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honeyhotteoks · 6 months

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always only you (c.sc)

summary: the date was terrible, awful even, but you just can't call your brother to pick you up. you have to call his best friend instead.

note: hi um....... i'm back and a seventeen stan now????? don't worry, i'm still working on ateez fic, but s.coups has taken hold of my brain and i needed to get this one out there so..... pls enjoy

warnings: non idol!seungcheol, fem!reader, older brother mingyu, seungcheol is mingyus bff, reader is called a sl*t in a mean way by her shitty date, v protective cheol, reckless driving, unprotected sex (wrap it up dont be like them), reader is curvy and descriptors like full, thick, etc. are used throughout, makeouts, grinding, cheol is obsessed with pussy, i mean fr he's a bonafide wap enjoyer, an oral aficionado of the wettest kind, anyways there's oral sex f receiving, hand stuff, rough fingering, rough but passionate sex, use of baby and princess, creampies b/c lbr he's gotta, anyways they're obsessed with each other

pairings: s.coups x reader

genre: smut and more smut, childhood friends to lovers

word count: 14.2K

It was a bad date.

Not the worst date you’ve ever had, granted, but still pretty up there in terms of terrible. He left an hour ago, the minute you interrupted his monologue to tell him that you were pretty sure things weren’t going to work out. You’ve never had someone leave in the middle of a date before, but then again, you’ve never actually told someone the date was bad in the middle either.

Not being able to find the right guy is starting to feel embarrassing. It’s been years since your last relationship and months since you even had a second date. Naively, you had had such a good feeling about tonight and having to be proven wrong at breakneck speed before you even got your entrees feels like some kind of poetic karma for something you must have done. You just wish for once you had kept your mouth shut, but your good feeling had been infectious and your excitement about the date bubbled up out of you to your friends and your coworkers.

You just wish you never told Mingyu.

I have a really good feeling about him. That’s what you told your brother on the phone a few hours ago. We’ve been talking for a few weeks, I think you’ll really like him.

Stupid.

You should have known he was on the rebound from the suspiciously large gap in photos on his Instagram. You should have known he was just trying to sleep with you from the minute he commented on your dress, from the way he touched your shoulder for too long for the first hug. You should have known on top of all of that that he would be boring from his joking non-answer when you asked about his most recent read. Sometimes it takes all of those things wrapped up tightly together and shoved directly in your face from across a dining room table to know for sure.

You just wish you never said a word to Mingyu. You don’t want to see that look in his eyes when you tell him he wasn’t the right guy. His eyes always go soft, mouth downturned, and it kills you every time because he means it when he says - You’ll find the right guy soon, anyone would be crazy to not love you.

Tonight you really don’t want pity, you don’t think you can handle it.

“Are you ready for the check?” The server’s voice snaps you right out of your thoughts and you look up at his sympathetic smile.

“Sorry,” You manage, “yes,”

“No rush,” He lies, immediately producing the leather billfold and sliding it across the tablecloth.

The floor doesn’t start to drop out from beneath you until you open it, despite having to sit here and eat your pasta alone. This place is expensive, more expensive than you thought.

Your eyes run through the bill. Four cocktails, two appetizers, two entrees, one slice of cherry cheesecake. The bills your date left on the table just barely covers three cocktails. You can’t afford this. The prices here were probably nothing for your date given how much he talked about his extremely smart investing strategies, but not for you.

You do fast math, panic math.

After paying the bill you’ll have 9,600 won in your debit account. You get paid tomorrow so it’s not the scariest number you’ve ever seen in your account, but it’s definitely not enough for a taxi home.

Your stomach churns.

You pay the bill quickly, quietly, the server’s hovering presence by your shoulder enough to tell you there is in fact a considerable rush. Your card is returned to you in moments, and he places a brown paper bag in front of you, “There’s an extra slice of cheesecake in there for you,” he says, “I’m sorry about your date.”

He’s gone before you can say thank you.

You suppose you can’t really sit inside anymore if you’ve paid the bill and you’re holding a to-go bag, so you step out into the chilly night air. It’s been raining lately, but barely. It’s been cloudy more than anything, and yet here you are walking outside into the cold night air and a late autumn storm of icy rain.

Your date was a special kind of bastard for leaving you stranded a half hour from your apartment in a storm like this.

The comments he made about you, about your dress and the way it fits flick through your mind and your jaw draws tightly shut. If you had had the wherewithal in that moment to slap him or toss a glass of water in his face you would have, but instead you sat frozen with your stomach in knots.

It takes you one flash of rage to scroll through your phone and delete the three dating apps installed, and then you open up your contacts and scroll for your brother’s name. He doesn’t live too far from here, and you know he’s probably out with some of his friends, but if you’re lucky maybe he’s close by. Your finger hovers over Mingyu’s contact, but you can't quite make the call.

You’re twenty-six, you should be grown up enough to get home by yourself after a bad date and not have to call him to rescue you. Embarrassment floods you, the idea of admitting you can’t afford the taxi tonight just sinks into your bones. You love your brother so much, but the idea of seeing him look at you the way he sometimes does and then slip money into your purse for you to find at home makes you want to cry. You’d call him and you’d tell him you’re returning it and he’d play dumb - What money, y/n? I didn’t put that there, maybe it’s like when you find 50,000 won in your old jeans?

No, you can’t call him. You can’t go over to his lovely little apartment with his absolutely lovely fiance and cry about the sorry state of your romantic life. Nothing about that will make you feel better in this moment, absolutely nothing.

You scroll away from his contact and you think about anyone else you could call, but there’s only one person who keeps coming to mind. There’s no way he’ll pick up, not when he sees your number on his phone, not after the way you’ve treated him for the past year, but his apartment really isn’t that far from here and if he doesn’t hate your guts you know he’ll at least give you a ride.

The rain picks up, pelting you hard enough that you have to duck back under the measly lip of the restaurants roof for what cover it provides, and you don’t realize you’re well and truly crying until your cheeks feel warm and wet and you can’t get a full breath, but here you are. Stranded alone, broke, and loveless in an apparently ill fitting dress, and there’s only one person’s voice you want to hear even if it’s just his stupid voicemail box.

Tears hiccup out of you as you dial, cold fingers shaking as you try to press the numbers you’ve had memorized by heart since you were thirteen and got your first cell phone.

The phone rings twice before he answers, “Hey, you,”

The easy sound of his voice makes your tears come faster. Your breath hitches in your chest, “Cheol?”

“y/n?” His voice shifts, “Are you crying?”

“I’m,” You hiccup again, “I’m sorry,”

“Hey,” He tries again, “y/n, is that you?”

“I messed up,” Your head is starting to throb and you press your eyes closed, leaning back against the cold wall of the restaurant and hiding as much of your body under the overhang of the roof as possible, “I’m sorry to call,”

“That’s okay,” Seungcheol says, his voice sounding strained, “what happened, princess?”

He hasn’t called you that in years, not since you were fifteen and carrying a torch for him. Not since you made Mingyu tell him to stop.

“C-can you come get me?” You wish you could just stop crying.

“Tell me where you are,” He answers immediately, and despite the rain you hear the sound of his car keys.

You give him the name of the restaurant, the closest cross streets, all blubbered out between fat tears and rain drops.

“That’s…” He sounds distant suddenly and then his voice reconnects, “twenty minutes, okay? I’ll be there in twenty minutes, princess, just take a deep breath,”

You drag in a shaky breath, “Cheol,” you scrub the tears from under your eyes, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know who else to call,”

“Me,” He says, his car starting up in the background, “you always call me if you need me,”

You haven’t seen him in almost a year, barely talked to him outside of sending reactions to each other's Instagram stories, but he’s coming.

The way you fell away from him was gradual at first, and then an intentional self preservationist wall. Mingyu had introduced his best friend to a girl, and despite your high school crush being supposedly dead and buried, you weren’t prepared for what Choi Seungcheol in love would look like. You started being busier and busier until his calls went unanswered and then eventually his calls just stopped altogether. Mingyu told you later that the relationship didn’t last, but the damage was done and in the end it was just easier not to reach out first.

You can’t believe he picked up the phone and you can’t believe the first thing he heard from you in a year was hysterical crying. Taking a set of deep, steadying breaths you wipe away the wetness from your cheeks. Your date had hurt your feelings, but you only let it last for a minute. You wouldn’t let a man with such a fragile ego get into your head, and besides, you’ve always liked this dress.

Seungcheol makes it to you in fifteen minutes flat. He’s broken at least six traffic laws to get to you, including running a solidly red, redlight, but he really doesn’t care.

He’s seen you cry before, plenty of times. When you skinned your knee at seven or that time he and Mingyu played a prank when you were eleven, tricking you into thinking you were home alone on Halloween night. He’s seen you cry at movies and at videos of puppies and the sound of moving music, and he remembers your eyes full of glassy tears watching Mingyu graduate college. He remembers the sound of it when your grandmother died when you were nineteen, the way your shoulders shook and your breath wheezed as you hid your face tightly in your brother's chest while he looked on feeling so, so helpless.

Seungcheol remembers all of it, but he’s never heard you sound like you did tonight.

Mingyu had said you had a date. Earlier in Seungcheol’s night at a bar not far from his apartment, his best friend mentioned it off hand. Mingyu said it like an afterthought as he answered one of your texts. Seungcheol tried not to notice the way his hand tightened on his beer can, enough to make the aluminum crack inwards on itself where his thumb dug into the cool metal. He tried not to think too much about what that meant, just like he’s been trying not to think too much about you at all lately.

Now his mind is racing, threading the pieces together as the wet road whips by. The threadiness of your voice turns synonymous with panic in his mind and now all he can think about is how he’ll find you when he gets there. He goes over the facts he knows while he stops behind a small block of traffic, his knuckles white as he grips the wheel.

A date, a bad date, a date you needed a ride away from. The kind of date you couldn’t tell your brother about, when he knows that Mingyu is always your first call. As the traffic disperses he presses the gas pedal and weaves around the slower cars, images flickering in his mind’s eye. A faceless man looking at you, making you uncomfortable, pressing into your space. His mind loops on the image of an unwanted kiss, of pushy hands finding their way under your blouse.

By the time he’s skidding into the parking lot of the restaurant his hands are shaking and he’s ready to kill.

When he sees you, wet and shivering on the sidewalk, he nearly falls out of the car trying to get to you. He leaves the key in the ignition, the door flung wide open with warmth pouring out into the chilly night air.

He looks flustered, rumpled like he was having a quiet night in. Heavy gray sweatpants that hang just right on his hips and an oversized white shirt. He’s wearing socks and slides and the second you see him it dawns on you that when you called him you must have sounded hysterical because he didn’t even try to dress for the icy weather.

“You look terrible,” You clap a hand over your lips to stop yourself from laughing, and you can’t believe that’s the first thing you manage to say to him after a year. You hate yourself for having no filter, no off switch, no ability to just be normal and say thank you for coming all this way.

His expression runs from panic to confusion in a split second, “What?”

“Fuck,” You laugh, shaking your head, “no, sorry, you look good, but it’s raining like hell, get in the car,”

He blinks, “y/n,”

“Come on,” You duck out from beneath the measly roof overhang and dart towards the passenger side door, “it’s freezing, I’ll explain in the car,”

Your dress is wet, but not soaked through, so you hope you won’t do any damage to his seats as you slide into the warmth of his car and shut the door. It takes him at least thirty seconds to follow you, but through his confusion at your reaction you bet he finally registers the cold wetness of his socks and it snaps him back to reality.

He leaves the car in park and turns his body to you.

You owe him an explanation, especially given the way you cried on the phone to him twenty minutes ago, but all you can think right now is that it’s really, really nice to see his face again. His hair has gotten longer, shaggier and curled a little at the neck and it might just be the fit of his shirt, but he looks broader. It’s only been a year, but he looks so much more like a man now. All you can manage is, “Hey, Cheol,”

“Hey,” He answers, shifting himself further in the seat so that he’s almost twisted up sideways, one leg tucked up to accommodate the position.

The front of his shirt is damp with rain and clinging a bit to his chest and you look down. You really do not need to be having these kinds of thoughts about him again, it’s only been a minute, ninety seconds at the most.

“y/n,” He says, his voice slow and soft, “what happened?”

Shame floods you, heating your cheeks red.

He stretches a hand across the center console, but he stops halfway, his fingers closing into a loose fist, “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I know,”

“I won’t tell Gyu,” He offers quietly, “just tell me what happened, and I promise, I’ll take care of it.”

Oh.

Your head snaps up at his serious tone, “Nothing happened, I’m fine,”

He looks more confused than before if that’s even possible, and you can practically see him working out his next words.

“Cheol,” You shake your head, “I’m serious, I’m completely fine, I just needed a ride,”

“You were crying,” He says, not a question but a fact.

“I know,” You sigh.

“You were crying like something happened,” He draws his arm back and runs a hand through his damp hair, “and you called me?”

“I know,” You repeat, “it was a bad date, but that’s all it was. He ditched me without a ride though and I just,”

Seungcheol’s lips close at your words as he waits for you to finish.

“The thought of calling Mingyu and telling him about this just,” You clear your throat to push back a little bubble of emotion, “yeah, I couldn’t do that,”

“Oh,” His voice drops, and Seungcheol shifts in his seat, throwing the car into drive, “got it.”

“No, Cheol,” You shake your head, “that’s not what I meant,”

“It’s fine,” He peels out of the parking lot, “I’ll drive you home.”

He’s angry, pissed at you in that way he gets pissed. Tightened jaw, heavy sighs, his knee bouncing in irritation. If you give it five minutes he’ll tell you what’s bothering him, he’ll say it in a fast rush like he’s more disappointed than mad. You have to let him come to you when he’s like this, no amount of trying to explain will fix it, so you wait.

The drive is silent, and you fight the urge to jump in with directions when he approaches each light and turn. He knows where your apartment is, he helped you move in four years ago when you graduated college. Mingyu and his friends lifting box after box and telling you to just relax and let the professionals handle it. You smile at the memory.

He stays quiet until he turns off the major road and down the side streets that will take you to your apartment, but finally he says, “You can’t just call me like that and expect me to drop everything when you have a bad date,”

“Were you busy?” You didn’t think so judging by the state of his clothes, but it’s not out of the realm of possibility. He could have had friends over, maybe a girl. You wonder idly if he’s seeing someone.

“That’s not the point,” He glances at you, “and you know it.”

“I’m sorry,” You tell him, and you mean it, “I really didn’t know who to call, and I just,”

“What, y/n?” He pushes a little.

“I just don’t want to tell Mingyu about the date,” You confess, “and I didn’t mean to call you and be such a mess, the date really was bad and I was feeling sorry for myself, and I didn’t have enough money to get home,”

“What?” He swivels his head to the side for a moment and then refocuses on the road.

“I would have called a taxi,” You explain, “but my fucking date left and didn’t pay after we ordered all this food and it was more than I was planning for,”

“He didn’t pay?” He sounds disgusted and you smile.

“No,” You tell him, “but in fairness, I did tell him in the middle of the date it wasn’t going to work out,”

He laughs sharply, and you know he’s still irritated but at least he’s listening, “That bad?”

“Yeah,” You sigh, “but it is what it is,”

He glances over to you again, “So he walked out?”

“Basically,” You nod, “he said what he needed to say, dropped twenty-thousand won on the table like that was going to cover anything and walked out. At least now I know he was an asshole, I’m not missing out on anything,”

“What did he say to you?” His voice pops up an octave.

You’d really rather not tell him, you’d be fine burying the comment he made deep down inside never to be unpacked again. You shake your head, “It’s fine,”

“It doesn’t seem fine,” He starts, but you smoothly cut back in.

“I just didn’t want Gyu to feel bad for me I guess, he knew I was looking forward to the date, and having to call for a ride like this, I don’t know. I was embarrassed,” You explain.

“I still don’t understand why you called me, though,” He admits, and you can still feel the tension in him even though the conversation has been ebbing and flowing, “I’m not your brother.”

Irritation sparks in you at the comment, “I know you’re not,” you turn to him, “but we’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Friends call each other,” He says simply, “don’t they?”

You let his comment sit in the air between you for a moment, and then you sigh, “Yeah, they do. I’m sorry I disappeared on you like that,”

“I tried calling,” He says softly, “but you were always busy,”

“I know,” You breathe.

He drives further, slower now and safer that you’re in the car, and you can see him thinking through your words. Finally he slides his hand across the center console with his palm turned up, offering you his hand, “y/n,” he says, “are you doing okay? With money, I mean, after what you said?”

“I’m good,” You tell him, “it was just shitty timing,”

“If you need anything,” He squeezes your hand as you slide your palm across his, “I’m here, we don’t have to say anything to,”

“I’m okay,” You assure him, “but thank you, seriously,”

He nods, accepting your words, but then he asks something harder, “What did that guy say to you, y/n? I know you, you weren’t crying like that over not being able to get a taxi,”

You sigh, leaning back in the passenger seat, “Can I ask you to let it go?”

“You can ask,” He shrugs, “but so can I.”

You sit quietly, looking at your entwined hands resting on your knee. His thumb strokes over your knuckles slowly.

“Fine,” You murmur, “he said he didn’t want to date me anyways, he just came to sleep with me,”

His hand tightens on yours.

“And if I wasn’t going to fuck him,” You do your best to clean up some of the language he used when he got up from the table, “I shouldn’t have dressed like a slut,”

You leave out the part that really cut deep, the part that made the more form fitting dress you chose go from sexy to something sour.

“Give me this asshole’s name,” Seungcheol skids to a stop a little too harshly at the next traffic light and turns to you.

“No,” You shake your head, “I’m fine now, it just stung,”

His lips close in a tight line and then he sighs, “I’m so sorry someone said that to you,”

“Don’t apologize, Cheol,” You squeeze his hand, “you didn’t say it.”

“I know, but still,” He holds your gaze, “it was mean, and you deserve much better from a guy you’re seeing, and you don’t look like, or I mean, you aren’t a,”

You smile as he stumbles over his words and someone behind him gently honks the horn enough to let him know the light has gone green.

He jolts and refocuses on the road, clearing his throat, “What I’m trying to say is that you look nice, pretty. The dress is good, and you, um, you don’t look,”

“Thank you,” You cut him off, trying to save him from swallowing his own tongue out of embarrassment, and you ignore the way your stomach flipped over on itself hearing Seungcheol call you pretty.

“Yeah,” He swallows, slowing down to make the final turn onto your little block, “you know what I mean,”

“Mhm,” You laugh, breaking down any lingering tension, “Cheol, are you a little disappointed you didn’t get to punch my date? Is that it?”

“Shut up,” He sighs.

“Aw,” You smile as he pulls into a space by your apartment, “You were worried about me?”

He rolls his eyes as he kills the ignition, “You were hysterical,” he says, “what was I supposed to think?”

“Don’t worry,” You smile as he throws open the driver’s side door, “I think it’s kind of sweet that you went all knight and shining armor on me,”

His lip twitches, “Don’t make fun,” he says, “I thought something bad happened to you,”

“Nothing bad happened to me,” You find yourself assuring him again even though he already knows this, and you twist the moment back to a joke as quickly as you can, “unless you count listening to a guy talk about his ex for twenty minutes,”

He grimaces, “Ugh,”

“Exactly,”

“Actually, you know what,” He grins, “you’re right, that is a terrible date and you were right to call me,”

He’s out of the car and crossing to your door and relief floods your chest. Just like that, you’re back to normal.

Seungcheol pulls open your door to let you out and says, “Do you have a towel or something?”

“You want to come up?”

“If you don’t mind,”

“You just swooped in and saved my night, Coups, of course I don’t mind.” He smiles at the nickname, the one mostly used by his friend group and coined by Seungcheol himself during their short lived Soundcloud music career freshman year of college. The nickname stuck, but you and Mingyu knew him before and you’ve both always, always called him Seungcheol.

He ducks his head, smiles, and follows you up the stairs and into your apartment just like old times.

It’s a little strange seeing him like this after so much time has passed, but no matter what has happened in your life, even when your childhood little crush on him was making your nights sleepless, he’s always been there. He’s been a constant in your life since you could form memories, and when you really think about it, you’ve never not known Seungcheol. Suddenly seeing him in your living room feels right, and it makes you wonder why you couldn’t pick up the phone and say something real to him this past year.

“It looks good in here,” He offers, toeing off his slides in the entryway and stepping into your little living room, “it looks like you,”

“Thanks,” You’re pretty sure the floor of your bedroom is still covered in clothes from earlier, but he’s not going to see that and you’re just glad you didn’t let that chaos spillover out here.

“So,” He clears his throat lightly.

“Towel,” You jump, “right, hold on,”

You disappear down the hall and Seungcheol’s chest goes fluttering fast. He doesn’t need a towel, he doesn’t need anything except a pair of dry socks and his own bed, and he can’t figure out for the life of him why he gave into the little voice that told him to come upstairs. You’ve made it pretty clear over the past year or so that you’ve grown up, you’ve made your own group of friends outside of him and your brother and the guys. He doesn’t need to be here, you don’t need him anymore, you just needed a ride.

But he’s missed you a little. A lot if he’s being honest with himself. Sometimes he finds himself asking Mingyu about you, hoping you might drop by while he’s at his best friend’s place. Your name on his phone screen earlier in the night had stopped his heart cold. He couldn’t imagine why you were calling and not just texting, and he picked up the phone so fast he thought he might have fucked it up and accidentally pressed end. He tried to sound casual, normal, but his heart was pounding.

Standing in your living room he feels out of place, like a forgotten childhood relic unboxed in the middle of a new home. He doesn’t know which seat to sit in, he doesn’t have his spot on your couch here like he did at your old place. He doesn’t know where you keep your glasses or which remote would switch on the television. He doesn’t know which book you’ve been reading from the little stack on the table or the name of the place you’ve been working, and there’s a man’s jacket hanging on the wall in the hallway that he doesn’t recognize. He hopes it’s Mingyu’s.

He doesn’t know why he’s here. He should leave. He should go.

“Okay,” Your voice comes back, and he tears his eyes away from the little details of your life he doesn’t recognize to look back at you, “I’ve got a towel, socks, and I bet I have a sweatshirt of Gyu’s around here if you’re cold,”

“I’m good,” He recovers, taking the dry items from your hands.

Your fingers brush along his as you pass everything off and your stomach jumps.

“Come in,” You wave him in, “I’ll make some coffee or something and then I need to change,”

“You should get a warm shower,” He says abruptly, “you’ll catch a cold,”

“I’m fine,” You shake your head, “I wasn’t out there for too long,”

“I’ll make the coffee then, you need to get out of that wet dress,” He shoos you away and points to your kitchen, “I assume you have a normal coffee machine and not some fancy Italian thing?”

“I think you’ll be fine,” You smile, “I’ll just be a second,”

He nods, and you dart back down the hallway to your bedroom.

It takes you three minutes to change into something comfortable and clean and then kick all of your scattered clothes into the closet and shut the door. You run a brush through your tangled hair from the rain, and you almost forget that your childhood crush is walking freely around your apartment, but then you hear his laugh and you melt into the wall behind you. You missed the sound of it so much, and if you don’t get a handle on this right now you’re going to go out there and make a fool of yourself.

But then he laughs again.

You smile as you come back out into the living room, leaving your good sense behind in the bathroom, “What’s so funny?”

“I haven’t seen these in years,” He grins, and as you come around the corner you realize he’s looking at the photos you have framed and sitting in various spots on your bookshelf.

“Oh,” You smile, seeing the one he’s holding and studying, “yeah,”

“This one,” He tips the frame so you can see the picture, but you already know which one, Mingyu and Seungcheol in their first year of college stand in the center of the frame, Wonwoo, Jeonghan, Dokyeom, and Hoshi with their arms thrown around each other on either side. You are crouching in the center with Jeonghan’s little sister, both of you holding out a peace sign.

“Isn’t this the night we went to that haunted theme park?” Seungcheol asks with a smile.

“Yeah,” You take the photo back from him and look it over for a moment, “in Daegu,”

He nods, “I remember,”

“Yeah,” You place the photo back in it’s assigned spot and turn towards the kitchen, “I just remember you and DK scaring the living shit out of me,”

“God,” He runs a hand through his hair, “we did, I felt so bad about that after,”

“Mm,” You laugh.

“Gyu reamed us out for it later,” He follows you into the kitchen and watches as you pour two cups of freshly brewed coffee.

“He never told me that,” Your eyes perk up in surprise.

“He said,” Seungcheol straightens himself up to his full height and lets his face go passive for his impression, “‘If you ever make my sister cry like that again, you’ll be sorry,’”

“Sorry?” You laugh, “Mingyu wouldn’t know how to make someone sorry if his life depended on it,”

“I don’t know,” He shrugs, relaxing his shoulders and reaching for his cup, “it seemed pretty clear he wasn’t fucking around, we took him seriously,”

“Wow,” You lean against the counter, “that’s actually kind of sweet,”

“He’s always been protective of you,” Seungcheol points out, “even now, he’ll talk about you and I can see it,”

“I’m not a kid anymore, though,” You bristle a little.

“He knows that,” Seungcheol shakes his head, “he just worries, you know, it’s his nature,”

“Yeah,” You nod, taking a long sip of your coffee, “I know,”

Seungcheol hovers, not finding a place to lean or to sit in the unfamiliar place, and finally he just asks the question that’s been on his mind for the past twenty minutes, “Is that why you didn’t call him? He worries too much?”

“I guess a little,” You move past him and back into the living room, “come sit down, you’re making me nervous,”

He blushes and every little emotion you’ve ever had for him comes thundering back in your chest. There are at least three places for him to sit that aren’t directly next to you on the couch, but he ignores every one of them and sits next to you, barely a foot away, and turns towards you so he can put all his focus on you.

“So,” He prompts you, “come on, it’s just me,”

Talking to him was always easy, always. Even in the throes of your infatuation you were able to hold a conversation with him, sometimes a long one out on the balcony of your parent’s house. It’s almost irritating how quickly that familiarity and comfort comes back.

“I just feel like I’ve been really fucking this whole dating thing up,” You confess, “and Mingyu’s been… well you know him, he’s like the number one hype man for me making all my dreams come true, and being ten out of ten happy,”

“Yeah,” He nods, but lets you continue.

“But I just haven’t been able to make it work with anyone in a while,” You bite down the reason why in the back of your brain, “and every time I tell him about a bad date he just looks sadder and sadder for me,”

“Mm,” He nods, sympathetic, “I know exactly what you mean.”

“I’m so glad you picked up, honestly,” You glance down at the edge of your cup, “you’ve never treated me like that, and I just… I guess I needed a friend and not my brother tonight,”

He hesitates, but then his hand comes to rest on your knee and he gives you a squeeze, “I get it,” he says, “but, honestly it seems like you’re putting a lot of pressure on yourself,”

“I know, but,” You sigh, your words dying out as you focus on his lingering hand on your knee.

“What’s so important about getting a guy right now?” He asks, and you almost laugh at the absurdity of this man asking you that question.

“Cheol,” You shift on the couch to reposition, pulling back your knee from his touch so you can face him and admit this without being dizzier than you are about his presence, “I don’t know, exactly, but… don’t you feel like living alone is kind of fucking lonely sometimes?”

His eyes flick over you and then he nods.

The words keep coming as much as you don’t want them to now that you’ve started telling someone, telling him the truth of it and you grimace as you admit it, “The sick part is that I think it’s me. Tonight was the exception, he was a dick, but most of these guys are nice. They’re nice, they’re respectful, they seem to be interested in me, but none of them are what I want, none of them are,”

You have to stop. You have to get off this topic and off this train before you say something really and truly stupid and burn this newly restored friendship down to ash.

“Having high standards isn’t a bad thing,” He offers, “and Gyu sets the bar high for how you should treat a woman, I mean,”

“You think I’m talking about Mingyu?” You laugh sharply.

“He’s the best guy I know,” He starts to say and then the wheels start turning.

It happens fast, your absolute lightning quick strike to the match, but your poor decision making usually goes something like this. It makes you mad at first, his constant reference to your perfect brother, but then it all makes sense. Seungcheol really has no idea how you feel about him, as a person or otherwise. It doesn’t enter his brain that the guy who set your standards for men so high might be him, even after he drove illegally fast on wet roads just to come get you because he heard you cry. Up until the last year of your life where you tried to install some distance, he was always there. He was always your first call, always your last call too, and you could never really see anyone else while he was towering right in front of you. He’s never let you down and he doesn’t even know it.

“I can’t believe you,” The words slip out, and then you’re kissing him.

He takes a sharp inhale of breath at the way you collapse onto him, holding yourself up with one hand on his chest and the other on his neck, and his mouth is so warm. You press the first kiss tentatively, and then the second a little more insistently, and then you realize he hasn’t moved an inch and isn’t kissing you back in the least.

You fly backwards, your hand over your mouth, “Oh, god, I’m so sorry,”

He clears his throat and shifts, shaking his head, “It’s fine, don’t worry about it,”

“I can’t believe I just did that,” You blush scarlet, “I’m a mess, I’m so, so sorry, Cheol,”

“Really,” He avoids your eyes, “it’s fine, it was an emotional night, and you just said it yourself, living alone is lonely. We’re good,”

“I didn’t kiss you because I was sad,” You run a hand through your hair and slump back on the couch, “I kissed you because you were being a dumb ass,”

“I feel like you’re insulting me a lot tonight considering I just drove across town for you,” He’s not angry, not really, but he doesn’t let you off so easily, he never has.

“I kissed you because you’re the best guy I know,” You counter his words back, “and I’m sick of you always putting yourself down when-”

He yanks you forwards by your wrist, and this kiss is what you’ll count forever as the first one. He drags your body forwards as he leans back against the couch and kisses you hard, his tongue dipping past your lips this time, his breath mingling with yours.

You shift for better purchase, your chest and his flush together, and you moan softly against his lips when his hand slips lower on your waist.

He breaks the kiss, his forehead leaning against yours, “What the fuck are we doing?”

“I think they call it making out,” You manage, your heart beating fast like a bird.

“Jesus,” He shakes his head, “what are we doing?”

“Cheol,” You start, but he kisses you again, hungrier and hotter as he pulls you in.

You pant against his mouth, your brain exploding into little fireworks as his hands start to wander, and then he groans, “You feel so good,”

This is going somewhere fast, and with your hands twisted in the fabric of his t-shirt you swing your leg over his hips and let him wrap his arms around you.

“We should slow down,” You find yourself mumbling against his mouth, “but I don’t want to, I want you,”

He nods against you, his hands squeezing your thighs where they rest on either side of him, “I want you too,”

“We should talk more,” You manage as his kisses travel over your jaw.

“Later?” He asks, his hands dragging you closer, “God, that dress,”

“Yeah?” You’re breathless already.

“If I knew you were going to kiss me I would have peeled it off you,” He pants.

A moan gets caught in your throat, your hips jerking, nipples hardening against his chest as you throw yourself into another kiss.

“God,” He shivers.

“Cheol stay,” You can talk later, he’s absolutely right, and you beg him not to go between kisses, “please stay,”

Logic starts to pump through him at the implications of that, so much more than kissing comes with staying for the night and he starts to shake his head, but at the way you’re touching him he can’t quite tear his hands away.

“I should go home,” He murmurs against your mouth, fingers slipping underneath the hem of your t-shirt, “you’ve been drinking,”

“I had two drinks,” You connect your lips with his again, tongue dipping into his mouth, “like three hours ago,”

“Still,” He kisses you again despite his words, his hand now flat against the small of your back.

“I’m not drunk,” You pull yourself closer using his shoulders, “if you don’t want to kiss me, don’t kiss me, but don’t use that as an excuse,”

“I should go home,” He repeats, like saying it out loud might make his body follow his brain, but it doesn’t. All he does is tug you closer, your legs now fully splayed around his hips as he leans back against the couch and groans against your mouth.

“I should,” He starts again, whispered thoughts against your lips, but you push back from his chest and break your mouths apart.

“If you want to go so bad, go,” You pull your arms away from him, crossing them under your chest to hold yourself steady. Your nails press pinpricks into your palms.

“This isn’t about what I want,” His eyes soften in that tender way you love, and his hand cups your waist, thumb brushing a line over the deep curve of your hip.

“Why wouldn’t this be about what you want?” You press him, “Or about what I want?”

“Mingyu is my best friend,” He says, his mouth drawn into a sullen line, “and I never want to do anything that betrays his trust or hurts him in any way,”

“I’m not asking you to,” Your voice is small.

“Just,” He sighs, his head tipping backwards against the cushions and his hands slipping to rest over your thighs, “tell me something, okay? Be honest,”

“Okay,”

“Do you want me because you’re lonely and I’m here,” He asks, his eyes locked to the ceiling, “or do you want me because you want me?”

Your arms fall slack and you open your mouth to respond but he presses forwards.

“Because if this is a one time thing to make us both feel better,” He shakes his head, “I can’t do that, I have to go home.”

“Cheol,” You murmur, but he doesn’t lift his head. You reach for him, brushing a hand along his cheek and drawing his gaze back down from the ceiling to your face, “Seungcheol, look at me,”

“Yeah,” He finally follows your gaze.

“I love my brother, but this isn’t about him,” You tell him clearly, and you watch his lips part so he can cut in but you shake your head, “it isn’t. This is about us, and I’ve had a crush on you since I was fucking thirteen,”

He blinks, a grin breaking across his face, “You have?”

“Yeah,” You shuffle closer on his lap, “why do you think I disappeared? You started dating that girl and I just… it wasn’t my place to say anything, it’s not like you were mine, but,”

He brushes the hair back from your cheek as he nods, “It hurts to see the person you want with someone else,”

“Yeah,”

“And you wanted me?”

You nod, stroking his neck where your hand rests, “I just needed some space after that, I thought I could move on,”

“I know the feeling,” He smiles, his thumb tender against your jaw, “believe me,”

“I do,” You nod, “so believe me when I tell you I’ve wanted you for a long time and I don’t just want the one night,”

He sits frozen, his eyes studying your expression, and then he’s moving. Seungcheol pulls you down to meet his mouth again, hands roughly threading into your hair and gripping your hip as he tugs your bodies flush together. He kisses like you hope he fucks, passionate and a little messy, like his need to be inside you and consumed by you is more important than any vanity.

“God,” He groans against your mouth, “he’s going to kill me,”

“Probably,” You huff a laugh against his lips, rolling your hips forwards to slot your bodies together tightly, and at the feeling of his hardening cock pressed against your sex you can’t help the breathy moan that slips out.

He drops his hands to your hips, coaxing you into rolling them again as he presses upwards and you follow his guidance with ease. He curses softly and you roll your hips again, “Oh, fuck my fucking life,” he groans, kissing his way down your throat, “he’ll kill me, but you’re worth it,”

“I better be,” You tease him, tugging gently on his hair as he licks a stripe along your throat.

“Oh, you are,” He shifts back up to kiss your lips again, his mouth pillowy soft and hot against yours, “and I love Gyu, but,”

“Seungcheol,” You push on his shoulders.

His rarely used full name gets his attention and he leans back just enough to see your face, “What’s wrong?”

“Can you please stop talking about my brother while you’re trying to fuck me?” You can hear the whine in your own voice, “I need you right now, we’ll deal with him later,”

“Sorry, sorry,” He smiles, “of course, come here,”

You melt into him as he gathers you closer, his warm, rough hands finding new expanses of skin to touch and it’s strange but delicious to know that there are still brand new things you can learn about a person even after knowing them all your life. He gets soft beneath you like butter when you touch his ears, audibly groans when you grind against him, and gets breathier every time you kiss his neck. He’s not afraid to make little noises in your ear, to curse when you do something right or softly beg you to do something again.

With his mouth on yours and his hands exploring you, you’re just a shaky wet mess in his arms and he doesn’t even fully realize it yet, still so focused on studying your body with his lips, his tongue.

“Ch-Cheol,” You whine as his teeth nip at your pulsepoint, “baby,”

His hands tighten, sliding to cup your backside through the thin fabric of your lounge pants, “Say that again,”

“Baby?”

He exhales hot air across your neck and chest, “God, I like that,”

“You hate pet names,” You sigh, remembering how his nose always crinkled in an uncomfortable scrunch when he heard people getting too coupley.

“No, I don’t,” His hand slides up, tucks under the waistband of your pants, and slides back down to feel your skin, “I hate cringey shit. You calling me ‘baby’ while you’re grinding on my dick isn’t cringey, it’s fucking hot,”

“Ah,” You tug his hair just a little, rolling your hips again, “yeah? Like this?”

His hips jolt up, pressing his cock against your clothed mound and he groans, “Say it,” he nips at your neck again and then pushes you backwards so that you’re sitting up straddling his lap, “and let me see you,”

For a brief flickering second you feel shy, another stark moment of awareness that the man between your thighs is Mingyu’s best friend, but it flashes away the minute you see his smile. He’s looking up at you like you invented the sun and you think it just might make you dizzy enough to say yes to anything he could ever ask of you.

“God,” His eyes rake over you, “you’re so fucking pretty,”

Blush creeps up your chest, “Yeah, baby?”

He swallows hard, his hands coasting up your arms and his eyes coming to rest on the heavy swell of your chest, “The prettiest.” His fingers tuck underneath the straps of your tank top and your bralette and he glances up to your face, “Can I see?”

“Please,” You whisper.

He moves slowly, peeling down the straps from each of your shoulders first, letting the thin fabric of your tank top droop down your arms until he’s left with just the stretchy elastic of your black bralette. His fingers trace your curves, the pad of his thumb ghosting over one of your hardening nipples until it pushes into a firm peak under the fabric.

“Cheol, please,” If he doesn’t touch you soon you’re going to be a squirming mess.

“Relax,” He toys with the strap, “we’ve got all night,”

You gasp as he dips forwards, peeling the front of your top down entirely until your breasts spill out of the elastic fabric. His lips connect with your skin, tongue exploring intimate parts of you in ways you’ve never experienced quite like this with anyone else.

“These,” He cups your full breasts in his hands, kissing along each swell, “are perfect, princess,”

You shiver at that, whining in his grip as he traces his tongue down and ghosts it close to your nipple, but you smile and manage, “I really took you for an ass man,”

“I’m an everything man where you’re concerned,” He flicks his tongue experimentally across the hardened bud and hums softly when you jolt in his arms, “so excuse me if I have to slow down and show my appreciation,”

This crush is going to kill you, that’s the thought that gets instantly banished from your brain the second Seungcheol wraps his lips around one nipple while his fingers pinch the other, setting a steady pace of sucking and teasing that is sure to leave pleasured little bruises.

“Oh,” You grip his shoulders, “oh, Jesus, Cheol,”

“Feel good, baby?” He switches sides smoothly and sucks again.

A jolt of pleasure rocks from your chest to your untouched clit and you rock down, trying desperately to press your aching center against anything for a little friction.

“Yeah?” He prompts you gently.

“So, so good,” You nod, rolling again, “but I need more, please,”

He nods against your chest, pressing one more kiss to your breastbone before he says, “y/n, I don’t want to move too fast or anything, we’ll do whatever you want, but,”

“But what?” You’re about a second from pushing his hand into your underwear yourself.

“Can I eat you out?”

Your stomach flips, “Oh, fuck yes,”

You’re on your back practically the second you give him permission. He holds you tight to his chest as he pushes himself up off the couch and flips you around, dropping you back onto the cushions and tugging at your clothes. Normally you’d be a little self conscious, especially in the brighter light of your living room and not the dim strategic lightning of your bedroom, but Seungcheol keeps looking at every inch of your body like he’s starving for it, groaning in pleasure at every inch of you that gets revealed, and you’re starting to think he really does like everything about you.

You help push off your pants with shaky hands, but let him loop his thumbs under the thin straps of your underwear and tug those free, a slick wet patch in the middle where you’ve been soaking through the cotton for the past half hour. You help him with your top, until finally you’re completely bare and he’s pushing you to lie back onto the extended length of the chaise while he falls to his knees before you.

“Wow,” He breathes, his hands running along your thighs, “just… wow,”

“Stop,” You can’t stop the blush now, and you fight the urge to reach for a blanket or cross your arms over yourself at his exacting gaze.

“Nope,” He dips his hands to your inner thighs and pushes your legs apart little by little, “I’m going to enjoy every bit of this,”

“Now you’re just trying to embarrass me,” You smile.

His tongue darts out to wet hips lips and he shakes his head, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,”

Your stomach churns, flipping nervously as he looks at you so earnestly.

“I’m serious,” He kisses your knee as he opens one of your legs wider, “I’ve thought about this a thousand times, but you’re so much better than my imagination,”

“Cheol,” You whisper tightly.

“Mm,” He sighs as he tips your hips back, maneuvering your legs wide and open now and shifting your hips to the very edge of the couch so he can tuck smoothly between your open legs, “I wonder if you taste as sweet as I imagined too,”

Your fingers grip down on the cushions, your heart hammering in your chest.

“Look at you,” He sighs pleasantly, his fingers ghosting along the edge of your lower lips, “is all this for me, baby?”

“Uh-huh,” Your breath hitches as his finger just barely touches your seam.

“You got this wet just from grinding on my lap?” He smiles, his teeth catching his thick bottom lip.

“Cheol,” It’s all you can manage, you really didn’t know he was like this.

His eyes soften up though at the sound of his name on your lips, and he kisses your thigh tenderly before looking back up to you, “Doing good? Okay?”

“Mhm,” You’re fine, you are, except you think you might come the second he touches you and you’re a little terrified at just how intense he is from minute one.

“y/n,” He squeezes you a little.

“I’m good,” You breathe, “I promise,”

“Okay,” He kisses your skin again and nods, “just relax, okay?”

“I’m relaxed,” You answer too quickly and one of his eyebrows goes high.

“Mhm,” He eases up on his knees a little to see your face better and smooths his hand from your leg to your hip to your stomach, “what’s going on?”

“This is just a little surreal,” You admit, “isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” He releases your legs and shifts up so he can lean over your body, catching your mouth again in a soft kiss, “it is, but do you trust me?”

“Of course,” You kiss him back.

“Then you should know,” He nuzzles your nose with his, “that all I want to do right now is make you come on my face until you can’t think, and after that if you still want to take this further we can, but baby, I really don’t care what we do tonight. I just want to be with you,”

Your mouth runs dry, and you can feel your core throbbing hard between your legs, your heart fluttering fast.

“So, please, can I make you come?” He smiles, pressing another quick kiss to your lips, “I think you want me to,”

“Yes,” The nervous knots in your stomach release, “please, Coups,”

His nose scrunches as he laughs, kissing his way down your chest, “It’s Coups now?”

“Cheol,” You whine, “you’re stalling,”

“It’s called foreplay,” He licks a firm line between your breasts and moves lower, “have you not been getting fucked right, princess?”

“F-fuck,” Your back arches as his lips travel down over your belly, eyes slipping closed, “Seungcheol,”

He shakes his head, his hair brushing against your skin, “No more baby?” He makes a sulky noise with his tongue against the back of his teeth, “Come on princess, call me baby,”

Your mind is spinning, and you gasp sharply as his fingers finally slide through your wet slit and land at the apex, pressing deliciously down over your throbbing clit, “Ch-Cheol, fuck, oh fuck, baby,”

“There she is,” He groans, and as his fingers fall away and his lips take their place. He licks a deep stripe through your folds and groans, spreading your legs open wide with his hands anchored on the backs of your thighs, “You’re perfect,”

You moan as he sucks the tender bud of your clit into his mouth.

“I’m going to do this everyday,” He pants, licking another stripe, exploring every inch of your cunt with his tongue, “you’ll be my dessert every night,”

“Ah,” Your head rocks back as pleasure lights up your spine, “baby,”

“Mm,” He groans into your core, burying his face against you and alternating perfectly between sharp sucks and flicks of his tongue.

You are moving fast, from nothing to desperate something in the span of a couple of hours, but honestly you’ve never felt safer and better and more held than this. His hands roam your body, seeking every soft place he can grab and squeeze and hold onto, and you just know the bruises on your hips will be worth it when he finally fucks you.

“Come on,” He tips your hips back to get better access, wrapping his arms around your thick thighs, “don’t be shy,”

“Oh, shit,” Your hand flies down to grip his hair and anchor your position as he manhandles you, your other hand gripping the cushions, “just like that,”

He sucks harder and flicks the tip of his tongue against your bud again, quickening his pace and listening carefully for your sounds to know what you need. Looking down between your legs you can barely believe the sight, but there he is, Choi Seungcheol with his face glistening. His lips are puffy and red, his eyes hooded, and he grins when he sees you watching before nodding just a little and redoubling his efforts.

Your legs are trembling now, the start of your orgasm building up through the base of your spine and flooding warmth into your belly, and if he wasn’t holding you so tightly you’re sure you’d snap.

“Baby,” You whine, your voice sounding not quite your own as heat floods in your chest, “oh, God, please don’t stop,”

He sucks hard, shifting to kiss your core and push the tender muscle of his tongue inside you, “I’ve got you,” he pants as he works his tongue faster, “I’ve got you,”

He’s a mess, wet with slick across cheeks and sweat on his brow, and you think for a split second you might actually be in love with this man already, no one has ever, ever treated your body quite like this. As he shifts to tease your clit again, building the pleasure up and up higher, you grip down on his hair harder.

“I’m,” You stammer out, your back arching and your mouth falling slack, “I’m gonna,”

He nods into you but doesn’t stop the pace of his tongue one bit.

“I’m,” You gasp again, “coming, fuck, I’m coming,”

It hits you all at once, punctuated with his sharp suck to your clit and your legs snap shut around his head, your body wrenching sideways as the wave takes you from conscious to that hazy middle space of pleasure. You can barely breathe, you can't even think, all you can do is feel pulse after pulse of pleasure.

“Fuck,” He curses, and your brain connects enough to realize your legs are still snapped tightly shut around his ears but you can’t get your body to respond, “yeah, fuck, there you go,”

Everything you are is trembling in his hands.

“I could fucking die happy,” He says, shifting to nip your plush thigh with his teeth, his hands gripping down on your curves, “right here between your legs,”

You make a sound, you think, and he chuckles against your skin.

“Mm-mm,” He sighs pleasantly, his hands running from your thighs to your hips and down to cup your backside, “you’re fucking gorgeous, y/n, I love every fucking inch of you,”

“Y-yeah?” Your eyes flutter open.

“Mhm,” He flicks his tongue over your clit once more, eliciting a deep shudder from your hips before he says, “I can’t wait to fuck you,”

Your legs start to relax, and you look down, “Then fuck me,”

“I want another first,” He shakes his head, “please, let me make you come again, sweetheart,”

“Oh,” You shiver as he kisses your slit again, letting his tongue linger, “fuck,”

He sighs, “This pussy,”

“Cheol,” You blush hard.

“I would do anything,” He smiles, flicking your clit again with his tongue, “for this perfect fucking pussy,”

“Anything?”

He goes still between your legs and then he nods, wetting his lips with his tongue, pressing a kiss to your quivering cunt, and looking up over your body to meet your eyes, “Anything.”

“Will you come up here?” You reach for him, “Will you hold me?”

He eases your legs down off his shoulders and shifts up, “Yeah, of course,”

“Will you,” You nearly come again just at the sight of a sizeable wet spot on his sweats, and you tug at his shirt to try and silently communicate your need, “I want to touch you too,”

“Mhm,” He stands up, shucking off his clothes as quickly as he can, and when he pushes down his boxer briefs your muscles clench.

When you were younger, a teenager inexperienced with sex and boys, you imagined his cock. You saw the faint outline of it once through a pair of athletic shorts and you wondered what he might look like naked. You wondered if you would like his body. You wondered if he would like yours too. You can’t really remember what you imagined Seungcheol’s cock to look like, but you know this is better. It’s long, but not too long, like the guys who can’t fit it in all the way without smashing painfully into your cervix, but it’s thick. His cock is heavy, deserving of the word, and perfectly straight until the very end where it curls up towards his abdomen.

You want him inside you so badly you could cry.

“You okay?” He says as he slides up the couch next to you, your naked hip against his.

“A little nervous,” You admit quietly, turning towards him on the cushions and drawing him closer with your hand on his shoulder.

“Me too,” He says softly, maneuvering until one arm is wrapped around your back and your head is pillowed on his other, your chests flush against each other, his cock trapped between your stomachs.

“God,” You shift closer to him, tangling your legs together, “you’re so hard,”

He nods, sighing at the way your skin drags against his, “You’re making me insane,”

“Good,” You smile, finding his lips with yours, tasting yourself on him and dipping your tongue into his mouth as you deepen the kiss.

He groans against you, and you snake a hand between your bodies to wrap around his aching cock. “Oh, fuck,” he curses as you pump your hand up and down his shaft, “easy, it’s been a while,”

“Yeah?” You soften your grip a little, rolling your hand at the tip and feeling precum bead up and smear on your belly, “Saving yourself for me, baby?”

He moans softly, his eyes rolling shut, “You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

“Maybe,” You kiss the corner of his mouth and pump his cock a little harder.

“L-let me touch you,” He pants, his hand pushing your hips back just enough so that he can fit a hand in between your thighs, “can I touch you?”

It’s dizzying how much he begs to pleasure you, and you’re starting to think maybe this is part of what he needs, but you’re still new to each other’s bodies and learning and you suppose you’ll have time to figure all of this out. It’s not just a one night thing.

“Touch me,” You open your legs for him and he immediately slides his fingers down your slit to your aching entrance.

“Don’t stop,” He urges you and you realize at the feeling of his fingers you stopped pumping your hand.

You smile, kissing him again and finding a new pace with a stroke of your hand and a roll of your wrist, “You feel so good, baby,”

“So do you,” He pants, and then he pushes two fingers inside your slick walls.

You choke out a wine, pushing your hips forwards into his hand so he can go deeper.

“God,” He holds you firm with his other hand, “you’re too tight,”

“Too tight?” You huff, still working your hand over his cock, “never gotten that complaint before,”

“Not a complaint, princess,” He teases, drawing his fingers out of your channel before thrusting back inside, “but I need to prep you a little, I don’t want to hurt you,”

Your muscles clench down around his fingers.

He laughs softly, “Oh, yeah, babygirl? You want me inside?”

You nod, a whine trapped on your lips, “Cheol, please,”

“Shh, shh,” He shifts, effectively sliding down the couch a little more while you slide up, and he rests his head on your shoulder and adjusts the angle of his arm so he can pump his fingers in and out of your channel at a steadier pace. He watches the way his fingers disappear inside you with rapt attention, cursing when he feels you grip down on him, “You want to come again?”

“P-please,” You’re doing your best to keep working your hand, but at the way his fingers are curled inside you and pressing rhythmically against your sweet spot you think you’re about to see stars again.

“Fuck, baby,” He sighs, “you’re so sexy,”

All you can do is moan, grip down on his shoulder and let him have you.

When he pushes in a third finger to stretch you, you gasp tightly at the sensation, the pleasure rocketing up your back and making your brain buzz.

“Are you close?” He pumps his hand harder, finding your nearby nipple with his tongue and your body arches again.

“Close,” You pant, your legs widening as you try to brace yourself, your hand falling away from his cock and gripping down on his thigh as the rolling wave of your orgasm starts to wash up over you.

“Come for me,” He’s gripping you hard, like you belong to him and he wants only to please you, and his words combined with the way his hands lay on you leaves you coming apart at the seams.

The sound of it is obscene, wet and filthy and pornagraphic and you’ve never in your life had sex with someone for the first time and had it be anything close to perfect. Your bodies want each other with such need. It's entirely outside your conscious brain, and you think if he can love your body like this then maybe he can love all the other parts of you, and you never want to let him go.

Your orgasm hits you harder than the first, locking your body up in spasmodic elation, and he curls around you when you twist to make sure he works you through the crest of it, his hand only slowing down when the pulses of pleasure start to ease.

When you come back to earth, you’re pressed face down onto the couch instead of up, your cheek against the cool fabric below you. Seungcheol is wrapped around your body like he’s glued to your back, and you feel his soft breath against your cheek and shoulder, his easy kisses on whatever part of you he can reach. His hand is still tucked underneath you and between your legs, cupping your cunt warmly and just holding you as you come down.

“Cheol?” You murmur, your brain almost a little foggy at the heady feeling of two full body orgasms.

“Hey, there you are,” He kisses you again, “feeling okay?”

“Mm,” You nod, “so, so good,”

He smiles, “Yeah? Did I get you?”

You laugh against the cushions, shaking your head, “Babe, I just came so hard I blacked out,” your body stretches, pressing your core into the cup of his hand, “you definitely got me,”

“Mm,” He rocks his hand and you sigh a little overstimulated sound, “should we stop here?”

He doesn’t know, you realize it suddenly, he has no idea how badly you want him. He’s been so focused on your body, your pleasure, your wants, but you can see it now in the hesitation in voice that he still doesn’t know for sure if you want to be here with him or if you just wanted someone.

He’s been touching you like it might be the only time, his only chance to have you and hold you in his arms. Didn’t he believe you when you said it wasn’t one night?

“Seungcheol,” You wriggle in his arms, “baby,”

“What’s wrong?” He gives you the space to roll and you twist against him.

You see his eyes when you turn, like he’s waiting for something and you curse yourself inside for not telling him like he was telling you. You smile, pushing his shoulder until he’s flat on his back, “What’s wrong is that you’re not inside me,”

“O-oh,” He gasps as you hook a leg over his hips and straddle him, your body hovering over his prone cock.

“Mhm,” You drop your body over him, your slick slit nestling directly over his cock, “but I’ve been so selfish,”

He shakes his head to protest but you lay your fingers over his lips to stop him.

“I want you, Cheol,” You drag your hips and find the head of his cock so you can dip and press it against your entrance, “so fucking much,”

He’s breathing heavy against your hand, your eyes locked on eachother.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” You stay steady above him.

He nods, just a little.

“I’ve never wanted anybody like I want you,” You tell him, “never,”

His lip quirks a little, a small smile as he presses a kiss to your fingers, “I’m all yours,” he whispers.

You sink your hips back in one smooth flush motion, taking him inside you to the hilt without warning, and his head falls back as he moans. He’s stretching you out wide and full, his thick cock pushing into every spot inside you that you didn’t know could feel like this.

“Oh my fuck,” Your body moves on it’s own, rocking your hips in a circle to take him deeper and roll your clit across his pubic bone, “Cheol, Cheol,”

He blinks hard, finding your eyes at the sound of his voice, “Yeah?”

You feel strangely like you might cry at the rush of endorphins, and you roll your hips again, whining out a need, “Hold me, please? Please, touch me,”

Seungcheol softens, his hands unclench on the cushions below him and he coasts his warm hands over your thighs, your hips, up and down your sides, “I’m right here,” he murmurs.

You relish in the feeling of it, and you direct them from their wandering comfort to a landing place on your hips, the perfect soft place for him to grip in with his fingers and keep you steady while you work him. He follows your lead, watching you above him with no hesitation, and his mouth falls slack when he watches you get your position right on your knees and lift up to draw his cock out of your warm, wet channel.

“y/n,” He pants tightly.

You sink back down hard and he groans, cursing and no doubt leaving a pretty bouquet of bruises where his fingers press down.

“Your cock,” You moan as you bounce again, finding a steady rhythm, “you feel so perfect,”

“Yeah?” He bounces you, teeth clenched as he tries not to come too early.

“Made for me,” You grind down and jolt against the pleasure, “never felt something this good,”

He groans, a hot pant of breath and then he stutters his hips upwards, “D-don’t, I’ll come,”

“Good,” You sink down and back up, feeling him stretch you open again and again.

“Come here,” He reaches up for you, tugging you down by your neck to get you close and you can feel him suddenly reposition and change the angle, take back control as he pins you to his chest and pumps his hips.

The way his cock punches into you, curved and pressing directly into your g-spot, makes you choke out a moan and dig your nails into his chest.

“Say you love my cock,” He pants suddenly in your ear, “if it feels so good, say it, tell me,”

You moan sharply, “I fucking love your cock,”

“Fuck yes,” His hand claps down on your ass and grips you tight as his hips piston upwards.

“Ah, ah,” Your legs are trembling again, “I can’t,”

“Yes, you can,” He pants, “I want to feel you come on my cock, babygirl, squeeze me,”

Your eyes slam shut.

“So fucking tight,” He breathes, “so wet,”

“For you,” You choke out and hips stutter.

“Oh, f-fuck,” He pushes up hard, but instead of thrusting he locks his hips there with your bodies pressed flush together and at the sound of his sudden moan, the way his hands lock tight on your body, the way warmth floods your belly, you know he’s coming.

Your brain somersaults and you rock your hips, trying to keep catching the friction against your clit to help push you over the edge, “Ah,” you whine, “no, please,”

He doesn’t go anywhere though, he just presses his hips up to keep giving you the pressure you need and holds your hips down with his broad hands, and you hear him hiss at the overstimulation but he groans and manages, “Come baby, you’re so close, there you go, there you go,”

You’re saying something, but you can’t really hear it. All you can feel is the bubble about to burst inside you as you drag yourself fast and frantic against his body. You’re needy and seconds away, falling into trembles again.

“So beautiful,” He mumbles, dragging your mouth up to his and locking you in a heady kiss.

“Cheol!” You squeak against him, body cracking apart into shakes as you come, probably louder than you wanted to as you fall into the sweet space between his neck and shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” His softening cock slides out as you come, but he slides a hand between your thighs and rubs fast circles on your swollen clit, “fuck, look at you, god, you’re such a mess,”

Your brain is dizzy as he talks you through the edges of your orgasm.

“So wet,” He bites down softly on your shoulder, “soaked for me and full of my cum, fuck,”

As you collapse on his chest, your orgasm receding, his hand slows, but his fingers stay slipped between your folds in the messy mixture of your slick wetness and his release. You are a mess, but he seems to like it and if you’re benign honest so do you.

“I’m so,” You breathe out, shaky and exhausted, “god, I don’t know,”

“Mhm,” He sighs, and finally he slides his fingers out of you to rest on your hip, his other hand stroking a line up and down your back while you recover together.

You need to get up, run to the bathroom and get the shower started, but you’re boneless and floating and he’s just the perfect temperature, so for a little while you don’t move.

When he shifts his hips under yours to readjust your eyes pop open and you start to move, “Am I hurting you?”

“Shh,” He wraps his arms around you and gathers you tight to his chest, “don’t you dare go anywhere,”

“Yeah?”

“You’re perfect,” He repeats and you smile against his skin, “next time I want you sitting on my face,”

You laugh against him, “Next time?”

He’s quiet, his fingers still dragging up and down your spine, “If you want,”

You shift up in his arms, settling on his chest so that you can see his face, “So much,”

He cups your cheek, brushing his thumb along your face, as he smiles, “I missed you, you know,”

Tears prick at the back of your eyes and your throat goes thick, and you don’t trust your voice but you nod and press your lips to his, “I missed you too, all the time,”

He gives you a moment, just staying calm and kind with his hands, and then he leans up to capture your lips once more, this kiss so much softer and more familiar from the frantic emotion a few minutes ago. His kisses travel from your lips to your forehead and then he smooths back the tangled mess of your hair, “We should get cleaned up,” he murmurs, “how are you feeling?”

“Like I might not ever walk again,” You joke wryly.

“I didn't hurt you, did I?” He leans to look you over, “I got a little carried away,”

You shake your head, “No, I’m perfect, I promise,”

“We didn’t talk much beforehand,” He notes, brushing his palm over the swell of your hip, dipping at your hip crease, and tracing up over again at the curve of your thigh, “I just want to be sure you’re feeling okay with everything,”

“I’d tell you if I wasn’t,” You press, “you know I would,”

“Good,” He sighs.

You stretch on top of him, your knees aching from your curled position and you smile, “You want to get a shower? We can share the hot water,”

“You’re insatiable,” He quirks an eyebrow at you.

“Not for sex,” You slap his chest lightly as you climb off him, wincing at the sudden stretch of your knees, “I can barely move,”

“I like a challenge,” He sighs, rolling off the chaise and stretching long and you catch yourself watching the strong flex of his back, the cut of his shoulders, the curve of his ass and his muscular thighs.

Maybe you could rally.

Seungcheol turns and his eyes flick over your body too, “Yeah,” he nods, “I think I can get one more out of you,”

“My shower is shockingly small, so,” You reach for him, guiding him down the hall with you, “we’ll see,”

“I said I like a challenge,” He shrugs, and all of a sudden you can’t stop laughing.

Your shower is small, but in the end it doesn’t matter. Seungcheol ends up crouched on his knees anyways, with one of your legs hitched over his shoulder while he takes his sweet time with his tongue bringing you up to your softest, easiest orgasm of the night. You trade lazy kisses in the warmth after, the suds long gone and your fingers pruned by the time you fall into bed.

You don’t have to ask him to stay, he just does. You talk for as long as you can keep your eyes open, stories of years ago when you saw him almost every single day. You whisper late into the night, until finally he falls asleep first, his head lolled to the side, but his hand still wrapped tightly around yours.

You tumble into sleep right alongside him, his skin smelling of sweet peach and nectarine.

In the morning, you wake up to something cold suddenly pressed to your cheek and you start to stitch together the world around you in quick threads.

“Kkuma,” Seungcheol’s voice reaches you first, a hushed whisper as he tries to get his dog’s attention, “come here girl, let her sleep,”

You groan a little, and you realize the something cold was Kkuma’s very wet nose against your cheek. Instead of listening to Seungcheol, she presses her nose to you again and follows it up with a lick, her panting excitement pushing you from laying on your side to your back as she collapses over your chest.

“Kkuma!” He exclaims quietly, “down girl!”

Your eyes start to pop open, and this time you see his dog’s fluffy white face inches from your own, delighted that you’re awake.

“Kkuma,” He tries to drop his voice to a lower tone to get her attention.

“It’s okay,” You yawn, reaching up to scratch Kkuma behind the ears, “I’m awake now,”

“I’m sorry,” Seungcheol moves into your bedroom, and you can see he’s fully dressed and has been for some time, “I didn’t think she would just jump on you like that,”

Your brain is still a little sluggish and you rub your hand over your face, “Did you go home?”

He grins and nods at your sleepy question, the answer obvious from the dog on your chest, “Yeah, I needed to run home and take her for a walk, I hope you don’t mind I let myself back in,”

“Not at all,” You smile up at him, “I’m just sad you’re not in the cuddle pile,”

“We can fix that,” He tosses his beanie on your nightstand and then holds up a little carrier containing two coffees and a few little pastry bags, “and I bring gifts,”

“From that place by your apartment?” You brighten, recognizing the stamped logos on the cups.

“Mhm,” He passes over your cup, “sugar, no cream,”

“You remembered,” You push yourself up in bed, Kkuma adjusting herself to snuggle into your side, and accept the cup, “thank you,”

He lays his heavy denim jacket on the chair by your dresser and slips back into bed with you, dragging the covers back over both your legs, “Of course, I did, not that much could have changed in a year, right?”

“Mm-mm,” Your legs slide together as you tuck under his arm and settle back into his chest.

His fingers play with the ends of your hair while he sips his coffee, and then he sighs, “y/n,”

Your stomach freezes and you wonder if you’re about to get let down easy. If waking up in the morning cleared his head, if a text from Mingyu changed his mind, if on the trip back to his place he worked out the right way to break your heart, if he practiced it out loud in his car with the dog.

“What’s up?” You say, hoping you sound far more casual than you feel.

“About Gyu,” He exhales heavy, his coffee leaning against his thigh as he gathers his words, “listen,”

“Don’t,” You murmur, pressing your eyes closed, “please don’t go,”

“Go?” He asks.

“I’ll tell him, and I know he’ll be fine after the shock wears off,” You twist in the bed to look up at him, “please just stay, last night was… Cheol, please just think about this,”

His brows knit together tight in confusion and he sets his coffee on your bedside table to free up his hand and brush it along your cheek, “I was going to say, about Gyu, I’m meeting him for lunch at two. I’d like to tell him about us today,”

“You what,” You blink.

“I’d like to tell him that I picked you up after your date,” He says, “and that we got to talking, and that we kissed,”

You can almost see Mingyu’s wide puppy eyes as he realizes where the story is going to go.

“And that I asked you out on a date,” Seungcheol finishes, “and he’s going to ask me a lot of other questions which I definitely am not going to answer, except one thing,”

You swallow nervously, your coffee almost tipping to the side forgotten in your hands until he plucks it up and sets it to the side.

“He’s going to ask me if I’m serious about you,” He says calmly, like you’ve discussed this before, “and I’m going to say yes, but that’s the kind of thing you should know before your brother does.”

“You’re serious about me,” You say it back, your heart picking up as the words come off your tongue.

“Yes,” He nods, unequivocal, “and I hope you feel the same way because before I drive across town and tell my best friend I’m in love with his sister, I just need to know if you feel even a tenth of that,”

Your heart should be pounding, your stomach fluttering, your body flooding with emotion at the casual confession, but all you feel is calm. Mingyu told you once that life would fall into place, you just never thought you’d have that realization while it was happening around you.

You try to keep a straight face when you say, “There’s only one problem,”

“Okay,” He says, but you watch his hand fidget in his lap.

“You never actually asked me out on a date,” You point out with a smile, “and I don’t want to lie to Mingyu about anything,”

He grins, his tongue dragging against one side of his teeth as he shakes his head in disbelief, “You’re right,” he says, “that’s my mistake, will you go out with me?”

“I’d love to,” You lean into him so you can press a quick kiss to his lips and take his hand in yours, lacing his anxiously twitching fingers with yours to hold him steady, “and if Gyu gives you any lip about this,” you kiss him again, “tell him I’m in love with his best friend,”

“You are?” His fingers tighten on your hand.

“Mhm,” You suddenly can’t keep your lips away from his, “and you tell him that if he does anything to ruin this, that I’ll make him sorry,”

“Now that,” He laughs, “that I believe,”

You pull him down to you and your body without another word, and with a hushed apology he pushes Kkuma off the bed so he can splay you out in the middle of the mattress. He takes you fast, hurried and full of need now that you have so much time ahead of you for slow. For now, you have a lot of catching up to do.

When you finally make it out of bed the coffee is cold and Seungcheol is late for lunch.

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yanaromanov · 1 month

Text

my sweet assistant

- professor!natasha x lawyer!wanda x reader

part summary: you take a position in assisting professor romanoff after classes to make up for a missed assignment. your flustered state only continues as you’re forced to spend one-on-one time with her, even more so when her wife is introduced into the equation…

part warning(s): teacher/student relationship, age gap (r is of age), power dynamics, married wandanat (no cheating), pet names, mentions of anxiety, mentions of bad family relations, minor death, funeral etc. minors dni

authors note: this took me a bit longer to write and release than i would have liked thanks to my broken arm and writers block so apologies for that. but even tho i kinda hate it, it’s here now, so i hope you enjoy! :)

part two of the inescapable love series

inescapable love series

･｡ﾟ*. 18+, minors DNI . * ｡ﾟ･

11.5K words

People say life comes with its ups and downs, something you had come to learn was rather true, but why did it always seem the downs came at the worst of times? A call from your mother was never really a good sign to begin with, usually her nagging being the only thing waiting on the other end of the line, but this time when you picked up and heard what she had to say, not good turned to terribly bad. It wasn’t the extent of the problem as such that worried you, more so the timing. Your Russian class had an assignment coming up, due in less than a week, and thinking you had enough time to get round to it, you still hadn’t started. Something that would have been totally fine if not for your mom’s name popping up on your phone last night and sharing news that would throw your entire schedule off.

The way your mom had picked up the phone had immediately informed you something was wrong, but a death announcement was certainly the last thing you had been expecting to hear on a Sunday night. It was your grandmother, on your dad’s side. She’d passed away over the weekend, finally giving up on the hospice care she’d been dependent on for months. The news itself hadn’t been too much of a shock, the old woman’s health deteriorating for years, and it didn’t much upset you either. You’d never really been close to your grandmother, your brother being the one favoured from your family, keeping you distanced whenever you visited her house. Your teenage self had already mourned for the relationship you had never had and that felt more painful than the actual loss in front of you now.

The main thing concerning your mind now was how you were going to complete your assignment. On the phone, your mom had told you she’d already booked the flights for you coming home, prepared for the funeral just that week, a quick turn around due the arrangements been made in advance from the anticipation of her death. It would see you in England the entirety of the week, leaving tomorrow afternoon and not returning until late Friday evening. Even with the extra days you had at home, the funeral tea and family gatherings would no doubt leave you no time at all to complete your assignment.

You knew what you had to do now, had done it many times before for other classes, but something about this time felt more intimidating. As you sat in the lecture theatre, watching your professor teach at the front of the class, your heart pounded in your chest at the thought of asking for the extension. More time alone would have to be spent with your Russian professor, the last time still lingering unwanted in your mind. The thought of speaking to her one on one once more was enough to send your anxious mind into a frenzy.

Desperately, you tried to cling on to the reality of things as your lesson continued. It was the day of the week where your class would practice your Russian speaking, conversing with one another whilst Professor Romanoff would walk around, listening in and correcting any mispronunciations. In the end, it would build up to the speaking exam the end of semester held, a private conversation that each student would have with your professor which was then graded alongside your written tests.

The girl sat beside you had claimed the spot as your partner when the first speaking lesson had started up, thankfully not the same girl who’d passed you dirty looks after your perfectly scored paper. The two of you worked through the worksheet in front of you, sounding out the words and building them up into a conversation. Your partner seemed slower than you to grasp the concepts, but you found you didn’t quite mind, allowing your thoughts the moments in between to plan exactly how you’d make your request to Professor Romanoff.

When the class had finally drawn to a close, everyone began packing up their things, worksheets handed back down towards the front. Professor Romanoff stood against her desk, collecting papers as she shouted out across the clamouring hall. “Remember your assignment is due on Friday everyone. Do not use google translate. I can tell!”

It seemed your class wasn’t paying her announcement much notice, instead focused on making it out of the double doors and out into the corridor. Like you had done before, you packed away your things slowly, lingering in the row of seats until almost everyone had left the room. Only when the last few stragglers were close to the door, did you begin your descent towards the central desk. Professor Romanoff stood wiping clean the board once again, back facing you. This time, however, you cleared your throat to make your presence known. The woman’s face was slightly bewildered as she turned, melting away immediately as she spied you standing across the way, a smile appearing on her lips instead. “Miss Y/L/N,” she said, wiping the chalk dust away from her hands and turning back to close the distance between you. “Is everything alright?”

"Uhm, yes," you said nervously, watching as the woman came to stand in front of you. "Well...no, but-" You shook your head, attempting to dispel the anxious thoughts that clouded your brain. Fingers began to fidget as you looked back up at your professor with a nervous smile. "I was wondering if I could possibly get an extension for the assignment?" The redhead in front of you raised a single brow, looking inquisitive to your scenario and hence, drawing more of and explanation from your chest. "It's just my grandma passed away and I have to fly back to England for her funeral this week. I'm not going to be back till Friday night and with all the travelling and family stuff and jet lag, I probably won't have enough time to do it." Your hands gestured about, trying to find anything else to do rather than anxiously pick at your nail beds. "I don't need a long extension, maybe just till Monday? I can get it done over the weekend when I'm back."

The spill of words finally fell short in the silent room, your blurting echoing ever so slightly in the emptiness of the hall. Professor Romanoff stood in front of you, today wearing a matching black skirt and blazer, a white shirt neatly tucked in. "I'm sorry to hear about your grandmother." Your gaze raised up to the pair of green eyes as she spoke, a soft expression held between her features. "Are you doing alright?"

The question had came unexpectedly. You shook your head as you answered. "Oh yeah, I'm fine." You smiled sheepishly, shrugging your shoulders. "We were never close."

"Well," Professor Romanoff replied, gaze softening further. "I'm still sorry to hear about her." She passed you a gentle smile as she stepped towards her desk, leaning against the front of it like it seemed she had a habit of doing. When she looked back up at you, her expression had changed. "As for an extension..." Her emerald stare met yours, always seemingly able to make you shy away. "You're a good student Y/N, so I'd really like to say yes, but unfortunately I have a policy against extensions."

Your memory fleeted back to the first day of class, suddenly recalling the rules your professor had set out. Extensions would only be given to those with medical absence, provided they had a document signed by a health professional. Only remembering that now, you felt entirely stupid for asking for the extension in the first place. "That's right," you blurted. "I'm so sorry, I totally forgot. Listen, forget I even said anything." You adjusted the straps of your backpack as you made to turn your body towards the door. "I'll try get it done on the plane or something. Thank you anyway."

You made it about three steps away before you heard your name being called out from behind you. Slowly, you turned your shoulders, looking back at the woman who still sat against her desk. "Yes, Miss Romanoff?" you called in response. A single manicured nail raised up, the finger curling to beckon you back in the direction you'd came. Biting down on the skin of your cheek, you turned fully, slowly closing the gap that had formed between you and your professor. When you stood in front of her again, you began to rub one of your arms nervously.

Professor Romanoff inclined her head towards you, a faint smile on her painted lips. "I can't give you an extension but I can offer you an alternative. Some extra credit that will cover the assignment, worth the same percentage of your grade. And I'll even give you the full marks."

Your head angled in both curiosity and uncertainty. The prospect of the extra credit sounded like just what you needed, but you couldn't quite grasp the notion that your professor was suggesting. "Full marks?" you asked. "As in, a hundred percent on the assignment?"

A painted smirk pulled at the corner of your professor's mouth, her body leaning ever so slightly closer to yours. "Don't act like it's such a miracle, sweetie. We both know what you're capable of, hm?"

As her words hit you, you could immediately feel the warmth they brought to your cheeks. Face feeling flushed, you tried to distract your brain, unfocusing on the perfect pair of lips still smirking in your direction. "What would I have to do for the extra credit?"

Professor Romanoff sighed, adjusting herself on the desk. You diverted your eyes as her arms crossed her body, once again pushing her slightly-revealed cleavage up against her chest. "Well, my assistant for this year pulled out on me last minute, which has left me just drowned in work." Green eyes met yours as a wide smile spread across the redhead's lips. "So, just give me a helping hand after class for a few weeks and the credit is all yours."

This proposal seemed almost too good to be true. Simply helping out your professor in turn for a perfect grade? It almost didn't seem fair. As you thought over her offer, the idea couldn't help but make you feel a little flustered. After all it would entail spending time alone with the red haired woman, something that seemed to leave you an oddly ruffled mess. But the entire thing sounded far too good to pass up, an opportunity practically laid out on a silver platter. Sounding easy enough to follow through with, you nodded your head with a smile. "Yeah, I can do that."

The smile on Professor Romanoff's face widened at your agreement. "Perfect," she said, green eyes glinting. "Can I see you back here next Monday? Say...three pm?"

You nodded once more. "Yeah. That works for me."

"Alright then," the redhead replied. She stood up from her desk, smiling down on you from the height accentuated by her heeled boots. "Don't you worry your pretty head about the assignment and I'll just see you here next week."

The words seemed to wash over you with a flush, something igniting inside that you couldn't quite put a finger on. Nervously, you looked to the floor, picking at the ends of your jumper while Professor Romanoff moved to stand behind her desk, seemingly unaware of your heightened nervousness. Before you could properly formulate a response, the other woman was already speaking once more. "Go on then. Don't want to be late for your next class do you?"

Her words seemed to shake you back to the present, that nervous little smile appearing on your face again. "Right," you said, adjusting your backpack. "Thank you, professor."

She smiled back at you. "It's no problem, honey. Now run along."

You found yourself nodding as you turned to leave, urged on by her commands. A few steps away she called out to you. "Take care of yourself, Y/N."

You looked back over your shoulder, flashing a small smile. "I will Miss Romanoff. Thank you." And with that, you were walking out the door, headed towards your next class with you mind focused on what exactly your assistant duties with Professor Romanoff may entail.

———

"When are you back again?"

"Friday night. About nine-ish?"

You passed the raven-haired girl a quick glance over your shoulder as you continued to fold the items of clothing in your hand. A loud sigh filled the space as you heard Kate roll over in her bed, rustling the top of her sheets. "That's four whole days of you leaving me completely alone."

As you placed the last of your clothes into the open suitcase, you swiveled around to look at Kate. Your brow furrowed as you noticed your best friend sprawled dramatically across the covers. "Kate, you do realised we have other friends?" you replied with a soft sigh.

But it seemed the girl took no notice, throwing her hand up to cover her eyes as another noise of discomfort slipped from her lips. "I'm gonna look like such a loser at breakfast." The truth was that the pair of you did have more friends at university, with whom Kate could definitely speak to while you were away, despite how the majority of the time it was always just the two of you. This could be down to the fact you were the only ones still sharing a dorm on campus, most of your friends having moved out to apartments around the city. You and Kate had looked into that option but your loan wasn't enough to cover the rent, so you'd both settled to remain in the on-campus accommodation, still sharing your meals in the wide dining hall.

You sighed again. "I'm sorry my grandma dying is such an inconvenience to you." At that, Kate shot up in bed, immediately looking less irritated and instead concerned. The way you smiled playfully back at her, however, made her brows drop ever so slightly, the fear of her actions hurting you slipping away. You'd already told her you weren't all that bothered by the passing, more so annoyed by the bother of it all, but it seemed despite how dramatic she could be, Kate was still worried about your feelings. "Relax Bishop," you said, a gentle smile tugging at your lips. "You know I'm kidding. I hate the fact I'm going just as much as you do." With all the hustle of trying to get through your work that day, you hadn't had much time to think about the reality of going home. Now packing your things, the dread of it all was beginning to settle on your shoulders. Still, you forced a smile on your lips as you walked across to Kate's bed, sitting yourself down next to her. "I'm sorry I'm leaving but I'll make it up to you, yeah?"

Just then, a spark seemed to light up in Kate's eyes. She turned to you, a wide smirk plastered on her lips. "Will you come to a party with me?" The proposal was one Kate often brought up, and one that was just as often shut down. Whenever Kate was getting ready to go out for a night, you were always cooped up in your textbooks, ignoring her complaints of how you studied too much and focusing instead on memorising every piece of material on the paper. For three years, your best friend has had to drag you to every party you'd ever been to, sometimes even snatching the book from your hands and then pleading you with puppy dog eyes. Those same eyes looked at you now, silently begging.

"Fine," you said finally, causing Kate to throw her hands up in the air. You raised your hand before her excitement could get out of hand. "But only one and not until after midterms."

The girl looked slightly disheartened but her smile still remained wide. "Fine," she replied, looking to already be planning the event she'd drag to you in a few weeks time. As Kate settled herself back in her bed, you stood to cross the room, returning to your almost-packed suitcase. You placed the last item in one side - a long black coat Kate had let you borrow to wear to the funeral - then zipped up the first half. All the other half was missing was your toiletries bag, of which would have to wait until the morning to be packed. As you were closing things up, you threw a comment to Kate over your shoulder. "I spoke to my Russian professor today about that extension for the assignment, remember?"

You heard Kate's head turn towards you, becoming distracted from her party planning. "Oh yeah, what'd she say?"

As the final zip on your suitcase closed, you turned back around to your best friend. "She doesn't really do extensions so she said I can help out after class instead to make up my grade."

Kate's brow furrowed. "What, like an assistant?"

"Yeah, exactly. Hers apparently dropped out so I'm filling in for a few weeks." You bent down to push your suitcase under your bed, ready to go tomorrow morning, then stood again, shrugging your shoulders. "She said she'll give me the equivalent of full marks for the assignment."

"Wait, what?" Kate shot up in bed, her jaw hanging slack. "You just help her plan a couple lessons and get a free ride to a perfect score?"

You breathed out a laugh, not only at Kate's theatric tone but also at the improbable truth of the scenario. It hadn't really hit you until now how easy you had it, an exceptional gateway to an easy 'A'. "Yeah," you giggled out, taking a seat on your bed. "I mean, she said I'm a good student so she expected me to do well anyway." You tried to ignore the strange tingle in your head as you recounted your professor's words, instead focusing on Kate who flung herself up in her bed.

"Dude," she said, looking at you incredulously. Her eyes shifted, looking down to the floor. "Maybe I should have taken Russian this year."

Another laugh spilled from your lips as you stood, closing the gap between you and your best friend. "I think you should focus on the classes you're already taking." Your hand reached out for Kate's pulling her up from her bed before she could get a chance to reply. "Now, let's go get dinner. I'm starving."

———

The setting sun streamed in through the wide windows of Natasha's office. The entire room was painted in a soft orange glow, guiding the redhead as she finally began to pack up for the night. Today had been a long day for her, her daily schedule packed and evening full of essay marking that needed to be completed by tomorrow. Finally, Natasha had managed to get finished up, closing her laptop and packing away her notes for the night. She tucked them away into her bag to bring to work the next day before shutting off the lamp inside the room and retiring from her office for the night.

Her feet padded across the wooden floors as she made her way out of the home office. The sun's glow followed her, let in by the expansive windows her and Wanda's house contained. When she reached the living room, Natasha spied her wife curled up on the corner of their sofa, a blanket draped over her legs and an open book sat in her hands. Her footsteps were silent as she made her way over to the other redhead. Though she imagined her wife had still felt her approach, as she didn't flinch when Nat's hands came down for a hug from behind. Natasha's arms wrapped around her wife, a small hum escaping her lips as she pressed a gentle kiss to the pulse point of her neck. "Baby," Natasha whispered, her voice low. Wanda simply hummed in response, her eyes still focused on her novel, her attention only slightly skewed when Natasha leaned in closer, pressing more kisses down the skin of her neck.

"I need to speak to you about something." Natasha's voice remained low, her words fanning out on to her wife's collar bones. She'd been waiting for this moment now for a while, anticipating just the right time to bring up her scenario to her wife. The thoughts had been circling her head for a small while now, perhaps longer than she liked to admit, but she found she couldn't wait any longer to share.

"What is it, moya lyubov?" Wanda's eyes finally raised from her book, head turning over her shoulder to look up at her wife. Though, this position didn't last long, as Natasha lifted her legs and swung herself over the back of the couch, landing in a position beside her wife. This was a habit Wanda hated, forever telling Natasha to 'use her legs like an adult', but this time she didn't have time to pester the redhead as she'd already began to speak. "Do you remember that student we spoke about? The one that got the perfect score."

The slight look of annoyance from Nat's behavior was quickly replaced by an inquisitive expression as Wanda furrowed her brow. The redhead finally closed her book on her lap, sliding a bookmark into place. "Yeah, I do. What was her name again?"

"Y/N Y/L/N."

Wanda hummed, a small smiling appearing on her lips. "That's it. Cute name. What about her?"

Natasha inhaled, her mind passing over the already scripted conversation she'd created. "I spoke with her again today. Came in asking for an extension for an assignment." The redhead smiled, remembering the interaction from that morning. She took another deep breath before she uttered the next words from her mouth. "I think I've maybe taking a liking to her."

"Oh?" Wanda's eyebrows raised, her expression changing to one of surprise. It wasn't new that the couple were searching for someone else in their relationship, the openness of the topic having been in circulation almost since the two had first got together. But the surprise came from the fact Nat had perhaps found someone she believed could slot into their duo, her and Wanda's standards usually far too rigid to find anyone to spend more than a night with. If Natasha was bringing up a girl like this, she must have seriously considered the possibility of a longer association, and that thoroughly intrigued Wanda.

"Now," Natasha continued. "Of course I don't want to do anything we don't both agree on, but..." She paused for just a moment, smiling a little up at her wife. "I would be lying if I said I hadn't already been playing around with her. Just a little bit." Natasha held up her fingers, signaling the small amount of teasing she'd subjected her prized student to. "You know, I didn't want to come asking your permission for a girl who turned out to be a bore."

The more Natasha continued to talk, the more Wanda became interested and invested by the conversation at hand. She slowly slipped her book to the couch beside her, leaning in closer towards her wife. "And is she?"

A wide smirk appeared on Natasha's lips as she relished in her wife's question. "Not in the slightest." Her expression only deepened as she recalled the little moments of you she'd been observing in class. "She's so fucking cute," she said, stating the obvious right off the bat. "She's always early for class and always paying so much attention. She shows up in the sweetest little outfits, like she doesn't even know how good she looks." The redhead smiled as she remembered the sight of you in your small summer dresses or slightly oversized sweaters. "Oh," she said, reminded of her favourite bit of all. "And she has this adorable little English accent."

With the last of her wife's words, a similar looking smirk began to appear on Wanda's own face. "Well now I'm intrigued.”

Natasha smiled back at her words as she shrugged a shoulder. "As I said, I played around a little bit and Wands..." The redhead had to suppress a sigh as she reached for her wife's hand. "I just know how much fun she'd be," she continued, her voice almost a whine. "I mean, she gets flustered so easily. One little pet name and she's already hiding away her flushed face."

Wanda's smirk deepened as Natasha continued to talk, stirred further by the slight desperation she could hear in the redhead's voice. She had to wonder just how long she'd been wondering about this one student and just how much fun she was getting to have without her... "Go ahead, malysh," Wanda replied finally, squeezing her wife's hand gently. "I trust your instincts. You'll just have to introduce me sometime soon."

Natasha's brows shot up. "You're sure?"

"Yeah," Wanda chuckled back slightly, amused by the excitement underlying Nat's voice. When she spoke again, her lips had formed a devilish smirk. "It'll be fun. It's been a while since we had somebody to play with."

———

The funeral was awful. Of course, one never expects such an event to be the epitome of joy, but this particular funeral was like your own personally curated hell. Your entire family was gathered in one place, meaning not only were your parents’ critiques breathed down your neck the entire time, but they were also joined by those more distant. Grandparents and judgmental aunts seemed to team up on you, all obsessing over your university career and what your future plans were. Many pestered the question of your singularity, claiming that ‘a pretty young thing like you should have been swept up by a man a long time ago’. Unfortunately, the almost-compliment that could be found in their talk, was quickly diminished by the discussion of how it must be something wrong with your personality rather than your face, comments all whispered from where they thought you couldn’t hear.

There was no escape from the constant berating, your schedule full of family meals and teas, and far too lengthy conversations around the fireplace, of which you could not be excused due to your mother’s abhorrence of anyone ever thinking of her children as rude. To make matters worse, you were exhausted from jet lag and the flight, something certainly not helped by the endless hours of socializing and pressing on a smile for your family.

Still, you pushed through like the perfect daughter you always tried to be. You sat politely at the funeral, wearing an old black dress and Kate’s coat, the perfume of your best friend aiding a little to your torturous discomfort. Though your family cried, your eyes remained dry, silently staring at your feet and trying not to draw any attention to yourself. At the funeral tea, you shook hands and smiled softly at family members, answering any questions they asked with the grace your mother had forced upon your shoulders at a young age. Of course, she found her usual pride in parading you and your brother around like a pair of trophies she’d spent hours shining. The entirety of every event was exhausting.

Even at the will reading, there was no break to be given. Your late grandmother had graciously scattered her belongings to her loved ones, though seemingly biased to those who she deemed more palatable. Your brother received a chunk of her money alongside her old ring, something the family gushed over due to the prospect of his long-term girlfriend who he could now finally pop the big question to. Your rolled your eyes as they pandered over him, all blatantly dismissive of the old bible you’d been left, with your grandmother’s handwriting inside with a note of how she wished for it to be read out of at your wedding when you finally found yourself a suitable husband. You had simply rolled your eyes and shoved it to the bottom of your bag.

All that being said, it was a huge relief to you when you finally made your way back to the airport. Though you’d had to spend the journey constantly criticized by your mother about your uni work, as soon as you stepped on to the plane, relief was flooding over your shoulders. As the sky came to fill the widow, clouds passing by, you were more than grateful to be heading back to the true place you thought of as home.

Kate came to pick you up from the airport, hugging you immediately and beginning to rant about the idiots she’d encountered in the car park as she pulled your case towards the exit. The pair of you went straight to a mcdonald’s drive thru, your hunger unquenched from the bad aeroplane food you’d been offered. Fries and hamburgers were shared in the front seat of the car as you relayed back your awful week to Kate, telling her everything that you hadn’t even had the chance to text her due to your family’s never-ending nagging.

That weekend was very stressful. Due to the packed schedule you had followed back in England, you’d had next to no time to complete any of your work from that week. So, from morning until night, you cooped yourself up at your desk and ground it all out. At times, Kate had to drag you down to the hall for some food or persistently remind you to even go to bathroom. In the end however, you managed to get it all finished. By eleven o’clock Sunday night, you were finally all caught up from your missed classes and had completed all your deadlines. The light in the room were low, only your small desk lamp lighting up the space. Kate slept in her bed, hair fanning out across the pillows. You were quiet as you cleaned your space, eyeing the untouched plate of food Kate had brought up for you after you’d refused to go down for dinner. It was long cold now and you felt a little guilty throwing it out, but you were far too tired now to think about eating. Instead, you simply turned off the light and slid yourself into your bed, finally letting your mind rest and prepare itself to return to your regularly scheduled classes the next morning.

———

"Alright everyone, that's all for today's lesson. Are there any questions?"

Like always, the bustle began began your professor could even finish his sentence. Everyone was already packing away their things, drowning out the teacher's voice with their own hustle to leave. It happened almost every class, and almost every time you felt bad, one of the only people who remained still until they had officially dismissed you. But today, you found yourself following the crowd more than you usually would have. See, your professor had droned on a bit too long that afternoon, moving into the passing period you had between classes. Most times that wouldn't have been a big deal seeing as it was your last class of the day, but today was the day you were supposed to meet Professor Romanoff and thanks to your English professor's extensive elaborations, you were left with only a few minutes until you'd be late. So today you put your cares aside and as the class packed up, so did you, stuffing everything into your backpack and throwing it over your shoulder before joining the crowd exiting the lecture hall.

Your English building was on the exact opposite side of campus as your destination, so your feet held a quick pace as you flitted between the crowds of students on your way. Pathways were held up by casually conversing people, all relaxed now their days were over. They all annoyed you severely as they slowed down your journey, obviously uncaring that you still had places to be. By the time you had reached the building in which your Russian class was held, the clock was already a few minutes passed the scheduled time. You almost burst in through the doors of the hall, ever so slightly out of breath from your fast paced journey across campus. As soon as you entered the room, you spied the redheaded professor sat at her desk, head buried into her laptop. She looked up to you as you walked across the floor, nervously adjusting the backpack straps on your shoulders. "Hi," you breathed out, trying your best to seem casual despite your racing lungs. "I'm sorry I'm a little late. My last lecture ran over a little."

A pair of perfectly white teeth smiled back in your direction, Professor Romanoff looking you over. "Y/N," she said, her gentle voice falling upon your ears. Something about it in that moment made you realize you had almost missed it over your break, but the rational part of your brain soon took over and told you you were being ridiculous. "Don't worry about being late, you're barely two minutes over." She smiled again as you closed the final distance between you, moving to stand by the edge of her desk. She stood as you did, displaying today a pair of grey slacks and a soft black jumper, all adorned with delicate gold jewelry. Her smiling face looked down at you, that forgotten odd feeling of warmth spreading through your gut. "It's good to see you again. How are you? How was your trip?"

You ignored the sensation in your stomach as you smiled back at her. "I'm good. The trip was fine. A little boring but fine." There were many worse words to describe your trip than ‘boring' but you decide to settle for that, not wanting to bother your professor with the complicated details of your family and more so, simply wanting to leave the entire week in the past and not think of it again.

“That’s good,” Professor Romanoff replied with that same easy smile. “I’m glad to hear you’re alright.” Her hands lifted from the pockets they hid in, reaching out to open a drawer of her desk. You wondered for a moment what she might be looking for before she pulled out a small stack of papers, extending them out towards you. “These are some extra notes from last week’s lectures.”

You smiled, slightly surprised. “Oh, thank you.” Most of your university work could be found online for both absence and revision purposes, but it never was quite the same as attending the classes themselves. Usually you hated using just the online notes to catch up, never grasping the material as well as you’d like, but this weekend you’d had to make do. That was, of course, until Professor Romanoff handed you the extra notes. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Well,” your professor replied. “I wouldn’t want my best student falling behind, would I?”

Her words worked to form that warm sensation across your cheeks, the given title heating up your insides with flustering pride. You were grateful the woman had started to busy herself at her desk with something else as you tried to brush off her compliments as smoothly as possible, attempting to hide the flush of your skin.

“You can grab a chair from the side. Bring it over.”

You nodded, almost snapping back to reality once more with Professor Romanoff’s words. You placed your backpack down beside her desk, quickly slotting the extra notes into the large pocket before moving to grab a spare chair from the edge of the room. When you returned, your professor had seemingly found what she was searching for, a large stack of papers now sat in the centre of the desk.

“Sit,” Romanoff beckons with a smile, gesturing her hand towards the front of her desk. You pull up your chair, positioning yourself across from her own seated position. “These are tests I need marked. They’re all multiple choice and there’s a marking scheme.” The redhead lifted a single piece of paper, handing it over your way. “So you’ll just have to see if the letters match up on both papers. That sound okay?”

You nodded once more, her instructions seeming simple enough. “Yeah, sounds fine.”

“Great.” With a smile, Professor Romanoff slid the pile of unmarked papers across the desk towards you. She explained that if you needed any help, just to ask, and that she’d just be busying herself on her laptop. You nodded again, reaching into your backpack quickly for a pen before you began to work away.

It was an easy job really, simply matching the circled letters on the quiz papers to that of the marking scheme. In truth, it was almost relaxing to have something to do that didn’t require much brain power. Professor Romanoff sat across from you, typing away on her laptop. Occasionally, you’d look up to take a glance at her, catching moments of concentration or boredom on her face, but your eyes would never linger long, too scared of getting caught looking her way. She’d turned on the radio to fill a bit of the silence, music humming softly from a black stereo on the edge of the desk. All in all, the endeavour was a blessing in disguise - much simpler and easier than the effort the equivalent assignment would have took.

“You getting on alright, milaya?”

The voice brought you from the almost trance you’d put yourself in as you marked the set of papers. Your head rose from them, more than half the stack already complete as you smiled back at your professor. “Yeah, all good.”

She nodded, smiling at you with her perpetually perfect red lips. Under her gaze, you felt your eyes drop back to the papers, for some reason feeling entirely too see every time she looked your way. She went to turn back towards her laptop, your hand reaching out to continue marking, but a lingering question had been vibrating in your head. You had been too afraid to ask before, to be the one to break the soft silence of the room, but now was your opportunity. “Are these law papers?”

Professor Romanoff looked back at you, her expression soft. “Yes,” she said, simply. “I also teach a beginners law class alongside my usual Russian.”

You felt your eyebrows raise, unexpecting of her answer but also rather impressed. Now it made sense why the papers you were marking were not at all taking about Russian vocabulary but instead legal terminology.

“I studied a law major at college,” the red haired woman continued. “It was going to be my career until I decided to teach instead.”

“Huh,” you hummed, interested by the new information you were discovering about your teacher. “Why’d you decide to switch?”

Romanoff shrugged a shoulder. “Honestly, I love teaching.” A small smirk then appeared on her lips as she leaned in closer across the table. “Besides, my wife is a lawyer and just between me and you, I’m not sure I’d like her as my boss. She can be a little scary sometimes.”

There was a playfulness to her tone that you easily pick up on, the entire interaction meant as a jest, but somehow it left you with a strange feeling in your chest. You listened to your professor’s words, but your mind seemed to stick on one. Wife. In that moment, you suddenly realised you hadn’t pictured her being married - not that you had pictured her at all, your mind chided in defence. Now you quickly realised that she was indeed with another person, and not just that, but with a woman. Suddenly you had to push your mother’s berating thoughts from your head.

“So what about you?”

“Sorry?” you replied, mind crashing back to the present moment. Professor Romanoff looked back at you with an almost playful looking smirk. It only added to that strange feeling inside your chest.

“What’s your major?” the redhead elaborated.

“Oh.” You sat up straighter, trying to adjust your jumper in an effort to conceal the fact you’d gotten lost in your thoughts once more. “I’m an English major.” Romanoff raised a brow, the smirk on her face widening to almost a smile. You sighed softly, throwing your head to the side. “You can make the joke if you want, everyone does.”

An English girl studying English. You’d heard almost every variation of the joke, mostly from drunk boys at frat parties that thought they were the pinnacle of humour. Shouldn’t you already be an expert at that? Wait, they don’t teach you English in England?

You were expecting some similar turn of phrase to escape your professors lips, following in the footsteps of everyone you’d had this conversation with before. But to your surprise, she simply shook her head, frowning ever so slightly. “I think I’ll refrain,” she said, frown turning into the same wide smirk. “I hate being unoriginal.”

A laugh bubbled up in your throat, pushing out through a smile and into the air. Your professor followed, chuckling with you. After a moment, she stilled, looking back at you curiously. “So, tell me,” she said, leaning in closer to the desk. “What does bring you all the way to America to study?”

Because I can’t stand being at home with my parents. “Experience, I guess,” you said with a shrug, hiding away the truth behind a smile. “And I got a full scholarship when I applied so…” Your words died down, not quite sure how to finish your explanation.

Thankfully, your professor seemed to pick up the conversation easily. “A very smart girl, hm?” Her lips met as she hummed and it seemed you could feel the vibrations running down your spine. Your eyes fell back to your lap, trying to hide the awkward smile her praise had brought. You were unsure of what exactly you should do, contemplating if her question was rhetoric or not, and praying the former due to your inability to think of a response. Blessedly, Professor Romanoff cut through your mind’s distress with another question. “You’re in fourth year, right?”

Your eyes picked back up, meeting hers. “Yeah.”

She smiled, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared back at you intently. “And what exactly lead a fourth year English student to my beginner’s Russian class?”

You were getting a little bit of deja vu of the conversation you’d had with Kate multiple times. This time, you settled on the short answer. “I thought it sounded interesting,” you said simply, smiling as you shrugged your shoulders.

Professor Romanoff seemed amused by your answer. “Well, I’m glad you’re here.”

You felt yourself smiling back in response. So am I, your brain mused, but your consciousness refused to let anything move past your lips. Instead, Romanoff was picking up the conversation once again. “What’s your plans for after?”

Your eyebrows raised, suddenly surprised by her question. “Sorry?”

The redhead chuckled. “Once you graduate, sweetheart,” she said, voice sounding slightly amused. “What do you plan to do with the rest of your life?”

“Oh right,” you fumbled. You felt a little stupid for thinking she ever meant anything other than that. “My, uh…my mum wants me to go to law school actually…”

A red brow raised in your direction. “Oh yeah?”

You nodded, reminiscent of your previous chatter with your professor. A funny little coincidence that you two may be following a similar path. Although in that moment, you couldn’t help but be a little jealous. She had eventually fallen away from law, moving to a career she was truly passionate for. You were unsure if you’d ever get that opportunity. It had taken months just to convince your mother to let you major in English, claiming it was good for getting into law school after college. And after three years, you still hadn’t been able to convince her away from that same dream of hers, now unsure if you ever would.

“And what to do you want to do?”

“What?” Your professor’s words took you by surprise. When you looked up, it felt as if her eyes had seen straight through you, like she’d been able to hear your every thought.

“Your mother wants you to go to law school,” Professor Romanoff reiterated. “What do you want to do after you graduate?”

Your voice was unsteady in your response. “Go to law school?”

Professor Romanoff raised a brow as she angled her head. “Are you asking me?” All you could muster was a shrug, feeling suddenly very small in the large hall. You didn’t much like talking about what you wanted to do in your life, haven forgone the gesture years ago due to your mother’s constant coercion. But then your professor leaned in slightly, a small smile crossing her lips. “You can tell me the truth, sweetheart,” she said. “I’m very good at keeping secrets.”

The endearment fell on your already blushed cheeks. Most times you wouldn’t have said anything at all, hidden behind the lies your mother had constructed about your person, but something about the redhead’s smile almost drew the words directly from your mouth. “I guess if I could do anything, I’d be a writer,” you said, playing at the sleeves of your sweater.

“A writer?” Romanoff repeated, raising a pair of curious brows.

You felt yourself nodding as a small smile crept on to your lips. “Yeah. I love books and writing, and I guess it’s what I’ve wanted to do ever since I was a little girl.”

“Why don’t you do it then?”

Her words came as a shock, your system unsure of how exactly to respond. You shrank back under the redhead’s gaze, reminded of the words you’d been told so many times they were engraved into your mind. “It’ll be good for me to go to law school. My mum says I’ll get a better job.”

“Maybe…” Professor Romanoff hummed. Then her expression changed to something you couldn’t quite understand as she leaned in closer, her emerald eyes trained on your face. “But do you know what my birth mother used to say about me? She used to tell me I was useless little piece of shit that wouldn’t get anywhere in life.” Your eyebrows raised slightly in shock as you heard her words, especially on the fact she’d cursed so easily and how oddly good it sounded coming from her lips. Then her expression shifted again, an almost smugness taking over that drew your attention away from your own thoughts. “Thirty years later I’m a professor at one of the most prestigious universities in America. I’m married to a very successful lawyer, and living quite frankly an amazing life with a pair of adoptive parents who love me very much.”

Professor Romanoff finished with a small smirk, seemingly unaware of how her words settled on your shoulders. The entire statement was so weighted, so much shared about her as a person in so few words. Something in you felt slightly honoured that she could be that vulnerable around you, or perhaps her story wasn’t one she kept bundled up in her chest like you did, like a weighted lock on your heart. Still, you felt a sense of solace in learning more about your professor, a sense of trust being built in up inside. Her smiling eyes met yours as she leaned in even further on the desk. “Don’t let people who don’t know the real you keep you from what you want. We only get one life, Y/N. Don’t waste it trying to be someone you’re not.”

Her words settled in your stomach with an odd sensation. Her reassurance felt like another brick added to that wall of trust, perhaps her intention to try and learn more of your story. But maybe that trust wasn’t quite strong enough yet.

You shied away, unwilling to share more of your story despite how open Romanoff had seemed, years of criticisms sitting heavy on your shoulders. “Maybe,” you said lowly, picking up your pen once again. But you knew you’d never truly be able to follow through with what she was proposing you should, knew your future fate was already sealed by the woman who’d brought you into this world. She’d have a perfect daughter with her perfect career and wouldn’t settle for less, no matter how it made you feel. For now, all Professor Romanoff’s words could provide was a little fuel to that already dying fire of a dream inside your heart.

The pair of you quickly fell back into the steady silence of your work after your conversation, you pen dotting over papers as your professor turned back to her laptop. The radio played quietly in the background as you tried to push whatever words lingered in your head, both from your mother and the redhead in front of you, too many feeling provoked from the subject to allow you to focus properly. Dispelling them from your mind, you trained your eyes on the marking schemes in front of you, though having some of the answers memorised by now, and continued to work away at the stack of tests on the desk.

Time passed quickly once more, your speed increasing as the papers became more familiar in your hands, easily noticing the same mistakes made over and over. Occasionally you heard Romanoff begin to hum along to a song on the radio, focusing momentarily on her soft voice before refocusing on your work. In your mind, you became determined to finish them as quickly as you could, absentmindedly hoping to impress the woman they were for.

You were almost finished your task, down to the very last paper when a shrill sound cut through the soft atmosphere of the room. Both you and your professor’s heads shot up from your work, eyes turning to your backpack from where the loud ringtone emanated. Shit, you thought, obviously accidentally turning on the ringer that you always kept silenced.

“I’m sorry,” you said, glancing over at your professor in slight fear of her reprimand. But in return, you were only met with a soft smile.

“Don’t worry, milaya,” Romanoff replied gently. “This isn’t class time. You can answer your phone.”

Relieved by her answer, you let out a soft sigh. Reaching over, you began to dig through your bag to find your mobile, the nonsensical tune still ringing out. With no suprise, when you found it, Kate’s name and profile picture covered your screen. Quietly, you apologised again before accepting the call, slightly turning away in your chair as you held your phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Y/N!” Kate’s voice replied back from the other end of the device. She sounded slightly off but you couldn’t quite tell why.

“Are you okay? What’s up?”

A small sigh sounded in your ear. “Okay, please don’t get mad at me again but-“

You were replying with a sigh of your own before Kate could even finish her sentence. “You forgot your key again, didn’t you?”

“I’m so sorry,” the girl on the end of the other phone pleaded.

You sighed again, shaking your head. “Kate, how many times-“

“I know! I know,” she cut off. “I’m the worst person ever. But I slept in this morning and just forgot to put it in my bag. I’m sorry.”

Your sigh turned less frustrated. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” At your core you weren’t a confrontational person. You could never stay mad at anyone for long, especially Kate.

“Well, I came back to the room and you’re not here,” your best friend continued through the phone. “I thought you were finished english at three?”

“I am,” you replied. “But I’m helping out Professor Romanoff, remember? I’m in her class right now.”

You could hear Kate’s realisation through the call. “Shit. I am so sorry.” There was a pause. You could picture Kate dancing on the heels of her feet, the same way she did every time she needed to ask you a favour. “Uhm, could I possibly swing by and pick up your key then? Please Y/N, I really need to finish my computing assignment. It’s due at five.”

If there was anyone who would leave their work until one hour before the deadline, it was Kate. Another soft sigh escaped your lips. “Fine.”

Kate’s smile could practically be heard through the phone. “Thank you! What room are you in?”

“Language building, room ML4.”

“Okay,” Kate replied. “I’ll be right there. You’re the best, I love you.”

You couldn’t help but smile a little as you responded. “Love you too.”

With that, Kate hung up the call. You pulled your phone away from your ear, switching it off and throwing it in your pocket as you turned back in your chair. “I’m so sorry,” you began, facing back to your professor. “It’s my roommate, Kate. She’s locked herself out again.”

Romanoff raised a curious glance. “Again?”

“Bad habit.” You smiled back sheepishly, shrugging your shoulder. “She’s just going to stop by and pick up my key, if that’s alright?”

The redhead smiled back at you. “Of course. That’s perfectly fine.” A small sigh of relief escaped your lips, glad that the encounter wouldn’t be a problem. “But I think we’re actually almost done here,” Romanoff continued. “How are you getting on with those papers.”

“Oh, yeah,” you replied, pulling yourself back towards the desk and the stack of papers sat atop of it. “I’m actually just on the last one.”

“Well if you just finish that up, you can run along with your friend when she gets here.”

“You’re sure?” you replied, looking up. You didn’t want Kate’s endeavour to disrupt any of the help your professor needed. But the redhead simply nodded in response.

“I’m sure, Y/N.”

“Okay then,” you responded, nodding your head softly. A small smile was passed between the two of you before you were grabbing your pen once more, reaching out to finish marking the final test in the stack. Your hand moved quickly as you corrected any of the mistakes, flicking through the sheets of paper at an impressive rate. It was just as you were marking the last question that the noise of the hall doors opening drew your attention.

Clamouring in, Kate appeared inside the hall, her backpack momentarily getting caught on the handle before she was able to free herself. She stood sheepishly inside the room, looking across the way and spying you and your professor sat at the desk. “Uhm, hello,” the girl announced. You could tell she was trying to play it cool but she had that same almost awkward look she got whenever a girl she liked try to talk to her. “I’m, uh, Kate Bishop. Y/N’s roommate.” Her finger pointed to you, as if trying to prove she hadn’t barged in for no apparent reason.

Professor Romanoff had stood from her desk as Kate had entered, her hands finding a place resting inside her pockets. Now, she smiled across at her. “Yeah, she mentioned.”

Kate gave that awkward little laugh of hers and you had to refrain from not giggling at her yourself. “Sorry to just barge in on you guys. Are you still…” Her hands gestured towards you and the desk, trying to gage where you were with the work.

But Romanoff simply shook her head in response with a short smile. “No worries, Miss Bishop. We were just finishing up.”

Kate’s eyebrows raised. “Great,” she replied, sticking one of her thumbs up.

You had to stifle your laughs at her awkwardness. Was this how she interacted with all of her professors, or just the ones she didn’t know? As you hid your smile, you tidied up the stack of papers on the desk, piling them up neatly before rising to your feet. “Okay, Miss Romanoff,” you said, slightly pushing them in her direction. “Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do for you?”

The woman turned back to you with her gentle smile, her voice soft. “That’ll be all for today, Y/N.”

“Okay,” you replied, adjusting your jumper as you reached down for your backpack, throwing it over one shoulder. “Well, thank you again for this.”

Romanoff smiled. “No, thank you. I’d be drowning in work without your helpful hands.” A smirk seemed to form on her lips as she sent an emerald wink your way.

The action left you suddenly stuttering for the right words, embarrassingly affected by such a simple action. “Right,” you finally managed, voice jumbled. “I’ll uh- see you on Wednesday?”

Thankfully Professor Romanoff didn’t seem too bothered by your flustering state, if anything you might have said she even looked amused. “I’ll see you in class, Y/N,” she said, smiling down at you.

You returned the gesture as you turned away, walking to close the distance between where you and Kate stood. As you met the raven-haired girl’s side, a voice called out to the both of you. “Have a nice night, ladies.”

You turned briefly to Romanoff, smiling as you and Kate hummed a thanks in unison. As you passed through the doors to the hall and exited into the corridor, you felt your shoulders loosen ever so slightly, that perfect emerald stare still lingering in your mind. You couldn’t quite understand why you left that class always feeling so worked up.

This time, however, there was little space for you to think about it, as merely a few steps down the hallway, Kate was grabbing hold of your upper arm. “Holy shit, that’s your Russian professor?”

You turned quickly to your best friend, both startled and shocked by her sudden comment. “What? Yeah?”

Kate breathed out a laugh. “Y/N, you never told me she was hot as shit.”

“What?” you stuttered, taken about by Kate’s choice of words. “She’s not- I mean -I-I never noticed.”

The girls hand shook your arm slightly as the pair of you continued to walk. “Never noticed? Y/N, you must be blind because that was one of the most attractive women I’ve ever seen.”

The words come as a bit of shock, not expecting Kate to think so highly of the woman you’d been spending the last weeks of lessons with. The raven-haired girl began to mumble on about how she should have taken Russian and how it was unfair how she always got the old, ugly professors. But in all honeslty you weren’t paying her much mind, instead focusing on the words that had spilled from Kate’s mouth previously. Sure, Professor Romanoff was a nice-looking woman, you’d noticed that the first time she’d walked into the room, but that didn’t mean you should be attracted to her. That was wrong, she was your teacher, she was married for god’s sake. You shouldn’t be thinking about her in that way. You weren’t thinking about her in that way. Sure, she made you blush every time she spoke to you, and her stare made a strange warmth pool in your stomach, but that didn’t mean you found her attractive. Right?

———

Term continued on with its usual snowballing effect. The next couple of weeks began to fill up with more and more work as you progressed further into the year. You and Kate spent many of your time outside of lessons bundled up in the library, spending hours revising for your upcoming midterms. The pair of you were also beginning to write your final dissertations, the main project that would lead to your graduation at the end of the year. You'd had your topic picked for months and had already started your research over the Summer, which left you room to help Kate find something she could write about, having struggled finding a topic she didn't find extremely boring.

Your usual meal time chatter turned away from mindless gossip and instead to lesson content, both of you complaining about how many assignments you had due. The carefree start of term was officially gone and the usual endless list of deadlines had crept back up on you just like it always did. Luckily for you, you'd managed to maintain the rigidness towards studying you'd possessed since doing your exams in secondary school. You could maintain focus for hours, staring at your laptop or notes until everything was photocopied into your mind. Sure, it sometimes meant you'd miss a meal or a few hours of sleep, but it was all worth it for the perfect grade you were determined to achieve in the end.

Your sessions with Professor Romanoff continued on over the next couple of weeks too, still just an hour after your final class on a Monday. You'd offered her more help if she'd needed it but the redhead had politely refused, claiming she didn't want you wasting your time when you had exams to study for. In fact, she told you that she'd only require your help for a few more weeks, just up until the midterm, then you were free to go with that easy 'A' tucked into your pocket. Surprisingly, when you heard the news, you found yourself feeling slightly saddened. Over the time you'd spent with Professor Romanoff, you'd rather enjoyed yourself. It wasn't that the work was particularly exhilarating or you two ever did much other than look at papers, but the small moments you'd been able to find in between had been rather pleasant. Whether it was the soft lull of the radio music that you both would hum along to, or the small conversations she'd have with you about your home or your studies, the time you spent with the redhead somehow always left you with a warmth in the pit of your stomach.

One particular rainy Monday afternoon, the pair of you were comfortably sat at her desk in your usual positions, your chair across the way from hers. As she often did, Romanoff typed away on her laptop, while you sat stapling together test papers for her advanced Russian class, having previously just photocopied the stack. The paper was still warm against your skin as you organised them into the correct order, the feeling almost soothing you into a trance-like state. You hadn't even noticed it at all until it was suddenly shattered by a soft sound echoing through the room.

Your head picked up, readjusting itself to the real world before turning to the right where the sound emanated from. The sight that befell upon you caused your brows to raise ever so slightly in surprise. As the door to the lecture hall swung closed, a tall, unfamiliar, but smartly-dressed woman entered through them. Her heels clicked confidently across the floor, eyes trained on your professor who sat at the desk. You watched as the redhead stood when the woman reached her, smiling softly. "Detka, hi." Romanoff placed a small kiss on the woman's cheek as they hugged briefly.

"I tried to call but it went straight to voicemail," the other woman replied. She stood a few inches taller than Professor Romanoff, her hair a lighter shade of red straightened almost perfectly down her back. She wore a deep copper suit with a crisp white shirt, a designer handbag thrown over one shoulder. In all honesty, you couldn't tell if she'd came straight from work or a catwalk. When her body turned to stand side by side with your professor, you noticed her eyes shimmered down at you with a soft olive green. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise you would still have company."

At that, you noticed Professor Romanoff turn towards you, as if she had just remembered you were there. She smiled as she gestured to the taller woman. "Y/N, this is my wife, Wanda."

Right, wife. The idea she'd slipped a few weeks ago had almost left your mind entirely. Now that said woman was standing directly in front of you, looking down with an expression you couldn't quite read. "So you're the star pupil my wife has been telling me about, hm?"

Her voice was playful when she spoke, but at the same time low and almost sultry. Everything about it, including her words, left you stuttering over what to say. Had Professor Romanoff really been speaking about you to her wife?

"This is she," the redhead replied, covering for your inability to form a full sentence. She looked back at you with that same easy-going smile that seemed to make you shift in your seat.

Wanda passed you a similar expression as she inclined her head towards you, smirking just slightly. "Well then, it's a pleasure to meet you."

Thankfully, in that moment, your ability to speak seemed to return. "It's nice to meet you too, miss."

A small chuckle escaped the older woman's lips as you spoke. She glanced at Natasha, the pair sharing a look you couldn't interpret, before her sparkling eyes were back on you. "Oh please, honey. You can just call me Wanda." Just then you realised it wasn't only your professor's use of nicknames that seemed to send a shiver down your spine, Wanda's words setting your nerves on edge as you felt the heat flush to your cheeks. You looked down to your lap in an attempt to hide it, not wanting either woman to see your embarrassed state. From the corner of your eye, however, you saw Wanda wasn't going to let you hide that easily. She sat herself on the edge of the desk, leaning in closer to you and the stack of papers close by. "Working hard, are we?"

You looked back up to meet her eye, the action seemingly stripping away your speech once more. Thankfully, your professor stood up to answer for you. "Just getting some papers organised for my lesson tomorrow," she said, sitting herself down at her chair once more. Her eyes met her wife's. "Sorry, I didn't realise we'd run so late." Just then, you assumed why Wanda had shown up so unnanounced. Professor Romanoff had mentioned in passing that her wife would sometimes meet her after work, meaning that your sessions couldn't run any later even if she did need the extra help you offered.

"No, need to apologise," Wanda replied with an easy smile. "I don't mind sticking around while you guys finish up. Especially when your little assistant is so cute." Her eyes turned to you, a smirk playing on her lips. The entire action seemed to freeze you in place, entirely unsure of what to say or do.

"Cat gets her tongue sometimes."

Your eyes flicked to your professor as she spoke, a very similar smirk appearing on her face to match her wife sitting next to her. The taller redhead hummed lowly at her comment, her gaze tracing over you. Sat in that chair, you felt entirely too seen. Your eyes darted around, unsure of where exactly to look while the pair of older women watched you. If there was something you were supposed to say, you mind could not conjure it. In that moment all you could do was sit awkwardly as two pairs of green eyes traced your every movement.

But then, a familiar tune rang out to your rescue. When before you'd cursed your forgetfulness to turn off your ringer, now you silently thanked yourself. Your eyes rushed to your backpack, then quickly back to your professor and her wife. "I'm sorry," you stuttered out. "Could I?"

"Go on, milaya."

You tried your best to ignore your professor's comment as you reached into your backpack for your phone, quickly holding it up to your ear. To no surprise, it was a familiar voice singing a familiar tune. Still, you found the situation grateful for its diversion from the stalemate conversation you'd been stuck in beforehand. As you hung up the call a minute later, you turned back to the desk with a sheepish smile. "It's Kate, she's locked herself out again."

Professor Romanoff raised a perfect brow. "That really is a bad habit of hers, hm?"

You fought back a small chuckle at her words, surprised she even remembered you'd said that. "Yeah," you smiled back, then dropped it into a small frown. "I am so sorry-"

Before you could even finish your sentence, the redhead was holding up her hand to stop you. "Don't worry about it, milaya. You can run along. I'll catch you in class on Wednesday."

Your eyebrows raised, not wanting to be an inconvenience to her yet again. "You're sure? I can easily-"

"I said it's fine, Y/N," Romanoff reiterated, her voice coming out more stern. It wasn't quite angry, just firm, but it was enough to shut your mouth right up. You looked back, eyes wide, afraid that you'd annoyed her by leaving early twice due to your roommates negligence. But at your response, the redhead simply smiled down softly at you angling her head towards the door. "Go on. I can handle the rest."

You found your head nodding almost on its own accord, directed by not only your professor's watchful eye but now that of her wife's too. Your words came out little and few, a mumbled thank you and another apology spilling from your lips as you packed up your bag and threw it over your shoulders. One last reassurance and smile sent you walking out the door, headed back to your dorm where Kate would be waiting for you. As you went, you were hyper aware of the two sets of eyes trained on your back, picturing the two redheaded woman still sitting at the desk watching you walk away. What you weren't exactly aware of was how their gaze dropped even lower, both staring at the short black skirt you'd decided to wear that day, watching how the material grazed lightly against the back of your tight-covered thighs. When you exited out the door, you couldn't see the way the taller redhead turned back to her wife, looking down at her from where she still sat on the desk, a wide smirk appearing on her face as she bit into a perfectly painted lip. You couldn't see the way the pair looked at each other, leaning closer in, nor hear the words Wanda uttered back to her wife before their lips met in a kiss.

"You're right, she is cute. Let's keep her."

#inescapable love au #professor natasha romanoff #lawyer wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wandanat x reader #wanda x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #platonic kate bishop x reader

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eternal-moss · 3 months

Text

Christ, the whole Wilbur situation is so fucked. Already the things that are coming out of the woodworks so quickly are so sad.

tw for abuse and misogyny. If you aren’t aware of this yet, Wilbur Soot has been revealed as a prolific abuser

My heart breaks for all the people he’s harmed. I think Shelby was really intelligent in the way that she’s brought this to attention, without naming him. This meant that even though some people denied it or lashed back at her, the repercussions were minimised.

Wilbur responding proved it was him she was talking about, although the details she provided made it so patently clear it was him from the start, it made it so that he had to admit he was the one who had been committing essentially serial abuse on young women by the nature of him responding to the description of the unnamed abuser, although he didn’t mention that it was *multiple women* in his absolutely pathetic excuse of an ‘apology’.

I’ve been thinking about this deeply from pretty much directly the moment after Shubble revealed it really. I’m not going to pretend that I’ve ever watched any of Shubble’s stuff, and I’ve not watched streamers for a couple of years now, but the courage she had to do this is fucking immense. Wilbur is very well off financially with a massive and loyal fanbase, the influence he has is very large and not to be underestimated. His ‘apology’ reeks of PR pressure, although it fails to meet the mark on all levels of even a basic apology (which is not even the bare minimum in this situation) and omits some very important details.

It’s so sad that abuse and grooming is so common amongst streamers/YouTubers, but the response to this time (from the community) being genuine support instead of victim blaming does make me feel hopeful. Wilbur’s condescension of women and younger ccs is absolutely disgusting. This recontextualises so many moments when he’s been dismissive of and made jokes at women’s expense. What he’s done is abuse and it’s misogyny. He’s picked on people he knows are less able to fight back from all parameters. Misogyny is massive in the gaming scene, and he’s relied on all these women (it really is a lot at this rate, even an ex-trumpeter from Lovejoy) staying silent out of fear.

Shubble saying keeping their silence protected him more than it protected her is very true, and this will absolutely wreck his reputation. Rather, he’s fucked it up himself, and there really is no one else to blame in this situation. The people who knew about it and were subject to this were typically smaller, younger or female streamers. It’s disgusting that he had relied on their silence for so long.

This is a bit of a mess, but ngl so am I. It’s been eating at me for as long as it’s been going on, I found out almost immediately. I was quite a big Wilbur fan for a damn long time, since his early days of streaming (when skyblock randomiser was made etc). I was emotionally invested in his original music and looked up to him a lot.

The worst thing I think is that I resonated with his online interactions with Tommy (which makes me feel vile), and his adoration of Wilbur, always calling him ‘like a big brother’, and it fondly reminded me of me and my younger sibling. Except Wilbur would sometimes do some unexpectedly cruel things. Like stomping on Tommy’s hand and causing it to bleed. That alarmed me at the time, also when he revealed that he was relying on Tommy to talk him out of suicide, which really made me concerned about how healthy their relationship was. The worst thing is, this didn’t surprise me that much at all when it was revealed. Shelby’s descriptions could fit no other person, and it made sense and lined up with his past behaviour, but that doesn’t make it any less wholly awful and horrific.

I wasn’t going to talk about it on this blog, but I just feel angry. Angry for all these people he’s hurt. Angry that he’ll still be living comfortably off of his fanbase for years to come, young people who trusted and idolised him, the vast majority young girls themselves. Angry for Shubble, angry for Niki, angry for the women’s names we don’t know yet, angry for those who had been intimidated into silence. Angry for those who had been abused and brutalised by him. The main thing that’s coming up again and again is the biting, the bruising, the physical abuse, the way they were scared into saying anything, left traumatised by the way they’d been treated. As if that could be brushed off in any way by some disgustingly shallow and self-centred attempt at self preservation of his reputation. Fuck off.

Like Aimsey said, this isn’t some light cancellation from Twitter, these are reprehensible serial misogynistic crimes, and it’s only been days since the initial reveal and hours since his response and the influx of victims speaking up. My heart breaks to know how much more is going to be unearthed.

So yeah this is basically it, I treat this blog mainly as an archive for fan creations of things I like, but also as a collection of my thoughts. I have been unable to stop thinking about this, and I know that I’ve barely talked about mcyt on here, but I was heavily into dsmp and streamers for a long time. Shubble is insanely bloody brave for doing this, I wish them all the best (and the other victims) in recovering from his behaviour, as well as applauding her for the sheer fucking bravery to make the decision to speak up.

***I’ve seen some people saying Shubble uses they/them pronouns, but most people I’ve seen refer to her with she/her. If I find out she doesn’t use she/her I’ll change this post < Shelby uses she/they

#Wilbur soot #< for people blocking this tag #Sorry if this is a mess but wow yeah it’s not good

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reiderwriter · 6 months

Text

Pent Up

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: Spencer tries to comfort the newest team member through their nightmares, but the scene he walks in on is as far from a nightmare as you can get. It's practically a wet dream.

Warnings: Day 29 of Kinktober - masturbation, mutual masturbation, voyeurism, commands, slight BDSM themes, penetrative sex, reader is desperately horny, allusions to cheating/STDs, fingering, etc.

A/N: So close to the end now! Here's another kinktober original. You can find the rest of the months' works on AO3 under my account name (reiderwriter)! If you enjoy it, please leave a comment or reblog! It means a lot.

If you were to be asked what the worst part of a break-up was, you'd probably answer the months of sexual frustration afterwards.

It'd been weeks since you'd been able to itch that particular scratch, and you didn't know how much more you could take it. Having unceremoniously dumped your boyfriend three months prior (cheating bastard as he was), you'd found yourself swamped with work and unable to enjoy any two-person sexual pursuits.

Truth be told, you'd never really quite gotten the hang of pleasuring yourself either. Sure, you knew what you liked in bed, but your fingers weren't long enough to reach where your boyfriends had, and you grew easily tired of rubbing as the lonely hours of the night stretched out.

But with four months of pent-up frustration, you really were on the edge of losing it.

And it was all because of Doctor Spencer Reid.

Your boyfriend had gone around telling everyone who would listen that he was the reason you'd broken up anyway. He had said that he just felt too insecure in a relationship where you were off doing who knows what with your fellow FBI agent in various motels around the country. He left out that his insecurities seemed to disappear when he found himself in bed with one of his gym mates. Or his own coworker. Or his brother's girlfriend. Or one of the numerous other women you'd eventually traced back to him.

Needless to say, you'd wiped your hands of him and immediately ran to your OBGYN to make sure he didn't leave behind anything that lingered. And then you'd sat down and thought about the accusations.

Spencer.

He was attractive, smart, pretty funny at times, and weirdly cute at others. Your ex-boyfriend accusing you of sleeping with him was genuinely the first time that you'd thought about him in that way, though.

But now it was all you could think about. You woke up in the morning with the vague idea of his lips on your chest, tongue twisting and teasing your nipples slowly. You sat through the drive to work absent mindedly, wondering how long he'd last in bed. Meetings were the worse, where you stared at him blatantly and openly as he rambled through whatever new information he was giving out that day, wondering exactly what he'd taste like.

And then you took yourself home to your lonely apartment and tried to recreate those thoughts in your head as you rubbed yourself to release. It was a daily routine you were, for all intents and purposes, horrified by. Not that shame stopped you, though.

It was mid-week, and you'd spent the last three days stuck in a motel room after work, as you helped with your most recent case at the BAU. Three days of being in very close quarters with Spencer, who coincidentally happened to share a wall with you.

You'd tried your best to hold off and not touch yourself with so many of your coworkers around, but a little bit couldn't hurt, and with the clock on your bedside table reading somewhere between three and four am, it was a chance you were willing to take.

The sounds that Spencer could hear through the walls were so quiet at first that he almost missed them. If it wasn't the dead of night and if there had been other noises outside as well, he might have thought nothing of it and gone back to his book.

But the little gasps and moans sounded painful and worried him. Every new member of the team had nightmares at some point or the other, and he hadn't heard you mention them yet. Standing up from his chair, he placed his book face down on the small table and walked to the wall separating your rooms.

Putting his ear to the wall, he could hear everything much clearer. Your laboured breaths, the small moans, the sound of the sheets being tossed this way and that. It sounded bad. Pulling a jacket on, he stepped out of his room and knocked on your door.

You were only growing more frustrated with each flick of your wrist, head filled with images of Spencer over you, whispering in your ear as he stretched you out, or with his head between your legs as you grasped his hair, not willing to let him go.

You were so close to your release that you didn't even register the calls from the other side of the door. You didn't hear Spencer trying the door handle either after hearing a particularly loud groan from inside.

It's not until he's opening the door and calling out to you that you realise that you've been caught.

“Y/N, you need to wake up. You're having a n- oh my god.”

“Spencer!” Throwing the bed sheets back over your naked body, you scramble up the bed as he stops in his tracks, the door having swung closed behind him.

“You didn't lock your door.” He said, trying to maintain eye contact but failing dramatically as his eyes fell. First to your chest, then lower to where your fingers still sat between your thighs under the covers.

“I didn't think anyone was going to walk in.”

“Evidently. I wasn't supposed to see that.”

“No one is supposed to see that, Spencer,” you sighed, letting your head flop down against your pillow again as your hands came up to your face in embarrassment.

“I'm sure your boyfriend would disagree.”

“What boyfriend, Spencer?” You looked him in the eye again then, surprised to see that he'd relaxed slightly. He was a few steps further into the room, hands resting casually in a crossed position against his chest as he leaned against the wall.

“I'm sorry, I didn't realise-”

“That I got cheated on? Don't sweat it, I wasn't exactly broadcasting it at the office.” The corners of his lips turned down in a frown as his eyebrows knitted slightly together.

“If you…if you ever need to talk, I'm Bere. You know, good listener.” You're not sure what it is that makes you say it, bit the words are out of your mouth before you have the common sense to stop them.

“I don't need to talk, Spencer, I need to get railed.” In some sort of divine punishment, your tongue ties as soon as the final word leaves your lips, leaving you sat wondering why the hell you would say that.

Silence fills the room as you sit waiting for a reply until you look up to find Spencer trying his hardest to control his expressions. He can't hide the flush creeping up his neck, though, or the stiffness in his movements.

“It seems you were doing fine by yourself.” You let yourself relax slightly into the conversation as he lets his gaze fall further and further down your body.

“It’s not the same. It’s not the same as when someone else is doing it, is what I mean.”

“Well, how were you doing it? Maybe there’s something else you can be doing to help?”

Gently, he lowers himself to the edge of your bed, slowly running a hand up the sheets as you stare at him, eager to see where he takes this new line of movement.

You hold on to them still, keeping yourself covered, until his eyes meet yours once again.

“Show me.” The demand is simple, but you find yourself utterly compelled. The sheets gently fall away as you suddenly sit bare in front of the man, legs spread wide as you anticipate his next move.

“I said show me. You need to touch yourself.” Your mouth dropped open in protest but you can see already that he's not listening, eyes entirely focused on your pussy.

You decide against protesting, and with a deep breath you let your hand fall back down between your legs, taking its place on your clit and beginning the slow strokes from earlier.

His gaze is curious, looking like he would on any other tough case as you bite your lip to avoid moaning out.

“Your touch is pretty light, put some more pressure on your clit.” Your body is suddenly obedient and listens to him more than it listens to your conscience and suddenly you’re gasping and moaning again as your wrist works up and down.

“You have two hands, right? Try touching your breasts as well. Your nipples look a little neglected right now.” You listen again, and you’re surprised at how right he is.

You’re sure that with just his instructions, you’d shortly find yourself reaching a climax almost as satisfying as any you’d had with your ex, and he hadn’t even touched you.

You're so lost in your own pleasure, that you don't notice that he's palming himself through his own pants until you hear him hiss through his teeth.

“Spencer, you can deal with that here, too.” For a second, you assume him to bolt, the expression on his face betraying his discomfort at being caught. But he doesn't.

Instead, you watch him unzip his pants and pull out his hot, thick cock, staring slack jawed as your hands keep working over your own body.

“Fuck you’re so big.” You gasp as your eyes train themselves on the small drops of precum glistening on the tip of hs cock as he finally relieves some of the tension in his body.

Watching him distracts you from your own climax, suddenly curious about every noise he makes, every look on his face, the need rolling off of him.

“Why did you stop?”

You don’t bother answering his question, not even looking up from his cock as he stops stroking himself, wondering if he’d messed this delicate situation up by pulling his cock out.

“Please let me sit on it.” You whimper out, surprising even yourself with your whines.

“Are you sure?”

“Spencer, I’ve not had a dick inside me in months. Hell, I’ve not had one that size inside me ever. I want you to fuck me, please.”

He doesn’t need anymore convincing, suddenly pushing you back down and pushing his pants down further again.

“You can’t sit on it, but I will satiate your curiosity.” He pushes in suddenly, and you’re suddenly gasping at the stretch of it.

This is it. This is what you’ve been unable to do for yourself. This is what his hand feels like on you, how his cock feels pulsing inside of you. You’re discovering all these new sensations and suddenly you’re thoughts are empty.

Having both started yourself off, you feel like it takes only a few minutes of his very hot and intense thrusting, for the both of you to come undone.

He lets you cum on his cock, then quickly pulls himself off and rolls away to spend himself in your sheets.

You both sit there panting for a second, side by side, neither of you saying a word as you come down from your highs.

That is until you can stand the silence no longer and have to blurt it out.

“He thought I was cheating on him with you.”

“What? Who did?”

“My ex. He said he was only cheating back because he was sure you were fucking me while we were on cases.”

“... That might be my fault.” Your gaze snaps to him quickly, confused as he stares at you sheepishly.

“I think Morgan’s exact words to me were ‘stop staring at the newbie like she’s the porn magazine you found in the woods as a kid’ and they were swiftly followed by, ‘Morgan, Reid, meet my boyfriend.’”

He looks guilty, but you just laugh.

“You’re only as guilty as I am. I’m sure if you'd have caught any other member of the team in this situation…”

“Please don’t put that thought into my head.”

“All I’m saying is that Rossi definitely wouldn’t have let you stay or told you he needed rail-”

He cuts you off by pressing a kiss to your lips.

“That’s enough conversation for you, too.”

He pulls the sheets up and over the two of you again, and you’re content at the way his hands caress your skin as you do anything but rest up.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #criminal minds kinktober #spencer reid kinktober #kinktober 23

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dayurno · 4 months

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twilight kevjean au

kevin is bella

jean is edward

i have not read the books nor watched the movies but something about this speaks to me

you havent consumed twilight at all this is so funny to me!!! ok!!!! who's jacob you reckon? neil? andrew? jeremy? i've been watching read throughs of the twilight books because i'm an eternally nosy person and a terrible woman and i do remember it was really funny hearing people criticize edward's unusual behavior towards bella because in the end it was just book one kandrew.... literally just that......... tch! but i agree that jean has a more soggy wet vampire look to him than andrew ever will

#vampire jean is my sister my mother my father and my brother #kevin would make the worst bella swan though hed really heed everyone's advice #jean: i'm evil i'm a monster you shouldn't be around me kevin: on it boss #HE'S JUST REALLY NOT BUILT LIKE THAT...#but obviously the power of love etc. you know it #if anything i think bellas relationship with her father is lowkey very kevin and wymack #here i am taking bella swan seriously. ok #user dayurno you cant keep doing this... your heart too earnest... your good faith too all-consuming... theyll kill you #asks #kevjean

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ecoterrorist-katara · 3 months

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Zutara, romance novels, and the female gaze

Okay so I’ve been thinking about the female gaze a LOT so I checked out a subreddit about romance novels, despite never having read one. I came across this meme (which was initially a Tumblr post and then got posted to Instagram and then to Reddit and I’m now bringing back to Tumblr — Internet telephone, pls never change):

And…what is The Southern Raiders, if not a platonic grovel? Katara’s pain is central to the episode. It’s central to Zuko. Zuko asks Katara what he can do to make up for his betrayal; she demands the impossible. He reads between the lines, cockblocks her brother to get the necessary information, and then waits outside her door overnight (which he also did for Iroh, the one person we know for sure he loves). He basically makes himself a receptacle for her rage, and he holds space for her by coming with her on her revenge quest and carrying their bags and not saying a damn thing about what she should and should not do beyond like…asking her to rest. And obviously the grovel works! She forgives him and then they’re thick as thieves, bantering and fighting and saving each other’s lives, etc.

On a different note, I’ve been told that enemies to lovers is one of the biggest tropes in romance novels, similar to YA lit and fanfic. Here’s something else I found in the romance novel discourse:

And…yeah. In TSR, Katara really does show Zuko her worst self, because she doesn’t feel the need to perform for him. She doesn’t feel the need to perform moral perfection OR cold blooded vengeance. She bloodbends in front of him and he just goes with it. She doesn’t kill Yon Rha and he just goes with it. He doesn’t treat her any differently afterwards. Maybe they talk about it off screen, but I kind of like the idea that they don’t, because Katara doesn’t need to explain anything. And it’s so interesting, because some people in the ATLA fandom have a totally different read on TSR. They think Zuko was encouraging Katara to get revenge (by what, keeping his mouth shut?), and that Aang is the one who acts as her moral compass. I believe that either Bryan or Mike said in the DVD commentary that Aang is the angel on her shoulder the entire time. And this interpretation does make sense if you see it from the male gaze, where Katara as an object of affection is acting in an angry, irrational, threatening way. But if you see it from the female gaze, you recognize that actually it’s probably the most emotionally taxing experience Katara has to go through, and she doesn’t owe it to be nice or perfect to anybody. Katara’s formative trauma literally comes to a head, and she has to make a decision — no, a discovery — about who she is in relation to the tragedy that defines her life and even her identity (as a waterbender, as a parentified child who becomes the mom friend, as a genocide victim), and she’s accompanied by someone who trusts her judgement and validates her feelings.

I’m not saying TSR is explicitly romantically coded, but when it conforms so well to romance novel tropes…is it any wonder that so many people thought “yes this is her man?” And then he takes lightning in the heart for her and reaches for her when he’s literally dying, I will never be normal about that either

#Zutara #Katara #Zuko #the southern raiders #Pro zutara #anti Bryke #I guess #I swear I’m not a Bryke anti but I feel like they just don’t get #The female gaze #and the fact that Zutara is so female gaze is kind of an accident and I find that fascinating #atla fandom critical #The southern raiders turned me into a Zutara shipper #one ep away from the finale #Zutara meta #My meta

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wheneclipsefalls · 1 month

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Little Gift- Tremble

Pairing: Soft Dark Neteyam x Fem Human Reader

Little Gift Masterlist

Beautiful adult Neteyam pic by @cinetrix2

Summary: This is your last chance to run.

Warnings: aged up Neteyam, NSFW minors do not interact, dark Neteyam, NONCON/DUBCON, spanking, dirty talk, punishment, size difference, etc.

A/N: This one took a little longer than intended with all the life stuff going on, but yay it's here. Also, migt have gotten a little carried away with this part.

The outpost feels like a relic of a different time. One that you have only heard of in stories, but now seeing those worn down bunk beds and the corner of a room that Spider calls his own, it doesn’t feel as glorious. The worst part, however, is how naked you feel around other humans. It’s only a slight comfort that Spider is wearing Na’vi apparel too.

“Oh and yeah and this is a spear I made in Awalatuu.” Spider says. “But maybe let’s move it out of the way.” He gives an awkward chuckle but it’s obvious that his only concern is you suddenly deciding to use it against him.

Your arrival at the outpost had been anything but graceful. In hindsight you would have preferred to meet these people face to face instead of over Neteyam’s shoulder.

“If you want we can uh….watch a movie. Oh yeah I bet I could swipe Norm’s Star Wars collection.”

You don’t return the smile he gives you, too busy awkwardly sitting on his bed while pouting. You never thought it would feel strange to be back in a place like this but after being around the Na’vi for the past week, the outpost feels like walking into a rundown dollhouse. Everything is your size and nothing is as beautifully crafted as Neteyam’s kelku.

The awkward silence is slightly painful but you can’t find it within yourself to feel bad for Spider. Not when he hasn’t shown even a morsel of sympathy for your situation. Your own kind and not even they find it important to get you out of here. Not that they could anyways. No doubt Neteyam would view such actions as a betrayal.

“He wouldn’t let you come along, huh?” You finally ask.

Spider stops digging through the worn down hard drives.

“Who?”

“Neteyam. Didn’t want you coming to see the RDA off either?”

Spider scoffs at the, leaving the tech behind to cross the small room.

“I wouldn’t say that. I’m not the one he’s worried about getting into trouble.”

Spider may not have heightened senses like the Na’vi but you worry that he sees the way your hands ball around the thin blankets.

“So Lo’ak handed the role of babysitter off to you somehow.” You lean back against the cold wall, trying to appear bored by the conversation.

“Just for today. He was clear that I would only be a substitute.”

Your brows furrow at that. Maybe Lo’ak doesn’t mind watching over you as much as he lets on. Then again Lo’ak never fails to find your company amusing, and for all the wrong reasons. Some days you wonder if Neteyam would really be cross with you for slapping his brother across the face. Maybe if you batted your lashes and played it off as self defense….

“Well I’m sorry you can’t be there.”

It’s Spider’s turn to look confused.

“Why?”

“Colonel Quaritch is your dad, isn’t he?”

“That asshole is nothing close to a father.” Spider’s jaw clenches, posturing already shifting to loom over you. He may be human but his six foot frame of striped muscle greatly outweighs your own.

“Oh trust me, I know. Quaritch has been nothing but a tyrant my entire life. I honestly don’t know how he managed to get back into General Ardmore’s good graces after half the stunts he has pulled. That’s why I was excited for today. Finally see that bastard put in his place.” Spider watches you closely. In some ways it feels like all he is missing he ears and tail of a Na’vi.

“Thought maybe you would want to see that too.”

You know a good deal about Spider Soccoro. He is a story that is often shared among the recombinants but never in Quaritch’s presence. Many tales have been told of the feral stripped boy that was more trouble than worth. You wonder if the stories would have been different if he hadn’t chosen the Sullys in the end. Still, even with their biased filters you know that they put Spider through hell.

Kidnapping is traumatic enough without having to watch islands burn and friends cry for justice.

“I don’t care what happens to that bastard.” Spider huffs before promptly turning around and fishing through the hard drives once more. You’ve killed the already strained mood.

“Well then you’re a better person than me. Good for you.” Spider doesn’t answer but you can tell he is listening.

A bitter laugh escapes you. “Hell, I’ve only had to put up with him from a distance and I would ring his neck myself if given the chance.”

Spider’s fingers fiddle with a blue hard drive, eyes staring down thoughtfully.

“But I guess I should trust Neteyam to give him what he deserves. Watch that monster tuck his tail and accept his failure for what it is.” It’s the one cause you consider Neteyam and yourself on the same side of.

Leaning back, you prop your feet up onto the creaky mattress.

“Yeah.” He says shortly.

“Ugh don’t get me started on Lyle though-”

“What are you trying to do?” Spider springs to his feet, glaring daggers down at you.

“What do-”

“Do you think I’m really that stupid? Neteyam told me you would do this. Trying to spin a story that would allow you to escape.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. You’re startled by the outburst to say the least but at this point there is nothing to lose. This man you only met fifteen minutes ago is the difference between spending the rest of your days here and returning back to Earth. Neteyam’s punishments are far from being enough to deter you from taking this chance.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t trying to-”

“Would it kill you to just stay out of trouble for this one day? For my sake?” The look he gives you is anything but tender in comparison to his words.

The bitter taste of impending failure is already settling in. You can already feel the immense weight of this dread and it springs you into action. This can’t be the end.

It won’t be.

“Can you really blame me though? For wanting to say goodbye to everything and everyone I have ever known?”

Spider goes quiet, hazel eyes suddenly avoiding your own gaze.

“Believe whatever you want but the fact is this day will never repeat. This is literal history and…” You voice quivers, blunt teeth sinking into your bottom lip in restraint. The last barrier to holding the words back. “The last glimpse at my old life.”

You don’t allow the gravity of those whispered words to plant themselves. This is all a ruse after all. Just enough sadness to get Spider to cooperate and yet saying it out loud feels like tying an anchor to your ankle. Truly realizing how stuck you may be from here on out.

Spider doesn’t say anything for a long while. Neither of you look at each other, letting the silence sizzle between you.

And then finally….

“We have to be quick.”

“And no touching anything. I mean it, shit out here can be extremely poisonous.” Spider rattles on, listing yet another rule to follow as the two of you venture through the thick terrain. You roll your eyes. You may not be a match for the creatures of Pandora physically but you’ve studied enough to understand what to stay away from.

“We’re there for five minutes tops, got it?” Spider says as he pushes a hanging branch out of your path.

“Yes sir.” You salute him playfully. Now that you are less than a mile away from Bridgehead a certain giddiness begins to take over. It swirls together with your nerves and apprehension but it doesn’t deter you. This is the closest you have been to freedom in a week.

Eywa’s mightiest creatures could not keep you from your goal.

Years down the road when you wake up from kyro this will all be some awful dream that embeds itself into your revenge arch. Starting with Miles Quaritch of course.

“I’m being serious. Neteyam will kill me if he sees you out here. I’m sticking my neck out for you.”

“It will be worth it.” You say simply, a skip in your step when you recognize the familiar path that leads back to Bridgehead. This the same one you had carved deeper with every trip you had taken to your oasis. Looking back there is nothing more you regret but the sight of it still makes you smile.

Spider never stops his stern rambling. Despite the fact that he is built like a Greek God, his speeches do little to intimidate you. Not when you’re used to nine feet of solid muscle and sharp canines.

There is a bank that overhangs Bridgehead. A spot that Spider deems the perfect lookout for the two of you. You consider trying to convince him to get the two of you closer. After all, what good is a farewell that can’t be heard? Truth is, there really aren’t many people you would bother trying to say goodbye to. Jeremy moved on from you months ago, you have very little friends outside of that and what little you did have can be nothing but traitors by letting you get offered up without complaint.

It feels like a risky move, however. Spider is sure to catch wind of your deception at the first hints of you disobeying.

“Here,” Spider mutters, suddenly pulling your arm so you stand directly in front of him. This leaves you sandwiched between the cliff’s edge and Spider’s tall frame.

“Hey!” You snip at him, ripping your arm from his hold.

“This way I can keep a close eye on you.” He smirks, hands resting confidently on his hips because he knows as well as you that his physical prowess greatly outweighs your own. It’s clear his trust is far from being earned.

“Well do you have to breathe down my neck? Christ! I could use some space.”

“No chance.” Spider responds shortly but his eyes are already scanning the crowd of RDA members below.

“Neteyam doesn’t really take kindly to others sniffing around me.”

You hate to play that card but it seems to be the only one you have in your deck and if you have any chance of getting out of here, Spider can’t be pressed up against you. A harsh glare is thrown down at you but with knitted brows and a fierce frown, the male takes a few steps back. It isn’t much, surely his presence will still be your first obstacle, but it’s a start.

Every minute that passes by feels like torture. You watch as palettes of heavy equipment and artillery are rolled along the concrete with Na’vi supervising. Each one packed away is a signal of passing time, another stream of sand that falls through your hourglass of opportunity. The real nerves, however, kick in when the line of RDA members are escorted onto the ship.

How long is it going to take them to load everyone?

How long until your hopes are dashed?

You spot Neteyam taking his place at the head. He is dressed up in his traditional Olo’eyktan gear completely with a feathered mantle and oval forehead jewelry, but this time he holds a gun. He holds it with confidence, finger strategically placed over the barrel and ready to strike at a moment’s notice. His golden eyes spark today like fire. Even from your lookout spot from above, you can feel that darting heat.

You pray that they never fall on you again.

Spider shifts over your shoulder suddenly, blonde dreads ticking your neck. You scramble out of his space but instead of jerking you into place as you expect, he takes your spot at the front. Brows knitting together, you watch him carefully as he crawls forward.

Finally you spot what has captured his undivided attention.

Colonel Miles Quaritch sternly leads his band of mutants through the crowd. They tower so high over the rest of the Sky People the sight is almost comedic. However, Spider is doing anything but laughing. His mask fogs up as he watches the scene with intensity.

It’s like he is dead to the world, eyes trained on the man that has been anything but a father to him.

You expect him to cheer, snarl, anything that shouts of victory. It was promises of seeing karma after all that had bought you this outing but Spider is silent and still. And then there is something else that flashes over his demeanor, a pang of emotion that is hard for you to place.

Pain?

Hatred?

Guilt?

This swirl of tangled feelings is confusing.

Perhaps there is still so much more to learn about Spider Socorro.

Regardless, this is your chance and you plan to take it. Tension bleeding into the moment you watch Spider diligently while beginning to back away. It feels as if the world’s ambience has been muffled into background noise and the only sound breaking through is the obnoxious puff of each breath through your mask. Neteyam hadn’t given you the serum shot this morning, assuming you would be spending the whole day in the outpost. Now, however, you wish he had.

Spider is so enveloped in the moment, however, that he gives no recognition of the sound or even branch you clumsily snap when backing down from the cliff’s edge.

There is no telling how long this trance will last or at what point you will be out of ear shot so you risk it all.

Bare feet tingling in protest, you race across the forest floor. There’s no sign of an easy and stealthy way down into Bridgehead. Going back down your normal path would risk Spider spotting you race by. That’s not an option but neither is falling to your death. On the east side the cliff shallows out into a grassy hill. If you’re lucky enough you might just be able to creep down it and remain hidden beneath the heavy greenery.

Upon reaching it, however, you step on loose dirt and the world rapidly spins around you. With neither a hint of grace or stealth you clumsily roll down the hill. Your muscles ache by the time you clunk to the bottom and you’re sure there are other injuries to be found. Adrenaline dulling the pain and panic, you dart to hide in the nearest bush instantly.

The scene is so much louder now that you are up close. Heavy trucks make blaring beeping sounds while reversing and Na’vi freely let out loose cries of victory and foreign threats. The commotion is just enough to have your presence remain undetected.

You don’t bank on that lasting for long though.

Your scanty traditional Na’vi attire is sure to draw attention. You need different clothes and you need it fast. Scaling around the outskirts of the chaos, you miraculously manage to make it to that familiar run down door. Sector two-your building.

Paranoia constantly scraping at your attention, you barely let the room equalize before ripping your mask off. These hallways feel so different than you remember them. Perhaps it is the feel of the metal floors beneath bare feet or the lacking furniture and crowd. It sends a chill up your spine as you sprint towards your room.

How much time do you have?

They can’t have loaded more than half of the crew by now.

And yet, the sight of deserted halls makes your feet slap against the floor faster.

Get dressed. Immerse yourself in the crowd. Hide until take off is through and then find a kyro capsule.

You mentally check through this list.

Piece of cake.

Maybe saying it out loud would make it sound less like a fool’s hope.

Fuck it. The odds don’t matter and neither do your nerves. This is a necessity, pure survival and that will be enough to keep you going. It will because it has to.

Your feet slip across the laminated floor when you frantically scramble to go back the way you came. Two tall and ominous shadows wrap from around the opposite corner and you are afforded just enough time to dart behind a wall before Lyle and Z Dawg appear.

“You’re an idiot.” She says.

“Yeah yeah say whatever you want but don’t pretend like you wouldn’t rip someone in half for a Big Mac right now.” Lyle defends himself, their shadows now paint the dimly lit corridor, stretching closer and closer to your tucked away spot.

You could run, but these are recombinants. They would pick up the sound of your footsteps in an instant. The wind from your sprint would carry your scent.

“Sure, but I asked what your first meal back on Earth would be, not what your guilty pleasure fast food order is.”

“These savages can keep their overgrown weeded garden of a planet. I want some fucking chicken nuggets!”

As their voices become louder it appears that running will be your only choice after all.

“I don’t even know why I ask at this point.” She sighs and a short hiss echoes down the hallway.

You swallow the lump in your throat, feet repositioning as you prepare yourself to run. If you were smart you would have already been halfway down the hallway at this point but some part of you refuses to move. It clings to hope foolishly.

“Well I’m sure-”

“Shut up asshole. The comm.” Z Dawg hisses and they both turn silent, no doubt listening to the orders on the other end.

Your hands are shaking now, that tremor traveling up your shoulders as you await their response.

“Copy that.” Lyle says and then the sound of heavy boots recedes into the distance.

You can hardly believe your luck.

That dark cloud of dread ripples away and hope takes its place once more. Maybe you can pull this off after all.

Your room is exactly as you left it. No one has bothered to pack up any of your things or even dispose of your half folded laundry. This tiny corner of a shared living space has been your own for your whole life, everything you have known. It feels so small now.

Rifling through the laundry basket you find a loose green tee and a pair of tan shorts. You originally had a whole outfit planned for this day, something comfortable but nice. Those garments are, however, still crumpled up on the ground. This will have to do.

As you hastily slip them over the beaded jewelry and tewng you pray to whatever god will listen that this will be enough to keep you incognito. You are barely finished buttoning up the shorts when heavy footsteps ring down the hallway.

Their echo is soft, no doubt still several halls away but they are progressively getting louder. Now is not the time to take any more risks. This room is tiny and already cramped with scattered junk. Hiding under your bed would not only be idiotic but near impossible with the way your creaky bed swoopes so low to the ground. There is, however, an old built-in cabinet above that you’ve used to hold your clothes.

It’s just barely big enough for you to squeeze into so with those footsteps getting louder and your own terror sky rocketing, you push everything out of it and shove your body into the metal space. The door has metal slots with just enough slant to allow your visual through it.

Your clammy right hand presses over your mouth when the door to the room creaks open.

Neteyam strolls in leisurely, eyes sweeping over the cramped space with interest. With wide eyes and strangled lungs, you watch him prowl through the area slowly. He bends down to run his fingers over the rumbled sheets, the back of his hand lingers over your pillow case.

He takes his time looking through the various knick knacks and cords littering your night stand. He doesn’t hesitate to ball the old picture of Jeremy into his fists. Its remains are tossed to the side without care.

Did he toss the real Jeremy like that?

You make a vow to find him as soon as you make it on board.

Assuming Neteyam hasn’t already hunted him down.

You could look for whatever is left of Jeremy.

You can’t think about that now, though. Not as your heart is pounding against your ribs like a bird trying to escape a cage. Not when Neteyam lifts his mask for a sip of air as he plays with your tiny music box.

He is gentle with all of your belongings, roaming through the area like a man that doesn’t have hundreds of Sky People to threaten off of his planet. Surely, he will have to leave soon. He’s just here out of curiosity, more of his stalker tendencies pushing him to invade your space.

The music box looks like a Christmas ornament in his palm and you worry that he will accidently crush it. It was a pain in the ass to get and a possession you have always treasured because of that. Neteyam’s ears push forward when he finally figures out how to start the music and that delicate ballerina begins to twirl.

“Maybe it’s all of your silly trinkets.” He breaks the silence, you startle slightly. He can’t be talking to you, you remind yourself. Neteyam thinks he is alone, just nosing through your old room as he thinks out loud. “Is that what you miss so much? What has you running off and acting naughty, little gift?”

He’s bluffing. There is no way he could know you are here. Your scent has to be strong in the room but that’s to be expected since this was your living space. Ironically this should be the perfect place to hide away.

“You know,” He starts, carefully placing the music box back down. “I was planning on letting you bring some of these funny things back to our kelku once you start behaving. A little incentive to be my good girl.”

The knot in your throat is near impossible to gulp down and when you do, his ears twitch. You don’t want to believe it. How did he find you? You tug your legs closer to your chest as if you can contort yourself into a small enough ball that will magically disappear.

“But it’s obvious now that you respond better to retribution than reward.”

It’s a miracle that your lip doesn’t split from how hard your teeth press into it. Neteyam may not be able to track your scent here but the smell of blood would be a dead giveaway. All signs point to being caught but you aren’t ready to hand over the last shreds of hope yet. Neteyam doesn’t know about the cabinet. He’s bluffing about knowing you are here. No one has seen you.

“We can revisit the idea of a reward system later, pet.”

The muscles in your legs are cramping beyond relief, begging you to stretch out. You don’t heed these discomforts, too paralyzed by the proximity of your captor. Neteyam on the other hand appears deceivingly content and relaxed, rummaging through your things as if he has all the time in the world.

He carefully opens your nightstand drawer and those hairless eyebrows raise immediately. The bras are tossed to the side with the same care as the picture but then tiny little lace fabric hangs from his fingers. It’s far from your greatest problem but your cheeks heat anyways when he carefully observes your light purple panties.

Out of all the drawers to open it seems that Neteyam knows just the one to torment you with.

“Then again,” The Olo’eyktan smirks. “These are quite cute.” And this time instead of inhaling from the respirator he soaks in the scent from the small fabric instead. Your thighs clench together.

“Wouldn’t mind having my little tawtute model these for me.” He hums, while pulling out several more pairs. He tucks them away safely in a small pouch attached to his loincloth. “That is, once I finally get rid of this rebellious streak of yours.”

You allow yourself a small sigh when Neteyam goes around to the other side of the bed, just enough distance for you to breathe properly.

“Time to come out, little gift.” He squats down onto his haunches, prowling across the floor like a predator on track. He must be searching for you and if that is true then you may still have a chance yet. Neteyam may think you are in here but he doesn’t know where exactly.

Thoughts race through your mind at a thousand miles per minute. They twist and twirl to find some way that you could get out of this situation unscathed. The doorway is visible through the slanted slits of the cupboard. With the proper footing you may be able to close that distance with a courageous leap. And maybe, just maybe that would be enough to catch Neteyam off guard and give you a head start.

You make one fatal mistake, however.

If there is one thing a good prey knows to do, it is to keep sight of their predator at all times.

Your feet don’t even get the chance to hit the ground, instead dangling and thrashing once you are caught with a strong hold around your waist. Hoping is waning but disappointment sprouts into increased vigor as your nails digging into his arms and legs struggle to kick back at him.

“YOU MOTHERFUCK-” Your cursing slings into a shriek when Neteyam grabs a fistful of your hair and uses it to strongly crane your head backwards. His golden eyes are dilated until only a thin rim of molten gold is visible. The weight of his angry gaze takes your breath away.

“Enough.” He enunciates the word, like a drawn sword ready to slash. “Listen closely, pet.” The lump in your throat goes down with a strained gulp. “There is not an inch of this Sky Demon hell hole or corner of this planet that you can run to without being drawn back to me. You are mine and I’ve done well to mark my property.” The fingers intertwined in your hair tickle over the back of your neck, no doubt leaving the trail of his scent behind. “You reek of me.”

Tears gather at the corner of your eyes and you flutter them closed to avoid his burning attention.

“As you should.” His voice rumbles as nothing more than a growl against the nape of your neck.

“I never asked for this!” Your fighting dimms down to nothing more than squirming as gritting the choked words out sucks your energy away. Before you can do anything to stop it, tears blaze trails down your cheeks. “Just let me go! Please!”

“Quiet, pet.”

Another yank to your hair and the words die on your lips. It’s clear now that the time for fun and games is over. Neteyam wastes no time in throwing you onto the creaky mattress and covering your body with his own until he becomes a shadow blocking out the fluorescent light above. His thighs straddle your waist, putting just enough weight down to keep you in place.

“No more tears.” He sighs, with down turned lips, but doesn’t pause his bunching of your tee shirt. “It’s clear I’ve been spoiling you too much.”

A broken grasp is pulled from your throat when he easily tears the shirt straight down the middle. You’re not sure what you are trying to accomplish as you swat at his working hands. The shirt was neither your favorite nor of great importance but you still try to stop the onslaught of ripping.

Confused and overwhelmed you squirm as he rips it into wide ribbons of fabric and then without warning you are flipped onto your stomach. You scramble to crawl away but Neteyam’s plants a foot on your ass and that is unfortunately all it takes to pin you down. Your hands are snatched next, forced together behind your back as the ripped stripes of your own shirt are used as makeshift rope to tie your wrists together.

Something about him using your own personal clothing to keep you bound for him has your legs kicking out fiercely. It won’t do much damage even if you manage to hit him, but there needs to be an outlet for your anger. You need to feel like there is still some wreckage for you to inflict. The last tiny shred of power that you cling to for dear life.

Neteyam isn’t in the mood to put up with your outbursts. Much like a fresh kill from his hunting trips he keeps you pinned and makes quick work of binding you imobile. The action is so well rehearsed and instinctual in fact that he already moves on to his next task of destroying your shorts.

Shrieks and small clawing fingers are simply background ambience for the Olo’eyktan as he works. Surprisingly the small tawtute sized Na’vi clothing is not exempt from the male’s destructive hands. They too become nothing more than rolling beads and scraps of fabric falling to the floor.

Your string of bloody curses are only temporarily interrupted by your own gasp when Neteyam takes a seat on the bed and throws you over his knee in one swift move. Kicking is no longer an option for your rage when he swings one leg over both of yours. Blood rushes to your head but even dizziness can’t stop your violent outrage.

However, it appears a cracking smack to your upturned ass can.

The pain doesn’t ripple forward until a few moments after your shock has subsided. Neteyam has always had creative ways of punishing you but this is different. You’d figured that he would never lay a hand on you after all that he has droned on and on about how important it is to protect a fragile thing like you.

But another hit accompanies the first and this time you can’t hold back your small squeak.

“Just as I thought.” He spanks you again, his hand mercilessly hitting both cheeks with every strike. “You’ve been practically begging for a firmer hand.” The cry that the next rapid three slaps pull from you is one that you don’t recognize.

“Pretty little things like you still struggle to remember their place.”

“Stop! Stop!” You shriek, trapped legs still fruitlessly sprawling for escape.

“Don’t worry, little gift.” He squeezes one of your pink cheeks after this last spank. “That’s what I am here for. I won’t let your silly little tawtute tendencies keep you away from me.”

It doesn’t take long for the color of your backside to match your face as the blood drains to your head. Neteyam is persistent, hardly batting an eye at your cries and shrieks. From cursing to death threats, none of your spewed venom makes him flinch. If anything you manage to catch his small smirk when you twist to glare up at him. You don’t make that mistake again when you find this behavior only rewards you with condescending coos from the Na’vi.

“That’s a good girl. Let all those nasty words go.” He purrs, heavy hand never letting up on your poor bottom.

It’s this praise that has your mouth clamping shut. You hold back any and every sound you can as your ass takes a beating. Which is not a lot when the Na’vi male has unfathomable strength and your backside already feels like flames could erupt from it at any moment.

“Oh pet, I’ve hardly even touched you and you’re already blushing so pretty for me.” Neteyam hums in delight, hand roaming over your burning ass like an art piece just waiting to be admired properly.

Hardly even touched you?

Is this just his way of being an ass or are you truly that far from the finish line?

You jolt when one finger slips between the crack of your cheeks, teasing over your hole gently. A sound caught between a scream and whimper erupts from you without thought. Bound hands flatten and flail to cover the untouched area but Neteyam simply chuckles and lets his own hand retreat.

“Mawey, tiyawn.” Neteyam pats your backside softly, almost in a casual reassuring manner. “Another day.”

It’s hard to say what is more humiliating. Being bound and turned over the Olo’eyktan’s knee like a naughty child or the wetness trickling from your pussy at the feel of his teasing fingers in a place you’ve never dared let anyone else explore before.

Pain is a great distraction from your humiliation. So much so that it eventually motivates you to dash pride to the side and begin your pleading.

“A-ah Neteyam! I’m sorry! I’m sorry…eh-ah I-I’ll be good!” It’s not even clear what you are trying to say anymore. Your mouth runs on autopilot, throwing out any line of remorse in hopes of one doing the job. “I ngh-ah didn’t mean to! I won’t run! Can’t take anymo- ah! Neteyam!”

He reigns his hits to warm the underside of your thighs too, moving between that vulnerable area and your ass in such an erratic way that it is impossible to anticipate where the next will land.

Plea after plea is thrown out but resembles nothing more than garbled desperation, nothing that can pass as a full sentence.

However, one call catches his attention.

“Olo’eyktan please!”

The sound of slapping skin stops.

Tears continue to plunge down your cheeks even without the constant spanking, your ass burns and tingles in shock. The tuft of his tail poruses over your naked thighs, sending a sensation both painful and ticklish.

“Repeat, pet.”

“Wha-what?” You stammer, voice thick with tears.

“What did you say?” That large hand comes down once more like a crack of lightning.

“AH! Olo’eyktan O-Olo’eyktan please please please. No more no more!”

He smooths over your knotted hair, pushing it away from your sweaty temple and tear stained face. It’s tempting to look away from his soft gaze but intuition tells you to let him see the trembling state he has left you in. Let him witness how pitiful and distraught a simple spanking has made you be.

“I….I’m sorry, Olo’eyktan.”

Neteyam smiles like one would at a lover, a tender pride lacing his lips.

“You’re learning, pet.”

Putting batteries in that small remote was a mistake. A ridiculous useless mistake that now leaves you standing on shaky legs. The pink vibrator that has resided in your nightstand drawer dutifully on hand for years is now the source of your torment.

Well, maybe not the source per say.

No, the true origin of this humiliation stares back at you with knowing eyes and swatting tail, his large hand making that tiny remote look like a children’s toy. The vibrator buzzes inside of you on the lowest setting, but that relief can only last for so long with the way Neteyam enjoys jumping between the different levels.

Every last shredded piece of your Na’vi and human clothing lays back on the floor of your old bedroom. The only savior of your decency is Neteyam’s cloak that he had thrown around your shoulders. With the size difference this cloak acts more like a dress and therefore gives you more coverage than you’ve had in a week yet somehow leaves you feeling more vulnerable than ever before. Trembling fingers never stray from the seams of the cloak, keeping it wrapped around you tightly as the crowds of humans and Na’vi continue to pass you.

Neteyam has left you with one of the other Na’vi warriors but never out of his sight. It’s a miracle that your hands were cut loose in the first place but perhaps that is another sick joke the Olo’eyktan plays on you. He knows that you won’t run. He knows you can’t run. His attention and promised consequences for misbehavior are more than enough to keep you tucked in his pocket.

That and of course his control over the rippling vibrations that torture your pussy.

The nearest warrior is sure to be noticing your frazzled state by now. At least he has the decency to hide his interest, unlike another Na’vi that watched from the sidelines. Lo’ak, leaned against one of the hoverships like it’s a random Tuesday afternoon, watches with a small smirk and perked ears. If Neteyam notices, he doesn’t seem to have a problem with it because Lo’ak is left unbothered in his ogling.

The tempo increases, the vibrator now picking a pattern of random pulses that bash against your sweet spot. Bottom lip bleeding now from your biting, it’s a struggle to keep your moans at bay. With the heavy machinery moving and hundreds of Na’vi and humans passing surely there must be enough noise to block out any degrading sounds you make. But you can’t take that risk. You’ve made the mistake of underestimating the Na’vi’s enhanced hearing before and that is what has landed you here.

Neteyam twirls the tiny remote between his fingers like a fidget toy as another Na’vi warrior comes to report.

You start to commiserate the loss of that ridiculous human sized loincloth Neteyam made you because at least then there was some fabric barrier to hide your wetness. Now, the thick Pandoran air runs up the cloak and over your soaked thighs and cunt. It reminds you constantly how pathetic you have become as orgasm after orgasm has escaped your grip. Even worse it reminds you how easy it is to carry that aroused scent through the breeze for all Na’vi to detect. At that rate, worrying about your noises is the least of your concerns.

Lo’ak reloads the machine gun with practiced hands, moving with muscle memory so he can continue to stare and send silent messages your way. No doubt he is theorizing on what exactly his brother has done to diminish you to such a state. His eyes dance with those ideas, the little quirk of his lips telling you just how creative and vial his thoughts have turned.

Another level up and this time it is Neteyam’s eyes that have you squirming. Your impending orgasm coils tighter and tighter with every passing second and you're so desperate to find some way to release this energy that your bare feet begin fidgeting against the concrete. It’s almost like a little dance, one that has Lo’ak laughing under his breath.

It stops.

You breathe.

There is some sort of commotion off in the distance. Not one that you can truly pin down the source of but you do notice the way Neteyam nods as a Na’vi female says something to him. With a wave she is dismissed and then the Olo’eyktan saunters off. Although slightly worried over the trouble, you are grateful for the respite.

And then a nightmare unfurls before your eyes.

Instead of marching to the issue, Neteyam takes a pit stop to converse with his younger brother. Lo’ak’s tail whips in the wind at whatever is whispered in his ear but the real horror comes when that traitor of a remote is handed over to the younger Sully male.

You are seconds away from stomping over there and crushing that pink little weapon before the other male can wield it. However, your dutiful guard places a hand on your shoulder after just one step. His eyes remain locked forward but the warning is enough as his hand retreats. You are still being watched.

With one last glance your way, Neteyam has the audacity to give you, his little pet, a warm smile before leaving you in the hands of his brother.

Lo’ak swings the gun around to his back in favor of playing with his new toy. Every dark and viscous fiber left within you is channeled into the glare you give him. It should say everything that your lips can not.

Don’t you dare.

Don’t you fucking dare.

Now would be a good time to look into Na’vi curses, anything you could betrix upon him for what he is about to do, because of course Lo’ak won’t back down. If anything that fire in your eyes lights his own delight and has him sitting down and bracing forward. Forearms resting on his thighs he clocks your every movement.

This is sure to be the best entertainment the bastard has had in a long time.

He savors the passing moments of anticipation. Never backing down from the ultimate seething looks you give him. Finally a crash sounds and that distraction is right when Lo’ak sets the vibrator to high. From zero to one hundred, pleasure rackets through you like a shock wave. The force is so much that it temporarily makes you stumble on your feet. The other guard wordlessly steadies you back into place.

Lo’ak’s grin is feral.

This silent battle slips between your fingers so quickly it is hard to comprehend, because all that can register in your brain is how fast you are hurtling towards an orgasm. After Neteyam’s denial your body is high strung and ready to take any sensation as fuel to push you over the edge. Nails digging into the soft fabric of Neteyam’s cloak, pleasure rockets higher and higher until only the whites of your eyes are visible.

Knees bowing inward, ecstasy is finally yours.

There isn’t enough energy left to question why Lo’ak let you reach your high. Instead you focus on riding that wave while simultaneously keeping upright.

That persistent buzzing against your sweet spot continues until your nerves are short circuiting. The pleasure turns to overstimulation and you give Lo’ak a look that alerts him of this change.

His amusement tells you that he already knows your predicament but his thumb remains far from the off button.

Pathetic noises now bubble up your throat without restraint as pleasure ebbs into pain. It switches back and forth until another release is on the verge of consuming your being. The guard next to you doesn’t say anything when he helps to sit on the cold ground.

The second orgasm has a bitter taste to it but your greedy pussy clenches around the toy all the same. It’s almost too bad that Neteyam decided not to gag you because at least that would muffle your cries as you rock down onto the toy. Lo’ak gulps at the sight, pupils blown wide when the first glimmer of tears scrape down your cheeks.

Regardless, he shows no mercy as he takes in the show with undivided interest.

Vaguely you register the bustle and commotion around you as different Na’vi and humans rush to and fro, giant machinery finally backing into place but they are only background noise to your third orgasm.

Your body is caught between delight and despair with every passing second. When you are close to reaching your peak for the fourth time your body is resistant to get you there all the way. The intense buzzing in your pussy is driving you wild but still not enough to drag out another orgasm after being too overstimulated. Despite the soreness that emanates from your wrecked hole, your clit throbs in agony. Begging to be touched. To be licked. Pinched. Flicked. God, anything at this point.

Memories of Neteyam doing just that surface, pushing you closer and closer to another dumbing climax and yet only serve as a reminder of how you are not getting the treatment you so desperately need. Pride is dashed to the side, you’ll worry about the consequences of grinding onto the toy in public later.

Lo’ak’s hands roughly brush over his inner thighs and it draws your attention. The taunt muscle and smooth skin of those thighs would surely brush over your intimate flesh so perfectly. He would probably help you too, hands clawing at your hips as they urge you back and forth over the area. Even more so, the younger brother would not be able to pass up the opportunity to show his power over the situation, muscles flexing to tease your clit oh so beautifully.

You’re not sure when Lo’ak became telepathic but he grips his knees and gives you a look that says he knows every dark desire that plagues your brain. His nails press into that soft flesh and drag until there are pretty red marks left behind. If you crawled over there sweetly, would he let you ride? Maybe if you healed those red marks with open mouthed kisses and kitten licks.

Unaroused you would be ashamed of this train of thought but she is so far gone now.

The only thing your poor abused cunt is begging for was attention. Anything to get this awful mix of heaven and hell to bleed into euphoric release and rest.

The only thing stopping you from reaching down and finishing the job yourself is the assurance that Lo’ak would snip all pleasure in a bud at the sight of any touching.

The area has been cleared of invaders. Na’vi begin to make their way off to the hills before take off but you are none the wiser. Caught in your own little bubble you don’t even notice when a sudden shadow blocks out the sun. That is until, large warm hands slip under the cloak and skate over your spread legs.

Such a simple touch has never made you whimper more.

Neteyam’s accent is thicker now, words heavy enough to hardly understand the meaning as he coos at you. “There��s my sweet pet. Little slut just wants to come again, don’t you?”

His fingers force your legs to spread even wider. Lo’ak’s stares as if his glare could heat up enough to burn through that cloak.

With such delicacy it makes you want to scream, Neteyam uses two fingers to part your pussy lips and expose your pulsing clit. The other hand slithers down to rest on your thigh as you try to buck against the air.

“Come for your Olo’eyktan, pet,” He growls and with the other hand he begins delivering rapid little taps to your clit. It’s humiliating how tiny the gesture that puts you over the edge is but you paint the toy white regardless.

When the vibrator finally takes a rest you are too far lost in your own little world. Neteyam swaddles you in the cloak and carries you in his arm as you bury into his chest. And conveniently, when you are tucked back in the forest there is no awareness left in you to recognize the sound of launching ships.

As always interaction and feedback not only means the world to me but also as a great motivator for writing and updating<3

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