#better going back to study for science class

[layraket]

i was about to write "hugging hyrule" but then i remembered that if we were in the same room we wouldn't dare to try hugging each other at all because we're the most touch-starved mfs ever but will first fist-fight a bear before ever daring to get closer

[sugarverse]

Hiii! I was wondering if I could request either long or short fic about Tenya Iida. Likes it can be set in a modern setting where's he's a senior college student who's majoring in business and he has to take one more class to get his degree. It just so happened that the class is in the art building, and it is figure drawing (aka nude drawing) . Since he's just now hearing of the extra class he has to take, he's suddenly shocked when the model is an old friend of his from back home, whom he had a childhood crush on. Not only does his feelings for her come back, but he also has to have 1 on 1 section with the model for educational purposes. I kinda want it to be smut and fluff or however you see it fit. Anyway, I hope it's enough+

hi babe! omg I love this idea I kinda went a lil crazy and made it way too long. I hope u enjoy :)!!

𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙬𝙣 𝙏𝙤𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧

word count: 3.5k

mentions of: This is really just the fluff portion of it, kinda suggestive bc he pops a boner and leads to sex in part two. I think I’m going to make a third part simply so the two of you can go on a genuine date andsotheresmoreiidaxblackreaderouthere.

a/n: hells yeah that’s enough, hopefully I did what ya asked and so sorry I went overboard I have serious problems. here’s the smut part bc a 6.7k fic is doing too damn much but i can’t stfu my fault gang

moodboard here!

Tenya Iida.

4th year, Senior in college majoring in International Business and minoring in Spanish at Angelwood College of Arts and Sciences.

The visual arts building had only been a few minutes away from the business side of campus, which he gladly enjoyed the walk. This spring all he needed to finish was two gen ed classes, the rest revolved around his major and minor. His counselor helped set up his ‘missing’ classes before winter break considering he had to fly back to Japan to see his family for the holidays. He was ecstatic to learn all he needed was an art class with lab and a communications class. 

When he asked what the class entailed, all he was met with was “beginner artists learning anatomy.” It didn’t sound difficult, just draw what you see. It would be nice to try something new anyway. He was not much of an artist but like all things Tenya does, he planned to give this class his all. The first week had been pretty easy, learning how to draw what you see with the use of models, shapes, and lines. Nothing too hard to follow. He would practice drawing his friends on the sketchpad he bought specifically for the class as a form of studying in the free time he had.

He neverminded it for the most part, excelling his knowledge in different countries in his free time to get better at his major. Sure they could teach you the technical way to do things, but in the end, everyone is still human. It would be inconsiderate to do business with a country and know little to nothing about their culture! It took almost two weeks for him to finally be able to even start the art project anyway.

As time went on and the January snow grew less and less, it was time to start their first real project of the semester. One on One figure drawing. The class needed to fill out a form explaining their free hours due to the limited art space and everyone's different schedules. Tenya happily filled it out when it was posted, continuing to work on class work from the library so that the lecture room could also be used for said project.

Their professor had explained that in-person class would remain on Mondays and Thursdays. It just worked out better for the models and students to have so much space.

He made the small walk over to the arts building for his last class of the day, a small shine in his glasses as he entered the white light of the room. The walls were anything but bare, artwork and unfinished projects sat in every corner of the room. Paint racks, canvases big and small, even stacks of unused clay. There was a stool sitting on a small platform in the middle of the room, assuming where the model will sit. 

He stood next to the stool for a moment, looking up at the grey February sky through the skylight. The natural lighting was great, almost like a spotlight. He adjusted the lights in the room a moment, dimming them slightly so the white light hadn’t been so harsh on his eyes. He headed over to a more organized table, setting out the art supplies how he liked. He knew he was early, but he wanted to make a good first impression. What’s better than being on time?

He pulled out his laptop, checking that the few assignments for today were done and submitted. A small frown tugged at his lips as he realized he hadn’t finished something completely, typing in the last few answers. He always double checked, technology was reliable.. When it wanted to be. He couldn’t hear the shuffle of slippers against the floor over his typing and frankly, loud thinking. 

He could see someone walk past in a teal robe representing the university's colors. Glancing up from the computer to give the model a proper hello, Tenya opens his mouth to speak but pauses. 

“Y/n?” He asked, almost in a whisper in case he was wrong. A small look of confusion caused him to tilt his head to the side slightly. He hadn’t been able to see you for awhile with such busy schedules, but he knew your silhouette by heart. 

You turn at the sound of your name, mid sliding off the slippers and fumbling with the gold silk of the belt. “Tenya?” You smile, asking as you turn to slide your shoes back on and quickly shuffle your way over to him. He felt his face burn red, frozen in place for a moment with his jaw slack. He stood as if needing to detach from the seat, smiling at your happy demeanor and your quickness to wrap your arms around him. 

“It is you! I know those shoulders from anywhere!” You beamed, feeling his hovering hands slowly place themselves on your back to return the hug. He was very hesitant, simply because you were only in a robe. You pull away, hands resting on your hips and giving him a big smile. “Now what are you doin’ taking a figure drawing class, Mister businessman?”

He let out a sheepish chuckle, “I needed an art credit, W-What are u doing here?” He never had any classes with you at Angelwood, A few honors classes and gym in highschool but other than that, nada. Throughout the course of growing up, your interests drove you to different classes. 

However, classes don't matter when your families are as close as yours and the Iida family. Shared Holidays, playdates, game nights.. It wasn’t like you were some stranger. You both always made time to hang out a few times during the year to catch up without the family just to give a real check on each other. It was his favorite, almost like a mini holiday to talk to you.

He loved spending time with you. You were smart, articulated and incredibly creative. You never took slack from anyone.. Even in middle school he can remember you being the one to stand up and say something when things weren’t right. You were headstrong and determined in anything that you did.. Art majors always get a lot of grief but you never let that deter you. And that was admirable in itself! ..And he had always thought you were so pretty. 

He felt like a kid again, heart feeling as if it’d beat out of his chest at the mere sight of you. It had been around Halloween the last time he saw you, and here it was. Almost Valentine's day.. Still as pretty and bright as he remembered. Your next hangout wasn't for another month or so, so it was nice to see you sooner than that.

“I'm your model, silly!” You head over to the stool, continuing to speak. “The art department asked if I’d help in modeling and I said yes! People were too scared to sign up for the most part. I’m surprised this is the class you picked. Did you want to learn how to draw people?” You slide your slippers off once more, untying the cute bow on your hip that held your robe shut. 

Suddenly the room was very hot and he couldn't breathe. Now his heart really WAS beating out of his chest. He quickly did a 180, shielding his eyes and removing his glasses for extra measure. “WHY– do yoU have.. nothing on underrrrneath?” He croaked, voice cracking as his tone raised slightly.

You tilt your head at such a question, the gears clicking a little later than they should have. “Figure drawing is um.. Nude drawing, Tenya. You didn't know that?” You slide the robe back on, giggling at the flustered man across from you. You could see his shoulders tense, shaking his head slowly.

Now how the fuck could he have missed that.

“I um.. No, I didn't. I thought that it was.. I don't know what I thought. My counselor picked it for me and I.. Most models we've used so far have.. had skin colored undergarments… On.” He let out a nervous laugh, keeping his glasses off. He turns around, cleaning them with the end of his shirt but refusing to look up at you. He needed to mentally prepare his brain to be professional in a situation like this. Not that he minded the glance, he just never thought this would be how..

You prop your feet onto the edge of the stool, interrupting his thought. You held your knees up to your chest so he couldn’t see anything but your bare legs. “Oh Ten, I’m sorry! I can ask someone else to-”

“No! I am perfectly.. capable. It's professional and I can be.. professional..” He put his glasses back on, hand refusing to be steady as he did so. He let out a shaky sigh, smiling at you and finally looking at you once more.

You let out a small laugh at the blush on his cheeks. He was so handsome, but to see him so flustered over little ol’ you? It made your week. “We can start slow, that might help.” you slide the robe down your shoulders, slowly putting your legs back down so he could see your robed torso once more. You stopped at the top of your breasts, letting your collarbone show. “Do you have any specific poses..?” You ask quietly, trying to hold back your amusement.

He sits down, red faced and completely flushed. A nude model.. jeez. From sleepovers to recess, studying together to graduating, and now almost graduating for the final time together. That's something you don’t get to have in every lifetime. But why do these thoughts keep coming back to him now? 

There was no way he could still have romantic feelings for you. He’d never put your friendship at risk like that!

..right?

“I um.. yeah, small.” He cleared his throat, “Could you um.. Could you stand slightly off of the um.. Almost like getting up?” He fumbled over his words, staring at the empty paper as if he could burn the quick image in his brain onto the page to get the embarrassment over with. He sighed once more, trying to focus as he began sketching circles and lines as a starter sketch of the pose he wanted.

“When you need to draw a certain part I'll move it, Sound fair?” You ask, resting one foot onto the stool and one onto the ground. Your hand gripped the seat as your butt sat on the edge, similar to when people do that supposedly hot thing where they throw their head back and pull some weird rope to have water get poured on them. 

It was second nature at this point for people to see you. Of course some of them were flustered and it was pretty awkward at first, but normally not to the point of stuttering and stammering. It wasn’t often that you saw Tenya fall apart, but this was way different. Especially considering you flashed him without warning. He was one of the most endearing people you had ever met, there was no way you would have done that without proper context.

He could only nod in response, not wanting to further make a fool of himself. Lightly tapping the pencil against the table, He looks up at you. “You can um.. re.. remove the top part, y/n..” It was hard to simply draw your arms and collarbone without including the robe, so you might as well rip the band-aid off and start with the top. 

You nod, dropping it happily and letting the robe pull around your hips and between your legs. You close your eyes, facing up toward the skylight in an attempt to make him less nervous. “Sorry for flashing you at first, I would have explained but I assumed you had already known..?” You laugh quietly to yourself at your own mistake. Why would someone like him even take this class if he knew what it actually entailed?

And God, did he feel like a pervert staring at your chest like this. The boner poking his thigh almost immediately didn't help, making it even harder to concentrate. Way to keep composure. He pressed his lips together for a moment before speaking. “I had no idea, I’m sorry for my r..reaction.” He answered, stopping the pencil tapping to actually begin sketching more than just circles and lines. He hadn’t meant to yell, but he felt like he was close to passing out. 

“I think it was a pretty valid one.” You send a reassuring smile his way, seeing him send you one right back. Trying to ease the mood, you look back up at the ceiling and close your eyes to avoid staring at the ugly overcast sky above you. “How was winter break? You get to go home and see your family? How are they?” 

His smile grew wider at your question, scooting under the desk a bit more so that you hopefully wouldn’t notice his body reacting. “They’re great, Tensei is getting married soon,” He sounded excited at the thought alone, incredibly proud of his brother. 

“And my mother has started a hobby making soap, if you can believe it. She sent me some to bring back one that smells like lavender and another that smells like oranges mixed with I believe she said papaya.? She made a coconut smelling one for you– I was going to give it to you the next time we saw each other,” 

The sound of his sketching stopped and started as he spoke, giving your body small glances as he tried to study each part of your upper torso. The way your stomach creased, The way your shoulder was slightly lifted causing your collarbone to be more prominent, the curve of your breasts.. “How was your Holiday, y/n?”

“No way, Tensei is getting married?!” You accidentally stop posing, fully facing him in genuine shock. The robe was still covering your lower half, you had tied the belt to avoid accidentally flashing him again but here we are. You watch his face become even more red, eyes very obviously not meeting yours but still like a deer in headlights. 

You quickly get back to posing how you were, “Sorry Ten, That's amazing!! I hope everything goes smoothly for him and his soon to be wife.. And tell your mommy I said thank you for thinking of me. I can't wait to try it!”

A smile stayed on your lips as you thought about the times you’ve spent in the Iida household. His mother always had the best candles and incense burning, you were positive the soap would be the same. “My family is up to the same old shit, you know them..” You let out a small groan, the holidays weren’t an absolute disaster, but after not being home so long makes you remember why you aren’t going to school anywhere near home. 

“I did get some cool stuff for Christmas though! I got some new clothes and they got me a few art kits. You know, where it teaches you how to crochet? I also have a new diamond painting kit, I haven't opened either yet because it's just been so busy.” You replied, tapping your fingers on the side of the stool where your hand sat. 

You look up once more, this time because the skylight was beginning to be covered in snow. You watched as it fell, thinking back to old times when you and Tenya would spend the last three major holidays with each other. You’d always make sure to trick or treat together, your families have been sharing Thanksgiving for as long as you can remember, and spending the night in your basement on Christmas eve to wait for Santa until you were both too old. Then instead of waiting for Santa, you’d all eat at least one meal together on Christmas day. Sometimes homemade breakfast, other times a small trip to IHOP or Waffle House.

“God damn it.. It’s snowing again..” You let out a small laugh, looking over at him over your shoulder, fingers still tapping away at the base of the stool. “Hey Ten, Do you remember when we used to have those big snowball fights? The one near Red Fern?” 

“Of course I do! You refused to wear any kind of gloves and my mother would make you at least put socks on your hands so you didn’t get frostbite!” The two of you shared a small laugh at the memories of being young and dumb.

“Gloves always made my hands too itchy! They still do– But I kicked your ass in snowball fights with gloves or not.” You retort, a smirk appearing on your face. “Ice queen y/n of everything.” You could remember the insane snowball fights the neighborhood kids would have every. time. It snowed. If there was enough to make a few snowballs, there was enough to start a war. Tenya was always on your team, but it never stopped you from throwing a few his way. The ‘winner’ was King or Queen of the hill and first to sled down, which often enough was you.

“Remember when you almost broke my glasses throwing one right at my face?” He snickered, watching your smirk turn into a small pouty frown. He knew you didn’t mean to, that same day you helped your mom make cookies for him and his family as an apology, even though he wasn’t upset to begin with. But you knew it could have broken his glasses and you would be devastated if you were the reason for it. You were a real sweetheart, even if you had a weird way of showing sometimes.

“Hey! You know that wasn’t on purpose, I felt really bad after! I even let you get me back!” Which was true, but he never aimed for your face. Always a spot on your fluffy coat, never your legs because you hated your pants being wet… and a face shot just felt wrong to him. 

“Yeah, Yeah. I remember that part too,” He smiled to himself. “Those were really good times.. I remember Tensei always bringing us hot chocolate and we’d sit on your porch and draw things in the snow..”

“Oh! And when we’d come back all wet and mom already had spare clothes in her hands because she didn’t want it on the carpet. We’d put on too big clothes just to sit and watch Christmas movies..” You missed those times. But they never really had to stop, you two could have a huge snowball fight after this if you wanted to and the snow stuck. Was he too grown for that? Would it even sound fun to him?

“Do you still watch A Year Without Santa Clause every year?” He asks, breaking your train of thought. You nodded quickly at his question, grinning like a maniac. “Of course I do! And I watch Charlie Brown’s Christmas, Rudolph The Rednosed Reindeer.. And sometimes Spongebob's Christmas Special. Do you still watch old Christmas cartoons?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Don’t wanna ruin tradition.” He answered, pressing his lips together slightly as he stared down at the paper. You can tell he freezes a bit, the sound of his scribbling coming to a stop. He set the pencil down, rubbing the sweat of his hands onto his thighs.

 “You can um.. remOove-..” He quickly cleared his throat, “The rest.” He let out a disappointed sigh at his inability to keep composure. This wouldn't be half the problem it was if it was someone else modeling. But this is you we're talking about. 

“You sure? If you need a minute we can take a break, honey.” You gave him a sympathetic look, still smiling but this time more.. warm. The kind of smile someone gives to another when they genuinely care for them. Or love them for that matter. He adored it, it was the same smile you'd give him when saying he needs to take a break, the same smile you give him when the two of you out to get coffee and catch up. The same smile he's fallen for many, many times. 

But to tell you the truth? It’s driving him crazy. All of this. Was driving him crazy. No matter how hard he tried to be professional, he could stop his wandering mind. You were a goddess. What else was there to do besides take a break and hopefully release some steam in the bathroom or something. Completely inappropriate, but the pain from being hard for so long was starting to cloud the best judgment. 

He looks down at the sketch so far, then back to you as he rubbed his hand upward against his face. It pushed his glasses up, causing them to be crooked when going back down. “I um.. I think I do.. need a minute.” His voice died out as he watched you slide the robe back on, words failing him because couldn’t think completely straight.

© if you like what you see please reblog! It means a lot and helps me out. Want more? Heres my m.list! I write for x black reader so throw me some requests :P my other account are icons and x black reader moodboards if you’re interested!

thank you @thecutestgrotto for the banners and thank you @fizzintine for coloring the top pic!

have a good day/night/whatever!

[mrsjellymunson]

The Biology Tutor

Lesson 3: Human Reproduction

Series masterlist

Prev parts: Lesson 1: Female anatomy Lesson 2: Male anatomy Extra Credits 01: Communication skills Extra Credits 02: French Independent Study 01: Art Independent Study 02: Creative Writing

Pairing: virgin!Eddie Munson x fem!tutor!reader

Series summary: Eddie’s failing Biology class, so you decide to offer two different styles of tuition, textbook-based and *ahem* practical.

Chapter summary: Grades, feelings, and a practical lesson in human reproduction

WC: ~14.6K (oopsie/I’m not sorry/you’re welcome)

C/W: 18+, SMUT, NSFW, MDNI! Fluff, smut, fluffy smut, smutty fluff, fingering, clit stim, nipple play (M+F rec), p in v sex (protection is discussed; always wrap it irl), pantie stealing (consensual), aftercare, feelings, slight cream pie, brief mention of food and eating, reader wears a short skirt, Wayne Munson. I’ve tried to keep physical descriptions of reader as neutral as possible, lmk if I need to change anything. 

My masterlist

You and Eddie have decided it’s best if you keep your whatevership between the two of you, at least for now. Neither your friends nor family would be thrilled to discover you were giving ‘extracurricular attention’ to the boy the whole town regards as a lawbreaking freak. (Technically, you suppose he is actually both - weed dealing and his general style and demeanour make that statement factually correct, but you don’t see him in the negative way they do.) Furthermore, your teacher may be reluctant to come through on those agreed upon extra credits if he finds out that the lessons you’re offering veer significantly more towards the ‘practical’. So, keeping it on the down-low it is. 

However, that hasn’t stopped you from thinking about your study sessions with Eddie. In fact, he’s on your mind almost constantly. You’ve also both become more brazen in your interactions, and neither of you look away now when you catch each other’s eye in the halls. And you’ll both stare dreamily and smile across the cafeteria as he nibbles on pretzels and you mull over a thorny problem in a notebook, chewing on the end of your pencil.

You’ve spoken on the phone again too. For the most part it’s just as… stimulating as the first time, if not more so, and you're both gaining confidence and are able to articulate your needs and desires with increasingly elaborate and creative language. But to your surprise you’ve also ended up chatting too, and more than once you’ve devolved into fits of hysterical giggles. You’ve never been able to be so open with a partner before, and you’re revelling in the intimacy.

But, he’s not your partner partner. You didn’t mean it like that. You’re fully aware of Eddie’s… situation, and you’re pretty sure he’s not ready for any kind of official commitment. You really need to be careful with your language, or you're going to slip up one day and mess up whatever the hell this is…

On the day of your usual Biology class with Eddie, everyone’s milling around the science lab, waiting to get their test results. It’s the final class before the end of the semester, and Mr Clarke knows better than to expect anyone to do any work, so nobody’s in their seats and the room is filled with general murmur and chatter.

A steady stream of students collects their papers from Mr Clarke at his desk. Yours is near the top of the pile - you being you, you’re always one of the first to head up to find out how you did, and generally, the less… academically inclined students hang back until the end, wanting to delay the agony and prolong their blissful ignorance for as long as possible. 

Mr Clarke passes you your paper, and you spy a large, red ‘A+’ in the top corner. You pinch your face into a scrunched up smile, and you can feel your cheeks heating. Yes, it’s one of your favourite subjects, but you never want to assume anything.

“No surprises there!”, Mr Clarke jokes, as you proudly yet somewhat bashfully look over your work as you head back to your desk.

You’re dying to know how Eddie did, but presume he’s going to wait it out like the other ‘cool kids’, and you don’t really want to rub your success in his face in case it didn’t go well for him, so you slide back into your seat without looking in his direction.

A few moments later, there’s a sudden loud whoop from the front of the class. Everyone turns to face the clamour, and to your surprise you see Eddie standing next to Mr Clarke’s desk, arms aloft and eyes wide, grinning as he shakes his paper above his head like a Tusken Raider.

Wait, did you just make a nerd reference? What the fuck is this guy doing to you?

You try not to stare as Eddie’s gesticulations make his torn Iron Maiden shirt ride up to expose the smooth planes of his abdomen and the dark sprinkling of hair leading down beneath his waistb— You clamp your bottom lip between your teeth, this feat seemingly significantly more difficult for you than passing a science test.

He changes position, hunching over now, and punches the air with one fist, wrinkling his nose and baring his teeth as he stares down at the paper he’s crinkling in the fierce grip of his other hand.

“Yeah! Goddamn B minus! B fuckin’ minus, baby! Wooo!! I am fucking walking that stage, I can feel it!”

A few of your classmates start to clap, and soon most of the class is applauding Eddie, a few even joining in with the whoops and hollers. He bends at the waist and gives a theatrical bow, still grinning, much to the delight of the whole class.

Even Mr Clarke is clapping, ignoring Eddie’s profanity for once and with a broad smile on his face too. Eddie smiles back, extending his hand to the older man, who takes it happily, shaking it and slapping Eddie on his bicep as he says, 

“Congratulations, Mr Munson. I knew you could do it, son.”

Before you’re fully cognisant of what you’re doing, you’re out of your seat and rushing towards Eddie, colliding with his chest with a thump as you fling your arms around his ribs, hugging him tightly. He freezes for a moment, stunned, before his arms move around your shoulders, gripping you tightly, crushing the document even more, before his empty hand flattens over the centre of your back, gently but intensely rubbing up and down.

He drops his chin onto your shoulder, and turns his face so it’s nuzzled into the crook of your neck. You hear him take a couple of deep, slow inhales, and his warm breath fans out over your skin and trickles down the back of your shirt as he adds a contented hum that almost short-circuits your brain. Quietly, you mumble into his chest, 

“Congratulations, Eddie."

Just as quietly, almost like he doesn’t want anyone else to hear, Eddie replies, voice slightly cracking,

"I couldn't have done it without you, Princess…”

You remain there at the front of the class, embracing, rocking slightly, neither of you seemingly wanting to let go. Eddie's palm continues to make patterns on your back, and you keep your arms around his middle. The heat from his chest seeps into yours, and you begin to get lost in his heady scent of cigarettes, spicy cologne and weed, something so quintessentially Eddie.

Behind you, you hear Mr Clarke clear his throat, and you and Eddie break apart as he proclaims, 

“Well, I think that proves that the student-to-student tutoring project is a success! Well done, both of you. Okay, who’s next?”

Keen to minimise further attention from your classmates, you both make your way back to your seats. He sits behind his desk, and you pull your stool to face him over it. 

Eddie’s lab partner offers him a fist bump, adding, “Nice work, dude,” to which Eddie reciprocates and replies, “Thanks, man,” before the guy wanders off to chat to his friends across the room.

You and Eddie stare at each other across the workbench. All you seem to be able to do is grin goofily, and you see Eddie’s cheeks pinken to an even darker shade. Eventually, you manage to speak.

“Well done, Eddie. Seriously. I’m so proud of you, all your hard work paid off!”

He glances down at his paper again, seemingly needing to keep checking it to make sure it’s real, that he actually passed. A slightly incredulous look on his face, he replies, chuckling,

“Fuckin’ B minus. Wayne’s gonna wanna frame this shit, I swear!”

You bark out a laugh, before responding,

“You should let him. This is a big moment!”

You both laugh again before Eddie continues, more seriously this time,

“I meant what I said, you know. I couldn’t’ve done this without your help.”

“I appreciate that, thank you. You know I wouldn’t’ve done it if I didn’t want to, though, right?”

“I know, I know. I just wanted you to know how grateful I am, is all…”

His face suddenly drops, and his eyes fall to the tabletop as he says, more quietly,

“Uh… I guess this means we won’t be studying anymore though, right?”

Something twists in your stomach. You hadn’t considered that this might change things. Thoughts roil in your mind. You don’t want whateverthisis with Eddie to end, that’s for certain, and from his tone you surmise that’s not what he wants either. So you make him an offer.

“Oh, I don’t know, I think I could go for at least one more lesson. Call it a celebration! If you wanted to, that is?”

You’ve barely finished your sentence before Eddie’s almost-yelling, 

“Yeah! I mean, yes, if you want to as well, I mean…”

You try to suppress a smile as you reply,

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it. I’m free after school, if that’s any good for you?”

Later on, when Eddie gives you a ride to his place, things feel different, and it’s not just the residual adrenalin from this afternoon’s test results. The anticipation is palpable. It’s like you’re both more relaxed, but somehow also more on edge, as if the air itself is charged and your skin is buzzing. You know where you’d like to take things, but you’re not sure how far Eddie will want to go, so you have a vague plan of offering suggestions but ultimately being guided by him.

You sit on the edge of his sofa feeling uncharacteristically nervous. Eddie brings drinks, clearing his throat as he sits stiffly next to you, occasionally glancing in your direction.

“So, uh, what’s the subject for tonight, Teach?”, he says with a nervous chuckle.

“I, uh, thought we could do some revision. Maybe bring everything together, and go over human reproduction?”

You raise your eyebrows as you say the final two words, hoping Eddie might catch your meaning. He gulps, and his cheeks tinge with a blush.

“That’s not a subject I have a great deal of knowledge about. But, you already knew that, right?”

He titters nervously, the pink in his cheeks deepening in intensity.

“Yeah, I know, Eddie. Um, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s the deal there? I mean, you’re young, fit, good looking. I don’t wanna pry, I’m just curious, I guess?” 

Fuck, really fit. So good looking... Wait, did you just feel butterflies?

Realising your curiosity might have outrun your mouth, you attempt to backtrack.

“You totally don’t have to tell me. God, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you that.”

“No, Princess, it’s fine, really. It’s not like I never, um, had the opportunity. Mostly cheerleaders wanting free weed, or drunk wives or bored moms wanting a bit of illicit fun at The Hideout. For my 18th my dad even arranged a couple of female performers for me. He’s in jail, you knew that, right?” 

You give him what you hope is a sympathetic nod.

“He got a message to a buddy of his, and they turned up after a gig. He instructed me to, uh, take my pick, or have both, if I wanted. So after we’d played, we went backstage, and we talked, and they were really nice ladies, but, uh, it just didn’t feel right somehow. They didn’t say anything afterwards, apart from how I was such a nice boy and if I ever changed my mind I should totally give them a call. And the guys just assumed what had gone on and acted like I was some kind of dog, and I guess I didn’t correct them, and, well, here we are…” 

He’s bashful again, embarrassed at his own apparent reluctance as well as his lack of experience, and you see him picking at the skin around one of his thumbnails. Looking at the floor, he continues,

“I guess I wanted my first time to, I dunno, be a bit more special? Must sound pretty stupid, coming from a hot blooded male, or whatever.”

You both smile as you remember one of your previous conversations and what you’d said. You want to reassure him.

“No, that’s not stupid at all. It’s not just girls who deserve a special first time, you know. Everyone deserves to feel comfortable, and if you haven’t felt that way yet then that’s totally okay. I’m actually proud of you for not feeling pressured into doing something that didn’t feel right.”

He turns his head sideways and looks at you at a quirky angle through his hair, a broad smile threatening to emerge.

“Yeah? Thanks, Princess, that means more than you know.”

You smile back at him, that warmth in your chest spreading throughout your torso. Breaking the moment, Eddie asks, with more than a little trepidation,

“So, what exactly d'you wanna do..?”

Your mind churns with possibilities, and you open your mouth, not entirely certain about what’s going to come out. But before you can say anything, Eddie jumps in.

“Oh, wait. I almost forgot, I have something for you.”

He reaches over to the side table next to him and returns with a lightly rolled piece of paper. Unfurling it, he somewhat nervously presents to you.

“You said you wanted a picture. So, I, uh, drew this for you.”

You take it from him and open it fully. It’s an illustration. A human brain, seen from above, one half of it beautifully rendered in graphite pencil and exquisitely shaded and detailed. The ridges and bumps look like you could almost reach out and touch them. This is incredible enough, but what really catches your attention is the other side. It’s a riot of flowers in different types and colours, overlapping and clustered in a formation that perfectly matches the silhouette of the other half. It’s beautiful.

Your hand comes to cover your mouth and you gasp a little. 

“Oh, Eddie, this is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen! Did you really do this for me?”

Bashfully, he pulls a strand of hair across his cheek as he replies, 

“Sure did, just for you. I chose the subject for that big, beautiful brain of yours, and then I added the flowers ‘cos, y’know, you’re beautiful. You’ve got it all, Princess.”

Now it’s your turn to feel embarrassed. You really weren’t expecting something so amazing, or to feel like this about it. Or to feel this way about him.

You lift the drawing to look closer at the divine detail, and it’s then that you focus in on the background. It looks like a page from a book, and as you scan the words you see dictionary and thesaurus entries under ‘beauty’, spotting beautiful, beauteous, charming, attractive, lovely, alluring... You’re absolutely stunned.

It’s then that you notice the raw edge on one side of the paper.

Wait. 

“Eddie…” You turn to him, brows furrowing with a mixture of concern and excitement. 

“Tell me you didn’t steal this page from the library!”

“Uh, I may have.” He chuckles lightly. “Hey, it’s not like people use it much. It just seemed so appropriate, and I just, kinda, liberated it for an artistic cause.”

You can’t deny that a vehicle for Eddie’s amazing artwork is likely a far better use for this page than it mouldering away in a dusty school library. And it’s not like you could return it now, anyway. 

Everything about it, from the intentions to the execution, is beautiful. 

You tell Eddie so as you run your fingers over the lines. 

“It’s wonderful, Eddie. I’ll treasure it forever.”

Tearing your eyes away from the art in front of you, you lock eyes with him, and the atmosphere in the room seems to thicken. You’re not sure how Eddie’s feeling, but there’s a quiver in your belly and a heat in your core that’s demanding a significant proportion of your attention. You place the paper carefully down on the coffee table before murmuring quietly,

“Would you like to, uh, do that revision now?”

Eddie shifts in his seat, his cheeks pulling up as he tries to stifle a grin and maintain his composure.

“Okaaaay?”

You shift on the sofa and Eddie can’t help but allow the grin spread across his face. He twists his upper body and turns towards you, and puts one hand beside him on the seat as he drops his chin and peers up at you through his lashes. He looks adorable, a little timid but eager to please, like the world’s cutest puppy, and you let out a quiet giggle.

Coyly, he pulls another strand of hair across his upper lip (he really has to stop doing that) as he broaches,

“Are you gonna test me?”

A sultry smile spreads across your face as you recall the first lesson you had together.

“I taught you a lot of terminology in our first lesson. I wanna see how much you can remember.” 

The tip of your tongue peeks out and teases your upper lip.

You can tell he’s still not sure exactly what you mean, but you help him understand as you shuffle forwards and, perching yourself on the very edge of the sofa cushion, you slowly drift your hands up under your skirt, slip your thumbs into the sides of your underwear, lift your butt slightly and begin to pull them down your legs.

Eddie gets it now, and to your surprise he rushes quickly off the sofa and drops to his knees on the floor in front of you.

“Oh shit, please let me help?”

You smile broadly and allow him to take over. 

His fingertips lightly brush the skin of your thighs. They’re rough, calloused, you presume from years of guitar playing, but the feeling is certainly not unpleasant. You experience a frisson of excitement, imagining how his rough hands might feel running over other parts of you.

He gently hooks your underwear with his fingers and, slowly, continues their descent down your legs. He’s careful, reverent almost, like you’re a porcelain doll and he’s scared you will break. You’ve never been treated with such care before. You feel like a precious jewel, and his nickname for you, Princess, suddenly takes on new significance.

He’s concentrating more now than he has the whole time you’ve been helping him study, seemingly taking in every detail of your thighs, your panties, and, especially, the patch of damp fabric that’s already soaked with your arousal. When his eyes flick up to yours he realises he’s been caught staring, and he gives you a little bashful smile.

He removes your underwear by gently lifting each of your feet. You watch out of the corner of your eye as he quickly pushes the ball of material under the sofa. You don’t let on that he’s not being nearly as subtle about that as he thinks he is. 

Placing one foot on either side of his knees, you part your legs. Then, tantalisingly slowly, you move the hem of your skirt up until it’s bunched around your waist. 

You’ve never seen anyone have a religious experience, but you think the expression on Eddie’s face might come close. His eyes, fixated on your centre, are blown dark and opened wide, and his mouth is slightly open. His eyes are furrowed upwards in that almost-surprised look you like so much, and you see him swallow, hard. 

You feel your cunt clench gently. Yep, you still like him looking at you.

“So… what can you remember, Eddie?”

“I— I—”

You give him a moment, taking the opportunity to drink him in, and watch as his tongue comes out to slowly wet his lips. The edges of his mouth curl in the slightest half-smile, and he huffs out an incredulous breath. He’s close enough to you that you feel it on your inner thighs and core. He looks so good like this, kneeling in front of you. Adoring, pliant, submissive even. Oh, this is new.

You lean forward to lightly hold his wrist, and guide his hand up towards your centre. You can feel him trembling slightly, and remember that this is likely the first time he’s ever touched anyone so intimately.

“Okay, let’s try this a different way. Do you remember what this whole area is called?”

As you ask the question you trace his fingertips lightly across your mound and the soft skin of your inner thighs. You place his open hand against you and curve his fingers to cup you gently, his palm pressing featherlight against your hidden clit and his fingertips nestled in your trimmed pubic hair. He lets out a trembling hum.

“Umm, Volvo. No, wait, vul-va?”

“Yes, that’s so good Eddie.” 

You put on a lilting, singsong voice, letting him know how well he’s doing, and he puffs out another tremulous breath.

You hold his first two digits and direct him to curl the rest out of the way. You guide his fingertips between your folds, and they glide easily through your silky wetness.

“Okay, what about this part?”

Eddie lets out a long, low sigh, and swallows deeply. He’s completely fixated on what he can see and feel. You slide his fingers up and down your soaked slit a couple of times, and Eddie’s jaw drops open further.

“Eddie, are you still with me? Can you remember what these are called?”

“Huh? Uh, l— lips, I think?”

“Good enough.”

You smirk at him, though he doesn’t notice, he’s clearly far too focussed on where his fingers are to care about anything else. You revel in the attention. No one else has ever been this gentle with you, this adoring, attentive, tender. And he’s fucking mesmerised. It’s a far cry from the back-seat fumbles and quick pokes in study rooms that you’re used to. You’re definitely not going to be able to go back to that now.

Desperate for Eddie to touch more of you, you continue his education.

“Next, I want you to find my clitoris. Do you think you can do that?”

You let go of his fingers and settle back onto the sofa on your elbows, processing Eddie’s shocked and nervous expression as he glances up to your face.

“You, uh, want me to do this by myself?”

“Yes, I trust you. If it hurts, or you’re way off, I promise I’ll help. But I think it would be good for you to try. Also, I want to see if you can work out when you’ve got it without me having to tell you.”

His brow furrows very slightly at this; he doesn’t seem convinced that this is possible, but you’re in front of him, spread and waiting, so who is he to question it. He moves his wet fingertips slowly through your folds, gliding easily, studying his path but also flicking his eyes up to your face episodically. You close your eyes and hum, enjoying the sensation. 

As he moves further up you can feel a growing uncertainty in his movements, but just as you think he’s about to give up or ask for help, one of his calloused fingertips glances the side of your clit, causing you to inhale sharply as your eyes spring open.

He freezes, terrified he’s done something wrong or hurt you, but you smile down at him and reassure him,

“That’s so close, you’re almost there.”

He smiles, confidence buoyed, and you notice he’s watching your face now as he moves his fingers experimentally. One sideways movement has a rough fingertip connecting perfectly with your sensitive nub, and you let out an abrupt whine.

Eddie presses a little harder, testing, his mouth still open and the tip of his tongue teasing his front teeth.

You moan, loudly, and your head tips back and connects with the cushions of the sofa.

Boldly, Eddie begins to move his fingers, up and down to start with, which makes you hum with contentment. But when, unbidden, he then starts to draw tiny circles around his newly-discovered treasure, your whines turn to full-on moans.

“Is this it? Am I getting it, Princess?”

You glance down at him again, at that beautiful face now adorned with a smirk that seems to be a mix of experimentation and new-found cockiness. Breathlessly, but smiling, you manage, 

“Yeah, you’re definitely getting it.”

And you let out another long moan as he continues to trace those tiny patterns. You could definitely lose it from this alone, but you want to teach him a little more.

“I want you to do something else as well. Do you remember where my vagina is?”

“Uh, I think so.”

Eddie swallows, as he moves his other hand up towards your centre. He pauses, and, looking from your face to your cunt again, he begins to slowly push one fingertip between your wet folds.

You wince as you feel a slight discomfort, and offer, helpfully, 

“Try going a little lower.”

“Oh, okay, sorry, I—”

“Don’t worry, Eddie, nobody gets it on their first tr— ah!” 

He’s definitely getting it.

You want to reassure him even more, tell him that this is the best you’ve ever felt when anyone’s touched you, but the words dissolve as his index finger easily breaches your sopping hole.

You sigh and close your eyes, enjoying the subtle stretch and finally having some part of him inside of you. But Eddie’s stilled, and you realise he needs more guidance. 

“You can go in further, if you want?”

That’s seemingly all the encouragement he needs, as he pushes further, all the way to his ringed knuckle, and you feel the knobbled metal against your lips. He closes his eyes and begins babbling,

“Oh, g-god, you feel so good. You’re like silk, like velvet. You’re so fucking warm, and so goddamn wet, Jeezus!”

You allow you both to enjoy the moment, before deciding to put your musician’s fingers theory to the test.

“Can I give you some more instructions, Eddie?”

He looks up at you, blinking, seeming to come back to himself.

“Yes! Tell me what you want. Please tell me what to do to make you feel good. I’ll do it, I’ll do all of it.”

Oh, this is gonna be fun…

“Okay, add another fing— Oh fuck, that’s it! Shit, that feels so nice.”

Your hips buck forwards as Eddie slides his middle finger in to join the first, pushing them deep and coating his rings in your abundant slick. He lets out a shuddering hum as your walls clench gently around him and you gasp at the sense of increasing fullness.

“Okay, keep your hand so your palm is upwards. That’s it, I know it’s a little uncomfortable but I promise it’s worth it. Now curl your fingers, like you’re beckoning me. Just gently, not too fa-ah— Oh fuck!”

Eddie’s deft fingertips brush that most sensitive spot inside of you, and your legs tense as your back arches off the sofa. You reach down to grab his wrist. You chuckle, smiling down at him. 

“Okay, stop, just for a moment, otherwise I’m not gonna be able to speak. Congratulations, you just found my g-spot.”

“I— I did?”

He grins, huffing out a breath, and experimentally curls his fingers again, his eyes glued to your face.

“Yes! Fuck, yes!” is all you can manage, as your hands move to grip the sofa cushions.

Eddie pauses for a brief moment, glancing down to look at your sodden core, and you take the opportunity to give him one final instruction.

“If you keep doing what you were doing to my clit at the same time, you’re gonna make me cum. Do you wanna do that?”

Eddie’s voice drops almost to a growl as he splutters, the words tumbling out in a rush,

“Oh fuck yes, Princess. Please let me do that!”

He adjusts his position, shuffling closer to you, his eyes scanning between your face and your cunt. You notice the substantial bulge in his pants and how he’s occasionally shifting his hips, bucking them up into the seam of his sinfully tight jeans.

“So… I just keep doing this, and… this?”

He pumps his fingers slowly in and out of you, curling them as his rings touch your soaking lips, and continues to draw tiny circles around your clit. His wide eyes meet yours, his level of concentration evident. You nod, smiling, and relax back onto the sofa. You lose yourself in the sensations, enjoying Eddie’s ministrations and letting yourself drift away on a sea of warmth and pleasure.

Before long a familiar pressure builds in your abdomen. You let out a loud sigh and your hips buck forward again of their own accord. You hear Eddie’s breath become louder and more ragged, and his movements speed up, his fingers pumping deeper and the pressure he’s placing on your clit increasing just a fraction. It’s enough to start sparks flying along your nerves and have your back arching and your thighs trembling.

You start groaning, almost letting go before you realise you should probably give Eddie some warning.

“Shit, I’m so close. Don’t stop, dontfuckingstop, ohshitohshitohshii—”

The universe stops. Time ceases to exist. Your vision goes black before being filled with a million tiny stars, and a supernova of euphoria erupts from your core and spreads throughout your entire body. You think you hear yourself moaning, possibly Eddie as well, but the sounds seem so far away. 

You don’t notice that you’ve arched your back even further until you regain some sense of reality and realise the top of your head is now against the back of the sofa. Gradually, feeling comes back into the rest of your body, a bone-deep warmth suffusing you as your contorted limbs gradually return to their usual positions.

Your vision finally comes back into focus, and you glance down to see Eddie staring at you, wide-mouthed and somewhat stunned. Propping yourself up on the heels of your hands, you grin as you comment, voice syrupy and possibly a little slurred,

“Fuck, Eddie, you’re good at that. Screw the B minus, you definitely deserve an A plus!”

He gives you a lopsided grin, one dimple popping, and chuckles lightly as, watching your centre, he begins to slowly withdraw himself from you. Your body seems to have other ideas, as your walls clench around his fingers and a small aftershock makes you tremble. It definitely doesn’t want to let him go.

He pauses as he examines his soaked digits, moving them apart and studying your slick as it covers his palm and runs over his knuckles. You think you spot a minuscule drop of his jaw as his hand twitches, but then he stops himself. You’re slightly nervous that you may have misread his movements, but you decide to be bold anyway.

“Do you wanna taste me?”

His eyes snap to yours. They’re wide, like a kid that’s been caught trying to steal cookies. Sitting up a little, you gently take hold of his wrist and move his hand closer to his mouth, giving him permission. His eyes don��t leave yours as he drops his jaw, lolls out his tongue and pushes his sodden fingers into his mouth. Only when his lips reach his knuckles does his gaze falter. His eyes flicker closed and he hums loudly, licking and sucking, cleaning up every speck. He eventually pulls them out, mumbling low,

“Christ, you taste so good.”

You heat at the praise; no one’s ever told you that before. Feeling bold again, you continue,

“You wanna taste me properly one day? Put your mouth on me? I gotta admit I’m keen to see what else you can do with that tongue…”

Eddie gulps audibly as he shuffles forwards and grabs hold of your knees, looking like he’s kneeling at an altar. The altar of you.

“Oh holy shit, please let me do that. God, I wanna get my tongue inside you so bad.”

He’s practically drooling, and the sight of him literally on his knees and begging to taste your cunt has you clenching all over again. But as much as you want that (and you really, really want that), there’s now an aching need inside you that only something larger can satisfy. If Eddie’s willing to give it to you. Keen to bookmark this for another time, you proffer,

“Whaddaya say we make that a whole lesson all to itself?”

He grins at you, seemingly pleased with this proposal.

Eddie rests back on his heels and places his hands in his lap. He’s not ushering you to leave, which is good, but he seems a little unsure of himself. Conscious of how exposed you still are, you start to straighten yourself up, lowering your skirt and checking your hair in case the sofa cushions have done a number on it. 

You have no idea what the protocol is for this situation. You’re aware that there’s likely an issue in his pants that could use some attention, but you’re not sure how to broach it. You know what you’d like to do, but are suddenly nervous and can’t look at him, and start fiddling with the hem of your skirt. He seems to be having the same dilemma, as he asks,

“So, what do we do now?”

He could be expecting a suggestion like watching a movie, or ordering pizza. But you decide to ask for what you want, whilst also giving him an out just in case this is too sudden. You fiddle with your hem again and catch his gaze as you blather,

“Well, I know we’ve kinda talked about this before, maybe not as much as we could have. But I, uh— I’d really like to, um, have you inside of me. If you wanted to. An— and it doesn’t actually have to be now, or even soon. We can totally go at your pace, and I realise I’m asking to be your first, but—”

He cuts you off with a single syllable. 

“Yes.” 

It’s the shortest sentence you’ve ever heard him utter. And in this moment it’s the most beautiful. His face is almost blank, completely serious with an edge of hopefulness etched in his brows. Your chest fills with pride and gratitude. He really does trust you enough to want to do this with you. But what happens next is a surprise. 

“Umm… would now be okay?”

You grin broadly. 

“Uh, no, not at all. Shall we, um… take this to your bedroom?”

He smiles softly before breaking out into a wide but bashful grin.

He stands and, offering his hands, helps you to get up. Eddie makes sure you’re okay to move and, at a pace you can cope with on your shaky legs, gently leads you across the trailer and down the narrow corridor to his bedroom, repeatedly looking at you with an incredulously dopey look.

He pauses with his palm against the door. Looking at you ruefully through his lashes, he warns you, quietly,

“Just so you know, it’s a mess in here.”

You reassure him,

“I don’t mind. Frankly, so long as you’re not storing a rotting corpse or running a meth lab, I couldn’t care less.”

He swings the door open and leads you inside. You step through and take a brief moment to glance around the room, noticing the posters on the walls, piles of clothes, D&D paraphernalia and various bits of band equipment. It’s almost exactly as you’d pictured it. 

Standing in the middle of the carpet, he turns to face you, holding one of your hands in his and fiddling with your fingers. His hesitancy is adorable.

“Soooo… What do we do first?”

You take both of his hands in yours, squeezing them lightly, and through a soft smile you say airily,

“Well, it’s usually customary to do a little kissing. I know you know how to do that, because…”

Your cheeks heat as you remember your library lesson. Eddie’s throat bobs as he swallows, and his gaze flits around your face, settling on your lips as he tries, and fails, to get his breathing under control. 

You gently place his hands at your waist and then loop your arms around his neck, finally getting to sink your fingers into his long, luscious locks. They’re much softer than you thought they’d be, and you feel him tremble as you lightly drag your fingertips across his scalp.

You step towards him and slowly lean in, moving your face closer to his, pulling Eddie ever so slightly to indicate that he should do the same. There’s the briefest of pauses as your lips hover, your breaths mingling, before you both close the minuscule gap.

It’s a little uncoordinated, you two never having done this standing up before, but none of that matters as your mouths connect. Eddie’s lips are soft and pillowy, and the feeling of his hands on your waist, his mouth against yours and that familiar faint vanilla scent completely invade your senses. He has a hint of a five o’clock shadow, and you feel his scruff scratch softly against the sensitive skin of your face. You know it’s going to leave you red and puffy, and you relish being able to take a reminder of this away with you. 

It’s chaste yet passionate as your lips meld and release and find a rhythm. You muss his hair and he hums, and the ache between your legs grows vivid again. You press your front against his, and he breaks your kiss with a soft,

“Oh!”

Wow, he really does want this. A whole lot. You nudge against him again, relishing the firmness you can feel in the front of his jeans. The seam of his zipper only adds to the sensation, and you feel his obvious and substantial erection swell and kick towards you through the stiff fabric. You’ve never wanted anything more in your entire life, but for Eddie’s sake you’re determined to take it slow.

Okay, maybe not that slow. You thumb at the hem of his shirt, and with what you hope is a cute pout, ask,

“Can we take this off?”

He grins, dimples popping adorably, and takes half a step back. You think your own smile might rival his as you grasp the bottom of his shirt and peel it up and over his head. Not teasing, not rushing, the speed is just right, and you bite your lip when his arms lift and his hair fluffs, and you drop the garment to the floor.

You’ve seen him shirtless before, but you don’t think you’ll ever get used to the way it affects you. Eddie catches you staring, and for a brief moment you worry that he’s self conscious, or nervous of your opinion of his physicality. But instead, in a cheeky show of burgeoning confidence, that you hope is somewhat down to you, he murmurs,

“Do you… like what you see, Princess?”

Your eyes continue to scan his chest as you hum in approval.

“Oh yes, definitely…”

You bring one of your hands up and run the tips of your fingers over the tattoos on his pec. Eddie shivers and inhales a shaky breath, and then whines a little as you flatten your hand over the muscle.

Your other hand traces up his waist and abs, making him stutter out a bashful giggle as you hit a ticklish spot, until both hands come to rest on the upper part of his chest, feeling it rise and fall beneath your palms. You look over his torso, his shoulders and throat, before your gaze flicks over his lips and reaches his eyes again.

“I meant what I said before, you know. You’re really pretty. Has anyone else ever told you that?”

“Uh, nope. No, they haven’t. But from you, I believe it.”

You smile softly at him, and run your hands over his collarbones and down the sides of his pecs. Experimentally, you allow the pads of your thumbs to gently skim his nipples. He hisses in a breath, and his responsiveness increases the throb in your core.

You let your hands travel lower, and they come to rest at his belt line. You can’t help but salivate at what you know is beneath as you work his belt buckle open, and then his button. You look up and smile at him as you pull gently on his zipper, lowering it, and he smiles back, shaking his head almost imperceptibly as if he can’t quite believe this is happening. 

You hook your thumbs over his waistband and start to tug. He helps, easing the fabric over the soft swell of his ass as you pull his jeans down until you’re crouching on the floor before him. He sighs as his member is released from its denim confines, tenting obnoxiously in his briefs, and you miss the fond smile he gives you, accompanied by another imperceptible head shake, as you concentrate on freeing his feet.

Once he’s standing in just his boxers, you rise and sit on the edge of his bed, gently pulling on his hands and guiding him to sit next to you. You swivel to face each other, fingers still linked. The two of you somehow manage to make some of the most innocent of gestures seem the most intimate, and there’s a peculiar moment of bashfulness between you. You huff through your noses, chuckling, and you can see Eddie’s cheeks have pinkened again as he looks down at your joined hands, fingers intertwined.

Finally, his gaze meets yours again, and his face is suddenly serious. His eyes flit to your lips, and you take this as your cue to lean forward.

Your noses bump, and initially neither of you are sure which way to turn your head. It’s awkward and sweet and adorable, but when your lips finally connect all of that melts away. You soon both get into your stride, and it’s even hotter than it was in the library. You don’t have to worry about noise, or getting caught, and there’s no time limit - this time you can do this for as long as you want, and the thought of it fills you with a warm sensation that you can’t quite identify.

Eddie’s hand comes up to cup your cheek, and as you run the tip of your tongue along his bottom lip his mouth opens instantly, allowing you access to him and he to you. Without hesitation he plunges his tongue into your mouth, and deftly swirls it around your own, moaning as he moves his hand to grasp the back of your head, just like he did in the library. It’s messy and hot, and with no fear of being discovered you're both much more vocal, sighing and moaning as you move against one another. Eddie’s free hand comes to rest gently on your waist, but you can tell he’s tense and holding back. You don’t want him, or you, to hold back anymore. 

You break the kiss and look at him. His eyes are glassy and unfocused, and his lips are parted, reddened and glossy with your shared spit. In one swift motion you twist, lift one leg, and position yourself astride Eddie’s thighs. Then, to his complete surprise, you teasingly fiddle with your hem for a moment before lifting your shirt up and over your head, leaving you in just your bra. You chose it especially, the delicate lace cups leaving your nipples visible through the sheer fabric.

Eddie’s eyes widen and his jaw goes slack and he’s just… staring, like he’s seeing colour for the first time. You allow him to look at you for a little while, and his awestruck, hungry gaze is almost as effective as his touch for increasing the arousal at your core. You run your hands down his arms until you reach his wrists, which you lift gently, bringing his hands towards your chest. Eddie realises what’s about to happen, and quietly mutters,

“Oh, fuck…”

You guide his hands and his palms are hot as you place them over your flesh, and the heat between your bodies increases as Eddie huffs out an open-mouthed,

“Haaaaaaah.”

His eyes are fixed on your breasts, and he seems momentarily frozen in place. He swallows again, but before you can offer words of encouragement his eyes flick up to yours, an almost pleading look on his face. You nod carefully, slowly, hoping to convey your meaning: go ahead.

You’re successful, and you moan with delight as Eddie’s gaze drops again and he begins to squeeze and mould your heaving bosom like he wants to memorise every curve, every feature. He pushes them together slightly, then up, then apart, all the while massaging them gently with his palms and fingertips. At one point he accidentally grazes your slowly hardening nipples, and it causes both of you to let out startled whines.

He’s humming involuntarily, and more than once you feel his hips roll upwards, positioning the substantial tent in his boxers closer to where you need him. You drift your eyes up towards his pillows as you ask,

“Shall we… get a little more comfortable?”

His nod is swift and it bounces his curls as he immediately begins to shift position. You stand as he shuffles to the centre of his bed and flops down, his hair splaying out over his pillow and his hands clutching mindlessly at the comforter, perhaps to ground himself.

You manoeuvre so your thighs are astride his, your naked cunt not quite touching him and shielded only by the drape of your skirt. You wonder whether Eddie might be catching the scent of your arousal. He’s staring at your chest again, and you surmise he’s got a better view now, with more space between you and the light from the window illuminating you from the side.

His eyes rove your form, and you can’t wait to see what happens when he views a real pair of actual tits for the first time. Locking your gaze on his face, you reach behind you and unfasten your bra. The small jolt as you undo the clasp makes Eddie jump slightly, and his eyes flash up to your face, his eyes saying, is this really happening?

You cover yourself with one arm and slowly slip the straps of your bra off your shoulders before performing a dramatic reveal, dropping the lace to your lap and then sweeping the flimsy garment off the bed and onto the floor.

Eddie’s eyes widen to the point where you think they might leave his skull, and his jaw drops and retracts a couple of times. A strangled sort of noise leaves his throat, and it sounds a little like he’s being gently choked. You check in with him.

“Eddie? Are you okay? Are you… still breathing?”

He inhales, loudly. Nope, he’d definitely stopped breathing. His arms lift a little and his hands hover over the bedsheets. His eyes haven’t left your chest, and you let him know that whatever he wants to do, you’re okay with.

“You can touch them, if you want?”

Eddie huffs out a long exhale, and the warmth of his breath fanning over your sensitive skin brings your nipples to hardened peaks. His fingertips tentatively brush at the sides of your breasts as his thumbs trace the undersides. It’s like he’s examining a precious artifact, and it’s the most reverence anyone’s ever shown your tits, or any part of you. You hear yourself gasp as your centre spasms.

This gives Eddie a little confidence, and he moves to cup your flesh in his hands, his fingers squeezing lightly. This time though, he’s looking at your face, assessing your reaction, seeing how he’s doing. You very much appreciate that he’s ensuring he’s not hurting you, or making an ass of himself, but it’s actually quite the opposite. You let out a tiny moan, and gift him with a louder one when the pads of his thumbs graze your peaked nipples. He does it again, with more intent. The combination of the roughness and heat of his skin feels wonderful.

Unbidden, he brings his forefingers and thumbs together on one side, and pinches lightly. Your abrupt groan surprises both of you, but in a delightful way. He does it again, to both nipples this time, and you groan again as your belly clenches and you involuntarily roll your hips over his thighs, the heat in your core intensifying. 

You let him play for a while, enjoying how he moans and swallows and moulds your flesh. His hands feel so good you’re reluctant to pull them away, but eventually you do, softly placing his arms beside him on the bed as you murmur,

“It’s my turn to touch you now.”

His nervous expression quickly dissipates as you gently lay your hands onto his chest. He’s so beautiful, like an alabaster statue, and he’s warm and responsive to your touch. You run your hands lightly all over his torso, tracing the planes, dips and curves of his musculature, and the designs of his tattoos. It’s simple, almost reverential, though the increased heat in your centre and the breaths stuttering beneath the pretty pink bloom flushing over Eddie’s skin suggest your touch is anything but holy.

There’s something you’ve been wanting to investigate for what feels like a very long time, and you’re delighted that you’ve finally got the opportunity. You run your palms over Eddie’s chest again, but this time allowing your fingertips to skim over his nipples. 

He twitches beneath you, almost flinching at the sensation, but from the gasp he inhales and holds you don’t think this was from discomfort. You repeat the action. His flesh feels soft and velvety, and they’re smaller than yours, but seemingly just as sensitive, and you hear him whimper as they peak beneath your touch. You had no idea a guy’s nipples could react like this, your previous partners never giving them any consideration or allowing you to explore like this. Eddie’s stuttering breaths and the way he’s trembling make you think they were missing out on something really special.

You draw tiny circles around each nipple with the pads of your forefingers, and you feel the bedsheets shift under you as Eddie grips them in his fists. Bravely, you experiment, and you move your thumbs to join your fingers, Eddie’s flesh between them. With the lightest amount of pressure you pinch, just a little, and release quickly.

Something guttural leaves Eddie’s chest, and his breath comes out in a rush. Buoyed by this, you squeeze again, with more pressure and for longer, and this time Eddie’s groan is accompanied by an upwards buck of his hips into the empty air in front of yours.

This is new, and you like it very much. From the deepening pink tinge appearing across Eddie’s cheeks and torso, you think he’s liking it too. You squeeze once more, and release. Leaning forwards and sticking out your tongue, you lick at one of Eddie’s peaked buds before delicately clamping down with your teeth and sucking gently, moaning quietly at the sensation of his delicate flesh in your mouth.

Above you, Eddie splutters,

“Shit! Oh shit! Hnnn!”

Oh yeah, those other guys were definitely missing out.

You decide it’s time for him to experience yours up close too. You lean forwards, bracing your arms either side of his head, the swell of your tits now hovering above his face. His gaze flicks between them a few times before flashing up to yours. You give him a soft smile and nod your head, and he hums as he slides his hands up over your waist, up your sides and over the warm flesh again. 

He moulds them in his hands, making you moan, and to make it all the more obvious what you want him to do you shift so one of your nipples is positioned directly above his mouth. He takes the hint and flicks out his tongue, just grazing your peaked bud at first before gaining in confidence and taking it fully into his mouth, sucking gently at first and then flicking his tongue over it.

You feel a jolt head from your nipple up to your jaw that ignites the entire side of your face with static electricity as another journeys to your core. You let out an involuntary groan, and, buoyed by this, Eddie suckles harder, simultaneously running his thumb over your other nipple. You moan again, your hips rolling over his thighs in search of friction. Shifting beneath you, he pops off one breast and latches on to the other, giving it equal attention and, daringly, pinching the first between his fingers. It’s intense, and glorious, and that electric spark is back, heading directly between your thighs. This is definitely something that’s never happened before.

He unlatches, and you’re a gasping, breathy mess as you move down to kiss him. He lunges up a few centimetres to meet you, and as you deepen the kiss your nipples brush against his chest. He whimpers, and grabs the back of your neck with one hand and between your shoulder blades with the other, pulling you down so your chests meet. You drop your elbows down onto the mattress to get closer to him, and rake your hands through his hair, grasping it and pulling at the roots gently as your hands ball into fists.

There’s no more reverence or holding back now, and your kiss is messy, wet and noisy as Eddie holds you to him, squeezing you together and shoving his tongue seemingly as far down your throat as he can. Your tits are squashed between you, and the pressure of his heated chest against yours is divine. It’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever done, and you can’t quite believe you’re having this effect on each other. You feel the stiff length of him pressing into your abdomen, and he feels so, so ready for this.

You hum as you kiss him for a while longer, feeling his length kick up between you and the dampness between your legs increase. You break the kiss and sit up, smirking at Eddie’s blissed out face and reddened, kiss-bitten lips. Watching him watch you, you open the side fastening of your skirt and peel it off, discarding it to one side, leaving you fully bare on top of him. His face is almost unreadable, such a mixture of emotions passing over it, but you think he might be a combination of reverent, horny and amazed.

You move yourself further up his thighs, finally settling your hips flush across his, settling down close to the substantial wet patch that’s been made by his leaking tip. Your naked centre sticks to the damp fabric as you drag it across his boxer-covered crotch. Ordinarily you’d be embarrassed at making a mess, but something tells you Eddie won’t care.

You were right. There’s no resistance from him, and he groans beneath you as you feel his hefty bulge press against your folds. His hands grip the bedsheets again as he mumbles out in a low breath,

“Oh my god, you’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

His tone and his words only get you wetter, and you can’t help but roll your hips slightly over him, earning you another groan.

You don’t want to waste your slick on this fabric, and rise up onto your knees. With a playful snap of his waistband, you urge,

“Take these off.”

Eddie shuffles beneath you as quickly as he’s able, There’s the rustle of cotton and you look down in time to witness the slap of his hard member against his stomach. His cock’s flushed a deep pink, almost magenta, is more swollen than you’ve ever seen it, and is already drenched and glistening with precum. It smears across his happy trail as he shifts until, moments later, he’s naked beneath you. 

Still kneeling up, your cunt hovers over his bare form. His eyes scan your whole body, from your eyes to your tits, all over your torso, the soft hair covering your cunt, back up to your eyes again. Bravely, you think, he places his hands on your thighs, and you feel them tremble a little as he rubs and strokes gently. 

Slowly, you lower your hips. You feel your pubic hair brush first, before your warm lips make contact with his shaft and your most personal areas touch for the first time.

Eddie’s brows furrow as the slick warmth of you settles onto him, and his abs tense as he breathes out, low,

“Oh, shiiiiit.”

You’re both still for a beat before you brace yourself, palms placed flat on his chest, and begin to rock your hips, just gently, getting you both used to the sensation of having him pressed against your folds. His cock is hard, yet warm and soft, and Eddie huffs out heated breaths through his nose as you slide yourself along him. His hips start to subtly cant beneath you. By the tense look on his face you think it might be involuntary, that he’s holding himself back. 

You move for a little while before one particularly exquisite movement allows his cock to slip between your folds, and his swollen tip unexpectedly nudges your clit. You gasp and curl in on yourself, involuntarily closing your eyes and clenching your fingers, letting out a soft whine. 

Below you, Eddie makes a strangled hnnng sound before his breath hitches and he inhales quickly, his grip on your thighs tightening. 

Worried there’s something wrong, your eyes flash open. You’re relieved to see Eddie seems to be okay, though his eyes are blown even darker and his jaw is softly parted. You glance down at your hands on his chest, and notice a collection of angry-looking red lines where your nails have dug into his flesh. Horrified, you stammer,

“Oh god, I’m so sorry!”

Echoing your words from your second lesson, he smirks, his tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip, and he bounces his eyebrows as he admits,

“It’s okay, I kinda liked it.”

Smiling, you lift your hands to his pecs and lightly drag the nails of your pointer fingers further down his chest and ribs, down to his abs. Eddie moans again, and his hips roll upwards, his cockhead nudging your clit with more pressure and causing you to whine along with him.

Fuck, this feels so good, and he’s not even inside of you yet…

You don’t know how Eddie’s doing, but you can’t take much more of this. Feeling that it’s definitely time for his final lesson, you sit up, resting your palms gently on his belly. You’re feeling really good, but also nervous, which you know makes you verbose, and you can’t help but babble out too many options. 

“Okay, so, I’m more than happy for us to go all the way right now. But if that’s not something you want I’m obviously totally fine with that too. But… Shit. I guess I’m asking, do you still wanna… I mean, how far do you wanna go, really, with me?”

Eddie’s eyes search yours earnestly, and the gentleness of his reply instantly soothes your frayed nerves.

“I want it, Princess. I want to do it… all. With you.”

You smile warmly down at him. It’s the best response you could’ve had. He swallows before gesturing to his nightstand.

“Should I, uh… Should we…?”

You realise he’s asking if he should get a condom, and you’re grateful for his thoughtfulness. But you’ve been considering this, and you have an alternative suggestion. 

“Well… I’m on birth control for a period thing, and I'm pretty sure I’m clean because I’ve never not used a condom. I know you’re clean because, well, y’know. So… if you’re okay with it, we could, uh, do it without?”

He’s looking up at you, wide-eyed and mouth agape. All he can manage is a tiny, squeaked,

“Holy f—. P— please.”

Again, it’s the perfect reply. You’re still slightly incredulous that he’s trusting you to be his first, but you’re also excited to take on such a responsibility. You calm your breathing before kneeling up a little, glancing down and reaching between your legs to take ahold of him. You already knew he has the most exquisite cock you’ve ever encountered, and it somehow looks even more beautiful right now. You grasp him reverently, angling him upwards and dragging him through your folds to gather more of your slick. 

He’s hot and solid in your hand, and flashbacks of everything you’ve done so far flood your mind. Touching yourself as he watched, taking him into your mouth, getting each other off over the phone, your first kiss... It‘s all combined to lead you to this exquisite moment. 

Eddie sighs lightly and lets out a nervous hum, and then both of you hold your breath. You lower yourself a tiny amount, and his tip pushes in a little further as you notch him between your folds. He gasps. You lean over him, and stabilise yourself with your hands either side of his head.

“You ready?”

Eddie’s voice wobbles as he confirms,

“Fuck, yes, Princess. Please f-fuck me.” 

You take a steadying breath, and, keeping your eyes fixed on his, you begin to lower further. His fat head breaches you, and you bite your lip as you feel the stretch of him for the first time. Slowly, so slowly, you slide down, inch by delicious inch. You’re so wet he glides into you easily, although the size of him is something you’ll need to get used to. You relish the sensation of him stretching out your walls as they slowly envelop him.

You pause, and Eddie mumbles your name, barely audible, the hot huff of air filling what little space there is between you. It sounds like a prayer, or perhaps a spell. There’s a moment of silence and absolute stillness, yet it’s weighted, the implications heavy in the humid space between you. You both know how much this means, how things will never be as they were, especially for Eddie. As you slide lower, letting him fill you, his jaw drops further, and his grip on your thighs grows stronger. You sink down until he’s plunged completely inside your warmth, and immerse yourself in the way you’re accommodating him. Your hips finally connect with his, and as you seat him fully inside you already feel him nudging against that spot that he so deftly located earlier. You mumble out a stilted,

“Oh, god.”

It’s followed by a long, deep sigh from Eddie as he mutters,

“Ohfuckohfuckohfuck— Ooooooooh fuuuuuuuuuuuuuccckkk!”

He’s closed his eyes, and you can feel the tips of his fingers digging into the plush of your thighs. You enjoy the moment, savouring how he looks, how he feels. His hair splays out around him on his pillow like a chestnut halo, and his head is tilted back, exposing his broad, thick throat. His eyes flash open again and fix on yours; wide, dark mahogany pools that are somehow simultaneously a million miles away and boring into your very soul. His mouth hangs open in awe, shallow, trembling breaths emanating from his throat. He looks like an angel. 

He strokes your thighs for a moment before his large hands move to settle lightly on your hips. Placing your hands over the backs of his, you stay seated, tilting your hips ever so slightly to push down even deeper onto him. He practically growls,

“Fuck, Princess. You feel so fucking good.”

The growling nature of his voice sends an electric heat straight to your core, and the stretch you feel quickly morphs into a fiery need. You gaze into Eddie’s chocolate orbs as you warn him, 

“I’m gonna move now, okay?”

He swallows in preparation, and you brace your hands on his lower ribs. You tilt your hips, rolling them. It angles him differently inside you, his swollen head hitting harder exactly where you need it. It also brushes your clit against the dark, glossy hair at his base, and your walls spasm as a low moan leaves your chest and you feel Eddie’s cock kick up in response. He mumbles, voice low and lasciviously gravelly,

“Do that again.”

So you do, again and again. You find a rhythm, slow but satisfying as you rock back and forth. Eddie’s jaw drops open again and his lips form a soft ‘o’ as you move above him.

It occurs to you that everything feels subtly different. Of course, you’ve never been treated with such care before, never been brought to a point of such arousal, plus you’ve never wanted anyone as much as you want Eddie in this moment. But you swear you can feel the flared edge of his cockhead as it drags against your walls, and every ridge and vein as you move atop him. You’d never previously considered how a lack of barrier might affect things, it always being a hard boundary for you, despite whining and cajoling from previous partners. You’d assumed it was mostly a ‘guy thing’, and you had no idea how it could affect your pleasure. But it’s abundantly obvious now. 

Eddie's lips are pursed, and his grip on your thighs intensifies again as you watch the muscles of his abdomen subtly tense. Perhaps it’s time he became a bit more… involved. You’re sure he can take it, and you know he won’t hurt you.

“You can move too, Eddie. Just do what feels good.”

He‘s tentative at first, tilting his pelvis subtly and pushing up into you with such care, as if he might hurt you, or something might break. It’s incredible, the small movements feel so good, and somehow more intimate and passionate than anything you’ve done with anyone else. You reward him with soft sighs and moans in time with his movements.

Gaining confidence, he begins to move faster, pulling out further and thrusting back in with more vigour. When you join him, moving and rolling your pelvis with larger movements in time with his, your breath coming out in increasingly loud rhythmic gasps and moans, his breathing quickens, his whole body flushes, and you can't help but close your eyes and drop your head back in ecstasy until Eddie’s hands clamp onto your hips and—

“Ohmygod, ooohmyGOD.”

He’s suddenly still.

You open your eyes to check in on him, and see Eddie’s screwed up face, his eyes and mouth twisted shut, his cheeks even redder than before.

“Eddie? Are you okay?”

He babbles, quickly,

“Don’t move Princess, pleasejustdontfuckinmove. This is fuckin’ amazing and I don’t wanna ruin it!”

You want to reassure him that everything he’s doing is perfect.

“I’m close too. It doesn't matter how long this lasts, just that we both enjoy it. And I’m really, really enjoying it. Please, keep moving, Eddie. For me?"

From his beautifully wide eyes and flushed face, this definitely isn’t going to last very much longer, but you mean it, you don’t care. You’re still puffy and sensitive from his earlier ministrations, and you know it won’t be long before you fall apart all over him. You both begin to move again, quickly rebuilding a rhythm. The soft thrusts of his hips keep perfect time with the subtle rolls of yours, the lewd sounds of your mingling juices only adding to your mutual enjoyment. 

Eddie lets out little uhs and ahs in time with your movements and you adore that you’re having such an effect on him. After a particularly deep thrust followed by a vociferous grunt, he grits out, through clenched teeth,

“Does it— Christ— Does it always feel this good?”

You reply, truthfully,

“Honestly? It’s never been this good.”

He stutters out a high-pitched chuckle as he confirms,

“Holy shit, I’m in fucking heaven!”

You lunge forwards to kiss him again, brushing your nipples against his chest as you slip your tongue between his eager lips. Once again Eddie’s hand grips the back of your head and he moans loudly as his tongue plunges into your mouth. You feel the warmth of a broad palm against your lower back as he pulls you flush with his chest. The shift in position arches your back, subtly changing the angle and spreading your centre even further. 

All too soon, Eddie’s thrusts become faster and less controlled, and you match his pace, rolling your hips and pushing down onto him with increased vigour. You break apart and move up just enough so he’s in focus, wanting to see him at this perfect moment. His eyes are glazed and seem to only be half-focussing on yours, and there's a tell-tale furrow in his brow. You wonder aloud,

“You gonna cum? I wanna feel you. Let go, please.”

His hips seem to take on a life of their own now he’s not holding back. His thrusts become more fervent, and his swollen member pummels that spot inside you. You feel his pelvis slam against your clit with every stroke, and your own release careens towards you, spots of light beginning to appear in your vision and the warmth in your core reaching a heated crescendo.

With a deep, rumbling groan, easily the sexiest sound you’ve ever heard, his final thrust pushes him even deeper and his cock begins to pulse inside you. You’ve never felt anyone’s release before, and the divine sensation makes you jam your hips down, triggering your own release, and you throw your head back in ecstasy, emitting a disjointed high-pitched whine. There's more low moans from Eddie as you clench around his still-pulsing member, and you barely register the bruising grip as he digs his fingertips into your hips. 

Eventually your movements still and, spent, you pitch forward on failing arms and collapse onto his chest, breathing heavily into the crook of his neck. After a moment he wraps his arms around you, holding you close and nuzzling into your hairline.

There’s a minute of stillness, and you revel in the post-orgasmic haze. Your cunt spasms with aftershocks, eliciting contented hums from deep within Eddie’s chest. You’re warm, satisfied and feel cosy and safe with his arms wrapped around you, and you wonder whether he’s feeling the same. You hum into his skin as he traces one hand over your shoulders and back. It’s bliss.

Eventually, Eddie chuckles lightly as he mutters,

“Fuck, Princess. That was… I, um… Fuck.”

He snorts a truncated laugh, his Adam’s apple bobbing and his curls bouncing on the pillow as his head shifts to look at you. All you can manage is a dopey grin as you reply,

“Yeah. Fuck.”

You chuckle in unison, shifting until your noses touch, both tilting your chins until your lips connect in a series of soft pecks.

You’re a little nervous to ask, but something in you has to know.

“How did it feel? Fucking for the first time?”

“Shit, it was goddamn heaven, I swear! Although technically, I think you did most of the actual fucking.”

“Oh no, you did absolutely your fair share! But we can change that, if you’d like. Are you up for doing most of the fucking another time?”

Eddie’s eyebrows snap up his forehead and he looks straight at you with surprise, and just a little disbelief. 

“You, uh, want there to be a next time…?”

You roll your lips together and consider your words carefully before replying. He really has no idea how good this was for you, or that he’s already so much better than literally every guy you’ve ever slept with. But you don’t want to stroke his ego too much, at least, not just yet. You hum and fake a look of disinterest.

“Well, I guess I could make time in my schedule, to, y’know, give you a few more lessons. Purely for your benefit, of course.”

His jaw drops in faux shock.

“Hey, I know I’m not exactly an expert, but if I’m reading this right you seemed to enjoy yourself.”

You can’t keep a straight face and burst into giggles, and Eddie follows you, his fingers snaking to your waist and easily finding your ticklish spots. You huff and wriggle, but make no real attempt to disengage yourself from his grasp. If anything, you end up more entangled, and from the contented sounds that emanate from you both, it’s not something either of you mind.

You lay together for a few moments, enjoying the peace and your shared heat. But eventually your hips start to ache, and with a groan of discomfort, and more than a little reluctance, you slowly start to move. His mostly-soft cock slips out easily, and as you roll off of him you feel your combined juices run out of you, dribbling over his abdomen and coating the inside of your thighs.

You sigh as you wriggle yourself into the crook of his arm, and lay your palm on his chest, tracing lazily up and down with your fingers.

You figure Eddie must feel the cooling stickiness, because he starts to move and asks,

“Umm… Do I— Uh… Should I…? D’you need anything?”

You keep it simple.

“Umm, something to clean up with would be nice. And could I, maybe, get some water?”

The mere fact that he’s asked the question already puts him leagues above others, but you’re briefly concerned that Eddie will see this as annoying, or demanding. To your relief, he seems entirely unfazed. 

“Sure thing. You get comfy here and I’ll just be a minute.”

He wriggles sideways and backs off the bed, his beautiful grin lighting up his glowing face. His hair’s a dishevelled mess, his torso is still tinged pink and the scratches you left on his chest are an angry red, but you’ve never seen anyone so beautiful. Unable to break your gaze, he doesn’t turn until he’s already partly through the doorway. It’s sweet, and lovely, but as he leaves you’re almost sad that he didn’t turn sooner, as you’re treated to the glorious sight of his pert, peachy butt bouncing slightly as he leaves the room.

You swallow, thinking that’s a sight you could definitely get used to, but then chide yourself. He’s obviously happy to do this again, but you have no idea whether he’s… feeling the same way you are. But at that moment you make a decision - you’re absolutely going to broach the subject before you leave. Definitely. 

Probably. 

Maybe...

There’s the sound of running water and minutes later Eddie returns with a warm, damp washcloth and a small towel, and promptly disappears again. You clean yourself up as best you can and then take him at his word and get comfy, wrapping yourself up in his sheets before rolling onto your side and perusing the myriad objects atop his nightstand. There’s a full ashtray, loose keys, a lighter, a couple of rings, an empty pretzel tube, rolling papers, a creased music magazine and a lot of dust. A battered copy of a Tolkien novel catches your eye, and you pick it up and start to flip through it. There’s folded corners and pages marked with scraps of paper, notes and doodles in the margins and words written in runes in Eddie’s messy scrawl. You imagine it must be one of his most treasured possessions.

Just as you’re halfway through deciphering a short runic message, Eddie enters with snacks clasped in his hands and between his teeth. There's water, cold soda, pretzels, potato chips, a bowl with a few grapes in it, and half a bar of chocolate. His soft, but still pretty, cock swings with abandon as he heads towards you and dumps his haul onto the bed in front of you.

It’s all perfect. He’s perfect…

As the final packet leaves his mouth he spots what you have in your hand.

“I brought snacks too, I hope that’s okay. Whatcha got there, Princess?”

You drop the paperback like it’s burned you, blustering,

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to snoop.”

“That’s alright, you can look. There’s nothing incriminating in there. Not gonna tell you where that stuff is, mind you."

He pulls a comical face as he flops down onto the bed, the old springs squeaking in protest, and you giggle, thinking about your journal and wondering whether he does indeed have any similarly incriminating stuff anywhere, as you admit,

“I read The Hobbit once. I liked it, but I found the other books too heavy going. Is that awful? Are you gonna throw me out now?”

You wince and add a deliberately over-expansive pout. Eddie’s hair shakes wildly as he responds emphatically,

“Oh, god no! You’d have to do a lot worse than that for me to ever let you go…”

You think he’s just being funny, but then his eyes soften suddenly, and you wonder whether, deep down, he actually means that. Your tummy flutters at the thought. But before you can dwell, his face brightens, and, breaking your thought process, he continues excitedly,

“Maybe I could read them to you sometime? I could explain it as I go. And I promise to skip any really dull parts.”

You smile and nod eagerly in agreement, imagining lazy days spent cuddling with Eddie reading aloud to you as you play with his hair and memorise his tattoos. You can’t pass this moment up, you have to say something. And, in just a minute, you will. You’re almost certain of it.

You sit up and lean back against the wall, and Eddie joins you, pulling his sheets and comforter around you both. You lean in close as you snack on your impromptu and welcome picnic, sometimes feeding each other small morsels, and he makes you giggle as he kisses crumbs from the side of your mouth and fake-bites your fingers. 

Food devoured, you snuggle against him with his arm slung around your shoulders. You bring a finger up to trace his ink, and he hums contentedly as you run your fingertips through his soft chest hair again. 

Okay, girl. Just do it.

Gathering yourself, you take a deep breath, holding it for far too long before the words tumble out of you.

“I’ve really enjoyed this, Eddie. Not just, y’know, this, but also the tutoring, and getting to know you. Shit, I’m probably messing this up so bad. I guess what I’m trying to say is… and I don’t know how you’d feel about this, but… we could carry this on. Properly. If— you wanted to.” 

Eddie stares at you for a moment, before he stammers, 

“We— we could?”  

A goofy smile appears on his face.

Bolstered, you gather your nerve and continue,

“And… I could be more than just your tutor. If you wanted me to be?”

Eddie replies, with a little trepidation, 

“Are you serious? You’d wanna be more than, y’know, this?” 

He gesticulates over both of your pelvises.

“Yeah. I was thinking… Fuck, I hope this isn’t too much. Will you tell me if this is too much? I thought… If you like… I could even, maybe… be your girlfriend?”

Eddie inhales quickly and his chest puffs, you hope with joy, but fucking hell you hope you haven’t overstepped and it’s actually horror.

“If I’d like? Shit, I would absolutely like that. Very, very much...”

He brings one hand up to stroke the side of your head, and then runs it lightly down over your shoulder and the side of your arm. He places a firm, lingering kiss to your lips before pulling back, smiling.

You stare into each other’s eyes, the gravity of the moment not lost on either of you. The nervous pit in your stomach is completely dissolved by a warm, honeyed sensation, as you slowly process that Eddie said yes, and that you’ve just snagged yourself the cutest, sweetest, sexiest boyfriend ever. 

You lean in, capturing Eddie’s plush lips in another chaste but oh-so-meaningful kiss. He presses forward to kiss you back, relaxing and heaving out a low sigh before his lips quirk into a devious-looking smirk, failing to hide his mischievous tone as he asks,

“I do have one question. If you’re my girlfriend now, do I still have to wait a whole week before we can do this again?”

You snort at his silliness.

“No, Eddie, you definitely don’t. In fact, what are you doing this weekend? Would you like to come over to my place? I’ve got plenty of ideas for more lessons, and I’m sure there’s lots we can teach each other.”

Eddie growls playfully before enthusiastically agreeing, prying excitedly for details like dates and times and possible activities. Although he seems more than fine with your company, you don’t want to push things too far or outstay your welcome, so when you glance at his bedside clock and see that it’s already way past the time you’d usually leave you turn to him with a resigned huff.

Eddie responds, 

“It’s that time already?”

You give him a glum little nod, and he continues,

“Do you really have to go? I mean, couldn’t you stay a little longer? I’d really like that.”

Smiling, you nuzzle in closer to him. 

“I was kinda hoping you’d say that boyfriend.”

In a surprising display of both strength and newly-found confidence, Eddie pushes your shoulder and flips you onto your back, scattering the empty packets and bowls across the bed and onto the floor. His pretty curls frame his face and tickle your cheeks as he looms over you, and his burgeoning erection feels hot as he presses it into the crease of your thigh.

He leans down, and his beautiful nose brushes yours as he murmurs,

“You know these lessons you’re talking about, Princess. How about we start right now?”

You hum into the kiss he plants on your lips and roll your hips upwards into him, making him moan. But before this particular lesson can go any further, you’re both disturbed by the sounds of the trailer door loudly opening and closing, and the rustle of fabric as someone removes what sounds like a heavy coat.

You and Eddie freeze, eyes wide and locked on each other's. 

“Oh shit, it’s my uncle!”

You gasp, and then both frantically sit up and scramble off the bed to get dressed, nervously giggling and flinging each other’s clothing across the room.

You’re almost done, and in record time too. But as you bend to retrieve a sock, Eddie's treated to the sight of your skirt lifting, revealing your bare cunt, a little of his spend leaking out of you. He’s momentarily struck dumb, and his jaw drops. But another noise outside snaps him back to reality. Stuttering, he mumbles,

“You don’t have any… uh…”

He waves a hand in the vague direction of your lower half, his cheeks reddening as he remembers what he did earlier on with your panties.

“It’s okay, Eddie. After that first time, I thought it would probably be a good idea to keep some spares in my bag.”

Standing, you wink at him. He pulls a thick lock of hair over his cheek, embarrassed, screwing up his eyes and realising he’s been completely and utterly caught. He tries to apologise, his words clipped,

“Shit. I’m sorry. I shouldn't have done that.”

“You know, from anyone else I’d have found it creepy, but from you I find it oddly flattering.”

He grins widely, and is just about to pull you into an embrace when there’s another noise, a gravelly voice this time, 

“Is this paper yours, son? You didn’t steal this from another kid again, did’ya?”

Eddie looks slightly bashful for a moment but there’s no time to dither. It's time to face whoever’s out there. Eddie opens his door and leaves first, beckoning you encouragingly to follow him. Standing in the narrow hallway by the kitchen, you come face to face with Eddie’s uncle for the first time. He’s clutching Eddie’s test paper, and his deep frown, grizzled features and broad frame cut an imposing figure. When he eyes the pair of you, you can’t help but feel a little nervous. 

Eddie speaks first, and addresses his uncle, a little sarcastically,

“Yes, that is indeed my test paper. And I’ll thank you for not looking quite so surprised.” 

The big man’s brows furrow a little deeper, and you can’t tell whether it’s with consternation or amusement, as his gaze flicks between the two of you. Eddie clears his throat and introduces Wayne to you, and tells his uncle your name. You think that’s it, until he straightens up a little, and with a confidence you weren’t expecting he slips an arm around your shoulders. He grips you tightly before adding, with a little nod, as if he’s practicing the words and still convincing himself, 

“And, uh, she’s my girlfriend.”

Oh. You like how it sounds coming from his lips.

Wayne’s forehead crinkles as his bushy eyebrows raise, but before you have time to worry his face splits into a wide grin. He extends a work-grizzled hand and shakes yours powerfully as he says, in a much lighter tone,

“Well, ain’t this the nicest news for this old soul to come home to. It’s a pleasure to meet you, darlin’.”

His voice is warm and kind, and you believe it. Looking between you and his nephew, Wayne adds,

“Do we have the pleasure of your company this evening? You caught us at a good time, I’ve just been huntin’n’gatherin’.”

He gestures towards the kitchen area. You see full bags piled onto the counter, mac’n’cheese boxes, eggs and a few vegetables peeking from the tops, and realise it’s a dinner invitation. You gape a couple of times, far from expecting this level of domestic intimacy, and Eddie seems to pick up on it and answers for the both of you.

“Not tonight. I’m gonna drop this lovely lady back home, and then I’ll come help you chop veggies, ‘kay?”

He sweeps an arm wide, directing you towards his front door, and you pad over to collect the rest of your belongings, careful when you bend so as not to reveal your lack of underwear to anyone who wasn’t expecting it. You clasp Eddie’s divine drawing to your chest, handling it with especial care. Behind you, you hear the two men mutter-whispering, Wayne speaking first.

“Is this the tutor girl you’ve been talking about non-stop these last few weeks? You finally asked her out, huh?”

You can hear the smile in Eddie’s voice as he responds,

“Keep your voice down, old man. Um, that’s not exactly how it happened, but yeah, that’s her.”

Eddie looks over to you with a fond smile on his face as you pick up your backpack, and he comes over to you and helps you with your shoes before you leave ahead of him. The last thing you hear before the door closes behind you both is Wayne speaking once more.

“Good for you, son. It’s about damn time!”

Series masterlist General masterlist

Thank you so much for reading! (And for sticking with me through the longest update gap I think I’ve ever had, ILY 🙏💗) This completes our main ‘lessons’, but don’t fret - I have some more Extra Credits planned for these two 😉

If you liked this please, please like, comment and, especially, reblog - it’s the only way fics stay alive, and it means so much to writers to get your reactions and feedback, it’s what keeps us sharing our work 💗💋

“It’s that time already?” is a prompt from @promptsh20, it fitted so well with this section of the story I just had to include it 😊 The “It’s never been this good” lines are adapted from a film, the name of which I’ve now forgotten 🙈, and the “Do that again” was inspired by a Ryan Reynolds line in Green Lantern (if I can’t have him say it to me IRL I’m damn well gonna have Eddie do it in a fic 😛)

I proofed this as much as I could but my brain turned to mush, so if there are any errors or anyone grows an extra limb or something please tell me 🙏😅

Taglist part one: @airen256 @bimbotrashcan @urlbitchin @guiltyasquinn @jamdoughnutmagician @rustboxstarr @bl4ckt00thgr1n @bexreadstoomuch @cozmiccass @yujyujj @cluz1babe @thunderg @aysheashea @paleidiot @cadence73 @eddie-munsons-wifey @siriuslysmoking @neville-is-my-husband @aestheticaltcow @jjmaybankswifes-blog @lightcommastix @ungracefularchimedes @spenciesprincess @joejoequinnquinn @freshoutthewomb2 @sunshinepeachx @tlclick73 @hellfirenacht @yourdailymemedelivery @wendyxox @madaboutmunson @80s-addict @the-unforgivenn @skrzydlak @eddiesxangel @bunny7232 @starksbabie @comeonatmebruh @jamiecb66 @abellmunsonmovie @sheneedsrocknroll92 @daisy-munson @maedesculpaeusoubi @wonderlanddreamer @leatherfaceologist @munson-blurbs @paradisepoisons @lokidokieokie @rcailleachcola @fckyeahlames @kurdtbean PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU CHANGE YOUR URL OR DON’T WANT TO BE INCLUDED ANYMORE

[finelinefae]

the game [tennisplayer!harry x tennisplayer!y/n]

synopsis: y/n's desperate to play tennis and who better to coach her than her rival

word count: 6.7k

contains: enemies to lovers, set at a boarding school, jealous h, slow burn, angst, tennis rivals

a/n: this is the very first part of a new series that i am soooooo beyond excited to be writing !! it will most likely have 4/5 parts <333 enjoy !!!

. . .

Crestwood Academy was a prestigious boarding school with a mission to cultivate excellence in its students, many of whom went on to achieve great success in their respective fields. Nestled amidst rolling hills and lush greenery, it welcomed only the most accomplished families into its esteemed halls.

Y/N had attended Crestwood Academy since she was five, thanks to her father, who owned a country club and could afford the tuition. Her parents, strict and focused on success, were determined to give her the best education possible so that she could be the very best. Her face was always buried in a book or spending her days in the library, right up until the very last minute of its opening hours. 

It was her final year at Crestwood Academy before graduation. Y/N had been set on passing all of her exams at the top of her class so had been working extra hard. She studied English, maths, all three sciences, Latin, French and History as well as tennis. 

Y/N's parents had always urged her to pursue a career in the top industries. Despite her efforts to feign interest in that direction, her heart had always belonged to tennis ever since she first took up the sport at Crestwood.

She had competed plenty, winning all the academy trophies and medals. Her parents would visit whenever she competed in finals and congratulated her on winning but saw it as nothing but a hobby to participate in when she wasn’t studying. 

However, Y/N couldn’t deny herself the rush of playing knowing she’d have to part with the sport once she graduated. The career path of becoming a doctor was already laid out for her by her parents but she felt destined to follow a different path. 

Despite the fact she had applied to dozens of schools to study medicine, she still had one more option that had nothing to do with science at all. 

Every year, the academies hosted their own version of a grand slam in which the winning player received a scholarship and three years' worth of training from one of the top tennis academies in the world. Y/N longed to be at the top with the greats and she knew that this competition was the only way she could get there. 

For the most part, Y/N had been self-taught. She watched videos online and took notes from the Wimbledon matches she’d see on the television. Crestwood only had one sports coach who focused most of their time on the football team so if she was going to win the scholarship, she needed the very best. 

She sat on the bleachers, her book open in front of her, but her attention was drawn to the man on the court. The player’s movements were fluid and powerful, each action deliberate and precise. Yet, it was another man who held her gaze—a figure with an impassive expression, focused solely on his player.

When the match was over, Y/N slammed her book shut and walked towards the court after the players shook hands. Her eyes looked down at the limp in his step as he walked towards the cooler to grab a water bottle. 

It had been a while since she had last seen him. She remembered the proud look on his parent’s faces when he was pulled out of Crestwood eighteen months ago and went on to win a grand slam in Australia. She could still feel the intense jealousy that filled her as she watched the match on television whilst studying for her chemistry test that he was also supposed to sit had he stayed. 

Now he was here, back to his roots and maybe it had been fate because what she was about to ask him would determine her own path in the tennis career she longed for. 

His hair was slightly longer now, his brunette, touseled curls were swept to the side in a loose, dishevelled manner. He wore sunglasses to cover his eyes from the sunlight and a navy tracksuit paired with white vans. 

Seeing him brought back the once competitive emotions she had whenever she’d see him strut about the courts every lunchtime but she’d have to suppress those emotions, especially for what she was about to ask him. 

“Excuse me, Harry?” Y/N called out. 

He took a water bottle from the cooler and flicked off the cap before holding it to his lips and gulping it down. Y/N waited, crossing her arms as she did. “I’ve been waiting for you to show up.” Was the first thing he said. 

Y/N didn’t know what to say. It was unexpected to know that he had been waiting to see her, “I didn’t know you were part of the furniture on these courts,” He smirks and Y/N’s jaw ticks. “And you still sit in the exact same spot on those bleachers, to what? Admire me?”

Y/N bristled at Harry's cocky remark, her irritation bubbling to the surface. "Hardly," she retorted, her tone sharp. "I have better things to do than waste my time watching you play."

Harry chuckled, his smirk widening as he leaned against the cooler. "Is that so? Then what brings you here?" he asked, his tone laced with curiosity. “Come to get an autograph?”

Y/N squared her shoulders, determined not to let his arrogance get under her skin. "I was actually hoping to talk to you about something," she replied, her voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in her stomach.

Harry raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "Oh? And what might that be?" he inquired, his gaze piercing as he studied her intently.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N gathered her courage and suppressed her pride, "I want you to coach me," she blurted out, her words hanging in the air between them. 

Harry made no effort to hide the surprise on his face but it quickly melted into a cocky smirk, “You want me to coach you? I thought you hated me?” 

“I do,” She replies quickly. She’d hated him ever since he had humiliated her in a battle of the sexes tennis tournament when they were young despite the fact she had little chance of winning against him anyway. “But I don’t have to like you to recognise your talent and right now you're the best and only coach I can get if I’m going to win that scholarship,”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, “Your parents still want you to study medicine?” Something flickered in his eyes that Y/N couldn’t put her finger on. 

Y/N wasn’t going to give him an answer even though it was obvious, “This is the only chance I get to escape it,” She mutters, “I wouldn’t ask unless I was desperate.”

He glanced around before taking a step forward. She was tempted to step back at the same time but she didn’t want to seem intimidated by him so stood her ground. From this proximity, she noticed how much taller he was compared to her - almost an entire foot. 

“What’s in it for me?” He asked.

Y/N knew he’d ask which was why she spent so much time figuring out what she could tell him to make it worthwhile. “I know about your injury,” She says and he stills.

“Everyone knows about my injury.” He grumbles. 

It had been a spectacle in the world of tennis. The new grand slam winner loses out on his second after a fatal injury at the French Open. Y/N remembered seeing him rolling on the ground, holding onto his leg as paramedics ran onto the court to aid him. 

“People think you’re a one-hit wonder since you’re out for the season,” His jaw clenched as she spoke, “But if you coach me and get me to win, I guarantee you’ll be out on the court again - back where you belong,”

“You think an academy league game can get my back onto the court?”

“No, but it's a start and maybe I’ll be competing alongside you the next time you’re playing.” 

There was a moment of silence as Harry absorbed her words, his gaze searching hers for any hint of insincerity. Finding none, he let out a heavy sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Fine," he relented, his voice tinged with resignation. "You want me to coach you? Prove you’re worth coaching.” 

He walked over to the barrel of tennis rackets and picked one up. Y/N narrowed her eyes, remembering the last time they had played against each other and how embarrassed she was afterwards. 

“But you’re-”

“One game won’t hurt,” He said before she could finish. 

She followed, her steps purposeful as she reached for a racket, flipping it over in her hands as she strode to the other end of the court. Despite being clad in her school uniform—a pleated skirt, white shirt with the school crest, and loafers that threatened to slide off her feet—she was determined to prove herself. She'd show him she was worth his time, that she was a far better tennis player than he gave her credit for.

As they took their positions on opposite ends of the court, the tension between them crackled in the air. Y/N gripped her racket tightly, her focus sharp as she prepared to face off against Harry once again.

The first serve sliced through the air, the sound echoing as the ball hurtled towards Y/N. She moved with fluidly, her muscles tensing as she returned the serve.

Harry's response was swift, his movements confident as he returned the ball with a well-placed shot that left Y/N scrambling to keep up. Even with his injury, he still held the precision of a professional. But she refused to back down, her determination driving her to match him shot for shot, rally after rally.

The game intensified as they traded blows, each point reflecting their skills and determination. Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she fought to keep pace with Harry, her mind focused solely on the ball. Both Y/N and Harry vocally exerted their energy through grunts and cries as they hit the ball with all their energy. 

Despite her efforts, Harry seemed to anticipate her every move. But Y/N refused to be outdone, drawing on every ounce of strength and skill as she fought to gain the upper hand.

As the game progressed, Harry's skill and experience began to overthrow her. His shots were close to perfect and strategic, leaving Y/N struggling to keep up. Despite her determination, she found herself falling behind as Harry continued to dominate the match.

In the end, it was Harry who emerged victorious, his final shot landing just beyond Y/N's reach with a satisfying thud. As the ball bounced out of the court, Y/N knew that she had been outplayed.

She rested her hands on her knees, hunched over as she tried to regain her breath. She couldn’t help but feel disappointed that she’d lost despite the fact she was at a disadvantage anyway. 

Harry’s shadow fell over her but she refused to look up just yet. He spoke anyway, “You’ve gotten better since the last time I saw you,” He spoke, holding a cold water bottle in front of her face. 

She took it, the plastic crackling under her fingers, “You can just say you’re not going to do it,” She mumbled, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig of water. 

“I’ll coach you,” He says, “Meet me here at 6 pm tomorrow.” 

Y/N finally looked up, her mouth parted, only to find his back facing her as he walked away from the courts. 

. . . 

Harry had no idea what he had agreed to in coaching Y/N at tennis. 

He sat in his luxurious apartment ten minutes away from Crestwood Academy, surrounded by furniture wrapped in plastic or still in cardboard boxes. 

He sat on the couch with his feet resting on the coffee table in front of him and a glass of whiskey in his hand. The TV was playing quietly in front of him but his mind was on the girl he had spent the majority of his life competing with. 

She had grown since the last time he had seen her before he graduated and left the country to compete in the Australian Open. Her long, tanned legs were on show beneath the grey school skirt she had been wearing. He couldn’t seem to get the image of the visible muscles in her calves out of his mind as she moved across the court to hit the ball during their impromptu tennis match. 

Despite their personal differences, Harry couldn't resist her. There was an undeniable thrill in riling her up, in watching her reactions to the smallest digs. They had once been friends, back when Y/N would trail after him on the playground, eager to understand how to hit a ball with a tennis racket. But as she began competing in school competitions, she quickly learned that beating him was an impossible feat. 

He wasn’t surprised to see her watching him on the court today, in fact, it amused him. Whether she liked it or not, he would always look out in the bleachers for her whenever he’d play during his time at the academy. Her reactions were what kept him going, some might even say made him better. 

But, he couldn’t deny the fact that he was surprised to see her so brazenly asking him to coach her. He could tell by her reaction that it was killing her inside, to be coached by him when all she’d done was pick apart his technique, but it was clear she was desperate and Harry knew it was because of her parents. 

Harry had had his fair dose of strict parentage. When he was told he could no longer play tennis for the season, his parents shipped him straight back to Crestwood to finish his final year since he never actually graduated. 

He loathed them for it, barely saying a word to them as they paid the rent in cash for his apartment and left him with boxes to unpack on his own. He knew they were disappointed in him despite the fact the injury was no fault of his own, they could barely look at him as they left, closing the door behind them. 

It was embarrassing. How could he have gone from being at the top of his game to the very bottom? Now he was back in the place he had turned his back on, feeling like he was back to square one all over again. 

Harry’s thoughts were broken by the sound of his phone ringing. The name of his best friend since he was born lit up the screen.

“What?” Harry answered the call, his train of thought forming a particular level of intolerance in him.

“Hey, is that any way to talk to your best friend?” Mitch replied along with the sound of loud chattering in the background because he always had to be somewhere with someone. 

“Sorry,” Harry huffed, “Long day.”

“Already? You’ve not even started classes yet,” Mitch chuckled.

“Don’t remind me,” Harry hadn’t even begun thinking about being back in classrooms and having to put up with kids his age berating him with questions he didn’t want to answer. Tomorrow would be his first day back and he was dreading it.

“C’mon now, don’t be too glum about it, haven’t you missed me?” 

“No,” Harry lied. 

“I know you well enough now to know when you’re lying.” Mitch laughed down the phone. 

A hint of a smile grazed Harry’s lips, "Whatever," he replied, his tone gruff but lacking conviction. Despite his attempt to feign disinterest, a part of him couldn't deny the truth in Mitch's words. There had been many moments he had experienced after leaving school when he missed the company of people his own age. Everyone around him was older than he was and spoke to him as though he was some prized trophy that needed to be handled with caution. He’d spend evenings by the pool by himself, watching the sunset and wishing his friends were there to celebrate his win with him. 

"I'll take that as a yes," Mitch teased, “I know the boys will be happy to have y’ back and I can introduce you to Sarah. I think Molly Brown still has a thing for you as well by the way, talks about you all the fuckin’ time.” Harry listened to his friend ramble about all the things he had missed in the last year or so but his mind seemed to travel elsewhere. 

His eyes wandered around the room, his ear still pressed to his phone, until they landed on an open box with a picture frame resting on top. He recognized the photo immediately, even without picking it up, because he had kept it hidden in his old dorm desk. In the picture, a group of eight students—four boys and four girls—smiled at the camera, with Harry standing at the back and Y/N right beside him.

. . . 

Y/N slammed the door of her locker shut after pulling out her workbooks for her next class. Students bustled down the hallways of Crestwood Academy, wearing their navy blazers and uniform for another week of school. 

“Have you seen him yet?” Sarah, Y/N’s best friend, came out of nowhere and stood in front of her. 

“Seen who?” Y/N remained indifferent even though she knew who Sarah was referring to. 

Everyone had been talking about Harry since she had walked into school from her dorm room this morning. It was the main topic of conversation, everyone’s eyes darting around the hallways to try and find him. 

“You know,” Sarah nudged her, “The boy you’ve spent most of your life in a one-sided rivalry with?” 

“One-sided? It’s a mutual hatred,” Y/N argued.

Sarah gave her a look before continuing, “I texted Mitch twenty minutes ago but he hasn’t replied. I know I’ve met Harry before but this is the first time I’ll be meeting him as Mitch’s girlfriend and I don’t want it to change anything.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, “Sarah, just because he’s the winner of a grand slam doesn’t make his opinion of you any more important. Whether Harry likes you or not, everyone knows you and Mitch are perfect for each other.”

Y/N remembered the first time her friend had told her she was seeing Mitch. He had taken her out to dinner a few times and Sarah had come back to their shared dorm swooning and unable to stop herself from rambling the rest of the night about how romantic and funny he was. 

Y/N had never experienced anything like that in her life, too busy focusing on tennis and academia to find herself in relationships, but she was happy her best friend was happy and that was all that mattered to her. 

“I know but he’s important to Mitch. They’ve been best friends since infants and… that’s not all I’m worried about,” Sarah looked at Y/N pointedly. 

“What?” 

“Now that Mitch and I are together, that means we’ll be spending more time around each other which also means…” Sarah didn’t have to finish her sentence for Y/N to understand what she was trying to get at. 

“Oh n-no! No way! Sarah, are you being serious right now?” Y/N whined, “You want me to get along with Harry just because you’re dating his best friend?”

“You don’t have to but it would be nice if you did,” Her voice trailed off at the end, her eyes looking at her pleadingly, “I’m not asking you to be best friends, I’m just asking you not to chew his head off when we’re all in the same room together.”

Y/N wanted to argue and tell her she wouldn’t be able to chew his head off anyway because she needed him to coach her for the scholarship but an arm slid around Sarah’s waist and interrupted their conversation. 

Sarah grinned, turning to look up at her boyfriend who was now standing beside her, “Hey babe,” Mitch smiled.

“You’re here,” Sarah craned her neck to kiss his lips, “I texted you forever ago and you never replied.

Mitch scoffed, “It was twenty minutes ago and I didn’t have time to check my phone, too busy dragging this one through the front gates.”

Out of the corner of Y/N's eye, another figure appeared. She didn’t have to look to see who it was, the sudden surge of annoyance within her already gave them away. Her head tilted to the left to look up and see Harry. 

He was wearing his school uniform, the same way he always did before he left for Australia. His shirt was untucked, and the top button was undone revealing a gold chain and a white vest underneath, his grey trousers were ironed with not a crinkle in sight and his navy blazer hung casually behind him, hooked by his middle finger.

Y/N’s eyes shifted behind him to find people whispering to each other and groups of girls giggling as they walked past. It was nothing new to see girls getting riled up over him but it had become more intensified now that he had gone abroad and made a name for himself. Despite his injury preventing him from playing, Y/N was certain that even if Harry had lost every game and embarrassed himself on live television, people would still adore him.

“Hey Harry,” Sarah offered a kind smile.

“Hi Sarah, nice to see you again. Glad to know Mitch was in good hands whilst I was away,” Harry clapped his friend on the shoulder before turning to Y/N.

“Only the very best,” Mitch pulled Sarah into his side before motioning to Y/N, “You remember Sarah’s best friend Y/N right?”

“Hmmm, aren’t you the one who lost the Junior tennis competition to me a few years ago?” Harry smirked.

Y/N's jaw clenched, but she managed to force a smile. "I could be, but aren’t you the one who they recorded rolling around on the floor like a big baby at the French Open last year?" Her retort was sharp, aimed directly at Harry.

Harry's eyes narrowed in response, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. Y/N felt a sense of satisfaction at having gotten such a reaction from him. "Welcome back to Crestwood," she added, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Mitch and Sarah exchanged weary glances, sensing the tension between Y/N and Harry.

"Quite a welcome. I’ve already been asked to coach someone and I’ve only been back a week," Harry remarked, his gaze still fixed on Y/N, who met his stare with a glare of her own.

"You have?" Mitch frowned, his confusion evident.

"Who?" Sarah asked, equally perplexed.

Harry's eyes remained locked on Y/N, giving them their answer. "You asked him to coach you?" Sarah questioned her confusion mirroring Mitch's.

Y/N shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny, "Yeah, I did," she admitted reluctantly, her gaze flickering briefly to Harry before returning to Mitch and Sarah.

"Why would you ask him to coach you?" Sarah asked, her brow furrowing in confusion, “You argue all the time,” 

Y/N hesitated, “I need to win the scholarship to the tennis academy in London and Harry’s the only person here who knows how to play the game.” 

“Glad to know I was the pick of the bunch,” Harry’s voice dripped with sarcasm. 

“I thought you were applying to go to UCL?” Sarah frowned. 

“I was but you know how much the game means to me and my parents refuse to believe it’s more than just a hobby. This is the only chance I’ll get to prove them wrong and the only option to get me out of studying medicine.” Y/N explained. 

Sarah’s eyes softened, she too was no stranger to how strict Y/N’s parents could be. “Which is why she needs me,” Y/N felt the weight of his arm rest across her shoulders, “Right, love?” 

Y/N spun around to face Harry, eyes sharp, “Don’t call me that,” She hissed, seeing the satisfied grin on his face. 

He shrugged, “But I always call you that,” 

Ever since they were teenagers, when the rivalry first began, Harry had opted to calling Y/N ‘love’ knowing how much it riled her up. To some, it was a term of endearment but in the world of tennis the word ‘love’ meant one thing. 

‘Nil, ‘Zero’, ‘Loser’. 

Y/N hated the way he spoke it too - accentuating each letter of the word to drag it out for as long as he could just to annoy her further. 

She stepped forward, “Call me that one more time,” She threatened.

“Or what?” He tilted his head to the side. 

“Guys seriously, break it up,” Sarah intervened, “Aren’t you supposed to be getting along if you’re going to be spending more time together.”

Y/N hated the thought of it but knew she was right. If she wanted Harry to coach her, she couldn’t go around screwing things up by arguing with him. If he was going to coach her at the sport, she’d have to coach herself in controlling her attitude around him. 

“C’mon Sarah, let’s go to class,” Y/N hooked arms with her best friend, wanting to get as far away from him as possible. 

“Oh okay, bye Mitch.” Sarah kissed her boyfriend before she was dragged down the hallway in a hurry.

Harry watched as Y/N practically sprinted down the hallway with Sarah in tow. He felt the need to call out of her for one last dig just so she would turn around and he’d see her face before she rounded the corner, “See you on the courts, love.” He called down to her. 

As he had hoped, Y/N’s head whipped around to glare at him along with her middle finger, “Asshole!” She called back.

Harry chuckled to himself, “That face,” he murmured. 

Mitch placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, “You’ve got it in for yourself with that one, lad.” Mitch said.

“Tell me about it,” Harry replied, his eyes still on the place he’d last seen Y/N. 

Maybe returning to Crestwood wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

. . . 

With Harry back, Y/N had suspected the day would be a drag with everyone constantly bringing him up in every conversation, but the first half of the day had gone well. Y/N was easily used to her classes by now and was still top of the class in all of them. 

During lunch period, Y/N always sat with Sarah in the library where they’d catch up on what they missed out on each other’s lives or study during exam season. It was nice to have some reprieve during the school hours and whenever she was with Sarah, Y/N could talk for hours and hours.

Now that Sarah was dating Mitch, Y/N and Sarah would spend their lunch with his friends in the lunch hall. Y/N didn’t mind it so much having grown used to being around Mitch’s friends despite their loud and boisterous personalities. 

However, today she was dreading the fact that now her lunchtimes would also include being around the person she wanted to spend as little amount of time with as possible. 

“Can’t we just eat in the library today? Please?” Y/N pulled on the sleeve of her best friend's blazer as she begged her to turn back in the direction of the library. She could already picture Harry’s annoying smirk the closer they got to the entrance of the lunch hall.

“Y/N you’re being dramatic. It’s just an hour, I’m sure you can survive being around him that long.” Sarah continued to tug her down the hallway.

“Sarah I already have to spend enough time as it is,” Now that she asked him to be her coach. The more the day went by the more she was starting to regret her decision. 

Sarah spun on her heel, “Think of this as practice then,” Her eyes looked past Y/N’s shoulder, “Look, there they are,” She moved past her and beelined towards their table where Y/N saw Mitch, Jake and Adam already sitting along with that head of brunette curls that Y/N just wanted to tear out every time she saw him. 

Sighing, she followed Sarah and approached the table responding to everyone’s friendly greetings until she got to Harry, “You’re in my seat,” She spoke after realising all the seats were taken. 

Harry didn’t bother to look around, that stupid grin plastered to his face when he looked up at her, “Am I?” 

Y/N gritted her teeth, “Yes,”

“Hmm,” He swivelled around to look at the back of the chair, “I don’t see your name anywhere.”

A wave of chuckles rippled around the table but Y/N had yet to find the amusement in it. “She does always sit there, H.” Mitch chuckles, “Just grab another chair from a different table.”

Harry leant back against the seat and crossed one leg over his thigh, “But I quite like this seat.” 

“I’m not moving until you get out of my seat,” Y/N crossed her arms, refusing to give in to him. 

“Well you’re going to be stood up for a long time and y’ need those legs for later,” Harry smirked, “Or you could just sit here,” He unfolded his legs and motioned towards his lap, “Still your seat.” 

Y/N’s jaw clenched but before she could respond, Adam chuckled and stood up, “Here,” He picked another chair up from an empty table and set it down next to him, “Y’ can sit here Y/N.” 

She was tempted to refuse and continue to nag Harry for the rest of lunch but decided against it, not wanting to waste her energy on him. Her eyes softened at Adam’s kindness, “Thanks, Adam.” She sat beside him. 

Harry’s smirk seemed to falter when Y/N sat down, watching as Adam looked at Y/N even as she turned to face the others. 

“Is that Molly Brown looking at y’ again Harry?” Jake, who Y/N considered the loudest one of Mitch’s friends, leant over the table to speak lowly to Harry even though it was impossible for him to ever be so quiet. 

Harry forced himself to look away from Adam before he burnt holes into him. “She’s been after him since fifth year,” Mitch chuckled. 

“Y’ think you’ll let her have it this year, H?” Jake takes a spoonful of his lunch and swallows it down. 

“Have what?” Sarah frowned, confused.

“Nothing you need to know about, babe,” Mitch replies, opening her waterbottle for her after she silently handed it to him. 

“I’ve never been interested in Molly,” Harry quickly replies but his ears prick when he hears Y/N laughing quietly with Adam. 

“Mind if I take my chances then?” Jake asks, “I’ve always wanted to date a cheerleader,” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Harry shakes him off, “What about you Adam?” He gets the attention from both Y/N and Adam as they look up, “Don’t you have a thing for Molly?”

Adam furrows his brows, “Molly Brown? Maybe in like third year,” He chuckles, “I’m not interested in anyone at the moment.”

Harry wants to laugh in his face, “Y’ sure about that?”

Adam frowns but Y/N quickly interrupts them, “People are allowed to have other interests you know.”

Harry feels that rush of excitement when she speaks run through his body, “Is this a touchy subject for you?”

Y/N scowls, “No, I’m just saying Adam doesn’t need to be interested in girl’s all the time.”

“Well maybe Adam can speak for himself,” Harry quips.

“Lord save me,” Jake mumbles and Sarah laughs.

“Well what about you? Have you managed to sink your fangs into anyone?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Y/N gapes, “I’ve dated plenty of people,”

The image unsettles Harry but he takes the opportunity to tease Y/N further. "Plenty of people, huh?" he echoes.

Y/N's cheeks flush slightly,  "I mean... well, not plenty, but a few," she stammers.

But Harry doesn't let up, "Oh, really?" he presses, "Care to share? I'm sure we'd all love to hear about the few men who you’ve tempted."

Y/N shoots him a glare, knowing full well that Harry was onto her. "I... uh, well," she stumbles over her words, searching for a way to change the subject.

But before she can respond, Adam jumps in. "Come on, Harry, give her a break," he glowers. 

“Yeah, Y/N’s just waiting for the right guy and there’s nothing wrong with that,” Sarah pipes in, always one to have her best friend’s back.

Harry raises an eyebrow, his gaze flickering between Y/N and Adam before settling on Y/N, who shifts uncomfortably. Sensing the tension, Mitch swiftly changes the subject to something else.

. . . 

After lunch, Y/N made her way to her next class with Adam walking alongside her. Out of all of Mitch’s friends, she got on the most with Adam to the point where Sarah was constantly pestering her over considering a date with him but Y/N didn’t see him as any more than a good friend.  He was quiet and kept to himself for the most part, excelling in the arts and playing bass guitar in a band on weekends. Y/N enjoyed the calmness he brought to the group especially with the others being so loud all the time. 

“What do you think?” Adam asked, holding the strap of his backpack in one hand as it hung over his right shoulder. 

“What do I think about what?” Y/N frowned. 

“You know, Harry being back. I know you two didn’t always get along,” He explained.

Y/N scoffed, “If it weren’t for the fact he’s coaching me for the Academy Slam, I would be praying to whatever God that’d listen to send him back to Australia,” Which was also the furthest possible country he could be away from her. 

Adam chuckled, “He told us earlier he’d be coaching you,” 

Y/N scowled, “I bet he couldn’t get enough of it,” 

“Actually he seemed pretty happy about it. We haven’t seen him that happy since he got back from Australia.”

“Really? Maybe that injury did something to his head,” 

“What makes you hate him so much anyway?” Adam asked. 

Y/N sighed. It was a question she heard often but never had a solid answer for. She couldn't quite explain why she disliked Harry so much. Maybe it was because he had things she wanted, and jealousy often turned into hatred. But there was something more, something she couldn't quite pin down.

Despite her dislike, Y/N went to all of Harry's matches, and she watched them on TV too. Even when she tried to stay in her room, her legs seemed to move on their own, taking her to the courts to watch him play. She hated that part of her rooted for him, and she couldn't figure out why. Maybe it was because Harry had been the first person to teach her how to play and she felt some sense of loyalty to that but she had no perfect answer even though she wished for one. 

“His face annoys me,” Y/N says.

“That’s it?” Adam snickers. 

“I don’t know,” Y/N shrugs, “We’ve always had this rivalry that stemmed out of nowhere but I can’t even remember how it started.”

“You don’t have feelings for him do you?” The question came out of nowhere and took Y/N completely off-guard. 

"What? No!" Y/N's response came out a little too quickly, and she hoped her cheeks hadn't betrayed her by turning red.

Adam shrugged. "Just making sure," he said casually. "You know, some people get them mixed up—love and hate."

Y/N furrowed her brow, genuinely puzzled. "How is that even possible?"

"Well, they're both intense emotions, aren't they?" He mused. "And sometimes, when you feel strongly about someone, whether it's love or hate, it can blur the lines between the two."

Y/N pondered his words, a sense of unease settling in her stomach, "No way," she replied firmly, shaking her head. "I may not like him, but there's definitely no love there."

Adam chuckled, sensing her defensiveness. "Alright, that’s good," he said with a grin.

Y/N felt a hint of a smile on her lips, “What does that mean? That’s good?”

Adam shrugged, still smiling, “Jus’ saying,” He spoke and Y/N laughed. 

Her gaze flicked from Adam's to Harry, who stood in the hallway with Molly Brown, her brunette waves tied up in the perfect, slicked back ponytail. Hoping to slip by unnoticed, she quickened her pace, but it was too late. Harry's eyes locked onto hers, then shifted to Adam. She caught the subtle twitch of his jaw before he pushed off the wall, ignoring Molly, and strode toward them.

Adam must not have noticed Harry coming towards them because he quickly bid goodbye so he could rush to his literature class. Y/N picked up her pace but Harry was already by her side, “Do you like him?” Harry asked.

“Who Adam? Well let’s see, he’s nice and smart and doesn’t feel the need to open his mouth every five seconds unlike some people I know, so yeah I do like him.” 

Harry scoffed, “He’s a little boring don’t you think?” 

Y/N rolled her eyes at Harry's comment, a retort already forming on her lips. "Nice of you to say that about your own best friend," she quipped. "Makes me wonder what you say about me."

Before she could say anything more, she gasped in surprise as Harry tugged on her hand and swiftly spun her around until her back was against the row of lockers. Her heart raced as he stepped forward, blocking her in, and dipped his head closer to hers.

"I think we need some ground rules for this whole coaching thing," Harry murmured, his voice low. "If you're planning on winning, I recommend using your time more wisely instead of wasting it on nice boys."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat as she processed his words. "Is that a rule or are you asking me not to date anyone?" she managed to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Both," Harry replied, his tone unwavering.

Her mind raced, unsure how to respond, "What about you then?" she countered.

"Is that a personal request?" Harry's smirk widened, his gaze locking onto hers. "Because I'm the coach, and I set the ground rules so anything you ask me to do is because you want me to do it."

Y/N's heart pounded louder in her ears as Harry's proximity sent heat coursing through her, "It's only fair," she replied, her voice barely audible.

Harry chuckled softly. "Fine, if it makes you happy. But I’m not interested in dating nice girls or boys anyway," he remarked with a smirk.

Y/N swallowed, her curiosity piqued. "What are you interested in?" 

He smirked, "The game," he replied cryptically.

With that, he moved away from her, his eyes lingering on her lips for a moment before he turned and walked down the hallway, “See you tonight, love.” He called back. 

As the sound of his footsteps faded, Y/N stood there, stunned and unable to move. She was grateful that no one had witnessed the exchange as she pulled out her compact, trying to compose herself and hide the flush of embarrassment that coloured her cheeks.

As she hurried to class, already five minutes late, Y/N couldn't shake the intensity of her encounter with Harry. Sitting by the window, her mind wandered as the teacher lectured the class, her gaze drifting to the courts outside where she'd soon be training with him this evening.

This coach-student dynamic had unlocked a new territory between them, something unpredictable that Y/N had no choice but to delve into for the months ahead. 

Yet, it was her only choice. Harry was the only way she could win and she’d push through whatever feelings she had to get what she wanted. 

She’d play the game, just as he wanted her to. 

[boyfhee]

ㅤ ꣑୧ㅤㅤ:ㅤCANDLELITㅤㅤ𝒻t.ㅤㅤ성혼

﹙10097﹚ SYNOPSIS . . . the dating scene sucks, especially when the only person you want to be with is your roommate.

꣑୧ GENRE . . . roommate au, 'i hate them but they're hot' kind of energy

꣑୧ WARNINGS . . . profanities, drinking i mean lots of drinking we need alcohol shortage here, sunghoon smokes, mentions of one night stands, one very suggestive make out scene in the fourth section, undertones of cheating but not from sunghoon or reader, implications of sex although it's very light

꣑୧ NOTES . . . hi ( _ _; ) drowning in nervousness as i'm posting this. it's my first long fic after months ... i think the last one was in may or june 23 ... so please be nice >< don't know why but this didn't turn out how i wanted it to and it's definitely not one of my proudest works, but i hope u guys like it nonetheless huhu TT happy reading and please rb and drop feedback, it's highly appreciated ^_^

001. WHERE THERE’S HEAVEN THERE’S HELL

sunghoon is spiralling again. 

a part of it is because of the endless assignments from classes, but that’s no news. he knows it’s his fault for procrastinating and waiting till two days before the due date to even think about working on them— unlike jake who somehow attends classes probably four times a week and is seen in the football fields instead, and still manages to be the first one to submit his essays. it’s admirable, annoying at most. when he sat down to do his sports science project three days before it was due, sunghoon realised why his professor gave them two months to finish it. 

but realising your mistakes and working on them to be a better version of yourself are two different things.

for one, sunghoon believes those assignments are useless. no one cares about the impact of sports on society, maybe except heeseung and jake but again, in sunghoon’s mind, those two are never important. second, he’s too perfect to be working on himself. sunghoon is the best version of himself. he was born the day his uncle died, and his dad inherited the entire chain of restaurants his family owns across the country. he’s too amazing to be worrying about getting a degree he can buy— he thinks the university should be honoured he’s choosing to study— but that’s simply because his mother doesn’t want him to turn out like his sister. 

back to the matter at hand— as he puts the beer can on the table and sits back on the couch, his eyes travel to the door yet again. seventh time in just a minute, he’s keeping a record of how you make him wait. 

if there’s one thing he hates is being irresponsible ( coming from the great king of irresponsibility himself. ) you said you’d be back by twelve, and it’s half past one in night and not a soul knows your whereabouts. thirteen texts, seven missed calls, his phone is at forty-one percent and sunghoon is at his limit. if it wasn’t for your mom he wouldn’t give two flying fucks about where you are and how you’ve been.

sunghoon is actually surprisingly obedient and well-mannered, as opposed to the popular belief. he gave you and your mother the whole tour of the apartment the day you moved in. even made some coffee which isn’t much but your mother had loved him. he could see it in the way she looked at him with those sweet eyes, holding his hands as if he was her own son, and asking him to look after you. 

‘please take care of my daughter,’ sunghoon thought he was getting married. instead of a wedding bell there were warning sirens going off. to this day he doesn’t know why she asked him that, minutes after she saw a dead cactus in the balcony that he killed by overwatering. he couldn’t even say no to her and just nodded, looking over at you briefly and noticing how you look like you were a bit embarrassed. sunghoon doesn’t know why he’s so serious about ‘taking care’ of you. he thought it would be easy, but you had to be devil’s favourite spawn and sunghoon happens to be your target.

however, he can’t take this anymore. he has a morning class and waiting till two am while drinking beer has done more damage to sunghoon than it should. he gets up from the couch with a sigh, leaving the empty cans unattended for a night as he makes a mental note to clean tomorrow. it isn’t until a click from the door stops him in his tracks. 

“i’m back,” your voice is quiet, a yawn following immediately after your words as you look down while taking off your shoes. you’ve been drinking again, sunghoon can tell it from a mile away. 

“you’re late,” he speaks over the silence, hands on his torso as he’s giving you those squinted eyes and doubtful looks. if sunghoon didn’t know any better, he would assume you fucked someone at the club with how messy you look at the moment.

“yeah well, we had to take gigi to the hospital,” your lazy voice isn’t much louder than a whisper. you stumble towards your room, a hiccup followed soon after by the same quiet and slurred tone. “she ate something weird,”

he huffs at your words, knowing it would very well be just another excuse. “you could’ve at least texted,”

“my phone died,”

“i’m sure your friends would be happy to lend you their phone,” he pauses when he feels himself getting a bit annoyed. a soft sigh falls off his lips as he looks down at the tiled floor before looking up and speaking in a much calmer voice. “i’m just saying it’s not exactly safe to be out alone on the streets this late at night,”

“i wasn’t alone,” that piques his interest. “jay drove me back,”

and sunghoon felt his whole world stop. “jay?”

“yeah, jay, park jongseong,” your voice is surprisingly sweet when you take his name and it bothers sunghoon for some reason. his face scrunches up when you bite back a smile, hoping it’s the alcohol not because of what he thinks it is. “he’s nicer than i thought,”

sunghoon is not unfamiliar with the name park jongseong.

he hears it every day on and off the campus, more often than he likes. first things first, he’s just as popular as jake, for being american, which brings sunghoon to the question— why in the world would he leave america to study in korea when jay could have attended one of the ivy leagues with his face and money?

and the second and more important question, why in the world is park jongseong dropping you home at two in the night?

sunghoon only watches you in disbelief and astonishment as you stumble to your room, mumbling something incoherently. your words ring in his ear like sirens. ‘he is better than you’ jay is better than sunghoon. he scoffs almost offensively in your direction. that has to be the biggest lie of the twenty-first century.

he follows you to your room, reaching out to grab your arms when you almost trip but you manage to balance yourself. he opens the door and turns on the lights for you. “why were you with him to begin with?”

“oh, you don’t know?” and you turn around with eyes wide open as he shakes his head like a deer in the headlight. “he asked me out,” 

sunghoon didn’t get a single ounce of sleep last night. 

it’s your fault, clearly. had you been back earlier on the time, nothing would’ve happened. and jay— sunghoon sights at the thought of him, eyes narrowing as he grits on his pen as if he’s going to break it into two. 

“dude, are you hungry?” jake pokes sunghoon by his shoulder, dragging the latter out of his trail of thoughts. 

“what?” sunghoon shoots a blank look, one that makes his friend sigh in concern. afterall, it’s not everyday he sees sunghoon chewing on a pen. “i’m not,”

“you’ve been out of it since the morning,”

and sunghoon has been out of it since jay’s name fell from your lips. 

he’s not your friend, definitely not the first guy you’ve called by his name after sunghoon. but something doesn’t sit right. even after tossing and turning in bed for the whole night, he can’t figure out what bothers him more— the fact you said jay is better than him, or the fact that he asked you out on a date.

it’s the first one, he convinces himself. who you date is none of his business, he can’t be arsed enough to care about your love life or relationship status. ( although, he does care a little because he’s nosy. ) what bothers him more is that jay is, to put it in simple words, a player. all that face and no empathy for emotions is a waste, and to think you don’t know this— or maybe you do and yet still chose to go out with him, is beyond sunghoon’s comprehension. 

“what do you think about jay?” he asks abruptly, catching jake’s attention, looking at him a little too intently for an answer. 

“he’s a nice guy,” a casual reply before he gets back to his assignment before jake looks back at sunghoon with newly found interest. “he turned in my spanish essay last week, oh and drove me back from the bar a few days ago after you ditched me. why?”

sunghoon simply shakes his head, getting back to his books even though his focus is nowhere near studies. at this point, he doesn’t know if it’s jay distracting him or you. even your words keep playing over and over again in the back of his head. jay and nice in the same sentence doesn’t seem fit. sure, he helps his friends and drops his girl back home, but that’s only three days before there’s a new girl in his arms. 

002. RUNNING OUT OF SANITY

sunghoon doesn’t hear the door click open when you come back from your classes, too busy in the balcony while humming a tune that you recognise immediately. you take off your shoes, noticing how he taps his foot along with the melody, and it’s quiet in the apartment, apart from the sound of traffic and wind rustling through the trees around.

“i don’t like people who smoke,” smoking is not on your list of likes, but you find yourself next to sunghoon whenever he’s with a cigarette. just like now, when you return from yet another one of your dates— or meet-ups as you prefer to call it right now— with jay. it wasn’t really planned. you bumped into him after classes and he was on his way back home, so you asked him for a coffee. 

he almost jumps at your sudden voice but manages to compose himself, scowing at the distaste in your expression before scoffing, the cigarette still dancing between his lips. “good think, i’m not looking forward to be liked by you,”

he studies the frown on your face, glares as if your eyes are shooting daggers in his direction. it’s amusing to him how easy it is to get on your nerves. he leans against the metal railings, hair falling over his forehead. his eyes stay on your for a few seconds before he holds the cigarette between his index and middle finger, putting it away from his mouth and blowing out the smoke in your directions. he laughs mockingly when you step back, fanning out the smoke with your hands, cursing under your breath.

“are you crazy?!” you exclaim in annoyance, coughing slightly at his poor attempt at entertainment. your frown deepens when he mumbles a quiet apology although not meaning it, from the looks of it, and lifts the cigarette back to his lips. 

“you’re back early,” he states casually, tapping the cigarette butt and watching the ash fall down from the balcony before a taunting chortle falls off his lips. “did jay dump your ass or something?”

your nose scrunches up at his actions, although mostly at the tobacco you can still smell in your air. you look down at the road, watching a mercedes passing by. “no, he had to go somewhere so he left early,”

“i knew it! he’s good for nothing,” and he drops the cigarette to the floor, crushing it with his foot even though at the back of his mind, he knows you’re going to yell at him for cleaning that up. “what kind of guy can’t even spend time with his girlfriend?”

“we’re not dating,”

“that’s worse!” he emphasises, and a pause follows as he looks at you with a confused expression. “wait— didn’t you say he asked you out?”

“he did, but he said he wants to wait until exams are over,” there’s a hint of displeasure in your voice. his eyes travel down to your fingers, especially the ring you’re fiddling with before they’re back on your face when you speak again. “we just decided to hang out,”

he practically scoffs at your words, quite literally in disbelief. a knowing sigh comes out of his mouth as he stands straight, this time standing with his back against the railing, feeling the cold metal though his thin white t-shirt. a part of him wants to laugh at your stupidity and point at how naive you are, while another part of him wants to find jay and beat him to pulp. he doesn’t know why there’s anger pooling in his stomach at the mere thought of jay just messing around with you. 

“what a sick bastard,” he huffs with a tincture of annoyance in his tone. “how much do you want to bet he’s playing with you?”

“you’re the one who’s sick,” and even though it clicks with him that you’re referring to a few minutes earlier when he smoked all in your face, sunghoon still frowns when you call him sick. “he’s just prioritising his studies, there’s nothing wrong with that. at least he doesn’t smoke while being all up my face,”

you two just bask in silence after that.

he doesn’t have much to say— actually he does, but he doesn’t know how to put it in a decent, coherent way. of course, your reaction won’t be the most pleasant if he told you he wants to punch jay’s good for nothing handsome face. he wonders what you’re thinking when he looks over at you. you seem happy whenever you talk about your supposed ‘future boyfriend,’ yet it’s evident that you’re upset. he likes to think you’re having your doubts too. it's reassuring to him for some reason— because that’s good for you, of course. if you’re upset, you have your doubts, and if you have your doubts you might not fall victim to whatever sick game jay is playing. 

“oh, actually, he doesn’t smoke,” but then you speak in a matter-of-fact way, as if comparing him to jay before giving him a mocking smile. “he’s better than you,”

those words ring in his mind for a good while. 

you go back inside and he hears you shut the door to your room as an annoyed sigh falls off his lips. hearing that jay is nice from jake was another thing, but hearing to say he’s better than him leaves a bitter taste on his tongue. and he doesn’t know why he’s feeling this way, these little changes in how he usually is, it’s new. it’s frustrating him out. 

it isn’t until his phone vibrates that he’s dragged out of his ocean of thoughts. his brows furrow when he notices the time, having realised that he basically wasted the entire noon even though he didn’t attend classes after giving heeseung an excuse that he’s sick. his eyes squint at the sender, and then a groan escaping his lips when he opens to read it. 

noh chaeun  4:15pm hoon! my last two classes have been cancelled are you up for some coffee?

sunghoon doesn’t reply, rather leaving his classmate’s messages on seen, too bothered by his inner turmoil to spend time with her. it’s not like him to be this way, to be so bothered over something that doesn’t concern him. you’re definitely not someone so significant and jay is definitely not the first guy you’re with. in fact, he has seen you kiss that guy from one of your classes— as much as he hates to recall that incident now— and had sneaked up to tell your mother about it over the phone when she had called you.

you’ve never had a serious relationship, not after meeting him. in his head, you always came back to him and he’d be lying if he hadn’t joked about it with his friends during the initial few weeks after you had moved in. when he had mentioned to jake that you’re pretty and his friend had teased him a few days later, saying his ‘crush’ was with this other guy, sunghoon, did in fact, say he doesn’t care because you always come back to him; or rather his apartment, actually, but whatever fits the joke. 

that day, he had a good laugh out of it and the joke died back then itself, more so after he started complaining about you to his friends. your habits, your actions, the things you say that tick him off, your quirky and quick remarks— everything. perhaps, even about your habit of arriving late on weekends from parties and ruining his sleep because you forget the key most of the time, so he has to wake up and open the door for you, but not guys, never guys. 

it hurts his head to even try and figure it out, to find the reasoning behind the pang in his chest every time you mention jay. he likes to think it’s just harmless competition although for no reason, even though both of them have done plenty of things to piss each other off just for the fun of it. sunghoon thinks he can live with it and walks back inside to the living room, until he sees you walking out of your room on phone with someone, the name of he who shall be mentioned rolling off your tongue again, and he finally pulls out his phone with a frustrated sigh. 

sunghoon  4:21pm sure, i’ll pick you up in ten

“actually, my mom wants to invite your family over for dinner this weekend,” the girl in front of him speaks with a smile after muttering a quiet thank you to the waiter after he gets their order. “she’s very grateful  for the donation your dad made for our art gallery and wants to thank properly,”

“talk to my parents, then,” it’s a simple reply, too bland and forced for her liking.

sunghoon hasn’t spared her a single look in the past ten minutes that they’ve been sitting together at the table. firstly, he doesn’t know why he drove to a restaurant when she asked for a coffee. it’s not even close to dinner time, and the awkward yet sweet smile on her face didn’t make it better for him, so he ordered starters and drinks to drag their little impromptu dinner out. 

“sunghoon, to be honest,” chaeun tries to strike up a conversation again, despite the constant lack of effort from his side. “i want you—”

“hey, isn’t that jongseong?” and he cuts her off immediately, finger pointing outside the glass panes beside them as he stares in the direction behind her with brows knit together in shock. “who’s that with her?”

“jongseong?” she repeats the name before turning her head, forming an ‘o’ when she spots a familiar figure through the multitude on the streets. “ah, that’s myung jihye. she has been pursuing him for a while. i guess he finally agreed,”

“they’re dating?!” his voice is full of surprise and disbelief unlike hers, so seemed to be happy for the girl instead. he stares outside with a heavy silence as the couple disappears between the crowd before looking at the girl in front of him.

“oh, i wouldn’t say that…i don’t know but it’s possible they are.” it doesn’t miss her attention how sunghoon’s fingers tighten around the fork. “everybody in our major knows jihye has crush on him and they’re probably a thing by now,”

and he wishes you were here with him right now so that he could show you the true colours of the dear guy you’ve been going out with, the one who’s supposedly ‘better’ than him. he wants you to realise that his words weren’t false and he isn’t sick, after all, and if you’d cry, he would be down to tell you it’s not the end of the world. that there are a hundred other guys better than jay, ones who won’t even breathe in front of another woman, who’d treat you better— hell, i can treat you better if you ever give me a chance— and then a pause in his train of thoughts.

he looks at chaeun, who’s looking back at him with a perplexed look and her own set of questions. his mind replays those words yet again, and he screams internally.

what the heck?!

surprisingly enough, sunghoon has been thinking about jay for the whole evening now, obviously not in a good way. his eyes keep travelling to the knife stand on the kitchen island occasionally and every single time, he has to convince himself that murder is not the right answer to anything. 

for some reason, he can’t stop imagining your smiles while on date with jay. not that he has ever seen those— wish i could— as he slaps himself out of his state of mind yet again. not only that man is playing with you but on jihye who’s apparently his girlfriend? he lets out the ugliest scoff known to mankind, because in sunghoon’s head, jay is a sick joke made by biology.

he waits for you to return from your shopping spree for about an hour, having beer as a company. he tries to stay awake although his eyes get droopy, and then every ounce of sleep leaves his body when he hears the door unlock. 

“yn,” he practically jumps out of the couch, it almost scares you. he accidentally bumps into the living room table on the way, knocking an empty can of beer to the floor but too busy to bother picking it up. “i have to tell—” his eyes go down to the eleven shopping bags in your hands, as he counts them. “— wait, what did you shop so much for?” 

“oh, i have to attend a family wedding next month,” his chest feels warm when he sees you smiling and looking so excited, and it’s making him go crazy on the inside because he doesn’t know what is happening to him. for some reason, he starts imagining you in a gown, like the one you wore for the fresher’s party, but then he forces his mind to get back to the point. “i’m thinking of asking jay to be my date,”

and his heart drops down to his stomach.

this has to be a fucking joke, and he tells himself. for a split second, he thinks he didn’t hear you properly. maybe you said jake because, well, jake did tweet a ‘date for rent’ form five months ago when he needed money to buy tickets for a post malone concert that cost more than his gentle monster glasses ( not that he got any money but at least they got a good laugh out of it. ) 

you remove your shoes and put the shopping bags on the couch before sitting down as well, letting out a heavy sigh. “you look like you saw a ghost,”

“a ghost would’ve been better,” he catches you looking at him when he mumbles under his breath, sort of grateful you didn’t hear him before sunghoon would rather not have another argument with you over how jay is not only a bad choice, he’s the worst choice. 

he looks over at you when you pull out your phone, fingers fluttering over the screen as you text someone with a giddy smile. he considers telling you what he had seen earlier, but god, he loved to see you smile like that. the way you press your lips together to suppress a grin, looking ever so happy as if you have won a lottery. he doesn’t think you’ve ever smiled like that at him, and it aggravates him even more when he realises that you probably smile like that every time you see jay. 

jay is getting everything he isn’t deserving of, and it pisses sunghoon off down to his bones. 

but again, he can’t bring himself to tell you the truth. you look too happy for your own good, it pains him physically to even imagine your reaction when you’ll come to know the truth. and then he pulls himself together, telling himself that it is your fault in the first place to trust someone like jay and ignore the warning signs he was giving you. 

in the end, he leaves without having any further conversations with you, going to bed two hours earlier than usual even though he knows he isn’t going to get any sleep. sunghoon is convinced he’s losing his mind, faster than a day ago actually. he lets out a frustrated groan and covers himself with his blanket, hoping to catch some sleep. 

it’s going to be yet another long day tomorrow.

003. A CHANGE OF STANCE

sunghoon thinks you’re hot.

what the fuck?

“i asked something,” you remind, pulling him out of his trail of thoughts and he flinches slightly, making your brows furrow in confusion. “how do i look?”

“huh— what? oh,” he takes in your appearance again. hair down, make up done— you’re wearing your favourite lip tint? and the best dress he has seen you in so far, looking so mind blowing it actually blows his mind and short circuits his brain. 

even your favourite lip tint … sunghoon doesn’t know why he’s looking at your lips in the first place but little does he know he’s fucked. 

absolutely. completely. fucked.

nonetheless, he manages to compose himself, clearing his throat and sitting up ever so elegantly on the couch, legs crossed, the magazine still in his hands. “you look…t-terrific,” 

you can’t help but get even more confused at his words, wondering if it was a bad idea to even ask him for his opinion, even though you play along. “like in a good way or a bad way?”

“in a terrific way,” he blurts out, eyes wide open as panic settles in slowly inside his stomach, and he’s stuttering, shocked, surprised, fucked, again. “you look terrific in a terrific way…so terrifically terrific in the most terrific way possible,” 

“are you high?” 

well, he would say he is! never in the two years that he has known you did sunghoon think he’d find himself floored, figuratively, and speechless, literally, at the sight of you. and he’s not saying you look bad on other days. you look good, in fact. good as in plain and presentable, but never in a good good way and definitely not in a hot way, of course. 

“anyway, i’m going out. receive my parcel for me if it arrives,” you move to put on your shoes, taking a few seconds to pick between the two you think would suit your outfit. for a moment, you consider asking him to help you choose— as you look at him up and down peripherally, and he looks terrified. and you shrug it off, grabbing one of your loafers.

“where are you going?” he asks after a good minute of silence, sounding calmer than earlier as he gets off the couch and walks up to you. his nose scrunches up in disapproval as your hands move to one of your jimmy choos for a brief second, before you decide to go back to your initial pick.

“date,” he takes a moment to register your words, despite this happening many times.

a date. he scoffs softly, looking away, arms crossed. 

a date, again. sunghoon doesn’t give a fuck. 

“with jay,” you continue, this time with a sweet smile on your face that makes his heart flutter for some reason. maybe, he does give a fuck. 

now, sunghoon should feel bad for his fellow friend of a friend because he’s on a date with you, but instead he wants to snap his neck in two. the name is starting to give him an ick— jay this, jay that. you’re hanging out with jay, having coffee with jay, going on a date with jay, shopping with jay, next would be going to bed with jay— he pauses immediately, shaking his head. he doesn’t really like the sound of that.

“whatever,” he tells himself when you walk out of that door, looking all pretty and excited. he doesn’t know why he’s getting so worked up over a date, that too with someone who— according to sunghoon and chaeun— is dating someone else. he would pay to see you back home all miserable and he would point fingers at you and laugh, saying he told you already while you had your conscience and rationality clogged up with the possibility of getting dicked down. 

but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re on a date with jay fucking park. and you’re looking hot. 

he sighs, slouching back on the couch, looking outside at the bright blue skies and then sighs again. he needs to be lobotomized.

it’s three in the noon and sunghoon is drowning himself in misery and pity. and soju.

a glass after another and then another, along with two empty bottles already on the table. even the owners are giving him a weird look and heeseung can only let him ruin his reputation so much.

“there, there,” the senior takes the half empty bottle of soju from his hand and puts it aside, sighing pitifully at sunghoon. “that’s enough for today. you need to stop drinking,”

“heeseung,” sunghoon looks up at the guy in front of him, looking horribly pitiful, eyes a bit unfocused from the alcohol settling in his system. “do you know yn?”

and heeseung pauses for a few moments, not knowing what prompted him to ask this question. more so when you and heeseung went to the same highschool and even were in the music club. he nods slightly in doubt, raising his glass to his lips. “of course,”

“do you think he’s pretty?”

“of course,”

“do you think she’s hot?”

“of course,” it takes heeseung quite a few seconds to respond and sunghoon sort of wants to punch him in the face for agreeing because he feels a certain way when others find you hot— but he would claim it’s soju giving him heartburns. “why are you even asking this suddenly?”

“she went on a date with jay,” he responds in the most miserable and sullen voice known to mankind. his shoulders practically slouching at the mention of he-who-shall-not-be-mentioned, finger tracing the rim of the glass in front of him with incoherent whines falling off his lips.

“so what?” jake interjects, beckoning the owner for yet another bottle for soju. it was necessary, as heeseung had warned earlier while arriving at the restaurant, considering sunghoon’s impromptu text about wanting to meet up. 

“jake, did you hear what i said? she’s on a date with jay. park. jong. seong,” the youngest spells out every syllable, sitting up straight as he gets defensive. “she thinks he’s madly in love with her or something but she’s wrong! the day i went out with chaeun, i saw him with jihye and guess what? chaeun said everyone knows they’re a thing but apparently, yn doesn’t know this. i’ve told her so many times that he is not worth it but she won’t understand she’s fucking dumb oh my god,”

and…silence.

absolute fucking maddening silence that made sunghoon go even more insane before jake finally decides to speak, albeit in disbelief. 

“that monologue was unnecessary,” the foreigner pours in another glass for the three of them, filling them up completely, knowing this is going in a new direction yet a one that has been anticipated by both him and heeseung. “besides, since when do you care about her?”

“she’s my roommate,”

“you like her,” heeseung exclaims, and silence follows again for a few seconds before sunghoon gasps scandalously, slamming his glass down on the table which turns a few heads in their direction as jake mutters an embarrassed apology for it.

“i don’t,” sunghoon speaks in a voice much calmer than his previous tone, even leaning in towards the table to put emphasis on his words. jake pours himself another glass, scoff at his words while shaking his head mockingly which only pisses him off more.

“i knew this would happen,” heeseung continues, stating it as a matter of fact while nudging jake to pour him a glass as well. “saw this coming from a mile away when you cried over her going on a blind date the last time you got drunk,”

he can’t point out when that must’ve happened, but he doesn’t refute his words, simply letting his eyes travel across the room for a few moments. the frown on his lips deepens when he meets jake’s knowing gaze as he gets defensive once again. “i’m telling you, i don’t like her,”

“you said that about hello kitty but she’s everywhere in your room now,” he turns his phone with the screen up when he feels jake’s eyes on it, or particularly on the hello kitty sticker on his phone cover as the boy nudges him for another glass. “go on, you’ll need it.”

and sunghoon does, drinking more than he usually does thanks to jake filling his glass again and again for the sake of his sob story. the cab drops him in front of his apartment and he stumbles his way to the elevator. the silence sobers him out for some reason as he leans against the walls of the elevator and thinks about you.

perhaps you’re still with jay, sharing smiles and stories, kisses if you’re brave enough. he likes to think you are not, that you would chicken out— it makes him feel better about himself. he imagines you holding hands with him and then shrugs that thought off his mind just as quickly, huffing at the bitter taste it leaves in his mouth as he walks out of the elevator once it reaches his floor.

sunghoon planned to take a shower and sleep, but every thought water downs to nothing when he spots you crouching next to the door with knees pressed up to your chest. he can’t see your face, but he knows you’re sad, and it makes him stop in front of you, his heart accelerating when you look up at him with glistening eyes.

you look miserable.

and sunghoon has no reaction. he’s frozen, hands on his side as he stares at you. he was supposed to laugh at you for your stupidity. but you look so utterly sad and heart broken, god, he wants to punch jay in his throat. yet again, every single thought leaves his mind when his eyes fall back on your face, his hands instinctively opening out to you as he speaks in a voice as soft as a feather.

“let’s go inside,”

004. CANDLELIT 

“he said it was a bet,” you speak over the silence, fiddling with your fingers. you look up at sunghoon— who’s sitting with legs crossed in front of you while you’re curled up in one corner of the couch. “and that he never meant to drag it out for so long but he didn’t know how to tell me,”

“a bet?” he scoffs bitterly, looking away for a fraction of a second before his eyes are back on you. “what an asshole,” 

it’s not the first time sunghoon has said that. in fact, asshole is all and the only word he uses to define jay. you still think it was a stretch, for jay isn’t that bad. sure, he lied to you and played with your feelings— which you will never accept that you had feelings for him because you don’t want to look pathetic— but he wasn’t rude. well, at least he paid for all the three dates you two went on with the locations being some high end restaurants or bakeries. 

on the other hand, sunghoon stares at you in silence. his eyes trace over your sullen face, and then to your fingers. for a second, he considers holding your hands…roommates can do that at least, right? to comfort one another, but then he catches you looking up at him and he averts his gaze to a distant corner. “don’t start crying now!”

“i’m not! i didn’t even like him that much…” and he can’t help but suppress his smile at the pout on your face as you refuse to look at him. it’s adorable, he never thought he would ever say that, but it’s true. your mannerisms are cute, you’re cute, and it’s eating his brain cells.

“is that so? you talked about him like you two were in love or something,”

“stop it!”

he stares at you quietly for a few seconds again. even though you’re being defensive out of embarrassment right now, trying to prove to him that you’re not heartbroken, sunghoon knows you’ll be crying the moment you’re behind the closed doors of your room. on other days, he wouldn’t care so much. not more than giving a few pats on a back and telling you to suck it up despite the concern in his voice. today, however, he feels differently.

you got played. it’s your heart that’s broken. you feel like a fool, and yet sunghoon is sitting in front of you, trying to find words amidst awkwardness and hesitation. his heart feels heavy for you. it’s unfathomable on his part.

he suddenly remembers the day you mentioned that jay is better than him. he almost scoffs at that, again. well, you might harbour feelings for the american guy but at least sunghoon never had you holding back your tears. and he swears it would never come to that, if you ever have feelings for him because sunghoon would be a better boyfriend— and then he comes back to his senses as soon as those words register inside his brain, cheeks heating up at the sudden thought before he clears his throat. 

“do you want ramen?” he manages to change the topic ever so swiftly, getting up from the couch and already walking to the kitchen without waiting for your response. apparently, getting away from you would ease his heartbeat, although hearing your voice has just as much effect on him as your presence or a mere thought of you.

“are you cooking?”

he lets out a breathy laugh at your words, getting two packs of ramen from the shelf. “of course, do you think i’d ask you to cook when you look like you went through a divorce and lost the custodies of all your three kids?” 

you frown at his words, although ending up laughing at them just a second later. it’s hard to not laugh at how silly he is sometimes, if you ignore his annoying tendencies. sunghoon puts the water to boil, fighting back a smile at the sound of your laughter. it’s better than seeing you all sad over a guy who doesn’t deserve you.

you get off the couch as well, making your way to the kitchen, wanting to help him since he listened to your sob story. it’s quiet, and you hear slight rumbling outside as you take a quick look at the weather outside through the windows and then within a few seconds, thunder pierces through the silence hanging in the room. 

sunghoon flinches visibly, freezing in his stance before the sound of heavy rain fills the kitchen. he turns on the electric stove and it blows out. all the lights in the apartment go out, darkness settling in and disturbed just as quickly as the room fills with bright flashes of light, illuminating your face for a short second before it’s dark again.

“wait, i’ll get my phone— oh,” you reach out for the back pocket of your trousers, quickly get your phone and turn it on for the flash light before it powers off. “out of battery,”

he takes a blind step into the darkness when it thunders again and he notices you standing with your arms around yourself when the light surges in the room for a moment again. he hopes you won’t push him away if he puts his arm around you, but then you two bump into each other. a quiet apology finds its way out of your lips, and he can tell you’re flustered. 

“where are the candles?” he asks to distract you from the fact that he’s holding your hand and pulling you aside gently, so you don’t crash into each other again. your hands feel oddly warm in this cold weather, and it only flutters his heart even more.

“second shelf from the right i think,” your voice is interrupted by thunder again and your hands instinctively tighten around his fingers. and then a loud thud follows, causing you to gasp slightly. “are you okay?”

“i can’t fucking see,” his voice is strained, oozing off pain as he lets go off your hands. you open your mouth to speak before he bumps into something again. something falls off the counter, perhaps the spoon by the sound of it and he apologises shortly after. it’s harder to navigate around his own apartment, more than he had imagined.

sunghoon manages to find the candles, setting them on the counter with pure intuition before lighting one of it up with the lighter he always carries around in his pocket. he turns around, almost bumping into you and before he could say anything, he sees you pressed up against one of the counters, face illuminated by the dim candle light. 

you’re close, too close, he’s afraid you can hear his heart going crazy at the proximity. his mind is telling him to step aside but he’s too lost looking in your eyes, ( as you are too ) with you looking so impossibly beautiful under the faint golden glow. 

“is this okay?” he whispers softly and you simply nod, not a word coming out of your mouth as you find yourself entranced by his face. sunghoon has always been aphrodite’s son, as his admirers would call him, and now that you’re seeing him so closely, you’re realising he’s something much more beautiful.

it doesn’t slip your attention how his gaze settles on your lips for a quick second, your body tensing up at the sudden movement. your breath hitches as he leans closer, dipping his head down. your heart is racing while he feels like his heart has stopped— it’s timeless, as he finds himself just a few centimetres away from your lips, not wanting to stop even though he gives you a chance to pull back, whispering softly, “can i?”

you nod. and sunghoon doesn’t waste another second, capturing your lips with his. 

it’s still at first, with your lips only pressed up together for a few seconds. it’s only a few seconds after he pulls back ever so slightly, and then tilts his head to the other side and goes in for another kiss, this time moving his lips slowly against yours. he feels you tense up for a brief while and then melting as you kiss him back, your fingers lacing around his tenderly. you flinch when it thunders again, breaking the kiss, but feeling shivers down your spine as you feel his breath on your lips. 

he takes a few seconds, fingers ghosting up your hands to rest on your waist, tugging you closer as he brushes his lips against yours. “focus on my lips,”

and he kisses you again, this time a bit more firmly, albeit it’s slow and gentle at first, his lips moving against yours in a way that's both comforting and exciting. but as the moments pass, he presses in deeper, more insistently. he lets his body press more firmly against yours, his chest touching yours as his tongue gently teases at the seam of your lips. it was working, the way his lips move against yours, it calms your nerves from the thunder but lights them up again when he nibbles gently on your lower lip, his fingers digging into the skin of your waist as he continues to kiss you so fervently. 

it takes a passing second for you to realise what you’re doing. it surprises you, however not enough to pull back, or maybe the way his tongue feels against yours stops you from doing so. you’d be lying if you say you hadn’t thought of kissing him before— as early as two days after moving in. and now that you’re actually kissing him, everything feels like a fever dream.

he tucks your chin up with his fingers, pulling you in closer to deepen the kiss. he is a good kisser, sunghoon uses that to boast about himself, he has always been good at this— kissing, bragging, making your knees weak, and all you could do was melt into him wet and sloppy kisses that he plants on your skin. 

he dips his head down to your neck, pressing sloppy, open mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, pulling your blouse aside to get a better access to your collarbones and shoulders. it felt like his body has a mind of its own, and he’s only following right behind. when a soft gasp leaves your lips, he moves back to your lips again, wanting to swallow every little sound you make that makes his mind haywire. 

your breaths are heavy, hands around his neck with fingers grazing the skin of his nape. a movement that makes him moan softly in the kiss as he presses you against the counter, holding you between his arms. his hand that's resting on your hip moves up, tracing the curve of your waist and then sliding under your shirt to rest on your bare skin, lips curling up in a subtle smirk as he hears you gasp yet again. 

“sunghoon—” you pull back, getting a quick glance at his half-lidded eyes when the lightning from the thunderstorm fills the room. he can still feel your laboured breathing on his lips and it does nothing but pull him in even more. after all, sunghoon would be lying if he said he didn’t imagine doing this with you.

“we’ll stop,” he pecks your lips, then trailing his lips down your jawline and to your neck, leaving a trail of gentle kisses along your skin. “when the candle goes out,” 

005. WHERE THE LINE FADES

when sunghoon wakes up the next morning, he’s met with cold empty sheets on the side and the memories from last night start flooding his mind. his heartbeat accelerates at the mere thought of you, especially how you were last night and every time his name fell off your lips in bliss and pleasure— he would’ve preferred waking up to you rather than emptiness. 

he lays idly for a few minutes and stares at the ceiling, looking for where it all had started. was it the day you told him jay asked you out? maybe not, he doesn’t like to think of himself as a jealous person. it must’ve been when you asked for his opinion on your outfit, he tells himself, you looked too good to be true that day. a few seconds more and he sits up with a soft groan, seemingly unable to find answers to any of his questions.

the weather seems to have improved as he notices the cosy sunlight outside. he slips on this shirt before walking down to the shared bathroom, rubbing his eyes softly and brushing his fingers through his hair with a sigh. he puts his hand on the door knob and looking up in surprise when it opens on the other side.

“oh,” the slight hint of shyness on your face doesn’t escape his gaze, just like how enchanting you look this early in the morning with hair wet from the shower. you bite slightly on your lower lip before the awkwardness in the air is disturbed by your voice. “morning,”

actually, it must’ve all started the day you moved in.

“morning,” he replies back, rubbing his nape and looking away. the weight of questions lingering around makes it hard for him to look in your eyes. “would you like to have breakfast?”

you nod and follow him into the kitchen after making a short trip to your room. 

you steal a few glances at him while eating your breakfast, feeling your palms sweat at the thought of bringing it up to him. you avoid it for a few minutes, tossing the question around in your head while trying to make small talks about the ketchup, as bad as it could get. it feels a bit suffocating until you finally decide to address the elephant in the room. “so about last night—” 

“it was a mistake,” he cuts you off immediately, a heavy pause following shortly after. he looks up in your eyes for the first time since the morning. “let’s just forget it,”

and his words leave a bitter taste in your mouth. it could’ve been just another one night stand for you had it not been with sunghoon— your roommate, the person you see everyday, the person who managed to give you butterflies the day you moved in. your fingers tighten around the spoon and you consider arguing back for a moment before you push that idea further back in your head.

it could be just another thing added to the lists of things that have been buried, like the time you and sunghoon almost kissed in the elevator last year.

“right,” you nod quietly, convincing yourself that it’s not a big deal. that he’s just another guy in your life like jay. actually, you don’t feel like wanting to compare them anymore. you don’t know where the line marking the difference fades. “of course, yeah,”

you don’t even like the sound of that.

“yeah,”

you don’t wait another minute before leaving your unfinished breakfast on the table and going to your room. his eyes follow your movements, conscience nudging him to chase after you. he contemplates it for a while, and then you walk out with your bag. “i’ll see you after classes,”

and then sunghoon doesn’t see you for the rest of the morning.

or the day, in fact. usually, you two end up bumping into each other at least once, but sunghoon doesn’t see you around for the whole day. he skips spanish, deciding to go back to his apartment earlier than usual. he turns on the tv, deciding to watch a football watch with beer on the side while waiting for you. an hour passes, then another, and another.

there’s no sign of you.

it isn’t until he rings up a few of your friends that he hears that you’re staying over at giselle’s for the night. he wouldn’t blame you, couldn’t, not after everything that went down a night ago. you needed some space and so did he, but somewhere inside he wondered if he should’ve been honest with you when you brought up that topic during breakfast instead of saying the first thing that came to his mind and dismissing it.

but, he dismisses it again, letting you be on your own for as long as you need, knowing you’d come back soon.

which you do, the very next day, much to his surprise. he had expected you to avoid him for at least a week. he notices the way you look when you return early in the morning, tired and exhausted as if you hadn’t got a single ounce of sleep. there’s silence engulfing him but you walk to your room before he could even open his mouth to speak. and then you ignore him for the rest of the day.

he starts feeling annoyed at some point, trying to come up with a reason for your actions. he tries striking up conversations with you and you give short responses, or just nod. when you walk away without answering him when he asked about your day, sunghoon wanted to grab your wrist and pull you back for a second, but he dismisses that idea just as soon as it pops up in his head. he doesn’t even realise how quickly time passes in silence, not until he returns from heeseung’s apartment after spending two nights and one day with him and jake and checks his phone, realising it’s already close to being a week till you’re gone radio silent. he notices a few texts, mostly his study group that have been planning meet-ups to study, one that he rarely attends. his eyes especially squint in confusion at the texts from your mother, saying she had been trying to get in touch with you but getting no response. 

he was on his way to his room when he heard the door unlock. a pause, the click of the doorknob strikes through the silence, followed by your footsteps. he takes a few seconds to sort out his thoughts before speaking. “your mom texted me since you weren’t picking up her phone,”

“my phone died,” you give a simple response, almost too quickly for his liking. he lets his eyes follow your movements as you take off your shoes and jacket, putting it on the couch. 

it takes him back to the day you told him about jay asking you out. 

it was exactly the same— you arrived late, your phone had died. he was asking the same questions, albeit laced with annoyance. today, it’s hesitation, maybe slight doubt. sunghoon can’t stop you from seeing jay, but the idea of you being with him bothers him more than expected. so, he follows up with yet another question. 

“where have you been?” he asks, wanting to maintain a casual demeanour even though his heart is pounding in his chest just from being near you. he isn’t expecting any response, actually, however he’s met with surprise when you actually reply. 

“with jay,” the words fall from your mouth as if you’re used to them, used to saying his name. there’s an awkward pause before you clarify. “we had dinner together. he wanted to apologise properly,”

“that’s— that’s great,” he manages to squeeze out, but sunghoon thinks jay could’ve left you alone instead of meeting you if he wanted to apologise so bad.

you definitely had feelings for jay, even though they didn’t go as deep for you to come home sobbing your eyes out the day you learnt the truth. to sunghoon, that is enough of a reason to hate him even more. just the mere thought of your heart sinking whenever you’d even think of jay made him fist his hands, nails almost digging in the palm of his hands. 

sunghoon doesn’t have much experience with girls. in fact, none at all. flings are one thing, and girlfriends another. he has had both— none too serious. the first time someone asked him out was in highschool, although he’s surprised it didn’t happen much earlier. that time, just agreed to go out with her because his friends were in relationships too and he didn’t want to fall behind. it wasn’t soon before it turned into a competition after he got into university. not his best self, it isn’t something he’s proud of now that he thinks about it. 

and sunghoon isn’t half better than jay in that aspect, although obviously not as bad as to bet on going on a date with another girl while he already has a girlfriend. however, if you had feelings for him— as he thinks while watching you walk to your room— he wouldn’t let a single tear fall from your lips. 

“about that night,” he follows you into your room, practically hearing his heartbeat echo through his ears. he gulps nervously when he notices you looking at him with a sliver of hope in your eyes. “it wasn’t a mistake,”

“oh,” and you stop in your tracks, having no idea how to respond. an awkward pause follows as you bite your lower lip habitually before speaking, feigning a casual tone. “well, we can still put it behind—”

“i don’t want to,” he blurts out, cutting you off mid sentence. you notice how his voice is quiet as always, yet there’s panic and anxiousness behind those eyes. “i mean, i tried to, but it’s difficult. you’re always on my mind,”

there’s a silver of determination behind his voice. it’s surprising and equally anticipated. sometimes, he feels like he thinks of you every minute no matter what he’s doing. it was never this bad, these days even the regular banters between you two give him butterflies. and sunghoon understand that he might be far from your type in men. perhaps, you actually prefer someone like jay, who treat you to a fancy dinner to apologise, or maybe that guy from a few months ago who can’t remember the name of. 

you and sunghoon can be polar opposites and he would still be standing here, fingers fidgeting nervously with the hem of his denim jacket, looking so uncharacteristically out of place. he would choose to have this talk again, as much as he hates confronting, because it never about who your type is and always about the fact that you’re sunghoon’s type— as he realises this when you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, looking at him with lips pressed together. you look cute, more so when you’re awkward, and he can’t believe he’s coming to terms with this but god, he is falling for you. 

he is falling hard, and falling deep. it’s nothing like him, you make him nervous, almost as if knocking him out of air whenever your eyes meet, and he would gladly suffocate to death. it was quiet with too many questions hanging above his head, and he noticed the way you fiddle with your fingers with the cutest expression known to mankind and sunghoon knew he was screwed. 

“i’ve got it so bad for you, yn, really,” —he speaks as if he’s out of breath due to the nervousness— “really bad. i tried to keep you out of here,” he said, pointing at his chest, cheeks flushing red as the words fell off his lips. “but you won’t go, you just won’t.”

and sunghoon has never been so…out of place, for the lack of better words. it’s amusing, even to you, the way he is right now. the sunghoon from three weeks ago wouldn’t even care but he, now, is pouring out all of himself, as if stripping him naked of his emotions and letting him see what lies behind the suave smiles and prideful words. as if showing you how easily you have him going crazy, right out of his mind and how he can’t help but just stare blankly as his eyes travel down to your lips occasionally— as they do now— and it leaves you in a frenzy when you notice it. 

“i can’t stop thinking about that night— not in a weird way, just…” and you’re just standing in front of him, trying not to laugh at his antics. he’s cute, a pause, what the fuck. and then you just go along with it, knowing there’s no point denying it anymore now that you two are having this conversation.

you notice his little mannerisms, like how he can’t look in your eyes for the life in him, how he keeps shifting his weight from one leg to the other. it’s adorable, especially the way he can have all the attention in the room with just his mere presence. that’s sunghoon for you, with a presence so heavy it’s loud even when he’s silent. it’s so loud you can practically hear his mind, of all the words you know he wants to say but can’t. there’s a hitch in his breath, his eyes meet yours for the first time in the past few minutes— i like you— they say, and the next thing sunghoon knows is that you’re kissing him. 

“i like you too,” you whisper against his lips after pulling back, your lips brushing against his. sunghoon feels like every single nerve in his body has been sparked, giving him goosebumps when you slowly intertwine your fingers with his.

of course, you know how he feels even before he could say it out loud. maybe, he just made it obvious for you to guess, otherwise sunghoon likes to think of himself as someone who can hide his feelings well. he lets go of your hands as soon as he feels you lace your fingers with his and instead, cups your cheeks ever so tenderly and leans down to capture your lips with his, smiling in the kiss. “i love you,”

˃ᗜ˂ : if you made it till here, i'm sending each one of u kisses >< thank u for reading, i hope u liked it. ps i had to put my heart aside and write jay's name ... never again will i put my man thru this huhu TT he's too good to do these things

[scatter-snz]

Best Laid Plans - Part 3

Details: 11k, M sneezes, no pairing (for this part)

Summary: A secret agent is going undercover for a few days, and his target has a sneeze fetish. When preparing his next move, he finds even the best laid plans go awry.

PART 2 - PART 3 -

EVERYONE 🥹💖 Thank you so, so much for your continued support and kindness!!!! 😭 I’m just over the moon that folks are enjoying this and I’ve deeply appreciated all the likes, comments, reblogs, and asks!! I feel like I’ll never be able to say thank you enough times to everyone 😂💕 Please know that I’ve read each and every wonderful word you all have said and those sentiments have given me soul power!!! 💫

This is a fluffy interlude, but it will spice up again in Part 4! 😏 These are original characters, all in their mid twenties to early thirties. Please mind the warnings if anything here might be uncomfy for you.

(Warnings: Unrealistic science, Mess Lite™, getting sneezed on [accidentally, not in detail], questionable coworker dynamics [discussing sexual pleasure in a professional way], humiliation themes [main character gets embarrassed from sexual discussion], micro/macro [it’s a dream], masturbation, being induced by another person [not on purpose], feeling pleasure from sneezing).

THIS STORY IS NSFW!

-

The Wooden Lantern, tomorrow, 6:30pm. 

Omicron knew the place. He’d studied the resort’s directory extensively before they arrived. It was a high class, low-light, white table cloth and well-dressed waiter kind of restaurant. Either Josaline and her husband booked a reservation far in advance or they had the clout to demand one. The backdrop set the tone — extravagant, intimate, an evening of whispered banter. They better not expect me to pay, he thought, weaving around a housekeeper with a cart of towels and sheets. Head office probably won’t foot the bill.

It took longer than planned to pry himself away from Josaline. She was content to lounge for as long as he’d let her, asking him idle questions and tracing shapes on his chest with the tips of her fingers. All the while, she watched his nose. To Omicron it seemed like she was reluctant to miss even a second of his nasal misery, and she was treated to a fair amount of sniffling, sneezing, and nose blowing while they talked. When he finally managed to extricate himself, he surmised his nose was as red as the sunset. The light painted brilliant streaks over the coastline and reduced distant seagulls to silhouettes as they flew over sparkling water. 

And somehow, looking too long at the birds flapping their wings meant he had to sneeze. Bitterly, Omicron tucked a finger beneath his nostrils. They began to flare, anxious as the tickle took flight somewhere in his sinuses. Indulging this in his hotel room was better than the hallway, so Omicron picked up his pace. He could feel the sensation worsen, his nerves trembling, and soon a whole flock of frantic tickles startled into motion.

“-hhHH-” He flipped his hand up over his nose and increased his power walk to a near sprint.

“-gUH!hhh..HHH-” He skidded to his room door and through tears he scanned the keycard, shoved himself inside-

“HHEH’DZZssch!”

“Oh, here he is. He just got back.”

Omicron eased his eyes open long enough to see Agent Delta with his phone to his ear, frowning at him.

“Bless-”

“-IHCHZSSH’oo!” He flattened a hand to his chest, feeling himself breathe and breathe and- “..hah!-CHIZSSH’uh!.. ngghh..”

Omicron groaned and belatedly nosed into his shirt, at this point a decimated, jumbo-sized rag hanging limply from his hand.

“Bless you.” Delta delivered it firmly, and asked in the same tone, “How are you feeling?”

“Whad?” he asked, muffled at first before he lowered the shirt. “I’b fine.”

The senior agent gave him a doubtful once-over, then spoke to whomever was on the phone. “He says he’s fine.”

Muzzily, Omicron looked down at himself. Then sidelong to the closet door mirror. He stood only in his swim trunks, bare from his hips up with hair made wild by hungry hands and a smattering of burgundy lipstick across his throat. Worst was his nose, just as raw and sore looking as it felt. It twitched as he watched, his nostrils slowly stretching wide. His expression collapsed by degrees, jaw slacking, eyelids fluttering, chin tilting, chest lifting in one long breath.

“hhhhhHHH’ADZSSHiew!!” he sneezed, and threw himself a step forward.

Delta sighed. “Bless you.”

Once again Omicron lifted his shirt late and huffed a frustrated sigh of his own. When the tickle came over him, he couldn’t do more than simply sneeze. His days of diligent etiquette were long behind him now. There was a tap on his shoulder and when he looked up, Delta was standing in front of him with a fresh box of unscented, lotion-infused tissues. Omicron could have cried.

“Thag’k you-” he choked, snatching a handful just before he “-hd’ZZSSCH!-guh..”

He transitioned his groan into a strengthless blow of his nose. Even for how little effort he used, the action was productive — more audibly than he would have preferred. At least the tissues didn’t chafe. It took several rounds, Delta patiently holding the box for him, until Omicron’s sniffling was stuffy but dry. The tickle relaxed as much as it ever did, tracing shapes against his membranes. It reminded him of Josaline. By the time he was finished, Delta had traded the box for the room’s little trash bin. 

“Yes, just a moment..” he said into the phone, then tipped the bin expectantly at Omicron. Meekly, he dropped in all his tissues (as well as his shirt, it was a lost cause) as Delta continued. “Let me speak with him first.”

Omicron tried to cobble together some semblance of professionalism. He straightened his spine and folded his hands into a parade rest to deliver his report. “Sir, there is a new development-”

“Apologies, Omicron, that will have to wait,” Delta bulldozed over him. “Something’s come up.”

A prickle of anxiety raised the hairs at the back of his neck. “… Sir?”

“It concerns your condition,” Delta replied, and his faltering loss of eye contact didn’t reassure Omicron in the slightest. “It’s a.. delicate subject, so I’ll leave this to Dr. Voster.”

Omicron closed his eyes in exasperation. He’d forgotten about her. Shit. Delta passed him the phone, and then very conspicuously occupied himself across the room.

Bracing himself, Omicron lifted the phone to his ear. “Yes?”

“Hi, Agent Omicron,” said Dr. Voster in a tinny voice from the receiver. “You’re a hard man to get a hold of lately.”

“Well, I’ve been a bit busy,” he said, then lifted a fist to his nose. Idle as the tickle was, the incessant, gossamer sensation of it was beginning to bother him. “Forgive me if I don’t have time to shoot the breeze.”

“You think I’d come to you for small talk? I’d have better luck with a brick wall.”

“Noted,” he replied as he glanced around for the tissue box. He found it sitting on his bed. “Are you calling to berate me or is there something you want?”

“If you remember from yesterday,” she insisted with unnecessary attitude, “I’m calling to talk about your nose.”

The tickle twinged, perking up like a dog to a whistling call. The rims of his eyes grew wet. His breath hiccuped. “I’d reahh- hly rather not.”

“Too bad, I’ll cut to the chase: are you getting erections when you sneeze?”

Her words pierced him like arrows, followed by the bleed of heat into his cheeks, ears, and neck. Omicron’s hand froze halfway to his face, tissues hovering. She knows, his mind shrieked. She knows. He whipped his head to Delta, who was faffing pointlessly with his suitcase while pretending to ignore the conversation unfolding across the room. And so does he.

“Your silence is telling,” said Anita.

“No.” His mind was static and his mouth was dry. Words wouldn’t flow. “I’m not.. No.”

The lie was so poorly delivered that it wouldn’t have fooled anyone. Sweat slinked down his nape. Dr. Voster blew a breath over the line, sharp and rueful. “Welp. That one’s on me.”

He darted another glance to Delta and caught the man staring just before they simultaneously turned away. Meanwhile, the tickle followed the path of a twitching nerve with a light, curious touch. Hunching his shoulders and scrunching his face, Omicron mumbled into the receiver. 

“What’s that supposed tuhh.. to mean?”

“Your reaction at the lab was extreme, in relation to the vigor of your sneezing as well as the presence of physiological responses indicating arousal,” she explained, her tone appreciably analytic despite the awkward topic. “Dilated pupils, shortness of breath, difficulty concentrating..”

She suspected it from the beginning? Omicron reeled. It made sense; she was impressively educated and one of the most respected techs at the agency. Her knowledge ranged from biology, physiology, immunology, and beyond. In retrospect, he’d been a fool to think he could ever hide something like this from her. 

“Even so, I couldn’t be sure. It warranted further research and I found something unexpected.”

Omicron pushed a hand through his hair, pressing his thumb into the soft indent of his temple. He’d walked in here with a headache and he could tell this conversation would only make it worse. “Oh?”

“It’s a little known fact that parts of the nose contain the same type of erectile tissue as the genitals, and both are linked to the body’s autonomic nervous system.” 

As she spoke, the tickle feathered a persistent, teasing swirl around a sensitive spot. His inflamed membranes pulsed insistently, as did his chapped nostrils. He tried his damned best to ignore it. “... Pardon?”

“I believe because I gave you a higher dose of viral particles than you needed, the overstimulation of your nasal nerves is causing an echoing effect to the erectile tissue in your penis.”

A dangerous emotion lurched up from Omicron’s stomach and got caught behind his teeth: anger. It warred, then mixed, with his humiliation. Exhaustion eroded his willingness to swallow it back down. 

“This is actually not unheard of. Kinks aside, some people experience this during intercourse, or even from simply thinking about sex, though usually the arousal causes sneezing rather than the other way around..”

Anita blathered on about speculative science, and the bubbling pot of annoyance he’d nursed since the start of this assignment at last began to boil over. Frustration erupted into rage.

“..Still, it’s a variable I completely overlooked. I’m sorry, Omicron.”

“Sorry?” he barked, raising his volume to a throat-scratching degree. “You’re sorry? Are you serious?”

There was a pause over the line. “.. Yes?”

“Sorry isn’t going to cut it.” The ardor in his voice vibrated in his sinuses, heightening the caressing sensations of the tickle, which only angered him more. “Yhh-You told me I wouldn’t b-be comprhhuh-.. hhmised by your stupid experiment!”

“That was before I saw its effects in action. I advised you not to go forward with the mission, remember? I only agreed in front of Delta because you looked so sad. It was foolish on my part. I should’ve grounded you.”

“So that I could suffer for your mbistake??” he demanded. His nostrils shivered and he shoved them with the heel of his palm. Congestion clogged his words. “I’ve waited so long for this mbission, Anita, you kdnow I have!”

“It wasn’t my intention to compromise you, Omicron,” and while she said it with contrition, there was also resignation. “I can’t predict every outcome. It’s just one of those things.”

The pragmatism in her voice only fueled his fire, but before he could assemble his response, the tickle struck. Even in the throes of wrath it wouldn’t leave him be. Its touch seeped through his nose like a spill. His lungs jumped with a single breath, and then Omicron’s head snapped down. 

“DDJZSSsh’oo!”

The sneeze staggered him two steps back and another was fast on the rise. It held him hostage in its grip, but Anita’s curt “bless you” in his ear waylaid the urge. He fulcrumed a finger beneath his nose to buy time. Emotion roared up from his chest and broke out of him in a rambling crash. 

“I get one chandce! One. To prove mbyself and if I fail they’re gonna relegate mbe to archives and filing duties for the rest of mby career!!”

He was peripherally aware of Delta, who’d at some point moved to stand in front of him. There was something in his hand, a gadget Omicron recognized but couldn’t think to name. His vision tunneled, dark at the edges. His heart pounded in his ears. His nose twitched ominously, not to be delayed much longer. 

“I c-.. hhhan’dt lose this case,” he was babbling, quicker and quicker when his nostrils began to flare. The burgeoning sneeze tugged his eyelids shut and stole his breath away. “It’ll- it.. iyeehh…h-HH!hck’KZSShiu!”

Dr. Voster took the opportunity to cut in; she sounded deliberately calm as he sniffled fitfully through a recovery. “Omicron, listen to me, you’re catastrophizing. Slow down for a second and breathe.”

“Ndo, you listen!” His voice cracked and an ugly desperation made itself known. “They’ll really do it, if I’b ndot perfect they’ll write mbe off a’d I’ll end up a cautionary tale, they’ll laugh mbe out of the agency, everythi’g I’ve worked for will be for dnothi’g, I-”

Glowing numbers flashed in front of his eyes. Omicron startled, teetering unevenly on his feet. At first he had no idea what it was, but as his vision steadied the image formed. Delta stood before him, grim, offering the readout screen of an infrared thermometer.

The numbers read 102.4°F / 39.1°C . Omicron squinted at them, uncomprehending.

“... what’s thad?” he rasped.

Delta’s reply was immediate and immutable. “Your fever.”

Omicron blinked. Squinted harder. Read the numbers again even as they started to blur. I have a fever? he asked himself. As his fury ebbed, new sensations emerged: the painful heat radiating from his head, a pervasive chill seeping from his core, the weakness in his knees and the cotton in his ears. He began listing to the side. The phone slipped from his hand.

Oh, he realized. I have a fever.

“Oop!” Delta dashed and caught him before he could swoon to the floor. Together they sank in a controlled descent as the senior agent muttered, “Easy now, easy..” under his breath. Once they were down, Omicron tucked his head into his knees and tried to fend off the headrush.

Indistinct voices floated around him. He could only catch snippets of conversation — “high grade temperature,” and “want you here by morning” — and he gave up on the rest. Instead, he concentrated on the bracing passes of Delta’s broad hand across the span of his sweaty shoulders. It took longer than he liked, but eventually Omicron raised his head with minimal dizziness. He stared into the weave of the carpet.

“Did she hang up?”

“Yes,” Delta said beside him. “She gave me a list of questions to ask you when you’re feeling a bit better.”

Omicron dropped his head back to his knees. “... is she upset?”

“At your outburst?” Delta asked, and his subordinate cringed. “She’s more worried about you than upset, but you wouldn’t be remiss to apologize when she arrives.”

In the aftermath of his tantrum, clarity pricked him like a thorn. This was as much his fault as it was Anita’s. It was true her virus yielded unexpected results, but by concealing them from her, he’d failed in his responsibility as a teammate. She put her trust in him, and he let her down. There were few things more painful for him than owning his mistakes.

Stewing in his shame, he sniffled and said the only thing he could say. “I’b sorry, sir.”

Delta’s smile grew warm at the edges. “I’m not the one you shouted at, but I’ll accept your apology since you lied to me too.”

God, he wished the ground would just swallow him whole. Omicron folded into an even smaller ball, arms tightening around his shins. The position made his nose run, which required frequent snuffling for maintenance, but he’d rather do that than look Delta in the eye.

“I expect honesty from you, agent. Full stop. Not a single lie moving forward, either directly or by omission. Am I understood?”

Omicron could barely force himself above a whisper. “Yes, sir.”

“Not just about the virus,” his superior continued, “but also your wellbeing. You’ve put so much pressure on yourself, Omicron. I had no idea you were under the impression that this assignment would be your only chance to succeed.”

Without anger as a shield, he’d lost his last defense. Delta’s sympathy felt like a punch in the gut. Even worse, his near constant sniffles were going to make him sneeze. He keenly felt each bead of moisture drip down his stressed passages, then skate back up with every subsequent snatch of air. It was unabating, alluring, and it coaxed little sighs from his lip when he exhaled. He didn’t have to wait long.

“..hh’MMPHssh!!Huh..” Omicron muffled it into his knees, his entire body trembling. Then he hurried to respond before he could be blessed. “-but it’s true, righd?”

“Come again?” Delta asked, and when Omicron spoke it again with more volume, he could hear Delta’s brow furrow just from the way he replied, “No, it’s not true at all. Did someone tell you differently?”

With reluctance, Omicron lifted his head and confirmed with a stuffy mumble. “.. Agent Rho did.”

“Rho!” Delta scoffed, as if he could scold the agent from here. His voice lowered to a grumble, and that told Omicron exactly how Delta felt about Rho. “Don’t listen to them. They enjoy scaring less experienced agents.”

(Here Omicron swore a silent, seething vow that he would exact calculated revenge upon Agent Rho for their transgressions against him. Delta continued, oblivious.)

“A reprehensible practice, but between you and I, head office rarely entertains my complaints on the matter.”

Head office… Fuzzy worries came into focus as Omicron muddled through another lazy, slow-to-arrive sneeze. The fog of it clouded his expression as he tried in vain to soldier on.

“Are you goi’g t-.. hih’KIZSsh!” he bobbed his head, then slitted his eyes open only for them to flutter closed again. “..ehKZSSh’uh!... mmbgh..” 

“Bless you,” said Delta, watching Omicron cup a hand over his nose. “Here, use these.”

Delta held out the tissue box, still half-full with soft paper, and Omicron plucked out several. His breath hitched high, voice heady, as he attempted to relay gratitude. 

“Th-hhah.. ah’NKZSSS’hoo!” He crushed it into the tissues, and then flushed with a fresh layer of chagrin when Delta chuckled.

“Bless you, Omicron, you’re welcome.” He waited for the nose blowing to stop before he continued. “You were saying?... ‘Am I going to’ what?”

Oh, right, his question.. With fever, congestion, and the pledge of sneezes crowding his head, holding onto a thought longer than a few seconds felt next to impossible. “Are you going to ground me?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Delta replied. “Considering your condition, I should say yes, but I’d like Dr. Voster’s opinion first. You’re making progress on this case and I’d hate to halt your momentum prematurely.”

That was fair. Uncontrollable boners and a fever on active duty would probably dissuade any overseeing officer from adapting a ‘push through’ mentality. Especially Delta, since the man had the most heavily bleeding heart Omicron had ever known. It would be up to Anita, then; he couldn’t muster the energy to fret about it right now. They sat together while Omicron tended to his fidgety nose, still side by side on the floor, until Delta made a sound of recollection.

“Speaking of the case, didn’t you mention a development? I interrupted you earlier. What was it you wanted to tell me?”

Ahhhh, dammit, Omicron lamented. I forgot about that too.

Even before Anita threw her wrench, he hadn’t been sure how his date tomorrow would go over with Delta. He’d had plans of carefully breaking the news, laying out the variables and working gradually to the big reveal. But now he could barely remember the basic idea, let alone complex and eloquent details. Wracking his boiling brain did nothing but cost him his opportunity; the meandering tickle of his cold stumbled yet again on sensitive territory.

“-Hah…” It lured a dreading sound from his lips as the urge niggled him. Hadn’t he sneezed enough? His count had to be over a hundred by now, and yet his nose wasn’t satisfied. Overworked as they were, his nasal nerves were as ceaseless in their goals as the virus was. “..hiH-.. ngh..”

Omicron cut his losses. Either he ripped the bandaid off or wasted another ten minutes sneezing while his cold tickled him senseless. He took a moment to steady his breathing before saying, “...She has a hus’BEHSsh’oo!”

It startled them both, barreling out of him freely and with an unfortunate lack of cover. Delta flinched away, visibly caught in the crossfire, and Omicron panicked. Both hands jerked up to cover his nose as a whiplash of shame froze him to the bone. 

“Fuck, I’b so siihH-” Oh god, again? His breath wavered at the top of his throat, almost a whimper, and he was so discombobulated from the first one that he couldn’t prepare for the second. “-ih’GXCHHT!”

It ran roughshod, mostly through his nose, and it scraped his sinuses on the way out. Very unpleasant, but fortunately the tickle had to play second fiddle to the stinging aftermath. Omicron hitched down from the high, hands still cemented to his face for modesty and eyelashes sticking with tears as he threw a glance to his superior.

“b’sorry!” he eked out, and he must have looked truly miserable because Delta’s eyes widened.

“It’s alright, it’s alright!” he said earnestly, with a shake of his head and a consoling pat to Omicron’s back. “I’m not upset, I know that was an accident. Don’t worry about it, hm? Here..”

He fished up the tissue box in offering before politely turning away as Omicron cleaned himself up. The mortification nearly crushed him, but still the junior agent reeled with relief. He could trust his superior at his word that he wasn’t upset; it just wasn’t in Delta’s nature to lie, unless it was for his cover. It took nearly the rest of the box before Omicron deemed himself decent, and even then he pinned a preemptive bushel of tissues around his nose in case another sneeze got away from him. Delta was looking at him with such effusive compassion that Omicron delivered his news without preamble, desperate to change the subject.

“I got invited to a threesome with Josaline and her secret husband,” he said from behind his hands.

Agent Delta was gobsmacked. “Wh- Josaline Jewel has a husband?”

Omicron nodded.

“We have no intel to suggest that at all. Are you sure?”

Omicron nodded again.

There was a bewildered pause, then an even more disbelieving, “And you’ve scheduled a threesome with them?”

For a third time Omicron nodded, bleary-eyed over the edge of his tissues. Beneath his hands, his nostrils spasmed around the shape of a sluggish itch. It stalled out somewhere in his sinuses, too present to dismiss but not yet committed to climax. Don’t tease me, he begged with a slow blink. Either hurry up or go away.

“Omicron,” Delta said, a note of wonder in his voice. “I knew you were talented, but this exceeds expectations. Particularly with the knowledge that you did this while contending with unforeseen complications. Well done.”

His heart fluttered weakly at the praise and Omicron squashed any pleased feelings that arose from it. There would be nothing to celebrate if he couldn’t finish the job.

“Th.. hhagk you, sir.”

“When are you meeting them?”

“T-.. Tihh-..” As he spoke the tickle squiggled like a banner caught in a breeze. He rushed the rest on an exhale — “..t-t’mborrow nhhigh..” — heaved in a huge breath, and then- “IDTZSSH’hoo!!”

“Bless, tomorrow night, hm..” Delta rushed the blessing as well, rubbing his chin with a long sigh. “This does complicate things. I doubt we’ll get a chance like this again, but I’m not granting clearance until Dr. Voster takes a look at you-”

“ht-.. HD’JZSS!uuh..”

“-bless you, because that fever of yours concerns me. That side effect wasn’t listed in the literature and it surprised her to hear that you’ve developed one-”

“.. eh-.. eH’TSCHHOO!”

“-bless you. So better safe than sorry. Your health and safety takes priority over any assignment, Omicron, do try and remember tha-.. oh, bless…?”

“.. h-HDT-!”

Omicron waiting on the cusp of another, eyes rolled skyward and lips parted in desire, still cloaked behind his curtain of tissues. He could feel he had Delta’s undivided attention, which made the tickle shy. It shivered inside him, sending his nostrils into a fit of flaring. Stuttered breaths filled his lungs in tiny bursts, emptying again on uneasy sighs, and he-.. he-!..

.. relaxed, defeated, with a groan. 

“Lost it?” Delta asked, then quirked a smile at Omicron’s moody nose-blow. “I’m sure it’s very disappointing. My condolences.”

Because Delta was being very gracious about all this — Omicron’s dishonesty and careless sneezing — he couldn’t summon up any feelings of exasperation. It helped that he was running on empty, too enervated by his fever to do much more than slump with a nod that made his head gently spin. He waited it out and only when he startled to awareness at a gentle touch on his arm did he realize he’d been falling asleep where he sat. He squinted up at Delta who was now standing, smiling down at him.

“Dr. Voster asked me to collect more data on your condition, but that can wait,” he said, and hauled Omicron to his feet. He guided the smaller man toward the bright fluorescence of their hotel bathroom. “Why don’t you wash up? It might help.”

Too dazed to protest, Omicron stood shivering barefoot on the cold tile in his swim trunks while Delta babbled about this and that. A couple blinks later he was holding a set of sweats from his suitcase, his toiletry bag, and a clean pair of fuzzy socks that wasn’t his. Probably Delta’s. He’d seen the man wear a different pair around the room just last night. Juggling the items and mumbling thank-yous, he nudged the door shut with his foot as Delta stated he’d be going out to grab dinner.

And thus commenced his character assassination. 

Omicron laid to rest and mourned what remained of his dignity. He was, in essence, sick on the job with an unseemly cold and his boss was playing nurse. In other words, a nightmare. Never had any of his coworkers seen him T less than peak health, and he hadn’t bargained on Anita’s monster virus turning him into… this. As he shambled through a shower, pajamas, and then curled up into bed, he hoped in vain that his fever would be bad enough to knock him out before Delta got back. No such luck.

Omicron knew how he could look, especially with fresh, fluffy bedhead and sleeves that drooped over his hands. He could only assume this aesthetic was exacerbated by his glowing red nose and glassy eyes. ‘Cute’ was a moniker he’d take to his grave unfortunately, much as it haunted him. He’d never managed to escape it in any disguise, not for all the leather, fake piercings, or platform boots in the world. 

So when Agent Delta turned around and caught sight of him, snuggled in a poofy duvet clutching the tissue box with a little twitch troubling his nose, Omicron beat him to the punch. “Please don’t patronize me, sir.”

Delta’s smile threatened laughter, but he reigned it in with a polite cough and clear of his throat. “I wasn’t going to, agent. I’m just glad to see you’re more comfortable.”

‘Comfortable’ was a generous word that only got further from the truth as the night wore on. Omicron was treated to dinner in bed, complete with a serving tray borrowed from the staff, and the gesture was enough to obliterate any shred of appetite he had for the hot and sour soup Delta brought him. He just wanted to dissolve into the atmosphere and disappear. What he did manage to eat sprung tears in his eyes and a menacing prickle in his clogged sinuses. He spent most of the meal with a tissue held to flexing, leaky nostrils.

The conversation after dinner was yet another exercise in torture. Omicron would have tried choking down more soup if he’d remembered Delta had orders from Anita to question him about his ‘condition.’

Rationally, Omicron knew he shouldn’t be embarrassed. He had sex on the job now and then, and those wild whims he pursued on his personal time were a cure for boredom more than anything. There was something different about this though, the pleasure he felt from sneezing. It felt intimate, self-generated, and to some extent outside of his control. That he might accidentally get aroused without a purpose, beyond that it simply just felt good, was a thought he couldn’t bare to share with anyone. 

“I find it endearing that you are so bashful about this, considering your line of work,” Delta said, understanding yet undeterred, “but as this pertains directly to your ability to perform on the job, I’m afraid Voster and I are on a need to know basis. I promise it will be quick and painless.”

The unyielding furrow in Delta’s brow told Omicron he wouldn’t escape this discussion, no matter how badly he wanted to avoid it. Maybe by some miracle he’d black out and not remember it after.

Once they got started, the questions were mercifully clinical: How often are you experiencing unexpected symptoms? Under what circumstances do they arise? Are you experiencing any unexpected symptoms beyond those already identified? And so on. All the while, Omicron dissuaded sneezes with nose rubs, nose blows, and general nose abuse of that nature. Each ticklish surge that scrambled for a foothold he countered with equal obstinacy. Nothing he did would rid him of the itch, so there was no reason to indulge it.

Yes there is, said the steady drip of tension into his abdomen. Feel that? It was a formless need, faint enough to ignore. For now. Given time the drip would form a puddle, then a pond, and eventually an ocean of want churning in the core of him. And it will feel so good to let go. 

Omicron resolutely ignored that feeling. 

When they finished with the questions, he didn’t even realize it was over; he dozed off while Delta prattled on too long about meaningless things, his voice soothing in its familiarity, and awoke with a start minutes or hours later from a soft touch on his elbow. Just Delta, whispering something about acetaminophen, offering pills and a glass of water which Omicron tossed back wordlessly before hurtling headfirst back into sleep.

He surfaced in and out of consciousness throughout the night, plagued by chills, sweats, and the strange dreams only a fever can cook up. Vivid, nonsensical adventures that ranged from confusing to harrowing, until Omicron eventually found himself spelunking. How he ended up in this damp, drippy cavern eluded him, but he remained committed to his single directive: explore. 

It was an odd place, even in a dream. Rather than rough-hewn stone, Omicron walked barefoot on a soft, plush surface that spanned the walls and even the ceiling. Caves were usually quite chilly, but this one was comfortably warm. Steady breezes cut through the humidity, first blowing one way and then the other, ruffling Omicron’s hair at each pass. He staggered when a particularly strong gust dragged him like an undertow and leaned against the wall to keep his balance. This immediately backfired because the wall was unexpectedly slick. With a frictionless glide, he tumbled to the ground.

“Sheesh,” he muttered, planting his palms to push himself up. When he did so, there was a near imperceptible shudder through the cavern. The rhythmic wind stuttered, stopped, then continued with an unsteady edge. He raised arm against a blast of air. “What-..?”

A light caught his eye, and Omicron glanced down to find a nexus of thrumming veins spidering out from his epicenter. They pulsed with a beautiful glow, casting a red hue across his face and illuminating the cave floor with a pink, stained glass iridescence. Curious, he trailed his fingers along the branching paths and watched the veins spread further. Again the cave floor lurched, stronger this time, and the wind around him escalated into trembling, intermittent squalls. For some reason he didn’t feel afraid, only determined.

Omicron clamored to his feet. He approached the wall where the veins began to climb. They pulsed weakly, wanting, and he felt that he needed to help them. Feeling around on his person, he unearthed something from his back pocket: a feather duster. The feathers waved in the strong breeze, plentiful and downy. How he’d managed to fit this in his pocket was dream logic he didn’t question. 

“Let’s see,” he mumbled, and crouched to sweep the instrument along the wall. It seemed to cringe from the sensation, twitching madly as the veins hungrily advanced. 

Omicron kept it up, dusting as much as he could reach even as the cavern began to shiver in earnest and the wind whipped his hair like a storm. But he couldn’t stop. He just had this feeling that if he lit the cavern completely, it would be a magnificent sight. As the paths flourished, they brought with them a gorgeous backlight to the tender, rose-petal surfaces of the cave. Funny, they looked almost inflamed. Irritated by his influence, intolerant of his presence here. The thoughts didn’t deter him. Omicron raised up on his tiptoes to take a swipe at the ceiling and had his feet knocked out from under him when the world tremored in response. The gale sucked inward with authority, and the feather duster was ripped from his hands.

Something was happening. Around him, the veins fanned out on their own and he’d been right: the radiance of the cavern was incredible with it all lit up at once. Beneath him the ground throbbed contentiously, convulsing, hot to the touch, and for the first time, Omicron wondered if he might have done something he shouldn’t have. No longer distracted by his goal, he became aware of a weird sound. Something deep, rumbling beneath him, the desirous moans of uhh.. uHhh.. uHHh-!... growing in volume, pitch, and power. 

And suddenly, he felt the echo of this urge manifest in his nose. Its vigor sprung tears to his eyes and his jaw dropped open, helpless as it consumed him. His gasps and groans synced up to the wild chaos around him, and he could feel the very nerves he squirmed against crying out for mercy. It tickled insufferably, teased to heights he couldn’t believe — and there was only one way down.

I’m inside my own nose? was his first bizarre realization. The second was, I’m going to sneeze.

Omicron opened his eyes, only to snap them closed again. “-HP’BBSZZCHHHOOO!!!-”

He groaned, arching against the mattress, as the sneeze went straight to his dick. Bleary, barely awake, all he could do was coast through a yearning gasp and “HEEHDZJJSSSZH!Nnngghh-!”

Raw relief tingled through him, shimmering through his nose and groin, and autopilot took over. Omicron plunged a hand down his pants and gripped his morning wood, firm and ready to burst. There was enough precum trickling from his slit and staining his boxers that he could smooth his thumb over the head and ignore the slight burn from dry skin friction.

His nostrils flittered in anguish, and his sinuses drummed with an insatiable itch. Please, they implored him. This tickle tortured us all night long. Do something. And Omicron was happy to serve. 

A monumental gasp - “hHHHHIIH!” - heralded an comparatively monstrous sneeze - “EEHDDZZZCHHH’Uh!!-hoohhh..”

This was so much better in bed. A tidal wave of pleasure rushed through him, from his nose to his toes, and he couldn’t catch his breath. He gritted his teeth, bowing his back as he thrust into the grip of his hand. It was just on the edge of too much; Omicron wasn’t normally so sensitive, but he’d woken with every inch of his skin tingling and thought it had to be the fever. 

The tickle flexed deep inside, and Omicron recalled the striking visuals of his dream. Wet, pink walls. Encroaching red veins. Sensitive nerves, shuddery membranes, the way he’d ignorantly worked himself up to this very fit with a bundle of soft, stroking feathers. He could imagine himself doing it again, deliberately this time, sweeping the inside of his nose deftly and thoroughly, tickling and tickling and fighting to keep his eyes open even as the sensation forced them tightly closed. Coaxing a hitching breath. Making him sn-..

“-hoh fuhhck-.. hh!HUH!. UHHZZSSSHH’iu!-ooh!” His heels slipped on the sheets, straining for purchase, as he panted his way up to another. “-igih.. iH’GISSCCHOOO!-hah!!”

Each one got him an inch closer to orgasm. He bobbed over every wave with surety the next one would break over his head and drown him. Omicron snuffled unsteadily, aware his nose was running without the care to wipe it, and began twisting his wrist when he felt his nostrils blow wide in preparation. 

Yes yes yes, he cheered. Let this be the one.

He hitched through a dazed smile, a deceptively dainty hh-hht-htt! that then curled him up with a bed-shaking, “HAH’TSSDCH’UE!..hh’mmngg-!..” 

Omicron’s whole body clenched, tense with the impending release, but before it could come he was hitching again. His dream self dusted away, dauntless with a single-mindedness to make him sneeze. And he’d assuredly succeed, as his real self shuddered through a fit-and-start buildup.

“-hihg..ihh!hhoh.. HHT-!chhhoo..” 

It wouldn’t come, hovering so close to the brink that whenever he breathed into the tickle he sighed out the approximation of its finale. His hand never stopped, the steady pumps easier now that he was wet enough. Through the haze of fever, grogginess, and arousal, Omicron imagined the dutiful brush of that duster against his quivering membranes. He was a thorough man, never one to leave a job half-finished, and he visualized himself venturing deeper, farther, to a cowering patch of nerves hoping to escape torment. The feathers caressed them, velutinous and inviting.

“.. iih!HHhhh..”

Deeper, to the responsive edge of his sinuses, where he trailed the duster along the border with deliberate care. The tickle’s magnitude tripled, aching in its eagerness. His dick pulsed in reply, hot and heavy in his frantic hand. 

“-HIH!..hh..hgIHH-”

Deeper still, to the end of the line, so far inside his nose he’d never hope to get it out. The feathers touched quivering flesh. With a smirk, his dream self stroked so gently, agonizingly slow, barely a tease and yet it tickled him to an unbearable degree. He could feel every fiber of the agitating feathers, the promise they whispered. 

Come on, he said to himself. You know you want to.

Omicron’s gasp cut the air like a knife, inflating his lungs to capacity, before he roared violently into his blankets. “-iihHHHHH-?!..WRRIZZSSSCHH’IIUHHH!!-mmbb!!”

He turned his head into his pillow to moan through his orgasm, stroking through it as a euphoric, tingling balm spread through his sinuses. It lasted longer than he anticipated, a continuous ripple of ecstasy that had him whimpering, panting, trembling. All his muscles relaxed, every part of him sated, and when the aftershocks ebbed Omicron sunk into the sheets, hand still in his pants, to let sleep call him back into its arms. It’s not like he had somewhere to be. What did he have to do this morning..? Vacuum the apartment..? Get groceries..? Cuddle with his cats?.............wait-

OH NO.

Omicron jackknifed into a sitting position, then immediately regretted it when his head spun. He drooped onto an elbow, coughing, heart hammering, and in a panic he scanned the room. Nobody here. No sounds from the bathroom either. The relief was so intense it sent him into another sickening dose of dizziness. He flopped flat to the mattress and tried to steady his breathing.

I didn’t just jack off in front of my superior officer, he assured himself. Everything is fine. He finally slipped his hand out of his pants and wrinkled his sore nose at the stickiness of his skin and underwear. But I have to clean up.

It took a pitifully long time to do so. Shivers wracked him the moment he crawled out of bed, and every step was a wobbly gamble. He forgot spare clothes and had to backtrack, then couldn’t figure out how to clean up without taking a shower he didn’t have the energy for. All the while his head pounded, his throat stung, and eventually the whims of the virus brought him to the brink of feeble, fallout sneezes.

Finally, with his dirty clothes stuffed into the bottom of his suitcase and most of the sweat wiped off his skin, Omicron zombied his way back to the bed and collapsed face down. Some flailing got him purchase on the sheets, mercifully spared from most of his fluids, and at last he was horizontal. Of course the position dutched the congestion to a new angle. It tickled him.

Omicron huffed weakly, wearily, and  ducked under the cover of his blankets. “-iih’KIZSSH!’iuh…” Only the one. He sighed, rubbing the edge of his sheet beneath his fussy nose. Now, maybe he could just….

From the door there was the sound of a keycard clattering, then the latch lifting, and a boisterous pair of voices entered the room. “Honey, I’m home!”

Omicron buried his head under the blankets.

“Anita, he may not be awake..” That one was Delta. “Shouldn’t he rest?”

“The sooner I examine him, the better. Where-?.. ah! There you are.”

Omicron tightened his grip on the blankets, and was right to do so because seconds later there was a tug from the outside. It was hot and stuffy under the covers, hard to breathe, but he’d rather suffocate than deal with Anita Voster right now. She tugged again and he didn’t budge.

“Oho?” she tittered. “Trying to avoid treatment, mm? You should know better, Agent O.”

He remained tense, blinking weakly against a flutterish niggle. His nostrils flared, nervous, and he would have soothed them with a touch of his finger if his hands weren’t occupied. He scrunched his nose instead, squirming it side to side when the tickle didn’t abate. Dr. Voster was on the move, he’d lost track of her-...

“Anddd.. voila!”

Cold air and light entered his cocoon. She’d rounded the bed and flipped the covers up from the back side, which was a dirty move. A chill swept up his spine, prompting a shudder that shivered into a sneeze. 

“h-hhi’hHTSSsh!-hh..” He flinched his knees to his chest, tucking an arm around himself as he threw the other behind him for the covers. “Gih-..ig’IIZSSH!”

“Bless bless you,” she cooed in a playful tone that made him bristle. Her hand cupped his shoulder and pulled. “Now, let me see… oh.”

Her smile dropped away as she looked at him, lips parting in genuine surprise, her manicured eyebrows marching up toward her hairline. She was wearing an obnoxious summery ensemble, no doubt excited to exploit the mission for a few days at the beach. When no reply was forthcoming, Omicron glared at her. The ferocity of it was undercut when a twinge in his nose prompted a squeaky sniffle.

“.. Whad?” he croaked.

“You’ve never looked so pathetic before,” she said in wonder. “And I’ve seen you faint after getting a vaccine booster.”

It was an open secret that he hated injections as much as he hated the dentist, but everyone kindly agreed not to acknowledge it after that one time. He growled his words, snatching the blankets back from her. “The ndeedle was really big and you said you’d dnever mbendtion it againd.”

“Voster,” chided Delta, hands on his hips. “Please refrain from teasing him when he’s not feeling well. He’s under enough stress as it is.”

As infantilizing as it was as a grown man to have another grown man scold somebody on his behalf, Omicron shot her a smug look that she met with an arched brow. 

“Fine,” she sighed, and crossed to his side of the bed. “I guess I’ll cut him some slack. Omicron, sit up a little.”

There would be no getting out of this. Delaying the process would probably get him another lecture from Delta, so Omicron reluctantly shimmied to a half-reclining position, arms crossed to ward off chills as she sat gracefully on his bedside. She crossed a leg at the knee, reached for his face, and cool hands cradled his jaw. He let her move him as she wanted, wrinkling and wriggling his nose to keep it appeased. 

The sly bullying he expected didn’t come. Dr. Voster was professional when she asked, “Any fluctuations in symptoms since last night?”

“Umb.. ndot really..” Omicron sniffed sharply and swallowed. He considered leaving it there, but his promise to Delta wouldn’t let him. He mumbled through the rest and could only hope she understood what it meant. “.. there was an.. idncident this mborning. That I resolved.”

“Gotcha,” she said, and didn’t press. Omicron relaxed under her handling. She took his temperature (101.3°F / 38.5°C), tested his glands, pulled down the edges of his eyelids, and then at last took a cursory glance up his nostrils with a wince. “I didn’t think it was possible to see a sneeze but the inside of your nose looks like one.”

Apt, since he could feel it forming between his eyes. He leaned away out of her grip, and without any tissues in reach, Omicron shook his sleeves over his hands and tucked into them. “hh!MMPSSH!..” 

“Bless you,” chorused the other two. 

He surfaced briefly as the tickle toyed with him, playing his nerves like batons on a xylophone. Every note vibrated, compounding in harmony, cacophonous as it crested, “..aak’KZSCHue!.. hh?..hh..”

“Bless you,” chorused the other two, again. Anita passed over the tissue box but he could barely keep his eyes open and his breath from shaking. She took pity on him as his hitches became jagged, pitching in his upper register, and she held out a few in his direction just as he- heeee-!

“-ick’SSHIEW?!”

It relieved him, but his shoulders flinched to his ears at the embarrassingly high sound. Delta quickly turned away with a hand to his mouth and Dr. Voster snorted unabashedly.

“Bless yew!” she parroted, and he kicked her off the bed. She rolled with the momentum into a smooth dismount before plopping right back where she’d been. “I’m done, I’m done! But you owe me a couple free jabs after yelling at me yesterday, you know.”

Right. His stomach soured at the reminder, and he stared at the blankets with a sleeved swipe under his septum. “.. I’mb sorry about that. I shouldn’d have taken out my frustration on you. Or lied to you in the first place.”

Dr. Voster softened, the lines of her face smoothing into something genuine. “Mm, I’m sorry for my sloppy science. It’s my fault you’ve got such a lousy cold.” 

Omicron never knew what to say after such sentiments. He considered and tossed out several replies, still boring holes into the blankets with his gaze, until she reached up and flicked the tip of his nose. His inhale was a hitch into the next before he flinched down toward his chest. 

“h-h-H’TZssh!” He brought a sleeve to his nose belatedly, throwing a scowl her way. “Whad was that for?!”

“For lying to me about that other thing,” she said, leering over him with a grin. “... Seems like you really are the man-cold type.”

Omicron hurled his pillow at her, which she dodged and Delta caught one-handed when it soared across the room. His firm voice broke up a squabble before it could begin. “Enough, you two.” He fluffed the pillow and returned it to his sheepish subordinate before looking to Anita. “Well?”

“Either his immune system is reacting to the engineered virus, or somehow he’s caught another cold on top of this one,” she said. Both looked to Omicron, who was trying to blow his nose without popping an eardrum. “If it’s the former, the mission can proceed. If it’s the latter, we bench him. That’s my opinion as his physician.”

“I’b righd here,” Omicron grumbled behind a mask of tissues.

Delta ignored him. “How do we know which is the case?”

Dr. Voster reached for the medical bag on the floor by her feet, which Omicron only just now noticed was in her possession. “By administering a test,” she replied, digging through it. When she found what she sought, Anita presented it to Omicron with an apologetic smile. “You’re not going to like it though.”

He thought it was a syringe at first. Before he could react, she peeled open the thin package to show him what was inside. Somehow, it was worse. Delta hissed through his teeth and Omicron hovered a protective hand over his nose.

“No,” he told her, eyes glued to the offending object. “No, no. That’s not going to work.”

Dr. Voster twirled it between her fingers: a wickedly long plastic rod with a cotton tuft on the end. “A nasal swab is the fastest way, O.”

He shook his head, unable to look away from it. The sight alone caused his nose grief as the tickle found inspiration. Omicron did his best not to imagine how it would feel. “Anita, it’s not possible. I-.. I can’t evehhn.. look at- at it withhou..HH!with.. withhHHAH-”

Omicron jammed a finger beneath his nose and shoved the sneeze back inside. He could tell he’d be on a roll if he started, and while he’d literally just cum he was terrified this impending volley would get him going again. If at all possible, even if everyone was aware of the situation, he’d like to avoid erections in front of his fucking coworkers. He held his breath and waited until his pulsing nostrils quieted before letting it all go on a sigh. Pointedly, he avoided looking at the swab.

“Hmmmm,” Dr. Voster mused. “I wonder if we blindfolded you..”

“Trust me,” he said, knuckling his nose. It wasn’t happy he’d ignored its demands. “That’s not going to help.”

“Rather than hold them back, could you try holding them in?” Delta suggested.

“Absolutely not,” Dr. Voster said. “He’s terrible at it, and I wouldn’t recommend it anyway. Not everyone can be as proficient at stifling as you are, sir.”

Delta’s smile weakened, properly chastised, as Voster tilted her head back and pressed her palms on the bed. Her leg bounced in thought. The three of them sat in a contemplative silence broken only by Omicron’s sniffling before Anita slapped her hands to her knees and stood with purpose.

“There’s nothing for it,” she said. “You’ll just have to avoid sneezing.”

“I won’t be able to,” he told her. His cheeks flushed, and the flash of heat mingling with his fever made him tremble with a chill. Stubbornness alone wouldn’t deter her, so he forced out the rest with emphasis. “And it-.. might cause an unexpected symptom.”

That gave her pause, but only briefly. “When exactly did you last experience the culmination of this symptom?”

This was embarrassing. “... approximately ten minutes before you arrived.”

“And would you expect yourself to experience that again so quickly after the last occurance?”

Somehow, he felt miffed on behalf of his refractory period. “.... I guess not.”

“Then even if you sneeze your head off after this, you’ll be fine,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “If for some reason you’re not, it’s not a big deal. Agent Delta and I will just leave the room until it passes.”

I’d rather chew glass, Omicron thought, than have it come to that. The tickle nestled comfortably against his nerves, weighing his eyelids and prompting a reflexive sniffle. Cheeky bastard. He wouldn’t let it win this time. He grated the rough edge of his sleeve under his nostrils and squared his shoulders.

“Fine.” His flinty gaze locked onto the swab, his opponent in this battle. “Let’s do it.”

The other two exchanged a LookTM and preparation shortly followed. Delta announced he’d received a message from cyber security earlier that morning that required follow up, so he left to wire into the agency’s VPN in one of the hotel’s private conference booths. Voster snapped on some gloves and cracked open a fresh tissue box to place at Omicron’s elbow. He begrudgingly unearthed a wad of them to keep ready in his lap. Better safe than sorry.

Anita watched him carefully. “Would you like to get a few out before we start?”

If she was asking, he probably looked sneezy already. Omicron made an effort to sharpen his gaze and settle the tiny, twitching microexpressions that told plainly of a persistent tickle. “No. I want to get it over with.” He sniffled with a flutter of his nostrils. “Quickly.”

To her credit, Anita didn’t dawdle. “I’m administering a nasopharyngeal swab for the best results. If I can’t get enough from one sample, we’ll have to do the other nostril.”

Omicron nodded, tilting his chin when she stabilized him with a hand to his cheek. He blinked hard against a lurching itch as the swab came closer, hovering just in front of his flushed, prone nose.

“I need to rotate it for ten seconds, and then I’ll slowly remove it,” she told him. “Would it help if I counted?”

He flicked his gaze to the ceiling, hands fisted in the sheets over his lap. “Yes.”

“Alright, the count won’t start until I have it in place.” Dr. Voster eased his head back further, giving him a moment to arrange himself against his pillows before she touched the swab to the edge of one nostril. It pulsed, uncertain. “Here we go.”

This wasn’t Omicron’s first time with this particular type of swab. Normally he preferred it because of how deep it reached, so foreign and uncomfortable that a sneeze never crossed his mind. It was the shorter swabs, the ones that remained inside the borders of his persnickety nasal membranes that caused him agony. Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as he feared? 

A second later that confidence was swiftly and callously dashed.

This cold was unlike any respiratory infection he’d ever had. It was engineered to inflame every cell of his airways, heighten them to such a state of paranoia that the very act of breathing registered as intrusive. This tickle wasn’t a physical thing; his nasal cavity was affected by such sensitivity that it inevitably itched and twitched and worked itself up into mayhem. Sneeze was the answer to every problem, even nonexistent ones. So to have himself in this state and introduce a material object into the mix was an instant and powerful regret.

The swab burned as it was threaded through his sinuses, razing his nerves as it went, and when the tip of it touched the back of his throat he could feel every millimeter of its length. He slammed his eyes shut. There was a brief moment of shock, as if his nose couldn’t quite believe what had happened. Then the swab began to spin.

His nostrils flew wide. “HHHHHHHH-”

“Shit,” muttered Voster. “Stay with me, c’mon, it’s just ten seconds.. Two….”

Just?! his brain screamed, overwhelmed by nasal panic and frantic to sneeze. Oh, he could feel it. An instant and oppressive demand. None of the usual hitching hesitation, just a massive and mandatory release sitting at the shores of his dilated nostrils. He couldn’t even communicate to Voster that it was coming. 

“.. Three, fight it…”

Omicron pinched himself as hard as he dared by digging his thumb into the pressure point of his other hand. It took the edge off the swab’s insidious stimulation and downgraded the sneeze from automatic to imminent. Lungs at capacity, all the air sat at the top. His body wouldn’t let him exhale without irritation-induced force. A pitiful sound escaped, heady and weak without breath behind it.

“-uuhh-”

“I know, we’re halfway, hang in there.. Six..”

God, this was torture. His nose throbbed with need, the insides puffy and convulsing. Please, they cried. It tickles so badly. Too much. We have to! He hovered just on the verge of the inevitable. Grinding harder into the pressure point on his hand dampened the sensation enough to keep it from progressing, but it never diminished. Just waited an inch from the finish line. Another high, helpless whimper trembled his chest.

“-huUH!-”

“Eight.. you’re doing great, Omicron, nine..” The hand on his cheek shifted to brace him firmly. “.. almost done, try to exhale..”

He couldn’t. His lungs wouldn’t let go. All he could do was live on the brink, tears skating down his cheeks and his features frozen in what he knew had to be a ridiculous face. Yearning or dreading, he didn’t know, but his entire expression flinched when the swab retreated. She was slowly pulling it out, still twirling it. He could feel the thin ropes of his control snapping, the dam crumbling, the glass shattering. An urgent, breathy shout slipped out, pure desperation, and it heralded something enormous.

“-HUUHH--!!!”

The swab slithered out of his nose completely, leaving behind a trail of unbearable sensation. “Okay! Y-”

“--HHEZZSSCCCHHHHUUUEE-!” Omicron hurled himself over his own lap, dizzied by the release, and gasped immediately for more. “-hH-HH!IIHZSSSSHH’UUh!!”

More. “-HH’AADZZSSCHH’HOO-!!”

More. “-HEH’DTSSHHH’HAH-!!”

More still. “ohh-.. HD’DIZZSHHHH’HUH!!”

But the relief wouldn’t come. His nose was so angry by the intrusion, it would give no quarter. Big, heaving sneezes weren’t doing the job, so he found himself next encumbered by small ones. They burst out of him in a row, each igniting a furious itch to prompt the next.

“ihDSH!-.. hck’ISSH!.. uh-HH’TZIshh!.. ugh, god-hHIH!” Omicron fought his eyes open through another gush of tears and caught a blurry glimpse of white. Oh right, the tissues. He gathered them up as his gaze rolled skyward, mouth agape and nostrils vast. It took a couple hitches before the tickle caught again. “h-hHT.. idzz..iiH!..mgh.. aH!KZSSCHH!”

He sneezed through his teeth, then belatedly raised the tissues. His eyes fluttered closed as even the soft touch of them pried another sneeze loose. They mounted in power as his nose, fed up with the lingering tickle the swab left behind, puppeteered him through an increasingly vicious fit.

“-h’ETZsh!... huh.. TZSSCH!ue… h-H!...EHPZSH’Iu!!-oohh..”

At last, a wave of pleasure rushed through his veins. It was faint, but after the hellish holdback and punishing sneezes, Omicron welcomed it. The knowledge there would be more spurred him onward; he breathed into the next ticklish swell with hope.

“uh-HHUH-HESZSCHUUE!” Cool prickles swept through his nose, soothing the frazzled nerves even as they clamored for another. Omicron complied. “heh.. HET’JZZSSSCHHOOO!-nngh..”

He shivered as his skin erupted with goosebumps. A warm, wonderful feeling unfurled in his gut. Head spinning, nose twitching, lungs hitching, he knew the end was close. He breathed deeply, relishing the way it tickled all the way down. Then-

“HEH…uh.. hHP’BIZSSSHHIEW!!-oooohhhh..”

Omicron massaged his nose through the tissues with quiet noises of relief until somebody clearing their throat caught his attention. With wet eyes, he raised his head to see Dr. Voster across the room mixing the swab in a vial with some sort of solution. She kept her attention on it as she spoke.

“Feeling better?”

He paused to cough and swallow. The fit left him raspy. “Yeah.”

“Any unexpected symptoms?” she asked. Fuzzy headed, Omicron looked down at his crotch. There was no tent under the covers, and while he felt boneless, he wasn’t turned on.

“Ndo.”

“Great!” Dr. Voster chirped. “In other good news, I got enough particulate matter on the first try that we won’t have to do it again.” She continued her work, but glanced over to shoot him a smile. “Bless you a dozen, by the way.”

“Thagks,” he huffed, then collapsed back onto the mattress with the solace of a job finished. 

It took a few minutes for him to clean himself up, and as he got his wits about him, he was appreciative that Voster kept herself busy so he could tend to his nose without scrutiny. His pleasant haze dissipated and Omicron realized he was totally spent. His head hurt, as did his throat, and his abs were aching. Once he was huddled under the covers, Anita swung by with a bottle of water and hushed instructions to take another fever reducer, which he did without complaint.

Some time passed. He didn’t know how much. One moment he was nodding off to the tinkling the whirs of Voster’s on-the-go mini-laboratory, and the next he was startling awake to a door opening. For a split second he forgot where he was, what was happening, but then a hand smoothed over his hair. 

“Just Delta,” came Anita’s voice. Tension left his sore muscles and he melted back into the mattress. For once his nose took pity on him, smoldering with a widespread ticklish sensation he could chase away by pinch-rubbing the sides of his nostrils.

“Ah, I didn’t mean to wake you!” was Delta’s contrite greeting. Omicron cracked open dry eyes to see the man coming around the bedside, eyebrows turned up in dismay. “Sorry, Omicron.”

“S’fide,” he replied, voice creaking, and he had to turn his head into the pillow to cough. Fuck, felt like he’d swallowed a sword and left it there.

“Goodness, you sound terrible.” Delta turned anxious eyes to Dr. Voster, who was leaning a hip against her makeshift workstation at the desk by their balcony doors. “Did you get the results?”

“Yep,” she said, cheerfully brandishing the culture sample. “No secondary infection. He’s just having a pronounced immune response to the engineered strain.” Here, she smirked at the Omicron-shaped lump on the bed. “And being very dramatic about it.”

Delta caught the pillow lobbed in her direction before it could knock any lab equipment over. He arranged it back on the bed, then passed his hand over Omicron’s brow. The smaller man let him, closing his eyes as the cool touch moved to his cheek, to his neck, then glided to his shoulder to offer a reassuring pat.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. “Please be honest.”

Omicron thought of the mission. It didn’t escape him that Dr. Voster confirmed he wasn’t actually sick. His body thought he was, but with proper symptom management he could see this assignment to the end. Josaline would probably love seeing him like this; hopefully her husband would too. 

“Ndot great,” he admitted, and Delta’s puppy-dog expression ramped up tenfold. Omicron rolled his eyes before he could stop himself. “I’b ndot dying, sir. If I get someb rest, I’ll be ready for tomborrow.”

The fact that he’d said all this without even sitting up likely undercut his claims, but Omicron truly believed it. When the time came, he’d rally. He always did. Delta considered him for a long moment before plopping down onto the other bed with a dejected bounce.

“Even if that’s the case, the situation has changed,” he said, lacing his fingers together between his knees. “I got word from Ops that there were attempted hacks into multiple independent identification networks for a ‘Nicolas Foster.’”

Omicron struggled up onto his elbows. 

.. So, they were onto him. At the very least, they were wary of his cover. This wasn’t entirely unexpected. At the agency they explored every outcome, including this one. Josaline Jewel was a suspected cyber criminal. She was rich enough, powerful enough, smart enough to avoid the law. They’d chased her for years. This outcome wasn’t unexpected, but it still ripped a hole through Omicron’s sails.

All this work, he thought, blinking away a sting behind his eyes. For nothing? Because I wasn’t good enough?

“Don’t despair,” Delta commanded. “The hacks left traces and the cyber team is on it. It’s possible they’ll identify a source, and if they do, we can hack them back. This is a victory.”

It didn’t feel like one. Omicron slouched against the headboard, sniffling and sniffling as he compartmentalized any emotions he felt on the matter. Hopefully the others would attribute it to his cold. He nodded at Delta’s words, casting around for his tissue box. He’d knocked it off the bed at some point. Anita silently fetched it from the floor. 

“Intel also shows that they have not left the resort,” Delta continued, gaze glued to Omicron as the man piled tissues under his nostrils. “This suggests they either found nothing dubious in your cover, which I doubt, or…” 

Here, Delta paused and gave his subordinate a little ‘go on’ wave. Omicron flushed, but did as he was told. One big, trembling breath and then a gurgling nose blow. As always, it was much louder than he wanted and yet again he asked himself what unspeakable deed he’d done to deserve this level of karmic retribution. His nose didn’t feel refreshed afterward; rather, it was peeved. He wrinkled the bridge against a dull, undulating tickle.

“Or?” he prompted.

“Or.. they know you’re not who you say you are, but want to meet with you anyway.”

.. Could they be that horny? Omicron mused, swatching the length of his forefinger back and forth beneath restless nostrils. He recalled his time with Josaline by the pool. Yes, probably.

Sniffling, he asked, “Does this chhh..change anything?” 

“They didn’t hack our network directly, so they have no idea what your true identity is or who you work for,” Delta said. “But the nature of the encounter will be unpredictable.”

Red-rimmed eyes tightened at the corners and he gave up on the finger method in favor of tissues. He spoke as he gathered them, his voice wavering into breathier territory as the tickle took shape.

“I c-.. cahhn.. hh..handle unpredict-t.. tahbBBZZSH!” He caught it one handed, not bothering to open his eyes as he lowered the tissues just enough to continue as he contended with an encore. “.. I can handle that.. hhah..” A sharp sniffle. “.. but I doubt they’d t-.. they’d tehh.. hih!PPZSH’uh!.. nguh, tell mbe adythi’g..”

“Well about that, bless you, we need them occupied and away from electronics if we attempt a hack.”

Omicron squinted over his tissues. “So I’d be..”

“A distraction, yes.”

The original mission was to extract incriminating information from the target, but considering the new variables at play, this new directive would be just as effective. Honestly, with this cold, Omicron wasn’t sure he could finesse a subtle interrogation with stellar results. Acting as smoke and mirrors for the cyber team, however.. 

“..hh!uhh.. hHT-”

That, he could definitely do.

“-DZSSh’oo!”

/tbc!

Next up, the big date!! ♨️ Apologies to anyone who was hoping for the threesome this chapter 😅 Had to indulge my rabid desire for hurt/comfort lol. A big huge thank you to anyone reading who’s stuck around!! My next update might be a little slow because of work stuff, but hoping to have it up in a decent time frame. See you soon! 🥰

[lvrgurlblobbu]

maybe next time?

college!zayne x fem!reader

⤿ CW: pure fluff!

⤿ word count: 2.3k

⤿ second part of code love series | previous part > next

ao3.

It’s been a week since you last saw Zayne, you’ve been going to the cafe where you saw him for the first time hoping that you’ll come across him again. But in the span of one week, you never saw him again.

What makes it worse is that you didn’t even know his major. You have no way of knowing where to look. The university’s campus is large, and without a clue as to where he spends his time, you feel like you’re grasping at straws. If only you had asked him just one more question, something, anything that could’ve given you a direction.

Today, though, was different. Your professor dismissed the class early due to an urgent meeting, leaving you with an unexpected chunk of free time. The lecture hall empties quickly, with students chatting amongst themselves and heading off to their next commitments. You sit there for a moment, gathering your things, the familiar hum of idle conversation swirling around you, but your thoughts remain focused elsewhere. You sling your bag over your shoulder, letting out a soft sigh. Another day of fruitless searching. It’s starting to feel hopeless, like you’re just waiting for a chance that might never come.

Just as you’re about to leave, a voice calls out from behind you.

“Still thinking about that guy?”

You turn to see your friend Tara and Simone leaning against one of the desks, smirking knowingly. They were the only one you had confided in about Zayne—the stranger who had somehow left an imprint on your mind.

You hesitate before answering, but Simone doesn’t need a response. She roll her eyes playfully. “You’re down bad.”

You huff, shaking your head. “I just… I want to see him again.”

Tara crosses her arms. “Then maybe it’s time to change your strategy. You’ve been going to the same café all week. What if he only went there one time?”

The thought hadn’t occurred to you before. Had you been limiting yourself? You rack your brain for any other places Zayne could frequent. But with so little information about him, it feels like searching for a needle in a haystack.

“Okay, then what do you suggest?” you ask, raising a brow.

Your friends grin. “We ask around.”

Your heart skips a beat at the idea. It’s bold—maybe even a little embarrassing—but if it means finding Zayne, it just might be worth a shot.

“Oh Zayne! Yes, he's currently a sophomore majoring in Medical Biology.” A student said, which name is Greyson. As you looked at Greyson’s features, you remembered that he’s the colleague that Zayne was talking to in the cafeteria. He also happens to be Zayne’s close friend and a classmate of his.

“Is he around? Can we talk to him?” Tara asked, looking very much hopeful. But when Greyson scratched the back of his head as he looked at the three of you, you instantly knew his answer.

“About that, he’s currently busy with his lab work and volunteer hours at the hospital,” Greyson said apologetically. “He’s been swamped lately, so he doesn’t have much free time.”

Your heart sinks a little at the news. So that’s why you haven’t seen him. Still, at least now you know his major and have a better idea of where he spends his time.

Tara, ever the determined one, steps forward. “Do you know when he might be free?”

Greyson hesitates for a moment before sighing. “Honestly, he barely has time to breathe these days. But…” He glances at you, his expression thoughtful. “If you’re really looking for him, he usually hangs around the Medical Biology study lounge when he has a break.”

Your heart leaps at that. A lead.

“Where is it?” you ask immediately.

Greyson chuckles. “It’s in the West Science Building, second floor. But like I said, he’s really busy, so don’t get your hopes up too much.”

You nod, gripping the strap of your bag. Even if there’s only a small chance, you’re not giving up now.

Tara nudges you with a smirk. “Well? What are we waiting for?”

With renewed determination, you and your friends head toward the West Science Building, hoping that this time, luck is on your side.

“Luck is not on our side.” Simone mumbled as you sat at the couch, you looked everywhere in the lounge hoping for Zayne but it seems like he’s not here.

You sigh, slumping slightly into the couch. So close, yet still no sign of him.

Tara crosses her arms. “Maybe he’s just not here right now,” she suggests. “We could wait a little longer.”

Simone groans, stretching her legs out. “We’ve been here for almost an hour. What if we just missed him?”

The thought makes your stomach sink. You glance around the study lounge again—students are scattered at different tables, some buried in textbooks, others quietly discussing notes. But none of them are him.

Then, your phone suddenly received a notification from your sister telling you to come home immediately.

“Sorry girls, I gotta go.” You said as you stood up, Tara and Simone looking at you confused.

“Go where?” Tara asked.

“My sister just texted me. She says I need to come home right away,” you explain, shoving your phone into your pocket and grabbing your bag.

“But what about Zayne? We haven’t found him, and maybe he’ll come around here in the lounge after a minute or two.”

You hesitate, glancing toward the entrance of the lounge. Tara has a point—Zayne could show up any minute, and if you leave now, you might miss your chance to talk to him.

“I know,” you say, running a hand through your hair. “But my sister’s message sounded urgent. I can’t just ignore it.”

Simone shifts in her seat, thoughtful. “Do you want us to stay here and wait for Zayne? We can let you know if he shows up.”

“It’s totally up to you two, but I suggest for the both of you to head home.” You chuckled, “Bye girls, see you tomorrow!”

You stepped out of the lounge and made your way to the elevator, only to find a long line of students waiting. With a heavy sigh, you decided to take the stairs instead, knowing it would be faster. As you arrived at the building’s lobby, you roamed your eyes around for the last time hoping to see Zayne but then again, you failed.

It’s been fifteen minutes since you left the University, you’re sitting at the window seat of the bus as you rode your way home, earphones attached to your ears, but your mind is miles away. The hum of the bus and the steady rhythm of the wheels on the pavement should be comforting, but instead, it feels like the world outside is just another blur—like you're disconnected from everything around you.

Then, you suddenly received a notification from your friends.

Tara: (Name)! Guess who we saw!**see attached photo**

Your heart leaps into your throat as soon as the image loads. There, in the photo, is Zayne—just as you remember him, but somehow, this feels different. He’s walking into the lounge, a stack of books in his arms, looking completely absorbed in whatever conversation he's having with his colleagues. The familiar serious look is on his face, not the relaxed version from the café, but something more focused, more… composed. It’s strange to see him like this, like he’s someone else entirely, yet still undeniably him.

Simone: Omg, he’s at the lounge right now!!! Are you seeing this??? Tara: You better come quickly!

You chuckled at their message, as much as you wanted to get off the next stop to sprint to your University, your sister needs you at home.

You: Sorry girls, need to go home TT Tara: That’s alright! We got you ;)

You smile a little, the lighthearted tone of her message easing some of the tension. They know how much this means to you, and even though you can’t act on it right now, at least they’ve got your back. You’re grateful for their encouragement.

Simone: Okay, I just did the job.

You frown slightly, your fingers still hovering over your phone as you try to figure out how to respond to Simone’s message. There’s something in her tone that makes you pause, like she knows something you don’t. Maybe it’s just her way of teasing you, or maybe she’s genuinely onto something. Either way, the thought lingers in your mind as you stare at the screen for just a moment longer, but then you hear the bus driver announce your stop.

With a soft sigh, you slide your phone into your pocket, knowing you’ll have to pick this up later. You grab your things and step off the bus, the cool air immediately hitting your face as you make your way down the familiar streets toward home. Your mind is still buzzing with thoughts of Zayne, and despite the fact that you’re heading in the opposite direction now, you can’t shake the feeling that something’s about to change. The moment might not be today, but the universe has a way of surprising you when you least expect it.

The walk home is quiet, your footsteps the only sound filling the space between your thoughts. You pull your jacket a little tighter around you, your pace slow but steady, as you process everything that happened today.

You’ve finally arrived home, the familiar scent wraps around you, but before you can even settle into the moment, you hear the familiar voice of your sister coming from her room.

“Ugh, I just don’t know what to wear!” she calls out, frustration lacing her tone.

You smile to yourself. It’s always something with her, but at least it’s a distraction from your earlier thoughts. You drop your bag by the door and head toward her room. As you approach, you see her standing in front of her full-length mirror, holding up two completely different outfits—one casual, one more dressed-up—looking at herself with a furrowed brow.

After a few changes, your sister finally settled with the outfit she’s going to wear and immediately apologized for rushing you to come home. You just smiled at her and with a few finishing touches, she kissed your cheek for goodbye and she left.

You sit back on the couch, letting out a soft sigh. There’s a part of you that still feels a little restless, like you’re waiting for something to happen, something to change. It’s hard to shake off the idea of Zayne from earlier, the thought of seeing him again so close yet so far. But for now, there’s nothing to do but let things unfold.

You pull out your phone, checking the group chat once more. Simone’s last message is still there, waiting for you to dive into whatever she might have been teasing about. You smile to yourself, letting the tiny spark of curiosity push you to reply.

You were about to reply when a sudden text message from an unknown number caught your attention. Your heart skips a beat when you see the message from an unknown number. For a moment, you're frozen, unsure of what to expect. The familiar rush of excitement bubbles up, but you're also trying to stay grounded, telling yourself it could be anything.

You tap the message open, and the first thing you see is a simple text:

“Hey, it's Zayne. I know this might be a bit random, but Simone gave me your number. I hope that’s alright.”

Zayne. Zayne.

And then, Simone sent another message on your groupchat.

Simone: You’re welcome ;))

You giggled at her answer, you sent a reply to their message before opening your conversation with Zayne.

You: Hey, Zayne! Of course, that’s totally fine. It’s nice to hear from you!

You bite your nail absentmindedly, the seconds feeling like they stretch longer than usual as you wait for Zayne's response. Your thumb hovers over your phone, checking the time, then glancing back at the screen, expecting the little bubbles to pop up any second. The anticipation feels almost unbearable—like this could be the moment where something shifts, or maybe it’ll fizzle out. You have no idea, but you really hope it’s the former.

You’re starting to second-guess everything, wondering if your reply sounded too casual, too eager, or even too boring. Then your phone buzzes, breaking the silence, and you almost jump in surprise.

Zayne’s reply lights up the screen:

Zayne: Glad to hear that! I’ve been a bit busy with school stuff, but I was hoping we could meet up soon. Maybe we can actually schedule our next meet up or date?

Date. Date.

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of date. You stare at the message, feeling a rush of excitement and nerves wash over you. It’s like he’s finally saying what you’ve both been dancing around, but now that it's out in the open, the weight of it is both thrilling and a little intimidating.

Date. The word keeps echoing in your head as you read the message over again, your thumb hovering over the reply button. He wants to meet up soon. He wants to actually schedule something. This isn’t just a passing interest anymore. He’s serious about wanting to see you.

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus and not overthink. You quickly type your reply, making sure to keep it light but still show that you’re just as excited as he seems.

You: That sounds awesome! I’d love to. Just let me know when you're free, and we’ll make it happen!

You smile as you send it, feeling a little giddy but also relieved. There’s no turning back now—you’re both on the same page, and it feels like the start of something exciting. You can’t help but feel a little thrill at the thought of seeing him again, but for now, all you can do is wait for his reply and hope that this “date” really does come together.

dividers by: @dollywons

[eunandonly]

contemplating : love, friendships and theories of time

୨୧ ; fate is a strange concept, isn’t it? because park sunghoon was the last person you had expected to see in your philosophy lecture in uni

pairing! philosophymajor!sunghoon x philosophymajor!reader | wc. 0.8k | warnings: wrong philosophy info, prob cringe EN-

🖇️ : philosophy major sunghoon SKDKDKSK. also, to the girly who asked for a uni fic for the science and maths girls, i hope you’re looking forward to my sunoo uni fic ~

you and sunghoon go WAYYYY back

he was your neighbour in that little picturesque town you both lived in, your mum's friend's annoying son who always seemed to be loitering around at your house

you thought your mum adopted him or smth bc why was he at your house more than his own?? — more under cut!!

you used to tease him about being homeless back in the days

but yk you two were best friends

but you and sunghoon kind of just drifted apart in high school after he moved during his freshman year at high school

you see his instagram posts sometimes, pictures of him out with his friends, jawline still jawlining

you sometimes even scroll down to his older posts where you are present in his photos, smiling next to him with a wide braces smile

but you never thought you would cross paths with park sunghoon again

that is, until university.

you walk into your first philosophy lecture and oh look there he is

park sunghoon sitting in one of the corners with his notebook looking like the exact definition of brooding intellectual

what is that guy doing here WHY IS HE HERE?

you two recognise each other instantly but there's this moment of awkwardness

like "oh, do you remember when we used to steal each other's snacks in 5th grade?"

except now he's all grown up, wearing wireframe glasses and quoting descartes during class discussions

you just try to focus on your lecture but you can't really forget about sunghoon being in your philosophy lecture

oh yeah, and he looks x100 hotter than you remember WHAT'S GOING ON

puberty hit him hard

after the lecture, you're about to pack your stuff and leave as soon as you can but he just strides up to you with his obnoxiously long legs

you always hated his stupid long legs you always had to run to catch up

you're certain he walked faster on purpose to leave you behind

ANYWAYS sunghoon just says long time no see in that smooth voice of his.

he's polite, maybe a bit shy, but there's a hint of a smile on his face and it's almost like the years of not seeing each other disappears

you two start hanging out more- grabbing coffee together before 8AM morning lectures designed to kill university students, studying together in the library

your mum is also really happy to hear that you've met sunghoon

you always knew she liked him better than you.

but you guys only get closer on a fateful thursday morning as you’re making your way to your morning lecture

because sunghoon is standing in the courtyard with a baby kitten in his arms whilst panicking

“y/n this cat keeps following me and she doesn’t have a mum.”

ofc you need to take it in SHE’S SO CUTE

you end up skipping lectures and spending the entire day with sunghoon to bring the cat to the vet and buy food

sunghoon wants to name the cat descartes but you veto that immediately

by the day is over, you have a kitten named mochi with sunghoon as a co-parent

now you’re seeing him all the time bc guess who has joint custody over mochi??

ok but spending time with sunghoon isn't as hard as you thought it would be

like yes he moved without a word and practically ghosted you in highschool

but it all feels really natural WHO CHEERED??

but between kitten playdates and philosophy study sessions stuff start feeling kinda different HMMM

which you didn’t think was possible btw sunghoon’s hobby is literally talking about existentialism and calligraphy

yeah and you knew him since he was five

ok but he looks really hot whilst talking about sartre NDJDKDKSKS

who knew you would start feeling all warm inside from sunghoon

not the 14 years old you in the past

but now everytime you touch in any way, you feel yourself flush pink

and you can’t ignore how sunghoon tries to act all nonchalant about it but his ears are turning red

how cute.

“you ever heard about hegel’s theory of love?”

“if you’re about to lecture me, i’m leaving.”

“no- listen, it’s about how love is this push and pull that makes you grow and stuff, and i don’t think i’m just studying it anymore. i think i’m feeling it, with you.”

ok that sounded a lot better in my head please don’t come for me

but yeah

aristotle believed everyone has a purpose they’re meant to fulfill. perhaps you didn’t know it back than, but losing touch with sunghoon and finding him again… it feels like you two were meant to meet in the future. perhaps it’s fate

✉️ : @icyy-hoon

[mountainficss]

!! mentions of: jealousy, possessiveness, slight biting, slight scratching, handjobs, unprotected sex, fingering, marking

you and classmate!jeonghan have something special. your relationship has no label right now, but he can’t help but feel such a strong connection when it comes to you. and as you spend more time with sweet hannie, you start to feel the same connection.

which is why you feel so bitter when his not-so-secret admirer comes up to talk to him after class for the third day in a row.

she started talking to jeonghan recently, strutting up to him before class to ask him stupid questions. “did you do the homework, jeonghan? are you busy after class, jeonghan? wanna hang out and study together sometime, hannie?” you’d be fucking fuming when she called him hannie. every time the nickname leaves her pretty lips you feel the uncontrollable urge to punch her right in the mouth. and every time she rushes up to him after class and hands him a mini bag of gummy bears, you intentionally turn away so you don’t have to see her beaming face when he accepts them. he doesn’t even fucking like gummy bears. he told you so after she gave them to him the first time. jeonghan always gives them to you to eat after she leaves, why can’t she see that? you almost feel repulsed by your disgusting feelings of jealousy bubbling up in your stomach every time she speaks. but you can’t help it. he’s supposed to be your hannie, not hers.

jeonghan is no better than you. in fact, he’s probably ten times worse. such a possessive baby.

he feels the same wave of envy when your classmate from science class talks to you in the hallways. he feels that same sick feeling when said classmate tags along with you and jeonghan on campus sometimes, forcing his way into your conversation. jeonghan can’t stand the way he looks at you. he stares at you like you’re his entire world, and it pisses jeonghan off. you’re supposed to be his world, not your classmate’s. you’re supposed to walk with him, not let this loser from science class follow along like some lost puppy. eventually jeonghan would be the one to snap first, letting his green eyes get the best of him. “y/n doesn’t want you,” he’d blurt coldly while science boy was in the middle of talking your ear off. he’d know that he was acting out of character, but didn’t care enough to sit back and watch while this boy steals your attention. “go talk to someone else.” you’d both shoot him bewildered glances, but eventually science boy would begrudgingly excuse himself from the conversation and walk to class alone. once he’s out of earshot, you’d whip your head around towards jeonghan and give him a questioning look. “what’s with you?” you’d press curiously, studying the blush that suddenly settled in on jeonghan’s cheeks. you’d notice that his regular relaxed demeanor and smug smirk were completely absent. he’d cross his arms, seeming to avoid eye contact with you. “don’t like the way he looks at you,” he mumbles reluctantly, playing with a loose strand on his sweater sleeve. you’d just stare at him in awe, watching the way his pretty hair frames his face and how the spring wind ruffles it slightly. his mouth is turned downward into a small frown, almost resembling a pout. was jeonghan jealous? he had to be. “you’re jealous,” you’d state, not even bothering to word it like a question. you knew how obsessed jeonghan was with you, and you were confident his previous rude outburst was purely out of jealousy. he’d nod slightly in response, still not looking at you as he mutters. “you weren’t paying attention to me. he just kept talking.” you’d snicker at his response, grabbing his hand and entwining your fingers with his. you’d lean in and press a quick peck onto his cheek, tugging a strand of his hair with your free hand just to fluster him. “oh, hannie,” you’d sigh, shaking your head at him. “only you have all my attention.” hearing you say that would immediately improve his mood, feeling confident that you chose him over stupid science boy.

the next morning you’d be in class with jeonghan again, holding his hand as you sit next to him like you always do. his little fangirl didn’t come up to start a conversation with him like usual, so you were able to enjoy not hearing her voice for the entire class. that peace was only temporary though, and you noticed her flouncing towards the both of you right as you were about to gather your things. “hannie~!” she’d chirp, staring up at him with the biggest doe eyes you’ve ever seen. there she fucking goes again. you’d force yourself to take a deep breath, mentally counting to ten in a poor attempt to bury your irritation. the most frustrating thing about fangirl’s interactions with jeonghan is how she pretends like you’re never there. she completely dismisses and disregards your presence every time she’s around jeonghan. he wouldn’t have time to respond before fangirl is interrupting him. “i brought you a bigger bag!” she’d grin, snatching his hand and prying it open as she places the larger bag into his palm. your nostrils would flare at the sight of her grabbing his hand, but you’d do your best to bite your tongue. he’d force a smile and utter a small thank you, receiving a joyful giggle from her in return. “let’s go somewhere sometime, okay hannie?” she’d beam, whipping around and practically skipping out of class excitedly.

he’d turn to you slowly, swearing he can feel the anger radiating off of your body. you were completely silent, saying nothing as you snatch his sweater sleeve and exit the lecture hall at the speed of light. an odd little choked noise would escape him as you start unexpectedly dragging him along, leading him through the halls and across the campus. “where are we going?” he’d ask you once, but when you don’t respond he knows not to ask again. after your speedy walk you’d finally reach your desired destination, throwing open the door to your dorm room and tugging him inside with you. once inside you’d wordlessly push him against the door, pressing your lips against his in an urgent and heated kiss. he’d be taken aback by you suddenly pouncing on him, but he’d kiss back eagerly. he’d love the way you take what you want from him. you’d break the kiss, fisting his sweater and trailing messy kisses down his jawline. “she’s pissing me off,” you’d hiss between pecks, reaching a hand down to palm at his cock over his pants. he’d gasp at the sudden contact, his eyes slightly fluttering as you make your way down to his neck. “are—are you jealous too?” he’d ask breathily, a little smirk forming on his face over the idea. you’d nip at the skin of his neck, rubbing him harder over his pants. “if i wasn’t, do you think i’d be fucking acting like this?” you’d seethe, quickly backing away to tug his sweater over his head. you’d run your hands over his exposed skin, littering more kisses all over the expanse of his shoulders. he’d moan shamelessly, hips rutting up into nothing as he attempts to find some relief. “i’m barely touching you and you’re already this worked up?” you’d scoff, lightly scratching your nails down his chest. “yeah,” he’d huff, leaning his head against the door. “i like when you use me. makes me feel like i’m your property.” a slight layer of sweat would bead across his forehead, causing his hair to stick to his skin. you were lucky your roommate wasn’t home when you had barged in with jeonghan, but you honestly don’t think you would have stopped touching him even if they were home. he was just too pretty, too fuckable to ignore. you’d chuckle slightly at jeonghan’s blatant confession. he’d always been shameless, never seeming to feel embarrassed about sharing any of his desires and fantasies about you. “‘let’s go somewhere sometime, okay hannie?’” you’d mimick, repeating fangirl’s words angrily as you drop to your knees and yank down his pants and boxers hastily. “i hate it when she calls me that,” he’d sigh in frustration, watching as you wrap a hand around his cock and stroke him slowly. “i-it sounds better when you say it.” you’d stand up again, pulling your shirt off and tossing it carelessly on the floor next to his clothes. “i wanna fuck you,” you’d declare, causing jeonghan to let out an uneven exhale. “can i?” he’d nod his head enthusiastically, almost not believing the words coming out of your mouth. you? the person he’s obsessed with? wants to fuck him? “please,” he’d whisper, gazing at you with that look. that look filled with desire and lust for only you. you’d say nothing, would only turn around and walk towards your room, stripping the rest of your clothes off on the way and carelessly discarding them on the floor. he’d follow after you clumsily, tripping over his own feet and feeling lightheaded from your hands on him. he secretly loves when you’re mad, it turns him on when you’re so frustrated you’re willing to take it out on him.

you wouldn’t even give him time to speak, immediately pushing him backwards and forcing him to lay down on your plush mattress. “can i feel you with my fingers?” he’d plead, his pupils blown out with lust. you’d give him no answer, instead grabbing his hand and sucking his middle and ring fingers into your mouth. he’d moan softly, feeling your tongue grazing over his fingers and coating them. you’d remove them from your mouth, guiding his soaked digits to your core. he’d slide them in easily, watching as you hold his wrist in place and slightly grind on his fingers. this was his first time pleasing you, and you looked ethereal to him. your face would be slightly flushed, but not from embarrassment. you’d still have that fire in your eyes, that look of confidence and determination to make him yours. he’d whimper at the feeling of your warm heat sucking his fingers in. “always hated when he’d talk to you,” he’d spill, entranced by you using his fingers like he was just some toy made to please you. “wanted you to look at me. i want you more than him, need you so bad. you like me more, right?” he’d fumble, the most desperate expression on his pretty face as he stares up at you. “i’ll take you out, buy you things, make you feel good every night, whatever. i’ll do anything,” he’d plead, the combination of his words and his fingers hitting your sweet spot causing you to let out small sounds. “oh, hannie,” you’d hum, feeling your orgasm approaching quickly. “you’ll always be my favorite. don’t want a-anyone else but you.” his heart would swell at your words, butterflies swarming in his stomach and leaving him with a sickly sweet feeling. your favorite? oh, he could just sell his soul to you and belong to you for the rest of his life. he felt your hole clenching around his fingers, watching you throw your head back as you cum around his digits with a gentle moan. god, he could watch you cum for him all day. he’d slide his fingers out carefully, stuffing them into his mouth and licking your release off them greedily. you’d let out a breathless laugh, watching him as he sucks them clean. “please let me eat you out,” he’d beg, watching you hover over his aching length. you’d smile gently at him, grabbing his cock and positioning it towards your entrance. “next time,” you’d coax, rubbing the tip over your slick and pulling a sweet moan from jeonghan. “need to feel you now.” you’d sink down onto him slowly, both of you gasping in unison as he stretches you out. you’d lower yourself onto him and envelop him completely, his hands reaching out for yours so you can hold them. you’d find his little habit of reaching for your hands so endearing, and he slightly sinks his nails into your hand as you start grinding on him. you’d hold his hands down, trapping him underneath you while you rock yourself on his cock a bit faster. “mark me,” he’d blurt, his hair cutely splayed into a messy pile on the pillow beneath him. “bite me. and give me hickeys. just want her to know that i’m yours.” your stomach would do flips listening to him say that, and you’d lean down to sink your teeth into the flesh where his shoulder and neck meet. “then mark me too,” you’d command him, licking the abused skin to soothe it. “need him to know that i’m yours. i know you’ll like that, jeonghannie.” he’d make the most obscene noises as you suck and nip at his skin, leaving behind the prettiest marks in your wake. you’d take turns sucking marks onto each other’s neck and shoulders, letting out the most pornographic moans as you continue to bounce on him. “let’s cum together, hannie,” you’d groan, squeezing his hands tighter. “wanna fill me up? so i can walk around campus with your cum in my panties? he’ll know you fucked me full, my little perv~” your words would immediately tip him over the edge, his hips thrusting up against you as you meet him halfway. his cock repeatedly hit your sweet spot, causing your orgasm to wash over you in waves and drag out jeonghan’s. you’d both be panting like mutts in heat, still rutting against each other and overstimulating yourselves.

“want them to know we fucked. want everyone to know,” he’d pant. “want them to know how good you make me feel.” you’d smile, his cock still buried in your core as you trace your fingers over the numerous hickeys and bite marks on his skin. “well, the marks will definitely let them know,” you’d joke, receiving a choked laugh from him. “hey,” you’d breathe, circling your hips around his cock, drawing a needy moan from him. “i like you.” his heart would beat faster, slightly pushing his hips up to fuck into you deeper. “god, i like you so much more,” he’d whimper, the sound of your skin colliding filling the room once again. you two just won’t be able to keep your hands to yourselves after fucking each other so good. and staring at the pretty marks on each other’s bodies would just spur you both on, continuing to make love again and again </3

he’d also let you eat the big bag of gummy bears bc he’s sure as fuck not eating those <3

taglist: @imprettyweird , @jeonghanpill , @bangantokchy , @caratboy , @bewoyewo , @c-hanniehae , @wonvsmile , @haolovre , @aaniag , @writingbarnes

[redheadspark]

hii!! may i request for the feb prompt session? specifically our boy eddie munson with numbers 2 & 5! like eddie pulling reader aside to confide abt their little crush to someone and reader just thinks oh ahah its nothing but as time goes on we can slide in prompt number 5 for ultimate pining from reader 🤓 perhaps even angsty,, mwhehe >:)

A/N - this is great for Eddie! Thanks for the request, I hope you like it!

Be Brave

Summary - Eddie asks you for advice.

Warnings - Fluff with a hint of Angst

“Hey!  I wanna talk about something with you,”

“If it involves Hellfire you’re on your own.  I’m not going to be getting you out of your shit hole situations anymore,” 

“No no!  I mean….that’s nice when you help with that, but no.  It’s something else,”

You poked your head out of your locker, seeing your best friend look at you with an image of nervousness on his face. His wild hair framing his face and his backpack half-hazardly over his shoulder.  You could see the look in his eyes that this was serious, and knowing Eddie Munson, he was rarely serious.

He was serious about a few things: Hellfire Club, his love for metal music, and the need to be his own different.  So what would it be?

“What’s going on, Eddie?” You asked as you grabbed a few books from your locker to put in your backpack.

“You won’t make fun of me?” He questioned, you grinning as you raised a brow at him.

“Since when do I ever, ever make fun of you?” You asked him in a teasing way.  

“I’m not going to answer that,” he replied, “Just…I wanna talk to you because you’re a girl and you probably are better equip at this than me,”

That made you pause again as you finally closed your locker and faced Eddie.  You both were close as friends, ever since you were recruited to join Hellfire club thanks to your older brother who knew Eddie.  They both were in the same grade and your brother knew you liked playing Dungeons and Dragons, he taught you the game. He figured you playing with Eddie would both get you something to do and to get you out of his hair.  Both worked, and you were a decent player at the table.  It made Eddie admire you all the more, not that he didn’t think girls could play Dungeons and Dragons, he just loved how you played.  The same vigor and bite, just like how he played. 

Which in return made him get a small crush on you.  Not that he knew that you were crushing on him back.

“I wanna tell this girl that I like her, but I don’t know how to do it,” he explained, your heart both beating a pinch faster and plummeting at the same time. You were never one to be yearning for drama that others went through, especially girls and their crushes. It seemed too time consuming and petty, which explained by you hardly had any girl friends. Just a few, but you liked it that way.  You had no time for drama and boy trouble, you had too much homework and after school activities to deal with than to figure out who liked who and who was dating

One of your friends was a cheerleader named Danielle, good friends with Christie Cunningham who was pretty much great with everyone at Hawkins High.  You and Danielle study together in the library on Tuesdays during Study Hall because you both were the top students in your science class, in all your classes really, and one afternoon she asked you about Eddie.

“What about him?” You whispered to her since the librarian was notorious for shushing those who were not whispering. Danielle grinned, chewing the back of her pencil as she was tapping her fingers on the top of her opened science book.

“He’s kind of cute, isn’t he?”  She asked you in a shrug.  You kept it cool, something you brother taught you since you were notorious for not having the best poker face. But deep down, it felt like she kicked you straight in the stomach and you were about to vomit all over the desk.  

“He’s alright,” You hummed, Danielle rolling her eyes.

“Oh come on, you don’t think he’s cute? With at will hair and how he loves his music?” She asked, keeping her voice low.  You wanted to roll your eyes, clearly knowing deep down that Danielle had no idea about the music he likes or the kind of hobbies he was into.  Maybe you were protective of Eddie since you two were close and confided in each other from time to time, and to hear that someone else liked him only as a surface crush, it was not sitting well with you.

“He’s my friend,” You could only reply, Danielle shrugging and going back to work on her notebook.  You passed for a few long seconds, thinking of the worst possibility that Danielle and Eddie would be a couple in the future.  It made you mad, sad, confused, and heartbroken at the same time. But you could only bury it down and not mention it.  That was social suicide, not even worth it.  

So it was buried, along with your own feelings for Eddie.

“The best thing to do is to tell her how you feel,” You explained as you and Eddie walked down the hall, side by side while Eddie watched you in earnest to hear your suggestion to him, “Girls like honesty, not flirting around the bush,”

“That sounds…weird,” Eddie explained with a confused look on his face.

“You know what I mean,” You reasoned as you grinned, “Look, Eddie, whoever this girl is, I bet if you tell them and you’re honest about it, it’ll work out.  You’re a great guy,”

“I think you’re forgetting that I have the nickname Eddie “the Freak” Munson around here,” He reminded you as you huffed.

“That stems from the popular kids who don’t know how to wipe their own asses,” You joked, Eddie was chuckling as you made it to your English class.  You turned to face him, seeing him watch you with warmth in his brown eyes and a small smirk on his lips.  Reach over to squeeze his arm gently within your fingers, you tilted your head up at him since he had a few inches on you.

“Be brave, Eddie.  Girls dig it,” You explained, then slipped into your class right when the bell rang. Eddie stood there for a few long seconds, drinking all you said before he jogged down the hall to get to his math class.  He could be brave, it was easier said than done but he could.  You made it sound so easy, like a normal chore to do throughout the day.  But maybe he could do it just to make you smile.

It gave him a pep in his step.

“I rolled a 20!”

“Roll for damage?”

“13?”

“Hell yeah!  How do you wanna do this?”

You leaned over the table, your D20 dice perched in front of your spot along with your papers and notepad etched out in notes as you were describing how you were killing the beast in the middle of combat.  The others around the table were cheering, egging you on as you were drinking in the victory that was in your hands.  

Eddie, in his Dungeon Master chair, was watching in amazement a massive grin on his face as you were using your hands, and your eyes lit up in joy while you were giving every single detail with precision.  He’s seen the others in Hellfire give great details when they would end or an enemy, but you were on a different level.  You loved storytelling, and the way you spoke, and played the game with creativity and enthusiasm. He wished the others would take a page out of your book.

In that moment as the others cheered, Garret clasping you on the shoulder and Dustin and Mike cheering loudly, Eddie watched with a cocked head and love in his eyes.  You were laughing, blush on your cheeks and your light brown hair dancing in the low lighting made his heart flutter.

You didn’t know that Danielle was shot down by Eddie a few days before, Danielle asked him out to study together after school and Eddie politely declined.  He knew Danielle was not the one for him, and she never held a flame for him to be entranced to.  Not like you, Eddie was a moth to your flame and he liked it that way.  He knew what he liked, and he remembered what you told him in that hallway.

You told him to be brave.  And maybe after the game, he would finally ask you on a date.

The End.

[vee33ee]

Imagine you have a science exam and yuuta, your most lovely boyfriend is teaching you because if he doesn't, you'll honestly fail.

"No. That's ethanol babe... We need ethanal.. Yes, that, good job sweetheart"

He guides your hand as you draw the chemical structures of the compounds for your chemistry exam. Whenever you get a question correct, he gives you a sweet kiss, all the more reason to pay attention and not just stare at his pretty face while he explains you some of the most basic concepts that you should've done in class but you're so glad you can cover them with him because he's a much better teacher than your grumpy professor.

He's so patient with you and smiles when you're going the right direction while solving a question. When you're finally finished with a chapter, he gives you a bright smile and multiple kisses. Allows you to take a break and you and him watch some shitty tv series' first episode while cuddling on the sofa.

After that you're back at it again and this may be the first time you're not complaining about studies and your class because your lovely boyfriend yuuta is teaching you

[osohchoso]

Shattered Ice

Chapter One- The Morning After

Hockey player!Choso x F!Reader, ex bf!Toji x F!Reader

Previous | Chapter index | Class list | Next

Content: alcohol, vomiting, embarrassment, drunk antics, slight NSFW, cheating MDNI

Harsh rays of sunlight trickle between the blinds and assault your eyelids. Reluctantly, you open them. A low groan escapes you as the bright light causes your head to pound. Trying to ignore the pain, you focus on the room and the details of it. The walls are mostly plain, painted a dark gray. Minimal decorations scattered across the room and a few band posters hung on the wall, though your eyes couldn't focus enough to read which bands they were. A dark oak desk sits in the corner, a few textbooks and a laptop on top. 

This bedroom feels foreign to you. It’s not Shoko or Utahime’s, you have spent enough time in your roommates' beds studying and watching movies that you would recognize it instantly. It isn't your best friend Satoru’s either, his is always a chaotic mess. Another detail catches your eye, a hockey stick leaning up against the closet door and next to it is a pile of clothing you recognize as your own. The only friend you have on the hockey team is Suguru, and you would never sleep with your best friend's boyfriend. That's when the panic sets in, whose bed are you in? How did you get here? 

You attempt to turn your head to glance at your sleeping partner who you can hear softly snoring beside you, but the sudden motion makes you dizzy. Stomach doing flips in protest. Quickly closing your eyes, you take a few deep breaths to ground yourself. Inhale and exhale until you are convinced the vomit would stay down. With eyes still closed, you tried to rack your brain for how you got in this scenario.

There are three things your college, Kaisen University, is known for. One, the hockey team. The hockey players here are some of the best in the area, many leaving here and going to the big league. You don’t really care too much for sports yourself, but hockey always had a special spot in your heart. You grew up in a family who loved the sport always attending every local game or hosting a watch party with family friends. Some of your favorite memories are when you begged your dad to teach you to ice skate, convinced you would be a hockey player yourself one day to make him proud. This didn’t come true, as you may hold the title for world's worst skater. Even when you miss your family miles away back home, you feel a little better knowing they are watching the same game as you. 

Plus you hated football, and would rather die than attend a university known for their football team. 

Two, the Animal Science program. You have always loved working with animals and chose to pursue a career as a veterinary technician. The program here offers many hands-on learning experiences and even pairs each student with multiple internships throughout the years. During highschool, you received a full ride scholarship to make your dreams reality, which made choosing Kaisen University an easy choice. 

Three, the parties. The parties here are unlike any other university. Every weekend there is always at least one party, celebrating the most stupid things. If there wasn't a reason to party, someone would find one. Celebrating made up holidays like ‘national drink beer day’. 

You think a little harder, brain pounding against your skull, trying to remember the reason for last night’s party. The puzzle pieces start to connect, your eyes flinging open once again. The first game of the season. Team captain Sukuna always throws a rager to kick off the start of hockey season. Friday they played their first game of the fall, claiming an easy win. The next night, Sukuna and the team were planning a wild party to celebrate their victory, inviting what felt like the whole university. The captain rents a house with several of his teammates only 20 minutes from campus. The large house and spacious yard make for an excellent party venue, and the neighbors never complain when it gets too loud. Though this is your first time coming to one of his, you refused to attend Sukuna’s parties before because he insisted everyone calls this place his ‘domain’. What an arrogant ass.

If you were completely honest with yourself, you didn’t feel like partying at all last night. The weekend prior, you broke up with your boyfriend of a year. The first few days were spent in a constant back and forth of rage and sadness. Satoru and Suguru tried to cheer you up with a sleepover, burying yourself in chocolate ice cream, but that only made you feel worse. Having to watch two people so in love felt like rubbing salt in a fresh open wound. The rest of the week you spent in your bed, only leaving for classes and a shower here and there. You had every intention to spend Saturday night rotting in bed, binging whatever reality TV show you could find. Unfortunately for you, Shoko and Utahime refused to let you miss Sukuna’s first big party of the year. You agreed reluctantly, deciding to drown your problems with alcohol and dancing.

Finding yourself feeling this awful after a Saturday night isn’t unheard of, finding yourself in a stranger's bed is the concerning part. You, Shoko and Utahime always manage to stumble your way home to the dorms no matter where you end up. Never once, in your three years of college, did you end up sleeping over. Your thoughts begin to race on who you will find sleeping next to you or what could have possibly gone on between the two of you. Judging from the hockey stick, you can only assume you are still at the house and slept with one of the hockey players. Hopefully not with Sukuna, you gag at the thought of that man. Whispering a silent prayer as you slowly turn your head over on the pillow to catch a glimpse of the other body in bed.

He lays on his stomach, head facing away from you, dark messy hair spilling over the pillow. His hair is slightly long, but nowhere near as long as Suguru's so that's one person off the list(though he was never really on that list). Sukuna has short cropped pink hair, so thank god that's another off the list of possibilities. The names of the other teammates escape you, really this could be any one of the guys. You silently wish you paid more attention when Suguru would talk about them, maybe then you could have placed a name to this body. You watch the rise and fall of the man's sleeping shirtless form, noting how well sculpted his back muscles are. He kind of reminded you of him , his body was also built by the gods. 

The breakup is still fresh in your mind, only a week ago now. He went to a rival school, played for the rival team. You and Gojo went to one of the away games last year to support Suguru, unfortunately they lost to the second best team in the league. But that night you met him. He was an absolute power house on the ice, and later that night you found out he was a power house between the sheets too. The very same night you met him, he had you screaming out Toji in his bedroom. 

Thinking back, he was really kinda a loser. He was a few years older than you but still in his senior year, and has been in his senior year for a while. He keeps failing one class or another and having to retake them. It was amazing that his hockey team let him play despite his bad grades. They likely pulled a few strings to keep him around considering how great he plays. You don't know how but you feel madly in love with him. Even with him being broke, with no goals, and your family hating him. He was a walking red flag, and you loved that.

The more you got to know him the more you liked him. Running off on exciting adventures together. The occasional date night out (that you had to pay for). You got to see his softer side, the part you know he only let you see. Every night spent together always ended up tangled between the sheets in one of your beds. No one could please you like he could. 

Long distance can be hard though. His school was an hour from yours, you barely had time to see each other. Especially when he had hockey practice and you being so dedicated to your studies. You started to feel a strain on your relationship, like he was pulling away from you. So you decided to pay him a surprise visit, which was both a good and a bad idea now that you think about it. 

You planned to stay the whole weekend, but in reality you were there barely an hour. The first half was spent fucking like wild animals, starved for eachother’s touch. As he climaxed, cock still throbbing inside you, he moaned out the name of another woman. 

“Are you fucking shitting me!?” you pushed yourself abruptly off of him. Hurried to change and leave immediately. He tried to stop you, to talk you out of it, get you to stay. This snowballed into 30 minutes of yelling back and forth. The fight didn't end until a knock on the door interrupted you, and the girl who he moaned for was on the other side.“We are done, Toji!” you stormed out, slamming the door behind you. 

Never in your life has a man cheated on you. A whole year of your life, wasted on him. You felt humiliated. The past week you laid around feeling sorry for yourself, and now the first chance you get you're in a stranger's bed? You sigh and fumble around looking for your phone, needing to contact Shoko or Utahime for help. You find it on the floor next to the bed. Bending over to reach for it, fighting the queasiness you feel as you hang off the bed to pick it up. 13% battery, it never got plugged in overnight. 

You: Hello??? Did you leave me?

You send the text to the group chat with your roommates, hoping one of them will be awake. Unlikely as it's barely 8am on a hungover Sunday morning. They probably feel just as awful as you do right now. You wait for their response, feeling stiff as a board in this stranger's bed. You need answers, and a thought crosses your mind to just wake the person sleeping next to you. Looking over, noticing how peaceful they look, you decide to let him rest just a little bit longer.

Your friends are taking their sweet time to reply, and your curiosity is getting to you. You open up Snapchat on your phone, maybe you can piece some answers together. You click through the pictures and videos posted on your story. The first few are just some pictures of you and your roommates, showing off your outfits for the night. You arrived in a cute black miniskirt and a crop top with your college's name on it. Those same clothes now sit in the corner of the room, traded for a giant black t-shirt on your body and loose sweatpants on your legs. 

You snap a quick picture of yourself right now. Disheveled(though surprised that your face is clean of any makeup), a look of pain on your face. Making sure to angle the camera so the sleeping stranger is in the background. You circle him and type out who is this? Sending the image to Shoko, Utahime and Satoru. 

Returning back to your snap story, you can tell the moment you blacked out. Random blurry pictures, captioned in all caps, spouting absolute gibberish. One is a picture of your middle finger along with the middle finger of a male hand with black nail polish. You can’t recall who’s hand this was. FUCK YOU TOJI , it’s captioned. And that was uploaded 5 times in a row. You quickly deleted all of these from your story, hoping to save you some embarrassment like half the school didn't already see it. 

The last thing you have uploaded is a picture of Shoko, passed out on a couch clutching a beer can. Her face is covered in sharpie, drawings decorate every inch of her skin. You giggle and decide not to delete this one, even though you're sure she's going to kill you for this. 

Your Snapchat wasn't much help in your quest for information, so you move on to looking through other’s stories. Shoko’s was also no help. Just a few cute pictures of the three of you and a picture of a cigarette with some moody quote. Utahime only has a video of you drawing on Shoko's face, both of you laughing so loud you're unsure how she stayed asleep. It wasn't until you looked through Satoru's story that you got some answers.

After going through what felt like a thousand pictures of him and Suguru, you see yourself. There you are, doing a keg stand. Your legs being held up by a muscular man with pigtails. You can't think of his name, but you know he is the prized goalie of Kaisen University. You have passed by him only a handful of times, never once spoken to him. Suguru mentioned he is most likely going pro after graduation. He always came off as quiet, an awkward goth type, but on the ice he was something else. 

You tap the screen for the next thing. A video of you dancing wildly on the kitchen island. You cringe as you watch, your movements uncoordinated as arms flail around. Would you even call this dancing? Pigtails holds his hand up to you, you're sure he was trying to get you off the table before you fell and broke your neck. Though what happens next surprises you. Instead of safely taking his hand to get down, you leap at him. Thankfully, he catches you in his strong arms easily and lowers you down gently. 

The next video is the worst one yet. You and the goalie making out, your hands gripped around his head, tongue forcing itself in his mouth. You were positive that you gave him the worst kiss of his life, or so you thought. The way his hands hold you against his body says differently. The video text said in bright pink what is bestie doing?? Why would Satoru even post this? 

“I'm going to kill him” you groan, bringing your hands up to your face. Your palms heating up as color unfolds on your face, a nice shade of embarrassment red. The sheets of the bed crinkle and you look over and watch as your sleeping partner turns to face you. The first thing you recognize is the tattooed line over his nose. The same tattoo you know the pigtail goalie has, confirming to you that this is in fact his bed you're sharing. The second thing you notice are his large hands, chipped black nail polish on the tips. Lastly, you watch as his eyelids open. Dark brown irises meet you, flecks of gold dance where the sun hits it. He blinks a few times to adjust to the bright light. Dark purple circles surround his eyelids, like he hasn't slept in a year. His natural beauty leaves you speechless as you look into his eyes.

“You're awake” his deep raspy voice retorts, no emotion reflected in the words. You say nothing but nod. He sits up in the bed, back leaning against the old headboard, he rubs the corner of his eyes. You glance down at your phone to see if there was a message from any of your friends, but your heart drops as you see the black screen…dead. Weakly, you push yourself up to sit against the headboard like he is.

“How do you feel?” he asks suddenly, his burning gaze fixed on you. 

“Awful” you admit truthfully. You see the hint of a small smirk on his lips before it fades just as quickly. 

“I’m not surprised.” he pinches the skin between where his eyebrows meet. “I don't feel great either…probably nowhere near you though.” he grumbles. You suddenly feel your throat growing hotter and hotter. The fact that your memory is missing so many details from last night, you don't even know if you hooked up with him.

“Hey..” you whisper, not even sure if he heard you until his eye catches yours. “Last night…did we..” you trail off as you feel bile creeping up your throat, your eyes widen as you look around the room in a panic. Unsure of where the bathroom even is and if you would make it in time. The man next to you notices your panic, reaching over the side of the bed and producing a small metal waste bin. He places it in your lap and you instantly vomit the contents of your stomach, which looks to just be stomach acid and water at this point. Your retching echos off the walls of the metal can, tears stream from the corner of your eyes. The whole time, your sleepy partner rubs your back with a firm hand. Saying your name softly. 

“I'm sorry…” you whisper, head still hanging into the metal can. “It’s not that you're not attractive, because you are. I-”

“No” he cuts you off. “We didn’t.” he assures you as he continues to soothe your back. “You wanted to…really wanted to. But I couldn't do that. I knew how drunk you really were.” You cough up some more liquid and groan. Once you feel like you have nothing left to spew, you set the can down on your side of the bed. He hands you a tissue and you use it to clean up your face. 

“Thanks” you mutter, tossing the tissue into the bucket full of your vomit. 

“It’s no problem…how much do you remember of last night?” he asks, face neutral. 

“Not much at all” you close your eyes shut, thinking. “I remember arriving with Shoko and Utahime, doing some shots…everything is fuzzy after that. Honestly, I feel bad, because I can't even think of your name and you seem to know mine.” you try to search your mental records for what Suguru may have said about the goalie, trying to envision the back of his jersey you've spied at the games. “Is it…Kamo?” you ask eventually. He nods.

“Well…Kamo is my last name. You can call me by my first name, Choso.” 

“Choso. It’s nice to meet you, I promise to remember your name this time” you laugh awkwardly. 

“You better not forget me again” he laughs softly. 

“So…Choso. Can you help fill me in the blanks? Did my friends leave me? How did I end up here in your bed?” You blush slightly, thinking back to the video Satoru posted of you sticking your tongue down Choso's throat. Hoping he won't remember that part. He nods and begins to recount the adventures of last night.

⋆⁺₊❅.⛸️. ݁˖ .⋆⁺₊❅.⛸️. ݁˖ .⋆⁺₊❅.⛸️. ݁˖ .⋆⁺₊❅.⛸️. ݁˖ .⋆⁺₊❅.⛸️. ݁˖ .⋆⁺₊❅.⛸️. ݁˖ .

He isn't quite sure what happened before you started hanging out with him. Though he heard rumors from others that, because you refused to call the house ‘Sukuna's Domain’, Sukuna decided to punish you by making you drink 3 of the most disgusting shots he could concoct. Of course, you wouldn't back down to the challenge and finished them all without hesitation. 

Choso didn't plan on leaving his room to join the party, he was working on finishing a project for his advanced biology class due on Monday. With hockey season coming to a start, it's been hard for him to stay focused on his classes and practices. He was enjoying his peaceful night alone and was almost done with his project when you barged into his room unannounced.

“Oh…this isn't the bathroom” you looked around his room confused, head spinning. He glanced over his shoulder at you.

“No, the bathroom is across the hall from me.” He turned back to his laptop on his desk, assuming you left. The creek of his bed told him otherwise. He looked back to see you sprawled out like a starfish.

“Um…didn't you need to use the bathroom?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No…that was a lie” you sighed. “I just needed to escape for a minute. Everyone keeps asking about my ex.” You stare up at the ceiling, it was clear to him that you were upset.

“You can hide out here if you want” he offered, once again turning back to his work. He was typing the final paragraph of his report when your hands wrapped around his forearm.

“Come oooon!” You begged, pulling his arm away from the keboard. He gave you a confused look. “Let's go party! Come hang out with me” you stick your bottom lip out in a pout, batting your lashes at him. 

“I'm busy” He tried to tell you, but you continued to beg. You wouldn't give up, so he rolled his eyes and shut his laptop. Jumping around his room excitedly, you led him out of his bedroom and downstairs to the party. 

The rest of the night the two of you were glued at the hip. You were able to get him to let loose, danced with him even. You two did more shots together, something he regretted after learning how much you already had and how little you had eaten that day. He even helped you with drawing on Shoko's face after she passed out. Thinking back to the picture you took of her poor doodled on face, you remember seeing a thick black line drawn over her nose, one that matched Choso's. His own artistry you guess. 

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

“And we…uh…kissed” He scratched the back of his head shyly, looking away to avoid your gaze for a second.

“It was more than just a kiss.” You correct him. “Satoru posted a video…it was a full on make out session in front of the whole party” your face heats up at the memory. He nods in agreement. 

“I'm sorry…drunk me sounds like a menace” you groan again. Reliving all the embarrassment over and over. A cringe movie that won’t fade to black.

“It's fine, really. And from what I remember, it was a good kiss despite how drunk we both were” He flashes a slight smile at you.

“Soo…what happened after?” You ask.

“That's when you drunkenly dragged me back up to my room to continue. And…” he stopped for a moment. 

“and??” you plead him to continue.

“and the second we made it to the top of the stairs, you threw up all over yourself… and me” you're not even sure what kind of face he is making now because you buried your head in your hands. Wishing you could just crawl away and never have to face him or this embarrassment again.

“Then I sat in the bathroom with you for an hour while you puked your guts out, and I gave you a spare change of clothes and helped clean you up. Once I was sure you were done and exhausted, I laid you down in my bed.” He continues.

“And my friends?” you ask, head still hidden in your hands.

“They got an Uber home. Satoru wasn't sure if you would have been able to stomach the ride back to campus so they decided to let you stay where you were. Utahime wasn't too happy about it, but Suguru vouched for me. I was going to go downstairs and sleep on the couch but I wanted to keep an eye on you. That was…a lot of puke” he speaks in an even tone, free of any judgment as he recounts the night. You lift your head from your hands and look at him.

“Thanks for taking care of me.” You whisper softly. “And sorry for being such a pain in the ass”

“It was nothing” he assures you. He pulls the covers of the blanket back and swings his legs out onto the floor. Pacing over to his desk and pulling out a generic pill bottle from one of the drawers. He shakes two into his palm and comes back to you, holding his fist out. “for your head, I can tell it's killing you right now.” You hold an outstretched palm out to him, graciously accepting the medicine. Washing it down with the now lukewarm glass of water sitting on the nightstand.

“Thanks again,” you whisper. He says nothing, just a polite nod in return. You peel the blankets off yourself, forcing yourself out of the warmth of his bed. Bare feet touching the cold floor, a chill running all the way up your spine. You gather any strength you have left and stand. “Guess I should get going, can I use your phone to order an uber?” you ask him.

“No need, I can drive you back to the dorms.” it's more of a statement than an offer. 

“You really don't have to…” 

“I was going there anyway, I wanted to hit the gym on campus. So I'm heading back there with or without you.” He crosses his arms as he waits for you to accept the offer.

“Okay” you sigh. “Let's get going, I want to lay down in my own bed.” You walk over to the heap of clothing you wore last night, looking around for something to take them home in. The clothes look wet, like maybe Choso rinsed them off after you changed last night. “Do you have a plastic bag or something?” You ask.

“Don't worry about it” he shakes his head. “Just wear my clothes home and I'll get those cleaned up for you. I'll find a way to get it back to you eventually.” He shrugs as if this is the most normal thing in the world for him. You stare, completely bewildered by this man.

“But it’s…gross” you object, a small frown on your lips. Letting him clean the vomit from your clothing just feels…wrong.

“And watching it spew from your mouth all night wasn't gross?” He lets out a slight laugh. “Seriously, It's fine. I used to take care of my little brothers all the time. This is nothing for me.” His words do nothing to help ease the embarrassment churning inside, but you leave them. At this point you could care less if the clothes made their way back to you, they will serve as nothing more than a sour reminder of this night. 

He pulls on a tight black shirt, a gray hoodie and slings his gym bag over his shoulder, heading toward the door. 

“You comin’?” he calls over his shoulder. You quickly grab your dead phone from the nightstand and shove it into the pockets of the loose sweatpants before scurrying behind him. Once he sees you ready, he leads the way back down stairs.

You take in the scene on the lower floor. Several men from the hockey team sleeping in various uncomfortable positions. Some curled up on the floor, one with his head pressed to the table, a beer still in his grasp. Red solo cups litter the ground, empty cans piled against the corner of a wall, liquor bottles empty on the counter. The whole place looked sticky. You slip your shoes on, being careful of where you step. 

“Oh…my purse” you look around panicked, unable to remember the last time you had it. You could have left it anywhere in this house. Choso glances over and studies your worried face, his own looking nothing more than uninterested.

“What does it look like?” He asks.

“Black, this big, gold chain straps” you describe using exaggerated hand motions.

“I'll look for it” he whispers and walks over toward the kitchen. You lean against the wall and watch him through heavy lids as he struggles to find it. He checks another room on the lower level, and then the bathroom. When he emerges you notice his empty hands as he shakes his head in defeat. The stairs above you creak loudly and you lift your head and watch a familiar pink haired annoyance making his way to you, in his hands the missing purse.

“You left this in the bathroom idiot” Sukuna rolls his eyes before tossing it to you, which you completely miss and let it clunk to the floor. The chain clattering loudly as it falls against the wood, waking up one of the sleeping hockey players in the living room who curses at the noise. 

“So you stole it?” You raise an eyebrow at him, Choso bends over to pick it up for you. You can't help but search through it, triple checking all of your belongings where you left it. Wallet, credit cards, your favorite lip gloss. Everything was safe.

“No, I didn't steal it! You left it out in the open for anyone to take. So I just put it away for safekeeping.” He grumbles in response.

“That's…actually really nice Sukuna…thanks” you blink in surprise. 

“Whatever. Hope you and Kamo had a good night.” He crosses his arms and leans on the weak railing, wood groaning under his weight. You notice Choso scowl at him, his eyes a silent warning.

“No thanks to you” you bark back, knowing Sukuna is the sole reason you feel the way you do right now. If it wasn't for those shots, you would have made it home to the warmth of your own bed. You glance over at Choso, who is still scowling. Without those shots you also might not have met him.

“Whatever brat, you had fun” Sukuna sighs, pushing off of the railing and heading back to his room upstairs. His arms still crossed.

“Let's get going” Choso’s stern voice brings you back to reality. You nod and follow him outside. The breeze rustles a few crisp golden leaves. A slight chill runs through your spine, your body shivering. Hugging your arms close to your chest, you follow Choso toward a black car, rust lining the edges. He throws his gym bag into the back seat then turns to look at you.

“You're cold” he observes plainly. 

“I'll be fine” your chattering teeth betray you. He slips his hoodie off and holds it out to you. The muscles in his bare forearm bulge as he waits for you to take it from him. 

“It's fine, really” you protest but he shakes his head, refusing to move from his spot until you accept his gift. So you snatch it out from his grasp, quickly slipping it over your freezing body and letting the residual warmth he left heat you up.

The ride back to the dorms was quiet, and painfully long. Neither of you spoke, not because you didn't want to but because the ride was anything but smooth sailing. Every bump causes your stomach to stir, fearful that opening your mouth in the slightest will cause you to mess up the interior of his car. To protect yourself, and the car, you pressed your forehead against the cold window of the passenger door, eyes shut tightly. 

The car comes to a steady stop and you peel open your eyes once again, the sight of your dorm unfolds in your fuzzy vision. You pull on the door handle, ready to run into the safety of the dorm and yell at Shoko and Utahime for letting you ever get that drunk in the first place. The door doesn't budge, still locked. You glance over at Choso whose eyes are fixed on a small black and white cat across the street, acting like it's the most interesting thing in the world.

“Hey, Y/N… I know we kinda only just met, and you're going through something rough right now. But I like to think I'm a good listener, if you ever need someone to talk to” his eyes continue to look out the window as he speaks sincerely. 

“Thanks Choso.” You whisper out. “I appreciate that.” He turns to look at you again, his normal bored expression replaced with a slightly shy one. His eyes darting around, not sure where to focus, fingers fidgeting on the steering wheel.

“I had a great time last night. I hope to see you around again” he gives you a small awkward smile as his eyes meet yours. He reaches over you and pushes hard on your door handle. His still messy hair tickling under his nose, getting a whiff of vanilla and cloves. “Sorry, old car. It gets stuck sometimes” He laughs lightly as he pushes the door open. You exit the car and turn back toward him.

“Thanks for everything, see you soon.” You smile sweetly before closing the door and heading toward the entrance of your dorm.

A/N: Thanks for reading! :) comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated 🫶

[slutforleeminho]

“first”- hyunjin

hyunjin was your first in everything. your first best friend. your first kiss - kindergarten, when you had icing on your lips and he decided he wanted to lick it off. your first fiancé - first grade, he even made a ring out of pink yarn and a white bead for the diamond. you still have that ring. and even though all these things sound like silly little childhood memories, after some time of mutual pining, denial, and a whole lot of “he’s just my best friend, nothing more.” senior year of high school hyunjin became your first boyfriend.

the day it happened you thought that that was the best day of your life. he had given you a single white rose because, and in your words, “a whole bouquet is way too flashy. it just screams ‘hey everyone! look at these flowers that the love of my life gave me!’” you had been talking about one of your class mates but hyunjin couldn’t stop his heart from skipping a beat from your choice of words.

he had remembered what you said, which only made you fall in love with him so much more.

he took you to the beach where he laid out a blanket for you both to lay on. you both watched the sun set, then he asked you to be his, and of course you said yes. he smiled the biggest you had ever seen him smile and then he kissed you. your first real kiss. you spent the whole summer together, going on dates and just soaking up each others presence. you both left for college in the fall, but the universe couldn’t separate you two so easily. the couple made sure to go to the same one and experience it all together.

your one year anniversary was coming up. you were just as much nervous as you were excited. you had planned a whole day of things you wanted to do with him, but you were quickly shut down by hyunjin. he said he wanted to plan everything and surprise you. you were sad that you couldn’t help, but you were also deeply touched by his eagerness to make you happy. the past couple days he’s been locked away in his dorm room. you were beginning to worry, but he quickly reassured you that he wasn’t trying to distance himself, he was just getting things together for that special day.

and my god did he outdo himself.

he took you to a big fancy restaurant, you couldn’t even pronounce the name of it. there was even a space for dancing, so of course what did hyunjin do? he held his and out. “may i have this dance?”

you placed your hand in his and let him lead you to where a handful of other people were swaying to the soft melody that the pianist was creating. “i don’t even know how to dance.” you giggled against his neck as you placed your hands on his shoulders.

“it’s not rocket science. just copy what everyone else is doing.” he grabbed your waist and pulled you closer to him. you scanned your eyes around the room, studying the moves of the other couples around you. after getting a general idea of what you’re supposed to be doing, you started swaying back and forth along with him. you laced your hands together behind his head, leaning closer to him. chest to chest, you could feel his heart beating. if you didn’t know any better you’d say it matched the rhythm of yours.

“lay your head on my shoulder.” you did as he said and placed your head on his shoulder. usually you could only reach his chest, the height difference between you both was crazy but the heels you were wearing helped a lot.

he littered kisses all over your neck and shoulder and then buried his face in the crook of your neck. he breathed in you scent, taking in everything about this moment. you wanted it to last forever. but you had this feeling in your gut. like a mixture of butterflies and want. you wanted to be closer to him and pour out all of your love for him. you’ve never felt this way before but you had a feeling you knew what it meant. you were ready to fully give yourself too him. to open up to him and show him every last part of you.

“hyun?” you stopped swaying and lifted your head to look at him when you said these next words. he pulled back also but he had a look of confusion on his face. “what is it, love?” he voiced out his concern for you.

“i want to go home.” home being the hotel room he reserved for you both so you could be together without being bothered by your roommates back at the dorms. you got dressed there so all yours and hyunjins stuff was already there.

“is everything okay? do you not feel well?” he placed the back of his hand on your forehead and then your cheek, checking to see if you had a fever. his actions made you laugh. you took his hands in yours, never breaking eye contact.

“no. trust me i feel fine.” you smiled up at him.

“then.. what’s the matter?”

you hesitated for a moment then finally voiced your want. “i want you to make love to me, hyunjin.”

his eyes widened and his mouth fell open. you giggled once more. he cleared his throat and shifted from one foot to the other. “are you sure, y/n?”

“i don’t think i’ve been this sure of something in my life.” you started to feel nervous until he pulled you into a kiss. his palms found the sides of your neck, his thumbs resting on your jaw. the kiss was slow and passionate but still you wanted more. you pushed against his torso, separating your lips from his. “let’s take this somewhere else hmm?”

he held your hand the whole way back to the hotel, squeezing every now and then to reassure you. he didn’t let go until you were both in the room. he turned to you and placed his hands on your shoulders then drug his fingers down the back of your arms. goosebumps erupted all over your skin at his gentle touch. he was always this gentle with you. he never made you feel uncomfortable or pressured into anything. you loved that about him the most.

“it’s not to late to change your mind. we can watch a movie and cuddle.” he looked at you with so much love in his eyes.

“it’s starting to sound like you’re the one having second thoughts.” you teased, but you could tell he wanted this just as much as you did.

“no, no i want to. i really do but i don’t want you to feel like you have to.”

“i don’t.” was all you said. that’s all you had to say for hyunjin to push the thin straps of your dress off of your shoulders, and push your dress down your body. his eyes trailed behind, admiring every part of you that was exposed. the dress him the floor and you were only left in a white lingerie set. his eyes grew wide and averted his gaze. it amazed you how respectful he was even in a situation like this. “hyunjin,” you took your index finger under his chin and made him look at you. “you can look at me. i want you to look at me.”

he nodded and dropped his eyes to your cleavage, and then your torso and thighs. “can i touch you?” he asked, to hypnotized by your hips to make eye contact.

“please.” as soon as you permitted him he put his hands on either side of your waist and rubbed little circles with his thumb. you hummed in contentment which only encouraged him to continue. he pulled you flush against his chest, like he was giving you a hug. until he played with the clasp of your bra.

“may i?”

“yes” you wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your head on his shoulder just like you did earlier while dancing. except this time you heard the snap of your bra being undone. but he didn’t move after. he didn’t try to step away and finish taking it off you. instead he held you closer and ran his hands up and down your back. you stayed like that for a few minutes. but you were the first one to pull away. the strap dropped off your shoulders and tumbled down your arms, falling onto the floor along with your dress.

he took a step back presumably to get a better look. he was silent for far too long, it made you anxious and you started fidgeting with one of the rings on your fingers. “you’re so beautiful,” he finally spoke, pulling you out of your head and easing your nerves. “so perfect.” it was only at that moment that you realized that he was still fully clothed, while you were almost completely naked before him. you pushed his suit jacket off his shoulders and let gravity do the rest. you laid your palms flat and let them explore his chest. he was firm but still soft to the touch.

you fiddled with the first button of his shirt before fully unbuttoning it, followed by the rest of them. once they we all done and his chest and abdomen was on full display he took the liberty of taking it the rest of the way off. your hands explored every patch of skin they could. you traced out his abs with your fingers. “that tickles.” he giggled, making his stomach tense which only made them more defined and ten times more attractive.

“sorry.” you smiled up at him. the way the moment could go from intense to sweet made your insides flutter. you needed him. now. and like he read your mind, he led you to the bed and you sat on the end of it. he suddenly dropped to his knees, the action startled you a little. but then he grabbed one of your ankles and unbuckled the heel that you honestly forgotten you still had on. he repeated his actions on the other but this time when he slipped the shoe off he left a soft kiss on your ankle and then your calf. he continued up your leg until he got to your mid thigh. you laid back on your back and spread your legs a little wider, silently giving him permission to continue.

he hooked his fingers under the band of your underwear and slipped them down your legs. you threw your head back as he kissed the insides of your thighs, enjoying the feeling. your whole body jolted when he placed two fingers on your clit and rubbed slow circles on it. before you could catch it a small moan escaped you lips. it was so different having someone else touch you like this, just so intimate.

his fingers explored your fold and eventually pressed against your entrance. “do you think you’re ready to take my fingers?” his question made your head spin. you never thought you’d hear him ask a question like that. your sweet innocent hyunjin was asking if he could stuff his fingers inside you.

“yes.” your breathing was heavy. he put his hand on your thigh and lightly massaged.

“just breathe, okay? relax and tell me if you want to stop.” you nodded and he kissed you, it was more sloppy this time but you still melted into it. while you were distracted by his lips, he pushed a finger in. you gasped against him and he held you tighter. “it’s okay, love. you got it. just relax and it won’t hurt as bad.” it didn’t necessarily hurt it was just different. it stung a bit but it was nothing that you couldn’t handle. he didn’t move until you told him to. he moved slowly, in and out, just letting you get used the the feeling of something being inside you. which you did, and quickly too. the discomfort turned into pleasure and it felt unworldly. he noticed your little whimpers and added another finger, but this time the stretch felt amazing. you were begging him for more only a few moments later.

after your pleading couldn’t be ignored he slipped his fingers out. you missed them as soon as they were gone but you knew something better was to come. he stood and unbuckled his belt, sliding his pants off along with his boxers. your eyes immediately shot down to his member, it was so perfect. it was long but not too long and thick. the tip was red and swollen. you didn’t know you were causing such an effect on him. he noticed your staring. “everything okay?” he said, pulling you away from your thoughts.

“yeah. i-it’s pretty.” you instantly regretted your words, mentally face palming yourself. why would you call it pretty?

“thank you?” he didn’t know exactly how to respond to that but he just laughed it off and climbed onto the bed with you. he situated you against the pillows, making sure you were comfortable. he pecked your lips with his own and then opened his mouth to say something but you cut him off before the question could pass through his lips. “don’t ask. i’m sure, hyunjin. i want to continue.” he smiled at the fact you knew him so well.

“just making sure,” he aligned himself up with your entrance. “ready?”

“yeah.” you nodded.

“okay. can you you take a deep breath for me?” his question caught you off guard but you trusted him enough to comply. “good job. now exhale.” as you pushed the air out of your lungs he pushed the tip of his cock past your entrance but stopped there. a broken moan escaped past your lips. the combination of pain and pleasure was making you weak. he slowly pushed the rest of himself inside you and nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. he was breathing heavily, you realized then just how much he was holding back. having to stay completely still while being so deep inside of you must’ve been torture. once you felt comfortable, you urged him to continue.

his hips pulled back, the drag of his tip against your walls felt like heaven. when only his tip was left inside you, he pushed his way back into the warmth of you. when he was nuzzled back inside of you, he moaned against your shoulder. that small sign that he was enjoying himself had you unconsciously clenching around him. more moans fell from both of you as the pace was set to a slow but steady speed.

you took in every detail of him from this angle. the way his face was scrunched up in pleasure, eyebrows knitted together and his bottom lip sucked in between his teeth. the thin layer of sweat that coated his face and neck. his glossy eyes met yours and a throaty whine escaped him. “i’m close, baby.” his thrusts became faster in attempt to get you to reach your climax before he did. “i can feel that you are too.”

your heart swelled with so much love for him that you couldn’t contain it anymore. your vision clouded and you realized you were crying when a warm tear rolled down your cheek. but it wasn’t long until a hand wiped it away and replaced it with his lips. “it’s okay, love. i’m here.” he continued to decorate your jaw and neck with his sweet kisses. your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your nails dug into his back as your orgasm consumed you. the waves of pleasure were much more intense than you have ever experienced before. maybe it was because the one you loved the most was the one to give it to you.

seeing you like this, so vulnerable, pushed hyunjin over the edge, singing your name as he came undone above you. his hips slowed but they didn’t stop until he knew you were completely satisfied, not even when overstimulation started to hit him. he only stopped when you tensed against him and lightly pushed against his chest. he ceased all movements and went completely limp on top of you. all that could be heard over the ringing in your ears was both yours and hyunjins heavy breathing.

“i love you so much.” his voice was scratchy and hoarse. he held you tightly until he regained his strength and pulled himself off of you. “oh baby,” he looked down at you in pity. you were confused for a moment until you looked down to see yours and hyunjins lower half coated in a thin layer of a mixture of you essence and blood. “you’re bleeding.” he looked around with an almost panicked look on his face. he gave up on what he was looking for and stood up from the bed, coming around to the side where you were closer to the edge. he tucked one arm under your upper back and one arm under your legs, lifting you off the bed bridal style. you clung to his shoulders in fear he would drop you. but you soon melted into his arms as he carried you to the bathroom. “you think you can stand?”

“there’s only one way to find out.” he lowered your feet to the cold floor, you were wobbly at first but you were sturdy enough to stand on your own. he rushed to turn the shower on so it could warm up and returned to your side to place a kiss on your temple. the sweet gesture made you smile and wrap your arms around him in a warm embrace.

after you both got cleaned up and put some clean clothes on he carried you back to the bed and wrapped you in the blanket like a burrito. “hyunjin i can’t move!” you managed to say through your fit of giggles.

“that’s the point. this way you can never leave me.”

“like i would even try, you dummy.”

“oh my gosh i almost forgot!” he shot up from the bed and ran out of the room. while he was gone you managed to untangle yourself from the confines of the blankets and followed after him. as you were were exciting the room, he was running at full speed into the room. luckily he stopped before he completely ran you over.

“why are you in such a rush?” you laughed at his eagerness to to come back to the room.

“because i got you something,” his right hand was hiding said “something” behind his back. “i meant to give it to you at the restaurant after we danced but uh… you had other plans.” he smirked. was he making fun of you right now? you smacked his arm which made him burst out in laughter, slapping his left hand over his chest. “i’m sorry! you were just so cute, i couldn’t help it.”

“ok ok whatever,” you rolled you eyes at his words. “so?” you glanced down at his arm still tucked safely behind his back.

“oh yeah!” he held his hand out, revealing a single white rose.

thousands of memories of you and hyunjin throughout the years flashed through your mind like a slideshow. some bad some good. but every single memory had one thing in common, hyunjins unconditional love for you. he was always doing anything and everything to make sure you were happy. going out of his way just to make make your day a little better. he was always there for you when you were at you lowest and always the first person to cheer you on when you achieved something. he was the light and the end of a very dark tunnel. he was everything you’ve ever wanted and so much more.

“hyunjin i-” you were at a loss for words. he giggled at your speechless state, only making you smile. you took the rose from his hand to feel the softness of the petals and to smell the sweet scent of it. “thank you, hyunjin.”

he trapped you in a bear hug, squeezing you so tight that it was hard to breathe, but there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

“you’re welcome, beautiful”

as always like, follow, and reblog if you enjoyed:)

@fawnpeaks @yumiblogs

[marveling-cg]

As a teacher, the suit couldn't really have come at a better time.

When he'd graduated from college, he'd been surprised to see Principal Nezu in the crowd with All Might and Aizawa-sensei, and even more surprised to receive Principal Nezu's invitation to teach at UA - in the hero course no less!

They'd assigned him to the 2nd year hero course -- the 1st years, who were often still figuring out the limits of their quirks, needed teachers who might be able to physically intervene if something went wrong

His first year teaching, he'd spent just trying to get his feet under him: he borrowed a lot of the previous teacher's curriculum while he tried to get the hang of classroom management, and and grading, and parent contact, not to mention conducting practical exercises with his students while he was quirkless

But his second year he started making the curriculum his own: his strength had always been his analysis and he wanted his students to have that, too.

He started adding in case studies for each unit; invited his friends in to give talks about declassified or appropriately anonymized cases they'd worked on

By his third year, he'd gotten his unit plans down to a science: intro topic, host guest speaker, complete case study, hold class discussion, conduct practical exercise, students submit a reflection, test

His first unit of the year was always his favorite -- an intro to battle analysis. He'd never gotten Kacchan to commit to coming on campus, but if Deku sent him footage from a fight, Kacchan would send back a recording of his analysis

Once the kids got over the initial hilarity of Kacchan roasting the shit out of hero or villain or both, they usually asked Deku to play the video back a few more times so they could see just which errors Kacchan had caught, how quickly they could arise, how consequential they could be. It was a great way to get them open to Deku's whole approach to the class, and a good way for them to know that he would accept their work in their own voices -- no need to hide their personalities for points

The rest of the units -- meant to get his students ready to apply for their provisional licenses -- all followed suit.

And since most hero agencies had given new priority to community relations, he could schedule through his friends' offices to get them on campus: Tenya, Uraraka, Tsu, Momo, Shinso were especially reliable guests

And while the first half of the year was dedicated to the practicalities of being on the ground as a hero; the second half was dedicated to the heart of being a hero

They looked at rise of the League of Villains and Stain, talked about the plight of heteromorphs; he pulled in primary sources, they discussed their own personal credos (he liked to use Kacchan's and Hawks' as examples of how different and personal they could be while still leading to similar work), discussed the sociological and psychological impact of challenging quirks

All that to say, year four is the perfect time for the suit to fall into his lap.

He's got his professional shit together

And, though he's let himself shed some of the weight he needed to maintain One For All, he's kept himself in good condition

(High school students are so easily motivated by a little good natured teasing, "you really gonna let your quirkless teacher lap you?" has been a remarkably easy way to keep his kids going through tough conditioning work)

So, after he's managed to stop crying on All Might long enough to schedule a call with Hatsume to go over the specs; and stopped crying after that call long enough to process everything she's shared about its function, he realizes he's going to need to train before he can take this thing out in the field

The suit is incredible: a light exoskeleton that'll enhance his strength, 360 degree sensors that will pick up objects moving at certain speeds or sudden changes in air pressure, a light propulsion system that will allow him brief bursts of flight or slightly longer periods to hover, a chord system that he can use to pull himself forward or restrain villains, a diffuser that will set off a smoke screen

He spends another hour or so after the call with Hatsume to cry about how closely they've tried to recreate the capabilities of One For All

And then spends another four thinking about all of the manual controls he'll need to learn to replicate the skills he used to be able to call forth with a thought.

Thinks too about the kind of conditioning he'll need to do in order to not lose speed or an arm to the weight and propulsion of the suit

He remembers fondly a dirty beach half a lifetime ago; remembers, too, a forest trail where a quirkless All Might declared he'd change the future. Deku can do this.

And there's no better way to address the Kacchan of it all:

He'd tried calling Kacchan after All Might had dropped the news -- and been sent straight to voicemail three times in a row; received back a terse text: u r welcome nerd

Which told him Kacchan wasn't ready to deal -- with Deku's tears, or his gratitude, or with a conversation about how Kacchan had dedicated all of his professional career to funding Deku's dream -- as if all the long hours, and parties missed, and extra shifts covered, hadn't all been some sort of declaration of intent about the rest of their fucking lives

Which was fine. What was Deku going to say anyway?

"Was this a proposal, Kacchan? Because if so, my answer is yes."

That could wait. They had the rest of their fucking lives, apparently.

But in the meantime, Deku needed to train. He couldn't afford to rush this. Kacchan would be furious if Deku got himself hurt because he was being reckless.

So he headed over to the gym in Kacchan's building after work, just in time to catch Kacchan coming in for his biweekly workout.

"I've got a plan. I think I'm going to need to dedicate some attention to these particular muscle groups to protect from injury. I think I probably need to gain a little more muscle, too. Then, I want to start training in the suit. I'll need to get a feel for how it works as a whole in combat and rescue settings. But then I want to work on isolations. Can I trigger just this response as quickly as possible in various circumstances. What can I do or not if I've just got control of the arms or just the legs or just one limb. I've put together a timetable. I think, if you'll help me, I could be ready for field work without injuring myself by the end of this school year."

When Deku finally pauses and looks up from his notebook, Kacchan looks visibly relieved, shoulders down from his ears, that gleam in his eye that's signals amusement in spite of himself, the start of smile tucked into the corner of his mouth

Kacchan snatches the notebook from Deku's hands and looks over the charts. Deku barely grumbles at all at Kacchan's free hand tousling Deku's hair while he skims.

"Alright, dweeb, let's get started--"

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ when i'm alone ]❜

━━━ .°˖✧ requested by @lokotrona11 ˚₊ ⊹

ft. peter pevensie x f! reader — the chronicles of narnia

╰₊✧ peter meets a bookworm who makes life in london a bit more bearable┊1.3k words (prt two coming soon)

setting: england after the golden age contains: exposition, first meetings, strangers to friends, minor blood & injury & mentions of fights

➤ author's note: the very first narnia request i received!! there will be a part two that’s further into their relationship and includes more of the request, so please look forward to that (it will be better than this one, trust me, i just thought this meeting would be cute)!

to say adjusting to life back in england was difficult would be an understatement. although it was nice to see his mother again and the familiar landscape of where he grew up, it doesn’t change the fact that it was a complete accident as a result of them exploring during a hunt and going back towards the wardrobe’s tunnel in nostalgic curiosity. all of the siblings would be lying if they said that home had the same magic spark that narnia did with the gray skies and the nauseous smell of pollution, but at least they had the wonders of modern technology here like lightbulbs rather than wax candles. it was even a shock for them to remember that they are no longer the only humans in the world, that animals didn’t talk anymore, and that mythical creatures like centaurs and griffins were only real in fiction. however, the most difficult change for peter by far was the fact that he was no longer the king of a fantastical land, instead he was now some nineteen-year-old boy who wasn’t taken seriously and was often told to go off and do literally anything else that isn’t meddling in adult affairs. it’s common knowledge that he was always very mature for his age since he’s constantly looking out for the younger ones, but it was such a drastic change for him to already be acting like he was in charge of everyone after just a few weeks in the countryside and even wondered what the eccentric professor must have taught him for him to come back acting all high and mighty.

he’s tried so hard to go back to being a normal boy, yet he struggles to hide the regality in the way he acts and the air of superiority he holds. the other former royals are used to his behavior even before being crowned, but soon he found himself isolated from others his age no matter how close they were previously and getting into physical fights with anyone crosses him. he was no longer used to holding his head low when disrespected and now that he’s had a taste for being held in high esteem, he would no longer tolerate it and was now known as a troublesome person whom most people steered clear of.

although his family was concerned for him, peter didn’t seem to have cared less about how quickly his reputation plummeted and he spent his days as a loner. he often found himself exploring the city’s largest library instead of playing sports or getting a job since no one wanted to hire a rebel, reading through overly complicated books about portals and other dimensions. he knew that science wouldn’t be able to explain the phenomenon that he experienced since it was magic, but studying up on the subject made him feel a little bit better that there were other people around the world exploring the subject.

the entire section dedicated to this field of knowledge was in a far corner quite a ways from the entrance, a dusty little space a tad bit darker than everywhere else, and never had a soul near it which made it the perfect place for him to brood and be alone for the most part. the only other person he saw there occasionally was you, someone he only saw through passing within school hallways and heard about receiving academic prizes all the time. while classes were out, he fully believed you had already read all the books in the building. you were there from the moment the sign was flipped to “open” until the moment the librarian told you it was closing time, never thoughtlessly roaming around since you always walked with purpose knowing exactly what you were looking for, and often seen carrying books that towered over your head threatening to tilt over.

despite seeing you every single day, he never really had the chance to talk to you. you seemed so… untouchable… like you didn’t have the time or place to spare for people who weren’t in your schedule. he wonders if he used to appear like that to others back in narnia when he was rarely approached by anyone who wasn’t one of his siblings, but at least he had the excuse of being a high monarch— what was yours? it was the first time he found himself curious and thinking about something else that wasn’t his former life.

turns out, peter’s chance came to him when he least expected it and when he was in his most vulnerable state: freshly bruised and cut up after a fight with a gang of middle schoolers over stepped-on toes. he’s landed himself in this situation countless of times yet still never learns his lesson to leave it alone before it escalates. fortunately, he got to witness the satisfying conclusion of the leader getting dragged away by his mother, but he was really the one with the egg on his face when he barely managed to get in a single punch while he ended up with a busted lip. to say he was pissed off was an understatement, but frankly, emotions that weren’t anger or longing didn’t come to him much anymore. he didn’t want to get a scolding from his family about he should have been more careful again so he wandered back into the library to take care of himself in his usual corner, unwittingly catching your eye on his way and leading you to him.

neither of you said anything when you walked up to him with a first-aid kit in hand as you used your eyes to ask for permission to patch him up and he simply nodded to grant it, the silence being more tense than awkward. you wrapped bandages around his aching knuckles, applied ointment to his wounds, and uttered nothing but a “hold still” when he hissed in response to the sharp pain of hydrogen peroxide on his lip. he didn’t even feel your skin against his, just feather-light touches that tickled him slightly as he intently looked at you while you were focused. he’s never seen you up close before so he took the opportunity to study your features, slowly realizing that he developed a crush on you at some point and immediately straightening his posture to act like he wasn’t staring when you glanced back at him.

“you’re… the guy who’s always reading about different dimensions, right? your name is... peter?”

“yeah… that’s me.” he's surprised that you knew anything about him at all, much less his name and the books he was reading. considering that you were always in your own little world, it meant that you paid more attention to your surroundings than he originally thought.

“have you visited any other realms lately?” your tone was serious, but the absurdity of the question made it sound like a joke.

“you wouldn’t believe me, it sounds ridiculous.”

“really? i’ve heard all kinds of tales, i doubt it would be even close to the worst one.” you weren’t sure why you were the first to start the conversation when you never cared for your peers or what they had to say before.

“well… it all started when we left for the countryside and my youngest sister wanted to play hide and seek…” he wasn’t sure why he was telling you about the wardrobe and narnia when he refused to open up about it to anyone other than his siblings, but it felt right to do it. at best, you’ll believe him and he’ll have someone to talk to. at worst, a cute girl will think that he’s crazy.

neither of you were quite sure about the reasons behind this conversion, but perhaps there didn’t need to be one as long as it felt like the right thing to do.

request [ I didn't find your requests so I'm writing to you here 😅 I wanted to ask Peter falling in love with a bookworm (they only see each other in the library in the last hallway and she's shy and all that) (in the second movie) in London, as if she were the one capable of removing his anger for a while and Peter felt calm with that little girl. (If you write smut with +18 at the end or just fluffy, whatever you choose) ]

[vcill]

✧🩷 Good Girl 🩷✧

200 follower special <3 I love y'all sm ♡

Diavolo →

Adjusting to RAD is never easy, with so many exams, having to deal with the demon brothers, baby knows how you feel and knows how stressed and pent you are.

Tell him all about how Mammon and Levi almost burnt down the science lab, and how he would've been able to put it out by how much he's making you squirt.

Angry that Satan got a higher score than you on a test? Take your anger out on him. Squeeze your thighs on his head, suffocate him and make sure he ain't breathing.

Uh oh! What's that tone you used towards the future king? That's not good at all. Don't worry, he'll fuck the sense back into you. A nice apology while fucking you still sounds perfect.

Him fucking and stuffing you so full that you forgot why you even had an attitude to begin with. Apologies being nothing but moan and whimpers while begging him to ruin you. ♡

Him telling you that you did such a good job today, such a good girl for him. Taking him all and not complaining. Draining him dry and making you soaked and full is the best thing a good girl could ever receive .

Barbatos →

He only ever wants the best for you, so failing a test or being late to class isn't gonna make him mad at you.

Good girls know how to study, keep track of their test, when to fall asleep at a good time and not miss school. So really, you've been really bad. But owning up to your mistakes makes it almost better.

Studying for a math test should be easy as you count how many times you've both came. No, it wasn't 5, it was 8. Looks like you guys have to start over. Nope, him eating you out and fucking you is two different things! You don't add those together.

Unless you wanna be there all night, you better start learning.

Falling asleep and missing class? Mm mm. Go ahead and work yourself on his cock while he sits there an does nothing, you need to build your stamina after all. Surprise fuck when you're asleep? Need to always be aware of your surroundings, no excuse for letting your guard down.

Soon enough, you'll learn. You remember how many orgasms you've had, know how to keep working his cock without getting tired, and to properly prep yourself when it's time to get fucked by his cock at night.

Like a good girl, you learn how to do what you're told and be the perfect little fucktoy for the perfect butler.

Solomon →

Being his sweet little apprentice, you'll gladly help in anything he might need. For example, he recently learned a new spell and needed a T̶e̶s̶t̶ s̶u̶b̶j̶e̶c̶t̶ volunteer. Of course, you willing took the part, not even asking what the spell is.

Soon enough, you learn. You feel hot, moist, and slightly dizzy. But most of all, you want dick. Sorcerer dick matter of fact. Looks like the spell works on anyone in the room, cause all Solomon wanted was that phat pussy.

Being railed on one of the desk in the room wasn't on your list today, but you're not complaining. Solomon using all his force and knocking the air out of you as he hits the spot you know and love. Watching your body jiggles from his thrust, drool drip for your cunt and mouth.

Oh this spell is really good. So good, maybe he should cast another, if it's okay with you of course. Your moaning is more then enough consent to proceed, as soon as he casted this one, you both felt so sensitive. His hand on your thighs making your pussy drip even more. Your nails scratching his back made him want to burst.

Ok ok, one more. Be a good girl and let him do his thing, alright? You can take some more. The aching in your legs seem to disappear as your mind goes blank, only thing you can think about is Solomon Solomon Solomon. All you want is him to fill you up and keep you feel. Keep milking him, make sure he can never fill back up again.

You both are so overstimulated but don't give a fuck, maybe this time you also cast a spell which makes both of you whine like crazy. Look at you learning to cast spells just like him, such a good girl you are.

Simeon →

Simeon thinks you're always so good to him. Doing everything as you should, eating your breakfast, brushing your teeth, eating a good meal. What more can he ask?

Good girl deserve the best of course, go ahead and relax as he sucks that tasty pussy of yours. Continue doing your home work while he works his fingers inside of you. Don't worry about the mess your making, he'll clean it right up as long as you keep squirting for him.

How you take care of him when he's stressed, taking his cock whole while drool drips from your mouth. The little tears in your eyes look so beautiful as he makes you choke on it. Such a good girl taking him all! Want him to fuck you now? I bet you do! ♡

He only wants to do what you want him to do. You want him to move? How hard? Where do you want him to hit it? There? That feels good? I'm sure it does.

But he can't spoil you too much. You only get what you earned. You really think you're so slick adding on to the things you did today. You answered a question correctly in class, so you deserve to be fucked one more time. Better hope he doesn't figure out you lied about a few things. Good girls don't lie, rightttt?

When you finish, he lays beside you, telling you how pretty his baby girl is. Asking you if you can do it again tomorrow and how you better promise that you will. His good girl always keeps her promises!