#understanding nail biology

[remedialcare]

A Perfect Guide for Quicker Nail Growth

Nails can also be an indicator of general health and wellbeing. Strong, long nails are an indication of health and nutrition. Nonetheless, many people may find it difficult to grow and strengthen their nails to the proper length. We'll examine the nuances of nail development in this in-depth article, along with helpful tips on how to efficiently speed up this process.

Knowing About Nail Development

Understanding the fundamentals of nail biology is crucial before exploring techniques for accelerating nail development. The nail matrix, which is found underneath the cuticle, is where nails, which are made of a protein called keratin, grow. Individual differences in growth rate are caused by a variety of factors, including age, genetics, and general health.

Three phases make up the nail growth cycle: the rest phase (telogen), the transition phase (catagen), and the growth phase (anagen). It is essential to comprehend this cycle in order to put tactics in place that maximize nail development.

Ways to Encourage the Growth of Nails

Keep a Balanced Diet: For healthy and growing nails, make sure you're getting enough of these important nutrients: biotin, protein, vitamins A, C, and E. Include items like leafy greens, salmon, almonds, and eggs in your diet. Hydration and Moisture: To keep your nails from becoming dry and brittle, drink lots of water and use moisturizing lotions.

Establish a regular nail care regimen that consists of hydrating, filing gently, and avoiding harsh chemicals, such as those contained in nail paint removers.

Steer Clear of Harsh Chemicals: Acetone and formaldehyde are two examples of harsh chemicals that should be avoided as they can weaken and destroy nails.

Wear gloves when performing home tasks or participating in activities that could subject nails to chemicals or trauma to prevent damage to them.

Think About Supplements: To boost nail development and strength, speak with a healthcare provider about combining supplements like collagen or biotin.

You Can Also Try This Product: ProNail Complex

How to Grow Nails More Quickly at Home

Nail Strengthening Treatments: To encourage nail growth and strength, try natural therapies like soaking nails in olive oil or dabbing on a mixture of honey and lemon juice.

DIY Nail Masks: Known for their nourishing qualities, avocado, banana, and yogurt are excellent items to use to make homemade nail masks. Essential Oil Treatments: To strengthen and hydrate nails while also encouraging growth, apply essential oils such as jojoba, lavender, or tea tree oil.

Expert Interventions for Nail Development Consider expert treatments offered at salons, such as vitamin and mineral-enriched nail growth serums and strengthening treatments for nails, if you're looking for more instant results. Common Myths About Nail Growth Dispelled Regular Nail cutting Encourages development: Despite common assumption, regular cutting has no direct impact on nail development. On the other hand, routine care keeps nails from breaking and encourages general health.

Growth is Hindered by Gel and Acrylic Nails: Although incorrect application or removal of artificial nails can harm natural nails, well-maintained and applied extensions can offer defense and promote normal growth. Nail Hardeners Encourage Growth: Although they could momentarily strengthen nails, nail hardeners do not actively encourage growth. Prolonged use might also cause brittleness and excessive dryness.

You Can Also Try This Product: ProNail Complex

Maintaining Nail Health To preserve the health of your nails, use appropriate procedures for shaping and trimming them, keep your nails clean to stop germs from growing in them, and give up bad behaviors like picking and biting your nails that can harm them. Identifying Problems with Nail Growth Watch out for symptoms like discoloration, ridges, or alterations in shape that could indicate underlying health problems that need to be addressed. These signals of sluggish nail growth should also be taken seriously.

When to Get Expert Assistance For an accurate diagnosis and course of therapy, speak with a dermatologist or other healthcare professional if you have significant abnormalities or persistent problems with nail development.

You Can Also Try This Product: ProNail Complex

Conclusion: It takes perseverance, consistency, and a comprehensive strategy that includes healthy eating, staying hydrated, and taking care of your nails to get faster nail development. You can cultivate strong, healthy nails that represent your general well-being by putting the techniques mentioned in this article into practice and dispelling frequent misconceptions. Recall that achieving ideal nail development requires perseverance and commitment.

DISCLAIMER:

There is an affiliate link of a Best Product in this article which may make me some profit.

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Imagine doing so much hard work and persevering through law school to have your failed tests advertised on the internet news. The bar is really hard; he’s not “cringe fail.” I am jealous of his ability to even attend college without committing suicide. He did a good job. Leave my dude the fuck alone.

I don’t care if they’re elites. If they’re elites; then make fun of them solely for being rich nepotism babies. There are non-elites who have failed the bar (or any important test) once or twice as well who will see this and feel bad about themselves.

[lottiecrabie]

anatomy – matty healy

matty is supposed to tutor you in biology, but there’s another subject you’re much more interested in…

or tutor!au <3

tags: 18+, oral sex, unprotected sex, dry humping, dom/sub undertones, choking, cumplay, virgin!matty, freaky little loser guy

6802 words

You sit on top of the sheets of your bed, ankles crossed. You pop your bubblegum, flipping boredly through your Cosmo. Lipsticks, perfectly preened women, and the top ten sex tips flip in front of your eyes. You halt at the horoscope, indulgently checking yours. You’re not superstitious: it’s just that anything is better than this godforsaken lesson. 

“And, you see, the specific shape of the active site of an enzyme enables it to function,” Matty drawls on, unfaltered by your clear disinterest. Maybe he doesn’t see; his nose is pulled tightly in his book. “It’s— It’s really a simple understanding of 'lock and key'. You can think of enzyme activity as molecular collisions resulting in the formation of enzyme-substrate complexes.” All the terms blur together in your mind. In one ear, transformed and decorated by the pretty pink things on your page, then out the other. 

You almost feel bad for Matty, pushed into your room by your parents with pleading, desperate eyes to make you learn something. He sits at your desk while you distract yourself with whatever is more interesting which, as it so happens, is almost everything. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t say much to you other than hey and a string of jargon you don’t care to understand. It’s not like your bitchy, unimpressed stare is very welcoming. 

Matty has this nervous, twitchy energy about him. He stutters through half of his sentences, pushing his glasses up his nose, searching for the fixed point in his book he lost. He swallows thickly, starts again. An awkward, limby thing. 

Really, it’s a shame he wears all those nerdy shirts and drowning clothes, as well as those horrendous thick, square glasses. If you assess him objectively enough, he could be quite pretty. He’s lean, with a cutting jaw, and adorable curly hair. Girls would look away a flutter of red flags if it meant birthing kids with those traits. 

You sigh, pushing the Cosmo off your bed, rolling to your belly. You rest your chin on your crossed arms, eyeing Matty. He gives you a look at the shifting noise, rounding his eyes as they fall on the stripe of skin your loose lounging shorts have revealed in the crossfire. It’s barely a few centimeters of your asscheeks, but Matty blushes all the same, flipping back to his book as though burned. You smirk. Interesting.

“Matty,” you trail lightly, the cadence of a song. 

You found your bright new, shining distraction. Your smile is vicious and dangerous, ready to bite, to gnaw to the bone. 

Matty looks up at you, incertain. You rarely address him during your tutoring lessons. You’re not even sure you’ve said his name before, at least not to him. “I’m bored with biology,” you declare, artfully pouty and dejected. 

“Oh,” he says. He swallows thickly. Flips through his book. His nervous tics make him all the more tantalizing to you. Some cruel need to toughen him up. “Um—”

You lick your teeth, grinning. “I want to study anatomy.”

Matty laughs, pushing his glasses up his nose. “That’s not in the syllabus.” There’s something about his total misunderstanding of your line that makes the need frizzle inside of you. An innocent little thing, to pick and devour through. 

You sit up, resting your weight on your heels. Your knees part suggestively, the loose shorts riding up your thighs. Your crop top sits up your ribs. Belly button piercing winks at him. Matty takes in the sight, face pale. You grin, victorious.  

“I didn’t mean that anatomy,” you say, teasing. You rest a hand loosely on your leg, purposefully dragging his stare down to it. Your pink nails flash against your skin. 

“Oh.” He swallows thickly, hypnotized by the soft flesh of your thighs. “I—” He shakes his head, as if to draw himself out of the daydream. “I, um—” He repeats, then laughs, “What?”

You sigh, kneeling up and getting off the bed. Your bare feet wiggle in the fuzzy, pink carpet. You prowl to him, predator-like. His breath hitches in his throat, right where you want it. 

“Matty,” you sing, and he chokes at the sound. Just his name drives him wild— good to know. You get close enough to lean on the desk, to tower over him. He blinks up at you, robbed of speech. You flutter your eyelashes at him. “Are you a virgin?” 

His lips part in surprise, but he doesn’t answer. Not that he needs to; the fucking sight of him is enough to know. It’s about the fun of watching him stumble, stutter, push his little glasses up his nose, telltale signs you revel in. 

You sit on the desk, bunching his careful notes. You trail two fingers up his shoulder, that awful cheap plaid. You almost resent the feel of it on your skin, if not for the way he shivers. 

You pout mockingly at him, stopping where the collar of his shirt meets the skin of his neck. “Are you gonna answer me?” 

“Yeah— yes.” You run your fingertips on his neck, a grazing touch that has him staring up at you in devotion. You smirk. 

“Have you ever been touched like this?” You run your thumb to the other side of his neck, a strong path. You want him to feel it, until your hand stretches over his throat, possessive. 

He swallows under your palm, Adam’s apple bobbing on your fortune-telling palm lines. “No,” he admits quietly. You feel it resonate more than you hear it. 

You hum, silently thrilled. “And have you ever been kissed?” You whisper. 

Matty stares up at you. He waits a second, two— takes his time. “No.” You smirk. You pick your gum between two fingers, pressing it into the corner of his notes. Perfect. 

It’s a little awkward, of course, because you’re perched on the desk and he’s sitting all the way down on his chair, gripping its arms. But, still, you bend down and kiss him square on the mouth. 

He gasps against you, freezing there. You’re undeterred; you kiss and kiss him, smearing your strawberry lipgloss, until he snaps into action and kisses you back. It’s a rhythmless, artless thing.

He doesn’t know how to kiss. 

What he lacks in technique, he makes up in eagerness, opening his mouth and licking a wet tongue into yours. You giggle a little, taste the Sour Patch kids he nervously ate from his bag between two scientific words you purposefully didn’t remember. You press at his throat, just so he’s as breathless as you are. He moans against your lips, panting. 

Matty doesn’t dare touch. His body is fixed to the desk chair, letting himself be kissed, taking only what you are willing to offer. He sits there like you are breathing life into his mouth, eating and eating and never asking for more. It’s what makes you want to give him more. 

You pull away from him, straightening like a queen taking her throne. Under you, the pages wrinkle and ruffle, and he doesn’t even care. His lips are swollen and pink, shiny from the lipgloss. Breaths puff out from there, pulling attention. 

“You’re kinda pretty,” you admit lowly, like a secret he should know. 

“Thanks,” Matty flushes. 

You release his throat, wiping your pink gloss off his lips. They part instinctively. You smile, slipping your thumb inside. He sucks the strawberry, warm tongue on your fingerprint. Power loosens your head.

“Do you want me?” You ask, as though his mouth drooling around your thumb wasn’t indication enough. You want the words; you want the worship. 

“Yeth,” he says, choking on your finger. You smile, taking it out and drying it on his cheek.

You don’t make a big show of taking your shirt off. Your hands are at the hem of your baby tee, then it’s off your shoulders, thrown on the pink carpet. Matty whines, surprised and overwhelmed, throwing a furtive glance at the cracked door of your bedroom. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper, taking his hand. Soft and weak; he hasn’t worked a day in his life. It’s slack between your fingers. He lets you puppeteer it to your breasts, lets you grope yourself with him as an instrument. 

He makes another small noise from the back of his throat, staring at the fucking sight like he can’t quite believe it truly is his own hand. “God,” he mutters to himself, and it’s exactly how you feel. 

“Say thank you,” you taunt him, because you know he will. 

Like clockwork, Matty revels, “Thank you.” Growing bold, he rubs a thumb over your hard nipple, a tough callus you didn’t expect on the tip of it. It makes you moan; a crack in your spotless armor, but he doesn’t even notice. Too preoccupied with playing with your tits, pawing at it greedily. 

“Can I—” He flushes, shaking his head. 

“What?”

“Can I lick them?” A drop of heat strikes through you. You clench your thighs, arching your back into his readied palm. 

“Yes.” He leans in before you’ve finished the s, sucking your abandoned nipple into his mouth. He licks and rubs and pinches, raw skill pulling at your sensitive skin. You bite back groans, breathing harshly. Your chest rises and falls into his mouth, but he’s just as diligent. 

You rake a long-nailed hand into his hair, scratching his scalp with every particularly delicious lick. He moans at that, vibrating on your sensitive nipples. 

He sticks his tongue out, panting like a dog, dipping down to the valley of your tits and pressing a kiss, then climbing up a new breast. He bites gently, and you jump, surprised by his boldness. 

“Sorry,” he whispers. You don’t like this little switch-up in power. He’s supposed to be purring for you, enthrallment shining in his eyes. You tug on his hair, making him look at you. 

Matty stares up, dutiful. He doesn’t care about the power game; hasn’t even realized you were slipping. He takes what you give. 

You soothe away the sting of his hair. “Pretty boy,” you coo. Matty beams at that. “I want to hear you scream.”

With this, you jump off the desk, and kneel under it. 

“Oh,” Matty says, eyes wide as he watches you fumble with his pants. You unbutton and unzip, fast and knowledgeable, dipping into his boxers— “Wait.”

You look up at him, inches from your goal. You cock your head, frowning. “What?”

“Just—” He pants, staring at you. “Just give me a second.”

You hum, grazing a finger on the faint happy trail of his stomach. His belly sucks in. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” he says. “Yes. I don’t know.” He laughs. His hands still grip the armrests, white-knuckled. “Why are you doing this?” 

You shrug. “I want to.” You tip your head, kissing his soft hand. “Do you want me to?” 

“Well, yeah.”

You grin. “Relax.” Finally, your hand slips under his underwear, and you wrap around his hard length. He gasps, cold fingers against hot skin, fingers against him. 

His hips jump into your fist as you draw him out. Another nervous glance to the door, still half-opened. Your parents are somewhere in the house, pretending not to exist. You lick your lips.

You lightly scratch your pink nails against him. You run a thumb on his tip, smearing precum. He hisses, turning into a moan as you slowly drag your hand down. He’s frozen and tense, almost afraid of moving, as if that would make you go away. 

“Teach me,” you say. 

He blinks at you, dazed. “Huh?” 

Your eyes vaguely look up to the desk you hide under, biology notes in his scratchy writing laying wrinkled. “Biology. My parents are paying you for a reason, aren’t they?” 

“Oh—” He flushes, embarrassed. Pushes his glasses up. “Right, right.” His hands let go of the armrests, searching through the pages. You choose this moment to kiss the tip of his cock. He whimpers, shutting his eyes in pleasure. “Fuck.” You giggle, all too happy. 

He struggles to find where you disturbed him, biting his lip in comical concentration. You tease him, enjoying all the little breaths he chokes on, the soft sounds he tries to hide. Your hand pumps up and down, twisting at the wrist. 

You wonder how often he’s done this on himself, who he imagined between his legs. 

From now, it’ll be you. You’ll make sure of it. 

“Um, right, so,” Matty starts, out of breath. “In some reactions,” he continues arduously, “one substrate is broken down into multiple products. And—” Devilishly, you lick a stripe up his length. He groans, twitching on your tongue. “Shit,” he mutters. It’s funny coming from him; the swear rings wrong, like a costume. 

He drags his stare down, pulling away from his notes to watch you. You indulge him, parting your lips and wrapping them around his tip. You suck on it gently. His face wrinkles, a moan breaking from him. You pull your head down, swallowing him. He clutches at his papers, scrunching them himself. 

“Oh, God,” Matty says, trying to catch his breath as you bob your head. “I’m— Shit.” 

You let go of him with a wet pop, stroking him quickly. “Shh,” you tease him. “My parents.” Again, he throws a nervous look towards the door. 

Saliva and lipgloss and precum already lube him, but you keep your hand at his base as you spit on his cock. You drag it down his length. Matty’s eyes snap towards you. “Do that again.” He wants to see you.

You smirk, tilting your head to leave wet kisses up his cock, then lick his tip. You spit on it, and a low groan resonates from him. His hips rise up into your hand, but you push them down with your claws. 

“Fuck,” he whimpers from the back of his throat, melting on the chair. He likes it messy. You grin, peppering little kisses over his cock, smearing him in strawberry lipgloss. 

“What’s the other thing?” 

“Huh?” He blinks, tying himself back to reality. “Right, um, substrates. It’s—” Again, you choose this moment to push him down your throat. He loses speech, mumbling incoherent syllables, some broken version of your name. 

Though your head bobs quickly, pulling further and further down his length, twisting a stroking hand all the same, you pinch your nails at his hip. He jumps, struck out of the daze of pleasure, blinking down at you. 

“Yeah, it’s— The other reactions are—” You let go of his hip, pinching your own nipple instead. Matty whines, losing his train of thought. “You’re not being fair.”

You laugh, spitting him out to catch your breath. You grope yourself and he watches, not sure which hand to focus on. His cheeks are tinted red, maybe from effort, or adrenaline, or shyness. It’s cute enough to bite. 

Wonder shines in his eyes. He can’t believe this is happening; he’s eternally grateful, as he should be. As they all should have been, those faceless men you’ve blown in the bathrooms of parties for attention and a momentary stop to complete boredom. They stayed quiet, almost afraid to make noise, to show they enjoyed it, until they shook and spilled inside your mouth. Matty’s not afraid to moan. 

Your brain rushes, sticky happy. You pant on his cock, trailing a finger down your stomach, then dipping in your shorts. Matty’s eyes widen, straightening to catch a glimpse. You smile, catching a pool of your arousal. 

You come back up, fingers sticky and wet with your slick, and smear it on his cock. Matty scrunches his face, whimpering, shaking under your hands. 

“You’re trying to kill me.”

“Only because it’s easy,” you mock, jerking and twisting your two hands in rhythm, wet sounds ringing in the room. 

You free his cock, gripping the armrests of the chair instead. You wrap your mouth around it, and bend down until your nose touches the faint smatterings of dark hair on his belly. You gag on him, and he strangles the edge of the desk trying to kill his moans. 

You pump him in your mouth quickly, feeling him twitch and rise to meet you. He remembers himself, falling down on the chair dutifully, not even burying a needy hand in your hair, as though afraid that would be asking for too much. 

You drag up, making him hit the inside of your cheek, before releasing him. You spit the precum on him, blinking up through teary eyes. He doesn’t have any words, red swollen lip bitten raw. 

“I taste great,” you say, and then offer up your still-wet fingers to him. He’s eager, sucking them into his mouth. He bobs, imitating you, and the sight and feel makes hot desire drip inside of you. 

You want to squeeze him until he pops. 

You take his hand, pulling it into your hair. He grips instinctively, pushing it out of your face. “Don’t push,” you warn, serious. He nods frantically, and you trust him to mean it. 

You take him into your mouth for what you know is the final time. You’re certain he won’t last long, droopy and moaning and twitching, hissing every time your tongue runs on him. You bob with skill and precision still. He tugs at your hair, both hands in now, trembling in the mess of it. He never pushes, or fucks his hips up; trusts you to undo him yourself. 

He swears and curses and whimpers, head falling down and back, vacillating between the sky and your red, puffy face. The sink is heard from faraway, but you don’t think he can even hear it. 

“I'm dreaming,” he whispers to himself, sounding wild. “I’m gonna wake up. I’m gonna be— I’m gonna—” Matty cries, slapping a hand over his mouth, and comes down your throat. He shakes, loud moans hidden in his palm, eyes shut and forehead wrinkled. 

He lets go of your hair with a fucked-out sigh, panting. His eyes never leave you, disbelief written all over it. You pull him out of your throat, and smile at him. 

You’re about to swallow when he touches your arm, unsure of where he’s allowed to now. “Wait, can you—” He grows embarrassed, blushing. “Can you open your mouth?”

You part your lips, showing off his white cum still sitting on your tongue. He whimpers at the sight, fingers digging into your arm. His breathing turns irregular, cheeks reddening, eyes darkening. He’s so strange. 

Still, you stick your tongue out, putting his load in evidence, making a spectacle of it. He looks tortured, enthralled. 

You stay long enough that you feel it run down, long white rope hanging from your tongue, then dropping on your breast. 

“Fuck,” Matty whispers to himself. Seemingly without thinking, he runs his thumb on your breast, catching his cum and sucking it between his lips. 

You smile, slurping the cum back into your mouth, and swallowing it. You flash your red tongue at him. “All clean.”

“Thank you,” Matty says. “I— I’m not sure why you did that, but— I, you know, appreciate it.” He’s so polite. You’d laugh if he wouldn’t snap back into that little head box of his. 

“I’m very thankful for all those lessons,” you wink.

“No, you’re not.” 

“No, I’m not.” Matty’s finger rubs the skin of your arm, that strangely tough callus, and it has you leaning into his touch. “Though, this has been my favorite lesson.” 

“God, I couldn’t even get a word out.”

“Hence why.”

Matty snorts and he offers you a hand. You grab it to manœuvre out from under the desk. You push your sweaty hair out of your face, then wipe the leftover stickiness from your breasts. 

Matty, of course, follows the movement to your tits. He swallows. “Do you, um,” he pushes his glasses up. “Do you want, like, something back?” 

You arch an eyebrow, incapable of holding a small giggle this time. “Do you know how?”

He stares into your eyes. “I could try.”

And, again, there’s just something about his eagerness, his willingness, his open devotion, that has you saying, “Yeah, I guess you could try.”

You tiptoe to your bedroom door, looking left and right into the hallway, before quietly shutting it. You turn around to a displeased Matty. “Oh, so you get to have it closed?” 

“‘S more fun when you’re struggling,” you shrug, devilish. You run to the bed, falling on the pillows, fluttering your eyelashes at him. “Come here, pretty boy.” He practically trips out of his chair to find you. He’s three steps in when you stop him. “Take your clothes off.”

He grows shy under your gaze. Staying in place, fingers shaking, he starts to unbutton his plaid shirt. He kicks off his sneakers and his baggy jeans until he stands there in his boxers. He’s as scrawny as you imagined him to be. You smile. 

Matty crosses his arms. “Can I see you, too?” He whispers.

You shimmy your shorts off your legs and throw it beyond the bed. Matty’s stare stutters on your pink thong, wet patch where your desire pooled. 

You draw a hand towards him and he takes it, falling over you on the bed. He doesn’t waste time, giving you a sloppy kiss before mouthing at your neck, your collarbones, your tits. He laps at them first and you wonder if he’s trying to get the last lingering taste of his cum. He catches a nipple next and sucks it. 

Gaspy moans leave your lips. You part your legs instinctively and he buries between them, already hardening. His cock hits your thigh and he sucks and pinches and plays until you start thinking he might really be able to try. 

Your hands descend down his back, freckled under your nails. You grip his small waist, pushing at his hip, the hem of his boxers. Matty understands, leaving you long enough to kick them off. He pants in front of you, leaning back already, wet, swollen mouth parted. 

Matty lays over you again and his hard cock presses into your need. You scratch your nails up his back and he jerks, bucking into you. A moan leaves both your mouths. He tries again, artless, just off your clit. 

“Oh,” he whispers, mostly to himself. He does it again, building and building heat inside of you, yet never relieving. 

You huff. You sneak a hand between your bodies, moving your thong aside until he slips under it. 

Another boy would have taken the opportunity, would have buried inside before you even had time to nod, but Matty doesn’t even think of it. 

He humps your wet cunt, tucked tight under your underwear, hem pressing his length. Matty moans every time, quickening, desperate. He tilts his hand to better see as his cock bulges the cloth, a wet patch forming where his precum stains. 

“Fuck.”

And it’s better; he’s faster, and firmer, and mostly there. He follows your little puffs of shameful breaths, staying where they transform into slack moans. Pleasure starts waking up inside your belly, sickly warm. 

But you’ve had boys hump at you before, had them bucking between your legs. You know it’s not what will get you off. You need your mind stimulated, to be so thoroughly hot and desperate you finally let yourself go. 

You pinch the nape of his neck, making him look at you. A slack, messy smirk lays on your lips. You tease, “Have you ever thought of me during our tutoring sessions?” 

Matty’s hips stutter. He looks away. “Like…”

“Yeah, like, on my knees.”

Matty blushes. “Well, yeah.” 

You grin, too pleased. A deadly smile, hunting. “When?”

“I don’t know…” He mutters. You scowl to yourself, and maybe he senses that, because his chin grazes your shoulder and he admits shamefully, “When you ate that popsicle. And you licked and you slurped and you sucked and, just— I’m a guy. I had visions.” 

“I had visions.” You imitate, mocking. You tsk, “You're such a nerd.” You roll your hips back against him and a whimper buries in the skin of your shoulder. “Was it how you imagined?”

“Better.” He nods fervently. “So much fucking better. I actually died, I think. Still unsure whether I’m dead or not.” Pride and power makes your head loose, makes pleasure ripple through your flesh. 

You claw at his skin, warning dangerously, “Tell anyone and you will be.” All it does is make him moan, bucking faster against you. Your toes curl. You breathe in his ear, “Tell me more.” 

“I, uh— Shit.” The tip of his cock burrows in your underwear as he slides, wet and slick from you. He shivers over you. “I’d think about— bending you over the desk.” 

Your smile ghosts your face, grazing his soft, fresh cheek. “Really?”

“Just, you know, when you wouldn’t listen. And you’d pop that chewing gum, and you’d ignore me, and you’d be mean.”

You smirk, clicking your tongue. “So you wanted to, what, toughen me up? Take your revenge?”

His cheeks redden. “No.” His lips brush your shoulders, and he kisses, opposite. “I don’t know. I wanted you to pay attention.” He licks your neck. “I wanted to make you scream.” Mouths at your jaw. “I wanted to fuck you. Or for you to fuck me— I wanted you.”

You can’t believe you’re now the one blushing. You pant, glad he’s buried in your throat, that he can’t see. A moan slips from you as he nips gently at your skin. Your eyes roll in your skull. 

“You like when I’m mean to you?” You tease meanly, out of breath. You scratch his back, burying your hand in his hair, and tugging until he looks you in the eyes. “Gets you all bothered?” 

Matty shivers, whining, “Fuck, please—” 

You push him onto his back, rolling over. Two hands press into his chest, and you might very well concave his ribcage. You stare him down, divine. “You wanted me to fuck you?” 

His messy, unbrushed hair falls around his head like a halo. He’s sweet enough to make your head spin. He watches you openly behind the glass of his specs, breathing, “Yes.”

You trail your fingernails on his hard cock, down to his base. “And now?”

Devoting, “Yes.”

A rush of thrill fills you. You kneel up, shimmying your underwear off. Matty gasps at the sight, raking a hungry gaze up and down your body. He holds the sheets of your bed with white-knuckled fingers. 

You waste no time, rocking your cunt against his tip once, twice, before slowly lowering yourself on him. You inhale at the stretch. Matty’s eyes shut, whining. “Look at me,” you order, and he listens. 

His eyes flash open. He blinks at you as you bottom out. His head rolls, shaking. “Oh, fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.” You go to move up, but he holds your hip down. He takes deep breaths. “Can we— Just, this is—”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, taking his hand and placing it over the regular beating of your heart. He thumbs your nipple while he’s there, breathing in sync with your pulse. You slowly roll your hips on him. 

Matty moans, gripping the flesh of your thigh. You let him adjust to the feel of it, rocking softly, dragging your clit on his pelvis. You bite your lip raw as pleasure blooms inside of you. Your thighs ache to go faster, harder, but you maintain the delicate pace for him. Just that has him shaking under you, and you once again grip his hand over your heart to ground him. 

“Sorry,” he says with an embarrassed laugh. “Fuck,” is immediately added when you circle your hips, his eyes rolling. “Fuck, sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” you order. “What are the other reactions?” You say, attempting to drag him out of his anxiety-filled head. He frowns at you. “Of enzymes.”

His lips part. “I didn’t know you knew that term.” 

You roll your eyes, then your hips, euphoria fizzling under your skin. “I listen to you.” His unconvinced look betrays him. “Sometimes.”

“They’re, um— Shit. They come together to create one— fuck, one larger molecule or—” You finally rock faster, angling your hips to have him bury inside you right where you need him. You moan, chest rising and falling quickly. Your legs grow desperate; you chase that sickly pleasure. 

“Yeah?” You encourage him on, seeing his own pleasure resonate in his face. He bites his lip, pawing uselessly at your thigh. “Or?” You’re out of breath. 

“Or swap pieces,” he finally finishes between two moans. Chuckles, “Actually, pretty much all biological reactions you can think of probably—” Your hips fall harsher on him and he loses his train of thought, overwhelmed. You smile, setting a wild pace, completely unfair. 

“Probably what?” You say, teasing, “I’m always thinking about biological reactions.”

“Don’t tease,” he pouts, and you slow down your thrusts just to spite him. He whines, pressing his short fingernails into the skin of your thigh. 

“Come on.” You make him look you in the eyes, mocking, “Educate me.”

“They all have enzymes,” Matty finally finishes. You reward him by reaching down and pinching his nipple. He whimpers, cursing your name. “Why have you suddenly decided to be a good student?” 

“‘Cause you’re adorable when you’re struggling to find words,” you answer honestly. You hold your weight up on the hand pressed into his chest, angling your hips until your clit rubs and rubs his pelvis. Your eyes roll, fucking him quicker. “Fuck. I love when I can make you all stupid for me.” The power in changing up his DNA composition, making a smart boy incapable of remembering all the jargon you yourself don’t know, is addictive. Undoing him block by block until he’s putty in your hands. Matty just moans, not arguing. 

Sweat pearls his forehead. The white sheets make him angelic. He breathes your name, fluttering his eyelashes at you. “Can I try on top?” Maybe it’s because he looks so reverent, so innocent, that you nod. 

Matty doesn’t push you and roll you over, instead staying there, as though waiting for it to just magically happen. You giggle to yourself, unmounting him and falling back on the mattress, legs parted. He swallows thickly, laying over you. 

His glasses fall down his nose and you laugh, grabbing them and carefully placing them on your nightstand. He blinks, adjusting to the blurry sight. 

His hand shakes as he grabs himself and lines up. He misses once, twice, until you rest a soothing hand on his and guide him. Matty moans in your hair as he slides in. He stays in your wet heat for a second, catching his breath, before he thrusts. 

And it’s bad, of course. He doesn’t have any rhythm, bucking blindly inside of you. It’s a strange pace, irregular and powerless. He certainly can’t find any type of mindnumbing spot. Pleasure simmers lowly in your belly, heat turned off almost to nothing if it weren’t for the pretty moans that bury straight in your ear. 

You grab his hip, making Matty look at you. “Start slow,” you instruct, guiding him. He follows the movements of your hand, rocking back and forth, slow but regular. “There,” you nod, arching your back. “Just, tilt—” He repositions himself, eager to learn, and you shudder. You call his name, syrupy with moans. 

He’s a fast learner, following diligently the guidings of your gripping hand. He fucks into you slowly, but surely. Your toes curl. Pleasure wakes up again, coiling in your belly. “Like this?” He breathes. You nod, encouraging him on. 

“It’s like I’m tutoring you,” you remark, chuckling to yourself. Matty snorts. “I like being the smart one for once.”

Matty frowns. “You’re always smart.” He says it without thinking, because he means it. Something wet chokes your throat, tugs at your lips. “You just don’t listen.”

“Would you like me to?” You say, tone taunting. A self-destroying instinct, telling you to hurt, to ruin. “Make me your little pet? Be all obedient? Have me sucking your cock while you tell me all about biology?”

His eyebrows furrow. “Do you want me to do that?” All your bullets don’t land. He’s unconcerned on what he wants. You huff.

Instead of reckoning, you order, “Faster, now.” Matty nods against your cheek. He obeys, thrusting quicker. You let go of his hip, climbing up his back just to rake your nails down it. His hips snap faster, harsher, endeavored. You grin, licking his jaw, kissing the bone. 

“Fuck,” he whimpers, catching your lips and kissing you. You wrap your arms around his neck, trapping him there as he ruts between your legs. You swallow all the sounds he makes, kill the swears you think of saying. Euphoria washes you. 

He leaves your lips just to smack wet kisses over your face, again and again. On your forehead, your cheeks, your eyelids, your chin. He mouths down your throat, starts sucking and nipping at the side. You bury a hand into his hair, pushing him further down. “Not the neck,” you explain, breathy. 

Matty finds the side of your tits and he buries there, sucking at your skin. You arch into his mouth, pleasure rushing up your side at the pinpricks of pain. He moans against you, bucking faster. Your mind spins and spins. “Matty.” Again, he speeds up, harsh and wild. “Fucking hell, Matty.” 

You tug at his hair and he releases you, lips wet and swollen. He pants over you, eyes dazed with pleasure. A new wave of heat strikes you just from the sight of him, unmade and wild. You sneak a hand between your bodies. You find your clit easily, rubbing. 

Matty’s head drops to watch you. He whines, seeing where he disappears inside of you, over and over, where your pink nails swipe at you. 

He leans his weight on one arm, joining his own hand with yours. You’re surprised at the act, at the willingness of involving himself in the complicated business of your pleasure. Your fingers stop, resting up on your stomach. 

He paws blindly at your cunt, just a little off where you need him. You grip his wrist, angling him at the right place, gently circling and swiping with his finger. The callus presses on your clit and it’s a delicious sensation. You roll your eyes, crying out, then slapping your palm over your mouth. Matty grins proudly, continuing to rub at you. 

“This is good, right?” He whispers, pretty eyes all vulnerable on you. 

You nod frantically. “Yes. It’s good.” You melt on the sheets, parting your legs further. “It’s really good.” His cheeks flush at the compliment. You wrap your hand around his throat, resting there with silent ownership. “Did you ever think it’d be me?” 

Matty chokes on a laugh and a moan. “No. I never thought you’d ever even give me a look.” 

You hum, pleased with the answer. He realizes it’s a privilege. You grin, pressing your fingers on the sides of his neck. His hips stutter, then snap even faster, a broken cry leaving him. His lips part in quiet ecstasy. His eyes shut,  rapid movement behind his eyelids. 

You grin at him. “Say thank you, pretty boy.” 

You release him, at least giving him a chance. He falls into your shoulder, taking deep inhales, shaking. “Thank you,” he says, mumbly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” You rake through his hair, soothing. “Aw, fuck, I’m gonna—” He twitches inside of you. 

“Not inside!” You shout. Matty gasps, thrusting out of you. He cries as he comes on your navel and cunt. He catches his breath, blinking himself back to this reality, still shaking. 

“Sorry,” he says, shortwinded. A pang of disappointment hits you. It’s not like you’ve ever come with someone else before, but it had felt really close this time. 

At least Matty tried. 

Matty watches his cum painted over your skin, catching your piercing, mixing with the slick of your cunt. He moans to himself, then bends down between your thighs. 

You rest on your elbows, frowning. “What—” He licks a stripe over your cunt, tasting both your juices. Euphoria strikes through you. Your back hits the mattress as you fall back, legs shaking. “Matty.” He hums, faraway, licking and licking to clean you all up. You bury a hand in his hair, grounding him in place. 

He finds your clit, rubbing it with the tip of his tongue, circling then sucking it. You jolt on the bed, biting back a scream. You frown to yourself, tugging on his hair, fire boiling inside your stomach. What the fuck. 

He laps at you, moaning every time your nails scratch his scalp, the sound vibrating against you. A hand wraps around your thigh, keeping you open for him. He devours you eagerly, hungrily, until you’re a mess melting into his mouth. 

“God, Matty,” you cry. You have to actually hold back another one with a slap of your hand, shocked at yourself as you scream into your palm. 

Matty stops, breathing harshly, and you throw a glance down in question. He climbs up your stomach, lapping at your skin, cleaning the last of his cum. You whimper at the dirty sight, desire drumming down your limbs. 

He throws you a hot look. Tongue out, full of white cum. He goes back between your legs and buries it in your cunt, fucking it in. You jump, cursing to the ceiling. Matty laughs, greedily tasting you. 

You roll your hips into his face, hitting the tip of his nose on your clit. Every strike has ecstasy resonating in your bones. You feel light on your bones. 

His lips wrap around your clit. He sucks, grazing a tongue, swiping and circling like you showed him. You recognize the same pattern, recognize the rhythm. Of course he’s a fast learner. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you chant, choked by your hand. You raise your hips into his mouth, silently begging. Your legs shake, desperate. Pressure pushes at your belly. Your eyes roll. “Don’t stop.”

He mumbles something in your cunt, probably a promise or a praise, dutifully not stopping. He laps and eats and fucks until your brain melts into your skull, dripping down your spine. 

“Oh, fuck, I’m—” Your head shakes fervently. “Just stay— Shit, Matty, just— I—” The pressure snaps and you come on his readied tongue, screaming. Hot white flashes in your vision. Relief washes you, dipping to every crevices, relaxing you. He moans against your cunt. 

Matty continues to lick you, mission-bound, until your lungs are on fire and you physically push him away. He smiles up at you, chin sticky and wet and red. He wipes it, kneeling. 

“Where the fuck did you learn how to do that?” You say, shortwinded, shocked to your bones. You stare at him like he’s grown a second head. 

It’s the first time someone other than your knowing hand made you come. And it’s fucking Matty Healy. You blink at him. 

“What?” He laughs, falling beside you on the bed. 

You gesture vaguely downwards. “That.”

“Oh,” he blushes. Shrugs. “I don’t know. I researched it once.”

“You— Oh, my God.” You stare at the ceiling in disbelief. “Oh, my God. You’re such a nerd.”

Matty grins, cheekily proud. He gently grazes the bruise he left on your breast, the splotch of red that will darken, be a leftover trace of him. 

“Thanks,” he says simply. 

“You’re welcome.” You shift your legs, feeling the wetness still between them. “Thanks to you too, I guess.” He grins, hiding in the white pillows. 

He gives you a look. “Will you listen when I tutor you now?” 

You smirk mischievously. “Maybe if you have my fingers in your mouth.”

“Oh,” Matty says, eyes wide. “Will you— Will this happen again?”

You make a noncommittal shrug, though a more definite answer hums in your heart. “Maybe if you’re really good.” You smile to yourself. “Or really boring, and I need to shut you up.”

“You can shut me up any day.”

“I know.” You linger in that moment for just a second more, eyes locked together, smiles tickling your lips. Then you sit up, reaching for your underwear. “Session’s almost done.” 

Matty nods, lips thin. “Right.” He pats the nightstand for his glasses.  

You dress yourselves, wiping away sweat and cum, brushing wild strands. You give an awkward goodbye, incertain, and Matty slips from the room. You don’t follow him to the door. You never do. 

Downstairs, you hear your parents thank him and give him a crisp 50 dollar bill. You giggle to yourself and fall on the bed, bone-deep exhausted. 

[aimasup]

EPISODE 3 SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT

aka my live notes on the episode as I watch again

The second ep I couldn't do because it came out when I was still working, so no energy or time :(

Here we go, long post warning:

The cartoon biology is amazing, it would make sense they'd explore that with all the time on their hands, it's so damn creative

In an alternate universe they would make for fantastic circus tricks

Gangle is DRAWING

Jax obviously would want to know how the newest plaything ticks. jerk

Zooble's. New. Look. 10/10 I'm sorry Zooble I know you hate your body but you are a cartoon character with a cool design

The reason I don't redraw enough screenshots even though I badly want to is because if we sat here and picked out every pose, expression, shot, joke, and meaningful momeny that i especially loved, we'd be here all day

It's nice that Pomni is still inquisitive and here it's mixed with fear of the Gummigoo incident repeating, continuity! ( °���° )

Caine probably does take plenty of user feedback: When Zooble never showed up, he probably took into account what they might like in an adventure and tailor it to include them!! Even comments like 'immature'. Headcanon territory again whoops

Ragatha's little hand shimmies at when saying the house is scary she's so adorable you guys

She always wants to make things fun or at least enjoyable for others, but she isn't super stable herself, nooooo

The cartoon gags being like, physically real is the right kind of wacky and horrifying, of course these humans would lose it after a while!! Fits the tone of the series well

"I remember my first wild take!" "Gangle I'll get it for you!"

Kinger is so helpful he always wants to help and he talks exactly like a nurturing figure ಥ⌣ಥ even if his mind is. Not all there

Jax would be the worstttt to be in a haunted house with. Or even just play a horror game with. He'd skip all the dialogue and take the cutscenes at face value bc he just wants directions to do things

Caine hunting Zooble down good lord

CAINE THAT IS NOT HOW YOU PLAY HIDE AND SEEK

Zooble is being held hostage by someone with worse memory issues than Kinger trying to give them therapy that they KNOW is pointless. Yikes

The 'specially for Zooble' horror is SUPERB!! Gooseworx your roots are showing

This has escape room vibes. A controlled environment designed for mystery and entertainment except this time the players were actually kidnapped

Kinger and Pomni duo is. So good

Kinger slowly becomes lucid while Pomni loses it

Also all the voice actors are so good all the characters' squeaks and stammers and yells are full of such emotion

The gags are great. The 2d bit was a surprise and welcomed! Made the monster unveiling itself to be more haunting

I'm not a huge fan personally of the 'scary moment followed by funny quip' because it can repetitive after a while, so I appreciate that it wasn't too much of the case here

It's always the non-horror shows that have at least one downright terrifying episode huh

Zooble being open with their feelings because they know it doesn't matter nooooo

Caine is squishy. I'm now realising this, he is very squishy, eyeballs and all, even though he's the most robotic of the sentient cast

Caine doesn't even apologise for his actions, which makes sense sadly

They are nailing his programmed helper nature of not understanding deeper issues out of his comprehension, including his own!! But he still holds immense power and needs to slow tf down asap!! The adventures are for Caine as much as they are for the humans, in this essay I will

And Zooble. Zooble doesn't totally isolate themself, they hang out with the others! It's just that their body is already so foreign and uncomfortable for them, why on earth would they want to bring it out for even more foreign and uncomfortable experiences? The tent isn't so bad, it's massive and there's enough annoying bullshit behind each curtain to keep things less monotonous. They want as much peace and quiet as they can get in this disquieting form in this world. Everyone is trying to get control of their own situations in some way. And it's canon that they were newest before Pomni, keep that in mind-- in THIS essay I will

Zooble has many choice words that come to mind when they see you, Caine

Also Caine's expressions will always be peak. Love how he doesn't show certain more intense (vulnerable) emotions the same way humans do, he flusters, freezes up or glitches out instead

RAGATHA AND GANGLE DESERVE A GIRLS NIGHT. GOOD. TIE UP THAT MEDDLING RABBIT

Kinger I am twirling my hair as we speak

He's being very calm! Still scared ofc but he's so used to the madness of the circus, and for the first time we're actually seeing that in a way that isn't him being PART of the madness

The possession was horrifying loveeee (shhh don't think about the content farms with possessed Pomni that may follow it's ok)

"How's your wife, Kinger?" uncalled for. (cocks shotgun) game's haunted

Seriously I very much doubt that Caine put that in on purpose. But it's not out of the question that the magic hell circus game that sucks your mind in forever would mix code and consciousness for some fucked up results. I believe it's called uhh divine machinery? Idk

Pomni, let it out girl

These adventures have not, in fact, gotten easier for her to adapt. Really shows that compassion matters huh

(or does it? Jax may have something to say about that)

It's canon! Queenie is canon! And the truth behind Kinger's pillow fort is even sadder than we imagined!

And what's also canon is that Zooble is a great listener!! They take note of everyone's behaviour even though they don't go on the adventures!! They distracted Caine from his crisis!! They ended up being the therapist!! And it's not even on purpose ajkshdksksjskslslsksl they have no idea how they ended up in either chair

Will Pomni have to go through each adventure and come out of them the only one carrying the experience. I hope not. That would hurt. But I hope so 👀

Ragatha! Getting appreciation! Pomni's hair tuck! How often does Ragatha hear that even? Also Pomni is getting closer with the others, already hanging out and stuff, good for her!! Our cantakerous jester is finding friendship!!

Please make it so that Caine's alliterative terms of endearment get worse every time. Please it's so funny

TADC IS ABOUT HUMAN CONNECTION AND ALSO VIDEO GAME/CARTOON PHYSICS RGHRGJEHHHSHH

[mountainficss]

idea: collegeboy!jeonghan type but it's minghao hoshi or shua instead

i’ve been thinking about this prompt and i can’t stop thinking about a collegeboy!minghao…

collegeboy!minghao who is very very quiet. he sits next to you in your biology class, but has never spoken a word to you. you can’t help but notice how pretty he is, glancing over every once in a while to admire his plump lips and pretty painted nails. every time you peek at him he’s always hyper focused on his work, his dark hair hanging like a curtain over his eyes. you’d do your best to distract yourself, ripping your longing gaze away from him to focus on your work. even though you’re trying your best to not think about the gorgeous boy next to you, you continue to wonder what it would be like to know everything about him.

meanwhile minghao wonders the same things about you. sitting next to you every day was the most heavenly torture he’d ever experienced. he gets to sneak glances at the pretty girl sitting next to him, studying every detail of your face and features. but he also has to deal with the jittery feelings he gets just by being in close proximity to you, trying his best to ignore the nervous sensations in the pits of his stomach. he also has to attempt to ignore the faint smell of your perfume, the sweetness only making his weak stomach twist more with anxiety, with nerves. he’s never even spoken to you, but he swears he’s memorized the shape of your lips, and he’s certain that he’s embedded the exact color of your irises into his brain. he almost feels your eyes on him every time you glance in his direction, and he tries to pretend it doesn’t get to him. he tries to act nonchalant, but his heart hammers in his chest and a wave of heat courses through his body solely from the thought of you. the urge to talk to you eats away at him with each passing day, but he’s not sure if he’ll be able to overcome his hesitance. until then, he’ll just keep thinking about you.

·𖥸·

you were stumped. you’d stare at your work with your eyebrows furrowed, slightly nibbling on the end of your pen as you try to understand the mass of information in front of you. biology was never your strongest subject, but you had always figured out the bare minimum of the lessons on your own. unfortunately, your luck had run out up to this point. you had no idea what was going on. you’d absentmindedly peek at minghao, studying his features for the millionth time already, and then trailing your gaze down to his hand. your eyes would widen at the sight of his practically finished work, and you were surprised to see how quickly he was writing down his answers. how does he understand this? you had decided to never again ask your professor for help, because the answers they provided only confused you more. now, you have another option. “i’m sorry,” you’d start quietly, watching minghao slightly turn his head towards you. “but do you think you could help me, please? i don’t understand this.” after a beat of silence, he’d give you the smallest nod and begin explaining his work to you. you can barely pay attention to his explanations, allured by his quiet voice and his gentle expression. you’d do your best to listen though, finding that his explanations make way more sense than your professor’s. minghao seemed so certain and sure of himself, and you were astonished with the ease he grasped the concepts.

but of course, poor minghao is not certain or sure of himself. he’s overthinking every sentence, over analyzing every expression you make. he’d wonder if you understood his explanations, almost positive you thought he was stupid from the little stutters escaping him occasionally. you just make him so nervous, and his well-developed composure evaporates from his body every time he even looks at you. his heart is hammering in his chest once again, so harshly that it feels as if it might break through his ribcage. “ahhh,” you’d observe, finally understanding the lesson now after minghao’s thought out explanations. “i totally get it now.” you’d gaze back up at the pretty boy, shooting him your brightest smile. you were beyond grateful for his help. “thank you so much, minghao.” you’d grin, receiving a shy “you’re welcome” from him in return. as you both refocus on your work, minghao would be reeling. the way you said his name sent a whole new swarm of butterflies to the pit of his stomach. he couldn’t help but blush when his name left your lips in such a captivating way. and oh, the way you smiled at him? he felt like he was going insane. time had seemed to pass quicker than usual due to his stray thoughts, and just as he’s grabbing his things he hears your voice calling his name again. “hey, minghao?” you’d utter gently, watching him whip around towards you. you couldn’t help but think the dark blur of his form whirling around was cute in a way. “yes?” he’d answer timidly, hoping his voice didn’t sound too small and pathetic. he can’t control it when you say his name like that. “do you…think you can help me more with biology sometime? i’ll pay you, of course,” you’d propose, feeling a bit embarrassed to have to ask someone for extra help. you knew it was either that or risk failing, and you would much rather pass. “you just make it easy to understand. but if you don’t feel like it, it’s really no pressure. i totally understand.” of course your question would send minghao’s nerves through the roof. helping you with biology? alone? with you? he’s positive his heart would explode. he’d swallow anxiously, his adam’s apple bobbing slightly from the movement. “you don’t have to pay me,” he’d hesitate, opting to shove down his anxiousness and take a risk. he wouldn’t let himself pass up an opportunity to spend time with his biology crush. you were too pretty to turn down. “when do you want to meet again?” your eyes would widen a bit in surprise. you didn’t expect him to even consider it, let alone actually agree. “whenever you’re free. i’ll go by your schedule since you’re the one helping me,” you’d decide. “my dorm or yours?”

“y-yours,” minghao would falter. he wasn’t mentally prepared to be flung into your dorm, where you live and sleep every day, but seeing you in his dorm would be worse. imagining you seated prettily on his couch or sprawled out on his bed would just make his brain develop more detailed daydreams of you. he doesn’t need to make things harder for himself. you’d open your phone, giving it to minghao so he could put his number in. “let me know when you want to come over, okay? i’ll text you in a bit,” you’d smile at him as he responds with a tiny “okay.” poor minghao would be so distracted in his other classes, thinking of you and wondering when you’d text him. he can’t help but be eager when he knows that his number is nestled in your phone and that you could text him at any minute. hearing the ding from his phone while he’s in his dorm would make his heart stop. you had texted him.

unknown: hi! it’s (y/n)

unknown: when’s a good time for you to come over?

the thought of him coming over to your dorm made his stomach twist again. he couldn’t help but be excited, even if he was just coming over to help you with biology.

minghao: hi 👋 i’m free right now if you’re not busy.

you: sounds great! come over whenever you’re ready :)

after sending him directions to your dorm, minghao would waste no time making his way there. he’d be at your door in less than 10 minutes, knocking softly at the wood and waiting eagerly patiently for you to answer. you’d open the door for him, flashing him a pretty smile and moving aside to let him in. minghao could feel his face heating up already. he truly felt like he couldn’t breathe around you at times. you were dressed so comfortably, changing your clothes from earlier and throwing on a large hoodie. your shorts were proving to be trouble for him, slightly riding up your thighs when you moved and leaving little to his imagination. “wanna come to my room?” you’d ask sweetly, missing the way minghao gulped nervously at your wording. he’d respond with a slight nod, following you to your room and trying not to admire your exposed thighs.

you’d plop down on the edge of your bed, crossing your legs and patting the spot next to you. minghao would sit down cautiously next to you, clutching his biology notes in an attempt to ground himself. he had no idea why sitting on his crush’s bed felt so intimate to him, and he couldn’t help but blush a bit at the thought. “okay,” you’d begin, peeking at minghao’s notes. “where do you think we should start?”

you’d spend the next few hours with minghao going through all of his detailed biology notes. he’d help catch you up on the lessons you didn’t understand, explaining them in depth and answering all of your questions. no disrespect to your professor, but minghao explained all of the concepts way better than they ever could. you were thankful that you sat next to a pretty boy with such a strong understanding of biology. and minghao was thankful too! without biology being his strongest subject, he wouldn’t have an opportunity to get so close to his biology crush. (of course, he was only so good at the subject because he needed a distraction from his pretty seatmate. each class session he was invested in the lecture, solely because he needed a way to divert his attention away from you. you’d still find ways to sneak into his thoughts though, albeit without your knowledge <3) he was glad all of his hard work paid off, because now he has an excuse to meet with his biology crush :) he continued to hope that you would use only him for help, secretly wanting to get closer to you. now he finally had a chance!

writing a smutty continuation later of course, just want to start it off with a lil sweetness like i did with jeonghan’s <3

taglist: @jeonghanpill , @bangantokchy , @caratboy , @bewoyewo , @luvseungcheol , @wonvsmile , @haolovre , @aaniag , @writingbarnes , @dokyeomkyeom , @allieyaaa

[ossifer]

On the Mechanics of Lyctorhood

I want to preface this by saying this is a long, long post that is going to delve deep into lyctorhood, skim the surface of physics and biology, and fully embrace conjecture! If I'm right about all this then I'm very happy, but I also cannot wait to be disproven in Alecto the Ninth.

Thanergy

Thanergy is the product of the decay of thalergy: this is the principle that underpins all of necromancy. All necromantic adepts are capable of manipulating both thalergy and thanergy, but necromancy is shown to be reliant on thanergy specifically, and is most geared toward utilising thanergy as a result.

“Thalergetic decay causes cellular death,” you said carefully, pressing the nail in harder, “which emits thanergy. The massive cell death that follows apopneumatism causes a thanergetic cascade, though the first bloom fades and the thanergy stabilises within thirty to sixty seconds.” [Harrow the Ninth]

As shown by @pokkop15 in this post the term thanergy is almost certainly derived from Thanatos, the Greek God of Death, but thalergy's origins are more murky: likely candidates are thaleros (a greek word that means lively), Thalia (the muse of Festivity whose name also means blooming), or Thalassa (divine personification of the sea in greek mythology, which would fit considering how life is very associated with saltwater in TLT).

The Eightfold Word: What is Lyctorhood?

According to the resident tall glass of skank and questionably reliable narrator, Ianthe Tridentarius, the Eightfold Word is composed of the following steps:

Preserve the soul, with memory and intellect intact.

Analyse it—understand its structure, its shape.

Remove and absorb it: take it into yourself without consuming it in the process.

Fix it in place so it can’t deteriorate.

Incorporate it: find a way to make the soul part of yourself without being overwhelmed.

Consume the flesh [NOTE: Ianthe says 'a drop of blood is enough to ground you', which to me indicates that this step serves as a way to ground the incorporated soul into the lyctor's body, by having material from the soul's original body. This is very significant.]

Reconstruction—making spirit and flesh work together the way they used to, in the new body.

Hook up the cables and get the power flowing.

Lyctorhood seemingly works by providing the necromancer with, among other things, a near limitless reserve of thanergy that is presumably derived from the incorporated soul once the power is flowing: as we see with Cytherea healing herself, lyctors are either unable to generate thalergy—or their ability to do so is lessened in comparison to their ability to generate thanergy—and must instead siphon it from external sources when their own thalergy is depleted.

In Nona the Ninth we are introduced to Palamedes' conception of Lyctorhood in terms of Lysis: the Lyctorhood we are most familiar with is Petty Lysis, where only one of the components dies, while Grand Lysis is a mutual death—a gravitational singularity creating something new, as is the case with Paul. Lysis is a term used in biology that refers to 'the breaking down of the membrane of a cell', which as I've explored before

In the series, Lyctorhood is spoken of in terms of fire: there are repeated references to Gideon's soul being made the furnace of [Harrow's] Lyctorhood and serving as a furnace of power, Mercymorn refers to her cavalier's mortal soul burning in her chest, John says that the risk posed by fully incorporating Alecto into himself completely would be that he'd probably burn to death, and Paul's birth results in Camilla's body being consumed by flames. This leads us on to how lyctorhood is also characterised as consumption: eating the cavalier, absorbing their soul, burning it for fuel.

What is the mechanism behind the thanergetic generation of lyctorhood?

Lyctorhood is barbaric, it is cannibalism, it is taking another and burning them in yourself for power. But that raises the question of where that power comes from. By the way that thalergy/thanergy are spoken of with terms reminiscent of radiation, coupled with how lyctorhood is rendered through metaphors and imagery related to fire and/or consumption, it would seem that the logical conclusion behind this is that the soul is being subject to continual thanergetic fission.

The terminology Tamsyn uses is something that lends credence to this: nuclear fission 'occurs when a neutron slams into a larger atom, forcing it to excite and split into two smaller atoms—also known as fission products'. Sudden, sharp decay/conversion of thalergy into thanergy could be the mechanism behind thanergetic fission, as we see with Harrow's description of apopneumatic shock and how the burst of thanergetic energy (a neutron slamming into a larger atom, forcing it to excite) is sufficient to prevent liminal osmosis from taking place: "In cases of apopneumatic shock, where death is sudden and violent, the energy burst can be sufficient to countermand osmotic pressure and leave the soul temporarily isolated."

But from what we know of the nature of the thanergy, thalergy, and the soul, this explanation makes no sense. Thanergy is emitted by thalergy decay, but souls in of themselves are not a source of thalergy nor thanergy, as shown by Anastasia's tripod principle: “The body needs thalergy and a soul to keep the lights on. Anastasia’s tripod principle. Body plus thalergy, but no soul, is basically a very weird vegetable … after a while it gives up and shuts down.” [Nona the Ninth]

Going back to the nuclear terminology, I'm going to cut straight to the core of this theory: the mechanism behind the thanergetic generation of lyctorhood is thanergetic fusion.

What is thanergetic fusion?

The term I use here is a misnomer, because a more accurate term would be pneumatic fusion, considering how Tamsyn Muir is fond of using the Greek pneuma to refer to the soul: nuclear fusion 'is a reaction in which two or more atomic nuclei combine to form one or more different atomic nuclei and subatomic particles'.

A nucleus in physics is 'the positively charged central core of an atom, consisting of protons and neutrons and containing nearly all its mass', while in biology the term refers to 'a dense organelle present in most eukaryotic cells, typically a single rounded structure bounded by a double membrane, containing the genetic material'. Palamedes uses the term lysis for Lyctorhood, which as you'll recall refers to the disintegration of the cell membrane, thus exposing it's innards: such as the nucleus. The soul is the nucleus.

Nuclear fusion involves combining two or more atomic nuclei to form one or more different atomic nuclei and subatomic particles: the difference in mass between the reactants and products is manifested as either the release or absorption of energy; as a rule of thumb the fusion of lighter nuclei releases energy, making it an exothermic process, while the fusion of heavier nuclei results in energy being retained by the product nucleons, and thus the resulting reaction is endothermic. An exothermic reactions releases heat, causing the temperature of the immediate surroundings to rise, while an endothermic one absorbs heat and cools the surroundings.

In the context of this nuclear fusion explanation of Lyctorhood, an exothermic (exothanergetic) reaction releases thanergy while an endothermic (endothanergetic) reaction absorbs thanergy: the fusion of lighter souls release thanergy, the fusion of heavier souls absorbs it.

What are the implications behind these mechanics?

The question that comes to mind is what is a heavier soul? The answer, once again, lies in physics: "The heaviest atomic nuclei are created in nuclear reactions that combine two other nuclei of unequal size into one; roughly, the more unequal the two nuclei in terms of mass, the greater the possibility that the two react." [Wikipedia]

How does John explain the soul of a planet to Harrow?

John: “And what has a soul?” Harrow: “Anything with a thalergetic complexity significant enough to … have a soul. So, humanity.” [...] Harrow: “A planet’s a ball of dust. Its thalergy comes from the accumulation of microbial life. You can’t consider it one coherent system.” John: “Call it a communal soul. What’s a human being, other than a sack of microbial life?

Planets' souls are communal, formed from the thalergetic complexity of an entire world coalescing into a nuclei that lies at its heart, heavy in a way a human soul is not: a human soul is light, a planet's soul is heavy. In other words, Alecto is a heavy nuclei and John is a light nuclei, with the resultant nuclei of their combination forming something heavier than either: an endothanergetic reaction.

Moving back to thanergetic fission and the apopneumatic shock of a violent death, we can now examine what happens when John becomes God:

He becomes aware of Alecto when Cristabel kills herself in front of him.

Now aware of Alecto, he creates a massive flood of thanergy by inciting the violent deaths of millions, possibly billions, through the detonation of nuclear devices.

Empowered by the mass thanergetic fission caused by an untold number of apopneumatic shocks, 'I became a demigod', he finishes off the rest.

He kills Alecto, takes her soul in his hands, and attempts to become one with her.

He almost fails, and during this flawed process is forced to split her soul between his body and another, hiding himself in her and herself in him.

Fusion still occurs, this reaction is endothanergetic and allows him to near absorb a massive amount of thanergy in one sitting: "And when we were together … once the shaman had claimed the sun … I became God."

He violently kills the rest of the planets in the system, flipping them and creating a surplus of thanergy, a process of large-scale energy creation and transferall: to quote Ianthe once again, "You see, my field has always been energy transferral … large-scale energy transferral. Resurrection theory."

What this all means is that the secret behind the Resurrection is that John's Lyctorhood works fundamentally differently to that of his Saints, because his is endothanergetic where theirs is exothanergetic, a reaction between a heavy and a lighter nuclei.

Not only is it endothanergetic instead of exothanergetic, it generates a different form of energy. Emperor John Gaius produces thalergy.

Resurrection Theory

As we know from Anastasia's tripod principle, thalergy alone cannot make life, a soul is also needed—meaning that the inverse is true, in that a soul alone cannot make life, thalergy is needed; In order for John to have performed the Resurrection, he would have needed to imbue bodies with both their soul and thalergy to recreate the life he took in the first place. Logically, this means that John would have to be able to create thalergy. John is the only being in the universe who is able to generate thalergy, namely via the continual fusion reaction between a heavy soul and a light soul, also known as Alecto and himself, to produce it.

Let us return to what Augustine says of the nature of his power: “You don’t get your power from Dominicus,” said Augustine. “It gets its power from you. There’s no exchange involved, no symbiosis. You draw nothing from the system. It relies on you entirely, as we all know. You’re God, John. But—as the Edenites are fond of pointing out—you were once a man. So whither that transition? Where does your power come from? Even if the Resurrection had been the greatest thanergy bloom ever triggered, it would drain away over time.”

John is the source of fresh thanergy in the system: he produces thalergy, which he can decay into thanergy. The thanergy in the system is finite, it would drain away after enough time, but his heavy and light soul reaction producing thalergy that can then be decayed into thanergy allows for new thanergy to be introduced into the system; John's necromancy's unique in that it relies on the rapid creation of thanergy via accelerated thalergetic decay, resulting in thanergetic fission.

Why do I say thanergetic fission? Becase it could explain why his necromancy is shown to manifest as large amounts of light, because what does thanergetic fission result in? We see when Palamedes utilises the rapid thanergetic fission of his thanergy reserves to blow up in Cytherea's face:

The sickroom exploded into white fire, and the bonds pinning Gideon snapped. She fell hard against the wall and spun, drunkenly, lurching back down the corridor as Palamedes Sextus made everything burn. There was no heat, but Gideon sprinted away from that cold white death without bothering to spare a glance behind as though flames were licking at her heels.

White light that gives off no heat. What happens when John reassembles himself?

White light. It bleached the insides of your nose and the back of your throat. It hurt coming out your ears. It bled out your eyeballs. It wasn’t a flash of light, more … a suddenness; when it was gone—as though it hadn’t even existed, but had been a luminous hallucination—time stopped.

Speaking of that scene, it is likely the most definitive proof we see that John produces thalergy, because there is no way for his body to function without thalergy, and thanergy cannot be converted to thalergy (as far as we know). That thalergy has to come from somewhere. John, the Resurrector, is able to create thalergy.

Do you know where else we see what is explicitly called a form of resurrection? The endothanergetic reaction that created Harrowhark Nonagesimus: "My parents gassed fifty-four infants, eighty-one children, and sixty-five teenagers, and harnessed that thanergy bloom to conceive me. My mother used the resultant power to modify her ovum on a chromosomal level, so thanergy ignition wouldn’t compromise the embryo. She did this so I would be a necromancer." [Harrow the Ninth]

A large amount of thanergy is generated within an instant by closely-timed apopneumatic shocks caused by sudden death via what Harrow specifically names as nerve gas [Gideon the Ninth]. This brings to mind thanergetic fission as opposed to fusion, due to the fact it relies on thanergy, but the key detail here lies in two factors: the unequal size of the nuclei (souls) involved here, and the fact these souls are shown to have been manipulated.

The souls—emphasis on souls, as opposed to thanergy—of a large amount of children, of varying ages, are forcibly prevented from passing to the River via liminal osmosis due to the sheer amount of thanergy involved, and they are tied to Harrow's soul, as shown by Abigail commenting on her unique spiritual signature: "I’ve counted up to one hundred and fifty signatures contributing to you, and there’s more—they’re stamps rather than complete revenants, of course, which means their spirits were manipulated to leave marks on you in some way, which is fascinating if it means…"

What is a planet's soul? A communal one, the thalergy complexity of a world. What is Harrow's soul? A communal one, exactly two hundred sons and daughters of her House, manipulated to be stamped on her original one. I cannot speak of what this means, but it means that Harrow's soul is naturally heavier than John's: a nuclei formed from two hundred others.

Conclusions

Lyctorhood is nuclear fusion, with souls as the nuclei: the combination of souls produces thanergy as a byproduct of the process of forming a new nuclei; Souls are not a perpetual energy source, and are unable to generate thanergy or thalergy on their own, it is the combination of them that creates thanergy or thalergy.

Petty Lysis, the Lyctorhood of the Saints, is an exothanergetic reaction which produces thanergy as the two souls involved are melded over untold years: it is not a one-way consumption, it is a fusion, but the power transferral does only go one way, due to the fact it is not a mutual death. Grand Lysis is a more complete, and thus powerful, version of this reaction wherein the two nuclei are fully combined within an instant, as opposed to gradually combined.

John's joining with Alecto works on the same fusion principle of Lyctorhood, but the difference lies in the nature of the reaction at the heart of it: he is endothanergetic and produces thalergy as opposed to thanergy, which he can subsequently decay into thanergy to fuel his necromancy. The Resurrection was made possible by him generating thanergy.

Final Note:

I want to point out something before anyone else can, and that is the fact Lyctors could be interpreted as working on pneumatic fission as opposed to fusion: meaning that the constituent souls are split to produce power, and that the exothanergetic and endothanergetic reactions would be reversed—John exothanergetic instead of endothanergetic, and vice versa with Petty Lyctors, which explains why they appear to be thanergy voids: they absorb all thanergy in their surroundings.

I considered this while writing this theory, but ultimately I found that fusion seemed more likel. Alternatively, both Paul and John are examples of pneumatic fusion due to their more complete Lyctorhood while the Petty Lyctors are working on pneumatic fission. I prefer the idea that all Lyctorhood is pneumatic fusion, which is why I ultimately leaned into that interpretation in this post.

Thank you for reading.

[lialialialialialialialiaa]

okay guys this is that one fic that got deleted about hamzah but i have the screenshots of it so i’m gonna copy and paste it all and i’ll tag the people that wanted to have it!!!!

THIS IS NOT MY FIC!!!!!!! im just reblogging it for the people who wanted it

@hamzahsfav @slushynoobzluvr @lovretrait

i would tag everyone who replied but i cant for some reason🙁

Your last straw is close to snapping. You're sure of it.

That's the thought that's been looping inside your mind as you sit on top of the sheets of your bed, ankles crossed. You pop your bubblegum, eyes trained on the man sat in your chair across the room. 21:06.

That's what the clock reads. It's been an hour since Hamzah arrived, bashful smile at the door as he apologised for setting this session back an hour.

"And, you see, the specific shape of the active site of an enzyme enables it to function," Hamzah drawls on, unfaltered by your clear disinterest. Maybe he doesn't see; his nose is pulled tightly in his book. "It's - It's really a simple understanding of 'lock and key. You can think of enzyme activity as molecular collisions resulting in the formation of enzyme-substrate complexes." All the terms blur together in your mind.

In one ear, transformed and decorated by the thought of anything else, then out the other.

You almost feel bad for Hamzah, pulled into your room to try get you to learn something, anything, for two hours, just so he can earn some extra money. He sits at your desk while you distract yourself with whatever is more interesting which, as it so happens, is almost everything. He doesn't complain, doesn't say much to you other than hey and a string of jargon you don't care to understand. It's not like your bitchy, unimpressed stare is very welcoming.

Hamzah has this certain aura around him. A loser trapped in a hot body.

Really, he could be getting absolutely no play, or the exact opposite, it's hard to tell with those nerdy shirts and nervous energy. But does energy matter when he's gorgeous? He's got big, brown eyes, with a charming shy smile, and adorable curly hair. Girls would look away a flutter of red flags if it meant birthing kids with those traits.

You sigh, pushing the textbooks off your bed, rolling to your belly. You rest your chin on your crossed arms, eyeing Hamzah. He gives you a look at the shifting noise, rounding his eyes as they fall on the stripe of skin your loose lounging shorts have revealed in the crossfire. It's barely a few centimeters of your asscheeks, but Hamzah blushes all the same, flipping back to his book as though burned. You smirk.

Interesting.

"Hamzah" you trail lightly, the cadence of a song.

You found your bright new, shining distraction. Your smile is vicious and dangerous, ready to bite, to gnaw to the bone.

Hamzah looks up at you, incertain. You rarely address him during your tutoring lessons. You're not even sure you've said his name before, at least not to him. "I'm bored with biology," you declare, artfully pouty and dejected.

"Oh," he says. He swallows thickly. Flips through his book. His nervous tics make him all the more tantalizing to you. Some cruel need to toughen him up. “Um—“

You lick your teeth, grinning. "I want to study anatomy."

Hamzah laughs, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"That's not in the syllabus." There's something about the way he tries to display like he has a total misunderstanding of your line, like he misses the intention you clearly display, that makes the need frizzle inside of you. An innocent little thing, to pick and devour through.

You sit up, resting your weight on your heels. Your knees part suggestively, the loose shorts riding up your thighs. Your crop top sits up your ribs. Belly button piercing winks at him. Hamzah takes in the sight, face pale. You grin, victorious.

"I didn't mean that anatomy," you say, teasing. You rest a hand loosely on your leg, purposefully dragging his stare down to it. Your delicately painted nails flash against your skin.

"Oh." He swallows thickly, hypnotized by the soft flesh of your thighs. "I-" He shakes his head, as if to draw himself out of the daydream. "I, um-" He repeats, then laughs, "What?"

You sigh, kneeling up and getting off the bed. Your bare feet wiggle in the fuzzy, soft carpet. You prowl to him, predator-like. His breath hitches in his throat, right where you want it.

"Hamzah," you sing, and he chokes at the sound. Just his name drives him wild - good to know. You get close enough to lean on the desk, to tower over him.

He blinks up at you, robbed of speech. You flutter your eyelashes at him. "Are you a virgin?"

His lips part in surprise, but he doesn't answer. Not that he needs to; the fucking sight of him is enough to know. It's about the fun of watching him stumble, stutter, push his little glasses up his nose, telltale signs you revel in.

You sit on the desk, bunching his careful notes. You trail two fingers up his shoulder, that awful cheesy shirt. You almost resent the feel of it on your skin, if not for the way he shivers.

You pout mockingly at him, stopping where the collar of his shirt meets the skin of his neck. "Are you gonna answer me?"

"Yeah, l'm- yes." You run your fingertips on his neck, a grazing touch that has him staring up at you in devotion. You smirk.

"Have you ever been touched like this?" You run your thumb to the other side of his neck, a strong path. You want him to feel it, until your hand stretches over his throat, possessive.

He swallows under your palm, Adam's apple bobbing on your fortune-telling palm lines. "No," he admits quietly. You feel it resonate more than you hear it.

You hum, silently thrilled. "And have you ever been kissed?" You whisper.

Hamzah stares up at you. He waits a second, two-takes his time. "No." You smirk. You pick your gum between two fingers, pressing it into the corner of his notes. Perfect.

It's a little awkward, of course, because you're perched on the desk and he's sitting all the way down on his chair, gripping its arms. But, still, you bend down and kiss him square on the mouth.

He gasps against you, freezing there. You're undeterred; you kiss and kiss him, smearing your strawberry lipgloss, until he snaps into action and kisses you back. It's a rhythmless, artless thing.

He doesn't know how to kiss.

What he lacks in technique, he makes up in eagerness, opening his mouth and licking a wet tongue into yours. You giggle a little, taste the Sour Patch kids he nervously ate from his bag between two scientific words you purposefully didn't remember. You press at his throat, just so he's as breathless as you are. He moans against your lips, panting.

Hamzah doesn't dare touch. His body is fixed to the desk chair, letting himself be kissed, taking only what you are willing to offer. He sits there like you are breathing life into his mouth, eating and eating and never asking for more. It's what makes you want to give him more.

You pull away from him, straightening like a queen taking her throne. Under you, the pages wrinkle and ruffle, and he doesn't even care. His lips are swollen and pink, shiny from the lipgloss. Breaths puff out from there, pulling attention.

"You're really pretty," you admit lowly, like a secret he should know.

"Thanks," he flushes.

You release his throat, wiping your pink gloss off his lips. They part instinctively. You smile, slipping your thumb inside. He sucks the strawberry, warm tongue on your fingerprint. Power loosens your head.

"Do you want me?" You ask, as though his mouth drooling around your thumb wasn't indication enough.

You want the words; you want the worship.

"Yeth," he says, choking on your finger. You smile, taking it out and drying it on his cheek.

You don't make a big show of taking your shirt off.

Your hands are at the hem of your baby tee, then it's off your shoulders, thrown on the pink carpet. Hamzah whines, surprised and overwhelmed, throwing a furtive glance at the cracked door of your bedroom.

"It's okay," you whisper, taking his hand. Soft and weak; he hasn't worked a day in his life. It's slack between your fingers. He lets you puppeteer it to your breasts, lets you grope yourself with him as an instrument.

He makes another small noise from the back of his throat, staring at the fucking sight like he can't quite believe it truly is his own hand. "God," he mutters to himself, and it's exactly how you feel.

"Say thank you," you taunt him, because you know he will.

"Y/n," he sighs, looking at you pleadingly. He's embarrassed, and you'd stop if it didn't turn you on so much. You raise your brows at him expectantly, waiting.

Like clockwork, Hamzah lowly revels, "Thank you." You grin, satisfied. Growing bold, he rubs a thumb over your hard nipple, a tough callus you didn't expect on the tip of it. It makes you moan; a crack in your spotless armor, but he doesn't even notice. Too preoccupied with playing with your tits, pawing at it greedily.

"Can I-" He flushes, shaking his head.

"What?"

"Can I lick them?" A drop of heat strikes through you.

You clench your thighs, arching your back into his readied palm.

"Yes." He leans in before you've finished the 's, sucking your abandoned nipple into his mouth. He licks and rubs and pinches, raw skill pulling at your sensitive skin. You bite back groans, breathing harshly. Your chest rises and falls into his mouth, but he's just as diligent.

You rake a long-nailed hand into his hair, scratching his scalp with every particularly delicious lick. He moans at that, vibrating on your sensitive nipples.

He sticks his tongue out, panting like a dog, dipping down to the valley of your tits and pressing a kiss, then climbing up a new breast. He bites gently, and you jump, surprised by his boldness.

"Sorry," he whispers. You don't like this little switch-up in power. He's supposed to be purring for you, enthrallment shining in his eyes. You tug on his hair, making him look at you.

Hamzah stares up, dutiful. He doesn't care about the power game; hasn't even realized you were slipping.

He takes what you give.

You soothe away the sting of his hair. "Pretty boy," you coo. Hamzah beams at that, you can see it in his eyes.

"Wanna ruin you."

With this, you jump off the desk, and kneel under it.

"Oh," Hamzah says, eyes wide as he watches you fumble with his pants. You unbutton and unzip, fast and knowledgeable, dipping into his boxers— "Wait."

You look up at him, inches from your goal. You cock your head, frowning. "What?"

"Just-" He pants, staring at you with those big, brown eyes. God. "Just give me a second."

You hum, grazing a finger on the faint happy trail of his stomach. His belly sucks in. "Are you nervous?"

"No," he says. Lie. "Yes. I don't know." He nervously laughs. His hands still grip the armrests, white-knuckled. "Why are you doing this?"

You shrug. "I want to." You tip your head, kissing his soft hand. "Do you want me to?"

"Well, yeah."

You grin. "Relax." Finally, your hand slips under his underwear, and you wrap around his hard length. He gasps, cold fingers against hot skin, fingers against him.

His hips jump into your fist as you draw him out.

Another nervous glance to the door, still half-opened.

There's nobody else home, he knows this, so you wonder why he seems so cautious. You lick your lips.

Perhaps it's the thought that your roommates could come back any moment.

You lightly scratch your nails against him. You run a thumb on his tip, smearing precum. He hisses, turning into a moan as you slowly drag your hand down. He's frozen and tense, almost afraid of moving, as if that would make you go away.

"Teach me," you say.

He blinks at you, dazed. "Huh?"

Your eyes vaguely look up to the desk you hide under, biology notes in his scratchy writing laying wrinkled.

"Biology. I'm paying you for a reason, aren't I?"

"Oh-" He flushes, embarrassed. Pushes his glasses up. "Right, right." His hands let go of the armrests, searching through the pages. You choose this moment to kiss the tip of his cock. He whimpers, shutting his eyes in pleasure. "Fuck." You giggle, all too happy.

He struggles to find where you disturbed him, biting his lip in comical concentration. You tease him, enjoying all the little breaths he chokes on, the soft sounds he tries to hide. Your hand pumps up and down, twisting at the wrist.

You wonder how often he's done this on himself, who he imagined between his legs.

From now, it'll be you. You'll make sure of it.

"Right, so," Hamzah starts, out of breath. "In some reactions," he continues arduously, "one substrate is broken down into multiple products. And-" Devilishly, you lick a stripe up his length. He groans, twitching on your tongue. "Shit," he mutters.

He drags his stare down, pulling away from his notes to watch you. You indulge him, parting your lips and wrapping them around his tip. You suck on it gently.

His face wrinkles, a moan breaking from him. You pull your head down, swallowing him. He clutches at his papers, scrunching them himself.

"Oh, God," Hamzah says, trying to catch his breath as you bob your head. "I'm- Shit."

You let go of him with a wet pop, stroking him quickly.

"Shh," you tease him. "You're too loud." Again, he throws a nervous look towards the door.

Saliva and lipgloss and precum already lube him, but you keep your hand at his base as you spit on his cock.

You drag it down his length. Hamzah's eyes snap towards you. "Do that again." He wants to see you.

You smirk, tilting your head to leave wet kisses up his cock, then lick his tip. You spit on it, and a low groan resonates from him. His hips rise up into your hand, but you push them down with your claws.

"Fuck," he whimpers from the back of his throat, melting on the chair. He likes it messy. You grin, peppering little kisses over his cock, smearing him in strawberry lipgloss.

"What's the other thing?"

"Huh?" He blinks, tying himself back to reality. "Right, um, substrates. It's-" Again, you choose this moment to push him down your throat. He loses speech, mumbling incoherent syllables, some broken version of your name.

Though your head bobs quickly, pulling further and further down his length, twisting a stroking hand all the same, you pinch your nails at his hip. He jumps, struck out of the daze of pleasure, blinking down at you.

"Yeah, it's — The other reactions are-" You let go of his hip, pinching your own nipple instead. Hamzah whines, losing his train of thought. "You're not being fair."

You laugh, spitting him out to catch your breath. You grope yourself and he watches, not sure which hand to focus on. His cheeks are tinted red, maybe from effort, or adrenaline, or shyness. It's cute enough to bite.

Wonder shines in his eyes. He can't believe this is happening; he's eternally grateful, as he should be. As they all should have been, those faceless men you've blown in the bathrooms of parties for attention and a momentary stop to complete boredom. They stayed quiet, almost afraid to make noise, to show they enjoyed it, until they shook and spilled inside your mouth. Hamzah's not afraid to moan.

Your brain rushes, sticky happy. You pant on his cock, trailing a finger down your stomach, then dipping in your shorts. Hamzah's eyes widen, straightening to catch a glimpse. You smile, catching a pool of your arousal.

You come back up, fingers sticky and wet with your slick, and smear it on his cock. Hamzah scrunches his face, whimpering, shaking under your hands.

"You're trying to kill me."

"Only because it's easy," you mock, jerking and twisting your two hands in rhythm, wet sounds ringing in the room.

You free his cock, gripping the armrests of the chair instead. You wrap your mouth around it, and bend down until your nose touches the faint smatterings of dark hair on his belly. You gag on him, and he strangles the edge of the desk trying to kill his moans.

You pump him in your mouth quickly, feeling him twitch and rise to meet you. He remembers himself, falling down on the chair dutifully, not even burying a needy hand in your hair, as though afraid that would be asking for too much.

You drag up, making him hit the inside of your cheek, before releasing him. You spit the precum on him, blinking up through teary eyes. He doesn't have any words, red swollen lip bitten raw.

"I taste great," you say, and then offer up your still-wet fingers to him. He's eager, sucking them into his mouth. He bobs, imitating you, and the sight and feel makes hot desire drip inside of you.

You want to squeeze him until he pops.

You take his hand, pulling it into your hair. He grips instinctively, pushing it out of your face. "Don't push," you warn, serious. He nods frantically, and you trust him to mean it.

You take him into your mouth for what you know is the final time. You're certain he won't last long, droopy and moaning and twitching, hissing every time your tongue runs on him. You bob with skill and precision still. He tugs at your hair, both hands in now, trembling in the mess of it. He never pushes, or fucks his hips up; trusts you to undo him yourself.

He swears and curses and whimpers, head falling down and back, vacillating between the sky and your red, puffy face. You don't think he's even aware of himself, doesn't even process the sounds he's letting out, doesn't give himself even a second to feel embarrassed.

"Fuck, fuck— this isn't—," he whispers to himself, sounding wild. "You're killing me. I'm gonna- I'm gonna-" Hamzah cries, slapping a hand over his mouth, and comes down your throat. He shakes, moans hidden in his palm, eyes shut and forehead wrinkled.

He lets go of your hair with a fucked-out sigh, panting.

His eyes never leave you, disbelief written all over it.

You pull him out of your throat, and smile at him.

You're about to swallow when he touches your arm, unsure of where he's allowed to now. "Wait, can you-"

He grows embarrassed, blushing. "Can you open your mouth?”

You part your lips, showing off his white cum still sitting on your tongue. He whimpers at the sight, fingers digging into your arm. His breathing turns irregular, cheeks reddening, eyes darkening. He's so strange.

Still, you stick your tongue out, putting his load in evidence, making a spectacle of it. He looks tortured, enthralled.

You stay long enough that you feel it run down, long white rope hanging from your tongue, then dropping on your breast.

"Fuck," Hamzah whispers to himself. Seemingly without thinking, he runs his thumb on your breast, catching his cum and sucking it between his lips.

You smile, slurping the cum back into your mouth, and swallowing it. You flash your red tongue at him. "All clean."

"Thank you," Hamzah says. "I- I'm not sure why you did that, but- I, you know, appreciate it." He's so polite. You'd laugh if he wouldn't snap back into that little head box of his.

"I'm very thankful for all those lessons," you wink.

"No, you're not."

"No, I'm not." Hamzah's finger rubs the skin of your arm, that strangely tough callus, and it has you leaning into his touch. "Though, this has been my favorite lesson."

"God, I couldn't even get a word out."

"Hence why."

Hamzah snorts and he offers you a hand. You grab it to manoeuvre out from under the desk. You push your sweaty hair out of your face, then wipe the leftover stickiness from your breasts.

Hamzah, of course, follows the movement to your tits.

He swallows. "Do you, um," he pushes his glasses up.

"Do you want, like, something back?"

You arch an eyebrow, incapable of holding a small giggle this time. "Do you know how?"

He stares into your eyes. "I could try."

And, again, there's just something about his eagerness, his willingness, his open devotion, that has you saying, "Yeah, I guess you could try."

You tiptoe to your bedroom door, looking left and right into the hallway, before quietly shutting it. You turn around to a displeased Hamzah. "Oh, so you get to have it closed?"

'''S fun when you're struggling, besides, you know no one's home," you shrug, devilish. You run to the bed, falling on the pillows, fluttering your eyelashes at him.

"Come here. cutie." He practicallv trips out of his chair to find you. He's three steps in when you stop him.

"Take your clothes off."

He grows shy under your gaze. Staying in place, fingers shaking, he starts to lift off his shirt. He kicks off his sneakers and his baggy jeans until he stands there in his boxers. He's as hot as you imagined him to be. You smile.

Hamzah crosses his arms. "Can I see you, too?" He whispers.

You shimmy your shorts off your legs and throw it beyond the bed. Hamzah's stare stutters on your pink lace, wet patch where your desire pooled.

You draw a hand towards him and he takes it, falling over you on the bed. He doesn't waste time, giving you a sloppy kiss before mouthing at your neck, your collarbones, your tits. He laps at them first and you wonder if he's trying to get the last lingering taste of his cum. He catches a nipple next and sucks it.

Gaspy moans leave your lips. You part your legs instinctively and he buries between them, already hardening. His cock hits your thigh and he sucks and pinches and plays until you start thinking he might really be able to try.

Your hands descend down his back, freckled under your nails. You grip his waist, pushing at his hip, the hem of his boxers. Hamzah understands, leaving you long enough to kick them off. He pants in front of you, leaning back already, wet, swollen mouth parted.

Hamzah lays over you again and his hard cock presses into your need. You scratch your nails up his back and he jerks, bucking into you. A moan leaves both your mouths. He tries again, artless, just off your clit.

"Oh," he whispers, mostly to himself. He does it again, building and building heat inside of you, yet never relieving.

You huff. You sneak a hand between your bodies, moving your underwear aside until he slips under it.

Another boy would have taken the opportunity, would have buried inside before you even had time to nod, but Hamzah doesn't even think of it.

He humps your wet cunt, tucked tight under your underwear, hem pressing his length. Hamzah moans every time, quickening, desperate. He tilts his hand to better see as his cock bulges the cloth, a wet patch forming where his precum stains.

"Fuck."

And it's better; he's faster, and firmer, and mostly there. He follows your little puffs of shameful breaths, staying where they transform into slack moans.

Pleasure starts waking up inside your belly, sickly warm.

But you've had boys hump at you before, had them bucking between your legs. You know it's not what will get you off. You need your mind stimulated, to be so thoroughly hot and desperate you finally let yourself

до.

You pinch the nape of his neck, making him look at you. A slack, messy smirk lays on your lips. You tease,

"Have you ever thought of me during our tutoring sessions?"

Hamzah's hips stutter. He looks away. "Like..."

"Yeah, like, on my knees."

Hamzah blushes. "Well, yeah."

You grin, too pleased. A deadly smile, hunting.

"When?"

"I don't know..." He mutters. You scowl to yourself, and maybe he senses that, because his chin grazes your shoulder and he admits shamefully, "When you ate that popsicle. And you licked and you slurped and you sucked and, just- I'm a guy. I had visions."

"I had visions." You imitate, mocking. You tsk, "You're such a nerd." You roll your hips back against him and a whimper buries in the skin of your shoulder. "Was it how you imagined?"

"Better." He nods fervently. "So much fucking better. I actually died, I think. You're insane." Pride and power makes your head loose, makes pleasure ripple through your flesh.

You claw at his skin, warning dangerously, "You like it." All it does is make him moan, bucking faster against you. Your toes curl. You breathe in his ear, "Tell me more."

"I, uh- Shit." The tip of his cock burrows in your underwear as he slides, wet and slick from you. He shivers over you. "I'd think about— bending you over the desk."

Your smile ghosts your face, grazing his soft, fresh cheek. "Really?"

"Just, you know, when you wouldn't listen. And you'd pop that chewing gum, and you'd ignore me, and you'd be mean."

You smirk, clicking your tongue. "So you wanted to, what, toughen me up? Take your revenge?"

His cheeks redden. "No." His lips brush your shoulders, and he kisses, opposite. "I don't know. I wanted you to pay attention." He licks your neck. "I wanted to make you scream." Mouths at your jaw. "I wanted to fuck you. Or I- I wanted you."

You can't believe you're now the one blushing. You pant, glad he's buried in your throat, that he can't see.

A moan slips from you as he nips gently at your skin.

Your eyes roll in your skull.

"You like when I'm mean to you?" You tease meanly, out of breath. You scratch his back, burying your hand in his hair, and tugging until he looks you in the eyes.

"Gets you all bothered?"

Hamzah shivers, whining, "Fuck, please-"

You push him onto his back, rolling over. Two hands press into his chest, and you might very well concave his ribcage. You stare him down, divine. "You wanted to fuck me?"

His messy, unbrushed hair falls around his head like a halo. He's sweet enough to make your head spin. He watches you openly behind the glass of his specs, breathing, "Yes."

You trail your fingernails on his hard cock, down to his base. "And now?"

Devoting, "Yes."

A rush of thrill fills you. You kneel up, shimmying your underwear off. Hamzah gasps at the sight, raking a hungry gaze up and down your body. He holds the sheets of your bed with white-knuckled fingers.

You waste no time, rocking your cunt against his tip once, twice, before slowly lowering yourself on him.

You inhale at the stretch. Hamzah's eyes shut, whining. "Look at me," you order, and he listens.

His eyes flash open. He blinks at you as you bottom out. His head rolls, shaking. "Oh, fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck." You go to move up, but he holds your hip down.

He takes deep breaths. "Can we- Just, this is-"

"It's okay," you whisper, taking his hand and placing it over the regular beating of your heart. He thumbs your nipple while he's there, breathing in sync with your pulse. You slowly roll your hips on him.

Hamzah moans, gripping the flesh of your thigh. You let him adjust to the feel of it, rocking softly, dragging your clit on his pelvis. You bite your lip raw as pleasure blooms inside of you. Your thighs ache to go faster, harder, but you maintain the delicate pace for him.

Just that has him shaking under you, and you once again grip his hand over your heart to ground him.

"Sorry," he says with an embarrassed laugh. "Fuck," is immediately added when you circle your hips, his eyes rolling. "Fuck, sorry."

"Stop apologizing," you order. "What are the other reactions?" You say, attempting to drag him out of his anxiety-filled head. He frowns at you. "Of enzymes."

His lips part. "I didn't know you knew that term."

You roll your eyes, then your hips, euphoria fizzling under your skin. "I listen to you." His unconvinced look betrays him. "Sometimes."

"They're, um- Shit. They come together to create one

- fuck, one larger molecule or-" You finally rock faster, angling your hips to have him bury inside you right where you need him. You moan, chest rising and falling quickly. Your legs grow desperate; you chase that sickly pleasure.

"Yeah?" You encourage him on, seeing his own pleasure resonate in his face. He bites his lip, pawing uselessly at your thigh. "Or?" You're out of breath.

"Or swap pieces," he finally finishes between two moans. Chuckles, "Actually, pretty much all biological reactions you can think of probably-" Your hips fall harsher on him and he loses his train of thought, overwhelmed. You smile, setting a wild pace, completely unfair.

"Probably what?" You say, teasing, "I'm always thinking about biological reactions."

"Don't tease," he pouts, and you slow down your thrusts just to spite him. He whines, pressing his short fingernails into the skin of your thigh.

"Come on." You make him look you in the eyes, mocking, "Educate me."

"They all have enzymes," Hamzah finally finishes. You reward him by reaching down and pinching his nipple.

He whimpers, cursing your name. "Why have you suddenly decided to be a good student?"

'Cause you're adorable when you're struggling to find words," you answer honestly. You hold your weight up on the hand pressed into his chest, angling your hips until your clit rubs and rubs his pelvis. Your eyes roll, fucking him quicker. "Fuck. I love when I can make you all stupid for me." The power in changing up his DNA composition, making a smart boy incapable of remembering all the jargon you yourself don't know, is addictive. Undoing him block by block until he's putty in your hands. Hamzah just moans, not arguing.

Sweat pearls his forehead. The white sheets make him angelic. He breathes your name, fluttering his eyelashes at you. "Can I try on top?" Maybe it's because he looks so reverent, so innocent, that you nod.

Hamzah doesn't push you and roll you over, instead staying there, as though waiting for it to just magically happen. You giggle to yourself, unmounting him and falling back on the mattress, legs parted. He swallows thickly, laying over you.

His glasses fall down his nose and you laugh, grabbing them and carefully placing them on your nightstand.

He blinks, adjusting to the blurry sight.

His hand shakes as he grabs himself and lines up. He misses once, twice, until you rest a soothing hand on his and guide him. Hamzah moans in your hair as he slides in. He stays in your wet heat for a second, catching his breath, before he thrusts.

And it's bad, of course. He doesn't have any rhythm, bucking blindly inside of you. It's a strange pace, irregular and powerless. He certainly can't find any type of mindnumbing spot. Pleasure simmers lowly in your belly, heat turned off almost to nothing if it weren't for the pretty moans that bury straight in your ear.

You grab his hip, making him look at you. "Start slow," you instruct, guiding him. He follows the movements of your hand, rocking back and forth, slow but regular.

"There," you nod, arching your back. "Just, tilt-" He repositions himself, eager to learn, and you shudder.

You call his name, syrupy with moans.

He's a fast learner, following diligently the guidings of your gripping hand. He fucks into you slowly, but surely. Your toes curl. Pleasure wakes up again, coiling in your belly. "Like this?" He breathes. You nod, encouraging him on.

"It's like I'm tutoring you," you remark, chuckling to yourself. Hamzah snorts. "I like being the smart one for once."

Hamzah frowns. "You're always smart." He says it without thinking, because he means it. Something wet chokes your throat, tugs at your lips. You stare up at his dark eyes, holding them through fanned lashes, searching for any hint of a lie behind his words. Truth.

You swallow, heart growing. "You just don't listen."

"Would you like me to?" You say, tone taunting. A self-destroying instinct, telling you to hurt, to ruin. "Make me your little pet? Be all obedient? Have me sucking your cock while you tell me all about biology?"

His eyebrows furrow. "Do you want me to do that?" All your bullets don't land. He's unconcerned on what he wants. You huff.

Instead of reckoning, you order, "Faster, now." Hamzah nods against your cheek. He obeys, thrusting quicker.

You let go of his hip, climbing up his back just to rake your nails down it. His hips snap faster, harsher, endeavored. You grin, licking his jaw, kissing the bone

"Fuck," he whimpers, catching your lips and kissing you. You wrap your arms around his neck, trapping him there as he ruts between your legs. You swallow all the sounds he makes, kill the swears you think of saying. Euphoria washes you.

He leaves your lips just to smack wet kisses over your face, again and again. On your forehead, your cheeks, your eyelids, your chin. He mouths down your throat, starts sucking and nipping at the side. You bury a hand into his hair, pushing him further down. "Not the neck," you explain, breathy.

Hamzah finds the side of your tits and he buries there, sucking at your skin. You arch into his mouth, pleasure rushing up your side at the pinpricks of pain. He moans against you, bucking faster. Your mind spins and spins. "Hamzah." Again, he speeds up, harsh and wild. "Fucking hell, Hamzah."

You tug at his hair and he releases you, lips wet and swollen. He pants over you, eyes dazed with pleasure.

A new wave of heat strikes you just from the sight of him, unmade and wild. You sneak a hand between your bodies. You find your clit easily, rubbing.

Hamzah's head drops to watch you. He whines, seeing where he disappears inside of you, over and over, where your nails swipe at you.

He leans his weight on one arm, joining his own hand with yours. You're surprised at the act, at the willingness of involving himself in the complicated business of your pleasure. Your fingers stop, resting up on your stomach.

He paws blindly at your cunt, just a little off where you need him. You grip his wrist, angling him at the right place, gently circling and swiping with his finger. The callus presses on your clit and it's a delicious sensation. You roll your eyes, crying out, then slapping your palm over your mouth. Hamzah grins proudly, continuing to rub at you.

"This is good, right?" He whispers, pretty eyes all vulnerable on you.

You nod frantically. "Yes. It's good." You melt on the sheets, parting your legs further. "It's really good." His cheeks flush at the compliment. You wrap your hand around his throat, resting there with silent ownership.

"Did you ever think it'd be me?"

He chokes on a laugh and a moan. "No. I never thought you'd ever even give me a look."

You hum, pleased with the answer. He realizes it's a privilege. You grin, pressing your fingers on the sides of his neck. His hips stutter, then snap even faster, a broken cry leaving him. His lips part in quiet ecstasy.

His eyes shut, rapid movement behind his eyelids.

You grin at him. "Well, you deserve it, helping me out this much."

You release him, at least giving him a chance. He falls into your shoulder, taking deep inhales, shaking.

"Thank you," he says, mumbly. "Thank you, baby, fuck." You rake through his hair, soothing. "Aw, fuck, I'm gonna-" He twitches inside of you.

"Not inside!" You shout. Hamzah gasps, thrusting out of you. He cries as he comes on your navel and cunt.

He catches his breath, blinking himself back to this reality, still shaking.

"Sorry," he says, shortwinded. A pang of

disappointment hits you. It's not like you've ever come with someone else before, but it had felt really close this time.

At least Hamzah tried.

Hamzah watches his cum painted over your skin, catching your piercing, mixing with the slick of your cunt. He moans to himself, then bends down between your thighs.

You rest on your elbows, frowning. "What—" He licks a stripe over your cunt, tasting both your juices.

Euphoria strikes through you. Your back hits the mattress as you fall back, legs shaking. "Hamzah." He hums, faraway, licking and licking to clean you all up.

You bury a hand in his hair, grounding him in place.

He finds your clit, rubbing it with the tip of his tongue, circling then sucking it. You jolt on the bed, biting back a scream. You frown to yourself, tugging on his hair, fire boiling inside your stomach. What the fuck.

He laps at you, moaning every time your nails scratch his scalp, the sound vibrating against you. A hand wraps around your thigh, keeping you open for him.

He devours you eagerly, hungrily, until you're a mess melting into his mouth.

"God, Hamzah," you cry. You have to actually hold back another one with a slap of your hand, shocked at yourself as you scream into your palm.

Hamzah stops, breathing harshly, and you throw a glance down in question. He climbs up your stomach, lapping at your skin, cleaning the last of his cum. You whimper at the dirty sight, desire drumming down your limbs.

He throws you a hot look. Tongue out, full of white cum. He goes back between your legs and buries it in your cunt, fucking it in. You jump, cursing to the ceiling. He laughs, greedily tasting you.

You roll your hips into his face, hitting the tip of his nose on your clit. Every strike has ecstasy resonating in your bones. You feel light on your bones.

His lips wrap around your clit. He sucks, grazing a tongue, swiping and circling like you showed him. You recognize the same pattern, recognize the rhythm. Of course he's a fast learner.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you chant, choked by your hand.

You raise your hips into his mouth, silently begging.

Your legs shake, desperate. Pressure pushes at your belly. Your eyes roll. "Don't stop."

He mumbles something in your cunt, probably a promise or a praise, dutifully not stopping. He laps and eats and fucks until your brain melts into your skull, dripping down your spine.

"Oh, fuck, l'm-" Your head shakes fervently. "Just stay

- Shit, Hamzah, just- I-" The pressure snaps and you come on his readied tongue, screaming. Hot white flashes in your vision. Relief washes you, dipping to every crevices, relaxing you. He moans against your cunt.

Hamzah continues to lick you, mission-bound, until your lungs are on fire and you physically push him away. He smiles up at you, chin sticky and wet and red. He wipes it, kneeling.

"Where the fuck did you learn how to do that?" You say, shortwinded, shocked to your bones. You stare at him like he's grown a second head.

It's the first time someone other than your knowing hand made you come. And it's fucking Hamzah. You blink at him.

“What?” He laughs, falling beside you on the bed.

You gesture vaguely downwards. "That."

"Oh," he blushes. Shrugs. "I don't know. I watch stuff," You laugh, shaking your head. "You perv. Knew you weren't all innocent,"

Hamzah grins, cheekily proud. He gently grazes the bruise he left on your breast, the splotch of red that will darken, be a leftover trace of him.

"Thanks," he says simply.

"You're welcome." You shift your legs, feeling the wetness still between them. "Thanks to you too, I guess." He grins, hiding in the white pillows.

He gives you a look. "Will you listen when I tutor you now?"

You smirk mischievously. "Maybe if you have my fingers in your mouth."

"Oh," Hamzah says, eyes wide. "Will you — Will this happen again?"

You make a noncommittal shrug, though a more definite answer hums in your heart. "Maybe if you're really good." You smile to yourself. "Or really boring, and I need to shut you up."

"You can shut me up any day."

"I know." You linger in that moment for just a second more, eyes locked together, smiles tickling your lips.

Then you sit up, reaching for your underwear.

"Session's almost done."

Hamzah nods, lips thin. "Right." He pats the nightstand for his glasses.

You dress yourselves, wiping away sweat and cum, brushing wild strands. On the way to the door, your roommates arrive back home, in the process of taking off their shoes when you catch their eyes.

"I didn't know you'd be here, Hamzah," One of them says. You don't like her tone, or the way her eyes glaze over him, like he's a prize she's chasing. Hamzah awkwardly laughs, looking over at you for some type of guidance.

"He's just leaving,"

She pouts, "That's a shame,"

A green fire flames in the pit of your stomach, glowing and thrashing, a mix of jealousy and possessiveness that grows with each second too long she looks at him. It's unsettling, so incredibly annoying, watching your roommate stare at him like some kind of God, merely minutes after taking his innocence, as if you just painted him in some type of glow, that only now people want to take what's yours.

You can't stand it, tugging on Hamzah's arm and guiding him to the door. "Hamzah," her voice has both of you snapping your heads back,

"Are you busy tomorrow? I was wondering if you wanted to go out?"

Fuck off.

And maybe you wouldn't have spoken up if he didn't look to you right away, lost puppy eyes and all, like your approval and opinion is all that matters to him. So you take control, "Oh, Hamzah's busy tomorrow, right?"

"Right," He nods, unconvincing. But it's okay because he won't be lying, you'll make sure he's busy because he's yours now.

[temis-de-leon]

Day 10 - Surprise kiss

Characters: Leviathan x male!MC

25 kisses challenge Masterlist

Main Masterlist

CW: suggestive, established relationship, mentions of sex between Levi and MC and Levi being a sub (surprise surprise), insecure Levi, loving (and horny) MC

.

Levi had never used a grip so strong on him. He felt the pad of his fingers and the tip of his nails, the stress his poor boyfriend had been under for the last week so frustrating tears were filling his eyes.

MC sighed, caressing his arm in hopes of soothing him and forgetting the tingling in his belly, although his mind made both things slightly difficult.

It was usually the other way around, with MC grabbing Levi hard enough to leave imprints of his hands, but this was a welcomed change, surprisingly exciting.

He just wished they weren't staring at the colorfully bright computer screen during his thrilling discovery.

The demon's body trembled in expectation, quickly grabbing MC’s caring hand a second after feeling the touch.

One of them was clearly too nervous to think straight and the other was too excited upon being trapped by his boyfriend.

A thrilling discovery indeed. He'd make sure to bring it up in another moment.

At the time being, however, MC needed to make sure Levi wouldn't have a heart attack or a stroke, although he wasn't completely sure if demons could suffer the consequences of being awake for hours without food or water with the same intensity as humans. Probably not, but taking care of one's boyfriend shouldn't depend on biology.

“I'm sure you'll get the ticket” he reassured him “We've all signed for the contest, even Barbatos! And you know he's usually lucky with…”

“But what if I don't?!” Levi cried before he could finish talking “That would mean I wasted our time for nothing! And you're going to get tired of me!”

He kept rambling, drying his tears before they could stain his cheeks and letting MC go in the process.

“I'm never going to get tired of you!” he assured him, feeling cold all of a sudden. His hands seeked Levi's in search of contact. “And if you don't win, we can always try next time”

“That could be years from now…”

“I don't mind” he said quickly.

There was a faint sadness in his boyfriend's voice that he immediately despised. He could understand, he wouldn't be dating him if he didn't, but there had to be something to counter the possibility of not winning the VIP meet and greet.

“Maybe you're not interested anymore”

The whisper was almost inaudible, but it was there.

Sure, there was a chance of not caring about meeting the voice actors anymore, but if Levi still craved it, then he would go. Although, he slightly suspected that was not what Levi meant to say.

He stared at him, studying his avoiding glaze and holding his slender fingers in order to make him stop prickling his own skin.

Then it clicked and his face turned sour.

“I love you” he said with conviction, enjoying the immediate blush in his cheeks. “And I'll be with you until the end of my time”

“MC… I want to be with you too…”

A ping interrupted his words. They both turned their heads towards the computer, wide eyes absorbing the sight of the cartoonish ticket and the gigantic bold letters occupying the entire screen.

CONGRATULATIONS. YOU ARE THE WINNER.

MC could swear his heartbeat was loud enough to fill the room, but there were only a couple of seconds of silence before Levi jumped out of his chair and lifted him off his with a tight hug.

His babbling was unintelligible, words of happiness blurring together, though it was difficult to try to make sense of them when his legs were drawing circles in the air, the demon making them spin so fast it was making MC nauseous.

“Levi! Honey!” he tried to call him to no avail.

Finally seeing him so ecstatic made him happy, but he really needed to stop or he'd loose all sense of direction.

He thought luck entered the room when Levi suddenly stayed still and sealed their lips together and he quickly took the opportunity to cradle his face and scratch his neck, but it was only seconds before he hugged him even tighter and began spinning again.

MC crossed his ankles behind Levi's back, closing his eyes.

He could do nothing but enjoy the ride.

.

.

Taglist: @ourfinalisation  @owlisbuffering  @chizukimp4  @ravenredwine @darkflowerav  @beatlebeesstuff   @mehkers

[bouncybongfairy]

was wondering if you could write a morty smith x reader where you both get high after studying together?

Study Date

Morty Smith x Fem Reader

Summary: Morty musters up the courage and asks you over for a study date. Who knew studying human biology could have such interactive hands on lessons.

Word Count: 1.5k

Ref Account: @kaionyx

TW: Smut, Fingering, Squirting, Nipple Play.

(Aged up)

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

It was lunch and you were sitting at one of the tables in the quad. Your friends were fixing up their hair and make-up as they picked at their food. Talking shit about girls they either didn’t know and/or don’t like. The conversation was starting to shift, them talking about how Morty came up to you before class. He’d invited you to come over after school and study. A lot of your friends think he’s weird or odd. That was one of the things you liked most about him. Most guys tried acting all big and confident when trying to pursue you. Puffing their shoulders out and bragging about all the illegal activities they partake in. Morty was quite nervous when he spoke with you, like he was savoring every second he could be near you. Him being so flustered and shy made you feel flattered. 

“Are you really going to his house after school?” Trisha asked. 

“Yeah, why not?” you asked, stabbing at your salad. 

“I don’t know he’s just kinda… like strange?” she asked, which made the entire table laugh. 

“Not as strange as Brad going back and forth between you and Jessica like he’s test driving a car he might wanna buy. Even once he picks the one he wants, we all know he’ll run it into the ground,” you said, packing your lunch and bag. 

They were idiots and you didn’t appreciate the little jab towards Morty. You could tell that it took a lot of him to muster up the courage to talk to you. As someone who also struggled with shyness and social anxiety, it hurt you to see people poke fun at that. You ended up going home early, too worked up to go back to class. Even though you had nerves, that didn’t take away from how excited you were. There were two classes where you sat behind him, at times you wouldn’t pay attention to what was going on. Watching all his nervous little mannerisms, the way he picked at his nails. Or scratched the back of his neck when we were given an assignment he didn’t understand. 

Sometimes he’d come to school with a gash above his eyebrow, or a purple tinted bruise under his eye. You liked how he kinda looked sad and tired all the time. It was weird, you weren’t really sure why. It didn’t take long for you to get home. Letting yourself in because your mom and dad were both at work. This worked out great for you, it meant you could take hits of your pen out in the open. Also allowing you to use all the makeup on your moms vanity without her fussing. Time was flying by a lot faster now that you weren’t on campus. This may sound vain but you really want to impress him with your physical beauty.

Ensuring to pay attention to the smallest details, making sure your eyelash glue wasn’t visible. That your concealer wasn’t caking under your eyes. After staring at yourself in the mirror for a while, you drove over. His house was really nice, furnished like a 90’s family movie. Pictures of family and inspirational quotes, very cozy. Morty’s room was nice. He could normally keep it very tidy but, you’d like to think he cleaned it because you were coming over. Different posters scattered about his room, a rug in the middle of the room; made to look like the solar system. 

“Have you always been into science?” you asked. 

“Uh, no my grandpa is the one who made me into it,” he said, pulling out the chair for you to sit at his desk. 

“Oh yeah, Trish was telling me about that. What’s like the craziest thing you guys ever did in space?” you asked, emptying your bag. 

“One time Rick was selling this-” he started but you interrupted. 

“No, no I meant like you. Not Rick, I wanna know what’s the craziest thing you’ve done,” you clarified. 

“I- um well. This one time Rick had to do some business on the citadel, I couldn’t come for w-what ever reason. There’s this, like club/bar thing called the Creepy Morty. It was the first time I snorted kalaxian c-crystals and some crazy shit w-went down,” he said, chuckling a little. 

“Oh my god, that sounds like a lot of fun,” you said, opening up your biology book. Pulling out the notes you’d written during class. 

“Your writing is so nice,” he said, watching you bend down to get your pink pencil box. 

“Thank you, I feel like those were pretty sloppy,” you said, opening the plastic box and revealing a plethora of weed paraphernalia, “Will we get in trouble for smoking here?” you asked, licking the grape flavored wrap. 

“B-be my guest,” he said, laughing nervously, “Can you even r-roll with nails?” he asked. 

Instead of verbally responding, you just finished rolling. He pointed out how you made the mouthpiece slightly tighter than the rest of it. The fact that he noticed this small detail made you blush. Putting the blunt between your lips, gesturing from him to light it. His hand shook a little as he brought the flame to you. It was surprising to you, watching him take ghost inhales without coughing. The two of you began talking back and forth, just about life and whatever came to mind. Eventually the conversation began to shift, you asking if he had a girlfriend. 

“No, w-why would I invite you over if I did,” he laughed. 

“Oh so you invited me over for romantic reasons?” you asked, tilting your head up and blowing the smoke towards the ceiling. 

“What? No Absolutely- I just…” he began slightly panicking. 

“No? Aww that’s too bad,” you said. 

“Really?” he asked. 

“I mean yeah, I think you’re really cool. I like you alot, I can’t deny that when you asked me to come over I was really excited,” you said, handing him the blunt. 

“Holy shit, honestly you don’t understand how good that is to hear,” he said. 

“Well now that we both can admit we never really intended on studying, maybe we can watch a movie on my laptop?” you asked.

He of course agreed, now laying on your stomachs. His twin size bed only made for your bodies to be pressed against each other. Watching a horror movie that he suggested. Already 15 minutes in, you were waiting for him to make a move. He was laying on his side, back facing the wall and his elbow was supporting his head . Rubbing your back but keeping a respectful distance from your ass. Eventually he started to wander down, making your back arch involuntarily. You could have sworn he chuckled, to be fair most of your focus was trying to act like it isn't affecting you. Going down past your skirt, his fingertips now against your skin. At first he was just feeling you up, squeezing and groping after a while. 

You were happy to be wearing makeup because your face was getting hot. He started to make things more intense, now rubbing the fabric of your panties. You had to bite back a gasp as he traced your slit with his fingers. He curls his leg around yours, spreading your thighs apart. Pulling your panties down and slightly, giving his hand room to spread your wetness around. Pushing his middle and ring finger into you. At first he maintained a slow place, giving you time to stretch around him. Starting to get more desperate, you arch and push yourself down onto his fingers. You were no longer regulating how loud you were being, letting pants and moans out without any shame. Morty noticed this and changed his position. Flipping you from your stomach to your back, pulling your shirt above your chest. He became animalistic once he saw your chest. 

Taking one of your nipples into his mouth. Sucking and flicking his tongue as he fucked his finger back into you. Becoming rougher, biting and nipping at your chest. You ran your fingers through his hair, not pulling through. Just caressing him, your mind becoming more and more foggy with pleasure. Your legs were trembling and you could feel your orgasm approaching. So could he, prompting him to pull his fingers out and play with your clit. It wasn’t long until you were coming, squirting on his hand. This took him off guard but made him cum in his boxers. Spreading your juices to your chest and slapping your breasts. Splashing the liquid around until you were squirming and reddened. The two of you laid there for a while until you broke the silence. 

“Can I do you back?” you asked and he shook his head. 

“No I came in my pants,” he said so casually that you couldn't help but burst into a fit of laughter. 

“Oh yeah?” he asked, started mimicking the way you were moaning. Making both of you giggle yourselves to sleep.

[kotoku]

not exactly a request, but…

Imagine being a sort of half-blood monster humanoid, perhaps even one of a handful, and spending most of your life feeling as though you don’t belong anywhere, like you just came out wrong and there’s no cure for it...

And then you meet Laios and he absolutely freaking adores you and will not let you forget it.

imagining reader just hiding every single part of their appearance that shows their half-monster side, always walking with their head bowed down in shame. they have experienced so much hate, disgust, and horror to the point they don’t have much mirrors so they can avoid looking at themself. it’s truly sad.

i could see the reader usually spending most of their days down in the floors scavenging for some items that could be sold for money, considering it’s pretty detached from the surface world. maybe the reader is like senshi, who makes the dungeon their makeshift home, navigating the ecosystem and surviving all by themself. i think a floor that may be more deeper or less populated with adventurers is where reader can safely show their more monstrous appearance/self.

and then one fateful day, the reader meets laios. whether its through helping him and his party escape a monster or simply stumbling across them by accident, you’re now bound to his little gang of weirdos. he’d enthusiastically ask if you’d like to join, not knowing your true identity since you immediately sealed yourself away beneath a hood/etc… the reader, who has nothing much going on and figured they could use a change, would join (mostly due to laios’s pestering because you were pretty petrified of these people finding out what you are).

skipping ahead, lets say during a fight your identity was revealed. your appearance shocks the entire party, some feeling a little wary of you (their suspicions were already developing because whatever the situation, you always had that damn hood/cloak on). but nonetheless, they’re accepting. especially a certain blond tall-man who had a undying love for monsters.

ahh, count your days because this man is going to be the death of you. he’s so stunned, happy, fascinated, and angry because why didn’t you tell him !? what do you mean you hated what you are !??! WHY WOULD YOU HIDE SOMETHING AS COOL AS THIS FROM HIM !?!??!

laios is so envious of you, goddamn.

he’ll use every chance he gets to study your anatomy, your biology, your whatever. he’s obsessed. the others are interested too but not as much as laios… often having to wack or chase him away from you when you start feeling overwhelmed.

besides laios’s excited self, the rest of the gang are open to hearing about your insecurities and are a great support system. senshi would like to learn more about you so that he has an idea of your diet and what nutrients you need. chilchuck, a stern fatherly figure to you, would make sure laios isn’t getting too handsy with you. he’s also there to nail it into your head that you arent weird or anything (tough love huh..). marcille, if she doesn’t have any information on your species/monster, would like to learn more about you as well. like chilchuck, she’d be sure to drag laios away when he’s got a little too close and up in your personal space.

one night, you’d explain to laios about your insecurities in detail and your history. he wouldn’t really understand it because you’re so cool ??? but i think he’d get it because he’s been in that kind of situation back in his home town. he may not exactly know what you went through, but at least he’s able to understand and if you let him, he’ll gladly help/support you.

bye, you’d cry from happiness/relief from the party, especially laios’, acceptance.

group hug ensues**

sorry this was so long, it’s a lovely concept and i love just imagining it ^^

[1dcommunityficrecs]

Long Distance Fic Recs

I didn't know this would happen when I picked this theme, but my fiancée spent the last week away at her sister's -- celebrating a new nibling! So an exciting time, but I definitely missed her, even for only a few days. So really feeling this list of long distance recs, loving each other despite the miles and yearning to be reuinited. Here are seven amazing fics!

Baby, I'm Right Here by FallingLikeThis/suddenclarityharry (8186, Explicit, Louis Tomlinson/Harry Styles) – fic post

Leave it to Harry to not realize he's in love with his friend until they're living in different hemispheres. It takes a date with a lovely guy who just isn't HIS lovely guy for Louis to finally say what they've both been thinking.

Reccer says: I love their easy back and forth banter and the comfortable solidness of their friendship. And when that transitions into romance -- beautiful. I'm always a fan of a meddling Niall, too, even if he's meddling in a different way than usual here!

Danger I can’t hide by CelticSky (227290, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

Flying Officer Styles and Sergeant Tomlinson would have likely never crossed paths in a time of peace, their lives laid out neatly, predictably before them. But then the world became unrecognisable. Too soon they grew accustomed to fear, surrounded by death and destruction, not even their freedom a certainty any more. Until they found eachother. Comfort. Companionship. Understanding. Another person to lose.

Reccer says: In my opinion, this fic is the masterpiece of 2023. It's one of those fics that should be a movie. It's perfect. The script is masterful. The story is gripping. The characters are masterfully constructed. There's emotion, anguish. It's beautiful. It's powerful. A gem.

Du är mitt livs kärlek (You are the love of my life) by goldenkinglouis (1749, Teen, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

Harry finally meets Louis at the airport after six months of long-distance love.

Reccer says: This fic is so sweet my teeth hurt and I just want more. So adorable and romantic and full of love.

From Eight Until Late, I Think About You by supernope (35227, Explicit, Louis Tomlinson/Harry Styles)

Louis and Harry are both YouTubers, and if they didn't want all their viewers to ship them they should maybe stop flirting in the comments of each other's videos. They don't live all that far apart in miles, but it still takes almost a year for them to meet in person. When they're paired up as roommates at a YouTube meetup, there is NOT only one bed, but that doesn't stop them.

Reccer says: I always love watching a relationship build and grow, and this fic does it beautifully. From joking comments to texting to Snapchat to meeting up (and promptly making VERY questionable but hysterically funny decisions together) it's just great.

miles away from seeing you by LiveLaughLoveLarry (SoLongAndThanksForAllTheFic) (1749, Teen, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

Harry is in his final year studying marine biology, and is doing an international exchange at the University of Auckland. This fic is entirely told through images of social media posts and conversations (Image descriptions are available)

Reccer says: it was the first all-media fic i've read, but i was impressed how the entire story/feelings etc came across in just pictures

seven hours behind by justanothershadeofblue (5000, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

Harry gets Louis off over the phone during Louis’ first tour.

Reccer says: Really fun slice-of-tour-life fic, and also hot!

the blue never ending sky by justanothershadeofblue (4000, Teen, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

a heart-aching AU where Harry and Louis had a dream to go off and make music together after school, but then Harry goes… without Louis. Louis PoV, with an epistolary element.

Reccer says: this fic is simple but perfectly angsty! you don’t see a lot of ambiguous-ending fics in this fandom, but this one nails it.

[afreakingdork]

Soft Spot - Chapter 2

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

Here to present this week's chapter art is @garbagemilkshake

Rated: Explicit

Warnings/Tags: Romance, Established Relationship, Married Couple, Married Life, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Villain Donatello (TMNT), Love, POV Second Person, Babies, Pregnancy, AFAB reader, Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Fertility Issues, Pregnant Sex, Pregnancy Kink, Reader-Insert, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Cum Eating, Turtle Noises (TMNT), I have a Biology Degree and I’m Using it

Synopsis: First comes love. Then comes marriage. Then comes the next step about as smooth as the others arrived. The baby-oriented sequel to Weak Spot.

Hello, I have a quick message that I would like to add to today's chapter. I want to make note of something that happened in the past week. I received an uptick in messages asking about when the next chapter of Soft Spot would come out. While normally I try to make myself as accessible as possible, the way these comments/questions were framed were incredibly disrespectful. I will make my stance as clear as possible.

Do not go on my other works and mention updates of others.

Do not ask me repeatedly when an update will happen.

I strive to post weekly, but when I am bothered, these types of repetitive comments make me not want to indulge. I write at the speed at which I do because I like it, but the fact that that is somehow not good enough or that another of my works is supposedly is lesser to you because of it is a form of disrespect that I will not tolerate. I should not even have to say this because it violates common decency (which is comical considered that's a mention in this chapter). I understand you are excited about this new content, I am as well, but please understand that I am a human being. I will still be open for any and all questions, but do be mindful. Thank you for your understanding.

Also available on Ao3

First 💜

“You must clarify if that was instigation.” Donatello had a death grip on your bare knees.

You weren’t exactly sure when you had lost your pants, but it made sense they were gone. “Donnie.”

He squeezed you tighter.

You covered his hands with yours. “It’s starting to hurt…”

“It is the only thing keeping me sane. Answer.” He didn’t relent.

You dug a nail under one of his digits to alleviate some pressure. “I’m not against having sex again, but I mean it.”

“Truly?”

“Donnie!”

“Y/N!”

“Yes, I mean it! I want to have a kid with you! I’m not hitting up your breeding kink; I’m telling you I’m ready!!!”

He only gaped.

“Do you really not believe me…?”

He made a weary noise and you could feel through your bond that he wasn’t the least bit convinced.

“How many times do I need to say it?”

“More.” He begged.

“Help me clean up.”

He nodded and flew to grab tissues.

“I want to have kids with you.” You told him the moment he returned.

He helped wipe you clean.

“I want to have a kid with you.” You told him the moment you felt dry.

He helped you to your feet and you headed to the restroom.

You went, washed your hands, and cracked the door with the hand towel still in your grip. “Kids, me and you.”

You caught him flapping his hands excitedly as he disappeared around the partition.

“Let’s have kids!” You called out as you walked after and felt painfully aware of how you only had half your outfit on.

He thrust an arm out from behind the wall with your pants and underwear.

You took them and chuckled. “It’s so crazy you’re being shy because you’re going to be seeing quite a bit of me naked when you, you know, knock me up.”

You heard some part of him slam into the wall so hard you thought he might break through.

There wasn’t a crumbling sound so you put your bottoms back on. “Like with a baby.”

You heard his footsteps plod wayward and you finally gave proper chase.

You found him with his fists in the air where he appeared to be thanking your rooftop garden. “Baby.”

He turned in a blush.

“Baby, baby!” You ran at him.

He fled around the couch.

“Donatello!! My sweet and darling husband and mate…?” You sang for him.

He was nearing the dividing line between rooms and peaked at you between the fingers covering his face.

“Would you like to have a child with me?”

He nodded once.

“You sure?”

He nodded again.

“Sure, you’re sure?!”

“Yes!!!” He launched himself over the back of the couch and pulled you down with him into the cushions to snuggle.

“There you go, believe me now?” You teased as you wriggled to get comfortable.

“Ah!” He popped a waiting sound.

You stilled and looked up at him. “You don’t-?”

“Not that!” He scolded and righted you. “My preparations!”

“Donnie…?” You let him sit you on a cushion.

“You’re not staying there either.” He was up and moving towards his computer.

“Donatello, I need you to say you believe me.”

“It will come with a demonstration.” He said and tapped a screen to wake the system.

You listened to him tap in a flurry and got up to follow.

A dozen or so screens appeared and when you tried to look them over, he blocked you with his body.

You crossed your arms.

He grinned and then pulled his office chair out for you.

“Is this where I’m allowed to sit?”

“Yes. This is your preferred seat.”

You took it and he immediately spun you around so you could watch both him and the monitors. He then stepped back, appraised your distance and began to adjust. It came with about a dozen tiny tweaks to the chair’s position that were barely perceptible to you, but he eventually appeared with a self satisfied nod. “Comfortable?”

“Yes.” You shifted bored, but ready in the chair.

He took a step back, checked the monitors about as much as he had your seat before he flicked forward.

Screens projected off their spots and curled around him for a globe of information.

“My dearest. My heart. My love. My partner in this life and any others.”

You waited with a hopeless smile.

“I would love to have a child with you.”

You twitched wanting to meet him again.

He watched you with a similar gambit, but shook himself to stay in place. “What you see here is all my research associated with our childbearing.”

You tabled your excitement as best as you could and looked over the data.

He blinked and it began to scroll to show that it was even more than what was being displayed.

Your lips rounded in surprise.

“Years worth of calculations, studies, notes, and any other information necessary for our push to have progeny.”

You flicked your eyes over the screens one last time before you settled squarely on him. “How long?”

He quirked a brow.

“Have you been building this?”

“From the moment our intent at sexual relations arose.”

“Donnie! What?!”

“It starts with birth control!” He rebuffed your irritation. “To not have children means I needed a basic understanding of how we might in order to negate the possibility!”

You straightened a little as that was sound enough logic.

“I… didn’t examine otherwise until we expressed the possibility.” He looked a little embarrassed and moved a screen for the sake of it.

“Then you looked into how we could?”

“You expressed concerns that we might not be able to conceive. A reasonable worry. We also mentioned adoption.”

You nodded.

He followed suit and then sat back to look at his many years of computations.

“I’ve-”

He outright startled at the sound of your voice.

“Come here, the chair placement doesn’t have to be perfect.”

“It does!” He dragged out his whine but collapsed onto his knees in front of you regardless.

You pulled his head into your chest and cradled him.

The chair’s wheels slid, but Donnie held you in place.

“I love you.” You told him.

“I love you.” He replied.

You urged him to look at you before you carefully lifted his mask to place a kiss to his bare forehead.

He churred as you then put the fabric back in place.

“We don’t have to hurry. Presentation or not, let’s go through this however we want. Sound good?”

“Yes… No rush…” He spoke the words as if to convince himself.

You kissed his clothed head this time.

He churred louder and moved up to catch your lips once before wondering, “What were you about to say? Before.”

“I’ve…” You gave a little struggle. “It’s a little embarrassing, but I’ve never asked you how the birth control works...”

He lit up with excitement.

“Will you tell me?” You nurtured the prospect.

“I love you!” He yelled before flying to his feet. “My birth control!”

You watched as he sent some screens away and brought more forward.

“When I set out I was limited…” He addressed a specific hologram. “This one of my own volition, mind you.”

You tilted your head.

“I swore not to track you and while I didn’t swear to your secondary statement, you mentioned you did not want to hold my hand through the relationship. While the latter was difficult for both of us, I found duty in the first and saw to it not to manipulate that holding.”

Your brow came down to enhance the question on your face.

“I personally vowed to respect your privacy then, as an extension. In that moment.” He told you earnestly.

You hadn’t known that and your face warmed a bit.

He took you in with tenderness. “A choice made rash, but thankfully one that ended up falling in line with the accursed common decency.” 

You bobbed your head in both agreement and for him to carry on. 

You could hear his churr from where you were. “As such I was not aware of your body’s make-up, meaning I did not gather samples of your DNA or the like. After our first kiss, it felt as though a dam was broken and I got to necessary work. By our first date… It didn’t seem far-fetched to believe we might also partake in relations. I thought myself over-prepared until we saw one another.”

You remembered that night fondly.

“But that is moving too far forward. Planning began after our first kiss as a precaution. I tested local and Hidden City condom brands. I also dabbled in making my own until I found a suitable one for my member if that was what you so chose… We were meant to discuss such an option…”

“But you had already put yourself on the birth control.”

“Yes… I hoped your proclivities aligned with mine…”

“Breeding kink.”

He shot you a heated look. “I converted you.”

“I never said you didn’t.” You responded the same.

He chirped as an outlet and blew out necessary air. “Ahem. Again, I had no bodily data on you and I needed to prevent my sperm from fertilizing your eggs if they were to be introduced. Birth control typically functions the same amongst all forms: stop fertilization. This can be done in a number of ways from negating ovulation, release of an egg, to making the ureteral environment one not suitable to support pregnancy.”

You nodded.

“Altering your make-up was out of the question as it tampered with bodily will-”

“You wouldn’t slip me something without my knowledge.” You remembered.

He nodded appreciatively. “That meant I needed to stop my own gamete. How to stop a sperm and a mutant one at that?"

You nodded.

“It proved… difficult. As you surmised, I was additionally designed to breed. Be it leftover DNA structures or the fool Draxum’s concoction, species hinge on viable offspring and my fabrication made it especially so.”

“Obviously your sperm are mutated because you are, but what? They get their own superpower…?” You chuckled.

He didn’t not share the comedy. “Yes, actually.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah…” He sighed. “When tested they were especially resilient. Commercial and yokai brand spermicides were inefficient. The condom kept them contained, but they were tenacious. A typical condom, we’ll consider both human and non in this case, is 98% effective when used correctly… In my case that number bobbed around 83% because even a single one of my sperm, given the necessary liquidity and need I remind you most condoms are lubed, had the strength to search true for its host.”

You gave a frown.

He nodded with large eyes. “I looked into mystic concoctions then. So many side effects, so many impurities, none made even close to a facsimile of my unique chemistry!”

“So you made one.”

“I made one.” He agreed. “I dug into male contraceptive research and found one that disabled sperm. As that was my exact intention, I chose that particular medication and ran with it. There were hormonal and non-hormonal methods, but I needed complete assurance that my sperm would not inseminate you under any circumstances. That led me to my current concoction, the one I am still on, a shot that inhibits tail maturation in sperm.”

You blinked once. “Your sperm…”

“When examined under a microscope, have tails that do not provide motility.”

“So you’re not shooting blanks, you’re shooting… sperm that can’t move.”

“Exactly. If you’ve seen films regarding fertilization, you will note that it takes quite a bit of mobile effort for a sperm to breach an egg. With the necessary mobility, they sit useless until they perish.”

“Wow…”

“Yes, I had to hyper-escalate study and production to ensure it was viable in time for our meeting.”

“We barely set a few weeks for our date.”

“A dangerous prospect, but I had checked that morning before and found a sample was completely immobile and thus felt assured we would not have issue.”

“Donnie…”

“While I would still prefer that I never injured you during our first meeting, I must admit your recovery was advantageous as it gave me time to further refine the product for its necessary long term use.”

You nodded.

“While my personal study was rushed, the medication was undergoing the usual technical trials at my lab. We found it reversible given time as it will evacuate the system. It works by suppressing the necessary enzyme production. For the typical specimen, it took longer to go into effect and there was a lengthy duration for its dissipation, but again, completely safe and repeatable. For my dosage, I take a monthly shot that covers my needs…. Our needs.”

You smiled at him.

“Which… unfortunately leads me to my heat…” He grimaced.

You made a nervous noise and vaguely remembered something from a certain video.

“We had no idea what was going on. I had only summations. Barely a hypothesis. It was a scientific nightmare scenario.”

“You overdosed…”

He blinked wide at you.

“S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. showed me some security footage that first time. I didn’t know what to make of it, but I remember him being worried about side effects from some shot.”

Donnie looked at you with a sort of hopeless affection. “You are a delight.”

You rolled your eyes at him.

“As much as it pained me, I had to go off conjecture which was that my sperm production would be increased. If that were the case, it reasoned that my body ramp up enzyme production. In studying mammalian heats, in which I have mammal DNA along with reptile, there was an exhausting list of side effects that could tamper with the medication: heat, hormones, and more. I had to cover them all while not being lucid, which I wasn’t, and therefore I created a hyper concentrated dosage of the birth control which had the threat of untested side effects…”

He stopped completely.

You watched your mate hang in the air.

“Donnie…” You whispered.

“There was… a chance that my enzyme production may not stabilize if I were to ever stop the medication.”

You straightened. “That…”

“Is not something I have been able to test as I continue to take the medication. There is a chance my sperm motility might not recover.”

You tented your hands over your mouth.

“A necessary risk. Your safety superseded all else. At the time of my first heat we had never yet discussed children. I wasn’t going to let an accident like that fall upon you due to my inane biology.”

You nodded, feeling a little weepy.

He broke from his presentation and came to you.

You hugged him as soon as you were able.

“I’m sorry.”

You shook your head.

“I am. It was not something you had a say in.”

“None of it was. We didn’t know what was happening.” You squeezed him. “You made the best decision you could at the time.”

He gave one nod before he buried into you.

It bothered him more than he admitted.

How long had he been struggling with that knowledge?

It must have been a hanging bitterness against his dream.

He’d endured it all alone.

“I should have asked sooner.” You told him. “About the birth control and all this.”

“You trusted me. I meant to earn that. Plus, it is not known for sure.”

“But you worried.” You pulled back to see his watery eyes which he tried to hide. “You’ve been worried about it all this time.”

He gave the barest nod.

“You could have talked to me…” 

He wilted against you. “I prepared the presentation. It seemed a waste to bring up any sooner. Unnecessary discomfort that would have taken us several months to test. Between that and time to re-establish my medication, I would prefer to spend it making love to you and not concern myself with some unknowns.” 

You kissed his temple. “There’s a lot to plan and see. We had a feeling this wasn’t going to be so easy. We’re… you’re still… okay with adoption… if we need to?”

“Of course!” He spoke without hesitation. “It is the same in my mind. No less.”

You nodded and tapped the tip of your nose to his beak.

He gave a cutesy mating call for it.

You trilled one back.

“Let’s see…” He stayed close and looked back at his screens. “Where does that take us…? It will take approximately two months for the birth control to evacuate my system. We will know around then. It’s not exact. Then there’s your ovulation schedule if we were to try to conceive. What are your thoughts on giving birth?”

“That’s…” Your gaze shot away. “W-wasn’t this about your notes…?”

He didn’t pressure you in the slightest. “I’ve explored many possibilities. What I discuss next depends on what we’re considering…”

You snuck a glance at him.

He pet your leg in a soothing way.

You let him stroke the limb until you built up a bit of courage. “It’s… scary… In general and… and I don’t mean this is a bad way… but with a mutant… partner…”

Donnie nodded and dipped down to gently rest his chin against your leg.

You ran your hand over his head and whispered. “Can I pass a spiny carapace…?”

He looked up with a gaze that was both sympathetic and unsure.

“Pregnancy and childbirth… take everything from you. It ravages your body…”

He laid his hand out as a comforting weight.

“I know that’s what you’d prefer, but…”

“I prefer nothing. I prefer you.”

It was the perfect moment to interject.

“It’s a fear as old as time itself. It has gotten safer, but the dangers are still incalculable.”

You nodded.

“I only ask for the sake of direction. You do not need to decide now. I will not pressure you as there is no provocation.”

You thumbed over his cheek.

“Raising a child is no different than creating one in my mind. Whatever instinctual itch will be scratched.”

“You’re lying…” You whispered. “I know what you thought about a sonogram...”

He was similarly as caught as you had been and looked away.

“I don’t want to let you down.”

“You won’t.” He snapped back to attention. “Your concerns are founded. I am the concern. My mutant status…”

He made a little move and you released him.

He stood and summoned more screens.

He pointed to one in particular that had a set of chromosomes on it.

“The truth is… and this labeling is the best I have considering, but my DNA is elastic in nature, so to speak. From the many times I have examined myself, the closest labeling I have is that I suffer from a form of aneuploidy.” A few more chromosome maps popped up and had a different number of sets. “They can vary between cells. They have changed both with an increase and decrease throughout my lifetime. It is a wonder I am a stable organism.”

You took to your feet and came closer.

Donnie passed off his medical records.

You looked between them and the dates and saw they ranged throughout his lifetime. 

“Even if my sperm do recover, there is a likelihood that we are not compatible. That may come in the form of my inability to fertilize you to an inability of our cells forming a viable fetus.”

You pushed the screens away.

Donnie held a deeply saddened look.

It was yet another thing he’d held onto his whole life.

You hugged him.

He held you.

“I treated my ability to impregnate you as a grave concern, but the reality is I have always tempered my expectations. I never outright believed we were compatible in that way. I never believed it with anyone. I suppose that added to the taboo and enhanced the aforementioned kink. A space in which I can… have such a fantasy.”

You squeezed him as hard as you could.

He rubbed your back. “Mind, I also never expected to have a life partner or… make it this far in existence. My love, it’s alright.”

“But you got those things!” You lifted up and sent him a dewy gaze.

“And I will have more…” He smiled reassurance. “I… will admit… fine, adoption does not satisfy my instinct the same way as the thought of you round with my child…”

He took a little too long in his daydream and your lids fell, unamused, against your heartache.

“It’s not the same, but being at odds with my instinct is no new feature. Logically and emotionally I will be sated and I imagine my hindbrain will eventually make the necessary connections.”

You thumped your head against his plastron.

He swept his hands over you for a while.

You eventually gave in to a slight sway and he rocked with you.

“You need to check my DNA?”

“A blood sample ideally, yes. We could calculate compatibility.”

“Have you never checked with another human?”

“I’ve never run this analysis with anyone.”

You cuddled closer.

“Though… I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that genetics is a bit of an introductory topic. Meant non-demeaning as I am aware of the US educational system, but it is… as one might say, child’s play.”

“Bad pun.” You told his scutes.

He chuckled. “I don’t need to take your DNA to know our chances will be low. I would only need your genetic material to know exactly how low, but even that has a level of chance. Do you know of mules?”

“Donkeys?” You looked up at him.

He stared down a warm gaze. “Mules are a cross between horses and donkeys actually. The parent pair have differing chromosomes, but can produce offspring… only such creations are usually infertile.”

Your gaze widened with concerns.

If you had a kid with Donnie would they be sterile?

You knew this choice wasn’t going to be an easy one, but the amount of things to consider only seemed to grow.

“Usually. Not always. It can occur. Mitosis and meiosis. I can already tell you our chromosome numbers differ. Meiosis spits up our homologous chromosome pairs to create sperm and eggs which would meet for reproduction. They seek to match back up with their compliments, but ours leaves gaps which increases room for error. In mules, the lacking chromosomes from the donkey mean that all male mules are sterile, without question, but females can occasionally be fruitful due to the repeating chromosome formations.”

Your head spun a little.

“Without practice it’s hard to say. Those are separate species and they can produce offspring, but the next generation can’t. Lions and tigers are the same species, but also often create infertile offspring. I am part human and novel… We can go off what is known, but there will always be an element of unknown as a pairing such as ours has never occurred.”

“You mentioned mitosis…?”

“The process from fertilization on that creates a baby. The errors I mentioned would show up here in whether the pregnancy was viable.”

You made a little noise of vague understanding. “What about test tubes or clones…? It’s hard to believe yokai haven’t figured out some mystic cheat code too… You told me about womb tattoos.”

He almost sweat with guilt. “I may have indulged in a bit too much hyperbole…”

You hummed dry interest and waited.  

“Yes, womb tattoos have served to aid in fertility issues, but yokai constitute something that supersedes human rules of species. You have creatures who can naturally shift their form. If they chose to have offspring, which some do not, long life and all, little drive to reproduce, they have what I’ve been referring to as that elastic genetic material. It can match form to create those homologous pairs intrinsically. If the creatures are too different though, even mysticism has not superseded that. They’ll use surrogates if need be.”

You watched on.

“Clones and test tubes…” Donnie sighed and seemed obvious about trying to make the subject matter palatable. “I would still need other genetic material, I could not solely clone you or me. I could stimulate or even fertilize your eggs myself in a lab setting, but they would need to be gestated in a host. Artificial wombs are not something I can imagine we will crack in this lifetime. There is still too much we do not know. All that simulates the necessary environment in which a new organism can be created… The longest trials of gestation in an artificial setting have been about six weeks… or something similar? I theoretically could take that a few weeks further, but that would be asking me to break through an estimated hundred years or so of science on top of mixing our DNA? I… I fathom many unknowns. I’ve broken countless barriers, but that would be… our child! I would be the one directly responsible, using my own two hands, to make the fertilized cells. All that would go into their existence would lie on me! The mental toll of failure in that regard…!!” His closing throat cut him off.

You released his middle so you could tug down his neck in a tighter hug.

He dropped to his knees to give it. “Trial and error is a stage of science I usually relish in, but asking that while using our components…!”

“You don’t have to say it. I understand. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t know…”

“You couldn’t have…” He rooted into you and you felt him let loose a few tears.

You kissed his head over and over.

He slowly, but surely pulled himself back from the possibility.

“Not that. Never that.”

You felt his apology through his ring and cut him off.

“No, Donnie.”

He begrudgingly relented.

You moved to scratch his shell, but his battle shell was in the way.

It nearly immediately withdrew from the spot and you dipped down his collar to grab the dormant plate.

Donnie opened up his posture enough for you to pull it out of his shirt, then you returned your nails above the fabric and scratched in the way he liked.

He slowly melted into you.

“We are not doing artificial gestation. Not at all. Where.. did that leave cloning?” 

“It is a similar impossibility to clone me. My unstable DNA. Finding a genetic match to mix with. Finding a host.” 

“You would only be able to clone me…” 

He squeezed you. “A child that is wholly not ours is one thing. I…” 

You felt anger bubble up in your ring. 

“The thought of another’s genetic material… applied in vitro… to yours…” He seethed. “I can’t stand it. I apologize. I refuse. The same with donor sperm. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

“No… It’s okay… I wasn’t really interested in pregnancy already… I don’t care about it being me… I wanted… If anything I wanted it to be you.” 

He couldn’t muster a churr, but a faint loving squeak emerged from him. 

You breathed in the air. “There’s… so much… Is trying to have a baby… even worth it?”

Donnie was quiet.

“We should make adoption our go to, shouldn’t we?”

He gave a bare nod.

You leaned your head against his.

He sat still for a long time.

Your thoughts morphed. You thought about what you’d imagined in the park earlier today. Your mind’s eye saw Donnie and his little green duplicate. From the way your husband talked, there would be no way to even know if the child would be his color. There seemed to be thousands if not millions of possibilities and the outcomes recombination was even more with his mutant status.

You closed off the line of thinking and thought about adoption. There was the state paperwork to complete. There were thousands of children up for adoption across the country at any moment. They needed families and parents who would love them. You could easily see yourself providing that. You saw everything from troubled infants to even teens who you could care for.

That was only considering the human side of things.

Though Donnie had talked down about the yokai birth rate, there still had to be young ones who needed help. Their ages were further skewed and you wondered how you could provide with a human lifespan. You supposed that would help Donnie as he was going to outlive you, but wasn’t that in and of itself a negative way to think of things?

You pulled yourself from the thought only to find a mental image of you plump. You were waddling wide and had to stop for a break in that same park you were in just a few hours ago. You were in discomfort and blew out an exhausted breath. Donnie appeared doting with water and tales of pregnancy books he had read. He had done all the obsessive planning he had for your wedding, but in a new extreme form.

He was going to be an amazing dad.

How selfish were you?

There were children who needed help and you dared to imagine having a child of your own?

You cuddled closer to your mate.

Why would you cling to the scariest possibility?

Not only were you not sure you wanted to go through with it, there was a high likelihood that you couldn’t.

You were incredibly selfish.

An angered part of you also screamed.

You’d given up before starting.

You hadn’t even tried.

Hadn’t the odds always been against you and Donnie?

It was a miracle the two of you dated let alone married. 

You were happy on top of that. 

You’d endured endless trials.

You had never given up in the face of uncertainty. 

All you cared about was being with Donnie.

You’d done that.

You were here.

You were all better for it.

You pulled away from him.

He looked after you and searched your face for whatever it presented.

No one ever called you a saint.

You were just a person.

You pulled your hands from Donnie’s carapace.

He continued to examine you.

Donnie was the same.

Morality was subjective.

Lifetimes were about choice.

You’d chosen Donnie.

You would make more choices.

“I want you to do that blood test.”

His expression opened up to the possibility.

“Let’s try. There’s time. It’ll take some to get the results. It’ll take more for you to get off the birth control. There’s adoption wait times. All of it. We can take each thing as it comes and see what works best for us.”

“You’re… sure?”

“Are you?”

“I’m sure of anything that relates to you.”

You pinched his cheek. “This won’t be just me.”

“Part of you, whether in paperwork or DNA, is still you.”

You soothed the skin you pricked.

He smiled. “I’m sure.”

💜 NEXT 💜

Beta baby babes? The triple B's? @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83

[bookskeepers]

third time's the charm ♡ chapter two

content warnings: tsukishima's p.o.v. of his sexual history since starting college! so yes. NSFW-ish (not explicit smut). minors do not interact. ahahah i hope i got him right

word count: 1,412

a/n: i added to chapter one so please make sure you read that one before this one ! also this one is on the shorter side because like ........ i am not that creative

also! sorry for the weird tenses... i like writing in present tense but i genuinely had no clue how to go from past to present so here we are <3 sorry. english is not my first language

taglist: none yet ! pls send an ask if you want to be added <3

previous ♡ masterlist ♡ next

Tsukishima Kei isn't big on commitment. Or, at least, he thought he wasn't until he met you.

Before he started college, he hadn't really gone out of his way to meet girls. Sure, there was the usual confession from underclassmen, upperclassmen, and people his age on a regular basis, but it's not like he was attracted to any of them. They all felt pretty basic: average height, average features, average everything. None of them stood out to him. Yamaguchi often teased him for his "endless line of suitors," and the olive-haired boy also taught him how to let those girls down gently. Tsukishima tried his best to, but more often than not the confessions ended in tears.

Once he started university, he decided to branch out more. He ended up going to the same school as Kuroo Tetsurou and Bokuto Koutarou, and they wiggled their way back into his life. Kuroo even helped him set up his Tinder account, and Tsukishima hadn't bothered to change it since.

It's not like it wasn't easy for him to meet girls, though; his major was mostly women and he often felt some unnerving stares in his classes. He thought studying anthropology would be more equal in terms of a gender divide, but he was wrong. Besides, he didn't like the idea of trying to hook up with people he'd see on a daily basis. The appeal of Tinder was that there were no strings attached and, if he were to enjoy the company of a computer science major or a biology major, the chances of him crossing paths with them again was nonexistent.

His first time ended up being pretty straightforward -- the girl had been relatively understanding of his lack of experience, and Tsukishima had discovered that he really enjoyed kissing people, especially in missionary. His slew of experiences led him to find out that he also enjoyed the quiet noises people made more than the loud ones, the looks on their faces when they came undone, and the way they'd sink their nails into his back when it felt too good for them.

He enjoyed the way their thighs would tighten around his head when he went down on them, and he really liked the looks in their eyes when he'd lick his fingers clean after bringing them to orgasm with two digits.

He soon developed a bit of a reputation amongst those who knew him as a womanizer (although he would always disagree and say something about how that term felt demeaning towards both him and the ladies). He didn't talk about his promiscuity often, nor did he appreciate his friends' teasing about how all the women he took to bed looked the same. Tall, lithe, and light-colored hair. Bokuto went as far as to suggest that Tsukishima was into girls that could pass off as his sister, but he never said anything like that again since Tsukishima had smacked him for that comment.

It also quickly became apparent that Tsukishima wasn't a fan of women who tied their self-worth to the amount of sex they had. The first and only time he encountered someone like that, their need to please him had gone far beyond the usual desire to please one's partner and it was unsettling. That was also when he decided to exchange more than three messages with his matches on Tinder. He also no longer hesitated to unmatch with someone if they gave the wrong vibes.

There were a few times where it felt like the opposite party was getting attached. Requests to meet up for reasons other than sex, invites to parties, things like that. It's not that the idea of a relationship didn't appeal to Tsukishima, it was that the thought of being in a relationship with those who were trying to pursue one with him made his gut feel heavy and sent an anxious shiver up his spine. Simply put, there was a stark difference between "women he'd hook up with" and "women he would consider dating." After all, the hookups rarely handled his generally cold attitude well -- but sex, in his mind, was not a place for conversation. These feelings led him to think that maybe, just maybe, commitment wasn't his thing. It wasn't like he had met anyone he'd consider dating thus far anyways.

♡*•.¸♡¸.•*♡*•.¸♡¸.•*♡*•.¸♡¸.•*♡*•.¸♡¸.•*♡*•.¸♡¸.•*♡*•.¸♡¸.•*♡*•.¸♡¸.•*♡

If you ask him, he would say that the day he matched with you on Tinder wasn't that eventful.

It started rather simply. In the morning, he went for his usual jog before hitting the rec center on campus. That day was his pull day, so he had done lateral pull-downs, pull-ups, and he had used the rowing machine with the resistance set to high. Tsukishima likes the gym -- no one there was going to go out of their way to talk to him (unless they were asking to work in with him) and no one there was going to judge him.

He had gone to his classes like usual -- he decided to treat himself that semester by taking an elective that had nothing to do with the actual path he was setting up for himself. He was sitting in that class, Dragons Around the World, when he decided to pull up Tinder and start swiping. It was an entertaining class for the most part, but that day was dedicated to going over the most recent exam. Tsukishima had scored a perfect 100 on it, so he felt that there was no need for him to pay attention.

As usual, his feed was dominated by people that others would think of as super models. High cheekbones, pale-colored eyes, long lashes. He swiped mindlessly -- mostly to the right -- before your profile appeared on his screen. Something about you felt different -- maybe it was the gleam of mischief in your eyes or the way your profile didn't have any photos of you scantily clad in a bikini or less. Maybe it was the way your bio was "would ask for the kid's menu at a restaurant solely for the word search," or the way your job was listed as "generally confused at school." Despite the simplicity of your profile, it felt full of personality, a huge contrast to most of those on Tinder. He found himself swiping right against his better judgment.

♡*•.¸♡¸.•*♡*•.¸♡¸.•*♡*•.¸♡¸.•*♡*•.¸♡¸.•*♡*•.¸♡¸.•*♡*•.¸♡¸.•*♡*•.¸♡¸.•*♡

Around 1:00am that night, he's sat at his desk with his headphones on his ears when his phone lets out a quiet ding. He looks up from his textbook, a faint feeling of surprise that he even heard the ding through his music. He grabs it and taps on the screen, wincing at the bright light of the background.

TINDER: You got a new match!

As per usual, he taps on the notification and unlocks his phone. He always checks who his new matches are -- that's how he decides whether or not to send them a message.

He stares at the empty chat, your face sat in the middle of the screen. The photo's of you smiling at someone off camera, hair ruffling in an unseen breeze, a gleam of mischief in your eyes. He types out a quick "Yo." before placing his phone back on the desk and returning to the task at hand: studying for his exam in two days.

His focus doesn't last long, as his phone screen lights up this time to indicate that someone -- you, maybe? -- replied to him. He lets out a rather annoyed sigh before taking his phone once more, deciding to ditch studying at this hour and instead opting to flop in bed.

You: very charming first message

He lets out an amused snort by your response to his "Yo." and he rolls his eyes.

Tsukishima: It got you to reply, didn't it?

His eyes track the screen for a few minutes, hoping your reply would come as fast as it did before.

After mindlessly scrolling through Instagram Reels for thirty minutes -- because TikTok's subpar -- he realizes you must've fallen asleep. After all, he'd hate if you didn't reply in the end, since you were different from the usual Tinder interaction.

He goes to sleep that night with the thought of you on his mind. It was no easy feat to get him to laugh in general, much less so in the first interaction. Unbeknownst to you, you managed to do just that, which made you his latest fixation.

[billlydear]

BASIC BIOLOGY - BILLY HARGROVE X READER (PART THREE | FINAL PART) | PART ONE | PART TWO

word count: 9492 // masterlist | inbox (please request) | WIP list

Summary: you're paired with billy for a biology project. you only visit his house once, but it's enough for you to understand why he doesn't want you to come over again. when he starts showing up more and more in your life, you realize that it's basic biology: you were made for him, and he was made for you.

Contents: mentions of injuries (healed/healing), trauma, discussions of billy's past, angst with a fluffy ending, cows !

A/N: oh my gosh ! the end ! it feels like i've been working on this forever and thinking about it even longer, and as a new-ish writer on the billy scene, i just want to thank you all for how sweet you've been, in response to this fic and many others. your support is so important to me, and i'm so glad that many of you enjoyed this fic. i hope that you like the ending, too, please tell me what you think!

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! your feedback motivates me to write more, so thank you for your support :-)

You wake up beside Billy Hargrove differently than you’d fallen asleep beside him. Where his face had been previously tucked snug to your neck, his breath fanning out over your collarbones, his cheek is smushed to your chest now. His arm is slung over your stomach, one of his legs thrown over your own as his torso lays slumped up against yours. His cheek chubs up where it’s resting on your breast, and- god, his eyelashes are beautiful. The eyes behind them are just as gorgeous, but for now you’re glad they’re shut. He looks so relaxed, so peaceful, and you’d stay still for an eternity beneath him if it meant he’d be able to stay in that drowsy state of serenity. 

His curls are mussed with sleep, bent out of shape and frizzy where they’d typically be slicked. There’s still bruises littered over his face but they’ve already begun healing, shifting in color to be lighter and less jarring. 

Your fingers come up without you noticing to brush over one of his curls. It’s soft to the touch, and you give it an experimental squeeze, watching as it bounces back. You notice that it’s tangled slightly with another strand, and brush your pinky between them to separate the tangle.

It must tug lightly on Billy’s scalp, because he heaves an unconscious sigh. You wait for him to frown, to wake and snap at you for touching his precious hair, but he never does. Instead he settles again, eyes still firmly shut.

You can’t help it; you reach for his scalp. Your nails scrape gently, ever-so-slightly over his skin, brushing over hundreds of individual strands of hair rooted there and curled together. 

Your breath catches in your throat as he moves. He hums, deep, soft, and low in his throat, the sound vibrating in his chest that’s pressed to your side. It sends a shiver up your spine, but it’s quickly quelled with the warmth that comes from his face as he presses it even further into your chest. Now his cheek is practically invisible, buried in your breast and angling his nose to one side. He tightens his arm around your waist, hoisting himself up and over you even further than he’d been before. He reminds you of a cat, purring and leaning into soft touches.

He seems to like it, so you don’t stop. You rove your fingers through every inch of his scalp, scratching and stroking and smoothing through his curls until they’re a mass of individual strands instead of grouped twists. It’s ridiculously soft, and you wonder how you’ve been able to refrain from touching his hair before now.

There’s nothing you’d rather do than stay here for eternity. Holding him, brushing through his hair, loving him. But your bladder has other wishes. 

Wrestling yourself out from under him is difficult, but he accepts a pillow in exchange for your torso. He burrows his face into it just the same, and you can’t help but brush over his curls one last time as you stand over him, tucking the blankets up and around his shoulders.

When he’s securely tucked into your covers and snoozing away, you pad out of your bedroom, thankful that your parents work early shifts.

You seem to have woken up at a perfect time to make a breakfast larger than you normally do. It takes double the time to prepare a meal for the two of you, and you’re thankful that you think to group the eggs together in a pan to cut that extra time down. You’re setting plates at the table, stuffed with eggs, toast, and fresh fruit when Billy emerges from the hallway, staring cautiously at you where he stands.

His hair is haphazardly smoothed, but there’s no fixing the frizz that your fingers had worked out of it. Your clothes look good on him, even if the sweatpants are stretched over his upper calves instead of at his ankles from how he’d shifted in his sleep. Your shirt is riding up at his stomach and you politely avoid looking at his toned torso, even if you really want to.

“Breakfast,” You hum, pointing your spatula at the table, “Orange juice or milk?”

“Uh-” He flounders, blinking rapidly, “Water, please. Or- I can get it.”

He makes to step towards the kitchen but you whirl your spatula around to face him, intent on pampering the boy, “No, just go sit down. I can do it.”

He looks properly chided, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips as he ducks to hide it from you.

You set an ice cold glass of water at his place and notice that he’s waited to begin eating until you sat down. You give him the go-ahead, digging into a chunk of egg with your fork.

“Sleep good?” You glance up at him, a questioning glance shot through your lashes. He nods, silent and careful, and you realize that he seems to have closed himself off since last night, and you think that maybe leaving the bed before he woke wasn’t the best idea, even if it was just to make breakfast. You try remedying it by knocking your foot against his under the table, and he nearly chokes on his water. You leave your foot pressed flush to his own, a constant reminder of your touch on his skin.

“Does your stomach still hurt?” You try again, gulping down OJ. 

“A bit,” His morning voice is raspy and you know you’re going to fawn over it later, even if you’re trying hard not to take advantage of his vulnerability.

“It’s mostly a cut up here,” He reaches a hand under his (your) shirt, rubbing at a patch below his left pec. You can see his fingers move under the shirt, and you remember the wound that’s there from last night.

“That probably means your ribs aren’t broken,” You conclude, relief washing over you at the fact that his bruises are just that.

“Nah, not broken,” He shakes his head, stuffing fruit into his mouth and ignoring the way juice drips down his chin, “I know what a broken rib feels like.”

You still, looking up suspiciously at him with your head ducked to your plate. His shoulders slump, “Just some kid from school. He had rings on, and he hit hard.”

“Oh,” You supply lamely, “I’m glad they healed.”

You eat in silence for a few bites, but he doesn’t shy away from your touch beneath the table, and you’re thankful for that. He even shifts his foot to press more against yours, his sock slightly itchy against your skin. Right after he leans into your touch, he speaks.

“My dad doesn’t usually… do this. This was bad, he tries not to leave marks. I think-” He hesitates, and you nudge his foot with your own again, encouraging him, “I think he’d be even more angry if I missed school than whatever he was mad about in the first place. So he has to keep things inconspicuous. And if anyone sees anything I just have to make excuses.”

“I’m sorry,” You say, not out of pity, but sympathy, “I… I really don’t know how you do it. You’re strong, Billy, y’know that?”

He scoffs into his honeydew.

“I mean it,” You press on, “You just… take it. You let him do that to you because if you fight back other people might get hurt, and that takes strength. Even if it feels weak to get beat on, just know you’re saving your stepsister and her mom, and… I’m proud of you.”

He stills for a moment, jaw stiffening in the middle of a chewing motion. He swallows dry, but whatever it is goes down fine, and he clears his throat without meeting your eye.

“He used to hit my mom,” Billy admits, voice now hoarse from emotion rather than sleep. He scrunches his eyes shut momentarily, “I.. I couldn’t stop him. I was too young. And she left. So I guess I just… got bigger. Just in case.”

You recall seeing a set of weights in his living room. You had presumed they were his, but hadn’t bothered to ask among discussions of mitosis. Now, though, you realize he’s bulked himself up to combat his dad’s abuse, even if he uses it to protect others rather than himself.

It spreads a thin layer of mist over your eyes, the thought of preteen Billy experimenting with handheld five-pounders in hopes of blocking a punch. What hits you even harder is his current image, a toned teen who still doesn’t have the heart to hit back.

You can’t figure out how to respond. If you say you’re proud of him again, he might shut down. If you sound like you’re pitying him, he’ll be angry. So instead you reach over the table, your fork clattering to the wood as you take his free hand.

He’s startled by the sudden movement paired with the noise, but he makes up for his momentary flinch by ghosting his thumb softly over the back of your hand. His fingers don’t curl against yours, so it’s not a mutual gesture, you’re just holding his hand. Slowly, surely, his fingers move inch by inch, slipping between your own and settling against your skin.

You wonder if it’s the first time anyone’s ever held his hand.

“Thanks,” He breathes, his breath a huff of cantaloupe scent. He sniffles, hard, aggressively, and you know he doesn’t want you to acknowledge the tear that streaks fast down his cheek. 

You let him wipe it away without saying anything, even though you want to tell him it’s okay. You hope that the way you squeeze his hand tells him that, though, because it’s true. It’s okay for him to cry, and you’re glad that, even if he tries hiding it around you, he feels safe enough to let the tears fall in the first place.

The rest of your breakfast is filled with mindless chatter, a few gossip strands weaving their way through an otherwise pleasant conversation. He learns that Amanda Weaver has been telling everyone he gave her a promise ring, but you’d seen her fish the plain silver band off of her keychain. 

“I don’t even know her,” He snorts, “And promise rings are dumb.”

Your nose wrinkles, “I don’t think so. They’re cute.”

“They’re pointless,” He insists, shoveling egg into his mouth, “Having a ring to chuck in the garbage is gonna hurt a whole lot more when they leave.”

“If.” You murmur.

“Hm?” He glances up at you, mouth full.

“If they leave.” You correct him quietly, “Some people stay.”

He’s frozen. Baby blues unblinking, he stares at you like a deer in headlights. You hold his gaze with your own steady one, waiting until his brain wraps around what you’re really trying to tell him: I’ll stay.

He’s quiet, for a long time. He keeps his eyes on his eggs, roving over every crease and hill in their structure. Then he mumbles so soft you can barely hear it, “Right.”

There’s a thousand things you want to say. A thousand promises you want to make, a thousand reassuring words you want to mumble against his skin so that they’re absorbed. But the not-so-nice blare of your kitchen timer kindly reminds you it’s time to get to school, and you settle for none at all.

“Shit,” You mumble, shoveling your last bite of melon into your mouth and standing, “I’ll get my-!” 

You glance back at him when you feel a tug, and he’s sitting in place, hand still entwined with yours. He’s cautious, frozen, and you melt into a smile, squeezing his hand.

“My bag.” You clarify, “Are we taking the bus, or walking to your place?”

“Let’s walk,” He decides, his hand never letting up in its grip on yours. It’s bold, it’s forward, it’s healing.

“Okay,” You grin, keeping your fingers tightly curled around Billy’s and tugging him up through the shared embrace, “Let’s go! I’ve gotta be on time today, we’re taking a quiz in first period.”

“We don’t have to go in, we can just get my car.” He lets you drag him to the living room, “The only thing I keep in my bag are cigarettes, anyways. I can bum a few.”

“Billy,” You scold, “Where do your papers go?”

“In the trash.”

“Nice,” You scoff, wincing as you step outside and the harsh sunlight hits your eyes. You fumble with your house keys, slipping them into the lock to close up the house, “I’m gonna buy you a binder. And you’re gonna put your school stuff in it, nice and neat, and you’re gonna carry a pencil, and you’re gonna bring water, and you’re gonna-”

“And you’re gonna fall,” He yanks on your hand, pulling you tight to his side as he points at a rock you’d been headed for, “Pay attention, clumsy.”

“Oh.” You flounder, his toned arm against your cheek as you struggle to right yourself, “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” He flashes you a grin you’ve seen before, primarily aimed at his basketball teammates or a girl he’s chatting up. It’s confident, shit-eating, and it sends a wave of butterflies through your stomach.

The walk to his house isn’t terribly long. It’s a trek, for sure, but you’re there in under a half-hour, laughing all the while. Billy’s hand is still firmly gripping yours, and he’s funny, you remember, when he’s not crying.

“Dad’s not home,” He clocks the car missing from the driveway, “I can get mine and go.”

“Get your bag,” You order, face stern and brows scrunched, “And don’t throw away any of your school papers today!”

“No promises, babe,” He teases, his own key in his pocket as he jams it into the door. You’re thankful that he turns away to step inside so that he doesn’t see your eyes widen at the nickname, but you hope your hand doesn’t begin to sweat, or he’ll notice.

“Maxine?” He calls, shouting through the house. There’s no reply, and her sneakers aren’t by the front door, so you presume she’s not home.

“Probably skated,” Billy shrugs, “My bag’s in my room.”

He doesn’t have to drag you there, you know the way. You send a withering glare towards the room at the end of the hall, where you know Billy’s dad sleeps, as if it’ll cast a curse over the doorway and land him seven years of bad luck. You see the fireplace poker on your way, set neatly back in its place. There’s blood on it.

He changes quick, and you occupy yourself with the collection of tapes by his closet. He’d yanked your shirt right off of his head like you weren’t standing there, but when you’d turned with burning cheeks to give him some privacy, he hadn’t said anything.

Billy’s persistence on holding your hand is sweet, but surprising. The last thing you’d have expected from him was a clingy puppy-boy, but his head turns to track you whenever your hand nearly slips out of his own, and he wrestles with his bag one-handed instead of dropping the embrace. You’re just glad he’s finally holding onto something good in his life instead of pushing it away.

You think it’s a massive inconvenience that he can’t drive while holding your hand. He tries, at first, resting them on the center console, but when he changes lanes and almost overshoots it, you pry your hand out of his own.

“Two hands,” You laugh bashfully, “It’s okay, we- uh, later… later we can…”

“Later,” He turns his head to grin at you, a brilliant display as he slaps his now-free hand onto the wheel,  “Later’s good.”

Unfortunately, later gets pushed back a lot. When Billy pulls into the parking lot, the bell rings. He knows you’re going to be late for your quiz, so he doesn’t try to keep you, smiling softly, “Just go. See you in bio.”

Then between classes, you catch a glimpse of him in the hall. Your stomach starts acting up again, butterflies coming in droves, mind reeling with the thought of him grabbing your hand in public. He almost does, eyes widening as he catches sight of you, broad shoulders muscling everyone out of the way. But before he can reach you, a similarly-toned man steps up beside him, a basketball jersey slung over his frame.

He talks, and talks, and talks and talks and talks, all waving arms and loud jeering. Billy tries holding your gaze over his shoulder, nodding mindlessly along to whatever the boy is saying, but the warning bell rings and you send him a soft, defeated smile.

‘Later,’ You mouth, and his eyes dim when he nods.

Your efforts are futile at lunch, too. He has the class period before with a few of his friends, loud and brash, not your style. It means that you occupy your normal seat, a corner of a bench that the group to your left isn’t using, and tug out a book to entertain yourself. You feel his gaze burning against the side of your head, but if you get caught staring at him, his friends will turn it into some wild story about how you’re infatuated with him, and you’re not the type of person that makes that observation a compliment, at least, not to Billy’s friends. You almost hope he stops looking at you, too, because if they catch him staring, you don’t know how they’ll torment you.

It almost kills him to wait until you’re seated together in biology to reach for your hand. You’d never seen him arrive to class earlier than today, he’s even there before you are. He doesn’t bother to hide his staring, icy eyes tracking you from the second you walk through the door to the second you sit beside him.

You’re thankful that you’re officially seated together now, and you’re thinking that maybe you don’t hate group projects as much as you thought you did.

“Hey,” He murmurs, sliding his hand across the back of yours under the desk.

“Hey,” You hum, flipping your hand over to meet his palm-to-palm.

Everything seems right with the world again.

There’s a certain security you get from Billy’s touch, even if he probably gets more from yours. Having someone to hold grounds you, and you hope it does the same for him. It’s strange, feeling such a strong connection to someone you’d only started talking to days before, but you suppose that’s what happens when you remove all of the formalities of friendship. Your first sleepover just happened to be in an effort to keep him alive, not to eat junk food and watch movies.

You try to pay attention to the teacher, you really do. But she’s nowhere near as interesting as the soft scratching of Billy’s pencil on your paper, and you can’t help but watch as he writes.

You need a ride home?

You reach for your own pencil, scrawling your answer and sliding the paper to him in response

I can take the bus. You should take Max, she skated this morning.

He nearly breaks his pencil writing: She’s got tutoring after school today, she skates home anyways.

Okay, You decide, and you see him smile out of the corner of his eye as you write the word, Thanks, Billy.

He squeezes your hand, and he doesn’t need to write ‘You’re welcome’ for you to know it’s what he’s saying.

Biology typically drones on. You try to stay on top of your schoolwork, of course, but that doesn’t mean you enjoy it. The class is suddenly a lot less dreary with Billy beside you, and it becomes a game of stifling giggles. He steps on the toe of your shoe beneath the table, you tug at one of his curls. He crowds your space with his shoulder and nudges you to the edge of your seat, you let go of his hand to pinch at his thigh. He has to stifle a groan at that one, and to do so he thumps his head forwards on his desk, using the cool plastic against his forehead to quell his rugged laughter.

The thunk of his head against the desk alerts your teacher, and you sit up straight, eyes on your paper that’s covered in doodles as you try not to laugh. She scoffs, seeing Billy slumped over the desk, and probably assumes he’s fallen asleep. When she turns away, you elbow him, dipping your head down to where his rests on the desk to whisper in his ear.

“Cut it out,” You hiss, kicking his foot beneath the desk, “She almost saw!”

“Oh no,” He gushes, turning his head so that a sliver of his face shows, glinting with a shit-eating grin, “Do you think we’ll get in trouble?”

“It’s not funny!” You insist, keeping your voice as hushed as possible, “I’ve never been in trouble before, and if I get sent to the principal’s office, I’ll-”

“Y/L/N! Hargrove!” You stiffen at the voice of your teacher, your eyes widening where Billy’s only sparkle with excitement, “You two seem distracted. Anything on your minds?”

“Not mitosis.” Billy quips, straightening up from the desk and leaning back in his chair. He earns a few laughs from his scattered friends, and the teacher’s face hardens. Your stomach drops.

“You think you’re funny? You’re one missed homework assignment from failing this class. And now you’re dragging Y/N into this, too? Both of you, head to the front office. This ends here.”

There are tears burning at your eyes. You’re not the best student in the world. Hell, you’re not even in the top ten. But you’re not a bad one either, at best you slip through the cracks. You’ve never had disciplinary action taken against you, and gathering your things amongst the tense silence of your peers feels like a death sentence. 

Billy barely remembers to get his own bag, and he pointedly leaves his papers scattered over his desk. You scoop them up in your own handful, and he waits diligently by your side as you pick up your things. When you’re finally packed up he snatches your hand from where it’s hanging at your side, marching the both of you to the door.

He offers the teacher a very quaint, very polite middle finger as he drags you out of the door, and that’s what does it. The second the door shuts behind you, you burst into tears.

He looks up, alarmed at the sob you let out. The classroom you’d just exited has a row of windows that your back is facing, and he’s worried that if you turn slightly, your classmates will see you cry. As much as you’d told him it was okay to cry this morning, he’s sure you wouldn’t want your peers witnessing the meltdown you’re having. He acts fast, using your intertwined hands and yanking you into the nearest bathroom.

Your sobs echo off of the tile, and he pulls you haphazardly into his chest. Your head rests there pitifully, shoulders slumped as you cry.

“Jesus, okay,” He pants, peering under the few stalls in the back to make sure you’re alone, “What’s wrong?”

“I- I don’t know!” You do know, but it feels embarrassing to say it out loud, “I just- I’ve never been in trouble before, and it’s going on my-” You break to quell another sob, tamping it down in your chest, “Permanent record, and-!”

“Okay, calm down.” Billy scoffs, and you’re surprised to find that it’s not a derogatory one, but a fond one, “It’s fine. All we were doing was talking, it’s not like we were smoking weed in the bathroom.”

Your head shoots up and you recognize your surroundings. You glare at him suspiciously, “You don’t have any weed on you, right?”

“No!” He laughs incredulously, “I do not have any weed on me. Now,” He takes your shoulders in his broad hands, and your fingers go cold now that his aren’t intertwined with them anymore.

“You and I are gonna calm down,” He tells you, voice slow and steady. You’re the only one that needs to calm down, but you appreciate his cooperation.

“Then we’re gonna leave this bathroom, and do you know where we’re gonna go?”

“The front office,” You recite, but he breaks into a grin, shaking his head so that his curls fly.

“But that’s where she told us-”

“She can suck my dick.” Billy scoffs, “She made you cry. Forget her.”

“Billy, I can’t just forget her,” You insist, eyes wide and teary, “She’s our teacher!”

“Today’s Friday,” He reminds you, “She’s not our teacher again until Monday.”

“Fine. Where are we really going?” You look at him skeptically, raising your hand to wipe your nose against its back.

“Okay, first, ew.” Billy wrinkles his nose, yanking your hand away from your face and wiping it with a paper towel that he jerks out of the machine. He wipes your nose next, but he does it aggressively, smearing the paper towel against your face and pushing your head back until you’re laughing, trying to swat him away. The sound makes him smile, and it doesn’t fade as he continues talking.

“We’re gonna go see a movie,” He decides, hiking the strap of his bag higher up on his shoulder. Your face darkens slightly, goofy grin dimming.

“We can’t.” You protest softly, “She told us to go to the front office. You said it yourself, Billy, we were just talking. But if we ditch, we’ll be in more trouble, real trouble.”

“I’m always in trouble,” He huffs, “And you’re never in trouble. You really think this’ll be a breaking point for either of us?”

“What’s gonna happen when we don’t show up to the office?”

“They’ll give us detention.”

“We have to go, then!” Your eyes go wide, and you start for the door. He lunges for your hand, grabbing it just before you can push your way out, and this time he doesn’t drop it when he pulls you back inside.

“Detention means we’ll get to sit together for two hours and mess around.”

“No we can’t,” You scoff, “They monitor you. So we can’t just mess around.”

“Hey.” He snaps, begging your attention with those icy blue eyes of his, “Have you ever been in detention before?”

“No.” You admit quietly.

“Right. I have. They don’t care. They don’t want to be there, and they know we don’t either. They’re not gonna punish us any further, ‘cause then they’d just have to sit there with us for longer. Trust me, this will be fun.”

“Fun,” You groan, slumping forwards into his chest rather than covering your face with your hands. It’s a bold move, but a well-received one, and you feel his firm chest shake as he chuckles.

“Yes, fun.” He promises, “But if you really wanna walk up to that office and get lectured…”

“Billy,” You bite the inside of your cheek, lifting your head up so that your chin rests against his chest, “I.. I do. I’m sorry, I know you want to have fun, and- and you can go to the movies if you want! But I don’t want detention on my record. Even if it won’t do anything, I just- it sounds bad.”

“Okay.” He says, after a moment of tense silence. His grin fades, but he doesn’t scoff or push you away. He sighs dramatically, “You’re changing me, y’know. Normally I’d be halfway home by now, but you’ve got me hauling myself in to see the principal, this is bullshit.”

“I told you you could go to the movies!” You gush, laughing weakly at his dramatic display. He brings one of his large hands up to your face, smearing his rough thumb beneath your eyes and wiping away the sticky tear tracks there.

“No,” He sighs again, huffing and puffing, “I’m the one that got you in trouble, I’m not gonna ditch you. We’ll just suffer together.”

His words strike something in you. He’s chosen to change himself, to face consequences for his actions when he’d normally flee. You’re proud of him, so insanely proud that you decide to change yourself as well, and when he leads you towards the office by your intertwined hands, you turn sharply and drag him the other way.

“Wha- Woah.” His eyes widen as you yank him down the hallway, your feet slapping against the shitty linoleum flooring. You beeline for the door, bursting into the daylight with your adrenaline-pumped chest heaving. You come to a stop just outside the building, looking back at him with a thrill glowing in your eyes.

“What movie are we seeing?” You pant, and his grin reappears.

“You’re trouble.” He declares in a laugh, “Let’s go.”

Billy drives fast. This time it doesn’t seem like recklessness, though, but fun. The windows are rolled down, and wind whips through the car and ruffles your hair. His own blonde curls are flying, in his face and over his shoulders against the seat.

“Slow down!” You shriek, laughing through your words, “We’re gonna crash!”

“What are we gonna crash into,” He gestures to the empty road in front of you, all farmland and dust as the same laughter bleeds into his own voice, “A haybale? You want me to slow down so you can admire the scenery?”

There is no scenery. There’s fields, half-dead grass rolling on for miles and miles and passing by so fast that it looks like the sand on a beach. The sky is your ocean, blue and foamy white where clouds streak across it. You pass isolated barns, groves of trees, and-

“Cows!”

“What?”

“Cows! There’s cows up there,” You gush, pointing aggressively at the pasture, “Stop!”

“I can’t-! Uh, okay,” Billy rushes to step on the brakes, wheels screeching against the poorly-paved asphalt as he skids to a stop.

You’re surprised he doesn’t burn through his tires with how fast he stops. You’re out of the car before he can even turn to look at you, seatbelt long unbuckled in favor of dashing for the cows. They’re grazing aimlessly in their pasture, only a weak white fence standing between you and them.

“Hey- Hey!” Billy shouts, rushing to get himself out of the car. He’s panting slightly when he finally stands beside you, regarding you with an indignant look, “What the fuck was that about?”

“Cows,” You croon, sticking your hands over the fence and reaching for the animals, “Come pet the cows with me, Billy!”

One of them seems very interested in any potential snacks your hand might be hiding. Its large, wet nose bumps against your skin and you laugh, long and loud and free, letting the animal explore your scent and petting along its face when it finally realizes you have nothing yummy to offer it.

There’s damp bits of grass stuck to your arm from where its mouth nuzzles against you,, and its tongue is purple when it comes out to swipe along your skin. You shriek, the sound morphing into an elated giggle.

“Oh,” Billy’s nose wrinkles and he takes a step back, “Gross.”

“It’s not gross!” You insist, pulling your arm away to wipe the grass on your jeans, “That’s just what cows do. You’ve never pulled over to pet some?”

“No,” He scoffs, “That’s the most ‘country’ shit I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah,” You nod gleefully, and he thinks maybe you’ve misinterpreted the scathing tone of his voice, “Come on, Billy, come pet the cows!”

“No thanks,” He shakes his head, “I’m gonna go smoke in the car. Jus’ come back when you’re done.”

You let him head back to the car only for long enough to get a few more scratches in under the chin of a cow to your right. Then you beeline for the passenger’s side, and Billy looks surprised at your arrival.

“Done?”

“No,” You shake your head, reaching for your backpack, “I’m just getting my strawberries.”

“Uh,” Billy watches, apprehensive as you pull a plastic bag of the fruit from your backpack, “You’re not gonna feed those to the cows, are you?”

“Duh,” You nod, pulling the bag open and nearly ripping the seam, “Cows love strawberries, I feed ‘em all the time.”

“You what?” Billy looks at you like you’ve told him you’re made of the red fruit you’re holding, “You’re gonna stick your fingers next to those animal’s faces with food in your hands and you don’t think they’re gonna bite you?”

“No, Billy, cows don’t bite! Not like that,” You insist, hair flying as you shake your head. “I’m not gonna put my fingers in their faces, I’m gonna hold the strawberries on my palm. Then they can’t bite me. Come on, I’ll show you!”

“I’m not feeding cows,” Billy insists, but he moves to get out of the car anyway. When he’s standing at full height he rips the cigarette out from between his lips, blowing smoke into the road, “But I’m not gonna let you run off on your own and get mauled by some hunk of beef.”

“You’re totally gonna feed the cows,” You grin, eyes narrowed at him as you turn on your heel and head back to the fence, “You’ll see!”

You’re already jamming your hand under a cow’s mouth, a strawberry staining your palm red and sticky, when Billy saunters up to the fence. He watches warily as you let the cow nose at your fingers, then it sticks its tongue out to sweep the fruit off of your skin.

You giggle at the ticklish feeling, but Billy’s mouth falls open in horror.

“Oh,” He groans, nose scrunched and grimace strong, “That’s so fucking gross. Its tongue is purple.”

“It’s cool!” You insist, offering the cow a hearty rub between the ears as it munches on your strawberry, hand slimy with spit, “Is there much farmland in California?”

“A bit,” Billy shrugs, blissfully unaware of the curious cow sneaking up behind him as he’s turned towards you, leaning sideways on the fence. “It’s kind of a mix. We didn’t live anywhere near farmland, but sometimes we went to visit Susan’s-!”

Before he can tell you what random relative lived far out in the California farmlands, there’s a cow tongue in his ear.

He jolts away from the fence with a squawk, nearly toppling over as one hand comes up to cover his ear. You’re roaring with laughter even as you help steady him, one hand on his shoulder and the other on his waist while he stumbles to a stop a few feet away from the fence.

“He was looking for strawberries,” You giggle, pulling your sleeve over your hand to wipe cow spit off of his cheek, “I think that was your official welcome to Indiana, Billy.”

“Laugh all you want,” He groans, smearing his own hand over his face to rid his skin of any residual slime you’d missed, “But if we ever make it to an ocean and you wipe out, I’m laughing at you.”

“Deal,” You grin sideways at him, another strawberry in hand.

Of course, Billy does end up feeding the cows. It takes another round of hand-holding, though, where you place the strawberry in his palm and flatten yours beneath it. 

“Just be patient,” You murmur, feeling Billy’s hand tense as the cow noses at his fingers, “He just wants to say hi.”

“We’ve been acquainted,” Billy drawls, grimacing once more as the cow licks the strawberry off of his palm, “He tried eating the thoughts out of my head.”

“What thoughts?” You tease, but before you can gauge the situation and figure out whether you need to start running or not, Billy flips his hand over his shoulder to where you’re standing pressed to his back, and smears his sticky palm across your face.

“Oh,” You gasp, eyes squeezed shut and nose scrunched. You stagger backwards, nearly colliding with his car,  “Gross!”

“Oh, really?” Billy roars with laughter, grabbing you around the waist and leaning his chin over your shoulder as he presses your back to his chest, “I thought it was an Indiana welcome! I thought it was cool!”

“Not when you do it!” You can’t help but laugh, trying desperately to hold the cracked pieces of your disgusted facade together, “You’re not as cute as a cow!”

You’re lying, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“And to think,” He scoffs, loosening his hold on you but not letting go completely, “I was gonna buy your movie ticket for you.”

You’d almost forgotten your movie adventure. You’d been so wrapped up in having fun with Billy, soaring down the streets with music blaring from the speakers that you’d completely ignored the way he’d driven miles away from any nearby movie theater.

“Hey, yeah,” You stiffen in his grip, turning your head to knock your forehead with his. You try not to pay attention to how close you two are, keeping your focus on his stunning blue eyes, “Why are we out here? The theater’s back that way.” You jerk your thumb behind you in the direction you’d came, and his face settles into a smirk once more.

“We’re not going to that shitty theater,” He boasts, “We’re going to a drive-in. It’s a few miles into the next town over.”

It makes sense, you suppose. He has a cool car, and what better place to show it off?

“I’ve never been to a drive-in,” You gush, excitement brewing in your belly, “What are the showtimes?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs, finally letting you go to saunter back to his car and lower himself into the driver’s seat. You follow to the passenger’s side, tucking the empty plastic bag back in your backpack.

“We’ll catch something.” He reasons, hands finally back on the wheel as you shut your door and buckle your seatbelt, “People around here have nothing better to do, I bet there’s movies playing every hour.”

He gets started on the road once more, and you decide to let him drive uninterrupted. Although it hurts you to watch unpet cows whizz by the windows, you know you’ll be back too late if you keep stopping. When his tires crunch against gravel, then smooth over dirt, the unlit neon sign of the drive-in looms overhead. He leans out of the window at the counter, ordering a large popcorn and two sodas along with your tickets in that rough drawl of his.

He’s a bit rough when he stops on the asphalt, but that’s just how he drives. He’s used to driving recklessly, it’s not a habit easily broken. You hope you can help him live better, sending him a soft, sweet smile as he passes you your soda.

“This view good?” He glances over at you, hand already buried in the popcorn.

You nod emphatically, “Mhm! What movie?”

“No clue,” He lets out a huff of a laugh, “Does it really matter?”

“No,” You shrug, “‘Guess not.”

“It’s almost five,” Billy glances at his watch, “Are your parents gonna freak if you’re not home by dark?”

“They’re having dinner with friends tonight,” You recall relievedly, “They’ll probably be out way later than us. And they’ll just leave dinner in the fridge, they won’t know I’m gone.”

“Nice,” Billy nods, absentmindedly gnawing on a solid popcorn kernel, “My dad never goes out with friends. He doesn’t really have any, I don’t think. Susan does, work friends, but she’s probably not eager to show off her husband.”

He speaks about his dad with a bitter tone in his voice, words coming out brittle like they’ll snap if he tries putting any feeling into them. You hum in understanding; if your husband was like Neil Hargrove, you wouldn’t bring him around your friends either.

“You have friends,” You hum, “Don’t you ever eat out with them?”

“Uh,” He turns his head to stare expectantly at you, “Hello? Remember how I drove you a town over to see a movie, and I let you stop us halfway to stage a petting zoo?”

“I don’t mean me,” You gush, “Like, your other friends! The guys on the basketball team, or whoever you usually hang out with. That little crowd. You don’t go out with them?”

“Not really,” Billy shrugs, “They’re not my friends. Not like- um,” He drops his gaze to his lap, picking at the bucket of popcorn, “Not like you are.”

“Oh.” Is all you can manage, then you wet your throat to speak again, “They seem… no offense, shallow. Like- like they only talk about superficial stuff together. I’ve heard some of your conversations, I think.”

“Oh, so you’re updated on the riveting world of Hawkins High’s popularity pageant?” He scoffs, reaching for a cigarette, “Shit’s so stupid.”

“You say that from the top of the food chain,” You point out tentatively, “You don’t like it there?”

“It’s better than nothing.” He slows his attempts to self-medicate, hand frozen where he’s striking his lighter, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I’m not getting pushed into lockers. But, it’s like-” His fingers tighten slightly around the cig, jaw tight, “I got there because of what I have, not who I am. And not even that, I got there because of what it looks like I have. They think I’m some kind of rich kid ‘cause I have a nice car, but we’re lucky we don’t live in the trailer park. They think I’m mowing my way through the cheerleading team because they’ve seen us talking before. Sure, maybe I’ve flirted with a few, but-” His face darkens in frustration, nose scrunching slightly, “On the weekends, my dad makes me do shit around the house. And on the weekdays, I’m looking after my sister.” 

You don’t point out his slip-up, how in a fit of passion he’s dropped the ‘step-’. It’s nice to hear.

“I have no time to sleep around,” He chuckles darkly, disdainfully, “Not often. But because people like me, or- or like what they think of me, they just assume I’m selling myself out for it.”

“It’s bullshit,” He concludes, huffily so, “It’s all bullshit. And it’s not gonna last past high school.”

A tense silence falls over the car after he’s finished speaking. You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised anymore, not after two days of emotional curveballs from the man, but you think it might be the most you’ve ever heard him speak.

He looks nervous, fiddling with the keys in his ignition. Before he can regret opening up, you reach out to take his hand, pulling it away from the keys and linking yours into it on his thigh.

“I’m glad I’m your friend, Billy.” You confess, equal parts honest and tender. You want the words to soak into his veins, flow through his bloodstream and bloom sweet blossoms inside that light up his dark world.

“Me too,” He breathes, eyes glued to your intertwined hands as he tightens his fingers into the grip. As if on cue, the movie screen lights up, and it’s just barely dark enough outside to see the film.

“Here we go,” You settle in your seat, keeping your hand securely in his own, “Popcorn?”

Billy uses his free hand to pass the bucket over, and you can feel the heat concealed by the thick paper bucket hovering just above your hands. You munch on the buttery snack, a kernel already lodged in your teeth.

To Billy’s slight disinterest, it’s an old romance movie. He should have known, all that ever plays at these movie marathon nights are romances and beach flicks. He has a fleeting thought that he’d rather be watching women in bikinis, but it seems like something he shouldn’t think while holding your hand, so he pushes it away and tries to focus on the grainy, black-and-white footage. 

The transatlantic accents and over-dressed main characters only hold his attention for a few minutes. But he’s family to Neil Hargrove, and he knows how to tune out a boring speech. He focuses more on the warmth that your hand pushes against his, sweet and soft and soothing like the blanket he used to get tucked in under at his grandma’s house. His grandma who knitted that blanket herself, just for him, and who slipped him strawberry sweets anytime his dad got too drunk to notice. And the way you hold his hand feels just like his mother used to, with her thumb stacked on his so that she could stroke it like you’re doing now. He’s only held his dad’s hand a few times, and he’s not able to remember much. He just remembers his mom had always dropped Neil’s hand in a big dramatic fashion, claiming that it was like holding a dead fish.

There’s nothing morbid about holding your hand, though. You’re not stiff and cold like his father, your fingers curve around his and mold to his skin. You not only reciprocate, you initiate, squeezing at a funny line or brushing over the back of his hand.

You’re all the best parts of the people he’s loved, and none of the bad parts of the ones he couldn’t. If he was any sleazier, he’d ask if it hurt when you fell from heaven.

You let out a particularly sweet laugh at a scene and the sound takes him back to only a few nights ago, sitting on his bed and feeling safe. He’d actually forgotten about his father until the man had stormed his bedroom, and he marvels at how you’d managed to suck the terrible thoughts from his head. 

Your study session puts mitosis in his mind. Then biology, and he wonders if there’s ever been two organisms more compatible with each other. Personally, he thinks your biology is pretty basic: you were made for him, and he was made for you. 

He’s broken out of his scientific reverie when your head falls to his shoulder. You throw a quick glance up at him through your lashes, silently begging for permission for something you’ve already done. His heart thuds in his chest as he watches you with curious eyes, and a slow nod of his head is all you need to settle against his side. You’re at an awkward angle, side arched over the center console to get your head to his shoulder. That makes it better, Billy thinks, that you had to work for it. It means you really mean it, that you’re not just doing it because it’s convenient. You’re loving him because you want to.

“Shitty movie,” Billy grumbles, his voice hoarse from its prolonged silence.

“Good popcorn,” You hum, reaching for another piece. Billy leans down to snatch it out of your hand with his teeth, and chews it with a growing grin as you chuckle. 

“You’re a monster,” You tease, and a word that his brain usually whispers at him past midnight, loathing in his thoughts and venom in his veins, becomes nothing more than a nickname.

He thinks he wants to be your monster if it makes you laugh like that, all teasing teeth and careful manhandling.

You’re almost afraid you’ve insulted him with the title until he leans his head against yours, neck bent at an angle. His ear is pressed to the crown of your head, and just in case he can hear your thoughts, you think extra hard: I love you.

You last longer than Billy had, but you lose interest in the film, too. It’s not that it’s boring, it’s just not particularly interesting, and your brain is moving too slow for you to concentrate on careful dialogue. Apparently, the excitement of the day has caught up with you. Your eyes are starting to droop, and you think Billy might be able to feel your lashes flutter against his bicep. If he can, he doesn’t say anything, he just stays curled around you in his seat.

Slowly, second by second, minute by minute, you fall asleep. You drift away from the world and all that remains is Billy’s arm against your cheek, his hand holding yours. You don’t know if you’re fully sleeping or not, all you know is that Billy is the one constant between your life and your dreams.

Billy feels your breathing even out, the soft puffs of air that hit his arm soft and consistent. It’s the last thing he wants to do, but he lifts his head to peer at your face, seeing that you are, in fact, asleep.

He has the strongest urge in the world to kiss your forehead. He doesn’t, half because he’s scared you’ll wake up and think he’s a creep, and half because he’s not sure he’s capable of loving back. He’s taking it slow, and he’ll stick with leaning his head on you. 

He does that until the movie’s almost over, and the romantic climax is shining on the screen.

The woman has fallen asleep on the man’s shoulder. They’re not in a car, they’re on a park bench, but her nose is nudged up against his bicep, too, and their hands are intertwined.

The man reaches up to her cheek, and so does Billy.

His hand is warm and slightly rough against the soft skin of your cheek, but it’s his warm breath against your face that wakes you. Your lashes flutter open, and the only thing you can see are Billy’s pretty blue eyes. You’re almost startled, almost caught off-guard, and then you notice the dark flecks of insecurity in them, ridged between peaks of blue like ocean waves. 

He can’t speak. He’s paralyzed, eyes unblinking against your own, unable to ask, to tell, to beg. All he can do is stare, and hope that his hand isn’t shaking against your cheek.

He licks his lips, and you know what he’s trying to muster up the courage to do.

“Billy,” You breathe, soft and careful, “Are you sure?”

He manages to hum questioningly, but it’s a choked sound from somewhere deep in his throat.

“You’re speeding again,” You let out a breathy chuckle, but you raise your hand to hold his to your face, “Is this because you want me or because you think you’ll never get the chance to have me again?”

“I want you,” Billy murmurs, and the man on screen echoes his sentiments.

The woman on screen leans in, and so do you.

The kiss you share is unlike anything Billy’s ever felt. What he’s used to is prodding tongues, nipping teeth, below-the-belt grabbing, but this is new. This is the soft, dewy sweetness of lips barely touching, and the watermelon balm spread over your mouth. It’s tender in the way that you hold his hand to your cheek, and only made more so by the fact that you’re still holding hands between the seats. It’s less of an active kiss and more of an embrace, lips holding each other in place and noses bumping.

Billy’s never felt safer letting his eyes drift shut. At night there’s always the possibility that his dad will unlock the door in the middle of the night and take out insomnia-fueled rage on him. In his car he’ll get arrested for loitering. Now there’s nothing but you, and that’s all he ever wants there to be.

There’s muted claps from the other cars around you as the movie ends, and you choose to attribute the closing scene of fireworks to your kiss and not the leads’. When you draw away it’s with soft, content sighs, awestruck and breathless.

“I want you too, Billy.” You vow, more than happy to let him know he’s loved, “I’m glad we didn’t go to the front office.”

“Me too,” Billy breathes, leaning in to brush his lips against yours one last time, just holding them there as his fluttering eyes stare into yours.

The sound of revving engines breaks you out of your trance, and Billy pulls away from your face to look over your head. He’s still got his hand on your cheek, and you’re cradled to his chest as he watches everyone around you disperse.

“Let’s head home,” You murmur into his collarbones, kissing the skin there chastely, “You can stay the night at my house again, if you want.”

“I should get home,” He admits reluctantly, “My dad is probably still freaked about last night.”

“I wish you didn’t have to go back,” You hum, tracing the outline of a bandage through his shirt against his stomach.

“Me too,” He sighs, and finally lets your face go when the overhead lights to the lot flick on, “But we’ll get out soon.”

“Oh? Where are we going?” You settle back in your seat, turning to face him with curious eyes.

“California,” He smiles, and his genuine one is a breathtaking sight, “And anywhere you want to stop along the way.”

“That sounds perfect,” You sigh happily, head leaning comfortably back against the headrest. A yawn breaks through your lips and scrunches up your face, and Billy has to fight himself so that he doesn’t pull over and kiss the lines near your mouth.

The silence in his car is peaceful now, serene. There’s nothing left unsaid anymore, nothing hidden in your eyes and nothing withheld in your touches. You drift off to sleep wishing you were still holding Billy’s hand, and when you wake up, you are.

“Hey,” He whispers, squeezing your hand where his is interlocked with it, “Hey, wake up. You’re home now, we’ve gotta get you inside.”

“Hm? Oh,” You hum, bleary eyes taking in the outline of your house against the harsh beams of Billy’s headlights. “Thanks, Billy.”

“Uh-huh,” He nods, offering you a hand after you undo your seatbelt, “C’mon, if you can stand, I’ll carry you up to bed.”

You;re more than happy to let him sweep you off of your feet. He can feel your smile as you bury it in his neck, and he doesn’t even worry about shutting his car off and locking it before he pushes open your front door. Sure enough there’s tinfoil covered dinner on the counter alongside a note from your parents, and Billy marvels at how well they take care of you even when they’re not home. 

“To the right,” You instruct him, realizing he’s only ever gotten into your room from the window outside, “And it’s the second door down.”

“Got it,” He murmurs, chin bumping your cheek.

Your bed is still unmade from that morning, and he yearns to slip beneath the covers again. He’s jealous when he tucks you in, and you’re glad you wore comfy clothing to school so that you can burrow under your blankets and not worry about changing.

“Goodnight,” Billy leans down, an inch away from your face, “Can I…?”

You lean up to do it for him, pushing your lips against his once more.

He melts into it, and the way that your nails scratch the hair at the base of his scalp only makes it worse.

“Goodnight,” You mumble, words wonky and misspoken against his lips, “I had fun today, Billy. I’m glad we’re friends, and I’m glad we’re more.”

“Me too,” He agrees, and the sentiments he’s agreeing to feel foreign to him. Five days ago he’d have been the least likely person on earth to have a friend, and now he’s got a partner to boot. In every sense of the word, he loves you, even if he won’t say those three words yet.

“Please be safe,” You cup his cheek, stroking over his slightly bruised cheekbone with tenderness he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to, “And if he hurts you again, stay with me instead.”

“I will,” Billy promises, dotting a dewy kiss to the side of your mouth as you settle into sleep, content with his safety.

He tells himself he’s just puttering around, throwing a stray sock into the laundry hamper and straightening a book he’d nearly knocked off of your nightstand on the way in. But really he’s waiting to make sure you’re really asleep, ring already slipped off of his finger and growing sweaty in his palm.

Once he’s sure you won’t wake, he peels back the covers on your bed, taking your hand in his. It’s got a familiar weight to it, a fact that he mentally celebrates, and his fingers shake as he slides the metal band onto your finger.

Having a ring to chuck in the garbage is gonna hurt a whole lot more when they leave, he reminds himself. Then, ‘If’.

“If they leave.” Your soft voice rings in his ears, and as he treks back to his car, revving the engine in the silvery light of the moon, there’s a feeling he’s never felt before rising in his chest. Hope: “Some people stay.”

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! your feedback motivates me to write more, so thank you for your support :-)

[steddiee]

I can’t stop thinking about Steve and Eddies daughter getting her first period.

Hawkins high biology was a very censored affair in 1985 and Steve’s momma was never around long enough for her to catch her breath and realise that she and her abomination of an husband never even had the birds and the bees talk with him. Steve's series of dates he'd gained the king title for were never with him long enough to figure out that he was absouletly and completely cluless as how exactly the female reproduction system worked.

Eddie's mom died long before Eddie was old enough to understand this stuff, and Wayne just assumed Eddie wouldn’t ever have any use of this knowledge when he came out as gay to him before he had the chance to say anything. So, he just reminded him that he needed to be safe and didn’t bother going into female anatomy and how it all works.

The two boys just never questioned it, wasn't curious about it at all. Steve honestly thought Robin had some sort of a stomach condition that meant she was in pain for a while occassionaly.

So, one faithful midnight in early 2006, Robin gets a call from a frantic Eddie and a Steve who has gone into I-have-a-nail-bat-and-I-am-not-afraid-to-use-it mode.

She is confused, curious and slighltly worried but when she finally understands that nobody explained anything ever to her two idiots, she laughs a little.

Steve's reaction to Robin laughing at this very real emergency - RoBIn she might be dying in the other room. stop laughing- is less than calm and only whispered because he doesn't want his daughter to think she is dying.

The only reason they hadn't yet called the emergency room is because she would abosluetly not let them because of how embarrased she was.

Eddie, at this point, takes over the reciever because there's no way Steve is calm enough to be able to listen to instructions.

Robin tells Eddie all about cramps and pads and tampons and choclate and painkillers and icecream and movies and hot waterbottles and ricesocks. At some point Eddie gestures to Steve to get a notepad and a pen and actually takes notes.

When she is finally finished talking, Eddie and Steve sit their daughter down. After reassuring her that she is going to be absolutley fine with tears of relief and a bit of pride - Steve our litte girl's a lady now- and many hugs, they give her the option to listen to her aunt robin explain it all, or them trying their best to explain.

She wisely chooses her aunt Robin. So, she starts from scratch, and in much more detail, lays it all out. She stars smiling towards the end, assured that its going to be all fine.

Eddie spends the entire night researching it all on the internet. He learns everything, and with his notes from his conversation with Robin finally starts understanding how funny last nights -wow he did not realise the sun come up- conversation must've been to Robin.

They go shopping together after breakfast and get all the necessities. The shopkeeper smiles and says "shes lucky to have you as her dads" they just smile and reply "we're lucky to have her"

[venusandsaturnsrings]

★彡 raspberry sorbet

synopsis: moving beyond the realms of friendship, Ajax smoothly beds you. infatuated and aroused, much like him, you indulge in a night of intense intimacy.

contains: 2.5k words, afab/fem reader, chubby reader, stalking mention, slight dubcon, f!receiving oral, blood sucking, aphrodisiacs, and p in v.

clandestine or otherwise naught, your meetings with Ajax remain amidst the dark. though bathed in the shadowy depths, it was impossible to ever truly feel afraid with his unbeating heart against your own. subzero fingertips and eyes reflecting the slightest bits of light, he was a sight sure to scare anyone unaware of his true nature; gentle. Ajax only ever touched you with cotton-soft hands and his teeth never close enough to so much as graze your skin. he had once indulged you that the distance between your skin and his mouth was not borne of repulsion but rather due to the crimson beneath. he could smell it from far away, saccharine and raspberries he said, to be so close had his muscles pulsing. never would he feed on you but the flow merely a scrape away from his own watering mouth was enough to have his head spinning.

it was turning into a miserable night. clouds pouring with enough rain to revert any drought and lighting crackling along the darkened sky. akin to ropes of silk, your disappointment was interrupted by mere wonder at the gorgeous display of light using the night sky as a canvas. your thoughts wandered to Ajax, ‘perhaps he’s fond of this weather?’ mentally you noted to ask him once he’s reached your home, though, it may as well be his home as well at this point considering how much he spent lounging around the space. a telltale rattle, a noise only possible from his nails, came from the glass separating your window from the cruel weather beyond.

unlatching and opening, Ajax awkwardly wiggled his way in forcefully and proceeded to hit the floor rather hard in his attempt to get out of the downpour as fast as possible. he huffed when his face made contact with the hardwood but stood up quickly with a crooked grin and shook himself of similarly to a dog. maybe he’d be a doberman? you scrapped the idea. with the floor now as wet as himself, Ajax slumped his body over to fully wrap you in his gangly arms, successfully soaking you as well in the process. the thought of being upset didn’t cross your mind as his affections were always endearing regardless of how much they ruined your clothes. he rubbed his cheek on the top of your head with a happy sigh and tightly gripped your waist, soothed from his run in the rain by your warm presence and body heat. fingers tugging at his drenched clothing, you urged him to take it off out of fear he may get sick, neglecting that it wasn’t possible for him to fall ill due to his biology. Ajax conceded regardless, stripping the wet cloth from his skin after making his way to your bathroom and piled it all upon the counter in a ball of dark jean and cotton.

“you’re soaked now too, only fair you strip down as well, sugar,” though the tacky pet name made your nose wrinkle you reluctantly followed. this wasn’t the first time he’d see you naked considering the way he liked to peer through your windows. despite his unsettling tendencies, it was near impossible for you to mind, simply brushing it off as his lack of social understanding from a life of incredible solitude. the reality was he fawned over your bare skin and often let his imagination go to work upon returning to his own makeshift home in the early hours of the morning. Ajax found you utterly tantalizing. now both fully nude, you filled the bathtub with warm water and lavender epsom salts. he had once commented on a candle you had burned, saying it smelled divine so you started purchasing only scents of lavender. curls of steam rose alongside the familiar floral and Ajax sighed happily from behind you. letting him sink in first, you followed to which he guided you to rest against his chest. small waves lapped at your chest and his torso where you both relaxed; warm. his fingers massaged along your scalp and neck, his chin rested on your shoulder. hands dancing along your skin, they gradually dipped along your arms before teasingly squeezing your chest. a yelp from you followed, jolting away from his body and turning to glare at the clearly amused ginger who quickly pulled you back against him. he hummed and rubbed his cheek against yours, mumbling something about how adorable he finds you.

“c’mon, let’s get out now my pretty blood bag.” you smacked his hands away from you and stood only to earn a sharp slap to the fat of your ass in return. you nearly whipped him with a wet towel but you knew his reflexes wouldn’t let that happen so you settled for scoffing at his lack of impulse control. once out of the water as well, Ajax helped to towel you off in a mock apology as he only took the opportunity to harshly grope you more through annoyingly adorable snickers.

sauntering back out to your bedroom, you rifled through numerous drawers to find something for both yourself to wear and for Ajax to finally clothe himself. you could only take seeing his lithe muscle and freckled skin for so long without turning into a puddle. a shirt and panties for yourself, some shorts and boxers you keep around especially for him as he never brings his own no matter the weather. it's almost as if he enjoys these intimately domestic moments with you? surely not. your mind looped back to the same excuse you always sowed yourself; he isn't familiar with the standards for relationships. friends don't strip and share baths together, skin to skin, and hands traveling across erogenous zones. friends don't intertwine their daily lives to the point of firm inseparability. friends don't look at each other the way he looks at you. and friends certainly never allow their bodies to press and pull the way Ajax is now doing to you.

hands pressed nearly imperceptible to your mid-section, he lead your body that was still yet to be dressed back with his own to gently seat you on the edge of the bed. he dropped to his knees between your own and gripped on of your hands to press a kiss to each fingertip as well as your palm. Ajax placed your hand to his cheek with a sigh and let his chin fall to the plush skin of your thighs, eyes closed. light lashes brushing along the tops of his cheeks with pale eyebrows furrowed slightly, an internal struggle obviously brewing. swallowing your words momentarily you admired just how gorgeous he is with somehow rosy lips, planes of ghostly skin, fangs permanently peeking past his mouth even when not fully dropped, and eyes a vast ocean of blue you're not sure you could ever fully decipher. you speak with a slight tremor, asking if he's alright or perhaps sick but your voice cracks over the word. time and time again you have to hammer it in your head that he can't get sick. 'Ajax cannot get sick. Ajax is not human.' a thought equal parts chilling and irritating. he hums.

"sick? maybe," his lashes flutter open to reveal that same sea you wished to dive in, to drown in. he pulls your wrist to his mouth, planting a kiss once more. "i think thats the word you'd use for it..." his words were barely above a whisper yet had a chill settling in your chest. is he messing with you? Ajax seems to pick up on your thoughts before you voice them, as per usual. "not sick in the sense of ill, sick as in 'lovesick'... do people still say that?" to which his lips traveled to your thighs where his head previously sat. you're hesitating mentally and physically. his slightly historic manner of speech was charming but a verbal admission of this nature wasn't something you had heard before. you could reason all the signs were there and, yes, you do really like him but the small spikes of insecurity clawed at your mind. "doll?" you hadn't noticed him call for you nor that his mouth stopped at the crease between your hip and pelvis. gulping and signaling him to go on, Ajax sighed, "cast away all doubts for me? enjoy the night while we have it, sweetness." you couldn't say you were relaxed per say but, you let him lay you back.

spine hitting the cool sheets and duvet, a shaky exhale left your lungs as Ajax kissed at your skin from your ankle to inner thigh. teeth still far from your skin, his slightly pointed tongue traced hearts across your flesh while his hands softly massaged your muscles to relax. with your legs over his shoulders, Ajax mouthed at the fat of your cunt as his drool slicked up everywhere it could reach. you weren't sure if the salivation was due to his desire of intimate flesh or that borne of your blood. all the same, he spread you open with long fingers and a low hum before licking from your dripping hole to your already sensitive clit. with a long life comes plenty of experience and Ajax makes that known with the way be begins to play your body like a piano. you imagine he'd give you an elaborate description, something about how you could be no less than a grand piano with keys of ivory. dwelling on your own little fantasies wasn't an option as he latched onto the pearl of your clit and prodded at the entrance of your cunt. his tongue drew shapes you couldn't recognize as he sucked along you in ways that already had you gasping and bucking desperately against his face. the hand not working itself into you slowly came to press upon your lower stomach, holding you down and giving him full access. his fingers gently stretched you open, curling and scissoring until you were keening and begging for him to speed up just that smallest bit more to reach your climax. you could feel him smile against you with his face thoroughly slicked up and, mercifully, he twisted his fingers perfectly along a harsh suck. neither alone or with another could you ever reach the godly pleasure he brought you. you clenched around nothing with an arched back and whines loud of his name paired with other nonsense. coming down from the sparks along your spine and trembling legs, you released his soft hair you hadn't even noticed was so tightly wound in your grasp. Ajax rested his cheek on your thigh once more with a smile though, this time, he was panting and his chin was soaked with the fluids that had leaked from you.

embarrassment couldn't grip you with the way he stood up and slid his calloused hands along all the skin he could touch. he gently repositioned you, with a strength you were still unused to, to be on your knees and elbows. he kisses along your neck and murmured small praises as he made sure you were comfortable for him. something about 'wanting to make this as painless as possible,' slipped past his lips but you didn't quite catch it through your post-orgasm induced haze.

"stay like this for me? you look stunning," his voice was still low and coated in a thick glaze of love. you nodded and made a noise of agreement before he lifted your hips a touch further and rubbed the swollen and leaking tip of himself against your still sensitive entrance. you whined and keened for him to which he soothed you through soft shushes and a hand rubbing hip. the hot touch of him sliding his cock along your cunt brought you to reality, though only briefly, and through your whimpers you questioned if he'd be putting on a condom. Ajax leaned down with a chuckle and shake of his head, "condom? what would i need that for, doll? you've been mine since the second you let me in your home." you could feel his teasing grin against your neck while he pushed himself in.

he wasn't exactly gentle but not rough. Ajax was attempting to ride the line between cementing your obedience and still letting you have that humanly sense of control. in his eyes, you're his the way you always have been but he's willing to cut a few corners in favour of easing you into a more subservient role with as little pushback as possible. he swallowed the saliva that had gathered in his mouth and, with his face pressed to your neck and cock pressed to your insides, he gently pierced you with his fangs. the slip of his fangs felt like a seering burn before a feeling of utter bliss washed over your body. it was almost like you had been moved out of your body yet you could still feel the movements of his cock and hands dragging all over you to pull as many orgasms out of your tight cunt as he could. slightly light-headed, you could feel yourself spasming around his dick and achieving a high that could only be described as heavenly. 'Ajax is not human.'

droplets of blood slipped past the small wound he had made and dribbled down your shoulder before being caught by his tongue. the taste was everything he imagined it to be, saccharine and raspberries, but perhaps it was you that made it so sweet, not some other factor like blood type or diet. only you could allow him a flavour so perfect against his palate and perfect along his cock. Ajax groaned into your ear, though to you it was heavily muffled, as he spilled himself into your clenching and already soaked pussy. hands roaming your skin and mouth planting further kisses, he worshiped your body in a reverent manner. as you now know his destined status as your lover and so kindly let him feed upon your blood, it would be wrong not to be the most devoted follower at your alter. he lovingly lathed his tongue across your neck till the bleeding had ceased and rolled you into his arms. between the blood loss and mind shattering fuck you had just received, consciousness wasn't going to last long. before you could slip off to rest amongst ruined sheets and Ajax's body, he whispered directly into your ear.

"you truly are a special girl. a feast for both my body and stomach," he paused to kiss where he had bitten to emphasise his point, "i will continue to protect you. i'm forever yours as you are mine, sugar." Ajax held you past sleep and into the morning, where he'd praise you once again, a sinner at your feet.