished his little girl had succeeded. 
nevertheless, she is perfect in his eyes already.
“our little fawn is certainly perfect, my dear,” he says. “she has your charm, too.”
“that she does.”
and you best believe charlie and lucifer cried when charlie finally held her baby cousin.
“charlie, dear, are you ok?” you ask, a bit concerned.
“allergies, auntie. allergies,” she sniffled.
nothing would ever happen to her, because anyone who dares even look at the niece of the morningstar fallen angel who was also the daughter of the infamous radio demon, would receive hell served on a golden platter without any remorse or time for rebuttal.
“it may have been inconvenient timing to have my contractions,” you murmur to alastor once you two are finally home and alone with your baby. “but i wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“i’m glad that you’re ok, darling.”
“mm, thank you, alastor.”
“you shouldn’t thank me for worrying about you. it’s only natural for me to do so, no?” he says.
“now, i have to take care of two, but i wouldn’t have it any other way either.”
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