#it's. it's very difficult to navigate some days.

[zeroseuniverse]

Alien On This Earth

Word Count: 1.0K Summary: “You don’t have to figure everything out on your own,” you said softly. “You have me.” Pairing: Han X Reader

Disclaimer: Please be aware that this is apart of the from the ashes series. This series will have aspects of violence, weapons, angst, blood, injuries, killing, and will heavily focus on oppression and segregation of mutants, Look after your mental state if any of these make you uncomfortable please.

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Han Jisung had been on Earth for about three months now. His first few days had been confusing, to say the least. He had crash-landed in the middle of a field with no idea where he was or what had just happened. The sky above him had been full of stars, and as the ship crumpled and buckled around him, the noise of it all—frantic, sharp, and thunderous—had made his head spin.

But then, everything went quiet. Too quiet.

Jisung stood up, dusting himself off, and immediately started hearing the faintest hum under his feet, in the wind, inside his head. His head, which, let’s be honest, had been full of way too many thoughts, but none of them made sense. He could hear the chirp of a bird from miles away, and he could feel the vibration of distant cars, even the soft rustling of leaves in the trees… and it was like the whole world was speaking to him. He couldn’t help but wonder if everyone could hear it.

Spoiler: they couldn’t.

So, that was his first clue that things were going to be very different on Earth.

Jisung tried to blend in. He tried his best to mimic the way humans lived, talk like them, understand the world like they did. But what made it even more difficult was his abilities. He didn’t know where they came from, why he could control sound, or even why everything he touched sometimes vibrated or trembled. Whenever he accidentally made something crack, like a doorframe or a glass cup, he couldn’t understand why everyone else didn’t notice. It felt normal to him, but it was just too normal to the humans around him, and they thought he was just some weird, super-loud weirdo.

That was when he met you.

You had been shopping at the local convenience store, minding your own business, when you heard a strange, low hum. You glanced over and saw Jisung standing near the counter, his fingers twitching as if he were controlling something invisible in the air. He seemed lost, confused even, trying to calm himself as the air buzzed with an unnatural static.

And then, in the most unexpected move, he bumped into you.

“Oh, sorry,” Jisung said, blinking up at you with wide eyes. “I didn’t mean to… um, crash into you.”

You looked at him for a second, still processing the fact that something had vibrated in the air. You smiled, because you were curious, and his awkwardness was endearing. “No worries,” you said, laughing. “It’s just that… you’re, um, kinda vibrating.”

He looked at you, eyes still wide, as if you had spoken in a completely different language. “I am?”

“Yup. A little bit. It’s cool, though,” you reassured him. “I mean, I can’t do it. That’d be weird, right?”

And just like that, your strange connection had been made.

From then on, you found yourself bumping into Jisung more and more—literally and figuratively. It was like he kept running into situations that were just a little too much for him to handle. You’d find him pacing nervously in the corner of a coffee shop, his hands jittering with the hum of sound he couldn’t control, and you’d go up and calmly ask, “Need some help?”

“Yeah… I think so?” Jisung would reply sheepishly, his eyes filled with uncertainty. “I swear I’m not trying to cause trouble. It’s just—this just happens sometimes.”

You smiled, holding out a hand. “Well, I think you’re safe here. I can’t hear what you’re hearing, but I think you’re pretty cool. So, take a breath, and just focus. You’re not alone in this.”

You always made him feel like it was okay. That he wasn’t an alien. That he wasn’t a freak. And maybe it helped that you had a way of seeing the world that others didn’t. After all, who else would hear Jisung’s sound hum like a beautiful melody, even if it did shake the windows a little too much?

One afternoon, while hanging out in the park, you found Jisung struggling again. The whole world felt like it was vibrating around him—louder and more intense than it had ever been before. It was like the noise of the world was pressing in on him, and the confusion was starting to show.

“Jisung,” you called out, grabbing his attention. “Stop for a sec. You’re going to make everything go haywire.”

“I can’t help it!” He groaned, running his hands through his hair. “Everything just feels so loud. Why can’t humans hear it like I do? I just want to talk to someone who gets it!”

You stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm. “Hey, you’re not alone. Not anymore. And if anyone can understand feeling everything all at once, it’s me. It’s okay. Just let me help.”

For a second, Jisung just stared at you, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady himself. Then, slowly, he exhaled, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “Thanks… I guess I’m still figuring it out.”

“You don’t have to figure everything out on your own,” you said softly. “You have me.”

And somehow, hearing those words felt like the safest place Jisung had ever known.

As the weeks went by, you became his anchor, his sounding board, the one person who didn’t find his abilities strange, but fascinating. You were always there, offering encouragement and protection when the world around him started to close in. No one could understand why the world had started changing, why the oppressive tension had risen so suddenly, but with you by his side, Jisung felt like maybe, just maybe, it would all be okay.

One evening, as the sun set and painted the sky in soft shades of pink, you and Jisung sat side by side on the rooftop of his apartment. You were both silent for a while, taking in the view. The air felt peaceful, but there was still that strange hum under your feet—faint, but persistent.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Jisung whispered, turning to look at you. “I really don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You smiled at him, nudging him gently. “You don’t have to worry about that. I’ll always be here, Jisung. I’ll protect you. You’re not alone.”

And in that moment, the hum of the world faded just a little bit, and all that was left was the soft connection between you two—a bond that could never be broken, no matter how loud the world around you became.

[thelastspeecher]

Being at work is a lot of trying desperately to beat back my rejection sensitive dysphoria with a stick

[eastofedean]

8i've been thinking about the last asks i got today. and i think it's better for me to take a step back from this account. i know the anon didn't mean anything by it, but i still feel like i am being a negative presence on here and weirding people out with who i am is nothing i want. so, i am not deleting or anything. i am just gonna be less present with sharing personal things or leaving tags. I'll probably be more active on my second account where i don't have that many followers :)

[simpjaes]

DAY-SHIFT. (p. sh)

― part one here! After finding out that your boss has seen, heard, and instructed you through some pleasurable nights while parading around as a faceless cam-boy, you decide that your best course of action is to: call out sick. use vacation days. avoid Park Sunghoon at all costs. Unfortunately, ten days doesn’t appear to be nearly enough time to erase what’s happened, and Sunghoon refuses to be avoided. or the one where sunghoon pretends that he isn’t an anxious mess over accidentally exposing himself and you just so happen to have a lot of fucking empathy. 

minors dni 

PAIRING ― boss / cam boy!sunghoon x afab reader  

WORDCOUNT― 14.5k 

CONTENT― forbidden office romance kind of, smidge of angst if ur sensitive, mentions of predatory behavior from sunghoon, he is more desperate than he is dominant, just the way we like it.

NOTE ― bro im so sorry this took way too long to write, it also is way longer than it's supposed to be. but yknow. i had to do him right lmfao. NOT PROOF READ.

nsfw tags under cut

nsfw tags― perverted sunghoon, heavy petting, making out, foreplay on a chair lol, desk sex, very intimate shit ok? ok., pussy eating, jerking off, finger fucking, fingers-in-mouth antics, gagging, implications of something more than just an office fling, unprotected sex, he fills you UP!!! YIPEE!!! 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Avoidance.

That is the only way you know out of any awkward or unsavory situation. Avoid, avoid, avoid. Find a new job, change your name, dye your hair– question all of your life choices up to this point.

It’s the fact that never in your life have you had an interest in live sex cams. It was always just a porn video or a nice erotic novel for you. Sometimes curiosity gets the best of you though, like it does all people, and it’s not like you thought anyone would ever know who you are or catch you in the act of feeding into your curiosities. 

The one time you ever navigated to the live camera feed on your favorite porn site did shift your sexual appetite a little bit. A whole new world of seeing exactly what you want without needing to search for far too long for that perfect video…for a cost, of course.

You made good money already, and it’s not like you weren’t going for that promotion at the time either. You thought, why not? Why not pay a pretty, faceless man for some anonymous jerking off and move on with your life? 

The one time you found something to satiate the late night body-cravings, the point of pleasure ended up being…your boss?

Small world? Miniscule, fucking tiny little world. 

For days you wondered if Sunghoon’s text to you was just a coincidence. After all, the faceless man on screen didn’t say a word to you after you uttered the name of your boss. Even if he directly said your name. Even if Park Sunghoon uttered your false name at work. 

Consistent back and forth in your head. From, “No, how could that even be possible? No way is it him.” to “but Mr.Park started being weird after the first call, he used both names, he played off of the boss/employee dynamic.”

You’re going crazy as you send another email to your department, apologizing for taking so many days off but not truly apologetic. It’s been ten days now and Sunghoon has yet to text you again. 

That little “Can we talk?” can be heard in your head in his voice. Only now recognizing how clear and unique it truly is when he does speak. You try not to realize how similar the cam-boy sounded to him. Only connecting the dots when they force you to do it, really. You still try to convince yourself that the text was about firing you, given his actions at work that very same day. 

Maybe he was avoiding you because he felt awful about needing to fire you? 

Maybe he sent that text message to start the process of pushing you out? 

After all, it’s still very difficult to imagine Park Sunghoon having a cock that nice, or cum in that amount. Given, it’s not like you ever thought about him jerking off or anything, it’s just–

You don’t fucking know. Your brain is a mess of shaking anxiety and echoes of sexual frustrations and moans. 

You were refunded your money. He texted after the session. He said your name. It’s him, isn’t it?

You refuse to fucking find out.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

From:...[ HRatyourjob@workemail.org ]

CC:...[ parksunghoon@workemail.org ]

BCC:...

Subject: Time off Request: Rejected. Insufficient PTO.

[insert your name here],

The time you have requested from the 27th to the 3rd has been rejected due to insufficient hours. As of last Thursday, you are no longer meeting the minimum hour requirement as a full-time employee. Your PTO is at 0 hours and 00 minutes and you now have three unexcused absences. Please return tomorrow with a signed order or note that exempts you from work. If you move forward without returning to the building, this will be grounds for termination. Please review the company handbook and job abandonment guidelines. 

Additionally, COO Lee, myself, and Division manager Park will be scheduling a meeting with you in the upcoming days, failure to appear will result in immediate termination.

Thank you,

HR

Well, fuck. You knew the time to avoid this would dry up, and this ten day hideaway to fake your death didn’t quite pan out.

Devastating, truly, that you have to walk through those doors with the same legs your boss may or may not have seen spread open for him through a grainy webcam image. Horrifying, that you have to look him in the eye and explain that you really were sick for the past ten days, that you definitely were not hiding the shame of your sexual desires.

The worst part about all of this? Not just the embarrassment but the fact that…you liked it. On that night, had he admitted it was him, you may not have ended the call yourself. It felt like it added some danger to your arousal at the time. Which, naturally, makes you more embarrassed now. Mostly because, at worst if that was Mr.Park, it was predatory. At best though? You very well may have consented.

But the what ifs don’t matter now. The only thing that matters is forcing yourself through the awkwardness of being at work after avoiding it for so long already.

Fortunately for you though, work is…weirdly normal. In fact, no one acts like you’ve missed ten days at all. You are greeted by the usual co-workers, you sit down at your desk and can log in as usual, and there are no warning emails or invitations for what would be considered a meeting of termination either. 

The day goes by just fine, suspiciously so. Sunghoon, though you’re avoiding him at the moment, doesn’t appear to be too out of character either. At one point, you were forced to drop corrected paper work off in his office, and he gave you the same usual and small “Thank you” before you stepped out with your legs threatening to buckle. 

Then again, his “casual” appreciation could just be your mind playing positive little tricks on you. Maybe it wasn’t casual at all. Maybe that little uncharacteristic breath afterwards isn’t just in your head. You didn’t make eye contact with him during that brief moment, and you did rush out quite quickly so you wouldn’t really know. However, in the deepest part of your brain his voice really does match the one who said all those dirty things to you. 

Maybe you’re still overreacting.

Or maybe you dreamed all of this up. 

You choose to remain unaware of the awkwardness around you solely because everything else is normal. Deep, deep down, you know. But you’re not giving that truth a chance to thrive or run your brain anymore.

And just as the day comes to an end, you’re actually feeling better. Anxiety is draining out of you, fear and embarrassment sit dormant in some hidden part of your brain over the small possibility of virtually fucking your boss. It seems you’ve let this work day clear up all of that fear in your head.

You were wrong, right? It wasn’t him, right? He’d have tried to defend himself by now. What boss wouldn’t be absolutely terrified that you’d report him, anyway? After all of that?

You actually feel a little dumb at the possibility of Mr. Park ever wanting you sexually, or ever even wanting to speak to you in that way. Asking to see your pussy? Telling you how to touch it? No, that’s definitely not him. Couldn’t be him. 

And your eyes do stray after a little while. Just to steal glimpses into his office, feeling relieved and weightless now that it appears your fears are over and finally understood. Doesn’t change the fact that now when you look at him, you might be wildly fucking attracted to him. Because fuck, imagine if that was him. You’re kind of forced to put his image to the faceless cam-boy now, not that you want to do that or anything. It just…you can’t really blame yourself for it.

You lend yourself a little laugh. As happy as you are that you’re able to convince yourself that it’s not Sunghoon’s cock you’ve yearned for, you really wouldn’t mind sleeping with someone as handsome as him. 

Crazy how the lack of anxiety lets you think those types of things though, isn’t it? When your brain is no longer fogged by fear or embarrassment, it’s like the clarity can sometimes be scarier simply because you don’t know how true certain statements are. Even through all of that fear, maybe a part of you wished it was him. 

Even with the weight on your shoulders lifted, in hindsight, maybe you’re even a little disappointed that it wasn’t. 

And, just as you’re preparing to clock out and head home with a big secret crush and a little pep in your step, you hear the familiar notification of an email. No problem, probably just a daily report or something. 

From:...[ parksunghoon@workemail.org ]

CC:...

BCC:...

Subject: Mandatory Advising

[insert your name here],

Please come to my office before you leave for the day to discuss your conduct as of late. 

Thank you,

Park Sunghoon

Division Manager

000-000-0000 ext. 000

Well, double fuck. To think everything was fine despite you being well aware of that shit HR said to you previously? 

You barely recognize how the email is sent directly to you from Mr. Park, not including HR or COO Lee. In fact, the anxiety wells up inside of you so quickly that you nearly have to dry heave a few times before taking a deep breath. 

In your head, it’s not even about the web-cam session with a faceless man anymore. Your anxiety about that died the moment you successfully lied to yourself enough, now you’re genuinely just afraid you’ll lose your job or that beloved promotion you worked so hard to be qualified for. You just had to let your anxiety run your life for the past ten days, didn’t you? After all, skipping work to such an extent? Everyone had to have known that it was a lie eventually.  

So, you stand to your feet, brush off your thighs, and attempt to keep your heart from pounding as you make your way to Mr. Park’s office expecting to see HR, COO Lee, and a severance package on the desk waiting for your signature. 

Instead, you walk in to just find your boss. He’s looking at you as he normally would, eyes focused on his screen before glancing at you for a moment and nodding his head to one of the chairs in front of his desk. 

“Mr. Park–” You start, nearly wincing at the way you say it because, well, you haven’t said it since the night you had your pussy out on display. It’s only natural to physically react, right?

“One moment.” He says in a small voice, clicking a few times with the mouse as you watch the monitor light shine across his cheeks with each window he minimizes. 

It’s silent for a few moments as you awkwardly look around an office you’ve been in countless times. His lights are always dimmed, the temperature is always comfortable. You’re gonna miss this office, though it’s not your own. It was a nice, brief escape before all of this if you’re being honest. 

“How was work for you today?” He turns his attention to you, finally adjusting and rolling his chair to center himself in front of you behind his desk 

You pause at the question, unintentionally tilting your head at it like a puppy. “Good? Normal, I guess?” 

You watch as he nods with a tight-lipped expression, eyes falling to his desk as he takes in a deep and disappointed sounding breath. 

“Well, that’s one of us.” He huffs out, causing you to feel a bit confused with his tone. Is he being…passive aggressive? And when he snaps his eyes from his desk straight to your own confused gaze, you can almost sense a bit of something else in them compared to usual. 

Not anger. Not disappointment. 

He looks worried.

“Eleven days–” Sunghoon drones on with an exhausted tone, cutting himself off with another breath that shows you were right to assume his current displayed emotion. “You have ignored my text messages for eleven days.” 

You’re shocked by that because as far as you’re concerned, he has not texted you.

“What are you–” You furrow your brows at him, frantically pulling out your phone. “You haven’t texted me. See? The last one I got was–” You take a second as you pull up his texts and remember the exact time he texted you. So late into the night, right after…that. Naturally, you silence yourself, afraid to say it out loud.

“On the contrary,” Sunghoon denies your proof. “I texted from my personal phone.”

You hesitate again, looking down and noting the notifications under the tab of  “message requests.” To be fucking fair though, you didn’t even know that existed so you never really paid attention to it. Especially as you practically avoided your phone out of fear that he’d be texting you again. 

You were thankful he didn’t. That comforted you. Now though? Your comfort is replaced yet again with anxiety because, well, he texted you consistently after that night.

“Oh–” You say quietly, seeing a glimpse of “Please, let me call y–” in one of the messages.

“I didn’t see those.” Quickly, you turn your screen off and shove your phone back into your pocket, nervously clasping your hands in front of you and looking to the floor. 

“I will reiterate then.” 

You can hear the leather on his chair squeak against his expensive suit when he leans forward, both hands splayed out on his desk in a wide and intimidating stance in front of you. 

“Wait–” You look around the office now. “If you’re going to fire me– shouldn’t the others be here too?”

Sunghoon pulls back at that, narrowing his eyes before lending a very small and even more nervous chuckle.

“I’m not firing you. I told them I’d take care of your sudden and, quite frankly, unhelpful vacation.” 

You look to the floor again, feeling scolded for your actions but having a genuine reason. If Sunghoon truly is aware of that reason for your absence, he understands too, right?

“I have been beyond inappropriate with you.” He blurts now, that same leather squeaking as he leans back again and looks away from you the moment you snap your head up. “I have reason to believe you’ve not yet reported me, and I’d like to ask for the opportunity to explain myself before you do.” 

You feel a chill wash over your whole body, cold sweat peaking right at your temples as you stare forward. He’s being so professional about this, and that lie you’ve convinced yourself of is showing it’s face as just that, a fucking lie.

So this is it? 

So there it is? A semi-admittance that it was him? That little feeling in the back of your head that wishes it was diminishes within an instant. In fact, you narrow your eyes at him, your nose crinkles, and you feel frustration bubble up in your gut.

“So you admit that it was you?” You ask, needing a full confirmation. 

“Yes.” Sunghoon sighs, leaning back somehow further, creating as much distance from you as possible before unintentionally rolling his eyes. Mostly due to the fact that he was stupid enough to let this happen, mostly to shame himself. “What I did was inappropriate and unacceptable. I didn’t intend for this to ever happen.”

Now you feel a bit…pissed off.

Like? Oh, he didn’t intend for this to happen? What? You mean he didn’t intend to let you fucking find out! Well, as good as he is at playing the part of a slutty man on the internet, he’s not so good at acting in real life, now is he? Saying your false fucking name at work, saying your real name with his cock out?

What in the fuck are you supposed to do about this? Why is he giving you the ability to report him? He’s the one with the power here. He could fire you now and bury the information if he so pleased. After all, He’s besties with COO Lee, right? That bitch in HR has an obsession with him too. Hell, everyone here loves the guy. 

You’re just a bottom of the barrel employee trying to work your way up. If you got him fired, surely he’d make damn sure you never work for a decent company like this one again. Additionally, you don’t even want to report him.

Yeah, it was fucking weird that he just knew it was you and kept going. Super strange that he had to have known after the first call, only to ask to see you in the second one. Why does that turn you on in the midst of this anxiety induced spiral? Why the fuck is the idea of Park Sunghoon apologizing for masturbating to and for you so alluring?! 

Sure, maybe it’s kind of nice knowing that someone of his status would ever find an interest in you, but it doesn’t quite wash the frustration away. You have every right to question, and every right to be pissed off about it. 

Still, in this quiet room, Sunghoon is stoic and all you can think about when you look at him is the way he said “if I were your boss i’d–” and the way he fucked his palm while saying it, implying he wanted it to be you while simultaneously knowing it was you watching. 

Since fucking when did Mr. Park ever show a sexual interest in you? And if he did, why the fuck couldn’t he have just been normal about it?

“That was really fucked up, you know that?” You argue immediately, voice shaking at the speed of which your emotions shift. Your resolve isn’t quite as clear as it probably should be. Perhaps you should report him, or maybe you already should have. But, it’s not like you accepted the truth until he demanded it of you.

You would have let it slide. Both of you could have pretended it never happened. You could’ve gone home and continued working, never paying a cam-boy again had Sunghoon not called you into this stupid, comfortable ass office. 

“In my defense, I was just doing my job. Though it’s my own fault for not telling you, my job here was at risk if you had found out.”

“You made me talk about you.” You roll your eyes at him now, gaining the power and control over the conversation. “And you thought I wouldn’t find out?! What? Did that get you off or something?”

“I–” Sunghoon stops himself from answering that question truthfully. He quickly tries to explain away the stutter instead. Never has he been scolded by an employee, but you’re well within your rights to do so. “I wasn’t in my right mind. I never get called by name during these sessions and I apologize for having you say it.”

“And you want me to report you?” You raise a brow at him. “Want me to just storm right into HR and tell her how you’re a fucking pervert? Want me to tell her how you told me to repeat your name? To thank you for it? Is that really what you want?” 

Are you enjoying yourself a little too much? Maybe.

Sunghoon doesn’t respond though, instead, he runs his hand through his hair and sighs from the stress welling up inside of him. He can only act calm and collected for so long, and it’s been eleven days already. He hates how hearing you say those words goes straight to his cock at a time like this, he hates even more how all of this could have been avoided if he had simply declined your second call. 

But you’re not wrong. He is a pervert, and he did tell you to thank him for the pleasure you were getting from his voice and half image alone. At the time, he was so turned on he really just couldn’t help himself. You fed his sexual appetite unknowingly and now this is the consequence of his action. Being a known pervert.

Is it what he wants though? To be reported? Humiliated?

Fuck.

Arguably, just having you humiliate him like this is enough. Drives him crazy, really. Whether it be from arousal or guilt, or both. 

And for the first time since you started working here, you see him for what he truly is. A strong man to an extent, but he’s crumbling under his own mistake and it makes you wonder just how far he would’ve taken it had you not found out. 

“And what if I didn’t realize who I was fucking myself for?” You glare. “Would you have asked for more? Avoided me here even more? Would you have declined my application for the assistant position because you can’t come to terms with the fact that you’re a fucking pervert?!”

Sunghoon raises his hands in defense. 

“Please–” His voice sounds panicked. “Please, keep your voice down.”

“Answer the question, then. Just fucking own it at this point.” You throw your arms up now, letting them fall back down in a slap to your thighs. “Would you have made my work-life miserable just so you could watch me get off to you? Knowing the whole time? Would you have kept on with that boss slash employee shit just so it felt more real for you?” 

Staring forward at him, you watch him accept that everything you’re saying is likely exactly what would have happened. Maybe he really will try to own it. Which would be… a good thing if you decide to let your own resolve falter.

So fucking secretive, huh? An actual, real life degenerate? And it’s Sunghoon of all people? 

“Maybe…” Sunghoon trails off, making himself seem much smaller than he usually is on a day-to-day basis. “I mean, No–I,”

Oh, he’s actually stuttering.

“And you want me to tell on you? You want me to fuck your life up?” You raise a brow. “As if I didn’t pay you to do it?”

In all honesty, aside from the anxiety and awkwardness, and despite never once thinking of Sunghoon too sexually, things have changed. Drastically. Especially after being confronted with this situation and he’s not intimidating you or using his power to control you. No, he’s giving you the power and quite frankly, you don’t know what to do with it. 

Are you basking in it? Absolutely. Is it nice to see him cower in front of you? In that big plush chair that costs more than your monthly income? Hell yeah.

But goddamn, had he approached you before all of this and asked for a date, or showed interest, you would have gladly partaken in a secret romance with him. He’s intelligent, attractive, clean, and has money. It’s not like you ever expected the guy to go home and fuck himself on camera. 

You never thought he was the type to be so lonely either. Or so desperate, judging by how he acted during those two sessions. Arguably, you always wondered why there was never a ring on those pristine fingers. 

And while you were definitely the victim in this situation, you feel more embarrassed than you do violated. Many nights you thought of how he spoke, how he said how badly he wanted you. It’s embarrassing because you’re starting to love the idea of who those words really came from. The Park Sunghoon, so untouchable in the business world. So untouchable by women and men solely because he appears to be too expensive, too pristine.

But you…

You’ve seen him dirty. 

Part of you wishes you didn’t pay to be humiliated like this. The rest of you wishes you didn’t fucking like it as much as you do.

“It’s only fair.” Sunghoon explains with a short breath. “I feel awful for what I’ve done, and I should have told you the moment I recognized her as, well–” He pauses with a pained face, as if he hates hearing himself say it. “You.”

“Then, why didn’t you?” You raise your brow again, nearly forgetting you’re at work, solely focused on the conversation at hand and feeling relieved at the way it’s going.

Sunghoon shifts in discomfort, looking away from you.

“Do you want honesty?” He asks in a quiet voice, leaning forward on his desk but refusing eye contact. He keeps his gaze lowered the entire time, his voice small and shaky. 

There’s still people in the office, though his door is closed and it’s unlikely he can be heard.

You nod to him with an even smaller “Go on then.”

“I tried to convince myself that it wasn’t you.” He says, shifting his hands and picking at his cuticles. 

Man, he really knows how to act sorry, doesn’t he?

“I avoided you after that first call, solely because I think I wanted her to be you. Which is…incredibly inappropriate.” 

He looks up at you now, searching for a reaction and only seeing you nod at him. His eyes shift right back down as he continues. 

“My avoiding you led you to– um– more services.” He explains quieter, admitting in full the situation he’s allowed to take place, seeming more and more insecure with his words than he ever has before. “I can admit that I have fantasies and needs.” 

Silence. 

“After that first call, I couldn’t help but be entirely attracted to you. The idea of–”

You suddenly find yourself thinking back to all of those things he said to you again, parading as if he wasn’t your boss, telling you what he'd do if he were. He seems to have accidentally found a sexual interest in the dynamic…and he fucking dragged you into it with him. 

“Mr. Par– Sunghoon.” You cut him off, actually feeling a bit of pity now at his admittance. 

His words make you feel like maybe he’s not entirely just a pervert who was intending to make you get off to him from the start. If anything, he probably felt uncomfortable at first knowing who was on the other end of the call. It’s the fact that his real life job was at risk if you found out, and still he indulged despite that. He accepted that second call, he asked for more, he acted like he really does want you.

 To the extent that losing his job was in the front of his mind and he still did it. He ignored the danger of it and prioritized getting off…with you. You find yourself wondering if this would have happened to any other employee under him if they happened to stumble across his stream too. 

Part of you wants to pretend he wouldn’t, because the idea that all of this is happening solely because it was you? It hits a little too hard, a little too deep. 

“Okay, okay. Stop,” You say, keeping your eyes on him and willing him to look up at you. “You don’t have to keep explaining, I get it.”

“No.” He does meet your eye this time, stopping your brain of all thoughts at how differently you see him now versus all the times before. “I do.” 

He’s so honest. Probably too honest for his own good. Maybe that’s why he’s so good at his job, maybe that’s why everyone loves him. Maybe a bit of lying would help him in this situation if it were anyone else, but for you? 

You kind of enjoy the way he’s telling the truth. Admitting that he was desperate, apologizing for wanting you even if just for a brief moment.

“I asked you to turn on your camera for selfish reasons. I asked you to say my name, then I made the mistake of exposing myself because I–” He hesitates, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply through his nose. “I struggled to pretend it wasn’t me, and that she wasn’t you. I very well knew what I was doing, and at the time, I wished that you did too.”

More silence as you stare at him, stunned, slightly in awe. 

“But I knew you wouldn’t have reciprocated. What I’ve done is criminal, and I am encouraging you to report me for it if that’s what you deem necessary.” 

“And if I don’t?” You don’t leave any more room for silence now, feeling desired and validated. 

You can’t pretend that you’re mad, though you were previously. You simply can’t pretend that, now at least, you wouldn’t reciprocate. If anything, you’re more interested now than you think you ever would have been before. 

“We can forget any of this ever happened. I’ll stop streaming and accepting private calls, and we can hopefully move forward without any ill-feelings of one another.” He blinks at you, near pleading with his eyes. “I’ll push your application through– That is, if you still want the position.” 

Sunghoon does wince at the bribe, considering he’s never done such a thing let alone commit acts of sexual harassment, or perhaps even non consensual foreplay with someone. It really really wasn’t entirely intentional, and he’s disgusted with himself. If you report him, he’d take the hit to his reputation and career, but if you don’t…what then?

Ill-feelings, he says? If anything, you might feel more ill parading around like you wouldn’t want him to do all of those things he said previously, with free-will to say as he pleased without the fear of you knowing who the words were coming from. 

“Can you please stop with the professional talk?” You hum out with an exhausted eye roll.  “I don’t want the promotion if you’re just offering it so I don’t rat you out.” You narrow your eyes now and lean yourself forward. “You hope to forget this ever happened? Really?” 

Carefully, the two of you watch each other for a while longer. Sunghoon looking like he’s about to catch himself on fire, and you, looking annoyed and amused. Still, the thick air in the room starts to feel suffocating under the pressure of the “issue” at hand as you scold him further. 

“What you did was predatory. But– I don’t want to ruin your life over this.” 

You watch as Sunghoon listens, his posture opening up a bit more as you speak, showing that he’s being relieved of his stress through your words alone. 

“Are you trying to hold a promotion over my head over this?”

Before he gets the chance to curl in on himself again, you answer for him. 

“Maybe.” 

You continue too, not letting him speak for the time being. Or, rather, giving him a chance to breathe. 

“Should you change your username and continue doing what you want behind closed doors because it’s no one else’s business?” You really watch him this time. “Yes.” 

He blinks at you, raising a brow in slight confusion. 

“Did you take advantage of me?”

He nods before you whisper out another “yes” yourself. 

“Would I let you do it again…?”

Oh, for Sunghoon, it’s hard to breathe right now as he anticipates what you’ll say. Is it going to be a ‘no’ this time? Are you going to stand up and change your mind? Despite just stating you don’t want to ruin his life?

God, hasn’t he already let you?

“Yes.”

Pause. 

“I’m sorry?” Sunghoon responds in disbelief, shifting his eyes to his hands and then back to you. “Come again?”

“Sunghoon.” You make it a point to call him by his name now, ignoring the etiquette of a proper boss and employee dynamic. “I am humiliated by all of this but I can see that you are too. You’ve admitted your guilt and even go as far as encouraging that I report you.” You pause again, knowing that this isn’t where the conversation should be going for any, uh, normal person, you suppose. 

“If you had just told me. If you had said anything about wanting to, like, fuck me, I would have done it with or without the promotion on the line.”

Does that make you sound a little desperate? Yeah. But it’s not like he doesn’t know how badly you need to be fucked. After all, you know, the cam sessions and stuff. You were literally paying a stranger to get you off. 

Shouldn’t he, of all people, know that you were bad-off enough to get laid?

Sunghoon’s issue though, is that he never looks at his employees sexually. No matter how pretty, no matter how much they flaunt themselves at him. He never has, and probably never will again. If it hadn’t been for that single first session with you, all would be well. But now? He’s too attracted to you. 

He wants you so badly.

“If you tell me right now that you want me, in the same way you did on that call–” You stop yourself to really look at him. With the way he swallows, the way his lips slightly part, the way his hands show signs of eleven days worth of nervous habit cuticle picking. “If you do all of those things you said you’d do ‘if you were my boss’...”

“Wait, wait–” Sunghoon stands in a rush, causing you to jump slightly at the sudden sound echoing off of the walls in the office. “Do you understand the consequences of what you’re implying right now?”

“If I fuck my boss, we could both be fired?” You smile, feeling the confidence raise within you. Watching the way he reacts to your lewd words face to face rather than through a microphone. 

“That would be…correct.” He raises a brow. 

“Well, technically, you’ve already been fucking me.” You look away from him, feeling a bit shy even with the confidence, but never having spoken to a man so bluntly before like this? It’s a bit scary. “Would it really make anything worse if, you know, I do reciprocate?”

Goddamn. Sunghoon might be a bit smitten. This situation could have gone a thousand different ways, and you offer the one that includes your legs spread across this fucking desk and his face buried between them?

Oh. Never has he been so willingly turned on at work. 

“Is this what you want?” He asks in a breath, shifting his eyes to the door and walking towards it, immediately reaching for the lock but not quite turning it. 

“Is that what you want?” You counter, turning and staring at the lock. 

Sunghoon hides his nod, wanting you to be the one to answer first. After all, hasn’t he been self-indulgent enough?

“Do you want me to fuck you?” He finally breaks and says it, blatantly, not sugar coated, yet still sweet when the words hit your ears. “After all this, you still want it?” 

You nod, dipping your head a bit against your shoulder. 

Click. 

“I guess I should have known.” Sunghoon plays with his words now, hand dropping from the now locked door and eyes entirely on you. “Do you want me to fuck you, or would you prefer–”

“You.” You smile, feeling your skin prickle at the electricity that enters the room through breath and words alone. It’s the way he already shifted. Like all of that anxiety melted out of him within an instant. 

“No, no.” He stalks towards you now, the nervous Sunghoon is no longer in sight as he makes himself seem bigger, taller, far more intimidating. Just like he was on camera. “The me you saw on screen is not the same as what you’re seeing right now.” He tries to explain. 

“Oh?” You tilt your head, and he only finds that cute. 

Far too cute. 

“You’d do as I ask, right?” His voice shifts to a raspy whisper as he centers himself in front of you, both hands reaching the arms of your chair as he hovers above you. “I’m far more tame online.” 

Tame?! That’s what he calls tame?! 

You stare up at him, keeping your jaw from falling slack as you physically see him shift from being your boss into being a man with a need. Not just any need either. A need for you.

Part of you wonders if he ever truly felt bad in the first place about all of this, because the shift from just moments ago is so dramatic it’s almost scary. 

“So, tell me.” He leans down, inches from your face as his eyes start to fall to a half-lidded stare at you. “You’ll do as I say? You’d let me do it all for you, and not ask me to stop until I feel it best, yes?”

You swallow and slowly nod. Oh god, it really, really, is him. 

“And while at work, you’ll behave?” He continues, lips now ghosting over yours to the point you can almost feel them press down. He’s implying that if you don’t tell, that this won’t be the only time too? Shit. He’s entirely aware of why this shouldn’t be happening, but still making it happen.

 “No matter what I do to you, where or how I do it, you’ll behave?”

You can’t help it when you lift your chin, just a bit to rest your lips against his words, eyes falling closed and hands hesitant to reach out for his perfectly ironed shirt. 

You feel his smile against your lips, with that sharp-toothed grin he rarely offers. 

“Ah, so it’s true.” He murmurs against you, his hand reaching for yours and guiding it for you, straight to his belt. “Dirty, dirty girl.”

A small, pleased, sound leaves your throat when he does kiss you, adding his own pleased hum alongside yours as his hands still hold yours in place over his belt, not quite letting you do anything just yet.

”Gonna be quiet–” He whispers into your mouth, just against your tongue before licking out and against it. “Even when I tell you to moan my name?”

You really shouldn’t be surprised, but you still are. You like this Sunghoon better than the one who stutters and picks his cuticles. He’s owning it, and in a way, so are you. 

 After all, it wasn’t until today that you truly learned what Sunghoon is like when he’s aroused. Not that you ever should have known in the first place. The fact that you do know, the fact that he’s showing you? It just makes this all the more arousing, in your opinion.

All he needed was a green light and within seconds it seems, Sunghoon became the need you’ve been chasing for months now through porn sites and erotic novels. 

You nod to his words, trying to drop your hand just a bit to feel what you’ve already seen. Just to feel how warm he is, how—

“Is that so?” Sunghoon whispers in an amused tone, guiding your hand right back to his belt, only to drop his other hand straight between your legs. “You’re supposed to do as I say. If I tell you to moan my name, you do it.”

Oh, the sexual confusion of what to do and which Sunghoon to obey. All you can do is continue to nod for him, hanging your head with a breath at the way he cups his hand over the entirety of your core. You wore pants today in order to hide your shame, to try and feel invisible based on previous circumstances. You’re not so happy about that now, as you try to feel his touch through the thick fabric only to shamelessly thrust your hips up and against his palm.

He moves his lips to the top of your head now, hovering over you in a perfect stance of power, hand gently rubbing up and and down despite your hips asking for a harsher touch. If anything, it makes him feel better knowing how you react to this. 

In actuality, his relief is sending his arousal through the roof. Not only are you not going to rat him out but…you want more of it? More of him, in particular? Not the facade of him online? 

At this point, if he gets caught, you’re both going down in flames. So, why not enjoy the ride?

Truly, it’s laughable in the way he’s just as amused as he is turned on, relishing in the fact that he wants you and you’re letting him have you despite his past actions. You’re messy too, he’s seen it, and now he gets to feel it. 

“Mhm,” Sunghoon hums against the top of your head, now pressing his own hips forward against your hand. “Feel that?”

The electricity? How hard he is? How needy you are?

”Yeah…” You sigh absentmindedly, bumping his chin with your head when you try to look up at him. You only blink twice before he coos out with a sad little sound. 

He doesn’t say a word after as he removes his hand and instead, grabs both of your hands and places them on his shirt. 

“Go on.” He smiles, waiting to see you to start fumbling against his buttons. 

And fumble, you do. Touching him, for some reason, feels so dangerous. Knowing you’re the one removing his shirt, watching his skin be revealed as it begins to fall open by your own doing? It’s electrifying. Enough to lose your train of thought as you study how toned and smooth his skin is. Just like how you had seen on camera, so clear in front of you now. You’re aching for him by this point, being able to feel his body heat, touch him, feel his eyes on you. 

If you had really known back then who it was you were talking to, you very well may have pretended to not know as well, judging by the way your entire body catches fire for him. 

And as his shirt falls completely open, he’s satisfied with the way you do it. Complacent and docile beneath him, nervous fingers shaking much like he did for the past eleven days. With those pretty eyes looking at him, like there’s nothing in your head at all. 

He chuckles at you, grabbing your hands again and placing them right on his chest, helping your hesitant touch to massage and caress each bump and toned muscle. He intentionally flexes the further down your hands go, all the way back to his belt. 

There, he looks down at where you touch, then back at you with a quirked brow. You stare  up at him, blinking, face feeling hot, and it’s like you move your hands on instinct. The sound of his buckle being unclasped echoes in the room, and his eyes only darken with the sound.

The sound of it slipping from the loops when he takes it upon himself to remove it completely for you, the sound of his breathing, the sound of that zipper, the button, the shuffling of his pants being skewed down just enough to fit your hand inside.

He moans at the image alone, loving the way your smaller hand looks slipping down his pants, the way your breathing is somehow even as if you’re trying to keep yourself calm. So calm, so pretty, but he knows how needy you are. He shouldn’t, but he does, and he uses it to his advantage. 

You’re the one who moans this time upon feeling that little twitch of his cock urging you to grab. And he helps you too, with the way he guides your hand under the front of his pants further, forcing your fingers to grab and grope the thick of his cock, uncomfortable and pressing between his briefs and undone zipper. 

“Still, you’re just looking.” Sunghoon comments, pressing his hips forward slowly and gently. “I’m right here.” He continues to explain the situation to you, as if you’re not experiencing it. “You need me to show you how to touch me too?”

You hesitate with a groan caught in your throat. You’re still processing the size difference that you feel now versus what you saw. Bigger. Thicker. Heavier than you would have expected against your palm. Honestly, you were so focused on the fact that Sunghoon’s cock is currently fucking forward against you that you almost forgot how to jerk a man off by yourself. 

His hand had been doing all the work for you, and you’re quick to take over. 

Sunghoon lends a very small gasp at the way you try to grasp, and instantly both of his arms shoot to the chair behind your head. He grips it, dropping his chin to the top of your head before thrusting a bit harsher into the grip you try to hold on him. 

“Harder.” He exhales, his cock twitching in your weak hold. “Grab me harder.”

You do, squeezing the bulge before intentionally adjusting it for him, allowing the head of his bulbous cock to peek from the top of his briefs. 

His relieved sigh is enough, you can’t help it. With his chin sat atop your head like this, you have no choice but to watch the way he moves his hips. Just like he did on camera. His abs flex with each movement, his arms grip behind you on the chair tighter, and you couldn’t pull your eyes away from his desperate body even if you wanted to. 

You thrust up too, as if your body craves what you’re already touching. And you do crave it, so much so that your clit aches against the denim you’re rubbing up against. Unfortunate that you wore these fucking jeans, honestly.

“Mr. Park–” You let out a small and frustrated cry, using your other hand to try and fail at unbuttoning your own pants. 

He hides his smile at the way you’ve reverted back to his professional title, but pays no mind to it because that’s what he wanted to hear in your voice that night. A desperate sound of his name, a plea, a cry. He can’t help but cling to it and bury that pretty voice into the darkest parts of his brain. A memory he’ll revisit time and time again after this. That sound, those pretty lips, this weak grasp you have. For the time being, it’s his. You belong to him right now. 

“Hm?” He hums out, fucking his hips forward while tilting his head back to look at you. “What is it, baby?”

Oh. You lost your train of thought. 

Thankfully, he seems to do the thinking for you as he shifts his eyes down and watches you try to both please him and remove your own pants. A cute sight to him, really. Someone who was just scolding him for wanting this, fumbling for more? 

So cute. 

He chuckles, pulling his hips back from your hand and grabbing it, unbothered by the loss of your touch. Instantly he intertwines his fingers with yours, and grasps your other hand from your pants to do the same. Both your arms raise by his guidance to the back of the chair before he releases them. 

You watch with a slack jaw and half-lidded eyes as he lowers himself, right onto his knees before he unbuttons your pants for you and very politely pulls them from your legs. 

“This what you want?” He smiles, lying his cheek right against your exposed thigh and taking a deep inhale. It’s taking everything in him not to fawn over the woman who had him in his thoughts for the past however long, truly. 

Then again, he’s weak. He doesn’t even look up at you through his words and, instead, nuzzles his nose right up and against the seat of your panties before inhaling with a pleasant hum. “To have me finally touching this pretty pussy for you?” 

God damn, if you didn’t already know it was him on that camera, you do now. He speaks the same type of words, with the same confidence, the same sultry tone…

You can barely comprehend the way he slowly takes his own pants off because you’re too focused on the way he runs his lips across your skin with dirty thoughts spilling from them. Fingers tucked under either side of your panties in preparation before he eventually pulls them off of you. 

“Did you wear those pants to hide yourself from me?” He comments now with an amused tone. “Knowing you wanted me to take them off of you anyway?”

You shake your head at him, holding your breath. You did wear them to hide, but you never would have expected this situation to go in a direction involving his mouth anywhere near where you need it. Sure, you assumed he would have rejected you, you assumed that if it was him– he’d have been so disgusted with himself that he’d only gag at your presence. 

But no. You were bold in your words, and he seems to feed into that. 

“No?” He furrows his brows and lifts his head. Now lowering your panties much like he did for your pants. He’s quick with his next action, seemingly hiding his own desperation through playful comments at you. “Why not?” He adds, instantly pressing his thumb against your clit and fucking shining his eyes up at you with a semi-pouted mouth. 

You roll your eyes back at the sudden pressure, relaxing your shoulders and slouching down in the chair. Your legs spread further on instinct, granting him a full view of your sticky cunt parting open for him.

His eyes glance down, peering into the heat you offered once before ever knowing it was him looking. Clicking his tongue, he can’t help but bite his lower lip to hold himself back. He hopes you don’t notice the way his hand finds its way to his own cock, he really, really hopes you don’t see him act so pathetic over this. 

But you do. The moment your eyes roll back into place and get a look at him. One of his shoulders is moving, but the action is hidden by not only the chair, but his fucking face. He’s got his lips parted and he’s licking his lower lip. Slicking it up with his own saliva before–

“So quiet,” He hums with glistening lips, lending himself a light hold with his cock and pretending it’s you doing it for him. “You have nothing to say for yourself?” He adds now, inhaling once more the scent of your slick dripping for him as he leans in just a bit more.

“Oh–!” You yelp slightly at the feeling of his teeth digging into the flesh just to the side of your core. He bites down harder and harder, licking the flesh between his teeth before sucking hard against it. The sweat and scent of your full-day at work does nothing to calm his raging cock. He loves it and it only grows his appetite for you. Licking, sucking, nibbling at the skin until he’s sure he’ll leave a nice, painful swell to rub against your panties later. Only then does he release your skin from his still-tasting mouth. 

The relief when he releases your thigh is short lived because he offers not even a full two seconds before you feel his mouth circle your clit. Like he can’t help himself, like he can’t tease you right now even if he wanted to. 

 A flick of his tongue sends a shiver down your spine straight to your toes and you can’t stop your legs from immediately wrapping around his head. You hear his muffled “mmf” when you do that, but he keeps you from apologizing for it because his free hand goes straight under your ass and scoots you even closer to his tongue. 

And if you didn’t already think Sunghoon knew how to use that mouth for more than just being a professional business man, you do now. With the way that same tongue that used to taste the morning coffee you’d bring him now tastes you. Deeply. 

He licks, flicks, and sucks every fold. Slurping up any dripping heat that slips out of you before pressing his tongue in and nuzzling his nose against your clit. He’s not quiet about it either. He moans with each lick, hums every time your legs squeeze around his neck, slurps and loudly sucks. 

It’s pornographic, it’s sexy, it’s–

Suddenly, you feel a sharp jolt shoot through you, having not even noticed his hand moving from your ass to your front, moving straight up under your shirt. His fingers immediately find your nipple and pinches hard. So hard that your previous moan only becomes prolonged. Grows louder, breathier. 

He pinches and massages your nipple with the intent to keep you loud for him. Office setting or not, he could give less of a shit about that right now. He ignores the strain on his wrist from your bra, he uses his other hand to grip himself harder, and you can’t help but squeeze him tighter between your thighs until you’re, quite literally, shaking.

Your hips are sliding against his face with each jolt of pleasure, practically riding him, and his cock is now entirely neglected because you can’t help but want more. You need more. And he gives it, by now releasing himself and keeping both hands on you. One holding the outside of your thigh, almost pushing you to squeeze tighter, the other incessantly abusing your nipple. 

He chokes out a moan through his messy movements, never quite knowing where to put his hands solely because he wants to touch all of you. His cock is just fine being neglected, he thinks, as he realizes just how much pleasure he gets from feeling you wrap yourself around him like this. 

It feels better than jerking himself off. 

“Mr. P–” You sigh out, still not quite used to actually calling him his name, but the sound of it reminds you time and time again how wrong this situation is supposed to be. 

You’re sitting on this soft chair, pussy being spread apart by a tongue none other than the man who signs your paychecks. And just this morning you were terrified of him ever even getting a glimpse of you without pants on? God, how stupid could you be? You should’ve been chasing this man’s touch since the day you looked at him for the first time. 

“Fuck–” You moan out for him, brain spitting thoughts at you as each second passes. The danger of this, the fact that he genuinely got off to you before you knew it was him. The secrecy of his perverted thoughts and actions…it’s all so… “So, you’re so – hot.”

You feel him laugh, kissing the pulsing hole of your pussy when he pulls his tongue back to swallow. And for just a few moments, he turns his head, gripping your thigh with his teeth once again before speaking back to you, muffled by the hot skin. 

“Yeah?” He laughs, now pulling his hand from your bra and lifting to your chin, pointing your gaze down at him, forcing you to see the way your thighs nearly suffocate him against your pussy. “Then keep your eyes on me.”

And you do, especially when he uses both of his hands now, nudging them between your legs and forcing them from his shoulders. He rests your legs on the arms of the chair instead and flicks his eyes up at you. 

“You watching?” He makes this a point, blowing a small breath of air straight at your clit before receiving a dazed and slow nod from you. “Keep your legs open too.”

That’s the last thing he says before his mouth is full again, sucking your folds between his teeth before tucking his tongue right back into your hole. He tastes for just a few moments before you feel those same lips on your clit. He lets it throb in his open mouth as he listens carefully to your little sounds, especially now that he’s sliding his fingers into you. 

You gasp, holding your breath at the feeling. His fingers slide in, reaching deep before he scissors them open. And all you feel from it is pleasure. You can’t help that your eyes roll back again, but you do try to keep your gaze fixed on his. With his eyes so rounded, blinking up at you with his strong jaw moving with each swallow of his own muffled moans. 

He sucks your clit, fucks your cunt open, and relishes in the way he will soon get to splay you across his desk and really let you have it. 

And he does this for a few minutes, though in your head it goes by so fast that you nearly get whiplash from the way he pulls back with a wet sound and grins at you.

“Aw, baby–” He coos at the face you make, seemingly disappointed to lose all stimulation at once, but he’s quick to lift to his feet and lean back over you. 

Oh, his cock. It’s right there. 

Oh.

His face– 

“You’re so fucking wet right now.” He murmurs against the corner of your mouth with a raspy whisper, easily and without warning slipping two of his fingers right back into the heat that he just denied himself of licking more. “You hear that?” He continues with a sharp toothed bite to your lip. “How wet you are?”

You groan at the way he slams his fingers in, out, in, out, in…He keeps them there, pressed so far into you that you can physically feel the way your pussy tries to push him out again.

“Could slip it in right now–” He moans out at how tight you clench just his fingers. “Fuck, could be so deep in you.”

Your face feels hot as a bashful feeling overtakes you. His voice hits so much harder when you feel his breath along with it. His fingers, his cock right up against you. You want him to slip it in. To stuff his cock in you so fast, no room to adjust, not a second to even catch your breath. 

God, you need it right now. It’s been too long since you’ve felt a real person touch you, you can’t help that you feel so desperate. The clench isn’t on purpose, your body tells him all he needs to know, all while he tells you all you could only wish to hear fall from someone’s lips.

And not just anyone. His lips. 

You shoot your arms around his neck and it's not really intentional but– an actual kiss. You need it. 

He seems pleased by it though, with the way his tongue immediately asks for more. One hand moves to brace your cheek, the other still fucking into you so good that you can’t keep a single moan down. He takes full control of the initiated kiss solely because you kissed him first. Almost hungrily, he licks into your mouth with his own muffled groan, encouraging you to keep being pretty like this. Just so you can see what he’ll do to you. 

And, damn. He guides your body like a puppet, stiffening his shoulders when he licks into your mouth and threatening to pull away by raising  himself up just a bit. He knew you’d chase the kiss, and you do. You lift with him, your ass lifting from the chair just to keep his tongue against yours, and he takes the elevated position and angles his hand just a bit. There, his fingers fuck into you harder, faster, so much fucking deeper until– you feel his fingers stop at a painfully deep spot inside of you. 

He pulls back from the kiss, looking down between your bodies, and your eyes follow his gaze. Right there, he’s placed his knee up against his own wrist, forcing his fingers to remain deep and unmoving in you. 

You take in a sharp inhale, seeing the way he lets your body fall back to the seat of the chair, only forcing him to skew his fingers and– “Oh, god!”

You moan out so suddenly that it even shocks him for a moment, but he takes your weakness and uses it to his advantage. Quickly, he licks into your moaning mouth, tickling his fingers upwards, pulling even more animalistic sounds from you. 

“Yeah?” He whispers frantically, so turned on by the way your entire body stiffens. “Right there?” He continues, leaning his full body weight forward with his knee, wincing at the way he presses his cock against anything he can find in the process, just to get you off right here, right now. 

You nod just as frantically, toes curling, arms shooting to the chair in a form that should appear as discomfort, but really you’re just bracing yourself through the tensing of your muscles before all of them relax and pulse at once. 

Your ears pop, but you can still hear your desperate cries of his name somewhere distant. You can even hear him, humming and encouraging your orgasm. You wish you could hold your eyes open to see him, to grab him and force him to fuck his fingers hard into you. God, you could take it right now. You could take just about anything to heighten this feeling of stars bursting behind your eyelids. 

Somehow though, it’s like he knows. Half-way through your orgasm, you feel the weight between your legs shift and his fingers start moving again. Still, your eyes are squeezed shut, and you can't help but to lunge forward and hug against his neck, clinging to him through the prolonged orgasm that his fingers alone have brought to you. 

“Squeezing me so tight–” Sunghoon groans, unsure of if he’s referring to the way your needy cunt crowds his fingers, or the way you cling to him like a lost pet, begging for him to never leave your sight. “Fuck, you’re so pretty like this.”

You hear those words over any of his others. So clear in your head as you snap your head up and look at him. You see him lower his gaze, but your grip doesn’t quite allow him to actually look down at you. Not when he has to physically hold you up anyway. Still, he looks amused up there, knowing that single compliment must’ve hit somewhere inside of you.

You’re not sure why, through all this, Sunghoon calling you pretty makes it so much more intimate. And even as your legs continue to shake, and you release your death grip hug on him, he keeps himself crowded up to you. He’s somehow out of breath just like you are, relishing in the calm silence of your post orgasm as he…Jesus.

It’s not just your imagination. Somehow, it is intimate. It’s the way he pulls his fingers out and both hands shoot to your face. First, he kisses you as if you’re a long lost love. Deeply, slowly. Then, he’s putting one hand at the small of your back, nudging his knee right back between your legs, and pulling you right up against him. 

“Who did you cum for?” Sunghoon asks, pulling back just to lick against your lips and stare directly down at you. “Say my name.”

You don’t hesitate, echoing out with a winced expression, still so out of breath while rubbing your clit to the expanse of his thigh. 

“Su-Sunghoo-Sunghoon-” 

“Yeah?” He encourages you, hearing his name heat his ears up. He moves his pussy-slicked fingers to your mouth while you cry his name, and easily presses your tongue down with them, sliding the digits further and further down your throat. “Sunghoon.” He says his own name. “Say it again.”

You gag around his fingers, unable to obey his demand. 

“Sung–” He inspects the way your tongue struggles against the intrusion in your mouth. “Hoon.” 

You swallow around them now, sputtering, tears now running down the outer apples of your cheeks. He watches you do it too, wondering how good that would feel if it were his cock you’re swallowing around. Knowing you’d probably do it for him if he wanted to right now. 

But…he needs more than that. Despite how delicious you look while gagging, his cock has been neglected and he needs to fuck out the stress from the past however long you’ve been avoiding him. It’s like his brain breaks with the action as he watches you take his fingers in whatever way he offers. You let him do whatever he wants. You’re obeying. 

“Up.” He suddenly says, pulling all physical contact with you away as he turns, steps out of the pants restricting his ankles, and swipes every pen, file, and picture frame off his desk. “Come here, baby.”

You feel like you’re melted to this chair right now, in all honesty. You’re still trying to catch your breath just from touching his cock before he decided to make you see fucking stars, to think you can stand right now is insane.

So, when you don’t immediately hop up and throw yourself onto his desk, he turns to look at you. 

You’re splayed out, legs still spread, toes still curled. Your chest is heaving to breathe, eyes wild and lips so fucking kissable. 

“Oh, fuck.” He sighs to himself in realization, relishing in the image of you he’s only recently been craving. “Look at you.”

You lift your arm to hide your face, feeling apologetic for the way you’ve lost the ability to exist as an active participant right now. Even more apologetic when you glance down at how fucking hard his cock is. Raging hard, so pretty with the tip sputtering precum for god knows how long. 

He watches you stare, and lends you a few moments to catch your breath by gripping it himself. Leaning himself against his desk and twisting his wrist with a tight grip at the base. 

“Is this how you looked at me when I did this before?” He asks, flicking his wrist still with each drag. “So out of it, you look like such a mess, babe.”

You find yourself humming a confirmation to him as you watch, almost reverting back to who you were during that first session. Unseen, only heard, all while you got to see him pleasure himself to almost nothing. You gave him nothing. 

You’ve still only given him nothing. 

And so, very slowly, you force yourself to stand on shaking legs to take those two strides to his desk. Something inside of you tingles when he drops his cock and opens his arms for you, like a good boss would do in this situation. Supporting your unbalanced weight, letting you walk into his comforting grasp. 

“Said my name so pretty, you know.” He comments gently when he holds you close to him. Hands reaching down from the grip around your waist just to grab both of your fleshy ass checks and squeeze them. “You want more, yes?”

He’s quick to the point, only allowing the short and sweet moments to last just enough for them to stick in your head. Just enough to have questions about his actions. Just enough to give him anything, everything, he could want if it involves your body.

You nod almost shyly, dipping your head down and leaning against his chest. 

“Let's get this off of you then.” He smiles with a gentle voice, reaching to the hem of your shirt and pulling it straight up, watching how you lift your arms to help him. “Mhm–” He hums again, loving how the bra drags off of you along with the shirt. He lets both of his hands brush your nipples before he goes back to gripping your ass cheeks and spreading them. 

Spreading them so wide that, once again, you have to lift on your toes just to let him play with your body. Which, oh man. Always wearing his button down shirts, his blazers, his long-sleeve shirts. You can’t help it when you tug at the opened fabric of his shirt, asking silently that he shake it off. Wanting to see his arms, wanting to see the strength in them.

And he does it without hesitation, letting his hands fall from you just for a moment to shake his shirt off, only now hugging against you again and forcing a position change. He turns both of you so now you’re up against his desk, and he’s standing in front of you.

It’s easy for him to push you back in a kiss. Your legs open for him on instinct anyway, so he need not worry about prying those legs open again. You do just as expected when he pushes you too. Your ass hits the desk and you lift on your toes to sit on it. Your legs spread wider, making room for him to step even closer, cock right up against you when he closes any amount of distance, and still? He’s kissing you. 

All across your face, down your neck, back to your lips. And his hands just keep feeling. Massaging your tits, lending small taps to your ass, holding your chin, jaw, neck, and then…he runs them through your hair. 

The feeling is so good you almost forget how you’ve been trying to steal a glimpse of his flexing arms as he grabs at you. Goosebumps prickle and you let out a groan at the pleasure of it. He keeps one hand there now, smiling against his kiss to your ear. 

“You like being pampered?” He asks, now gripping a fist full of your hair and skewing your neck to the side. “Like being moved around like a puppet?”

Never once have you thought about your sex life that way, but when you think about it…maybe. After all, you did enjoy being told when and how to touch yourself, being allowed or forbidden from cumming. Now, with him quite literally moving you around with just a simple grip of your hair? Yeah. 

“By you–” You mutter out as you open your eyes, staring at the ceiling and feeling his tongue lap against your earlobe. 

“Just me?” He leans back, using that same grip in your hair to force you to look at him. “You’d give me that power?”

You nod against the grasp, lips falling open in a moan despite not being pleasured by anything aside from the stinging against your scalp as he pulls little hairs a bit too tightly. 

“You know–” Sunghoon starts now, pressing his hips forward, dropping his other hand to his cock and slapping it right against your weeping cunt. “If I had known you were this dirty...”He sighs out at the image in his head, thinking back to all those times he silently complimented you in his head. Back then, never would he have made comments about your legs out loud, or how your tits would look in certain shirts. Thinking back now, he’s always found you quite beautiful.

Quite fuckable, even. 

You listen to the silence waiting for him to continue, feeling the way he presses the hardened head of his length against your clit repeatedly. 

“I would have propped you up on this desk months ago,” He smiles now, leaning in real close to your ear as his grip in your hair loosens just a bit. “Could’ve had you moaning my name this whole time.”

Then, you feel it. The way he adjusts his weeping cock lower, prodding at your hole just a bit until his tip is entirely enveloped by your clenching walls. 

You swallow a moan and hold your breath, legs shooting around his waist and instinctively trying to force his hips to move forward, trying to force him to penetrate you deeper.

“Shh,” He coos out, holding his hips firm and not letting you control his movements. Then, he kisses just under your ear before peppering them all the way back to your lips. He doesn’t kiss you though, no, he chuckles at you for trying. Watching you let your tongue fall from your mouth, inspecting the way you’re entirely in tune for him right now. “You really want it, don’t you?” He whispers just above your lips. “Want me to fuck you right here, right now?”

You nod absentmindedly, legs still trying to force him to move, arms clinging under his biceps, head still forced into whatever position he keeps it in by the hair. 

“Please–Sunghoon.” You cry in a small voice, feeling as if you’re going insane by the feeling of his tip sitting comfortably in you. 

“You’re so cute.” He smiles, lending you another inch of his length before letting his hand fall from your hair. There, he grips your waist instead, letting a strained grunt fall from his own lips this time. He’s really trying to remain collected about this, and he’s unsure himself why he’s enjoying the act of teasing you like this. He feels like he’s teasing himself more than you right now, seeing as how it’s taking everything in him not to stuff his cock into you hard and fast. “So–so, fucking cute.”

You clench around the few inches in you and it appears that’s all he needed to break entirely. Is he controlling you, or are you controlling him? 

Honestly, who gives a fuck?

You feel his arms shake when he plants them at either side of you, pointing his cock straight into you and sliding in fully. There’s a groan from him that you want to hear so badly, but your own heart beat is thumping in your ears so loudly that you miss half of it. 

The stretch is delicious, and the fact that it’s Sunghoon doing this to you makes this all the more enjoyable. The man who you’ve seen day after day, now holding himself up on the desk you’ve signed papers on with and for him? All so he can angle his hips and shove his cock in? Just to let his arms frantically wrap around your waist? Just so he can scoot you forward on this desk, using your leaking slick to slide you back and forth in time with his hips? 

That groan you wanted to hear? He hasn’t stopped. He’s essentially, controlling the entire situation and when you half open your eyes to witness his face, you’re forced to roll your eyes back in a moan matching his. 

He’s fucking you so deeply right now that all you can do is moan, all you can do is forget the embarrassment, the victimization, the way he’s doing this to you despite the risk of reality crumbling. He could lose his job, you could lose yours, and yet still– he’s fucking you like he doesn’t care.

So, you choose not to care either in the form of grabbing his hair, forcing his head back, and attaching your lips right against his adams apple. You feel him swallow and breathe out a shocked sound, and then? You suck.

Intentionally, you suck, bite, and lick, harder and harder until there’s a deep purple mark there. He doesn’t even fight it, though you feel him try to move his head just to keep you from going too insane with it. You don’t care though, because still you feel his cock splitting you open, forcing you to adjust to him. 

“Ah,” Sunghoon lets out another breath with that familiar chuckle, “Marking me now?” 

You hum a confirmation as you move to a new spot on his neck, absolutely fucking marking him. Feeling devastated by the idea that he’d do this with any other employee. Or any other person in general. 

“Making me all yours, huh?” He continues with his cocky words, feeling the way your pussy clenches him tightly, dripping all over his desk. He’d let you make him yours, with or without the bruising from your mouth. 

“Mhm.” You hum pleasantly, letting out little yelps each time he slams into you. Letting out full moans each time his arms wrap around your waist tighter. 

You continue with the act, littering his pretty neck with your touch and loving how he just lets you. Knowing that he’ll show up at work tomorrow looking a bit tired, but glowing nonetheless, trying to hide all these marks with that tight-necked collar he likes to wear. 

“Whatever you want.” He breathes, letting his hips lose rhythm for just a moment as he feels his muscles tighten. “Fuck, you’re still so tight.” 

You feel like you’re on top of the world as he compliments you, to the point you’re not sure when you’ll cum because your whole body has seemingly been feeling euphoria anyway. Everything feels good, even if his cock reaches deep enough to cause little jolts of pain. The sound of the desk scooting back through the force of his hips is enough to make you take it. Enough to squeeze your legs around him tighter, enough to clench, enough to– forget what you’re doing and let yourself fall into it with him.

Your head falls back from his neck and you pant out little half-calls of his name with each thrust. Your legs loosen from around him too, but his grip on your waist only pushes you back on his desk. Until he’s leaning forward so hard with each thrust that suddenly your back meets the cold wood.

Sandwiched between him and his desk, he follows the action, his hands quickly moving from your waist to your tits, pushing them together just so he can nuzzle his face between them.

There, you look at him. You really look at him. 

What a messy, messy, man. Always so pristine during working hours, now looking so wrecked and out of it as he chases a pleasure that you hope only you can give to him. 

“Mr. Park–” You sigh out in a pleasant voice, watching the way he sucks your tit into his mouth before his eyes open wide just so he can look up at you through each thrust. “Harder.”

You can physically see the way his eyes darken when he pops off from your tit, hands now going back to the desk as he hovers over you and intentionally rolls his hips. 

You feel his cock loosen you up painfully before he intentionally fucks into you. Dragging all the way out, just to push forward in a deep and painful thrust. Over and over again, all while he’s staring straight into your eyes.

As you look up at him, you see the intent in his face. The way he wants to give you exactly what you want. Sweat shining from his cheeks, his neck littered with pretty colors. Oh, he’s actually heavenly when he fucks. 

Better than what you thought that guy on camera would have been. He’s not nonchalant like he was when he was performing. He’s entirely in tune with you and what you want. Like what you want is what he wants. 

You can tell he’s paying no mind to his own face or expression, blatantly putting all of his thoughts into how he’s pleasuring you, his eyes searching your face to tell him he’s doing well. To tell him you feel good, to tell him you’re close or–

“Fuck–” He sighs out, teeth tracing his bottom lip as he glances up, keeping pace with the way he’s been plunging into you. “I can’t keep looking at you,”

You smile, feeling dazed and far away. It feels like it’s just you and him. You’re not in his office, on a desk, or doing anything you shouldn’t be doing. 

“You hear me?” He drops his body weight on you again, letting his hips move freely as he chases and chases. “I’m so close.”

Oh. 

“Then look at me.” You huff out, now shooting a hand between his flexed abs and simply…touching your clit once.

 “Oh–shit.” 

It hits you so fast. Just a simple touch causes your pussy to clench Sunghoon so tightly that he mimics your sound. 

“Ah, fuck- fuck,” His voice sounds frantic as he tries to pull out, only to feel your legs shoot back around him. This time, he lets you force him to stay. He lets those legs of yours push him back in, so deep that he knows he can’t fight. “No, no–” He chokes out, uncaring if his hips show you that he’s lying with his words. “I’m cumming– I need to–”

“Stay!” You shake beneath him but your voice sounds pleading, pressing once more to your clit before letting it go. You clench him again, essentially letting your body finish him off. Letting those clenches squeeze him so tightly, making sure he couldn’t fathom ever wasting his cum. “Don’t pull out.”

He doesn’t. In fact, he presses impossibly deeper, trying to bury his cock into you to the point it even pains him. Arms shaking as he tries to hold himself up again, only to drop his lips to yours under his own weight. His hips are so tense between your legs, his cock is so stiff that you can feel each pumped release, and still you’re experiencing your own euphoria through it. 

To the point your toes are curling and you barely notice the way you leave welts across his back from your fingernails through the intense orgasm. To the point his slack lips against yours feel more natural than anything else. Not kissing, just close. So close that–

He kisses you. 

After it’s all said and done, he still kisses you breathlessly. Passionately almost, clinging to you as his cock twitches as it grows flaccid inside of you.

He doesn’t pull out, he just…kisses.

And as you lay against his wooden desk, body coming down from the pleasure you’ve felt more than once within the past hour, all you can do is let your brain think on its own. Without shame, without embarrassment or anxiety. 

You thought Sunghoon would have been in control the whole time. Teasing you, maybe even making this experience more painful than it needs to be. But no, he…

He’s soft. Gentle, almost. 

Only now do you recognize that as badly as he probably wants to appear harsh, like the confident man he is on camera, you think he needs something else. Not just power, not just money or control. Not even just fucking. 

You think…maybe, Sunghoon needs connection. 

Intimacy. 

And that’s proven when he does finally stand on his own buckled knees, pulling you up with him into a hug where he still kisses you. Up until he takes that shirt you unbuttoned and holds it between your legs, scratching the back of his neck with a shy glance at you. 

“Sorry for the mess.” He echoes in a meek voice, holding that shirt firm against you. “Guess I just couldn’t help myself.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Days later, you find yourself in his bed. Which should have been expected probably. Still doesn’t change the fact that every few hours, you remind yourself the reality of the situation.

It’s not just any bed you’re in. It’s Sunghoon’s bed. 

“Oh, right. The promotion.” Sunghoon suddenly calls out mid-episode. 

You’ve been here with him all day. To the point neither of you bother to put on clothes now because you know the spark will come back at any given time and you’ll be all over each other again. Still, lazing in his bed with him on a Saturday afternoon is nice. 

“I’ve been a bit occupied but– the interviews for the assistant position has been pushed back a bit due to you not coming to work.  I was supposed to notify you when you got back, but you know, we had priorities–” 

Sunghoon sighs, embarrassed. It’s nice actually, seeing him in his natural element. Allowing you to see him as more than just the guy that wears a suit and tie every day at work. 

“Unrelated to us…doing this, but, you’re up for the interview. Just need to schedule it with me. If you still want to be my assistant, I mean.”

“Oh, I can only imagine what that could entail.”

Sunghoon seems offended by this remark as he pulls back with furrowed brows.

“Excuse me?”

“Did you fuck the last one too?” You give him a playful smile, prodding at his soft-skinned chest.

“Absolutely not?!” 

“You’re still gonna fuck me too though, right? Even if I’m constantly having to nag you for signatures and meetings?” 

Sunghoon stares at you before smiling. 

“Well, let's see if you get the job anyway. Rhonda from Marketing is applying too.”

You lend a half-joke gag at him. 

“Is it too forward to ask for special attention for the position along with a sexual favor?” You tread the thin line. “I’m half joking but wouldn’t it be like…normal for us to be seen around each other at work if I’m working a job that requires it?”

Sunghoon thinks hard.

“You’re really asking to fuck your way up the ladder?”

“Aren’t you the one who offered it so I wouldn’t tell your dirty little secret?” You narrow your eyes at him. “But no, I’m asking for the job I’ve been trying to earn for ages. Besides, I’d still fuck you anyway.”

“Fair.” Sunghoon thinks harder still. “Rhonda would probably find out too, if she were to get the position anyway, considering my assistants are often intertwined in my personal business as well.”

“Oh, I’m personal business now?”

“Babe, my hand has been on your tit for an hour now.” 

Well, he’s not wrong.

“Rhonda is really close with HR too…” You trail off, feeling a bit anxious. “I think she’d hold it over both of us if she found out.” 

“In all fairness, you’ve been considered for the job more than a few times the past few months. Rhonda only applied during your two week avoidance of me. The reason she’s even up for the position is because my boss thinks you’re too flaky.” 

Oh, so you have a chance with or without putting his dick in your mouth again?

“Who else has applied?”

“Confidential.” Sunghoon shrugs. “I still have to follow company rules even if we’re breaking a few of them right now. What I can tell you is, over fifteen other candidates have already been phased out by me personally.” 

You pause.

“Why?”

“Bad matches, mostly. Two of them have been caught talking shit about me through the company emails, and the others? Many outside applicants, all freshman college students with strict schedules.”

“Being my assistant is not an easy job, and even before all of this, you’ve practically been doing the job already, better than the current assistant I have.”

You damn fucking right you have.

“How many are still in the running?”

“Two.”

Oh, this job is soooooo yours. 

“Just, one more thing.” Sunghoon sighs. “If you get this job, we cannot be fucking in my office. No sexual stuff at work. We can take lunch together, or I’ll bring you home after work, but absolutely nothing at work.”

Oh, he thinks you want him that badly? 

“Who says I need to fuck you during work hours anyway? I know how to control myself.”

“It’s not you who I’m worried about.” Sunghoon looks away, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Yeah?” You smile. “You gonna be calling me into your office just to torture yourself?”

“Oh, absolutely.” 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

pls remember to leave feedback and reblog! :D love you!

[cozycottagetarot]

How They Show Their Love & Affection

This reading is for entertainment purposes only! Take only what resonates be it all, some or none! ✨

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PILE 1

I feel like your person is such a romantic. They genuinely want you to feel loved and believe it wholeheartedly. You can practically sense their love—they want you to feel like you're absolutely blessed and gifted in this lifetime when you're with them. I really get the sense that your person embodies certain love languages strongly. Gift-giving and acts of service could be their primary love language.

They want to make you feel like you're living a luxurious life, defined by whatever "luxury" means to you. They're the kind of person who would buy flowers for you, just because. They'd go for a walk and hold your hand which may feel a bit cliche. with you—simple, sweet moments like that mean a lot to them. If there’s something practical, like bugs in your home that need dealing with, they’d step in and handle it for you without hesitation.

They’re very romantic, both in the classical sense and in a way that's unique to how the two of you define romance. There’s also this cheerleader vibe—they’ll always be in your corner, supporting you and encouraging you.

They’d take time out of their day just to be with you, even if it’s something quick, like grabbing coffee or tea together for five minutes. They’re the kind of person who appreciates those little moments and stitches them into something meaningful.

They’d also plan thoughtful surprises for you. If surprises aren’t your thing, they’d still do spontaneous, kind gestures to show their love. If you asked, “What’s the occasion?” they’d simply say, “Just because” or “Just because I love you.” That’s their energy—always looking for ways to make you feel special.

I get the feeling they want to be your knight in shining armor. Anytime you need them, they’ll be there. You can absolutely count on them, 100%.

PILE 2

I'm getting the sense that your person is the strong, silent type. You may be someone who has either struggled mentally or faced a lot of hardships and difficult events in your life. Because of this, your person’s primary love language is to show up for you and be there, offering unwavering support to help you navigate those challenges.

I feel like quality time and words of affirmation are the love languages they most naturally express. They’ll use these to offer you love and support.

They’re the kind of person who will help you see new perspectives, guiding you out of your head and pushing you to grow into your best self. At the same time, they’ll also be there to comfort you, offering a sense of safety and reassurance. Even when life feels overwhelming, they’ll remind you that you don’t have to face it all alone.

They’re going to help you break free from anything that’s holding you back—be it limiting beliefs, unhealthy habits, or challenging relationships. They’ll stand by you as you work through those obstacles, and they’ll support you in fostering healthier connections with others.

When life feels like it’s falling apart, they’ll be right there, holding your hand every step of the way. They’ll also help you rebuild, piece by piece, until you’re standing on solid ground again.

On top of all that, they’re a deeply loving and nurturing partner. Whatever you need—mentally, emotionally, or physically—they won’t hesitate to provide. They want to see you thrive, and they’ll go out of their way to make that happen.

PILE 3

In comparison to Pile 1, where that person was more outspoken about their love, your person seems to love you deeply in their mind, though they might not express it as openly. They could just be a quieter person, or maybe they're more reserved in how they show their affection.

The sense I’m getting is that you’re your person’s muse—they genuinely want you to be happy. Because of this, I feel like quality time is probably the main way they express their love. However, they might always be on the move and have a lot going on in their life, so when they do make time for you, it’s their way of showing you how much you mean to them.

They try to connect with you emotionally, which leads me to think words of affirmation might also be a love language they lean toward. They’ll offer support and encouragement, letting you know how much you mean to them through their words.

There’s also a subtle, gentle touch to their affection, though they may not be overly physical. They may not be a super touchy-feely person, but they show their care in ways that feel warm and comforting.

They seem like the type to take you on dates where you can either learn something new or experience something beautiful together. I get the sense that they’re very creative, perhaps an artist or someone with a deep appreciation for art, and that creative energy is something they bring into your relationship.

Their passion will likely show more in the experiences you share together rather than grand declarations or intense gestures. They value those shared moments and want to create lasting memories with you.

In terms of love languages, they’ll likely try to be fair and give you a balanced experience. While quality time might be their favorite, they’ll also try to meet you where you are and love you in the ways that resonate most with you. They won’t limit themselves to just one way of expressing love—they’ll try to cater to your preferences.

I also get the feeling that they favor experiences over material gifts. Rather than buying things, they’d rather create meaningful moments with you.

Ultimately, the main thing here is that they just want to spend time with you—quality time is the consistent theme that keeps coming through.

[lemonlover1110]

𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Sukuna

[Chapter 7] Prisoner

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Pairing: Trueform!Sukuna x f!Reader

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Winter comes faster than expected. Within the blink of an eye, snow begins to fall and you’re prohibited from going outside. Now more than ever, you feel trapped. 

You don’t feel any changes in the weather. The moment the temperature gets colder, Sukuna orders for more layers to be placed on you. Though you plead with Hina to let you breathe, all the layers are weighing heavily upon you, she has no option but to listen to Sukuna. Sukuna’s orders trumps all.

To add more to your suffocation, you’re bigger every day. It’s gotten to the point that you can’t see your feet, no matter how much you try. You’re prohibited from doing anything and everything, and you can’t secretly indulge since Sukuna watches your every move. 

Though lately you wake up in the middle of the night and he’s gone. You know what he’s doing, and you can’t find yourself getting upset about it. Sukuna made it clear that your marriage means nothing. To add to it, you don’t feel anything towards him. 

You would’ve sworn that at this point you’d have some sort of feelings towards Sukuna. You’re more sentimental than you’d like to admit… But Sukuna isn’t someone that you can find yourself attached to. On the contrary, you’re getting mad at his mere presence. Maybe it’s because he makes you feel like a prisoner, while he gets to freely live his life.

You wouldn’t dare go against Sukuna’s orders. That is until you’re very well into your pregnancy, and you realize that he wouldn’t dare hurt you. You know that you made a deal months back. You pretty much agreed to be his prisoner in order for him to save your brother’s life. But you’re tired.

You need a break from him just for a few hours. Which is why you wait for him to leave in the middle of the night in order to get up. Luckily, you don’t have to sneak past anyone. Since Sukuna has taken over the task of watching over you, no one bothers with keeping an eye over you. 

You can barely watch your step, but you don’t dare to take a candle because you’ll just give yourself away. You finally get a breath of fresh air before realization kicks in. What are you exactly planning? You can’t go back home to your family, it’ll just end poorly for them. 

You just need a breath of fresh air. You’ll go back inside in a matter of seconds. You need a moment where Sukuna isn’t watching your every movement. You just want to watch the snow fall, like you once did. You want to feel human, even if it’s just for minutes.

“My queen, what are you doing here?” You’re spooked by an all familiar voice. You put your hand over your fast beating heart as you turn to see your servant.

“Hina.” You acknowledge her presence before walking away. She’s assigned to you, but ultimately, she listens to Sukuna. She knows better than anyone that he won’t allow you to be here, which is why you walk away before she can speak up. 

“My queen, you’re not supposed to be out here.” She tells you, and you pretend not to listen as you walk away. You’ve gotten to know the palace like the back of your hand these past months, but it gets slightly difficult to navigate when it’s dark– And you won’t even mention the giant bump that’s grown over the past months. You’re most certainly expecting more than one baby, just as your husband wants.

“King Sukuna is going to be livid if he finds you here.” She reminds you, following behind you. She can’t restrain you, but she’ll remind you that there will be consequences if Sukuna finds out.

“Livid? He’s burying himself inside another woman. He can’t be livid that his wife is taking a short walk.” You answer, and it dawns on her. Something that you’d never admit to yourself. 

“He’s worried about the babies, aren’t you worried about them?” Hina questions and you freeze. How are you supposed to tell her that you’re not? You continue walking, deciding that not answering is the best possible option. 

“Is this because you’re jealous?” She suddenly blurts out and it’s like a switch flips inside of you. You turn around to look at her and you scoff.

“Jealous of what? That a grotesque monster is with some other woman?” You sound offended that she even dared to ask that. “Please don’t ever disrespect me like that again, Hina.”

“A grotesque monster?” You hear the chilling voice behind you, before you’re lifted off the floor by him. You’re not even given a second to defend yourself before he’s carrying you back inside.

“Sukuna! Put me down!” You yell, kicking your feet as he forcefully takes you inside. “Sukuna! Put me down! I’m ordering you to put me down!”

“What makes you think I’d listen to you?” He responds as you continue kicking your feet. You’re yelling at him to put you down on the ground, you can still use your own two feet to walk back to your room. Sukuna finally fulfills your wishes when you reach your room, gently putting you down on the floor. The moment your feet make contact with the floor, he scolds you, “What is it with you and not listening?”

“I just need a breath of fresh air. You always refuse when I ask so I took matters into my own hands.” You cross your arms, an act that is barely visible in the dead of night. Sukuna lights a candle, that way you can see his every expression. He wants you to be scared by a mere look. He wants you to see just how grotesque he truly is. “I feel like a prisoner, Sukuna. I can’t stay locked inside this cage until these babies come out of me.”

“What did you think this was?” Sukuna has a mocking tone of voice, making your blood run cold. It knocks you out of the idealistic world that you live in your head. “You feel like a prisoner because you are one. You traded your liberty for your brother’s life, and now you’re mine.”

You feel tears well up in your eyes, the harsh reality check breaking your heart. Why did you think you would have a say? You can’t even walk outside of your room and take a breath of fresh air until spring. You can’t do anything that Sukuna doesn’t approve of. 

“I just want a breath of fresh air.” Your voice cracks, unable to contain the emotions that flow through you. This is your life now, and it’s hard to accept. You’ve had a couple of months to get used to the idea, but you’ve given yourself a higher position than the one that you actually have.

“And you’re about to cry.” Sukuna scoffs, watching as tears fill your eyes to the brim. His words are the catalyst that leads the salty tears to stream down your face. “Great.”

“Why can’t I just step outside for a minute?” You cry, and he rolls his eyes. “I’m not running away, I just need–”

“Do you think the cold is–” Sukuna interrupts you but he can’t finish his sentence without being cut off by one of your sobs. He sighs, stepping closer to you and wiping your tears with his kimono. He gently pats your back, the way Uraume told him to. “There, there.”

“I can’t do anything without you. I can barely breathe without you breathing down my neck.” You’re a complete mess, and Sukuna scoffs yet again. It should be an honor for you to say those words, yet you sound distraught.

“The cold isn’t good for my heirs.” Sukuna reminds you, something that you should know by now. He’s made it clear since the beginning, and he reminds you every time he reprimands you for asking to go outside. 

“Do you know how hard it is to be locked inside all day every day?” You ask him, and he looks annoyed at the question. Of course he wouldn’t know, but this is for your very own good. “I’m staring at a wall for hours on end, while you breathe down my neck– If not you, then one of your stupid servants.”

“Do you not care for your own sons that you continue to make such stupid points?” Sukuna questions, and a knot forms in your throat. You look away from him, wiping away the tears that manage to escape your eyes. You’ve never said it out loud, but you guess there’s a first time for everything. You’re scared about how he’ll react though.

You take a deep breath.

“I don’t.” You answer. “They’re your sons, not mine.”

“Huh?” It takes a lot to leave Sukuna dumbfounded, and you’ve accomplished it. He’s staring at you as if you’ve managed to cast a spell. “What did you just say?”

“I do not care for your heirs.” You repeat, and Sukuna isn’t sure how to react.

He knows of women that don’t love their offspring, usually they come offering their babies as currency. However, most women that come to him, come with the purpose of saving their children, whether born or unborn. He’s heard that humans tend to love their babies since before they’re even born, and he surely would’ve expected that from you. But that’s not the case.

“Of course, you wouldn’t care for the heirs of such a grotesque monster.” He responds, and you nod in agreement. You can’t even look him in the eye, but you act boldly. Sukuna tries to not get hurt by your response, because in the end it doesn’t matter. “You still have to carry them, and nurture them once they’re born. You can’t get rid of them so easily.”

His hand goes under your chin, tilting your head up and forcing you to look at him,

“Whether you like it or not, you’re still my prisoner.”

[hannieehaee]

Imagine workaholic gf!reader of equally workaholic bf!woozi where they both take a few days leave to enjoy each other and book a luxurious honeymoon suite hotel room thinking they will have a lot of sex with their days off but instead end up with cuddling and lazy make out sessions because their exhaustion just swooshes over them owo

18+ / mdi

content: workaholic!woozi x workaholic!reader, afab reader, heavy mentions of smut, making out, very suggestive, etc.

wc: 1262

a/n: i can really picture jihoon dating a fellow workaholic lol anyways thank u for requesting<3

masterlist

"fuck, finally," you sighed in relief, letting yourself fall backwards onto the cool bed in the luxury hotel room jihoon had reserved.

after endless weeks of equally endless work, you finally had a week off, which jihoon had strategically coordinated with his own time off.

the two of you were extremely hard workers – to a fault. when jihoon bad first met you, he worried that maybe his addiction to constant work would eventually drive you away, yet somehow it had continued to keep you right by his side. you preferred that he was a workaholic, you had once told him. there had apparently been a few prior relationships in which your heavy workload had led to irreparable issues. jihoon being equally as busy as you allowed you to work without feeling guilt of leaving your partner behind – jihoon felt the exact same way.

despite the unspoken agreement the two of you had in regards to the dynamic of your relationship, it sometimes still got to you when you'd realize how little time you were able to spend with your boyfriend – once more, jihoon felt the exact same way.

your individual lives were already difficult to navigate, but making time for each other was even more complicated. your exhaustion was a whole different issue. working as much as the two of you did, it was understandable that you'd spend the lulls in your schedule resting as much as you could rather than with each other. it was a sad truth, but still remained a truth.

it wasn't as if you spent no time together, though. you'd always either see each other in the mornings (either through call or in person – depending on whether jihoon was in the country at the time or not) or at night, always making sure to love on one another as a reminder of the thriving affection in your relationship. you'd also dedicate one night per week to have a stay-at-home date night. everything was perfectly tailored to your relationship, and the two of you were more than happy with it.

these past few weeks had been the issue. as jihoon had a comeback and you had an important project at work, it was virtually impossible for you to see each other as of late. it got to you in all the worst ways, making you moody, irritable, tired, and even sexually frustrated. not only were you physically exhausted of the constant work, but you had been deprived of your daily dosage of jihoon. you had not slept together in weeks, nor had you even had a meal with each other. cuddling? completely out of the question with the insanely packed schedule you'd been having.

it all went like this for the both of you for a few weeks, up until everything managed to reach a standstill. you had a few days off, and jihoon had the ability to move some things around to match your time off. without so much as one word from you, jihoon had decided it was the perfect time to whisk you away on a private getaway at some luxury hotel of your choice.

jihoon wasnt really one to go out much, unbeknownst to you, but jihoon had been feeling extremely pent up from the last moment he got to have you all to himself. the short glimpses of you he managed to catch throughout the busy weeks were the only thing that had kept him going. the singular thought of the next time he'd he'd get to have you was the only thing occupying his mind. renting out a room for the week was the most obvious of choices to jihoon. he would finally get to explore the sheets with you.

upon arriving to the hotel, jihoon chuckled at how pleased you seemed with the place, immediately letting yourself loose on the bed and sighing in contentment. putting down the suitcases, jihoon joined you soon after, still fully clothed as he laid next to you, staring up at the ceiling.

"are you as tired as i am?", you asked him.

he hummed in affirmation, "yeah. what do you wanna do first?"

the unspoken agreement to utilize the week on sex had filled up the room before you had even arrived, so it was obvious what he was referring to.

"i'll take a quick bath first, okay, baby?", you said as you began to get up, stretching your muscles in the process.

"sure, baby. i'll head down to the gym for a bit to unwind then. i'll see you in about an hour, then?"

with a sweet peck, you bid your boyfriend goodbye, giddy to get yourself relaxed and perfumed so your boyfriend could help you destress under the sheets.

~

the bath had been a huge success in terms of getting you relaxed. after an hour lying in the warmest, bubbliest, comfiest water imaginable to man, you felt like a brand new person. accompanied by a lavender-scented bath bomb, a glass of wine and your favorite netflix show playing in the background, you got out of that bath in the best mood you'd been in in weeks.

the one downside was how incredibly relaxed the bath had gotten you. you were so relaxed, you could've fallen victim to endless slumber in that bathtub. as much as you needed jihoon to fuck you to sleep, you weren't sure how well you'd be able to perform if you tried to return the favor.

luckily for you, that would not be an issue.

upon walking back into the room, now donning some comfortable pajamas, you were met with the sight of a fully-asleep jihoon, cocooned between the sheets as he snored softly. the sight had you swooning with affection for the boy. he was the softest, most relaxing thing you had ever seen.

you couldn't help yourself in making your way to him, somehow maneuvering yourself into his arms and under the sheets, feeling more relaxed than ever.

before you could even close your eyes, the boy shuffled behind you, mumbling against your ear as he cuddled further into you.

"baby?", he mumbled.

"sorry, baby. did i wake you?"

"hmm, no you're fine. i meant to stay awake for you, but the bed's just so damn comfy," he chuckled breathily, "i took a quick shower downstairs to prepare for, you know, but fuck, i'm just so tired," he whined.

you turned around in his arms, facing him, breaths almost intertwined due to the proximity.

"that's okay, hoonie. 'm so sleepy. maybe ... we could leave it for tomorrow? just sleep in and then we can have some fun tomorrow?" you suggested, pressing a soft peck to his lips.

his arms tightened around your waist, not allowing you to pull back all the way, "only if you kiss me some more," he murmured, eyes stuck to your lips.

"i can agree to that," you giggled, pressing a languid kiss to his lips as he stuck his tongue in your mouth, softly intertwining with your own in a wet kiss.

the rest of the evening was spent softly making out under the warm sheets, legs tangled up together and fully relaxed in each other's arms. sex was the last thing on your mind as you kissed each other every so often, mostly focused on holding onto one another and finding your slumber together. however, this exhaustion did not stop you from waking up the following day, claiming your highs from one another time after time throughout the day, ready to recharge at night and continue the pattern day after day.

[realcube]

dilf december

day two ⭑ katsuki bakugo ⭑ student's parent x teacher! reader

tw : nsfw minors dni, age gap, oral (giving), mentions of vaginal, praise

it's always difficult when there is a problem child in your class, and for the sake of the other students' learning, you need to get their parents involved.

but it's even more difficult when the aforementioned child's only parent is worse than they are.

school had ended, and you had scheduled a meeting with the parent of a child in your class who has been disrupting and causing trouble. you tried to deal with the situation internally but you've been left with no choice but to call a parents-teacher conference.

it was disheartening to hear the child only had one active parent in their life, but that didn't change the fact their behaviour had to be dealt with. you called their parent and arranged for him to meet you in your classroom at 3.10PM.

it's now 3.30PM and a rugged man with spikey blonde hair and light stubble, wearing a black hero costume comes barging into your room, yelling, "alright, make this quick."

before you can even process what he looks like, he's thrown himself down on the chair that you had positioned across from your desk. you take a moment to look at him, and that's when you realise he's not only extremely hot but also that you recognise this guy has a very well-known pro-hero. king explosion murder dynamight god or something over-the-top like that.

but regardless of his occuption or how famous or how good-looking he is, you must remain professional and treat him like you would any other parent of your student.

"good afternoon, sir. i'm glad you could join me today to discuss your child's academic performance. twenty minutes late, however."

he crosses his arms over his chest and dramatically groans, "i see what the problem is. so, i'm not going to sit here and get lectured about my kid's 'academic performance' from some tween who graduated yesterday."

you blink twice, unfamilar with being met with this much hostility right off the bat. so it takes you a moment to gather yourself before you are able to choke out a response. "my age or experience has nothing to do with this. i'm just trying to help your child succeed in my class."

taking a calm approach seemed to be effective, as bakugo sunk back into his chair. his arms were still crossed over his chest and he still had a sour expression but at least he's listening.

"okay. so if you don't mind me asking, what are things like at home?"

"fine." he replies bluntly.

you nod along, trying to mimic a concerned look, as though you don't already know exactly what the problem is. "alright. it's just that your child has been displaying signs of bad-temper in class and is prone to angry outbursts, and those behaviours usually stem from within the household."

"yeah? well, his mums a whore so that probably doesn't help either." he states plainly, averting eye-contact.

you harshly bite your tongue to prevent you from laughing or even showing the slightest sign of amusement on your face. "oh?" you croak. "so i assume there has been a bit of infidelity."

"a bit." he agrees, staring at you with narrowed eyes.

"and how are you all planning on navigating the situa—"

"look. you're not a god damn therapist so don't try this psychoanalysis bullshit on me. just tell me what you want me to do. make him do extra homework? yell at him? take his games away? what?"

you press your lips together in a line, and stare at him in thought. you clear your thought and reply unsteadily, "i don't.. really know. to me it seems like he is just mimicking behaviours he sees at home and is responding to a high-stress environment. are you the only one who lives with him?"

"yeah. me, him and sometimes my mum babysits." he grumbles.

"well, i think we'd need to address the root of the cause. and i hate to say it, sir, but that would be you."

"of course it fuckin' is." he spits, and you brush this off and continue talking.

"you seem very irate about the situation with your wife an—"

"ex-wife." he corrects.

".. ex-wife. and rightfully so. on top of that, i understand you have a very intense and high-stakes job? all of that stress cannot be good for you; i'd suggest you take steps to address your own worries and that should ease the tension in your house."

"don't be stressed or angry. got it." he replies sardonically.

"just take some extra time to chill out and focus on yourself. plus, i happen to know a very effective relaxation technique, if you're interested?"

he quirks an eyebrow.

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

you pride yourself on being a helpful and engaging teacher. that's part of the reason why you find yourself on your knees, hidden away in the janitor's cupboard, with your student's dad's dick in your mouth.

it's dark, with only a single flickering bulb illuminating the room, and it casts shadows over his chiselled face. making him all the more intimidating to gaze up at, with crystalline tears welling in your eyes from the way his fat cock bruises the back of your throat.

but even then, he has a firm grip on your hair and uses it to maneuver your head to his pleasing, forcing you to take it all repeatedly at a pace of his making. "shit, you're too fuckin' good at that." he groans lowly, sighing through his nose.

his gaze flickers rapidly between staring into distance at looking down at you and watching your every move; how your sweet cheeks puff out to take his girth, or the way your plump lips clasp and pucker around him. but occasionally he'll lose himself in the intoxicating feeling of your warm mouth and find his eyes rolling back in his head and increasingly lewd noises coming from him.

in this instance, he didn't snap back to reality until after he had shot his salty load into your mouth. you close you mouth as he looks down at you expectantly. without a word exchanged, you swallow it and he only chuckles. "what a good girl." he muses, pulling you up to your feet by your hair and admiring your dishevelled state.

when you are at around his level again, he notices a smudge of cum has spilled from the corner of your lip. so he promptly uses his thumb to guide it back inside, admiring you as he does so.

but this is short-lived before he swiftly turns you around by your hips and works at unbuttoning your jeans, "now let me try this tight pussy."

[serpentface]

Come On Man.

(Extensive linguistic notes for this 'balls in my mouth' comic under the cut)

The extensive linguistic notes for this "balls in my mouth" comic:

Brakul's first language is the West Rivers dialect of the broader Highlands language, which is part of the Finnic language family. It first split from the Proto-Finnic spoken north of the Viper about a millennia ago with migrants traveling south overseas, and further split into what are now the two native Finnic language groups in Wardin (the Highlands and North Wardi tongues). The Highlands language is a dialect continuum- most neighboring dialects are mutually intelligible, but people from opposite ends of the language's home region would have troubles communicating clearly (though the continuum is not wide enough for any to be fully incomprehensible).

Brakul knew some very, very basic Wardi from occasional contact with Ephenni traders as a teenager, and would later become fluent in the South Wardi dialect as a second language. Wardi is from a wholly separate language family than the Finnic languages with EXTREMELY distant common ancestry, and very different in form and function. Wardi is in many ways less specified and direct, having a smaller variety of individual words to communicate emotional/sensory states and instead imparting many layers of meaning to the same words in different contexts, which Brakul sometimes finds difficult and irritating to navigate. This is one of a number of reasons he often expresses himself more fully in his mother tongue.

Janeys is a native Wardi speaker (South Wardi dialect), fluent in 'Seaway Burri' (which is a lingua franca of the Mouth sea powers, many people along the coastal cities know it as a second language), and semi-fluent in 'High Burri' (state language of the Burri Republic), and in the present day has a modest comprehension of the West Rivers Highlands dialect. This takes place 4.5 years after he and Brakul met, and he mostly just knows basic utilitarian conversational terms and parts of speech, and has a decent understanding of the grammar and how to conjugate verbs. After 13 years of exposure to Brakul talking at him and occasionally deigning to explain what he's saying, Janeys can Sort Of hold a conversation.

---

NOTES ON THE POST ITSELF:

I = Sí

My= Sig

You= Mí (casual) Mís (formal)

---

Mí vírim is “I love you”.

The unconjugated form of the verb is vírir. The dead literal translation is “to need”, but "mí vírim" translates more accurately as "I love you" than "I need you". It DOES have connotations of need, it expresses love as a sense of wholeness and natural dependency- you say it to express affection towards someone to whom you owe your existence, to a line of ancestors, to your descendants, to the people you create or provide for your descendants with. It says "you are part of my sense of place in this world, you connect me to something greater than myself that sustains me". It will mostly be spoken between immediate kin (parents, children, siblings), husbands and wives, and in practice of venerating your ancestors. This is a gay as fuck thing to say to an unrelated man.

There's at least three other ways to directly say "I love ___" one of which is an affectionate expression of camaraderie, one of which communicates strong aesthetic appreciation, and one that is used in practice specifically to express affection/gratitude towards livestock (though can be used more broadly).

Janeys comprehends the phrase "Mí vírim" as “(I) [UNKNOWN VERB] you” and he's able to discern from Subtle Context Clues that it's something like 'I love you'.

He guesses the unconjugated verb inaccurately as (v)írer, as -Er and -Ur verb endings are more common than -Ir endings, and -Er/-Ir verbs share all the same conjugated forms.

Wardi languages have no ‘v’ sound to begin with, and the ‘v’ here is very soft, between a ‘vuh’ and ‘fuh’. This doesn’t come naturally to Janeys (or most Wardi speakers in general) and comes out as a 'wuh' on first impulse and a hard ‘fuh’ when he tries to replicate it.

This is something he never gets good at and Brakul is grateful that it’s his brother who was named ‘Vrailedh’ (Vrai-lehd-hh)) and not him so he doesn’t have to hear ‘Wrai-lehd’ or ‘Frai-lehd’ all the damn time by his Wardi compatriots. (Many of them don't even get his actual name right, but it's a lesser sin of not rolling the R and under-emphasizing the -ul)

---

"Sí brūlmim fágh filshíbe" is “I am very gullible”. The use here is not particularly cruel and is more just that his first impulse upon realizing Janeys will repeat anything he says right now is to make a "someone wrote gullible on the ceiling" level joke at his expense.

Fágh is a word used to emphasize an adjective and some nouns, functionally close to 'very' but used specifically for non-physical/non-sensory qualities (emotion, personality, etc). You could use fágh in the sentence “I’m so sorry” "he's such an asshole".

Brūlmim is "I am" in present tense. The unconjugated form is brūlmur, meaning 'to be' in a permanent sense, as a matter of nature. Other verbs are used for ‘to be’ in a purely transitory sense (“I am tired”) or describing a prolonged but impermanent state, usually past tense (“I was a stupid teenager”).

Filshíbe straightforwardly means 'gullible'.

The 'h' at the end of fágh is vocalized as an exhale, sounds a little like 'fog-uh' with a VERY soft and breathy 'uh'. The '-e' at the end filshíbe is also exhaled, coming out as a quick, soft 'eh'. Neither of these sounds are natural to a Wardi speaker (especially the breathy 'eh', most -e ending words are pronounced with a strong '-ey').

Janeys is comprehending “I’m (very/so) [UNKNOWN WORD]” here, and his face is being touched so softly so [UNKNOWN WORD] is very compelling and he's learning new things and is kind of in the zone so might as well say it back.

---

"Mísig uns drótes vísti sig bahrég, s'vaige do mi?" means "Your balls in my mouth, please?". What makes the sentence Particularly funny to Brakul here is that it's Excessively polite (using a formal and deferential 'your' and very gracious 'please') and jarringly accompanied with lowbrow slang for testicles. A more tonally accurate english translation would be "Sir, may I please perchance take your fat fucking sack in my mouth?"

Mísig means 'your', but specifically implies deference- it's a word you would use to address an elder or authority figure, or to use while being very, very polite. (Mís is the equivalent deferential 'you').

Uns drótes is one of several slang terms for testicles. This one uses the word 'boulders', and is thus Specifically implying 'big balls'. It's lowbrow and a very mild expletive (in the same degree 'ass' is in English).

Vísti means 'in' or 'inside', as a physical state of something being inside of another thing- you would use it for 'there's a bird in that cage' but not 'there's fear in my heart'.

Bahrég means 'mouth', which is almost always used in the purely anatomical sense. The other word for 'mouth' in the language more commonly refers to the mouths of animals (might be better translated as 'maw') and also gets applied to non-anatomical objects (ie 'the mouth of the cave').

S'vaige do mi means 'thank you' (dead literally 'my gratitude to you', the S in S'vaige is a contracted sig/'my') but is translated here as 'please' for clarity. There isn't actually a word that directly correlates to 'please' in the Highlands language, a polite request is accompanied with a 'thank you' instead (IE: "Could you pass the salt, thank you?"). This is one of two direct ways to say 'thank you' and this is the more intensely polite of the two.

Janeys will have understood this sentence as "(polite 'Your') [UNKNOWN WORD] (in? inside? within?) my [UNKNOWN WORD], please." This one throws him off, but he's pretty sure he's about to be kissed on the mouth for the first time in his life so he's willing to go with it.

[jzprncess]

love language by sza

“help me understand how you speak your love language ”

pairing: Max Verstappen x Y/N reader

part 1/2 next part

word count: 2,823

summary: a girlfriend of a successful f1 driver decides to learn Dutch to better understand her boyfriends world—his culture, his emotions, and the language he speaks—hoping to connect more deeply and navigate the complexities of their high-speed, high-pressure relationship.

note: first time writing a fan fiction so be nice please! i don’t know how to work tumblr to the fullest so if you want to requests anything, message it to me! this will be in two parts! please leave comments so i know im doing something right!!

　　　　　　 ❛ ━━･♡❪ ❁ ❫♡･━━ ❜

Out of all the unexpected turns her life had taken, learning another language was never on Y/N's radar. Yet, here she was, grappling with the complexities of Dutch, staring at her laptop screen during a Zoom call with her tutor, Anne. They had been chatting frequently, especially while Max was off competing in a grueling triple-header race weekend.

Before he left, Y/N had noticed the shadow of frustration in Max's eyes, a rare shift from his usually upbeat demeanor. It wasn’t lost on her—or anyone, really. The weight of the season’s challenges had begun to press down on him, making his once confident posture seem a little more hunched, his usual optimism now clouded by self-doubt. Everyone could see it. With the way the season had started, Max had envisioned triumph. But now, in October, his hopes felt distant. He hadn’t clinched a victory since June, and every reminder of that fact only seemed to add to his frustration. Y/N wished she could lift that burden, even if just for a moment.

In an attempt to brighten his spirits, she decided to do something special for him—a gesture that would help him escape the pressure he was under. The very day he departed, Y/N found herself scouring the internet, searching for someone who could teach her some basic Dutch. Max, ever the romantic, had always whispered sweet phrases in his native tongue—whether it was giving her a compliment or simply wishing her a good morning. And though she often required translations, Y/N thought, Why not learn the language myself? It couldn’t be that difficult, right?

And so, here she was, earnestly trying to master the phrase “I love you, handsome” in Dutch, yet somehow fumbling over the words.

“Y/N, your pronunciation is getting better, but you need to keep practicing,” Anne encouraged from the other side of the screen, her fingers dancing over her keyboard. The rhythmic sound of her typing seemed to fill the space between them, as if punctuating her words with gentle encouragement. “Have you taken my advice and started watching shows in Dutch? Immersing yourself in the language will really help you improve, especially with those tricky pronunciations.”

Y/N leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms, and stared at the screen, her lips pressing together as she tried to hold back the exhaustion creeping in. She had been working hard at this—between the classes, the practice, the late nights watching Dutch shows, and the constant racing schedule with Max, it was all starting to feel like a lot. “Yeah, I’ve been talking to the TV like it’s my best friend,” she said with a small, self-deprecating chuckle, her voice sounding a bit weary. “The characters probably think I’m crazy by now. But, you know, I think I’m making progress? Or at least I hope I am.”

Anne’s eyebrows raised in an encouraging way. “Well, that’s the spirit! The more you immerse yourself, the more natural it will feel. Dutch can be tricky, especially with its sounds, but you’re not giving up, and that’s what matters.”

Y/N exhaled slowly, rubbing her temples. It had been one of those days—between working on the language and managing the quiet space Max left behind when he was away, the weight of it all was starting to wear on her. “I don’t know... I keep stumbling over the same words, Anne. Like, I feel like I’m so close to getting it, but then I hear myself speak Dutch, and it just sounds... off. I’m trying, but it’s hard to know if I’m really improving.”

Anne smiled gently from the screen, as though she understood exactly where Y/N was coming from. “That’s completely normal. Language learning isn’t a straight path. There are ups and downs, but the key is to be patient with yourself. Remember, it’s not about perfection—it’s about progress. You’re already doing so much more than most people would.”

“I guess so.” Y/N’s voice softened, her eyes drifting away for a moment, lost in thought. “I just wish I could see it, you know? Max always speaks so fluently, and when he says something sweet in Dutch, it sounds so effortless. I want to understand it all, to be able to speak with him like that without stumbling or needing translations.”

Anne nodded, her face sympathetic. “I get that. You want to connect with him in the language that’s so familiar to him, and that’s a beautiful thing. But don’t forget, language is just one part of communication. Max will appreciate your effort no matter where you are in your learning. It’s about the intention, the heart behind it. And besides, if you’re working hard at it, he’ll see that.”

Y/N let out a small sigh, leaning forward in her chair and running a hand through her hair. “I just want him to know how much I’m trying. I know it’s hard for him when the season gets tough, and I want to be able to understand him better, not just the words, but how he’s feeling... especially when he gets frustrated. I want to be able to share those moments with him in his language.” She looked back up at Anne, a mixture of fatigue and determination in her eyes. "But it's like I'm still learning a whole new world, Anne. It's a lot to take in."

Anne’s expression softened even more. “Learning a language is like learning a new way to see the world. And you’re doing it for the right reasons. Max will notice that. Even if you don’t think you’re where you want to be yet, he’s going to appreciate your effort, your commitment to him and to his language. And you’re already showing him that you care in ways most people wouldn’t.”

Y/N gave a faint smile, feeling the weight of Anne’s words settle into her. She took another deep breath, her gaze flickering back to the screen. “I hope so. I’m doing this for him, and... for me, too. It’s just hard to see the progress sometimes when you’re so deep in it.”

“Well, keep at it, Y/N,” Anne encouraged again, her voice gentle but firm. “The progress is there, even when you can’t see it. And remember, when Max comes back, you’ll have a whole new way of connecting. That’s something special. Now, how about we wrap up for today, and next time, we focus on a few of those tricky sounds you’ve been stumbling over?”

Y/N nodded, the exhaustion beginning to fade as she felt a renewed sense of determination wash over her. "Yeah, let’s do that. Thanks, Anne. Really."

Anne smiled warmly, her tone softening. “Good night, Y/N. You’re doing great. Keep going, and keep believing in yourself.”

With that, the call ended, leaving Y/N in the quiet of her room. As the screen went dark, she sat still for a moment, letting Anne’s words settle into her. She still had a long way to go with Dutch, but now, she felt a little less weighed down by it all. She stood up from the desk, stretched, and with a deep breath, made her way to the kitchen. There was more to learn, yes, but she could do it. For Max. And for herself

This had become her routine for the past few weeks—immersing herself in a new language while navigating the emotional ups and downs of Max's racing career. Each night flowed into the next, filled with lessons and the hope that her efforts would spark joy in him when he returned. In a way, she couldn’t help but feel that this small adventure might not only help her connect with him in a deeper way but also serve as a reminder that even in tough times, he had someone in his corner—someone ready to support him and learn alongside him.

Time passed, and soon enough, the hectic three-race weekend was behind them.

Y/N wasn’t exactly sure when Max would be home. The unpredictable nature of his F1 schedule made it hard to keep track of his exact arrival time. As the hours stretched on, she decided to make the most of the quiet afternoon. She started by tidying up the house, picking up scattered race memorabilia and smoothing out the couch cushions, which always seemed to get tossed around after a long weekend of travel. The kitchen was next—dishes stacked in the sink, a few crumbs left from breakfast, and the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air. She cleaned with a kind of absent-minded rhythm, her thoughts drifting between the tasks at hand and the excitement of his return.

Not wanting to spend the whole day indoors, Y/N grabbed her coat, slipped into her shoes, and decided to run a few errands to break the monotony. She mentally made a list of things she needed—a trip to the grocery store for fresh produce, perhaps a quick stop at the florist to pick up some flowers for the dining table. The gentle hum of the city as she walked outside felt like a welcome distraction. As she moved through the familiar streets, her mind kept drifting to Max—imagining his arrival later that evening and wondering how he would feel after the intense race weekend. With a small smile, she pushed the thought aside. There were errands to run, and time had a way of slipping by faster when you were busy.

After a while, Y/N decided it was time to head back home, the errands and quiet city stroll leaving her feeling a bit more tired than usual. The exhaustion crept up slowly, settling into her bones in the best way—a peaceful kind of tiredness that made the thought of being home all the more appealing. Once she stepped inside, she kicked off her shoes by the door and shrugged off her jacket, instantly feeling the comfort of her own space wrap around her.

She sank onto the couch, letting the weight of the day melt away, but it wasn’t long before she found herself wanting to do something—something simple and familiar to bring a sense of warmth and routine to the day. The kitchen seemed like the perfect place. She stepped into the kitchen, the warmth of the space a comforting contrast to the quiet of the house. Her mind immediately wandered to dessert—something sweet to fill the silence. Pulling out her phone, she swiped through a few recipe sites, curiosity leading her fingers. After a moment, she typed "Dutch desserts" into the search bar. Her eyes quickly landed on appeltaart, the iconic Dutch apple pie. The thought of the rich, spiced apples wrapped in buttery crust made her stomach rumble. It was exactly what the moment called for.

With a smile, she set the phone down and rolled up her sleeves. The comforting hum of her favorite playlist began to fill the room, chasing away the silence and replacing it with familiar tunes. As the music flowed through the speakers, she started pulling ingredients from the pantry—flour, sugar, butter, and cinnamon. She paused for a moment, letting the soft beat of the song take over as she laid everything out on the counter. The scent of cinnamon already began to stir a feeling of warmth and anticipation.

With a deep breath, she moved into the rhythm of the recipe, the steady motion of measuring, mixing, and prepping grounding her. She could already picture the golden crust and warm, sweet filling that would soon fill the kitchen, and her heart swelled with a sense of simple joy.

As she hummed softly to the tune playing in the background, completely engrossed in the rhythm of her mixing and the warmth of the kitchen, she remained oblivious to Max stepping through the front door, his footsteps barely audible on the hardwood floor. Max paused for a moment, his eyes scanning the room before he crept quietly toward the kitchen, careful not to make a sound. He peeked around the corner, his gaze falling on you as you worked your magic, your movements fluid and focused. A smile tugged at his lips as the sweet scent of apple pie hit him, and he inhaled deeply, savoring the warm, comforting aroma that filled the air.

Max moved silently behind her, his steps light as he closed the distance between them. With a smile, he slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her close against him. He rested his chin on her shoulder for a moment, savoring the warmth of her presence, before pressing a tender kiss to her soft skin. As he inhaled the sweet scent of the kitchen, his lips brushed her shoulder, and he murmured in a low, appreciative voice, "Smells amazing."

The unexpected touch causes her to flinch, a small gasp escaping her as she instinctively tenses, but her body quickly relaxes when she turns to find Max standing there. A soft smile tugs at her lips as she meets his gaze. "I didn't hear you come in," she murmurs, her voice gentle and warm as she leans slightly into his embrace, feeling the comforting weight of his presence. She glances toward the counter, her hands still lightly dusted with flour, and then looks back at him, her eyes sparkling with a mix of affection and pride. "I made apple—" Her words falter for a brief moment, and she pauses, taking a breath before finishing with a playful smile, "Ik heb appeltaart gemaakt." (i made apple pie) She lets the Dutch phrase roll off her tongue with a touch of pride, her eyes lighting up as she anticipates his reaction to the homemade treat and at the sudden Dutch.

Max chuckles, the sound warm and teasing. "Oh, dus je spreekt nu Nederlands?" (Oh, so you speak Dutch now?) His eyes narrow playfully as he takes her in, studying her with a hint of disbelief, almost as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd just heard. It takes a moment for her to process his words, the surprise registering on her face before a grin tugs at her lips. She lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head slightly as she meets his gaze. “Leren voor jou,” she responds with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, her voice light and teasing as she repeats the phrase—"Learning for you."

Max hums contentedly into her skin, his voice soft but filled with affection. "What did I ever do to deserve you?" His words are a gentle murmur, as though he's savoring the moment. She chuckles, the sound warm and light, as she wipes her hands on a nearby towel. Without missing a beat, she spins around, her eyes sparkling, and wraps her arms around him in a tight embrace. "I've missed you," she whispers into his chest, her voice filled with sincerity, as if the distance between them had only made her feelings stronger.

He gently pulls away, his hands lingering at her waist as he looks down at her, his eyes soft with affection. There’s a quiet warmth in his gaze, a tenderness that makes his heart swell with emotion. "I've missed you too," he murmurs, his voice low and sincere, the words wrapped in a quiet vulnerability. He smiles, a soft, almost teasing glint in his eyes as he adds, "Mijntje," (my little one), his tone filled with both love and playfulness. With a tender sigh, he leans down, his face drawing closer to hers. As he lowers himself, he brushes his lips gently against hers, the kiss soft and lingering, a promise of everything he feels for her in that quiet, intimate moment. 

She pulls back just enough to look into his eyes, her breath catching in the space between them. Her heart races, each beat carrying the weight of everything she feels for him. Her hands rest gently on his chest as she searches his gaze, finding warmth, safety, and a quiet promise there. With a soft sigh, she leans in just a little closer, her lips barely brushing his as she whispers, her voice trembling with sincerity, "Ik hou van jou."

The words, though soft, are heavy with all the emotions she can't quite put into words—years of trust, laughter, passion, and quiet moments, all wrapped in those simple yet profound syllables. His breath hitches, and a smile plays on his lips as he leans in, closing the small space between them with a kiss that feels like both a promise and a beginning. There’s a warmth radiating between them, an unspoken yearning that lingers in the air, electrifying yet restrained. The kiss deepens, lingering just a moment longer, igniting a flutter of anticipation in her chest—a taste of what could be. As they pull away, their eyes lock, and in that shared gaze lies a world of possibilities, a silent acknowledgment of the passion that awaits them.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

tag list : @heluvsjappie

[cedarmoonzz]

Hello! I was wondering if I could request a small continuing to your Ford fic? I really enjoyed it and tugged my heart strings. I love you work so much and if your able to do that without any issue, I'd love that!😭💜

yes! i love that six fingered cartoon dilf with every fiber of my being!

once more to see you •｡ꪆৎ ˚

continuation of: between the bars followed by: slow like honey

fandom: gravity falls

ship: ford x reader

content: angst, stanford's poor attempt at comfort lol

summary: when your fiancé’s episodes of paranoia spiral out of control, you come to a difficult realization.

You’ve always seen yourself as someone grounded in logic. Pragmatic to the bone, you’ve relied on reason and science to navigate life, finding comfort in facts and the concrete reality they bring. But lately, that sense of security has started to unravel. 

The cabin was frigid, its icy air wrapping around you like a shroud, seeping into your very bones despite your efforts to ward off the chill. The socks you wore—a secret purchase made without Stanford’s knowledge—offered little warmth, though they  greatly softened the sound of your steps as you quietly drifted from the bedroom to the kitchen, then to the closet, nursing your third cup of coffee that night. Each breath you took was quick, shallow, as if the cold air was stealing it away. As you finally settled at the desolate kitchen table, a wry thought flickered in your mind: could the layers of plywood and fiberglass beneath you truly muffle the frantic beating of your heart, hiding it from your fiancé’s ever-watchful ear? In your own, the rhythm pounded, echoing like a circle of drums, impossibly loud in the oppressive stillness of the cabin.

Stanford’s paranoia didn’t burst into your lives all at once; it crept in quietly, almost imperceptibly, like a shadow growing longer at dusk. It all began when he developed a peculiar fascination with triangles—a simple, geometric shape that, in his hands, took on a life of its own. He transformed the cabin, once a place of warmth and refuge, into a gallery of trigonometric stained glass, each piece more elaborate, more intricate than the last. At first, you found it endearing, even charming, and you laughed it off as just another of his harmless quirks. You told yourself it was just Stanford being Stanford, his brilliant mind forever chasing new ideas.

But as the days turned into weeks, the triangles began to multiply. Their sharp, precise edges cast strange, fragmented light across your home, turning familiar spaces into something alien, almost unrecognizable. You began to notice how the once-welcoming cabin now felt distorted, its atmosphere thick with an unspoken tension. And yet, you didn’t see it for what it was—not at first. You didn’t want to see it. You told yourself it was just the glass, just the way the light hit it, just the way Stanford was channeling his creativity. You ignored the way your stomach twisted with unease, dismissed the creeping dread that settled in your bones.

You shook your head, trying to banish the haunting thoughts that swirled in your mind. There was no time to dwell on what had already happened; what mattered now was moving forward. Rising from your seat, you made your way to the bedroom you and Ford once shared, a space now overshadowed by his office chair, which had become his sanctuary. You reached into the closet, your fingers brushing against the familiar fabric of your thick army jacket. The worn texture offered a rare comfort, a tangible reminder of a time before everything had shifted. As you fumbled through the pockets, your hand closed around a pack of cigarettes—an old habit you had left behind during your second year of graduate school. A fleeting wave of nostalgia washed over you, mingled with regret for the time lost. You slipped the pack back into your pocket and donned the jacket, its sturdy fabric promising some semblance of protection against the biting night winds and the snow that still whirled outside the closed window.

Your gaze then fell upon your boots, left carelessly on the closet floor, caked in mud from past forest excursions with Stanford. You reached down, lifting them with a mixture of sentiment and practicality. With the boots in hand, you carefully descended the stairs, each step deliberate to avoid the creaking floorboards. At the kitchen door, you set the boots down and slipped them on, their familiar weight grounding you in the present. Quietly, you opened the door, the chill of the night air meeting you as you stepped into the darkness, ready to face whatever lay beyond.

You stood on the porch of your home, clad in baggy sweatpants, an oversized coat, and your old brown army boots. The cold night air wrapped around you, but the weight of the familiar clothing offered a small measure of comfort. You instinctively reached into your pocket, a gesture that felt oddly nostalgic, like reconnecting with a part of yourself that had been missing. Pulling out a cigarette, you brought it to your lips, and then you fumbled into your other pocket, searching for a long-abandoned lighter. Your fingers brushed against the cold metal as you hoped to find one still with fluid.

After a moment of fishing, you finally found it. With a deep breath, you shut your eyes, the cigarette resting between your fingers as you brought the lighter to your face. The small flame flickered to life, illuminating your face in the darkness as you lit your former vice. You’d given up smoking years ago, recognizing it as a bad coping mechanism, though it had always managed to calm your nerves better than any of the so-called remedies Stanford had suggested—yoga, green tea, or otherwise. Stanford had never missed an opportunity to chide you about it, yet in moments like these, when the world felt overwhelming and uncertain, the familiar warmth of the smoke provided a fleeting solace, a small rebellion against the chaos of your thoughts.

You couldn’t shake the image of your fiancé from your mind. The one person you had always relied on as your rock, your steadfast partner in all things logical and real, now seemed a stranger. He had become obsessed, shining a flashlight into your eyes, searching for something hidden in the depths of your pupils. Each time that harsh beam flickers across your eyes, it chips away at your sense of reality, leaving you to wonder if his strange behavior is a sign of something far darker lurking beneath the surface. The familiar comfort of the cigarette seemed almost to mock the confusion and dread that now defined your days, as if trying to find stability in a world that had become increasingly alien.

“[Y/n].” Ford’s voice sliced through your reverie, its suddenness filling you with an indescribable anxiety. The feeling was sharp and unsettling, a gnawing presence that you couldn't quite classify as rational or otherwise. It wrapped around you like a cold fog, clouding your thoughts and intensifying the sense of disorientation that had already taken root.

He stood behind you in the doorway, the light from behind casting a soft, almost ethereal glow around him. From this angle, you might have thought he looked perfect, a vision of calm and composure that seemed untouched by the chaos of your shared reality. The gentle halo of light made him appear almost otherworldly, a serene figure caught in a moment of stillness.

Yet, his appearance betrayed a different story. His hair was frantic and messy, a wild tangle of curls that seemed to reflect his inner turmoil. The bags under his eyes had deepened, etched by sleepless nights and relentless stress. Despite the disarray, there was a softness in his gaze, a look of tenderness you had missed with all your heart. It was a fleeting reminder of the warmth and affection that once defined your relationship, now overshadowed by the encroaching distance and disquiet that had come to dominate your lives.

You had tried so damn hard to stay quiet, to remain out of his way. You'd let him overwork himself to the bone if that’s what he wanted, even though it felt like a slow erosion of everything you once knew. You’d had the argument too many times to care by now, the words always seeming to fall on deaf ears. All you wanted was to avoid the inevitable confrontation, to give him space, even as his obsessive behavior grew ever more unsettling. 

"Stanford," was all you said in response, your voice barely more than a whisper. You lifted the cigarette from your lips, the smoke pooling around you like a hazy veil. As you exhaled, you cast a glance up the staircase, the familiar sight offering no answers, only a silent reminder of the space between you both.

“You’ve started smoking again,” he observed, his tone carrying a note of quiet surprise. The statement lingered in the air, the drifting smoke accentuating the distance between you. It was as if the sight of the cigarette in your hand was a reflection of the changes he could no longer ignore.

“Didn’t think you’d notice.”

The cigarette met your lips once more. You took a long drag, the smoke filling your lungs as your eyes remained locked with his. In that moment, it felt as if time itself had frozen, leaving you both suspended in the delicate space between old familiarity and the evolving distance that now defined your relationship.

“Of course I would,” he said, his voice carrying a soft tinge of regret.

You dropped the cigarette into the snow, watching as it hissed and sizzled against the cold ground. With a decisive step, you crushed it underfoot, pressing it into the snow for good measure. The smoldering embers were quickly extinguished, leaving only a faint trace of smoke lingering in the frosty air.

“Sorry,” was all you could manage to utter, the word feeling woefully inadequate in the weight of the moment. It hung between you, a simple apology for the complexities that neither of you could fully address.

“It’s cold. You’ll catch your death out here,” he muttered, his voice laced with a blend of concern and weariness. He stepped aside from the doorway, making way for you with a gentle gesture. The warmth from inside seemed to beckon, a stark contrast to the frigid night air.

You looked into his eyes, and he stared back, the moment stretching between you as if everything else had come to a halt. The world outside faded into a blur as snapshots of your relationship flickered through your mind—moments of laughter, shared dreams, and fleeting happiness. With each memory, you found yourself questioning what had gone wrong, what could have been different, and what measures you might have taken to alter the course of events.

In the midst of that frozen silence, a question slipped from your lips before you could even stop yourself: “Ford, are you still in love with me?” The words hung in the air, unexpected and raw, their weight adding a new layer of complexity to the already tense moment.

His head snapped towards you, eyes widening with a shock that seemed to crystallize in the cold night air. His gaze pierced into yours with a fierce intensity, as if your question had struck a chord deep within him. His eyebrows knit together in a furrow of confusion and apprehension, while his mouth tightened into a thin, resolute line. The change in his demeanor was palpable; his posture straightened as though he were bracing himself for a storm.

With a determined stride, he marched to stand beside you in the snow, the door to the house slamming shut behind him with a resonant thud that echoed through the night. The two of you stood together, the moonlight casting a ghostly glow upon the snow, which reflected a bluish light that danced across the scene. The snow-covered ground sparkled faintly, but the surrounding darkness clung to you both like a shroud.

He stared down at you as you stared at your feet, standing only an arm's length away, the proximity intimate and charged. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The only sound was the soft shushing of dormant branches swaying in the wind, their gentle rustling mingling with the quiet stillness of the night. The cold air wrapped around you both, creating a palpable silence that stretched between you, broken only by the occasional whisper of the wind through the snow-laden trees.

His hand reached out, fingers closing gently around your chin. With a deliberate motion, he angled your gaze upward, drawing your eyes away from the snowy expanse at your feet and into his. The touch was firm yet tender, guiding your focus to the depth of his own eyes. It was just like he used to do moments before he pressed his lips against yours.

Your eyes met his, and in that brief, suspended moment, you saw the glistening, unshed tears pooling in his gaze. They shimmered in pale light of the moon, their potential to fall betraying the fragile veneer of his composure. The raw, unguarded emotion in his eyes was a stark contrast to his usual facade, revealing a depth of sorrow and vulnerability that seemed to unravel the very essence of his being.

“Don’t you ever ask that again,” his voice cracked, the words trembling as they escaped his lips. He leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against yours, the closeness both intimate and overwhelming. In that tender contact, you felt a deep ache, missing his touch more than you had admitted to yourself. The warmth of his skin against yours, the vulnerability that he seldom showed, was a poignant reminder of what you had longed for but also feared.

Your breath caught in your throat, the tightness nearly choking you as emotions surged within, rendering you on the brink of tears. Frustration twisted inside you, mingling with a deep-seated ache as you grappled with having surrendered so effortlessly to the solace of his presence. The warmth of Ford’s touch, so familiar and comforting, had shattered your defenses with an almost unbearable intimacy.

In that raw, exposed moment, you recognized a profound truth: you loved Ford with a depth that went beyond reason. You understood him completely, and you would remain steadfast by his side. Even if it meant losing yourself in the process, he would always draw you in. It was a certainty you could not escape.

[scripts4dreamers]

Crossed Wires

AN: I have been infected with Loves Garrus Vakarian. There is no cure. Have some "interspecies relationships are actually kind of difficult, but not if you're hot" as a treat. Warnings: Mentions of sex, suggestive language, not suitable for underage readers. Spoilers: None

Despite his extensive research, Garrus still felt totally out of his depth with human culture sometimes. Alright, a lot of his research had been focussed on the logistics of human sex rather than culture and, alright maybe he’d spent more time on courting rituals than social structure or history but, still, he was shocked by how little he understood about humans in general. Shepard was the exception. She had always made perfect sense to him. He could tell how she’d slept by the tightness around her eyes. He could predict her movements on the battlefield without conscious thought. He knew what made her laugh, what made her smile, he knew how to touch her in just the right way, so her eyes rolled back in her head and-

Well, suffice it to say she wasn’t the problem. Kaidan Alenko was the problem or, more accurately, the things Garrus didn’t know about Kaidan Alenko were the problem.

It had started innocuously. Kaidan had rejoined the crew of the Normandy and Garrus had celebrated the gang getting back together. There was some tension between him and Shepard, but that was to be expected. They had a history of some sort, after all, and they hadn’t left things on the best terms on Horizon but, to Garrus, that was ancient history. He’d missed Kaidan and having him back made Garrus feel better about their chances.

It also apparently made the female members of the crew feel…things. First, Garrus had heard the girls who manned the scanner swooning over Kaidan’s eyes. Next, a navigator and a one of the store officers had snuck down near the battery to have a lengthy conversation about Major Alenko’s biceps and ass. Three days after that a group of intelligence officers in the lounge spent their lunch break discussing the naughty dreams they had had about Kaidan. And on and on and on and on it went. Everywhere Garrus turned there seemed to be some crewman absolutely frothing at the mouth over Kaidan Alenko. Which was fine. Or, rather, it would have been fine if Garrus had had even the slightest inkling that Kaidan was attractive by human standards.

He knew Shepard was attractive - spirits, he knew - but that was Shepard. What he felt for her was so much more than plain lust, his magnetic fucking inevitable attraction to her was an attraction to her, not human women in general. He loved the taste of her skin, loved the way her hair caught the light, the way her hands looked when they gripped a gun. Other humans were, well, just humans. Garrus had never felt the need to look at them for particularly long. He had always assumed that this meant Shepard was simply the most attractive human currently alive, an opinion he felt very confident in having, but that made the revelation about Kaidan feel even stranger. He had thought he understood humans. Finding out that he didn’t made him feel like he was flying blind and he hated flying blind.

When the gossipers finished their dissection of Kaidan’s apparently godlike features, conversation inevitably turned to him and Shepard, to their relationship, to rumors about their history, to raunchy comments about their babies and their chemistry and a million other things Garrus wished he had never overheard. Their tone would take on this conspiratorial note as they built a version of Kaidan and Shepard in their heads that had never really existed. At that point someone would usually bring up Garrus, and whoever they were talking to would inevitably start wondering about how he and Shepard had sex. They were never cruel about Garrus. Often one of the gossipers would chime in that they understood the appeal, but there was always the underlying question of how. How do they do it? How do they kiss? How do they, how do they, how do they? The message was clear; Kaidan and Shepard made sense. They were the fantasy, the power couple, the human ideal. Garrus and Shepard were an oddity, a curiosity, something almost beyond comprehension.

“How do they fit?” The people seemed to ask.

How indeed, Garrus’ worst thoughts answered.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew what he had with Shepard was special, even if it was still somewhat undefined. He knew she could have anyone she damn well pleased and still she came to him. He knew Kaidan would shoot himself in both feet before ever purposely getting in the way of his two friends’ happiness. He knew the gossip was just that, gossip. It was normal on a ship. It was normal on Palaven, at C-Sec, in every organized institution in the galaxy, but his discomfort wasn’t about that, it was about the fact that he didn’t know. Even more upsettingly, he didn’t know what was acceptable to ask and what wasn’t.

If Shepard was Turian, none of this would be happening. He would know not to ask about Kaidan. Asking a Turian woman about their previous lovers would be seen as challenging her integrity and self worth. It was assumed that if a woman had chosen to be with you it was because she saw you as worthy of her and, more distinctly, more worthy of her than any previous matches had been. Turian women were not prone to “dating down”. Having been around human women, he knew that particular bit of dating culture was not completely transferable.

As he watched Shepard going through the motions of taking care of her hair - something he found inexplicably fascinating - Garrus was forced to acknowledge that part of his discomfort came from him not being a particularly good Turian. By all rights he shouldn’t be letting other people’s opinions of a relationship he wasn’t even sure had happened between two of his closest friends three years ago throw him like this, especially not when the nature of his relationship with Shepard was still so up in the air. It diminished them both. It was juvenile and unproductive and embarrassing and-

“I can hear you spiraling, Garrus,” Shepard interrupted teasingly, catching his eye in her mirror and turning to face him, “credit for your thoughts?”

It never ceased to amaze Garrus how just a few words from her could soothe even his most restless impulses. It was rare that they had the luxury of a full night together, even rarer that they had time to waste the following morning. Most of their relationship (?)/entanglement was spent in stolen moments in between complete chaos. They shot one another knowing glances while defusing bombs, and traded suggestive comments over the cacophony of gunfire. Occasionally she would fall asleep on his shoulder on the shuttle ride back from missions. Sometimes he would hold her hand underneath the table as the team strategized. They weren’t hiding anything, exactly, but there was a time and place. So many crew members had been separated from the people that they lo-cared for-by the war that flaunting that he and Shepard could be by one anothers’ side felt selfish, so they kept it discreet. Or, rather, they tried their best to keep it discreet, until one of their inhibitions snapped and they tumbled into Shepard’s bed with very little care for who saw them coming or going. Life was short, they would remind each other, especially now.

He suddenly felt foolish for stewing in his discomfort. He pushed himself upright and gestured for Shepard to join him on her bed, which she did, resting her back against his carapace and sighing as he wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face in her neck. She smelled like lemongrass, the herbal tea she liked to drink first thing in the mornings, and him. It was subtle but completely unmistakable and he couldn’t help but wonder if she even knew. He knew no human nose would be able to pick it up, but Victus would. Wrex would. Javik would. Surely someone would have pointed out to her the way they lingered on one another’s skin, the invisible olfactory ties that bound them to one another. Or was that his job? Would she mind? It was a little bit thrilling for Garrus to walk around the citadel knowing that every Turian and Krogan he passed knew he was taken by Shepard. Seeing the momentary look of confusion, followed by the flash of realisation filled him with pride, but maybe it wouldn’t be the same for his commander. Humans didn’t really know about the intricacies of scenting, did they?

“Garrus,” she pressed, reaching a hand behind her and running her fingers down the back of his neck in the way that made him shiver, “you still with me?”

He nodded, pressing a kiss to the soft skin beneath her ear before admitting, “Sorry, Shepard. I’m being an idiot, that’s all.”

“So, business as usual then?” She joked, turning slightly so he could see her fond smile, “Come on, don’t leave me out of the fun. What’s up?” She shuffled around so she was facing him properly, hooking her legs over his thighs and giving him an expectant look.

He sighed, “I-it really is stupid.”

“Good thing stupid is a specialty of mine.”

“It’s about Kaidan.” he specified slowly, watching her face for any signs that he may have crossed a line.

If she had a reaction, he didn’t see it, “Yeah? Is everything alright?”

“Oh yeah, everything’s fine,” he assured her, “I love Kaidan. It’s just-” he paused, weighing up his words before settling on, “did you know he was attractive? Back when all this started, on the Normandy 1, when you guys had your-” he gestured vaguely, “whatever you had, did you know?”

Shepard looked briefly stunned, before she broke into peals of laughter. It wasn’t a mocking sound, she seemed genuinely delighted by the question, and Garrus felt some of the tension in his body start to leech away. She rested her head against his chest as she laughed and he could feel the sound vibrating through his plates, filling him with a sense of belonging.

“Of course I knew,” she eventually said, when she had finished laughing, “I have eyes, don’t I?”

“See, but I didn’t know!” He countered, “I have eyes.”

“Yes, but you have Turian eyes,” she pointed out, running her hands along his upper arms comfortingly, “you didn’t know I was attractive for most of the time we knew each other and, even after you’d figured it out you weren’t really sure why. Honestly, I would be a little offended if you’d noticed Kaidan’s looks before you noticed mine.”

“I knew you were attractive,” he argued weakly.

She raised her eyebrows, “Garrus, you said my waist looked supportive.”

“It does look supportive!”

“I know,” she laughed again, “but my point is, it’s not weird that you didn’t immediately know that Kaidan was hot. Humans are different from Turians, we see different things when we look at one another.”

“That’s my point,” Garrus continued, “I feel stupid for not knowing. I thought I understood this whole Human-Turian interspecies thing, but now all of a sudden Kaidan Alenko is the most attractive man anyone’s ever seen and it’s like I’m back at zero.”

The look Shepard gave him was painfully knowing and Garrus was faced, once again, with how well she understood him, how effortlessly she had always been able to cut through his crap and get straight to the heart of how he was feeling. It made him feel vulnerable and exposed, but in a good way, in a way he had never thought to experience before they met.

“Are you…” she started, taking a breath to consider her words before continuing, “Garrus, are you feeling insecure?”

If he could have blushed, he would have.

“I-maybe.” He admitted, “I don’t know. I just-if you were Turian, I would know where we stood. There are rules to these things, you know? There are things you do and things you don’t do, things both people know without needing to say it. It’s simple.”

“And we’re not simple.” she finished, sounding just the slightest bit sad.

“No, no that’s not what I meant,” he quickly replied, giving her waist a gentle squeeze, “I’m sorry, that came out wrong.”

“I can’t help that I’m not Turian, Garrus,” she said, definitely sad now.

“Shep-” he started, wishing he had his sister’s gift for always saying the right thing, “What I’m trying to get at is that I thought I knew the rules, but learning that I missed something as simple as Kaidan being attractive…” he sighed, “it makes me worry that there are other things I’ve missed. That’s all.”

She thought for a moment, “Things about me and Kaidan, or things about humans in general?”

“Both,” he replied, relieved that he seemed to have redeemed himself from the Turian comment, “things about us, mostly.”

“Alright,” she said, giving him a smile, “then ask.”

He grumbled something unintelligible and pulled her close, burying his head in her neck again and breathing in her comforting smell.

“I don’t know what I’m allowed to ask,” he admitted, “the rules-”

“Since when does the Garrus Vakarian care about following rules?” Shepard replied, gently detangling their bodies and forcing him to meet her eyes.

“I want to do this right, Shepard.” he said, his voice small and vulnerable, “Some things are too important to mess around with. You are one of those things.”

Shepard’s face softened and she reached up to cup his mandible, ghosting her thumb across the mangled scar that covered so much of the right side of his face. He nuzzled her hand, sighing with pleasure at the familiar touch. He was surprised by how frayed he felt. It seemed that the war was taking its toll.

“Okay, how about this,” Shepard started, “no rules. We get to ask whatever we want, whenever we want to. Nothing’s off limits, that sound good?”

He nodded, “Sounds good, commander.”

She rolled her eyes fondly, “So, what do you want to know, soldier?”

His heart fluttered in his chest, but he tried not to let it show, “You and Kaidan. We’ve never really talked about what happened there.”

“Nothing really happened,” She shrugged, trying to look nonchalant but failing to completely cover up the brief flash of hurt the admission brought on, “there was a second where it seemed like something might happen, but then the second passed. He was-he is someone who I care a lot about and whose opinion matters to me, maybe more than it should, but in terms of having any sort of relationship, no it never happened.”

“Alright,” Garrus replied, “and you’re totally sure he was attractive the whole time?”

Shepard laughed, “Yes, Garrus. He’s no you, but Kaidan was indeed attractive the whole time.”

“Ohhh, so I’m more attractive than Kaidan, that’s good to know,” he teased.

“Damn right you are,” she teased back.

He chuckled and the tension shattered, leaving only comfortable closeness in its wake. It was embarrassing to admit that he was a little relieved to hear that the rumors about Kaidan and Shepard were overblown. He had never claimed to be a mature, well adjusted adult. When it came to Shepard he was greedy. He was selfish. He wanted all of her. He wanted to be the only man she was thinking about, the only one who got to touch her, kiss her, hold her. He wanted to know that she yearned for him like he yearned for her. He wanted to be completely owned, and to own completely, not that he would ever admit that. He was at least smart enough to know that telling the woman he was sleeping with that she had completely ruined him for other women, that he thought he was probably going to spend the rest of his life following her into hell and that he was hers for as long as she would have him would probably scare her off. There would be time for that, he promised himself. Years and years and years worth. They just had to make it through this war first.

“Do you ever actually wish I was Turian?” Shepard asked, avoiding meeting his gaze in favor of watching her own hands as they traced the plating of his collar bone.

Garrus felt a flicker of protectiveness in his chest, and a wash of guilt. She always seemed to be secure, so infalible, so completely sure of herself that it had honestly never occurred to him that she might have worries of her own.

“Shepard-”

“I can’t eat your food. If our translators broke I would be physically incapable of ever speaking your language. I have to take antihistamines whenever we make out. I am literally the physical opposite of everything you should find attractive. I-”

“That particular knife cuts both ways, Shepard,” he pointed out gently, covering her hand with his.

She gave him a rueful smile, “Yes, but I know how I feel, Garrus. You’re the unknown quantity here.”

That almost made him laugh. He would have laughed, actually, if it wasn’t so obvious that she was serious. His commander. His commander. How could she ever-? Wasn’t it clear? Garrus Vakarian was built for devotion and somewhere along the way he had decided that she was who he was devoted to. Everyone in the galaxy knew that. Apparently, everyone but Shepard herself.

He took her hands in his, bringing them up to his mouth plate and pressing kisses to the tips of each of her fingers. This kind of tenderness was still new to him. Before Shepard his love life had been mostly casual, usually short lived and always brutal. He and his partners would tear at one another. Every kiss and touch was a battle for territory. They had sex like they were chasing one another’s attrition.

With Shepard…

“When you died,” he started, forcing down the rush of grief that remembering that time always brought up, “I tried to move on, like everyone else did. I went back to C-Sec, I started up the job again, I did the grief counseling, I called my family twice a week.” he shook his head, “None of it worked. It felt like I was sleepwalking, just going through the motions, day by day, waiting for you to walk through the door and tell me it was all some kind of big joke.”

“Garrus-”

“I lost everything when I lost you,” he continued, his voice shaking, “everything and, when you found me on Omega, I swore to myself that I would never let you slip through my fingers again. So, no, I don’t ever really wish you were Turian, Shepard. I don’t care that you have a larynx instead of a syrinx, or that we can’t share food. I wouldn’t care if you got transformed into a Hanar. So long as you’re still breathing, so long as I still get to live in a galaxy with you in it, I’m happy.”

“Even if-”

“Even then,” he interrupted.

She scoffed and gave him an incredulous, if slightly pleased, look, “You didn’t hear what I was going to say.”

“It doesn’t matter. Do you ever wish I was human?”

She shook her head, “Never.”

“Then that’s what matters.” he assured her, pulling her up onto his lap so she was straddling him, “Well, that and you finding me more attractive than Kaidan, of course.”

She chuckled and leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his. Shepard kissed him like she always did; slowly, with unhurried focus, like she was savoring every second of contact, like they had all the time in the universe and there was nothing else she would ever want to do.

It drove him mad.

Months ago, when he’d first kissed her, he couldn’t stand it. Kissing had always been secondary at best to Garrus, something that previewed the main attraction but could easily be skipped if one was short on time. It felt cruel, torturous, arrogant even, to move so slowly when every nerve in his body was urging him forward. He chased brutality. He chased force. He wanted passion that burned like a bushfire. He wanted heat and pain. He wanted a moment of connection, a peak of white hot desire followed immediately by that release of tension. Like with everything else in his life, Shepard had changed that. Being with her meant that desire never really burned out. It was always simmering just beneath the surface, ready to be stoked into a blaze at the slightest touch. She moved like magma. She never followed the path of least resistance but still destroyed everything in her wake. She was intentional about every touch, every sigh, every roll of her body against his. She forced him to be present, to be with her in the moment, to feel everything with a bright new intensity. It was agony, but it was the sweetest agony he had ever experienced.

Now he took every chance he could to kiss her and, as he felt the familiar scrape of her nails against his neck sending shocks of pleasure through his chest and directly into his lower stomach, he couldn’t help but reflect on how goddamn lucky he was. He was a screw up, a failed C-Sec agent, a failed vigilante with a fucked up face, but he had this woman, this incomparable woman, so who the fuck cared?

“You smell like me,” he said breathlessly as he broke the kiss and moved his mouth down the column of her throat.

He let his fangs scrape against her jugular just enough to make her groan and roll her hips against him and he felt himself hardening beneath his plates.

“What?” she asked with a shaky, strung out laugh.

“You. Smell. Like. Me.” he repeated, punctuating each word with a kiss placed along her collarbone, “Pheromone transfer. It’s all over you. I thought you should know.” He bit down on the skin of her shoulder, holding her still as he bucked his hips up into her and sighed at the delicious friction.

She moaned something that was half ‘god’ and half ‘Garrus’ as he dragged the thin strap of her tank top off her shoulder with his teeth. Spirits, he was grateful for how much she loved his teeth.

“O-okay,” she replied between whimpers, “does-is that a bad thing?”

He shook his head, sliding his hands beneath her shirt and pressing the curve of his talons into the soft skin beside her hip bones.

“I love it,” he admitted, “it drives me crazy. It does mean every person with an even half decent sense of smell knows we’re fucking though.”

She laughed, rolling her hips into his again, “Do you smell like me?”

He growled against her throat, “Oh yeah. That makes me crazy too.”

“So, everytime we go to Tuchanka, or pass some Turian C-Sec officer-” she replied breathlessly.

“Mmhmm,” he agreed.

“And the primarch?”

“Definitely,” he groaned.

Garrus felt the exact moment that her resolve shattered. She grabbed his face with a whimper, pulling him up and kissing him hard. She was still intentional, still magnetic and inevitable but now he could taste her need, could feel her body screaming for him, finally reaching the end of her enviable patience.

Spirits, he loved when she was like this.

He loved her when she was like this.

He loved-

“Commander, Admiral Hackett is on the comm system for you.”

He was going to smash that damn AI.

[coco-loco-nut]

loml

pairing: max verstappen x reader

summary: a journey through your relationship with max

a/n: so for a little background... my ex (he wasn't an F1 fan, it was never gonna work, let's be real) broke up with me the night before this album was released, so writing this series has been very healing; however, this one was extremely difficult to write bc it's the only song i can't analytically listen to and find the deeper meanings yet, especially after losing your first love. sorry for the rant and making this short🙃

tw: emotional abuse, manipulation

masterlist ttpd masterlist part two

________

You and Max were fan favorites, it was evident to anyone with eyes who had eyes. But they say you never know what happens behind closed doors.

“She’s the love of my life,” Max would always say about you, looking at you like you held the universe in the palm of your hand. His fans could recite your love story by heart from how much he loved to talk about you. It only made sense that he could shatter that public opinion.

“Y/n and I have divorced, I would like to ask for privacy as we navigate the changes,” Max posted one day, his socials wiped of everything. Your accounts remained the same, your last post being from the fateful race months ago. You haven’t posted since. The fans should’ve realized when the WAGs and George unfollowed Max.

Your apartment was full of things that reminded you of Max, every time you walked in it reminded you of every memory. He was embroidered in everything. You look at a printed photo of when you first met him. Despite it being six months later, you couldn’t get rid of him.

~~~

All it took was locking eyes with him across the pier for you to fall in love on that breezy summer day. He walked up to you and asked you to join him, and you did. You kissed him at the top of the ferris wheel later that night, and you didn’t even know he was famous all you knew was that he made you feel safe. The breeze reminded you of the warm ocean breeze from that day, one you called the winds of fate.

Despite being young, you married him after a year of being together. Things weren’t perfect even then, he could be incredibly mean, but he was also a standup guy when it mattered. That erased any wrongdoing of his.

“You have made me a better man, you reformed me, the love of my life,” Max had said that fall evening, repeating the one line that brought you back to him every time.

You believed his words, his lies spun to make you believe the hell you were living in was actually heaven. When he takes his anger out at you, doesn’t defend you against his father, you start to second guess him but he calls you those four words.

“I’ll never leave you, Schatje,” Max holds you in his arms, your back against his chest as you both look at a tv in the Paddock. The fans loved that photo, calling your love legendary. They didn’t know about the growing hole in your heart.

Your marriage was looking like one of those black and white movies you and Max watch on snowy winter afternoons. You and Max had been talking about starting a family, but you couldn’t get pregnant and you were watching everything you loved slip away.

“God, Max, you are like a con-man. I feel like I’ve been sold a get-love-quick scheme. What happened to you?” you ask, voice laced with hurt, during an argument about it. Max just ignored you, pushing past to stream with some friend. He ignored the sobs coming from your bedroom. He told the chat that you are the love of his life when asked about you.

“Y/n, we need to talk,” some of the WAGs pulled you aside during a race. They told you how Max was shit talking you to other drivers, saying you were a waste of a wife for your inability to get pregnant, saying he should’ve never married you, pointing out every flaw he told you was beautiful when he was lying to your face. You stand up and leave, not saying a word even when the girls try to stop you. Max is confused but simply responds to your text saying you were sick with an okay.

You are laying in your bed sobbing when Max gets back from the race. You face the terrace, where you and Max would dance under the stars. You can see the ghosts of it through your tears, and you wished you could un-recall when you thought you had everything.

“Please get out of bed,” Max says, his concerned tone laced with venom. Maybe the ghosts of your relationship are embarrassed by the scene on the other side of the glass.

“No,” you cry, mourning the loss of your counterfeit relationship.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” Max sighs leaving the room. You sent a text to the WAG group chat who helped you remove all your belongings from Max’s apartment into George’s apartment that he wasn’t using at the moment.

Your phone is flooded with messages from Max, so you turn it off unless you are talking to your lawyer. Max finds a divorce petition and your apartment key on the dining room table when he comes home from training a few days later. The relationship that had such a valiant roar ended with the blandest goodbye.

You sit in George’s apartment with Carmen and Lily drinking wine. You took over George’s lease after they insisted that you did.

“For someone who claims to be a lion, he sure is a manipulative coward,” Carmen says as the three of you comb through the years of lies he spun.

You took the dreams that you thought you and Max wanted and lit the match to destroy them with your divorce papers. Despite your somber eyes, you seem more at peace, even with the sadness you will carry with you until you die.

“He’s the loss of my life.”

part two

[rafeandonlyrafe]

obsessive love

words: 2.1k

warnings: 18+ only!!!, smut!!!, MURDER!!!, SERIAL KILLER!RAFE, PSYCHO!RAFE but sweet with reader, best friends to lover, DESCRIPTIONS OF BLOOD AND STABBING, physical violence, psycho!reader as well!, romanticization/sexualization of murder?, mentions of stalking (in the past), road head, blowjob, p in v sex, semi public sex, rafe beating up your dates tehe, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT (advisement to take caution and heed warnings! ty)

rafe is only half paying attention as the movie plays out on the screen. he’s far more focused on the way you’re tucked into him, squealing every time a jumpscare happens and ducking your head into his chest with a wide smile on your face.

it’s not unusual for you to get touchy with him, to cuddle in bed after a day together or hold hands when in a crowd. but lately rafe has found it difficult to not take things further. he has loved you since first grade. not had a crush on like some people like to say. no, rafe only knows deep, obsessive love for you.

it’s why you barely dated anyone high school, rafe was always there to beat your date up and make sure they didn’t reveal it was him. afterall, you’re his best friend. he just wants you to be happy. happy and with him. no one else deserves you, or can protect you the way he can, go to the extreme lengths rafe will.

rafe realized he was in deep shit when he was stalking one of your dates that he wasn’t able to get to. he dropped you off on your front porch and had the audacity to kiss you. rafe exploded the second you were inside. you found your date a bleeding and bruised pulp still on your doorstep the next morning.

“its not even that scary.” rafe chuckles, teasing you as you grip onto his forearm.

“yes it is!” you love getting scared. it’s what you often say is your worst feature. you may scream your head off at horror movies, but you’ll still drag rafe along to haunted houses come halloween and stay up late binging your favorite thrillers with a smile on your face despite the chills down your spine.

rafe forces himself to pay attention to the last couple minutes of the movie. its entertaining enough to distract him from wanting to pull you closer to him, to never let you go, to always keep you by his side where you're safe and happy.

an idea forms in rafes head as he watches the two characters finally kill the serial killer that had murdered all of their friends and tried to go after them. he watches the way they embrace, relief on their faces as they kiss, bonded together forever from the shared trauma.

rafe smiles as you ask him if he’s up for another movie, purposely navigating you to one involving an in love couple and people getting mysteriously murdered in their small town. rafe knows what he’s going to do to keep you close, to play into your fear and need for him.

--

“holy shit!” you grab the remote, unmuting the tv. you would apologize for using the language in front of wheezie, but she has just a bad of mouth as you do, and very little supervision now that ward is dead and rose fled with what little money she had left.

you both watch the news report on the edge of your seat, the anchor giving details on the recent murder in kildare. it’s a boy you went to school with, but haven’t spoken to since graduation. when the anchor begins to go over details of the murder, you click the tv off.

“hey!” wheezie argues, scrunching her brow as she looks at you, but you just shake your head. “you don’t need to be watching that kind of stuff, wheeze.”

you stand up to find rafe, eyes glancing around nervously, as if whoever murdered the boy could be lurking inside tanneyhill. you don’t realize that the murderer is just the man you want to see.

“rafe, oh my god!” you cry out when you round the corner to find him walking down the hallway. you fling your arms around his shoulders. he’s shocked for only a second before pulling you in, holding you by your waist as the words spill from your mouth, recounting the news to him.

“oh, that’s terrible.” he frowns, hand gliding up and down your back. “you better stay the night tonight, yeah?” he offers. it’s hours away from dark, but you certainly don’t want to venture home after hearing the news.

“yeah, if you don’t mind.” you feel your cheeks blush slightly, knowing you’ll end up sharing a bed with rafe as always.

“i never mind.” he smiles at you.

--

you wrap your arms around yourself as you watch the news report. the third murder in just under a month just took place last night. you lean against rafe, who presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“i can’t believe we knew all three people killed.” they weren’t particular gruesome deaths, most just a couple stabs with a sharp knife and leaving them to bleed out, there was no passion in the murder itself, no torturing or postmortem injuries.

“i know, it’s scary.” rafe is glad you can’t see the smile on his face. you already spent most nights anyways, but now you’re over more and more, only feeling safe when you have rafes arms around you. it makes it a little hard for him to slip away, but he finds the time.

“and not the fun kind of scary.” you pout. “although…” you trail off, almost like you didn’t mean to say it.

“although what?” rafe questions. 

you sit up a little straighter, wiping your hands on your pants. “it’s a little exciting, isn’t it?” you admit. “that makes me sick, doesn’t it?”

rafe shakes his head, pulling away slightly to see your big innocent eyes blinking up at him as you continue to explain. “obviously it’s terrible these people are dead but… god, it’s exhilarating!” your words switch to rambling as you finally get your feelings out. “like the thrill of knowing there’s someone out there killing people, it just makes me feel so alive! as long as i don’t get killed or anyone close to me-”

“i won’t kill you.” rafe says the words to stop your rambling, not even realizing his slip up. “i won’t let you get killed.” he quickly corrects himself.

“i know.” you look rafe up and down. he can tell when your face shifts into one of sheer concentration, mind slowly piecing the puzzle together. rafe needs to do something now before it all comes together.

he could scream or yell for wheezie or… rafe leans in and presses his lips against yours, mouths molding together. you hesitate for a moment before kissing back, much to rafes relief.

“i won’t let you get killed because i love you.” rafe says, hand cupping your jaw to bring you in for another kiss.

“oh, rafe.” you coo, smooching all across his face before landing on his lips again. “i love you too!”

--

it’s harder now that you’re moved in. you went from spending most nights in rafes bed to making tanneyhill your home as well, cuddling and kissing every night until you’re off to sleep.

he doesn’t need to kill as much now anyways, besides he’s got most of the boys from high school who looked at you a little too hard in your shorts for gym class, or said lude things about you when you weren’t around.

you’re well and truly his, but rafe can’t help himself. he loves the way you hide in his arms when a murder happens, how you kiss him deeply and tell him you love him so much, how you’re so glad that something good came out of something terrible and that you’re together now.

rafe waits until you’re fast asleep before slipping his arm out from under you. he grabs the knife from the back of his closet before heading out. he just needs someone. to stab and maim someone. it’s been months since the serial killers last appearance, and people are starting to relax again, including you, even asking if rafe minded if you went out with your girlfriends without him.

rafe does what he needs to do. he doesn’t enjoy the act itself, but he doesn’t dislike the feeling after either. he walks back into the house, knife bloody but wiped off on the victims own clothes as to not drip all over the house as he sneaks in.

his footsteps pause when he sees you standing there, robe wrapped around your shoulders. he knows you see it. he knows you know everything.

“baby, please don’t leave me i-”

“can i come with you next time?” 

“what?” your question shocks rafe, his voice raising before glancing up the stairs to make sure he didn’t wake wheezie.

“next time you kill someone. will you take me with you?” you ask, glancing at the knife, hating the rush you feel over your whole body when seeing it. it’s the last confirmation you needed for what you have been suspecting.

“i-baby, i don’t need to kill anymore. i’ll stop, it was just-”

“no.” you shake your head. “rafe, i don’t care. you can keep doing it. it’s… exciting.” you’re not ashamed this time when admitting it. you used to be worried about the murders but now you know there’s truly no need. rafe would never hurt you.

“okay.” he swallows, stepping closer, glad that you don’t turn away as you accept a kiss pressed to your lips. “okay, i’ll bring you next time.”

--

“shit, that was exciting!” you squeal, smiling as you turn to rafe. “seeing the life drain out of his eyes? and god, you were so hot when you stabbed him!”

“baby, you sound crazy.” rafe chuckles, easily gliding the car around the turns of the backroads, heading back towards home.

“rafe, you are a literal serial killer, i don’t think you should lecture me on sounding crazy.” you giggle, not even tired despite the late hour from all the adrenaline. “and god, you looked so hot stabbing that guy.”

you reach over and run your fingers down his forearm, remembering the way his muscles bulged and stretch when swinging the knife. your hand moves from rubbing his arm to his thigh, only pretending that your movements are innocent for a minute before you slide your hand up to his crotch, rubbing at his length, feeling it harden in his pants.

“baby-” rafe groans, eyes flicking between you, your hand, and the road in front of him illuminated by his headlights.

“just keep driving, it's okay.” you unbuckle so you can lean across the center console, lips pressing against his neck, tongue darting out to taste his skin.

you tug at the front of his sweatpants, rafe lifting his hips to assist you as the car engine roars. you grip his cock, teeth running over his jaw teasingly, never biting down as you stroke him eagerly, wanting to thank him for continuing his killing spree, for starting it for you and allowing you to take part.

“let me suck you off.” you gather your hair to one side, fucking your head until you're bent sideways. you hold rafes cock with one hand at his base while your lips sink down around the head, moaning at the familiar taste on your lips.

“fuck.” rafe swerves slightly, glad there's no one else on the road as you suck and lick at him, not caring that you're dripping spit down your chin from your movements.

“lemme pull over baby.” rafe says. he knows how much you like the excitement, the rare possibility someone could drive by, but he needs you hop0ing on his dick.

“fiiiine.” you say dramatically, going right back to sucking him off until rafe pulls on a dirt road. you work your shorts and panties off so the second the car is shifted into park, you swing your legs over to straddle rafe.

“shit, you're so wet.” rafe groans as you rub his cock through your folds.

“i told you.” you smirk at rafe. “you looked so hot killing that guy.”

you sink down before rafe can reply. 

the murders shift from rafe doing them in secret to make you rely on him, to force you closer, to something you do together, you often doing the planning while rafe finishes the task with violence.

you barely get back to the car before you jump on him, needing to feel his fingertips digging into your hips while he fucks ever, even if there are still specks of blood on him.

you know you won't get caught. no one would expect the former troubled teen turned happily domesticated man, raising his little sister after his father's death with his faithful girlfriend, to be the one behind the violence.

you see no reason to stop as rafe wipes his knife clean for what feels like the hundredth time.

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[doctorho]

Constellations

hiii guys!! i got this ask about the idea of Viktor with a reader who has some visible moles and Viktor gets...curious. About the possibility of there being more of them. so then i wrote this. 2k(ish) words, gender neutral reader, no warnings. alcohol mentioned but only in like a "there's a party and viktor has a cocktail" type of way, no heavy drinking involved. i like writing the fancy academy parties, what can i say. here you go!!

Viktor is nothing if not curious. And – well. Observant. It comes with the territory of navigating life in Piltover as a Zaunite, and doubly so as a disabled Zaunite that was now a semi-public figure deeply involved in the businesses and inner workings of Piltover. 

Being observant was useful, both when working on uncovering the still-veiled mysteries of the universe and when keeping track of social exchanges at formal events. It was as much a carefully wielded tool as it was a well-honed survival skill, developed over the years as someone on the sidelines. 

And being curious – well. That was just a deep-rooted facet of Viktor's existence. The day he'd stop wanting to look at the world just a bit more closely, to understand it a bit more deeply, to turn over one more problem, that would be the day that he'd stop breathing. That was just how he was. 

It's what landed him a place at the Academy in the first place, and it's what kept him going. 

It's also what's landed him in the current mess that he was in. 

(It was, truth be told, what landed him in most of the messes he found himself in. Well, that, or his rather exploratory problem solving habits, but what was a little trial and error without some error? Besides, if you were going to fail at something, it was best to fail fast and hard, as efficiently as possible, for the best results). 

This, however? This was different. This was a mess he hadn't anticipated. 

See, he's - he's at the lab most days. He doesn’t exactly seek out social gatherings, unless presented with a very intriguing premise. He's not anti-social, per se, but he simply stays out of other people's business when he can, he focuses on his work, and that's that. But then – then. 

Then you off-handedly mention that even though most of the people of Piltover seemed to think of moles and freckles as flaws, as imperfections, you were trying to think of yours as the unique markings that they were, but it was difficult to ignore the external pressure to always be on the lookout for another flaw to feel self-conscious over. And then you're turning your arm in the air slowly, examining in the late afternoon light in front of the window at the lab, and Viktor's noticed the moles scattered over your skin before, of course, he's noticed them the same way he's noticed the swirls of ice crystals forming in the windows and the specs of dust glittering in a sunbeam on the floor – the moles are exactly what you say they are, he thinks, unique markings, something that made a person more interesting to look at. And he'd known that the people of Piltover had some...questionable opinions on beauty standards, on imperfections, but… 

Viktor didn't agree with them. 

“Would you consider the stars in the night sky as imperfections?” he asks, lowering the soldering iron he'd been holding, scraping down excess solder residue onto the pad under the heating station, and slowly turning to look at you with a carefully raised eyebrow when you don't immediately respond. 

“That's not really the same thing, is it.” You answer eventually, leaning back on your chair. 

“Isn't it?” 

“I don't illuminate anything, for one.”

“Details,” he counters, with a wave of his hand, then reaches into one of the drawers on his desk to retrieve pliers. “Besides, the sky is often pictured with inverted colors for convenience. With the stars as dark dots.”  

“Really?”

He hums in answer, leaning back over his project, holding his newly formed connection up to his eye level, inspecting it. 

“Huh,” you answer, lifting your arm over to the fading sunlight again. “Yeah, you could probably make a few constellations out of these.” 

And Viktor makes the mistake of looking over, because – while he truly had meant his analogy innocently, as just a supporting honest notion, the golden sunlight is hitting you now and that makes you as luminous as any collection of stars, and he has to force himself to look away before he gets caught staring. He exhales slowly and turns over the piece he was working on, for no particular reason – he already knew the connections were perfect – “Yes,” he agrees, “you probably could.”

He would have no professional explanation for staring, so he turns over the part he was holding one more time. 

This does not mean he won't steal a glance at opportune moments, when you're too busy to notice. Because he is intrigued now, and it's bad enough that he already thought you were beautiful, and worse than that, interesting to look at, and really, that was it. He was doomed. Done for. Utterly, irrevocably hooked, and what else was he supposed to do? Not be curious about this new aspect presented to him? Yeah, not likely. If he'd do that, he wouldn't be Viktor. 

He knew he'd wanted to get closer to you before, to touch you, he'd just…ignored it for convenience, shelved it under figure out later - too complicated for now.

The feeling seemed to have grown in hibernation. 

The metaphor stays in his mind, whirring in the background as he tries to go on with his day. But he keeps noticing it, noticing you, getting stuck watching the little specks on your skin disappear up your sleeves and into the collar of your overshirt, and he is itching to know what kind of constellations he could trace out of them. 

And then– then, the days just keep piling up on top of each other and Viktor keeps stealing glances and having annoyingly, frustratingly vague dreams about removed shirts and whispered sighs and too-light touches, and he keeps showing up to the lab pretending everything was normal and fine and totally under perfect control, all business as usual over on his side. Did the new shipment arrive already?

And then the Academic Year's Open Ceremony comes around, and Viktor did not account for the non-Academy-issued outfit that you would be wearing, even though he probably should have expected it. But foresight was not one of his talents, so when he'd agreed to go, he had not thought about the low lights and deep-cut necklines and what the champagne buzz in his head would do to his self-control. To the rational thinking that was usually his lifeline. To his imagination.

Now that was all he could think about. 

There was a champagne flute in one of his hands, and the other was gripping the handle of his cane slightly too hard. It would make his joints ache soon, but that would be a problem for future him. Perhaps even a nice little distraction from the torture of watching you in your glamorous getup, smiling and talking with someone, while he was merely pretending to be listening to the conversation he was in. 

Viktor nods at what he thinks are the correct moments (or at least, close enough), but his eyes remain glued to where you were standing. 

He hadn't seen you in clothes that revealing before, and he was taking this as a free research opportunity. His eyes trace over your skin, mapping the new-to-him pattern of moles and freckles, and something greedy at the bottom of his stomach wants to trace them with his fingers, too. And he knows that's inappropriate, especially while someone was lecturing him about the future of the Academy, but honestly, he didn't care. His train of thought was currently only about one heartbeat long, and the thing purring at the bottom of his stomach was getting louder, hungrier, needier, it was crawling up his spine, up the back of his neck, making him feel breathless, and he has to close his eyes just to re-calibrate his brain and breathe. 

He could not fathom how the Piltovians could see such marks as imperfections. They were like art, and Viktor would much rather spend his time looking at something interesting than something over-polished any day.

With the patterns he can see on your skin, he has theories about what must be on the parts he can't see, and he likes it. Not so much that he wouldn't like to make sure of his theories one way or the other – he was flexible, and open to being proved wrong, more than willing to gather more information on this. He takes a sip of his drink and his fingers flex over the handle of his cane and he exhales a tense sigh, and forces himself to look at his supposed conversation partner for a moment again as you lean your head back in a sparkling laugh. 

Torture. It was torture, pure and simple. Honey-thick and sweet as molasses, but torture all the same. 

Your skin glistens in the low golden lights of the party, and Viktor stares. You cleaned up nicely, and nothing about your outfit was inappropriate in itself, but his imagination was more than enough to change that. And he is aching to somehow warp the situation so that it was just you and him and just enough of the golden light to see by. The champagne could stay, and the music, but the band was on thin ice - they would have to be in a different room and preferably on the other side of a locked door. Viktor didn't appreciate interruptions, even in his imagination. He didn't like most of the people attending the party on a good day, and he definitely didn't like them now.

He takes a breath, fixes his posture, and takes another breath. Reminds himself of the reality he was in; the role he was playing. Five-year-plan. Yes. The Academy was getting a research grant from the Council. How nice.

The longer the night stretches on, the more his restraint stretches with it, and it was starting to wear thin. The reasoning he'd done with himself earlier about why he should stay away was starting to feel fickle – convenience? Had that really been his best selling point? What had he been thinking? 

It was itching at the back of his mind, the wrongness of forcing himself to pretend he didn't want to get closer, didn't want to go up and compliment you, to see you smile, to steal the privilege of your company for as long as he could, hopefully for the rest of the night. And currently, he was having a hard time convincing himself that the simplicity and convenience of keeping things how they had been before was worth it.

The sun had set hours ago, and the tall windows were starting to let in starlight, and when he finally gets a moment alone with you, it's while you're looking up at the sky, leaning over at a slightly awkward angle to be able to see as much of the sky as possible. 

He looks at you there for a moment, and takes a slow, deep breath. And then he walks to your side. 

If he was going to fail at this, he was going to fail fast and hard. Efficiently. And hopefully with minimal damage.

"Personally," he says calmly, "I prefer the view out there."

You turn to look at him, and he pretends to be totally casual and cool and collected and not nervous at all.

You look out the window again, and then, hum in agreement. "Unfortunately, I prefer the temperature in here." You answer with a small sigh and a half shrug, and now, Viktor turns to look at you.

Because now, now this was a problem that he had a solution for. 

He hmms in answer, and does a little double check in his head; yes, the upper levels of the building should be empty. The working staff was all here and the students were home. Should be vacant.

Viktor smiles a little. “How fortunate, then,” he says quietly, conspiratorially, “that we have an observatory tower.” 

For a single second, you look surprised. And then you blink, and a smile spreads over your lips. 

He raises an eyebrow. 

“I assume you have the keys?” 

Viktor shrugs nonchalantly. 

You grin and grab his hand, already moving towards the exit. “What are we waiting for, then?”

[villainessbian]

Concept: most aliens can get anxious, can get scared, can get fight-or-flight. What most aliens do not get, however, is stress. Stress is a weird thing even by human standards. It can build up over time or be something tied to a very limited situation. It can be caused by a lot of things, and it comes in a lot of different ways. But it's a core human reaction, when a situation is wrong, it causes stress until it is righted. And it even affects different people differently!

Cue Human Cassandra, on a ship with her friend and co-worker Human Pauline. The ship is crewed with a mix of species. It's a cargo ship - load up in a space port, unload in another, get news and supplies during their stops, and live as an ever-shifting family as some of the two dozen crew members, give or take, get replaced. Some leave come payday, and new ones come looking for the thrill of low-level adventure, experiencing warp drives across the safer roads of the known universe.

But getting the supplies you need, or want, in stops is never so easy. Humans are new to the galactic community, and their needs misunderstood. Most broad-edibility food is bland for them, but that's okay. A big enough bag of their condiments can last them years. But ADHD meds... now that's less easy to get, the further from Earth you are. And a contract too big for their captain to pass on came up, much farther than the two humans expected.

Cassandra's mood deteriorated, her work priorities out of order, her sleep schedule in disarray. Little by little, she grew restless, shifting moods and gears unpredictably. A few weeks in and she was a mess, barely able to keep up with the minimum her job doing maintenance and running safety diagnostics for the route charting team required of her. While Pauline could help with the mechanical aspects of keeping the ship running, picking up the "slack", the safety had to be double-checked by the charting and pilot teams. When the curves of asteroid probability reached beyond a certain level, several hundred simulations had to be run, time-consuming processes had to be used, to avoid any collision at speeds beyond speed c. Some truly exotic things happened to ships that experienced those, but none of them contained the words "surviving crew." A safe route avoided any probability of collision over .1% and when going faster than light, any choice of course required thinking in 3 dimensions plus relative time to navigate dangerous probability fields in one piece, finding time-specific corridors and accounting for a dozen variables at once.

After she had a breakdown over a path she would normally have been able to find in under a minute, Pauline spoke to a concerned pilot team member:

"You have to understand her, this is a stressful situation and she's doing her best..."

"What do you mean by 'stressful'?" Gabalt asked. The furry little creature stood on two arched legs, and barely reached up to Pauline's shoulder, opening three wide eyes with curiosity and concern in equal parts.

"Things are... getting difficult for her, and keep getting more difficult because she does not have medication to help her brain be efficient. It makes her tired, and inefficient, and as it goes on, she's less and less able to cope with the situation. The longer this goes on, the worse it gets, and that is stress. Getting more tired because it takes more energy to deal with the situation, and less efficient because she's more tired, and things get harder because she's less efficient, on and on until something can solve the problem and the stress goes away."

"That sounds... hard. Do all humans have to deal with this?"

"Well, everyone has sources of stress, but she's got a disability. Without her meds, she gets stressed all the time. Not a lot all at once, but it always adds up."

"Oh no! So she'll be stuck like that until we get closer to Earth?"

"Most likely, yes."

But the most momentous thing to happen this day was not her breakdown. Not an hour later, alarms blared up. The simulation holograms all displayed blinking red masses - the less-travelled "safe route" was not as well protected! An asteroid range had been detected cutting through the border field, and it was in their way!

Pauline froze up, not knowing what to do. Gabalt was too surprised to act fast. All the courses from the ship's library of regular manoeuvres suggested a crash chance of over 60%, and mere seconds to act before entering the field!

Before anyone could react, Cassandra came in running from her corner to the front of the bridge, slamming the warp drive shutdown button. Most holograms stuttered and collapsed, the exit from FTL essentially dividing one or several of their dimensions by zero.

Looking quickly at the few remaining ones and gazing at the screens showing the current outside situation like a large window would have - plus a few critical extra points of data - she adjusted the angles manually while everyone still shuddered from the gravitational and temporal whiplash of suddenly coming back into normal time. Unblinkingly, she spotted the asteroids on the route while the ship was still going, if not at relativistic speeds, still fast enough for a single pebble they met to vaporise the Whipple shields, the outer hull, the inner hull, the crew members, and the hull again coming out if they but grazed it. Confirming the angles visually, she played with the reaction wheels, the thrusters, the gravity drives, to divert the ship's course just enough to miss a collision while not risking any grave injury on board. There was no time to react - if anything showed up straight ahead on the "unaugmented" outside view screens, it was too late to not get splatted. After half the crew had had the time to get thrown to the side or on the ground due to the rough handling, she'd managed to avoid any crash.

Gabalt was reeling. While it was surely not impossible, these was the kind of moves experienced veterans would never wish to attempt, and the margins for error were ridiculously low! She'd saved the ship and everyone on it, whereas she'd been unable to do a simple safety run so soon before?

Pauline was white as a sheet, but this was nothing compared to Cassandra, shaking violently and breathing unevenly.

"Pauline? What is she doing?"

"That's... probably the adrenaline."

"What's it for?"

"It's from stress. When it comes it overcharges the body. It's like the traditional, 'fight or flight' instinct from survival in prey-predator paradigms, it lets you move fast but paralyses thought... it feels pretty bad after a lot of it is released though. Now she's crashing down, must be harrowing."

"How did she do that? And you said her thoughts were paralysed for precision manoeuvres?"

Cassandra's voice came, nearly a mutter: "I just... had to. do it."

Gabalt needed to understand what happened.

"What do you mean you had to? Someone had to do it, but why you?"

"It- it was very stressful, I saw you freeze, and so."

"But... but HOW did you do all that? That was extremely complicated, few pilots -whose main craft is directly piloting- would want to even try doing that when given a choice!?"

"I had to. do it, so I did. I couldn't. couldn't make a mistake."

"This makes absolutely no sense."

Pauline interrupted. "She just works like that. Lots of stress and when people freeze up, humans with her condition... sometimes, surprisingly, function better in the moment than others can."

"Ah. So it's a human thing. of course, it's a human thing. NOTHING MAKES ANY SENSE WITH YOUR ACCURSED SPECIES" the diminutive pilot pouted.

And so one more story of the humans doing the impossible spread around. Humans of a subtype, more easily harmed, sometimes unstable and needing help for the simplest things... accomplishing odd, unthinkable, borderline heroic feats under duress none could be expected to withstand - but only then. Cursed, blessed? No story-teller seemed too certain. But the "magical" species never stopped surprising all others. And a new proverb developed: "it's not over until the human says it is".