#because i do think it's part of the master plan | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wonwunss · 15 days ago

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–ᝰ.ᐟ✮ When Jeonghan panics and lies to his family about being in a long-term relationship, he only knows one person reckless enough to go along with it: you, his grumpy new neighbor who barely tolerates him. Now, you’re stuck on a weekend family trip, pretending to be the doting girlfriend of a man who once labeled his oat milk with a death threat.

The problem? You’re too good at pretending.

From shared rooms to fake backstories, suspicious siblings and lingering touches, the line between fake and real starts to blur… and neither of you are ready for what that means.

pairing: jeonghan x f!reader

genre: fake dating, enemies to lovers (but like.. flirty enemies), forced proximity, one bed, mutual pining (slow burn edition), romance, domestic fluff in disguise, idiots in love—literally

word count: 2.1k

a/n: my other jeonghan fic did so well, my shayla 😪😭so here’s another teasing jeonghan (maybe teasing jeonghan is up you guys alley🤪😛) anywaysss leaving it with a cliffhanger ending whilst i know what happens next 😈😈

“You’re kidding,” you said flatly.

Across the passenger seat of the very full, very overpacked family van, Yoon Jeonghan had the audacity to grin like this was all part of some grand master plan.

“Look, I didn’t think they’d actually ask to meet you, okay? It was just—my mom was getting nosy, and I panicked.”

“So your first instinct was to lie about having a girlfriend?”

“Not a lie,” he said, far too casual. “A preemptive relationship announcement.”

You scoffed. “With who?”

“Well, you live across the hall, and we already bicker like a married couple.”

“Because you steal my laundry slots and label your milk passive-aggressively!”

“And yet,” he said, adjusting his sunglasses with flair, “here you are, coming on a weekend family trip to save my ass.”

You glared at him. “Only because you bribed me with three months’ worth of your mailroom favors and cleaning up after your nightmare cat.”

“She’s not a nightmare. She’s emotionally complex.”

“She bit me.”

“Love bite.”

You opened your mouth to argue but were interrupted by his mom in the front seat turning back to you, beaming. “We’re so happy you could come, sweetheart! You’ve been dating our Jeonghan for over a year and we’ve never met you! Can you believe it?”

You smiled, the tight, polite kind. “Yeah. Time really flies when you’re in… love.”

Jeonghan tried not to laugh beside you. You jabbed your elbow into his side.

The cabin was cute.

Cozy.

Charming.

And had one bed.

You stood in the doorway, staring at the neatly made queen-size mattress that absolutely screamed “good luck, suckers.”

“Absolutely not,” you said.

“What?” Jeonghan walked in behind you, setting his duffel down with a dramatic sigh. “They think we’re together. Do you want to blow the whole thing up now?”

You turned to him. “Then you sleep on the floor.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You got us into this mess. I’m not sleeping on the damn floor.”

He raised a brow, arms crossing. “Do I look like someone who can survive a hardwood situation? I’m delicate.”

You pointed at the floor. “Delicate your way down there.”

But he just grinned, the kind that was all cheek and absolutely no remorse. He spread his arms wide like he was announcing a magic trick.

“It’s an adventure, darling.”

You rolled your eyes. “Congrats. In this adventure, you’re sleeping on the floor.”

The cabin creaked in the dark. Somewhere in the distance, a cricket chirped like it had a personal vendetta against your ears. The faint hum of Jeonghan’s mom watching a late-night drama drifted through the walls, barely audible.

And then—just loud enough to drive you insane—

Rustle.

You groaned. “Are you trying to be loud?”

Across the room, from the sad little nest of blankets and throw pillows he’d dramatically built on the floor, Jeonghan’s voice floated back at you.

“I’m adjusting my spine for optimal survival. You know, since I’ve been banished from the comfort of the bed.”

“You’re lucky you’re still breathing.”

“You’re lucky I have impeccable restraint,” he muttered.

You turned onto your side, scowling into the darkness. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I was forced to fake-date my neighbor because of a single panic lie. Forgive me for needing to emotionally process.”

You scoffed. “You’re not processing. You’re fishing.”

“…Did it work?”

“No.”

He exhaled a laugh, low and lazy. Then it was quiet again. For a moment, you thought maybe he’d finally fallen asleep.

Until—

“You… really didn’t have to say yes, you know.”

You blinked at the ceiling.

“I know.”

“I just mean…” His voice was softer now. “You didn’t owe me anything. Especially after the whole… hallway coffee incident.”

You bit back a smile. He remembers the coffee incident?

“You mean when you bumped into me, spilled hot latte all over my skirt, and then had the audacity to ask if I had a towel?”

“I panicked,” he mumbled. “Also, I still stand by the fact that the hallway is too narrow.”

“It’s a normal hallway, Jeonghan. You just have zero spacial awareness.”

Another laugh. This one sounded real.

Silence again.

Then, gently—

“…I didn’t expect you to help me.”

You didn’t answer right away.

Then: “I didn’t expect you to say ‘please.’”

He was quiet for a long moment. Long enough that you thought he might be asleep.

And then— “…Can I ask something?”

You turned to face his direction, even though you couldn’t see him. “What?”

His voice was small, almost teasing. “On a scale of one to ten… how convincing do you think we are as a couple?”

You hesitated. “…like… six.”

“SIX?” he cried in a whisper. “That’s barely passing!”

You grinned. “Maybe if you didn’t look so smug every time I touch your arm.”

“I do not— okay, fine, but you laughed when I kissed your cheek earlier!”

“You missed! You kissed my ear!”

A beat.

“…Right. Yeah. Six. Fair.”

And then—quiet laughter.

Yours.

Then his.

And before either of you knew it, the silence that followed didn’t feel so awkward anymore.

It just… was.

Two strangers.

Two liars.

Two people figuring out how to fall asleep in the same room without falling apart.

You stared up at the ceiling, sleep nowhere in sight. Your pillow was slightly too soft, the room slightly too warm, and your fake boyfriend slightly too annoying.

“Hey,” you whispered.

Jeonghan’s voice floated back from the floor, muffled and suspicious. “What.”

“Can we go over our ‘how we started dating’ story? Again. Just in case anyone asks tomorrow.”

There was a dramatic sigh. Fabric rustled.

“Seriously?” he groaned. “It’s a family trip, not an interrogation.”

“Yes, seriously,” you snapped quietly. “Your sister already asked how long we’d been together. What if someone wants details?”

“I gave you the details.”

“You gave me concept art, Jeonghan. You gave me vibes.”

Another dramatic sigh.

“Fine,” he muttered, like it was the greatest burden of his life to clean up his own mess. “Okay, so… we tell them it started after you tripped down the stairs, right?”

Your face immediately contorted in disbelief. “I’m sorry—what?”

“And I caught you at the bottom,” he continued, completely unfazed, “like a scene straight out of a drama. Your hair was glowing, the light behind you was all soft and golden, and you looked at me like I’d just saved your life.”

“I looked at you like I had a concussion.”

“Exactly! The impact of love.”

You blinked at the ceiling. “You want me to tell your entire family I fell in love with you because you caught me falling down a staircase?”

“Do you hear how good that sounds?”

“It sounds like I have zero standards and you have a hero complex.”

Jeonghan rolled over with a groan, now half-visible from the floor. “Fine. We’ll say it happened when I helped you carry your groceries up to your apartment.”

“That’s actually not bad.”

“And then I leaned against your doorframe all charming and irresistible—”

“Nope. There it is.”

“—and you said, ‘Wow, no man has ever carried my oat milk so tenderly before.’”

You flung your pillow at him. It hit the floor with a thump.

He laughed, low and pleased with himself. “Admit it. You’d fall for me.”

“Fall on you, maybe. Just to knock you out.”

“Romance.”

“Delusion.”

He smirked, voice trailing off into the dark. “I think you’re enjoying this fake dating thing a little too much.”

You turned back to your side, blanket pulled over your shoulder. “I think you’re confusing ‘enjoying’ with ‘surviving your dumbassery.’”

Silence fell for a moment.

Then—

“…Oat milk though. That was a good line.”

You threw the spare pillow next.

You woke to the sound of someone knocking—not on the door, but on your brain cells.

Jeonghan’s voice cut through the early light like a dull blade. “They’re making pancakes.”

“Why are you talking like that’s urgent news?”

“Because they’ll think we’re having morning couple time if we don’t show up soon.”

You sat up, hair wild, blanket wrapped around your shoulders like a cloak of regret. “I should’ve let you sleep on the porch.”

Jeonghan, already dressed and way too smug for 8AM, only winked.

When you stepped into the kitchen together, his hand found your lower back automatically. Warm. Light. Familiar.

You didn’t think about it. Until you did.

His sister, who was cutting fruit at the counter, didn’t miss a thing. Her eyes narrowed. “Well, well, well. Look who finally woke up.”

You smiled. The kind that didn’t reach your eyes. “We took our time. You know. Jeonghan’s a cuddler.”

He choked. “I—I am not.”

She gasped, mock horror on her face. “Jeonghan? Touchy? In the morning?”

“He mumbled in his sleep,” you said sweetly. “Called me his ‘oat milk angel.’”

He stared at you like you had personally just ended his whole career.

“I did not.”

“You did too. I was touched. Emotionally.”

His sister was cackling now. “I can’t believe this. My brother’s in love.”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes and grabbed a banana from the counter in retaliation. “We’re not doing this.”

“Oh, we are. We are absolutely doing this.” She pointed her knife dramatically. “Because you’ve never brought anyone home before. This is like watching a rare animal leave its den after twenty-seven years.”

You turned to him, mock-offended. “You told me I was special.”

“I did not say that.”

“Wow. First he forgets our anniversary, now this.”

You pouted, and for dramatic flair, he reached for your hand, dramatically clutching it with two hands like he was repenting for a sin he did not commit.

“My love,” he said solemnly, “forgive me. I shall make it up to you by massaging your shoulders later.”

“I demand breakfast in bed.”

“I’ll hand-feed you grapes.”

You snorted.

His sister stared between the two of you, suspicious. “You’re both awful actors.”

Jeonghan raised a brow. “Says who?”

She gestured with her fruit knife. “Says my intuition. And the fact that your hand’s still holding hers even though that whole bit ended a full thirty seconds ago.”

Your stomach fluttered.

Jeonghan let go like he’d been burned. “Oh.”

“Oh,” you echoed, barely above a whisper.

But it was too late.

The feeling had already curled somewhere in your chest.

Because his hand had been warm. His thumb had rubbed circles without thinking. You hadn’t wanted to pull away.

You looked at him.

He looked at you.

And something was there.

Not loud. Not obvious.

But there.

It started with Jeonghan’s mom saying, “We’re out of eggs,” and ended with the two of you in a cozy little convenience store five minutes from the cabin, pretending you weren’t sharing one brain cell and an alarming amount of chemistry.

You held the basket. He pushed the cart even though you only needed two things.

“Should’ve just made your mom send one of your siblings,” you muttered, scanning the shelves.

“Yeah, but then who would I fake domestic bliss with?” he said, casually tossing in a bottle of your favorite drink. You blinked at it. “What? I’ve seen you drink it, like, five times this month.”

“…Stalker.”

He grinned. “Observant.”

You stopped in front of the ramen section, head tilted. “They have your spicy one.”

He reached over your shoulder, grabbing the exact brand without hesitation. “We’ll get two. I’ll make it for you tomorrow.”

You stared at him.

“What?” he asked, shrugging. “Fake boyfriend duties. Let me cook for you so my parents continue to believe I’m a gift to the earth.”

You rolled your eyes and turned toward the snack aisle.

But your heart was… beating a little weird.

It didn’t help that somewhere between “we need eggs” and “ooh they have strawberry Pocky,” Jeonghan’s hand had somehow ended up on the small of your back again.

Like it belonged there.

Like it fit.

You tried not to think about it.

At checkout, he handed over his card before you could pull out yours.

“Jeonghan.”

“Relax, sugarplum. It’s like, $11. I can afford our fake life together.”

You shoved him lightly as the cashier laughed under her breath. He winked.

The walk back was quiet. But not uncomfortable. At one point, your fingers brushed. He didn’t pull away. And neither did you.

Back at the cabin, his mom peeked into the bag.

“Got everything?”

Jeonghan nodded. “Yep. Even her favorite drink.”

She smiled, just a little too knowingly. “You’re already acting like an old married couple.”

You opened your mouth to protest.

But Jeonghan beat you to it.

With the softest, most dangerous smile he’s ever worn—

“We’ve had practice.”

Your stomach flipped. Your fingers curled around the strap of the bag just to ground yourself.

Because god help you—

you weren’t sure where the lies ended anymore.

#seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #svt imagines #seventeen #svt fluff #svt scenarios #svt x reader #seventeen drabbles #seventeen fluff #seventeen x you #seventeen reactions #seventeen jeonghan #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan fluff #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan scenarios #jeonghan x y/n

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soniluuuu · 5 days ago

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SHIFT EVERY TIME WITH THIS NEW METHOD.

I heard about this method from this guy on TikTok (@ damon.shifttok). He created the method, so credits to him—and I honestly thought that shit was incredible.

I tried it, and it was super easy, very comfortable, and I had a dream of my DR. It just felt perfect.

It takes advantage of getting into a hypnagogic state, and as somebody who’s been shifting like 24/7, I’m very familiar with that state—and I’ve never seen a method (not even my own) that takes advantage of it as well as this one does.

So basically what you do:

You lay down however you feel—like however you’d naturally fall asleep. If you sleep on your side, get on your side. If you’re a stomach sleeper, you’re weird, but get on your stomach.

Then, you count to 100. Every 5 numbers or so, you say an affirmation. Instead of just straight-up counting, I decided to count my breaths using triangle breathing instead, because that helps me relax better.

While you’re relaxing into that state (and he said something that really stuck with me—use it as a meditation), your mind knows you’re trying to shift. So instead of focusing on shifting, just focus on relaxing while you’re in that meditative state. Your body will do the rest for you.

Every 5 breaths, I’d say something. Like on the 6th breath (instead of counting), I’d say an affirmation like:

“I shift in my sleep.”

Then I’d say that same affirmation for the next 5 breaths.

On the 11th, I’d say it again.

On the 16th, and so on.

And I wouldn’t count those “affirmation breaths.”

Then around 25, I’d switch it up. The affirmations I used were just what I wanted to say in the moment.

I tried his method twice—once exactly how he said it, and another time where I amended it to be more comfortable for me. The time I amended it? That’s when I had the DR dream. So I’ll share how I amended it.

Some of the affirmations I said were:

• “My body knows how to shift in its sleep.”

• “I’m a master shifter.”

• “Shifting is easy.”

• “I can shift in the blink of an eye.”

I did my count to 100, and my mind was already wandering. BTW: when your mind is wandering, just do a little bit more. That’s a good thing—it means you’re entering the right state.

My mind drifts really easily, so I wasn’t stressed about it. By 70, I was drifting. I got to 100 and was like, “Let me do 50 more.” By the time I finished the next 50, I was on the brink of sleep—which is perfectly where you want to be.

Now here’s the next part:

At this point, you start just repeating stuff about your DR. Repeat facts. I was in a meditative state enough where I wasn’t thinking of anything else—just focusing on the darkness while I affirmed.

I said things like:

• “I was born in 1779.”

• “My birthday is July 28th.”

• “I’m a Seeker on the Gryffindor team.”

• “My name is __________.”

I just said whatever facts I could think of. And I wasn’t really visualizing with the intent to shift—I was just seeing what I was saying. You know when your eyes are closed, you’re sleepy, and you start imagining what you’re thinking? It was like that. I saw my dad. I saw my significant other. And then I drifted to sleep.

Now, the original method says to first say stuff about being in your DR and then about being a master shifter—but for me, this way felt easier and more natural. Saying things about being a master shifter first gave me confidence and helped me facilitate the shift. Then, saying facts about my DR helped me lock in to where I was going.

There is one part I kinda forgot to do (because I was basically asleep at this point), but you’re supposed to feel how you’d feel if you were already in your DR—like enter the emotional state of your DR self.

For example, if I’d remembered this part before falling asleep, I would’ve felt very nervous because it’s my first day of fourth year and I’m seeing my S/O after only exchanging letters all summer. But I’d also be super excited for the Hogwarts feast, for the gift exchange me and him planned, and to catch up with him. I’d probably be overthinking a little bit—making sure I had everything packed, going over my outfit, thinking about how I’m going to spend that long-ass train ride, that sort of thing.

Just feel the emotions.

If you want to do it awake, just repeat the method until you feel your surroundings shift or move.

But because I had already affirmed things like “my body knows how to shift in its sleep,” I felt very confident falling asleep—and I’m glad I did.

The method is honestly great, and I’m going to start using it all the time.

I had a very vivid dream about my DR, which I haven’t had in a really long time.

In the dream, I was playing cards against Ron. He kept trying to convince me that I was a Veela.

He was betting tons of money on the game, and Harry was watching—very unimpressed. First of all, he was just deadpanning at Ron since I was winning. And second, he knows my entire ancestry, so he knows I’m not a Veela—which made him cringe even harder.

We were in the Gryffindor common room by the fire. It was interesting. I just woke up with that image of me and Ron playing cards, him saying that kind of thing.

I don’t know. It seems very on-brand for my DR self and that reality.

Try the method. It’s called the Mason Jar Method.

It’s incredible.

Side note:

If I have a decrease in post frequency, I apologize in advance. My soccer pre-season is starting, and I’m super locked in on that because I was promised a captain spot when the season officially begins—so in the meantime, I’m grinding and trying to get in shape.

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urdreamydoodles · 4 months ago

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MARVEL COMICS CHARACTERS X FEM!READER

You kiss them when they least expect it

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Loki, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Matthew Murdock, Frank Castle, Bullseye, Marc Spector, Taskmaster, Johnny Storm, Reed Richards, Ben Grimm, Susan Storm, Felicia Hardy, Stephen Strange, Namor, Johnny Blaze, Eddie Brock / Venom, T'Challa, Elektra Natchios, Muse, Victor von Doom, Peter Quill & Nova

Reply to anon: As promised...your little Catholic boy. I spend my days writing to keep my mind off my surgery. I'm a really anxious person, so I have to fill my head with my pleasures (my fandoms). So the requests will come out quickly, I'm happy and you're happy... win win. Thank you for all your requests and support. LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH ♡

Peter Parker

- Peter Parker has been kissed before. He has known the warmth of affection, the giddy rush of young love, the slow ache of something deeper. But nothing—nothing—could have prepared him for the moment your lips press against his, sudden and unannounced, shattering the rhythm of his thoughts like a lightning strike in the middle of a quiet night. His brain short-circuits instantly.

- His body reacts before his mind does, his breath catching, fingers twitching as if unsure whether to hold you or simply let himself drown in the moment. There is a fleeting second of hesitation, a half-formed thought that this must be some kind of dream, some cruel trick played by the universe. But your warmth is real, your presence undeniable. The city fades around him, the constant hum of responsibility momentarily silenced beneath the press of your lips.

- When you finally pull away, Peter blinks—once, twice—like he’s trying to process what just happened. Then, without warning, his face erupts into a deep crimson flush, spreading down to his neck like wildfire. “Oh,” he breathes out, voice slightly strangled. “Okay. Cool. That was… um. Wow.” He rubs the back of his neck, a nervous chuckle escaping him. “Was that, like, a scientific experiment? Because if so, I volunteer for more data collection.”

- Despite the awkward attempt at humor, his hands are still trembling, his pupils blown wide with something raw and unspoken. And then, after a moment of hesitation, his fingers curl around yours, his grip steady despite the lingering nerves. “But, uh… just so we’re clear,” he murmurs, voice softer now, more certain, “if you ever wanna do that again, you won’t have to catch me off guard next time.”

Tony Stark

- Tony Stark has spent a lifetime mastering control. He anticipates every possible scenario, every variable, every consequence. His mind is a constant whirlwind of calculations, solutions, contingencies. But when you kiss him—when you seize the moment and steal his breath away with no warning, no preamble—his mind goes completely, utterly blank. For the first time in years, there is no plan. No exit strategy. Just you.

- His body reacts on instinct, hands coming up to grasp your waist, a sharp inhale against your lips. But it’s not just the physical contact that undoes him—it’s the fact that you did it at all. That you, beautiful and untouchable in a way he never dared to hope for, have chosen him in this moment, with no ulterior motive, no expectation. It is not a conquest. It is not a game. It is real. And Tony Stark has never known how to handle real.

- When you finally break away, his lips are still parted, his usually sharp tongue momentarily silenced. Then, ever so slowly, a grin tugs at the corners of his mouth, something dangerous and delighted and entirely Tony. “Well, well,” he muses, his voice a low hum. “That was unexpected. Not that I’m complaining, of course.” He tilts his head, eyes gleaming with mischief. “But, uh, you might wanna be careful, sweetheart. You kiss me like that, and I might just start thinking you like me.”

- And yet, beneath the bravado, there is something softer, something unspoken in the way his fingers linger against your skin, in the way his expression shifts—just for a fraction of a second—into something almost reverent. Because the truth is, he is already lost. And if you kissed him again, he wouldn’t just let you—he’d make damn sure you never stopped.

Steve Rogers

- Steve Rogers is used to the world moving too fast around him. Time slips through his fingers like sand, people come and go like ghosts, and every moment is a reminder of just how much he has lost. But when you kiss him—when you break through the steady, predictable rhythm of his days with something as sudden and undeniable as your lips against his—it is the first time in a long, long while that he feels truly, absolutely present.

- He freezes at first, caught between instinct and shock, but it lasts only a second. Then, without thinking, his hands find your waist, steadying you both as though the moment itself is something fragile, something sacred. His heart is hammering against his ribs, a deep, resounding drumbeat that he swears you must be able to hear. And when he finally exhales, it is not out of hesitation—but out of something else. Something like surrender.

- When you pull back, his blue eyes are searching, tracing your face with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. He doesn’t speak at first, doesn’t joke or tease or stumble over his words. Instead, he simply watches you, memorizing every detail of the moment, committing it to memory as if he is afraid it will slip away. And then, at last, he lets out a quiet, almost incredulous chuckle. “You really do like keeping me on my toes, don’t you?”

- But there is warmth in his voice, something gentle and unshaken. And then, after a moment, he does something you don’t expect—he leans in again, slower this time, deliberate. His lips brush against yours, and this time, he is the one who takes control. And when he pulls away, his hand lingers at the back of your neck, his thumb tracing slow, absentminded patterns against your skin. “Just so you know,” he murmurs, a small smile playing at his lips, “next time, I won’t let you take me by surprise.”

Thor

- Thor Odinson has been kissed before. He has known the passion of warriors, the devotion of gods, the fleeting tenderness of mortals who looked upon him with awe. And yet, when you kiss him—when you press your lips against his without hesitation, without prelude—it is not reverence that he feels, nor expectation. It is something deeper, something that sinks into his very bones. It is you.

- There is a moment of stillness, as if the entire world holds its breath. Then, with a deep, rumbling exhale, he reacts—not with hesitation, not with shock, but with the full force of a man who has never done anything by halves. His arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against him, his grip firm yet careful, as if you are something both fierce and fragile, something he is terrified of losing.

- When you pull back, he does not release you immediately. His forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your skin, and for a moment, he simply exists in the aftermath of what you have done. Then, with a slow, wolfish grin, he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes bright with something unmistakably pleased. “Ah,” he rumbles, his voice thick with amusement, “so the battle has begun, then?”

- And before you can question him, before you can even think, he leans in once more—this time with purpose, with certainty. His lips claim yours in a way that is both a challenge and an offering, a promise and a declaration. And when he finally pulls away, his fingers trail down your spine, his grip unwavering. “A warning, my beloved,” he murmurs, eyes gleaming. “You have started something you may not wish to finish.” But the way he holds you—the way his touch lingers, possessive and warm—tells you that, in truth, he is hoping you never do.

Loki

- Loki is a creature of calculation, of control wrapped in silver-tongued deception. He reads people like poetry, anticipates betrayals before they are spoken, dissects affections before they can wound him. But when your lips find his—without warning, without preamble—it is the first time in centuries that someone has truly caught him off guard. His breath halts, body rigid, as if the universe itself has shifted beneath him.

- He does not pull away. He does not return it immediately, either. Instead, he remains perfectly still, sharp eyes searching yours with an intensity that borders on dangerous. You can almost hear the gears turning in his mind, the war between disbelief and hunger, between skepticism and the undeniable thrill of being wanted without agenda. And then, ever so slowly, the corner of his mouth curls, something dark and pleased blooming in his expression. “Interesting,” he muses, voice velvet-smooth, though there is an unmistakable edge of breathlessness beneath it.

- When you move to step back, he does not allow it. A hand—cool, firm, deceptively gentle—curls around your wrist, anchoring you in place. “You think you can best me in my own game, little one?” he murmurs, amusement dripping from every syllable. “That you can steal a kiss and escape unscathed?” His voice is teasing, but there is something else beneath it—something raw, something aching, something that trembles on the edge of longing.

- And then, with a slow, deliberate certainty, he leans in once more. This time, there is no hesitation, no caution. His lips claim yours in a way that is both challenge and surrender, fire and ice melting together in something neither of you can quite name. And when he finally pulls away, his thumb traces the edge of your jaw, his smirk lazy yet predatory. “You are playing a dangerous game, darling,” he whispers. “And I do hope you intend to see it through.”

Clint Barton

- Clint Barton has been trained to anticipate the unexpected. He is a man who survives on instinct, who sees what others miss, who never lets his guard down—not truly. But when you kiss him, when you press your lips against his without warning, without prelude, it is the first time in years that someone has managed to slip past his defenses. And it floors him.

- His breath stutters, muscles tensing as if expecting some kind of punchline, some cruel joke at his expense. But then—then—your hands brush against his jaw, gentle, grounding, real. And suddenly, the world feels quieter. The weight of it all—the missions, the past, the scars that never quite fade—momentarily lifts, leaving nothing but the steady, warm press of your mouth against his. And for once, he lets himself sink into it.

- When you finally pull away, he blinks as if shaking off a haze, lips parted in something like disbelief. And then, ever so slowly, a grin spreads across his face—lazy, crooked, entirely Clint. “Well, damn,” he breathes out, a chuckle escaping him. “Gonna be honest, didn’t see that one coming.” He tilts his head, eyes alight with mischief. “You always go around ambushing guys like this, or am I just special?”

- But there is something softer beneath the teasing, something unspoken in the way his fingers linger near yours, as if debating whether to pull you back in. And then, with a quiet exhale, he murmurs, “Not that I’m complaining, but—maybe next time, give a guy some warning?” He smirks. “Or don’t. I kinda like the element of surprise.”

Natasha Romanoff

- Natasha Romanoff is not a woman who is easily caught off guard. She is control, precision, danger wrapped in elegance. She anticipates every move before it happens, never allows herself to be vulnerable, never lets anyone too close. But when you kiss her—without warning, without calculation—it is the one scenario she never saw coming.

- Her body tenses immediately, years of instinct screaming at her to assess the threat, to react. But then—then—your lips linger, warm and unhurried, and something in her falters. There is no ulterior motive, no expectation, no game being played. Just you. And that, more than anything, leaves her shaken. She does not kiss you back, not at first. She is too busy deciphering why—why you would do this, why she doesn’t hate it, why the world suddenly feels too small with you this close.

- When you pull away, she does not speak. Instead, she tilts her head, studying you with an unreadable expression, emerald eyes scanning your face as if searching for an answer you have not yet spoken. And then, at last, a small smirk tugs at the corner of her lips. “Brave,” she murmurs, voice smooth, almost amused. “Reckless, but brave.” But there is something else in her gaze—something uncertain, something hesitant. As if she is not quite sure what to do with the warmth still lingering on her lips.

- Then, before you can respond, she steps closer, closing the space between you. There is no hesitation this time, no calculation—just the slow, deliberate press of her mouth against yours. And when she finally pulls away, her voice is softer, quieter. “Don’t do that unless you mean it,” she warns. But the way her fingers trail against your wrist, the way her breath lingers against your skin, tells you that she is hoping—just this once—that you do.

Bucky Barnes

- Bucky Barnes is a man who flinches at softness. He does not know how to accept kindness without suspicion, does not know how to be wanted without expectation. He has spent years being used, being controlled, being nothing more than a weapon to be wielded. But when you kiss him—when you press your lips against his without warning—it is the first time in a long, long while that he is simply Bucky.

- His entire body stiffens at first, muscles coiled as if expecting an attack, a trap, a trick. But then your hands brush against him—gentle, grounding, real—and something in him cracks. His breath shudders against your lips, something raw and unspoken trembling just beneath the surface. And for the first time in years, he allows himself to be held instead of holding himself together.

- When you pull away, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. His expression is unreadable, blue eyes stormy with something you can’t quite decipher. And then, ever so slowly, he exhales. “Why?” The word is quiet, hesitant, as if he doesn’t believe he deserves the answer. As if he is bracing himself for you to tell him it was a mistake. But you don’t. You just look at him, and that alone is enough to undo him.

- And then, after a long moment, his fingers brush against yours, tentative, uncertain. “Do it again,” he murmurs, the words barely audible. But when you do—when you kiss him once more, slow and patient and real—his hands finally come up to hold you, steady and warm and home. And this time, he doesn’t let you pull away.

Matthew Murdock

- Matthew Murdock is a man who lives in anticipation. Every breath, every footstep, every heartbeat in his vicinity is accounted for, cataloged, expected. He senses things before they happen, navigates the unseen with the certainty of someone who has never truly been blind. But he does not sense this. The moment your lips press against his, his world—usually so finely attuned—stutters. For the first time in a long time, Matt is truly caught off guard.

- His breath hitches, his fingers twitch at his sides, and for a brief moment, he is frozen in place. The taste of you lingers—warmth and surprise and something maddeningly sweet. His senses flood with you, and it is overwhelming in the best and worst way. His pulse is erratic, his mind a mess of tangled thoughts. He has fought the devil inside himself for so long, denied himself softness, pushed away love because it only ever ends in ruin. And yet, here you are. Kissing him.

- When you pull back, he exhales shakily, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words come. Instead, his hand finds you—fingertips ghosting over your cheek, as if to make certain you are real. His voice, when he finally manages to use it, is quiet, reverent. “You shouldn’t do things like that,” he murmurs, but there is no conviction in his words, no true protest. Only the lingering tremor of someone who wants—desperately, deeply—but does not know if he is allowed to have.

- And then, as if unable to resist the temptation you have placed before him, he leans in. His kiss is not hasty, not fevered, but something far more dangerous—slow, deliberate, inevitable. It is an unspoken confession, a quiet surrender, a promise that he may not be ready to put into words. But his hands find your waist, his lips press deeper into yours, and the way he sighs against your mouth tells you all you need to know.

Frank Castle

- Frank Castle has lost too much to believe in second chances. Love is a thing he buried alongside his family, a thing he does not touch, does not deserve. He is a man made of violence, of war and grief and cold, unrelenting vengeance. He does not get soft things. So when you kiss him—when you, in all your warmth, in all your reckless beauty, dare to press your lips to his—he does not know what to do with it.

- His entire body goes still, as if the world has caught fire and he is standing in the center of the blaze, unscathed but bewildered. He does not pull away. He does not push you back. He simply exists in the moment, feeling something that is not rage, not pain, not the gnawing emptiness that has been his only companion for years. The taste of you lingers—something achingly sweet against the bitterness of his own existence.

- When you finally step back, he exhales sharply, his breath uneven, his jaw clenched. His eyes—dark, stormy, battle-hardened—lock onto yours, searching, questioning. He wants to tell you this is a mistake. That people who get close to him only end up hurt, that his hands are meant for killing, not holding. But he doesn’t say it. Because for the first time in a long, long time, he does not want to push something away.

- Instead, his fingers curl at his sides, his voice low, rough. “You sure you wanna be doin’ that?” It’s not a warning—it’s an invitation. A chance to walk away before he inevitably ruins you the way he ruins everything else. But when you don’t—when you meet his gaze and kiss him again, slower this time, softer—his resolve cracks, and he kisses you back with something that is almost desperate, almost alive.

Bullseye (Lester)

- Bullseye is used to taking. He takes lives, takes power, takes anything he wants because no one can stop him. He is a monster, and he knows it—embraces it. There is nothing good in him. Nothing worth saving. And yet, you—beautiful, foolish, unafraid—have the audacity to kiss him as if he is anything but ruin incarnate.

- The moment your lips meet his, something snaps in him. His instincts scream at him to turn this into a game, to take control, to make you regret ever thinking you could surprise him. But for once, he does not move. He lets himself feel it. The warmth of you, the softness, the maddening contrast of something so pure against the corruption that coats his soul like tar. It is unexpected, undeserved, and utterly intoxicating.

- When you pull away, his smirk is slow, sharp-edged, dangerous. His eyes—dark and gleaming with something predatory—drag over your face like he’s memorizing every detail, committing your recklessness to memory. “Well, damn,” he drawls, voice slick with amusement. “Didn’t know you had it in you, sweetheart.” His fingers ghost over his lips as if testing whether the sensation was real or just some twisted hallucination.

- And then, with a sudden, startling speed, he moves. One hand grips the back of your neck, the other pressing against your waist, and before you can react, he’s kissing you back. But this—this is something else entirely. It is wild, chaotic, consuming. A warning, a promise, a claim. And when he finally pulls away, grinning like the devil himself, he murmurs, “Hope you know what you just started.”

Marc Spector

- Marc Spector is used to ghosts. His past, his mistakes, his fractured mind—he carries them all like shadows that never fade. He does not trust happiness, does not trust peace, because both have been ripped from him too many times to count. And love? Love is not something that belongs to men like him. But then there is you. And then there is this. Your lips against his, unannounced, unexpected, real.

- The first sensation is shock. Not fear, not rejection—just shock. His mind, always a battlefield of shifting identities and whispered voices, goes silent for one aching, beautiful moment. The warmth of your mouth, the way you lean into him with no hesitation, no fear—it is something foreign, something he does not know how to hold. And yet, he wants to. God help him, he wants to.

- When you pull back, his breath is unsteady, his hands curled into fists at his sides as if fighting the urge to pull you back in. His eyes—haunted, desperate, yearning—flicker between you and the ground, as if struggling to find something solid to anchor himself. “You shouldn’t…” His voice is raw, broken. “You shouldn’t do that.” But there is no weight behind the words, no real protest. Just the quiet, trembling confession of a man who does not believe he deserves to be touched with kindness.

- And then, with a slow exhale, he makes a choice. His hand—scarred, trembling—reaches for yours, fingers brushing tentatively before curling around them. He does not pull you close, does not claim you the way others might. Instead, he simply holds on. A silent plea, a fragile hope. And when he finally kisses you back, it is not with hunger, not with dominance—but with something far more dangerous. Need.

Taskmaster (Tony Masters)

- Taskmaster survives by reading people before they can act. He sees a shift in weight, a flicker of intent, the smallest twitch of a muscle, and he knows what comes next. It’s how he wins fights, how he predicts every move before it happens. But not this. Not you. He doesn’t see it coming when your lips press against his, a ghost of warmth against the cold edge of a man who has spent his life being untouchable.

- His entire body stiffens, instincts roaring at him to react, to counter, to do something—but he doesn’t. His mind, trained to memorize, analyze, replicate, suddenly falters. He can mimic a thousand fighting styles, anticipate attacks from the best in the world, but he has no defense for the softness of your mouth, the way you kiss him like he is something more than a weapon. And it unsettles him.

- When you pull back, his hands twitch at his sides, fingers flexing as if searching for the right response. His mask hides his face, but you can feel the way he’s staring at you, the sharp intensity of a man trying to process something he can’t categorize. “The hell was that for?” he finally mutters, his voice low, rough—gravel scraped over steel. But there is no anger, no mockery. Just a quiet, dangerous curiosity.

- And then, something shifts. A decision made. He moves faster than thought, a gloved hand catching your wrist, pulling you in before you can slip away. And when he kisses you back, it is not soft, not hesitant. It is sharp-edged and confident, like a man reclaiming control over the one thing that has ever caught him off guard. You wanted to surprise him? Fine. But now, he’s the one in charge.

Johnny Storm

- Johnny Storm burns hot—always has, always will. A fire that never quite settles, never dims. He is loud and reckless and bright, and he wears his confidence like a second skin. But beneath it all, there is something deeper, something hidden behind smirks and easy laughter. And it is that something that flickers the moment you kiss him.

- At first, he doesn’t process it. One second he’s talking, maybe making some cocky remark, and the next—your lips are on his. His brain short-circuits. Johnny Storm, king of comebacks, has absolutely nothing to say. There’s just heat, not from his flames but from the rush of you, the sudden realization that this thing he’s been pretending not to feel is very, very real.

- When you pull back, he blinks—once, twice—before a slow, almost disbelieving grin spreads across his face. “Damn,” he exhales, voice a little breathless, a little stunned. And then, because he is who he is, he recovers. “If you wanted a piece of me, sweetheart, all you had to do was ask.” But his voice wavers slightly at the end, betraying the fact that he is not nearly as unaffected as he wants to seem.

- And then, before you can say anything, he moves. A hand curling around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he crashes his lips back to yours, kissing you with the full force of his fire—burning, consuming, alive. Because Johnny Storm never does anything halfway, and now that he knows what you taste like, he is never going to pretend he doesn’t want more.

Reed Richards

- Reed Richards lives in a world of equations. He understands the mechanics of the universe, the fabric of reality, the infinite complexities of time and space. But there are some things even he cannot predict. Some things he cannot quantify. You are one of those things. And when you kiss him, it is a complete and utter anomaly.

- His breath stills, his mind goes blank—something that has not happened in years. He can usually calculate the likelihood of an event before it occurs, but this? This wasn’t factored into his reality. His hands hover in the air, as if unsure of the proper response, as if the laws of physics themselves have momentarily escaped him.

- When you step back, he does not move immediately. He is frozen, recalibrating, processing. Then, slowly, his lips part, and a quiet, stunned “Oh” escapes him—soft, unguarded. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, as if needing a moment to refocus. “That was… unexpected.” His voice holds no rejection, only fascination, as if he has just witnessed a scientific miracle.

- And then, something shifts. His hand reaches for yours—not hasty, not desperate, but careful, deliberate. His eyes meet yours, and for the first time in a long while, Reed Richards abandons calculations in favor of instinct. When he kisses you again, it is slow, exploratory, like a man learning a new language and savoring every syllable.

Ben Grimm

- Ben Grimm does not get soft things. He does not get stolen kisses or tender touches or the kind of love that isn’t weighed down by pity. He is The Thing. A man made of stone, of battle and loss, of aching loneliness that he never speaks of. And yet, here you are. Kissing him. As if he is not a monster. As if he is just a man.

- He stiffens, his whole body locking up. His heart—too big, too hopeful despite everything—stumbles in his chest. He has dreamed of things like this before, but dreams are cruel, and reality is harsher. He expects you to pull away, to realize what you’ve done, to see him and regret it. But you don’t. You don’t. And that, more than the kiss itself, threatens to undo him.

- When you finally step back, his throat works around words he can’t quite form, holding the weight of years spent convincing himself he doesn’t get to have this. His massive hands twitch at his sides, as if afraid to reach for something too fragile, too precious. “You… you sure about that?” There is doubt in his tone, not because he doesn’t want you, but because he doesn’t know how to believe you’d want him.

- But when you step closer again, pressing your hands against the solid breadth of his chest, when you tilt your head up and kiss him again, slow and sure and certain, something in him cracks. A deep, shuddering breath escapes him, and his massive arms finally—finally—come around you, pulling you close. And when he kisses you back, it is hesitant at first, reverent. But then it deepens, something raw and aching in the way he holds you, like a man who has been starved of love for far too long.

Susan Storm

- Susan Storm is a woman of grace, of careful composure, of quiet strength that bends but never breaks. She is a leader, a protector, a force of nature wrapped in silk. And yet, for all her brilliance, for all her ability to phase in and out of sight, she does not see you coming. Not when you step close. Not when your fingers graze her cheek. Not when your lips press against hers in a kiss that is as sudden as it is soft.

- Her breath stills, caught between the moment and the impossible realization of what it means. Her mind races—was she blind to this? Had she misread the signs, the weight of your glances, the unspoken words hovering between you for so long? But all thoughts unravel when she feels the warmth of your lips, the unguarded tenderness of it. She has spent her life holding herself steady, but now—now she is the one being unraveled.

- When you finally pull back, she blinks, slow and breathless, a flush creeping up her neck. “Oh,” she murmurs, a small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at the corner of her lips. A rare moment where she is not Susan Storm, the poised and polished heroine, but simply a woman standing before someone who has just shaken her world.

- And then, that moment of surprise shifts into something else—something warmer, something braver. Her fingers find your wrist, curling around it in a silent request. She meets your gaze, eyes shining with something unreadable, something soft. And when she kisses you again, it is no longer hesitation, no longer surprise—it is intention, steady and sure, as if she has made up her mind that this—you—is something she does not want to let go.

Felicia Hardy

- Felicia Hardy is a woman who dances on the edge of danger, who thrives in stolen moments and the rush of risk. She is a thief, a phantom in the night, a creature made of silver laughter and sharp edges. She knows the art of seduction, the game of push and pull, and yet—when you kiss her, it is not part of the game. It is not calculated, not played for leverage. And that is what stops her dead in her tracks.

- Her lips part against yours, a stunned exhale slipping free. For the first time in a long, long time, Felicia Hardy is caught off guard. She is used to controlling the moment, to being the one who sets the pace, who dictates the terms. But this—this—feels like something stolen from her. And she doesn’t know if she wants to steal it back, or if she wants to let herself fall.

- When you pull away, her signature smirk wavers, something uncertain flickering behind those sharp, clever eyes. “Well, well,” she purrs, but there’s a breathlessness to it, a vulnerability beneath the velvet tone. “Didn’t know you had it in you.” A tease, a cover. But her fingers twitch at her sides, as if resisting the urge to reach for you, to pull you back in, to demand more.

- And then, as if making a silent decision, she moves. She closes the space between you with a sharp, deliberate kind of grace, tilting her head with the confidence of a woman who has decided to play a game she was not expecting—but one she suddenly wants to win. When she kisses you again, it is slow, languid, laced with amusement and hunger, as if savoring the way you are the one who caught her off guard for once.

Stephen Strange

- Stephen Strange is a man of logic, of precision, of control honed by years of discipline. He bends reality to his will, commands forces beyond human comprehension, and yet—he is utterly unprepared for the moment your lips press against his.

- His body locks up, his breath caught between disbelief and something deeper, something dangerously close to longing. He does not move at first, too caught in the sheer absurdity of it. He has faced cosmic horrors, rewritten fate itself, but he cannot seem to process the feeling of your touch, the warmth of your mouth against his own.

- When you step back, he blinks, slow and calculating, as if searching for some rational explanation. “That was… unexpected,” he says at last, his voice measured but carrying the faintest waver. He looks at you as though you are a paradox he cannot solve, an anomaly in his carefully structured existence.

- And then, after a long pause, his lips curl in something resembling amusement, a rare, genuine softness breaking through the rigid control. “I suppose,” he murmurs, stepping closer, voice dropping to something almost dangerous, almost reverent, “it would only be fair if I returned the favor.” And when he kisses you again, it is with the deliberation of a man who refuses to leave anything to chance.

Namor

- Namor is not a man accustomed to surprise. He is a king, a warrior, a god walking among mortals. He has stood against empires, defied the heavens, and shaped history with his own hands. But when you kiss him—you, with your infuriating defiance and your breathtaking boldness—he is, for the first time in centuries, at a complete and utter loss.

- His entire body tenses, as if bracing for an attack rather than an act of tenderness. And yet, despite his initial shock, despite the sheer audacity of you, he does not pull away. He does not stop you. Instead, his sharp, piercing eyes darken, a slow and simmering heat curling beneath his ribs—dangerous, unrelenting.

- When you finally part, he does not speak immediately. He simply looks at you, gaze heavy with something unreadable. And then, after a moment, his lips curl—not in anger, but in something far more unsettling. Amusement. Interest. Challenge. “You are either very brave,” he murmurs, voice rich and edged with something unmistakably possessive, “or very foolish.”

- And then, before you can respond, before you can think to retreat, he moves. His hands—strong, unyielding—catch your wrist, his body closing the space between you with the effortless command of a king reclaiming what is his. And when he kisses you again, it is not a question. It is a declaration, a silent vow that whatever game you have started, he will be the one to finish.

Johnny Blaze

- Fire and damnation have clung to Johnny Blaze for as long as he can remember. He is a man marked by hellfire, by a fate he never asked for, by the weight of every soul he has ever sent screaming into the dark. He does not expect kindness, not really, not from anyone. And yet, when you kiss him—suddenly, without warning, like a spark catching dry earth—he is stunned into absolute stillness.

- The scent of smoke and leather clings to him, the remnants of something infernal lurking beneath his skin, but you do not hesitate. Your lips are warm, soft, a stark contrast to the cold edges of his existence. He has faced demons, outrun the devil himself, but this? This simple, quiet moment? It terrifies him in a way nothing else ever has.

- He exhales sharply when you pull back, as if he’s just come up for air after drowning. His blue eyes burn like embers, searching your face as if trying to understand what the hell just happened. His throat works around words he doesn’t know how to say, his fingers twitching at his sides like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t trust himself to. “You don’t wanna do that,” he finally mutters, voice rough with something dangerously close to longing.

- But when you tilt your head, when you don’t flinch, don’t pull away, don’t fear him—something in him cracks. His jaw clenches, his hands curl into fists, and then, finally, finally, he lets himself move. He grabs the back of your neck with a touch that is both possessive and reverent, and when he kisses you again, it is with the desperation of a man who has spent too many years in the dark, suddenly blinded by the light.

Eddie Brock / Venom

- Eddie Brock is a man who has lost too much, fought too hard, and learned to trust too little. He is rough around the edges, worn down by anger and regret, always bracing for the moment when the world inevitably turns against him. He is not used to gentleness—not from others, and certainly not for himself. And so, when you kiss him, when you press your lips against his like it is the most natural thing in the world, his brain short-circuits entirely.

- His first instinct is to pull back, to question, to doubt. But Venom—Venom is faster. The symbiote rumbles in amusement, in approval, wrapping around Eddie’s ribs like a second heartbeat. "We like this one," the alien purrs inside his mind, and Eddie swears under his breath because of course Venom would be delighted by this.

- “You’re—” Eddie starts, but stops himself, dragging a hand down his face like he’s trying to physically shove down the confusion. He shakes his head, glancing at you with something that is half bewilderment, half hunger. He wants to say something cocky, something to brush it off, but all that comes out is a breathless, “What the hell was that for?”

- And then Venom moves, slick tendrils curling around his shoulders, shifting his posture. "Kiss her back, Eddie," the symbiote urges, a wicked, knowing grin in his voice. And—God help him—Eddie does. He surges forward, his grip strong, his kiss a mixture of frustration and want, like he’s fighting against how much he needs this, how much he needs you. And when he finally breaks away, his breath is ragged, his pupils blown wide. Shit.

T’Challa

- T’Challa is not a man who is easily surprised. He is a king, a warrior, a strategist who sees every angle before the game even begins. His mind is always ten steps ahead, his composure an unshakable force of nature. And yet—when you kiss him, when you step close without prelude or warning, tilting your chin up to press your lips to his—he is caught entirely off guard.

- His breath hitches, just slightly, so small a reaction that most would not catch it. But you are not most. You are you, and you notice the way his body stills, the way his fingers twitch at his sides as if warring with the impulse to pull you closer. His heartbeat is steady, measured, but beneath the surface—oh, beneath the surface, you have sent ripples through a man who does not bend easily.

- When you part from him, his dark eyes study your face with a sharpness that borders on unreadable. “You are bold,” he says, but there is no admonishment in his tone—only observation, only something deeply considering. His gaze is heavy, knowing, like he has already unraveled every reason why you did it. And yet, for all his brilliance, there is one question left unanswered.

- And so, after a pause, he tilts his head ever so slightly, a slow, deliberate movement. “Was that a challenge?” The words are a whisper, rich and silken, spoken against your lips as he closes the space between you once more. His kiss is not hurried, not desperate—it is a promise, a declaration, a reminder that T’Challa does nothing without intention. And you? You have just become something he intends to keep.

Elektra Natchios

- Elektra moves like a shadow, like a blade cutting through the dark, like something that cannot be held for long. She is sharp edges and silken danger, a whisper of death wrapped in a dancer’s grace. She does not trust easily. She does not love easily. And yet, when you kiss her—fast, sudden, without warning—she does not push you away. No. She freezes, her entire body tensed, not out of resistance, but because she did not see it coming.

- For a woman who has spent her life reading people like open books, you have just managed to turn a page she did not anticipate. Her lips part against yours, not in invitation but in sheer, startled stillness. The moment you step back, her gaze is already piercing into you, unreadable and electric, the air between you charged with something taut and dangerous.

- “That,” she breathes, eyes narrowing just slightly, “was foolish.” But the way she says it—it is not a warning, not truly. It is curiosity, the ghost of something far more wicked lurking beneath the surface. She watches you like a cat watching its prey, her fingers twitching at her sides, as if deciding whether to draw a weapon or pull you back in.

- And then, just as quickly, just as effortlessly, she moves. Her hand catches your wrist, yanking you forward with a force that is not violent but possessive. And when she kisses you this time, it is not hesitation—it is fire and fury, a battle won with the curl of her fingers at your nape, the press of her body against yours. If this is a game, you have just signed yourself into a war. And Elektra Natchios? She never loses.

Muse

- Muse does not feel things the way others do. Art consumes him, violence is his language, and the world is nothing but a blank canvas begging to be marred. He has wandered through blood-soaked streets and carved poetry into walls with trembling hands, but this—this sudden kiss, this moment where your lips press against his without prelude or warning—is something entirely new.

- He does not flinch. He does not gasp. He does not react in any way that might be considered human. Instead, he listens. To the way your breath hitches. To the way your heartbeat stumbles in your chest. To the way the world stills around him, just for a moment, like existence itself is waiting to see what he will do next. And oh, how he loves the weight of expectation.

- When you finally pull back, his blind eyes remain locked onto you, empty and unreadable, yet somehow knowing. His lips part—not in surprise, but in something closer to fascination. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, the word almost a sigh, almost a prayer. “Do it again.” It is not a request. It is not a plea. It is a command wrapped in velvet, spoken like a secret only you were meant to hear.

- And when you hesitate, when you wonder if it is wise, if it is safe, he simply tilts his head, his smile carving itself into his face like a brushstroke on an unfinished painting. His fingers ghost over your jaw, not quite touching, not yet. “I wonder,” he muses, voice lilting with something dangerous, something close to reverence, “how many shades of red I could pull from your lips alone.”

Victor von Doom

- Victor von Doom does not tolerate surprises. His mind is a kingdom unto itself, a fortress built upon knowledge and control. There is no action he takes that is not calculated, no movement that is not deliberate. And yet—when you kiss him, when you dare to step into his space and press your lips against his without permission, without warning—it is the one moment he does not anticipate.

- His body tenses, not in shock but in something colder, something unreadable. There is steel in his stance, in the way his fingers curl ever so slightly at his sides. For one impossibly long second, the world feels as if it has stopped, as if the very air around you is waiting for his verdict. And then, his hands rise—not to push you away, but to cup your face with the precision of a sculptor, as if he is considering whether to keep this moment or cast it aside.

- “Foolish,” he murmurs, though his grip does not loosen. His green eyes burn into yours, heavy with something unreadable, something vast. “You mistake me for a man who yields to impulse.” But you can feel it—the faint tremor beneath his touch, the war waging behind his gaze. You have shaken something in him. Something he does not have words for.

- And then, Doom decides. His grip tightens just slightly, his gaze darkens, and when he leans in, it is not hesitant. It is not uncertain. No, Victor von Doom does not do anything halfway. His lips capture yours with the finality of a ruler taking his throne, with the weight of a choice made, a fate sealed. And when he pulls away, he exhales sharply, as if he has allowed himself one moment of indulgence—and nothing more. “You are either very bold,” he muses, voice quiet, “or very foolish.” And then, after a pause, after a second’s hesitation— “Perhaps both.”

Peter Quill

- Peter Quill has been kissed before. By strangers in bars, by lovers who knew better, by the lingering ghosts of memories he refuses to let go of. But this—this kiss, your kiss—catches him completely off guard.

- He is mid-sentence, probably saying something ridiculous, something cocky, something meant to make you roll your eyes—and then, suddenly, your lips are on his, stealing the words right from his mouth. His brain short-circuits so violently that for a full second, he just stands there, hands hovering awkwardly like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

- And then, like a delayed reaction, like an aftershock, he grins. A slow, lazy, completely obnoxious grin that spreads across his face like wildfire. “Well, damn,” he breathes, blinking at you like he’s just been hit by a starship. “If I knew that’s how you felt, I would’ve shut up ages ago.”

- But then—just when you think he’ll ruin it with another joke—he tugs you forward, his fingers curling around your waist with an easy kind of confidence. And when he kisses you this time, it is deeper, slower, like he’s savoring it, like he means it. And maybe, just maybe, Peter Quill has finally found something—someone—worth holding onto.

Nova (Richard Rider)

- Richard Rider has been through hell. He has seen galaxies burn, has carried the weight of worlds on his shoulders, has fought and bled and lost more than he can put into words. He is tired. He is so tired. And yet—when you kiss him, when you pull him down from the weight of the cosmos and remind him of something as simple, as human as this—he forgets, just for a moment, how heavy the universe feels.

- His breath stutters. His entire body tenses, like he’s waiting for something to go wrong, like he’s bracing for an impact that never comes. He has been hurt before, has been broken in ways that no amount of power can fix, and yet—this is different. You are different.

- “I—” he starts, but the words get lost somewhere between his lips and yours. He laughs, but it’s not the cocky, confident sound most people expect from him. It’s breathless, unsure. He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Didn’t see that coming.” But the way he looks at you—the way his blue eyes soften, the way his fingers twitch like he wants to reach for you and doesn’t know if he should—tells you that maybe, just maybe, he’s glad you caught him off guard.

- And then, slowly, hesitantly, he steps closer. He cups your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones with a gentleness that feels at odds with the battles he’s fought, with the wars he’s survived. And when he kisses you again, it is not hurried, not rushed. It is quiet. It is careful. It is real. Because for the first time in a long, long time—Richard Rider is not fighting. He is simply here. With you.

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gaykarstaagforever · 4 months ago

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YouTube has this thing now called YouTube Playables (great name as usual, guys; it's not a children's snack pack), that are basically in-app "Flash games"-style things that are just enough game to keep you watching ads.

The ones of these that aren't direct ripoffs of owned IP (very specifically Zuma) are barebones exercises in that bog-standard FTP addictive mobile gaming loop we all know and hate but also LOVE, minus the in-app purchases (for the time being). Like, shallow systems that are fun for exactly 30 minutes, then get stupidly hard so you'll pay to win, though you can't do that yet, so...kind of pointless.

...I still spent FOUR HOURS playing these, because they tapped into my primitive lizard brain's desire to try and master an utterly meaningless task and then feel undooly smug about it.

I didn't get any ads, because I'm a stooge that pays real money to Google every month for this, because once you go adless, you CANNOT go back. Which kind of negates the whole point of these, as addictive time-wasters that keep you glued to the platform and its commercials? But I already pay for YouTube and STILL got caught in these, so I suppose everything is going according to YouTube's plan either way, and I need meaningful human relationships.

But THAT isn't going to happen any time soon! So let me waste another evening on these by reviewing some crap garbage games for idiots that no one cares about, on Tumblr dot com!

1. Totemia: Cursed Marbles

It's Zuma. That's it. With a couple minor tweaks that make it harder and more annoying.

Just license Zuma, YouTube. I think you can afford the, what, $25 that would cost atm?

2. Sword Play

An on-rails sword slashing game (you don't control the movement, just the slashing), and you kill plastic doll guys before they kill you.

At some point they get projectiles that move really fast, that you can only destroy via specific directional QTEs that don't register properly half the time, because this is all relative finger smearing across the screen.

It was fun before that. The guys fall apart specific to how you slash them. That's something.

3. Dessert DIY

This one sucks. You're just picking from very limited options, then doing specific motions to trigger animations that create desserts that don't even look much like the promo art. People request different things, but early game all they ask for is "whatever you want to make" and "do one out of poop with bugs on it to make someone I hate throw up."

And then there's an animation of someone accepting what is obviously poop with bugs on it from their sworn enemy, they eat it anyway, then vomit.

The only fun part about this is the shameless inclusion of NPCs that look like celebrities, specifically Billie Eilish, Kanye West, and Donald Trump.

If you want to make a poop ice cream cone with bugs on it and feed it to Trump until he vomits all over his desk, this is the game for you. Otherwise, this is meh even for one of these meh games.

4. Bowmasters

Dueling Angry Birds, but you have no control of the camera and it focuses on you so you have to trial-and-error the degree of angle and throwing force to figure out how to hit and kill your opponent before they hit and kill you.

There are many colorful pop culture-inspired combatants to unlock, with a huge variety of projectiles of different weights, sizes, and behaviors. This is the most "very nearly a real, good game" one of these.

...Except that the level progression forces you to do Bonus Rounds, and one of those is "knock fruit off the head of an opponent without hitting them, and you have to do this like 5 times in a row, and we move you further away from them another 30 yards every round, and you have to use a wildly different unique projectile every round, and you get 3 chances, and that includes if you miss entirely."

It is basically impossible to do this, because your ever-changing location makes calculating arcs and force, with the ever-changing projectiles, impossible, in this limited amount of attempts. It turns into grinding it out until RNG randomly makes you win.

Which is a shame, because otherwise, this is fun. But you WILL get stuck on a stupid fruit round and stop playing this.

5. Mob Control

You have a cannon that launches blue guys. The NPC opponent does red. You both are trying to bumrush the other's base, taking advantage of buttons and switches and bonus gates that speed you up or slow you down and multiply your number of guys. Guys annihilate each-other when they run into each-other, so you need to overwhelm Red before they overwhelm you.

It's fun until it gets so fast that it becomes a chore to manage where precisely to launch guys specifically to annihilate other guys.

6. Merge Master

This goddamn game. This was 3.5 hours of my 4 hour playtime.

You have a grid board, with you at the bottom and an opponent at the top. You both have an army of warriors and dinosaurs, and a team HP bar. You click go, the warriors fire projectiles and the dinosaurs melee the nearest enemy, and last man standing wins.

Before each round, you can arrange the placement of your army, and use money you won from the last rounds to buy more warriors and dinosaurs. But the kicker is, you can combine like warriors and dinosaurs to make more powerful units, which you keep at the end of every round. They don't gain XP or anything, but as you make more money, you can buy more 1st-level units (that's all you can buy), and gradually combine them and then combine the combinations, and on and on and on, making incredibly powerful new units. And you need a mix of low-level and high-level units to have enough melee dinosaurs and projectile-throwers to overwhelm high-level enemy units, or draw fire away from your own, against the ever-changing enemy army each round.

It's a process of slowly adding more units and combining them to make stronger and stronger units, and as many of them as you can get, accounting for the limited board space. Also the price of units rises exponentially each round, so you may have 1 trillion gold, but at this point a new 1st-level dinosaur costs 245 billion.

I couldn't stop with this. It just got me. I wanted to see new exciting high-level warriors and dinosaurs, and see how fast I could take the other army down. There's more than zero strategy at work here, and battles can vary substantially from round to round, depending on what mix of units the enemy brings to the board.

It's still a rudimentary Flash-esque game, and very much akin to those shitty mobile boss rush games that raid our shadow legends. But it's not PTW yet, and the graphics are a charming and distorted replica of early 2000s 3D games, like Age of Mythology or GTA 3. It felt like something, for awhile.

It isn't, and I wasted valuable battery charge on this stupid shit. But I was having fun. And sometimes, that's enough.

...And posting about it here. It's something to talk about that isn't the world eating itself.

And we all need that sometimes.

#youtube playables #game review

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kathaynesart · 1 year ago

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RECOMMENDED MUSIC: Boom Goes the Donnie-mite (Mikey/Donnie/Raph vs the Sweeper) - "The Red Zone" by Mitsuoto Suzuk

Finally! This big ol' update is out! Thank you everyone for your patience. Hopefully the next one will be much sooner since I already have parts of it drawn out. We're nearing the end of... uh, lets just call it the "Holiday Special."

BEGINNING || PREVIOUS || NEXT MASTER POST

Also couldn't get this out of my head as I was drawing this update:

Mikey's Ninpo:

Donnie's Ninpo:

Anyways, have some long winded deep dive into Donnie and Mikey's powers below the cut:

Mikey and Donnie are interesting because I feel these two are the ones who truly reach the full potential of their gifts. Mikey isn't there as of yet in the story but he will be by the end of Replica. Where as Leo and Raph had a lot of other things to focus on (leading, planning, and dealing with colony drama), Donnie and Mikey took the time to really focus on themselves and their abilities, choosing to distance themselves from a lot of the drama that the leaders of the family have to deal with.

Mikey's Ninpo

I always found it interesting how Mikey's weapon (the kusari-fundō) seemed to be the only one that had an actual entity within it. While they never address it, it's obviously some sort of flame demon/spirt. It could also help explain Mikey's dramatic increase in strength knowing that the spirit of his weapon is literally able to help him lift boats and buildings. I like to think that Michelangelo formed a connection with the spirit, especially since he looked so crushed when the Shredder destroyed his weapon in a way that none of the other brothers had.

Shortly after the victory against the Shredder I imagine he comes across his destroyed weapon in their old lair (probably while they're gathering thing to move to their new home) and he can still feel the sad little remnants of the spirit clinging to life in the broken object. I feel this would be the turning point that would lead to Mikey's first dip into the mystic arts. He would bring the weapon back to Barry for guidance and Barry would explain that the spirit has been bound to the object for so long that it can no longer survive on its own. Normally it could be bound to a new object but in it's dying state it would not be able to attach properly.

It is Mikey who suggests that maybe if it was bound to a person rather than a inanimate object then maybe the person could help the spirit survive. Barry admits the reasoning is sound and after much coercing finally helps guide Mikey through the steps, allowing the fire spirt to bind itself to Mikey's being (think something similar to Howl and Calcifer in Howl's Moving Castle, sans the heart losing). At first, not much seems to comes of the union. The spirit is still too weak to be able to do much of anything, but over time it regains its strength in tandem with Mikey and is able to gift him with similar abilities, becoming an integral part of Mikey's arsenal as well as a new spiritual connection to the Hamato family line. That is what we get a peek of here in this chapter.

Donnie's Ninpo

Just as Mikey canonically will go through a sort of mystic and spiritual enlightenment, Donnie too will have a similar scientific revelation. It always bothered me in the movie that his "firepower" (guns, missiles, etc) never seemed to be very effective, or at least not as effective as his ninpo designed physical constructs (such as the jet packs and the giant drill he uses on both the Krang and the Shredder). I believe this is because with physical constructs like a drill he has a sense of the weight and velocity needed to understand how hard it should hit. This properly visualized weight and damage is then made into reality.

But it's different with firearms and bombs. Up until the movie he really doesn't have a lot of real world experience around artillery and projectiles outside of what he sees on the internet and film. He does not know how a megaton bomb should feel or even the damage a bullet can create. And don't get me started on the the imaginary ray guns he uses on the Krang that don't seem to even leave a scratch. Without proper knowledge it's all just a light show. Very flashy, but not very effective.

When he realizes this it comes as a heavy hit to Donnie early on in the war. ...However, if there's one thing he is going to be exposed to in this bad timeline it's weapons of all kinds, even mass destruction. He will know exactly how it feels to get hit with a bullet, the blast of a projectile, and even an atomic bomb. He will then take this real world knowledge and recreate it in the same realistic way he can recreate his battle shell or drill staff. It takes a lot of work, sweat, and literal blood but this exposure to the worst of mankind's creations will help make him a walking encyclopedia of destruction. Over time, he will no longer need to make actual constructs of "bombs" or "bullets." He'll be able to simply create the pure raw power desired, no radiation or nuclear fusion needed. That's exactly what we see here.

We also see his use of shields, which is just as important as his ninpo arsenal. Specifically his ability to create shields to contain his own blasts, dramatically reducing the collateral damage from his own weapons of mass destruction. This makes him highly effective at taking down large enemies, but the shields sap his strength even more than the weapons (for it is easy to destroy, but hard to protect and preserve). This makes him often times a liability. He's often a sitting duck after pushing himself too hard and it can take him a decent amount of time to build these heavy hitting bombs. It's a double edged sword to be sure.

NOTE: these are stories I do plan to address further in my Patreon, with proper illustrations, but I wanted to give a little taste of what to expect! Haha. Very soon....

#rottmnt replica #replica #rottmnt #kathaynesart #save rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #unpause rise of the tmnt #donnie #raph #mikey #leo #tmnt

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poisonofthepaint · 3 months ago

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Day After Tomorrow

read part two here!

a/n: hi! this is my first time writing for abbot so i hope this is okay! hoping to make this a series, it was really fun to write this :-) and i would love to hear if u liked it!!

content warnings: none serious, age gap between abbot and reader, lots of dialogue, spiraling reader a tinsy bit, maybe ooc jack? definitely some wacked up medical school hoopla i made up to make it fit my abbot backstory headcanons, reader is a barista who's studying philosophy, this is their first meeting. i barely proofread this. enjoy!

It was early. Way too fucking early. You could not believe that your boss had bumped up the hours again. The shop opened at 4:00 now. Four in the morning. You couldn’t believe your eyes when you got the text. You had woken up at 2:50, the latest you could sleep in and also get to work at 3:30. Honestly, you think you’ll get used to it, but right now, in the transitional period? This felt like hell. Who even gets coffee at 4:00 A.M.?

You regret the thought the second it enters your brain, because, of course, the bell goes off on the door to signal someone is walking in.

“One second, sorry, getting my bearings,” you say, not bothering to look up at the first of many customers.

“That’s okay. You are open, yes?” he says while walking to the ordering counter

The deep voice makes your eyes shoot up, and his attire makes them linger longer. He’s adorned in black scrubs, a gray t-shirt peeking out from beneath them. You draw your eyes away quickly, probably not quick enough for him to not notice you were staring, but again, it’s early, you’re just moving slow.

“Yes, open, and– shit,” you mumble. “Shoot,” you correct yourself as if your boss is around to hear it. The stranger smiles and huffs out a laugh.

“Sorry, this drawer is a pain in the morning, it never wants to unlock itself. Technology,” you say and shrug. You grab the physical key and unlock it, which has the computer registering you’re open.

“I get it, I prefer to do things the old fashioned way.” he says. You shoot him a look. “I just mean, no technology.” he shakes his head, and pulls a hand down his face.

“What can I get you…”you glance down at his badge, “Jack.” A smile finally warms on your face, and it brings a small one to his too.

“Just a small hot coffee, nothing in it.”

“Easy enough,” you turn around to the machine and start pouring the fresh coffee into a cup. “Starting or ending your shift?” you ask.

“I’m almost done, few more hours, just needed something better than whatever the hell they serve in the cafeteria.”

You nod your head, and put a lid on the coffee. “Well consider this a courtesy, on the house.”

He looks shocked, and… a little bit offended? You can’t tell. Honestly, he’s pretty mysterious. You feel like you can read him, but maybe you can’t?

“I don’t mind paying.” he says, pulling out some cash from his wallet.

“I’m sure you’re good for it,” you push away the cash in his hand, softly grazing his knuckles, “But, I’m really trying to prove a point to my boss that no one comes in this early. You’re kind of putting a fork in my master plan.”

He laughs, a genuine laugh. You smile, again. You want to impress him, but you’re unsure why. Maybe it's kind of like a kinship thing. Like, hey, I’m up this early too. I see you, we’ve got the night covered while almost everyone else sleeps.

“Oh, I see. You don’t want to be up this early.” Jack’s back to, what you assume is his normal, stoic, expression. You didn’t even notice he stopped laughing

“Do you like the night shift?” you ask. You don’t deny his claim. Who wants to be up this early to work?

“I do, yeah, I do.” Jack does, apparently.

“Is it quieter?”

“Is it ever quiet?”

He stares at you. You open and close your mouth– look around the empty cafe. “I mean, here? Yeah. in a hospital? I’m gonna go with no.”

He nods his head slowly, and looks down. He doesn’t leave, though. Even though the transaction is over. He needs someone to talk to, you realize. Someone who isn’t dying, and someone who doesn’t know what the hell is going on in a hospital at 4:00 A.M. He doesn’t pick his head up, fiddling with the stopper you put in the lid of the coffee.

“Well, I hope that coffee doesn’t make your hands shake, I don’t want to be implicated.” That gets his eyes to meet yours. He looks like he forgot he was still standing there. “You’re free to stay however long you need, say the line was long, or, whatever. I am gonna set some more stuff up but, feel free to hang out. It’s kind of nice having someone to talk to.” You turn the blame on yourself; make him feel like he’s treating you instead.

You’ve always been kind of attuned to people’s emotional baggage. And a few years of customer service in a city has certainly bumped up that ability for you. People came and went, but you could remember who was hurting, and who needed the extra bedside manners that baristas could sometimes supply. You catch his eye while you make yourself a shift drink. A London fog today, with an extra tea bag, because you do need the caffeine.

“A barista who doesn’t drink coffee?” he says, gesturing with his cup.

“Oh, I drink a lot of coffee. But, I try to save those for when it gets busy. Right now, I’m okay with just tea. If I drink the coffee now, I’ll crash by the rush, and there won’t be time to make a drink. But if I drink it closer to the rush then…”

“Smart girl,” he says.

The comment makes your face feel hot. It’s your turn to put your head down, you polish the espresso machine in front of you instead of meeting his eyes.

“Are you in school?” he asks.

“I am, I’m getting my Masters. Last semester,” you smile.

“In what?” His bluntness is more attractive than you care to admit. It feels like an interrogation, but also like a first date. You wonder why he’s stayed this long.

“Philosophy,” you say as you exhale out.

“Plans after?”

“I thought everyone knew they weren’t supposed to ask people that?”

He laughs, again. Two laughs from mysterious brooding Doctor Abbot. Three if you count the tiny one. You want to go for four. You want to go for sixty.

“I guess it’s easy for Med School students. Very clear plan there.”

“Very clear. But I took a work around.”

“Oh yeah?”

He gets a small smirk on his lips, “Yeah, I served, and was a medic out there.” Your face drops, everything you think you know about anything leaves your brain, you have another stupid 4 A.M. thought and think maybe you should salute. Luckily, you don’t.

“That always stumps people. But, I loved what I did so much I did an expedited Med School program to get me in as an ER doctor.”

“So, here you are now.” you regain your thinking.

“Here I am,” he says. “Hey, are you here alone?”

“You should know there’s cameras everywhere.”

“Whoa, whoa,” he says, understanding your joke. Another laugh, that makes four. “I just wondered.”

“No, I’m not. There’s other people in the back doing, what needs done in the back.” You say, not wanting to bore an ER Doctor with what goes on at a coffee shop.

“Good, you shouldn’t be here alone.”

“You worried about me, Doc?”

The nickname, and question, sends him for a loop, that he can’t hide. His gaze seems to change, and he stares at you with such intensity you have to look away for a second before you can look back. When you do, his eyes are still there. He clears his throat, does a little pace around the spot he was standing. He seems like he’s stalling. You peak over his shoulder at the analog clock. 4:30 A.M. Long coffee run for a doctor, he’s probably thinking so too.

“Do you work this early every morning?” He asks with furrowed eyebrows.

So, ignoring your question then. “Mostly, yes, but not tomorrow, thankfully.”

“But after that?” He asks with urgency.

“I’ll be here the day after tomorrow, yes.” You try to keep a cool demeanor, but his nonchalant nature is rubbing off on you. You’re starting to get antsy. You spin the ring on your pointer finger around to try to calm yourself.

“Okay, good. I’ll see you the day after tomorrow.” Like it’s nothing. Like it’s not a fucking second date type plan. Like he doesn’t even think of it.

“Okay, good.” You say, parroting him. He walks toward the door backwards, not breaking eye contact with you. He pushes it open with his shoulder, tossing the empty cup into the trash bin right next to the front door. He stands there for a second before leaving. And when he is forced to turn around from you, he shakes his head.

You’re off the rest of your shift. Everyone can tell. You’re not as fast, you’re making mistakes. You feel like you’re in a fucking dream. You can’t remember if he was even real. Jack Abbot. Jack Abbot. Jack Abbot.

You repeat the name until you feel like you’re gonna choke on it. Doctor Jack Abbot. You try to remember everything you said, and you try not to feel embarrassed by any of it. God, he caught you off guard. And it wasn’t fair! You could’ve handled it so much better if it wasn’t so, fucking, early. And he had hours of consciousness on you! When he came in, it had been, what, maybe an hour since you had woken up?

And you really try not to think too much about it. He said he’d come back, so it couldn’t have been too bad. But you like him, and you have never had a crush on a customer. It was a rule you had always followed. Anyone you thought was cute, you didn’t let yourself spiral about, you cut it in the bud. You didn’t want to have someone the whole staff knew suddenly disappear because you two went on a bad date.

But the staff didn’t know Jack! It was just you two, there wasn’t even a goddamn transaction on record! So of course you’re spiraling! And he’s a doctor, a good doctor, who obviously cares about his patients. You wanted to pry his brain open, have him teach you all the science knowledge you didn’t get from your Philosophy degree. You wanted him. And all you had was a promise.

You do get yourself under control, about an hour before your shift ends. You didn’t let yourself google him. You didn’t let yourself think about him. You focused on your work, and honestly, it got so busy it did kind of get pushed to the back of your head. But he was lingering around. He was like a piece of sticky gum on your shoe. It was a promise that you would not let yourself be sad if it was broken. You will yourself to not spiral about a promise from this man you didn’t really know. Your whole life wasn’t going to be over if Dr. Jack Abbot didn’t come in promptly at 4 A.M. the day after tomorrow.

He didn’t seem like the type to break a promise. You don’t know why he would have been so adamant about asking you when you work if he was lying. No, you’d see him again. You just had to be calm, and wait. Tomorrow was going to kill you, though. A day off with nothing to do but classes. You hoped the coursework would be interesting enough to distract you from him in your brain. For a brief moment, you wonder if you should change your thesis to applying different types of philosophy to ER Doctors. You couldn’t believe you were so caught up by a thirty minute conversation, but you were. There was no changing that. You just had to get to the day after tomorrow.

Yes, the day after tomorrow, maybe you’d get another thirty minutes.

#jack abbot x reader #the pitt fanfiction #dr abbot x reader #jack abbot #jack abbott #the pitt #jack ⋆⁺₊❅. ㅤ

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bemusedlybespectacled · 1 year ago

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proposing what I'm going to call Gaylor's Razor, which is: never explain normal shit as being part of a secret message that can only be decoded by over-analysis.

"These Taylor Swift lyrics are actually coded messages saying that she's a lesbian and is forced to stay in the closet! Any lyrics that are clearly about being attracted to a man are just to throw us off the scent!" Sometimes people, like Taylor Swift, are straight and write about being straight, because they are straight.

"The fourth series of Sherlock was deliberately bad because it was actually a coded message to us fans that there is a secret fourth episode that will make Johnlock canon and will actually be good!" Sometimes writers (even experienced writers who are normally good at their jobs) will write something that's not good, because no one is perfect. They're not going to waste everyone's time and money and energy creating something terrible on purpose as part of a grand master plan.

"Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir, the Canadian Olympic ice dancers, are secretly married (with kids)! Their public relationships with people who are not each other and them repeatedly saying 'we dated as kids and now we're just friends' are just to hide the truth! Which they need to hide for some reason! Their relationship is obvious just from their physical chemistry when competing! JUST LOOK AT THIS TWO SECOND CLIP OF HIM BLINKING AT HER!" It seems counterproductive to put all that thought into hiding a relationship that doesn't need to be hidden but then also telegraph that same relationship in front of millions of people through planned choreography.

"But BB, what about times that people really are speaking in code or hiding something due to outside influences?"

If it requires huge leaps in logic, like adding all the letters in a sentence together and dividing by seventeen and that number matches the binary sequence for the color yellow so YELLOW MUST BE SIGNIFICANT, it's not a secret code.

If it requires focusing on teeny tiny details but discards huge ones, like analyzing someone's micro-expressions but handwaving away what the person is actually saying out loud with their mouth, or focusing on one specific line instead of the entire scene or song or whatever, it's not a secret code.

If both supporting and contradictory evidence are used to come to the same conclusion (ex: when Taylor says something that I interpret as gay, that means she's gay, and when she says something that I interpret as straight, that still means she's gay and just hiding it), it's not a secret code.

Trying to apply fandom meta analysis techniques to real life is a really good way of fall into conspiratorial thinking that can be easily exploited. You can totally try to predict what's going to happen in a story or choose to interpret a scene in a specific way; you can't do that in real life with real people. That way lies the kind of nonsense that leads to shit like "this image of pizza on a children's toy is actually subliminal messaging by The Cabal™ that proves that Pizzagate is real."

#personal #conspiracy theories

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gothamite-rambler · 5 months ago

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Clark and Diana must've had a field day at Damian's existence

*and the rape part was a second canon that I think was retconned again. comics are weird*

Clark: I'm sorry… You have a child… again?

Bruce: Yes.

Clark: And he's yours… like DNA test, yours?

Bruce took a deep inhale and then sighed.

Bruce: Yes.

Clark: And the kid is also related to Talia Al Ghul?

Bruce: Yep… Yep… I thought the condom wouldn't break.

Clark: I… I… I'm— You thought the what wouldn't break?

Diana (amused): I'm surprised you didn't try the pull-out method with that thought process. You had a child with Talia and he's the new Robin, did I miss anything?

Bruce: No... no. You're about right.

Clark: I'm not sure how to react.

Diana: I got you on this. The dark knight, master detective, stoic emo billionaire had a child with one of your arch-enemies? The one you said you'd never have relations with again?

Bruce: …Yep.

Diana nodded and pointed at Bruce, laughing accordingly. The man covered his face, embarrassed.

Clark: Ignore her. You said you weren't even aware he was… alive. That there was a being that shares your DNA? You have plans that can defeat us, but you never thought to check in on the woman you slept with eight years ago?

Diana laughed harder, falling out of her seat in hysterics. Clark shook his head.

Bruce: Okay, at first I was aware she was pregnant, and then she said she lost the baby, so… I never called her about that. You can stop laughing, Diana!

Diana: I can't stop! This is too funny! It’s funnier than when Hermes tricked Zeus into drinking fermented wine. I can't breathe! Wait, wait— when Zeus found out about his child…

Clark (jokingly): Which one?

Bruce: I wasn’t aware he existed! I didn’t know the child I had with a crazy woman was around! Can she not laugh at me? I’m now linked to Ra's Al Ghul! This is a lot for me! Can you show me some pity?

Clark and Diana: No!

Bruce: Why are you judging me?!

Clark: Because you look hypocritical in the funniest way possible.

Diana: Exactly! You had a kid from a booty call. Wait, wait, serious time.

Diana got back in her seat and cleared her throat.

Diana: It was consensual, correct?

Bruce: Yes.

Diana: And you used a condom from where?

Bruce: …A gas station.

Diana: And you thought it would do the job? A gas station condom?

Bruce: I was hoping it would, or at the very least she'd have protection. I didn't know she wanted kids!

Diana (chuckling): You thought the woman who's been wanting to marry you for years wouldn't want kids?!

Clark (laughing): We listen and we judge!

Bruce: I hate you both. Stop judging me. I'm the Dark Knight.

Bruce covered his face, groaning.

Clark: We're just messing with you. I, for one, am happy you took the kid in. I imagine being raised around the Ghuls wasn't great… or safe.

Bruce: Um… okay, he wasn't just raised around them… Jason helped babysit him. He’s known for eight years.

Clark and Diana (mocking him): We listen and we judge!

Diana burst into laughter again.

Diana: I knew there was a reason I like him!

Clark: I'm pretty sure she's happy for you too. Just the—

Bruce (mortified): Yeah, the situation is humorous because it's at my expense and ironic that I fumbled like that. I'm going to be dealing with this a lot now. I do love him, though. He's a cute kid… He's neat, like all my other sons.

Clark: Aww, that's sweet and reassuring, honestly. A rich white man with a baby from a booty call usually doesn’t go well.

Bruce: The fact I know that's true really says something, but thank you for the compliment.

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that-one-girl2020 · 7 days ago

Note

Hey, I was wondering if you could do a skit about what were the Saja Boys fighting about and what Jinu and Rumi were talking about, because I really want to know.

Interlude

Saja Boys x Rumi’s Sister! Reader

A/N: Sorry getting around to this one took a little bit, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with it until I started writing it. This takes during part 5! Rumi and Jinu’s conversation happens before the start of the part and the fight between the guys happens during the Idol Awards. Rumi and Jinu’s song is still Rumi and Jinu’s song, just with some edits.

Synopsis: What happened between Rumi and Jinu before the Idol Awards without the romantic undertone? What fight did the boys stage as part of their plan?

CW: Self mutilation (only mention), toxic parenting (thanks Celine), arguing.

Word Count: 2,024

Master List

(Reminder: Baby = Jum, Romance = Chungae, Mystery = Hyeon, Abby = Kwan)

What did Rumi and Jinu talk about?

“Okay, sooo…” Rumi drawled as she joined Jinu. The two had agreed to meet up the night before the Idol Awards to discuss Jinu’s answer. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Why does the bird wear a tiny hat?” She raised an eyebrow curiously at the three-eyed magpie perched atop its blue tiger friend.

“I made it for the tiger, but the bird keeps taking it,” Jinu explained, looking at said bird. Sussie only narrow its eyes at the two, daring them to try and take the hat from him.

Rumi and Jinu chuckled. She was surprised at how easy it was to get along with Jinu when she looked past his surface. Yeah, his appearance had flustered her at first, but he was just an ordinary guy.

“So, about tomorrow, have you thought about my proposal?”

Jinu’s face became solemn. “Look, I want to believe in your crazy plan, but I don’t think I’m the one to help you.” His mind was stuck on thoughts of you. The soft moments the two of you shared together. The self-inflicted marks you had on your arms from scratching at your patterns. He was conflicted. If he actually helped Rumi with her plan, would that help you or would it just trap you into a life of never fully accepting yourself if your patterns didn’t disappear? But if he went through with his own plan, would you hate him?

Rumi’s voice interrupted his thoughts, “Actually, you already have.” Jinu looked at her curiously. “I spent my whole life keeping this secret, this shame of what I am, and the more I hid this shame, the more it grew and grew until it started to destroy the one thing that gave me a purpose, my voice.”

Jinu listened to her quietly. He was frustrated on your behalf. Rumi spoke with no regard for you or what you were going through by also having to hide this part of yourself. But he couldn’t change the way Rumi felt about her situation.

“But since I’ve met you, and the more I talk to you, become friends with you, I don’t understand it, but somehow, my voice has healed,” Rumi went on.

Jinu listened as she sang.

“I tried to hide but something broke~ I tried to sing, couldn't hit the note~ The words kept catching in my throat~ I tried to smile, I was suffocating though~ But here with you, I can finally breathe~ You say you're no good, but you're good for me~ I've been hoping to change, now I know we can change~ But I won't if you're not by my side~”

There were flaws in her song, holes that made something inside Jinu ache. Rumi was still blinded by illusions. A reality that she wanted but wasn’t hers. And he ached because he was the source of Rumi’s comfort when it came to accepting a part of herself that you shared. It shouldn’t be him there, it should be you. Why couldn’t Rumi just talk to you? Why couldn’t Rumi see that you were hurting?

“Why does it feel right every time I let you in?~ Why does it feel like I can tell you anything?~ All the secrets that keep me in chains, and~ All the damage that might make me dangerous~ You got a dark side, guess you're not the only one~ What if we both tried fighting what we're running from?~ We can't fix it if we never face it~ What if we find a way to escape it?~”

Jinu kept back, keeping his distance from Rumi as she sang of false hope. ‘Escape it’? Escape a part of him that makes him who he is? He doesn’t always like that part of him, but it's still exactly that. A part of him. He couldn’t be so naive as to want to escape it. But he could feel the genuine emotions Rumi was putting into her words, her desire for a friendship like this. Someone who can understand her and see all of her without judgement. And Jinu wanted that too.

“We could be free, free~ We can't fix it if we never face it~ Let the past be the past 'til it's weightless~”

He just didn’t think he would be getting the non-judgemental relationship he wanted from Rumi. But that didn’t mean he didn’t want her friendship. So he opened up a little bit, let a crack shine through to his true self.

“Ooh, time goes by, and I lose perspective~ Yeah, hope only hurts, so I just forget it~ But she’s breaking through all the dark in me when I thought that nobody could~ And she’s waking up all these parts of me that I thought were buried for good~”

You. He told Rumi about you, vague as it was. The girl that reminded him what its like to be human. To care. To love.

“Between imposter and this monster, I been lost inside my head~ Ain't no choice when all these voices keep me pointing towards no end~ It's just easy when I'm with her, no one sees me the way she does~ I don't trust it, but I want to, I keep coming back to~”

And Rumi smiled with understanding. Because she had people like that too. People she wanted to be better for, to be able to open herself up to fully. She and Jinu really were a lot alike.

“Why does it feel right every time I let you in?~ Why does it feel like I can tell you anything?~ We can't fix it if we never face it~ What if we find a way to escape it?~”

The two sang together, voicing their similar hope and wish. To be free to love the people that they do. For all of them to be seen and accepted whole heartedly. No secrets. No lies.

“We could be free, free~ We can't fix it if we never face it~ Let the past be the past 'til it's weightless~”

The two felt like they were floating. Like they could share the deepest parts of them and the other would only accept it with open arms. Like they had known each other for years instead of just a few weeks.

“Oh, so take my hand, it's open (Free, free)~ What if we heal what's broken? (Free, free)~”

The two friends took each other’s hands. If the whole world fell apart and they lost everyone else, at least they would still have each other. Because Jinu knew the dark secrets that Rumi kept hidden from everybody else. And Rumi knew the light hopes that Jinu kept hidden from the world.

“I tried to hide but something broke~ I couldn't sing, but you give me hope~ We can't fix it if we never face it~ Let the past be the past 'til it's weightless~”

The two stood in silence for a moment, Rumi shocked at how strong her voice felt as she sang with Jinu, and Jinu shocked at how quiet his head was. That hadn’t happened around anyone except…you. “I…I don’t hear his voice,” Jinu admitted in his shock. “I’ll make sure the Saja Boys lose tomorrow.”

Rumi’s lips twitched up in a small smile, “Then we’ll both win.” Rumi looked down in consideration, tempted to leave without asking but her curiosity got the best of her. “Who is she?”

Jinu blinked, “Huh?”

Rumi jokingly rolled her eyes. “Who is she?” She repeated. “The girl you mentioned when we were singing?”

Jinu startled, his back straightening as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. He hadn’t really thought that one through. “Oh, uh, a girl, just a girl I met, uh, during one of our performances. She…she just sees and accepts all of me,” Jinu told her, a blush on his cheeks.

Rumi was tempted to ask if this girl knew about them being demons but she couldn’t help but internally coo at how bashful Jinu was about this girl he obviously liked. She must be really special. “I’m happy for you, Jinu. If it all goes to plan, you should ask her out.”

Jinu chuckled, “Yeah, only when you finally ask out those two girls.”

Rumi spluttered, her face turning red, “Ah, no, we’re just friends!”

Jinu smirked, crossing his arms smugly, “But you knew exactly what girls I was talking about, didn’t you?”

Rumi only stuttered more, feeling caught, “No, just, they, they’re—ugh, just shut up. You’re so annoying sometimes.” She turned on her heel to leave. She desperately wanted to end this conversation. “Bye Jinu.”

Jinu couldn’t help but want to tell her the truth. About his past. He wanted this friendship with her to be genuine, to share who he really was. “Rumi, wait. I…”

Rumi looked at him expectantly.

“I…” He couldn’t do it. “I can’t wait to see you on that stage tomorrow.”

For you, he would betray Gwi Ma. He couldn’t be selfish. This way, you could live a happy life.

But then, as Rumi left, Gwi Ma summoned him to remind Jinu of the type of person he really was.

~~~

What were the boys fighting about during the Idol Awards?

The boys were tense. They had passed the Huntr/x girls earlier. Their skin crawled with the urge to do something. Just last night, you had been crying on their couch, in their arms, singing to them in your sweet voice about how you had been shoved into a mold that didn’t fit you. And those girls had played a role in it.

But they had to stick to the plan.

The five of them were in their dressing room, ready for their cue. The air was tense. The five of them knew the next part of the plan that had to happen, they had to come up with an excuse not to perform. They had discussed it earlier and decided to stage a fight between them. But it would only be believable if it was about a real topic. None of them wanted to start it.

“Jinu,” Kwan began, a frown on his lips and a furrow in his brow. “Are you really friends with Rumi? The girl who played a direct part in ruining (Y/n)’s life?”

Okay, so they were going with this topic. The other Saja Boys hadn’t gotten to know Rumi like Jinu had so there were definitely…opinions about her.

“You don’t know her, and yeah, she’s not perfect, but she is my friend,” Jinu rebutted.

“Sure, a friend who doesn’t deserve the sister she has,” Jum added fuel to the spark of agitation.

“It’s not like we deserve her either,” Hyeon crossed his arms, saying what they all had been thinking for a while.

Chungae bristled, “That’s not for us to decide, that’s up to her.”

”You know what choice she’ll make, she’s too good for us,” Jinu reminded them all bitterly.

“She is, but this isn’t the way to protect her,” Chungae scowled.

”Then how do you suggest we protect her, huh?!” Jinu burst out. “Please, I’d love to hear some other ideas!”

“This whole thing was your idea, don’t tell us you're tapping out now!” The five devolved into spitting vitriol at each other, whatever came to mind first.

“I’m not letting us all be sealed away, away from her!”

“Well, how do you think this is gonna end?! We’re on different sides!”

“What, and you wanna leave her alone with all these people?!”

A stage hand tried to get their attention, “Boys, you're on in two minutes!”

They continued.

“How are we supposed to protect her, love her when all we do is break everything we touch?!”

“All we can do is our best for her!”

“Our best is never good enough, look where it got us!”

“This is the best we can do for her?! Betraying her and throwing her to the wolves?!”

The stage hand turned to another, “Change of schedule, go and tell Huntr/x that they’re going on.”

Mission success. They separated to ‘get some air.’ The next stage of their plan commenced.

Outtakes:

*Later*

You: *earnestly concerned* “So…what did you guys argue about?”

The Saja Simps: *not wanting to tell you they argued about not being deserving of you* “Uhhh…”

Jinu: “Global warming.”

Chungae: “Nail polish colors.”

Hyeon: “Cats or dogs.”

Kwan: “Is water wet.”

Jum: “The meaning of life.”

You: “…”

You: “Okay, don’t tell me then.”

…

*Meanwhile, with Polytr/x*

Mira: “Why are you so close with Jinu…?”

Zoey: “Yeah, you two are oddly close for someone you’ve known for a few weeks.”

Rumi: “Uhhh…we bonded over our mutual dislike for a side of ourselves and sang about our emotions…?”

Mira and Zoey: *Gasp* “You sang an emotionally revealing and trauma bonding song with Jinu before us?!”

…

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gurugirl · 1 year ago

Text

Sex Tutor

Summary: Harry's got a reputation on campus and you're curious to know if he can help you.

A/N: Requested! Thank y'all for being patient with me! Hope you enjoy! This will be 2 parts!!

Word Count: 10k

Warning: smut (oral sex), fluff, praise kink

. . .

“Yeah… that was good. I liked it.”

That wasn’t the reaction you were hoping to get. You thought Gunther would be a lot more enthusiastic after coming in your mouth and you swallowing him down. You gave it your best work. You even choked a couple of times and you did hear him moan once or twice. But that didn’t feel like enough

You wanted to ask him exactly what went wrong. Tips on what he liked and didn’t. What you could do better next time… But instead, he just smiled and kissed your cheek, avoiding your mouth because obviously kissing the lips that had just sucked his cock would be gross.

So you left his dorm feeling a little disappointed in yourself. Annoyed really. You wished you were more bold and could just ask him what he wanted, what he liked most. You complained to your roommate even. She loved giving advice so you were always venting to her.

“Well, you know there’s like this guy on campus who will walk you through that kind of thing… a sex tutor if you will. Let’s just say that he comes highly recommended. I know someone who hung out with him a few times, and she learned so much about her body and how good sex could feel without coming but he always made her come every time, and no man has ever done that to her before she told me.”

“A tutor for blow jobs?” You scrunched your face and giggled.

“Well, blow jobs and everything else really. I don’t know. He gets around and they say he’s very knowledgeable about the body and sex. I think he’s like getting his masters in sexual health or something?”

You shoved at her shoulder and laughed, “Oh my god I don’t think so. That sounds crazy. He’s probably some weird pervert or something.”

Your roommate turned her cellphone screen to face you, showing you an Instagram page with a photo of a very attractive young man you’d seen on campus a time or two.

“That’s him?” Your eyes widened as you looked from the photo to your roommate.

“Yup. He’s not a weirdo either. I hear he’s super respectful and smart. Plus the bonus is that he looks like this.”

You nodded. That certainly was a bonus. Harry Styles. You knew about him from the student council. He did a lot of volunteering on campus and he was a graduate student so you didn’t know him all that well, being only a sophomore yourself, but it was hard not to at least know the name and the face. He was popular. Clearly far more popular than you even realized.

And you definitely weren’t going to reach out for a “session”. That just felt silly. Though, you couldn’t say you weren’t intrigued by the idea, it just wasn’t for you. Except that when Gunther didn’t text or call you back for three full days, the whole time you wondered if your blow job was that bad. So when he did finally text you back to make plans for the following week, you felt like you were being given another chance to prove how good you could be. And maybe a lesson or two could be useful.

Reaching out to him via DMs on Instagram felt so unserious but you still did it. You cringed as you hit send and read over your message three times.

Hi! I heard you give special “tutoring” sessions and wanted to know if you have some time to meet with me to set something up? Let me know if it’s okay.

You couldn’t believe you were doing this, reaching out to a stranger for, basically, a booty call. But apparently he was used to it and had no qualms about responding to you in less than thirty minutes. As if he was running some kind of business.

Hi! Happy to meet up with you either tonight or Friday night. The initial meeting should only take like 20 minutes, somewhere public so you feel comfortable. I’ll ask you a few questions and then we’ll set up a private one-on-one session together if it makes sense for both of us. No pressure ever. Whenever you’re ready.

Private one-on-one session. You rolled your eyes as you read over Harry’s response.

Tonight is good for me if you can fit me in. Whatever time you want.

You didn’t know what to expect. You imagined he was cocky since he was apparently so good and sought after. Perhaps he would take one look at you and turn around. You were sure he had a say in who he “tutored”. Doubted he took on every single person who reached out to him.

Your roommate said he was respectful but you would place money on the fact that he was probably full of himself, being that he was a self-proclaimed Sex Guru. You were preparing yourself for someone with a larger-than-life personality.

You kept your outfit casual, not wanting to look like you were trying too hard. Jeans and a hoodie. Though you did shower and put on nice panties and made sure you smelled good. Just in case. One never knows when they are due to visit with a sex tutor.

Maud’s was one of your favorite spots on campus. They had the best iced matcha latte and that’s just what you ordered yourself when you arrived. You sat down at a small table and faced toward the door so you could keep an eye out.

You were looking down at your cell phone when you heard the chime of the door. Flitting your eyes up and away from the screen of your phone you scanned the entry and spotted him right away.

He was wearing a black pullover hoodie and jeans. His hair all tousled like he’d just finished a “tutoring” session. You raised your hand to wave at him and catch his attention and he grinned as you stood up but he gestured for you to stay seated, “I’ll be right back. Just gonna order a drink.”

You were already feeling hot and embarrassed. God, what were you doing? The man was sex on legs and that deep, raspy voice he just spoke to you with had your insides twisting and turning all mushy.

When he returned he had an iced tea and he sat across from you. The smile on his face was kind. Open. It set you at ease a bit.

He took a sip through his straw and you noted the rings on his fingers and the nail polish on his nails, “So, Y/n. It’s nice to meet you in person. What are you majoring in?”

Okay. Small talk. You could handle that.

You told him your classes and what you were majoring in and then asked him the same and when he explained he was going for his doctorate in psychology with the intent to become a sex therapist you felt your heart thump wildly. He was gorgeous and going for a doctorate. The man was so beyond out of your league that you wondered why he was even sitting at that table with you entertaining this silly request of yours.

“Wow. That’s… I’m impressed.”

He grinned and you saw a dimple carve into his cheek, “Thank you. I’ve worked really hard to get where I am. Still working, though. So let’s talk about what you want. What things are you interested in getting some guidance on?”

Here it was. The moment you’d been dreading. But also what you were most curious about.

“Well, I’m seeing this guy and,” you took a breath. It was embarrassing to say it so casually at a café on campus of all places.

Harry reached toward you and placed his warm palm over the top of yours, “Hey, I know this feels weird. Doing this. I’m not going to pressure you to say it if you find it’s too uncomfortable but just know,” he dipped his head down to meet your gaze with his brows gently raised, “Everything you tell me here will be kept confidential and private. I’m not going to make fun of you or compare you to anyone else. If you change your mind, that’s okay too. I want you to feel like you’re talking to a friend. Okay? It’s up to you how much or how little you say. We move at your pace.”

You let out the breath you were holding and smiled. He was so – nice. He made you feel so at ease.

“Thank you. It’s weird. Yeah… but I think I’m okay. I want to do this. I want to be better at like,” you looked around yourself and lowered your voice as Harry moved his hand from yours and you settled your gaze back on his, “Better at giving blow jobs. And maybe like initiating more?”

He nodded, “Okay. Have you ever given a blow job before?”

You nodded, “Recently. The guy didn’t seem very enthusiastic about it so I didn’t know if I did something wrong.”

He took a sip of his tea and his green irises bored into yours, “I can tell you one thing I know that is true for nearly every single male I know; they love getting head. Even if he wasn’t vocal he probably really enjoyed whatever you did. Does that make you feel better about your skill level?”

You puffed out a laugh and saw the smirk on his face. He was trying to get you to smile, “I don’t know. Probably. I’m sure I’m overthinking it but I just wanted… like I want to be really good. Want to know tricks to get a real response.”

“Did the guy you’re seeing orgasm?”

You nodded again.

Harry’s grin softened, “Then you did as good as you could have. Goal achieved. He orgasmed and you made that happen.”

“But I want to be better. Like… I really enjoyed what I was doing. Made me really… well…” you looked down at your empty mug and sighed, “I felt like I enjoyed it more than he did.”

He nodded and licked his lips and if you didn’t know any better you’d say he was kind of checking you out. You weren’t wearing anything revealing but he seemed to keep dropping his gaze to your lips and neck. But you figured that was because he was still getting used to your face and he was sussing you out a bit to see if he wanted anything to do with you beyond this conversation.

But that was true. He was checking you out. He saw your Instagram pictures before he contacted you (always his first step) and thought you were cute and wouldn’t mind seeing you in person. He certainly wasn't disappointed by you when he saw you either. You were cute and a little nervous and when you started talking about how you enjoyed giving that loser a blow job he couldn’t help but shift his eyes down to your mouth and imagine what your lips would look like on his cock. He wondered if you’d be just as eager to suck him off as you seemed like you were for the other guy.

Now, Harry was a polite and nice man. He was as respectful as they came. But he was still a man with a very high sex drive and he couldn’t help it. He did enjoy having sex and he got a lot of ass because he was good at what he did. And he was under no allusion that it also didn’t have anything to do with how attractive he was. Because of course, it did. He was aware of the way women looked at him and all the whispers about him on campus. And most of the time the sessions were just fun sex more than anything else. However, he happily gave guidance when needed.

And this time he was feeling pretty gung-ho to see what you could do. He’d like to get started right away, which normally he’d wait until after the initial meeting before jumping into it but there was something about the way you were looking at him, your eyes hungry and inviting…

You watched Harry shift in his chair and look around the café before he looked back at you, “What are you doing right now? Like after this?”

“Oh… nothing. Was gonna read a little, prep for a test I have on Monday. But…” you shook your head.

“Would you be interested in going somewhere more private? My studio is at the off-campus university apartments. Twenty-minute walk from here.”

Was he…? You scrunched your brows, confused at the sudden invite to his place.

“It’s up to you. I’m not rushing you or anything I just have a free evening and you seem really enthusiastic and I’d like to kind of get a feel for what we’re working with. If you think you’re ready.”

You nodded, “Okay. I mean… yeah. So no roommates?” You laughed nervously as he stood up and it was the first time you let your attention fall to the space at his crotch, to which you quickly bobbed your eyes back up to his face as you stood.

“Nope. Co-ed apartments. No roommate. Super private.” He didn’t miss the way you scraped your eyes over his torso and down to the spot on his jeans where his zipper was.

So that was that then. You’d be getting a lesson sooner than you imagined. And when you walked the twenty minutes through campus and the street that was just adjacent to the cafeteria you could almost hear your heart pounding. He was taller than you expected. He easily kept the conversation alive with small talk. He seemed so confident and easygoing. You tried to let that charisma and charm soak through your veins so that you weren’t as nervous as you felt, but it was impossible. You were about to go into Harry Style’s apartment alone and probably give him a blow job.

Harry waved at a few people on your way up to his floor. He was clearly popular. You wondered if anyone knew what might be happening. Why you were with him and why you were following behind him like you were a pup being trained and he was carrying a treat.

“Here she is,” he opened his door and gestured for you to walk inside. Neat and tidy with stacks of books and lots of plants. Some plants hanging, most potted, and on the floor or on tables. You noted he had no television and that there was a big partition that separated the small living space from what was probably where he had his bed. The kitchen was organized with open shelving and he’d bought a wire rack and it was stacked full of packaged foods, spices, oil, and other things to cook with at the top and at the bottom with pots and pans and a blender with its cord neatly wrapped around the base.

He excused himself to the bathroom while you looked around. There wasn’t anywhere to go really. There were two doors in the whole place. The bathroom door and another one, which you assumed was a closet. The kitchen area was open to the small living space.

When Harry emerged he sat down on the couch, which looked well-worn. You wondered how many people he’d had over and on that very couch. He sat with his legs spread and drew his arms over the back of the couch and just watched as you stepped in closer toward the small coffee table, “I like all the plants,” you commented.

He nodded and you clasped your hands behind your back in wait for what would happen next. You didn’t want to look again at his crotch. But the way he was sitting made it hard. He took up so much space on that couch and with his legs spread open like they were, it was almost as if he wanted you to.

“Gonna sit with me? I’m not gonna do anything if you don’t want.”

You nodded and sat down, keeping your limbs close to your body and separate from him. You didn’t want to invade his space or get in too close. Not yet anyway. Not until he invited you. Or rather, until he told you what to do next.

“Everything I said at Maud’s still stands. If you change your mind that’s fine. I’m not going to be mad.”

You turned to look at him and swallowed. The guy was out of this world. Simply delicious looking. “Okay.” You spoke in barely above a whisper.

Harry leaned forward, putting his elbows over his knees as he kept his eyes on you, “Is this how you usually initiate?”

You raised your brows and shook your head, “What?”

“You said you wanted to be better at initiating. So far, I’m not getting any signals that you’re interested. Could be your first problem. Try relaxing a little, Y/n. Sit back and unhook your fingers. Loosen your shoulders. Not only will you feel more settled, but you’ll make the person with you feel better too. Which could push you to naturally begin conversation or movements that encourage contact.”

“Oh. Okay,” you sat back into his couch and loosed your hands, relaxing your posture, and looked at him, “Like this?”

Harry grinned and let out a small laugh, “Perfect. Now at least it appears you’re not scared of me.”

“I’m not scared,” you quickly shook your head.

“I didn’t think you were. But your body language was giving closed-off signals. Which could appear to some like fear or discomfort.”

It made sense you guessed.

“I see. So, relax and it makes everyone feel better.”

He grinned, “So tell me what normally happens when you’re with someone and it leads to something sexual. Set the scene for me.”

You cleared your throat and decided to use your last time with Gunther as the example.

“Well, we were in his dorm room listening to music and laughing about something–“

“Back up a little. Did you invite yourself to his room? Did he invite you? What happened before you got to his room?”

“Oh, uh…” you pursed your lips in thought. “Well, we were out with two mutual friends. At a bar. Gunther, his name is Gunther, he was kind of flirting with me and I liked it. We didn’t really know each other all that well before but I always found him interesting. And so… he was flirting with me. Complimenting me. Things like that. Then he asked me to go back to his room with him. So, I sort of figured something would happen,” you shrugged. You didn’t know why it was so weird telling him all those details but it was.

You recounted how Gunther had made all the moves; kissed you first, groped you and then somehow it ended up with you sucking him off while he laid back on his bed and you were between his legs.

“And… he didn’t return the favor? Like you didn’t get anything?”

You shook your head, “I mean, I didn’t ask. He got off and then that was it really. I left not long after.”

Harry frowned, “Okay. And did you hope he’d do something in return? Like, use his hands or his mouth on you? Did you want more?”

Another shrug of your shoulders, “I mean… I didn’t expect it. Thought maybe next time we could do more? I don’t know.”

“You didn’t expect it. But would you have liked it?”

Nodding your head you looked away from his eyes, “I guess.”

“Did it turn you on?”

Another embarrassing thing to admit to someone you hardly knew. You nodded again, “It just all happened really quickly. I kind of thought things would take longer and we’d chat and maybe he’d have me stay longer and then… well anyway. It was like a total of thirty minutes or something that I was in his room.”

Harry sighed and crossed his leg over his thigh toward you, “And you really want to give Gunther the best head you can? The guy who wasn’t worried about your own needs? Seems very selfless of you, Y/n.”

You let out a breath and laughed, “I know. I just want to be good at it. And that was the first time we did anything so I figured I’d give him a pass.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you. Gunther is lucky you’re still willing to give him another shot.”

“I guess I thought if I was better he’d want to do it more and maybe then we could do other things too.”

“I’m going to be honest, Y/n,” Harry stretched his arm across the back of the couch, “You’re very cute and you probably won’t need to worry much about initiating most of the time. Like, for me, all you have to do is look at me with those pretty eyes and I’m ready to do whatever you want me to.”

It had been a surprise to hear that. You weren’t sure what to do with that information but you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you looked down at your lap.

“But a good start is to keep eye contact. At least enough to indicate interest. Can you look at me?”

Lifting your gaze to his he grinned, “There we go. So pretty.”

You shook your head, “I’m sure you say that to everyone.”

Harry lifted his hand to your cheekbone, “No. I don’t. And I don’t do this with just anyone either. Sometimes I turn down a request. I don’t tell them why but… There’s gotta be attraction on my end as well. And I find you very attractive, Y/n.”

You swallowed down the saliva in your throat and blinked for a break in eye contact before biting your lip.

“Now, even though we’re here for one thing, I do have opinions on matters of the heart and relationships. And frankly, I have to be honest about this Gunther, guy,” he dropped his hand, making his fingers brush down your cheek until he was no longer touching you, “I don’t like that he didn’t offer to get you off too. That’s a big red flag in my book. I feel it’s important to give and to receive unless it’s explicitly stated at the beginning. But you told me you thought you’d get more. And that bothers me.”

“Well, he’s a nice guy. I think he just wasn’t thinking…”

“He wasn’t thinking about your needs. That was selfish of him and something to watch out for. We can give him a pass for the first time, but if you see him again and he still doesn’t think about your needs, I’d hope you’d end that relationship and seek someone who’s willing to be less selfish with you.”

It surprised you that Harry was saying that about Gunther. But perhaps he was right. You did leave his dorm that night quite disappointed.

“I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. I know you barely know me but that’s just my take. I’d never not offer to return the favor,” he kept his eyes on yours and you swore his lips were suddenly a shade darker. They looked like the perfect lips to kiss.

He grinned when he noted where your eyes were homed in on, “Do you mind coming closer? Feels like you're still too far away.”

You puffed out a nervous laugh as you scooted your bottom in closer toward Harry. His arm was draped over the back of the couch behind you and you felt the warmth of him before you felt his fingers graze the back of your neck.

“So, I can kiss you? Can we start there?”

You breathed out through your nose and smiled as you nodded and kept your face angled toward his. He watched as you hesitantly put your palm on his knee and he put his hand over yours, “You’re a natural. See?”

Another soft laugh fell from your mouth as Harry’s face drew in closer to yours and your heart stopped as he nudged his nose into yours and you felt his soft lips smush against yours.

It didn’t take long for you to start feeling that familiar heat between your legs as he ran his tongue against yours. It felt so intimate… not like a tutor lesson or anything of the sort. It was you and a handsome man making out on his couch as he pulled you onto his lap. It felt real.

For some reason, you imagined it being a little more dry. Like a real lesson. Like he’d pull his pants down and tell you what to do and show you what he liked and what really made men go wild. You hadn’t imagined kissing being part of the equation for some reason.

“Did he tell you how soft your lips are or how those sweet little noises coming from your mouth drove him crazy?”

He spoke his words between kisses and you were going to pass out. Because no, Gunther gave you no compliments once you got into his dorm room.

You shook your head as you parted from the kiss, your eyes on his.

Harry’s eyes roved your face as he softly dragged his thumb back and forth on your jaw, “I don’t like him one bit. You deserve someone who’s going to tell you how good you are and how good you make them feel.”

He softly pressed his lips against yours again, the kiss heating up into a frenzied pace once again as you stuffed your fingers into his hair and then you felt the bulk of his erection under your thigh when you moved in closer.

Parting from the kiss you looked down and then back up at him and he just smiled. Like it was the most normal and natural thing ever. Which… it kind of was.

“Got me all hard already,” he slid his thumb from the edge of your bottom lip inward and you moaned, “Just like that. You’re already better than you think you are. You’re driving me crazy, Y/n. I want to see what these lips look like wrapped around my cock. Can we do that?”

You nodded and began to move off of him but Harry took your hand in his, making you pause, “I’ll let you get me off if you let me get you off too. Okay?”

Your eyes widened, “Really? I thought this was just for–“

“I have a method and it always includes getting the other person off too. Or at least making them feel good. Unless you don’t want that. That’s okay too, but I would prefer to touch you as well.”

“Okay,” your words were breathy as he helped you off his lap, keeping your hand in his but then he stood up and you watched as he ran his free hand over his crotch, “Is it okay if we do it my bed? A little more space there. Think it’ll feel less rushed.”

Obviously yes. You wouldn’t dream of saying no to this man. Not that you wanted to.

The space behind the partition was just a bed and one side table. His bed was neatly made and there was a plant hanging by the opening of the partition. He gestured for you to follow him onto his mattress and he placed his back at the wall, where he had no headboard.

Kneeing up to him you were feeling shy again and he leaned forward and cupped your face with one hand, “You’re doing so good. If you need to stop at any time just say the word. I’m not here to make you do something you don’t want. Okay?”

You nodded, “Yeah. I know. I trust you.”

“Good. Just wanted to remind you is all. I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep going even if I’m enjoying it, which I have a feeling I’m gonna like whatever you do to me.”

You giggled and nodded. He was fluffing up your ego and you hadn’t even really gotten started yet.

Harry started to push his jeans down, lifted his hips to get them off his legs, and then kept his eyes on you as he held his hand out for you to take, “Come here.”

You put your hand in his and let yourself get pulled between his legs as you looked down at the sizable lump under his boxer briefs, “Can we take your jeans off? Kind of want to have you in my lap a little while before we get down to it, yeah?”

You nodded and unhooked your button before pulling your zipper down. Harry’s hands found your hips as you tugged your jeans down and he helped you out of them, leaving you in just your hoodie and panties. Like Harry. He was just in his boxer briefs and his hoodie too.

You crawled into his lap, your thighs straddling his, and sat down as Harry smoothed his hands up and down your thighs, “There we go. This feels nice, having you close like this,” he ran his palms toward your bottom and then back down your thighs to your knees, “How are you feeling?”

You put your palms on his shoulders, “Good. Feel good. And you?”

“I’m feeling great. I’ve got you here in my lap,” he brought a hand up from your thigh to your face, his fingers sliding behind your ear with his thumb at your cheekbone, “And I like you. I think this’ll be fun. Just want you to feel at ease with me.”

You shifted on his lap, getting in closer, “I do feel at ease with you, Harry. You’re really nice.”

“Good. That’s what I want to hear,” his voice was soft as he gently pulled you towards him and pressed his mouth against yours again. His kiss was soft and sultry. Harry was far more sensual than you imagined he would be. Lots of soft touches and reassuring words. And his mouth against yours was addictive.

You moaned when his thumb ran along the edge of your panties at your thigh and you rocked your hips down, pressing your panties-covered pussy over his erection.

He inhaled softly through his teeth and lowered his mouth to your neck where you were melted into him. His warm mouth sponged wet kisses down your pulse point as you lowered a hand to the top of his cock.

He sighed when you began to rub your palm over him and you began to move back. You were ready to get him in your mouth.

“You can bring me out if you want. Or I can do it. Whichever you’re more comfortable with.”

You bit your lip and continued palming over him as you kept your gaze focused on his, “I’ll do it. Do guys like that more?”

He grinned and the dimples that carved into his cheeks had you swooning, “Yeah. Maybe. Depends on the guy but it can feel like the girl is really excited, like she can’t wait – the enthusiasm is nice. For me? I do like it more. But honestly, I wouldn’t complain if you wanted me to do it myself.”

You nodded in understanding as you focused on the dark green material of his underwear and reached toward the waistband. You looked up at him once more to check in and he just gave you a singular nod to keep going so you did.

The material was warm and stretchy. And you loved the way it felt to run your palm up the length of him, before peeling the fabric away and slowly revealing his cock. His tip was thick and smooth and dark pink. And then his shaft was girthy, quite meaty really, but so stiff. And when you’d pulled his underwear down far enough you took the whole of him in and it was… well it was a bit overwhelming. There was no way on God’s green earth you’d be able to stick that whole thing in your mouth.

“You don’t have to have it all in there. This isn’t a porno. I don’t need you to choke on it or anything like that. Use your hands and your mouth, as long as it’s nice and wet it’s gonna feel really good.”

You nodded. It was a relief that he wasn’t expecting you to deepthroat that thing, “Do you like it when someone can take it all the way?”

Harry breathed a laugh out of his nostrils, “Well… only if the person giving head likes that kind of thing. I would never enjoy it if someone wasn’t into that. But yes. I do rather like it. Not more than any other type of blow job, though.”

You gulped and continued palmed at his length softly. Harry kept his eyes on you to watch how you’d do it. To see what your go-to move was and when you made no move he finally spoke, “Go in however you want. Let’s see how you normally go about giving a blow job.”

“Okay. Yeah…” You took a deep breath and lowered yourself down as he fixed his feet flat on the mattress with knees bent upward, making space for you to fit between his thighs. First, you spat over his tip and used your hand to rub your saliva down his shaft. A quick glance up at him and he looked like he was enjoying it.

After spitting another glob over his slit that clung to your lips a little longer than it did the first time things were feeling much wetter. You stroked along the full length of his cock, from base to tip, tip to base, and back again as you lowered further, getting your lips just over his tip, and looked up at him, swiping your tongue over his crown. Smooth and warm. Adjusting your hips you got into a better position and gripped his base with both hands as you began to take him in your mouth. Your tongue cupped the underside of his cock as you dipped down and pulled up, suckling at his tip before repeating.

Harry’s fingers gently pushed at your chin, “I’d like you to do one thing for me, Y/n…” your eyes shot up to his, “Can you keep your eyes on me, just like you’re doing right now?”

You pulled off and nodded, “Yeah. Sorry.”

Harry tutted at you, “You didn’t do anything wrong. Just really fond of your pretty eyes. Personal preference is all.”

Keeping your gaze on his you kissed his tip softly and slowly before tonguing at his frenulum. It was a good thing you were looking at him in that moment because the expression on his face as you ran your tongue along the underside of his cockhead was lascivious and the sudden heat between you two might not have been noticed if you hadn’t been looking at him.

When you lowered your lips over him again, hollowing your cheeks and cupping the underside of his dick with your tongue, he palmed over your cheek and softly thumbed at your temple, “Y/n… fuck… that’s really good. Keep looking at me like this pretty girl.”

The soft touch from his hand and thumb on your face was full of affection and made your heart thunder in your chest. It made you dizzy the way he was looking at you. It was such a lewd act but somehow filled with tenderness.

The drool that leaked out of your mouth and down his shaft allowed your hands to slip around his base, twisting as you bobbed over the first bit of him with your mouth. It seemed like he was really enjoying what you were doing. Having your eyes on him while you were doing it felt more encouraging than embarrassing.

And Harry was very much enjoying what you were doing. He wasn’t all that picky when it came to getting blow jobs. Why would he be? Some hot girl wanted him to show her how to be better? Well, he rarely did much in the way of making someone any better than they already were.

Harry never intended to be known as a sex tutor or a sex guru. He was just a guy who loved sex. A guy who was patient and who really did care about the person he was with, even if it was just a one-time thing (which most of them were). And his line of studies gave him insight many lacked. The more he slept around (safely) the better he got and the more he understood. He put into practice the things he learned in his classes and when he was a Junior after a string of hookups with a group of very popular seniors he started to get a reputation.

It started with comments and discussions on the size of his cock. Then it eventually escalated to him being very good in bed. And how he could always make a woman come (he didn’t always make them come but he certainly tried and he learned the art of allowing sex to just be something that felt good and intimate and didn’t have to end in that elusive orgasm every time).

The first girl who was bold enough to ask him if he’d help her get to know her body better, had told him how she heard he was the best… and that had caught off guard. But he gave it a go. And he wound up enjoying the whole thing so much that when another girl asked him for help he decided there was no harm in going along with it.

He wasn’t trying to take advantage of anyone, as some jealous of his prowess would make it seem. No, he just really wanted to help, he loved that connection and to have it end with sex (in whatever form) was never a bad thing. Mostly he was just having fun and if he could use some of his knowledge and give someone confidence by the end of a “session” then so be it.

When you sucked around him, slurping noises came from between your lips and the skin on his shaft and he moaned, “Oh that’s good…” He gently placed a hand at the back of your neck and nudged his hips upward the slightest when he felt his cock start to throb and balls tightened.

Harry pulled at you to bring you up so you slid your lips from his tip and looked at him with pretty rounded eyes as you sat on your knees.

“You’re perfect. If I had you sucking me off like this every day I’d have no complaints. That’s the work of someone who’s into it and I can tell you are. Got me so close to coming already,” he took your hand and kissed the tops of your knuckles. Yeah, you were already smitten with him. But maybe that was just because you liked his praise so much.

“Thank you,” you grinned shyly.

Harry took the hand he kissed and brought it down between his legs, sliding your fingers on the underside of his balls, “There’s this spot right here. Kind of smooth. Feel that?”

You nodded.

“It’s called the perineum. This spot,” he pressed the pad of your middle finger over the area of skin, “Feels really good when you rub it gently. Especially while you’re also giving a blow job. Maybe take my balls in your palm a little to massage them and then move to the perineum. Just about any man you suck off is gonna absolutely love it. It’s also a really good trick when you just want the guy to come already, ‘cause maybe he’s taking too long,” he grinned.

He dragged your hand up to cup his scrotum and you kept your eyes on his as you softly squeezed. Harry’s brows narrowed and his lips parted, “Let’s do that yeah? Wanna give it a go?”

Nodding, you lowered yourself again, your lips parting around his crown as you gently massaged his balls and kept your eyes angled up toward his. You kept one hand at the base of his shaft and felt the full, warmth of his sac in your palm before you pulled off of his cock and dropped your lips down to his balls, kissing the skin all around and skimming your tongue through every crevice and wrinkle, wetting him on all sides.

You remembered you were supposed to be looking up at him and when you saw his face it only egged you on. His soft groan and pink puffy lips parted in lust with hooded eyes so you wound your tongue down further and pressed the tip of your wet muscle to the spot he called the perineum.

“Fuck! Yes…”

You liked that reaction. So you did it again and used your hand on his shaft to continue pumping him in long strokes as you pressed over the small strip of skin under his scrotum before you brought your tongue all the way up over his balls and to his base. The pre-come dripping from his tip made things wetter as you slid your palm over him.

You kept one finger on his perineum and then brought your mouth back over his cock and the desperate whimper that fell from his lungs made you feel giddy. You sucked him in and flicked your sight up to him but his eyes were closed. You could feel his legs trembling as your shoulder was pressed into his inner thigh. Gently you brought your hand over his scrotum and massaged as you worked his tip with your lips and tongue.

He placed both of his hands on either side of your head, “Y/n… yes… honey I’m gonna come. That’s so good. You’re so good for me… holy shit… where do you want me to come, huh?”

You were kind of amazed at how he was so melty and whimpery from the blow job you were giving him. You lifted and looked up at him, “Just come in my mouth. Want you to feel good.”

He nodded as he panted and you put your lips back on him, lowering down and sucking as you used your tongue to apply pressure to his crown. Continuing to play with his balls and peek up at him you saw the moment his face scrunched up and his lips dropped open wide. No sound came out at first but you tasted the first pump of his come down your throat and then felt his big cock throbbing against your tongue and it was the hottest blow job you’d ever given. And you weren’t even receiving… the reaction he gave you had you so turned on and so dizzy that you felt the need to take him deeper.

You forced yourself down further, feeling his tip nudging and spurting at the top part of your throat and you swallowed around him before sputtering slightly.

When he finally began to moan it was deep and throaty. His head was tilted back, facing the ceiling as he pumped into your mouth and down your throat. The hands he held at the side of your face were gentle and honestly? You were in heaven. You could do this with him every day if he let you.

And you tried not comparing Gunther to Harry but it was hard. Harry was so masculine and his cock was prettier and much bigger. With Gunther, you could almost take all of him in your mouth without much issue. You didn’t but you probably could have. Harry was a different story. His big cock filled up all the space in your mouth and he smelled so good too. It was a mix of what you assumed was his natural smell with a clean powdery soap.

But it was the moans Harry was making that had you feeling so worked up. He really enjoyed your blow job and that was all you needed to feel good about yourself and your ability.

Harry’s moan quieted into a simper as you continued dragging your tongue along the underside of his cock until he lulled his head forward and looked down at you, “S’good. Fuck that was good.” He prodded at you to bring your mouth off of him and you sat back with a proud smile.

He leaned forward to pull at the back of your neck and smash his lips against yours. You clung onto his shoulders as he positioned you next to him on the bed on your bottom and then he ran his hands down your sides and pulled at your sweater, “Can we get this off?”

You gripped the bottom hem of your hoodie as Harry sat back and peeled his sweater off over his head, making you pause so you could devour his chest and his arms, and his abs with your eyes. The tattoos that were scattered over his body and on his arms were no surprise. You’d heard through the grapevine about his tattoos once your roommate told you about him. And you heard he was fit. But this? He was the perfect amount of muscled and beefy. He was lean but he appeared well-fed. Broad shoulders, pecs you could bite into…

You gulped when you felt Harry’s big hands smoothing up and down your limbs as he absorbed the sight of you before you finally pulled your sweater off and then unhooked your bra, holding the cups up against your breasts for a moment to make sure he was still in it. Because maybe your body would be a complete turn off but his expressive face did all the talking and he moved his hands up your hips as his irises roamed over your skin.

“So pretty, Y/n,” he spoke like he knew you needed the reassurance. Which you did. So you slowly lowered your bra and pulled the straps from your arms and almost immediately Harry ducked down and kissed your right nipple while his hand palmed at your left tit. He moaned against your soft flesh and you felt cool air hit your skin in the path where his tongue laved against you.

A soft gasp fell from your lips when he wrapped his mouth over your nipple and looked up at you from his spot, pink lips suckling at your breast. It was almost as if he needed to make sure he was doing what you liked. As if the man wasn’t some kind of expert.

Harry’s bulky body moved over you and his hands brushed over the skin at your sides and down to your hips where your panties clung tight. You lifted your hips, ready for him to take care of you, ready to have him pull the last bit of fabric from your body and Harry grinned at you.

“I’m gonna pull these down, okay?”

Nodding you laughed in slight nervousness. You weren’t sure when you’d gotten so eager but giving Harry a blow job had made you a bit insatiable and all of the nice things he said about you, how good you were... Your insides were aching and you knew you were probably already wet, the crotch of your panties was warm against your skin.

And as he slowly dragged the material down your legs he kept looking up at you. A little bit of reassurance that he was only going to go as far as you wanted.

Paying close attention to his eyes you watched him drag his gaze over all your crevices and then up to your tits and then your eyes as he licked his lips. He wrapped a hand on the underside of your calf, lifting your leg the smallest bit as he tucked himself in closer, his shoulders pressing into your thighs.

The warm, soft kisses he dotted on your inner thigh as he looked up at you made you feel worshiped. Like he was savoring the moment and was going to take his time with you.

“Y/n, I just want to make you feel good. Tell me if you don’t like something or if you need something more okay? Because you did so good for me and I’m gonna be dreaming about those lips on me. Just want to make you feel as good as good as you made me feel.”

Harry could tell you liked a bit of praise. A compliment here and there was easy enough to throw in because it was all true. You were very good and you were so pretty and now he was going to return the favor as best he could.

When you felt his tongue swipe up through your crease you moaned faintly as you kept your eyes on him. And when he dug in more, attached his lips to your pussy, and began sucking at you the groan that fell from his chest rumbled through your core and you held on to the back of his head as you arched your back off of the pillow under yourself. His lips slicked up and down, tongue pressing at your clit and then he moved, bringing his arm in and you felt his fingers prodding at your entrance as he looked up at you, pulling his mouth away from your pussy, “Tastes so good, Y/n. Could bury my face here all day long. You mind if I finger you a little? Would that feel good?”

He ran his digits through your folds like he already knew your answer and you nodded quickly, “Yeah. Okay. If you want.”

He grinned before you felt him push his middle finger past your opening and then he watched the face you made as he curled his finger up in your magic little spot. The one only your rabbit vibrator seemed to be able to hit.

You gasped and with that, he brought his lips back over your clit and got to work. His dark curls were smooth and thick between your fingers and the way he kept pulling his gaze up to yours as he licked into you was naughty. The whole scene was something from a dream. There was something so soft about how he kept his eyes on you to check-in.

You’d had a couple of guys go down on you before but they had no idea what they were doing and you weren’t sure if it was just supposed to feel like slippery nothing gliding over your labia or not. But now, with Harry doing the work… well you realized what it was actually meant to feel like. And Harry was not giving you slippery nothing.

He seemed to enjoy it as well which made your heart lurch in your chest. Especially with how he was moaning into you like you tasted good. And he had told you as much, which… that had you on edge already.

When Harry slid in a second finger he opened his mouth wide and tongued up from where his fingers were pumping into you to your clit.

You couldn’t help the pathetic moans that were loudly bouncing off the walls of his studio, “Oh god, Harry…”

But the thing that was really seeping into your skin and your veins and making your heart pound was his eyes on yours. You couldn’t get over it. It was so intimate and sexy and the gushy noises coming from your slippery pussy were lewd and dirty. It was the perfect juxtaposition of just nasty enough but also sweet and soft that had you spiraling.

When they tell you that the biggest part of getting turned on is all in the mind, that’s absolutely true. Harry was a master at it. You weren’t sure you’d ever been so turned on with any man before. He really knew which buttons to push and all the right things to say.

“Fuck, that’s good… holy shit, Harry…”

He loved hearing you whine his name and the feel of your hips bucking upward in tiny bursts. You were one of those girls that was going to have an orgasm, he just knew it. The way you kept getting wetter every time you shot your eyes down to his was a big telltale sign. Some didn’t like the eye contact but he loved it and so did you, clearly.

He moaned into your pussy and swallowed you down as he worked his tongue in teasing circles around your clit before wrapping his lips around you again and smushing down over you with just the right amount of pressure.

The arm he had under your thigh he wrapped under your lower back, pulling you in closer if that was possible, as he continued fingering you with his other hand. The man was unquenchable. Like he needed to stuff his face in as close as humanly possible. Like he needed to suck you dry and make it so that you never forgot his name.

Your insides were melting for him. His fingers were magic inside of you and it had your brain all fuzzed out and blurry. But the way he rolled your clit under his tongue was divine, otherworldly… he knew what he was doing with that big mouth of his.

You gasped and looked back down at him again and his eyes were already pinned to yours.

“Oh… gonna co… oh fuck, gonna come…” you felt like you were being lifted into the air, levitating and vibrating off the bed and out of the atmosphere as he kept his fingers and his tongue steady. But when he moaned deeply into your cunt, that low resonate sensation traveling from your clit to your core and through your tummy made you lose control.

You didn’t realize you were yanking his hair as your legs quaked and your body liquified under him. But it didn’t deter him. He watched you unravel, tits bouncing and back arching as you orgasmed into his mouth and he curled his fingers up against your g-spot as you clamped over his digits.

If he didn’t have his mouth occupied he would have praised you more in that moment. Told you how pretty you were and how good you did for him. But he waited until you began to slowly come back to earth before whispering into your ear the sweet things he knew you’d like to hear.

He laid next to you and grasped your face, kissing your lips softly as you sighed, “So fucking good. What a pretty orgasm that was, Y/n…” He spoke between kisses.

“Did that all for me? Yeah?”

You couldn’t answer him. Not in that moment. You’d just melted and dissolved and had only begun to re-solidify and become a real human with lungs and limbs and skin and pores again.

“You are really fun to eat out, Y/n. Tasted so nice and you sound so sexy when you come. You can call me anytime you need a release okay?” He continued kissing your cheek and your lips as he spoke softly.

Harry didn’t rush you out like you thought he might. He rubbed over your tummy and kissed your breasts softly and ran his lips up the side of your neck as you slowly opened your eyes and sighed.

“Feel okay?”

You nodded and smiled, “Really good.”

“Stay as long as you want. Okay? No rush. We can even grab dinner together if you want or I can make you something.” Harry wasn’t sure why he asked you that. While he didn’t usually rush anyone out, he didn’t typically offer food or dinner either. There was just something about you that compelled him to ask. Perhaps he hoped you’d stick around a bit longer.

You sat up, “Oh. That’s really nice of you. But… maybe I should probably head back. Get some schoolwork done.”

You’d have loved to stay for dinner but you also didn’t want to get your feelings mixed up for a guy like Harry. Not that there was anything wrong with him, but you understood what this was. A one-time thing. Something fun where you got to learn a thing or two. If you stuck around too long you’d probably just want more. And that would only end in heartbreak for you. Because Harry was kind of the ideal guy in a lot of ways.

“Of course. Just thought I’d ask.”

There were no hard feelings for this kind of thing. Harry wasn’t offended that you didn’t want to stay. He’d had a good time with you and he was almost certain you had a good time as well. And that was just about all one could ask for.

Harry let you use his bathroom to clean up and get dressed. And as you did so you thought about how Gunther didn’t even offer you anything to eat or to stay after. In fact he didn’t even ask if you wanted to use his bathroom, when that would have been nice after giving him head. Because even though Gunther didn’t really touch you, you were still wet, and walking back to your dorm with wet panties was not a nice feeling. Especially when you didn’t even get anything out of it.

You’d be wary of Gunther. You’d give him another shot because you were a nice girl but you weren’t going to ignore the concerns Harry had. Perhaps Harry was right.

When you stepped out of the bathroom Harry handed you a glass of water, “Drink a little before you head out, and what dorm do you live in?” He looked down at his phone as he asked.

“Oh… uh the Millennium dorms near the arts building.”

He nodded as you took a gulp of the water and he showed you his phone, “Uber will be here for you in three minutes. I’ll walk you down, okay?”

“Wait. You didn’t have to do that! Um… I can walk or get an Uber myself it’s–“

He shook his head and grinned, “I know I didn’t have to but it’s getting late. Don’t want you walking twenty minutes by yourself. Who knows what could be lurking out there,” he laughed.

You pointed at him, “Fine. But I’m gonna pay you back. Next time I see you okay?”

“Not necessary. Now come on,” he playfully swatted at your bottom and directed you toward his door, “Let’s go downstairs and wait for…” he looked at his phone, “Rebecca in a white Trail Blazer.”

PART 2

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