#it’s what I used to do in the morning before my early college classes

[captainderyn]

That feeling when you wake up earlier/more rested than usual so you just have no idea what to do with yourself and you’re just 🧍‍♀️ until you have to get ready for work

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Lately I've been going to bed around 4-6am and I have to wake up at 9am every day so I've only been getting 3-5 hours of sleep, but last night I went to bed at 2am so maybe I wouldn't feel like shit the next day, but I woke up at 6am and could not fall back asleep because I feel wide awake. My body hates me and doesn't want me to ever have more than five hours of sleep I guess

[violet-snail-sfw]

The first time I saw a trans woman was in porn. I was pretty young then, in early middle school I think. My first thoughts about trans women only existed in a sexual context, since that was the only place I saw us mentioned

The next time I saw trans people mentioned was a TV show presumably about trans people and transitioning. I didn't watch it, only saw the description because even as a kid I had already internalized the idea that it was taboo and I would get in trouble if my parents walked in and I was watching it

Eventually I saw enough TV and cop shows to see an episode with the dead trans hooker trope. It further reinforced the building idea that trans women were something else, separate from "normal" people and always on the outskirts of society

And then Caitlyn Jenner came out. At my Catholic middle school there were few kind things said about her and plenty of nasty comments, but this was the first time I saw trans people being publicly talked about

In high school my views on trans people started to fracture. On one hand, I was being pushed the idea that gender was about what's in your pants, that if you've got a dick your a man and there's nothing that can be done about it. On the other hand, early high school me had stumbled across some gender change erotica and quickly became obsessed with it. While it wasn't great representation, it was still pretty positive about transitioning. The people in those stories were always happier afterwards

I struggled to reconcile what parts of society were saying about trans people with my daydreaming about what I'd do if I woke up the next morning as a girl. Eventually I decided that it was just a fetish. I just thought it was hot, there was no way I could be trans because I was just a normal person. I wasn't weird or a spectacle for others to gawk at, I was just a person

Around that time I also met a trans person in passing for the first time. One of the trans guys at my high school was in one of the musicals that I went to because some of my friends were also in them. When I was talking to my friends about it after someone mentioned the trans guy and that he was trans. I wasn't really sure what to think so I kinda just didn't think about it. Thinking back, there were a few trans guys at my high school but I don't think there was a single out trans woman

Eventually in college I actually met some trans and nonbinary people. In some classes we introduced ourselves on the first day with names and pronouns which was my first exposure to people using pronouns other than just he/him and she/her. I had a few classes with trans and nonbinary people, including a survey of transgender studies class I took in my last semester. I had plenty of excuses for why I was taking it (I needed a few more credits to graduate. It still had room open. It fit with my other classes. It seemed interesting. I'm trying to be a good ally.)

Around this time as well I found some trans creators online like ContraPoints and Philosophy Tube (whom I had watched before she came out as trans). I was weirdly excited and interested when Odyssey Eurobeat came out as trans and I went to go listen to some of her music right after I heard. I was starting to have examples of trans people just being people. Not just porn stars or public spectacles, but people

Later I met and befriended a few trans women, one of whom was extremely open about her transness and happened to share a video which started the initial steps of my egg cracking and figuring out who I am now

If I had actually known any trans women, if the world had been kinder to trans people, if representation of trans women as people existed and was well known, I might have been able to realize who I was sooner. I would have been able to exist as myself for more than a tiny fragment of my life so far

Representation matters, both in media and in daily life. Trans people being out and open about who they are made it possible for me to realize that about myself. Please never stop being who you are

[billieshrry]

Wicked Games • B.E.

Summary: you’re tasked with tutoring Billie, the girl that’s notorious for being a playboy at your school. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into with her.

Warnings: smut, dom!billie, innocentish!reader, gxg, fingering (r receiving), squirting, dumbification, fuckboy!billie (ish) (by request), college billie and reader, i think thats it

When you walked into class on Tuesday, the last thing you were expecting was to be called upon by your professor to stay after. You were the perfect student: your GPA never falling below 4.0, your assignments were always turned in on time, and the only time you missed a class was when your roommate was sick and you were afraid to leave her alone in the dorms.

So truthfully, even after you racked your pretty head, even with all of the knowledge in there, you had no idea what this could be about.

To say you were nervous was an understatement. The entire lecture consisted of you bouncing your leg up and down at a rapid pace, biting your nails until they were red and raw, and twirling your hair until you swear it could’ve all fallen out.

Finally, when the professor dismissed the class, you stood up shakily and made your way to his desk at the front of the lecture hall.

You, and the girl that sat all the way in the back.

“What is she doing here with me?” You think to yourself, wondering what similarities you two may have. The girl in the back of class was taller than you, with black hair covered by a bandana and a backwards cap. Her eyes pierced yours with the same confused look on her face.

“I don’t know why the fuck you’re here either. I’m probably here ‘cause I’m failing, dude.” She says, her voice soothing your ears.

She looks you up and down, taking in your comfortable yet put together outfit. You silently thank God that you decided to actually wear something presentable today, since last night was finally a night where you didn’t stay up studying until early into the morning. You push your glasses up a little farther up your nose, smiling at her comment. Still confused on why you’re here, the professor finally turns around and looks at you.

“Hey, have you met Billie?” He asks, looking at the girl next to you.

“Just did, Professor. Can I ask why I’m here?” You silently note the girl’s name. Billie. You feel like you’ve heard that before.

“Well, listen. I know you don’t need the extra cred-” your professor starts. You cut him off.

“I’ll do it, I can always use it. What do I need to do?”

The professor looks at you, then looks to Billie, who isn’t even looking up at the conversation happening in front of her.

“You need to tutor Billie. She’s failing.”

Billie’s head snaps up, an angry look taking over her face.

“Uh, fuck no. I don’t need anyone telling me shit.” She rudely remarks. Your heart sinks. You want this extra credit.

And you kind of want to get to know Billie.

So when she quickly pivots toward the door, her long strides taking her out of the hall to God-knows-where, you turn to your professor, mouthing “I got it,” and chase after her.

“Bil- Billie! Billie wait!” Your short legs finally catch up to her, but she’s still ignoring you.

“Billie it won’t be hard, but I’ll help. We don’t even have to meet a ton.” You beg. The extra credit would look great on your resume for internships.

“Fuck off, dude.” You hear her say. You can almost hear her eyes roll.

“Billie please, I’ll do anything, I need this for my resume and you need it so you don’t fail out! I promise it won’t be much.” You look down at your feet as you talk, making sure you’re staying on her tail.

Finally, she stops walking abruptly and turns around, making you run into her chest. You fix your glasses, looking up at her. She glares down at you, picking at her bottom lip with her thumb and forefinger.

“Give me your phone.” She spits, holding her hand out.

You hand it to her, confused.

She types in her contact, and her address.

“Come to my apartment tomorrow if you wanna do this shit. Text me when you’re there. Not about anything else. Got it?”

You nod and take your phone back, letting her walk away. You watch as she pulls a piece of gum out of the pocket of her definitely-too-big jorts. She adjusts her hat and keeps walking, leaving you dumbstruck in the middle of the courtyard of your university, really confused on what you just got yourself into.

————————————————————————————

The next day, you show up to her apartment at 5pm sharp. You text her, but get no response. You hear loud rap music through the walls, but you knock anyways. After about 7 minutes of standing outside of her door, probably looking ridiculous, she answers.

“Hey, come in.”

The stench of weed fills your nostrils and the smoke clouds your eyes. Holy shit. Of course she’s failing. All she does is get high.

You see another girl, half naked, run across the hallway into a bathroom.

Gets high and fucks people, you mentally correct yourself. You feel a sting in your heart, but you can’t quite place it, so it gets ignored.

“Get the fuck out dude, I told you I had shit to do and you’re wasting our time!” Billie yells across the apartment, assumingely to the girl you just saw in a bra and shorts, because she quickly runs out and toward the door that Billie is still holding open, with you next to it.

“Text me.” The girl says before glaring you down.

“Yeah I’ll think about it.” Billie laughs before slamming the door in the girls face. She coughs a little bit before going to the kitchen table and sitting down.

“What, you just gonna stare or actually tutor me?” She says to you, waiting for you to follow her to the table. You stutter out an apology, quickly going to the chair across from her.

“Nah, next to me.” She says. You look up at her confused.

“Sit next to me. Don’t make me say it again.”

You bite your lip and go to the chair next to hers, sitting on the cold wood, and quickly pulling your computer out of your backpack. Hers is already on the table with the class website pulled up. She watches your every move while you scatter to pull everything up. Your multiple tabs distract her, most about classes but some are Pinterest boards, online shopping carts, and shows you’ve been watching. Billie’s intrigued. She studies you, and you can feel her eyes watching your every move. You gulp, and your heart rate picks up. She places her hand on your thigh, making your head turn towards her. Looking up at her with your mouth barely open, your breathing labored as you lock eyes.

“How about we play a game, hm?” She says with a wild, wicked smirk on her face. You gulp harder this time, your eyes going foggy as she brings her hands up higher on your thigh. She leans into you, her lips grazing your ear.

“How about, instead of this,” she whispers, her fingers going in between you and her when she says ‘this,’ “I teach you a little something instead.”

Her words drive you crazy, and you have no idea what to do. You came to study, you came to tutor her. You need the extra credit, you need her to pass. You start to decline, trying to spit out that she needs to focus, but you gasp when her hand travels just high enough to brush the fabric covering you under your skirt.

“I think it’ll help both of us focus, yeah?” She smirks down at you, watching your reaction. Your throat is dry, your face is hot, and you can feel yourself starting to pool in your panties.

“O- okay.” You stutter.

“Not what I need to hear. It’s yes or no.” Billie says sternly.

“Yes.”

“Yes to what? What do you need from me, baby?” She smiles sickly. “Listen ma, I’ll give you all I got. Just ask nicely.”

“Ple-” Billie enjoys watching you struggle to get your words out. “Please fuck me, Billie.”

And just like that, the switch flipped. She cleared the table of everything; both computers, papers, empty dishes from earlier. She told you to get up on the table and sit facing her, so you did. Your heart was beating out of your chest, and your hands started to sweat. You were so nervous. Nervous to be seen by her, nervous to be fucked by her. She looked down at you with her hooded eyes, stepping in between your legs. Her hand started at your knee, slowly dragging its way up as she spit praises at you.

“Look how beautiful you are, so perfect for me,” “God’ I’m gonna fucking ruin you, baby,” “Just let me motherfuckin’ love you.”

You gasp as her hand reaches your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head spin. You stay watching her as she tilts your head back. She tells you to open your mouth, and you’ve never listened to someone so quick.

You open and stick your tongue out, not wavering your eye contact. She lets her spit slowly drip onto your tongue, her hold on your neck tightening, silently telling you to swallow. When you do, she moans and pushes you down onto your back on the table, ready to devour you.

She pushes your skirt up onto your hips, looking at the wet stain on your thong.

“All this for me, ma? Already? You’re so pathetic.” She says softly, her breath hitting right where you needed her most. You moan, begging her to touch you. To please you. Telling her you need her.

She pulls your underwear to the side, and dips her middle finger between your folds, slowly dragging upward.

“So fuckin’ pretty, baby.” She whispers before tasting you on her finger. You wiggle under her grip as she sucks you off of her, and she holds your hips down harder.

“Stop moving, be a good girl for me and stay still, okay? Gonna make this last.”

She licks a stripe up your pussy, your back arching off of the table and your hands falling by your side. She calls you needy, and then slowly toys her middle finger around your entrance.

“How bad do you need it, ma? Show me how bad this slutty little pussy needs my fingers.” She tells you, her eyes dark with lust. You sit up onto your elbows so you can watch her now.

You beg, and beg, and beg. You tell her you’re her slut, her whore, her plaything. She laughs at you and tells you how much of a dumb little bitch you are, already so needy after practically nothing. You tell her she’s right.

You are needy. Needy for her to fucking ruin you.

She shoves two fingers into your hole, curling them up before you can even realize whats happening. Your body jolts and you scream with a mix of pain and pleasure. She doesn’t slow down. Instead she watches you. She watches your chest rise up and down at an insane pace, she watches the way your eyes scrunch up when it hurts so good, she watches the way your thighs close when she starts to thumb your clit, the way you start to lose yourself in her.

She stands up now, never letting her pace slow down. She leans over you, forehead to forehead.

“This is a wicked game you’re playing with me.” She whispers onto your lips before violently making out with you. Your tongues mix with each other and she nibbles on your bottom lip. She absorbs your moans into her own mouth, turning her on even more. She feels your back arch, making your tits press against hers. Her free hand moves down your body, feeling your nipples through your shirt.

She can feel when you’re close. She feels your body start to jerk underneath her and she can tell you’re losing yourself. You look up into her eyes, totally lost in them.

“Please, can I cum for you?” You ask in the sweetest voice Billie’s ever heard. She smiles and nods, watching you in admiration.

Billie kisses her way back down to your pussy, attaching her mouth to your clit. She wants to taste you. She wants to feel you cum in her mouth.

When you start to get louder and your breath gets uneven, she doesn’t let up. Her fingers pound into you relentlessly, and her tongue expertly works at your nub. Your body becomes full of white, hot pleasure. You scream her name, you scream for God, you just scream.

“Let ‘em know, ma. Let ‘em know who’s fuckin’ you this good.” She rasps against you, your legs now shaking from the vibration. She can tell she’s overworking you, but she knows what she’s doing.

After all, she’s tutoring you, now.

She feels you clench around her two fingers, but she still doesn’t let up. She holds you down when you try to squirm away. She doesn’t stop. She won’t ever stop. She needs to see it. She needs to taste it.

Her hand goes back to your clit now, quickly rubbing it as she stands up and watches your entire body react to her touch. As soon as she sees your eyes snap shut and your back arch higher than before, she feels it.

She feels you drip onto her fingers, down her wrist. She feels her pants get damp with the smell of you. She slows down her fingers now, letting you catch your breath as she gently kisses up your neck.

“Pathetic baby just squirted all over my hand, how’s that for teaching you something? You made a bit of a mess.” She says mockingly, but all you can hear is your heartbeat in your ears. As you catch your breath, she makes her way down to clean you up with her tongue.

“We-we need to focus now.” You force out, your vision hazy and voice raw from screaming.

“Anything for you, baby. I’ll be able to really focus now that we got that out of the way.” Billie smiles up at you as she licks her fingers clean and sits you up, ready for you to teach her the subject of the class.

————————————————————————————

A/n - this is SO long sorry i couldnt fall asleep so i just kept writing

[shawnxstyles]

panty stealer

DATE: JANUARY 14, 2023

summary: flash forces peter to sneak into the girls sorority and steal a pair of panties as a dare. stumbling into the nearest room to save himself from being caught, he doesn’t expect you to be there, and to let him steal the panties you’re wearing.

request: yes!

words: 5.1k

warnings: SMUT (f- receiving [fingering, oral], praise kink, slight dacryphilia kink, dirty talk, and protected sex), language, alcohol, mentions of weed, and a bit of fluff.

note: frat!peter x sorority!reader / peter masterlist / PART 2

—

“are you serious right now, flash?” peter groans with a pinch to his nose. his eyes screw shut in annoyance at flash’s obnoxious behavior.

“of course i am, penis parker!” flash shouts, shoving peter towards the large, white sorority house. “you have to do the dare or else.”

peter groans again, hating himself for ever agreeing to do this stupid game with flash.

the night had started calm and for once, peter was grateful. friday nights were the craziest day at the frat house, but this week, everyone was a bit too busy with schoolwork. except flash apparently.

like all of his other roomies, peter loves a good party. he doesn’t mind thrashing his house every week if that means he can have fantastic parties at his place (okay, maybe he minds a little bit. it gets tedious cleaning up garbage after a while). he knows he won’t be young forever, so what the heck, right?

people never would have guessed that peter was the leader of the frat. shocking, right? everyone would assume it’s flash for his obnoxious and party boy persona or brad for his attractiveness and charm. but what do those qualities have to do with being a leader? everyone else (besides those two) agreed that peter should be the head of the house because he is responsible and smart, unlike those boneheads.

peter often asked himself if he was attractive and if he had charm.

he did, right?

brad was good with the ladies. one glance and a wink made the girls melt into puddles at his feet. every morning when peter woke up early to go to class, a different woman would waltz down the stairs with a glowing, uncontrollable smile in nothing but a t-shirt. peter knew without a doubt that every one-night stand that stumbled down was brad’s; it was rarely flash or the others and ned had a girlfriend who was in the sorority across from us.

peter hooked-up once in a while. he found it more difficult to be like brad when he had college to concentrate on and lives to save inbetween it all. being spider-man in high school was overwhelming at first because it was impossibly hard to hide it. but now, having more freedom in college made everything a bit simpler. just a bit.

flash being spider-man’s “#1 fan!” still made him chuckle every time it came up.

speaking of flash, when peter stumbled through the door in the evening expecting a chill friday night, flash just had to crank up the energy. as per usual.

“what is this?” multiple bottles of liquor were splurged across the dining table when peter walked into the kitchen. flash crossed his arms with a huge smirk plastered onto his face, while ned looked concerned and stressed.

“i tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen to me,” ned shook his head in disappointment before walking away to his room.

“we’re having a party. it’s friday, penis,” flash said with an obvious tone. peter could easily have him removed from the frat, being the leader and all. yet he still keeps him here. why must he do this to himself?

“flash, i said no parties today. everyone is tired and stressed, and has a lot of work to do—”

“stressed? i think that’s the best reason for a party. you need to get laid, my brotha,” brad interrupted with an arm around peter’s shoulders and a firm pat to his buff chest. brad is way taller than peter, which some might think intimidates him. but peter is mainly intimidated by intelligence, and brad had the iq of a stick.

peter rolled his eyes at the predictable statement. flash rambles on about how parties are a tradition on friday nights and peter sharply cuts him off with a strict tone.

“ugh, fine! no party, party-pooper parker. but we will be drinking tonight. or else i’m sending an invite to 50 people.”

—

peter had no choice but to comply. flash, ned, brad, himself, and the other boys are seated on the furniture with the drinks displaced in the center. flash gave peter an ultimatum; play truth or dare or he rings the entire sports program of a party. peter growled and folded.

soon later, there is a sharpie drawing on flash’s ass, a ruler that measured brad’s dick, a flushed ned from downing too many denied truth shots, and laughter bubbling throughout the whole room. peter is the only one who hasn’t gotten asked anything yet and he honestly feels a bit left out. but he also just wants to do his homework and then go to sleep.

“what’ll be, penis parker?” flash inquires with a mischievous look on his face. “truth or dare? or should i say drink or dare?”

peter, not caring at the time, chose dare. “dare.”

“oh, you’re so in for it.”

—

so in all, peter was basically held against his own will to sneak into the girl’s sorority house. even though he denied the dare profusely and took three shots to make up for it, flash still dangled the party invites over his head like an iron weight waiting to drop.

peter snarled as flash nudged him again impatiently. he thought of an idea that might work. peter would have to do this dare, but would he have to do it alone?

“if you come with me, i’ll give you $50 bucks—” peter sells with raised eyebrows. he licks his lips as the cold breeze rustles the trees and sends slight shivers up his arms. the sky is pitch-black as the heavy clouds cover all the stars. peter felt a storm brewing and he really didn’t want to sneak into the sorority soaking wet.

“pfft, parker, please. i have enough money—”

“—in weed.” peter finishes, causing flash to halt his words. peter knows that flash can never find a good supply because he complains about it all the time. marijuana wasn’t legal on campus, let alone in the state. the trade had the cogs turning in flash’s head.

“alright, deal,” flash gives in and elbows peter as a form of agreement. then flash motivates brad and ned to join, heading straight for the zone as a group.

their goal was to grab a pair of underwear and leave without being caught. as spider-man, that should be easy, right?

—

for some odd reason, the back door was unlocked. you’d think girls would be more secure and observant than guys, but maybe they forgot. after hopping over the trimmed gardening hedges, the four boys crept through the door and into the kitchen.

unlike peter’s frat, the sorority girls had two big rules that they made known to everyone; no hook-ups allowed and no frat guys. ever. the girls didn’t throw parties like peter, they only went to them, so their place was like a holy sanctuary.

when the guys tiptoed into the kitchen, peter wasn’t surprised the place was damn-near spotless. most of the interior was pearly white; couches, love-seats, tables, counter, cabinets— it was like walking into an insane asylum with minor color accents.

it was at least midnight by now, so the girls had to be asleep. tiptoeing as silent as possible up the stairs, peter leads until they’re all standing in the middle of the large hallway with rapid, contained breaths. flash, being the scaredy-cat he is, follows last and nervously trips over the final step. he slips, tumbling down multiple levels with nosy thuds and bangs of his elbows and knees. all of the guys sprout wide eyes and strained, silent gestures to warn him to stop falling and making an absurd amount of noise.

peter gets goosebumps, hair rising on his skin as he gets a shiver down his spine. his hearing intensifies, picking up mumbled whispers and light footsteps with his spider sense. his eyes wander frantically as he scatters his brain for an idea. nothing comes to mind fast enough, as a door down the hall creaks open. brad and ned drag flash up the stairs, but freeze when they hear the door. out of instinct, peter sprints to the nearest door, slyly slipping inside. he closes the door gently, contradicting the pounding of his heart, without a noise being made. he releases a sigh as his forehead rests on the doorframe.

“what are you doing?” peter nearly shrieks when you casually question him. he stares at you, eyes impossibly wider than before. your arms are crossed as you sit on the side of your bed. peter swallows harshly, gazing at your appearance.

your legs look smooth and supple, and very much bare. he assumes you have underwear on under the t-shirt you’re sporting, and is proved correct when you shift to dangle your legs off the bed. his eyes are drawn to the small sight of your panties that tease underneath your shirt. you smirk, arms still crossed as you let him check you out.

“i-um-uh,” cheeks wildly red, he swallows and averts his eyes to the ground. how does he explain such a stupid thing without sounding like a jackass? i was dared to invade the sorority house. sorry. oh, also, can i have your panties? “it was a dare.”

“to sneak into my room?” your head tilts as you lift yourself off the bed and stalk towards him. peter’s cheeks grow redder while his heart pounds brutally in his chest.

besides the embarrassment flowing like blood through his veins, you were the simple kind of gorgeous that made his knees weak. the kind that is stunning in their own skin and that radiates beautiful energy like magical fairy dust. and peter nearly fainted when he saw your lack of clothes.

he’s seen you many times before; you share a class with him and came to some of his parties. he never talked to you in fear of rejection, but now he doesn’t really have a choice.

usually, he has more confidence with girls, but this is a very unfortunate situation where he lost every skill he’s ever known. even talking.

“no—” ear-piercing screams interrupt peter’s stuttering from the other side of the door. footsteps run all over the wooden floor as low profanities leave the guys’ mouths. “i think she found them.”

“you think?” you clip with raised eyebrows. peter inhales, losing some of his anxiousness at his thoughts of the boys being caught.

poor ned. betty’s going to kill him.

flash deserved it, though.

brad is probably getting one of their numbers.

peter shakes his head and sets his thoughts straight.

“okay, look. flash dared me to do this… stupid thing and i convinced them all to do it with me. i wanted to do nothing but relax tonight,” peter admits with a stressed exhale. you glare at him with squinted eyes, trying to decipher what has him so worked up. it’s not like he got screamed at and kicked out like the other guys. knowing some of your roomies, they might be a lot worse than just kicking them out. you get closer to him and ponder what he said.

“what was the dare, parker?” you shoot a harsh glare at him, daggers that force him to answer. your head tilts with curiosity as your heartbeats sporadically. you’ve never had a guy in your room before, and for that first guy to be peter parker has your heart bouncing around your chest like a boomerang. you’ve had your eye on peter for a few months now; not crazy obsessive, but you won’t deny the blood-rushing crush you’ve grown for the frat boy.

how did you stumble that low? a frat boy? jeez.

peter can’t be too shocked that you know his name, let alone his last name, but you saying it still causes him to forget some of the words on his tongue. many shouts are heard from outside the door, but your chests are nearly touching as you gaze up at him and then the outside world is practically silenced.

“i had to steal some… panties,” he mumbles, voice low and quiet. why does it sound so dirty?

“panties?” you repeat in a hushed voice as your surprised eyes blink a few times. you swallow, clit beginning to throb at the word out of his mouth.

“yeah,” he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “do you have any that i can…borrow?”

your mind hazes at his question. you tried to remember where your underwear was and if it was clean. but as a clear opportunity lies in front of you, you decide to run with it. you look down with a racing heart, fingers gripping the hem of your shirt.

“i…i have these ones,” you lightly ball up your t-shirt, revealing your laced panties to peter. he quietly coughs, cock starting to harden behind the zipper of his jeans. you glance up at his reddening expression through your eyelashes, devilish eyes hiding behind an innocent facade. confidence and lust ease your anxiety. “will these work?”

“um, yeah,” peter coughs again as rosy embarrassment crawls up his neck and blood rushes to his cock. you strut over to the mattress, rocking your hips teasingly, and peter instinctively follows with his heart in his throat. you lie on your back and spread your legs, arousal dripping from you at every movement. peter watches from a side angle, holding his breath as the tension rises.

“well, you’re not much of a panty-stealer if i just give them to you. come and steal them, parker,” you say with as much confidence as you could muster up. your heart was so loud in your ears you almost couldn’t hear yourself. speechless, peter walks to the front of the bed and kneels down, eye-level with your pussy.

he crumples the shirt over your hips, your legs automatically spreading wider. his senses heighten and pick up on the scent of your arousal. a small patch of it can be seen in the middle of your underwear, sending painful pulses down to his forever hardening cock. his thumbs dance around the laced hem, teasing you to see how much he can go.

he would say some of his confidence is back now.

he hooks his fingers under the band, sliding the flimsy fabric down while sticky arousal slings to you. he stuffs the damp material in his back pocket. both of your hearts rack and hands tremble at the extreme intensity, waiting for someone to do something. anything.

peter decides to be that person and resumes his fingers to your hips where the hem used to be. your folds glisten with pent-up arousal, just begging for him to touch you. your puffy clit throbs, neglected, and your thighs subtly spasm trying to remain open. peter grinds on his molars, nearly moaning at the glorious sight. his rough pads trace your smooth skin as he drags lower, dangerously close to where you’re yearning for him.

“peter,” you whisper, holding your breath, so you don’t move a muscle, even though they’re involuntarily shaking with need. he hums, the dirtiest thoughts flowing through his mind. “d-don’t you have to go? what if you get caught?”

“i can spare a few minutes…” his gaze is hazy and distracted, voice gravelly with lust. you clench desperately around nothing as you quietly plead for him to do something. his thumb tests the waters and finally begins circling on your clit, sending electricity up your body. you yelp at the sudden pressure, naturally grinding your hips for more friction. “hmm? don’t you want me to spend a few minutes with you?

his words are taunting and condescending, making your mind go blurry while the words disintegrate from your tongue. the rough pad of his thumb rubs faster while you clench around nothing again, chest heaving.

“i want more than a few minutes,” you moan as his middle finger pets along your soaking slit, teasing you painfully until your eyes roll back. you can sense the smirk growing on his face based on the satisfied hum he responds with.

“more? greedy girl,” peter slides his middle finger into you without warning causing you to release a long string of moans. “shh, you don’t want them to hear you, do you? then we’ll both get caught.”

you shake your head.

“then be a good girl and be quiet for me,” peter demands softly. you nod shakily, as another finger pumps into you rapidly. he thrusts brutally into you, fingertips brushing over your g-spot. you melt as bliss laces throughout your body.

“it’s always the quiet ones who are the loudest,” a devilish and dirty smirk dances on his lips while your teeth sink painfully into your bottom lip. you slap your palm over your mouth to remain quiet as thrilled moans threaten to pour out of you. your revolving hips are halted by his strong forearm, allowing him to curl his digits deliciously into you. you mewl with screwed eyes, back arching at the immense pleasure.

“i’m so close, peter,” you whisper, scared that if you speak any louder your moans will betray you and alert the whole neighborhood. peter subtly grinds his hips into the front of the mattress, cock dangerously hard from your whimpering and whining.

“can i taste you? been dying to since you opened your legs for me,” peter asks while your thighs tremble and your pussy contracts tightly around his digits. you mumble out a shuddery please before his mouth is devouring you.

he never removes his fingers, pumping ruthlessly while his mouth explores your slippery folds. he sucks harshly on your throbbing clit, a muffled wail escaping through your hand. warm and soothing, his tongue glides curiously and sneaks into your undeniably soft cunt. the moan you release is unholy and way too loud. at least right now.

peter wants nothing more than to hear your sweet, sweet moans crying his name while he makes you come in several different ways. but tonight was not the night. he wasn’t trying to get reported and have intruder as a new notch on his belt.

he had a good feeling you wouldn’t run off and report him though.

the idea of it all got him off much more than he would have ever thought. and looking at you, he could say that same.

his mouth plops off of you, lips swollen and puffy from sucking.

“come all over my tongue. let me taste you, sweet girl,” his tone is euphonious and seductive, yet demanding. his fingers savagely thrust into your seeping hole that clenches tightly around him. your back arches off the mattress as your thighs shake from the upcoming euphoria.

peter’s words send your body into overdrive. your muscles contract and your stomach tightens as your orgasm ripples through your body like a heavenly wave. cum oozes out of you and onto his tongue, slurping up every ounce of your juices until there is nothing left.

“such a good girl,” peter praises while he licks away your arousal from his rosy lips. heat crawls up your neck at your sudden vulnerability. you attempt to close your legs to hide, but he keeps them spread with his rough hands. “you’re going to hide yourself after i just ate you out? we’re just getting started, baby.”

peter pulls his shirt off deliberately, showcasing his bulky abs and muscles that made your clit pulse with desire again. he looks like he was man-made, a real-life sculpture with chiseled muscles and perfectly ridged abs. you were insatiable to this man, who snuck into your room to steal something— you should be mad at him. furious. but when his boxers fall down his legs, only dirty and needy emotions and thoughts are left.

your eyes widen at his impressive length; you’ve only been with a few guys in the past, but none of them were this big. you were scared, yet excited to feel his cock stretch you out sinfully. you imagined how long you would feel him inside of you afterwards, soreness like a good workout at the gym.

“you’re so big,” you mumble, not hiding the fact that you were blatantly eyeing his raging cock with hunger, fear, and lust.

“it’ll fit. don’t worry, doll,” he hovers over you, smoothing your hair away from your worried eyes. “do you have a condom?”

you stretch out your arm into your night stand, blindly grabbing a tin-foiled package. you seductively rip it with your teeth, causing peter to groan in impatience. he snatches it away from you and swiftly slides it onto his sturdy cock.

“such a fucking tease,” he hisses, running the tip of his cock along your folds, which were already soaked in arousal again. “are you ready?”

you nod your head surely, more than ready for him to fill you up.

“you’re one to talk,” you sass, rolling your eyes, which were no longer as worried, but full of needy anticipation. he huffs out a single chuckle, eyes strained on his dick rubbing around your wetness tediously.

“speaking of talking, don’t,” peter thrusts into you savagely, making you gasp and shriek. your hand immediately goes to his shoulder for leverage, nails digging desperately into the meat of his skin. the other tightens securely onto your mouth to keep quiet, even though it’s probably useless now.

hoarse profanities fall from his lips as he shifts around your snug hole. your velvety walls choke his cock so fucking good, he doesn’t think he’ll last any longer. and then you clench even tighter around him, sending peter’s eyes rolling back into brain.

“you’re so fucking tight,” peter groans in your ear, flicking his hips upwards into you. your body trembles in overwhelming pleasure, muffled whines begging to be released.

slapping skin and hushed moans fill the air. peter fits a hand between the two of you and rubs your throbbing clit perfectly. his lips travel down from your ear to your neck, kissing along your skin. his tongue discovers your soft spot, sucking harshly until you’re clutching onto him for dear life.

“you’re so good, peter. so deep, too, oh god,” you can’t help the lusty wail that tumbles from your raspy throat when he rapidly rolls his hips, repeatedly touching your sensitive g-spot. he growls at the praise, every action being intensified by the comment. you notice this and smile with a hint of devilishness behind it.

“you may be smiling now,” peter pants, muscles popping and flexing from the position. “but you’ll be crying soon.”

if possible, his thrusts got harder. and deeper. and faster. he was pounding into your cunt like there was no tomorrow, buckets of arousal leaking from you and all around him. peter would pull his cock fully out just to slam it back in, and it made you wither away into another dimension. his balls beat against you harshly with every brisk thrust of his body. his skilled thumb pets your clit, electrifying all your nerves into blissful flames.

there was so much to feel; the biting of his kisses on your neck, the rough texture of his thumb pad on your clit, the long, thick length plunging barbarically into you, and the heaviness of his weight above you. you were so overwhelmed by the pleasure, water brimmed at your tear ducts. soon, full-blown tears are streaming down your face from the euphoria running through your veins.

that familiar wicked smile curls on peter’s face with your appearance; wild hair, tear-stained cheeks, and swollen lips. he doesn’t think you’ve ever looked so beautiful in front of him.

his cock twitches when you whimper loudly underneath the palm of your hand, begging to let you come. contracting on his shaft, your nails stab his shoulder blade until crescent moon marks appear. a strangled moan leaves him when your body rolls up towards him, back arching harshly.

“need to come. so bad, peter,” you whine. his name from your lips drives him mental.

“fuck, y/n,” he sighs heavily. “come around my cock like the good girl you are.”

with those words, your second orgasm tumbles through your body like a thunderstorm. peter slams his lips against yours to keep you quiet, all your pent-up moans turning into needy hums in your throat. stars spot in your vision and you thought you might pass out from being fucked into oblivion. you wouldn’t even be mad— it was worth it.

summoning all your energy, your muscles tense as the liquid floods out of you. your back arches, making your bare breasts push up against peter’s chest. at the same time, peter comes with a string of curse words against your plush lips. he shoots his load into the condom, balls tightening while his eyes screw shut. he steadies his pumps and slowly pulls out of you, never wanting to leave.

you whimper at the emptiness, already missing his cock. he ties the knot and tosses it into the garbage under your desk. peter slips into his boxers and immediately finds the small box of tissues on your night stand. grabbing a few, he cleans you delicately like an antique doll as if he didn’t just ravish your body and soul.

you were beyond dumbstruck as he wiped you up. the few people you have been with never stayed long enough for aftercare, and even though it should be a necessity, the action still made your heart lurch for peter. speaking of your heart, it was beating a mile a minute. sex was a physical activity, yet having a huge crush on someone felt a lot more physically demanding. but you really liked the feeling.

a million thoughts brisked through your head; how does he feel? does he feel the same? did he hate it? did he love it? you shake your head. if you didn’t stop yourself, you would ruin any chance you might have by overthinking too much.

when you refocus your eyes to the moment, peter has his jeans fully on and his shirt in his hand. he slides it on and then looks at you worryingly, seeming as though you’re still naked and haven’t moved.

“are you okay? did i go too hard? fuck—”

“yes—i mean no! shit,” you stutter after interrupting him and close your eyes in embarrassment. “yes, i’m fine. i’m more than fine. that was… really good, peter. like really good.”

peter’s tensed shoulders relax as his face melts from a concerned expression to a soft one. you slip your large t-shirt on and stand up from your bed. your legs are a bit unbalanced and wobbly, and peter can’t help but chuckle as he holds you steady by your hips.

“stop laughing! you did this!” you whisper-yell with a faked angry face.

“oh, i know. next time, i’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk, let alone stand,” he winks with an arrogant smile cascading his lips. familiar heat creeps up your neck and ears, making you all tingly inside at the idea of a next time with peter.

“next time?” large rings of hope surround your irises as you stare into peter’s. his arrogance slightly fades as he itches with nervousness.

“yeah, if that’s what you want, of course,” why is he holding his breath? why is his heart beating so unhealthy fast?

“if i say yes, does that mean you’re going to try to steal my panties again?” you try to hold back your grin as you joke, peering up at him with squinted eyes.

“are you going to let me steal your panties again?” he clicks his tongue with his all too familiar smirk. he loves your playful demeanor and your attempts to withhold a smile.

you pretend to think, really debating. peter can’t help but stare at you in awe. you were beautiful, and he regrets not approaching you earlier because you were… well, he didn’t really know you yet, but he wouldn’t mind getting to know you better. even if you told him to fuck off and never to see him again, he knew that he would never forget you or this night.

you push yourself closer to peter, chest to chest. you can both feel the rapid beating of your hearts through your shirts. however, you stand, gazing confidently at peter. he watches you as you lean right in like you were going to kiss him.

“mm maybe. you might just have to find out yourself,” your breathy words linger on his lips as you back away and casually get into the bed. you unfold the comforter and tuck yourself in, like you didn’t just give peter a semi-hard on in his pants.

suddenly a loud crash is heard from outside, alerting both of your heads to peer out through the window.

“my car!” flash cries so high-pitched and whiny, he probably woke up the entire neighborhood. peter isn’t surprised that one of the sorority girls destroyed his car because he deserved it. someone needed to humble him anyway. you both laugh behind the palm of your hands at flash’s girly scream.

with that, peter realizes that he has to go and that he no longer has any minutes to spare. flash, brad, and ned probably weren’t worried about peter while they were out-running the girls. but now that the girls had done the damage, the boys would soon realize peter’s absence.

“better hide your panties. this isn’t over,” peter walks over to the side of your bed and kisses your forehead delicately. he cracks open the window, turning to you with half his body out. with a wink from him and a gasp from you, he jumps down the two-story window without hesitation. your heart flutters at his gentle kiss that lingers on your skin, fingers pressed against the spot his lips last touched.

rain begins to splash on the glass as sprinkles of water drip into your room through the open window. you purposefully don’t close it, even when you know the carpet will get soaked throughout the night. you welcomed the idea that if peter wanted to come back, he could, simply by sneaking through the window the same way he left.

so many other thoughts cloud your mind, making you lie wide awake. you wondered if his heart was still thumping hastily like the rain pattering on your window and onto your floor. you wondered what he looked like when he was drenched in natural rain water. probably breathtakingly beautiful; soaking wet hair and a childish smile adorning his rosy face while he laughs wholeheartedly.

as you roll over to turn off your lamp with a wistful sigh, you remember that you never even got his number. while trying to guess which set of numbers fit peter parker the best, you fall asleep with a yearning heart, flapping its wings adoringly in your chest.

oh, god, you were down. and it was bad.

what you didn’t know was that peter was down too, but even worse than you.

—

tags: @raajali3

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[elizabebabe]

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐲𝐨𝐠𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ꕤ 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡: yoga teacher y/n’s student has her thinking unprofessional thoughts.

minors dni!

| “you got so wet so quickly…been a while since someone touched you baby?”

| “damn — spread open for me, on your mat?”

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: use of y/n, pet name, smut with little plot, fingering, f!masturbation, fantasies, horny!y/n, lowk lonely!y/n.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.1k!

𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬: kicking off the remodel with a one-shot !! zabe loves yoga, zabe loves chris, mix em together?

“today we’ll be doing a few more advanced stretches, stretching out your backs, calves and any other tight muscles.” your voice echoed through the studio, your students crisscrossed on their mats awaiting instruction.

you had early morning classes every day of the week but wednesday was particularly your favorite since you got to see a certain student, his name was chris and yes he was handsome but he also cared about your profession or…maybe less about your profession and more about yoga itself.

he wanted you to help him fix his bad back, asking questions, asking for advice, you needed to be professional which is why all your attempts of asking for his number ended in failure.

you turned on your speakers, the usual calm, lyricless music waving through the room, also not forgetting to turn off the lights to give a more relaxed feel you always wanted to share with your students.

“we’re gonna start how we always start, savasana.” you scrambled around the room, stepping between bodies laying atop their personal mats ensuring everyone knew what they were doing.

you took 3-4 minutes to correct anyone making mistakes and marking who could use a bit of help, some days of the week you had kids joining in with their guardian, on wednesdays you have a pretty mixed group of ages so it can be hard to “grade”.

“alright, that’s savasana.” 

“come up to ‘mountain’ pose.” you continue, stepping on your mat to follow along to your own instructions, trying to ignore your eyes telling you to gaze at the brunette man in the front row.

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚

after an hour of tough stretches, your class huffed and puffed on their way out but one man stayed behind.

“hey.” he nudged at your turned back.

“oh! hi.” the interaction taking you by surprise as you never really interacted, “what can i do for you.” you smiled awkwardly.

“well, with the ‘cobra’ pose.” he hiked his yoga mats strap over his shoulder, “i’m struggling with getting my back that low, it kinda hurts.” he says with a cute, loose smile maybe embarrassed by what he’s saying.

“oh no! if it hurts, find a way to make it more comfortable for you.” you gestured with your hands.

“it shouldn’t hurt, maybe uncomfortable but it shouldn’t hurt—“ the rambling of yours continued.

he snickered which interrupted your words, “thanks.” he gently patted your shoulder before turning towards and out the glass door.

the embarrassment he felt now flipped on you as you wanted to crawl into a hole from the exchange.

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚

your drive home was silent as you sat overthinking about what played on your mind, ‘he just wanted advice, he doesn’t like you.’

‘why did he touch you then?’

‘it was a pat on the damn shoulder, did you see how fast he got out of there?’

you felt crazy as voices in your head fought over something so small, your key turned into the knob of your apartment door, remembering the exam you promised yourself to study for.

you were in community college, typically only having one class a day left lots of time to work on your yoga studio your parents helped pay for.

you threw your tote and mat to the ground, ignoring the thought to change into some of your loose pajamas and sitting at your small dining table for one.

the first few minutes of studying were fine, even taking off your fitted white jacket as you got in the zone. you were able to focus and concentrate on the work ahead of you but that didn’t stop the little voice in your head nagging about him.

you knew his name was chris or at least that’s what he filled out on the forms you had tucked in a random cabinet—

‘this is crazy.’ you huffed before averting your attention back to your notebook.

…

you scrolled through your phone immediately contradicting yourself by looking for different chris’s throughout social media — ‘doesn't he follow the studio's instagram?’

you scrolled through the following list before finding him, his handsome face adorning his profile picture and only a few photos on his feed, but you loved every second of scrolling through them..

adjusting yourself in your chair every so often at the sight of his beautifully crafted face, you couldn't help your fingers sliding past the waistband of your tight leggings that matched that thrown fitted jacket and quickly underneath your light blue panties that you could only hope chris would see one day.

your fingers quickly found your wet folds slipping through the slick and imagining it was the man from your front row, “you got so wet so quickly…been a while since someone touched you baby?” his voice echoed through your head.

the guilt you felt from thinking about him almost warranted you to stop but when your finger accidentally grazed over your clit you couldn’t stop yourself.

the actions continued, one of your fingers dipping into your soppy hole, another leaving airy touches on your clit.

it wasn’t enough, even with his face and his veiny hands you remember pressing firmly into the mat beneath him you couldn’t hit the right spots you knew those long fingers of his could.

but it didn’t stop you from trying, you pushed deeper into yourself once you slid down the wooden chair you uncomfortably sat in the position of your hips reminding you of when you instructed him through a certain pose even showing him a private demonstration, your fingers curling and grazing that spongy spot you aimed for, you remember that day, silently begging him to make a move, touch you in a any way but he never did.

trying to focus on your fantasy as you pumped into yourself made you wetter, “damn — spread open for me, on your mat?” you imagined him laying you down, taking his time while he undressed you, your drippy hole dripping onto the mat beneath you both.

“you’re gonna have to clean this later.” he says, scissoring his fingers inside you, eliciting a moan from your throat.

“gonna think about me when you do it?” 

“how wet i get you?” he continued.

“chris..” you grunted as your body buzzed and legs shook, you were close and all because you “stumbled” upon his instagram, your fingers picked up speed, vigorous motion ensued on your sensitive bud.

the rope snapping in your stomach halting your movements, your mouth agape and sweat dotting your skin.

a certain ’ding’ brought your attention back to your phone.

an instagram dm, a unexpected “can we talk?” from the man you finished all over your fingers for.

second smut baby !! and it’s about my man..

i hate this :( that’s why it took me so long to post bc i was debating whether it was too lackluster but i wanted to post something while i work on longer things, again thank you for the support on ‘southern belle’ and i love you. 🕰️

🏷️ @fratbrochrisgf @3lizaluvs @lily-strnlo @i-love-ptv @venusjaynie @jetaimevous @lizzysmith110 @firexovni @bagsbyclair0

i hope you’re satisfied with your purchase!

© elizabebabe

[rafeandonlyrafe]

your friendly neighborhood spiderman

words: 3k

warnings: spiderman!rafe, attempted robbery, friends to lovers, college student!reader, non canon spiderman things (no one tell miguel o'hara!)

huuuge shout out to @ladyinbl00d who inspired this completely <3

“did you see this new video of spiderman?” you question rafe, plopping down on the couch next to him, shoving your phone into his hand, already pulled open to tiktok. the video shows spiderman swinging through various buildings before disappearing into an alley.

“i wonder if that's near where he lives.” you hum, leaning your head against rafes shoulder. “you know, it's not that far from us.”

“what do you think of this spiderman guy anyways?” rafe questions, clicking the power button to get the screen to turn black. he's had enough spiderman for one night.

“i mean, he's like a hero right? he's great. and he protects the neighborhood which is what matters.” you nod, snatching your phone back from his hands.

“don't you have homework?” rafe asks as you begin to scroll again, trying to find more information.

“yeah, but don't you wanna know more? what if it's someone we know?” you gasp and turn to look at rafe. “what if it's someone in our building?”

“alright.” rafe chuckles, standing up and walking the short distance to your makeshift work area in the corner of the living room, pulling your chair away from the desk, “enough with this spider guy. get to work on your essay.”

“spiderman.” you clarify, but set your phone face down on the coffee table and take your seat at your desk, opening up your laptop.

despite rafes family being extremely wealthy in the outer banks, the money doesn't translate as well to new york city, so when you got accepted to a university in the city, rafe ended up renting a smaller apartment for the two of you.

you didn't expect your best friend to come with you, thinking you'd have to adjust to life without him, but rafe wasn't about to let you live alone in a big, often scary, city.

you finish your essay and quickly submit it, not bothering to proofread it as you navigate to instagram on your school laptop, looking for more spiderman sightings.

“y/n.” rafe says, making your eyes widen and slam the screen closed.

“yup?” you turn, a soft smile on your face, knowing you just got caught.

“time for bed.” he points towards your room, knowing you have your photography class early in the morning tomorrow.

“fine.” you roll your eyes. “you know, you're becoming more like ward every day.”

rafe sighs as you shut your door. he doesn't want to be treating you like this, but he knows the sun setting makes the criminals come out of hiding. he just wants to keep you safe and doing well in school, even if he does wish you chose one closer to home.

--

“neighborhood life.” you roll your eyes, linked arm in arm with your friend kayla. “i mean what does that even mean? you think an intro to photography class would give us more instructions. and then to say he doesn't want pictures of food stands or subways?”

“yeah, our professor sucks.” kayla agrees, camera hanging around her neck to snap a picture at a moments notice, while yours is shoved deep into your bag.

“maybe i can sit out on the fire escape tonight and try to get a picture of spiderman.” you hum, cheeks blushing slightly.

“that's actually a really good idea.” kayla admits with a nod. “i may just do the same.”

“ugh, i knew i never should have shared my idea with you, you bitch!” you say with a giggle, both dissolving into laughter as you reach your bus stop.

--

“what, you think spiderman is just going to conveniently fly by your window and you're gonna get a perfect picture?” rafe laughs.

you shrug. “stranger things have happened.”

“like what?” rafe questions, placing his hands on his hips.

“like your family finding all that gold.” you look to rafe, watching the way his face changes. you know there's something he isn't telling you about what happened. there's shame buried deep, and you're determined to find out what it is, but don't want to push your best friend and hurt his feelings.

“alright, sit out on the fire escape all night for all i care.” rafe shrugs.

and that is exactly what you do, sit on your windowsill, slipper covered feet against the metal landing, camera placed on your lap, waiting and watching.

the moon is full, shining brightly along with the city lights, skyscrapers that never seem to dull and yellow taxi cabs that never seem to stop running.

you let out a gasp when rafe opens up the window behind you, making you jump.

“sorry.” he says softly, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders. “just wanted to make sure you're okay.”

he hands you a cup of hot chocolate. you take a sip before placing it onto the sill.

“any sightings?” rafe asks.

“nope.” you shake your head before yawning. “thanks for the hot chocolate though. im gonna wait another hour then call it for tonight.”

“you're gonna get your picture.” rafe says. “trust me.”

--

you're about to head back inside, hot chocolate drained empty and blanket wrapped even tighter around your shoulders as the temperature continues to drop.

you let out another yawn, unable to stop them now as your eyes scan the horizon one more time.

you think you see something in between two buildings and grab your camera, only for a bike to suddenly dart out and into the street.

you sigh and stand up, stretching your tired legs when you hear a telltale whooshing sound that could only be a body moving through the air. 

you raise your camera, snapping pictures as spidermans web attaches to your building, swinging directly past you. you swear he even looks straight down your camera lense.

you let out a loud whoop as he swings away, even yelling out into the night.

“we love you spiderman!”

--

“eat your words.” you smack the printed picture down onto your dining room table, right in front of where rafe is eating his cereal.

“i told you you'd get it!” rafe says, snatching the picture up.

“yeah, but you doubted at first.” you smile, accepting his half-hug as you stay standing, dressed and ready to go to class.

“i should have learned to never doubt you.” rafe shakes his head. a small town girl from the outer banks getting into a prestigious nyc school isnt unheard of, but it is unheard of to not use your parents money for bribes, and you did this solely on your own.

“that's right, cameron.” you smirk.

“well, you're absolutely getting an A on this assignment.” rafe hands the picture back, replaying your words from last night. we love you spiderman.

--

“an f?” you glare up at your professor. “i got a picture of spiderman!”

“and how does that show neighborhood life?” he questions. “he's just a punk who likes to dress up.”

“he's saved lives!” you argue, standing up, outraged.

“he's probably in some drug gangs pocket, letting their criminals go while robbing the others.” he shakes his head. “your photograph should have been more like michaels.”

you look at michaels photograph, sitting a row below you, proudly displaying the photo that the professor deemed an A+. “a rat? in the subway? seriously?”

you stomp out of class, kayla calling out for you, but you ignore your friend, not wanting to stay in that room for another minute.

you don't realize until you're halfway home that you're doing the one thing you promised rafe would never happen. you're walking through the streets of new york city alone.

you clutch your bag closer. certainly the daylight will help protect you as you try to keep to more populated streets, but you have to walk through a few more deserted blocks to get back to your shared apartment.

you just want to see rafe, to fall into his arms and have him listen to your ranting and rambling about how much professors suck.

you're too deep into imagining the relief you'll feel in that moment to realize someone is following close behind you, a man with a dark hood pulled over his face.

you're only made aware of his presence when his hand pushes into your back, shoving you into an alley. 

you let out a scream as the man flips you so your back smashed into the brick wall. 

“shut up!” he shouts, covering your mouth with his disgusting hand, making you gag instantly. “give me all your money!”

you're about to hand over your entire bag, school camera be damned even though you're supposed to return it at the end of your semester, when you hear the familiar whoosh.

the man seems to recognize it too, taking a quick step back before spiderman punches him straight in the face, sending him to the ground.

“stay away from her!” he growls out, a twinge of familiarity striking again. you quickly realize this is the first time you've heard spiderman properly speak, not shouts or groans during fights.

you could never predict what happens next as spidermans arms wrap around your waist. you have a second to react and wrap your arms around his shoulders before you're off, flying in the sky.

you squeal and stick your face into his chest, not wanting to see the street below you. you only look up again when your feet are firmly on the ground.

you blink your eyes open, realizing you're standing on your fire escape, your room right through the window behind you.

“you did see me that night!”

spiderman just nods before he's off again.

you rush inside, adrenaline causing your heartbeat to skyrocket as you call out for your best friend.

“rafe?” you shout, frowning when he doesn't answer.

the front door opens a moment later, rafe whistling as he walks in.

“oh, hey.” he frowns, tune suddenly dying. “i thought you were supposed to be in class?”

“i… my professor gave me an f. i was mad so i just left and started walking home when…” you know you shouldn't tell rafe. it would cause him to be even more paranoid.

“when what?” rafe questions, dropping his bag onto the floor, eyes only briefly glancing to make sure nothing spilled out, no tell tale colors peaking free.

“when i got robbed. but it's okay!” you quickly hold your hands up. “spiderman saved me!”

“spiderman, huh?” rafe questions before sighing at your rapid nods.

“i guess i gotta like the guy now,” he pulls you into a tight hold, wrapping you up in his arms in a much needed hug. “ afterall, he saved you.”

--

you are humming to yourself as you get the table ready for rafe to come home with your pizza, always splurging on friday nights to get an entire pizza to split between the two of you while catching up on your week, rafe always having a crazy tale of something he saw while walking around the city.

rafe bursts through the door, startling you as he lets out a whoop and holds the pizza up.

you laugh and attempt to reach the box, but even jumping is no use as he's simply too tall, arms stretching almost to the ceiling.

rafe finally brings it down to your level as you grab it out of his hands and set it onto the table, taking a deep inhale of the scent.

“i got you a drink.” you tell rafe, gesturing to the soda sitting on the table.

rafe feels a tingling before it even happens, taking a deep breath, trying to sense what's about to come when your hip bumps into the pizza box as you reach for your lemonade.

the pizza box is only half on the table, the weight of the lid hanging off causing the small bump to be enough to send it over the edge, towards the floor.

your pizza night is about to be ruined before rafe sweeps in, using his extra senses to save the meal.

you gasp, the pizza back on the table not even a split second after you realized it was even falling.

“jesus, rafey!” you squeal. “you've got like super senses or something!”

“yeah, or something.” rafe hums.

--

“i mean, you gotta be kidding me.” you roll your eyes. “an action shot? that's literally begging for me to submit another spiderman photo.”

“oh, agreed.” kayla nods. “you did not deserve that F, let him eat his words when you send in this next one.”

“mhm, i think im gonna walk around tonight to try and get a picture of him.”

“you will not!” rafe was listening from his bedroom, door open to keep an eye on you and your friend.

“it'll be fine!” you turn to look at him. “if anything happens, im sure spiderman will save me again.”

“girl, go over the details with me again!” kayla squeals. “im still so jealous, i wanna be whisked away by spiderman!”

“ugh, he's so hot!” you agree.

“how do you know he's hot?” rafe is now standing in the doorway. “he wears a mask all the time.”

you're about to respond when kayla stops you. “he's a guy, he'll never get it.”

rafe drops it, waiting until kayla leaves to bring it up to you again. “so how is spiderman hot?”

“he's just-” you sigh over dramatically. “such a good guy. did you see him stop swinging to help that old lady cross the street? like any guy putting his life on the line to help out his neighborhood has to be hot.”

“ah.” rafe simply says, turning his back so you can't see the smile on his face. “you're not going out tonight, right?”

“right.” you lie, knowing rafe can tell when you're not telling the truth.

“y/n-” he warns.

“ill be fine, rafe.”

--

you take nothing but your camera, hoping leaving your bag at home will get any potential robbers to leave you alone just in case spiderman isn't nearby to save you.

you quietly walk through the dark streets, lights occasionally illuminating the sidewalk as you keep your head turned upwards.

you walk well past midnight, circling in blocks around your neighborhood with still no sign of spiderman.

you were hoping for a perfect action shot from the street below as he swings by. you assume he must be in the rougher parts of the city, your feet subconsciously moving to head to worse neighborhoods than your own.

“alright, you've gone far enough.” the voice makes you gasp and turn around, seeing spiderman hanging upside down from a street light.

“have you been following me?” you question, a smile growing on your face, completely forgetting the reason you were trying to find spiderman was to take a photograph of him for your assignment.

“go back home. its late and dangerous out here.” 

you can see spiderman is about to swing away. “wait!” you call out, moving closer as he drops his web lower. you move carefully, slowly caressing his cheek through the thick uniform.

“i can't show you my face.”

“i want to kiss you.” you say, watching the way his lips move, enticing even being completely covered. “can i kiss you?”

“yes.” 

you move the mask lower, exposing his chin then finally lips. you lean in, hesitating for a moment before pressing your mouth against his in a kiss.

you only pull away when spiderman does, flipping to stand on his feet before quickly retaking your mouth, dominating the kiss now that he's right side up.

he finally pulls away with a harsh breath. “i-i can't. i have to go.”

“you're not going to swing me home?” you look him in the mask covered eye. “rafe.”

you can see his body physically react, tightening before relaxing. “how did you know?”

“you're my best friend. how could i not know? especially once i saw your face.”

“you… you knew and still kissed me?” rafe looks around quickly before ripping his mask off, baring his face to you.

“of course.” you place a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him back down. “ive always wanted to kiss you.”

rafe launches a web into the air as you kiss him again, flying through the sky as you makeout, his senses keeping you from crashing as he swings back towards home.

--

“so… how did this all happen?” you question. “you haven't been spiderman the whole time i’ve known you.” you can tell now in hindsight that he changed. you figured it was just being in new york, being older, but now you know.

“i got bit by a spider. i- i will spare you all the details but i did some very bad things in the outer banks. involved with getting the gold. so-” rafe sighs, looking at you, making sure you’re not judging him, not thinking of fleeing. “i wanted to fix my life. and when i got these new powers, i wanted to use them for good.”

“you are a good man, rafe.” you reach out and squeeze his hands. “whatever happened… you’ve made up for it. i promise.”

“thank you.” rafe breaks, falling forward and pressing his face against your shoulder. you wrap your arms around his shoulders, hugging him close.

you whisper quietly, not sure if you’re ready to say the words properly yet. “i love you.”

rafe looks up, hope sparking in his eyes. “i love you too. i always have.”

--

“be careful out there.” you press a kiss to rafes lips. you've known his secret for two weeks now, still getting nervous every time he leaves, even if he comes home unscathed the next morning after protecting the neighborhood all night long.

“i will.” he kisses you again, wishing he didn't have to leave your bedroom as he crawls out your window onto the fire escape. he pulls on the mask before swinging away, all while you watch from your bed.

you wake up the next morning with rafes front pressed against your back, spiderman suit still on except for the mask, arms wrapped possessively around your body.

you turn carefully in his grasp until you see his sleeping face, cheek slightly scuffed up from whatever happened overnight.

you press gentle kisses against his face, keeping him asleep. you look at the clock on your bedside table.

wait any longer, and you'll miss your photography class. you shrug, screw that class, and snuggle back into your boyfriend's hold.

sfw taglist: @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie

[harunayuuka2060]

Silver: It's funny how the demon brothers were fighting over who gets the privilege of being MC's lap demon, and now they're all chasing after them since they've magically turned into toddlers.

Lilia: ...

Lilia: How long have you been here, Silver?

Silver: Since the early morning. Belphegor invited me over to ask about MC's preferences for pillows.

Lilia: ...By the way, have you seen Malleus?

Silver: He snatched MC.

Lilia: Then who are the brothers chasing?

Silver: An illusion.

Lucifer: *giving a stern glare at Malleus after he got MC back*

Malleus: Forgive me. Force of habit.

Satan: The hell you mean 'force of habit'?

Lucifer: *sigh* That's enough. And you, *to MC*, what were you thinking?

MC: Luci!

Lucifer: ...

Asmo: AWWWWW~! They're trying to get away from being scolded~!

Belphie: Lucifer, let me hold them.

Mammon: No! I'll hold them!

Levi: H-Hey! I won the game earlier, s-so I will hold them!

Beel: Your hands stink. You'll give them a rash.

Levi: Excuse me?!

Malleus: How long will the child of man be in that state?

Lucifer: Before the day ends.

Lucifer: They turned into a toddler after signing a cursed document.

Malleus: I see.

Barbatos: MC finished all the documents within this week.

Diavolo: *chuckles* They are so diligent!

Leona: Diligent, you say. But I see that as being careless.

Vil: I agree. Were they always like this back in your realm?

Diavolo: Why, yes! That's how they captivated all of us!

Azul: Your Highness, I hope you wouldn't mind me asking. How is it possible for the Prefect to handle serious matters?

Diavolo: Ah. I don't know the answer to that. *chuckles*

Barbatos: However, if you are curious, MC once argued with one of the House Of Lords members.

Azul: House Of Lords?

Barbatos: Yes. The nobles who guard the king's throne.

Leona: Sheesh. And why did they do that?

Diavolo: There was a time they doubted my skill. MC was furious when they went for me and the brothers. *chuckles* I could still recall how they challenged them to a fistfight when they could no longer hold their patience.

Barbatos: It was truly a fascinating sight.

Diavolo: Afterwards, they considered MC to be someone willing to protect and ensure the safety of the entire Devildom.

Leona: Goody two shoes.

Vil: I hate to agree with Leona, but yes.

Azul: I had seen MC fight so this was not a bit surprising.

*The brothers and Malleus walking with MC (who is still a toddler)*

Barbatos: Ah. Have they fallen asleep from all that running?

Lucifer: Yes. Fortunately.

Satan: *the one carrying MC this time*

Satan: There's no work left for them, right?

Barbatos: Yes.

Satan: *smiles* Great.

Vil: However, the headmage would like them to resume their classes.

Mammon: Huh? Why?

Azul: The Prefect is still a student of Night Raven College. And they are responsible for Grim, so they need to be there to supervise him.

Leona: Speaking of that furball, where is he?

Lucifer: *points at the ceiling*

Vil, Leona, and Azul: *looks up*

Grim: Mryah! *is being tied upside down* Get me down here!

Lucifer: You are learning to become a great mage. Think of ways how to release yourself from those binds.

Grim: THIS IS UNFAIR!

Azul: *couldn't help but laugh*

*In Devildom*

Solomon: Huh? Diavolo and Barbatos have gone on a vacation with MC?

Mephistopheles: Yes.

Solomon: ...But I didn't receive a message that they have returned?

Mephistopheles: MC tried to get ahold of you.

Mephistopheles: If you'll be here around weekends, MC will surely appear to check everything here.

[samandcolbyownme]

This one shot will include a teacher!Reader x student relationship. Just move along if it’s not for you.

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, reader is a few years older than Chris, heavy flirting, tension, angsty, kissing, hair pulling, slightly rough actions, biting, scratching, oral (both), unprotected sex, general filth

Word Count: 2.9k | unedited

——

It was hard being a young professor at the university.

Always having to deter guys away from flirting with you. Having to ignore comments that are made towards you. The other, older professors trying to make passes while meeting with you one on one so you can answer their ‘questions’.

You just got used to it, constantly going through the motions as each day passed. Eventually, it became like muscle memory.

Until one day, one student changes everything for you.

You had no control over the feelings that had creeped in. No control over the smile that you fought so hard to keep off of your face each time you made eye contact with him, and it grew harder and harder by the days.

It also doesn’t help that he makes sure to get there early to grab the seat right up front in the middle.

Every. Single. Day.

“I expect to see the homework I’m assigning, done and on my desk tomorrow morning.” You look around, “It’s easy work, seriously.”

The class chuckles and you glance at Chris who’s looking down on his phone, “Something important Mr. Sturniolo?” You walk around the front of your desk and lean against it.

“No, not really.” He smirks and you nod slowly, “Mm, alright then.” You rest your hands on the desk beside you, “I guess that is it for today. I will, hopefully, see you all tomorrow.”

You turn around, dragging the strewn papers across your desk into a pile.

It didn’t take long for the room to empty out, or so you thought it was empty.

“Ms. Y/l/n.”

You turn around, laughing slightly, “Chris, this is college. You don’t have to-“

“I like it.” He shrugs, his peaking out to run along his bottom lip, “I was just wondering if I could get some extra help?”

You smirk, “Chris, your grade are.. perfect. What help do you need?”

His eyes glide down your body as he thinks of something quick, “I, um. The essay.” You raise your brows and tilt your head, “I’m going to let you in on a little secret, okay.”

You motion with your finger for him to come closer, and he walks towards you, “Yes, Ms. Y/l/n?”

You lean in, “There’s this magical place called a library. Full of books and knowledge. All you have to do is pick one under the genre of your choosing, and write something based on that book.”

He smiles and good god, you feel your knees wiggle.

“Right, right.” He steps back, “Just thought I’d give it a try.” He walks back to his seat and grabs his bag, “See you tomorrow.”

As he walks up the steps, you sigh, “Chris, wait.”

He stops, turning around on his heel, “Yes?”

“If you pick a book today, I’ll go over it with you tomorrow after class.” You watch as he nods, fighting back a smirk, “Thank you.”

“Mhm.” You nod and watch as he leaves, letting out a sigh before turning to gather the rest of your things.

——

The rest of the night you kept thinking about the interaction between you and your student, knowing damn well what he was doing.

And you were letting it happen.

The next day in class, Chris decided to wear his glasses, which only made it harder for you to give your attention to the other students, focus on what you’re trying to teach even though it was projected onto the big screen behind you.

“Before, I click to the next slide, who can tell me how the black plague was spread, bonus if you can tell me how many people were affected.”

You look around, “anyone?”

You see Chris raise his hand and you motion, “I’m going to say, rats.”

You nod, “You would be correct. Rats played a massive part in killing..” you shrug, “How many people?”

“A lot.” Chris answers, earning laughs from the class.

“I mean, you’re not wrong, but I’m looking for a number.” You laugh slightly, “Or a rough estimate I should say.”

Another person raises the hand and you point, “Yes, Jay.”

“Over a few million.”

You nod, “Close.” You turn around clicking to the next slide, “Over seventy five million people were affected and died by the plague.”

The day goes on and soon enough, it’s just you and Chris.

“Did you find a book?” You ask as you sit down at your desk. He sits down on the other side of your desk and shuffles through his bag, “I did, I just have to- ah ha.”

He pulls out the book and lays it on the desk, “Here it is.” He slides it over and you reach out, your hand brushing along his.

You glance up, his eyes already on you and you smile, “Good book.”

“You’ve read it before?” He tilts his head, reaching up to push up his glasses and you nod, “I sure have.”

There was tension. Obvious, tension.

You knew it was wrong.

You knew you shouldn’t be doing this, feeling like this.

But trouble has never looked so fine.

“Chris.” You laugh slightly, “What are you doing here? I don’t think you need any help.” He leans back, arms rested on the chair, “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is..” you take a deep breath, “I don’t think you’ve cracked this book open enough to need help.”

He smirks, “Yeah, I haven’t even opened it.”

You laugh, “So.. what you can do..” you lean forward, pulling off a sticky note, “crack open the book, and if you need any help..”

You press the note with your number on it down onto the book, “Text me.”

He bites his lip and nods, “Thank you.”

You nod, “Anytime.”

He shoves the book back into his back and leaves, leaving you to sit and wonder along in the silence.

Later that night, as you’re settled down onto your couch, reading one of your favorite books, your phone goes off.

You smirk before you reach forward, your face dropping in disappointment when you see it’s another coworker trying to get you to say yes to a date.

You ignore it, swiping it away from your screen.

As you go to set your phone back down, an unsaved number pops up.

Hello Ms. Y/l/n. It’s Chris.

You bite your lip, pulling your phone towards you and resting your hands on your book as you type.

What can I help you with, Chris?

You save his contact and by the time you’re done, he’s already responded.

I cracked open this book, just like you said to do.

You bite your lip, taking a deep breath.

Can you wait until after class on Monday?

You chew your thumb nail anxiously, “No, no.” You shake your head, typing up another text, but you stop when Chris’s text comes through.

I really don’t think I can wait any longer, Ms. Y/l/n.

I could really use the help tonight if you’re available.

Your breath is shaky, you knew what you wanted to say, but also knew that if you did that, you’re not only putting yourself at risk, but Chris, too.

Before you could even think, you texted him your address.

Make sure one know sees you come up.

You stand up, pacing back and forth, “shit, shit. This is actually happening.” You quickly move to start picking up your apartment. It was already clean, but you couldn’t help but feel the need to keep your mind occupied until you got that text.

Soon enough, your phone goes off.

I’m here, on my way up.

You walk over to the door, looking out of the peep hole until you see him. You open your door and he walks right in.

You could tell he wasn’t here to go over his book, or have any of his school questions answered. He didn’t even have his backpack.

“Thanks for inviting me over.” He smiles and looks around, “Nice place.”

“Thank you, Chris.” You smile and flip the lock on your door, “So what can I do for you?”

He takes a deep breath, smirking as he motions to you, “It’s weird seeing you in sweatpants and a tee shirt. You’re usually dressed up.”

You laugh slightly, glancing down, “I change into them as soon as I get home from teaching.”

“I like it when you dress up. You always look so pretty.” Chris steps towards you, “But there’s just something about the coffee stain on your sweats that make this even better.”

“Oh gosh, I didn’t even-“

Your words are cut short by Chris quickly closing the space between the two of you with his lips on yours.

You kiss him back until you push your hands on his chest, “We shouldn’t be doing this.” Chris licks his lips, giving you a shrug, “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

He closes the space again and slides his hands down to your hips, “I promise.”

You slide your hands to his neck, tilting your head to the side as his lips move down yours, “Fuck.” You breathe out, “You are such a bad idea.”

He leans back, shaking his head slightly, “You don’t like bad ideas?”

You let out a sigh, “I like bad ideas. Just, only when they look like you.” You re-close the space, pushing him to walk back towards the couch.

He sits down, pulling you into his lap. His hands slide back to your ass as you kiss down his neck.

“Fuck.” Chris groans out as you grind down onto him, his grip on your ass tightening, “Roll over.” You oblige, rolling over to lay on the couch on your back.

Chris slips out from under your legs and takes off his sweatshirt, tossing it to the floor before his white tank disappears from his body, too.

He drops down to his knees, leaning over the couch as he slips his fingers into the bands of your panties and sweatpants, “when I zone out in class…” Chris pulls them down, kissing the newly exposed skin, “I think about you, sitting on your desk, with your legs over my shoulders.”

You gasp, reaching down to slide your hand into his hair, your fingers tangle his hair around them, “Fuck.”

He pulls the clothing over your feet and drops them, pushing your one leg towards the back of the couch, “You just look so fucking sexy in those skirts you wear, Ms. Y/l/n.”

“You can use my first name, Chris.” You glance down at him and he reaches up to take off his glasses, “I’ll call you, whatever you want, ma.”

He leans in, ripping moans from your lips as his tongue glides up your core to your clit. His tongue flicks against it a few times before wrapping his lips around it to suck.

“Fuck, fuck. Yes.” You arch your back, the heel of your foot digging into his upper back, “Feels so.. good!”

He groans against you, his tongue dragging back down to slip into your aching hole. You groan, tugging on his hair as he earns louder moans from you.

His hands grip your hips, moaning against you as he slides one over to press his fingers onto your clit and rubs slowly.

“Fuck, fuck, yes yes yes.” You pant, gasping out as clench around his tongue. You pull him up, leaning forward to kiss him as he positions himself between your knees.

You moan at the taste of yourself on his lips, your hands sliding down and dragging your nails back up his back.

He groans into your mouth and reaches down to push his sweats down. You spread your legs more and he looks down to line his cock up with you.

You watch as the tip of his cock slips in and your eyes roll back, your head falling back as he slides in the rest of the way.

His hand cups your cheek while his other holds his weight up, “Fuck, ma.” He kisses up and down your neck, “you feel so good around me.”

You moan at his words, moaning loudly as he starts to thrust. Your nails dig into his shoulders and you tug his hair at the nape of his neck with the other.

He groans, “Fuck, fuck.”

You tighten your legs around his waist, arching your back, “Fuck, I’m g-“ you moan, “I’m so close.”

He brushes hair from your face, his head handing down to rest against yours. Your moans mix together and you gasp, clenching his cock like your life depends on it, “Yesyesyes.”

You create more red lines on his back, “Chris, Chris.” You pant out, “Fuck, yes.”

You come undone around him, whimpering out as he guides you through your high, “You look so pretty when you’re a mess under me.”

His lips connect with yours and his thrusts pick up, moaning into your mouth as he slides his hand up to your neck, squeezing slightly as he leans his head back, “I want you to ride me.”

You nod, sitting up as he move to sit down. You take off your shirt, revealing your bare chest to him, and you straddle him.

He bites his lip as he rests his head back, his hands tight in your waist as you sink back down onto his cock with a moan.

“Fuck, ma.” He slides his hands up to squeeze and knead your boobs, “You’re so hot.”

He leans in and you lean in, your lips connected in a heated make out. Your hands slide to his cheeks, cupping them as you bounce up and down.

His hands slide back down your sides and he lays his head back again. You kiss down his neck, biting and sucking a small mark into his skin, “You’re so hot.”

He groans at your words, bucking his hips up with a grunt, “Shit, ma. Gonna make me cum.”

“That’s the goal, right?” You smirk, head tilting back as you sink all the way down, “Fuck, you feel so good.”

You drag your nails down his chest, whining out as you start bouncing again.

He thrusts his hips up again, moaning as his arm slides around your waist, “Just like that, baby. Just..” he groans, bucking his hips upward, “Like that..”

He leans in, taking one of your nipples into his mouth. You moan as his tongue flicks against it, your hands tangling in his hair, “Fuck, Chris.”

You tilt his head up, crashing your lips onto his.

“I’m close, baby.” He warns, “Where do you want me?”

“Let me off and I’ll show you.”

His grip releases from your body and you bounce a few more times before quickly moving to your knees on the floor.

You waste no time in leaning forward and sucking on the tip of his cock. Your hand pumping what isn’t in your mouth.

You take more of him in, bobbing your head as your hand twists with ease from the slick on his cock.

He pants, whimpering out as he places a hand on the back of your head, “Fuck, fuck.” He throws his head back, bucking his hips as you feel him twitch within your grasp.

You swallow his cum, groaning lowly as you lick around to clean his cock.

You lean back, breathing heavy as you slide your hands down his thigh. He tilts his head up, his chest rapidly rising and falling, “I’ve always wanted to fuck a teacher.”

You laugh as you reach over to grab your shirt, “Have you?”

You toss him his shirt and he gives you a funny look.

“What?” You ask as you slip your shirt on over your head. Chris shakes his head, “Nothing, I just..” he chuckles slightly, “Didn’t think this was going to be a one and done thing, you know?”

You stand up, moving to slip on your sweats, “I don’t remember telling you that.”

He looks up at you with a smirk, “You didn’t.”

“Hmm. Guess that’s a good thing then right?” You sit down next to him and he lifts his hips to pull his sweats up, “I would say so.”

You turn towards him and sigh, “No one can know about this, Chris. You know that right?” He nods, “Why would I want something like this ruined?”

He reaches over, tucking hair behind your ear, “I plan on keeping you all to myself, Ms. Y/l/n.”

——

Thank you so much for reading. I love you all so much! See you in the next one! 🖤

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 9)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 8, Part 10

summary: You both come to a realisation.

warnings: smut! f! masturbation, grinding, humping, fingering, (implied) recreational drug use, alcohol, dubcon (-ish! reader is drunk but the interaction is consensual, tagging just in case xx), teeny tiny bit of mutual pining. 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: yuhh

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 7.2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

all that light lost in gaps

You're gone, in the morning.

…he should've expected it. Miguel stumbles out of sleep, groggy and disoriented. He finds himself reaching out for something in the half-light. 

He finds himself reaching for you. And when you're not there, leaving a person sized gap at the crook of his arm, his stomach churns. He pretends it's not disappointment, or the sharp crack of yearning ; settling at his chest like a crowbar, and prying open his ribs. It's worry, he decides resolutely, a perfectly normal, healthy amount of worry. As your roommate; and nothing else, he keeps reminding himself; he's just worried about where you've rushed off to, especially after yesterday. 

Senior year. He was assigned a bullshit paper in a Civics class – one he'd usually half-ass for an easy A. He'd wax poetic about morality – amorphous, vague platitudes about duty and societal expectations. By the end of the year, he had it down to a science: a couple thousand words remixed and plucked from lesser known philosophers, videos online, and overdue library books. Either he was getting too good at it, or his teacher was too stupid to notice; but regardless, he coasted through the class right up until graduation. His last paper, and he remembers it distinctly, was on the book of the same name; aptly titled What We Owe Each Other. A plodding, pluralistic read; of which he had only scanned through, anyways. Extra credit, anything to graduate early, and he'd had more than enough on his plate at the time. 

 And so, he wasn't expecting the B+ underlined and circled in red ink on the front page. It felt like his teacher had handed it back to him face down, slammed onto the desk like the thunderous crack of a whip. And he didn't need that A, strictly speaking. Yet, he had found himself staying over after class, crinkling that piece of paper in hand as he'd asked why. 

She sighs. Miss Hunter's glasses slip down her nose, as they are prone to do. 

"You're an outstanding student. I hear you're graduating early, and you're off somewhere prestigious in the fall. This is… definitely not a bad grade, and it's nothing, I promise you."

It doesn't work like that, for him. His teacher doesn't get it, but it will eat him up inside-out if he's not able to understand. 

"Was it my referencing?" He fumbles with the strap of his bag. 

"No. Not at all–" 

"I did the extra reading…the article you mentioned in class, and–" 

He's cut off by the scrape of a desk chair. Miss Hunter gets up to close the door, before settling on her desk. 

Arms crossed, she seems tired. Worried, maybe, but it doesn't register with Miguel. The thought doesn't even cross his mind, that there are others with the capacity to worry about him. 

"Technically, it's well written. As usual, Miguel." She gives him a weak smile. "It just… lacked heart."

His brows jump up. "...heart?" 

"There's not really a narrative voice, here."

He taps at the paper on the desk, frustrated. "You didn't ask for a narrative voice, though. You didn't ask for… for heart. I read the book, I did the extra reading, and I wrote a report. That was the brief."

"Not quite." She says it gently, but it still sounds like nails on a chalkboard to him. "The brief was vague, intentionally so. 'What Do We Owe Each Other? Discuss.' I gave examples, sure: excerpts from the book we touched on in class, articles, academic papers, etcetera. They were… suggestions."

"...suggestions." He's incredulous. 

She nods. "You followed it to the letter, Miguel. You gave me a summary, with a few key links. Fully referenced, yes. Well-written, yes. But this feels like a sum of parts. It doesn't tell me anything about you; your perspective, your angle. Your voice."

He's biting back choice words. It sounds like bullshit to him, for lack of a better word. Flowery, hoity-toity BS; served up to him on a steaming platter. That's it? 

Maybe it shows on his face, because she's asking, as delicately as possible, 

"Is everything okay?" 

Instinctually, he seizes up. 

"Yeah. Yes. I'm good."

"I know you don't take this class as seriously because it's not an AP, or an elective, or maybe not as challenging as you need it to be. And that's okay, Miguel. I'm happy for you to use my class as a break from all the other stuff." She swallows thickly. "You're not from our usual feeder schools. The Academy is particularly rigorous. But considering your… situation, we can make exceptions. If there's anything I can do–" 

"There isn't a 'situation'."

"Right. Of course, I'm sorry. But if you need a couple days off of school because of…" She pasues, saying the next part softly. "Because of the baby… I mean, you're already acing my class–"

"No." He says it firmly, eyes trained onto the wood grain peeking out from underneath piles of documents. He wants to ask how she knows, and how he's always the last to find out that rumours have spread, and–

"Miguel." Her voice cuts through dense fog. She repeats her previous statement. “If there's anything I can do–”

“If you want to help, you can give me that A.” It's bone dry, said with the kind of sarcasm he's grown accustomed to. He wears it over his shoulders, sometimes; draped to keep out biting cold, or unfamiliar warmth from a stranger - it all feels the same, now.

She gives him a rueful smile. “Need more than that, m'afraid.”

Heart. Voice. What We Owe Each Other – and he doesn't know why that phrase sticks in his throat. It's been drilled into him since childhood; family and community, helping each other out of the starting blocks; and beaten out of him during adolescence. The creaking and cracking of bones after each step, where out in the world it's a different matter entirely. 

His mama has bad taste in men, and he finds himself picking up the pieces. Gabi is more sensitive than he'll ever admit, trying not to cry amongst broken plates and chicken-wire hidden in a bouquet of peonies: prickly words that cut and hack, and it's Miguel that wipes the tears from his brother's cheek. That devastatingly gentle sigh when he had told his mama what he had done - how he had fallen for a soft bed and even softer lips at the ripe age of 16 and a half - and Miguel carries that weight. What We Owe Each Other – and he's only ever fed entitled egos. Not his family, of course, but he's been burned. He's had more than his fair share of it. 

He doesn't owe the world shit, he thinks. 

He doesn't owe you shit. 

It doesn't help that he's been stuck in place, grasping at cushion covers and a raggedy blanket. Trying not to drown in the heady scent of you, he's been dragging thick fingers over the fabric as if in a trance. You don't owe him anything, either. Nary an apology, an explanation; so much as a sorry spilling from pretty lips in that way where they quiver like a gentle flame. 

He's touched them, felt them drag across his skin like the finest silk, and dropped to his knees in search of something you've never given him. It doesn't matter if you don't; kiss him , that is; the swirling, desperate sort that leaves him heaving and creaking and begging for more. He thinks he'd still scuff up the denim at his knees if you asked, regardless - he'd do anything , if it was for you. 

It's not realistic to expect anything from you. You don't need to tell him where you've gone or why you've left so early. You don't need to, and yet he finds himself reaching for his phone. 

Miguel sends a well placed message; deft fingers tapping away at the screen. Before he changes his mind, it's sent; and he's chewing his lip whilst waiting for a steady three dots. Lyla is slower than usual, but she comes through. She doesn't ask questions - because she knows him better than he knows himself - and gives him a thumbs up. 

They'll call each other later, that much he's sure of, but for now he reads between the lines. Short bursts of text, like firecrackers flashing across a night sky, and only through nonsensical emojis and odd slang can they understand each other. 

This part, he can do. And he'll do whatever he needs to, not what he owes.

~~~

You make it to Pam's just after it opens. 

At 7 o'clock sharp, you've made the journey; in an empty subway car, spilling out onto the streets like treacle left in the neck of a bottle. It's not quite a squeeze, passing by only a handful of people, with nothing but a jacket thrown over last night's clothes. In a daze, you realise too late: it's Miguel's. A dusty, worn thing; brown leather crackling at the sleeves and heavy on your shoulders. It feels like a hug, and it feels like him : warm and stiff. It smells like him too, and you bury your nose in the collar on the subway, sleeves kissing your palm like his hand is in yours. 

It's a feeling that takes you all the way to the doors: past the slats bolted shut and down a familiar alley. You push past them, sneakers on slick tiles, and give a weak smile to the woman that perks up from behind the counter, kicking away the mop and bucket. 

"Hiya, welcome to Pam's! How can I–" 

"Oh, God , no." You wave her off. "Take your time. I need a minute, if that's okay."

Settling on the barstool, you watch as the young woman smiles, picking up a rag and wiping at the counter. You sit in it, for a while. 

Dregs drip in through the front. The bell at the top of the door chimes, tinny and cheerful in the relative gloom of a quiet morning. 

It's cold , outside. Autumn, biting at your fingers and nose. Eventually you opt for a coffee, piping hot to stave off that chill. Bitter, the aftertaste lingers at the back of your throat. You find yourself picking at the chipped mug, chasing away that taste with fluffy pancakes. The combination doesn't feel quite the same – not after many a morning with your roommate. 

You settle into the seat. You wrap that old jacket around you. You sip at tart coffee and pick at your nails. A quiet morning, one to yourself, one to keep hidden at the crook of your chest. Some semblance of peace , wrapped up in the spindles of a dandelion. That is to say; delicate and fleeting, whipped away by the breeze. 

You've decided not to think too hard about it. That kind of thinking ends dangerously, you've realised: with long, hot nights spent tossing and turning. It ends with a head full of cotton, and a pounding at your chest. With blood, with tears, with a stranger in your bed. And so, you go for the cleaner option. The safer one, all things considered, that's less likely to end in a broken heart. 

You float around for a while. Walking without a real destination, trying to ground yourself. Eventually, you end up home,  opening the door to an empty apartment. There's no traces left of a night spent in Miguel's arms. Good, you think, slipping your shoes off at the door. It doesn't feel good , but if you say it enough times you just might believe it. 

The cleaner option; the one with less gristle and bone; is a familiar one. You settle into a shower; steamy and soapy, taking your time to clean out the blood from under your fingernails. The grime, the dirt ; you watch it swirl into the drain, hands running across soft flesh. You try to do it like Jamie did, once upon a time. It doesn't feel right, and has you leaning onto the cool tile. The shower head sputters, a shaky pressure on your back but you lean into it and close your eyes. You rub a hand at the crook of your chest, and then down, down, down, circling your breast and then following the curve of hips to the apex of your legs. Tipping your head, letting the hot water stream through your hair and then your back; and you touch, feel , and you can almost taste him ; sweet and saccharine Miguel, at your lips. 

With two fingers flat against your clit, you rub little circles at the nub, dipping into your hole for much needed wetness. Your other hand travels up soft skin, pads of your fingers grazing collarbone, and then they curl around your neck. With a little pressure, your thumb grazes your jaw. Like he does, except your hands aren't as deliciously rough or as large. You slip a finger in, and then two, water pounding your back and eyes screwed. You push past that initial tightness, searching for a little give. When it comes, cunt clenching around your fingers, just shy of that sweet spot as you press your clit with the heel of your palm; you're imagining it's your roommate. He'd wrap those thick forearms around you, press his cock to the crest of your back and touch you like you deserve. 

You do it like Miguel would, reverent , touching you as if you were clay at a potter's wheel. In the hands of God herself, you cum; falling, falling, falling; tumbling down white water rapids and spit back up into the rushing water. You're panting, now, out of breath.

When you sink onto your bed, you realise it's not quite enough. Still in a fluffy robe, steam curls from your skin like clouds – ones that smell of cheap body wash and shampoo. Before you know it, you're reaching for your phone, sending two quick messages to a certain somebody. 

[Sent: 15:32]

hey mig

[Sent: 15:32]

where did u go? 

You don't expect a quick reply - he's never been much of a texter. But those three dots pop up in no time at all, much to your surprise. 

[Received: 15:33]

Out. 

[Received: 15:33]

Running errands. 

It's succinct and to the point – of which you expect nothing else from Miguel. Your thumbs fly to the screen to reply but another message tugs the rug out from under your shaky legs. 

[Received: 15:35]

Is everything okay? 

[Sent: 15:35]

yeah

[Sent: 15:36]

all good

When that provides no response, you're left chewing on your lip, anxious. He's seen the message, he's read the message; but for some reason, several minutes go by and there's no response. 

You're ready to give up and chalk it to your roommate's hot-and-cold nature, when your phone rings. 

Immediately, you pick up. 

" Don't believe you." His voice rings out, tinny, nestled amongst the covers. 

"Hey, Mig." You settle down on the bed, putting him on speaker and placing it by your ears. 

" Did you hear what I said?" His tone is deep and intense, making you shiver. It's not quite the same, of course, but you're reminded of nights spent with his lips tucked close the shell of your ear. 

You swallow. "Yeah. I… I did."

" You sure? Because you suck at lying."

"Don't be an asshole." 

" Think I get a free pass when you disappear for the whole day."

You roll your eyes. “You didn't call–”

“ Would you have answered?”

Ouch. He sounds frustrated, the quiet chatter of his background bathed in heavy silence. Silence thick with tension, and you almost choke on it.

He breaks it with a heavy sigh. “ You okay? ”

“No. Not really.”

“ Okay. ” He lets it sit for a while, before saying, “ I'll be home, soon. There's leftovers in the fridge, and you should eat, sweetheart. You want anything from the store? ”

His voice is so, so soft. It crackles like kindling on a fire: warmth that blooms and spreads to your chest. Like slipping off frozen gloves to thaw off in front of a heater, and he just makes you feel impossibly warm. 

“Not really, thanks.” You mumble it, and hear a satisfied grunt from the other end. Before you change your mind, you say, “Sorry. M'sorry.”

Miguel gives a light chuckle and you think you can hear him smile, the kind you always chase after a stupid argument: one that tugs at the corners of his pretty lips.

“ You've got nothin' to be sorry about .”

He gives you a moment to feel the weight of his words, and ends the call. That heat at your chest blooms. 

If Miguel O'Hara is the Sun, then maybe you don't mind being pulled into his orbit; bathing in steady light and warmth.

~~~

He comes home with flowers. A beautiful bouquet; delicate and balanced, featherlight wildflowers and brush, interspersed with sprays of blue and purple and pink. It's wonderfully dense, reminding you of the tangles of colour a child might decorate a picture with in wobbly crayon. Simply put, it's nothing short of a vision, and you notice how delicately he places it on the dining table.

With the rest of the grocery bags, Miguel clatters in, and you can't help but be curious. You're poking through the bags, sitting on the counter as he puts them away – after offering to help, of course, but he bats you away easily. Your bare legs bristle in the chill brought on by the window cracked open, and he just breezes past. 

The cabinet opens with a thud , and your roommate busies himself with putting away food. Carefully, you watch the way the muscles of his back flexes this way and that - cut and lean under that thin sweater. He’s otherwise occupied, and so you take the opportunity to stare, playing with a loose string at the hem of silky shorts. And so, it makes you jump when your phone buzzes beside you. Innocuously, you glance at the notification, and your eyes go wide.

“Who’s that?” Miguel asks, voice light. With that freaky sixth sense of his, he doesn’t need to turn around to know, it seems. 

“Lyla.” You murmur, reading the rest of the message.

“ ...And? ”

“Uh. Well…” Blinking, you can’t quite believe what she’s asking. “ Girl’s Night . I-I mean… she’s asking me to come with her for a Girl’s Night.”

“Really?” His tone is surprising, and you can hear how he beams by its lilting nature. Maybe he’s laughing at you, maybe he’s not, but you snap back regardless.

“ ... don’t act so surprised.”

“ You sound surprised.” He laughs.

“It’s different when I do it.” You say simply. “I just… I didn’t expect it. I didn’t even know we were close enough to–”

“Bullshit. You text her all the time.”

“A couple of times, Mig.” You correct him, trying to pin down a suitable response to give Lyla. You draw a blank. “I don’t want her to feel like she has to, or anything.”

He turns around, sleeves still rolled up. The look he gives makes you wither: one that could say about a million things. You think it means cut the crap , but he could just be constipated: you haven't quite mastered the art of reading Miguel O’Hara.

“Do you want to go?” He gets closer, hand flat on the counter next to your thigh. 

You nod, and his hand creeps up and up. 

Giving you a little smile, he shrugs. “Then go.”

It makes you shy. Bashful , even; and you’re wriggling as he squeezes the flesh. A hand on his forearm, and he’s close; so much so that all you can feel is the press of skin, and feel gentle breath fluttering past your cheek. You’re stuck underneath the gaze of his pretty lashes, and entranced at the way he licks his even prettier lips. A sudden thought seizes you - so heavy it makes your chest tight and leaden. 

Oh. You want to kiss him.

In a moment, it’s gone. A broad palm nudges your thigh aside, and you’re shifting so he can reach the drawers just by your legs. You oblige, falling back into familiar routine. 

Life moves on. Like Miguel said it would, and you find yourself entwined with the idea of time passing. Lying awake each night, picking out sand from underneath your fingernails, after clawing your way out of the hourglass. Steady, slow dregs; and it's tipped over each morning, restarting the clock. 

The flowers disappear from the dining table. Miguel retreats into the folds and dark corners of your apartment; you see him less and less. Passing ships in the night, you seem to miss each other by a fraction of a second. All of a sudden he's busy , and all of a sudden you're swamped with work. You only see each other at night, looking out for the bits and pieces left as proof of life: sometimes he'll leave a hot flask out for you in the mornings, and you'll greet him with a cheesy soap in the evenings. If he's not leaving later and later after work, that is. 

He looks tired, you note. Exhausted; prone to little yawns as you turn to him every now and then whilst watching on the couch. It's sweet, the way his frown has made way to a dopey smile, but it's frayed at the edges, tinged with something you can't quite place. You let him sleep that night, bringing pillows to lay his head on, and wrapping him up in that old blanket. 

Girl's night creeps up on you. It shakes you by the shoulders when you collapse on the sofa after a long day – and you're rushing to get ready. There's no Miguel to make sly remarks or prod you into action, this time. You wonder what he'd say about what you're wearing; a leftover dress buried in boxes from your ex's apartment. 

Short, tight, snug; it has you feeling glamorous – but you hope it doesn't look as fanciful as it feels. Too much; yet again, you're worried about being too much. Even though you're running a little late, you take the time to carefully apply makeup; something shiny on your lids, a dab of blush, and gloss slathered onto your lips. When you sling on little heels, and snatch a petite bag from the hooks near the door, there's barely enough time to catch that last glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Down and out you go, into a dusky night.

~~~

“I had to go through her manager– and wait, can you believe this girl has a fucking manager, now?” Lyla bats at MJ's shoulder, and the redhead laughs good-naturedly. 

“It's not– she's exaggerating! My manager's just my mom, I swear.” 

“It's a good thing, no?” You smile, taking a healthy swig of a brightly coloured cocktail. 

“It means she is booked, and–” Lyla hiccups, raising an unsteady glass that threatens to tip. MJ straightens her elbow instinctually, before raising her own. “ – very busy .”

It's your turn to laugh, glass held high in the air. With a clink , there's a clash of crystal that's all but drowned out by the chatter in the upscale bar.

Somewhere fancy, courtesy of Lyla. One of those places that serves tiny portions in big, empty plates, a fusion of cultural food with white, upper class owners. No-doubt the result of summering somewhere in the ever-broad global South , Lyla had said slyly, under the lip of a menu. 

There's powdered sugar on the rim of your flute. It dissolves on your tongue. You down the rest. Sickly sweet, and you wipe what drips onto your lips. 

It has you checking your phone. Miguel hasn't called, not that you were expecting anything. Whilst Lyla and MJ talk, you scroll mindlessly through his chat; a smattering of one word answers. Missed calls. Unanswered messages.

" –what about you, babe?" 

Your eyes snap back up to meet Lyla's, expectant. 

"Uhhh…"

"Nevermind." Sharp eyes travel to your phone, and there's a flash of recognition. "Miggy said you're in school. He said you're gonna graduate early, this year."

"He said that?" You're confused. "I mean… I'm trying but it's not looking like that, right now."

She wags a finger, shaking her head like she's trying to remember something. "No, no, he seemed adamant. Said you're working hard, doing well."

"Doing better ." You correct her, shyly. 

" Bullshit. " She says it the way Miguel does, and it makes you laugh. You see it now; he's the product of the people he loves. A kind of Frankenstein's monster, he's stitched together those bits and pieces; he's made himself beautiful. You wonder what piece of you he carries. If he even holds you that close to his chest. 

"I bet you're doing amazing. " MJ finishes. Her smile is warm, and copper-coloured; it feels hazy and ambered in your little corner. "Better than me, anyways. I would rather die than go back to college."

"Back?" You ask. 

"Oh, of course! You don't know." She giggles, leaning in like she's about to say something scandalous - the drink is clearly doing its job. Her next words are an exaggerated stage whisper. "I dropped out."

" Seriously? " You play along, with faux shock. 

"...damn right she did." Lyla gives a drunken wave to a nearby waiter, asking for another glass of wine. Something expensive, she whispers, giving a deceptive smile. 

"It just wasn't for me, I guess. I went because everyone around me was going, even Pete. Uhh, English Lit, or something. And it didn't… I–I mean it just wasn't–" 

"It didn't click."

" Right!" She snaps her fingers. "It was too much. I didn't know what I was doing, I was 18, for God's sake. Think I stuck at it for a bit too long, honestly."

"...and the world didn't explode." You breathe. 

MJ answers with a knowing nod. She chugs the rest of a crisp Mojito, raising the empty glass once more. 

"To doing better ."

You're quick to follow. "To doing better."

Lyla frowns, looking for a glass that's tucked into the corner. The room must be spinning already, with the way she pats around for it. You nudge it towards her with an elbow, and she's raucous; crumpling into a fit of giggles. 

One drink turns to two, two turns to three, and then four ; until you're ready to spill out onto the busy strip. When the waiter places a slip of paper into the centre, one with so many zeroes it makes your eyes bulge, you don't even have to pretend to reach for your wallet. Gleefully, Lyla picks up the bill, sliding a shiny Amex card onto the dish. 

She's generous, you note, as she buys a bottle of wine to go when MJ picks up her bag. She's perceptive, too. You see it when MJ wrings her hands, still tipsy and stuttering in her heels as you pile onto the street. She's making apologies already - I've got an early start and need to see my May - but Lyla intercepts. There's the gentle clink of a bottle thrust into her hands, something expensive, and she kisses the apples of her cheeks before sending her off in a taxi. 

Her own cheeks are ruddy, rosy with drink and she splits into a wide smile. The back of her hand comes up to your neck. Warm , she whispers, before linking arms with you like a schoolgirl off to do something they shouldn't. 

Eventually, with shaky legs, you end up in a nightclub. She knows someone who knows someone, apparently, and you're ushered into a packed place just off 76th. Lights and pounding music, a flurry of limbs; you let the crowd take you in. If this is what it means to be a part of a whole; some writhing, heaving beast, to be more than your hand in someone else's and theirs in yours; then you could live here forever, you think. Forever, for the night, for the next ten minutes; you blink , and time passes. 

You're having fun, you think. Letting the blood rush to your head, hips swaying to the music and you don't push away the quiet snap of a phone camera, nor it's red recording light. Dancing, singing, many seem to be pulled into orbit around you. This is how it works , pushed into an ebb and flow of people held together by broken lyrics and a thumping bassline. You let it wash over you, all-consuming, dragging yourself into murky depths. 

You're in a booth, now, anchored by a dainty hand around your wrist. Pupils blown, she cups your face to inspect you, to figure out where you've gone. Someone's bought you a drink, there's a stranger's arm around your shoulders, but Lyla pushes them both away. Too much? It's a question, of which you shake your head firmly - lolling and with a distinct lack of fine motor skills - no. Not enough. 

You blink. Bitter liquor hits your throat, and you chase the taste of somebody else's lips. A stranger, and even under the influence you know it doesn't feel right. Bile rises, and you're gone, clamping onto your stomach and trying not to hurl. 

You blink. You're on the sidewalk, with a heavy head on someone's shoulder. The strap of your heels dig into your ankles and you fumble with it, trying to stop the road from spinning. Lyla holds you up, not much more up to task than you are. 

A car pulls up, and at first you don't recognise it; entranced by shiny rims coming to a stop. You look up, still buried in Lyla's thick jacket; and you see it. You see him. 

Miguel's wearing glasses. That's the first thing you notice, stumbling to your feet. Immediately, your face cracks into a dopey smile, leaning onto the lip of the open window. He gives you a once over, swallowing thickly, brows drawn. 

Quiet chatter flys straight over your head. Lyla arguing, Miguel wagging a finger at her; but all you can see is him. It's like you've got blinkers on, tunnel vision making you focus on the curve of cheekbone, and the way his eyes scrunch up around black rims and glass. 

You clamber into the backseat.

“Get in, Ly.”

The other woman seems resolute. “ M'not –”

“Did you take something?”

“Fuck you.” Flashing a middle finger, she wraps up her coat like a robe, walking away down the road. 

He's adamant, driving up next to her. You keep your head on the glass where it's cool.

“Let me take you home. Please. ”

Frowning, she stops. When he leans over to open the passenger's side, she slips off her boots, and sidles in.

Their voices feel like a blur. You can barely register, only picking up half of the words hissed under their breath.

“... I called you, you can't give me a lecture…”

“...not fair, Lyla…. can't keep babysitting…”

“... fucking hypocrite… not the only one… I'm going through some shit…”

“...too far…. always taking it too…”

He drops her off outside of the apartment. From the backseat, you're sobering up; able to catch his heavy sigh as he watches her through the window. It's only when he sees her walk in does he turn to you, passing bottled water kept in the console.

“You want to come out to the front?”

You like the way he says it, for some reason. Any anger or frustration he had towards Lyla dissipates. He doesn't bring that into a quiet conversation with you.

He's too solemn, too serious, and so you clamber into the front over the console; limbs and legs everywhere, as obnoxiously as you can. A slight elbow to his chest, a hand clutching his shirt; you want to make him laugh. As you settle onto the seat, you see it: huffing dramatically, he gives you a small smile.

Miguel reverses back out onto the road.

You blink, and you're home. Legs still shaky, he helps you up the stairs, settling you onto the sofa. Car keys clink onto the dish by the door, and he slips off his coat – that brown one, your favourite, you think.

Fumbling with the strap of your heels, it must be too painful for him to watch as Miguel settles by your feet. His big, strong hands are surprisingly deft when he undoes the dainty buckle.

“Are you mad at me?” Meekishly, you watch and he shakes his head, not making eye-contact. Maybe it's the alcohol, but you're staring; looking for that light in his eyes amongst the dark room. 

Now, he looks up. “What?”

“M'just looking.” You say, chewing the inside of your cheek as one shoe slips off. “ I'm not allowed to look?”

The other one comes off, and he hisses when he spots a little cut where the strap dug into your ankle. He can't help it, rolling it gently in his hands, trying to ease the pain with a massage.

“You wear glasses.” You say it softly, more to yourself than to anyone else. Giggling now, you cradle his face and he sits up. “I didn't know that.”

“ That's not – I've always worn glasses. You're just not paying attention.” He shrugs lazily, but he's smiling.

“Not true , Mig. I would've noticed.”

“You're drunk–”

“When it's you, I always pay attention.” Absent-mindedly, your hand curls into his hair. He keens . “Like… your hair's getting longer.”

Gently, he shakes out of your grip, getting up. “I know, I know. I need a haircut.”

“I like it.” Starry-eyed, you look up at him. “You're so pretty, Mig.”

It makes him heave. Still tipsy, your legs spread ever so slightly, hand taking his and pulling him closer. Placing his hand on your thigh, you let it trace up, up, up, catching at the hem of your short dress.

He practically caves in, collapsing next to you on the couch. 

“You should–” His eyes are glassy as you ease yourself onto his lap. “ F-Fuck . You should go to bed, sweetheart.”

Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, you roll your hips, watching as he groans wantonly. 

“But I'm not tired.” His hand ends up on your waist, applying just the right amount of pressure. Underneath, you can feel him stir, increasingly hard under loose sweats. “And you haven't touched me in weeks. ”

You're exaggerating, but it goes to his head anyway. He buries his head into the crook of your shoulder, whispering into the bare skin.

“I know, I know…”

“Just the tip, Miguel.” You're grinding your clit onto him, pussy barely covered by a thin thong. Whispered into the shell of his ear, you're a siren, honeyed words dangerously close to breaking him down. “Just the tip, and I promise , I'll let it go. Please , baby.”

Your dress rides up, and his hands come down to palm at your ass.

“ Please…” You're pleading, lips on his neck as he squeezes, forcing you down to hump directly over his cock.

“Oh, shit.” His hips jump once, twice; and then he stills, hands at your hips and ass to stop you.

Desperate, you whine, trying to fight against it. He doesn't let up, hand cradling your chin so you can look him in the eye.

“ Bed .” He says, shakily. “Not like this.”

He slips you off, noticeably adjusting his pants. Legs spread wide, head tipped back as he sighs; he looks delicious , and you're fighting off the urge to let him take you right there and then. 

You stumble through the little hallway, pushing past some doors. Something clatters into your thigh, and you hear a dull thud as another thing falls to the floor. Frustrated, you strip down to your underwear, something light and lacy and it leaves very little to the imagination. 

There's a bed, and you collapse on it; swimming in the silky sheets. It smells like him - musky and oaky and gentle - and you think you must be dreaming already. And then, you sit up, realising too late - this isn't your room. 

Miguel wasn't too far off, hearing the thumping and clattering; hesitant as he opens the door. You're wrapped up like a present, spilling out of lingerie on his bed. He swallows, turning away to dig into his wardrobe, intending to pull out a baggy shirt for you.

“ Miguel .” You croak, but he ignores the want in your voice, so heavy it goes straight to his cock. “Miguel, please. ”

All his shirts blend together. He can't concentrate.

“Do you think I don't want it? Because I do, fuck, I need it. So bad, baby, please.” Your body heaves with a half sob. 

Heart splintering, he turns. Finally, you meet his eye. You spread your legs.

“ Here. Right here .” You tap your clothed cunt with shaky fingers, pulling your thong to the side. His eyes drink it up, the way you glisten when your cunt eats up the fabric. You know he's watching, and you take advantage of it, circling your clit with the pads of two fingers. “Like this . When I touch myself, I think of you… d-did you know that?”

Swallowing roughly, he can't take his eyes off of you.

“What… What else?” He croaks.

“I think of your tongue, a-at my pussy. And your fingers… God. ” You slip a finger in, and he watches as your cunt clenches around it; gushing and sloppy. “Your l-lips. Meant it, before. When I said you were pretty. Want to sit on that pretty face and watch you melt– oh-h- fuck- ”

He wants to lick it up, all that slick that sluices from your hole. His mouth waters, just thinking about it. 

“Put another one in, for me.” He says it low, sinking to his knees to watch you fuck yourself. 

Nodding, you oblige. 

“Does it feel good?”

“ Yes. ” You don't hesitate. 

“Can you fit another one? Want to see how good she looks when she comes, sweetheart.”

Three fingers in, now, and he slides your thong a little further aside; reaching up to press his thumb to your clit. Light streams in from blinds cracked open and highlights your thighs perfectly. Nevertheless, he adjusts his glasses to make sure he doesn't miss anything.

The twitch of your leg, the way your hand cramps up, the way your lips curl into a delicious O - he sees it all, commits it to memory.

“ Faster , please.”

“ Doesn't –” You're frustrated, clearly chasing something that refuses to surface. “Not the same. Can't fucking reach. ”

He titters, nipping at your thighs and soothing the bites with the flat of his tongue.

“Poor baby. Will you let me help?”

Fervently, you nod, slipping out your fingers as he takes off his glasses. They're discarded, too foggy to be useful right now.

“Did I tell you to take them out?” He sighs and gestures for your hand. Wrapping his lips around them he sucks them clean, humming lightly. He pats your clit with a wet slap, content. “Put two fingers in, sweetheart.”

Doing as he says, your head feels full - cotton wool and bubble wrap, only able to focus on the pleasure building behind your clit. And when he slots two fingers in next to yours , it rips out a gravelly moan. 

“ Here? ” He says dragging himself deeper, curling his fingers up. “Or is it… here? ”

You groan, limp against his hand as you feel impossibly full. It reminds you of the stretch of his cock; creaming around the base of his two fingers and yours. That wonderful curl as he pumps himself in and out, cupping your hand in the process to make sure you match his pace. He can feel your walls spasm around him, impossibly soft and velveteen. 

“Can't say no to you,” His eyes are low, grunting as he palms himself roughly. “Even though… fuck … even though I should.”

It's wet, the slap slap slap of skin against skin echoing in his room. Miguel sits up, pressing his lips to your neck, and you take the opportunity to slip your other hand into his sweats. You start pumping, in time with his ministrations, eyes blown as you swipe your thumb over his weeping slit.

You know he likes it rough, and you jerk him into your palm; fast and hard and you watch as he matches your pace. Even now, you're competing, trying to catch the him up; to see who can make the other cum first. 

You push back on his fingers, hips slotting against his, whispering nonsense into his neck. You're too fucked out to care; confessions you never thought would see the light of day. All the little things you like about him, things he says, things he does; and you don't even register the ochred flush smattered along the ridge of cheekbone.

He spills into your hand, and you're quick to follow; cumming around him as his fingers stutter in and out. It feels good , dangerously so, and has you pressing shaky kisses around his mouth, and nipping at his bottom lip.

He stills, but you're greedy, aching for more. You want him in you; seating his thick cock deep inside, painting your walls with hot cum, and pushing it back in with deft fingers. Every part of you is on fire, barely satiated by your heated foray.

You tip back onto the bed, and he joins you; caging you in with thick forearms, looking at you like you've stolen all the stars in the sky. That feeling , again, slams into your chest like a bullet. Messy hair, ruddy cheeks, hand gently tracing your jaw; he looks gone, and oh so soft. You want to kiss him ; and it's a thought that sticks, embedding itself somewhere you can't reach to dig it out.

“ Miguel .” You whisper, enough alcohol at the edges of your mind to stop thinking and spill your guts to him, unfiltered. “Are you sleeping with someone else?”

His eyes flit over your face before answering and he shakes his head. 

“No. No. Just you. Only you.” 

“ Don't believe you .” But you want to. So, so desperately. “Promise me?”

“I promise, sweetheart.” He swallows. “Are you?”

“No. Don't think I could if I tried.” It comes out watery, stuck at the back of your throat.

He just looks, for a moment, cradling the back of your head. 

“I want to kiss you.” It spills out from your lips.

“I know.” 

“Then why won't you kiss me?”

“Not a good idea.” He strains, kissing your forehead, and then each cheek. Hesitating, he places a gentle peck to your chin. “Ask me tomorrow.”

He says it simply, too easily; and it makes you want to sob. When Miguel slips away, and you hear the sound of a light turned on in the bathroom, you can't move. Catatonic; you blink, and he's cleaned you up, and slipped a shirt over your shoulders. Laying back in his bed, you watch as he lingers by the doorway, shrouded in shadow. 

Goodnight. Y ou think you say it out loud, but it echoes in your head. 

He says back, but not really. Instead, he leaves that goodnight hanging by the doorway like an old coat, and you wrap it over your shoulders. 

It keeps you a little warmer through the night.

_

_

_

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[gamergirl929]

I Want To Ruin Our Friendship (We Should Be Lovers Instead) (Sophia Smith x Reader)

You weren't big on social media, you never got in on the TikTok craze, but when your best friend, and long time crush Sophia Smith asked you to make a TikTok, you couldn't say no.

You were never big on social media, in all honesty, you didn’t see the appeal, especially when it came to TikTok.  

Anytime you saw your teammates recording a TikTok, you’d roll your eyes, but go along with whatever they were doing when the camera was turned your way, half-heartedly of course. 

They were big on TikTok trends, and often recorded them at camp or at friendlies. 

Somehow, you weren’t entirely sure how, you’d been roped into one of these said trend, but here you were sitting side by side with your best friend, Sophia Smith, the woman noticeably fidgeting. 

“Hey.” You say softly, the girl’s breath hitching when you place your hand on top of hers.  

“You alright?” You ask, your brows furrowed. 

Her throat bobs, her brown orbs darting to your lips before again meeting your eyes. 

“Y-Yeah.” She stutters and you hum, giving her hand a squeeze before letting go, missing the light twitch at the corner of her mouth. 

You were well aware that something was bothering her, you knew her too well to NOT know something was wrong.  

She was your best friend and had been since you’d become roommates in college. 

You knew Sophia Smith better than anyone, and she knew you better than anyone. 

She was the first person you’d come out to in college, and unsurprisingly, she was incredibly supportive. 

However, there was one thing she didn’t know, and that was that you were deeply in love with her and had been since college. 

You inhale deeply, pulling yourself out of your thoughts before clearing your throat. 

“So, what exactly are we doing here?” You ask, wondering what TikTok trend you were actually doing.  

Sophia clears her throat. 

“J-Just listen to this song.” She says softly before, pressing play on your phone, music filling the air 

Your brows arch when Sophia starts humming, her cheeks dusted pink. 

You wouldn’t admit it but you liked hearing her sing, something she did almost every morning in college when she was making coffee before class. 

You’d act like her early morning peppiness was annoying, but in reality, you loved waking up to the sound of her voice. 

“I think I’ve heard this song.” You say, vaguely remembering hearing it come from your best friend's phone one night. 

“Y-Yeah?” She stammers tugging at the hem of her t-shirt and you nod. 

It’s then that the lyrics start, the woman beside you singing quietly.  

“Y/N, darling, you’re my best friend.” She sings and your cheeks flush. 

“But there’s a few things, that you don’t know of.” 

You quirk your eyebrows, noting that Sophia glanced away, her cheeks flushed.  

“Why I borrow your lipstick so often.”  

You stop yourself from playfully teasing the woman that you in fact didn’t wear makeup, but you didn’t want to interrupt her. 

“I’m using your shirt as a pillowcase.” She puts her hands together and leans against them, feigning sleep. 

The look on her face changes as she cups your cheeks, your breath catching in your throat. 

“Soph?” You say, her throat bobbing as she sings the next set of lyrics. 

“I want to ruin our friendship.” She whispers as she leans in, your heart pounding wildly. 

“We should be lovers instead.” She sings before closing the distance between you. 

You kiss back with no sense of hesitation, wrapping your arms around her middle as you pull her close, your lips never disconnecting. 

Her arms wrap around your neck as you kiss softly.  

Your lips disconnect momentarily as she crawls into your lap, her legs wrapping around your middle before your lips meet again and again, each kiss sweeter than the last. 

“I’ve been wanting to do this for so long.” Sophia whispers against your lips and you smile.  

“Me too.” 

The TikTok you were making is entirely forgotten as your lips reconnect, the two of you smiling against one another's lips. 

You pull back, chuckling when the woman in your lap whines loudly. 

“How long have you been wanting to kiss me?” You ask, playfully bumping your nose against hers and she blushes as she turns away.  

“A while...” She mumbles and you smile, taking her chin between your thumb and index finger and turning her back towards you, your Y/E/C orbs meeting her dark browns.  

Her cheeks darken and you smile softly, your eyes holding a softness that makes her eyes go glassy and her heart skip a beat.

“When you walked into our dorm room, tripped on the carpet and fell on the floor.” She giggles and you throw your head back with an annoyed groan.  

“I was so embarrassed.” You mumble and she smiles, ducking down to press a gentle kiss to your lips.  

"It was adorable.” She teases and you snort.  

“Sureeeee it was.” You stick your tongue out and she hums.  

“What about you?” She asks, your brows furrowing in question your head cocking to the side.  

Sophia giggles, cupping your cheek.  

“How long have you been wanting to kiss me?” She asks and you ponder thoughtfully, already knowing the answer as you cover her hand with your own.  

“When I got up off the floor and you did everything you could not to laugh when you introduced yourself.” You grin and she giggles, stroking your jawline.  

“I was trying SO hard.” She says, giggling even harder and you roll your eyes.  

“Oh, I know. I heard you laughing when I left to get my stuff.” You say and she snorts, burying her face in your neck as she giggles.  

“Oh my god, I’m sorry.” She laughs and you scoff.  

“Yeah, you SOUND really sorry.” You say as you squeeze her sides, the woman squeaking loudly.  

You grin maliciously, the woman attempting to scramble out of your lap, but she’s too late considering you’d rolled the two of you over and now had her pinned beneath you, your fingers digging into her sides.  

She bats at your hands as you playfully tickle her sides, only stopping when the woman’s chest is heaving as she tries to catch her breath.  

You hover over her, your eyes darting around her face as she fills her lungs with air.  

“You’re gonna pay for that.” She pants and you hum, burying your face in her neck and kissing her jawline.  

“Oh, am I?” You ask, Sophia’s breath shuddering as you kiss her pulse point.  

“Y-Yeah.” She sighs, giving you a playful glare when you pull away from her, her shining brown orbs locking with your sparkling Y/E/C’s.  

“You know...” You start, Sophia’s brow arched.  

“I guess TikTok isn’t THAT bad.” You shrug and she giggles.  

“Does that mean you’ll make more with me?” She asks and you smirk.  

“If they end this way every time, then hell yeah.”  

Needless to say, you made A LOT of TikToks after that, and they all, in fact, end the same way every time.  

[000-pawz]

mission p.s.h is a-go! (p.sh) ˚ · .

park sungho x fem!reader (she/her), college au, art major! reader, art major!sungho, reader is so lovesick, sungho is a nervous wreck, ft. lovingly-bothersome sidekick jaehyun + mom friend roommate yujin, shy extrovert sungho, not so shy extrovert reader <3, mutual pining, puppy love, first kisses, jaehyun has a lot of piercings because why not, the world is your wingman, a story about friendship and first loves!!!!, romantic comedy

warnings: suggestive scene (mdni pleek), some sex jokes, cursing, drinking

wc: 11.3k+

playlist ⋆｡˚ "a girl like me" by flowerovlove, "wishlist" by txt, "stylish" by loona, "blooming in the morning" by spool, "serenade" by boynextdoor

a/n: i have been working on this for.... forever..... >3< but it's finally here!!! <3 happy bonedo first anniversary to all who celebrate! also tysm for 100+ followers!!! ^___^ ur support means everything to me. i had so much fun writing this and i hope you guys have even more fun reading!!!

DEAR DIARY

11:44 a.m | weather: partly cloudy

dear diary,

so today has already gone to absolute shit!!!! i missed my morning lecture because i forgot to put my phone on the charger so it fucking died in the middle of the night and then i realized that my period started 4 days early and i ran out of pain killers and i didn’t have any time to stop by the health center and get some but even if i’m physically dying and rotting away, i HAVE to get my usual chai tea with three pumps vanilla and 1 pump brown sugar but THEN i dropped my chai tea with three pumps vanilla and 1 pump brown sugar in the middle of the courtyard and i was already late to my next class so i didn’t have time to go back and get another one and then i finally make it to fucking studio arts and my usual spot is taken by some sleeping rando who ISN’T EVEN IN THIS CLASS. WHAT ARE THEY DOING HERE??? so then i was forced to sit in the back of class and use that stupid squeaky easel that literally wobbles when you BREATHE on it and all of this happened BEFORE 12 O’CLOCK!!!! now i’m—

“watcha writing?” an all too playful voice sounds right behind you, way too close for comfort and you don’t even bother to look up—you already know who it is by the irritating jingle of his dangly jewelry and the snicker that bubbles out of his throat at your annoyed expression.

“fuck off, jaehyun,” you mumble as you continue to recount your horrible day while you wait for the first layer of paint on your easel to dry, the obnoxiously hot pink pen in your hand scribbling ferociously against the white page of your diary. you hear another irksome laugh leave his body before the chair beside you squeaks as someone pulls it out.

“shh, don’t disturb her. she’s poetically releasing her emotions...” out the corner of your eye, you see yujin glance down at your page before slightly wincing, setting her watercolors down on the table slowly. “or something…”

jaehyun takes a seat at the table in front of you, sitting backward in his chair to take a closer look at what you’re writing—any semblance of privacy was long dismissed once you became friends with the two at the beginning of the school year. freshman move-in day had been possibly one of the worst experiences of your life, all thanks to the maltipoo puppy jaehyun tried to sneak into the residence hall and yujin’s immense fear of dogs. you guys have been inseparable since. 

trauma bonding, you think.

jaehyun flicks some of his brown hair out of his vision as his face contorts into something sour. “woah, when did the grinch take over your body?”

yujin scoots away and jaehyun raises his hands in surrender as you suddenly slam your diary shut, mentally rolling your eyes at their antics. 

“woah, when will you learn to stay out of my business?” you shoot towards jaehyun with the straightest face ever, his lips frowning as you slide your diary off of the table and into your bag. 

“hey, don’t take your anger out on me, grumpy pants.” 

and that just so happens to be your final straw—like those mundane moments where you’re having the worst day known to man and then all of a sudden your key doesn’t want to fit in the keyhole and now you want to rip your door off of the hinges—and jaehyun is now that door. you lunge at the pierced man, going straight for his jugular, but yujin is quick to wrap her arms around your waist, pulling you back down into your seat as she shushes you. 

“breathe, y/n, breathe,” yujin speaks in her exaggerated yoga instructor voice, the deep one that makes her sound like she’s high on shrooms. you close your eyes, forcing yourself to think of kittens and rainbows as your shoulders slowly untense. “there we go. smell the tulips and blow out the candles. that’s right. smell the tulips and blow out the—”

“why can’t they be roses?”

your eyes immediately snap open like a vampire at the smell of blood, meeting jaehyun’s highly entertained and highly aggravating expression.

“jaehyun, we talked about this. tulips smell better than ro—”

yujin’s voice is drowned out in your ears once a tall, raven-haired figure strolls into the studio. everything in the background fades to a blur as he makes his way to his usual sketching table, just a few seats away from where you reside. from here, you have a perfect view of his side profile, the sunlight streaming through the open windows lighting up his face heavenly. 

any anger in your body dissipates on the spot.

he’s wearing a baby blue knit sweater—the same sweater he wore on tuesday last week (...not that you remember or anything!)—with baggy light-washed jeans that adorn a little eevee pokemon charm hanging from his front belt loop. the black converse on his feet match yours and you try not to squeal at the slight prospect of a couple's outfit. slung over his body is the green satchel that he seems to take everywhere with him, filled to the brim with notebooks and art supplies. 

his black hair is messy and a little longer than the last time you have seen him. it curls over his eyebrows and down his neck, some tucked behind his naturally flushed ears. his eyelashes are so full, and even though his eyes are slightly obscured by the thin, circular glasses that sit on his nose, you can still make out the delicate shadow they cast onto his doughy cheeks. you wonder if he has a skincare routine from how smooth his skin looks, almost picture-esque as the sunrays illuminate a halo above his head. you swear a chorus of angels begin to sing in your ears.

he’s taking out his sketchpad now, and you watch the way he adjusts his glasses ever so slightly before lining up his charcoal pencils in order of point size next to his page. you’ve never gotten to see his art up close, but you’ve picked up on the fact his medium has always been a pencil of some sort—let it be graphite, pigmented colors, carbon—and you crave to see what his nimble fingers can create. his lips are pressed into a thin line as he completely submerges himself into that little bubble you notice he goes into when he starts to draw. 

you think he looks the most handsome when he’s immersed like this.

you don’t realize you’re staring until you blink and register that park sungho, aka the man of your dreams, aka the most gorgeous person to ever walk these streets, aka an angel from above, is staring directly at you. with this new angle, you can fully see his pouted heart-shaped lips and slightly puffy face—he must’ve just woken up. he’s so perfect, in every way possible. your heart nearly crawls up your throat as he sends a tiny smile your way, his eyes bunching up cutely at the corners. you almost raise your hand to wave back before a voice cuts through your dazed state.

“hey, sungho!” jaehyun calls, waving his hand frantically, the many bracelets on his wrists jingling with the movement; and said sungho waves in response, contained and shy, before turning his attention back to his sketchpad. while you’re slightly disappointed that sungho hadn’t been looking at you, you mentally thank jaehyun for saving you from could’ve-been detrimental embarrassment. 

you slightly deflate, slumping back down into your chair with a tiny huff—and jaehyun watches you from beginning to end, a knowing look in his eyes. 

“look, y/n’s upset her little boobie bear didn’t—”

this time, you grab your barbie-esque pen and chuck it squarely at jaehyun’s nose, the plastic clinking against his nose ring. you hear yujin giggling from beside you, jaehyun shooting her a hopeless look of betrayal.

“you set yourself up for that one, myung,” she speaks before she gets up to fill her paint cup with water. jaehyun rolls his eyes with a scoff, quickly turning his attention back to you—much to your dismay.

“you should try to talk to him. he’s really nice, trust me,” jaehyun suggests with a little wiggle of his eyebrows, not-so-subtly nodding his head in sungho’s direction. your eyes can’t help but trail back over to the tall man’s frame, nearly swooning at the way he pushes his glasses up his nose with his pinky finger, squinting his eyes slightly despite the lenses as his pencil glides across the paper like a ballerina. 

fuck, he’s so cute. you want to die.

“i don’t even think he knows my name,” you sigh, almost dreamily as you spectate from afar. the way he readjusts his grip on the pencil every few seconds, and the way his knee bounces unrhythmically under the table, his pokemon charm shaking with the movement. his bottom lip is caught in between his teeth now and you’re sure you might pass out as he reaches up to run his fingers through his hair, the fluffy locks falling back into place slowly as they nearly defy gravity. 

oh, park sungho. you don’t know how perfect you are.

“girl, you look like a stalker,” yujin appears beside you once again, multiple watercolor brushes knocking against each other as they swim in her now water-filled cup. it’s your turn to glare this time, crossing your arms over your chest as you manage to slump even further in your seat—you aren’t sure how you haven’t fallen to the floor yet.

“i can’t help it! just… look at him,” you whine pitifully, trying to keep your voice down as you glance at him one last time. yup, still gorgeous.

jaehyun groans loudly from his spot, his bracelets clanking as he grips his hair with both hands.

“i am going to bash my head into this table if you don’t speak to him. i don’t know how much more sungho mushy-gushy talk i can take,” he complains, his eyes wide and faux-crazed as he lightly tugs his hair. he looks stupid as hell—you’ve always thought jaehyun resembles the annoying orange.

“that’s if sungho doesn’t decide to run away before she can even open her mouth.”

and there it goes. the real reason why you’ve never gotten the chance to speak to your puppy-love crush. 

it’s a strange phenomenon actually, the way park sungho seems to avoid you like the plague. at first, you thought he was just incredibly shy. maybe he had chronic social anxiety, in which, you wouldn’t blame him at all—you were the exact same way before you got to college, so it would make perfect sense. he’s just a shy, shy guy who doesn’t intend on making small talk; and that would’ve been just fine with you.

but then you saw him interact with like… everyone else in the entire world, and decided to rule out that option because—what? he shows up to every single birthday party he’s invited to, says hi to all of his friends as he passes them on campus, and he even complimented your brooding english professor’s tie once! so there’s no way park sungho doesn’t know how to interact with other humans.

it’s just you. he doesn’t want to interact with you.

not to be selfish and arrogant or anything, but it’s truly a huge blow to your pride. you’ve always considered yourself to be a pretty likable person—maybe a little off-kilter, but not to the point where it literally makes people pack up their things and leave as soon as you enter the room. and yes, sungho has done that before. 

so now you’re stuck in this predicament where you can’t go one night without falling asleep to the idea of holding park sungho’s lovely hand and kissing his squishy cheek and touching his luscious hair, when—in truth, horrible, horrible truth—this exact park sungho doesn’t even want to see your face.

once snapped back into reality, the realization rebirths all of your anger—at the world, at yourself, at sungho “loml” park. yujin mumbles out a little half-assed apology that you completely dismiss and jaehyun snickers as he rises to a stand, throwing something over his shoulder about how he all of a sudden has a sculpture he needs to get started on before he disappears from your sight.

he doesn’t even know how to sculpt.

when you look up, you see jaehyun giving sungho a little goodbye pat on the back, in which sungho returns with a little “see you later” and a smile that bunches his cheeks up like bread rolls. damn you park sungho and your adorable, adorable cheeks.

this is definitely going in your diary tonight.

｡‧˚🍞⭒₊˚🍎˚ · .

or at least you thought it would be going in your diary tonight.

because currently, as of 7:28 pm local time, you can’t seem to find that sparkly pink journal anywhere. 

you checked your tote bag, yujin’s bag, jaehyun’s giant pockets, under your seat in the art studio, the cafeteria, and even asked around hoping someone’s heard of it through word-of-mouth—and yet, nothing. no sign of your journal at all.

if you were thinking rationally, you would have maybe thought to check your dorm room. you did end up having lunch in there with the blinds closed after your shitty day and the overwhelming need to disappear from society. or, you might have left it in your french language class because you had pulled it out mid lecture to complain about your horrible view from the very back row. it might have even fell out on your bus ride to the small dimsum restaurant located on the outskirts of your campus. 

but you have been on the edge of snapping since the very moment you woke up this morning, and if you thought jaehyun’s little quips earlier brought you to your limit, then losing your diary now broke the meter.

you glumly take a seat on an unoccupied bench outside of the arts building, trying your best to hold in your tears at the absolute wreck this day has become. no chai tea, early period, squeaky easel, park sungho not even knowing your name—

“um, y/n?”

as soon as the first tear rolls down your cheek, your hear that all too familiar voice in your ears, a tall shadow blocking the slight rays of the moon in the distance. everything feels unreal, almost hallucinatory as your lift your head to see the man of all your dreams standing right in front of you with a shy smile on his perfect, perfect face.

as soon as he locks eyes with you though, his smile falters, his lips turning down into one of the softest frowns you’ve ever seen grace such an angelic face. snapping yourself out of your mini daze, you reach up with the sleeve of your jacket to quickly wipe your eyes. 

not now tear ducts! the love of your life is in your vicinity! and he knows your name!

“hey, sungho! hi,” you rush out in one breath, hoping your voice isn’t too shaky. 

“are you…” sungho’s question starts off as a small mumble, but he quickly cuts himself off with a tiny shake of his head.  “n-nevermind. i just wanted to give this to you.”

you watch him as he digs around in his green satchel for a second before pulling out something bright pink, the street lights reflecting off of the sparkles. you feel your heart leap in your chest at the sight, jumping up from your seat.

“my journal! oh my god, thank you! where did you find it?” you quickly speak as sungho passes you your journal.

“it was in the art studio. i promise i didn’t read any of it so… yea.” 

his fingers lightly brush yours for a split second and the end of his sentence falters a bit. you try not to read into it, but this moment is definitely, for sure going in your journal tonight. your first ever, longer-than-30-seconds encounter with the love of your life. totally disregarding the fact that he saw you crying… 

you clutch the notebook to your chest as you give him a bright beam, trying to keep all of the squealing and fawning locked away in your mind. sungho looks incredibly gorgeous in the low ray of evening lights, strands of his shiny hair tucked behind his ear and falling over his forehead. as the wind blows, you’re able to get a whiff of the sweet cologne he always wears, vanilla and another hidden tone that mixes perfectly.

“thank you, sungho. really, thank you.” your voice is soft as you meet his sparkling eyes; they’re deep and mesmerizing, glittering with stardust as he mirrors your smile. he nods ever so slightly before gripping his satchel strap with both of his hands.

“um, yea. it’s no problem,” he speaks through a small puff of nervous laughter. you’re surprised you haven't melted to the ground in a puddle of love-ridden goo yet. “have a good night.” 

“you too!” you say a little too enthusiastically. sungho simply nods again before he turns on his heel to leave towards the direction he came in. suddenly, he stops, turning back around to face you.

“i… my dorm is that way,” he rushes out before speedwalking past you without giving you a second glance. you hold back a giggle at his cute slip up, covering your mouth with your hand.  

he. is. so. cute. you want to scream the words to the sky. as soon as sungho disappears around the corner, you wip out your phone, your heart pounding in your chest.

to: dumb and dumber

guys. you’ll never fucking guess what just happened.

MISSION P.S.H

6:15 a.m | weather: clear skies

dear diary,

i dreamt of him. again. please kill me already.

“...and then i was like what? because that was the same guy i hooked up with last week!” yujin spills as she dramatically reenacts her encounter at some party she went to last night. you’re having lunch with your friends in the courtyard, the chatter of students, bikes, and overhead planes mixing with the warm breeze.

“i told you he was a fuckboy. and then you called me an annoying virgin,” jaehyun deadpans as he takes a bite out of his sandwich, shrugging his shoulders. you laugh at their bickering from the other side of the table, looking back down at your journal where you are currently doodling the scene in front of you, but with yujin and jaehyun as cats.

yujin rolls her eyes, opening her mouth to rebuttal, but she stops herself as her eyes catch onto something over your shoulder. you watch as her eyes widen toward you, immediately catching onto what that stare means.

‘park sungho incoming. act normal!’

you sit up straighter, trying to act nonchalant as sungho strolls up to your table. as naturally as possible, you lift your gaze toward him, your breath catching in your throat as soon as your eyes lock onto his figure.

today, he’s in a simple white t-shirt, zip-up, and jeans with his classic green satchel, but to you, he looks other-worldly. the sun shines brightly above his head, casting a spotlight onto him as if he were standing solo on a stage. you envision red rose petals falling around him in slow motion as he blinks, his long eyelashes tickling his cheeks with the movement. his skin is slightly flushed from the humid air, his lips full and plush as a smile stretches across his perfect face. 

he’s going to be the death of me, you think, holding back a dreamy sigh.

“i brought those references you asked for,” sungho directs towards jaehyun with his silky smooth voice, reaching into his satchel to pull out a blue folder of papers. you get deja vu, recalling the way his fingers brushed yours last night (and yes, you recapped the moment to yujin and jaehyun at least three times since then.)

“oh, thanks bro! i totally forgot about these,” jaehyun speaks, grabbing the folder from sungho’s perfect hands. “hey, are you still going to riwoo’s party on saturday?”

“yeah, i’ll be there. see you then?” 

“yup! i’m dragging these two along with me.” sungho nods with a small smile before his eyes catch onto yujin.

“your shirt is dope, yujin. i love that band,” sungho compliments and yujin quickly jumps into a recap of how she went to their concert last week. sungho says something about him also being there with a friend and all of it goes through one ear and out of the other. “anyways, i’ll see you guys around.”

sungho gives your table one last smile, his eyes catching onto yours for a split second before he merges off into the crowd of students. the table is silent for a few beats and both of your friends turn their eyes to you, just waiting for you to say something. you sigh as you stare off into the direction sungho disappeared in, resting your cheek in your palm.

“is he avoiding me? he has to be avoiding me… like he talks to you guys but pretends like i’m not even there!” you speak through a dejected pout. yujin eyes you with something akin to pity, completely contrasting jaehyun whose face is decorated with an annoying smile. 

“it’s ‘cause he’s afraid that if he looks you in the eyes, you might eat his soul.”

you completely disregard jaehyun’s comment, running through all of the possible explanations for his behavior in your mind. does he have a secret partner? or maybe he doesn’t like the smell of your perfume? what if he thinks you are butt-fuck ugly and a pain to look at? no… it’s definitely not that. you remind yourself to give your reflection an apology when you get back to your dorm. 

your eyes slowly increase in size as you sit up, a eureka moment taking over your train of thought. the gasp that leaves your lips is a little too loud for a public, communal space, but it doesn’t even register in your brain. 

you’ve got it all figured out.

“guys…” you start ominously, smiling widely at your friends as you brace your hands on the table. “i think he’s playing hard to get.”

jaehyun and yujin stare at you half-incredulously and half-amused, a puff of laughter even passing through jaehyun’s lips while yujin has to turn away to muffle her giggles.

“yu, i think she’s finally lost it.”

you shake your head quickly. “no, no, guys, it all makes sense. i caught him staring at me in class once—”

“anyone would stare if they saw a free-roaming demon in a college art course.”

“jaehyun, i will literally cut your tongue off.”

jaehyun pouts his snakebite-accented lips, turning to yujin with pleading eyes as he gestures towards you on the other side of the table. “did you hear her? that’s actually a threat this time. a real threat.”

yujin sighs, half-heartedly patting jaehyun’s shoulder twice to console him before giving her full attention to you. 

“y/n… i think it’s time to have ‘the talk’.”

you blink blankly at yujin before glancing over at jaehyun who is nodding along to said woman’s words, a playfully solemn look on his face.

“what ‘talk’?... look, if this is about sex, i already know how babies are made so…”

“no, no, not that talk. the park sungho talk,” yujin explains, reaching across the table to place her hand on top of yours. this feels like some weird group therapy session, and to be honest, your best friends are really starting to creep you out in the way that they seem to communicate silently through their eyes.

what the fuck is going on?

“let me explain it to you in simple terms,” jaehyun sits up straight before dramatically clearing his throat. “park sungho plus girlfriend equals no-no. nada. never happened. park sungho plus crush equals ‘AHHHHHHHHH! THE WORLD IS ENDING!’. park sungho see you. park sungho ‘AHHHHHHH!!!!’”

jaehyun shouts in a high-pitched girly voice before doing a little running away motion, covering his eyes as he pretends to tremble before going back to normal.

now it’s time for both you and yujin to stare blankly at jaehyun—the latter looks incredibly proud of himself nonetheless, his chest puffed out confidently after his little performance. you slowly turn your gaze to yujin’s figure, motioning towards jaehyun next to her.

“can i get a translation or something…?”

yujin sighs before flicking jaehyun’s nose ring, resulting in a drowned out complaint about the both of you “teaming up on him” or whatever. you both don’t pay him any mind though—you have bigger things to worry about, such as—

“basically, what he’s trying to say is that sungho has a crush on you, but he’s scared because he’s never had a girlfriend before and he freaks out around you. so he… flees like a little baby rabbit when you’re near him,” yujin concludes with a bright smile, clasping her hands together.

okay.

okay.

this is not what you were expecting to hear during your wednesday afternoon lunch break. everything you’ve ever known, everything you’ve forced yourself to believe comes crumbling down all at once. 

park sungho has a crush on you.

park sungho has a crush on you.

wait.

“and no one has thought to tell me this until now?” you breathe out, your eyes as wide as saucers. jaehyun shrugs, picking up his sandwich to take a bite.

“well, it’s kind of something we found out like today,” jaehyun speaks through a mouthful of lettuce and bacon, yujin nodding along next to him. 

“you know han taesan from our literature class?” yujin asks, leaning towards you as she lowers her voice. you search your fried brain for any familiarity, humming in thought for a second before it clicks.

“the one who dresses like a wannabe kurt cobain?”

“yes, him. so basically, sungho confessed to him about his crush on you. and jaehyun and i, who were magically sitting behind mr. han, just so happened to accidentally see their text messages. so. yeah,” yujin explains.

the silence is loud.

“so what i’m hearing is you guys violated someone’s privacy and now you’re telling me their classified business?” you speak, blinking blankly between then.

“...yes?” jaehyun replies slowly with a guilty smile. you look at them for a few seconds before reaching your hands out for highfives. 

“i knew i could trust you guys,” you affirm as you double highfive them both, jaehyun letting out a little woop woop. “so, what do i do now? i obviously can’t just walk right up to him and ask him out. i’m gonna need a plan if i’m ever going to get him to willingly talk to me.”

“oh, i’m already ten steps ahead of you, babygirl. mission p.s.h is a-go,” jaehyun declares, pulling out his phone. you tilt your head in pure confusion and you’re sure the crinkle between your brows is apparent. 

“mission p—what?”

jaehyun sighs with exasperation—as if you were the cause of all of his troubles in the world—before placing his phone on the table. “mission park sungho. come on, let’s use our head, idiot.”

“i will smash your head into—”

“you will do none of those things,” yujin interrupts with a stern motherly glare before turning to jaehyun. “now can you explain this mission park sungho thing because…?”

jaehyun rolls his eyes before leaning back in his seat with a sly smile on his lips.

“i began working on it last night and i was going to show you guys when i finished, but we’re in a dire, dire situation.” jaehyun sends you dramatically sympathetic eyes and you stick your tongue out at him in return. “it’s simple, really. we just set the bait, and like the little baby rabbit he is, he’ll bite the carrot. then, once our handy work is done, y/n and sungho will live happily ever after in their fairy princess castle. it’s foolproof.”

jaehyun concludes with a triumphant smile before he slowly slides his phone over towards you like a suspicious dealer. you raise a brow at him, but take the phone anyways.

“phase one, get his attention. so just like… get him jealous?” you ask, cocking your head. jaehyun nods quickly in response, his hair bouncing like an overly excited puppy.

“mhm, yup! i know a guy who’s perfect for this.”

“that sounds… sketchy… but a good idea nonetheless.” you squint your eyes a bit as you continue reading the almost illegible notes app ramble. “and then phase two…”

“get him alone. he’s going to be at riwoo’s party, right? right?” you and yujin nod in response. “so we find a way to get him and y/n alone so they can… you know…” jaehyun does some weird, obscure motion with his fingers and yujin gently places her hand on top of his to stop it immediately.

“this is literally phase two, myungjae. slow down,” yujin chastises before turning to you. “what do you think, y/n?”

“we may need to tweak phase two a bit, but this looks… surprisingly safe…” you mutter as you read through the plan once again. “why is phase three just a bunch of question marks and thinking emojis…?”

“i didn’t get to finish it. i had more important things to tend to last night,” jaehyun smiles menacingly. yujin gags and you groan, rolling your eyes.

“i don’t even wanna know,” you say, trying to clear your mind of whatever the hell he meant by that. 

“i guess we’ll just figure something out when we get there?” yujin suggests, looking between you two for approval. you nod in agreement because, well, you’re running out of options here. sungho is one of the world’s most desirable bachelors! you can’t just wait around for another girl to come by and woo him. you need to get to work asap.

“don’t worry. i’ll come up with something. they don’t call me myungstein for nothing,” jaehyun runs his fingers through his hair cockily, trying to subtly flex his nonexistent muscles.

“literally no one… no one calls you that…” you trail off but keep the rest of your words to yourself. you owe it to him for making up this plan in the first place.

at this point, you’re going to run out of pages in your journal before the year ends.

PHASE ONE: GET HIS ATTENTION (easy enough, right?)

11:37 a.m | weather: sunny with a nice breeze

dear diary,

i’ve decided to listen to myung jaehyun for once. i apologize in advance to my future self. i’m desperate okay?!?!?!

“remember what we practiced?” jaehyun whispers to you as you stand outside of the campus cafe where sungho works. yujin is already stationed inside of the cafe to make sure everything goes well. through the big glass window, you see her sitting in the corner with a comically large newspaper and sunglasses sitting low on her nose. not suspicious at all.

“yes. flirt with that guy with the luscious hair and make sure sungho hears,” you recite the exact words jaehyun had told you on your walk here. jaehyun gives you an affirmative hum, dropping his hand onto your shoulder.

“okay, let’s practice right now. pretend i’m luscious hair guy,” you open your mouth to argue, but jaehyun is already getting into character, dramatically running his fingers through his hair, slipping a cartoonish shmoulder on his face. “hey, pretty lady.”

“jaehyun, that’s gross. no.”

“who’s jaehyun? is he your boyfriend? of course a beauty like you would already be taken,” he speaks in a low voice before biting his lip in the least seductive way possible.

you try not to gag at his words, shrugging his hand off of your shoulder. “i’m going in now. bye.” 

drowning out jaehyun’s objections, you open the door of the cafe, the little bells above the door jingling with the movement. your eyes scan the cafe for a second before they land on a familiar figure making small talk with some guy as he serves him coffee. he looks so handsome in his work uniform, a white button-up and brown slacks with a matching brown apron. his hair is a little curlier than usual and he has on his glasses again today. 

you definitely wouldn’t mind seeing this every day. maybe you should come to this cafe more often.

you try to calm the frantic beating of your heart as you give yujin a curt nod. she gives you one back before ducking behind the newspaper again. it’s go time.

it doesn’t take you long to spot “luscious hair guy”, seeing as he’s currently working the front register. he’s tall and attractive, the perfect bait. honestly, you have no idea what jaehyun bribed him with to get him to go with your plan, and honestly, you don’t really want to know. 

you quickly adjust your clothes as you walk up to the counter. luscious hair guy’s eyes lock onto yours and you offer him an affable smile.

“hi!” you greet brightly before leaning in to quickly whisper the code word “p.s.h”. luscious hair guy nods quickly in recognition before the both of you get into character.

“hello! what can i get for you today?” he asks with a glimmering smile, leaning forward in interest. you pretend to think, tapping your lips as you glance up at the menu.

“hm… i’ve never been here before… what do you recommend?” you ask with a (hopefully) flirtatious smile. just then, you notice sungho slip behind the counter to put some dishes away, his eyes widening once he sees your face. it takes less than two seconds for him to duck his head away, turning his back to you as he frantically begins organizing some mugs. 

“the vanilla caramel latte is really good,” leehan suggests, shooting you an award winning smile. someone get this guy a oscar!

“then i’ll get that,” you dramatically glance down at his name tag. “thanks, leehan.”

over the tall man’s shoulder, you notice sungho inconspicuously walk over to the front counter, his eyes flickering over to the both of you for a split second. he busies himself by adjusting the pastry display, but you can see him definitely listening in on your conversation.

“i’m sorry if this sounds odd, but you have a really beautiful smile,” leehan compliments shyly, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. you gasp before letting out a small giggle.

“wow, thank you!” you breathe out, blinking up at leehan coyly. “you’re pretty cute yourself.”

“that means a lot coming from a pretty girl like you.” in your peripheral, you see sungho slightly tense up, his entire body stilling for a moment. “i’ll get that right out for you.”

at those words words, sungho abruptly stands up, nearly slamming the display shut before going to wipe down tables. leehan smiles at you once sungho’s back is turned to the both of you, trying to hold in his laughter.

“he’s upset,” leehan mouths, nodding his head towards sungho who is currently aggressively scrubbing an already stainless table. perfect.

you head over to a vacant table, a few away from yujin, but still close enough to whisper “i think it’s working”. yujin lowers her sunglasses with a manicured nail, glancing over at sungho who is aggressively scrubbing another table; his lips are pouted and his eyebrows are slightly furrowed. she turns back to you with a knowing look, nodding her head.

you scroll on your phone for a bit, making sure to update jaehyun who had a presentation this afternoon. you’re sure that if he were free, he’d be in a wig and spectacles, adorned in a trench coat and briefcase right there with yujin. maybe his absence is for the better.

a few minutes later, you hear that all too familiar, lovely voice flow through the quiet buzz of the cafe. you look up from your phone to see leehan moving to plate your order with sungho hot on his heels.

“leehan, i can take that order for you,” sungho speaks, his gentle voice a little sharper around the edges. you see leehan brush him off with a warm smile, adjusting the mug on the tray.

“oh, it’s okay, i’ve got it,” he says, but sungho quickly cuts him off.

“no, no, i insist. really.” sungho gives leehan a tight-lipped smile before shooing him off to take another order. your eyes widen, quickly turning toward yujin who’s wiggling her eyebrows at you over the newspaper.

“it worked!” she mouths. you hide your smile behind your hand as you nod quickly before looking down at your phone to text jaehyun.

to: dumber

the fish has landed in the hole. or however that goes

when you finally look back up, sungho is making his way over to you, his bottom lip cutely caught between his teeth.

“oh, hi sungho!” you greet when he stops at your table, awkwardly holding the tray in front of his chest. 

“hi, y/n. uh, here you go.” sungho gives you a shaky smile and you resist the urge to coo. he’s so cute, in the way his hands shake slightly as he lowers the mug and a slice of strawberry cake onto the table.

“oh, i didn’t order the cake!” you say, meeting his eyes. sungho nervously laughs as he tucks the now empty tray under his arm.

“it’s… um, it’s on the house,” he messily motions towards your table before gluing his arms back to his sides. “everything is.”

“really? you’re so sweet, sungho. thank you.” you think you are going to float out of your seat. he quickly looks away from your gaze after your compliment, redirecting his eyes to his shoes. his ears are slightly blushed on the tips, his circular glasses slipping down his nose slightly.

“don’t mention it,” he mumbles, his cheeks dusted an apple red that match his ears.  “also, your um… your outfit is really nice.”

yup. you’re definitely floating.

“thank you so much! you look nice, too. i mean, you look nice in everything,” you giggle, watching the way sungho’s wide eyes shoot up to yours. he looks like a surprised kitten with the way his black curls fall into his face at the sudden movement. you get the sudden urge to gently brush them away, but you remind yourself of proper etiquette and keep your hands to yourself.

“that’s… that’s not true, but thank you,” he speaks quietly. you open your mouth to rebuttal, but sungho simply gives you a quick nod and scurries off back to the counter. you can’t even be disappointed this time—that little interaction was enough to feed your delusions for the next month and a half.

as soon as sungho makes it back behind the counter, you see him drop his head into his hands in embarrassment, shaking his head. leehan comes up behind him to give him a pat on the back, trying to hold in his laughter. the luscious haired guy gives you a thumbs up over sungho’s shoulder and you shoot him one back with a wide smile. mission accomplished, you guess as you take a bite of the fluffy cake. 

so sweet.

｡‧˚🍞⭒₊˚🍎˚ · .

5:14 p.m | weather: ANGELS SINGING FROM ABOVE

dear diary,

park sungho wrote his number on the napkin. i have park sungho's number. he gave me his number. we're sooooo back.

PHASE TWO: GET HIM ALONE (and not in the creepy way!!!)

if there was one thing about your best friends, it would be how hard they party. it’s not like you were a prude or anything—definitely not that—but these two took parties to a different level. you aren’t sure how long you’ve been dancing in between jaehyun and yujin, squeezed between other sweaty bodies as the music thrums through your veins. jaehyun’s hands are on your hips and yujin’s arms are wrapped around your shoulders as you laugh with your head thrown back, letting loose. there is no room to be shy when it comes to partying with them.

your friend riwoo went all out for this end of the semester party, it seems. he rented out a beach house that sits right along the shore and you’re pretty sure he invited more than half of your entire university. you already greeted the host with hugs and small talk before you went straight for the drinks. as the song playing through the speakers comes to an end, the dj announces that fireworks are going off at the beach at 2 a.m, so people start stumbling and filing out of the house to see the pretty lights and colors.

“you wanna get another drink?” yujin shouts into your ear and you nod quickly. you definitely aren’t drunk enough—especially for what you guys have planned tonight. phase two.

“i’m gonna go find sungho,” jaehyun manages to say in his already drunken state before disappearing into the crowd, greeting at least 3 people as he makes his way through. you grab yujin’s hand to tug her toward the nearly vacant kitchen. most of the drinks are outside at the beach, but this is all a part of the plan. you rummage around in the fridge hoping to find anything to calm your nerves.

“calm down, y/n. you look like you’re going to explode,” yujin laughs from behind you, leaning against the marble island.

“because i am. i’ve never been alone with him before. what if i say something stupid?” you whine, still searching for anything that isn’t soda or juice.

“...like you always do?” yujin quips back quickly. you pause to give her a tiny glare over your shoulder before you deflate, turning back to the fridge.

“...fair. but still! i really don’t want to mess this up,” you sigh. as if the fridge itself has begun to pity you, you end up finding something tucked away near the back, though you’re freaking out too much to even read the label. with a shrug, you uncap it and drink straight from the bottle.

“you got this. remember, he already likes you. i don’t think he can be saved at this point.”

“you’re right,” you say, looking down at your heels, but once her words fully process in your tipsy mind, your head snaps right back up “wait, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“it means that all you have to be is yourself. we’re all rooting for you!” yujin rushes over to plant a kiss on your cheek before patting your head. “now, i have an appointment upstairs, so i’ll see you later! keep me updated!”

“wait, yujin!” you call, but she’s already slipped right through your fingers. you huff as she disappears around the corner, her menacing giggles fading into the music like an evil villain. whatever. you have more important things to worry about right now—such as sungho entering the kitchen not even a beat later looking otherworldly.

your fingers nearly slip on the neck of the bottle as your eyes lock onto each other’s. sungho looks good. and by good, you mean you-want-to-jump-his-bones-right-here-right-now good. 

his usually messy hair is pushed back and out of his face, a few strands falling onto his forehead. he’s ditched his glasses and his eyes look even more sharp and enticing like this—as if he’s staring straight into your soul. he’s wearing a cropped black tee with jeans, adorning multiple silver necklaces that shine against his skin. his soft lips are glossy from the drink in his hands, his cheek slightly flushed from the alcohol.

you’ve never seen him look like this before. the cute park sungho you’re so used to is somewhere dead in a ditch right now. god.

you can’t even speak as he shoots you a smile, his eyes softening with familiarity.

“hey,” he says, his gaze flickering to the bottle in your hands. “you alright there?”

you look down at your hands, quickly moving to place the bottle on the counter behind you with a guilty smile.

“yeah—yeah, no, i’m great. perfect, actually.” you find yourself stumbling over your own words. if you thought you weren’t drunk enough to handle this before, now you think you are too drunk to even process the sight in front of you.

“why’re you in here alone? everyone’s heading down to the beach,” sungho says as he rounds the island. 

he has to be drunk, if not for the way he so boldly rakes his eyes over your body without shame. you swallow, blinking up at him. you can see him very obviously checking you out, his eyes running up the expanse of your exposed legs to the hem of your mini dress. he’s not too close, but you can still smell his vanilla-and-something-secret cologne with the proximity. you feel yourself grow weak in the knees, reaching back to hold onto the counter behind you. 

“i could be asking you the same thing,” you shoot back, trying to regain your confidence as you catch his eyes. sungho lets out of a puff of laughter, dropping his gaze for a second before looking back up at you. you feel your heart catch in your throat at the way his eyelashes flutter so beautiful, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip absentmindedly.

“i guess i was looking for you,” he speaks quietly, so sincerely that you aren’t sure if he knows the effect he has on you right now. 

“well, i’m here now,” you mumble back. 

“yeah. you are.”

the silence in between you guys is incredibly heavy, dripping with unsaid words and you can’t seem to find any of them. they all feel stuck in your throat as sungho’s eyes flicker in between yours. for once, he’s not the first one to break eye contact—and you even watch as he takes a few steps closer to you until he’s standing directly in front of you. 

“y/n…” he whispers, leaning down so only you can hear him. his hair tickles your face and you find yourself frozen, unable to move. “can i… can i kiss you?”

okay, he’s definitely drunk. but so are you, so you have nothing to lose.

“yes. please,” you whisper back and he’s on you before you can even blink.

sungho’s lips are as plush and sweet as you imagined them to be. he tastes of the fruity alcohol that sits in his now abandoned cup,your stomach flipping as he gently works his lips against yours. one of his hands comes up to cup your cheek, and you notice his fingers slightly shaking against your skin. even when he’s like this, he’s still so cute, it drives you crazy.

you reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you until your bodies are pressed flush against each other. you tangle your fingers into his hair and at your actions, he softly sighs, falling into you even more. you swallow all of his noises as you swipe your tongue across his bottom lip for permission; pliantly, he parts his lips for you, a quiet moan leaving his lips when you slightly tug on his hair.

you feel his strong arm circle around your waist, his fingers splayed out against the fabric of your thin dress. you’re wrapped up in his scent, an all encompassing mantra of sungho, sungho, sungho filling your brain. he handles you gently, but so desperately as he licks into your mouth, his teeth grazing over your lips.

you can’t help the noises leaving your mouth as he subconsciously slips a leg in between yours, holding you impossibly closer to him. you can feel his rapid heart beat through his shirt, and you’re sure your own heart is pounding just as fast. he’s addicting in all sense of the word, your mind growing foggy as you grind up into him. he guides you with his arm, his other hand rubbing soothing circles onto your cheek. it’s everything and more, and when he finally parts for air, you find yourself chasing after his lips desperately. 

“is this—is this okay?” sungho stutters through a whisper, referring to the position the two of you are in. 

you nod quickly, biting your lip as you look up into his eyes. his pupils are fully blown out, his lips bitten red, covered in a thin layer of your saliva. his chest rises and falls quickly as he looks down at you and something akin to pride fills your chest at the sight. you made him like this. he’s so perfect. 

“fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he breathes out before capturing your lips again. he’s a little more feverish this time, moaning against your lips as you grind against his leg. he seems to be getting off on you getting off, and the thought alone is driving you crazy. 

you don’t even think about how you both are still in plain sight, right up against the kitchen counter where anyone could walk in at any time. and the little bubble that the two of you have built comes crashing down as a familiar voice breaks through your muddled haze.

“i’m gonna puke. need water,” jaehyun shouts as he runs into the kitchen before getting dizzy, moving to sit criss cross on the floor with his head in his hands.

“oh my god,” you groan as sungho hesitantly pulls himself away from you. “i’m so sorry, sungho.”

he’s clearly disheveled, his shirt slightly riding up exposing the smooth expanse of his lower stomach. his hair is a mess from your fingers, his lips are bruised, and it’s almost impossible to not notice the obvious bulge in his pants. despite it all, he’s still an angel, offering you a gentle smile.

“i’ll get him water, don’t worry,” sungho says, his face flushed red as he goes to grab a cup. you turn your gaze to the shitfaced jaehyun on the floor—you hold back any and all urges to cuss him out because 1. he’s incredibly drunk so the words won’t hurt him enough and 2. sungho is right there. 

you walk over to crouch down in front of jaehyun, placing a hand on his shoulder. “keep it in, myungjae, or i swear…”

jaehyun mumbles some incomprehensible gibberish and you sigh quietly. as much of a cockblock as he is right now, your friends’ wellbeing always comes first.

“here,” sungho says from above you. you look up to see him holding out a cup of water to you with a tiny, awkward smile on his lips. 

you already want to kiss him again.

“thank you,” you reply softly, returning the smile. “myung, you awake?” you shake jaehyun’s shoulder a few times before he finally slurs out more gibberish. “i’m gonna need words, hun.”

“i think… i think i’m drunk…” he mumbles before groaning again, slumping forward against you. 

“yeah, no shit,” you deadpan. you place the water down next to you so you can lift his head up with both hands. jaehyun’s cheeks squish together like a chipmunk as he sleepy blinks at you. “wake up. where’s yujin?”

“she left with someone… i didn’t see…” he trails off before slumping forward again. “i’m gonna puke.”

“no, you’re not. drink this.” you try your best to help him drink the water, even though most of it spills onto his shirt. whatever. “i’m taking you home.”

jaehyun doesn’t respond other than a hiccup and another incomprehensible mumble.

“do you need some help?”

oh, right. sungho is still right here. you feel half-embarrassed and half-disappointed at the prospect of leaving him high and dry right here, but jaehyun needs your help right now. you wave sungho off with a small laugh and a shake of your head.

“i got him. we’ll call a driver.”

“are you sure? i can go with you guys.”

“it’s okay! enjoy the party.” you insist, trying to get jaehyun to drink more water. sungho nibbles on his lip in thought, watching the scene in from of him.

“i’ll wait outside with you guys at least.”

“you really don’t have to…” but sungho cuts you off with an insistent look and you find yourself giving in all too quickly. “okay. can you help me get him up?”

with much struggle and some extra hands from angel sungho, you guys manage to get jaehyun on his feet. you throw his arm over your shoulders and wrap your own around his waist to hold him up straight. sungho helps you steady him from the other side and you mentally thank him a thousand times over again because you’re sure jaehyun would’ve already crushed you by now if he wasn’t here.

“carry me like a princess,” jaehyun mumbles, lolling his head to the side, his entire body complete jelly.

“i’m not carrying you like a princess, jaehyun,” you speak blankly as you make your way to the front of the beach house.

“sungho, carry me like a princess.” all sungho does it laugh lightly and take more of jaehyun’s weight from you. 

“come on, myungjae. left foot, right foot… there you go. you’re actually walking now, good job.”

｡‧˚🍞⭒₊˚🍎˚ · .

sungho waits with the both of you on the steps, jaehyun half asleep on your shoulder. what a way to end your night. sungho is eerily quiet as he watches the party-goers in the distance, the fireworks painting the sky in an array of colors and light. it’s beautiful you think, and as you turn your head to gaze at sungho, the lights reflecting in his dark eyes, you think he’s even more beautiful.

“are you… are you sure you’ll be okay?” sungho suddenly asks, turning his head to face you.

“i’m sure. i don’t want to ruin your night,” you reply with a small smile, though sungho frowns at your words.

“you could never ruin my night,” he says so seriously, you think you might’ve misheard for a moment. sungho’s gaze is heavy on you and you’re at a loss for words again, your mouth clamping shut. you feel your stomach do flips at his words, so simple yet so perfect. everything he does makes you fall for him even more.

you don’t speak for a few minutes after that and you don’t need to. the silence is calming this time. of course, there are a million things you want to say to sungho, but now doesn’t feel like the right time. not when jaehyun is a zombie next to you, mumbling in his half-asleep daze. sungho seems to be keeping his words to himself as well, glancing over at you from time to time. 

finally, a black car pulls up in the driveway and you get a notification that your driver is here.

“i—i think that’s our car. thank you for your help, sungho,” you speak as you go to shake jaehyun awake.

“yeah, it’s no problem,” sungho sheepishly smiles, tucking his hands in his pockets. “um, y/n…?”

“hm?” you ask over your shoulder as you help your mumbling best friend to a stand. sungho watches the scene in front of him before shaking his head.

“...nevermind. get back safely, okay?” when you meet his eyes again, they’re sparkling with something unsaid. and somehow, you know exactly what he’s trying to say.

“will do,” you affirm with a small smile before shushing jaehyun as he begins to whine about needing to puke again. “goodnight, sungho!!”

“goodnight, y/n.”

your clingy, drunk best friend drops his head onto your shoulder again as soon as you manage to get into the car, cuddling up to your side like a koala. with a sigh, you gaze out of the window and back toward the house. none of this feels real yet, but you’re sure it’ll all hit you once you’re completely sober.

as you begin to drive off, you notice a figure with black hair softly banging his head against the front wall of the house before regaining his composure, making his way back down to the beach. 

｡‧˚🍞⭒₊˚🍎˚ · .

12:47 p.m | weather: chilly

dear diary,

we kissed. we actually kissed. but he was drunk, so i don’t know what any of this means. did he mean to kiss me? does he regret it? he hasn’t texted me, or called me. should i text him first? i’ve never been this nervous over anything before. maybe because it all feels too real now. i like him a lot. i don’t want to ruin this.

also jaehyun puked in my dorm last night. great.

PHASE THREE: UH… NOT SURE YET (never let myung jaehyun plan anything)

you usually aren’t one to bed rot, but it’s been two days since riwoo’s party and you’re sure that you are absolutely done for.

you had finally gave in and texted sungho asking if he got home safe that night. he replied with the driest message you’ve ever seen, and left you on delivered after you asked him what his plans were for the week. 

and yes, you called for a best friend night so you could cry and tell you friends everything that happened. yujin had suggested that maybe he just needed some time to process things—it wouldn’t be out of character for him to avoid you in the first place, but you really thought you had made some semblance of progress that night.

jaehyun suggested that maybe he realized you are a bad kisser and never wants to see you again. you chose to flick him on the forehead and proceed to attempt suffocation with a pillow (which did not work. sadly.) 

now you’re laying in your bed hugging a plushie as you sadly scroll through your timeline at 4 p.m on a sunny sunday afternoon. yujin is out probably seeing the world why you are here hoping to disappear from it. you would’ve never thought that being ghosted could hurt you this bad—probably because you have never liked anyone as much as you like sungho. 

your heart physically hurts, but you try your best to not think too negatively. maybe yujin was right. maybe he just needed to sort things out by himself first. jaehyun, on the other hand, can go to hell.

you continue to scroll through funny cat videos until you suddenly get an incoming call from “p.s.h <3”.

the speed that you sit up at could beat lightning, your eyes comically widening as the caller i.d fills the screen. your fingers answer the call before you can even run through the possibilities of delusion and hallucination, pressing the phone to your ear.

“hello?” you speak, trying to sound as normal as possible. there’s a bit of shuffling on the other end of the line before sungho’s voice flows through.

“hey, y/n. are you free right now?” sungho asks, his voice half-unsure and half-hopeful. you bite your lip to suppress the smile creeping onto your face.

“right now…? i guess i have some time,” you exaggerate. what? he ghosted you for two days! you can’t seem too available!

sungho lets out a breath from the other end of the line, shuffling around again. “um, sorry if this is sudden, but can we meet up? i… i need to see you right now.”

you have to physically clutch your blanket in order to stop yourself from jumping with joy. park sungho wants to see you. park sungho wants to see you right now! it seems as if all of your wishes have been granted. fuck you, myung jaehyun!

“yeah, we can meet up. where?”

｡‧˚🍞⭒₊˚🍎˚ · .

you notice sungho’s messy black hair as soon as you turn the corner to the flower garden situated in the middle of the large park across the street from your campus. he’s wearing a black long sleeve and jeans with a belt, his green satchel resting on the bench next to him. his glasses hang on the edge of the nose and he seems to be sketching something, his brows slightly furrowed as he focuses intently on his page.

those familiar fluttery feelings fill your chest when he looks up at the sound of your footsteps in the grass. his gaze softens when he meets your eyes, closing his sketchbook as you near him.

“hi,” you start with a shy smile. you suddenly feel self-conscious with his heavy gaze on you, looking down at your shoes. you realize that you’re both wearing converses again today. 

“hi,” sungho says before motioning to the empty spot on the bench next to him. “sit, sit.”

you nod once, cautiously taking a seat next to him. your heart pounds in your chest at the close proximity, which is ridiculous considering the fact that you two were much closer just a couple of days ago, but for some reason, everything feels a little different this time. 

late spring flowers bloom around you, pinks and yellows mixing with the green shrubbery. it’s sunny out, but a a cool breeze combats the bright sun rays. it’s a perfect day and sungho looks even more perfect. he’s back to his usual self it seems, unable to meet your eyes as he clears his throat. 

“so, um… i just want to start off by saying that i’m sorry.”

you make a small sound of confusion, tilting your head at him. “sorry about what? you didn’t do anything wrong…”

“no, i did. i haven’t spoken to you since the party and i just… i don’t know. i got stuck in my own head,” sungho explains softly as he peeks up at you. his leg is bouncing slightly with nervousness and you want to reach over and comfort him. “i thought that maybe you only kissed me because we were both drunk. or maybe you felt pressured to… i don’t know. it’s stupid.”

he shakes his head before looking down at his lap, wringing his hands nervously. this time, you actually do reach a hand out, your fingers resting atop his. his hands immediately still as he lifts his head to find your eyes. they’re completely vulnerable, all of his guards lowered around you.

“it’s not stupid. i didn’t feel pressured to do anything. i kissed you because that’s what i’ve wanted to do for a whole year now.”

sungho’s eyes widen at your words, his mouth dropping open a bit in shock. “a whole year?”

“sungho, i have liked you ever since that introductory art class in freshman year. i thought that you didn’t like me,” you finally confess. sungho frowns at your words, his fingers calmly moving to lace with yours. his hands are as soft as his gaze on you and you feel yourself settle at his touch, relaxing a bit as his thumb brushes against the back of your hand.

“i’m sorry that i made you feel that way. i just get really nervous when you’re around, as you can see,” he laughs, looking down at his bouncing leg. “i don’t know why it took me so long to say this, but i’m not going to wait any longer. my friend, taesan, kinda knocked some sense into me yesterday.”

you mentally thank kurt cobain, trying to conceal the sun-shaming smile threatening to appear on your face. sungho looks incredibly nervous as he takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second—and when he opens them again, they drip with so much sincerity and affection, you feel all of the air leave your lungs.

“y/n, i like you. i like everything about you, and i’m sorry i’ve been such a coward this whole time. i guess i just never thought that someone like you, someone so beautiful, and talented, and sweet, would like someone like me,” he speaks, laughing a bit at himself at the end. you quickly shake your head, squeezing his hand.

“you’re also beautiful, talented, and sweet, though…” you mutter through a pout because—how could he ever think he was anything but all of the good things in the world! 

“i’m also an idiot for waiting this long,” he adds and okay, that you can agree with, but…

“i guess i am too, then,” you respond through a tiny smile. this moment is all you could’ve asked for. “sungho, can i kiss you?”

the words leave your slips before you can catch them, but sungho gives you no time to back track. with a small smile and a tiny nod, he reaches up to cup the side of your face and you get deja vu as soon as his skin touches yours. 

“please,” he whispers with pleading eyes.

you are so down bad, it’s insane.

this kiss feels like your first some reason; the your heart flutters as he delicately presses his lips to yours. now that you’re fully sober, you’re hyper aware of everything.his fingers tremble with nervousness and you smile into this kiss. there’s no reason to rush as you take him in, all of him, from his vanilla cologne, to his careful hands. 

his entire body melts as you rest a hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat through the pads of your fingertips. you can’t help but giggle a bit as you feel just how fast his heart is beating, somehow even faster than last time. sungho slowly pulls away, looking at you with pink dusted cheeks.

“why are you laughing?” he asks cutely, cocking his head like a curious kitten.

“you’re just so cute. i can’t help it,” you smile before quickly pecking his lips again. sungho’s cheeks brighten at your words, reaching up to cover his face with his hands.

“you can’t just say things like that!”

“oh? i can’t?” you ask teasingly. he drops his hands and shakes his head at you with a pout. “what about if i were your girlfriend? can i say it then?”

“only if i get to be your boyfriend,” sungho says back, a tiny smile climbing onto his lips. you pretend to think for a second, tapping your finger on your chin.

“hm… sounds like a fair deal to me.”

“then a deal it is.”

｡‧˚🍞⭒₊˚🍎˚ · .

“guys. guys. it was so amazing. we confessed to each other, and then we took a walk together and held hands, and then we got lunch together before his class, and then we…” you ramble on about your day with sungho as you sit with your best friends on a blanket in the field, sighing dreamily as you reminiscence about his soft lips and cute smiles. he’s so perfect, in every single way. you can’t believe you can call yourself his girlfriend now.

“were the flowers pretty?” yujin asks from where she’s laying on her back, looking up at the multi-hued sky. jaehyun chuckles from his spot in between you guys, his arms folded behind his head as his eyes follow a passing bird.

“of course they were! and they even—wait. wait… how did you know i was at the flower garden?” you ask, looking in between the both of them with accusation. they give each other another one of those classic communicating-with-eyes looks before turning to you with knowing smiles. “oh my god. you guys planned this, didn’t you?”

“yup! i perfected it last night,” jaehyun smiles, throwing an arm over your shoulder. "phase three? let nature take its course. i managed to get some help from kurt ‘taesan’ cobain yesterday.”

“you are actually insane,” you speak dumbfoundedly. there’s nothing else you can say though because at the end of the day, sungho is now yours and you are his. albeit, the way you got here was a little iffy.

“myungstein, i’m telling you. the nation’s #1 matchmaker,” jaehyun speaks cockily, folding his hands behind his head as he turns to you with a cheeky smile. 

“nope. still not calling you that.” you roll your eyes at his antics, but you can’t stop the smile from slipping onto your lips as the three of you watch the sunset. you’re content, the soft breeze drifting across your cheeks, the scent of vanilla and blushed cheeks soothing your mind.

｡‧˚🍞⭒₊˚🍎˚ · .

5:51 pm | weather: clear skies

dear diary,

park sungho is my boyfriend now :) <3 yay

reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated! thank u...<3 x

masterlist

[mamayan]

★MANNERS☆

Shigaraki Tomura x Fem! Reader x Shuichi Iguchi (Spinner)

Tomura and Spinner decide Katsuki’s lil sis needs to learn some manners. Tomura is happy to help.

TW: DARK CONTENT • NONCON (full on) • NSFW • Alcohol consumption • Forced alcohol consumption (anally) • Abuse/Manipulation • Gaslighting • Piss • Forced Enema (using beer) • Oral (M) • PIV • Rough Sex • Degradation/Humiliation • Fem! Reader • Quirkless/College AU • Not proof read!

A/N: Don’t come for me, I had a dream and needed to get it out lol

“Man don’t fuckin’—! Shit! Go left! Go fuckin’ left dammit’! NO! Fuck!” The controller went sailing across the room, hitting drywall and knocking down a corner of a poorly taped up poster near the stairwell.

“Hey dickwad, watch the fuckin’ face,” Dry eyes, bloodshot from staring at the tv all night, looked up.

You looked pissed, hair messy and face and clothing crumpled like you’d just rolled out of bed.

“It three in the morning you shitheads, shut up!” Your screech was akin to a pterodactyl, eyes blazing with fury as you pointed a manicured finger at all of them. “I have class in the morning! Shut this shit off and go to bed.” Like the whirlwind you appeared as, you were gone, stomping loudly up the cheap wooden stairs leading up from the basement smelling of stale beer and weed.

“What a—,”

“Cunt.” Tomura finished, looking at his friend with a roll of his eyes.

“She always such a bitch?” Tomura asks, curiously looking up at your ass as you slam the door shut behind you.

Shuichi looked awkward, “She’s his lil sis, so yeah, kind of always a bitch.”

“No shit? She’s firecracker’s sister?” Tomura looked shocked by the information before scoffing. “Makes sense then,” he’s back to focusing on the game, and the two resume their shouting contest at the tv.

They don’t know they’d be getting redecorated with kitchen condiments when they emerged from downstairs.

“Who the fuck?!” Spinner was nearly in tears, hot sauce directly in his eyes.

Tomura was oddly silent though despite standing slumped with ketchup and mayo dripping down his cheek, glaring balefully beneath his bangs as you snorted and tossed the empty bottle of mustard onto the floor. “I know shit for brains at least pays rent here, but you don’t,” you’re once again pointing a finger at him. “Listen crusty, me and my bro pay most of the mortgage, and then the other half is paid by Touya’s rich daddy and his pocket change.” Shuichi’s glare flattens a bit in fear under your icy stare as you glance at him like a bug beneath your foot. “You come over here all the damn time just to scream at the tv and lose, so do us all a favor, and stop showing your lotion needing ass around anymore.”

You leave just like that, finally feeling free from the incessant noise and nonsense as you get ready for your first class of the day, knowing your lab in the evening would be followed by a good night’s rest, finally.

Or not—

You return in the evening to another house party, furiously wondering which idiot set it up this time. Was it Katsuki or Touya? Shuichi was too much a follower and introvert to set up his own. The entire neighborhood was awake it seemed and eager to get drunk and wild, college students spilling out the seams of your home as you groan and push your way inside. Hands grab at you from all angles, only to feel the prick of your sharp nails in retaliation.

You spotted the spiky blonde hair of your idiot brother, his scowl matching your own as you confront him.

“The fuck dude?”

“Don’t fuck dude me, th’fuck’r doin’ home early?” He’s clearly intoxicated despite his stone faced demeanor, speech slurred as he sways a little. A pretty girl is looking at you with irritation for having interrupted her capture of prey.

“Put the nails away Babezilla, he’s my fuckin’ brother,” you sneer, rolling your eyes as you level him with a new found glare from the depths of hell.

“Everyone better be out before midnight or I’m lighting this shit on fire and claiming the insurance on the house and your body.”

“D’you take out insurance on my fuckin’ life?”

“Fuck around and find out.” With that you leave, Katsuki’s stunned face slowly morphing into one of rage as he screams out after you, held back by the girl half his size holding on to him like a desperate dog owner to their hound who smells blood.

Unbeknownst to you, you’re being watched. Carefully. As you sashay around the dirty house party, despite your terrible attitude, telling people what time to leave.

“I think she needs to learn a lesson in manners.” Shuichi glances over at Tomura, watching the young male scratch as his neck till red begins to pull up and spill. The crimson against his almost grayish skin looks ghastly.

“Y-yeah man…” something about the violent look in those garnet eyes makes him nervous.

“Go tell her I’m trying to take a piss on her bed.”

“Dude what? Why would I do that?” Shuichi looks stunned, making a face of pure confusion and revulsion. “That’s fuckin’ gross.” He receives an eye roll, chuckling beneath his breath.

“Just do it Spinner, remember where her room is?” Tomura points out, cocking a brow as if the purple haired male would catch on. He doesn’t, but Shuichi doesn’t want to admit so, nodding with a look of hesitation. “What exactly are you going to do when she gets up there?”

“Remember? A lesson in manners of course.”

Tomura happily grabs a freely left out six pack of beer, the glass long bottles cool and still dripping perspiration as they heat up in the room filled with liquored up sweaty bodies. The paper handle carefully balancing the weight of each one as he strolls up stairs, finishing his own drink of mixed hard liquors that still haven’t hit his system fully yet. Your room is on the third floor, more of a loft than anything, where you’d had a wall and door built to block out noise and add privacy. You have the most sound proof room in the house, the most secluded room in the house, and the most secure room in the house. Your brother made sure of it, throwing up extra locks as you insisted on getting a house with him near campus. Tomura is happy he found this information out through Shuichi, using his gaming friend to siphon out everything there is to know about you.

Despite your mean attitude, you’re quite the good friend. Well liked and adored on campus, pretty girl with a cute smile when you chose to use it. His own lips crack as they pull up into a grin, easily finding your room and closing the door. A normal bedroom, nothing special, with cute added decorations here and there as well as your books and study supplies left on your desk and bedside table. Tomura leaves the beer on your desk, finishing his drink and throwing the plastic red cup to the floor as he grunts and unzips his pants, freeing his limp chub as he steps up onto your bed.

He wasn’t kidding. He pissed all over your cute stuffed animals, pillows and blankets, releasing his foul pent up urine where you sleep.

“Ah fuck,” he groans, head falling back as he relaxes and fully empties his bladder just as the door slams open and you enter.

“No fuckin’ way— YOU SICK FUCKIN’ ANIMAL! THAT’S DISGUSTING!” Your shriek falls on deaf ears, the party drowning out your screeching perfectly. He doesn’t even turn his body, only his head as he looks down at your seething face with a lopsided grin.

“Aw, decided to join the fun now, Princess?” His scratchy rough voice isn’t slurred in the least, and it doesn’t take a lot to guess he’s mostly sober. Tomura shakes his cock a few times, making sure every drop hit your now soaked bed, before pulling up his boxers alone.

“Lock the door Spin.” He orders casually, and the ever eager Shuichi obeys, eyes wide in shock because Tomura really did it. He’s almost impressed, feeling something in his chest swell to see you so upset. All the times you’d mocked him as a loser who couldn’t afford to pay rent… it was true but that was besides the point.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing shit for brains?!” Shuichi flinched when you reeled on him now, but he held his ground as Tomura hopped to the floor, dropping his pants entirely now and kicking them off. It was comical the look on your face, eyes going wide and a hint of fear tinting your features before you masked it with rage. “You want to die or something? My brother will—,”

“Your brother is getting his cock gobbled like a turkey on Thanksgiving by the bitch I paid to do it. He’s not doing shit else tonight.” Tomura’s smile is vile, white teeth offset by his pale sickly skin as he chuckles, removing his shirt next.

The marks on his body can only be from some sort of self harm, scratch marks everywhere, scabs covering a majority.

“I’ve always liked your nails.” He starts, slowly backing you into Shuichi who seems more nervous than you at this point. Your glare is still in place, defiant pretty eyes sparked with emotion he’s dying to extinguish. “You’re wearing makeup today too.” He notes gleefully, and the way his face lights up almost childishly sends chills down your spine. A blaring red alarm is sounding as you realize his intentions aren’t just to vandalize your room.

“Tomura stop this right now—hck!?” It catches everyone but him off guard when he slaps you across the face, sending you to the floor as you gaze dazedly at your carpet for a moment.

“Shut the fuck up,” he sneers, rolling his eyes as you cough and sputter for a second. It’s the only second he needs to grab a fistful of your hair and haul you up, dragging you to your desk and swiping everything off and onto the floor to smash your face to the table. “You always scream and yell. It’s annoying how you always run your mouth slut.”

“Stop—! I’ll really scream! HELP! SOMEO—mhm!” He doesn’t hesitate to lift your head and slam it as hard as he can onto the table, effectively and violently silencing you.

“Holy shit dude—,” Shuichi halts when Tomura levels him with a glare. His eyes drop to you, even more rocked and dazed as a few tears leak down your cheeks.

“Since you like screaming so much…” he’s scratching as his neck with his free hand, cracking his knuckles after and dropping his hand to the waist band of your leggings. Your ears still ring from the blow, allowing him to easily pull your pants and underwear down to expose your lower half. He only pulls it down halfway, exposing your cunt and bare ass.

“Hey man, maybe we should stop…” Shuichi takes another step forward, eyes nervously looking at your exposed skin and limp figure against your desk.

“Nah, this bitch is getting a lesson taught tonight.” Tomura nods for Shuichi to come closer, his friend awkwardly shuffling closer. “Hold her arms behind her back and her face down.” Tomura helps grab both of your wrists, twisting them behind your back and pressing them down. He ignores your whimper, letting Shuichi hold you down now so he could free both hands.

Shuichi simply watches as Tomura grabs a beer, biting the cap off and spitting it on the floor as he saunters closer. Taking a few swigs, he grins and crouches down behind you, laughing as you flinch away from his hand on your ass.

“P-please stop—hii!” He only answers with a sharp slap to your ass and a giggle, deforming the soft doughy flesh with his hand and nails sinking in. Spreading one cheek wide, Tomura brings the lip of the bottle to the tight rosebud of your back entrance.

“Holy shit—,”

“No! No please!”

He ignores you and Shuichi, pressing forward and breaching your ass with the bottle and delighting in the squeal you make, legs going taunt and straight as the desk and Shuichi’s grip prevents you from going anywhere as he sinks about three inches of the bottle neck inside your ass.

“Bottoms up, bitch.” Tomura laughs, tilting the bottle up and watching the liquid begin to bubble and pop, disappearing inside of you as you groan and writhe for freedom, panic and tears painting your face. Keeping the bottle in place as he forces the beer inside you, Tomura leans up and over to lick the smearing mascara running down your cheek. The salt and chalky taste making his cock swell up into a tent in his boxers.

“Fuck man, is this even okay? I-I don’t wanna go to jail or some shit,”

“You won’t. She won’t say a thing.”

“W-why?”

“Look at her cunt.”

It didn’t matter how much you cried or babbled out pleas, the slick literally dripping from your cunt to the floor in a slimy along your thighs was undeniable.

“Get your phone out and record.” They switch places so Shuichi can do as he’s told, Tomura holding you down much more roughly now.

Shuichi finds it hard to swallow as he digs past his own hard cock to grab his phone out, shakily opening up the camera and hitting film. He doesn’t need to be told to set up facing the scene, using a book shelf on the other end of the room as a stand. He takes his position again holding you, Tomura once more free to do as he pleased.

When the bottle is empty, Tomura pulls it free roughly from your stinging ass with an audible pop.

“Looks like you still got room, hm?”

“Oh god, please, Tomura stop,” your sniffling and little whines don’t soften his heart as he bites another cap off, leaning his own face against the desk to keep the contact as he pressed the new bottle inside your ass. The cool glass contrasted against your warming insides, the feeling of being full hard not to focus on as the alcohol slowly heated you. The liquid goes in faster as he tips it up high, forcing you on your tip toes to avoid tearing your poor hole as he gleefully watches the horror and humiliation on your features.

“Little butt chugging bitch likes having her ass played with huh?” Tomura teases, playfully pressing the now empty bottle in and out of your sore hole, enjoying the tiny wail you release.

“Yeah you like it.”

“I-I don’t—!” He doesn’t care to listen as he fucks you with the glass bottle head, sitting up to watch your hole take it as his cock twitches and soaked his boxers with pre-cum.

“S-shit man I’needa’,” Shuichi feels his mind go blank, pressing his denim clothed cock against your outer thigh and rutting his hips against it like a dog. Tomura snickers watching his friend blow his load in his pants, not seeing the hypocrisy when he does the same not a moment later watching you whimper and take another bottle.

He stops as three, yanking his boxers down and pressing his uncut cock-head right up against your tight hole and releasing before he can even enter.

“Shit,” he moans, pressing Shuichi out of the way to pin your body with his own weight as he rubs against your ass with his release coating your skin. “Holding all that liquid must hurt, huh?” He huffs against your neck, sucking on the skin and breaking the capillaries when he bites down hard enough to draw blood.

Your scream echoes around the room, the floor vibrating as the party downstairs rages on without a clue to your plight.

You groan at Tomura wiggles his full weight on you, your lower belly feeling like it may burst any moment, panic settling into your gut.

“I-I need to p-pee…” Tomura moans, rocking his hardening cock against you while you struggle beneath him.

“Pee then,” he grunts, focusing on rubbing against your sloppy pussy, “So fuckin’ wet. You been wantin’ this?”

“Hey man…” Shuichi had decided to join his friend in stripping to his boxers, no longer pretending to have a moral compass as he stroked his own cock to the sight before him.

“Yeah I gotcha,” Tomura easily stands and brings you up, still restrained with his hands as he drags to the bathroom attached to your room. Shuichi follows, stunned when Tomura just drops you to the floor and presses a foot on your lower abdomen.

“S’too much, please,” you writhe like a bug, Shuichi’s eyes watching as you try and get away only to be pinned harder with Tomura’s foot.

The liquid stored inside you has no where else to go but out.

“Fuckin’ nasty bitch, shit,” Tomura watches in fascination as the liquid spills out, only beer coming out as you sob and lay on the tile. Despite his words he works his cock to the sight. “Cheap enema.” He notes, grabbing your wrist and hauling you to the shower. “Turn it on Spin,” dragging your poor figure into the shower and stripping you down naked. The water is freezing at first, your flinches and pathetic pleas as Tomura dumps soap over your head and body ignored. He uses the detachable shower head to wash you like an animal, roughly soaping you up and spraying you off, careless about nearly drowning you as he washes your face a little.

He does a poor job, but you’re somewhat clean, makeup still smeared lightly on your face as your dragged out dripping wet back into your bedroom.

He doesn’t hesitate to throw you on your bed.

“Fuckin’ gross man…” Shuichi frowns, but he doesn’t hesitate to grab you despite the scent of urine turning him off slightly.

You fight now though, wildly flailing limbs struggling as you scream and wail for anyone to hear you. No one does, as Tomura shamelessly climbs into the bed with you, boxers gone and completely naked as he helps Shuichi press you to your hands and knees. Tomura positioned behind you and Shuichi by your face.

“Please… I-I’m sorry…” they pause, your voice so tiny they barely heard it.

“Speak up, whore, we can’t hear you.” Tomura yanks your face up by your hair, your neck twisting painfully back as you sob.

“I’m sorry!”

“For what?!” Tomura sneers, using your head like a joystick and rattling you around.

“F-for saying mean things, a-and throwing food o-on you…”

“That all?” He asks, cock pressed up against the entrance to your cunt threateningly.

“P-please Tomura… Shuichi…”

“Since you’re begging,” Tomura laughs, surging his hips forward and shoving his cock into your warm tight cunt. You release a silent scream this time, choking on air as his cock fills you this time, each thick inch drilling into you as he starts wildly bucking into you with little regard to your pleasure.

“Fuck her face Spin,” Tomura grunts, drawing blood on your ass as his nails bite in, fucking hard up into your pussy, soft mushroom tip unsheathing and kissing up against your cervix.

“R-right…” Shuichi feels guilty seeing your tear streaked face, wet hair clinging to your skin and watery eyes looking at him for mercy. It doesn’t stop him from cupping your jaw and lifting your head up to press his cock against your lips.

Tomura lands a sharp hit to your rear, moaning as you tighten at the bolt of pain it caused. “Better suck him good, or I’ll let him have your ass.” That seems to motivate you, soft lips parting open and accepting Shuichi’s much thicker cock into your mouth. Shuichi unexpectedly had the biggest cock you’d ever seen, the reddish tip and veiny shaft intimidating as you do your best to lick and suck despite the sweaty sour odor clinging to him.

“That’s not how sluts suck cock, is it?” Tomura growls, forcing your head forward on the hesitant Shuichi’s cock and gagging you while the purple haired man moans. “O-oh fuck!” He grips your face from the front while Tomura fucks you rough and hard from behind. “That’s it Princess! Nice and deep!” Tomura cackles, focusing back on railing you senseless while Shuichi finally snaps and face fucks you properly.

“So good—fuck, your mouth is so warm,” he’s nearly in tears himself as he feels his tip slip into your tight throat, eyes rolling back as he works his hips now, watching drool and tears mix around your mouth and drop down onto his balls as they smack your chin. “A-almost done, almost done,” he moans, loving how your oxygen deprived mind slackens your jaw more so he can slip even deeper, your tongue licking at a vein under his shaft every thrust. “So fuckin’ good wh-when you shut up, heh,” he’s delirious on pleasure, loving the submissive look in your eyes as they gaze up pleadingly at him. “Cute when this mouth is used for something productive.” Shuichi laughs breathlessly, balls drawing up tight as he finally spills down your throat. “Fuck! Swallow! Swallow it all—!” His face and body scrunch up, nearly doubling over as he presses your nose against his pelvis and comes down your throat.

You black out. Limp figure gurgling on hot spunk spilling down your face as you drop to the soaked bed while Tomura supports your lower half up to keep fucking you. Your eyes barely open as the room spins, cunt clamping down like a vice on Tomura’s cock when he uses one hand to half heartedly rub at your swollen clit.

“Shit, gonna bite my dick off,” he moans despite the almost uncomfortable tightness, working your pussy up further as you spasm and soak his lower half, eyes rolling back. “Ah fuck, that’s it bitch, make a mess!” Tomura nearly whines, hips becoming jerky as you milk him for all he’s worth, his cum finally spilling inside you now.

“Bet you ain’t on birth control huh? Gonna knock you up whore.” He grunts, trying to fuck his spend back into you with his softening cock, overstimulating himself as he moans and whimpers against your back.

When he pulls out, a string of sticky fluids connect his cock to your pussy even when he’s completely out of you. He watches with a grin as his white cum dribbles out of your used hole. “Look at that. You do have some potential after all. At least for a cock sleeve that is.” He snickers, leaving you in a heap on your bed as he and Shuichi start to dress, grabbing the phone and coming back to film the aftermath.

“Say a word and I’ll send this to everyone. Do you hear me?” He doubts you really do, the fucked out look on your face making you appear stupid as you numbly nod a little. “Now say ‘Thank you Tomura and Spinner, for using my slutty holes’.” Tears leak freely as you stutter, “Th-thank you T-Tomura a-and Spinner…for u-using my s-slutty holes…”

“Good girl. I knew we could teach you some manners.” He grins, eyes crinkling around the edges darkly as he stares at your used figure still trembling and dripping cum.

“Let’s go, I’m in the mood to game a lil,” Tomura comments, wiping his cock with your panties and stuffing them in his back pocket as he buttons and zips up his fly. Shuichi follows, nodding as he dresses and fixes his clothes, eyes not leaving you though.

“Don’t worry. We can use her again later. I still got a few more brews.” Tomura chuckles, lifting the half empty pack up.

You wake in a panic, blood pumping fast and heart pounding. Your room is as you left it, eyes scanning your clean and un-pissed in bed and sheets. Your body is clean besides a sheen of sweat coating you, hands trembling as you dip a finger into your panties to find yourself soaking wet.

Did you have a wet dream about those two losers?

As if…

You found sleep was hard to come by as you kept imagining.

Dividers/@cafekitsune

[fluentmoviequoter]

Better Care

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!teacher!reader

Summary: One of your students is absent, and you worry about her until you return home and see her with your husband, Tim Bradford. He's taking care of her following the death of her parents, but neither of you want it to be a temporary arrangement.

Warnings: angst, parental death (OC Lilliana), fluff, adoptive girl dad Tim Bradford

Word Count: 3.1k+ words

Picture from Pinterest (ignore the jack-o-lantern and focus on the handsome boy)

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Your classroom is one of the most welcoming places you’ve ever stepped foot in. You and your husband Tim worked tirelessly over the summer to make your classroom feel like a second home to your students. Being a teacher is your dream job, something you worked for throughout college, and you continue to strive to do better each day. Teaching second grade can be challenging, but the rewards outweigh the bad days and the tiring students. Being in your room early like this is one of your favorite things; it’s quiet, the day is full of potential, and you have time to prepare for your day and your students.

While you put your things away and begin placing morning worksheets on each desk, you put a personalized sticky note beside each and hope for a good day. This year has been good so far, but your students can always benefit from a little reminder that they’re doing well.

Meanwhile, Tim is seated in roll call and mentally preparing for a good day. He doesn’t have quite as much faith in people as you do, but he knows that what you do is important, so he supports you in all you do. Visiting your class has also become one of his favorite pastimes, and whenever Wade asks for someone to do community outreach, he finds himself sitting beside you and talking to your class. Your students love him, too, and ask about him often. As Wade greets the officers, Tim decides to drop by and surprise your kids (with your permission) soon.

“Good morning,” you greet with a smile as you walk to your desk.

“Good morning, Mrs. Bradford,” your class answers together.

“Who’s ready for a good day?”

They cheer, and you chuckle at their excitement to learn. Though you wouldn’t admit it to many people, this is your favorite class so far. After they silence, you give them directions to complete their morning worksheets as you fill out your attendance report.

When you reach the bottom of the list, you look around the room with your lips pursed.

“Where’s Lilliana?” you ask.

“She isn’t here, Mrs. Bradford,” one of the girls in the front row replies.

“Her backpack isn’t in her cubby,” another student adds.

“Okay. Thank you,” you reply.

You mark her as absent but hesitate before you input the report into your computer. Using the paper before the computer is unnecessary, but you like being able to walk around and actually see your students as you fill out the attendance. Not seeing Lilliana unsettles you. She loves school, to the point that she cried in your arms once when she was checked out early to go to a doctor’s appointment. Maybe she’s just running late or not feeling well. You make a note to check with the officer later before returning your attention to the students who are present and nearly done with their worksheets.

“Bradford, Chen, we need you at my location for a double homicide,” Angela radios. “The neighborhood’s blocked off from the main streets, so come in from the east side.”

“10-4,” Tim answers.

He sighs as he returns the radio to the dash. There are plenty of ways he could be spending his day, but babysitting a crime scene doesn’t sound like the most exciting or the best use of his time. But, this is Tim’s job, and he’s good at it, so he hits the sirens and drives to the entrance Angela directed him to.

“Hi, Marsha,” you greet when the school secretary answers. “My student Lilliana is absent today, and I wanted to check if her parents have called. I’m just worried about her.”

“Oh, yes, sweet Lilli,” Marsha says. You can hear her keyboard click as she types. “I haven’t received a call about her, but I could call them if you’d like.”

“That’s okay. Thanks for checking, Marsha.”

“She has perfect attendance. Strange that she isn’t here today.”

“I thought so, too. Maybe she’ll be here before lunch.”

“If she isn’t, let me know, and I’ll reach out for you, hun.”

“Thanks, Marsha. Enjoy the rest of your morning.”

“You, too. I’ll see your class when they head to recess.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You end the call more distraught than you were before. It’s completely out of character for Lilliana to miss school, but for her parents to not call and explain why is even stranger. When she left forty minutes early for a doctor’s appointment, her mom told you two weeks in advance and insisted that it would be okay to give her more homework for anything she may miss. As your class returns from their extracurricular, you tap your fingers on your desk to expel your nervousness before beginning a math lesson. You’re tempted to call Tim and let him calm you down, but he’s busy too. You’ll just have to worry about Lilliana later.

Tim closes the shop door behind him and waits for Lucy. They approach the crime scene together, and Lucy whispers about how many people are surrounding the house.

“Double homicides usually require a lot of hands,” Tim informs.

“And that’s all we are today?” Lucy inquires.

“Welcome to police work, boot.”

“I’m not a boot,” Lucy grumbles.

“Bradford!” Nyla yells across the front lawn.

Tim nods as he raises the crime scene tape. Lucy goes under first, and he surveys the bullet holes littering the front of the house as he walks across the grass.

“What happened?” Lucy asks.

“The caller said-“

Someone yells Tim’s name, though the fear and tears mumbling it make it sound like “Off’cer Bra’ford!” He turns quickly and sees a young girl running toward him. She jumps toward him, and he bends to catch her easily.

“Lils,” he says as he pulls her against his chest.

She cries harder in his hold, her face pressed to his shoulder and her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Tim recognizes her from the number of times he’s visited your class, but seeing her here, like this, during a school day, concerns him.

“What is she-“ Tim begins, looking toward Angela.

He realizes quickly. Between her presence at this specific house and the look Angela gives him, it’s easy to deduce. Her parents are inside.

“Lils, do you want to go sit in my police car?” he asks kindly, rubbing a large hand over her shaking back. “We can turn on the sirens.”

She nods before she pulls back. Her face is streaked with tears and a deep frown starkly contrasts her usual smile, the one that is on her face from the moment she steps into your classroom until she leaves.

“And the lights?” she whispers.

“Of course.”

Tim nods toward Angela and Nyla before he shifts Lilliana to his hip. He positions her so she can’t see the house as they walk. When she points to the firetruck waiting down the street, Tim takes a quick detour to see it. He sits in the driver’s seat of his shop with her on his lap. She lays her hands on the wheel and giggles before he shows her where the switch to turn on the lights and sirens is. Tim considers calling you, but you’d leave work, and he isn’t sure of the full story yet, anyway. So, for now, he’ll try to comfort her and distract her until they have more answers.

Back in the house, Lucy follows Angela through the rooms and looks at the damage caused by the murderer.

“Did she see anything?” Lucy asks. “The little girl?”

“We don’t think so. She was in the backyard when we got here. Definitely heard it, though. We’re not sure of anything. The woman is her mother, and there’s a male victim as well, but…” Angela trails off. “Until we get more answers, we’ll have to trust child services to get any answers she may have.”

“She knows Tim, maybe she’d talk to him,” Lucy suggests.

“Yeah, she’s in Tim’s wife’s class. That’s why I called you two. I was hoping you’d be willing to help secure the scene while Tim helps us work the case from a different angle.”

“Of course,” Lucy agrees.

Tim pulls Lilliana back into his arms when he arrives at the station. She hadn’t wanted to sit in the backseat until he promised to turn on the lights and stay with her the whole way. The moment he opens the door, she raises her arms toward him and clings to him.

“Use my office,” Wade says when Tim enters. “There’s some stuff in there I thought she may want.”

“Thank you,” Tim calls over his shoulder.

He closes the door behind him and sits in Wade’s chair. Tim expects Lilliana to climb out of his hold to search through the coloring sheets, a large bin of crayons, and toys littering the desk, but she only twists to sit in his lap.

“Which one?” Lilliana asks.

She pulls two coloring sheets toward her; one is a cop with a police dog and the other is a police car. Tim moves the chair closer to the desk so she can reach it to color as he taps the picture with the dog. She nods once before raising her chin to look through the different crayons. Tim unconsciously raises his arms by her sides to keep her steady as she leans over the desk. He watches her color and smiles at her enthusiasm.

“What color is this part?” she asks, pointing to the vest on the dog.

“Blue, black, or dark green,” he answers. “Since he’s brown, maybe do blue or green.”

“Can you help me?”

“Of course. With what?”

Tim leans forward and looks over her shoulder. She draws a line over the blank area at the top of the picture.

“There’s nothing here.”

“Well, you could draw a rainbow, or write your name…” Tim suggests. “Maybe even add another picture.”

“Rainbow,” she decides with a nod.

Someone knocks on the door, and Tim looks up. Wade shakes his head before he gestures toward a woman from child protective services.

“Grey,” Tim begins.

“It’s protocol, Bradford. I’m sorry,” Wade interrupts.

Tim takes a deep breath before he gently takes the crayon from her hand.

“Do you want to finish this later? We have to go see some people,” Tim explains.

“You keep it,” she answers.

Tim thanks her quietly before he stands. She lays her cheek against his shoulder, and he hugs her tightly before he sets her on the floor. Lilliana takes his hand and holds it firmly as they follow Wade out of his office.

“Hi, Lilliana,” the woman greets. “I’m Karen and I’ll be taking care of you for a while. Can you come with me, and we can talk?”

Lilliana shakes her head and tightens her grip on Tim’s hand.

“It’s alright, Lills,” Tim says. He squats beside her and adds, “She needs to make sure you’re okay.”

“I don’t want to,” Lilliana whispers.

“It’ll only be a few minutes, Lilli,” Karen says with a disarming smile.

Lilliana looks up at Karen and Tim sees tears building in her eyes even as she agrees. Tim reluctantly releases her hand and watches Karen lead her into a private room. Lilliana looks over her shoulder at Tim, her lip wobbles, and Tim hopes that she’s okay in there alone.

“What happens now?” Tim asks Wade. “Foster care?”

“Not today. They’ll take her to a shelter for tonight and push the paperwork through in the morning for foster care placement,” Wade answers. “You’ve done all you can do and more, Tim.”

“No, I haven’t. She’s gone through enough without having to move in with strangers who will never understand what kind of trauma she just experienced. You know that she won’t even be able to grieve in foster care,” Tim argues.

“It’s the way it is, Tim.”

Tim shakes his head, prepared to argue that there has to be a better way, but is cut off by Lilliana yelling before she begins crying. He stands up straighter, letting his crossed arms fall to his sides, and watches the door. Her crying grows in intensity before Karen pulls the door open and steps out.

“Officer Bradford?” she calls. “I could use your assistance in here.”

Tim nods but turns to Wade to say, “Let me take her home. We’ll take better care of her than any shelter.”

He rushes into the room and Lilliana immediately calms. As she calms down, Wade knows that Tim’s offer to take her home is more than just seeing a kid in need. Tim is the man for the job for more reasons than Wade can count.

“Karen, a word?” Wade calls.

“Bye!” you call with a wave as your last student is picked up.

The moment your classroom is empty, your smile falls. You move quickly on autopilot as you clean up today’s mess. Lilliana’s desk is untouched, your heart-covered sticky note still adhered to her name tag. As soon as everything is tidy, you gather your things and walk out. There’s too much on your mind to hang around this afternoon. Though an empty house doesn’t sound much better than an empty classroom, at least you won’t have to look at an empty desk with no answers about where its usual resident is.

When you pull into your driveway, you’re surprised to see Tim’s truck. He’s supposed to be at work for a few more hours, but you certainly won’t complain about his early return. You rush inside to tell him about your day and hug him tightly, but you stop short when you see the living room.

Dozens of bags, an oversized coloring pad, and a dismantled police car model litter the room. Tim is leaning back on the couch with none other than Lilliana asleep in his lap. Your eyes widen at the sight, and he sends you a close-lipped smile as he waves for you to come over. After you set your bag in its proper place, you sit beside him on your knees. Lilliana looks peaceful, you think, but you have so many questions that you don’t dwell on it long.

“She wasn’t at school today,” you whisper.

“Lucy and I got called to a double murder,” Tim explains. “She was there when we arrived and ran straight to me. Child services was going to put her in a shelter tonight, then foster care in the morning. I- uh, I couldn’t let her go through that, too, not with everything else she’s struggling with right now.”

“So, her parents were…”

“As far as we know, yeah. Her mom was ID’d at the scene, but Angela and Nyla are still working.”

You raise your hands to cover your mouth as your eyes water. Tim extends his arm toward you, and you twist to sit beside him. The movement jostles Lilliana, and you freeze as she stirs. Her eyes open briefly, and she smiles when she sees you. She moves so she’s between you and Tim, but drifts back to sleep quickly.

“You’re amazing,” you whisper to Tim.

He shakes his head and rubs your shoulder in response. You can’t imagine sending her to a foster home, where she’s just another temporary resident who gets the parents a government paycheck each month. Especially after what she just went through.

“Are you working tomorrow?” you ask.

“I took the day off,” Tim answers.

“I will too. I feel terrible, Tim. Maybe if I had called her parents earlier-“

“Don’t,” Tim interrupts softly. “Don’t think like that.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Bradford,” Lilliana says as she rubs her eyes to wake. “I wanted to come to school today.”

“That’s okay, sweetheart,” you assure as she climbs into your lap. “It was boring without you, anyway.”

She giggles before asking you to color with her, and you happily agree. Tim watches you interact with her and knows that he can’t do it. He can’t let her go.

“Tim,” you say as you stand beside your bed. “Did Lills see it?”

Tim moves his head to gesture for you to join him. When you’re in bed beside him and wrapped in his arms, Tim kisses your forehead.

“We don’t think so. She’ll have to talk to a psychiatrist and the detectives soon, but she was in the backyard when they arrived. At the least, though, she heard it,” he answers.

You ignore the tears running down your cheeks, the result of sympathy and concern for the young girl sleeping across the hall from you. Tim wipes your cheeks gently and whispers that everything will be okay. You trust him, but you know it won’t be okay for Lilliana if she has to acclimate to an entirely new life just hours after her parents were killed.

A small knock on the door draws your attention away from Tim. Lilliana stands in the doorway holding the police dog stuffed animal Tim bought for her on the way home.

“What’s wrong, Lilli?” Tim asks.

You move out of Tim’s hold and walk toward her. She hugs you tightly and mumbles that she missed you, and you close your eyes to keep more tears from leaking out. Tim smiles when you look back at him and moves so that there’s more room in the bed. As you set her between you and Tim, he mouths I love you over her head, and you waste no time in replying.

The following morning, as Lilliana eats breakfast and watches Paw Patrol beside you, you look toward Tim. Beginning the conversation about not sending her into foster care is harder than you anticipated. You hesitate, but Tim smiles as his eyes meet yours. 

“I know,” he answers before you begin.

You smile, glad that he knows you so well, and Tim pulls you close as he nods. You kiss him quickly before Lilliana calls for you. She raises a coloring of a cop, a woman, a kid, and a police dog.

“It’s us!” she cheers.

Tim smiles as you applaud her work. He’s as attached to her as you are, and he loves you so much that he knows exactly what you are thinking. This may not be exactly how he planned to become a parent, but he would do anything with you, even adopting one of your students. Seeing you interact with Lilliana in your home like this, though, makes Tim confident that he wants to have a child of his own with you, and Lilliana does seem like she would be a good big sister.

[soobnny]

meet odd — han jisung.

trope. acquaintances to lovers. college au. u live in the same apartment floor. fluff.

synopsis. you get to know han jisung under strange circumstances or alternatively “we live in the same floor and the room between ours always has really loud sex so now we’re both in the main lounge at 2am… do you want this last bit of ice cream?”

word count. 2.3k

warnings. mentions of sex (from the apartment neighbor), cursing

note. hello hello! another skz fic hihi send an ask if u wanna be added to my skz perma taglist :’) i hope u enjoy this silly little story

part 2

There are a lot of things you love about your apartment – the free water and electricity bill, how it's walking distance from your school, the really cold study lounge, and the cat that frequents your small balcony.

For its price, you really couldn’t ask for anything more. The cheap monthly pay goes perfectly with your very strict budget as a broke college student. So, truly, you couldn’t ask for anything more.

Actually, maybe you could.

Within all the great qualities your apartment has to offer, there lies one really, really big setback. The apartment right next to yours and your painfully thin walls. The amount of times it has fucked you up in the head after a long day of classes and exams are immeasurable.

Cue the soft banging of your head against your wall and the pillow around your ears to block out the noises, serene smiling as you greet her the next day as you walk out of the apartment together to head to your early morning classes.

The months before she moved, your apartment had been the safest haven to retreat to – where you could stare at the ceiling after a long day, finish your school work quietly before getting comfortable in your bed, and rewatch a show you’d seen a million times before sleeping to prepare for another battle in your university.

Now, your armor is faltering, and the number of hours of your sleep is decreasing gradually fast. Each night was just repetitive banging of her bed’s headboard against the wall between your apartment rooms and obnoxious moans.

You honestly wouldn’t have minded if they weren’t so fucking loud about it.

And if they didn’t go at it until the crack of dawn.

You hate to be told to be grateful. There’s a clear border for when you’re valid to feel frustration over your situation – when you’re allowed to be ungrateful for the downcast of your neighbor in your life.

Because of your predicament, you’ve found multiple alternatives to aid you in overcoming this temporary challenge. There’s a pair of noise canceling headphones on your nightstand that you begrudgingly used your savings up on to purchase, and you’d been a constant visitor in Seungmin’s dorms.

However, you can only go for so long before you start displaying lower back pains from Seungmin’s old and fucked up couch. His roommate, Jeongin, doesn’t help much either when he enjoys talking your ears off as he does anything but study for his classes.

This is what your new living situation is like. You live off Seungmin’s dying couch and the random stabs of pain on your lower back, your apartment neighbor having the time of her life, and the newly formed bags under your eyes.

You’ve definitely thought about marching up to her room and talking to her about it. But what the hell were you supposed to say? It isn’t exactly the easiest thing to confront people about their sex life.

That’s how you find yourself retreating from your apartment at the ass crack of dawn to sit at the main lounge for a bit, defeated with slumped shoulders and heavy eyes.

They can’t go on for much longer, right? You just had to wait at the main lounge for a few more minutes and you could go back to the comfort of your own bed.

“Good morning.” There’s laughter in the voice of the only other person lounging on the couches of your lobby, legs crossed with a tub of ice cream in his hands.

You recognize him as Han Jisung – the other apartment situated right next to your sex addict neighbor. You’ve only really seen him a few times, in the elevator, leaving for the gym as you come back from school, and you’ve only really shared a brief exchange of hi’s and hello’s. Seeing him in a hoodie and sweatpants with glasses on has your stomach doing a summersault.

He is so painfully handsome, jumping straight out of his hot-boy-with-humor trope.

As soon as your eyes meet, the two of you laugh so loudly and so hysterically. You just know. You know why he’s here at 2am with his tub of ice cream. He’s at the main lounge for the exact same reason you are, and something about that feels so humanizing and funny to you.

There’s a shared understanding in your crinkled eyes and cracked smiles and heavy panting from laughing too hard at your predicament. You don’t care that you look crazy with your messy hair from tossing and turning from your bed all night. Nothing looks or sounds crazy to Jisung.

He’s scooting over the couch to leave the space next to him for you, his hand dropping down to pat the spot so you can sit right next to him.

You’re quick to walk over and sit next to him, and he gives you a smile, fingers drumming over the arm of the sofa with his thigh pressed up against yours slightly that makes your heart beat erratically.

“Want some?” His round boba eyes look at yours as he nudges the tub of ice cream in front of you, twisting his body so he can face you better.

The scent of his cologne is holding you ransom.

None of this feels real, but you swear you can’t be making this shit up. You can’t be making up pretty Han Jisung with his slightly long and a bit disheveled hair and his puffed out cheeks as he chews on his ice cream.

Staring down at his offer, you go over your choices. Although, when someone offers up free ice cream at 2am when you need comfort the most, you don’t think there’s really a need to go over your invisible choices. There’s an obvious answer – the one you take as you grab a spoonful of his ice cream and stuff it in your mouth.

You close your eyes at the cold sensation, a smile creeping up on your face instantly. You’re the happiest you’ve been today already, in this moment, eating ice cream with the boy with worn out converse and the sweetest laugh.

“How have you been coping?”

Jisung knows exactly what you’re talking about, and he finds it hilarious how you’re labeling his response to your shared neighbor as ‘coping mechanisms’. His lips twitch up as he rolls his head back to rest on the cushions.

“You can only go so far with noise canceling headphones.”

“I know right!” Your face lights up as you take another spoonful of ice cream, nodding your head in agreement.

“I tried staying with a friend for a bit, but I’m tired of living off protein shakes and cuddling on the same bed. A double sized bed cannot fit me and Changbin.” He shivers as he recounts his experiences with the boy.

“Changbin as in Seo Changbin from the Music and Performing Arts department?”

“Yeah! Binnie! How do you know him?” Your question makes the smile on his face brighter.

“My friend Seungmin knows him. I’m definitely telling him you shaded his love for protein shakes and that you hate cuddling with him.”

“I don’t hate cuddling with him!” Jisung defends himself, shaking his head aggressively. “I would cuddle with him on a bigger bed.”

“Dude…” He laughs.

Something about how he has experienced the same struggles you have is a little haunting, but also comforting. To know you’re not the only one who has gone through the mockery of begging to stay at a friend’s or purchasing those stupid overpriced headphones.

“Wanna… uh, nevermind.”

“Hm?”

Jisung isn’t the most straightforward person in the world, but something about the way you’re looking at him with wide, curious eyes is intoxicating, and it gives him enough courage to continue talking.

Clearing his throat, he repeats. “Wanna go out for a bit?”

Han Jisung’s voice is very deep and very convincing at 2 in the morning.

“They’re not gonna be done soon?”

He studies your hopeful features and pats your shoulder in comfort. “I don’t wanna ruin your small ray of hope, but they were going at it until 4am last night.”

Grimacing, you drop your head in defeat. “If that’s the case, then let’s go.”

That’s how you find yourselves at a creepy, run-down convenience store near your apartment, purchasing more ice cream and looking through the stalls for anything to buy.

“Hey, Hannie!” You call out to him at the back of the store, and he comes padding over with a splash of giddiness in his heart at the nickname you give him.

His friends have called him that a million times, but it sounds different coming from you. It sounds so natural, like you were always meant to say it.

He bites down his lip to prevent himself from smiling further. His heart flutters at the possibility of you being a constant in his life. Hannie, Hannie, Hannie. It slips out of your mouth so easily that he wonders if the universe purposely gave you two that neighbor for this specific moment.

For him to meet you at the main lounge and invite you to the convenience store (and into his life in the process).

Is this what those stupid male leads feel like in those romantic comedies he binge watched with Changbin?

Jisung used to think it was absolutely ridiculous to meet someone and form an entire life with them in their head, but he finds himself doing the same in all his hypocrisy.

When he arrives to where you’re standing, he watches in amusement as you spend the next few minutes trying your hand at a run-down claw machine – desperately aiming for the pompompurin keychain.

First, you play with eyes of determination and careful movements, and then you’re smashing at the buttons in frustration.

Pretty, he thinks.

He can’t help but swoon at the sight of you with an oversized hoodie, smashing at the claw machine with your eyes half open and your lips pouted in defeat.

“Want me to try?”

You’re aware that claw machines were always faulty and deceiving, but you allow Jisung to try and win the keychain that’s probably cheaper to buy than the amount of money you’ve inserted in the coin slot to play the game.

With the plastic bag of ice cream and candy on his left hand, he uses his right hand to control the stick so he can angle the claw the way he needs it. Leaning forward, he focuses on getting the keychain you’ve been aiming for, pressing the red button after a few seconds of pushing it around.

His lips twitch in a smile when he sees the claw land exactly where he needs it to be, and he sneaks a glance at your anticipating face – heart speeding up at the sight.

“Oh my god. And you got the one I wanted?!” Jisung crouches down to grab the keychain from the prize slot before handing it to you and it immediately finds its home on the zipper of your wallet.

He has a proud smile on his face when he sees you hugging your wallet to your chest with a newfound happiness brightening your features. Even the convenience store lady is impressed at how he was able to get anything from that claw machine at all.

Maybe that’s what the graveyard shift does to you. It tires you out so much that you find someone winning at the claw machine game fun.

With an ice popsicle on your hand and your wallet with your new favorite keychain on the other, you and Jisung start to make your way back to your apartment. It was getting late, and they have to be done by now.

There’s a few moments of peace before you hear Jisung audibly trying to suppress his laughter. He’s trying not to giggle, and you know exactly why.

Your jaw drops, hitting him on his upper arm before sulking.

He doesn’t even need to tell you for you to know he’s laughing at your ice cream eating skills (your popsicle’s already melting and you’ve desperately been trying to finish it before it dissipates for the past few seconds).

There’s a taunting smile on his face as he apologizes. “I’m sorryyy.” He drawls the last syllable, bumping his shoulder with yours.

“You just look so cute.”

Something ricochets in your stomach the moment he says that, and you really hope he can’t hear your heart racing over his obnoxious giggling.

Jisung doesn’t know where he got the confidence to say that aloud. He’s also hoping the streetlights are dim enough for you not to notice the redness on the tip of his ears.

When you arrive, you immediately recognize the boy hurriedly rushing out of the apartment as your neighbor’s boyfriend. And when he speeds past the pair of you with a sheepish and shy smile on his face, you immediately make eye contact with Jisung.

Another fit of laughter breaks out.

And as you laugh and giggle over the poor boy’s obvious embarrassment, your eyes drift over towards Jisung, your newfound friend and how his eyes glint with genuine happiness and how he feels so comfortable to be with.

Similarly, Jisung finds himself mirroring your gaze. Somehow, he feels that starting today, things are definitely going to change between the two of you and the possible shift of your interactions into something more constant makes his heart flutter.

Before today, Han Jisung was just another boy who lived on the same floor as you, who you shared a few small pleasantries with. However, as the pair of you walk back to your rooms with your plastic bags of popsicle and candy wrappers and the hint of laughter still bubbling in your throats, you can tell that this moment right now with him feels like the beginning of something wonderful.

You hate to be told to be grateful, but in the stupidity of your own reflection, you are. For what – you’re starting to think it has something to do with the boy next to you.

[eugenedebs1920]

I was going through my pictures from 2020, I’m a little embarrassed to say that there’s probably more memes, posts, articles, and pictures taken of whatever I was trying to make a point of on the tv, than there is actual pictures.

This is a Tweet (remember those!? I don’t know what they’re called now. Hates?) from Robert Reich ( no sh*t Eugene!? Get to the point!)on the morning of Election Day 2020. It’s the same plan then, as it is now.

Donald Trump has no respect for America, it’s institutions that have endured 248 years, our systems of government or democracy in general.

This will be Americas 60th presidential election. You know how many of those were accused by one side or the other of being “rigged”? Three!!! Before a single vote had been cast in 2016, the election was said to be “rigged”. The 2020 election there was accusations of fraud and a stolen election that were prominent. The other election that had claims of being “rigged” is this one, the 2024 election. What is the common variable in all three of these elections? 🤔

I can already see the comments now, ‘People said that Hilary won’, and ‘Democrats said the 2000 election was stolen’, and to an extent they’re not wrong, but they’re not right either (well they’re right wing but, you know). The Florida recount in 2000 was a bit interesting how that conclusion came, to be to say the least, but, Gore went on television and conceded (I would recommend looking up Gores 2000 concession speech on YouTube, THATS what class looks like. THATS what politics used to be before reality tv people became involved.). In an utter display of class he told the American people that the Supreme Court had ruled, and that it was time, for the sake of Americans good, to move forward. He went to the inauguration of George W Bush. The 2016 election, I think everyone was in shock that Hilary was defeated in the electoral college by a failed businessman and two bit reality tv personality. Hilary won the popular vote by over 3.5 million votes but that doesn’t count (no pun intended) for whatever reason. (I know the reason, but it’s too much to go in to at this moment) Yet Hilary conceded when the counting was finished, and had the grace to show up at the inauguration of Trump, which I sure was utterly painful.

We all know how the 2020 election went. Trump and his allies doing everything they could to stop the vote before all the ballots were counted. That’s not how it works. That’s like a sports team getting a lead in the game and saying, ‘we won! Games over!” It’s not how real life works. You “play” till the end.

Trump is going to do the same thing this time. Because Democrats work (😉) Trump will be up in many states throughout the day and early evening. As the night goes on, Kamala’s numbers will continue to rise until her eventual victory, which will take several days to count and officially be over.

I want to say this now, to liberals, Republicans and especially MAGA. THE ELECTION ISNT DONE UNTIL ALL THE VOTES HAVE BEEN COUNTED. THATS HOW IT WORKS, WE ALL HAVE A VOTE AND IT IS ENTITLED TO BE COUNTED. DESPITE WHAT YOU MAY HAVE HEARD, MIDNIGHT IS NOT WHEN ELECTION DAY IS OVER, IT IS OVER WHEN EVERY SINGLE VOTE HAS BEEN TALLIED AND IS COUNTED FOR ITS RESPECTIVE SIDE.

This is going to be an ongoing issue until, somewhere between the 7th and the 10th. This is perfectly normal. This has happened in almost every modern election. It’s Trump and his narcissism, Republicans grasping on to relevancy, and powers that wish to benefit themselves, not the nation that will be pushing the narrative that it’s “illegal” or the “election is being stolen behind closed doors”. In all actuality it’s professionals, doing their job, to ensure every Americans voice is heard.

Trump is going to lie and lie and lie some more. He will throw wild accusations out there, he already is, he will tout crazy conspiracy theories, he already is, he will whine and b*tch and complain, he already is. Don’t listen.

For 57 presidential elections, our system has been the envy of the world. The most accurate and fair system developed. It’s only 3 that have EVER has accusations of fraud, or being rigged or stolen. The common denominator in those 3 elections is Donald Trump.

Donald Trump is a traitor, a selfish human being, and a terrible person. He does not deserve to be anywhere near the White House. Let’s keep it that way and vote for a real leader, Kamala Harris.