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covenofagatha · 4 months ago

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The Psychology of Love (Part 2)

The Perfume

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

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: none

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe all three.

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

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

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

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

It very much looks like a vulva.

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

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

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

You wonder what your professor tastes like.

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s happening in this scene?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It looks like a cunt.

Good girl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Perfect.”

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

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

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

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

Black Opium.

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

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

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

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

Does this really count though?

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

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

Something like that would be possible with Morgan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rio V.

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

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

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

She’s all you want.

You buy the perfume.

Part Three

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souliebird · 4 months ago

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[[and then I met you || Ch. 33]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s while Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 4.4k

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|| Trigger Warning: Graphic Descriptions Body Horror & Death Regarding Unnamed Children ||

All your life you have heard that there is a beauty in chaos, and while you do agree with this, you also find there is a beauty in organization.

You like taking all the chaos and putting it into categories. You like sorting the details and finding the mysteries that need to be unraveled. You think it must be similar to how clever people feel when they solve a riddle or a puzzle, but you aren’t running in circles with philosophical thoughts - you are analyzing what is already available and coming to a conclusion.

It is still all chaos, because everything is always chaos, but it is organized into a way that makes sense.

And Matt’s stolen duffel bag, when first unzipped and inspected, was full of chaos.

You, Foggy, and Karen quickly got to work looking over the different papers and forming different stacks based upon agreed parameters.

It became clear Matt’s guess that he had found some sort of laboratory was correct. The papers all appeared to be results of different medical tests, though at first glance, the three of you could not decipher for what.

But deciphering wasn’t needed at that moment, so it didn’t matter, and once everything was spread neatly across the dining table, the next step of your beloved process began.

Foggy gave each pile a designation and then the three of you began labeling each paper in the top corner.

A1. A2. A3. A4.

B1. B2. B3. B4.

All your analyzing would be useless if you couldn’t source your data, and it was quickly clear your little group all shared the same brain cell when it came to this idea.

While you worked at the table, Matt and Jessica sat on the floor by the couches, marking up a map. You caught snippets of the conversation - this bit of evidence was heard in that alley, to get to a certain tunnel system you had to go through such and such warehouse. It was fascinating to know that Matt had memorized nearly every square inch of Hell’s Kitchen - even the parts you didn’t know existed - and it was equally amazing that Jessica knew just as much.

After hearing them talk, it left you wondering if Frank had the same knowledge, but you would leave that question for another time. He had been assigned to the two thumb drives that had been in the duffel bag. You had furiously taken mental notes as he had grumpily explained to Matt the little devices couldn’t just be plugged into a computer. They could have malware on them or trigger tracking or something equally devious and needed to be inserted into a clean laptop that couldn’t connect to the internet. That way, if the laptop tried to send a signal or became a brick, there would be nothing lost.

Since neither you nor Matt happened to have a spare laptop laying around, Frank went to go procure one.

That was about half an hour ago and now you are well into your third Foggy-assigned task - highlighting any identifying information in yellow. There’s nothing easy like names or addresses listed out, but you noticed a pattern for patient labels and have determined there are at least five.

As you jot down that Patient 031517DVA also appears on page D4 in your notebook, you find you are enjoying yourself. This isn’t exactly what you imagined when Matt talked about inviting everyone over to review what he had found, but you think it is nice. Knowing that Matt isn’t out there running around without any sort of plan soothes your nerves and seeing that he is putting in the time and thought into his next actions makes you trust he knows what he is doing.

No one wants a shady underground lab in their neighborhood, but you need to make sure they are actually shady first and not some weird fringe group researching an unknown breed of sewer rat.

The effort going into helping Matt with this task makes your fondness of Foggy, Karen, and Frank grow even more - and gives you a fondness for Jessica. Everyone is serious about their task, and extremely thorough, and you want them to see you in the same light. You know this is not a game and you refuse to let your part in the research be the weak link.

As you go to the next row of numbers to examine, you catch some movement in the corner of your eye. You turn your head and watch with a soft smile as your daughter emerges from Matt’s bedroom, clad in her mouse-onesie pajamas. Her sleep mask is pulled down around her neck and she looks upset, but she’s not crying, so you don’t jump to run to her. You let her make her own decisions as she sleepily looks between you and her father and you can’t help but to mentally crow a bit as she starts shuffling towards you, her little mouse-tail trailing behind her.

Everyone’s attention is on you as Minnie lifts up her arms to be picked up once she’s within a foot of you. You dutifully scoop her up and put her on your lap, fixing her hood and mouse-ears as you do.

“Is everything okay, sweetheart? Did something wake you up?”

She nods, then flops herself against your chest, mumbling out, “There’s monsters.”

You begin to gently rub her back, hoping to soothe her worries as you confirm, “there’s monsters?”

Again, her head bobs up and down before she nuzzles into your neck, trying to hide herself. Across the room, Matt is up and making his way towards you, but it is Foggy who speaks up next.

“Are they silly monsters or scary monsters?”

You smile at the question as Minnie ponders it - her little lips purse against your neck and you feel her breath against your skin as she silently repeats the words. She decides on ‘scary’ - replying in a timid voice as Matt takes his place behind you, sliding his hands onto your shoulders.

“Do you want me to help you tell them to go away?” you ask, having packed your bottle of Monster Repellent for just this cause. Little fists clutch tightly at your shirt as Mouse shakes her head and you give a soft hum in thought. “Do you want Daddy to go scare them off?”

You are sure Matt would run outside to chase away a stray cat or hungry raccoon if his princess wished for it, but she shakes her head against you, so you guess Matt will be staying inside.

“How about we make the monsters silly instead of scary?” is Karen’s suggestion, and like the others, it falls flat.

You consider offering to read some stories, but Matt startles you from your thoughts by sliding his hands down your arms to get to his daughter. He gently urges her to let go of you before transferring her to his arms and bundling her close. She absolutely clings to him, looking so tiny against his broad shoulders.

“I got this,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper before he turns and starts making his way back to the bedroom. As you watch him walk away, he buries his nose into her hood, and he begins to rock with each step. The itty bitty fist you can still see tightens around his t-shirt and your heart yearns to follow your family, but you know this is a Daddy-Daughter moment and you need to stay seated.

You were worried about Minnie getting scared over sleeping in a new place - there’s so many new and different noises but you trust Matt to help her interpet everything. He’s already done such an amazing job of it in day-to-day life and you know he’ll explain away all her monsters and let her know she is safe.

Considering the company she is starting to keep she is probably the safest little girl in New York. No monsters would dare to lurk in her shadows less they want to face the wrath of the Devil.

You know that this little group you are becoming a part of would join you in jumping in front of a bullet for your daughter and you are pretty sure even her newest best friend - Max the Dog - would not hesitate to bare his teeth if someone upset her.

She deserves nothing less and it makes your heart soar that she is so thoroughly adored.

Now that her research partner is on another important assignment, Jessica gets up off the floor and strolls over to the table, “anything interesting?”

“Maybe if we were scientists instead of lawyers,” Foggy replies warily, dropping his pink highlighter in favor of nursing his beer, “and knew what any of these numbers meant. We’re going to spend all night looking up these test numbers and hoping they are real. I mean, look at this,” he motions to the paper he is currently working on. “What the hell is D22S1045? And why is the result 15?”

Jessica takes one look at the paper before scrunching up her nose and blandly stating, “It’s a DNA marker. Haven’t you ever seen a paternity test?”

Foggy’s face goes slack for a moment before he is huffing, “Not since college when we had to study paternity suits, and they looked nothing like this! They were like dots we had to match, not numbers!” He uses his beer to point to you, “did yours look like this?”

Your cheeks heat up at the question and you duck your head, hating all the attention is on you with such a personal question. “No. No, mine didn’t…we just received a letter with the results. Not the data.”

“So, they are doing DNA and blood tests?” Karen asks, taking over the conversation and directing it back to Jessica. “And comparing them with each other. Could they be looking for relationships between them?”

“I’m not a fucking doctor,” is the reply she gets, but Jessica picks up the paper to examine it more closely either way. “But none of these match. The numbers have to be the same for a parental match, but that might not be what they are looking for. Just because it looks like a paternity test doesn’t mean it is one. DNA markers are used in a lot of shit.”

“It might not be human,” you add quietly. “Matt said the lab smelled of human blood, but we don’t know that these tests are on humans. There’s no dates on these, so they could be years old.”

Karen whips out her phone and is typing away before you are done talking, “What was that DNA marker, Fog?”

Foggy repeats the string of numbers and letters and you watch Karen’s eyes scan her screen.

“It’s human,” she states after a long, tense moment. The scowl Jessica gives is near legendary.

“Great, so we have a bunch of assholes in abandoned tunnels running tests on people.”

“That sounds both sanitary and humane,” Foggy grumbles before throwing back the rest of his beer.

“OSHA and FDA approved,” you add sarcastically and that earns you a smile from Karen. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before she guides you all back on track.

“We still have no idea what they are looking for, though. This could be cancer research for all we know - we are still at square one.”

“One point five,” Foggy argues, “we confirmed it’s human.”

“We don’t know what the tests are looking for,” Karen repeats, ignoring him, “and I don’t think looking up the significance of each DNA marker is going to do us much good. Can you and Matt go back to the lab and look around?”

As the clear recipient of the question, Jessica huffs then turns away from the table and goes right to the bottle of Macallan Matt keeps on top of his fridge. She pops off the lid, taking a long drink of it before answering.

“That was the plan, but I’m betting it’s going to be sprayed with bleach after knowing Devil-boy was poking around. It’s not like we will get much, not that there was shit to get beforehand.”

“So, we have no who, no why, and no where,” Foggy points out. “We are doing great.”

The joy you had gotten from trying to organize the chaos of paperwork evaporates and you sink down into your chair a little. Would continuing to highlight and document be useful or was this all for naught? The rational part of your brain told you to keep going, because it was better to have it done and not need it then to need it later and it still be a mess of paperwork.

“We’ve just started, Fog, of course we have nothing,” Karen says, rolling her eyes a bit as she does. “Did you expect them to write their plans in gel pens and leave them lying around?”

“I mean, that would be useful.”

You roll your lip between your teeth, thinking that Karen is right. You don’t have much, and you’ve only just started - of course things look pessimistic. While Karen and Foggy begin to banter back and forth about the use of gel pens in a professional setting and Jessica finishes off Matt’s whisky, you let your mind wander around the facts of the case.

Someone is out there running medical tests in a gross underground lab, probably trying to hide what they are doing. To do a lot of tests, they probably needed lab equipment, and a few years ago you would have said to follow that trail, but with all the advancements in technology, a machine to run DNA tests on probably only cost a few hundred dollars and was compact enough to move easily. Generators could keep people off the grid and there were enough tunnels under the city that years could be spent exploring them. Everything they would need could be ordered offline, and thus, was untraceable to you.

The only solid clues you had were what Matt had come home with, so you needed to keep digging there and hope that the thumb drives would contain something more useful.

So, you pick yourself back up, grab your highlighter, and get back to work.

Soon enough, Foggy and Karen pick their highlighters back up as well, and Jessica takes up a spot on the couch, putting her feet up and getting out her phone to tap at. The mood is much more somber, but you feel the same determination to find answers that is in you coming off of everyone else as well.

You don’t pay attention to the passage of time, but it is not long after you grab the final stack of papers to comb through that Matt slips out of the bedroom and closes the door behind him.

He starts towards the dining table only to stop by the couch, tilting his head towards Jessica, “That bottle was a gift from Foggy’s dad.”

“Boo-hoo, cry me a fucking river, Murdock.”

Despite the venom in Jessica’s voice, Matt chuckles and finishes making his way to you.

His hands once again find your shoulders and he begins rubbing them, digging his thumbs into just the right spot as he begins his Minnie-update.

“Someone with a really nice sound system is having a horror movie marathon. She was actually hearing monsters.”

“My poor baby,” you instantly coo, your heart breaking for your little one. “Did you tell her it was just a movie?”

Matt hums in affirmation, “That doesn’t help with the noise, though. We walked through turning things off and found something to work as white noise. It’s still hard for her to do it with new sounds, especially so tired, but she’s a quick learner.”

“How long did it take you to learn all that stuff,” Foggy asks, interest clear in his eyes. Karen puts her pen down as well so she can get the gossip.

“I don’t know, years? It didn’t come naturally to me like it does with her - I would train for hours to be able to pinpoint something, but she can do it pretty easily. I mean, she can’t tell me exact distance because she’s four and doesn’t know what that means, but she can point and say if it’s close or far.” You can feel Matt practically puff up with Pride over his baby girl. “She’s learning inorganic versus organic sounds now. She can tell if a loud banging is someone hitting something or if something just fell over. The other day she told me it was the wind making the window shake, because she couldn’t hear any other noises around the window.”

You smile at the story, having a feeling Matt is going to start going on about all the declarations Minnie had made during the storm and you don’t mind at all.

“So, she’s as good as you?” Karen teases and you know Matt is just beaming.

“Better. She can actually read a sign.”

Foggy barks with laughter while you and Karen have to cover your mouths to not giggle.

Once it subsides, you tilt your head back so you can look up at your daughter’s oh so loving father, bumping against his abdomen as you do, “is she down?”

He gives another positive hum, “In a nice deep sleep. Frank’s on his way back up and I wanted her out before he got here.”

You don’t know if that is from Matt wanting to rejoin the group to know what is on the thumb drives or if it is from him not wanting Minnie to get excited over Frank, but you are thankful she’s conked out either way. The thought of her hearing all your discussions about what lurks in the darkness of the city makes your stomach turn.

She doesn’t need more monsters to imagine.

You thank Matt while reaching up to rub one of his arms - letting yourself give him a small bit of affection. You ignore the look Karen is giving you in favor of making sure Matt is all caught up.

“I take it you heard everything?”

He sighs deeply through his nose, and you take that as a ‘yes’. He confirms with his words.

“Human testing with government trained agents isn’t what I was hoping we would find.”

“I was personally hoping for research on the mutant alligators in the sewers,” Foggy says as he gets up to go towards the kitchen, probably for another beer. “You know the ones they flush down the toilets.”

“That’s a myth, Fog.”

“Look, with everything else that goes on in the world - weird aliens and giant green men - let me believe in my sewer gators, Murdock. They make me happy.”

“With everything that Stark and Roxon dumped in the waters, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Karen muses, resting her chin in her hand, “I mean, Matt got superpowers from something getting in his eyes. If a rat ate something that was contaminated, it could have gotten super senses as well.”

You raise your brows up at the idea, a smile coming to your face, “a crime fighting rat?”

“A crime fighting rat that is a ninja,” Foggy chimes, a wide grin on his face and it sends you into giggles.

“How would a rat even learn martial arts?” Matt counters, “There’s not a rodent karate school he could spy on.”

“I don’t know Matt, how did you learn ka-ra-te,” Foggy emphasizes the word to make it sound more mystical. “He would learn from a secret ninja rat clan.”

“What the fuck are you guys talking about?” Jessica asks, looking over her shoulder at the dining table, disgust and confusion clear on her face.

You and Karen erupt into more laughter while Foggy just grins like he won the world cup as he returns to his seat. Matt gives your shoulders a firm squeeze before letting go and pulling away. He disappears into the narrow passage that is his hallway, and you hear the front door open. Heavy boots signal Frank’s reappearance, and when he and Matt come back around the corner, you offer a small smile.

The Punisher holds up a clunky looking laptop, straight from your middle school years, “Got it.”

“Does that thing even work?” Foggy asks, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. You trust Frank, but the question is valid - if you saw that in a Goodwill, you would doubt it would even turn on.

“Of course it works,” Frank scoffs as he delivers the device to Karen. She instantly opens it up to get it started. “Old body, new hardware. Got it built just for this type of shit.”

Foggy’s lips twitch and you wonder if he wants to say something but is holding his tongue. Jessica joins the table as Matt once again returns to standing behind you. His hands find your shoulders like they are drawn to them, and you wonder if he can’t help but want to touch you. It makes you feel special and wanted and your belly stirs with a certain type of warmth.

Everyone’s focus is on Karen as she works - the laptop boots up and she fiddles with the first thumb drive until it is ready to be inserted. It feels like you all are holding your breath as she finally plugs it in. You expect there to be a password, but apparently there is not, as she just clicks away.

“There’s two files,” she narrates. “One labeled 082616DUK and one labeled 121417BNY.”

You instantly recognize the first designation and push your notebook towards Karen, trying to not sound eager as you tell her, “The DUK one is in our files. Can we look at that first?”

Her face lights up at the prospect of a connection and selects the requested file, “There’s five pictures. Hold on, let me bring them u- Oh my God.”

The little color in her face drains as a horrified expression takes over and her hand shoots up to cover her mouth. You and Froggy scramble up out of your seats while Frank and Jessica crowd around Karen to look at the screen. Matt stays where he is, tilting his head just slightly.

When you see what is in the file, you wish you had stayed under Matt’s hands.

The neatly severed head of a boy stares back at you with blank milky eyes, sitting on an examine table. His hair has been shaved away and there is an incision line around his skull that makes it clear someone has probably removed his brain. His mouth is open in a silent scream, showing off that he still had his baby teeth and that someone has taken his tongue.

You want to throw up and you want to turn away, but you can’t. You can’t look away from this poor child who someone has so thoroughly defiled. Who had done this to this boy and why? You wanted to shake them and scream and demand to know what could possibly possess someone to do this to a baby? Because this was someone’s baby - someone’s little boy - and someone had taken him and ruined him.

You don’t know how she manages it, but Karen brings up the next image and it fills you with just as much disgust and anger.

It is that of a tiny hand with its fingers forcibly splayed, stuck with pins to keep it that way. The tips are bulbous and round, different to anything you’ve seen on a human before, and between each digit, there was a thin stretch of skin connecting them, much like the webbing of a duck’s foot. Like the head, the hand has been surgically removed from the rest of the body, and it isn’t hard to determine they go to the same person.

The next image is of the head again but turned to be facing the left and pre-removal of the tongue, as the appendage is pulled and stretched from the mouth with a pair of forceps. The muscle is an odd shade of purple and coated with some sort of liquidy-white residue, but that is not what is unique about it. The boy’s tongue doesn’t just peek out of his mouth - it extends across the table almost three feet, if the tape measurer under it is to be believed.

You need to turn away after that and to no surprise, Matt is instantly by your side, wrapping you up in his arms and guiding your head to his neck. “He’s just a baby,” you whisper in horror as you cling to him, not understanding how someone could be so cruel. Even if he had died naturally, there was no reason to treat him like that in death.

“Did they…” Froggy starts, his voice low and quivering and you don’t know if it's from rage or grief, “Did they make him a frog? Did they mix this kid with a fucking frog?”

“No,” Frank replies, not hiding how he is feeling at all. The fury is clear in his voice. “They did it because he was like that.”

“What’s the other file?” Jessica demands and part of you doesn’t want to know. You bury yourself more into Matt and you listen to Karen click away at the track pad.

Matt’s arms tighten around you and you can’t imagine what he is thinking. No one has said out loud what the images show, and he has not asked - but he must know it isn’t good. He’s gone tense under you, like he’s ready to jump into action and rip someone apart with his hands.

And you want him to. You want Matt to find whoever did this and make them pay. You want him to punish those who hurt the child in the photos, the people who ran tests on him.

You want to help Matt find who did this and for him to make sure they can never hurt anyone ever again.

“She’s…she’s got a beak.” Karen says slowly after a few moments, and you can’t bear to look at another autopsy photo. You hide yourself more against Matt, not at all ashamed of your choice.

“She’s Enhanced,” is Jessica’s reply, almost blank with stifled emotion.

“She’s a kid. They are hunting Enhanced kids.”

“Why?” Foggy questions, sounding wet, like he’s starting to tear up. You don’t blame him in any way. “Why would they do that?”

Under you, the Devil finally speaks, his voice low and eerily calm, “it doesn’t matter why. We are going to find them, and we are going to stop them.”

---

:) :) :)

---

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@nennia-2000 @seasonofthenerd @abucketofweird @mattmurdockstateofmind @imagineswritersblog @hazelhavoc @smile-child-13 @allst4rsfall @hashcakes @kezibear @mapleaye @sammanna @gamingfeline @moon-glades @nightwitherspring @phoenix666stuff @dare-devil

@ladyoflynx @hobiebrowns-wife @sarcasm-n-insomnia @lillycore

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#soulie writes #fanfiction #and then i met you #matt murdock x reader #daredevil #matt murdock x you #R rated chapter be warned

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saylorsuniverse · 2 months ago

Text

INFRUNAMI --- nika muhl

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

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

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

words: 8.6k

—

Your first day of university was a mess — literally.

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

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

Today was a mess. Literally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nika didn’t try to fix anything.

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

She just stayed. And somehow, that was enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And maybe, in a way, she had.

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

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

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

“He kind of is.”

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

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

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

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

He would’ve loved her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And apparently, she was.

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

But you never really got it. Not until now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She smirked. “Kind of?”

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

She blinked. “Is that so?”

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

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

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

And she did prove you wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

“You just airballed a layup.”

“I slipped!”

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

You scoffed. “Please. I let you win.”

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

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

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

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

You both froze. Then she cracked up.

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

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

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

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

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

Nika raised a brow. “Sure. Prove it.”

You grinned. “Rematch?”

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

You smirked. “You’re on.”

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

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

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

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

But life moved on – like it always does.

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

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

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

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

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

Nika noticed.

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

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

And then it was her birthday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I did.”

“You flew them in?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because you hadn’t been taking care of Nika.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey,” she said, quietly.

“Hey.”

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

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

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

“I know.”

A beat passed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That night on the balcony stuck with you.

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

And she met you there—like always.

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

Time moved differently after that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked. “Like after graduation?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Basketball got more serious, too.

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

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

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

Not in a bad way. Not yet.

Just... deeper. Closer. More.

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

You didn’t know what it meant yet.

And then came the Final Four.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The days after the Final Four were heavy.

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

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

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

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

“It was worth it,” you said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then came draft night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t answer right away.

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

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

Her eyes shimmered with something between gratitude and exhaustion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raised an eyebrow. “Textbook?”

She smirked. “Yeah. Classic pining.”

You blinked. “I’m not—”

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

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

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

You nearly choked on air. “What?!”

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

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

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

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

You didn’t go back inside. Not yet.

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

But it cracked something wide open.

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

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

Because the truth wasn’t sudden.

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

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

Friends?

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

It wasn’t just Paige’s words.

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

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

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

You’d been blind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But maybe it was time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You froze. “What do you mean?”

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

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

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

“Nika…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nika blinked. “Okay?”

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

Silence stretched between you.

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

Your heart thundered. “Is it true?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her eyes softened. “And now?”

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

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

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

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

You didn’t pull away. Neither did she.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You squeezed her hand. “Me neither.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You froze in the doorway. She did, too.

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

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

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

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

Except now it wasn't just friendship.

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

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

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

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

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

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

#uconn wbb #uconn huskies #sports #nika muhl #wlw #paige bueckers #nika mühl #seattle storm #wnba basketball #fluff #wnba x reader #nika x reader #nika muhl smut #paige bueckers uconn

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takeyrregrets · 2 months ago

Note

okay hear me out...

A himbo reader , absolute idiot, but buff and hot

Buff nerd

𝗕𝘂𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗱 𝗨𝗽 𝗟𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗔 𝗝𝗼𝗰𝗸 𝗚𝗲𝗲𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝗨𝗽 𝗟𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗔 𝗡𝗲𝗿𝗱 𝗕𝘂𝗳𝗳 𝗡𝗲𝗿𝗱 𝘅 𝗕𝗶𝗺𝗯𝗼 𝗠𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 Thought this was really funny but cute 😭 Enjoy this short drabble anon with this guy I've deemed Zander

You’re standing in front of the vending machine, squinting at the glowing rows of snacks like you’re trying to decipher ancient runes. Your massive arms are crossed, muscles bulging under the sleeves of your T-shirt. Your face is twisted in pure, undiluted concentration.

"Okay... so if the Cheetos are in B3... but I press C3... would that give me like, bonus chips?" you mumble to yourself, voice low and serious, like you’re solving a complex equation.

Behind you, there’s a quiet clearing of a throat. You turn around and nearly bump chest-first into him.

Thick black glasses perched on his nose, notebook clutched in one hand, sleeves rolled up to reveal surprisingly ripped forearms. He looks like he walked straight out of a lab and a powerlifting competition at the same time. It's unfair, honestly. He’s got that kind of smart-and-dangerous vibe, like he could solve a physics problem while bench pressing you.

"You'll get Funyuns if you press C3," he says flatly, peering over his glasses at you. "And no. You don't get bonus chips. That’s... not how vending machines work."

You blink down at him, then break into a wide, blinding grin. "Whoa, you’re like, really smart, dude!" you say, clapping a hand on his shoulder a little too hard. He stumbles slightly from the impact. "Thanks, man! You just saved me from making a huge mistake."

He adjusts his glasses with a faint blush. "It’s not... it’s basic logic. I mean, it’s labeled."

You nod sagely, as if he just spoke the most profound wisdom known to mankind. "Dang. You must be, like, the smartest dude on campus." You pause, then grin even bigger. "And you're super jacked too! That's crazy! Are you like... a brainiac and a bodybuilder??"

He coughs awkwardly, looking down at his notebook. "...I... I do some lifting. After classes." (He doesn't mention he started lifting mostly because he read somewhere that getting stronger could help with anxiety. He also doesn't mention he definitely noticed you at the gym months ago.)

You’re still beaming at him like he just invented fire. "You’re like... the full package, bro," you say with awe, clenching your fists dramatically. "Brains and biceps."

You don't notice the way he fumbles his notebook a little. You also don’t notice the way his ears turn pink.

"...You should pick B3," he mutters quickly. "That’s Cheetos. You said you wanted Cheetos."

You gasp. "You remembered what snack I wanted?!" You clutch your chest like you've been mortally wounded. "Dude. That’s so... so nice."

He opens his mouth to say something — probably something very smart and logical — but you’re already shoving the vending machine code in with all the enthusiasm of a golden retriever finding a new stick.

As the Cheetos drop with a satisfying clunk, you grab the bag and hold it out to him like a precious offering.

"You want the first handful?" you ask, still grinning ear to ear. "Since you’re, like, the hero of this story."

He stares at you, notebook limp at his side, mouth opening and closing like he's trying to figure out an equation that just doesn't compute.

Finally, he clears his throat again — quieter this time — and pushes up his glasses.

"...Sure," he says, a little too quickly..

#shrill..works #oc x male reader #male reader #x reader #x male reader #reader insert #male x male #oc x reader #mlm #male reader insert #male!reader #male reader imagine #male! reader #x male!reader

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sweetiesicheng · 2 months ago

Text

hongjoong - studio

word count : 595

"oh goodness..."

you stand in the doorway and see your fiancé sleeping on the couch. there's some papers scattered on the desk and a few empty takeaway containers on a table.

you chuckle and close the door behind you. you put down the bag of takeout food you had brought with you on the table and start cleaning the room so no one would trip over anything.

you leave the room to throw some trash away and return to find hongjoong still asleep.

you decide to let him sleep and go to his computer. you put on a pair of headphones and look through different files to find one of your tracks. it's almost done, but it still needs some work done.

you have lyrics for the track, but you didn't bring your notebook, so you opt to mess with the instrumental instead. you find a scratch sheet of paper and write down what you want to fix as you listen to the track for the first time in a few days.

—

hongjoong opens his eyes and groans, realizing that he had slept on the couch instead of going home the previous night. he checks the time on his phone before sitting up. when he does sit up, he instantly notices how the room is cleaner and there's a new takeaway bag on the table.

huh?

he looks at his desk and notices you fast asleep at his desk. you still have headphones on, but you rest your head on the desk.

hongjoong sighs, "what is up with us sleeping here?" he questions aloud and gets up from the couch.

he goes over to you and puts his hand on your back.

"baby," he softly calls out and pats your back. "baby," he repeats.

you mumble a bit, making hongjoong smile at how cute you are. he gently takes the headphones off, putting them on his keyboard.

"baby, wake up," he says and leans in the kiss your forehead. it takes a second, but you finally wake up and open your eyes to see hongjoong. "good morning," he says to you and kisses your cheek.

you smile at him, "good morning," you reply. "i brought breakfast for us," you add while sitting up.

"sorry i didn't come home," he apologizes as you sit up.

you shake your head, "it's okay. i'm just glad i knew you were here."

"did you work on something?" he asks. you nod. "we work too much.”

"and yet, we'll continue to work like this," you reply. "so, how long do i have you for?" you ask, turning in the chair to wrap your arms around hongjoong while he leans in towards you, putting his hands on the armrests of the chair.

"i have a meeting in two hours and then a schedule after that," he replies before kissing you. "should we use our time differently?" he asks while grinning.

you lightly smack him, "not here. remember when seonghwa almost caught us?" you remind him.

"sorry, sorry," he quickly apologizes and hugs you. "i just miss you."

"i saw you yesterday," you say to him.

"yea, but i didn't come home last night.”

"that's your own fault, hongjoong. you're the one who fell asleep here," you say before kissing his cheek. "come on, let me eat breakfast with my fiancé before he spends all day working and sleeping in his studio."

"i'll make sure i come home tonight," hongjoong says to you.

"yea, at this point, you should ask wooyoung and jongho if you can move back in with them."

"baby!"

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annarobszombies · 3 months ago

Text

The Early Days

StanXeno x Fem!Reader as high school friends turned lovers.

I have no regrets

Content warning: bullying, harassment, mild violence, smoking, suggestive

"Oh my God, have you seen the new girl?" It's almost cliche, the way the group of girls giggle over the latest hot school gossip.

"Right? I mean, come on with that outfit!"

They quiet when Stanley walks by, giggling for a whole new reason now. One girl twirls her hair around her finger, batting her eyelashes, but he just keeps moving. He had no interest in people like that, but that only seems to make them swoon over him more once he passes.

He makes a hard left, the school chemistry lab just ahead, with Xeno likely already inside.

"Yo," He says, throwing the door open. Several other science club students startle, but Xeno doesn't budge. He stands calmly, carefully mixing chemicals and noting the reactions.

"Stanley," Xeno says. "You made it."

"Uh-huh." Stanley kicks out a chair from a nearby table and drops himself into it.

The lab returns to its quiet bustle, the other students focusing again on their experiments and reports. Stanley idly glances around the room, watching each and every one of them for a moment before letting his gaze settle on Xeno.

Xeno's eyebrows are knitted tightly, his eyes entirely focused on the delicate chemicals. His gaze never wavers, his attention never strays.

"You see the new student today?" Stanley asks once he finally gets bored of watching Xeno drop one chemical into another at an excruciatingly slow pace.

"Indeed. She and I share our third period computer science class together," Xeno says, voice soft as if he worried being too loud could ruin his experiment.

"Mm."

"And you, Stanley?"

"American Lit. Fifth period. She sits next to me."

"How lucky for her."

Stanley chuckles and rolls his eyes. He tucks his hands into his jacket pockets, toying with the lighter he hid within one of them. He was itching for a smoke, but the last time he got caught on campus he was threatened with suspension, which he couldn't afford right now.

The two fall once again into silence, but that wasn't uncommon. They'd known each other for so long that they rarely needed to talk too much about little nothings anymore. At most, Xeno may make a few idle comments about whatever he was testing, but any real conversation would likely wait until they were in Stanley's car on the way home.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Um..."

Xeno's eyes lift, finding the source of the voice standing in front of him, anxiously gripping a notebook.

"Yes?" He asks. You shift your weight from foot to foot, the tips of your ears a cute pink.

"The teacher...said to work with a partner on the, uh, project she assigned?" You say it like a question, as if you weren't totally sure you were correct in what you'd been told.

"Ah, did she? I apologize, I wasn't listening." It was a lie, of course, he'd heard the instructions perfectly clearly. He was used to working mostly alone, so he was a bit surprised that you had approached him.

"Do...do you mind?" You ask, cheeks turning pink now. He can hear the sounds of some other girls giggling, the weight of their stares heavy on his shoulders. So, you'd been denied by everyone else, it seems.

"Of course not," He says, gesturing for you to take a seat by him. You let out a relieved sigh, grabbing a chair from a nearby desk and settling it across from him, gingerly setting your notebook down on the top of his desk. "We haven't yet met officially, my name is Xeno."

You tell him your name, smiling sheepishly when he repeats it carefully back to you.

"I look forward to working with you."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You dust your hands over your shirt, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Xeno had said to meet him in his club's classroom after school so that the two of you could go home together and work on your project, but you couldn't help feeling nervous.

Making friends in this new school had been really difficult, but he had been very nice to you the past few days, so you felt hopeful that you might be able to come out of this assignment with someone you could continue to talk to and maybe hang out with on weekends. But that relied on you not totally fucking this up and making him hate you on accident.

You start to reach for the door, jumping a little when it swings open from the inside.

"Oh," The young man who looks down at you is downright stunning. You'd seen him before, of course, he was your desk neighbor in your American Literature class. But this was the first time you'd heard his voice, the first time he'd actually paid you any attention. "Hey."

"Hi," You say softly. "I'm...looking for Xeno?"

"Inside," He says, brushing by you and heading down the hall, hands stuffed in his leather jacket pockets. He didn't strike you as the kind of person to be in the science club, but anything was possible.

Stepping inside the room, it's exactly what you expected. There are are several students inside, some in groups while some worked individually. Xeno stood at a desk in the front right corner, his back to you as you walk further in. He turns to glance at you when you softly call his name upon approach, offering you a kind smile.

"Give me one moment to finish this and we will leave shortly," He says, waving for you to come closer and sit in the chair that rested at his side. You decide to work on some homework while you wait, carefully balancing both a textbook and your notebook on your lap.

It takes about an hour for Xeno to finish what he's working on and clean his station, but soon enough he's giving you a gentle nudge and telling you it was time to go. He smiles when you scramble to pack your things up and throw your backpack over your shoulders.

"My friend Stanley will be driving us," He says, leading you from the room. "I hope you don't mind, he'll be sticking around for the rest of the day."

"That's fine!" You say, perhaps a little too eagerly. Xeno smiles again at you.

"Excellent," He says. You follow him through the halls, pausing at his locker long enough for him to transfer a few items to and from his bag, then out into the parking lot. He walks slightly ahead of you once you exit the doors, his pace picking up the moment you both hit fresh air.

He pauses at the edge of the sidewalk where parents would pick up students who didn't drive yet or ride the bus, but the two of you only wait about a minute and a half before a car whips around, stopping just in front of you. The passenger window slides down, and in the driver's seat, you see the beautiful boy from earlier leaning over the middle console to look at the two of you.

"Get in," He says. You note the cigarette between his teeth, wondering now if that was the reason he'd left in such a hurry.

Xeno opens the back door to deposit his bag, taking yours from you to do the same before telling you to sit up front.

"Don't worry," He says when you hesitate. "Stan doesn't bite."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stanley Snyder does, in fact, bite. He just doesn't bare his teeth until he has to.

You get comfortable around him pretty quickly, which seems to drive every girl in the school totally insane. Not that you could blame them, Stanley was objectively beautiful and ignored just about everyone.

On a typical day, he's calm-if not a bit lazy-and generally collected. He sticks close to Xeno, which means that as you and the young scientist get closer, he begins sticking to you as well. He talks to you in class now, leaning over to mumble bad jokes that make you laugh too hard to be ignored by the teacher.

But today was not your typical day.

You'd been on you way to meet Xeno and Stanley for your after school hangout and homework time, when you were cornered by a senior guy by your locker. He'd leaned against the lockers, grinning and proud at the way you startled at the sight of him. You tied to go around, but he moved to purposefully block you, keeping himself in front of you so that you couldn't break and run.

"I just wanna talk to you," He says.

"I really don't want to talk to you," You say, trying to scoot around him, only to fail yet again. You were getting frustrated and a little scared. Xeno and Stanley were waiting for you, you didn't want them to leave you behind just because some asshole wanted to make himself feel big.

"C'mon, you hang out with that science club freak and his pretty faced boytoy all the time, why don't you spend your day with someone else, huh?" He asks, reaching to make a grab for you. His words make you flush a bit in anger. Sure, you knew Stanley and Xeno were something (they weren't exactly subtle), but to have it thrown at your face as if it's a bad thing made you absolutely livid.

Who was this guy to talk about your friends that way? He didn't know them! How dare he!

"Don't talk about them like that!" You snap, just barely too slow to avoid the hand that clasps around your forearm. The boy in front of you scowls, his grip on your arm tightening to a bruising hold.

"Come hang with me, and I'll show you what a real man is," He sneers, making your face flush even hotter.

"I said no!"

"Don't be such a little prude-"

What happens next happens so fast that it takes far longer than it should for you to process. The boy holding to you is jerked backwards hard enough to force him to release you, though you also stumble forward a few steps at the sudden movement. Then, before you can blink, Stanley has him slammed into the floor. He stands over him, frighteningly calm despite the hard glare his golden eyes burn into your harasser.

"Pretty sure when a lady tells you no, you're supposed to back the fuck off," Stanley hisses, his voice dripping with sarcasm and anger.

You can't help jumping a little when those sharp eyes flit up to look at you, though you note how they soften at the sight of you're slightly shaking figure.

"You alright?" He asks. You nod quickly.

"Y-yeah, I'm good. Can we go?" You ask, taking a tentative step towards him.

"Course we can," He says, stepping back from the other boy and lifting an arm for you to tuck yourself under. He holds you against his side, escorting you without further issue outside to where Xeno had been left waiting.

You don't question where he goes after he and Xeno discover the hand-shaped bruise on your arm, nor do you question why that same boy comes to school several days later with two broken hands and a black eye.

Something inside you already knows that Stanley did it for you.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your relationship shifts suddenly one night after graduation.

The three of you are in your room, Xeno leaning against your pillows with a book in his hand while you sit in the middle of you bed, makeup strewn around you, and Stanley sits on the edge, leaned forward so you can paint his face as you see fit.

"Open," You say. Stanley huffs in amusement, parting his lips so that you can press the lipstick against his waiting mouth, swiping your favorite deep purple across his surprisingly soft looking lips.

"Now rub."

He hums, doing as instructed. You pick up a little pocket mirror and open it, handing it to him so that he can look at your handiwork.

"Not bad," He says, turning his head left and right to fully inspect his new face.

"The dark lips suit you, Stan," Xeno says, peering over his book to take a look for himself, earning an amused hum from Stanley.

Its in this moment that you realize how close Stanley had gotten. His face mere inches from yours, eyes heavy with...something. Something heavy, something wanting. It makes you flush and shuffle backwards on instinct alone.

Stanley follows, crawling after you, backing you up even further. He doesn't stop until you're literally in Xeno's lap, the other young man letting out a noise of annoyance and frustration.

"Must we do this now?" Xeno asks, letting his book fall to his side, his arms wrapping around your middle as if to guard you from Stanley, who pouts. It was always quite the sight to see, when his lower lip stuck out and his eyebrows furrowed like that.

"Don't act all innocent right now, Xee," Stanley says, smirking when both he and you notice that one of Xeno's hands has snuck under the hem of your shirt, his fingertips gingerly brushing over the soft skin of your side.

Your whole body feels warm, heart hammering in your chest. Weren't they partners? What was happening right now?

Stanley creeps closer, effectively sandwiching you between the two.

"Hey," He says, voice low. "Wanna make out?" His question flusters you just as much as Xeno's continuing touch. It felt so out of character for him, yet he still sounded so like himself.

You must nod, or agree in some other way, because before you know it, Stanley's lips are on yours, smearing his freshly done lipstick all over you. His tongue ends up in your mouth, and you suddenly become very aware of how much more experience he has.

He pulls back slightly, lips drifting from yours to press kisses to your cheeks and jaw while you pant softly. Both of Xeno's hands are up your shirt now, his wicked fingers making you shiver.

"What's the verdict?" Xeno murmus, pressing his own lips the soft spot between your neck and shoulder.

"Perfect," Stanley hums, sinking his teeth into your other shoulder, kissing the spot when you wince.

"Quite the conclusion you've come to," Xeno says, one hand sliding from your torso to your chin, turning your head as far as it would comfortably go to look back at him. "I think I'd like to give my own opinion, if I may."

"Okay," You breathe, drunk on all the attention.

Xeno's kiss is slower, more exploratory. He doesn't devour you, like Stanley had, but that doesn't change how good it was.

Both of them kissed you like they wanted you, like they'd wanted you for a while, and by the time the night ends, all three of you are covered in lipstick.

#dr stone #doctor stone #dr stone xeno #stanley snyder #xeno x reader #stanley snyder x reader #stanxeno #fanfiction #fanfic #i'm exhausted i hope you enjoyed this

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kentoxo · 8 months ago

Text

friction | reader (f) x crush!nanami pt.5

pairing: reader (f) x crush!nanami

synopsis: [AU] you have always had a crush on nanami. since the day you were hired as his personal assistant, you've been right at his side combating numbers and making money within the finance department for the company you two worked for. but, things take a turn when nanami catches wind of your feelings, and rejects you. little did he know the weight of his mistake.

warnings: angst, heartbreak, sexual tension, jealousy (future smut)

a/n: AHHH sorry for the late update! work and school are beating me up! thank you all for your patience and kindness-- your compliments for this fic have been lifting my mood! i have added (i think) everyone who has asked to be added. i will be closing the taglist as its getting quite large.

all parts: pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.4,

December | Tokyo, Japan | Monday

The moment you entered the office, relief washed over you as the intense heat from the vents warmed your body.

The weather was unkind during the winter in Japan, proving its rudeness by coating you completely in snow. A handful of your coworkers brushed the snow off of you as you passed by them. With rosy cold cheeks and heavy breaths, you get settled into your desk and shake your legs in an attempt to get warm. As you brought your hands up to your mouth to breathe warm air, you looked to your right to see Nanami’s desk.

It felt barren, despite only a few folders and documents missing. His computer was still there, but he was likely using his laptop for the day instead. A few pens were picked out of his holder/cup, along with his notebook in the small cabinet that hung beneath his desk. His favorite mug was gone as well. It almost felt like Nanami was never there.

Coffee. You reluctantly left your seat, and began walking over to the cafe. You continue to blow warm air into your hands, walking haggardly over to get Nanami’s usual coffee, and a hot chocolate for yourself. After the short line, you walk up to the cashier, getting kindly greeted with a curt bow.

“Ah– good morning,” you say quickly, ushering for her to stand straight once more. “How is everyone today?” You eye over at the rest of the baristas and chefs within the space of their cafe. The cafe was round and large enough to allow the cafe team to walk around one another. There were cashiers all around the circle of the cafe, allowing them to tend to more staff easier.

A sea of ‘good morning!’ and ‘good’ responses follow your question. You smile, “I’m glad to hear it. Is Tae in by any chance?”

The manager of the cafe quickly rushes out to greet you, “ah, Y/L/N, good morning! How was your weekend?” Your question gets lost in the chit chatter.

After a brief exchange of weekend plans, you look around the cafe staff. “Is Tae in today?”

“He is,” the manager began, her voice soft, “he’s in the back preparing the coffee for Nanami kacho.”

You tilted your head, “I… didn’t even order yet. Surely he must be psychic.”

The manager chuckles, “if only. He’s such a peach, Y/L/N– that boy immediately got to work the moment he stepped into the cafe.”

“I’m surprised he isn’t nervous,” you began curiously, “today is his first day.”

“You guys hired right when it came to this boy,” the manager praised, “it has yet to be an hour and he already cleaned and set up his own station. He made sure to be quick so he could ask for this time to prepare your boss’ cup of coffee.”

You were really glad that he was acclimating well. Although you always had trust within the cafe team that they would help him assimilate, it was also good to see he was taking initiative on his own. And, since you helped him get hired, it only felt right to check in and make sure he was starting off well.

“Did you want your usual as well?” The cashier chimed.

“Oh no,” you shake your head, “it’s way too cold for an iced coffee. But, I’d love a hot chocolate if possible.”

“Anything for you,” the cashier insisted, informing another barista about your order. Although the cafe was technically free for the office as the entire cafe staff was salaried, you still left a good tip in their tip jar. “Y/N, you always do this! You know you don’t have to.”

“Do what?” You feigned confusion, amusing the cashier as she thanked you for your constant kindness. You turn to the manager, “if you can spare Tae for a few minutes, I’d like to bring him over to meet Nanami personally.”

“Is that allowed?” The manager quickly questions. She was right to be careful. Only the Finance team is allowed in the department. Other departments and outsiders can only enter upon invitation, unless they are heads or leaders of other departments.

You nod, “I invited him, so don’t worry. Plus, my boss’ office is just to the side there, so we won’t go through any of the offices at all.”

The manager quickly nods, “then he’s all yours. Tae, please come out with the drinks once they are ready.”

In minutes, the young barista comes out, two cups in his hand. It was surprising to see him without his usual uniform, as he no longer works for the cafe that you poached him from. He was comfortable in a black crew neck and joggers. His eyes were emerald green, and he had a slit cut in his left eyebrow. His lack of uniform hat also allowed you to notice his shaggy chestnut hair. Particularly, he had a small braid dangling from the back left side of his hair.

He was suddenly flush when meeting your eyes, giving you a curt bow in the midst of his nerves. “K-kacho,” he lets out firmly. You couldn’t help but giggle a bit. You move forward and pat his shoulder gently.

“Tae, I’m not your higher up,” you begin quietly. “It has a ring to it, though. But, please feel free to call me by my name.”

He stands up straight again, but tilts his head a bit, “are you sure?”

You nod, “you won’t be disrespecting me, I promise.”

Tae eyes you skeptically, but he gulps hesitantly, “Y/N…-san.”

The cafe team swim in giggles and chuckles. You join them, grinning widely at the man, “close enough. I’ll be borrowing you for a few minutes if that’s alright with you.”

“O-of course!” Tae quickly rushes to your side, smiling down at you eagerly. You didn’t quite realize how tall he was until he was beside you. You think he’s just about as tall as Nanami. What is up with these tall men? You huffed at the thought.

You wave goodbye to the cafe team and walk towards Nanami’s office. You weren’t necessarily eager to see him, but you always got his cup of coffee no matter what. Even with your feelings in a rut, he was still the best boss you’ve been under. Although, if Shoko heard that, she’d throw quite the tantrum. She is the head of the Sales department, and you were under her before you were transferred to Finance. You were humored by your thoughts, which were quickly interrupted when Tae offered you a cup.

“The hot chocolate you requested,” Tae hums with glee.

“Ah, thank goodness,” you sigh in relief, taking the hot coffee from his hand. You wrap both hands around it, relishing in its warmth. You bring it up to your cheek, warming up part of your face. “It’s great, thank you so much.”

Tae chuckles at you, “you haven’t even tried it.”

“There was a reason my boss wanted to hire you,” you begin, putting the cup away from you before you burn yourself. “I have no doubt that this will be the most delicious hot chocolate I’ll ever have.”

“You two… are extremely kind,” Tae hums quietly, “I don’t mean to be so sentimental, especially as we’re still just strangers, but taking this job feels like the best choice I’ve made in a while.”

You smile warmly at him, “well, I’m glad! My boss really appreciates your craftsmanship and figured it would be best utilized here.”

Tae smiles from the flattery, “is there only one cafe in this whole company?”

“Oh goodness, no, this building and its staff is way too big for that,” you immediately point out, “there’s a cafe on every floor here. We weren’t hiring for another barista until my boss decided he wanted you in our department.”

Tae looks over at you, a light pink hue on his cheeks, “is that so? There’s so many really good baritas in this city– I’m just some guy.”

You shrug, “we’re all just some people. But of all the cups of coffee we’ve had, you make it the best.”

“Well, I’m very grateful,” Tae hums, “everything about this place is so much better than my last job. I can finally do more.”

You could feel your heart warm from his words. You could see the relief and calmness in his expression. Whenever you went to retrieve Nanami’s usual cup of joe, Tae would be practically muted as he would focus on his orders. But never within his business has he ever made a bad drink.

“Well, thank you for making such delicious drinks,” you chime, “not to intimidate you, but the President of this company also works from this floor. So you will see him fairly often.”

“Ah well,” he brings a hand to the back of his neck. You notice he pushes his little braid a bit. “I’ll do my best.”

Before the two of you could continue, Haibara runs out from Nanami’s office. His usual lively eyes were hanging low, a hand covering his forehead in stress. His usual pulled down hair was up and pointed every which way. You could only imagine how many times he’s passed his fingers through his hair without fixing it back. You rush over to him, with Tae right behind you while still careful with Nanami’s coffee.

“Haibara?” Worry escapes your tongue. “What’s wrong?”

“Please tell me you have his coffee,” Haibara murmurs. He holds your shoulders, fear in his half-closed eyes. “Please tell me that’s why you’re here.”

You nod, gesturing to Tae, “I had asked Tae, the barista he just hired, to come bring him his usual morning cup.”

Haibara looks over at Tae, putting a hand out to shake it, “it’s very nice to meet you, thank you for your service.” You kindly take the cup of coffee from Tae’s hand and grin over at him. Tae could only smile back while Haibara shook his hand with purpose.

“Is… Nanami okay?” You quickly ask, looking over at Nanami’s now closed door.

Haibara lets go of Tae and shakes his head, “he’s over the edge. Takada shacho sent a few of his assistants to help out as we host our clients for the next few days. They’re lovely, but they don’t know Nanami…”

Is that right… You let out a sigh. Whenever something doesn’t go Nanami’s way, he can become agitated beyond approach. But, it was a little annoying for him to pass off your help during this client visit, only to get assigned other assistants to help instead. “Did they not get him his usual coffee?”

“Y/N, they don’t know what he usually gets,” Haibara points out.

“Did he not tell them?”

“He conveniently forgot how he likes it made.”

Rolling your eyes, you turn over to Tae with a sympathetic smile, “I’m sorry, Tae. Let me introduce you to him another day. I wouldn’t want you to meet him during his… less ideal moments.”

Tae understood the situation well and curtly bowed to both you and Haibara, “I hope this coffee helps. It was nice to meet you, Haibara-kun, and thank you, Y/N-san.” You gave him silent gratitude when you lifted both drinks and nodded at his departure. Tae lingered his stare at you for a few more moments before going back to the cafe.

“Is he the one that makes Nanami’s coffee?” Haibara hums curiously.

“That is him, yes.”

Haibara squints at Tae before he disappears from view. He looks back at you, noticing the confused expression on your face. He could tell you were curious about his question, and reaction, but Haibara was quick to bring back the topic at hand. “Please come into his office.”

You kindly knock on the door, and receive an irritated response, “who is it?”

“It’s Y/N,” you call from behind his door, “I have your cup of coffee.”

Immediately, the door opened, and Nanami rushed from his desk to meet you at the doorway. In the corners of your eyes, you could see the assistant standing at the sides of his office. They looked straight at one another, with hands attached in the front of their waists.

But, Nanami’s relieved face distracts you from the suddenly filled office. Though he looked well kept and groomed, you could tell he was off. Exhaustion defined his eyes, those hazel orbs not being able to stand out from his sunken circles. A vein protrudes from his temple, almost beckoning for a headache to start. He smiles down at you, almost like you were the greatest thing to happen this morning.

“Is that my…” he begins, his voice low and hoarse.

You offer him the coffee, which he immediately takes a whiff before taking a desperate swig. In seconds, he practically gulps it down, both you and Haibara jumping from how bold he was. The coffee was piping hot still, despite it being done just a few minutes ago. A stream of coffee begins to go down the end of his lips, slowly making its way to his chiseled chin.

As he finishes the cup, you fish out a napkin from your back pocket. You kindly take the finished cup of coffee in exchange for your napkin. He graciously takes it, patting his mouth dry with no trace of coffee to be seen. It was like magic, the way life returned to Nanami’s eyes and body.

“Truly, what would I do without you, Y/N,” Nanami hums. Even his tone was more at ease. “Thank you very much for bringing me that cup, you really didn’t have to, considering what I asked of you during this time.”

Peeking over his shoulder, you could see over 12 cups of coffee on his desk. Unknown to you, only a sip has been taken from all of them. “I’m still your assistant, even if I’m currently inactive. Besides, it’s already a habit that I get your morning coffee.”

“Please, if you can,” he rushes back to his desk to come back with a notepad and a pen, “write down exactly what you ask for when you get my coffee. I’ll have the girls here memorize it so they can bring it for me from now on.”

You look at him, hesitant about his words, “it’s only until Wednesday, no? There’s no need for them to memorize something that takes me only a few minutes to get for you.”

“Speaking of, ladies,” he calls to them without leaving his gaze from you. “Can you fetch me the documents from the printer? They should have my name on it all– it’s 100 pages or so.” The assistants nod before walking past the both of you. You could swear they had malice in their intent when they grinned at you. “Anyhow, the reason I’d like for them to memorize it is only in the case that this might extend past the 3 days I set.”

“Can I ask about that?” You gestured to the spots where the assistants just were. “You told me that I would not be needed for the next few days due to confidentiality reasons. But they’re here– why is that?”

Nanami stayed quiet for a moment. While gathering his thoughts, you take a sip of the hot chocolate that Tae prepared for you. The delicatably, chocolatey drink greets your tongue kindly, the deliciously sweet taste enhanced by cinnamon and clove that was added. You smile subconsciously, content at its inviting taste and warmth.

“Did you hear me, Y/N?”

“A-ah, no, m’sorry!” You exclaim. Your admiration for the hot chocolate completely deafened you from Nanami’s explanation. Which was a first, considering you’d listen to Nanami talk your ear off about stocks and the ever changing currencies of different countries. “Please, repeat that.”

“They are tenured assistants of Takada shacho,” Nanami says simply, “it is critical to have assistants that know how to host clients, ensuring our space is comfortable and catered to them. Which, speaking of.” He looks up at Haibara, “our clients should be here any minute– please head downstairs and meet with them.”

“On it,” Haibara replies. Before he leaves, he subtly gives you a poke on your back, a weak attempt to ease you.

You walk over to Nanami’s trash and toss the two cups away, silently collecting your thoughts. “So, what I’m understanding is I couldn’t be guided to do the same thing?”

“It is your first year as my assistant, Y/N,” Nanami explains. “And these clients were sudden. There was no time to show you, nor did I want to bombard you with something like this.”

“But I’m your assistant,” you urge, “it is my job to do what you need me to do.”

“That’s right,” Nanami points out, “and what I need you to do is continue carrying out work independently under Haibara’s guidance. Do not worry about fetching me my morning coffee. Write down the order and I’ll end them the email.”

Reluctantly, you scribble down the order on a note and hand it to him. It’s not fair. You understood that he would be hosting these clients and wouldn’t be able to actively be your supervisor as his hands would be completely full. But to instead accept other assistants to do your work and beyond that was obscene. Sure, you weren't tenured, but there was a reason why you were transferred from Sales to Finance. There was a reason why you were praised so often. Nanami used to jokingly worry about you potentially being transferred to another department as he’s become comfortable with your work aptitude.

But, in this moment, you try to remind yourself of Haibara’s words. Nanami never wanted a female assistant until you came along. You worked hard to prove yourself as someone dependable at this job, and that has yet to go wrong. And… you were sure Nanami wasn’t doing all of this because he didn’t believe in you. He didn’t want to overwhelm you, and that is a very considerate gesture.

Right?

“Understood,” you say sternly, “good luck with everything. I know everything is going to go well. I’ll take my leave now, Nanami kacho.”

Once again, another unsettled stare from Nanami comes through. You turned around quickly to go back to your desk, but you felt a hand cup your shoulder. Turning around a bit, you widen your eyes to see Nanami right behind you. He quickly lets you go when you turn around to face him completely. His cheeks were lightly painted with hues of pink, hazel eyes frantically looking to not meet your own.

“Y/N, before you go, I’d like to ask you about something.”

Before Nanami could continue his inquiry, he saw Haibara coming down the hallway from the elevators. Several men with suits followed right behind him, pitting nerves into Nanami’s stomach. You turn around to look as well, quickly making yourself disappear as you rush back to your desk. Nanami looks at your distant figure lamentably before looking towards his clients with a wide smile.

Taglist: [Now Closed]

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@m-arj-1 @julk4e @hadassery @swoozleee @angxlsatvrn

@v1x3n @s-witch-bitch @furgusonn @watyousayin @thechaoticarchivist

@simp-manhwa @5sos-wdw @ffyona1214 @phantombaby @evangel44xxcds

@ukiyodestiny @jasminelee324 @eurydxceorphxus @moonlightazriel @s3rp3ntsssc0ve

@dusty-dweller @wifenanami @bokuatsubro

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanami smut #kento nanami #jujutsu nanami #jjk nanami #nanami x reader #jjk fic #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk x reader smut #jjk x y/n

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elodieunderglass · 4 months ago

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Hi! I've been loving your Killie posts, somewhat obsessively. I've talked to my husband and housemate about them, and about all the jockey info you've shared. Killie brings me great joy, and I can't wait for your book!

I also, incidentally, have been trying to write a book myself for...most of my life??

The folly inherent in this endeavor is Very High (learning disorder from hell, three children under two, computer's been broken for like two years, etc., etc.), but I keep maniacally coming back to it. I have a notebook full of notes and, at long last, a new computer coming on Friday. In short, I know this is super weird and we don't know each other at all, but if there is any way to engage in parallel play long-distance, just say the word. 😅

(In reference to Killie and the fact that he needs a book, which, unfortunately, implies me writing it.

I meant what I said! We’re being brave and doing it together! This year, okay?

I completely understand and have so much sympathy for your circumstances…. I remember when I was writing Strange Pilgrims, which is “only” a fanfic, but it’s a pretty deep and heartfelt thing in its way, and I didn’t have a computer to write it on. Buying a refurbished laptop to finish that thing felt MONUMENTAL. Enjoy the moment of the new laptop and the new chapter it will bring. By buying it in the first place, you have committed yourself to saying “yes.”

If something lights up your brain like that, it’s a gift of splendid rarity. And that kind of gift catches in other people and they can enjoy it more because of its sincerity. I firmly believe that the gift you have been given is worth accepting and honouring, no matter what form it may take in the end. You’ve said yes! You’ve bought the laptop!

One thing I’m very good at it is accountability, so what I’m going to do is schedule a reblog of this ask for one month from now, tagging you in it. And I will chase you down - lovingly, like a greyhound chasing the… er….. moon. I am going to ask you how it is going. If you haven’t progressed at all, that’s fine - you’ll get a gold star. There’s no shame in not doing anything.

If you have started to build something, get words on paper or whatever your process looks like, I will give you (slaps roof of pockets) a present. Your very own Tumblr “phase of the moon” badge. I genuinely like having one, because it reminds me to think about the moon.

And also I will give Killie one (1) egg of his very own. With the yolk in.

If Killie does nothing else in his life he IS standing over your shoulder staring at you with big dark eyes like a drowned starving cat, hoping you’ll write, so he can have an egg.

It’s a deal

🤝

#I’m quite willing to schedule an accountability if people are brave enough to share their writing projects ✌️#eggs for killie

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ms-demeanor · 2 months ago

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I apologize, do you know anything about "rugged" laptops? I'm an ADHD college student who has a lot of difficulty with spacial awareness and stuff so I have trouble with delicate laptops that break if you set them down too hard and I'd like something that can handle basic coding requirements (R studio, Jupiter Notebook, etc), and preferably can stream video for classes as well, though that's less of a requirement. I emergency ordered a cheap lower-spec used rugged laptop from eBay because my laptop isn't working, but I was wondering if a.) you think the whole thing is a gimmick and there's an easier way to get what I need and b.) if it's not a gimmick which ones actually do what they need to. Thanks!

Rugged/Ruggedized laptops are absolutely not a scam, they are incredible, it's just that the ones that are actually rugged are incredibly expensive.

I have a small collection of used Panasonic Toughbooks that are absolutely positively not functional as modern computers but work great for slowly connecting to the internet and running a word processor or programming radios. They are literally used lineman's computers and are supposed to be able to survive falling off a telephone pole. They're dustproof, so they're great to use in the desert. If I tried to edit raw image files on them they would go on strike. I'm pretty sure I could use one as a hammer.

You CAN get used or refurbished ruggedized laptops that are useable; here's a site that sells them. BUT. BUT. You're still going to be paying a high price for computers that are slower and more limited than a cheaper, more delicate computer.

So basically you're combining two separate needs here and they're not playing together great. A rugged laptop can be a great thing to have if you're the kind of person who drops your phone ten times a day (me!) But it's going to be slower and more cumbersome than a lot of what is on the market and it's going to cost a lot.

Honestly in your situation I'd probably focus on getting better performance specs out of a thinner, cheaper, lighter laptop and maybe maximize performance at the lowest price possible if you know you're a laptop destroyer (there's a reason my phones are always whatever's cheapest and in a protective case; I drop them so frequently and so creatively that I can't afford to have nicer phones).

Either that or throw power into a desktop and get a chromebook or something similarly cheap to carry around campus and have your real working computer live on a flat surface that never moves.

If you're trying to find a middle ground, business-class computers can take a bit more abuse than the flimsiest cheapie student computers because they're meant to last and are expected to move around. ThinkPads are my fallback rec for a bunch of reasons, and "sturdiness" is one of those reasons, but a business desktop is not going to tolerate being dropped. So it depends on what level of sturdy you need.

From an ADHD management perspective, you might want to consider your habits around how/where the computer gets moved; don't put it in a backpack if you're likely to drop your backpack on the ground when you get to class. Don't put it on the arm of a chair if you'll forget and knock it off the chair. Don't put it on your bed if you'll forget and sit on it. Make very specific landing spaces and very specific rules for how it gets moved and where it can go (my laptop can only go in one specific backpack and only if it's totally turned off; my laptop cannot be moved when open, i need to shut it before I carry it someplace; my laptop is not allowed on the bed or the center of the couch, it is only allowed on my desk or on the arm of the couch; I tend to set my laptop down hard so I don't set it down on my desk, it gets set on a stand. Etc, etc, etc)

Hopefully that's at least somewhat helpful. I wish that real rugged computers were more affordable and had better performance specs; if you can find one that will perform to your needs and you can function with linux, you may be able to get a toughbook or something like that for under a thousand dollars but you'll sacrifice processing power to get one that old. Good luck, I'm sorry!

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snghnlvr · 11 months ago

Text

9:41pm | park sunghoon

park sunghoon x fem!reader

synopsis: you could not handle your boyfriend’s handsomeness when he’s studying.

includes: 1.4k words | soft hours | y/n is clingy and just wanted a hug but it turned into vulnerability time | sunghoon is mad fine

extra: thank you sunghoon for tuning into your weverse live now i’m more whipped for you

likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated !!

[below the cut]

you didn’t know if you were love struck by your boyfriend’s visuals or your hormones are acting upon you.

maybe both.

usually when you’re studying at sunghoon’s room, you’re focused on your tasks with your computer in front of you, your notebook and pen on the side - ready to write any necessary information of your past lessons for your upcoming exams, and your headphone blasted on full volume to stay concentrated and get your study sessions over with so you can sleep.

since you had nothing to study for, you’re laying around sunghoon’s bed as your cuddling with his one of his pillows and scrolling down social media.

you turned your body around and see your boyfriend’s backview which instantly made you smile, especially with how focused he is from his airpods blasting music but you can’t take him seriously when his hair has some messy strands all over. you chuckled as you put your phone down and continue to admire him from the back.

your boyfriend keeps getting more handsome everyday that it sometimes make you malfunction from his insane visuals. sometimes, you get jealous when you notice the stares and whispers from girls whenever both of you are on public. but sunghoon, doesn’t care about them, always holding your hand tightly, wrapping his arm around your shoulder to pull you close, or if he’s annoyed by the comments or possessive over you, he would keep you close to him by having his hand on your waist and it would stay there until he drops you off to your house.

gosh, you really question how he’s your boyfriend.

it’s hard to resist him and you acknowledge that.

you get up from his bed, walking slowly and carefully to sneak up behind him. you glanced up as you stood behind his chair, you frowned when you realized he’s studying biology — one of your least favorite subjects to study for.

you contemplate whether or not to bother him for a little. he does need a break, right?

you took a step, standing next to his chair as your hands traveled to his hair.

you lightly massaged his hair and your eyes admired the notes that he took, making you amazed at his skills.

sunghoon looked up at you, smiling when he sees you. he immediately put his pen down. he took a moment to swallow the scene in front of him with your side profile presented to him. he wanted to capture the moment.

“what’s up?” sunghoon asked, pausing his music from his phone and took off his airpods.

“hm?” you were distracted with his organized notes, your chin tilting to face him then your eyes following. you greeted him with a smile that made him smile even bigger.

“are you hungry? bored?” sunghoon questioned, his fingers reaching the one strand of hair that was covering your whole face. you looked at him, startled. his eyes were focused as he lightly puts your hair behind your ear. you blushed. “anything princess?”

that darn nickname.

“uh uhm..” you were at a loss of words, your heart beat quickening when he stares at you, waiting patiently for an answer. you looked away from him, it was too much for you to handle.

“just a want a little hug..” you puffed your cheeks, eyes wandering random objects in his room to distract yourself. you confessed, embarrassed to see sunghoon witness you being clingy.

sunghoon’s eyebrows jumped, not expecting that response. but he realized that you were blushing, probably acknowleding that you were embarrassed to want a hug but sunghoon didn’t care.

sunghoon stared at you more. your cheeks being filled with the color pink. your shy eyes tering away from his vision. nibbling your lips in nervousness.

a smile formed on his lips, tilting his head on the side because he thinks you’re adorable — so adorable. his heart beat quickened at the sight of you.

“of course y/n.” sunghoon grabbed your arm, pulling you closer to him. you gasped at the sudden action, your eyes widen when sunghoon pulled you into his lap. your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck. you leaned back to see sunghoon but he stared at you with a mischevious smile and a head tilt — a smug look.

you wanted to poke his dimple.

sunghoon stood up straighter so that you’ll be able to hug him comfortably. and you did, inhaling his signature scent of vanilla and musk. you closed your eyes to take in the smell and sunghoon’s hands were resting comfortably on your waist. you melted into his hug that was very comforting. you would sometimes say nothing and straight up hug him whenever you’re tired. sunghoon would get the message and lets you hug him until you’re done. he doesn’t mind. really.

all of your thoughts, all of your common sense flew out. your stare softens every feature of your boyfriend, his moles all over his face, his perfectly structured nose, shiny eyes with his classic black specs illuminated from the table lamp — gosh your heart is beating fast.

you leaned back, sunghoon’s eyes back to you. his attention was back to you. his eyebrows jumped as he asked, “what’s wrong?”

you felt bad for distracting him but with that stare of his, his love gaze, you couldn’t help it.

sunghoon’s grasp on you was tighter so you don’t fall. you felt getting more enchanted from your boyfriend’s beauty. you don’t know what possessed you but you removed your arms from his shoulders. your hands slowly moved up towards his face. you were tempted to poke his moles but you held back.

sunghoon’s heart beat kept getting quicker with every action from you. he was eyeing you, from your fingers coming up towards your face then back to your eyes where you seemed focused on something else. his eyes darkened, leaning back to get a better view from you especially when you were towering over him. he was starting to relax and let you do whatever you want to him. he was enjoying it.

you are so beautiful right in front of him. you looked really magical, he wonders how he’s so lucky to date a girl like you. do you know that?

you reached his glasses, slowly and carefully took them off. some of his hair strands fell down, slightly covering his eyes.

you gulped, what a sight. your heart beat quickened at sunghoon staring hard at you. you glanced down towards his lips that were so tempting fro you to leaned down to them.

sunghoon kept staring at you, a pinkish color forming on your cheeks as he took the time to your admire your beauty.

“sorry,” you muttered lowly, trying to calm yourself down. your shy eyes tering away from his vision. nibbling your lips in nervousness when sunghoon was below you.

sunghoon was surprised to hear you apologizing when you had nothing to apologize for. “no.” he quickly said.

you looked back at sunghoon once again, startled when his fingers slowly touched your jaw to get his attention. his thumb rubbing your cheek as you leaned into it. his grasp on your jaw wasn’t strong but strong enough when you can imagine how he is feeling by the way he was staring at you with a soft smile playing on his lips.

“shit y/n what am i gonna do with you?” your heart quick raced when you heard his deep, raspy voice. it’s once in a blue moon to hear something come out of him and it would never fail to make you melt.

you didn’t say anything. you hand reaching to cover his hand on you jaw. you caress them. you closed your eyes for a few seconds before replying,

“love me.” you whispered, looking at him. sunghoon saw your vulnerability and he swears to god that he will. he will love you every day, every night, every second until he gives up — heck he would not give up loving you. at this point, he’s already planning wedding vows. he will not stop loving you until both of you grow old and sick of each other.

“yes, yes i will.” sunghoon said whatever what was on top of his head. he is utterly at a loss of thoughts. he smiles when you giggled at him like it was a calming melody to him. “you make me go insane, it’s crazy y/n..” he whispers. he rubs your hip with his other hand on your waist. “even if i die, i will never stop loving you.” you think he’s being dramatic but you don’t say that.

“good.” you nibbled at your lip to prevent a big smile on your face. you leaned into him, stealing a kiss from his lips. you saw a frown from sunghoon when you pulled away. you merely saw him chasing your lips for a second as his eyes were glued on your pretty lips.

“because i will never stop loving you either.” you smiled right in front of him. sunghoon looks up with a soft stare and your stomach curls at the sight. sunghoon swears he’s the most luckiest person alive and that he will brag to every single individual on this earth to proudly say that he’s dating you. he doesn’t care about the single pals.

you felt a breath on your lips when sunghoon pulled you again for another kiss. and you pulled him closer until nothing separates the two of you.

#enhypen drabbles #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #enha imagines #enha x reader #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon oneshot #sunghoon drabbles #park sunghoon fluff #sunghoon x reader #sunghooncomfort #park sunghoon oneshot #sunghoon ff #sunghoon fanfic #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon drabble #park sunghoon

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seungkwansphd · 2 years ago

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contusion confusion

pairing: seungcheol x afab reader word count: 4K synopsis: your clumsy lab partner left a bruise on you. seungcheol seems disproportionately upset by it, but it makes way more sense once you understand why. themes: college au, best friend seungcheol, double sided repressed feelings, possessive and jealous seungcheol. warnings: smut, mentions of bruising/marking, mention of reader being smaller than seungcheol.

a/n: i started this literally one year ago and lost steam. and then blonde.fucking.scoups comes along and truly does a number on me. anyways, bon appetit, LOL

“What the hell happened to you?” Seungcheol’s eyes widened as you stretched your legs across his lap on the sofa.

“What?” you blinked at him, taking your eyes off of the television momentarily.

“What’s this bruise from?” he asked, resisting the strong urge to touch the bluish purple mark just above your elbow.

“Ah, that!” you shrugged, “I almost tripped the other day in lab. Mingyu grabbed me, but he might as well have let me fall! Who knew someone could bruise you just from grabbing you! Like how strong is that dude even?” you rolled your eyes. Grumbling, you returned your attention to the screen.

Seungcheol stewed next to you. While he had no real claim or reason to be upset at your lab partner, every time you brought him up, it made him want to strangle someone.

Mingyu was so tall that you had to readjust the titration burette between replicates. Mingyu was all sweaty because he had come to lab right after the gym. Mingyu didn’t cover his face while sneezing.

Seungcheol eagerly awaited next semester when he wouldn’t have to hear about this man anymore.

Swallowing, your eyes flitted nervously to your best friend’s hands, which were stroking your calves absentmindedly as he watched the show. While just a mindless gesture on his part, you were struggling silently with the way it made your insides turn just slightly into jelly.

“Cheol, that tickles!” you finally pulled your legs away, curling into a ball against the armrest of the sofa.

“Oh, sorry,” he smiled sheepishly at you, seeming distracted. It almost seemed like your friend was sulking, but you couldn’t understand why. You were watching a sitcom!

…

“There you are!”

You looked up to see your lab partner standing over your table, clutching the straps of his backpack.

“Oh, hey Mingyu,” you furrowed your brows at him, “Did you need something?”

“I thought we were supposed to be working on our lab report today?” he cocked his head at you, wondering if he had gotten the time wrong.

“Oh shit!” you cursed, “I’m so sorry Gyu, I totally lost track of time!”

“That’s okay,” he laughed, “It’s not that big of a deal. You want to work on it now?”

“Sure!” you nodded, glancing at Seungcheol and Jeonghan, who were immersed in their computer programming assignments. “Do you mind if Mingyu joins us? We have a lab report.”

“Yes, we heard,” Jeonghan rolls his eyes at you, “Sure that’s fine.”

“Thanks,” Mingyu nods before taking the seat next to you.

“Did you start anything for it yet?” you asked, pulling your lab notebook out of your backpack.

“Whoa, did I really grab you that hard that day?” Mingyu exclaimed, seeing the purple bruise on your arm.

“Yes, it fuckin’ hurts too!” you squinted at him, annoyed.

“I didn’t think you could bruise someone just by grabbing them. I guess I’m just super strong, huh?” Mingyu preened.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” you threatened to punch him.

Jeonghan observed Seungcheol’s shift in mood with mild interest as you and Mingyu muddled your way through your lab report.

“I need some coffee or I’m going to rip my eyeballs out,” you announced after calculating mole fractions for far too long. You stood from the table to move towards the cafe in the library. You tapped your fingertips on your wallet mindlessly as you calculated how many shots of espresso you could consume without your heart bursting out of your chest.

“YN!” a familiar voice greeted you as they tapped your shoulder.

“Ah, hey!” you smiled at Bina, your lab partner from last year. “Ugh, I’m working on a lab report and it is giving me flashbacks to last semester!”

“Oh my god, please don’t remind me!” she rolled her eyes. You two had barely managed to scrape through that class. Unlike you, it had been her only chem requirement, so she was free of the horror of lab reports now. “Who’s your lab partner this semester?”

“Mingyu Kim,” you scrunched up your nose slightly, “God bless him, but he is such a klutz.”

“Wait, no. Mingyu? The Kim Mingyu?” Bina paled slightly.

“Why? Do you know him? Is there tea?” you looked at her with wide eyes.

“No, god I wish. He’s just so hot to me! I’m jealous, I would slog through another semester of chem to be his lab partner.”

“Would you?!” you gaped at her, thoroughly alarmed. “You’re sick in the head over this man,” you laughed heartily.

“No, probably not,” Bina chuckled after giving it some more serious consideration. “But I’d think long and hard about it.”

“We’re sitting over there if you wanna stop by and say hi. I’ll introduce y’all,” you offered before placing your order with the cashier.

“I might do that,” she craned her head to see exactly where your table was. “You’re sitting with Seungcheol too? My friend is infatuated with that man. They’re in Comp Sci together. Can she come say hi too?”

“S-sure,” you answered blankly. You had no stake or claim, but something in you wanted to scream ‘NO!’ when you heard Bina ask that question.

“You’re the best, we’ll be over in a bit,” Bina smiled brightly at you, giving you a squeeze.

“Okay, I’m ready to resume crying,” you announced when you returned to the table with your beverage.

“Okay, good, cause I’m ready to take a break from crying,” Mingyu looked up at you pitifully. “I think I figured out 4. So then if we can figure out 5, then we just need to pull together some nonsense for the discussion.”

“Okay, okay,” you nodded determinedly. By some miracle, question 5 was just some simple dilution practice, so before long you and Mingyu were typing furiously, chipping away at the remainder of the lab report.

“Hey YN!” Bina’s voice pulled you out of a sentence about how (DUH) important it was to switch pipettes between samples.

“Oh, hey Bina! What’s up?” you waved excitedly at your friend, eager to do some meddling for her.

“Not much, how are you? Long time no see!”

“Yes, luckily you’re done with your chem requirements, otherwise you’d be here crying with us,” you laughed as Mingyu and Seungcheol looked on at you with interest. Jeonghan had long ago put on a pair of noise canceling headphones and was ignoring everybody. “Mingyu, Bina was my lab partner last semester. And she was a lot better than you are,” you couldn’t help but tease.

“Hey!” Mingyu pouted.

“I mean at the very least she’s my height, so I didn’t have to readjust the biuret every time we titrated,” you rolled your eyes playfully at Bina.

“It’s not my fault you’re both short,” Mingyu protested, eyes flickering to Bina for some support.

“If it makes you feel better, I was terrible in lab too,” she offered up sympathetically, “YN is my patron saint of chemistry. Did she ever tell you about how I exploded two crucibles one time?”

“No!” Mingyu looked at her with interest, “Was YN also very mean to you and made you finish your work way ahead of time?”

“Yes!” Bina giggled excitedly, “Like why can’t we pull all nighters like normal people?”

“Hell no, I’m not disrupting my sleep schedule for y’all. No thanks,” you shook your head stalwartly. “Anyways, you two should exchange numbers so you can complain about me on your own time,” you chuckled. Bina and Mingyu seemed to agree and set about that task enthusiastically.

“Ah, sorry I’m being rude, this is my friend Hayoung! We’re in a writing foundations class together so we were working on that.”

“Hi,” she waved at everyone shyly.

“Hayoung, what’s your major?” you asked.

“Computer science, focusing on human & computer interactions.”

“Ooh?! Love me a girly in STEM! These two are comp sci as well! Do you all know each other?” you asked, mostly Seungcheol as Jeonghan was still intent on ignoring you.

“Maybe? You look kind of familiar, but I don’t talk to many people in class,” he chuckled honestly.

“I think we might have a class together?” Hayoung smiled.

“Oh wonderful! You two should exchange numbers too! Maybe you can work on comp sci stuff together,” you suggested. They weren’t really giving you too much to work with, if you were being honest.

“I’d actually love that,” Hayoung’s eyes creased into a smile, “I don’t know that many people in the major.”

“Is it because they’re being sexist?” your eyes widened and you raised a fist theatrically, “I’ll fight them all for you. Cheol, you will too, right? Jeonghan’s not much use in a fight, if I’m being honest,” you commented quietly, glancing at the target of your teasing.

“Sure,” Seungcheol’s face creased into a real smile as he watched you whisper about Jeonghan animatedly.

Hayoung and Seungcheol exchanged phone numbers as you watched on excitedly. Hayoung was clearly pleased, but Seungcheol was making a face as if he had tasted something odd, but was too polite to say anything about it.

“Bina is so cute!” Mingyu remarked happily after they both left, “Lucky you with your cute lab partners!”

“Yeah,” you rolled your eyes at him, “I love doing unpaid babysitting in the lab.”

…

“Cheol, can I crash on your couch?” you spoke after he picked up your call.

“Yeah, of course! Are you okay?” Seungcheol’s brow furrowed, worried.

“Yeah, I’ve just been sexiled,” you grumbled, starting your walk towards Seungcheol’s apartment. He met you about halfway and the two of you caught up on the walk back.

“How are things with Hayoung?” you asked, not quite making eye contact.

“What?” his hand slipped as he was moving to turn the doorknob.

“Hayoung, did you guys ever meet up to work on comp sci together?” you asked, lips pursed as you followed him into his apartment.

“Oh, no, she texted me but I forgot to text her back,” Seungcheol shrugged.

“Text her back, you jerk!” you poked Seungcheol insistently, “Hayoung’s cute! And she likes you.”

“That’s good for her,” Seungcheol grumbled, irritated at your attempt to push him towards someone else. Maybe his cause was truly hopeless.

“You’re acting weird,” you glanced at him oddly before flopping down on the couch.

“No, you take the bed,” Seungcheol ignored your statement and plopped down near your feet, tapping your legs lightly.

“No! I’m not gonna kick you out of your bed!” you protested.

“No, seriously, sleep on the bed. I always wake up before you anyways. I’ll end up waking you up if you sleep out here.”

“I-,” you tried to think of another excuse, but he wasn’t your best friend for no reason. He knew you just as well as you knew yourself. “Okay,” you acquiesced, hopping up from the couch to walk into his room, “Do you need anything from here before bed?” you turned to ask him, hand on the doorframe.

“Nope, I don’t think so.”

“Okay, thanks again for letting me crash,” you smiled at him before pulling the door not quite closed behind you.

Once inside, you dropped your bag and helped yourself to a t-shirt and pair of shorts from Seungcheol’s drawers. You laughed at the way you were swimming in the shirt.

“I look ridiculous,” you laughed, walking back out into the living room. “Cheol, look,” you spread your arms out to your sides, showing Seungcheol the way that his t-shirt just swallowed you.

“I-,” his brain stopped for a few moments. He wouldn’t say anything, but he could in fact see your nipples as you tried to show him whatever you were showing him. “What?”

“Your shirt is too big on me,” you folded your arms over your chest, irritated that he had been listening.

“Oh yeah, well I’m bigger than you,” he replied curtly.

“Well, yeah,” you glanced away from him. He was in such an odd mood today! You grumbled just a little bit before flopping down on the bed. You were tired.

Tossing and turning, you fought for a long time to push down the arousal that was building in your gut. Being enveloped by Seungcheol’s scent was making your brain go haywire. You could feel yourself throbbing and you bit down on your fist in an effort to try and distract yourself, but that hadn’t worked. Glancing nervously at the door, you contemplated seeking some relief, but the idea of doing it in Seungcheol’s bed while he was just outside the door inspired guilt, worry, and worst of all, excitement.

You managed to ignore yourself for about ten minutes before your left hand snuck down between your thighs, stroking them softly. Sinking deeper into Seungcheol’s pillows, you closed your eyes and imagined your best friend’s hands softly caressing and spreading your legs apart. You were embarrassed to hear the wet sounds of yourself opening up, but not embarrassed enough to stop. Your right hand came to tease the sensitive undersides of your breasts as your fingertips stroked languidly through your folds.

In the living room, Cheol wrestled with whether to disturb you or not. Several minutes ago, he had noticed that one of his textbooks was still in his room. He’d been planning to get ahead on a problem set, so it wasn’t as if he needed to disturb you, but he also didn’t see himself falling asleep anytime soon. Chewing his lip, he noticed that the door was still slightly ajar and decided to retrieve the book as you must not have gone to bed just yet.

When his eyes first landed on your face, your brows were knit up in utter concentration as your hands worked feverishly under the covers. Your front teeth had your lower lip pinned down as you bit back the loudest of your desperate noises. Seungcheol’s pupils dilated as he registered what was happening. Frantically, he tried to back out of the room, but his sweater caught the edge of a pamphlet that had been hanging off the bookshelf, sending a handful of items clattering to the floor.

“Fuck!” your eyes shot open, panicked as you met Cheol’s gaze, “I’m, you-, help!” you squeaked, pulling the covers over your face as you wished to vanish off the face of the earth.

Seungcheol’s mind went blank as he walked towards you, placing his hands over yours to pull down the covers. You peered up at him through your eyelashes, so overcome with embarrassment that you failed to register the look of hunger in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry Cheol, I didn’t, I shouldn’t have done that here!”

“What?” he cocked his head to the side, brain not really functioning.

“It’s your bed!” you looked at him as if he was crazy, “I just-, you smell so good,” you spoke without thinking.

“I…,” he looked you up and down, “You’re telling me I inspired this?”

“Shit, I shouldn’t have said that, oh my god!” you groaned, trying to shrug under the covers again. Seungcheol’s large hands held you still and you watched in disbelief as he brought your left hand up to inspect it. The shine of moisture on your fingers was mortifyingly telling, but he surprised you to your core when he brought your hand to his mouth and sucked your wet fingers inside.

“Huh?!” you choked out, eyes fluttering shut as he tongue stroked between your digits, tasting you thoroughly.

“You should’ve told me about this sooner,” he told you, voice gravely with desire, “I’ve been torturing myself trying to ignore how much I think about you.”

“Oh?” you blinked at him in disbelief.

“Yes, oh,” Seungcheol rolled his eyes at you, “Now let me help, as you requested.”

His fingers wandered. His eyes widened slightly when he felt just how wet you were. The rumble that emitted from his chest almost sounded like a purr and you found yourself quickly breathless at his ministrations.

“Cheol,” you moaned, melting slightly as his substantially larger fingers swirled dizzyingly through your folds. He smirked down at you, more than pleased to hear your saying his name in that manner.

“So needy,” he chuckled, eyes flicking over you.

“Well I was halfway there when you walked in,” you teased him and his eyes flashed at you, a subtle warning.

He raised one eyebrow at you before sliding his fingers inside of you. You choked on your breath at the intrusion, though your legs parted asking for more.

“You-, your fingers!”

“Mm, how do they feel?” he smirked at you, confident.

“I knew they’d stretch me out, bigger than mine,” you panted and his eyes widened at the realization that this wasn’t the first time you’d imagined this.

“You think about me a lot?” he raised an eyebrow at you, now cocky.

“No,” you lied, glancing away to avoid his eyes.

“My thick fingers spreading you open,” he continued anyways, smirking when he felt the way you reacted around him.

“Seung-,” you whined, overwhelmed at the way he teased you.

“God I like hearing you say my name like that,” Seungcheol shook his head, as if in disbelief. “Can I see you?” he asked, other hand itching to peel back the comforter.

You nodded wordlessly. You were slightly mortified to reveal yourself to him in this way, but his other hand quickly distracted you. You watched his eyes rove across you appreciatively until they trained in on your bruise, his jaw clenching.

“I’ve been thinking about this all week,” he exhaled sharply.

“Why? It wasn’t on purpose!”

“No, it’s not-,” Seungcheol paused. “That’s not why. I was annoyed because the idea of getting to be the one to leave marks on you has rendered me…basically unable to produce coherent thought.”

“Oh? OH,” your eyes widened, gears in your brain turning. “I mean…all yours, Cheol,” you smiled sheepishly at him.

“Really?” he groaned, looking at you appreciatively as he thought about exactly where and how he’d like to mar your skin.

“Seungcheol!” you snapped at him as he continued to mumble to himself.

“Maybe a handprint here?” he grazed your upper thigh with his palm, eyes dancing mischievously at you. “Or a necklace of hickeys,” he growled as he nipped at the base of your neck. He had decided to seize the opportunity to tease you, and as much as you liked it, you only had so much patience.

“Cheol, please,” you pouted, grabbing at his collar, “I can’t take anymore of this.”

“Yes princess,” he pulled an old nickname out of the vault. You melted.

“Mmmpf!” he smothered your next protest with a kiss.

“Seung. Cheol!” you moaned desperately as his hand grabbed your thigh, hard.

The strength in his grip set your nerves alight and your head fell back against the bed, arching your chest up towards him. His mouth took the opportunity to latch onto the underside of your breast, biting down firmly. Your hand fisted itself in his hair.

It was so much sensation. It was so good.

“Hn,” he pulled back with a breathless smile. His eyes flicked down to the spots where his mouth and hand had been and his lips curled into a cocky grin at the bright red marks. With any luck those would be bruised nicely tomorrow.

“That was…a lot,” you murmured as you caught your breath.

“In a bad way?” Seungcheol’s brow furrowed with sudden worry.

“No,” you smiled at him, slightly fuzzy, “In a good way. A really good way.”

“Really?” his eyebrows raised back up with delight. “So you won’t mind if you bruise a little?”

“I don’t think I’ll mind even if you bruise me a lot,” you answered after some thought.

Your best friend’s eyes darkened. The way you had rearranged his words hit the possessive button in his brain like crazy. His lips nibbled and nipped their way down your torso while his hand came to cup your breast. His grip was on the hard side of firm as his lips latched onto a spot on your inner thigh. His tongue stroked across the sensitive skin as he sucked firmly.

Your thighs parted of their own accord as you squirmed at this building onslaught. As you shifted, you could hear the wet sounds of yourself spreading. Open and inviting.

“Cheol, please,” you tried to pull him towards you. “Please,” you panted.

Seungcheol, the bastard, increased the intensity of his sucking before releasing his lips with a loud ‘pop!’. The jolt of the disconnection sent a shiver through you and the spot where his mouth had been now felt woefully cool.

“Pretty,” he looked at the red mark appreciatively. The thought that you would be reminded of this encounter over the next weeks sent a streak of pride through him that was unexpected.

“Seungcheol!” you grabbed his face by his cheeks, directing his attention to you. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to kick you out and take care of it myself!”

His eyes widened and he chuckled sheepishly before reaching over you to pull a condom out of the nightstand. You watched, almost painfully aroused, as he undressed and unrolled the condom over himself. His cock bobbed proudly as he pulled his sturdy torso over you, slotting himself between your thighs.

You sighed when his cock came to rest against your core. You could already tell it was going to be good.

“Seungcheol, please,” you placed your hands around his jaw. “Need you.”

He nodded, reaching down to slip himself inside of you. A soft gasp escaped you as his head pushed in and you couldn’t help but relish in the stretch. Seungcheol took his time sinking into you. The whines and gasps that you made were way too good to be rushed.

“Cheol,” your hands clutched at the back of his thick neck until he was pressed flush against you. “Fuck,” you exhaled into his ear.

Seungcheol’s hand was gripping your hip so hard as he struggled to keep control of himself. Of all the things that he found overwhelming, the way you pulsed and squeezed around him, the little sounds you made as he had pressed into you…the worst of all was the way you smelled. His hand fisted itself further in your hip as he inhaled you, a most intoxicating scent.

You clenched around him as his hand tightened. He was sure to bruise you there, too, and you couldn’t wait. Knowing that you’d be able to see these marks as evidence that this wasn’t another crush induced dream made you feel crazed in a different way.

“You feel perfect,” Seungcheol groaned against your skin as his hips started to move. “I just knew it.”

Clench.

You hooked your legs around his hips as he pumped into you deeply. Each thick stroke pushed you dangerously closer to the precipice and you were ready to fall off the edge.

“Cheol,” you pulled back slightly to meet his blown out gaze. “I’m there.”

“Go ahead,” he encouraged you, aching to feel you come apart around him. “Be good and come for me.”

Your eyes squeezed shut as you let go. Your hands clutched desperately at his shoulders as your pussy fluttered around him. You didn’t even know what kinds of sounds you made as you simply didn’t have the presence of mind.

“So good,” he smiled, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against yours. “So good,” he grunted before his hips shuddered and he emptied himself inside of you.

You wrapped your arms around his torso as he slumped down on top of you. He smiled when you gave him a squeeze with your entire body.

“So you’re kind of possessive, huh?” you chuckled softly after you’d regained your sanity.

Seungcheol squeezed his eyes shut with a laugh. He hadn’t realized it, or maybe it was just because it was you, but yes. Yes he was.

#scoups smut #seungcheol smut #svthub #seventeen smut #scoups fanfic #seungcheol fanfic #svt fanfic #seungcheol x reader #seungkwansphd:writes

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baisemains · 4 months ago

Text

Elements of Desire

Chapter 1: Freaks & Geeks

single mom!sevika x fem!reader

word count: 2.8k

contains: fluff! just a meet cute really, timebomb as a plot device, age gap technically (reader is early 30’s)

description: your newest student clashing with your brightest might be the best thing that ever happened to you.

ao3 link | spotify playlist

next // sevika masterlist

It was a normal Thursday morning and you were on your way to your chemistry classroom, already late to prep for your first class when your phone beeps. Hearing the tell-tale ring of Outlook, you know it’s something important so you pull it out of your pocket and see that the school secretary has emailed you.

‘New student being added to your first period, updating your roster now.’'

You internally groan, you’ve officially hit max occupancy for the year and it’s only the first week of October.

Taking a deep breath, you reach your classroom and quickly start to put your things in the corner behind your desk before your students start arriving.

Hearing footsteps, you look up and see one of your favorite students, Ekko, walking in.

“Hey dude, ready for today’s quiz?”

He smiles at you, both of you already knowing the answer. Ekko is the top student in your class by a mile, you’ve got no worries when it comes to him.

“Of course, teach, when have I ever let you down?”

You laugh and go back to pulling out your materials for the day.

The rest of your class files in within the next few minutes, and you’re just about to start the day’s lesson when there’s a gentle knock on the door.

Walking over, you open the door confused and see a blue haired girl standing there, nervously twiddling with the straps of her backpack.

“Hi, I’m Powder, they told me this was my first period…?”

You school your face and usher her inside, smiling as she stands at the front of the class, unsure of what to do.

“Everybody, this is Powder, our new student. Make sure you help her out if she needs it, alright?”

Murmurs of agreement float around the room as you turn to Powder.

“Follow me, I’m gonna introduce you to your lab partner.”

You walk her to the very back row of tables and stop next to Ekko’s station.

“Powder, meet Ekko. Ekko, meet Powder, your new partner.”

Ekko looks up from where he was writing in his notebook and furrows his eyebrows.

“…What do you mean, my new partner? I thought you said I could go without one this year.”

“I did, before the district filled up my class and left me no choice.”

“That’s not fair! A partner is just gonna slow me down, I’m gonna have to help her and do my work!”

Ekko starts to plead his case with you, but you hear Powder shuffle behind you and you’re not having it.

“Hey. I know it’s not an ideal situation, dude, but we’ve gotta work with what we’ve got. Give her a chance before you say anything else, alright?”

You raise an eyebrow at him and his shoulders slump, knowing you’re right. He never could really be mad at his favorite teacher.

“Okay, teach, my bad.”

He clears his stuff off of the chair next to him and you gesture for Powder to sit down.

“I’ll be right back with an assessment, okay? Let’s see where your chemistry skills are at.”

You leave the two of them and walk back to your desk to grab a general knowledge test so you can gauge where Powder sits in relation to the rest of your class. You hope she’s at least got the basics down or you’ll really feel bad for making her Ekko’s partner.

Heading over and giving it to her, you tell her to take as long as she needs while you hand out the planned quiz to everyone else.

While the kids are doing that, you sit at your desk and start grading assignments from last class. You’ve barely gotten through a handful when Powder walks up to your desk. Assuming she needs help, you look up at her and smile.

“What’s up Powder?”

Her eyes flicker between you and your computer as she chews on her lip.

“Um, I…finished my test.”

You blink at her. Glancing at your clock, it’s barely been fifteen minutes when it should’ve taken her at least thirty, and that’s comparing it to your brightest students.

Smiling softly to not make her so nervous, you put your hand out and ask to see it.

Scanning it over, you’re in shock. Every answer seems correct so far and all her work is accounted for. You wonder for a second if Ekko had helped her but quickly shot down that thought when you remember how reluctant he was to have a lab partner.

“Powder, this looks…perfect. Have you taken chemistry before?”

She lets out a shy smile as she answers.

“No, I just really like math.”

The gears in your head begin to turn as you realize you may have a star student on your hands.

“That’s great to hear! You think you’d feel comfortable taking today’s quiz? It covers the last couple units we’ve been working on.”

Her smile broadens at that.

“Yeah, that sounds okay.”

By the end of class, Powder’s successfully caught up to the rest of the kids and is starting to become an active participant, much to Ekko’s chagrin.

The next couple weeks of classes pass by quickly, and a new rivalry begins to bloom between Ekko and Powder.

At first, you thought it was just friendly competition between partners but you soon realize it’s more than that.

One day, you hear bickering from the back of the classroom and see Powder trying to reach for a test tube Ekko is holding.

The closer you get, the better you understand them when you hear Ekko yell, “I don’t need your help with this, you’re just gonna jinx me!”

As he says that, he leans back and begins to tilt the test tube directly over the boy standing at the next station.

Almost as if in slow motion, you immediately leap forward and push him out of the way as the liquid pours onto the ground and sizzles.

The entire class goes silent as you stand there staring at your two best students, feeling the smoke pour out of your ears.

The dam finally breaks as you loudly scold them both about safety guidelines and the hazards of the chemicals they’re dealing with.

They have the decency to look embarrassed and apologize to their classmate when you tell them that you’ll be contacting their parents.

Both of them look at you in horror and beg you not to, but your mind is already made up and you head to your desk to email their parents about a conference as soon as possible.

Ekko’s parents are able to meet that evening, a lovely couple that you met at Back To School Night, who apologize profusely for their son’s actions.

You tell them how you’re not going to go too hard on their son because he’s usually your best student and you know this isn’t typical behavior from him, although you do expect him to clean up his act.

Ekko sincerely apologizes and you nod, shooting him a quick smile to let him know you accept.

They thank you for your time and promise that he will no longer be a problem in class, whisking him out of the room with a large hand gripping the back of his neck.

The next night, you’re set to meet Powder’s mom as she was busy the previous one.

Having zero idea what to expect, her very curt reply to your email asking to meet didn’t leave you a whole lot to work with.

You just hope she’s not one of those parents who expect the teacher to be their kid’s only disciplinarian, you have enough of those already.

It’s nearing five o’ clock, the designated time for your meeting so you start organizing your desk a bit, not wanting anyone to think you’re a slob.

As you’re facing away from the entrance, you hear a gentle knock from the doorway and as you turn around to face your visitors, you wish you had googled the name from your email.

The last thing you’d imagined Powder’s mom to be was the hottest woman you’d ever seen, but you remind yourself she was still a parent you needed to talk to, so before you think about it too much, you wave them over.

“Please come in, both of you.”

Powder walks in first, sheepish with her hands behind her back.

Her mom follows, and your eyes trace over her face, having to look up the closer she gets.

You notice her thick eyebrows, slightly furrowed at the moment, framing her daunting grey eyes. Short black hair caresses her face, threatening to hide it from view. Her nose is prominent, and you decide how well it suits her. She also has a labret piercing, which draws your attention to her thick lips, currently situated into a closed half smile.

You don’t even realize you’re looking at her mouth until she starts talking.

“Sevika, Powder’s mom.”

Her large hand stretches out towards you and when you slip your hand into hers, it takes a good amount of effort to not shake it for longer than necessary.

It’s surprisingly soft, even with all of the calluses you can feel, and pleasantly warm. You wonder if she was wearing gloves to protect them from the chilly fall air outside or if she's just blessed with good genes.

Introducing yourself as well, you remove your hand from hers and drop it to your side, already feeling like you’re missing something.

Now looking between the two, you think that Powder is maybe adopted – or looks like her dad, you dreadfully think to yourself – because she doesn’t bear any resemblance to the Amazon in front of you.

Before you can say anything else, the woman in front of you takes a step back and nudges Powder’s shoulder before stuffing both of her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket.

“Go ahead, tell her.”

Your eyes flick up to Sevika, who’s smirking at her daughter and you quickly look back down before you catch her eye.

“I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting lately, I never meant to let it go that far. I promise to lock in and be the student you deserve,” Powder declares with watery eyes, looking down at the floor when she’s done talking.

Pressing your lips together to contain your laugh, you close your eyes for a couple of seconds to gather yourself, finally opening them to see that Sevika is looking right at you.

Breaking the eye contact and clearing your throat, you look down at the girl in front of you and lay your hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you for apologizing Powder, it means a lot. I know you have what it takes to be an amazing student, you’ve been doing it this whole time. You just gotta quit the stuff with Ekko.”

She looks up at you at that, a defiant glint in her eye.

“You got it, teach,” she tells you through gritted teeth.

You giggle at her response, and then remember something else you wanted to bring up in this meeting, gesturing for both of them to sit at the station in the front row.

Grabbing a flyer from your desk, you walk back over and set it down in front of Sevika.

“So there’s a science fair coming up in the spring, and I think Powder should enter.”

Two pairs of eyes look up at you with matching lifted eyebrows, and for the first time tonight, you see a resemblance.

After laughing in your head, you continue on with your explanation.

“It’s open to all high schoolers in the state, and there’s a cash prize for the top three students; $10,000 for third, $25,000 for second, and $50,000 for first.”

Sevika’s eyes widen, letting her stoic mask slip for the first time tonight.

“The idea is to give them a head start on a college fund, but because the prize pool is so large, they require applications to even be able to conduct an actual project. They only accept the top 1,000 submissions, and then they cut it down to 100, but I really feel like Powder has a shot.”

You look between the two sitting in front you, gauging reactions.

Sevika chews the inside of her cheek as she glares at the flyer in front of her.

The first thing that enters her mind is just how life changing that money would be.

Powder's never wanted for anything, but it's also been a struggle to give her the best life Sevika feels she deserves, especially being a single mother.

'...50 grand for first place, huh?"

Sevika looks over the flyer skeptically for a few beats longer before passing it to Powder, who looks like she's about to faint from excitement.

You rub your hand on the back of your neck, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed for just throwing the idea out there like that.

Sevika's grey eyes flick back over to you after observing her daughter for a couple seconds.

"How much work is a project like this gonna require?"

Breathing an internal sigh of relief, you feel like you have a shot to convince her.

“It is gonna take up most of her free time, until the spring, I won’t lie, but if she can pull this off, it’ll all be worth it.”

Sevika lets out a scoff at that, crossing her arms over her chest as she leans back in her chair.

"So I'm just supposed to let her spend months at your beck and call? No way, I-"

Powder suddenly slams her palm on the table before Sevika can protest further.

"Pleaseee, mom?”

Sevika looks down at her daughter, eyes narrowing at being cut off.

"This could seriously change my life, our life, and I promise it won't get in the way of my school work. I won't let you down.”

Sevika’s demeanor softens at that, seeing Powder’s determination reminds her of herself in a way.

After a few seconds of silence, Sevika turns back to where you’re standing and pierces you with a look.

“I’m not saying yes. I’ll think about it, but I do want you to send me more information about this thing.”

You nod fervently, grabbing the flyer and ripping a piece off the bottom to jot your number onto it.

Passing it to Sevika, you smile warmly.

“Of course, that sounds great. You’ll have my number if you need anything.”

She takes the slip, briefly touching your fingertips as she pulls it away, your cheeks heating up at the contact.

You look down at Powder, and she’s almost in tears with excitement.

Sevika rises from her chair and motions for Powder to follow as she stands in front of you.

“I’m serious about what I said. I want every bit of information you have on this, and then I’ll consider my answer.”

To punctuate her sentence, she sticks her hand out for another handshake, and this time, you grip her palm with the same energy she’s giving you, determined to show her that you’re serious about this.

“Of course, Sevika. You have my word.”

Her mouth twitches up into a small smile when you say her name, deciding she likes the way it sounds.

You notice her small gap for the first time, and feel a little swirl in your stomach.

“We’ll be in touch then, miss. Powder, let’s go babe, I gotta grab your sister and get dinner started.”

She drops your hand – slowly, you realize – and the two of them leave out the way they came, Powder clutching the flyer in hand and waving at you as they disappear from your sight.

Taking a seat in your desk chair, you start drafting up an email with more information about the science fair to Sevika, not wanting to waste any time.

It's almost an hour later when you're finally done detailing everything Sevika needs to know, and once you hit send, you lean back in your chair and finally let out the breath you'd been holding in.

The whole interaction left you feeling a bit frazzled, but not in a bad way.

You couldn't stop thinking about Sevika's face, the crinkle in her eyebrows whenever she looked at you, her eyes boring holes into your very soul.

Really, you can't help but be a bit frustrated at the fact you hadn't been able to stop staring at her the entire time, wondering what's wrong with you for thirsting over one of your students' moms.

With an annoyed groan, you rub your face to hopefully snap yourself out of it and pack up your things to leave for the night, thoughts occupied by this new character in your life.

#yay first chapter!#i have a general idea of where i wanna take this but im open to suggestions #and yes timebomb will be included bc i love them #also i was gonna have jayce and mel as ekko's parents just bc i love them all as characters but wasnt sure if that would be weird #even though this is a modern au and they wouldn't be his oppressors but still. leaving that alone #so for now they are unnamed characters!#ekko's parents i mean #but yeah there will be more sevika content next chapter i promise i just like a lot of exposition #lemme know your thoughts :)#gonna see if i can have chapter 2 up by friday or maybe saturday #sevika x reader #sevika fluff #sevika angst #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #arcane #arcane x reader #arcane fluff #arcane angst

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afictionalwhor3 · 7 months ago

Text

Hitting the Books

IceHockey!Cregan x Tutor!Reader

Summary: Cregan has to get tutoring after being put on academic probation, but he doesn't expect to fall for his tutor

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, cursing, a small amount of angst

Word Count: 4.3k

"Yeah Jace I'll talk to you later I'm about to walk into the tutoring center now," Cregan says with a sigh as he holds the door open for someone and walks in.

"AHAHAHA I forgot you had that. Bye loser have fun" Jace laughs in his ear before hanging up the phone.

"Dickhead" Cregan grumbles under his breath walking up to the front desk to check himself in, "Cregan Stark. It's my first time here. My session is supposed to be at twelve" He tells the man sitting behind the desk. He watches him type something in the computer and thinks about the series of decisions that landed him here. He knew he was slacking in school, not going to class, not turning in assignments. But in his defense with hockey season starting all those things seemed irrelevant. He found himself in an increased role this year and the team looked better than ever. He was ecstatic about the season and would go as far as to say this could be the year they win the conference. After coming so close in the past, he felt like this could be it. Now he watched as the best thing in his life could be taken from him. His coach brought him into the office to let him know he was on academic probation until further notice. This included spontaneous class checks, weekly academic checkups, and tutoring at least twice a week. He was one wrong step away from not just getting kicked off the team but kicked out of school all together. That was something he could not afford.

"Y/n is gonna be your tutor she is at table six" the man behind the desk says and he nods his head walking to the back and finding multiple tables placed around the room. Spaced out far enough to grant each one some respective form of privacy. The large windows that surrounded the room allowed plenty of light to illuminate the area and granted views of campus. The view was beautiful and had Cregan momentarily entranced. Coming back to reality he looked around, seeing a few people scattered across the room when he finally saw a table labeled with the number six on it. He began walking towards it where a girl was currently sat. She appeared to be deep in thought with headphones covering her ears and typing quickly on her laptop.

"Excuse me," Cregan starts as he approaches "I'm looking for Y/n, I'm here for tutoring" He states plainly watching as you take off your headphones, smile, and stand up extending your hand towards him,

"You must be Cregan. Nice to meet you I'm Y/n" You say as he takes your outstretched hand shaking it and giving you a tight lipped smile. You sit once again moving your laptop to the side and putting your headphones away "Twice a week for two hours is our schedule right?" You ask and Cregan nods his head with a sigh. He could think of approximately a hundred other places he would rather be than here. You weren’t an idiot and you could definitely pick up that vibe from him. You also knew who he was, one of your friends had a boyfriend on the hockey team so you had seen him around. And the only time athletes came into the tutoring center was when they were about to be academically ineligible to play, so you knew why he was here. Determined to make the best out of the current situation you smile and ask, "What do you want to start with? It can be anything you might be having trouble with," You ask while watching him slowly take out a laptop and notebook. He sighs again turning it on,

"I guess my calc class? That and my writing class are probably my worst grades right now," He says as he shows you what he is learning and you begin to explain it to him.

And that is how it goes between the two of you. Cregan always shows up on time, polite despite being disinterested, and your conversations revolve solely around academics. Not that it bothered you too much. He was never rude but you could tell when your words were going in one ear and out the other. You were getting paid regardless, and he if wanted to flunk out of school despite your help that was his business. You sometimes thought in different circumstances you may try your luck with him. Because despite his indifference, there was no denying how attractive he was. Those stormy grey eyes that only got prettier as the weather got colder, chestnut locks that he sometimes likes to put in a bun at the base of his neck, and a tall lean build he often hid beneath hoodies and sweats but you could still make out. Contrary to his teammates you hadn’t heard much about him sleeping around, but you had to assume a man on his level got his fair share. It was week three and you were sat next to him at the tutoring center trying to help him work through a question while these thoughts floated around the back of your head. In the middle of explaining he cut you off going,

"Wait I think I get this. All I have to do is," He starts and works out the rest of the problem on his own. You laugh slightly in disbelief. Maybe beneath acting like he was too cool for this, he was actually paying attention and learning. You nodded your head as you double-checked his work,

"Wow exactly. Good job," You say smiling proudly and looking at him. For the first time, he returns the smile giving you a genuine one as he inputs the answer in his computer. You notice a notification fall across his screen as he does so,

"Oh shit my essay was graded," He says and you watch him quickly click around so he could pull the grade up.

"The one we worked on last week?" You question and watch as he nods in response. The tab loads and you watch him scroll down and the grade on the screen reads, 74. You watch him visibly deflate as he sees the grade. Despite having to force it out of him you knew he put his all into that paper. You also knew it was the first assignment he was proud of and you did not like the cold and sad feeling that ran through you seeing how disappointed he was. You put what you hoped was a comforting hand on his shoulder while he looked at you. "Well, it’s not completely terrible. It’s around the class average so at least you know it isn’t just you. What have you been getting on essays this semester?" You ask and he shrugs

"Honestly? This is the first one I've submitted in a while" He says sheepishly a small smile pulling at his lips and you sigh trying to contain your own smile.

"Well, then this a great starting place. Don’t be disappointed. I’ll have you producing A-plus essays in no time,” You say and at this, he scoffs and then rolls his eyes.

"I appreciate the confidence, and you’re a pretty good teacher, but I'm not an A student. I live more in the low to mid C range," He states and you proceed to pinch him making Cregan flinch away from you rubbing his shoulder.

"With that shitty attitude, I can see why. You just said I’m a good teacher, therefore I’m gonna get you to an A, at the very least a B-” You say confidently staring him down. He leans back in his seat feeling hot under your intense gaze.

"Alright, alright. I’m just letting you know it won’t be an easy feat,” He says and you shake your head.

“To this day I have yet to turn down a good challenge,” You say smirking and open up the assignment to see the comments his teacher left.

You considered that day to be the turning point in your dynamic. From that day on Cregan began to open up considerably. He was more attentive during your sessions and you could see how much he was progressing in all his classes. He started arriving earlier and earlier spending the time before your session talking about anything but school. You learned he had a half sister and he lived up north so he grew up playing hockey. The more you got to know him the more you began to like him which was doing terrible things to your body. You found yourself growing increasingly nervous in his presence. Every time he laughed or teased you, a swarm of butterflies seemed to take flight in your stomach. Just the sight of him was enough to send your heart racing. Previously when you would see him around campus he pretended he didn’t see you and increased his pace. Now he waved and if he wasn’t on his way somewhere, stopped to talk to you. You had no idea what these new feelings would mean for you going forward. Your friends told you that you should say something but the last thing you wanted is for the feelings to be unreciprocated. He would probably get a new tutor and above all else, you were incredibly proud of his progress and wanted to continue to watch him grow. It had been six weeks since you started tutoring Cregan and the two of you exchanged numbers in case he had questions when you weren’t together. And occasionally he sent you a tik tok or two. You were sitting in the library working on homework when you got his text,

Cregan: Y/n

Cregan: Wya?

You: Main library… why?

Cregan: Second floor in the quiet spot in the back?

You: Yea why what’s up?

Cregan: Okay stay there I’m coming rn

Cregan: Gotta show you something urgently

His last text had you in a cold sweat. What the hell could he possibly have to show you. The thoughts ran rampant in your head. Above all else you hoped he was okay because of the urgency of his text messages. You did your best to refocus on your work but couldn’t help but nervously pick at your nails until you saw him walking down one of the rows of shelves. You stood up as he walked towards you, his steps quick and smile wide. “What is up with you?” You ask confused as he gets close enough and pulls a paper out to show you. When he gets close enough you take it out of his hands and look it over realizing it’s his last math test. At the top circled in red reads, 92.

“Holy shit a 92?!” You say loudly and then remember where you were as he nods his head picking you up easily and spinning you in a circle. You gasp laughing while he spins you around. “Cregan put me down oh my god,” You say in between laughs as he brings you back to the ground softly a big smile on his face.

“This is all because of you. I could have never done this without you,” He sates and you shake your head,

“Absolutely not, I may have pushed you in the right direction but you put the hard work in. I’m so proud of you. I told you I’d make you an A+ student now let’s get that writing grade up,” You say with a smile and comfortable silence falls over the two of you as Cregan admires you. He had always thought you were pretty, but now it was as if the world had sharpened into focus, and he was truly seeing you for the first time. You had a blush on that made your cheeks look adorable, your smile was bright enough to illuminate the room, and your lips looked soft and so kissable. About two minutes go bye before he realizes he has been staring at you for longer than socially acceptable.

“Well I have to get practice, it’s at six, but I wanted to show you my grade first. I knew you’d be proud,” He said and you smiled back at him and then quickly checked your watch the time reading 5:55.

“Cregan you have five minutes and the rink is on the other side of campus,” You say and he nods his head in understanding and shrugs.

“Yeah I know. I still wanted to show you.” He says and you feel your face heat up at his admission. “Oh and I wanted to invite you… and your friends to the hockey house this Saturday. We have off so we’re throwing if you’d like to come. I would personally like you to be there. We can celebrate our big achievement,” He says hopefully trying to gauge your reaction.

“Well if you personally want me there, and I do love celebrating accomplishments. I think I’ll see you there,” You smirk looking at him and watch as he fist pumps the air and starts backing up to leave.

“Awesome. It starts at 10 I’ll see you there,” He says and you wave and watch as he runs out of the library. He ended up being twenty minutes late to practice and did sprints for every minute he missed. It didn’t matter though because you were coming to his party Saturday.

“Y/n you look great c’mon…. It’s already 11,” your roommate says standing at the door with your two other friends you were going out with. You sigh playing with your hair one more time nervously and double checking yourslef in the mirror before you walk over to them and you guys begin the trek from the dorms to hockey house.

“Yeah y/n you look hot I’m sure Cregan will be alllll over you when he sees you” your friend teases running her hands over you while you push her away and everyone laughs.

“Oh shut up all of you let’s just get there it’s cold,” You say wrapping your arms around yourself. Your jeans did the work of keeping your legs warm but the shirt, which you could barely call a top with how little material it was, had you freezing in the January air. The hockey house was in sight with people hanging outside and music blasting out of it. You walk inside with no problems and are immediately greeted by the hot, humid environment. Your friends smile at you, they loved a good party and you smiled back. It has been a while since you went out and you were thankful for the reprieve for how crazy school had been. You guys grab some juice and make your way back to the dancing area. You see Cregan’s friend Jace behind the DJ stand as you and your friends get lost in the music.

After a while your roommate leans over to whisper in your ear so you could hear her “Where is Cregan? I haven’t seen him,” She says and you look around curiously. Between the pregame and the jungle juice you had a nice buzz going as a smile took over your face.

“I’m gonna go get some more juice and look for him I’ll be back,” You say as she nods and goes back to dancing. You find the kitchen to refill your cup and hopefully find Cregan. You walk into the space and look around the people in the room when your cup falls out of your hand. Tears burn at your waterline as you see Cregan and a girl pressed against the counter. Her arms are wrapped securely around his neck while his hands rest on her hips. You clench your fists tightly trying to prevent yourself from crying as you storm away to find your friends.

Cregan pushes the girl away as she looks at him confused while he shakes his head “Sorry I’m not really into this. I’m looking for someone,” He says walking away and going back into the main room looking for you. You find your roommate whispering in her ear,

“I’m ready to go. I need to leave,” You say and she looks at you confused but the glossy nature of your eyes has her nodding her head and taking your hand. Your two other friends stay as you two make your way back to the dorm and you explain what you saw.

Despite being able to see over most of the people there it doesn’t help Cregan find you. It was almost midnight, you should have been here by now. He goes up to the DJ stand to ask Jace,

“Did you see Y/n tonight?” He asks and Jace looks out at the crowd where you once were and sees only the two other girls you came with.

“She was here with those girls over there but it looks like she’s gone,” Jace says going back to spinning and Cregan deflates. It looks out at the crowd defeated before he pulls out his phone text you.

Cregan: Hey, you still coming tonight?

He waits and waits for a resposne but nothing. You see his text and choose to ignore it. When you don’t answer he finds it hard to find fun in this party deciding to call it early. You don’t answer any of Cregan’s texts all weekend and Sunday you send him a text

You: No sessions this week.

Cregan reads the text waiting for an explantion that never comes.

Cregan: Okay… is everything okay?

You: Yup. Not feeling the best

Cregan: Oh ok. Feel better 🙂

Cregan once again waits for a response that never comes. During the week he sends you a few tiktoks that remind him of you, and a couple questions about his class work. However, every one is left on delivered. Whatever bug you caught must have got you good. After practice Friday Cregan wanted to stop by to check up on you but suddenly realized he had no clue where you lived. Remembering Benjicot’s girlfriend was a friend of yours, he asked him to ask her for your building information. In the meantime, he went to the store to grab your favorite snacks, candies, and then employed the help of his sister to find out what else would make a sick girl feel better. By the time he gets back to his car, Ben has sent him your info which makes him smile. A short drive later Cregan finds himself standing before your door and suddenly paralyzed by nerves. What was he doing here? Sure you two had gotten closer in the last few weeks, but that didn’t mean you wanted to see him. You also hadn’t responded to him all week, maybe there was a good reason behind this. Maybe what you had was extremely contagious and he was compromising himself. This had to be one of his stupidest ideas yet. All of a sudden the plastic bag in his hand felt like a ton of bricks. But this whole week he’d missed you in a way he didn’t think possible. Without realizing it, you had gently woven yourself into Cregan's heart, becoming someone he cherished more than he ever thought possible. Before he had a chance to talk himself out of this anymore, your door opened and your roommate stood before him. She gulped before yelling over her shoulder,

“Y/n! Someone’s here for you!” She fixes the bag on her shoulder before walking by him “Good luck,” She says walking away. Cregan looks at her confused then back through the door watching as you walk out your room. You didn’t look sick, maybe a little bit sad, but still gorgeous in his eyes. The door was beginning to close so Cregan stepped inside despite not being entirely invited in. He smiles as you get closer holding up the bag but before he can speak you hold up a hand cutting him off,

“Why the hell are you here? I told you no sessions this week. Did your coach not get the email I sent him?” You ask as he looks at you confused.

“Yes I know and yes he did but you said you were sick and you weren’t answering your texts. I figured you were really sick and I wanted to come check up on you and make sure you were okay. You seem fine and well I brought your favorite snacks,” He says trying his luck again holding up the bag with a smile but getting nothing but a glare back from you.

“You really shouldn’t have. Like really shouldn’t have. You can take yourself, and your bag, and get the hell outta here,” You say and Cregan is now completely confused. You have never been this brash with him, even when he was sort of a dick at the beginning of your tutoring sessions. He drops his arm in defeat and tilts his head while looking at you,

“Y/n what is going on? I’m starting to get the sense there is something more going on here,” Cregan says stepping closer to you. You laugh dryly looking at him,

“No shit. I know you were pretty dumb but you have to be smarter by now,” You say and watch as Cregan takes a step back and you watch hurt immediately fill his eyes. Now you feel your heart wrench. You should not have said that. That cold feeling wraps around your spine the same way it did all those weeks ago at seeing the sad look in Cregan’s eyes. Despite how much you might be hurting that was a blow too low and you knew deep down you didn’t mean it. You pinch the bridge of your nose taking a deep breath “I’m sorry Cregan. That was- fucked up. You aren’t dumb I promise I’m just. I don’t want to speak to you,” You say looking at him again as he rests the bag on your coffee table.

“Okay… Can I ask where this is coming from or are you going to call me dumb again?” He asks and you sigh suddenly feeling like the one that’s the dick. You cross your arms across your chest and let yourself speak without thinking,

“Maybe you should ask the girl whose tongue you had down your throat. I’m sure she has all the answers you’re looking for,” You say snarkily while rolling your eyes at the image. Cregan feels his eye twitch because since the door opened he has only gotten more confused. He closes his eyes so he can think hard about what you’re talking about and then remembers on Saturday there was this random girl that kissed him. But he doesn’t know how you could have seen that because it lasted no more than thirty seconds. He did not want to kiss her, maybe you but you left before he could find you.

“That random girl from the party? She kissed me first and it didn’t last very long. Why would you even care about it?” Cregan asks the big picture to all of this still lost to him. Y/n puts her head in her hands laughing before looking at him once again,

“You cannot be serious right now. You must be joking. Like this is some big prank right?” You ask as Cregan shakes his head no. “I like you stupid. Holy shit I fucking like you. A lot more than I should and I know this is what I get for liking an athlete and especially one of you hockey guys. All you do is play girls and break hearts and that’s what I get for liking you. Fucking stupid I am to think you would like me back. You’re right I don’t know why I would care about you kissing some random girl all I am to you is a means to an end. On that note you know how inappropriate this is because I literally tutor you so-” you are cut off by Cregan pressing a searing kiss to your lips. His large hand grips your hip while the other cups your face. After about a minute he pulls away to look at you.

“Sorry, you were rambling. Y/n I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I know the reputation of the guys on my team. I’m here to tell you I’m not like them. At the moment that probably isn’t believable, but I promise I’ll do whatever it takes to prove you otherwise. I’m not here to break your heart, I don’t do that. Especially to a woman like you. You are truly one of a kind. I kissed her, but it ended almost as quickly as it began—because at that moment, I knew she wasn’t the one my heart truly longed for. That day in the library I should have told you this, but I was scared. I’m not scared now though. I don’t like you being mad at me, at all. Whatever by laws we are breaking by being together, fuck it. You are worth indefinite academic probabtion. I don’t wanna speak for you but I would like to see where this goes. Me and you. A relationship outside of you being my teacher.” He says with a smile at the end as you look at him smiling and then slap him softly which takes him by shock.

“If I ever, ever catch you kissing another girl I’m cutting your dick off and I’m not fucking playing.” you say and Cregan thinks about laughing but your glare levels him and he nods his head quickly. Now it is your turn to smile and pull him to press another one of those searing kisses to your lips. It was everything you imagined it to be and more. You pull away to catch your breath and hold him close, “I hope you know this doesn’t mean I’m letting up on you at all,” You say and Cregan smile reflects yours.

“I expected nothing less. I hope you know this means I will be accepting kisses as rewards for good grades. And maybe a little more later on.” he whispers pinching your butt and making you giggle before pressing his lips against yours one more time.

#cregan x y/n #cregan stark fanfic #cregan x reader #cregan stark #hotd cregan #cregan fanfiction #hotd #hotd fanfic #tom taylor #cregan stark x you #modern!cregan stark #modern!cregan #icehockey!cregan #cregan x black!reader

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growthhyp · 6 months ago

Note

Amazing stories! Would be hot to seem some dad/son stories.

The Milk Carton

James, a 40-year-old male with a skinny flat body, standing tall and straight as an arrow, reflecting his strong and unwavering sexual preference. He is dressed casually in a baggy pink shirt that complements his bright skin color, with the sleeves rolled up to reveal his thin arms, showcasing his meticulous nature and attention to detail, much like the work he does as an accountant. His short, blonde, straight hair is neatly styled, framing a gentle smile that lights up the room. In the background is a cozy living room, filled with the warmth of home and a hint of his organized lifestyle. Sitting across from James on a comfortable sofa is his son, Elijah, who shares the same bright skin tone and blonde hair. At 18 years old, Elijah is also slim and fit, mirroring his father's physique. He wears a gray hoodie and jeans, his youthful energy and curiosity visible in his posture. With his eyes slightly cast down, Elijah is absorbed in a conversation with James, displaying his shyness but also the deep love he holds for his father. Both of them are engaged in a heartfelt moment, with a sense of understanding and mutual respect, as Elijah follows in James' footsteps, pursuing a career in accounting. The room is adorned with subtle hints of their shared interests, creating an inviting and harmonious environment that celebrates their bond. Despite their different sexual preferences, the unspoken connection between them is palpable, as they share a passion for numbers and a love for each other that transcends any labels or expectations.

After the discussion, Elijah retreats to his sanctuary, his bedroom. He closes the door with a gentle click, the sound echoing through the corridor. His room is a stark contrast to the rest of the house, a cocoon of his own personality, filled with vibrant colors. The walls are lined with bookshelves, their contents revealing his love for fantasy and adventure. His computer, a gateway to his digital world, sits on a neatly organized desk, surrounded by notebooks and textbooks, a testament to his academic pursuits.

With the door closed, Elijah feels a sense of liberation. He opens his laptop and logs into his Tumblr account, his heart racing with anticipation. The screen flickers to life, displaying a dashboard filled with images of muscular men in various states of undress. His eyes widen, and his breath quickens as he scrolls through the feed, each picture more enticing than the last. The men are chiseled, their bodies sculpted by what seems like the gods themselves. The sight of them fills him with a warmth that spreads through his body, igniting a spark of desire in his loins.

He pulls off his shirt, revealing his own flat chest and slender frame. Elijah's gaze lingers on his reflection in the mirror, a silent reminder of the physique he craves. He runs his fingers over his chest, imagining the feel of solid muscles beneath his fingertips. He takes a deep breath and lets his hand drift down to the waistband of his jeans. With trembling fingers, he unbuttons them and slides the fabric down his legs, stepping out of them with a sense of urgency.

Elijah's hand wraps around his cock, stroking it gently as he sits on the edge of his bed. His eyes remain glued to the screen, watching as the men in the images flex and pose for the camera. Each stroke is a silent plea for transformation, a wish to embody the strength and dominance that he sees in the men before him. His cheeks flush with arousal as he picks up the pace, his breaths coming faster and more ragged. The room is filled with the sound of his hand moving against his skin, a rhythmic dance that matches the pounding in his chest.

His body responds with a spasm of pleasure, and with a soft and quiet groan, Elijah ejaculates, his seed spurting onto the fabric of his favorite pillow. The sensation is overwhelming. He collapses back onto the bed, his body shaking with the intensity of his climax. The room is quiet once more, the only evidence of his passion the sticky mess on his stomach and the soft, satisfied smile on his lips.

As he cleans himself up, Elijah's mind wanders to the outside world. He opens his phone and logs into his social media account. Scrolling through the feed, a vibrant poster catches his eye. "CARNIVAL COMING SOON!" it reads, with images of flashing lights and thrilling rides. His heart leaps at the sight of it. The carnival is opening just a short bike ride away. It's an opportunity too tempting to ignore.

With newfound excitement, Elijah walks out of his room, the scent of his desire still lingering in the air. He finds James in the kitchen, preparing dinner. "Hey, Dad," he says, trying to sound casual. "Could I go to the carnival tomorrow afternoon?"

James looks up from the stove, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. He wipes his hand on his apron, leaving a smudge of flour on his cheek. "The carnival, huh? What's the occasion?"

Elijah shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. "Just thought it'd be fun to check out the new rides and stuff."

James nods, his expression a blend of amusement and concern. "Alright, be safe. And don't let those carnies sweet-talk you into anything, you know how they can be."

Elijah laughs, the sound light and carefree. "I'll be fine, Dad. I've got street smarts," he says, flashing a grin that James can't help but return.

With a nod of approval, James goes back to cooking, his mind drifting to the pile of paperwork waiting for him in his home office. Meanwhile, Elijah heads to the bathroom, the anticipation of tomorrow's adventure buzzing through him like an electric current. He brushes his teeth, the minty toothpaste a refreshing counterpoint to the lingering scent of his desire.

===

The next morning, Elijah wakes with a start, his body heavy and his thoughts immediately drifting to the carnival. He glances down and notices the familiar outline of his morning erection pushing against the fabric of his briefs. With a smirk, he reaches down to adjust himself, his hand grazing the sensitive skin. His thoughts of the carnival and the men he'll see there only add to his arousal. He quickly takes care of his morning routine, eager to get dressed and set out for the day.

The sun is high in the sky when he arrives at the carnival, the air thick with the smells of popcorn and cotton candy. The vibrant colors of the rides and games assault his senses, and the laughter and music create an intoxicating symphony that fills his soul. The crowd is a sea of people, all shapes and sizes, their faces alight with excitement and wonder. Elijah weaves through the throngs of visitors, his eyes darting from one attraction to the next, searching for something fun to do.

And then he sees it. A tent, standing tall and proud, with a sign that reads "The Greatest Sebastian - Your Wishes, Our Command!" Below the words is an illustration of a wizard, his muscles bulging as he holds a staff adorned with a crystal that seems to pulse with an otherworldly energy. Elijah's heart skips a beat, and without a moment's hesitation, he strides toward it. The flap of the tent opens with a flourish, and he steps inside, his eyes widening in amazement.

Before him is Sebastian, the very embodiment of masculine perfection. He's a towering figure with a body that seems to have been carved from marble by a master sculptor. His long, curly brown hair cascades down his broad shoulders, and his piercing yellow eyes seem to see into the depths of Elijah's soul. He's dressed in a velvet magician's robe that hides his incredible physique, but Elijah can't help but imagine the rippling muscles that surely lie beneath. On the table in front of him sits a single, glowing white orb that seems to pulsate.

Sebastian looks up from his crystal ball with a knowing smile, his teeth a dazzling white against his tanned skin. "Welcome, young man," he says, his voice a rich baritone that sends shivers down Elijah's spine. "What brings you to my humble abode?"

Elijah clears his throat, trying to find the right words. "Well, I… I've heard that you can grant wishes," he stammers, his cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and hope.

Sebastian's smile widens, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Ah, a young soul seeking change," he says, stroking his chin. "What is it that you wish for? Riches, fame, perhaps a lover's heart?"

Elijah's gaze lingers on the wizard's bulging biceps, and he swallows hard. "I… I want to be like you," he confesses, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want to be strong, muscular, and… dominant."

Sebastian's eyes narrow, and he leans in closer, his expression a mix of surprise and amusement. "A noble aspiration, indeed," he says, his smile turning into a smirk. "But such transformations are not for the faint of heart. They come with great power, but also great… changes."

Elijah's eyes light up with determination, his voice steady. "I'm not faint of heart," he says firmly. "I'm willing to do whatever it takes."

Sebastian raises an eyebrow, his smile never wavering. "Very well," he says, his tone dripping with amusement. "But remember, once you embark on this journey, there is no turning back."

Elijah nods, his heart pounding in his chest. "I understand," he says, his voice strong and steady.

Sebastian rises from his chair, his movements fluid and graceful despite his towering frame. He gestures to a shelf behind him, where an assortment of bottles and jars glint in the soft light of the tent. He reaches for a bottle that seems to call out to him, its crystal surface shimmering with an ethereal glow. It's filled with a white liquid that swirls hypnotically when he holds it up to the light. The potion is contained in a simple glass bottle with a cork stopper, sealed with a crimson wax that matches the color of the wizard's robe. The muscular man's hand dwarfs the container as he holds it out to Elijah.

"This," he says, his voice low and serious, "is a potion of transformation. Drink from it, and you shall become as I am: a man of great strength and power." His eyes dance with mischief as he adds, "But remember, young one, with great power comes great… attraction to those of your kind."

Elijah takes the bottle with trembling hands, the weight of the potion seeming to echo the gravity of the decision he's about to make. "What do you mean by 'those of my kind'?" he asks, his voice filled with a mix of excitement and apprehension.

Sebastian's smirk deepens, his yellow eyes gleaming. "The potion has a peculiar side effect," he says, leaning in to whisper in Elijah's ear. "It tends to… enhance one's attraction to the same gender. You, my dear, will crave the touch of men as you never have before."

Elijah's eyes widen, but the excitement in his voice is clear. "I'm okay with that," he says, his voice barely audible. "I'm… I'm already…"

Sebastian's smile softens, his eyes filled with understanding. "You're already aware of your desires," he says gently. "That's good. The potion will simply amplify what's already within you. But remember, young man, it's not just about physical changes. The transformation will also alter your very essence, shaping your identity in ways you can't begin to imagine."

Elijah nods, his heart racing with excitement and anticipation. He takes the bottle from Sebastian's hand, the cool glass a stark contrast to his warm, sweaty palm. "Thank you," he murmurs, the words thick with emotion.

"Ah, but nothing in life is free, my young friend," Sebastian says, holding up a hand to stop him. "The price for such a transformation is steep. I require your payment in cold, hard cash."

Elijah's stomach flips, but his desire is stronger than his doubt. He fumbles in his pocket and pulls out his wallet, counting the crumpled bills with trembling fingers. "How much?"

Sebastian names a sum that seems exorbitant, but to Elijah, it's a price he's willing to pay for the body of his dreams. He hands over the money without hesitation, his eyes never leaving the potion. The wizard takes the cash, his grin widening as he counts the bills. "Ah, the currency of desperation," he says, tucking the money into a velvet pouch at his side.

Elijah pockets the bottle, his heart racing. He thanks Sebastian and practically sprints out of the tent, the sound of the carnival fading behind him as he makes his way home. His mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, each one more exhilarating than the last. He can't wait to be alone in his room, to drink the potion and finally become the man he's always envied.

===

Once home, he slips into the kitchen, his eyes immediately drawn to the refrigerator. He opens the door and glances around, ensuring that James is nowhere in sight. The milk carton is exactly where he left it that morning, almost empty but with enough room for the potion. He opens the bottle and carefully pours the swirling white liquid into the remaining milk, watching as the two blend together. The potion's glow dims slightly as it mixes with the milk, but the energy it radiates is undeniable.

Elijah's heart races as he seals the carton and puts it back in the fridge. He glances at the clock; it's almost dinner time. He needs to get cleaned up and pretend that it's just another ordinary evening. With a deep breath, he heads to the bathroom, the bottle now a distant memory in the trash. The hot water of the shower cascades over his body, washing away the sticky sweat from his journey. The scent of the potion lingers on his fingertips, a tantalizing promise of what's to come.

James, on the other hand, is in the throes of a marathon cleaning session. The weekend has arrived, and he's determined to get the house in tip-top shape. He's scrubbed, dusted, and vacuumed every nook and cranny. His eyes are red from the dust, and his throat is parched.

He stumbles into the kitchen, his shirt sticking to his sweaty back. The fridge is a beacon of cold relief, and without thinking twice, he opens the door and grabs the milk carton.

James tilts his head back, the cold liquid cascading down his throat, quenching the fire that burns from his exertion. He pauses, his taste buds catching a hint of something peculiar, something different from the usual blandness of the milk. But thirst is a powerful motivator, and he dismisses the thought, chalking it up to the heat of the day playing tricks on his senses.

As he returns the carton to the refrigerator, the cold air hits his bare chest, causing his nipples to pebble. The room spins for a brief moment, and he sways on his feet, catching himself before he topples over. He chuckles at his own clumsiness and wipes the bead of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. The carton feels heavier than before, the remaining 1/5 of the contents sloshing around like a silent taunt.

James stumbles towards his bedroom, his legs feeling like jelly. He's not sure what's happening to him, but the sensation is unlike anything he's ever felt. The warmth spreads from his core, radiating outward, enveloping his entire body in a gentle heat that's both comforting and disconcerting.

Suddenly, his legs seem to come alive, swelling and stretching before his very eyes. His feet feel massive, the skin taut and unyielding as his calves balloon to almost comical proportions. His blue pants are now nothing but shreds of fabric, clinging to his rapidly growing limbs. He looks down in shock, watching as his legs morph into powerful, muscular pillars of strength that resemble nothing of his former self.

James' hand fumbles to his crotch, feeling the fabric of his underwear strain against his growing cock. He gasps as it swells, the pressure building until the waistband snaps, the briefs falling away to reveal his new, massive erection. It stands tall and proud, thick veins pulsing with the potion's power. His testicles, now heavy and full, hang low between his legs. He can't help but touch himself, the sensation overwhelming. His hand wraps around his shaft, and he groans in pleasure as he feels his body respond to his own touch.

The transformation isn't finished yet. James' torso starts to expand, his chest puffing out as if inflated by an invisible pump. His ribcage widens, and the skin stretches taut over the burgeoning muscles beneath. The white sando he's wearing strains to contain his newfound bulk, the fabric stretching until it finally gives way with a resounding rip. His abs, once a sad six-pack, now form a perfect 10-pack, each muscle clearly defined and rippling with power. His pectorals balloon outward, pressing against his skin. His back muscles spasm, the tendons standing out in stark relief as they swell with newfound power. His shoulders broaden, making him seem even more Herculean.

As his arms begin to grow, James can feel the potion coursing through his veins, a tingling sensation that's both exhilarating and terrifying. The muscles in his biceps and triceps swell, bulging with newfound strength. His forearms thicken, the veins becoming more prominent as his hands grow to match his new frame. His fingers elongate and thicken, each digit now a testament to the power within him. His newfound biceps and triceps stand out like rounded boulders, begging to be touched and admired.

The potion's effects soon reach his face, and James gasps as he feels the skin around his eyes tighten and the lines around his mouth fade away. His cheeks plump up, giving him the youthful glow of an 18-year-old. The stubble on his chin retreats, leaving behind smooth, hairless skin that seems to glow with vitality. He runs his hand over his face, the touch of his fingers alien on the youthful contours. His eyes widen with shock as he looks in the mirror, seeing the reflection of a man who could be his own son. The only hint of his true age is the hint of curiosity and fear in his gaze.

James' body is now a masterpiece of masculine beauty, and he can't resist the urge to explore it further. He starts jerking his huge cock, the motion slow and deliberate. The feeling is unlike anything he's ever experienced, the potion amplifying every sensation. The veins bulge and pulse as he works his shaft, his moans growing louder with each stroke. His balls are heavy with cum, and the anticipation of release is almost unbearable. His hand is a blur, moving up and down with a mind of its own, driven by a primal need that's been unlocked within him.

But as he tries to think of the women he's been with, their faces and bodies failing to arouse him. His mind is a blank canvas, until images of muscular men start to flood his thoughts, their sculpted forms and piercing gazes igniting a fire deep in his soul. He tries to push them away, to focus on the familiar, but the potion's power is too strong. His hand moves faster, his strokes more urgent, as he imagines the touch of those men's strong hands on his body, their lips on his, their cocks inside him. The very thought sends a shockwave of pleasure through him, and he feels his body respond, his cock growing even harder in his grip.

Elijah finishes his shower and wraps a towel around his waist, the steam from the bathroom clinging to his skin. He walks into the kitchen, he opens the fridge, his hand reaching for the milk carton on autopilot, when something catches his eye. It's lighter than before, almost empty.

A muffled sound of pleasure reaches his ears, echoing through the hallway from his father's bedroom. Curiosity and confusion swirl within him as he tiptoes towards the door, straining to listen. The moaning grows louder, unmistakable in its urgency. It's definitely a man's voice, but it's not his father's. Elijah's heart races as he gently turns the doorknob and peeks in.

What greets him is a scene he could never have anticipated. There, in the place where James should be, lies a muscular 18-year-old boy, his skin glistening with sweat, his body a sculpted work of art that matches the men from Elijah's fantasies. The stranger's eyes are closed in ecstasy, his mouth open in a silent scream as his hand moves rapidly over his thick, erect cock. The sight is both mesmerizing and terrifying.

Elijah stumbles back, his mind racing. This can't be his father. The man before him is too young, too perfect. Panic sets in, and he retreats to his bedroom, his heart hammering in his chest.

He locks the door behind him, his thoughts spinning wildly. He must be dreaming, or maybe he's hallucinating. But the sound of footsteps, heavy and deliberate, echo through the house. They're real. The intruder is real.

Elijah's eyes dart around his room, searching for anything he can use as a weapon. His hand closes around a heavy book, but he knows it won't be enough. Then he remembers the potion. If Sebastian's claims are true, then he too can become a tower of strength. He rushes to the kitchen, his heart in his throat, and grabs the milk carton from the fridge.

The liquid inside is barely a quarter of its former volume. He quickly downs the remaining potion, the sweet taste of milk mixing with something else, something potent and powerful. He feels a warmth spread through him, starting in his stomach and moving outwards to his extremities. His body begins to tingle, and he knows that the transformation has begun.

Elijah retreats to his bedroom, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn't lock the door. What if the intruder comes in? But the potion's magic is already working, and he's too focused on the changes happening to his body to worry about anything else. He sets the carton on his nightstand and watches in the mirror as his reflection starts to shift.

The towel around his waist feels tighter, and he looks down to see his cock growing, thick and hard. It's as if it has a mind of its own, reaching for the fabric as if to break free. He gasps, his hand moving to cover his mouth, as he watches his abs ripple and multiply, forming a perfect 10-pack that he's always dreamed of. His chest swells, filling out the space between his pecs and stomach, the muscles growing more defined with every second that passes. His skin stretches and tightens, the towel now a mere strip of material clinging to his burgeoning physique.

Elijah's legs, once skinny and unremarkable, now balloon with muscle, pushing him back onto the bed. He feels the mattress sink beneath the weight of his new body. His legs, now thick and powerful, are a work of art, each muscle clearly defined. He runs his hand over his newfound bulk, the sensation foreign and exhilarating. His calves bulge and his thighs thicken, the fabric of his towel giving way to reveal his massive cock and balls.

His arms follow suit, growing longer and more muscular. He watches, his eyes wide with wonder, as his biceps and triceps swell with power. His shoulders broaden, the towel slipping away to reveal a body that's no longer his own. His skin stretches taut over his newfound muscles, the veins standing out like rivers of life beneath the surface. His fingers elongate, the sensation strange and thrilling as he flexes his hands, feeling the strength that now courses through them.

The tingling sensation in Elijah's back intensifies, and he feels his spine stretch and realign. His shoulders pull back, and a defined V taper forms, highlighting the stark contrast between his narrow waist and broad back. He gasps as his ribcage expands, the sound echoing through the room. His face, once a reflection of his youthful curiosity, now takes on a more mature, angular structure, with high cheekbones and a strong jawline. His nose becomes more aquiline, and his lips fuller, framing a smile that promises both strength and sensuality.

But it's the sudden onslaught of testosterone that truly overwhelms him. His mind is bombarded by a deluge of sexual desire, so intense it's almost painful. Every nerve in his body is alive with new sensations, each one more electrifying than the last. The potion's power courses through his veins like molten lava, setting every inch of his skin alight with arousal. He can feel his cock growing even thicker, the weight of it heavy and demanding against his abs. His balls swell, the ache of impending release growing more insistent by the second.

James can't fight it anymore. He gives in to the potion's power, his hand moving faster and faster over his shaft. He feels the orgasm building, a pressure that threatens to consume him. His moans grow louder, and his hips buck involuntarily. His body is no longer his own, a marionette dancing on the strings of his newfound desires.

With a roar that echoes through the house, James climaxes. Cum spurts from his cock like a geyser, painting the walls and floor with his thick, white seed. The force of his release sends waves of pleasure throughout his transformed body, each muscle contracting in ecstasy. He collapses onto the bed, panting and spent.

Elijah, still in the throes of his own transformation, can't ignore the commotion. The intruder's moans of pleasure have turned to gasps for breath, and the smell of sex fills the air. He clenches the book tightly, steeling himself for what he might find. He opens his bedroom door and tiptoes down the hall, his newfound muscles flexing with each step.

The door to his father's room is ajar, and through the crack, he sees the figure of a man sitting on the edge of the bed. His heart stops as he recognizes James' bed, the bed he's slept in countless nights, now stained with a puddle of cum.

James sees the shadow in the doorway and turns, his eyes locking onto Elijah. For a moment, there's confusion in his gaze, as if he's seeing a ghost. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. He tries to stand, his muscular legs protesting the sudden movement. "E…Elijah?" he finally manages, his voice a mix of wonder and fear.

Elijah's heart skips a beat. That's his father's voice, but the body? It's the stuff of his wildest dreams. "Dad?" he whispers, the word barely making it past the lump in his throat. The man before him looks up, and in those piercing blue eyes, Elijah sees the unmistakable spark of recognition.

James' eyes widen, taking in Elijah's new form. "What…what's happened to us?" he stammers, his voice a mix of shock and awe. The potion's power seems to hum in the air between them, a palpable force that neither can ignore.

Elijah swallows hard, his hand tightening on the book. "I… I don't know," he says, his voice shaking. "But… I think we should talk."

James nods slowly, his gaze dropping to the book in Elijah's hand before lifting to meet his son's eyes again. "Yeah," he says, his voice a gruff whisper. "Talk."

But talking seems to be the last thing on either of their minds as the potion's power surges through them, drawing them closer together. Before Elijah can say another word, James is on his feet, his massive frame towering over his son. The younger man's hand falls away from the book, his arm muscles flexing involuntarily as he watches his father approach.

Their eyes lock, the tension in the air thick with unspoken desires. Without warning, James leans in, his newfound strength and confidence driving him forward. His hand cups the back of Elijah's head, and their lips meet in a kiss that's equal parts tender and hungry. Elijah's eyes flutter closed, his body responding instinctively to the touch of the man he's always admired.

Their tongues dance together, exploring and tasting, as their hands roam over each other's transformed bodies. Elijah's strong, muscular arms wrap around James' broad back, feeling the heat of his newfound power. James' hands glide over Elijah's sculpted chest, the muscles flexing beneath his touch like living marble. Each caress sends sparks of pleasure through them, the potion's magic amplifying their senses to an unprecedented level.

Their kiss deepens, growing more urgent as the desire between them builds. Elijah can feel James' cock, now fully engorged and heavy, pressing against his stomach. It's a sensation that sends a jolt of excitement straight to his own groin, his cock pulsing with need.

James breaks the kiss, his eyes blazing with passion. He gently pushes Elijah back onto the bed, the mattress groaning beneath their combined weight. His hands are everywhere, exploring every inch of his son's newfound muscles. He can't believe this is happening, but the potion's power is too strong to resist.

Elijah's body responds to James' touch, his cock standing at attention as his father's fingers trace a line down his chest and stomach. The anticipation is agonizing, a sweet torment that makes him ache for more. He watches, his breath hitching, as James' hand wraps around his shaft, the older man's grip firm and sure.

James's gaze never leaves Elijah's face, his eyes searching for any sign of fear or hesitation. But what he sees instead is a hunger that matches his own, a need that's been stoked by the potion and their shared transformation. With a gentle tug, he guides Elijah's cock to the side, exposing his puckered hole.

The tip of James's massive cock, now slick with precum, hovers at the entrance to Elijah's ass. Elijah feels a mix of terror and excitement as he prepares to accept his father in the most intimate way possible. The heat of James's shaft sends shivers down his spine, and he can't help but arch his back, offering himself up.

With a low growl, James lines himself up and pushes in, the potion's magic allowing him to breach Elijah's tight hole with surprising ease. Elijah gasps as he's filled to the brim, his body stretching to accommodate his father's girth. James takes a moment to savor the feeling before pulling almost all the way out, only to slam back in, his balls slapping against Elijah's ass with a wet smack.

Their bodies move in a rhythmic dance of passion, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the room. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure crashing through Elijah, his moans growing louder as James hits all the right spots. James' muscles flex and bulge with every movement, the potion's power evident in every powerful thrust. Elijah can feel his father's strength, the weight of his new body pressing him into the mattress.

Their breaths mingle, both men lost in the moment, the only sounds the grunts and gasps of their shared passion. James' hand wraps around Elijah's cock, the friction of his palm against the sensitive skin driving him closer and closer to the edge. Elijah's eyes roll back in his head, his hips bucking up to meet every thrust. The potion's power is a drug, a heady mix of arousal and confusion that only seems to make the sensations more intense.

James feels it building within him, the pressure in his balls reaching a fever pitch. He can't hold back any longer. With one final, powerful thrust, he lets out a roar that shakes the room, his cock pulsing as he empties himself inside Elijah. The warmth and wetness of his cum fills the space between them, a testament to the bond that's been forged in the crucible of the potion's magic.

At the same moment, Elijah's body tenses, his own orgasm ripping through him like a bolt of lightning. He cums in thick ropes, the sensation so intense that his vision blurs. The potion has not only transformed their bodies but also their very beings, stripping away any remaining barriers between them.

As the aftershocks of pleasure begin to fade, the reality of what they've just done sets in. James pulls out slowly, his cock still half-hard, and they both lay there, panting and staring at the ceiling. The silence is deafening, the weight of their actions pressing down on them like a heavy blanket.

Elijah is the first to speak, his voice a soft whisper. "Dad, what have we done?" The tremble in his tone betrays his fear and confusion.

James turns to look at his son, his new muscular body a stark contrast to the man Elijah has known all his life. "I don't know," he admits, his voice gruff with emotion. "But it's what the potion did to us."

Elijah nods, his own muscles still quivering from the intense pleasure of their union. They need to clean up, to process what's happened.

He pushes himself up from the bed, his body feeling both new and unfamiliar. He walks to his father's dresser, his muscular legs moving with a newfound grace. He opens the drawer and pulls out a pair of black shorts, feeling the soft fabric in his hand. The sight of them sends a thrill through his body, a symbol of the power and masculinity he's always envied in the men he desires. He steps into them, the shorts hugging his muscular thighs and accentuating his now prominent bulge.

James watches, his eyes taking in Elijah's new form, the potion-induced changes making it clear that his son is no longer a boy. The white shorts Elijah throws to him seem to glow in the dim light of the room, a stark contrast to the black Elijah has chosen. He sluggishly rises, his legs feeling like they're made of lead. He pulls the shorts on, the fabric stretching to cover his own massive thighs and the heavy weight of his cum-covered cock. The shorts fit surprisingly well, hugging his new body in a way that makes him feel both exposed and powerful.

"We need to talk," James says, his voice still unsteady. "We can't just…go on like this."

Elijah nods, his heart racing as he looks at his father's transformed body. "I know," he whispers. "What do we do?"

James takes a deep breath, his mind racing. "We can't tell anyone," he says, his voice firm. "We'll say I'm your cousin."

Elijah nods, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Okay, from now on, you're Joe."

"Joe," James repeats, testing out the name that now fits the youthful, muscular form he finds himself in. The lie feels strange on his tongue, but he knows it's a necessary one.

"Elijah, your dad had to leave for an overseas job," Joe says, the words feeling more real with each passing second. "We're all alone in this house now."

Elijah nods, the lie a protective shield around their new reality. "Yeah," he murmurs, his eyes still glued to his father's transformed body. "It's just you and me."

Their smiles are tentative, a blend of relief and the beginnings of excitement. They're in this together, two men who share more than just a surname. Joe runs a hand over his new abs, feeling the ridges and valleys of muscle that now define his physique. Elijah's gaze follows the movement, his own smile growing a little bolder.

#muscle growth stories #jockification #jock tf #personality change #male transformation #straight to gay #father/son #de aging

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