#notebook computer skin

[rainyshamanskull]

Keep Your Laptop Safe and Stylish with the Right Skin Introduction: The Importance of Protecting and Styling Your Laptop

In today’s fast-paced digital world, our laptops have become an extension of ourselves—both professionally and personally. A scratched lid or scuffed palm rest can occur in the blink of an eye, whether from sliding your device in a crowded bag or accidentally brushing against hard surfaces. Beyond the functional risk of damage, a plain, scratched laptop often fails to reflect your unique personality. That’s where the marriage of protection and style becomes crucial. An investment in safeguarding your device is an investment in its longevity, resale value, and overall performance.

Enter the realm of laptop skins—versatile solutions that not only shield your machine from daily wear but also allow for self-expression. By enveloping your device in a layer of high-quality material, you guard it against scratches, minor dents, and dust, all while making a statement. From vibrant patterns to sleek monochromes, these protective layers are available in a myriad of finishes, including vinyl decals and adhesive wraps. This blog delves deep into the world of laptop computer skins, revealing how the right notebook computer skin can keep your laptop both safe and stylish for years to come.

Why Choose Laptop Skins: Merging Protection with Aesthetics

When it comes to preventing unsightly scratches, dings, and scuffs, traditional laptop cases or sleeves might seem like the obvious choice. However, every time you remove or replace your laptop, there’s a risk of accidental damage. A laptop skin adheres directly to your device’s surface, providing continuous protection without the need to carry extra bulk. These thin, durable covers act as a barrier against everyday hazards, ensuring your laptop’s exterior remains pristine. Additionally, they’re an affordable way to refresh an older model, giving it a modern facelift.

On the aesthetics front, laptop computer skins are akin to a fashion statement. You can choose from ultra-minimalist matte finishes, high-definition prints of your favorite artwork, or even metallic sheen surfaces that turn heads. Brands often utilize scratch-resistant finish technologies to ensure the print remains vibrant and intact over time. Combining both functionality and form, laptop skins allow you to express your style without compromising on essential protection. With so many design options and material innovations, it’s no wonder these protective wraps have become a staple accessory for any laptop owner.

Types of Materials Used in Laptop Skins

Not all laptop covers are created equal, and one key differentiator is the material. Most premium notebook computer skin brands offer vinyl decals, which are renowned for their flexibility and resilience. Vinyl’s ability to conform to subtly curved edges makes it ideal for most laptop surfaces. Additionally, high-grade vinyl often comes with an inbuilt scratch-resistant finish, ensuring that even repeated contact with rough surfaces doesn’t dull the design. Some manufacturers even apply a UV-resistant coating to prevent colors from fading due to prolonged exposure to sunlight or harsh indoor lighting.

Apart from vinyl, you can find adhesive wraps crafted from thermoplastic polyurethane (TPU) or polycarbonate blends. These options boast a more tactile feel and often provide a slight grip, reducing the chances of your laptop slipping out of your hands. TPU-based laptop skins typically offer better shock absorption, protecting against minor impacts or drops. In contrast, polycarbonate films can be thinner and lighter, maintaining a near-original feel while still offering robust protection. Understanding the subtle differences between materials enables you to select a laptop computer skin that best matches your lifestyle and device usage.

Popular Designs and Customization Options

The beauty of investing in a laptop skin lies in its limitless customization possibilities. Whether you prefer minimalist solids, intricate geometric patterns, or photographic-quality imagery, there’s something for everyone. Sites offering custom laptop wrap services utilize high-definition printing techniques that replicate images with clarity and depth. From personal photographs to branded logos, these custom skins are perfect for professionals seeking to reinforce brand identity or artists wanting to showcase their portfolios. Many providers also allow users to upload their own designs, making it easy to craft a truly one-of-a-kind look.

Beyond flat designs, some laptop computer skins feature textured finishes for a distinctive tactile experience. Options include matte finish surfaces that reduce glare and fingerprint visibility, as well as glossy finish variants that accentuate color vibrancy. For the more adventurous, there are skins with metallic foil accents or even holographic elements that catch light dynamically. Whatever your preference—be it understated elegance or bold self-expression—today’s market offerings ensure you can find a notebook computer skin tailored to your unique aesthetic. Keep in mind that intricate patterns and high-contrast designs often draw more attention, making your laptop stand out from the crowd.

Understanding Laptop Computer Skins: What They Are and How They Work

At its core, a laptop computer skin is a thin, adhesive-backed sheet that adheres to the exterior of your laptop, conforming to its shape to provide protection and style. Typically, these skins are made from vinyl decals—materials engineered to resist tearing, stretching, and peeling. High-quality laminates are applied over the printed design to lend additional protection against scratches and spills. The adhesive used is specifically formulated to leave no residue upon removal, ensuring your laptop’s original finish remains intact if you ever decide to switch styles.

Installation of a notebook computer skin involves a careful alignment process to ensure precision. Most brands provide registration marks or cutouts around ports, logos, and edges to guide accurate placement. Once the skin is aligned, gentle pressure using a microfiber cloth or squeegee helps expel air bubbles for a smooth, seamless look. The adhesives are pressure-sensitive, meaning they bond stronger over time but can still be peeled off without damaging the underlying surface. This combination of engineered materials and adhesives allows laptop skins to function as both a protective shield and a fashion accessory for any device.

Installing Your Notebook Computer Skin: Step-by-Step Guide

Installing a notebook computer skin may seem daunting, but with the right technique and a little patience, it can be a breeze. First, thoroughly clean the laptop’s surface using an alcohol-based wipe or lint-free cloth to remove dust, oil, and fingerprints. Any debris left behind can lead to bubbles or an uneven finish. Once the surface is pristine, align the skin starting from one edge—typically the lid or top cover—and gradually apply pressure while smoothing outward. Using a plastic card or squeegee wrapped in a microfiber cloth helps push out air pockets and ensures a firm bond.

After the initial placement, take a moment to check for any misplaced areas or lingering bubbles. If you spot small bubbles, gently lift the nearest edge of the skin to release trapped air and reapply. For larger bubbles, use a pin to puncture the bubble, then press the air out smoothly. Pay special attention to corners and edges, ensuring the skin is firmly adhered. A well-installed laptop skin not only looks professional but also maintains its protective qualities over time. Once installation is complete, avoid exposing your device to extreme heat for 24 hours to allow the adhesive to cure fully.

Maintenance and Care for Your Laptop Skin

Maintaining a laptop skin is relatively straightforward, but consistent care will extend both its appearance and functionality. Start by regularly wiping the surface with a soft, damp microfiber cloth to remove fingerprints, dust, and light grime. For stubborn stains or spills, lightly dampen the cloth with a mild soap solution—avoid harsh chemicals like alcohol or acetone, as they can degrade the adhesive and risk discoloring the printed design. Dry the skin immediately with a clean, dry cloth to prevent any moisture from seeping into the edges or ports.

Over time, your notebook computer skin may accumulate minor scuffs or marks. Some premium models feature a scratch-resistant finish that helps these blemishes become less noticeable, as they often blend into textured or matte designs. If you notice the edges lifting slightly, gently press them back down, ensuring no dirt is trapped beneath. Avoid prolonged exposure to direct sunlight, which can accelerate color fading despite UV-resistant coatings. With attentive upkeep, your laptop computer skin will continue to look fresh, providing both aesthetic appeal and protection for months, if not years.

Enhancing Protection: Beyond Aesthetics

While laptop skins excel at preventing cosmetic damage like scratches and minor abrasions, there are additional protection layers you might consider for comprehensive device safety. Combining a skin with a thin protective cover adds shock absorption in case of drops or impact. Brands now offer hybrid solutions where a flexible TPU edge wrap protects corners and sides while the skin covers the top and bottom surfaces. This synergy of durable protection layers ensures your laptop is well-guarded against daily wear and tear, spills, and bumps—crucial for those who carry their devices frequently.

For users in high-risk environments—such as construction sites, outdoor workspaces, or frequent travelers—reinforcing your laptop computer skins with a peel-and-stick keyboard protector can safeguard against liquid spills and debris entering the laptop’s internals. Additionally, laptop cushions or rubberized feet can be affixed beneath the device to reduce slipperiness and absorb minor shocks. When fashion meets function, the combination of a notebook computer skin and these supplementary accessories creates an all-encompassing defense system, ensuring that your investment remains safe, stylish, and operational regardless of where you take it.

Choosing Eco-Friendly and Sustainable Skins

As eco-consciousness grows, many consumers are seeking sustainable solutions for everyday products, and laptop skins are no exception. Some manufacturers now offer skins made from biodegradable or recyclable vinyl decals, reducing environmental impact throughout the product’s lifecycle. These eco-friendly options often use water-based inks and low-VOC adhesives, ensuring that the production process is less harmful to both the user and the planet. Choosing a laptop skin with an eco-credentials label means you’re not only protecting your device but also contributing to reduced plastic waste and resource consumption.

Another avenue for sustainability is purchasing from brands that implement cradle-to-cradle manufacturing practices, where materials are designed to be fully recyclable at end-of-life. Some companies even offer take-back programs, collecting used notebook computer skins for proper recycling or repurposing. For those looking to reduce their carbon footprint further, consider selecting a minimalist, single-color laptop computer skin that requires fewer layers of ink, thus limiting chemical usage. By selecting eco-friendly skin, you reinforce your commitment to environmental stewardship while still enjoying a stylish, protective layer for your laptop.

Budget-Friendly Options and DIY Alternatives

Not every laptop owner wants to spend a premium on custom designs or top-tier materials. For wallets of all sizes, there are budget-friendly options available that still deliver essential protection. Retailers often sell pre-cut laptop skins at lower price points, featuring generic patterns or popular themes such as marble, wood grain, or simple color blocks. While these may lack the uniqueness of fully custom wraps, they still employ durable materials and scratch-resistant coatings to prolong your laptop’s pristine condition without breaking the bank.

For the crafty among us, creating a DIY notebook computer skin can be both fulfilling and cost-effective. By purchasing high-quality adhesive vinyl sheets and printing your design on a standard inkjet or laser printer (using compatible vinyl), you can craft a personalized cover at home. After printing, apply a clear laminate overlay to guard against smudges and moisture. Precise cutting, using a ruler and a sharp blade, ensures a neat fit. While a DIY project requires time and patience, it allows you to explore endless design variations and truly make your laptop one-of-a-kind—all at a fraction of the cost of professional custom printing.

Where to Buy Quality Laptop Skins

Finding reliable sources for laptop skins is crucial to ensure you receive a durable, high-resolution product. Popular online marketplaces like Etsy and Amazon and specialized websites such as Brand, Slickwraps, and Skinit offer extensive catalogs of designs, materials, and price ranges. These platforms often feature customer reviews, providing insight into real-world performance, longevity, and adhesive strength. Additionally, many independent artists and designers showcase their work on platforms like Redbubble or Society6, allowing you to support creators directly while acquiring a unique laptop computer skin.

If you prefer seeing and touching materials before committing, brick-and-mortar electronics retailers and print shops sometimes maintain sample displays or can order specific designs for you. Local print shops may even offer same-day custom laptop wrap services, utilizing high-quality vinyl printers and laminators. When selecting a vendor, consider factors such as return policy, shipping times, and customer support responsiveness. Investing in a reputable brand not only guarantees better material quality—such as fade-resistant coatings and precise die-cut edges—but also ensures easy replacement if your initial skin becomes damaged or outdated.

Conclusion: Combining Style and Safety

Choosing the right laptop skin transforms your device from a utilitarian tool into a personalized statement piece while delivering essential protection against daily wear and tear. From laptop computer skins crafted with high-grade vinyl to eco-friendly, biodegradable notebook computer skin options, the market offers something for every taste and budget. By understanding material differences, installation techniques, and maintenance tips, you can ensure that your laptop remains both fashionable and functional for years to come. Whether you opt for minimalist matte finishes or vibrant, customized graphics, the perfect skin can elevate your laptop’s aesthetic appeal without compromising on durability.

Ultimately, investing in a quality laptop skin is about safeguarding your valuable equipment and showcasing your individuality. With so many choices—from professional-grade scratch-resistant finish materials to budget-friendly or DIY alternatives—there’s no reason to settle for a plain, vulnerable laptop exterior. Embrace the creative possibilities and protective benefits that laptop skins provide, and enjoy the peace of mind that comes with knowing your device is shielded from scratches, spills, and scuffs. In doing so, you’ll keep your laptop safe, stylish, and distinctly your own.

[oliullah04]

Creative Ways to Customize Your Tech with Laptop Skins

Laptop skins have evolved from basic protective stickers into a bold medium of self-expression. Whether you’re a student, creative professional, or tech enthusiast, laptop computer skins give your device a fresh identity while also guarding against scratches and wear.

From vibrant art to minimalist textures, there’s a skin for every personality. People choose notebook computer skins not just for aesthetics, but for how they reflect individuality. And because they’re easy to apply and remove, you can switch up your look whenever inspiration strikes.

Why Personalize with Laptop Skins Instead of Cases

Cases can feel bulky and impersonal. The laptop skins, on the other hand, offer slim protection with tons of personality. They adhere directly to your laptop’s surface, hugging every curve without adding weight or thickness.

Moreover, most notebook computer skin options are customizable, allowing you to upload personal designs or choose from thousands of templates. Unlike hard-shell cases, skins don’t trap heat and are usually more budget-friendly.

Express Your Mood with Color-Blocking Skins

Color-blocking designs make a strong visual impact. Choose bold colors that reflect your mood or work vibe—like energizing red, creative orange, or calming blue. It’s a simple yet powerful way to influence how you and others perceive your workspace.

Not to mention, these laptop computer skins instantly boost the aesthetic of your coffee shop table or Zoom background. Match your skin with accessories like your mouse pad, water bottle, or keyboard cover for a cohesive look.

Show Off Your Hobbies and Interests

Are you a travel junkie, bookworm, or pet lover? Let your skin tell your story. Skins themed around hobbies make laptops more relatable and fun to use. It's a great conversation starter too—especially in shared workspaces or classrooms.

You can choose designs that highlight your favorite destination, favorite band lyrics, or even a custom illustration of your pet. With the right notebook computer skin, your laptop becomes more than a tool—it becomes a part of your personality.

Go Minimal with Sleek Matte Finishes

Sometimes, less is more. If you love simplicity, go for solid-color matte laptop skins. Shades like charcoal, navy, or white give your device a clean and professional appearance without being boring.

These types of laptop skins are especially popular among professionals and entrepreneurs who prefer a subtle style that still stands out. They’re perfect for formal settings while keeping your device safe and scratch-free.

Add Texture with Leather or Fabric Skins

Want something that feels as good as it looks? Leather and fabric-inspired skins offer a unique tactile experience. They look luxurious and add a layer of sophistication to your laptop.

Leather-look laptop computer skins work wonderfully in executive environments, while felt or denim designs can feel cozy and creative. It’s tech, upgraded to a fashion statement.

Match Skins Across All Your Devices

Consistency is key. Matching your laptop skin with your phone, tablet, and even AirPods creates a unified tech aesthetic. It feels intentional and polished, and honestly—it just looks cool.

Many skin brands offer sets or allow you to custom order matching pieces. When you coordinate your tech gear, you not only show off your style, but you also give a neat and organized impression.

Turn Your Laptop into an Art Gallery

Think of your laptop as a blank canvas. With an art-themed skin, you can carry a masterpiece everywhere you go. Choose famous paintings, digital illustrations, or even graffiti-inspired designs to show off your appreciation for creativity.

These laptop computer skins don’t just decorate—they inspire. If you’re in a creative field, they can help set the tone for brainstorming sessions or freelance gigs.

Use Inspirational Quotes to Stay Motivated

Words are powerful. Adding motivational quotes to your notebook computer skin can help fuel your focus during long work hours. Pick a phrase that resonates—something empowering, funny, or deeply meaningful.

You’ll glance at your device dozens of times a day, so why not make that moment positive? Whether it says “Stay Hungry” or “Do What You Love,” your skin becomes a visual affirmation of your goals.

Promote Your Brand or Side Hustle

Custom laptop skins are an excellent low-cost marketing tool. Add your logo, social media handles, or website to spread awareness wherever you go. Whether you're freelancing at a cafe or presenting at a workshop, your laptop becomes an ad.

It's non-intrusive, clever, and surprisingly effective. People notice unique laptop computer skins—and they remember what stands out.

Celebrate Seasons and Holidays with Skins

Just like swapping your wardrobe, why not refresh your laptop with the seasons? Use festive skins during holidays—snowflakes for winter, florals for spring, or pumpkins for fall.

They not only look fun but also spark joy. Changing your notebook computer skin with the season keeps things fresh and fun, especially if you work long hours at your desk.

Protect While You Personalize

Let’s not forget—laptop skins serve a practical purpose too. They shield your device from minor dings, fingerprints, and scratches. When made from high-quality vinyl, they last long and peel off clean without leaving residue.

In short:

They’re affordable.

They’re protective.

They’re expressive.

The right skin offers both form and function—style and safety all in one.

Creative Ways to Customize Your Tech with Laptop Skins

Laptop skins make tech feel human. Whether you love vibrant art, clean lines, or playful patterns, there’s a skin that matches your vibe. They’re lightweight, budget-friendly, and a great way to change things up.

No matter how you work, study, or play, there's a notebook computer skin that fits your lifestyle. It's time to ditch the bland and let your tech reflect you—boldly and beautifully.

Frequently Asked Questions

Q: Are laptop skins safe for all devices?

Yes, when you choose quality vinyl skins, they’re safe, leave no residue, and won’t damage your laptop.

Q: Can I design my own laptop skin?

Absolutely. Many online stores let you upload images, logos, or designs for a custom experience.

Q: Do skins affect laptop ventilation?

No. Skins are thin and only applied to the surface. They don’t block vents or interfere with hardware.

Q: How long do laptop computer skins last?

With proper care, good-quality skins can last a year or more without peeling or fading.

Q: Can I remove and reuse a notebook computer skin?

Most skins are meant for one-time use, but some premium ones can be reapplied if removed carefully.

Q: Where’s the best place to buy creative laptop skins?Websites like Laptop Skin Shop offer an amazing range of artistic and customizable designs.

[presepohne]

peaches & wine

5.8kish | NSFW minors do not interact 18+

FUCKBOY!JOHN SOAP MCTAVISH X VIRGIN!READER | ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE

Summary: Fuck boy Johnny fuck you on your demand.

Warnings: Reader is kind of needy and overachiver girl, very cliche you can say. P in the v sex, fingering and eating out, Johnny is a FLITHY man and we like that. Drinking and alcohol. Mention of Simon rejecting reader.

Note: It's finally here and you can see how I gave up in the end, Only because this has a part two with threesome.

IDEA | INTRO

Johnny has seen many men and women alike, fucked ‘em too. He had the privilege to worship bodies and not care about them. He's a filthy god in his human skin— he can care less.

The party is booming with sounds that send low vibrations through his bones, he's nursing a drink and a cigarette. Tonight had been eventful in a low way— women kissing his cheeks and mumbling how they want his numbers, men slowly slipping hands into his back pocket to squeeze his ass.

Tonight was good, the buzz of the drinks getting to his bones. There is this very light flutter in his chest, the headiness of the alcohol catching up to him. Simon must be around somewhere, Gaz had disappeared with his girl long before he even started to order drinks.

Johnny has not been a good man, in his own sense of goodness. He has been something borderlining filth— the cross rests around his neck which he kisses every time he's at the church praying. He prays god would forget what kind of man he is when he dies.

Except Johnny forgets he himself is the man of God when it comes to fucking someone or getting fucked.

He has been eyeing almost everyone, not particularly in the mood to fuck but enough to have some dance with his people or stangers alike. He remembers the first time he had sex, with some man at the soccer club, in the bathroom.

It was something he would always hold onto, fucking the pastor's son.

You have been lingering around for a while, fiddling with the rim of your glass as you give him side eyes. He did notice you, you're very obviously gawking at him, and he takes it as a sign that you must be admiring him. He snorts to himself, puts another cigarette between his lips and searches his pockets for a lighter.

You have been around for the past two years, not really present. Not really absent, just existing somewhere— where people would notice you when they required you and not vice versa. You would be huddled with notebooks, ball point pen ink smeared across your hands and overfilled pages with notes and rough papers with even tougher calculations.

You were from the Computer Science department. Smart in studies, socialising only when others called you and just enough.

You existed, never lived the life you were given. Goal oriented, that's what he called you when you passed by him one day in the hallways. Always good marks, even better reputation between the teachers, some extracurricular activities when required— mostly sketching.

And that brings him to the thought that you shared one hobby same as him.

But it also makes him curious why you are slowly creeping beside him at a snail's pace with the fruit punch with too much soda. You're wearing a khaki shirt, two buttons at the top undone and sowing the swells of your breasts. There is a small tattoo on your sternum that isn't really visible but it's poking out.

Johnny cocks an eyebrow, taking a drag from his cigarette and chugging down what was left of his drink. He doesn't comment how you've crawled up beside him, in a metaphoric sense. Your attention is elsewhere, but it doesn't go out of his observation that you're still sneaking glances at him, again.

Very obviously that too.

You're a squirmy little thing, a bird who has just learnt how to fly. You aren't fitting well with the crowd— a mismatched jigsaw piece. He pities you for the uncomfortable feeling you must be in, an outcasted abandonment.

Earlier when he had seen you enter the club— he had seen you enter with your friends. A rowdy bunch of people from his own batch. They took their seats at the stall— one by one leaving you after asking if you'd be okay on your own, and to his sweet dismay you had said okay each time.

And that was obviously the most wrong thing, the way you were on the verge of tearing up beside him because of the loneliness.

“Ye know ye are really ain't that nonchalant lass” he snickered stealing a glance at you. He observes a few other things about you then, the way you bite your lips absolutely pink and swollen due to being nervous. There is this thought in his head that is clawing— a slow sliver of arousal winding up his spine.

You look up at him with a pout, “Wasn't trying to be nonchalant… wanted you to notice me” your voice is sweet, scared but it's mostly the fear of new interaction. There is a soft tremble in your fingers, now that he turns towards you and you are playing with the glass between your hands.

“Tryna get my attention lass? That's a sweet things” he chuckles, ordering another drink for him. The ciggy between his lips almost finished as he crushes it on the ashtray beside him, “That so love?” He mutters, leaning a little towards you.

That's when he notices that soft red hue flushed over your cheeks and the pout on your lips, the subtle way you licked them and looked away, muttering something about boys like him always poking their nose in other's business.

“Nah lass it was you who slid beside me now, didn't ye?” He grins, when you look away, flushing deeper and chugging down your soda. A small trail of the drink dripping down your lips. There is an angry frown on your face when you look at him again, eyes a little glazed and he's sure you had a couple of drinks before.

“...won't beat around the bush”

“Never said you were love”

“I need you to fuck me McTavish”

Johnny chokes on the beer he ordered, the bartender giving him a confused look, which said more like you fumbling her? Johnny shot a glare at the bartender and looked back at you, still there in flesh and not a hallucination. You're staring at him with concerned eyes, a hand on his back as you pat his back slowly.

“You— okay?” Your voice this time is ten times sweeter, concern lacing as it turns into a soft murmur. Like one's lover whispers in another's ear.

It sends his head into a frenzy, a hazy state where his brain fucks up and absolute lewd scene in his head and you're the victim of his imagination. He knows he shouldn't, god he knows he won't— but a little imagination has never hurt anyone.

The look in your eyes, the way your lips have turned red now and glossy with your constant licking and biting, your tattoo peeking out of your shirt as you lean a little forward towards him, the small warmth of your hand over his back has his cock chubbing up good in his jeans.

He shifts a little, still sane enough not to wreck his nervous system into shutting down his horniess.

“Aye—? Lass ye joking?”

There is a frown on your face this time, a confused one. Johnny is oh so sure it's the alcohol in your system speaking for you. He makes a mental note that your unconscious thoughts do consist of him fucking you and he rather enjoy that image sometimes later when he wants a wank material.

“I— no… I was serious…” your pouting again, looking here and there and everywhere but at him. Your hands are closed on your lap, there is a small tremble in your lower lips as you bite it again— and god if that doesn't make Johnny's cock strain in his jeans. He shifts again, finding a comfortable position where you can't see the tent in his pants.

“I'm… Sorry— That was so inappropriate—” you're speaking, god's you're stuttering so fucking bad while apologising, a soft tremor in your voice as you trying to articulate whatever the fuck you're saying.

Johnny feels guilty, but he doesn't pay attention to it. He's not listening to half of what you're saying, just glaring very obviously at the dip between your chest and back to your neck, his teeth would look so fucking good on the soft flesh. His eyes go a little up and they are on your lips, trembling and swollen— how fucking soft would they feel against his. How good would it feel to kiss them and roll them between his own teeth, bite them until you're a whimpering mess in his arms.

His eyes now land on your thighs and where your hands settle, the plush fat there bulging against the hem of your denim shorts. They look so soft and pure.

He shakes his head, don't Johnny.

Don't you fucking honey bastard of a man— think about her doing maths– fucking hell that's hot too, nah let's think about Simon— okay hot too— Gaz— fucking hell man nah—

He blinks his eyes and you're already off the stool muttering apologies and leaving. The gears in his head turn as he hops down too, his hands on your shoulder— aye lass, nah don't—

There are tears streaming down your eyes, soft slat clinging to your even softer features, a shallow gasp pushes past your throat, trying to catch your breath. Johnny feels a sick pit in his stomach, what he said wasn't that offending right— man he didn't even reject her, all he did was ask her if she was serious?

He tries to convince himself that it's the alcohol in your system.

A sigh, his hands slide down your shoulder to your waist and he leans over to your ear. Breath hitting the shell of it, lips almost brushing against the baby hairs that are around, “I'll take ye to my home ‘kay?” He murmurs, voice soft, yet raspy. Something sweet yet intoxicating.

That gets you to still, eyes blinking up at him as he pulls away a little, a soft smile on his face. You nodd, lips again between your teeth with a nervous flutter. His hands rests against your waist, the warmth seeping in through the cotton shirt. It warms your face as you look away.

There is a shiver in your form, pressing yourself a little closer to him even if there is this uncomfortable flutter in your stomach. You have never done this before, never have been near a man before— not like this atleast. More like you didn't get time, your head was filled with too much of your achievements to even try to engage with men or anyone for fun.

Because your fun was your work, your goals.

So no. But that backfired. High-school, the nerd, the over achiver with a fucking hell of an reputation around the school and at other competition. Never the one to be let down— just yourself.

At college not that you would join your batch mates, but getting teased by your friends as the innocent one, the sweetheart, a baby— the baby of course the group was the biggest ick you had.

So here you were, standing behind Johnny as he roared up his bike's engine to life and put on his helmet and not forgetting to help you with one too, mindfully putting his jacket around you which ate up your whole frame.

You blinked up at this man, John McTavish. You have heard his name, saw him around the campus, a rowdy man with an unspeakable amount of charisma.

People would think he's a loser, but he's decent in his academics. Almost acing his classes and hobbies. He got that fuckboy charm that attracted everyone, every gender, every fucking age— you had heard your roomates whisper among themselves about getting fucked by him, so fucking good, so fucking amazing, all sorts of compliment.

He's like a sex god.

But he wasn't your type, not really. His pal, that brooding mass of flesh that hovered beside him, always in a balaclava, that non-committal person, Simon Riley. Simon was from the History department. Did great and was as same as Johnny.

No wonder why Johnny and he were friends, except Simon was a lot less talking and more doing.

You had gone to him first, sweet and soft and polite. Asking him about his day, he replied with grunts and sighs. Simon was so quiet you almost missed all his answers. Later on, when you boldly asked if you could come with him to his apartment— god's he gave you a look.

He gave you the look.

That disinterested look, ignorance that wasn't feigned. He had sighed and took a large gulp of his drink before muttering a low, “Don't do innocent bird like you sweet’art” before walking away and not sparing a glance back at you.

Blood had rushed to your head so fucking fast, anger and humiliation burning your face up as his massive frame disappeared in the crowd. You had seen red; anger— something cracking in your with humiliation, so you went to the second best option.

His pal, Johnny.

And Johnny was an absolute sweetheart.

So here you stand, with a pit so deep in your stomach and guilt bubbling in your throat as you wipe your eyes and sniffle a little. He looks at you, mutters a it's okay lass, let's get you my home before his fingers are brushing your cheeks.

You feel warmth, too warm— that kind that makes your heart flutter. You know you shouldn't feel like this, but it's your first time being touched so tenderly by a man, of course your biology will betray you.

You nodd, helping yourself behind him on his bike as he steadies it. Then off you go.

The air is in your hair, your arms wrapped around his shoulder, too afraid to wrap it around his waist. Too nervous would be correct. You can smell his cologne, a soft salty and spicy smell that makes you nerves relaxed mildly, yet you can hear your blood rush to your cheeks. You huddle closer to him,fingers gripping his shoulders tightly as he speeds up.

“Ye holdin’ alright bonnie?”

You blink up at him, he's looking at you through the rear mirror. A slight nod as you avert your eyes again— god's you're shy, so flustered right now. You can feel a weird feeling in your skin and through your stomach. It's warming your body, it makes you think this is what love feels like.

Even if you know for fucks sake that this is far from love, it's just lust.

The bike slows down in front of a building, Johnny is a sweet man to help you get off the bike holding your hands. His fingers are coarser, yet gentle in the way only men who hold respect can be.

“You okay love?” He asks, helping you to take off the helmet, his fingers working on the strap as he lifts your head up a little. You hum, your hands idley hanging beside you as you play with the sleeves of his jacket.

The helmet comes off and you roll your shoulders, “That's a heavy helmet” you mutter, fingers fixing your hair. Johnny chuckles, his fingers coming up to your face to tuck the stray strands of hair away from your face. There is a moment of softness, your eyes on his fingers, then to his face— and god help you he has those baby blue eyes.

“This your first time love?” He asked, fingers curling around your cheek, brushing the skin under your eye. Isn't this far too— soft and romantic— you nod, pulling away a little before another flush of heat creeps up your neck. He chuckles, “Mhm, ‘kay”

You're in his apartment, shared with Simon. Simon isn't here of course, he won't be here tonight— he'd be here the next morning. The guilt again starts to make your tongue bitter as Johnny helps you with your bag, keeping it on the couch. You look around, a decent apartment that smells like grass and cheese.

Johnny disappears in the kitchen, “Ye need anything love? Water?” he asks, poking his head from the doorway. You frown, fingers fiddling with your own hands, “No, Thank you”

That should do it.

You're confused, really confused. Aren't you supposed to get into fucking immediately? Like your friends described? Kissing in the elevator, lifting you up in the staircase— aren't one night stands like such?

You blink hard, trying to erase the cloud of confusion from your own head as your fingers fiddle with the buttons of your shirt— slowly unbuttoning them as the cold air leaves a trail of goose flesh after. Hands skittish as your fingers fold your shirt and keep it neatly beside your bag on the couch.

Your thoughts drift to Simon's for once, even if you may have been avoidant towards boys and men alike— didn't mean you never fantasised their touch on your skin.

Some nights when overwhelmed with studies and emotions, laying on your bed— your thoughts would drift to Simon, wantingly. It was a silly crush when you first saw him, with Johnny, hell you didn't even pay attention to Johnny until he came up to the sketching club and sat next to you.

This silly crush developed into something more lustful. Never intimate, just lustful— with your fingers trailing down your waistbands, back arching as you rolled your sensitive bud between them. Most of your thoughts would contain Simon touching you, his hands grabbing you by your waist, arching your back as his lips trailed along your ears.

Another hand on your nipple, twirling it— a low moan.

Just imagination.

Just imagine.

Your bra was off by now, as you flinged it across the armrest.

You look up only to find Johnny gaping at the doorway, maybe salivating with the way he licked his lips and gulped. There were two popsicles in his hands, melting off now. You don't know how long he had been standing there— you don't really.

Too lost in your own head to notice the man. Hands instinctively coming over your chest to save you some dignity as a small squeal left your throat.

“I— Aye lass ye were serious?”

You take a look at Johnny, skittish on your feet. He had changed into a loose vest, shorts on and just relaxed, but the very visible growing tent through those shorts had you swallowing air. You blink innocently (you are innocent) and look up at him— flushed all red and sighing.

“John McTavish, Fuck me”

That sent all the blood rushing south, the almost hard cock now straining against his shorts as he groaned. He looked, held back— eyes glassy as he let out a long breathe, throwing away the two very molten popsicles into the bin and licking his hands clean as he strode towards you.

“Aye— as you command mam”

Johnny's paln was to send you home. Johnny's plan was to make you drink water, sober you up, give you a popsicle and talk about silly things and talk you out of getting fucked by him— because clearly the alcohol in your system was making you talk.

So god, he never expected you to stand half undressed in his living room under the low moon light looking so damn soft and pretty. He didn't fucking think that the sight of your already flushed and shy face would make his semi hardened cock rock hard.

Hell, there was this soft floral smell of your body mist waiting around the air— even on his shirt because of the bike ride which had made it all even more difficult.

Johnny was good at having control over his hormones.

He wasn't good at controlling what his hormones did when someone else controlled him.

In this case you.

He kissed you, lips licking with yours in that aggressive way that he loves. It made you gasp, fingers curling around his vest as he pulled you closer— it was so clear that you had never done this, so painfully obvious by the way you were squeamish and trying to push him away when his tongue forced its way into your mouth.

A low whine, more like approval vibrated in your throat and he grinned on your lips, pulling you on the couch.

Lips moving slowly, yet some aggressive intensity he possessed— he pulled away, letting you breathe.

And god you looked like a rose in full bloom, cheeks reddened and eyes having those hazy lustful look. You licked your lips, hands now curling around his neck as you part your lips again for a kiss and he complies, lips on yours— this time slower, taking your lower lips between his teeth that earns him a squirm and a yelp.

Your eyes hooded as you look at him, and fuck he finds it's hot— so fucking hit he can feel his precum staining his shorts.

His hands wrapped around your naked waist, skin so soft— and god the tattoo on your sternum. It's a small cross, ink curling under your skin and ending just where the swell of your breasts start. Johnny pulls away again, letting you breath— but you're painting, blinking and trying to clear the haze.

He's reverent, lips under your chin, then down your throat and down below— biting your collars that make you mewl. It's making you feel hot, Johnny can feel the way you're trying to rub your legs together to feel something kind of relief. He grins, as his lips trails slobbering kisses over your neck and up to your ears, biting the shell.

You gasp, nails digging into his shoulder.

His one hand now rests over your breasts, rolling your nipple between them, his other hand slowly trailing down your stomach down to your shorts. The overwhelming sensation causes you to throw your head back and whine, trying to lift your hips up and find some kind of contact between him and yours.

And gods he would have fucked you raw— but it's you, it's your hands wrapped around his wrists with those wide eyes that clearly scream I have never done this please please please help— and he pauses. Leans back a little, hands slowly retreating to your waist.

“I— I’m sorry I haven't really done this before—”

He knows, the softness under you skin, the innocence in your voice, the soft tremble in your body as you let him kiss you, god he knows you have no clue what you're going at— so he smiles, his voice syrupy but so husky, “‘Is alright, wannae take it slow?”

Your gaze fixes on him, a little less nervous, the tension in your limbs melted away the moment he kissed you— so you take a leap and nodded at him, lips parting to let out a soft Yeah… yeah thank you.

So Johnny's lips get back to your stomach, fingers gripping your waist and squishing the fat there. He lets out a heavy breath, teeth latching with the button of your shorts.

You give him a confused look, eyes wide and lips parted in confusion. More like awe, “Hey— McTavish what—”

Click

He teeth bite onto the fabric of your denim shorts, pulling it away slowly and that's when you relaise why the fuck is this man called a fuckboy. He got those tricks up his sleeves.

His teeth grip the zip of your zipper, pulling it down and making you feel so damn hot. You feel yourself panting, naked chest heaving as you try to look away but his hand is already holding your jaw, “Look at me love” and god you know you died on the spot.

He helps you out of your shorts, tautly pulling down your cotton knickers down with them, making you gasp and cross your legs in shame. “McTavish!?”

“It’s Johnny babe” he murmurs, parting your legs with ease as he settles between them and stares at your glistening sex. “Fuckin’ hell love, look at ye all dripping f’me?” he murmurs, his mouth already over your clit, giving it a soft kiss. You hiss at the sensation, hands automatically in his hair as a ragged breath passed through your mouth, “G-gently—”

There is this big grin on his face as he rests his head over your mound, stubble scratching the small trail there, you sigh at the weight, “Don't worry lass— lemme just—” he flicks his tongue out, a soft lick over your folds. You gasped sharply, fingers digging into his hair, “I— Sorry Johnny I didn't mean to—”

But god he looked so blissed out when you pulled on his hair, groaning into your cunt mumbling thank you god.

His mouth worked wonders, tongues lapping at the slobbering hole— and god he was messy, slurping up your essence like so ancient elixir. A low moan escapes your throat, brows furrowed in utmost pleasure, toes curling and nails digging into his hair.

He was filthy, making out with your folds whilst he muttered absolutely nonsense— so fucking sweet now aren't ye girl? getting so fucking wet for me? yeah? such a pretty thing.

It wasn't even a good few minutes in that you started to feel your orgasm wind up your core, stomach clenching as a soft cry escaped your lips— all red and glossy with your drool. The slow coil in your stomach tightened with each suck— lazy yet so fucking good it had you cumming within few seconds.

Back arching as you pulled on his hair, and Johnny being the good fucking dog he is— licked up every drop of your release until you started to whine and push at him, your heels in his thighs crying as he overstimulated your sensitive spot.

“Aye gimme one more bonnie” he grinned, lips on your bud, rolling it between his teeth and pushing his middle and ring finger in. You gasp, his fingers curling at the sweet spot making you cry aloud— “Just like that, good girl” he purred into your pussy.

Pumping his fingers in and out while rolling his thumb over your clit— Johnny takes a moment to admire you're fucked out expression— and he swears by the cross he wears around his neck, he'd tattoo this moment under his eyelids. Eyes rolled back, fingers in your hair grabbing them by roots while you try to push away, which is really trying to pull him closer.

Your second orgasm pulls closer as he hits that spot over and over again— and the coil underneath your belly snaps, making you spray all your release over him. He hums in approval, pulling back as he flicks his thumb continuously over your bud riding out your orgasm, “Aye look at her lass, so fucking beautiful”

You're spent, barely being able to open your eyes as Johnny pulls down his shorts. If you were a little more conscious, you would have noticed the white cum patch over his shorts dripping down his thighs, but you don't. Johnny sighs, pulling his vest off— the cross dangling from his neck.

He looks into your eyes, a pleased sigh leaving your lips as you try to catch your breath, fingers trying to find purchase around his neck to pull him for a kiss. There is this sudden glee flowing through your veins as you kiss him, tasting yourself on him, an approving hum.

Just as he pulls back, you stare at him.

He looks so fucking happy, the grin on his face damn beautiful and that breaks your heart.

The guilt that had left your body coils up again as your muscles tense up— a nervous flare in your bones as you bite your lips to keep yourself from crying. But all the overwhelming sensation and emotions got the best of you, and tears fell down the apples of your cheeks.

Johnny looked so fucking confused, that happy smile wiped out at an instant— hands wrapping around your cheeks as he wiped them, “Hey, Lass? Ye okay? I didn't hurt ye did I?” He's concerned, borderlining anxiety in his own form. You shake your head, “No— I'm sorry Johnny–”

And the guilt is out of the box as you wrap your arms around his neck and sob, muttering apologies that has him confused. Johnny's wondering what the fuck went wrong as he holds you, getting you on his lap and rocking you mumbling hey lass it's okay.

“It's not!” You pull away, with a particular choking sob, “It's not, I used you—”

He's staring at you now, with a look that says, come again? yet you're having an emotional meltdown on his lap, naked, both of you.

Such a good first time fuck.

“Aye lass, breath— breath love, now tell me what is goin’ on in ye head—”

You blink, sobs still wrecking but slowly shimmering into snuffles as you wipe your face, “I— Johnny… I Simon…”

“Simon?”

“Simon didn't want to fuck me so…”

“You're telling me you came to me because Simon didn't fuck you?”

“...Yes,"

You take a pause

"I'm sorry”

“Lass ye better believe that I can fuck ye better than that skull head”

You blink your tears away again, eyes burning now as your hands hastily wipe them. Johnny's grinning, holding you up a little, “This yer first time yeah?” You nodd softly, “No tears bonnie, no fuckin tears– only if I fuck you good”

And then slowly rubbing his cock up and down your folds, easing up to you while you stutter straddling his lap. A low gasp leaves your mouth as he pushes in, rocking your hips slowly. “This hurt sweet’art?” he asks with a kiss on your lips and then to your cheek.

“Not— r-really–” you fumble, walls fluttering around his girth as he bottoms out. He groans, throwing his head back as you adjust to him, “J-Johnny— this—” you stutter again, lips opening apart as he slowly thrushes in at a slow pace letting you adjust.

You're gasping, hands pawing at his chest, mewling and whining. Johnny's keeps his eyes locked on your, lips pressing soft kisses on your collar bones and down your chest— it distracts your attention from the slight pain down there, but god the way Johnny is pacing up is making your head spin.

“F-faster Johnny—” you mutter, hands grabbing the back of his neck as you push your mouth against his, whining as he increases his pace making you gasp loudly, which he swallows. Your walls clenching around him as he moves, “Fucking hell Lass made for me now didn't ye?”

You answer with a moan, nodding your head as he hits that one spot again, cock so fucking thick and stuffing that it has your guts twisting. You can feel your abdomen coil again, the sweet release in your guts wrapping around your spine as he pushes in and out again and again.

Your release washes over you, slow like waves as Johnny lets you ride it out, helping you while he chases his own release. His cock feeling impossibly thick— and then he cums, hard with a groan on your shoulder. Your head falls back as he holds your waist on his lap, pressing kisses over your neck and shoulder.

“S’ good f’me lass”

He can feel himself leak out of you, pooling on his hips as he pulls out. He'll worry about the plan b later, surely get you one before he cleans you up and gets you to bed all coddling.

[dailyadventureprompts]

I may not be openly vocal about it but I am a certified dndbeyond hater. Have been since day one. Log the fuck off, cancel your account, and stop paying hasbro rent on your imagination. I'm serious.

"OH but it's so useful to help remember all my character abilities and spells"

No it's not. You've only been tricked into thinking it's easy because you're a fucking Ipad baby who's let your brain be sandpapered smooth by corprorate UI design. The moment the wifi cuts out or your app fails to load you're going to forget how to play your character and you're going to eat up precious session time looking it up on your phone.

"but there's so much text, I could never keep track of it all!"

PAPER, motherfucker. Read your abilities and either transcribe them into a word doc to print out or grab a notebook from the dollarstore. Writing them out this way will not only keep them on hand but help you learn how they work in the first place. Doodle in the margins, apply cute stickers, and spill things on them like god intended.

"But how will my DM be able to see my stats and track my damage?"

Why the fuck does your DM need to manage your character sheet? That's your job. Keeping track of your abilities and doing minor math is part of the fun of the game, and the moment you let a computer do the gruntwork you've put up another barrier between you and the character you've created.

Don't even get me started on people who pay for digital dice skins when real dice are right there. Real life illustration of Plato's cave.

[elysianightsss]

Stalker John Price thot🩵🌼

Stalker John Price who firsts sees you in the library, cute little sundress rising up your thighs as your strain to reach for pride and prejudice on a shelf that’s much too high for you to even try to reach.

Stalker John price who goes behind the shelf and pushes the book out from out from the other side, you thankfully catch it before it falls on your head.

Stalker John Price who uses his military experience to stalk you and not get caught.

Stalker John Price who examines your house while you’re at work to find the perfect hiding spots for him and placing the tiniest cameras around.

Stalker John Price who knows how wrong it is when he’s quick to dart into one of those hiding spaces as you open the door sighing from a long day at work but can’t seem to find a reason to care when you start to strip off your work clothes and change into your fuzzy stitch pj bottoms and hoodie.

Stalker John Price who thinks you look so fucking cute in your pjs. He leans forward almost making the house creak wanting to see more of you. He moves when you do, watching with a grin on his face as you cook your dinner while shaking your hips to music that’s blaring through your speaker.

Stalker John Price who smiles softly when you stuff your face full of pasta, your eyes never leaving the tv screen and soon end up falling asleep on your sofa. He feels it’s safe enough for him to come out.

Stalker John Price who presses a sweet little kiss to your cheek and then leaves your house to go home and set up all the cameras on his computer. He smiles seeing you clear as day on the screen in the same position as before, fast asleep on the sofa.

Stalker John Price who knows exactly how you like your morning coffee. He’s watched you make it 1000 times.

Stalker John Price who notes down in his notebook what your favourite foods and drinks are so he doesn’t forget.

Stalker John Price who confides in Simon about what’s he’s doing only for Simon to assure him he’s doing nothing wrong and it’s all normal even if he feels it’s wrong.

Stalker John Price who goes round your house more often after speaking to Simon.

Stalker John Price who gets painfully hard when you’re first out the shower, fluffy white towel wrapped around your wet body. His blue eyes never leaving your figure as you massage lotion into your skin and spray body mist all over. He inhales holding back from groaning at the scent that clings to you.

Stalker John price who watches you through the crack in your wardrobe doors as you pant and whine and buck your hips against the vibrator buzzing hastily against your little clit.

Stalker John Price who is practically drooling when he thinks you’re done, satisfied but watches you reach for the dildo in your bedside drawer. He was in for a long night of restraint.

Stalker John price who comes up with a plan to be a part of your life because he can’t keep going on without having you for himself. Without keeping you.

Stalker John Price who ‘bumps’ into at your local grocery store and the library and your local bar. Eventual you think it’s fate. Never suspecting he would be a stalker. He’s such a nice, sweet guy.

Stalker John Price who is giddy with excitement when you agree to go on a date with him. He makes it the best damn date you’d ever been on. Dinner, dancing and a show.

Stalker John Price who groans, “Fill my hands with you finally.” When you do eventually let him touch you, his large calloused hands grabbing at every part of you he can. “Finally gonna let me take care of you huh love?” He’ll grin down at you as you nod, so whiny and needy for him. “So fucking perfect and all mine.”

Stalker John Price who marries you.

Stalker John Price who cries when you show him the positive pregnancy test.

Stalker John Price who laughs loudly when your children say that daddy is obsessed with their mommy.

Stalker John Price who after thirty years of marriage, three children and 5 grandchildren never admits that he stalked you but tells you everyday how much he loves you.

[nerdlvr]

why did this chair have to be so damn loud.

donghyuck winced as he pulled out the desk chair, a loud screech making his classmates turn their heads. he muttered out a small sorry his cheeks burning bright red as he set his notebooks down before awkwardly settling into the seat next to you.

"hi hyuckie."

he swallowed hard, slowly turning his head to face you.

"hi- hey kitty."

he raised his hand in an awkward wave, quickly putting it away as he realized how uncool he must look, idiot.

you looked so fucking pretty, like unbelievably pretty. your hair was styled in soft waves, a cute bow pulling the loose strands away from your face. your cheeks were dusted with a soft pink blush, your lips plump and glossy. you wore your usual outfit, a matching yoga set, this one was a light grey, your curves accentuated from every angle. did you do yoga? or maybe pilates? you had to do something, your body was just so toned, so plump, so-

"earth to donghyuck?"

you waved your hand in his face, a cheeky smile spreading on your lips,

"hi there baby, kinda zoned out on me for a sec. i was asking about your notes, i can't see too well from back here-"

you pointed towards the board at the front of the lecture hall,

"the professor's handwriting is kind of small."

he nodded quickly, passing you his notebook. he muttered out a small maybe if you just sat closer to the front. he couldn't help himself, student's only struggled in school because they didn't try enough. he just cared because you were his kitty, he just wanted you to succeed of course.

"what was that hyuck?"

you lifted your head towards him a confused look on your face,

"i said um- that-"

the rest of his sentence was mumbled, his voice low and his words jumbled together. you reached for his chin, turning his head to face you,

"say that again?"

your touch was hot against his skin, goosebumps rising along his body. the room suddenly felt small, his chest tightening at the sight of you so close,

"i said- that- i said that- that maybe if you sat closer to the front then maybe you wouldn't struggle so much."

you clicked your tongue at him, a small smirk on your lips,

"nerd boy has a smart mouth on him, how fitting."

his cheeks were bright pink now, his eyes wide and sparkly,

"no- i- i just- i meant like- it just-"

you giggled at him, pushing his glasses a little bit further up the bridge of his nose. your free hand joined your other against his face, now holding his jaw softly,

"don't you think sitting in the back is so much more fun though? i could kiss you right now and no one would notice."

his eyes darted towards the rest of the lecture hall, your classmates typing away on their computers or distracted by their phones. only a weak mhm was all donghyuck could muster out.

"you like the idea of that don't you dirty boy?"

you looked down towards his jeans, his hardening length pressing uncomfortably against the fabric. your eyes trailed up his body before meeting his again. he licked his lips tentatively, brain foggy with lust.

"can you kiss me. please. just one kiss."

a soft whine escaped his lips as you brushed them gently with your finger. he parted his lips slightly, eyes fluttering shut as you slipped your thumb past the plump muscle.

he moaned as you pressed on his tongue, a little chuckle leaving your lips at the sound,

"shhh hyuck, we're in class, remember?"

he nodded quickly, lips wrapping around your finger to muffle his moans. you brought your other hand down to grab his, bringing it to touch in between your thighs. his eyes got impossibly wider, your core hot against his fingers.

"feel that hyuckie?"

that was enough to set donghyuck off. his mouth falling open into a silent moan, your finger slipping out of his lips. you watched as he pulled his hand away from yours, instead deciding to place them on your thighs gripping tightly. he hunched forward, glasses falling off of his face and onto your lap.

you picked up his glasses, waiting for him to finish... literally. he got back up, quickly releasing the death grip he had on your thighs. his hands scrambled to cover the wet patch that had formed on his jeans. his cheeks were flushed, sweat building on his hairline,

"i- i have to use the bathroom."

he stumbled to get out of his seat, hands still firmly covering his crotch.

"hyuckie wait- look-"

he stopped his fumbling, breath shaky as you got out of your seat to place his glasses on his face. you gently wiped the lenses with your sleeve, leaning back to get a good look at him,

"there we go, perfect. now go ahead go clean yourself up baby."

you gave his chest a light pat before he was scurrying out of the lecture hall.

⋆₊˚⊹.𖥔 zoom, click, panic ! -> 11. the king of dancehall

previous -> masterlist -> next

notes : sungchan's tryna flip it like a flipagram if yk what i mean haha. idk if dancehall is something everyone knows... but you can google it the musics rlly good. are we fw the nut in the pants or is it too soon... i mean technically she hasn't even kissed him yet so... also i'm brainstorming for the next smau (i need to have idea before they shut down tiktok i'm gonna lose my brainrot)

taglist : @sunghoonsgfreal , @hizhu , @axo-l0tl , @strawberrysavi , @hyucktion , @4yunogf , @jakesbubu , @gacktsa , @iheartjayke , @annoyednblax , @luvvhaechan , @dudekiss3r , @nanaxwi , @yesohhsehun , @soobinbunnie5 , @hyucksunset , @peterm4rker , @byeonwooseokabs , @kodasity , @hyuckmoon , @catdonut657 , @lionzyon , @luvandletter , @defzcl , @nneteyamss , @222brainrot , @1lovejinki , @zzurao , @catpjimin , @multifandomania , @docilismo , @cyjzzl , @livingdoll-hara , @this-is-lowkey-a-hyuck-fanpage , @ohwowzersthatscool , @babyjenono , @wonswondrland , @jenoleeaesthetic , @bananinhazz , @hyuckna25 , @doejaejung , @angeliqueiguess , @mymartiniblue , @aerivrs , @heyitsbreeeeee , @choizzn , @jae-n0 , @hyuckshinee , @whothefvckami , @snoopyjimin

[hynzsn]

Just male reader wants to ride bang chan after chan being stressed from work.

★ STRESS RELIEF ★

☆ bangchan x male reader

-> idol!chan x non-idol!reader

꩜ .ᐟ smut

contents: top!bangchan x bottom!reader, m/m, anal sex, cock riding, anal fingering, studio setting, chan being stressed from work, established relationship, porn without plot/what plot?, explicit language, neck kisses, tongue kissing, straddling, neck nuzzling, praise, aftercare, chan calls reader “babe.”

wc: 1.2k (i think)

a/n: i feel like this is so rushed 😭 forgive mee >.< i didn’t realize until after i read through it how rushed it actually was. like i probably missed out a few things but oh well. i hope the person who requested this likes it.

♡︎♡︎♡︎ likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated ♡︎♡︎♡︎

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

you find bangchan hunched over his desk in the dimly lit studio, headphones on, fingers flying over his keyboard. the room is filled with the soft glow of computer screens and the faint hum of unfinished tracks. you watch him for a moment, heart aching at the sight of his tense shoulders and exhausted expression. you know he's been working non-stop, barely taking a break, and it's starting to take a toll on him.

"chan," you call softly, stepping into the room.

he doesn't hear you at first, so you move closer, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. he jumps slightly, pulling off his headphones and turning to face you. his eyes soften when he sees you, but there's still a hint of stress lingering in them.

"hey, babe," he says, voice tired but affectionate. "what are you doing here?"

"i came to check on you," you reply, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. "you’ve been working too hard."

he sighs, running a hand through his hair. "i know, but there's so much to do. i can't afford to take a break right now."

you shake your head, cupping his face in your hands. "you need to relax, chan. come on, let's take a break. just for a little while."

he hesitates, but the pleading look in your eyes convinces him. he nods, letting you pull him up from his chair. you lead him over to the couch in the corner of the studio, pushing him down gently. he looks up at you, curiosity and a hint of arousal in his eyes as you straddle his lap.

“babe, what are you doing?" he asks, though there's no real protest in his voice.

you smirk, leaning in to kiss him deeply. "just let me take care of you, okay? you need to relax, and i know exactly how to help."

he groans as you grind down against him, already starting to get hard under you. you kiss him again, more urgently this time, your hands moving to unbutton his shirt. he shivers as your fingers brush against his skin, his hands coming up to grip your hips.

"fuck, babe," he mutters against your lips. "you’re gonna drive me crazy."

"that’s the plan," you reply with a grin, trailing kisses down his neck.

you can feel his cock straining against his pants, and you waste no time in unbuttoning them, pulling them down just enough to free him. your breath catches as you take in the sight of his impressive length—thick and veined, his cock stands proud and flushed a deep, enticing shade of red. it curves slightly upwards, the tip already glistening with pre-cum.

the sight alone is enough to make your mouth water, and you can't help but let out a soft moan of appreciation. he hisses as the cool air hits his heated skin, his hands tightening on your hips as he watches your reaction with dark, hooded eyes.

"lift your hips a little," you instruct, reaching for the small bottle of lube that chan, the little minx, had stashed on the side table behind a stack of notebooks.

he obeys, and you take a moment to strip off your own clothes, tossing them aside carelessly. as you stand there, fully exposed, you catch chan’s heated gaze raking over your body, his eyes darkening with lust.

you smirk, enjoying the way his breath hitches when you slick your fingers up with lube. locking eyes with him, you reach behind yourself, circling your anus with one finger before slowly pushing in. chan couldn’t help but groan at the sight, his grip on your hips almost becoming painful as you drive him wild.

"fuck, y/n," he mutters. "you’re so hot."

you added a second finger, scissoring them inside you. the stretch burns slightly, but it's a familiar and welcome sensation. you take your time, wanting to make sure you're fully prepared for him. chan’s eyes are glued to your movements, his breathing growing heavier with each passing second.

"fuck, i need you," he breathes, his voice strained.

"almost there," you assure him, adding a third finger and thrusting them in and out a few times before pulling them out completely.

you pour some more lube into your hand, slicking up his cock and giving it a few strokes. he groans loudly, his head falling back against the couch as he bucks up into your hand.

"y/n," he whines slightly. "i need to be inside you."

you position yourself above him, lining him up with your asshole. you sink down slowly, taking him inch by inch, the stretch almost too much but exactly what you need. he grips your hips tightly, his eyes locked on where you’re connected.

"fuck, you feel so good," he groans, his voice thick with arousal.

you start to move, riding him slowly at first to let both of you adjust. the feeling of him filling you completely is intoxicating, and you can't help the moan that escapes your lips. his hands guide you, urging you to move faster, and you comply, picking up the pace.

the room is filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, your moans and his groans blending together in a symphony of pleasure. you can feel the tension in his body slowly starting to melt away, replaced by pure, unadulterated need.

"chan, you feel so good," you moan, your hands gripping his shoulders for support as you ride him harder.

he thrusts up to meet your movements, “yeah? fuck, you're amazing."

you lean down to kiss him, your tongues tangling as you continue to move together. the angle shifts slightly, and you gasp as he hits that perfect spot inside you. he smirks against your lips, clearly pleased with your reaction.

"right there?" he asks, his voice breathless.

"yes, fuck, right there," you reply, your nails digging into his shoulders.

he thrusts up harder, hitting that spot over and over until you're seeing stars. the pleasure is overwhelming, and you can feel your orgasm building rapidly.

"chan, i’m close," you warn, your voice barely more than a whimper.

"me too, babe," he responds, his thrusts becoming more erratic.

you ride him harder, chasing your release, and with one final thrust, you come undone. your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, and you cry out his name, your entire body trembling with pleasure. he follows right behind you, his grip on your hips almost bruising as he comes deep inside you.

you collapse against his chest, both of you panting and sweaty but thoroughly satisfied. he wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you both come down from your high.

"you’re perfect," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "i really needed that."

you smile, nuzzling into his neck. "anytime, chan. i’m always here for you."

he chuckles, tightening his hold on you. "i know. and i love you for it."

"i love you too," you reply, your heart swelling with affection.

you stay like that for a while, just holding each other and basking in the afterglow. eventually, you both reluctantly get up, knowing that the work still needs to be done. but now, with the stress melted away and the bond between you even stronger, it doesn't seem quite so daunting.

as you help him tidy up the studio, he looks at you with a grateful smile. "i don't know what I'd do without you, babe."

you grin, leaning in to kiss him one last time. "luckily, you'll never have to find out."

[covenofagatha]

The Psychology of Love (Part 2)

The Perfume

Agatha shows you some examples of projective tests to clear up the questions you have

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: none

On Wednesday, you can hardly look at Agatha when you walk into class. 

The shame from Monday night—from thinking about your professor while another girl fucked you—is too great, and you worry that if you make eye contact, she’ll somehow know what you did. You need to be careful with her.

After you had cum, the girl from the party had asked if you wanted to go back to her dorm with her. You could taste the blood on your lip from how hard you were biting it, because you didn’t know her name and you didn’t want to accidentally say a wrong name. She had shrugged when you shook your head apologetically and she walked away, leaving you to go stumble and find Wanda and Nat. 

You are definitely never going back to that sorority again. With any luck, you’ll never have to see that girl again. 

“Since we didn’t have time on Monday for introductions, let’s go around the room and say your name, major, and what you like to do for fun,” Agatha says. You inwardly groan; you’d rather take a pop quiz than have to do icebreakers. One of your least favorite things to do, possibly ever, is talk in class. 

She points to the girl at the end of your row on the other side to start it off. Your palms grow sweaty, your stomach twists, and you begin to chew on your thumb nail. 

The names of your classmates go in one ear and out the other and when it’s your turn, it feels like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. You stammer out your introduction, risking a glance at Agatha when you’re done, and she’s staring back at you with a dark, hot glint in her eye. 

You swallow roughly and train your gaze forward, the memory of thinking of her the other night—wishing it was her?—still fresh in your mind. 

“All right, let’s get into it then,” Agatha claps her hands once everyone’s gone. There’s significantly less people in the room than there were on Monday, so it doesn’t take long. She stands up and pulls the keyboard of the computer closer to her and you sneak a peek at her. 

Her dark navy pencil skirt is long, stopping mid-calf and she’s wearing black heels that must be killing her feet. Her blouse is a sky-blue color with puffy sleeves with a belt that matches her skirt and accentuates her hips. There’s an open space between the top button and the second button on her shirt, and you can see a sliver of her pale skin. Her dark curly hair is in a loose ponytail and her cheekbones are sharp. Your mouth goes dry now that you’re really taking her in.

As if she knows you’re staring at her, Agatha’s lips quirk up and her eyes meet yours. She winks and you quickly look away and take out your notebook and a pen. 

Agatha opens a slideshow titled Trait Theory. “The main question this approach looks at is ‘do individuals possess specific personality constructs?’—and to what extent? Like we talked about last class, personality is a construct. The only evidence for it is what we’ve measured in tests that we’ve created. 

“Personality testing is a big business and it’s used for a lot of different things: counseling, education, forensics, employment—even all of you use it in your everyday life just by assessing people. Some tests measure one trait while others measure multiple.” 

It’s hypnotic to listen to her talk and you realize how easy and practiced her words are. You’ve had professors that stumble over their lectures or who read off the slides the whole time, but not Agatha. The review that said she was a genius was not lying.

She clicks to the next slide and a picture of a pattern of inkblots appears. “Projective tests are based on Freudian ideas; the subject is shown ambiguous stimuli and it’s based on the idea that the subject’s responses reflect their inner feelings—they project onto the test. The Rorschach Inkblot Test has subjects scrutinize cards with ink and talk about what they see with the colors and details.” 

The next slide has a picture of a woman standing outside a door with a hand on her face. In the room, a man is lying in a bed. “This is an example from the Thematic Apperception Test. Everyone might interpret this picture differently—some think she found him having an affair, some may think she found him dead, some may think she killed him. It’s all about relating your personal experiences to what you see and that gives psychologists an insight to your inner thoughts and feelings.” 

You think back to the picture of the house and family she had everyone draw on Monday. It was definitely a projection of your own struggles and she had seen that. 

It does really make sense. Except for the inkblot tests—how can your interpretation of a couple of drops on a page mean anything?

“Projective tests have very low validity. Can anyone remind us of what that means?” 

Agatha’s eyes scan the room. Once again, no one raises their hand and you chew on the tip of your pen until you feel her gaze stop on you. You risk a glance at her to find her staring expectantly at you. 

Your stomach twists. You do really hate talking in class. “Validity is how accurate the test is measuring what it’s supposed to be measuring.” Luckily, you paid attention in General Psychology when you took it freshman year. 

“Very good,” she hums and your cheeks heat up, a pleasant feeling settling in your gut. “I’m going to hope that the rest of you were too shy to say something and didn’t just forget. Yes, projective tests have very low validity, especially predictive validity. Objective tests are much better. These are tests in which someone answers ‘true’ or ‘false’ or you rate your experiences on a number scale. Tests like the Big Five. Anyone know any other objective tests for personality traits?” 

Her gaze lands on you even quicker, but this time you’re ready for it. “The Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory?” You sound much more confident and you feel much less nervous.

Agatha beams. “Right again. That one measures about ten primary traits, but you won’t need to know them for your test. You do need to know that the Big Five Personality Test measures extroversion, openness, conscientiousness, agreeableness, and neuroticism though.”

A burn spreads through your hand at how fast you’re scribbling things down and you hear furious typing behind you. You can’t get her praise out of your head and you think speaking up and answering questions might not be so bad after all.

Despite your shame after Monday night, you still desperately want Agatha’s attention. It seems that she likes you at least a little. 

It’s hard to tell if you’re projecting your own feelings onto this. 

“All right, that’s all the time we have for today. If you have any questions, feel free to ask me them right now or during my office hours. Those are posted on the syllabus. Stop in to see me anytime,” Agatha announces, smirking at you when you accidentally meet her eyes. 

The questions about the Rorschach tests are still weighing on your mind, and as much as you’re tempted to leave and google them later, there’s a little voice that’s nagging for you to go ask her. 

So you trudge up to the desk, chewing on your nails, and wait there awkwardly. Agatha’s typing something on the computer but her face brightens when she looks at you and your heart leaps. 

“Do you need something, hon?” she asks and you ignore the heat that rises inside you. 

“Yeah, I’m just a little confused on the inkblot tests. Like, how are they analyzed? Does it really matter if someone sees a bat or a vase or whatever? How does that mean anything?”

She nods and beckons you to follow her when she begins walking out of the classroom. “Great question. I’m really happy that you’re wondering about these things and you’re not afraid to talk to me about them. I also really appreciate you answering questions during my lecture. Keep up the good work,” she says, playfully winking with a smile. Your stomach warms—you definitely will. 

Her perfume drifts into your nostrils from your close proximity as she leads you down the hall and your cunt starts to pulse. From the praise, from the smell, from her…you’re not quite sure. 

Maybe all three. 

Agatha pauses outside of a door with her name on it before fumbling to put the key in the lock. She opens it and steps to the side to let you go in first. Her office is spacious, with a desk and a chair facing the doorway, two chairs on the other side of it, and a couch pushed next to a bookshelf on the wall opposite the one with a window. 

You perch on a chair while she sits down in hers and ruffles around in a desk drawer before pulling a stack of cards out and plopping them down in front of you. They’re inkblots—some in black and white, some in color. 

She shuffles through them and points to the one on top. “What does this look like to you?” 

Leaning closer, your brows furrow as you try to make out the shape. It looks vaguely like lips, symmetrical down the middle and pink along the jagged edges. The color bleeds to red to make a smaller oval shape on the inside. 

It very much looks like a vulva. 

Heat floods through your cheeks as you sit back and clear your throat. There’s no way you’re telling your hot professor that. “I don’t know, I guess I can kind of make out a…butterfly?” Agatha snorts at your obvious lie. 

“You can say it, hon. It looks like a cunt.” You gasp and choke on nothing, feeling your underwear get damp. Agatha gives you a wicked smile. “Now, what does that mean? Does it mean that you like women? Does it mean that you’re thinking about sex?” 

Her scent coupled with her talking about that makes you spin and you grip the arms of the chair tightly. If you weren’t thinking about sex before, you definitely are now. 

You wonder what your professor tastes like. 

Agatha shrugs casually to answer her own question. “Probably doesn’t mean much. There’s some research that people with schizophrenia tend to see monsters in these. But if you see animals, does it mean that you’re depressed—or do you just like animals? The point is, these hold probably the least amount of validity compared to any projective tests. I wouldn’t read too much into it.” 

The fact that she brought you all the way here, made you look at the suggestive cards, just for it to not matter has you reeling. What does it mean? 

“Oh. Okay. I guess I was just confused about how they’re interpreted. Thought I would ask. It is really interesting how we can infer stuff like that off of this, though. Even if the predictive validity is low.” 

She nods. “As much as people hate Freud, it’s hard to deny that he wasn’t wrong about everything. Projective tests might not hold empirical value, but people do tend to transfer their feelings onto pictures and whatnot because it’s easier to separate their feelings from it and talk about it that way.” 

To highlight her point, Agatha pulls another paper out of her drawer. It must be an example from the Thematic Apperception Test. It’s a picture of two women, facing each other, in a dark hallway. One has an arm outstretched, the other is half-tilted away and looking at the ground.

“What’s happening in this scene?”

“This girl—” You point to the one with the cold body language, “—is wishing she was with someone else. Her girlfriend is really trying to connect with her, but it’s not working.” A cold feeling spreads through you at how transparent you just were. Your eyes dart around the room before meeting Agatha’s, who’s looking at you with a knowing gaze and you feel your stomach tighten. It doesn't mean anything, you tell yourself. She doesn’t know. 

“Very good,” she purrs and leans in closer. “That’s a perfectly reasonable interpretation. I see two students arguing about their professor. See how it varies?”

Just as you’re opening your mouth to agree, the door to her office opens. You whirl around like you just got caught doing something wrong to find a girl older than you standing there, with dark hair, pale skin, and hazel eyes. She’s wearing a green shirt and jeans and she regards you cautiously as she walks slowly across Agatha’s office to sit in the chair next to you. 

When you turn back to Agatha, there’s a glint on her face. “This is Rio. I had her a few years ago and now she’s one of my graduate students and my TA for your class,” she tells you and you awkwardly smile and nod at the new woman. 

Rio doesn’t even look at you. It feels like you’re interrupting something.

So you clap your hands on your knees and stand up. “Thanks, Professor. I’ll see you on Friday?” 

Agatha hums. “I’ll see you then, hon. Good job in class today.” 

You walk out, heart pounding, and have to take a moment to collect yourself. Your plan of being careful around your professor has nearly gone entirely out the window—you’ve become addicted to her praise and validation. Is it because of your mommy issues? Because she’s hot? 

Either way, you amble out of the psychology building and through the Student Union on the way back to your dorm, determined to pour over the textbook and learn everything you can about the Trait approach before Friday. You can wistfully imagine Agatha cooing about how proud she is that you’re studying up and how much you’ve impressed her. 

But before you can walk out of the Student Union, the smell of coffee from the bagel shop hits you and you stop dead in your tracks. It’s not Agatha’s perfume exactly, but the effect it has on you is undeniable. 

Very good. Keep up the good work. Right again. Good job in class today. 

Her praises swirl around in your mind, clear as day, and you quickly shoulder open the door to the outside so hard that it makes your arm ache. You bite at your thumbnail but the smell still lingers, her voice still haunts you. There’s a growing stickiness between your legs that you feel with each step you take.

It looks like a cunt. 

Good girl. 

You jolt—she’s never called you that. She wouldn’t call you that. Your descent into madness is concerning and her perfume is at the center of it. Is it too late to drop her class? Would she be mad at you?

But you can’t do that, because you’re a senior and you need this class to graduate. So you either have to pretend like your cunt isn’t throbbing at the thought of her calling you a good girl, or you need to get it out of your system. You could find the girl from the other night, you could go back to the sorority and ask around for her name. She was hot, fucked you well enough, and smelled like your professor. 

She could be a healthy way to sort out your feelings and stop obsessing over your professor. There’s a hint of guilt nagging at your brain for essentially using her, but maybe in time you’d grow to really like her. 

It turns out, you don’t have to wait that long to find her again. 

You’re in the dining hall with Wanda and Nat while they fill you in on their days—Wanda’s racist professor made a racist comment and Nat’s biology professor accidentally said “orgasm” instead of “organism”—when you notice that Wanda keeps looking over your shoulder. 

“What?” you ask, craning your neck back and scanning the crowds of students getting dinner, but you don’t see anything out of the ordinary. 

Wanda nods toward someone and subtly points in their direction. “That girl…she keeps looking over at us.” 

This time, you look closer and find the girl from the party on Monday staring at you. She’s sitting at a table all by herself, her laptop opened in front of her next to a plate of pizza. Your breathing freezes and you turn back to your friends. “We may have hooked up at the party the other day,” you tell them sheepishly. Both of them gasp excitedly. 

“Why is this the first we’re hearing of this?” Nat demands. 

Your cheeks flush. “I don’t know, it was just a one time thing, I didn’t think I’d see her again. It wasn’t a big deal.” 

“She clearly thinks it was,” Wanda teases. “She’s been checking you out since we sat down. Go talk to her.” 

Groaning in protest, you shake your head but they keep pestering until you get up just to make them stop. You drag your feet against the tile as you walk over to the girl and even though you had convinced yourself that she would be a good thing for you earlier, doubt starts to gnaw at you. 

“Um, hey, can I sit?” you ask, pointing at the empty chair across from her. 

She nods and closes her computer, giving you her full attention, but doesn’t say anything. 

So you start. “About the other night, I’m sorry. I think we both just got a little carried away.” You introduce yourself, since you still don’t know each other’s names, and reach out your hand across the table. 

“I’m Morgan,” she says and shakes your hand. Her skin is soft and you can’t help but wonder what Agatha’s feels like. “You don’t have to apologize. It was a party, we were both a little tipsy, I’m sure.” 

Her perfume floats around you and makes you think about your professor again and you hate the way it makes you feel. “Cool, yeah, okay.” The awkwardness after a college hookup is something you could do without for the rest of your life. “Would you want to get dinner sometime?” 

Morgan grins. “I’d really like that. I can give you my number?” 

You nod and pull out your phone, handing it to her so she can put in her contact. She gives it back to you and you stand up from the table. “Awesome, I guess I’ll be seeing you later.” 

“Perfect.” 

As you’re walking away, a thought overcomes your body and you have no choice but to turn back around. Morgan raises an eyebrow. “Sorry, this might be a weird question, but what perfume do you wear?” 

She falters for a moment. “Um, I think it’s called Black Opium. Why?” 

“No reason,” you answer hastily and quickly smile before walking back over to Nat and Wanda, who have been watching you the whole time. 

“So?” Wanda prompts once you sit back down and pick up your fork. You shovel pasta into your mouth to delay answering. 

Black Opium. 

It’s very Agatha. Dark, euphoric, addicting. 

“Don’t leave us in suspense,” Nat eggs you on. “Are you guys girlfriends now? Going to hook up with her again after this?”

Your nose wrinkles. “No, I just asked her if she’d want to get dinner sometime. She said yes and gave me her number.” 

Their synchronized “Oooh” makes you roll your eyes. No surprise they’re making a big deal about it. This is the first time you’ve actually had a date since your ex-girlfriend three years ago. 

Does this really count though?

You mull what a relationship with Morgan might look like and try to keep your thoughts from steering to Agatha while you zone out on Wanda and Nat talking about the homework they have. 

After you finish the rest of your dinner, you walk back to your dorm building with both of them. Out of the corner of your eye, you see their hands brushing against each other and you feel the same longing pang in your chest that you always do when you’re with them. 

Something like that would be possible with Morgan. 

But even the delusion that Agatha would like you like that outweighs the potential for something real with someone your own age. 

“I’m going to crash with Nat tonight,” Wanda says, bumping into you to get your attention. 

“Remember to be safe,” you respond solemnly. Wanda and Nat both snort and give you a hug before they part ways with you. 

When you get back to your room, you grab your laptop from your bag and plop onto your bed with it. The first thing you do is type your professor’s name into Google. 

A few things pop up, mostly just articles about her teaching at Westview University and you find some of her publications. There’s a few pictures of her from dinners and awards and her official university headshot. No mention of a family or a partner, though. You wonder if she would put something like that online. It seems like she’d probably want to keep that private. 

The link to her reviews is about the fifth site on the page and you decide to scroll through them again. There’s a few that were added from two days ago and you’re sure they’re from the people that dropped your class. You’re re-reading them and wincing at how mean some of them are, taking them more personally now that you know her, when you pause on one. 

You saw it the other day, but you didn’t think too much about it. 

If you’re lucky to be one of her favorites, you’re going to do just fine in the class. She can be very creative and maybe a little unorthodox when it comes to her methods of helping you understand something, but they’re very effective. 

It’s not the review itself that makes you intrigued—it’s the name of the person who left it. 

Rio V. 

This must be her TA that you met earlier. The one who didn’t seem to like you very much, for no reason. You make a mental note to keep an eye on her, if you see her again, and open a new tab. 

You type in “Black Opium” and click on the first brand of perfume you see. Chewing on your lip, you hover the mouse over the Add to cart button. It’s one-hundred dollars, way too much to buy just because the professor you’re becoming obsessed with wears it. 

But Agatha’s praises echo around in your head and you feel a fire stoking to life in your stomach. The dull heat becomes more and she’s all you can think about. 

She’s all you want. 

You buy the perfume. 

Part Three

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @m1vfs @agathascoven1 @filmedbyharkness @autbot @claramelooo @dandelions4us @agathaallalongg @jujuu23 @21cannibal @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose

[saylorsuniverse]

INFRUNAMI --- nika muhl

summary:  your best friend, nika muhl, has been harboring a secret longtime crush on you, but you’re too blind to see that she’s right in front of you to ever give her a chance.

Warnings: pining (?), dead parent (sorry guys), errr slowburn, lots of slowburn, but that’s it… i think

author’s note: CAUSE I WAS BLIND TO SEE THAT YOU WERE RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME. wow i actually kind of fell off towards the end with this one but idrc it’s done with so please just like it 🙂‍↕️

words: 8.6k

—

Your first day of university was a mess — literally. 

It began with you waking up half an hour late for a class on the opposite side of campus. Then, you got lost and wandered into the wrong lecture hall, one packed with fourth year computational analysis students who definitely noticed you didn’t belong. After your humiliating, drastically late entrance to your biology lecture, you realized you left your notebook behind in your haste to leave, and your laptop was dead. By noon, your feet ached, your stomach growled, and you were seriously considering dropping out before the week was over to save whatever dignity you had left. 

That’s when it happened — someone rounded the corner too quickly and collided into you. A cold shock spread across your chest as the contents of the cup drenched your once white shirt. The bitter scent of coffee now enveloped you, and the fabric now clung to your skin, sticky and stained. 

Today was a mess. Literally.

You staggered back, staring down at your white shirt — now a soft coffee brown, clinging cold against your chest. 

“Are you fucking serious right now?” You snapped, heat rising in your face. “Do you even look where you’re going, or do you just—”

“I—I’m sorry,” the girl stammered, her voice gentle and laced with a distinct accent you couldn’t quite place.

You froze with your next words of harsh language caught in your throat. 

She stood there holding the empty cup like it had detonated in her hands. Tall, composed, and unexpectedly apologetic. Her eyes were wide, brows knit together in genuine concern and sincerity. 

You were still fuming—soaked, freezing, and humiliated—but suddenly, yelling didn’t seem so urgent. Not at a girl who was clearly a foreigner. Not when she looked at you like that, with wide, puppy-like eyes tinged with shame. Not when her apology actually sounded sincere.

You sighed, rubbing your temple. “It’s fine,” you muttered. “It’s not like this day could get any worse anyway. I think I’ve officially checked off every box on the ‘worst first day of college’ list.”

She let out a breath of relief, her shoulders relaxing just enough for you to notice how tense she’d been. “I really didn’t see you,” she said, her accent clearer now—Eastern European, maybe? “I’m an idiot. I wasn’t paying attention.”

You glanced down at your shirt again. Still wet. Still cold. Still embarrassing. But somehow, you weren’t angry anymore. “Join the club,” you said with a small, exhausted laugh. “Late, distracted, mildly ruining people’s lives... I’m president.”

That got a smile out of her—just a small one, but it softened her whole face. Then, without a word, she shrugged off her jacket and draped it over your shoulders. You caught the UConn women’s basketball team logo on the sleeve.

“Here. I hope this helps,” she said, her voice soft and a little uncertain, as if she wasn’t sure how you’d take the gesture. “And, if it’s not too much, let me buy you a coffee to make up for... this.”

You stood there for a moment, surprised by her sudden kindness. The jacket was warm, thick with the smell of fresh fabric and a faint hint of sweat, the kind you might expect from someone who spent a lot of time in the gym. It was too big on you, but that somehow made it feel like she was offering a shield from the mess of your day.

"I’m Nika," she added quickly, her eyes darting nervously. "Please let me make up to you for this.”

You didn’t know it then, standing in iced coffee and wearing a too big UConn jacket, but that mess of a moment was the beginning of everything.

It started with one coffee—just one, because she insisted. Then it turned into two. The coffees became casual hallway greetings, which slowly morphed into late-night walks after study sessions, shared playlists, “friendly” party dates, and post-game hugs that lingered just a second too long. Somehow, without you even noticing, Nika had become your person.

When your dad passed away suddenly on a random Tuesday at the end of February of your sophomore year, Nika was the one who bought your plane ticket back home – no hesitation, no questions asked. 

She showed up at your dorm the night before you left, hoodie half-zipped, her hair still damp from the showers after practice. You barely managed to pack—clothes strewn from your dresser to your suitcase, a pile of shoes collecting at the foot of your bed, your eyes red, puffy, and brimming with tears. She did it for you. Folded your clothes, tucked in a charger, reminded you to bring that sweatshirt your dad always complimented.

And when you finally returned—eyes tired, heart heavier than it had ever been—she was waiting outside baggage claim. Hood up, no makeup, holding your favorite energy drink and a croissant from that little French bakery you’d been insistent she try. And beside all of that, the kind of silence only someone who really knows you can offer.

That night, she slept on the floor beside your bed.

You didn’t ask her to. You never had to. Nika always knew when you needed her—sometimes from just a glance.

She stayed up while you cried yourself dry. She emailed your professors when you couldn’t even open your laptop, even went so far as to ask the headmaster directly if you could get more time off from your midterms.

She let you hold her hand during the funeral, her thumb tracing soft, steady circles into your palm—grounding you when you felt like floating away.

Nika didn’t try to fix anything.

She didn’t push you to talk. She didn’t drag you out for a walk, like she usually would. 

She just stayed. And somehow, that was enough.

It was late – well past midnight – and the two of you were curled up on the couch in your childhood living room, the glow of the TV flickering softly while some old sappy rom com movie played on mute. 

You were mid-ramble, half-laughing, half-sentimental, recounting story after story about your dad like they were your favorite bedtime tales.

“He swore he was the best fisherman this side of the Atlantic,” you said, shaking your head with a grin. “Like, you’d think he was hauling in marlins with his bare hands the way he talked about it.”

Nika smiled, chin propped on her fist, eyes locked on you. “Was he actually any good?”

You snorted. “God, no. The biggest thing he ever caught was, like, a three-kilo bass. And even then, it flopped out of the net before we got a picture. He claimed the fish sabotaged him on purpose.” 

Nika chuckled, soft and real, and you couldn’t help but smile wider.

It wasn’t just the sound – it was the way her whole face softened, the crinkle at the corners of her eyes, the small shake of her head like she couldn’t believe you. Her laughter filled the space between you like warm light, like something sacred yet familiar.

She tucked her legs under her on the couch, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands, and looked at you like there was nowhere else she’d rather be. The lamp behind her glowed gold against the curve of her cheekbone, catching the faintest shimmer in her eyes – like she was trying not to cry or trying not to say something she wasn’t ready to yet.

You noticed, then, how close you were sitting. How your knees almost touched. How easy it felt, like she’d always belonged here – curled up in your childhood living room, laughing at your dad’s fishing stories like she’d live them too.

And maybe, in a way, she had.

“I think he just liked the quiet,” you said after a pause, voice gentler now. “Being out there, the water, the stillness. I didn’t get it back then, but I do now.”

There was a beat of silence. Not awkward – never awkward with Nika. Just quiet enough to let the memory linger, to allow the both of you to bask in it.

Then she nudged your socked foot with hers. “You talk about him like he’s still here.”

“He kind of is.”

Nika didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to, of course. Instead, she just looked at you like she was memorizing the shape of your smile. 

And you thought, not for the first time, but he would’ve loved her.

Your dad would’ve seen the way Nika listened to your ramblings the same way he used to, the way her presence was so steady without being overbearing. He would’ve noticed the softness in her eyes, how she made your grief feel a little less sharp. She’d have fit into the rhythms of your family like she’d always belonged there – because, in some way, she had.

For a second, you closed your eyes, imagining it: your dad’s big, warm laugh, echoing through the house as Nika teased him about his fishing skills with that easy, teasing tone she used with everyone.

He would’ve loved her.

For that one fleeting moment, it felt like home wasn’t just this old couch or the smell of your mom’s cookies in the kitchen. It was this – you and Nika, talking about ghosts and bass and everything in between.

The following weeks slipped into a quiet rhythm, one that felt almost like a secret the two of you shared. You and Nika found yourselves slipping into these comfortable silences together more and more. In between late-night talks about everything and nothing, and those moments of laughter when you made fun of each other’s weirdest habits, something deeper was taking root. It wasn’t obvious, not yet—but it was there, nestled beneath the surface, like the steady pulse of something waiting to bloom.

Like the time Nika showed up at your dorm with a bag full of mismatched socks she'd stolen from the laundry room, daring you to try and make an outfit work out of them. Or when you spent an entire Saturday afternoon teaching her how to bake your dad’s infamous chocolate chip cookies, the ones he swore could cure anything. You ended up with flour all over your kitchen and dough stuck to your hair, but it didn’t matter. You were together, laughing over how none of the cookies had turned out even close to edible.

There were more nights like that—quiet ones, where you both stayed up late just talking, sharing stories about your families, about who you were when you were younger, before college and before any of this. You never had to explain why you did the things you did or why certain memories lingered with you longer than others. She understood—just like she always did.

And for someone who never begged for anything – never even dared to ask twice – Nika always begged you to come watch a game. It became the one exception to her “no begging” rule.

You’d always waved her off with a laugh, claiming basketball just wasn’t your thing. You didn’t understand the rules, the fouls, the constant whistle-blowing, or how she managed to stay so calm under so much pressure. But every now and then, she’d drop another hint – “It’s a home game, you won’t even have to walk far!” Or, “We’re playing a big team tonight… would love to see you there because everyone else will be.” It was subtle, and it always came with that soft, almost shy smile of hers – the one you’d started to recognize as her version of hope.

So, one night, you went. No warning, no heads up. You just showed up.

You found a seat near the middle of the bleachers, heart weirdly anxious, wondering if she’d even notice you in the crowd of white, navy blue, and grey. But she did – of course she did.

The moment she stepped out on the court and caught your eye, you saw it – that flash of surprise, that quiet spark of something deeper flickering in her expression before she masked it behind her unusual focus.

For the first time, you got it. Not the game necessarily – you still weren’t entirely sure what a double dribble was or a travel – but the way people moved for each other on that court. The trust. The rhythm. The fire. The way Nika played was sharp, unrelenting, impossible to look away from. That night, you finally understood what mattered to her. And why it might’ve always been more than just the game.

After the game, you tried to slip out quietly, but it was impossible to miss the way people swarmed toward the edge of the court – phones out, jerseys in hand, calling her name like she was some kind of celebrity.

And apparently, she was.

You always knew Nika had a massive Instagram following—you’d seen the numbers, seen the comments flooding in whenever she posted even the most casual selfie. You’d noticed the way people made googly eyes at her in the hallways, how other students suddenly stood a little taller or flipped their hair when she walked past.

But you never really got it. Not until now.

Not until you saw the crowd waiting for her after the game—eager hands holding out phones and posters, people calling her name like they knew her, like she belonged to them in some way.

It was strange seeing her like that. Not because she didn’t deserve it—she did, and then some—but because to you, she’d always just been Nika. The girl who stole mismatched socks from the laundry room just to make you laugh. The girl who memorized your coffee order by heart and always knew when you needed space and when you didn’t. The girl who once burned every single batch of your dad’s cookie recipe and still swore they tasted fine.

And now here she was—this campus icon with sweat-slicked hair and a grin that could start a riot—signing shoes, jerseys, posters… even someone’s forehead, like it was just another Tuesday.

You watched as she smiled patiently through photo after photo, soaking in the spotlight like she was born for it. This wasn’t the lowkey girl who had spilled coffee on you once or cried laughing when flour exploded in your kitchen. This was Nika Mühl, UConn’s Secretary of Defense. Golden girl. Game-changer. And suddenly, you realized: maybe you’d only ever known one version of her.

When she finally broke away from the crowd and jogged toward you, cheeks flushed and hair stuck to her forehead, she looked more alive than you’d ever seen her. You raised an eyebrow.

“So, you’re some big-time basketball hotshot, huh?” you teased, arms crossed. “That was… kind of impressive. I guess.”

She smirked. “Kind of?”

“I mean,” you shrugged, “I could do all that. With my eyes closed, actually.”

She blinked. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. Give me a ball and five minutes and I’ll outscore you easily. Might even dunk on you, Lebron James style.”

That made her laugh – full, loud, and way too amused. “Alright, alright. You talk a lot for someone who looks like she's never touched a basketball in her life. Let alone see a court.”

You nudged her side. “Take me to court then. Prove me wrong.”

And she did prove you wrong.

Somehow, that night ended with the two of you at an empty outdoor court lit only by flickering floodlights and moonlight. The air was cool and quiet, your laughter echoing as she passed you the ball and watched you completely miss the rim – twice.

“Well,” Nika said, trying and failing to hide her grin, “I see we’ve got a future draft pick on our hands.”

You narrowed your eyes at her. “Okay, rude. That one slipped.”

“That one?” she teased, jogging after the ball as it bounced off into the dark. You’re shooting like the hoop personally offended you.”

“Maybe it did,” you called, breathless with laughter. “Maybe I’m more of a… defensive player.”

“You just airballed a layup.”

“I slipped!”

“Sure,” she said, dribbling lazily back toward you. “Or maybe you’re just intimidated by my greatness.”

You scoffed. “Please. I let you win.”

“You didn’t score once, even when I was just standing there like a statue.”

You stared at her, hand outstretched. “Ball.”

Nika raised an eyebrow, spinning it once on her finger just to be annoying before tossing it your way. “Alright, Steph Curry. Show me what you got.”

You took the ball, squared up, and launched it with every bit of determination you had in you… only for it to hit the backboard with a loud clunk and bounce halfway across the court.

You both froze. Then she cracked up.

You glared at her, trying not to laugh yourself. “I’m warming up.”

“Yeah?” she managed through her giggles. “Need a few more games? A training camp, maybe? A miracle?”

You tried to look offended, but her laughter was contagious. The kind that made your chest ache a little—not from embarrassment, but from something warmer, softer.

When she finally caught her breath, she nudged your shoulder gently. “You’re not good at basketball,” she said, still smiling. “But you’re fun.”

Your heart did that annoying fluttery thing, but you masked it with a roll of your eyes. “Thank you. But I am good at basketball.”

Nika raised a brow. “Sure. Prove it.”

You grinned. “Rematch?”

She stepped back, dribbling the ball between her legs, eyes gleaming. “Loser buys post-game coffee tomorrow morning.”

You smirked. “You’re on.”

It was stupid. It was fun. And somewhere between you chasing the ball and her showing you how to dribble without bouncing it off your foot, you realized something had shifted. Not dramatically, not all at once. But it was there—right under the surface, in the way her hand lingered on your waist when she tried to show you the right form, in the way your eyes caught and held a little too long under the buzz of the lights.

And when you finally flopped onto the court floor, breathless and grinning, she lay down beside you and whispered, “Thanks for coming tonight.”

You turned your head toward her, the stars blurred in your peripheral vision. “Thanks for letting me see your world.”

You didn’t talk about that night again. Not because it was strange or uncomfortable, but because it didn’t need words. Some moments just stayed suspended in memory, like a snapshot only the two of you knew how to look at.

But life moved on – like it always does. 

The semester picked up speed. Papers piled up. Practice schedules got tighter, especially with March Madness on the horizon for Nika. Your part-time job at the ice cream shop started demanding more of your weekends. Somewhere between closing shifts and early morning labs, you and Nika started spending less time together. Not on purpose. Not in a way that sparked a fight or falling out. Just enough to notice.

Enough to feel it when the silence between texts stretched a little longer, when a missed FaceTime became a pattern. You’d come over to her dorm to find her asleep on the couch, laptop still playing, practice notes spread across her chest like armor. You’d pull the blanket over her head and wish you could pause the world just long enough to sit beside her again like before.

Then, at some point during your junior year, you noticed Nika becoming increasingly more homesick.

It was subtle at first. A sigh when she scrolled through old photos. A soft smile when her sister’s name popped up on her phone. But you knew Nika. You knew the way her energy shifted, the way her voice carried a little differently when her heart was somewhere else. You tried to bridge the distance with the little things. You brought her pastries from the Croatian bakery an hour away, even if they were never quite right to her. You learned how to say “good morning” in her language. You watched YouTube videos of her hometown, just so you’d have something to talk about when she brought it up. But it never felt like enough.

Then, you picked up extra shifts at the local ice cream shop to cover rent and textbooks and whatever else college kept throwing at you. You were always exhausted, sticky with sugar syrup and smelling like waffle cones. Texts went unanswered. Calls missed. Plans postponed.

Nika noticed.

She never said it outright, but it was there—in the shorter replies, the fading smiles, the way her voice sounded just a little tighter when she’d say, “You’re working again?”

You hated that look on her face—the quiet disappointment. The way it made your stomach knot and your chest ache. But what could you do? You were trying your best. That had to count for something.

And then it was her birthday.

You remembered last year—how she’d dragged you to the beach even though it was freezing, wrapped you both in a single towel, and made you promise to always spend her birthday together, no matter what.

This year, she barely looked at you when you showed up at her dorm.

“Didn’t think you’d come,” she said, not looking up from her phone.

You bit back a sigh. “I know I’ve been distant, but just… come with me.”

She rolled her eyes and stood anyway. “If this is a sad attempt to make up for ignoring me, I swear—”

And then she stepped into the apartment lobby. And froze.

Her mom stood there with her arms wide open, her dad fumbling with a bouquet of tulips, and her little sister waving with both hands, wearing a “Happy Birthday, Nika!!” t-shirt that was definitely your idea.

She turned to you, wide-eyed and speechless for the first time in maybe ever. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“You flew them in?”

You nodded. “Used every paycheck. And some student loan money I probably shouldn’t have touched.”

She didn’t say anything at first—just stepped forward into her dad’s arms, burying her face into his shoulder as he hugged her so tightly it looked like he might never let go. Her mom was crying. Her sister was laughing, tugging at the hem of Nika’s sweatshirt.

You stood off to the side, suddenly overwhelmed by how much you missed a hug like that.

Your chest tightened as you watched them sway together, soft words exchanged in Croatian, her dad smoothing her hair back like she was still his little girl. Something about it gutted you. You couldn’t help but think of your dad. How his hugs were always too tight, how he always smelled like sunscreen and coffee, how he’d tease you for crying during animated movies—and how you’d give anything just to feel that once more.

You didn’t realize your eyes were glassy until Nika’s dad turned to you.

“Thank you,” he said, accent thick but warm. “For taking care of our Nika.”

Your throat closed. You managed a smile, but it was shaky.

Because you hadn’t been taking care of Nika.

If anything, she had taken care of you—when you were falling apart, when you couldn’t speak, when the world felt too loud or too quiet. When grief lived in your chest like a second heartbeat. She was the one who knew how to anchor you, to bring you back. She was the one who stayed.

“I try,” you whispered. “But I think she does a better job at that than me.”

He smiled again, like he understood something you hadn’t said out loud.

Later that night, when the cake had been cut and the apartment had quieted into soft music and the scent of leftover frosting, you slipped out onto the balcony for a moment alone.

You didn’t hear her come out—just felt her shoulder bump into yours as she slid into the chair beside you.

“Hey,” she said, quietly.

“Hey.”

She looked out over the city lights, then back at you. “You really flew them in.”

You nodded. “Had to bribe your sister with candy and airport snacks.”

Nika smiled, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know.”

A beat passed.

“You’re still the best part of my birthday,” she added, softer now.

You turned toward her, and in the half-dark, you saw the sincerity in her eyes. The way they crinkled when she smiled, the way she looked at you like you mattered. Like she’d been waiting to say that all night.

Your heart swelled in your chest—warm and heavy and full.

“Don’t forget that when I inevitably ignore you again because I picked up another closing shift,” you said, grinning.

“Oh, I will absolutely hold this over your head forever,” she teased. “You’ll never know peace.”

You laughed, and so did she—and in that moment, everything felt right again.

That night on the balcony stuck with you.

Maybe because it felt like a turning point—like all the tension from the past few months had cracked open and been replaced by something softer, steadier. You started carving out more time. Showing up again. Not just with grand gestures, but in the small ways that mattered most.

And she met you there—like always.

You went back to movie nights and late-night drives and leaving each other notes in textbooks you forgot to return. You showed up to more games, even started learning what a pick-and-roll was (kind of). Nika still teased you for cheering five seconds too late, but she never stopped looking for you in the stands.

Time moved differently after that.

Suddenly, you were both seniors. Somehow, inexplicably, the final year. Yet, at the same time, your lives had become so interwoven, it was hard to remember what things were like before she spilled coffee on you that first day. And now? Now, she has a drawer in your apartment. A toothbrush in your bathroom. A mug she claimed as hers every time she used it for coffee. She wasn’t just a part of your life – she’d quietly, seamlessly folded into it. Still, something had shifted.

It was in the way she watched you sometimes when you weren’t looking. In the way her hand lingered too long on your back during hugs. In the way she'd start to say something, then stop herself with a breathy, "Never mind."

One night, after her game, you found her alone in the locker room, lacing and unlacing her sneakers with a faraway look on her face.

“You good?” you asked, settling beside her.

She nodded, too quickly. “Yeah. Just tired.”

But then she added, “Have you ever thought about how different things might be next year?”

You blinked. “Like after graduation?”

“Yeah. Like… you in a different city. Me playing overseas maybe. Us, not…” She hesitated, her eyes flicking to yours. “Not like this.”

You smiled softly. “I try not to think that far ahead.”

“Me neither,” she said. But it came out like a lie.

There was a pause. Then she nudged your knee with hers, and it was like exhaling after holding your breath.

“Don’t worry,” you said. “Wherever we end up, you’re stuck with me.”

She laughed, but there was something glassy in her eyes. “I better be.” 

Soon, classes were harder. Futures felt closer. The air around campus buzzed with goodbyes that hadn't even been said yet. Everyone kept talking about what's next, where they'll go, what they'll become. You tried not to think about the ticking clock—but it was always there, echoing under everything.

Basketball got more serious, too.

Nika was in it—deeper than ever. Her practices went longer, her sleep got shorter, and every conversation seemed to circle back to film study or recovery or the pressure of making it count. She wasn’t just UConn’s “secretary of defense” anymore. She was a senior. A two-time Big East defensive player of the year. A legacy in motion.

And you were watching it happen from the front row when March Madness rolled around that final year—cheering the loudest, holding your breath when she hit the court, catching her eye just before every tipoff. Sometimes, she'd smirk. A little secret passed between you like always.

But even then, something in the air started to shift.

Not in a bad way. Not yet.

Just... deeper. Closer. More.

Like the edges of your friendship had started to blur into something else. Something unspoken, stretched taut between quiet glances, tired hugs, and the way she never quite let go of your hand during long walks back to your apartment.

You didn’t know what it meant yet. 

And then came the Final Four.

The loss hit her harder than you expected. You had seen her take on challenges before—seen her shake off pain, both physical and emotional. But this was different. There was no bouncing back from this. Not right away, at least.

The silence in the apartment felt heavy, thicker than usual. The game had ended hours ago, but Nika hadn’t said much since. You could feel the weight of it in the air between you. You knew she was trying to hold it together, but you could tell—deep down, it was more than just a loss on the court. It was a dream that had slipped through her fingers.

You hadn’t said anything either, not at first. You just let the quiet linger, trying to give her the space she needed to process, even though you felt like you could barely breathe through the thick tension.

Nika was sitting at the edge of the couch, knees drawn to her chest, looking out the window. The city lights blurred in her reflection, her face pale and tired, a faint sheen of sweat still on her skin from the game. Her UConn jersey—usually so vibrant—looked like it had aged ten years in one night.

"Hey," you said, breaking the silence, your voice softer than usual.

She didn’t turn to look at you. "I should’ve played better," she murmured, her words low, like they were scraping out from the back of her throat. "We should’ve won. We could’ve…"

You moved to sit beside her, close but not too close. She didn’t push you away, but she didn’t invite you in either. You just sat there for a moment, letting the hum of the city fill the gap.

"Hey," you said again, this time touching her arm gently. "You were incredible. All of you were. One game doesn’t change that."

Her eyes flicked toward you, but she still didn’t speak. Her gaze was distant, unfocused. She looked... defeated, in a way that made your heart ache.

"Can we just... sit for a while?" she asked, her voice quieter this time, like it had lost some of its usual fire.

You nodded, settling down beside her, not saying a word as the minutes passed. The moonlight drifted through the window, casting a soft glow on her face. You couldn’t help but stare at her, the way her profile looked so fragile in that moment—like she wasn’t the powerhouse athlete you saw every game, but just a girl who had poured her heart into something, and it wasn’t enough.

"I should’ve been able to do more," she finally whispered, more to herself than to you.

"Nika," you started, your voice steady but filled with the weight of everything unsaid. "You’ve already done more than enough. For this team. For yourself. For me."

She shook her head slightly, the faintest hint of frustration creeping into her features. "It’s not just about the team. It’s… I let everyone down."

"No," you said firmly, reaching over to take her hand. "You didn’t let anyone down. You gave everything. And that’s enough."

Her fingers curled around yours, but she didn’t pull you closer. She just stayed there, quiet, letting the moments pass. You could feel the faint tremble in her hand, and your chest tightened.

After a while, she sighed deeply, leaning back against the couch. "I just wanted to give them a championship. I wanted it so badly."

You didn’t have the right words to fix it—hell, you weren’t even sure if there were any words that could make it better. But you squeezed her hand, offering the only thing you could: your presence.

"Whatever you need," you whispered. "I’m here."

She nodded slowly, her eyes closing for a moment, and for the first time that night, she leaned into you. Your arms instinctively wrapped around her, holding her close, and she didn’t pull away. It wasn’t about winning or losing anymore—it was about being there for each other.

And in that moment, you realized you’d always been there for each other. Through all the highs, all the lows, all the unsaid things.

The days after the Final Four were heavy.

Nika didn’t bounce back the way she usually did. The loss lingered like a bruise—tender, invisible, always there. You watched her move through campus like a ghost in sneakers, smiling for cameras, thanking fans, doing everything that was expected of her. But you knew better. You saw the silence in her eyes when the noise faded. The way she lingered in the gym even longer now, pushing her body past the point of exhaustion, like if she could just work hard enough, maybe the ache would go away.

People started asking questions almost immediately. Was she coming back? Using her fifth year? Making one last run at the title? And for a while, even she didn’t have the answer.

You caught her staring out your window one night, knees pulled up to her chest, hoodie drawn tight over her head. The city lights cast her in silver, and you didn’t have to ask what was on her mind.

“I always thought we’d win it all,” she said quietly, almost like she was talking to herself. “That it would all feel... worth it.”

“It was worth it,” you said.

But she just shook her head. “Sometimes I wonder if I gave too much. And now—if I don’t stay—what does that make me?”

You didn’t have an answer. Not one she’d believe, anyway.

Because the truth was, she was already being pulled in a hundred different directions. Agents. Media. Draft boards. Seattle, Indiana, Chicago—everyone had her name on their radar. You knew the WNBA had been a dream since she was a kid, but dreams came with pressure. With decisions. With the terrifying possibility that the next step might be the wrong one.

When she finally announced her decision—foregoing her final year of eligibility and entering the WNBA Draft—it wasn’t flashy. Just a post. A black-and-white photo and a caption that read:

"Grateful for everything. Ready for what’s next." —Nika Mühl

You texted her three seconds after it went live: “You okay?” And she replied: “No. But I will be.”

And then came draft night.

Her name was called in the second round by the Seattle Storm, and the room erupted.

You’d never seen her look more stunned—eyes wide, mouth slightly open like reality hadn’t quite caught up to her yet. People crowded around her, hugging, crying, cheering. She held the Storm jersey in her hands like it might disappear if she blinked.

When her eyes finally found you across the room, it was like a breath released. She mouthed, “Come here,” and you didn’t hesitate.

The afterparty was loud, glittering with celebration. There was music, drinks, speeches, photos—so many photos. Nika floated from group to group, gracious and radiant, but you could tell the weight hadn’t lifted. Not really.

You found her alone near the balcony later, a glass of champagne untouched in her hand.

“You should be inside,” you said. “People are looking for you.”

“I know.” She exhaled slowly, staring out at the city skyline. “I just... needed a minute.”

You stood beside her in the silence, letting the cool night air settle over your shoulders. She finally glanced your way.

“Do you think I made the right choice?” she asked, voice quieter than you’d ever heard it.

You didn’t answer right away.

Instead, you looked at her—really looked. At the proud line of her shoulders, the flicker of fear she was trying to hide, the way her fingers tightened slightly around the glass like she needed something to anchor her.

“I think,” you said carefully, “you’ve spent four years giving every piece of yourself to something you love. And now you’re just choosing to keep loving it—on your terms.”

Her eyes shimmered with something between gratitude and exhaustion.

“You’re gonna be great in Seattle,” you added. “But if you ever want to come back and lose to a real basketball player, I’ll still be here.”

That earned you a real laugh. Soft. Tired. Genuine.

Nika didn’t say anything at first. Her gaze flicked down to the glass in her hand, then up toward the crowded room behind you—music, laughter, cameras flashing. All of it too loud for something this delicate.

“I should offer my congratulations to the other players,” she murmured, already stepping back.

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. “Of course.”

She hesitated—like maybe she wanted to stay. Like there was still something to say. But the moment passed, and then she was gone, weaving back into the celebration with a practiced kind of ease.

You leaned against the railing, trying not to overthink the thud in your chest.

“Hey.” Paige’s voice cut in, low and casual, as she joined you on the balcony, drink in hand.

You didn’t turn at first. Just nodded. “Hey.”

“She’s gonna do great,” Paige said, nudging her shoulder against yours.

“I know,” you answered quietly. “I just... it’s all happening so fast. She’ll be in a new environment. New team. New people. I don’t know.” You paused, feeling the heat of something you didn’t want to name rise in your throat. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Paige said, amused. “It’s textbook.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Textbook?”

She smirked. “Yeah. Classic pining.”

You blinked. “I’m not—”

“Relax,” she interrupted, holding up a hand. “I’m not judging. Just saying... she’s not going to date anyone in Seattle, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You blinked again, slower this time. “I wasn’t worried about—”

Paige tilted her head knowingly. “She’s been celibate for you for practically the entire time we’ve been at UConn.”

You nearly choked on air. “What?!”

“She didn’t say it like that,” Paige added with a chuckle. “But I mean... come on. We’ve all seen it. It’s always been you.”

You stared at her, heartbeat ticking up, unsure what to do with that kind of information. The kind that makes your stomach flip and your thoughts spiral.

Paige looked at you, face softening just a little. “She’s not leaving you behind. She just hasn’t figured out how to say she wants you to come with her.”

And with that, she gave your arm a gentle squeeze and walked back inside, leaving you alone with the quiet and a thousand words still stuck in your throat.

You didn’t go back inside. Not yet.

The air outside was cool, but your skin was hot—flushed with the weight of everything that had just been handed to you in one offhand comment from Paige Bueckers. A joke, technically. Just a nudge.

But it cracked something wide open.

She’s been celibate for you practically the entire time we’ve been at UConn.

You closed your eyes and exhaled slowly, like maybe if you stayed still long enough, the truth would settle. But it didn’t. It rose. Tangled and relentless and aching.

Because the truth wasn’t sudden.

It had been there—quiet and steady, hiding in plain sight. In the softness of Nika’s voice when she said your name. In how she always remembered the small things, like which brand of tea you liked when you were sick or how your dad used to hum classic rock in the kitchen.

You’d built a thousand memories together. Shared holidays and heartbreaks and stupid little Tuesday mornings. You’d joked, clung to each other, fought like sisters and loved like—what?

Friends?

You’d called it that. For years, you’d called it friendship. But now you were wondering if that word had been too small all along.

It wasn’t just Paige’s words.

It was the look on Nika’s face before she walked away—like something inside her had given up on being quiet. Like she wanted to say something but didn’t. Like she’d already said everything in the way she loved you, and she was done waiting for you to notice.

And god, you hated yourself at that moment. Because you had noticed. Just not clearly. Not fully.

You were so wrapped up in the rhythm of it—the shared routines, the laughs, the way she always showed up when no one else did—that you hadn’t stopped to question why it felt so permanent. Why it felt like you couldn’t imagine anything mattering more than her.

You’d been blind.

Not in a dramatic way. Just in the everyday kind. The way someone gets used to the sun rising and forgets it’s a miracle every morning. The way something constant can feel invisible until the moment it’s slipping away.

You hadn’t seen her. Not really. Not for what she was trying to be to you—not just the best friend, not just the late-night baking partner or sideline smile before tipoff. She’d been offering her heart in all the ways she knew how. And you’d held it, oblivious, like it was just something friends did.

It hit you all at once: you’d been in love with her for years.

Not in fireworks. Not in sweeping moments or grand gestures. 

But in the way your day never started right until you heard her voice. In the way her hoodie was still the one you reached for when everything felt too heavy. In the way every version of your future had her laugh somewhere in it.

And now she was leaving for Seattle. A new team. A new world. Without you.

Your stomach twisted. You weren’t scared of her success—you were so proud of her it hurt—but the thought of her smiling like that at someone else, of some other girl knowing the feel of her arms in a crowd or the way she whispered dumb jokes under her breath when she was nervous. That thought gutted you. Because that had been yours. And maybe, just maybe, you wanted it to always be yours.

You pressed your fingers to your lips, like they were holding back a truth you weren’t ready to say out loud.

But maybe it was time.

Time to stop calling it something safe. Time to be brave the way she’d always been for you. Because Nika Mühl had loved you in all the quietest ways. And maybe it was time to finally say it back.

You found her near the bar, cheeks flushed, drink in hand, spinning a half-empty glass between her fingers. The party had swelled—music pulsing, laughter rising in waves—but she stood still in the middle of it, like a pause in the chaos. Her eyes lit up when she saw you.

“There you are,” she said, voice a little slurred, a little softer than usual. “I was looking.”

You offered her a steadying arm, and she leaned into it without hesitation.

“Think you’ve had enough,” you said, managing a smile.

“Think I’ve earned it,” she mumbled, but let you guide her toward the door.

The cab ride was quiet—just the low hum of the engine and Nika’s head resting on your shoulder. You kept staring out the window, hoping the blur of streetlights could silence the noise in your chest. But it didn’t. Not even close.

Your apartment was dark when you unlocked the door, familiar in its stillness. You helped her out of her heels and guided her to the couch, where she dropped down with a groan.

“You’re so serious,” she muttered suddenly, peering up at you. “Why are you being so… serious?”

You froze. “What do you mean?”

She tilted her head. “You’ve got that faraway look again. Like you’re here, but not really.”

You tried to brush it off. “It’s nothing.”

“Bullshit,” she said, too quick. “You always do this. You disappear inside your head and pretend you’re fine.”

“Nika…”

She sat up straighter, brows furrowed despite the haze in her eyes. “Is it Seattle? Are you scared I’ll leave and forget you or something?”

“No,” you said quickly, too quickly. “God, no. I’m proud of you. I’m so proud of you.”

She looked at you then—really looked at you. The kind of look she only gave when she was reading between the lines. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, like she was steadying herself against whatever was coming.

“Then what is it?” she asked, softer now. “Because it feels like there’s something you’re not saying. And I don’t want to leave with you keeping whatever this is bottled up.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Because how do you say, “I’ve been in love with you for years and I didn’t even realize it until someone else said it out loud?” 

How do you confess to mistaking a burning house for a warm fireplace?

Your hands clenched at your sides. “I talked to Paige tonight.”

Nika blinked. “Okay?”

“She said something. About you. About… us.” You couldn’t meet her eyes, not yet. “She said you’ve been… waiting. That you haven’t been with anyone because—because of me.”

Silence stretched between you. 

And then, quietly, “She talks too much.” You looked up. Nika wasn’t angry. Just… exposed. Her smile faltered. “I didn’t want you to find out like that.”

Your heart thundered. “Is it true?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she stood, wobbled slightly, and steadied herself on the armrest. “Why do you think I’ve been around this long, huh?” she said with a tired laugh. “You think I show up for everyone when they’re sick with their favorite soup and stupid flowers from the farmer’s market?”

You stared. “You brought me dahlias because I said once—”

“That your dad used to get them for your mom when she had bad days,” she finished. “I remember. I remember everything about you.”

You felt like your ribs were too tight for your lungs. “I thought it was just… you being you,” you whispered.

“It was me being me,” she said. “But only with you.” And that broke something.

“I didn’t know,” you breathed. “I was so close to it, I couldn’t see. I was blind to everything because you’ve always been right in front of me and I never let myself think it could be more. Not really.”

Her eyes softened. “And now?”

“Now I can’t stop thinking about it,” you said, voice cracking. “About you. About all of it. I keep going back to every moment—every time you stayed, every time you held me, every time I should’ve said something. I think I’ve loved you this whole time and I just… I didn’t know what to call it.”

Nika moved closer, like the space between you was unbearable. “You don’t have to call it anything. Just tell me it’s real.”

“It’s real,” you whispered. “God, it’s real.”

And then she kissed you—gently, as if testing whether the world would collapse or settle into place. It settled.

You didn’t pull away. Neither did she.

The kiss wasn’t urgent—it didn’t need to be. It wasn’t about making up for lost time. It was about everything that had always been there, finally surfacing. Gentle. Certain. Familiar in the most unfamiliar way.

Her forehead touched yours as your breaths mingled, the room too quiet and too loud all at once.

Nika smiled first—barely, just the smallest curve of her lips—and whispered, “Took us long enough.”

You let out a shaky laugh, eyes still closed. “Yeah.” And then it was quiet again.

Not the kind of quiet that asks for conversation. The kind that only happens when there’s nothing left to prove. Just two people, sitting in the soft, golden aftermath of something that’s been waiting to happen for a long, long time.

Nika leaned her head on your shoulder. Her hand found yours, fingers interlacing like they’d done it a thousand times—only now it felt new. Earned.

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” she said after a while, voice low. “I know we’re moving into new chapters and states and time zones and all of it, but I don’t want to wonder ‘what if’ anymore.”

You squeezed her hand. “Me neither.”

The clock on the wall ticked past midnight. Outside, the city buzzed in celebration and motion—but in that quiet apartment, time bent. Softened. Paused.

You tilted your head toward her and whispered, “Stay here tonight.”

She was already pulling the blanket off the back of the couch. “Wasn’t planning on leaving.”And so you stayed. Not just in the room, or in the moment, but in it—this new, fragile beginning. A truth long buried, finally unearthed. You didn’t talk about what tomorrow meant. You didn’t need to. Not yet. Because for the first time in years, the silence between you didn’t hold distance. It held everything.

You awoke the next morning on your couch with no Nika next to you.

The throw blanket had slipped halfway to the floor. A dull ache in your curled neck from the angle you'd fallen asleep in, but none of that compared to the flicker of panic that sparked in your chest when your hand reached out and met only empty cushion.

Then, soft clicking, the low hum of something brewing, a faint curse in Croatian coming from the kitchen.

You moved on instinct, rounding the corner too fast — too fast for Nika to react.

"Shit—!" she yelped as one of the two mugs she was holding tilted too far, coffee sloshing over the side. Her socks slipped a little on the wooden floor, and for a second, it felt like time bent in on itself.

You froze in the doorway. She did, too.

And suddenly, you were nineteen again. First week of freshman year. A too-fast turn, a cup of coffee spilled across your shirt, and a girl with an accent and a laugh that made your whole world sound softer.

"You scared the hell out of me," Nika said, still clutching the cups like they were fragile cargo. She was wearing your old hoodie, the one that had your high school logo fading across the chest. Her hair was a little messy, eyes still sleepy. She looked like morning, yet still grinning through the mess. "Déjà vu?"

You laughed, stepping forward to grab a rag off the counter. "You just have a thing for spilling coffee on me, huh?"

She passed you a mug — less full now, but still warm — and for a second, you just stood there, facing her across the same floor where your friendship had once started as a simple accident.

Except now it wasn't just friendship.

Now, it was all the in-betweens. The almosts. The years of laughter and late-night talks and cookies and confessionsl All the things you never had the words for, finally spoken.

Nika glanced down at her once white socks now soaked in coffee, then back at you, something awe like flickering in her eyes. "I think I loved you even then."

You swallowed. The coffee burned your throat in the best way, but not in the way that you planted a kiss on Nika's lips. "I think I was too blind to see it — literally."

She smiled at that, soft and knowing, both taking sips as you leaned against the counter beside her and let the quiet settle in.

And there, in the messy kitchen with the morning sun bleeding through the windows, you felt it.

Not a confession. Not a climax. Just a continuation of everything that had always been right in front of you.

[just-my-fandom]

And All The Stars Align (Lee Jihoon x Fem! 14th Member! Producer! Reader)

A/N: AHHHH my first K-pop story‼️🫣 I plan on posting a BUNCH (most from my recent poll) and I’m currently out of work sick so I plan on using this time to start posting. Enjoy!!

Summary: For the last ten years, you and Jihoon had worked together on producing Seventeens songs. All your hard work has finally paid off.

Warnings: Arguing, crying, brief sickness, mention of reader sleeping with no pants on lol, Jihoon cuts his hair because I am still def upset about this, Reader is mentioned have a death in her family- but family member is not specified, Jihoon proposes, Jihoons enlistment

“Ji, it makes more sense,” Jihoon can hear the huff in your tone, where you sit beside him, chair swaying with your movements. He barely glances over, your hands up in motion as you speak, “Josh has a softer tone. He should start Anyone, not Gyu,”

“Why does it matter who starts it?” Jihoon doesn’t mean to get irritated, but the whole reason neither of you could progress with the song is because you couldn’t decide on who should start it.

“Remember when you wanted Wonwoo to start Fallin’ Flower?” He finally looks at you, your eyebrow raised, “And I wanted Hao? Who started it, Ji?”

Damn it. You’re right. “Fine,” He sighs, and he feels his lips tug when you punch the air in victory, “Josh will start it,”

You push off your chair so your face was close to his, your smile wide, “Guess who was right again?”

Jihoons eyes roll, letting you press your lips to his in a quick kiss, “Yeah, yeah. You’re right after, so get in there so I can get a sample,”

. . .

“Hey,”

You briefly glance up. Standing in the doorway between the kitchen and living room of the Air BNB your group was staying in, Jihoon has his arms crossed and eyebrow raised, “Are you really working right now?”

“I had an idea,” You mutter, looking back down to your notebook, “If I don’t write it down now, I’ll forget it,”

“We’re on a break, baby,” Jihoon moves forward into the kitchen, hand on your shoulder as his presses his lips to your hair, “I swear, you’re worse than me sometimes,”

“We both know that’s not true,” You huff, Jihoon squeezing your shoulder once before he lets go,

Your eyes watch as he rounds the table, moving to the stove, your brows pinching as he grabs two mugs, “What’re you doing?”

Jihoon turns to you, eyes flicking between your face and notebook, “Well, we’re gonna be here for a while, so,” He shrugs, “Tea,”

You feel your lips pull into a smile, looking back down at the lyrics in front of you.

. . .

“Move it to twenty BPM,”

You look over. Jihoon is curled into the couch beside you, eyes fluttering so he could stare at you,

“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” You keep your voice low, extending a hand to drag through his hair, moving it off his forehead to feel the damp skin, “You’re still warm,”

“Be glad I’m not actually working,” Jihoon mutters, exhaling softly when your cool fingers press to his flushed cheek,

You frown, thumb brushing the skin beneath his eye, “You should’ve stayed home, baby,”

“Who would keep you in check?” Jihoons eyes finally look up at you, your smile weak, “I’m fine. Or I will be in a couple days,”

You exhale through your nose, keeping one hand on him as the other moves the computer mouse around, before the sound track plays quietly through the speaker beside you, “How’s that?”

Jihoon hums, “Better,” His hand peels from under the blanket he had, taking your wrist to tug, “Lay with me,”

“Cheol and Hannie will be here soon,” You remind, “To record,”

“Then lay with me until they get here,” Jihoon orders, your shoulders dropping before you stand from your chair, letting Jihoon press himself against the couch so you could lay beside him, his nose pressing against your neck,

“Happy?” Your hand raises to tangle into his hair, free hand on his back. Jihoon hums, again, arms circling your waist to tug you closer, “Very,”

. . .

“Ji, they ran out of your favorite sauce, so I got your second favorite to make up for it,”

Jihoon and Seungcheol turn in their chairs, waiting for your eyes to find them. When they do, they land on Jihoon, and Seungcheol snorts when your mouth drops, finally seeing Jihoons now short hair,

“You cut it?” Jihoon can’t really tell what you’re feeling right now- you look upset, pissed even, scurrying to set the food down but walking slow to reach him,

“Do you hate it?” Jihoon can’t help but hesitate on his question, hands on your hips when yours raise to his hair, the locks barely peeking between your fingers as you examine him,

“It’s…” You suck in a breath, “New,” Your hands slide down to his jaw, tilting his head up, “But you look good. I’ll never hate it,”

He finds himself exhaling in relief, Seungcheol releasing a short laugh so Jihoon glares at him, but your kiss to his cheek directs his attention back to you.

. . .

“…Aren’t you worried about getting sick?”

Jihoons eyes lift from his computer, to Mingyu on the other side of the glass wall, headphones around his neck where he stands in front of the microphone,

Jihoons eyes briefly flick down to you, your head on his shoulder, arms loose around his torso. He can feel the warmth of your forehead where it’s pressed against his neck- youre still flushed, and he sets a mental reminder to check your temperature when you wake up,

“She laid with me when I was sick,” Jihoon shrugs the free shoulder he has, hand not on the computer mouse sliding under your own hoodie, hoping the cool of his palm will ease the burn of your skin, “Least I could do,”

“Plus she gets clingy when she’s sick,” Soonyoung giggles, seated in your usual chair, tilting his head to get a look at your face, your eyes shut and lips parted with soft breaths, “She would’ve attached to one of us eventually,”

“Can we focus, please?” Jihoon cuts, Mingyu huffing a pout before he nods, readjusting his headphones, Jihoon pressing play on the current set list on his screen.

He leans back in seat once the music hums through the studio, his hand reaching up to slide into your hair, holding you steady as he sways his rolling chair side to side,

He can hear the soft wheeze in your breaths, you had originally came into the studio with the intention of writing lyrics and singing your section of Ash, but Jihoon was strict in you not doing anything, which led to where you are now,

Six minutes later, when Joshua has arrived and swapped places with Mingyu, Jihoon finally feels you start to wake up, your face pushing closer to his neck with a heavy breath, arms tightening on his torso,

“Lemme check your temperature,” Jihoon taps his hand on your lower back, his free hand carding in your hair to slowly pull your face away from its spot, your brows furrowed when he glances down at you,

“I don’t wanna move,” You whine, quietly, Mingyu smiling pitifully when Jihoon shakes his head, reaching an arm out to find the small, handheld thermometer,

“You don’t have to,” Jihoon murmurs, and Soonyoung and Mingyu both watch with quiet eyes as Jihoon holds the device to your forehead, waiting for it to beep before humming, “It’s going down,”

“You’re a healer, Jihoon,” Soonyoung waves his fingers, giggling, Jihoon rolling his eyes, glancing down at you to see you crack a smile,

“Go lay on the couch, baby,” Jihoon finds his voice quiet, your head shaking before it turns to face Mingyu on his shoulder, arms tightening around him.

Jihoon snorts, nodding once when you relax and fall slack against him, “Alright, then,”

. . .

“Hey,”

You don’t realize how hard you’re staring at your computer screen until you blink. You wonder if the tears are from no blinking, or the emotions that cause your tight chest.

You barely glance to Jihoon beside you, his chin on his propped hand- copying you- his free hand on your tense back,

“Why don’t you go lay down, baby?” He keeps his voice low, eyes watching as you inhale, head shaking,

“We have a deadline. We need to work,”

“Staring at your computer screen isn’t work, sweetheart,” Jihoons eyebrow raises, but lowers when you blink again, wiping a fallen tear off your cheek, “C’mere,”

“Ji-,” “Come here,” Jihoon cuts, ordering, gently tugging on your elbow to turn your rolling chair to face him. His hand slides down to hold yours, pulling, and you finally sniff, letting him pull you from your chair and into his lap, “Talk to me,”

“About what?” You sigh, hands rubbing at your face, Jihoons frown light, eyes on you as his hands slide to hold your thighs,

“Anything,” He murmurs, “You’re upset. And I’m not letting you work upset,”

Your hands drop, grabbing the handles of his chair, head shaking as you push to stand up, “We really need to work,”

“Baby,” Jihoon demands, hands tightening to tug you back down so your eyes snap to his, red with tears, his hands raising to cradle your face, “If you need to cry, do it. You’re allowed to be upset about it,”

Your eyes seem to soften at this, exhaustion finally showing, your second sniffle weaker as you exhale, “She’s gone, Ji,” Your whisper is hoarse, blinking rapidly against the tears, “She’s gone, and I-,”

You suck in a breath, eyes falling shut with your soft sob, Jihoons arm sliding around your back as the other cradles your hair, pulling you down into his shoulder,

“Let it out,” Jihoon whispers, eyes fluttering when you hiccup, “‘M here,”

He lets you cry. Lets you cry until he feels you fall slack against him, until your breaths are even.

He’s slow in standing up, hands clasped under your thighs, slow as he moves to the couch in the corner of his studio.

He’s slow in laying you down, sliding into the spot between you and the cushions, hand back in your hair to guide you to his chest.

Two hours later, Seungcheol walks in. It’s nearly three in the morning, he knows you both stay late nearly every night, but his gut feeling told him to bring coffee.

His eyes find you immediately. This is the first time in two weeks he’s seen you relaxed, cheek against Jihoons collarbone as Jihoons chin rested on your head, and he takes note of how you’re both asleep.

Careful in setting down the bag and drinks, his hand is light when it touches Jihoons shoulder, thankful the man doesn’t startle, “Hey,” The leader greets, voice a whisper, “I brought you guys coffee and food. Josh says she hasn’t eaten,”

Jihoon nods, hand at your hip as he glances down at you, Seungcheol sinking down to sit on the coffee table, “How is she?”

“She finally cried,” Jihoon mutters, cold knuckles brushing your flushed cheek, “Knocked her out. Figured we both needed sleep,”

“She needs to eat,” Seungcheol speaks, guiltily, Jihoon nodding with a soft sigh. He sits up, gentle as he pries his arm from under your head, cradling your jaw with a softness Seungcheol isn’t used to,

“I’m gonna let her sleep for another hour,” Jihoon decides, Seungcheols brows pinching when Jihoon slides off the couch to stretch, “Her nerves are shit. She’s not gonna eat much,”

“Just-,” Seungcheol sighs, standing up, too, “Take care of her, alright?”

Jihoon nods, hands shoving in the pockets of his hoodie, “Always,”

. . .

“Jihoon-ah!! Y/Nnie! Wake up!”

When half of Seventeen- plus NA PD and the camera man- burst into the hotel room, they find Jihoon laying on top of the sheets, while you’re curled underneath, both of you asleep.

Jihoon seems to be more awake than you by the way his head shoots up, confusion in his eyes, while you only groan and bury further into the covers, hoping to shield the light that now shines above you,

“What are you guys doing?” Jihoon hisses, DK giggling as he throws himself nearly on top of Jihoon, while Seungkwan shakes at your shoulders and coos at you to wake up,

Jihoons eyes immediately find the camera, and the first thing he thinks of is the fact that you are both half naked. While Jihoon doesn’t care that he’s shirtless, he knows you don’t go to sleep with pants on, so the only thing the group can see is the hoodie on your shoulders,

“Camera,” Jihoon heaves, forced to watch as the camera zones in on you pushing Seungkwans face away, “DK, she doesn’t have pants on,”

DK instantly sits up in alarm, and just when Seungkwan goes to throw the duvet off of you, DK lunges forward, acting as if he was jumping on top of you, too,

“Dokyeom,” You drag out a whine, Jihoon standing up so the camera pans to him, “Why?”

“Privacy,” DK whispers, hushed, watching as your face drops in realization, turning in your spot to reach for your shorts thrown on the floor, DK sitting up so you could tug them on under the blanket,

“Thanks,” You whisper back, DK smiling happily before he tugs on your arms, the camera panning back to you protesting,

“Come on, we’re going to Italy!!”

. . .

“C’mon, we need a picture of the groups favorite couple!”

“DK, we’re the groups only couple,” Jihoons grumble causes you to grin, glancing over where he moves next to you. You and your group stand in the streets of Italy, the sun hot on your face,

“Exactly. Still our favorite,” Jeonghan teases, Jihoon glancing to you to find your eyes already on him, arms looping around his torso to tug him closer,

“There’s cameras,” Jihoon murmurs, your shoulder- bare due to your off the shoulder sundress- lifting,

“So?” You hum, “We’re in Italy, honey. We’ve never gotten a vacation like this,”

“Yah, you both work so hard,” Mingyu gushes, “Our songwriters, you deserve a break!”

You finally feel Jihoons arm slide around your waist, protective as his hand splays across your back, his head tilting closer to yours so you could both smile at DKs phone camera,

“Now kiss!” Jeonghan giggles, Jihoon flicking an eyebrow, and although he’s aware of the multiple cameras watching, he allows you to cup his jaw and turn his head to you, dragging him down to press your lips against his.

Jeonghan, DK, and Mingyu all cheer, your snicker light as you lean back, hand patting Jihoons chest. “Come on, I saw a cafe I wanna try,”

. . .

“Tired?”

Your eyes peel open to see Jihoon, shirtless with his hands tucked in his pant pockets,

You hum, “I already beat my mission, and don’t have the energy to stop the others from beating theirs, so,”

Jihoon raises an eyebrow down at where you lay across the couch in the main room of the home that was rented out just for you group, “What was your mission?”

“To not let you kiss me,” You snort, Jihoons eyes rolling as he glances over his shoulder, weary of cameras, “I knew you wouldn’t since there’s like, six cameras around, so I beat it pretty quick,”

“You know there’s still-,” Jihoon lifts his chin to the clock on the wall, “Forty seconds left before it’s over, right?”

Your brows pinch, “So?”

Jihoons smirk causes your eyebrows to shoot up, sitting up in your spot with a finger raised, “No,”

“Come here,” Jihoon steps forward, you pushing off the couch with a shout so he lunges, grinning, wrapping an arm around you to pull your back to his chest so you yelp, head turning,

“No!” Your shrill laugh caused DK and Mingyu to look up from their spot huddled in the corner, Mingyu snorting, “Jihoon! Stop!”

“Just one kiss!” Jihoon cackles, lips against your cheek, your hair in his face when you shake your head, “Don’t deny me, woman!”

“Times up!” Soonyoung shouts from downstairs, your body falling slack in relief, Jihoon grunting as he spins you around, your exhale heavy as you grin,

“I win,” You snicker, Jihoon rolling his eyes as your hands slide up his shoulders, cupping the back of his neck, pulling him forward to press your lips against his,

“In our, what, eight years of dating,” Jihoon grumbles against your mouth, leaning back to cock his head at you, “You’ve never denied a kiss I’m willing to give you,”

“You almost made me lose my mission!” You protest, Jihoon turning you to shove you back on the couch, where you turn and smack a pillow at his thigh, “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

. . .

“And finally, after ten years, I am proud to announce the daesang winner,”

You feel Jihoons hand in yours, both palms sweaty. Soonyoung has your free arm in a tight grip, and you find yourself holding your breath,

“Seventeen!!”

Your mouth drops, eyes meeting Jihoons just when Soonyoung shouts out, pushing to his feet and dragging you with him, Soonyoungs hands on your shoulders as he jumps in place.

You can see Seungcheol tug Jihoon up, embracing the shorter man, but Jihoon is quick to pull away, to turn to you, and you both smile, unable to get closer before a member is dragging you away, close to the stage.

By the time you make it off stage, your makeup is smeared, DK holding you close to his side with his own tearful smile,

“Everyone cheer for our producers!” Mingyu calls, DK finally releasing you to turn you around, pushing you towards Jihoon.

Jihoons hand grasps your elbow, and you hiccup as his arms move to your back, your own around his shoulders, and you let your eyes pinch shut, “I love you so much,” Your voice is weak, chest jerking as you sniffle, Jihoons face burying into your shoulder, “I’m so proud of you,”

“We did it together,” Jihoon whispers back, leaning back just enough for you to see the flush of his own face, eyes watery, “We did it, baby,”

You laugh, eyes pinching shut as you press your lips to his, his own smile wide as you pull apart, arms back around his shoulders to sway him, “We did it,”

You hear Mingyu shout a cheer, the others following, before multiple bodies ram into you, your laugh weak as your group embraces you and your partner,

“Yah, okay,” Jihoon heaves a breath, letting everyone pull away one by one, your hands raising to caress his damp cheeks,

Jihoon sniffles against your touch, his head shaking as his hands copy yours, pecking your lips again before you’re grabbing his hands, jumping in place, your smile wide, “We did it!!”

. . .

“I have a toast,”

Seungcheols voice leads you to look up from your plate. Your group sits at a big, rectangular table, gathered for a celebration dinner, emotions high after a long night.

Your leader is holding up a cup of soju, as does the rest of your group, although you, Jihoon, Joshua and Wonwoo all hold cups of either water or tea, “I’ve known Y/N and Jihoon for probably thirteen years. I knew you two would do great things as not only work partners, but a couple, and because of you two we have won the reward I feel we deserved,”

You glance at Jihoon to smile, Jihoon taking your hand in your lap to bring it into his own, squeezing as Seungcheol continued,

“You two keep each other on your toes. You make sure the other doesn’t overwork themselves, you’re there for one another when you most need it. I’m happy for you two,” Seungcheol exhales, deep, “Let’s give it up for our producers!”

One shout, then the whole table is cheering, your smile widening, alarmed when Jihoons hand cradles your jaw, drawing your lips to his. DK hoots, Soonyoung clapping, your giggle soft as you barely pull back, pecking Jihoons lips a second time, allowing him to hold you still,

“Marry me,” His murmur is barely audible, but it causes you to jerk back, eyes wide as you stare at him,

“Jihoon, I swear to God, don’t joke,” You hiss, whispering, Jihoon smiling with a shrug,

“I’m not joking,” The table falls silent, watching Jihoon pull his free hand from his pocket, holding a small, velvet box, “I’d never joke about that,”

“Holy shit,” Vernon breathes, Seungkwan elbowing him, your eyes flicking down to the box before looking back up to Jihoons face,

“Say yes!” Soonyoungs yell startles you to blink, eyes watering,

“Yes,” You breathe, arms extending to wrap around Jihoons shoulders, his hand not holding the ring wrapping around your back, “Yes, I’ll marry you,”

Someone shouts- Mingyu, you think- before they’re all cheering, Jihoon leaning back just enough to take your hand, slipping the ring onto your third finger, allowing your group to yell, louder.

. . .

“Hey,”

You blink up at Jihoon where you sit curled against the arm of the couch, his frown light as he stands in front of you. He’s watched you stare at nothing for the last half hour, but he knows what’s on your mind, although he asks anyway- “What’s wrong?”

He settles himself beside you, curling one arm around your back, the other sliding over your lap, your blink slow,

“You leave tomorrow,” The whisper is weak, and he watches you grimace as if the words themself tasted bad, and he catches the glisten of your eyes before you rapidly blink the tears away, lifting the sleeve of your hoodie to wipe them away, “You’re leaving, Ji,”

“Don’t think about that right now,” Jihoon murmurs, aware of your members sprawled throughout the room after a big dinner, “Tonight is a normal night, baby,”

“But it’s not,” Your exhale is watery, eyes finally meeting his, “You…You leave in twelve hours. I’m-I’m so used to being next to you nearly every day, how am I supposed to go nearly two years not with you?”

The tears slip, now, your sniffle silent as Jihoon guides your head to his shoulder, his cheek to your forehead with a soft sigh,

“Nothing I’ll say will make it better,” Jihoon whispers, fingers knotting in your hair, “But I’m gonna come back. I’m gonna come back, and we’re gonna go right back to producing songs together like I never left,”

“I don’t want you to leave at all,” Your hiccup leads Jihoon to lean back, hand sliding down to caress your jaw that clenches under his touch,

“Hey,” Jihoon turns his head to shield you from any watching eyes, eyes meeting yours, “Breathe,”

You suck in a breath, sharper than Jihoon would prefer, but he can feel your jaw release its tension when you exhale, “I’m always gonna be a phone call away. I won’t be radio silence for two whole years,”

You nod, eyes fluttering as they flick down to your lap, mindlessly rotating the ring on your finger, “I know,”

Jihoon sighs, leaning forward to press his lips to your reddening nose, then your flushed cheek, feeling you fully relax, “Let’s get you some water,” He murmurs, leaning back enough to let you rub your face,

He stands, hand out to let you take before you push to your own feet, and Jihoons glad to find that most of the members have either retreated to their bedrooms, or were engaged with their own conversations.

He allows you to sit on the counter, eyes watching him fill a glass with water and ice, and he slots himself in front of you once you take the cup.

“I love you,” Jihoon murmurs, eyes steady on your face, “There’s no one else I would’ve rather had to produce music with than with you. These past ten years wouldn’t have happened without you,”

“Don’t make me cry again,” Your scold is hoarse, but you set the cup down quick enough to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him to lean into you, “I love you, too. Thank you for trusting me in Seventeens songs,”

Jihoon hums, lips to your neck as you both fall into silence, your cheek against his shoulder, “Who will I hug when I miss you?”

“You have ten perfectly capable people here,”

“Half of them will be leaving before you even come back,” You remind, leaning back to slide your hands to his jaw, holding him steady. You inhale a breath, nodding, “I’ll be okay,”

Jihoon nods back, leaning forward to press his lips against yours, hands tugging on your hips to slide you closer to the edge of the counter,

“Yo, Jihoon!” Vernon’s shout leads you to pull back, “Come on, we’re about to do cake!”

“Why did they insist on cake?” Jihoon grumbles, your smile light as you pat his shoulders, letting him help you onto your feet,

“We’re doing it for all of you. C’mon,”

. . .

The music replaying through your headphones is starting to give you a headache. You pause the track, tugging the headphones off with a huff, leaning back in your seat.

Another deep exhale, your tired eyes flicking to the time at the bottom of your computer screen. 3:36 AM. You frown, leaning forward to save your progress before clicking the monitor off, pushing out of your chair,

Your phone vibrating alarms you, because what is Jihoon doing calling you at 3:30 in the morning while in the military?

“Ji? You okay?” All exhaustion vanishes as you answer, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothings wrong,” Your fiancé answers, and your shoulders visibly sink in relief, “Except that the door is locked and I can’t remember the pin,”

“The pin-?” Your brows pinch, head shaking, “Jihoon, what are you talking about?”

A knock is heard, then, both through the phone and from the door across your studio- Jihoons studio- and you glance over your shoulder,

“Jihoon,” You warn, “Don’t tell me you’re here,”

“Alright, I won’t tell you,” Jihoon chuckles, “But at least open the door,”

Your feet carry you quicker than your mind can catch up, twisting the doorknob to tug it open, and your eyes instantly meet Jihoons, where he hangs up the phone, shoving it in his hoodie pocket,

“Holy shit,” You breathe, pushing forward to embrace the man, his arms tight around your back as yours find his shoulders, “Holy- you’re here,”

“‘M here,” Jihoon confirms, nose pressing against your neck, allowing you both to just stand there.

“You’re early,” You heave, leaning back so his hands slid to your hips, your own cradling his face, thumbs swiping over his cheekbones, “You weren’t supposed to be home for another two weeks,”

“Early release,” Jihoon murmurs, hand raising to wipe your cheek when a tear slips, “Aish, no crying,”

You sniff, head shaking, forcing yourself back to embracing him, allowing the two of you to stand in silence.

“I can’t wait to marry you,” You murmur, head barely tilting back enough so he could see your face, “Almost fourteen years being friends, ten years working with you, eight years being with you- I can’t wait for us to keep going,”

“Soon,” Jihoon promises, thumb grazing just under your eye, “As soon as everyone’s back, I promise,”

“I’ll wait as long as you want, Ji,” You whisper, Jihoon tugging you forward to press his lips against yours, allowing the two of you to stand in silence, basking in each others presence after two years.

[oliullah04]

Notebook Computer Skin Designs That Make a Statement

In today’s digital age, laptop computers have become an essential part of our everyday lives. Whether you use it for work, entertainment, or education, your laptop is more than just a tool; it’s an extension of your personal style. One of the best ways to express your individuality is by customizing your laptop with unique, vibrant, and stylish notebook computer skin designs. These laptop skins not only protect your device but also make a bold statement about who you are. In this blog post, we’ll dive into the world of laptop skins and explore how they can transform your device into a statement piece.

What Are Laptop Skins?

Laptop skins, also known as laptop computer skins or notebook computer skin, are adhesive covers that are applied to the surface of your laptop. These skins are designed to protect your laptop from scratches, dust, and minor damage while giving it a personalized touch. Made from high-quality vinyl or similar materials, laptop skins are easy to apply and remove, leaving no sticky residue behind.

Variety in Design: Laptop skins come in a vast range of designs, from simple minimalist patterns to bold graphics.

Customization Options: Many companies offer the option to create custom laptop skins, allowing you to upload your own designs, images, or artwork.

Why Should You Choose a Laptop Skin?

Laptop computer skins serve more than just an aesthetic purpose. While they enhance the visual appeal of your laptop, they also provide several functional benefits. For starters, they protect the exterior of your device from daily wear and tear, including scratches, smudges, and dents.

Protection from Scratches: The skin acts as a shield, preventing scratches and scuff marks that can accumulate over time.

Keeps Your Laptop Looking New: Regular use of a laptop can cause it to look old and worn out. A skin can preserve the laptop’s pristine appearance.

Different Materials Used in Laptop Skins

The material of a notebook computer skin plays a crucial role in its durability and overall look. High-quality materials ensure that your skin lasts longer, remains vibrant, and doesn’t peel off easily. The most common materials used for laptop skins are vinyl, polyurethane, and polyester.

Vinyl: A flexible, durable material that is resistant to peeling, cracking, and fading.

Polyurethane: Known for its smooth texture and strong adhesive properties.

Each material provides a different finish, and the choice depends on your personal preference and the protection level you desire.

Styles and Designs of Laptop Skins

When it comes to laptop skins, the sky's the limit in terms of style and design. Whether you are a fan of bright, bold designs or subtle, minimalistic styles, there’s a skin to suit every taste. Some of the most popular options include nature-inspired prints, abstract designs, and even pop culture themes.

Nature-Inspired Designs: A nature-themed laptop skin can bring the outdoors into your workspace, with designs featuring mountains, trees, or the ocean.

Pop Culture: Show off your favorite shows, movies, or musicians with laptop skins that feature iconic characters and imagery.

Customizing Your Laptop Skin

A great way to make your laptop truly unique is by creating a custom notebook computer skin. Many companies, including the Laptop Skin Shop, allow you to upload your own artwork or designs, transforming your laptop into a personal canvas.

Personal Photos: Turn your favorite photo or memory into a one-of-a-kind skin.

Branding: Custom skins are also a fantastic option for businesses looking to brand their laptops with their logo or design.

Creating a custom laptop skin ensures that your laptop stands out in a crowd, reflecting your personality or business brand.

How to Apply and Remove Laptop Skins

Applying a laptop skin is a straightforward process that doesn’t require any special skills. Simply clean the surface of your laptop, peel off the backing of the skin, and carefully place it on the laptop surface. Smooth out any bubbles with a soft cloth, and you’re all set.

Easy to Apply: Most laptop skins are designed to be easy to apply without the need for tools or professionals.

No Residue: When it’s time to remove your skin, you won’t have to worry about sticky residue or damage to the laptop’s surface.

This ease of application and removal makes laptop skins an ideal option for those who want a temporary or customizable look.

Choosing the Right Laptop Skin for Your Device

Not all laptop skins are created equal, so it’s important to select the one that fits your device perfectly. The skin should be designed specifically for the model and size of your laptop. For example, a skin designed for a MacBook may not fit a Dell laptop properly.

Size Matters: Make sure you know the dimensions of your laptop before ordering a skin.

Model-Specific Skins: Look for skins that are tailored to your laptop’s brand and model for the best fit and protection.

Durability of Laptop Skins

Laptop skins are designed to withstand daily use and continue to look great for months, even years. However, their longevity depends on factors such as the material used, the quality of the adhesive, and how often the laptop is handled.

Scratch-Resistant: High-quality vinyl skins resist scratches and damage from regular use.

Water-Resistant: Some laptop skins offer water resistance, which protects your laptop from spills or moisture.

When properly maintained, a laptop skin can protect your device and retain its aesthetic appeal for an extended period.

Eco-Friendly Laptop Skins

With growing environmental awareness, many consumers are looking for eco-friendly options for their laptop accessories. Some companies are offering biodegradable or recyclable laptop skins made from sustainable materials.

Recyclable Materials: Eco-friendly laptop skins are made from materials that can be recycled after use, reducing environmental impact.

Sustainable Production: Brands that prioritize eco-conscious production methods contribute to a cleaner, greener planet.

By choosing an eco-friendly notebook computer skin, you can protect both your device and the environment.

Laptop Skins for Different Lifestyles

The type of laptop skin you choose can reflect your lifestyle, interests, or profession. For example, a professional designer may opt for sleek, modern skins, while a gamer might prefer skins with vibrant, high-energy designs.

For Professionals: Choose elegant, minimalistic designs in neutral tones for a polished, professional look.

For Creatives: Colorful, artistic skins can add a burst of creativity and personality to your laptop.

Laptop skins allow you to express yourself in a way that aligns with your lifestyle.

Maintaining Your Laptop Skin

Taking care of your laptop skin ensures that it remains vibrant and functional for as long as possible. Cleaning your laptop skin is simple; just use a soft cloth and mild soap solution to remove dust and dirt.

Avoid Harsh Chemicals: When cleaning, steer clear of abrasive chemicals that can damage the skin.

Keep It Clean: Regularly wipe down your skin to maintain its appearance and ensure it lasts longer.

Maintaining your laptop skin is an easy way to ensure your laptop stays looking fresh and protected.

Trends in Laptop Skin Designs

The world of laptop skins is constantly evolving, with new trends emerging every year. For 2025, we expect to see a rise in eco-friendly designs, customizable skins, and interactive patterns that change with touch or light.

Interactive Skins: Some brands are experimenting with LED-lit skins or designs that change in different lighting conditions.

Sustainability: As environmental concerns grow, eco-friendly designs will continue to gain popularity.

By staying updated on trends, you can choose a laptop skin that not only looks great but also keeps you on the cutting edge of technology and design.

Where to Buy Quality Laptop Skins

If you’re looking for premium-quality notebook computer skins, there are numerous online platforms where you can find a wide variety of designs. Websites like Laptop Skin Shop offer a vast selection of ready-made designs as well as customization options to suit any taste.

Reliable Brands: Choose well-known brands to ensure you get high-quality, durable skins.

Customizable Options: Many retailers provide an option for customers to create their own unique laptop skins.

Shopping from reputable websites ensures you get the best designs, materials, and customer service when purchasing your laptop skin.

Final Thoughts

Notebook computer skin designs offer a simple yet effective way to enhance the look and feel of your laptop. Not only do they protect your device, but they also allow you to showcase your personal style, making a statement wherever you go. Whether you prefer bold, artistic designs or simple, elegant patterns, there’s a laptop skin out there for you.

By choosing a high-quality laptop skin, you not only protect your device but also give it a unique touch that reflects your personality and lifestyle. So why not make your laptop a statement piece with a custom or stylish laptop skin today?

[icallhimjoey]

please bestie i want some soft love that's so second nature joe doesnt even have his attention with you whilst he gives it, please can you write something like that?

im not allowed to write right now because work and stress and boundaries and mental health etc etc so 🥰fuck you🥰 for this Wordcount: 1.8K

---

Cotton Soft Touches Gentle Voices Smooth

“What are you doing?”

You barely even heard Joe ask the question from across the room. You were so buried in whatever was happening on TV, focus completely zoomed in, mind somewhere else entirely. It took Joe another try for you to register the question directed at you.

“Hey. What are you doing?”

“Hmm?” you turned your head to Joe before your eyes followed and for a moment, you just slowly blinked at him. Something about his face combined with the fact that it really took you a minute to find yourself back in the room made you smile. You were so cosy.

“Watching TV.” you answered innocently, because you were, eyes back on the screen already.

You were warmly nestled into the sofa, curled up, knees pulled in, all comfortable in your white ribbed cotton pyjamas. The throwpillows and blankets on the sofa created the perfect nest for you to happily curl up into.

Snug.

Soft ambient light from several lamps placed in strategic corners lit up the room just enough. If you stood and opened the curtains a bit more, you could still catch the faint and fading oranges of the sunset.

You were shower fresh, limbs covered by white clean cotton, nose still a little cold from the difference in temperature after getting out of the hot stream, and wet hair cool where it touched your skin.

But you felt so warm.

So fucking cosy.

When you’d walked back into the living room post shower, skin glossy and wet hair brushed back, Joe had installed himself at the dinner table with his laptop and a notebook.

He’d cleared away the mess from dinner and had turned his spot into a desk.

“Just need to do these e-mails,” he said after you’d let your arms curl around him from behind, arms that he grabbed hold of for a second, and you kissed the top of his head.

“Will only be a minute.”

You’d left him to it then, not minding that Joe had some work to do, just happy that he was in the same room instead of hidden away in what he called the office and you called the guest bedroom.

The ‘only a minute’ easily turned into an hour plus. Joe kept busy on both his computer and his phone, and would sometimes scribble some things down onto paper. There was a phone call or two, just quick “Sorry to call so late, but have you seen the...” and, “Hey, yea, I'm just reading it now, can I call you back in a minute?” type things.

Joe became background noise to you the second you snuggled up, and similarly the low sounds coming from the TV were just a nice reminder that Joe wasn’t alone.

But then, halfway through typing a response to an e-mail, something in Joe’s peripheral vision caught his attention.

Something moving slowly.

A little rhythmically.

When he peeked over his laptop screen and saw his girlfriend looking just about the most comfortable she’d ever looked, he didn’t even think you were aware that you were doing it.

In your layers of soft cream fabrics, head slumped to the side, Joe saw how you let your fingers softly skim over the area below your ear. They danced in circles and lines by your jaw, onto your cheek just a little before trailing back to your neck and—

That was what Joe always did.

That’s where Joe let his fingers draw shapes.

He would brush some hair from your face and would then let his fingertips linger, and it always made you hum. Made you relax. Gave you tingles that made your hearing go funny for a second.

Joe watched you lazily self soothe, and after a moment he decided that he’d actually done enough work. He could finish this e-mail tomorrow.

“What are you doing?”

“Hmm? Watching TV.”

Your eyes were back on the screen before Joe could’ve even said anything about how you were touching yourself.

It was nothing sexual - not really. Not what he was witnessing right now anyway. He imagined it just felt nice.

He closed his laptop and got up from his seat, and without looking away from the TV, you moved to make space for Joe next to you, knowing he’d make his way over to press himself into your side.

Joe smiled as you moved blankets aside but kept that one hand near your ear, index finger mapping out your hairline towards the nape of your neck and back.

Instead of sitting down though, Joe pushed a knee into the sofa right next to your thigh and placed his fingers right were yours were, pushing them aside.

“I do this,” Joe said as he hovered over you, and you grinned as you let your head fall to the side more. “This is my job.”

Joe tickled his fingers along your soft skin, fresh and clean from the shower, and it only took a few seconds for you to sigh into his touch.

It was nicer when Joe did it.

“S’nice?” Joe murmured, still with just one knee on the sofa, and you hummed, eyes closed, nodding.

“Is nicer when you do it.”

“Yea?”

Joe leant forward to press a kiss to your cheek, getting you just under your eye, and then he moved to sit down next to you.

After a shuffle of throws, pillows, and limbs, you found yourself under Joe’s arm, curled up into his side.

You were comfortable before, but this would always be infinitely better.

“Hmm, you smell nice.” Joe commented after taking a moment to press his nose into your still damp hair.

“Yea? What do I smell like? Shampoo?” you whispered, voice not wanting to be any louder.

Joe easily bit, taking the invitation to get another real good whiff of you, his whole face now pressing into the crook of your neck.

You relished the attention, feeling fuzzy on the inside, heat blooming in your chest.

“Yea, sort of lemony… all fresh and clean.”

You blushed and were unable to hide your smile as you settled together for some TV watching, warm bodies pressed together, always fitting just right somehow.

Joe’s arm rested on the back of the sofa and bent around your head just right for his fingers to play. To touch the skin around your ear like you’d been doing before. To lightly trail and leave goosebumps down your whole body.

You could easily fall asleep like this, legs intertwined, head on his chest.

You lazily watched TV in silence for a while and if Joe was going to keep up the barely there shapes drawn down your neck you knew you actually would fall asleep.

It was becoming difficult to keep your eyes open, every blink a comfortable invitation to just keep them closed, but then the soft buzzing of Joe’s phone pulled you both from your haze.

Joe had your earlobe in between his fingers when he answered, and for a moment you were fully expecting him to get up. Move to where his laptop lay shut to open it once more to maybe finish something he hadn’t yet.

But when you tried to sit up a little for Joe to slip out of this cocoon you’d created, you felt his arm tense. He wasn’t letting go of the soft skin of your ear and to make sure you stayed put, he bent a leg to keep yours in place.

“It’s past ten, mate,” Joe answered and although you didn’t know who was calling him, just from his tone of voice you knew it wasn’t work related.

Joe gently rubbed your earlobe between his fingers and it felt so nice, it turned the world blurry as you unfocused your eyes.

When you relaxed back into him, sinking into the line of his body, Joe tilted his head down to look at you, barely catching your little smile but happy to see you were still enticed by whatever was happening on TV.

You weren’t though.

Not really.

Because as Joe spoke, he let his fingers continue what they’d been doing and if he thought you were able to try to follow his conversation as well as what you were watching whilst he made you melt with his touch, he was wrong.

You were bad at multitasking on a good day, and you knew Joe was too. The fact that he was somehow able to keep you lax and floating whilst simultaneously being mentally present for this phone call was impressive.

Joe laughed through casual conversation with a friend who had some questions about future plans they’d made. Their chat quickly turned into a hey-now-that-I’ve-got-you-on-the-phone catch up.

The low vibrations from his smooth voice were nice. You felt them where your face rested on his chest and relished in the tender love you were receiving that felt like a second nature sort of thing.

“No, I’m just at home. Watching TV.”

Not being mentioned suddenly made Joes fingers feel a little scandalous. Like the person on the phone wasn’t allowed to know you were there and how he was making you feel right now.

It got a little worse when you felt how Joe let his fingers trail down your neck to disappear into your pyjama top where they slowly caressed over your collarbone.

Your voice let a little noise escape when his hand snuck back up again, finding its way into your hair, and Joe chuckled lowly.

You let yourself balance on the borders of consciousness, half asleep with thoughts so far removed from where you were, yet half laser focused on Joe’s fingers and where they tickled your skin.

Unsure of when you’d drifted off, or when Joe had finished his phone call, the next thing you registered was a soft and low far away, “Have I done a plait?” that pulled you back into the room a little more.

With your eyes still closed you reached a heavy hand up to feel what was essentially just a twirled strand of hair, not a plait at all.

You couldn’t hide the little smile that spread at how adorable you thought it was that Joe’d just been playing with your hair and thought he’d actually done something.

He hadn’t.

He just made you feel loved, which was actually far better than a plait.

“Mhm,” you hummed approvingly, snuggling up into Joe more, understanding that it was likely much smarter to just get up and find your way into bed, but you’d quite literally never been more comfortable before.

“I’ve done a plait.” Joe whispered, gleefully proud of himself and making sure that you knew, that you’d heard him, give him some praise.

“Well done.” You lied, because he’d not done a plait, but that was okay.

You weren’t going to shoot yourself in the foot, because you were about to sink back into sleep and there was just one thing that’d make you feel even more comfortable.

That would send you right back off into sleep.

 “Do another.”

---

The Taglisted

@alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @demonsanddemogorgons

@djoseph-quinn, @dolcevit4, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson, @emotionaldreamer

@everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @gri959, @hanahkatexo

@harringtonfan4, @hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven

@kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @munsonluvrr

@munson-mjstan, @munsonssweets, @nadixq, @niallersfreckles, @notverywise

@pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @prettiestboyreid, @readergf, @royale1803

@skulliecadaver-blog, @sherrylyn0628, @shizlac, @solzi1420, @songforeddiemunson

@sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow

@witchwolflea, @yunirgo

add yourself

[growthhyp]

Amazing stories! Would be hot to seem some dad/son stories.

The Milk Carton

James, a 40-year-old male with a skinny flat body, standing tall and straight as an arrow, reflecting his strong and unwavering sexual preference. He is dressed casually in a baggy pink shirt that complements his bright skin color, with the sleeves rolled up to reveal his thin arms, showcasing his meticulous nature and attention to detail, much like the work he does as an accountant. His short, blonde, straight hair is neatly styled, framing a gentle smile that lights up the room. In the background is a cozy living room, filled with the warmth of home and a hint of his organized lifestyle. Sitting across from James on a comfortable sofa is his son, Elijah, who shares the same bright skin tone and blonde hair. At 18 years old, Elijah is also slim and fit, mirroring his father's physique. He wears a gray hoodie and jeans, his youthful energy and curiosity visible in his posture. With his eyes slightly cast down, Elijah is absorbed in a conversation with James, displaying his shyness but also the deep love he holds for his father. Both of them are engaged in a heartfelt moment, with a sense of understanding and mutual respect, as Elijah follows in James' footsteps, pursuing a career in accounting. The room is adorned with subtle hints of their shared interests, creating an inviting and harmonious environment that celebrates their bond. Despite their different sexual preferences, the unspoken connection between them is palpable, as they share a passion for numbers and a love for each other that transcends any labels or expectations.

After the discussion, Elijah retreats to his sanctuary, his bedroom. He closes the door with a gentle click, the sound echoing through the corridor. His room is a stark contrast to the rest of the house, a cocoon of his own personality, filled with vibrant colors. The walls are lined with bookshelves, their contents revealing his love for fantasy and adventure. His computer, a gateway to his digital world, sits on a neatly organized desk, surrounded by notebooks and textbooks, a testament to his academic pursuits.

With the door closed, Elijah feels a sense of liberation. He opens his laptop and logs into his Tumblr account, his heart racing with anticipation. The screen flickers to life, displaying a dashboard filled with images of muscular men in various states of undress. His eyes widen, and his breath quickens as he scrolls through the feed, each picture more enticing than the last. The men are chiseled, their bodies sculpted by what seems like the gods themselves. The sight of them fills him with a warmth that spreads through his body, igniting a spark of desire in his loins.

He pulls off his shirt, revealing his own flat chest and slender frame. Elijah's gaze lingers on his reflection in the mirror, a silent reminder of the physique he craves. He runs his fingers over his chest, imagining the feel of solid muscles beneath his fingertips. He takes a deep breath and lets his hand drift down to the waistband of his jeans. With trembling fingers, he unbuttons them and slides the fabric down his legs, stepping out of them with a sense of urgency.

Elijah's hand wraps around his cock, stroking it gently as he sits on the edge of his bed. His eyes remain glued to the screen, watching as the men in the images flex and pose for the camera. Each stroke is a silent plea for transformation, a wish to embody the strength and dominance that he sees in the men before him. His cheeks flush with arousal as he picks up the pace, his breaths coming faster and more ragged. The room is filled with the sound of his hand moving against his skin, a rhythmic dance that matches the pounding in his chest.

His body responds with a spasm of pleasure, and with a soft and quiet groan, Elijah ejaculates, his seed spurting onto the fabric of his favorite pillow. The sensation is overwhelming. He collapses back onto the bed, his body shaking with the intensity of his climax. The room is quiet once more, the only evidence of his passion the sticky mess on his stomach and the soft, satisfied smile on his lips.

As he cleans himself up, Elijah's mind wanders to the outside world. He opens his phone and logs into his social media account. Scrolling through the feed, a vibrant poster catches his eye. "CARNIVAL COMING SOON!" it reads, with images of flashing lights and thrilling rides. His heart leaps at the sight of it. The carnival is opening just a short bike ride away. It's an opportunity too tempting to ignore.

With newfound excitement, Elijah walks out of his room, the scent of his desire still lingering in the air. He finds James in the kitchen, preparing dinner. "Hey, Dad," he says, trying to sound casual. "Could I go to the carnival tomorrow afternoon?"

James looks up from the stove, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. He wipes his hand on his apron, leaving a smudge of flour on his cheek. "The carnival, huh? What's the occasion?"

Elijah shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. "Just thought it'd be fun to check out the new rides and stuff."

James nods, his expression a blend of amusement and concern. "Alright, be safe. And don't let those carnies sweet-talk you into anything, you know how they can be."

Elijah laughs, the sound light and carefree. "I'll be fine, Dad. I've got street smarts," he says, flashing a grin that James can't help but return.

With a nod of approval, James goes back to cooking, his mind drifting to the pile of paperwork waiting for him in his home office. Meanwhile, Elijah heads to the bathroom, the anticipation of tomorrow's adventure buzzing through him like an electric current. He brushes his teeth, the minty toothpaste a refreshing counterpoint to the lingering scent of his desire.

===

The next morning, Elijah wakes with a start, his body heavy and his thoughts immediately drifting to the carnival. He glances down and notices the familiar outline of his morning erection pushing against the fabric of his briefs. With a smirk, he reaches down to adjust himself, his hand grazing the sensitive skin. His thoughts of the carnival and the men he'll see there only add to his arousal. He quickly takes care of his morning routine, eager to get dressed and set out for the day.

The sun is high in the sky when he arrives at the carnival, the air thick with the smells of popcorn and cotton candy. The vibrant colors of the rides and games assault his senses, and the laughter and music create an intoxicating symphony that fills his soul. The crowd is a sea of people, all shapes and sizes, their faces alight with excitement and wonder. Elijah weaves through the throngs of visitors, his eyes darting from one attraction to the next, searching for something fun to do.

And then he sees it. A tent, standing tall and proud, with a sign that reads "The Greatest Sebastian - Your Wishes, Our Command!" Below the words is an illustration of a wizard, his muscles bulging as he holds a staff adorned with a crystal that seems to pulse with an otherworldly energy. Elijah's heart skips a beat, and without a moment's hesitation, he strides toward it. The flap of the tent opens with a flourish, and he steps inside, his eyes widening in amazement.

Before him is Sebastian, the very embodiment of masculine perfection. He's a towering figure with a body that seems to have been carved from marble by a master sculptor. His long, curly brown hair cascades down his broad shoulders, and his piercing yellow eyes seem to see into the depths of Elijah's soul. He's dressed in a velvet magician's robe that hides his incredible physique, but Elijah can't help but imagine the rippling muscles that surely lie beneath. On the table in front of him sits a single, glowing white orb that seems to pulsate.

Sebastian looks up from his crystal ball with a knowing smile, his teeth a dazzling white against his tanned skin. "Welcome, young man," he says, his voice a rich baritone that sends shivers down Elijah's spine. "What brings you to my humble abode?"

Elijah clears his throat, trying to find the right words. "Well, I… I've heard that you can grant wishes," he stammers, his cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and hope.

Sebastian's smile widens, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Ah, a young soul seeking change," he says, stroking his chin. "What is it that you wish for? Riches, fame, perhaps a lover's heart?"

Elijah's gaze lingers on the wizard's bulging biceps, and he swallows hard. "I… I want to be like you," he confesses, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want to be strong, muscular, and… dominant."

Sebastian's eyes narrow, and he leans in closer, his expression a mix of surprise and amusement. "A noble aspiration, indeed," he says, his smile turning into a smirk. "But such transformations are not for the faint of heart. They come with great power, but also great… changes."

Elijah's eyes light up with determination, his voice steady. "I'm not faint of heart," he says firmly. "I'm willing to do whatever it takes."

Sebastian raises an eyebrow, his smile never wavering. "Very well," he says, his tone dripping with amusement. "But remember, once you embark on this journey, there is no turning back."

Elijah nods, his heart pounding in his chest. "I understand," he says, his voice strong and steady.

Sebastian rises from his chair, his movements fluid and graceful despite his towering frame. He gestures to a shelf behind him, where an assortment of bottles and jars glint in the soft light of the tent. He reaches for a bottle that seems to call out to him, its crystal surface shimmering with an ethereal glow. It's filled with a white liquid that swirls hypnotically when he holds it up to the light. The potion is contained in a simple glass bottle with a cork stopper, sealed with a crimson wax that matches the color of the wizard's robe. The muscular man's hand dwarfs the container as he holds it out to Elijah.

"This," he says, his voice low and serious, "is a potion of transformation. Drink from it, and you shall become as I am: a man of great strength and power." His eyes dance with mischief as he adds, "But remember, young one, with great power comes great… attraction to those of your kind."

Elijah takes the bottle with trembling hands, the weight of the potion seeming to echo the gravity of the decision he's about to make. "What do you mean by 'those of my kind'?" he asks, his voice filled with a mix of excitement and apprehension.

Sebastian's smirk deepens, his yellow eyes gleaming. "The potion has a peculiar side effect," he says, leaning in to whisper in Elijah's ear. "It tends to… enhance one's attraction to the same gender. You, my dear, will crave the touch of men as you never have before."

Elijah's eyes widen, but the excitement in his voice is clear. "I'm okay with that," he says, his voice barely audible. "I'm… I'm already…"

Sebastian's smile softens, his eyes filled with understanding. "You're already aware of your desires," he says gently. "That's good. The potion will simply amplify what's already within you. But remember, young man, it's not just about physical changes. The transformation will also alter your very essence, shaping your identity in ways you can't begin to imagine."

Elijah nods, his heart racing with excitement and anticipation. He takes the bottle from Sebastian's hand, the cool glass a stark contrast to his warm, sweaty palm. "Thank you," he murmurs, the words thick with emotion.

"Ah, but nothing in life is free, my young friend," Sebastian says, holding up a hand to stop him. "The price for such a transformation is steep. I require your payment in cold, hard cash."

Elijah's stomach flips, but his desire is stronger than his doubt. He fumbles in his pocket and pulls out his wallet, counting the crumpled bills with trembling fingers. "How much?"

Sebastian names a sum that seems exorbitant, but to Elijah, it's a price he's willing to pay for the body of his dreams. He hands over the money without hesitation, his eyes never leaving the potion. The wizard takes the cash, his grin widening as he counts the bills. "Ah, the currency of desperation," he says, tucking the money into a velvet pouch at his side.

Elijah pockets the bottle, his heart racing. He thanks Sebastian and practically sprints out of the tent, the sound of the carnival fading behind him as he makes his way home. His mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, each one more exhilarating than the last. He can't wait to be alone in his room, to drink the potion and finally become the man he's always envied.

===

Once home, he slips into the kitchen, his eyes immediately drawn to the refrigerator. He opens the door and glances around, ensuring that James is nowhere in sight. The milk carton is exactly where he left it that morning, almost empty but with enough room for the potion. He opens the bottle and carefully pours the swirling white liquid into the remaining milk, watching as the two blend together. The potion's glow dims slightly as it mixes with the milk, but the energy it radiates is undeniable.

Elijah's heart races as he seals the carton and puts it back in the fridge. He glances at the clock; it's almost dinner time. He needs to get cleaned up and pretend that it's just another ordinary evening. With a deep breath, he heads to the bathroom, the bottle now a distant memory in the trash. The hot water of the shower cascades over his body, washing away the sticky sweat from his journey. The scent of the potion lingers on his fingertips, a tantalizing promise of what's to come.

James, on the other hand, is in the throes of a marathon cleaning session. The weekend has arrived, and he's determined to get the house in tip-top shape. He's scrubbed, dusted, and vacuumed every nook and cranny. His eyes are red from the dust, and his throat is parched.

He stumbles into the kitchen, his shirt sticking to his sweaty back. The fridge is a beacon of cold relief, and without thinking twice, he opens the door and grabs the milk carton.

James tilts his head back, the cold liquid cascading down his throat, quenching the fire that burns from his exertion. He pauses, his taste buds catching a hint of something peculiar, something different from the usual blandness of the milk. But thirst is a powerful motivator, and he dismisses the thought, chalking it up to the heat of the day playing tricks on his senses.

As he returns the carton to the refrigerator, the cold air hits his bare chest, causing his nipples to pebble. The room spins for a brief moment, and he sways on his feet, catching himself before he topples over. He chuckles at his own clumsiness and wipes the bead of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. The carton feels heavier than before, the remaining 1/5 of the contents sloshing around like a silent taunt.

James stumbles towards his bedroom, his legs feeling like jelly. He's not sure what's happening to him, but the sensation is unlike anything he's ever felt. The warmth spreads from his core, radiating outward, enveloping his entire body in a gentle heat that's both comforting and disconcerting.

Suddenly, his legs seem to come alive, swelling and stretching before his very eyes. His feet feel massive, the skin taut and unyielding as his calves balloon to almost comical proportions. His blue pants are now nothing but shreds of fabric, clinging to his rapidly growing limbs. He looks down in shock, watching as his legs morph into powerful, muscular pillars of strength that resemble nothing of his former self.

James' hand fumbles to his crotch, feeling the fabric of his underwear strain against his growing cock. He gasps as it swells, the pressure building until the waistband snaps, the briefs falling away to reveal his new, massive erection. It stands tall and proud, thick veins pulsing with the potion's power. His testicles, now heavy and full, hang low between his legs. He can't help but touch himself, the sensation overwhelming. His hand wraps around his shaft, and he groans in pleasure as he feels his body respond to his own touch.

The transformation isn't finished yet. James' torso starts to expand, his chest puffing out as if inflated by an invisible pump. His ribcage widens, and the skin stretches taut over the burgeoning muscles beneath. The white sando he's wearing strains to contain his newfound bulk, the fabric stretching until it finally gives way with a resounding rip. His abs, once a sad six-pack, now form a perfect 10-pack, each muscle clearly defined and rippling with power. His pectorals balloon outward, pressing against his skin. His back muscles spasm, the tendons standing out in stark relief as they swell with newfound power. His shoulders broaden, making him seem even more Herculean.

As his arms begin to grow, James can feel the potion coursing through his veins, a tingling sensation that's both exhilarating and terrifying. The muscles in his biceps and triceps swell, bulging with newfound strength. His forearms thicken, the veins becoming more prominent as his hands grow to match his new frame. His fingers elongate and thicken, each digit now a testament to the power within him. His newfound biceps and triceps stand out like rounded boulders, begging to be touched and admired.

The potion's effects soon reach his face, and James gasps as he feels the skin around his eyes tighten and the lines around his mouth fade away. His cheeks plump up, giving him the youthful glow of an 18-year-old. The stubble on his chin retreats, leaving behind smooth, hairless skin that seems to glow with vitality. He runs his hand over his face, the touch of his fingers alien on the youthful contours. His eyes widen with shock as he looks in the mirror, seeing the reflection of a man who could be his own son. The only hint of his true age is the hint of curiosity and fear in his gaze.

James' body is now a masterpiece of masculine beauty, and he can't resist the urge to explore it further. He starts jerking his huge cock, the motion slow and deliberate. The feeling is unlike anything he's ever experienced, the potion amplifying every sensation. The veins bulge and pulse as he works his shaft, his moans growing louder with each stroke. His balls are heavy with cum, and the anticipation of release is almost unbearable. His hand is a blur, moving up and down with a mind of its own, driven by a primal need that's been unlocked within him.

But as he tries to think of the women he's been with, their faces and bodies failing to arouse him. His mind is a blank canvas, until images of muscular men start to flood his thoughts, their sculpted forms and piercing gazes igniting a fire deep in his soul. He tries to push them away, to focus on the familiar, but the potion's power is too strong. His hand moves faster, his strokes more urgent, as he imagines the touch of those men's strong hands on his body, their lips on his, their cocks inside him. The very thought sends a shockwave of pleasure through him, and he feels his body respond, his cock growing even harder in his grip.

Elijah finishes his shower and wraps a towel around his waist, the steam from the bathroom clinging to his skin. He walks into the kitchen, he opens the fridge, his hand reaching for the milk carton on autopilot, when something catches his eye. It's lighter than before, almost empty.

A muffled sound of pleasure reaches his ears, echoing through the hallway from his father's bedroom. Curiosity and confusion swirl within him as he tiptoes towards the door, straining to listen. The moaning grows louder, unmistakable in its urgency. It's definitely a man's voice, but it's not his father's. Elijah's heart races as he gently turns the doorknob and peeks in.

What greets him is a scene he could never have anticipated. There, in the place where James should be, lies a muscular 18-year-old boy, his skin glistening with sweat, his body a sculpted work of art that matches the men from Elijah's fantasies. The stranger's eyes are closed in ecstasy, his mouth open in a silent scream as his hand moves rapidly over his thick, erect cock. The sight is both mesmerizing and terrifying.

Elijah stumbles back, his mind racing. This can't be his father. The man before him is too young, too perfect. Panic sets in, and he retreats to his bedroom, his heart hammering in his chest.

He locks the door behind him, his thoughts spinning wildly. He must be dreaming, or maybe he's hallucinating. But the sound of footsteps, heavy and deliberate, echo through the house. They're real. The intruder is real.

Elijah's eyes dart around his room, searching for anything he can use as a weapon. His hand closes around a heavy book, but he knows it won't be enough. Then he remembers the potion. If Sebastian's claims are true, then he too can become a tower of strength. He rushes to the kitchen, his heart in his throat, and grabs the milk carton from the fridge.

The liquid inside is barely a quarter of its former volume. He quickly downs the remaining potion, the sweet taste of milk mixing with something else, something potent and powerful. He feels a warmth spread through him, starting in his stomach and moving outwards to his extremities. His body begins to tingle, and he knows that the transformation has begun.

Elijah retreats to his bedroom, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn't lock the door. What if the intruder comes in? But the potion's magic is already working, and he's too focused on the changes happening to his body to worry about anything else. He sets the carton on his nightstand and watches in the mirror as his reflection starts to shift.

The towel around his waist feels tighter, and he looks down to see his cock growing, thick and hard. It's as if it has a mind of its own, reaching for the fabric as if to break free. He gasps, his hand moving to cover his mouth, as he watches his abs ripple and multiply, forming a perfect 10-pack that he's always dreamed of. His chest swells, filling out the space between his pecs and stomach, the muscles growing more defined with every second that passes. His skin stretches and tightens, the towel now a mere strip of material clinging to his burgeoning physique.

Elijah's legs, once skinny and unremarkable, now balloon with muscle, pushing him back onto the bed. He feels the mattress sink beneath the weight of his new body. His legs, now thick and powerful, are a work of art, each muscle clearly defined. He runs his hand over his newfound bulk, the sensation foreign and exhilarating. His calves bulge and his thighs thicken, the fabric of his towel giving way to reveal his massive cock and balls.

His arms follow suit, growing longer and more muscular. He watches, his eyes wide with wonder, as his biceps and triceps swell with power. His shoulders broaden, the towel slipping away to reveal a body that's no longer his own. His skin stretches taut over his newfound muscles, the veins standing out like rivers of life beneath the surface. His fingers elongate, the sensation strange and thrilling as he flexes his hands, feeling the strength that now courses through them.

The tingling sensation in Elijah's back intensifies, and he feels his spine stretch and realign. His shoulders pull back, and a defined V taper forms, highlighting the stark contrast between his narrow waist and broad back. He gasps as his ribcage expands, the sound echoing through the room. His face, once a reflection of his youthful curiosity, now takes on a more mature, angular structure, with high cheekbones and a strong jawline. His nose becomes more aquiline, and his lips fuller, framing a smile that promises both strength and sensuality.

But it's the sudden onslaught of testosterone that truly overwhelms him. His mind is bombarded by a deluge of sexual desire, so intense it's almost painful. Every nerve in his body is alive with new sensations, each one more electrifying than the last. The potion's power courses through his veins like molten lava, setting every inch of his skin alight with arousal. He can feel his cock growing even thicker, the weight of it heavy and demanding against his abs. His balls swell, the ache of impending release growing more insistent by the second.

James can't fight it anymore. He gives in to the potion's power, his hand moving faster and faster over his shaft. He feels the orgasm building, a pressure that threatens to consume him. His moans grow louder, and his hips buck involuntarily. His body is no longer his own, a marionette dancing on the strings of his newfound desires.

With a roar that echoes through the house, James climaxes. Cum spurts from his cock like a geyser, painting the walls and floor with his thick, white seed. The force of his release sends waves of pleasure throughout his transformed body, each muscle contracting in ecstasy. He collapses onto the bed, panting and spent.

Elijah, still in the throes of his own transformation, can't ignore the commotion. The intruder's moans of pleasure have turned to gasps for breath, and the smell of sex fills the air. He clenches the book tightly, steeling himself for what he might find. He opens his bedroom door and tiptoes down the hall, his newfound muscles flexing with each step.

The door to his father's room is ajar, and through the crack, he sees the figure of a man sitting on the edge of the bed. His heart stops as he recognizes James' bed, the bed he's slept in countless nights, now stained with a puddle of cum.

James sees the shadow in the doorway and turns, his eyes locking onto Elijah. For a moment, there's confusion in his gaze, as if he's seeing a ghost. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. He tries to stand, his muscular legs protesting the sudden movement. "E…Elijah?" he finally manages, his voice a mix of wonder and fear.

Elijah's heart skips a beat. That's his father's voice, but the body? It's the stuff of his wildest dreams. "Dad?" he whispers, the word barely making it past the lump in his throat. The man before him looks up, and in those piercing blue eyes, Elijah sees the unmistakable spark of recognition.

James' eyes widen, taking in Elijah's new form. "What…what's happened to us?" he stammers, his voice a mix of shock and awe. The potion's power seems to hum in the air between them, a palpable force that neither can ignore.

Elijah swallows hard, his hand tightening on the book. "I… I don't know," he says, his voice shaking. "But… I think we should talk."

James nods slowly, his gaze dropping to the book in Elijah's hand before lifting to meet his son's eyes again. "Yeah," he says, his voice a gruff whisper. "Talk."

But talking seems to be the last thing on either of their minds as the potion's power surges through them, drawing them closer together. Before Elijah can say another word, James is on his feet, his massive frame towering over his son. The younger man's hand falls away from the book, his arm muscles flexing involuntarily as he watches his father approach.

Their eyes lock, the tension in the air thick with unspoken desires. Without warning, James leans in, his newfound strength and confidence driving him forward. His hand cups the back of Elijah's head, and their lips meet in a kiss that's equal parts tender and hungry. Elijah's eyes flutter closed, his body responding instinctively to the touch of the man he's always admired.

Their tongues dance together, exploring and tasting, as their hands roam over each other's transformed bodies. Elijah's strong, muscular arms wrap around James' broad back, feeling the heat of his newfound power. James' hands glide over Elijah's sculpted chest, the muscles flexing beneath his touch like living marble. Each caress sends sparks of pleasure through them, the potion's magic amplifying their senses to an unprecedented level.

Their kiss deepens, growing more urgent as the desire between them builds. Elijah can feel James' cock, now fully engorged and heavy, pressing against his stomach. It's a sensation that sends a jolt of excitement straight to his own groin, his cock pulsing with need.

James breaks the kiss, his eyes blazing with passion. He gently pushes Elijah back onto the bed, the mattress groaning beneath their combined weight. His hands are everywhere, exploring every inch of his son's newfound muscles. He can't believe this is happening, but the potion's power is too strong to resist.

Elijah's body responds to James' touch, his cock standing at attention as his father's fingers trace a line down his chest and stomach. The anticipation is agonizing, a sweet torment that makes him ache for more. He watches, his breath hitching, as James' hand wraps around his shaft, the older man's grip firm and sure.

James's gaze never leaves Elijah's face, his eyes searching for any sign of fear or hesitation. But what he sees instead is a hunger that matches his own, a need that's been stoked by the potion and their shared transformation. With a gentle tug, he guides Elijah's cock to the side, exposing his puckered hole.

The tip of James's massive cock, now slick with precum, hovers at the entrance to Elijah's ass. Elijah feels a mix of terror and excitement as he prepares to accept his father in the most intimate way possible. The heat of James's shaft sends shivers down his spine, and he can't help but arch his back, offering himself up.

With a low growl, James lines himself up and pushes in, the potion's magic allowing him to breach Elijah's tight hole with surprising ease. Elijah gasps as he's filled to the brim, his body stretching to accommodate his father's girth. James takes a moment to savor the feeling before pulling almost all the way out, only to slam back in, his balls slapping against Elijah's ass with a wet smack.

Their bodies move in a rhythmic dance of passion, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the room. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure crashing through Elijah, his moans growing louder as James hits all the right spots. James' muscles flex and bulge with every movement, the potion's power evident in every powerful thrust. Elijah can feel his father's strength, the weight of his new body pressing him into the mattress.

Their breaths mingle, both men lost in the moment, the only sounds the grunts and gasps of their shared passion. James' hand wraps around Elijah's cock, the friction of his palm against the sensitive skin driving him closer and closer to the edge. Elijah's eyes roll back in his head, his hips bucking up to meet every thrust. The potion's power is a drug, a heady mix of arousal and confusion that only seems to make the sensations more intense.

James feels it building within him, the pressure in his balls reaching a fever pitch. He can't hold back any longer. With one final, powerful thrust, he lets out a roar that shakes the room, his cock pulsing as he empties himself inside Elijah. The warmth and wetness of his cum fills the space between them, a testament to the bond that's been forged in the crucible of the potion's magic.

At the same moment, Elijah's body tenses, his own orgasm ripping through him like a bolt of lightning. He cums in thick ropes, the sensation so intense that his vision blurs. The potion has not only transformed their bodies but also their very beings, stripping away any remaining barriers between them.

As the aftershocks of pleasure begin to fade, the reality of what they've just done sets in. James pulls out slowly, his cock still half-hard, and they both lay there, panting and staring at the ceiling. The silence is deafening, the weight of their actions pressing down on them like a heavy blanket.

Elijah is the first to speak, his voice a soft whisper. "Dad, what have we done?" The tremble in his tone betrays his fear and confusion.

James turns to look at his son, his new muscular body a stark contrast to the man Elijah has known all his life. "I don't know," he admits, his voice gruff with emotion. "But it's what the potion did to us."

Elijah nods, his own muscles still quivering from the intense pleasure of their union. They need to clean up, to process what's happened.

He pushes himself up from the bed, his body feeling both new and unfamiliar. He walks to his father's dresser, his muscular legs moving with a newfound grace. He opens the drawer and pulls out a pair of black shorts, feeling the soft fabric in his hand. The sight of them sends a thrill through his body, a symbol of the power and masculinity he's always envied in the men he desires. He steps into them, the shorts hugging his muscular thighs and accentuating his now prominent bulge.

James watches, his eyes taking in Elijah's new form, the potion-induced changes making it clear that his son is no longer a boy. The white shorts Elijah throws to him seem to glow in the dim light of the room, a stark contrast to the black Elijah has chosen. He sluggishly rises, his legs feeling like they're made of lead. He pulls the shorts on, the fabric stretching to cover his own massive thighs and the heavy weight of his cum-covered cock. The shorts fit surprisingly well, hugging his new body in a way that makes him feel both exposed and powerful.

"We need to talk," James says, his voice still unsteady. "We can't just…go on like this."

Elijah nods, his heart racing as he looks at his father's transformed body. "I know," he whispers. "What do we do?"

James takes a deep breath, his mind racing. "We can't tell anyone," he says, his voice firm. "We'll say I'm your cousin."

Elijah nods, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Okay, from now on, you're Joe."

"Joe," James repeats, testing out the name that now fits the youthful, muscular form he finds himself in. The lie feels strange on his tongue, but he knows it's a necessary one.

"Elijah, your dad had to leave for an overseas job," Joe says, the words feeling more real with each passing second. "We're all alone in this house now."

Elijah nods, the lie a protective shield around their new reality. "Yeah," he murmurs, his eyes still glued to his father's transformed body. "It's just you and me."

Their smiles are tentative, a blend of relief and the beginnings of excitement. They're in this together, two men who share more than just a surname. Joe runs a hand over his new abs, feeling the ridges and valleys of muscle that now define his physique. Elijah's gaze follows the movement, his own smile growing a little bolder.

[owensbabygirl]

"𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊..."

in which...you're studying for your test but matt is needy...

warnings: fluff, pet names, heavyy making out, kissing, dry humping if you squint, this is my first time writing so it's lowk ass but try to get the vibe, tell me if there's more!!

- english is not my first language -

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

the scene if front of your eyes wasn't unfamiliar to you. you set on the floor of your living room with your back leaning on the couch, seeing papers and pens thrown all over the table, all your books and notebook in one side and the dirty coffee cups you drank all night on the other.

it was the tests period. where all the teachers wanted to get rid of otiose work so they all dropped tests dates and who couldn't cope with the stress...failed. tests period.

the keyboard kept letting out tapping noises as you kept writing everything you needed to remember for your text a week from now, yeah a week is a long time but you prefer being safe then learning in a rush. it was 4am now, you were about a page before you're done, finally, you thought to yourself. until you heard his keys shuffle. little did you knew your boyfriend had other plans...

matt walked in your apartment, probably back from filming late at night, seeing you in the same state you were in for days. "hey there pretty" he said as he walked in to the kitchen, taking an apple juice can out the fridge before throwing himself on the couch near you.

"hey" you muttred quietly, too focused in your work. matt groned and set the can on your work paper which made you snap back to reality.

he lowred himself to sit on the floor next to you "you know, there's something out your little bubble called world, you should see it sometimes" he said, and you giggled at his sarcastic comment. "sorry matt...i need to study, i told you" it was foreseeable from him to grown in annoyance, you could understand, he wanted to spend time with you, he missed his girlfriend, who was now a reading machine.

"cmon you can't just sit here and do all this work for so long-" he scooted closer to you, hugging your waist as he buried his face in your neck. "-you can take a break..."

"matt not now" you said and moved his hands off you, you needed to finish this paper work, there's nothing in the world that can stop you from doing it...except matt.

"c'mon baby" he wrapped his hands around you again and tagged you closer to him, leaving soft, feather-light kisses on your shoulder-neck junction. "matt-" you brought your hand to his hair trying to pull him away "matt stop it i need to...god" it was a hopeless try when the sweet, innocent kisses turned to little bites..and then those soft lips of his moved higher to the crook of your neck, then a bit beneath your earlobe. fucking tease.

he sneaked one hand to close your computer and move the papers aside, taking your glasses off but never breaking contact from your skin, he couldn't, the sweet taste of you and your scent was addicting.

you turned your head to his side, your faces so close that your lips brushed his. matt's eyelids fluttered, his body shuddering slightly from the feeling of your lips brushing over his. His hands on your waist tightened their grip, his fingers digging into the skin of yours as he pulled your body even further against his and trailed his hands down from your waist to your hips. He tried to speak for a moment, but all that he managed to say was one simple word, his voice sounding lustful and desperate.

"fuck..."

he didn't say anything else, his mind too focused on the feeling of your body against his and the feeling of your lips brushing over his mouth. his hands on your hips tightened their grip even further, and before you could say anything else, his lips were suddenly crashing into yours. His hands pulled your hips against his body, almost roughly, as he kissed you deeply and passionately, his tongue tracing over your lips, seeking entrance into your mouth.

you smiled softly into the kiss as he deepened the passionate exchange. your hand slid upward to tangle in his brown locks, drawing him closer to you—closer than he could possibly be. yet, you resisted the urge to completely surrender to the desire and craving, striving to maintain control and not unravel entirely. but it’s so incredibly tempting to simply yield right now…

he groaned into the kiss, the feeling of your hand in his hair and the pull on his locks sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine. lifting you a bit to set you on his lap, but you shifted position again to straddle his hips. his body pressed even closer to yours, his chest pressed firmly against yours. he could feel the heat between you rising with each passing moment, his body growing hotter and more desperate for you. His hands on your hips started to wander, slowly making their way down from your hips to your thighs, his fingers tracing a path on the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

you couldn't stop yourself from letting out a quiet moan. you panted heavily, beraly able to speak from the eagerness, you knew how kissing matt felt, amazing as always, but you had no idea you'd be longing so much for his touch. all these days not being able to focus on anything, like something was missing, but he was actually alwyes there.

he groaned again, his hands now on your thighs, his fingers tracing lazy circles on the sensitive skin. He could feel his mind starting to grow hazy with desire and lust. the sound of your voice, silently whining his name, almost alone was enough to make his head spin.

"fuck i missed this, baby."

you parted your lips farther and pulled his face closer if that was even possible. your thumbs caressing his cheeks as matt's tongue darted into your mouth as you opened your mouth further for him, his tongue immediately going to explore the inside of your mouth. He could feel his mind growing fuzzy with desire and need for you. His hands on your thighs started to move again, moving even further down until they were now gently gripping the backs of your thighs, encouraging you to cling closer to him.

you was about to deepen the kiss but then you heard a phone ringing, matt's phone. but he never stopped, he couldn't care less about the phone, he needed more.

"youre not gonna answer?"

he heard the phone ringing, but he ignored it and continued to kiss you. he couldn't care less about the phone right now, all he could think about at the moment was the taste of your lips and the feeling of your body against his.

"they can wait. I'm busy right now."

"okey sweetheart" you giggled at his overjoyition and eagerness. "god, I need you."

your hands on his hair tightened their grip as he told you that, the sound of those words alone making your heart race and your head spin with desire. you continued to kiss him deeply and roll your hios on his growing, your tongue exploring the inside of his mouth, completely lost in the moment and completely lost in him.

he groaned into the kiss, your hands gripping his hair and pulling on it, sending a shiver of pleasure down his spine. his body was on fire, the feel of your tongue in his mouth almost driving him mad with need for you. his hands gripping your thighs even more firmly as he pulled your body closer to him, his hips slightly rolling against yours in an attempt to seek some kind of relief for the growing need and desire for you. your little whines and sloppy noises not helping with it.

his hips continued to roll against yours, the pressure between growing more and more intense with each passing moment. His kisses grew more desperate and needy, his hands on your thighs now gripping at the skin, his fingers digging into it as he held you tighter against him, his body pressed firmly against yours.

"god...I need you so bad...I want you so badly, baby..."

a-n: thanks for reading, hope you liked it♡♡♡ tell me of you want a p.t2 [it'll probably be smut].

[fluffybunny-godpls]

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me

Krampus x researcher reader

At this point you had come to terms with three current facts: you were alone in a cabin in the freezing cold, you were going to be alone in a cabin in the freezing cold for at least a week, and it was your own fault that you were going to be alone, in a cabin, in the freezing cold, for at least a week.

You were a young researcher, more eager, anxious, and optimistic than others. And this was a once-in-a-generation opportunity. Not only was the project getting funding indefinitely, but no crackpot millionaire was helicoptering. There was no hesitation.

So you took the chance and went on ahead of your team to the cabin. You planned to complete preliminary data collection, set up some equipment, take every second possible to give you and your team a head start. After all, indefinite was a double edged sword. You knew that if your sponsor decided to pull their support that would be the end of it. Time is of the essence.

Only, you didn’t realize how unprepared you were for the oppressive emptiness. The snow and ice bleached everything and deafened the noise. With all the animals either asleep or hidden everything felt dead. Only the evergreen trees remained as the last signs of life. And it was going to be like this until your colleagues arrive. Living in what felt like a freezing desolate wasteland. It didn’t help that you were a long drive out from any nearby towns. As eager as you were for human interaction, being stuck in the middle of the woods freezing to death didn’t sound particularly appealing. So you were stuck.

Your sigh surprised you, breaking the spiral of thoughts and the series of grunts and 'ow's as you took boxes into the cabin. You were officially on the clock. Pride soon joined and now you were the picture-perfect researcher, notes scrawled over page after page between a notebook, journal, and computer.

After a while, your anxieties had taken to the back burner. The finished work left you satisfied and confident. A glance at a nearby clock told you it was half an hour after ten.

Now that you could focus on the present, you took in the features of the room. You were sitting at a small table off to the side of the kitchen in a simple breakfast nook. Your work is spread out over the table, easily covering it. The cabin was rather simple, no decorations other than a handful of pictures that must have been bought with the frame.

Walking around the place, it was easy to see its potential. You were not into interior design by any means, but this cabin had the make of an all-be-bit much larger, classic cabin style. In the end, after meandering through the house, you were left staring at the rather bland living room. Maybe it was the stress, the holiday spirit, or you missed your calling in interior design, but you had the desire to decorate.

Then an idea struck you, a wonderful idea, an awfully wonderful idea. With this new excitement, you hurried to bundle up and run outside, though not before turning on How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

You had a faint recollection of a shed on the side of the house. As you opened the doors you could feel your heart beating and your emotions reached a crescendo. This felt like the answer to all your problems and it was so simple.

Clothes now soaked in sweat stuck to your skin and your muscles burned. Gloves lay abandoned in the snow, axe gripped tightly in your hands, and you leaned over using the axe to support yourself. You barely noticed the crash from the fall of the tree as you struggled to catch your breath.

Your plans to cut down a tree seemed so simple at first and now the cold air burned your face and throat as you panted. You shakily lifted your head to look at the tree, now lying on its side.

"Finally!" You exasperated, letting your head fall back down, not without cursing. You took your time to eventually standing straight. The dread only just set in as you stared at the tree, smile slowly falling. You needed to drag it back. After a glance at your wrist, your stomach flipped at how long you’ve been out.

Unbeknownst to you, something entertained itself watching you struggle to get the tree to the cabin. Cloven hooves didn't make a noise in the snow as they followed you back.

Your miserable attempt left you whimpering as you pulled the tree through the snow. You stifled a whimper as you let go of the tree to give yourself a moment to breathe. The shed had to have something that could help. You jogged over to the shed, close to just heading inside. Even just for a little bit, those daily defeats were starting to wear on you.

You were lost in thought as you neared the open doors, brainstorming the simplest solution. You almost didn't noticed the sled. Your head snapped to face it when you caught sight of it out of the corner of your eye. It was a rather lovely pull sled. A nice coppery wood with a lovely shine. The red cushioning was of a nice quality, soft and springy. It looked big enough to get the job done and more importantly the easiest option.

You were halfway out of the shed before stopping in your tracks. The hair on the back of your neck stood straight and your entire body stiffened. The sweat didn't help, now making you much colder. The tree leaned against the now-open doorway of the house. You dropped the reigns of the sled and slowly, and maybe foolishly, went inside.

You took the time to quietly pull the tree inside. After the effort you put into cutting and dragging it halfway, you were unwilling to leave it.

It was sometime before you continued on. You simply stood there and tried to find any signs of another life. You only moved on when you were satisfied that the only breathing was yours.

It took some sadistic amusement from watching you carefully go about the cabin. Analyzing every bit and piece, every sense heightened. The natural prey instincts were alluring, it made them wish they were in there with you, stalking you. And why should they resist?

You moved through rooms with deliberation. You didn't touch anything, changing would cover the intruder's tracks. Every step was slow and deliberate, you couldn't help but feel watched. The muscles in your legs tensed at any noiseIt was animalistic, the way you crept through the cabin, stiff and wide-eyed.

You moved at the creaks of the floorboards. A couple of times you almost caught sight of them, twisting around inhumanly fast. His hoves were fast, and wit even faster. Slowly, you were unknowingly led upstairs.

By now you were in a basic shirt and pants, shedding layers as they hindered you. The last thing you shed was your socks after they almost made you slip. They could almost taste your fear, now accented with the shock, when you caught yourself. The gasp was the only sound they had heard from you since this game had begun and it was tantalizing. He licked his lips as they slowly followed you up the stairs. It should be humiliating with the amount of pleasure he was deriving from this, but not once did he stop to care. Maturity or age did not matter, the ocean could steal a tourist's hat and still drown a ship and he was no better.

His tail swung between his legs as he slowly cornered you upstairs. Excitement built, the tension growing. They knew you could feel it. Even if you couldn't understand it. With the way your back was taut like a deer about to leap, he bet you could taste it.

His luck ended there with the open door. A mirror graced you and in it a beast. You lept forward, twisting back as you did to see the monster stalking you. It was already leaping at you, easily covering the distance between the two. Long, heavy dark fur covered you, and his face pulled a twisted smug grin down at you.

Fear and downright irritation joined and pushed you on to fight.

He reeled back when you punched, more from the shock than any pain. You were already on your stomach crawling away. He couldn't stop the grin on his face. Your fighting spirit left him eager for more. Large clawed hands grasped at your sides, pulling you to him. A swift kick to the stomach was enough to get him away. Then it clicked, he was toying with you, treating this as some sort of game. Letting you get away but pulling you close when you got too far. Your fear quickly transformed into rage and you did everything you could to make this painful for him.

After a while of them toying with you as you violently attacked, he finally used a bit of their strength. You felt the muscles underneath the clothes and thick fur ripple and come to life. The pressure held you flat to the floor, incapable of injuring yourself or them. Now forced to lay there underneath him, sounds turned into words.

"What the hell you shit-stained oversized terrier!" You snapped at him, the start of what was a long rant, "Was there even a reason behind any of this bullshit you local-theater-off-brand? Did ya just have the time and decided it would be more fun to fuck with someone already having a shitty day? Too unoriginal to go ruin someone else's might as well go to someone who's already had it ruined, huh?" You punctuated that one with an attempted kick, only to remember you were immobile.

Through all your struggling and further ranting, you hadn't noticed his amused expression. It was only when a deep rumble that formed a laugh came from their throat that you realized. They threw their head back, accentuating his massive twisted horns and long teeth. You laid there, finally speechless.

His laugh finally trickled out and he sneered down at you.

“You are quite the entertainment.” They mused. A deep, growling voice greeted your ear, uncharacteristically sweet.

In that moment you realized how tired you were. You throat, which had already burned from the cold, felt dry and sore. Your entire body felt sore, not unwelcoming of the soothing pressure this beast had on you. You let yourself relax as you assumed you were safe. You were exactly sure what you could have even done if you weren’t so you didn’t feel like worrying.

They smirked at your dazed expression.

“Aw, is the little deer tired?” He mocked before slowly getting up. They took you with him, picking you up and pulling you flush to their chest.

“How about you go fuck yourself” You snapped back.

They weren’t deterred, humming happily as he carried you. One of their large hands rubbed circles on your back, pressing just enough for it to relax your muscles.

Despite your previous words, you found yourself relaxing against soft wool and thick fur, lulling you to sleep. Your breathing evened and you took in their scent, pine and some sort of holiday spice, and maybe… a bit of smokeyness?

As you got lost in thought you further drifted from the waking world, deeper into dreams.

To be continued

[ikeukiss]

BETWEEN YOU AND ME | 양정인

⟢ PAIRING: yang (IN) jeongin x fem!reader ⟢ WORD COUNT: 3.2K ⟢ GENRE: light comedy, smut ⟢ TAGS: college au, TA!reader, collegestudent!jeongin, a bit perverted jeongin, degradation, dirty talk, pet names, body worship, semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, cum stuffing ⟢ SYNOPSIS: You're his TA; Jeongin's not supposed to be thinking about you, the picture-perfect girl. Yet, he can't control himself or his physical reactions when he's around you. He needs to let his feelings out once and for all, before he spends another class sexually frustrated. ⟢ AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you to my lovely friends for beta-ing this fic once again (@xomakara, @lovetaroandtaemin, @tbzhub, @mini-mews, and @gyubakeries).

Jeongin thinks now that you’re doing it on purpose.

Whenever you catch his eye amid Professor Bang’s lectures and give him a secret smile or conspiratory wink, he senses what you’re doing. The first couple of times at the start of the semester, he thought he was delusional. 

You only spoke a handful of times about his attendance and missed marks on the first assignment. There was no way that you, his ethnolinguistics teacher’s TA, has an interest in him. He’s just a little sophomore, still indecisive about what dinner to eat in the dining hall.

Jeongin reckons you have it all figured out by now. You’re too composed, too structured, too mature. Too perfect for someone like him.

Now, he thinks it’s all a cat-and-mouse game to you, and you’re simply waiting for him to take the bait.

Right now, you have your chin in your hand, flitting between typing notes and comments on Professor Bang’s lecture on your computer and staring at Jeongin. He’s spent the past hour pretending not to notice your eyes burning into him. Now, he no longer cares.

After a handful of minutes sharing glances, you tug at your bottom lip between your teeth. Instantly, Jeongin feels the blood flow out of his face and into the center of his legs. Thank God there’s a large desk sparing everyone, including you, a peek at the growing tightness of his sweatpants.

He wonders what your body would do in his hands. How it would feel to palm your chest with his fingers, drag each digit along your skin until they discover the secret parts of you that love pleasure. What it would feel like to capture that bottom lip with his own teeth.

The minutes drag on, achingly slow yet incredibly fast, until Professor Bang signals the end of class. Jeongin can’t stand up yet, still sporting a tent in his pants he can’t quell with a few quick absurd and horribly unsexy thoughts.

Gym socks. Family dinners. Hyunjin’s morning breath. Nothing works. 

As other students and Professor Bang himself make their way to the exit, Hyunjin stays stock still. You gather your stuff, but you notice out of the corner of your eye  Jeongin remaining in his seat. You smile at him before asking, “Yinnie, you alright?”

Don’t fucking call me that, he thinks with a tightening gut. It takes any of the power from his thoughts away, your voice and your words keeping a firm grip on his body’s current state.

“Fine!” Jeongin responds, voice a little too high and clipped.

You chuckle and step closer when you have all of your materials in your bookbag, sauntering over like you aren’t the cause of his current demise. “You didn’t take a lot of notes today. Something on your mind?”

What do you think?

He chuckles breathlessly and taps his pencil against his still open notebook. “Nervous about the final next month, I think.” He tries to focus on your face and not how close you are to him, the desk separating the two of you by a half a dozen feet. “Sometimes I get easily distracted.”

You click your teeth, smiling the entire time. “Well, if you ever need help to get back on track”—you lean your head a fraction closer to his over the desk, making all the nerves in his body spike—”just let me know.”

You re-adjust the strap of your bag and walk out of the classroom. Jeongin’s mind remains a jumbled mess as his dick stays incredibly hard, the implicitness of your words and actions leaving the poor guy without a clue how to relieve his recent problem.

“Did she actually see your boner?” Hyunjin asks before taking another swig of his beer.

“I don’t know!” Jeongin groans face-first into his pillow. “I felt so confident before I actually opened my mouth, and then it all went south.”

Jeongin ran back to his dorm after the debacle this morning to not only jerk off but bitch about his problems to Hyunjin, his roommate, the second the older one arrived home. In an hour, Jeongin's European Art History class begins, but he's too exhausted, both physically and mentally, to concentrate.

“While your dick started pointing north, huh?” Hyunjin winks and chuckles.

“Hyune, it’s not funny,” Jeongin says with muffled sadness.

His best friend sets his beer down and sighs. “It’s not wrong to like her, given she likes you back. Just try to control yourself and ask her out next time.”

“How do I do that when even the smallest sound from her mouth makes me hard?” He rises from his bed to stare at his friend, utterly lost.

“Maybe you don’t need to talk,” Hyunjin suggests, his eyes glinting with suggestive flare. “Grab her after class when the opportunity strikes.”

Jeongin ponders the thought. If all of his assumptions were incorrect, it would only be a short time before the class ends and he’ll never have to see you again and his desires can die right where they began. And if not, who knows where it will go?

Jeongin pops the bubblegum against his lips before walking into the classroom. To his surprise, the only one in the room is you and another student. Professor Bang would typically be at the podium, rifling through papers, but you stand in his place.

It wasn’t abnormal for you to teach here and there if Bang was absent. But seeing you in a floral midi skirt and low-cut top, he thinks he may sport another erection throughout the entire three hours of class.

“Hey,” you say when you look up from your laptop, instantly smiling. “You’re early today.”

He smiles and places his items in the front row. Choosing to sit directly in front of you today, he has to calm the increasing tempo of his heartbeat. He has to pace himself and relax. It’s only a smile, a world-upending one, but one that has no obligations or innuendos attached. “Professor Bang out sick?”

You nod with a solemn smile. Earlier that day, Professor Bang notified everyone that his daughter needed a babysitter and that you would be in charge; however, Jeongin wants to hear the words from your perfect lips. Any excuse to converse with you is a win in his mind. “You’ll be stuck with me today.” 

Leaning down to rifle with the papers on your desk, you give the perfect view of your cleavage for Jeongin to witness. And there goes the rest of his composure.

His body clams up as he feels heat pooling again in the worst place. Your chest is so supple, he thinks for a fraction of a second what it be like to cover the top of your breasts in hickeys that only he could see in private, knowing how he made them and how you would wear them with secret pride. 

But he can’t think about that now, not when he’s trying to hold some semblance of maturity.

He jams his notebook over his bottom half and walks over to your spot at the podium and adjacent desk. You feel his presence, but you don’t look up at him. You only move your head a fragment of an inch to let him know you’re listening. He still has an unobstructed view of your chest, one that’s arguably better now that he’s right in front of you. The sight shouldn’t make him stutter so terribly, but it does. “I-I actually meant to talk to you about s-something, Miss—”

Before you can respond, your plastic coffee cup flips up on its top to douse your papers and shirt with coffee. The milky brown liquid gets everywhere, dampening your skin and the fabric of your shirt. If Jeongin didn’t know any better, he swears he can see your nipples poking through the now dampened cloth of your shirt and nude bralette.

He immediately throws his notebook on the desk and takes off his jacket. Handing it to you to cover up, he realizes too slowly he’s given you an eagle eye shot of the tent in his pants. You blush before he takes his notebook back, but he hopes it's because the sticky coffee has soaked you and can't be cleaned until after class. He has to believe that, anyway.

Jeongin clamps down hard on the gum between his teeth, so hard it may become part of the crown of one of his molars at this point. You, still damp and looking up at him with doe eyes as you wait for his request, will be the death of him.

“Can I just talk to you after we’re done?” he asks, his pants brutally tight against his crotch. Students trickle in with only ten more minutes left before class starts, his initial plan on hold until everyone leaves.

You nod with another smile, motioning him back to his seat so you can dry the wet papers in the open air. Even as students look on and some offer to help you out, you can’t keep your focus off of Jeongin.

And this time, he hopes you see how your current state affects him. 

“Sorry, guys. Had a little spill before you got here,” you laugh boldly. “Now, onto endangered languages.”

When everyone departs to move onto their next classes, the front of the room still smells like the caramel and vanilla coffee from the accident before class. The aroma reminds Jeongin that his problem has not gone away, not for a single second, and if he doesn’t relieve it somehow, he will implode.

He stands up from his desk to make his move, watching as you move away from the podium to be directly in front of him. He has no reason to conceal himself from you now, but to remain professional, he hides with the help of his notebook once again.

“So,” Jeongin starts, “I want to just clear the air between us, so if you don’t feel the same we never have to—”

“Jeongin, what are you talking about?” He thought he loved the nickname you gave him before, but his given name on your lips almost makes him whimper out loud. 

You look at him wide-eyed, but he sees the ghost of a smirk on your lips. The confusion you’re feigning doesn’t meet your mouth, giving you away. “You know what I’m talking about,” he responds.

“I don’t think I do. Enlighten me.” You anchor yourself to the desk and cross one leg over the other, clearly amused.

He knows now, for certain, you’re teasing him. “You don’t think I’ve noticed how you look at me?” His voice is barely a whisper. It teeters on the edge between anxiety and lust. He wants to go there, to bridge the distance, but not before you supply him with some sort of physical affirmation.

“I was gonna ask you the same question.” You step towards him until he’s a breath away. You take the hand not holding his notebook gently into yours and guide it to above your skirt. His breath hitches when he feels the wetness between your thighs, even through two layers of clothes. “You feel that? That’s all because of you.”

He takes the hand you guided to your body and moves it to his erection, removing his notebook from his waist so you can see and feel the torture he's felt. Not just today, but for the past few months, it’s been like an inferno slowly crawling up his skin and setting him aflame. “You’re not the only one who’s in need of relief.”

“I won’t tell anyone if you won’t, Yinnie.”

Those eight words unburden him from what little reservation he had left. He takes your mouth in his, claiming all the explicit and implicit words shared between you with his tongue. The first kiss is slow and world-stopping, the chasm between the tension finally sewn shut. The ones that follow are anything but slow, but they still stop the world around the two of you.

He unbuttons the center of your shirt as you tug on the hem of his sweater. He explores every piece of skin he can with his hands. The parts not occupied by his fingertips welcome his mouth, your body on fire for him. “Slow down,” you say, although the words hold no weight. He knows it. “We can’t do this here.”

“I don’t care.” He stuffs his face in between your breasts, finally placing a hickey on the tops of the slopes with reckless abandon. You writhe against his kisses, bucking up into his mouth when his breath hits one of your nipples, the bud pebbling at his attention. “I want you. Now.”

“What if someone—”

“You know you don’t give a single fuck if we get caught,” Jeongin growls, unzipping the midi skirt at your waist so it falls to the floor. He’s never been this rough, this frantic. He can only blame it on the unresolved tension he’s been sitting with for what feels like forever. You are beyond blame; you’ve given yourself to him willingly, and he’s forever grateful.

He runs his hands over your waist and exposed chest. Your breasts in his hands feel exactly like he imagined, hefty but tender. “Seeing as you eye-fuck me every chance you get, I’d say you’ve been waiting for this to happen.”

You moan at the way he nips at your neck and collarbones in tandem with his squeezing of your chest, practically biting down with his teeth as he kisses your skin. You rip his clothes off in quick succession, his sweater and undershirt joining the pile you’ve made on the floor.

“I promise I’ll be quick.” Like rapid fire, he lifts you onto the desk and splays you out over the hard plastic top, his face practically kissing your heat already. “I just need to taste you.”

You mewl at his words. He lifts your hips so he can discard your underwear and leave it in the heap of clothes. He can’t pretend he didn’t notice the wet patch at its center before he threw them to the side, though.

And at the sight of your exposed cunt, Jeongin refuses to waste another second. He dives into the cleft of your thighs with reckless abandon. Long strips and flat licks up and down your pussy make you cry out. You reach down to yank him by the top of his brown hair, rolling your hips into his face as his nose bumps your clit.

It’s even better, tastes better, than all the fantasies he conjured in the comfort of his bedroom or the embarrassing public space of the common showers. He’s thought about it for so long, too long, but all the inner workings of his mind compared to this is child’s play.

He’s not ashamed to admit eating you out may be one of the best things he’s ever done. And he knows now that he’s a liar when he said he would be quick. He’ll take his time for all it’s worth, even if the lights go out and the department building closes up for the day.

You say his name repeatedly, alongside “Just like that” as well as “Please don’t stop.”

He detaches his lips from your folds with a pornographic suckling noise and finally drops  both his pants and boxers. His cock slaps against his stomach, the tip red and leaking. He’s done enough to prepare you for this moment.

When he slides in, he covers the entirety of your body with his own, using his long legs to keep his feet firm on the floor as he thrusts. You moan into his mouth, his tongue exploring the insides of your cheeks and the roof of your mouth.

The sounds of his skin slapping against yours are almost as lewd and animalistic as his pace going in and out of you. He tugs your bottom lip with his teeth. He feels only a smidgeon of guilt when a fragment of the skin speckles with blood, his desires giving way to acting on his impulses. But you don’t mind. If anything, you become more vocal.

He groans when you lick the blood at the corner of your lips. “You’re so dirty,” he says, pressing two of his fingers to the seam of your mouth. “Suck.”

You latch onto his digits eagerly, taking them and sucking until they practically hit the back of your throat. He chuckles darkly at the action, loving that your sexual energy matches his. He removes them from your wet mouth to circle your clit, the puffy flesh begging for as much attention as your hole.

“Oh, fuck.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head. “Jeongin—”

He takes your chin in his other hand, holding it in place as he continues slamming into you mercilessly and flicking at your clit with the pads of his fingers. “That’s it, baby. Who’s making you feel like this?”

“You, Jeongin, you.” Your moans verging on screams fill the room, the sounds bouncing off the walls in salacious echoes. “God, it’s so good.”

“When you spilled that coffee all over yourself earlier, I couldn’t help picturing my cum on your chest. And you just left yourself exposed for me and everyone else to see. You’re filthy and you don’t even realize it.” He clamps down on your neck as your face remains placid, creating a new mark on you while you stay still in his hold. “Lucky for me, I love that you’re a dirty whore.”

You whimper and whine, meeting each thrust of Jeongin’s hips. “Yunnie, I’m gonna come—”

“Not yet,” he warns, halting the hand against your clit from circling any more. “Not without me, baby.”

He knows he’s just as close to his orgasm as you are, but he wants you to know who’s in charge, despite your higher educational status. Despite every worry that he wouldn’t measure up to you, you wedged underneath him proves to be the best proof to the contrary.

And now, he gets to feel your release on his mouth, his fingers, his cock. It’s an ego boost as much as it is an incredible gift to be given.

“Fuck,” he swear, “where do you want me to come, baby?”

“Inside,” you say immediately, “I want to feel all of you.”

The words on your tongue sound almost like poetry. He can’t fathom how he got so lucky. “Come with me,” he whispers in a hoarse voice. “Come all over me.”

His orgasm comes like a wave breaking against a cliff. The second your pussy flutters around his cock, signaling your release, he’s done for. He whines pitifully as his seed coats the insides of your walls, your body at his mercy as he fucks all of his cum into you.

When he watches small droplets of his release seeping out of you, he stuffs it all back in with his fingers. And when his fingers glisten with the residue, you suck them clean with a sinful smirk.

Jeongin chuckles, gleefully satiated, and kisses the tip of your nose. “I think I’m starting to love ethnolinguistics now.”

You giggle into his neck. “I bet you’ll love ethnosemantics next semester.”

“As long as you’re TA’ing it, babe,” Jeongin says before capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

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