#and a programming test in two weeks and then the final a week after that. then no more programming

[artificial-transmutations]

Historically Accurate

"I'm telling you, Hollywood is going down with all the woke crap! You know what they say: Go woke go broke!"

Julian and Wallace were on their way back from the lunch room and the former was listening to the latter complaining. Julian had tried to avoid any topic like this, but, really, it was a mine field with Wallace. Just about *every* topic had the potential to turn out political.

"I don't see what's wrong with a little inclusion in pop culture." Julian said, not wanting to argue but also not wanting to leave that opinion unopposed.

"Everything! It's just plain wrong, and it's brainwash, too. I mean, it's like a mind virus, poisoning everything! There's a western coming out next week. But it's all bullshit woke agenda again. The cowboy is black and gay! Literal brainwash and historical rewrite."

Julian frowned. How could an intelligent person like Wallace be so stupid at the same time?

"Why does that even bother you? I thought you hated westerns."

"Yes, that's not the point. Fact is, it's historically inaccurate and just pushing the woke agenda."

"Actually, I think it's not even historically incorrect." Julian pondered as they entered the lab using Julian's keycard and an iris scan of both scientists.

Wallace was borderline angry now.

"What are you talking about? Everyone knows that cowboys were the whitest and the straightest people there were."

"I'm not quite sure", Julian said. "Weren't there freed slaves and so on? And I would guess if you were underway with another guy for prolonged periods of time, not everything staid straight, too."

"Bullshit! Everyone knows cowboys weren't fags, and they were white."

Wallace seemed agitated now, and his usual stiff demeanor became even more pronounced.

Wallace was in his mid-forties, but the way he was talking, he seemed way older to Julian.

Julian on the other hand was awfully young for the position he had. Being 25, he still didn't look like he had finished college, even though he had his doctorate already.

It was really a bit sad, he thought. Two of the brightest minds and they were bickering over basic, meaningless distinctions like ethnicity or sexual orientation.

"We could just ask the computer." he proposed, but Wallace frowned.

"We are not supposed to use the equipment for private research." he said.

'The computer' was part of the highly secretive project they worked on. When finished, it was supposed to be a time machine, simple as that. The actual time travel device didn't work properly yet, but a part of it, a chronoton boosted quantum computer that was able to access history itself to answer questions about the part, was already functioning quite well.

"But we are supposed to test it from time to time. Are you afraid of the answer it might give?"

"Of course not." Wallace grumbled. "Fine. Computer! Is there any historical evidence of gay black cowboys?"

The voice activated system acknowledged the request with a beep. While waiting for the answer, Julian checked the parameters of the system and found them in near-perfect condition.

Finally, the system answered, with the neutral male voice it was programmed with.

"A significant portion of cowboys consisted of people with African heritage, especially after the freeing of slaves after the civil war. Homosexual acts and attraction were common among cowboys, especially during the trail drives. Demonstrating..."

"Hrmpf." Wallace said, clearly not happy.

Julian, who was still checking the readings, scratched his head.

"Did you remember to disconnect the capsule before making the query? It seems to be drawing power."

"Ah, crap. That's just because of all the bullshit talk. Computer, stop!"

"Unable to comply. Demonstrating... Target: Montana Frontier Area, June 1865..."

The white walls of the chamber started to glow in an ever brighter white that was beginning to hurt the eyes.

"Crap. Julian, cut the power!" Wallace said, now with a clear notion of fear in his voice. The younger scientist didn't answer but tried to do as he was told - but did not succeed in time.

Suddenly, with a flash, their surroundings changed and the two of them found themselves in the middle of a rugged mountain range, on the border of a pine forest. It was late afternoon and the scientists found themselves in a just set-up camp. Two horses were standing nearby, and a small herd of cows was grazing at a meadow.

Wallace sighed and shook his head angrily. "Just great. Look at the mess you just put us in. Now we have to wait until we're rescued. And, apparently, we have to meet some black homo cowboys."

Julian looked around but couldn't see anyone around.

"I would have also guessed so, but there doesn't seem to be anyone there."

His heart sank as he had a terrible suspicion. He had been experimenting lately with a normalization circuit that would embed the time travelers into history instead of superimposing them onto it. That was - according to his theories - a rather elegant way to resolve the repelling effect the historical structure had, but it wasn't finished by any means. It had never been tested and even theoretically, it wouldn't be able to achieve a partial embedding, only a full one at best. And the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that it had still been connected to the system.

As Julian thought about how to break it to Wallace, he noticed something strange about the other scientist. It could be a trick of the light, but he looked way more tanned than before.

"Uhm... It might actually be somewhat worse than that. I think my normalization circuit was still active when you activated the machine."

"What? What does that mean?" Wallace looked at him, furiously now.

"Well, I would guess..." Julian struggled and gave up. "Look at your hands, I think it's pretty self-explanatory."

Wallace looked down at his darkening hands and paled. Even now, he still had a considerably darker skin tone than before, darkening with every passing second.

"Shit." he said. "That's what you get for fucking around with a half-finished experiment."

Julian didn't even dare to mention his suspicion. If his normalization circuit was really active, that would make Wallace an actual, black cowboy, and not just him. Julian was also a time traveler, so he, too, would be affected.

Meanwhile, the changes in Wallace seemed to have proceeded. His facial structure looked like it was in motion before finally settling on a generally broader, manlier shape: The jawline became more pronounced, and his cheekbones raised.

"Is there... anything going on with me as well?" Julian asked.

Wallace looked over at him.

"Yeah, your hair color is changing, and I think your eye color. Blonde and blue-eyed, how cliché. But most importantly, you're not becoming fucking a fucking Black man."

Wallace didn't say Black man.

For some reason, this didn't bother Julian half as much as it should have. He felt rather at ease, and the untamed wilderness around him awakened a sense of adventure inside of him that he didn't know was in him.

Meanwhile Wallace was also feeling a change within. A surge of confidence emerged from within him that was entirely alien to the deeply insecure man at first, but quickly became more and more part of his personality. It was like his core was solidifying into a confident and assertive nature, a boldness and quiet he secretly always wished he had. At the same time, his body structure changed considerably.

Where before, Wallace had been a physically unimpressive mid-forties man, it now seemed like the years melted off of him, and for every year that he lost, he gained three pounds of muscle mass and beef. His shoulders widened, his height increased, and his frame expanded in order to accommodate the new body mass.

"It's not that bad, ain't it?" While Julian's body had not changed much besides the hair and eye color, his voice sounded entirely different now. It had a southern lilt to it, but it was charismatic and charming. It was the kind of voice you could listen to for hours without end, perfect for reading an audiobook - or telling campfire stories.

"Well now, I ain't too sure 'bout that." Wallace's voice had changed even more considerably when he answered. He had gained a thick southern accent, and his voice had dropped to a low and smooth voice that sounded commanding even if he didn't intend to.

"Ha, look at that, your skin's startin' to change now, too!"

And really, Julian's skin had started to adapt as well, but it was quickly becoming apparent that it went a different route than Wallace's. Instead of darkening to the almost black tone that he was sporting, Julian's skin became rougher and got a sun-kissed tan instead. His facial features sharpened, as his cheekbones looked chiseled all of a sudden and a rugged beard texture was adorning his chin. Julian seemed to notice it, too, since he started touching his new face immediately.

"Cool! Always wondered what I'd look like sportin' a beard." he said, apparently not too unhappy with the changes.

There was no denying Julian looked good, which made Wallace feel a touch of jealousy. In his opinion, it wasn't fair that he was the only one having to deal with the black skin. That feeling quickly faded, though, as his changes continued. His hair became very short, curly and dark. At the same time, a short beard formed on his chin and upper lip, giving him an even manlier appeal. At the same time, chest hair sprouted, sparsely of course, as it was normal for a man of his heritage. A strange feeling overcame Wallace. He wasn't necessarily *proud* to be Black now, but he also didn't mind it anymore. He was proud of a lot of secondary assets, though, like his bulging muscles or his handsome face. As his eyes became a dark brown, he had to smirk as he sat down by the fire, readjusting himself in the process. And, of course, his big cock, which might also have been positively influenced by his new ancestry.

Wallace watched as Julian turned around and tended to the horses. His body was now, finally, also changing. It didn't become nearly as bulky as his own, but instead lean and agile, with narrow hips and a well-distributed surprising strength, as Wallace knew. While Julian was busy with the horses, Wallace had a good view of his ass. It filled out the jeans just so well, and Vallace only noticed now that the other man's attire had changed. He was clad in a pair of blue jeans, a vest and, of course a Stetson now, and Vance always thought that this outfit accentuated the best parts of his partner quite well. He preferred black leather, himself, since the material was sturdier and felt better on the skin.

Vince felt his cock hardening in his leather pants and readjusted himself again while also leaning back and spreading his legs to make more room for the erection. He wasn't afraid of anyone seeing his rude behavior. The only other man within a wide range was Jesse, the owner of that juicy ass. And he was allowed to see... well, everything.

Vince waited patiently until Jesse returned to the campfire, with a big smile on his face.

"How them horses holdin' up, partner?" Vince asked.

"They're good. Just a tad worn out from today's ride." Jesse answered.

"Well, there's somethin' else needs tendin' to, if you're free to lend a hand. Or an ass." Vince grinned and made his cock throb in the confines of his tight leather pants.

Jesse grinned at the display of masculinity and massaged his own cock.

"Hell yes!"

As Jesse moved over in his usual graceful movements, Vince leaned back. There really wasn't anything better than being a big, black cowboy. Especially not with a partner like Jesse, who was always happy to make the nights in the wilderness a little less lonely.

Certainly not poor and lonesome! Also check out this awesome writer!

There are a few more versions of Jesse and Vince, over at my tip jar.

#male transformation #straight to gay #muscle transformation #racial transformation #cowboy #historical transformation

[arthur-r]

as usual i am up late into the night planning my future when i should be: getting a good nights sleep so that i even have a future!!

#i have work in seven and a half hours. so i should really be getting to bed #BUT i officially made my final definitive degree plan!!!! i mean not the actual classes but all the requirements i have to meet and how!! #(in order to earn: history and information science double major. with certificates in material culture and classics) #and i’m genuinely excited for every single class i have to take except for human-computer interaction #just cause i know it’s gonna get overly technical in ways that won’t quite apply to my future #anyway every single other thing i’m gonna do is very cool and exciting. so everything is good really #but i should be sleeping. and i’m not. as usual 🤧 #idk wish me luck!!!! i’m so hyped about my degree plan though #i’ll go into more detail another time. i’m very excited #ANYWAY goodnight!!!! can’t be so busy planning my future in library science that i DONT GO TO MY SHELVING JOB #kind of important to actually go to work for the library that employs me…. #and then i might go see a first-printing roget’s thesaurus!!!! or i’ll sleep. we’ll see #followed by lunch with GUY WHO IS THE WORST KILL HIM WITH HAMMERS #(there is nothing really wrong with me he just keeps kind of being mean to me and also expecting me to fall in love with him. but like #extremely passively and not manipulatively it’s just like. hey buddy you’re doing this friendship wrong….) #anyway then i have a class and after that i have an hour to rest. and then a phone call and then a lot of homework #(ten page paper draft due in a week and a half!! so it’s time to start writing the actual body of it) #and then i sleep for a LONG time and then work again on saturday. and then sleepover with somebody i have a crush on?? #and then be normal all day on sunday and do a little more paper writing. and programming homework. and whatever else #and then keep up with the slog for three weeks!!!! and all of a sudden it’s summer!!!! #projects left this year: material culture paper (entirely unstarted. but may research the thesaurus and just win!!!!) #history project (draft due the monday after next and real paper due a week after classes end) #one more programming assignment where i adapt my recipe doubler project (probably. it’s getting stupid at this point but it’s what i got!!) #and a programming test in two weeks and then the final a week after that. then no more programming #and then i just have my weekly latin tests and a latin final on may 5th. and then EVERYTHING IS DONE #ok i got this. sorry for walking through my schedule in the tags it’s how i remember what’s real #can’t believe my fucking partner just kind of walked out on me there hello???? like. we should be powering through finals together #but i’m genuinely better off without him so i guess it’s just whatever. trash took itself out or something?? #anyway. i’m so regular. and i have work in the morning. and i’m going to sleep #thank you world. goodnight

[nathaslosthershit]

Long Distance (LN4)

Summary: Long distance relationships are hard, especially when they both have very time consuming careers

Warnings; Angst (a whole lot), no happy ending in this part (will happen in pt 2)

Request: hi!! requesting a lando norris x female uni!reader if possible reader being a medical student or a one of the engineers on the paddock 🧍🏻‍♀️

Lando wasn’t known for being the smartest on the grid. He, like many other drivers, had only a few years of school to his name. But that still hadn’t stopped him from being able to somehow ‘woo’ a woman quite the opposite. 

His girlfriend was currently in her last year of medical school. While he was unbelievably proud of how far she had come, the difficulties of long distance have gotten to both of them, and there wasn’t much hope once she graduated and was off to a medical training program. With her studying for finals and Lando being off to a new country every two weeks for Grand Prixs, their relationship has been rocky to say the least.

Constant lack of communication and missing each other's calls had led them to have tons of unspoken dialogue. Each unanswered call created the smallest bit of resentment that just continued to grow and grow. 

No more sweet ‘goodmorning’ or ‘goodnight’ texts, no more wishing her well before a big test, no more sending ‘good luck baby!’ before qualifying. Just a few ‘how are you doing?’ and other bland messages you’d send to a coworker, not your significant other. 

After weeks of little communication, they had finally scheduled a ‘zoom date’. Not particularly the most romantic date they had been on, but it's the best they could do with their schedules. Lando called in late at night for him while his girlfriend had a lunch break in between labs. Time zones be damned.

Lando was 25 minutes late leaving only 35 minutes to actually talk to one another.

Her wifi was spotty so it kept freezing.

Finally, with only 5 minutes left, Lando decided to make a joke that there is no reason for her to continue going to labs, as he would be happy to be her ‘sugar daddy’. This was not very well received by his girlfriend, who responded with a quick “fuck you” and hung up early.

Lando was joking, a bit. He loved his girlfriend and saw a future with her, he just couldn’t stand long distance and any job in the medical field was bound to take up most of your time. He wanted her, but he also wanted someone who could be by his side on race day. That just wasn’t something that was possibly currently. 

He supported her. He loved to brag about how smart she was and how she was so dedicated to helping people. But that came with setbacks.

After a quick message from Lando (‘I was kidding darling. You know how proud I am of you. Lighten up a little, yeah?’), which she ignored, she was off to her labs in a worse mood than before. Things couldn’t go on like this. 

He hadn’t heard from her in three days. His “how are you, love?” and “Miss you lots. Hope your class is going better than my neck training :(“ went unanswered. She knew she was being petty, but maybe a relationship was just too hard for her life currently. 

After three long and stressful days of silence, she called him. With no message asking what she needed to speak about, Lando feared he already knew.

“We can’t keep doing this” She said after they quickly exchanged a ‘hi, how are you?’ ‘I'm good, how are you?’. 

“Baby, I told you it was just a-”

“I know that Lando! It's just that this isn’t the first time you have mentioned me quitting my career to be your housewife or whatever unrealistic idea you have stuck in your head.”

“I don’t need you to be a housewife! I don’t want that for you. I just try to let you know that you don’t need to worry about your future as much because I will always be there to help you.”

“But I want a career! I want to work hard so I can have a good future. You need to get it into your head that your career isn’t the only important one.”

“I don’t think that! Me wanting to let you know that I support you no matter what isn't diminishing your career plans! It would be nice if you started to show a little more support. I am so sick and tired of all our conversations revolving around you and how your day was. If classes are rough, or you are stressed, you don’t respond to me. I never know where I land with you. But god forbid I try to mention how hard my day was. I am just as sick of it.”

She didn’t know how to respond. It seems that all the times she has been more focused on how she was feeling she completely forgot to check on how he was doing. Before she can even muster out an apology, Lando jumps back in.

“Maybe you are right. I don’t think I can do this either. Not anymore.” He feels his stomach dropping as he says the words, not fully meaning them.

There is a long silence, moments where she wants to apologize, to try and reconcile. In that moment all of the good memories of their relationship come flashing back to her, as if her mind is begging her to do something. But she doesn’t. 

��Then I guess this is it.” She finally says. 

“I guess so.”

#formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando x reader

[ofjunemoment]

let me teach you how to smash | park jisung

In the list of sports, ranked from most to least sexy, badminton would be found at the very bottom if not ranked last. But why is it that when Jisung plays the with a feathered shuttle your heart flutters? 

 OR: Jisung helps you improve your badminton skills. 

 pairing — badminton player!jisung x fem!reader 

 genre — sports!au, university!au, (one sided) enemies to friends to lovers, slight slow burn 

 wc — 22k (😀 huh)

content — university/sports class setting, humour, fluff, the tiniest bit of angst,  idols mentioned, very heavy on the dialogue/backstory at one point sorry babies <3, smut (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT)

smut tags — making out, fingering, switch!jisung and reader (there's no strong dynamic tbh), protected sex, pet names (jisung gets called a good boy), lmk if I missed anything!

 a/n — YAYYY i can finally share this with u guys!! i have been cooking this for some time and im actually so excited to release it!! I'm a badminton enthusiast so I went a bit ham on the descriptions and back story sorry (not rlly),, I hope this is a good readdd I read through it so much to fix it up and now Im a bit sick of it oops BUT its a story I've been wanting to write so here you go <3 enjoy!

sfw version here!

You enjoy sports. 

You liked dancing sometimes — which is certainly a type of sport  — and you dabbled with different sports at one point in school, but you don’t actively go out of your way to do any intense exercise. It can be sweaty and painful and maybe it’s a little like hitting the gym, but in most sports you need sportsmanship, and why would you be kind to the person who not only won but is rubbing it in your face? 

You once yelled at Taeyong for kicking the ball in the wrong goal when your group of friends went out of their way to play makeshift soccer to bring back memories. You yelled, at precious Taeyong, who flinches at the sight of a fly

Okay, so you tolerate sports.

But in an effort to have your resume look pretty after finishing your degree, your friend Juda had shed light on this one program that has you do a bunch of extracurricular activities and in turn, you’ll gain extra credit. Seamless and effortless, you didn’t need to pay anything towards the program as most of the work was volunteering; like reading to kids or helping clean up lecture rooms now and then. What Juda failed to mention was the other extracurricular required of you, which was to go to a sporting class set up by the university.

Sporting classes; two hours a week minimum.

They were kind enough to provide you with options, but it still wasn't easy to choose whether you wanted two whole hours of HIIT fitness or football, which caused you to almost give up on the whole thing. Until you saw the word ‘badminton’ printed in the faintest ink, almost as if it was a mistake.

So here you are, in the campus’ sports equipment shop with Chenle, looking through what seems like badminton rackets.

“Do you think this is good?” You pick up a racket that has a mix of matte white and mint around the frame, with the string sporting the shade black, testing the weight in your hand. 

“That’s a tennis racket stupid.” He goes to ruffle your hair but instead gets his hand slapped away and a frown etched on his face as you scoff at him. “I knew that,”  You scowl.

“Well then don’t be an asshole about it, asshole.”

“I wasn’t being—” Both of you jump at a sudden sound that pitched in between your shoulders, as your hand flies to your chest in shock while Chenle’s eyebrow hitch up.

“Sorry?” It was Chenle who said that to the person who snuck up behind you two, his arms crossing defensively and landing on his left chest, as he positions himself subtly a little closer to you, almost as if he’s instinctively shielding him.

“Ah, sorry for surprising you; I just came to ask if you guys needed help with anything?” It was when the employee raised her ID card that was hanging on a white lanyard around her neck that Chenle’s defence began to soften as you brought your hand down, replacing the confused look on your faces with one of realisation.

“Ahh, uhm, I was wondering if you could recommend a badminton racket, nothing too fancy, maybe something to last a good two years.”

“Two years?” Chenle was the one that turned to you with a look of disbelief. The employee merely smiled and gestured her hands towards the very other side of the store and quickly turned to guide you.

“Hold on, you’re doing this stupid thing for two years? Half of your courses years? You’re just gonna voluntarily stress yourself with even more work?”

“ . . . Yes? I don’t know what to tell you, that’s my main intention. That’s why I joined this program. You’ve asked me multiple times like I’m going to miraculously change my mind and thank you for it like you’re a rich person, giving me, a homeless person, a piece of bread and then barely look at me as you record the whole thing for your livestream.” You huff while going to lie down on your back on the floor around your newly bought badminton equipment; a set of badminton rackets and some cylinder packets full of shuttlecocks, the feather ones because the plastic ones suck ass, the employee had smiled at you.

You sit up just as quickly as a dull pain shoots up your back. The motherfucking shuttlecocks.

“That’s one way to make up an analogy,” Chenle’s eyes land on the shuttlecock you had freshly crushed, now looking all squashed and disoriented. Poor thing didn’t even last a minute.

“What’s she moping about this time?” Juda’s voice echoed from the door as she places the tote bag she had brought down next to the shoe shelf.

“I’m not moping; I never mope. What do I even look like when I mope?”

“She’s just crying about the fact that she has to do this thing program for another two years.” His words elicit a shout and the gradual flinging of a nearby couch pillow from you. Chenle’s neck cracked as the pillow hit his head downwards.

“Did I kill him yet,” You voiced your disinterest, sitting up on your elbows briefly to analyse Chenle’s face before giving up and laying back down. Chenle stayed in that position for a while before getting up in a fury, ready to avenge you. Juda stopped him with a kick to his leg. 

“Such disrespectful words, is it hard to show some courtesy around here?” You huff and go to lie down once more, not before feeling around the surface for any stray shuttlecock.

“When it comes to you, yes,” Juda throws Chenle a Yakult, and she flings you one straight at your stomach. You attempt not to flinch.

“Here’s to either two more years of moping about this stupid badminton class every week, or two months of hardcore whining from both of you until you break and drop out.” Juda raises her Yakult bottle and clinks it with yours — that’s still on your stomach — and against Chenle’s who was drinking out of it the moment she did so, spilling what little there was of it on his face. Chenle recovers and yells out offensively, causing Juda to squeal as she stands up and goes behind the couch, using it as her shield. 

You inhale and try to tune them out.

Chenle smiles as you giggle at him, the loud music of EDM mixed with Kidz bop playing in the background as the sound of metal basketball hoop clanging echoes just enough for it to have a rhythm. He looks determined to beat the high score of this stupid basketball game, as Juda and you take turns watching him play the game and criticising his moves, even when none of you know much about basketball as he does. It’s been a few weeks since the start of the semester and hence, the beginning of your program. The kids you read to are either sleepy or disinterested as you start early in the morning, and the cleaning of lecture rooms is bearable at most times. 

So things are going great at this point.

That was until Chenle called out to you: “How’s badminton going?” and, you’re not gonna lie, that did dampen your mood just by a bit, but you give your best attempt at masking it and smiling through; you didn’t want them to pick up on the fact that it’s been one lesson and you’re already sick and tired of it (or, at least sick and tired of one certain person). But Juda’s just too smart and catches on too easily with anything that you and Chenle try to brush under the rug. She raises one eyebrow at you before retorting: “What, are you whinging about it already?”

“Am not!”

“Then what is it?” Juda says at the same time that Chenle swears, a little too loud for a kids arcade, but it’s around 8 PM and the only kids that are here probably do some sort of drug or something if they have parents who allow them to be out this late.

“Nothing, okay? The coach is great and the other people who are there are fine too, and I actually learnt a lot —”

“But?” Juda’s lips are pink as she wraps them around a straw poking out from her slushie cup. You lean back in retaliation, back pressed against the basketball machine as you try to find a leeway.

“. . . But.”

You’re late. And you can’t even use the excuse that you woke up late because it’s seven p.m. and you’ve scoffed down your early dinner two hours ago. You simply decided to just procrastinate to the next level in an attempt to gauge if you truly want to continue with this program or not. But now here you are, on a bus that’s severely delayed due to the evening traffic and running frantically to make it to class on time.

Minkyung is a 50-year-old dad who coaches this class; he was also at the office where you had submitted your form for the program, and was over the moon that you had decided to try out his class, hence asking you questions about your knowledge of badminton, and went on this spiel when you had made the mistake of being truthful. 

He now looks at you with a kind and wrinkly smile as your shoes squeak against the floor, one hand to your rib in an attempt to not show how much out of breath you were. “Don’t worry,” his voice was quiet enough for you to register only. “You arrived on time, I just finished the information briefing that you heard from me some time ago.” His smile was tight-lipped but genuine. Trying to even out your breathing, you set down your equipment and quickly join the rest in a circle. A clap echoes throughout the quiet hall as the coach drops his hands and clears his throat while letting out a puff of air, his eyes grazing by everyone’s heads in what you assume to be his way of counting the participants of the class.

“Glad to have everyone here today, I hope with this class you guys would not only learn about badminton but also be able to learn about its sportsmanship and benefits,” His eyes dart around the rather small circle. You expected the hall to be filled with as many students as that one Zumba class you were forced to attend in high school, but it was a rather tame class. 

The coach hums, thinking about something deeply as the other students shuffle around, shifting their weight from side to side in the silence engulfing the court. He looked up and clapped again softer this time. “I’ve decided to treat you like my children’s class.” He concluded, “I want you guys to introduce yourself to each other. Now don’t be shy; everyone's new in this class. Maybe you can find a friend in this class to learn better and more quicker. Okay, let’s start with you.” He pointed towards a guy that was to his left, who looked back at him with wide eyes. He looked around and smiled sheepishly yet brightly. “My name’s Haechan, and uh, I’m 22?” He finished it off with bound lips as he refers to the person after him to begin. 

And as you all finish introducing yourselves to each other, with a girl named Minji being last, the introductory circle ends, meaning the coach can now start the stretching and warm-up exercises. But he hasn’t. 

“Uh, coach, are we gonna—?” Minji stopped halfway as the coach whips his head to look at the gigantic clock on the wall next to the hall’s equally huge entrance. You crane your head curiously towards the direction of his vision, straining both your ears and vision to see what he was looking for, as everyone around you catches on and seems to do the same. It isn’t long after till the squeaking of shoes against the rubber ground echoes throughout; soon enough, the coach screams ‘fourteen minutes!’ as another person steps into the hall, wide eyes darting around everyone as he swallows in an attempt to simmer down his erratic breathing. As the guy's breathing evens out enough for him to probably mutter an apology, your breathing picks up.

“First day and you’ve already fallen for someone? Very on brand for you,”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” You scramble to hit Chenle with his golden pokemon card folder he brought to the arcade. Juda calmly stops you using her right hand, as her left hand picks up her drink to take another sip from. 

“She didn’t even finish her story, Chenle. Go on,” Juda set her slushy down as her grip loosens from around your wrist, signalling to continue the story.

“Thank you, Juda, for you’re my favourite of them all—”

“Are you gonna finish your story?” Her grip tightened.

“A-as I was saying,”

You like to analyse people to some extent, thinking about how body language is cool and how it can depict everyone's different life, contrasting drastically from one another yet sometimes being so similar even with all of our different circumstances. This is why you tried analysing everyone in your class of busy people attempting to hit the shuttlecock in a streak longer than ten, as your eye flitting around the court and landing on your next target, the new guy, simply because that’s in your nature.

(“In your nature? Or was it just the mysterious guy that came into the class so suddenly, panting and out of bre—“

“Shut up? Anyway,” )

“Ah Jisung, this is the latest you’ve been,” The coach nodded innocently towards the guy, as if he hadn’t scared the piss out of all of you when he shouted.

He’s a bit stiff with his walk, and his shoulders seem to harden like a board when his eyes scan around the class and its participants. With wide eyes, he looks like a lost puppy with the way he looks back at the coach in some sort of silent confirmation of something. It’s probably his first time having a general class with coach Minkyung, you realise as you see Jisung bow sheepishly to his teacher.

“Sorry,” his voice was hushed, rumbling as he talked. His eyes scanned briefly once again across the now sparked class doing forehand and backhand practices that the teacher has instructed them to do. You locked eye contact with him from afar and quickly looked away, ears feeling a little bit hotter than it was a second before.

Soojin leans in towards you and Ryujin a bit and whispers, “Do you think he’s new? Like . . . All of us?”

You and Ryujin glance at each other for a quick second, before you smile profusely as Ryujin places her hands on the pole that holds the badminton net, her racket clenched fist supporting her chin as she ponders. “Not at all.” She says rather flatly, a cheeky smile following up after. Solely looking at him doesn’t give you any insights on his level of badminton playing, which is weird, because till now he could pick up on some people's skills; you’ve so far guessed correctly with a few of the participants (including yourself, you think you’re an average player in this class) so you feel a bit stumped. 

He stands stiff as he talks to the coach, keeping his gaze stern on his coach. He seems to be wearing normal trackies and only has a very slim back for his racket. 

“He’s obviously a beginner, his bag is so thin compared to Coach and even Haechan, he also doesn’t look like a long-time player” Jaemin pipes in.

“Who are you to say? You said you’ve been playing for how long and you’re still this bad?” Soojin smiles as she dodges Jaemin’s hand by a fraction. But Ryujin isn’t having any of it as she breathes in with her teeth clenched, hissing out a sound of suspicion.

“Coach seems to know him, which makes me think he’s either been here before, or he’s just the coach's nepotism offspring.”

“Okay!” The coach claps his hand, forcing everyone to act like they were practising. “Gather around; we’re gonna do a basic skills test for this lesson, then I’m gonna split you up into groups and we’ll get to work with the people with the same skills. Cool?” He throws two thumbs up as everyone stays silent, with one of the two people nodding. You watch as he sees the coach's enthusiasm die down a little.

“Cool?” The coach had yelled now, startling everyone else in the second round of heart attacks; everyone else yell back this time, the word ‘cool’ echoing around the grand sports court. You notice that everyone’s responded to the coach's request except for Jisung.

“Oh girl . . .” Juda now has her manicured hand placed on your sulked shoulder of realisation.

“I know, I’m so sorry, Juda.” You look into the distance of the arcade, feigning sorrow; or maybe it’s not much of a feign.

“The fuck,” Chenle turns to see both of you huddled in what looks like a cry fest. “Did someone fucking die?”

“Watch your tongue,” An old woman wearing a neon orange vest belonging to the arcade staff points at Chenle, who bows down as he murmurs ��sorry’, with you two trying your best not to laugh, following and bowing your heads down too when the seething woman’s eyes meet your figures.

“How dare you anger the poor lady, her blood pressure is probably already high enough,” Juda picks at Chenle, who is now quietly trying to slip in the token to play another round.

“I wouldn’t have if you guys didn’t just suddenly go emo for no reason. What the f—” Chenle’s eyes waver back and see the woman’s eyes (Are they naturally red? Or is it the arcade lighting?) glaring back at him once more. “Frick. What the frick happened.”

“Oh Chenle, we must mourn for her. She’s fallen for another mysterious guy who barely has any personality.” 

“Oh my god,”

“Oh my fucking god, what—”

“Fuck,” Jisung sighed when he missed the shuttlecock by just a hair's width. Everyone was standing in a line-like formation, at the tip of their toes against the line that made the distinction between the playing court and outside. Jisung and the coach were having a match, the first test that the coach had implemented to determine who goes into what group according to their skills, and when no one volunteered, Jisung silently centred himself on the court as the coach's face broke out into a glow. 

Although his face was adorned with wrinkles even when still, and his skin did seem to look just a smidge pruney all the time — the I’m growing old look he had on his face was impossible to miss — the coach’s never looked sharper and younger than he does now, zipping through his side of the court like a bees race. Jisung on the other hand, seems to have a calm demeanour, quietly and tranquilly stepping forward and back, delivering lobs and clears, limbs outstretched to effortlessly hit the shuttlecock back even if it seems that his position doesn’t allow such moves. 

In the cold of Autumn, the stiffness of everyone's bodies was just the tiniest bit evident after a round of stretching, but two right in front of you look as if they’re playing in the heat of the summer, arms and legs effortlessly moving around the court. You try not to look too intently into the thin glisten of sweat forming on Jisung's neck.

Soojin raises her hand without taking her eyes off of the two people playing intensively in front of her, as Jaemin reaches in his pockets to place ten thousand won into her open palm, not letting his gaze wander away from the game either. “Thank you for your service.”

“I can’t believe he’s that good, I should’ve known from his cocky demeanour.” Haechan sighs, his fist resting against his cheek, hoisted up by his other hand. Everyone looks in his direction.

“You would think that it takes one to know one,” Minji almost barely whispers as she looks away from him by her side, looking back at the game with everyone else following. 

“Ah, fine. You won.” Coach drops his racket down from its first stage position, going towards the net with an open palm. Jisung barely takes a step forward before he’s lifting his hand too, shaking hands over the net as everyone claps behind them.

“Okay then, who’s next?”

You spend half the lesson just like that, with everyone playing against the coach followed by him then instructing everyone to get into the key badminton positions. You suspect that this is the core of learning badminton as the coach guides you from the way you hold your racket to the way your feet are positioned, but all you’re really thinking about right now is how badly you just want to go home.

“Okay!” The coach claps, as people gather around him in a semi-breathless state, just from being told to carry out a few sets of actions that badminton has. You don’t know why badminton necessarily needs ladder crossovers, but you barely get to give out a sigh before your eyes catch on Jisung’s seemingly calm composure. He’s done so much and maybe even a round extra, but he’s barely breaking a sweat.

Why does he look so good? Show off.

“Believe it or not, we’re done already! I now have an understanding of what level each one of you is in and will put you into groups.” You keep trying to wipe at your face to keep the sweat away, but an even coat of sweat is now settled on your hand after wiping it many times, so it only feels like you’re spreading it evenly. 

All while mysterious Jisung barely lifts his shoulder to have the cloth of his shirt wipe away the bead at his temple. 

How utterly gross of him. You wonder if he’s single.

“So I will see you all next week and give your level, thanks for joining!” And everyone disperses, spreading around the hall to get to their bags and start packing. You are standing above your bag, packing it and taking your bottle out to take a sip when you see Minji and Soojin whisper shouting, which defeats the whole point of whispering in the first place.

“How much do you wanna guess that he eats and sleeps here?” Soojin is practically bouncing in her place, taking multiple obvious glances at Jisung’s figure, who’s seemingly roaming around in his bag instead of packing it like everyone else, his racket placed neatly on top of his bag instead of inside.

“Nothing, because at this point it almost seems like a fact.” And with that, you shoulder your bag and head for the door, too tired to function.

“And you have no muscle aches? Impressive.” Juda pipes, her eyes glued to the road as she drives them back home.

“Oh no, I do. I just plastered a few KT tapes.” You say from your position in the passenger seat, elbow resting against the rolled-down window with your hand against your forehead, getting a nice breather from the wind outside. Chenle who’s sitting in the middle reaches his hand forward and pulls your sleeve up from behind to reveal your arm and shoulder lined up with tapes of blue and green. 

“A few huh,” Juda smiles and Chenle retorts, as you tch at them both. 

“I didn’t want to risk it, okay?” You say, yanking the cloth back down and slapping at Chenle’s hand, facing forward once again with your hands crossed defensively and gaze set outside again. The car lights up in the yellow of the street lights, as Juda drives through the night. 

“So when’s your next class?”

“And group A has . . . Jisung. Just Jisung”

“No, bad dog. Stop taking your anger out on Chenle’s biceps,” Juda attempted half-assedly to swat at your hands while her eyes were still glued to her phone, as you retell what happens with your next class.

“It hurts, Juda. Make her stop!”

You were furious. Group C? You knew you were better than that, having played almost every other sport growing up, even if occasionally, you’d gotta be good at badminton. Why is Jisung the only one in group A? Yes, fine, maybe he plays well, but it also means that you’ve been ranked down a group just because he was too perfect. Why does he attend the class if he’s already so good?

Subconsciously, you try to convince yourself to not take this whole grouping thing quite literally, as the coach had said that they’re not ranked or anything; but how can you not take it personally when the people you thought you were on par with were in group B. It takes all of your willpower for your scowl to not be displayed, but you soon find that you don’t have to try too hard as the coach assigns you all to your positions.

“Lighter on the feet,” Coach ordered, the squeak of shoe soles rubbing against the floor echoing throughout the sports hall. You, Soojin, Jaemin and Minji go through what the coach calls fundamental steps; right foot northeast with a forehand flick, right foot northwest with a backhand flick. It helps with the basics of the game, which everyone forgets, but you don’t think half an hour of the same steps helps with remembering either.

While group B, which consists of Haechan and Ryujin, go through the same phases with some extra steps added to strengthen their posture while playing. It’s not that you think your play better than the people in your group or group B, but mainly your irrational annoyance stems from the fact that you’re position in the class is gonna be recorded into your progress report, and you know for a fact that if Jisung wouldn’t be participating this dead class, you would be in group B. Yes, it’s still the last group out of two, but you can say that you’re merely ranked second. Instead, you’re last out of three.

As the steps turn repetitive, you let your eyes wander around mindlessly, your feet carrying you throughout as your hands attempt to do the actions in a somewhat muscle memory process. Your gaze eventually settles on Jisung, whose back is facing you as he smacks the shuttlecock against the wall, which bounces back only for him to smack at it again, repeating this one-man game he seems to have made up for himself. You glare lasers into his back, thinking about how maybe you’re not into this whole mysterious demeanour as you thought you were, seeing him just making up his own moves as the coach merely bounces back between the two of your groups, only checking in on Jisung after a few rounds of lecturing your moves and correcting your mistakes. 

Three consecutive claps echo around the tall indoor court, as everyone drops their rackets at their bags and gather around the coach in a circle, somewhat holding some sort of formation with Ryujin to his right and Jisung to his left, and with you positioned almost opposite of him. “Good job everyone, now it’s time to cool down, exactly how we warmed up,” Clueless, most of you follow the coach’s steps while he urges each person to take turns counting, counting up to eight in a clockwise direction. Your eyes can’t stop fleeting to Jisung, the star of every badminton night, as your petty envy prevents you from minding your own business. Throughout the whole night, you’ve seen him take only warming up and cooling down somewhat seriously, as he crosses his arms and holds up a good posture, compared to the rest of the class who simply just slump over, wanting the session to end and finally catch a break. 

One final clap and you’re all free to go. And you don’t waste a second, grabbing all your essentials and bag and quickly darting for the door, ready to go home and wash up and just not support your whole body weight on your feet. As you bid everyone goodbye and bow your head lightly to the coach, you watch as Jisung strides up to the coach in a meek manner, as his eyes fall on your retreating figure just slightly before softly calling out the coach's name. 

It’s nine p.m. on the dot when you step out of the court and breathe in the cold air.

Juda’s on the couch when you step into the apartment, toeing off your sports shoes as you rest your badminton bag against the shoe shelf, at hand for your next trip to your class. 

With a mouth full of chips, Juda barely takes her eyes off the screen before asking “How was class?”

“Same old,” You shrug.

“Same old? You’ve only been twice. How in tune are you with the coach for it to—” Your groan stops her teasing, as she smirks at your tired form squatting against the floor, hands clutching at the door and your hair in frustration.

“Could you have at least let me get home first before frying my brain?” Your hand falls to your face, and that’s when you feel the residue of your sweat from earlier, having turned into oil. The urge to shower now tenfold, you attempt to raise yourself and pass out in the shower.

“I’m gonna wash up now, and probably go to sleep,” You mutter just loud enough for Juda to hear, to which she hums while you retrieve a towel.

“Oh wait, before you go,” She calls just as you inch towards your room, “Do you know where my umbrella went? I’m going to campus tomorrow and I think it’s gonna rain again. I tried calling you but I don’t think it went through,” 

“Oh yeah, It’s by the door.” You recall taking the umbrella to class today, as the forecast has been filled with rain symbols with the Autumn weather. Digging in your bag, you push past your essentials in order to find your phone which Juda’s called. “That’s weird, my phone is not here.”

“Did you take it with you today?” Juda mumbles as she munches on a few more chips, rubbing her fingers against her pants after every serving. 

“I’m sure I did,” You ponder out loud, as you remove your hands from your bag in favour of patting at your pants and jacket resting on the clothing hanger, in case you somehow shoved it in your pockets without knowing.

“Did you forget it?” As soon as the words leave your roommate's mouth, you are met with a vivid picture of your phone, abandoned on the bench in the badminton court you left in a hurry. You sigh, placing your towel on the bathroom counter briefly before grabbing your house keys while putting your shoes on.

“I’ll be back Juda,”

“Good luck,” She waves.

You’re beyond tired, and a little frustrated at yourself for being impatient and forgetting your phone. You can’t risk losing such a thing, hence you’re glad that the lights were still on when you arrived at the building, giving a wave to the receptionist. 

Stepping onto the court, you immediately zero in on your phone which is perched on the bench, the black shade of the screen a contrast against the silver metal bar. But a squeak of a sole against the floor earns a squeal out of your mid-march, as you clutch your shirt next to your heart and turn towards the perpetrator.

“Oh my god,” Jisung’s gaze is what you’re met with as you let out a sigh of relief, the man in question only turning around as you mutter under your breath. 

“Sorry,” That’s the first time you’ve heard his voice all day, and there’s something about the tone of his voice that calms your heart down just a bit.

“What are you still doing here?” Your curiosity gets the best of you, your forgotten phone laying there, continuing to be overlooked as you question the presence of your classmate.

His eyes squint ever so slightly at your question, as his eyes ghost over you, as if he’s seeing you for the first time. “I’m practising,”

Practising? After two hours of badminton class, he didn’t seem like he did much then, but he’s still staying back to practice. You hum in slight adulation, rocking back and forth on your feet as he turns back around and runs through steps you’re unfamiliar with. As you inch towards your phone, you think more about his prominent presence in the court; is he too shy in class? Or maybe he gets private classes from the coach?

But as you scan your eyes around the court, you’re met with a near-empty court, as the only thing in sight is his bottle and slim bag. You’re not sure exactly what you’re waiting for as you hold onto your phone, fidgeting on your spot as your eyes follow Jisung’s swift movements. He seems more tired now than he ever was in the two classes you’ve shared with him, as his shoulders ride up more with an attempt of regaining stability with his breaths.

You’re not sure how long you’ve loitered around, but it must be a long amount of time for Jisung to look at you with disdain and shock.

“. . . Why are you still here?” He seems more reserved — something you didn’t know could happen — as he asks you this question, holding his racket subconsciously closer to his body. Your eyes widen at the prospect of being caught, as you shake your hands vehemently, stumbling back a bit. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t—” You didn’t know how you were going to explain yourself, but one glance at the door of the court is all you need.

Bowing your head as quickly as you can in a lieu of a goodbye, Jisung could barely apprehend what you did before you’re bolting out of the badminton court.

A week later, you’re not sure how you’re supposed to face Jisung with your awkward encounter, and it is evident that the incident has been plaguing your mind as you stand at the door of the sports centre, both hands gripping the strap do your bag. 

“What if he thinks I’m a weirdo for just standing there and stalking him?” Your wandering mind does nothing to help ease the situation, as more arbitrary scenarios flow after one another. Maybe he told the coach how much of a creep you are and now when you step in, you’ll be banned from class.

“Oh dear god,” You let your head fall forwards, trying to tip over the thought out of your head. Closing your eyes, you try to think of the things you can do once the class is over when a tap on your shoulder brings you out of your reverie. You turn to look behind your shoulder, fearing that it's someone robbing you or worse— Jisung; only to see coach Son, smiling at you with a hint of worry laced on his forehead. 

Your shoulders sag with relief. “Hi coach,” you wince internally at your response, voice coming out high-pitched as you clench your grip on your bag. 

“Let's go in and start some warm-ups, yeah?” And as you follow the coach to the class, you make sure to subtly hide behind him in case you catch s glimpse of Jisung anywhere, not wanting to run into him. As you quietly peek your head over his right shoulder once and his left shoulder next, you feel like a secret agent sneaking up on your target. A clearing of someone's throat snaps you out of your act, as your shoulders bunch up and in shock and you quickly turn, only to be met with the feared man of the night.

It seems like he’s been trying to go up to the coach and maybe say hi, but your lurking figure both stopped and perplexed him, not knowing why you were just peeking your head around like a mole rat.

“Sorry,” You mumble slightly, eyes wide as you back away towards the closest wall, wanting to blend into it and live with the bricks. Maybe you’ll face less embarrassment that way but knowing you, anything is possible.

“It’s okay,” His voice is as unassuming as always, eyes looking anywhere but you now that he’s caught your attention. You think his shyness is quite cute, but not for long as you think back to being scared of him from last week to being jealous of him, also from last week. That’s a lot of emotion for you to process. 

He pulls up his hands, now shaped into a fist and looks past you, but you know he’s talking to you when he mutters, “Fighting,” before fully facing away and walking past you as if the mortification of his action has caught up to him. You barely contain your shocked expression behind your hand.

“Good job today guys, now we all have a basic grasp of the initial steps and our skills when it comes to badminton.” You brace your hands on your knees, just having done a set of wall squats as a way to build stamina, or so you’ve been told. You thought that maybe a month into these classes and you would’ve had some sort of energy stashed away in you when attending class, but it’s week five and you’re fighting for your life three seconds into a plank.

“Now I don’t wanna treat this class academically, but for those of you who truly care, there will be an assessment in the midst of this course to reevaluate your standing and see if you can advance from your group! But other than that, remember that this class can be solely for fun reasons too . . .” The rest of coach's words were white noise to your ears. Reevaluation? Does that mean that you can advance? That you’ll have a shot? 

“Are you okay?” Soojin leans in toward you, whispering while pointing to what you assume would be the shock on your face. You turn to her, drawing a thumbs up to reassure her. And before you know it class is done and you’re pulled to do a series of cool-down moves. You eagerly follow through, now somehow charged with motivation to stay back and go over your moves a few times. You figure that the least you can do to move up a rank is to spend an extra hour going over your moves, even when you sometimes think about the significance of them.

You tread up to the coach and ask in your kindest voice if it was possible for you to stay back. “Of course, are you gonna go through the steps again?” He questions as he shifts his bag from one hand to another. You give a nod and wave goodbye, watching as everyone litters out of the court.

Well, almost everyone.

You can feel, more than anything, Jisung’s gaze piercing your figure through the hood of his jumper, while you give your best attempt at stretching. You’re not sure really what stretches best help with reducing the ache in your muscles the day after, but you figure the endeavour of reaching your toes should do.

Even after a few minutes of trying to appear mellow, Jisung’s presence alone makes you feel on edge as if you’ve stolen his territory. But you figure that nothing will change and that all you can really do right now is, well, practice.

The squeak of your shoes echoes every now and then, followed by a whip sound of the racket you’re flinging in the air. If you do this quickly enough, surely your skills will improve, right? From what your coach Son demonstrated earlier, you realised that as he would start off the steps slowly for your group to get a hang of, he was able to transition the speed to his liking, doing each step quickly and efficiently. 

“Okay, should be easy,” You’re careful not to speak too loud in the almost quiet hall, giving yourself words of encouragement. Hand braced in the first position, then in the second, then a slight step back, and then your hand straight and quickly bend.

You finish the routine with its final step of hitting the imaginary shuttle as fast and as straight as your hand can go with such speed. With one round done, you brace yourself in the initial position to do it again. One, two, three and four.

You only get to pump out four, maybe five rounds of this pattern before a clearing of someone's throat scares the daylights out of you. With a barely contained shout, you’d forgotten — however briefly — that you weren’t alone. You’re looking at Jisung, who seems shocked at accidentally shaking you up so much, before he says something to you.

“What?” Even with the stillness of the court, the man’s words were barely comprehensible, as yours echoed slightly throughout the court. 

“You’re doing it wrong,” Oh, so the first comment he ever mutters to you are words of criticism. You furrow your brows, head tilting slightly out of habit as you encourage him to go on.

“When you’re recoiling from hitting the shuttle, your racket still faces forward instead of down,” He explains, but none of it makes sense to you and it must be evident in your face, with Jisung looking slightly frustrated that the words did not register in your head.

“If you keep your racket facing forward, the ball isn’t going to go down but head straight, which allows your opponent to retaliate better.” He continues, and you somewhat understand where he’s getting at, but he’s not really helping you at all. All he did was point out your mistake, which makes you feel that he’s just trying to show off his knowledge.

“Well, what should I do then?” You can’t help but seem a bit agitated, as you slump your shoulders and let the racket settle by your ankles, your hold on the handle tightening ever so slightly.

“Hit it face down,” He raises his arm and demonstrated the step to you, causing the head of his hoodie to fall, shining the light of the court on his face. You’re briefly stuck looking at his face instead of his step, but were reeled back in when he makes eye contact. You clear your throat as he goes through the step again, which you think were exactly the steps you were doing a second ago.

“But, how was I any different?” You say as you mimic his steps, bracing yourself in the positions without much thinking, and hitting the imaginary shuttle right as when he does.

“No- see, you did it again,” He steps a bit closer as he gestures to the racket in your hand. “You’re hitting it straight on. You’re supposed to go down.” You sigh as he says this, feeling a bit irked that a mere student is trying to tell you what to do. He is in the top rank, so maybe he has a point.

Attempting to set your implicit annoyance aside, you intently look at his hand and the way he moves his wrist at the end of the step, trying your best to imprint this into your head. He looks a bit flustered with how much your gaze is focused on him, but still goes on two more times before nodding his head at you, encouraging you to try once more. 

You look at the position of your hand this time instead of him, going through the initial steps and tweaking your wrist to face more downwards this time than your last few attempts, before your eyes quickly flit towards Jisung, looking for some sort of confirmation with your try. The subdued purse of his lips assures your suspicion, which is that you’re doing it right this time round.

“Good, did you kinda find out what you were doing wrong?” The words come out on reflex, and you don’t think twice this time about him being in the same class as you and yet trying to coach your steps, as you ponder on his question.

“I mean, I found out I was doing something wrong when you pointed it out, but I’m not quite sure what you meant when you said I was hitting it straight on.”

“Wow, you were really into him weren’t you?”

“Shut up Chenle, I was into the badminton technicality.”

Jisung steps forward a little bit and is about to say something before he hesitates. You look at him sceptically, waiting to see what he was gonna say before he shakes his head and seemingly snaps himself out of it. “Can you go back to the third position?” He asks of you, which you raise your hand and assume the position. Your racket and arm are raised pointed straight to the ceiling, while he positions his fisted hand in front of you. Your questioning look doesn’t go unnoticed, as a slight smile appears on Jisungs face before he nods at you, saying, “Okay, now gently go down like you would and stop at my hand.” 

You do as you’re told, with Jisung’s eyes settled on your concentrated face following his orders, as the face of your racket meets his fist, the white of his knuckles colouring for a bit. 

“See, you’re hitting the front of my knuckles, but that will send the shuttle forward.” He demonstrates by pulling his fist back, “That will give the other player a better opportunity of retaliating.” He then readjusts your racket by the throat, having the net hit the top of his fist. “This gives you a better chance.”

“But like, how am I giving them a better shot?” 

You’re not sure what was funny or amusing about your question, but it seems that there must be something there for Jisung to sport a cute small smile, as he picks his racket back up and moves to one of the set-up nets, and funnily enough, you find yourself following him subconsciously. He picks up a shuttlecock on his way to the net and positions himself, as you stand at his side.

“See, let’s say the shuttle is coming at you this way,” He holds the shuttle with one hand as if the opposing player had shot it at him over the net. “If I hit it the way you had— actually, why don’t you try receiving the ball.” And so you shuffle over, standing opposite of his ready stance with your arms crossed, intrigued.

“I’ll throw the shuttle back to you and try seeing if you can hit it back.” You realise that this is the most you’ve heard him speak in the past five weeks that you’ve attended the class together. You bring your hand up and stand in the ready position you remember coach telling you about when initiating a game, and Jisung takes that as a sign that you’re ready and hits the shuttle at a moderate speed. You hit the ball back with ease, as it goes over back to Jisung’s side, who catches it with his other hand. You let out a long ‘ahh’ sound of understanding, hand clutched at your side. 

“You’re right, that was hell easy,” You brood aloud, but not before asking one of your other endless questions. “But then, how would the other way be any different?”

From the looks of it, Jisung seems over the moon that you asked such a question, holding back a smile by biting on his lips lightly and quipping his head to the side. He holds up the shuttle and looks at you, gauging to see if you’re ready to receive the ball once again. As you regain your ready position, you see the ball suspended in the air briefly before Jisung hits it at the ‘better’ angle, which is seemingly from the head of it, but before you can process anything else a zip sounds past you and the ball has landed behind you.

Your gasp resonates through the hall as you look behind you to where the shuttle has landed, with a hand coming to your mouth as you look at Jisung. The latter contains his smug smile behind his own hand, as you point at the ball and look back and forth. “What did you just do?”

“Ah, that’s a technique that's called smash.” You falter slightly.

“That’s a weird fucking name I’m not gonna lie,” You glance at the ball once more with a look of disgust, before shaking yourself out of it. “Oh my god, that was so cool.”

You didn’t think that you would be getting a one-on-one lesson when you decided to stay behind today, but you’re quite surprised with how he was able to spot such a little detail so quickly. And that gives you an idea.

“Jisung,” You call his name for the first time since you met him five weeks ago, which surprises the said man, as you see his eyes startle and a few strands of his hair jerk. “Do you stay after class every week?”

He’s a bit quiet for some time, processing your question thoroughly. He nods his head briefly, but not before a bit of hesitation. 

“Is it . . . Can you help me improve?” You’re a bit shy now that you voice your question out loud, but you’re determined to move up at least one rank and land second place; or even just have a good academic score, even in badminton. 

Seeing the blank face that Jisung is now sporting, you think about the unfair offer you’ve just made to him. Why would he spend his extra time after class to teach you, his potential competitor, without getting anything out of it? You’re not sure what you can offer him, maybe some sort of payment? But before you can ponder even more, you catch a slight nod of his head from the corner of your eye.

“Is that . . .  a yes?” You lock eye contact, as he nods his head once more but with more vigour and confirmation. 

“Why?” It’s your turn to look at him with confusion.

“Are you asking me?” He points to himself, as he slightly tilts his head as if he was going to look as if you were talking to someone else. You shake your head quickly once he asks the question, raising even more questions.

“Actually, no. I take back what I said. You said yes, right? You can’t change your mind. Or, I mean you can but like I would be pretty bummed about it because you already said yes but I’d respect your choice.” You take a deep breath in once you finish, looking at him and clasping your hands together a bit too harshly.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll help you with what you need.” Relief washes over you and you can’t help but smile in thanks.

“Oh, and there’s one more thing too.” Jisung hums for you to continue, as he goes towards his bag and retrieves his bottle to take a sip.

“Can you teach me how to smash?” And maybe you should’ve waited for him to be done with that bottle first.

You think you’re quite good at being subtle and on the low, no matter how much Juda and Chenle counter that argument. You can be sneaky if you put your mind to it, and it's been proven many times in high school when you would sneak your favourite snack during the middle of the class without your strict teacher finding out.

So you’re not sure where you went wrong when you held out a snack bar in Jisungs direction, only for the whole court to look at you weirdly. You merely strutted up to him with maximum placidity and poked out the bar from your hand into his torso, looking away and hoping he would get the memo and take from you as with a mutter of something that sounds really close to the word ‘thanks’.

But it’s been a solid fifteen seconds and not only is the bar still in your hand, but everyone in the class has slowed down their activities in favour of looking at you two. Even coach’s staring as if he’s trying to solve a very complex puzzle.

“Is this . . . for me?” Jisung’s voice comes out as a rumble, not knowing if he should whisper or talk normally, sounding out something in between instead. 

Of course this is for you, idiot. Why am I holding it in your direction??

You ignore his question and shake the bar in your hand with a bit more intensity, hoping that he would finally get the memo. It isn’t until ten more seconds pass that you lose all hope and turn to him, grabbing his hand and placing your gratitude in his open palm, closing his fist around the energy snack.

You stomp your way to start your warm-ups before Jisung could say anything.

“When you aim your hand, you’re not really looking at the shuttle,” Jisung starts after a few rounds of one-on-one games you’ve started after class. “Your eyes are just hovering around it for a few seconds before you look around and put yourself in position. You’re supposed to go in position without looking, it should be intuitive.” You huff at his explanation, dropping your hands by your sides.

“How do I ‘look’ at it more, then?” You’re grateful that Jisung is helping you, but it’s just the tiniest bit unnerving for him to recognise your every move and be able to point out your mishaps. He moves back from the net, creating a decent amount of space in his playing circle. He starts throwing the shuttle up with his badminton racket, the distance from the shuttle and its net growing with each hit.

“Practising this move helps,” He says as he works through what you remember the coach demonstrating the first few classes. As the shuttlecock goes higher and higher with each impact, your eyes catch on the silver of skin poking out as Jisung lifts his hand to meet the shuttle, his shirt rising for a few seconds every time. 

“I think it would be better if you looked at the shuttle?” His words catch you off guard, as you look up and meet his gaze already settled on your, eyes gleaming as he pokes at his cheek with his tongue. 

“Shut up,” You look away, flustered that you got caught, before attempting the moves, refusing to look back at him.

The condensation of the electrolyte drink is addled with the dampness of your hand, as you make your way to class the week after. You see Ryujin talking to the coach as you enter, and Jisung at his bag, seeming to ruffle through it in order to retrieve something. You strut your way up quietly, not wanting to attract any awkward attention by giving gratitude in the form of a drink to your unofficial instructor. As you open your mouth to call Jisungs name, the tall man turns around and gives you the faintest hint of a smile, before his eyes land on your hand.

“Hi, here.” You spout, as you extend your hand straight towards him, some of the condensation dropping on the floor and finding solace in the gaps of your fingers. His hands feel dry and warm as it brushes against yours, retrieving the drink from your grasp.

“You didn’t have to. Thank you; for last time too,” Your cheeks heat up at his words as you avert your gaze away, opting to look at the playing net instead. “Don’t mention it,” Your damp hand wrings against the dry one behind your back, as you slowly let your gaze wander back to Jisung, who’s now looking at the blue bottle in his hand.

“Did you know,” He twists the drink in his hand and looks at what you think is the nutrition information. “Electrolyte doesn’t actually help when you exercise.” Your expression sullens as he continues to look at the drink you gave him. “Your body loses more water than electrolytes when you exercise, and so there is no use consuming more electrolytes. Water helps way more in comparison,” The scowl on your face makes Jisung stop in his tracks as he looks up after finishing his bite-sized lecture.

“Well, if you’re so ungrateful—” You reach your hand out to snatch the bottle from him but are stopped short as his hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you. “No!” He exclaims and a chuckle slips past as your struggle to get the drink, reaching out your other hand before he captures that too, now both of your wrists trapped in his hand. Your eyes widen, with your wrist bound and fighting up a struggle, all impaired with Jisung’s hand wrapped. Before your mind can wander to what other scenarios can result in him bounding up your hands, he continues; “I’m very grateful. You don’t have to give me these things just because I give you a few tips after class.”

You pause your struggle, letting your hands be weighed down. “Well, I don’t think I’ve been helping you at all. Sometimes I even set you back, so it’s the least I can do.” You say truthfully. You do sometimes feel like a burden when Jisung gives you a tip and you don’t adapt immediately, sometimes it takes you maybe two after-class lessons until you can successfully cast back the shuttle over the net with a short distance. The only way you could think about paying him back was through these pick-me-up snacks.

“Okay, how about this,” You miss the warmth and pressure of his hand against your wrist as soon as he lets go to put the drink down behind him and straightens back up, looking away as he slowly grows flustered with what he’s about to say next. “Treat me to ice cream maybe?”

You smile at his antics, happy to have been told how you could repay him. “Deal,” He visibly deflates with relief as you zealously agree, putting your bag down next to his as you both start to unpack. 

You shuffle to the bathroom as soon as practice is over, giving Jisung a quick point towards the direction you’re going to ease his worries about you running away. Once inside, you’re met with the cool breeze and a mirror that reflects your spent figure. Oh god, how were you gonna go out like this? Is this what you looked like this entire time? Shuffling to the sink, you shoulder your bag back as you lean over the sink and lightly dab at your face with some water, before cleaning yourself up and dabbing the paper towel against your face. 

You don’t know why you were so nervous to do this; it’s truly just some ice cream with your temporary and unofficial coach. But you truly wanted him to see your gratitude, and soon enough you’re thinking if ice cream isn’t enough, and budgeting how you can come up with enough money for an all-you-can-eat buffet at this time of the night. But before you could even add up the numbers on your fingers - it was a two in one hand and three in another, not quite sure what they meant - the sound of the door opening echoes in the bathroom, jumping you out of your reverie. 

Turning around, you just catch Minji stepping in, looking taken aback at your shocked expression, as if you weren’t expecting anyone to enter this public bathroom. “You okay?” She calls after you, and you can only hope that the smile on your face is convincing enough.

“Yup! Just . . . tired,” You cringe a bit at the overused excuse, but your shoulders slump when she just smiles back at you. 

“It’s okay, maybe your date with Jisung would cheer you up?” You feel something lodge in your throat, coughing out in surprise.

“No!” You retort, hands coming out from behind you as if to stop all ideas from forming. “We’re- It’s not like that. He’s just-” Minji looks at you with amusement, as she shifts her weight and crosses her arms, urging you to continue. The mind blank you’re sporting is not at all helping with a way to express what you truly are doing with Jisung, and so you try: “I just owe him something for smashing his racket.” And that was the best you could do.

Minji’s smile falls, as her arms drop at her sides. “You . . . smashed his racket?” 

You don’t know why her voice was laced with such concern, but you figure that you have to finish what you started. “Yeah, to pieces actually. Sometimes the adrenaline truly gets to you, right?” You chuckle a bit, trying to find a gap in the conversation where you can squeeze back out of the bathroom.

“Well, I’ll see you next week,” You clench the strap of your bag and exit the bathroom, ready to dart out of the place. As you turn a sharp right, you are immediately met with a sheet of white, which suspiciously looks like the colour of the shirt Jisung was wearing today. Hands are placed at your shoulder and you’re quickly set back half a step from the wall, or at least enough to recognise that it wasn’t a wall, but rather Jisung’s tall figure.

“Sorry,” you mutter, eyes flicking from his own to the arms stretching to your shoulders, catching a few veins adorning his forearm. A clear of his throat has you looking entirely away, as you grab at his wrist and start tugging towards the exit. 

The white lights of the LED sign of the ice cream place illuminate most of the dark street, with most businesses having closed earlier in the day save for a few convenience stores littered with tired college students like yourselves. You eye the shop and its extravagant decor, sceptical about being brought to such a high-end ice cream shop.

“You know, when you said ice cream, I thought you had wanted me to buy you some popsicles from some convenience store. Not someplace about exorbitant ice cream with fifty years of craft in making,” You nudge your elbow a bit to Jisung’s side, to which he responds by twisting his head in your direction.

He splutters, “Oh, I’m so sorry I forgot that, you know you were gonna pay,” You notice his hands move as he speaks, something you’ve picked up from when you would talk to him or notice him talking to coach; it’s as if his words are spelt with his hands first and then brought out through his lips, now adorning a pout as he tries explaining himself.

“. . . I thought we were just, going out.” Your eyebrows raise a bit in surprise at his words. Going out? As in, going out on a date? 

You wonder if your thought bubble is something he can see, as he quickly puts out his hands again, shaking them vehemently. “Not on a date! It’s just, I didn’t know what-”

“Jisung, it’s okay. I was just messing with you,” You decide to put him out of his misery, reassuring him before continuing, “I’ve never been here but I’ve been meaning to try it out, so I’m glad you suggested this place. Let me treat you to something good,” And without thinking, you link your arm through his and push through the door, the cool of the interior washing over both of you. The shop was mostly white, with white tiles placed as half-walls as well as the flooring, the only hint of colour being the green of a few plants and of course the various ice creams. The employee, who seems to be the only person in the shop, straightens up ever so slightly at the sight of the two of you entering, before slumping back down when you head towards the self-serve ice cream booths. Picking up two cups, you hand one to Jisung who’s at your right, before you pick up the scooper from a mini bucket of water, waving it around your choices.

“Tell me which flavour you want me to pick out for you,” You eye the various flavours of ice creams, seeing if you can find your favourite. You look at Jisung to see if he’s doing the same, only to see his eye zeroed in on one bucket which is contrastingly fuller than the different flavours around it.

“Mint chocolate ice cream?” Your question has JIsung nodding his head as he looks at you sheepishly. “I can’t believe you would choose the most controversial ice cream. You’re so original.” You tease, to which Jisung nudges you in retaliation.

“It’s a good flavour, if people stop comparing the mint and the chocolate and instead choose to see how much they complement each other, we would be one step closer to world peace.”

“That’s a bold claim, what’s your source?” Jisung grabs the scoop out of your hands with mock aggressiveness, opting to scoop his serving of the mint chocolate ice cream. “Your references? Where is your citation—” He cuts you off by placing his hand on your mouth after taking a scoop of his ice cream, as his chest meets your arm. 

He shushes you, “Just get your ice cream, yeah? I’ll go get my toppings,” He nods and lets go of your mouth, missing the way your cheeks heat up from his proximity and touch on your face. You bring the back of your hand to your face, prying the heat to go away as you shake your head and pick the scooper back up, reaching for your favourite flavour of ice cream.

Meeting Jisung at the counter, you place your cup of ice cream next to his on the weigh and fish through your bag as you wait for the person behind the counter to calculate your total. However, as soon as you probed your wallet out of your bag, the sound of a completed transaction peals out, making you turn your head up just to see Jisung putting his wallet back into his sweatpants.

“It was supposed to be my treat,” You insist, looking towards Jisung’s direction to generate some sort of guilt for his action. Instead, the man avoids your gaze, picks up two spoons, and places them in your cups, grabbing yours when he spots you not budging from the corner of his eye and turning to head for the door. You grab at his sleeve to force out his reasoning but are slowly pulled with him as he heads out, quickly turning around and bidding goodbye to the staff before he opens the door.

“Well, maybe you can pay next time,” At the mention of another time of you and Jisung hanging out, your initial sorrow washes over by a wave of giddiness. 

“Then give me your number,” You propose, fishing your phone out. “So I can see when you’re next free and make it up to you,” With wide eyes, Jisung’s hands hesitate as they reach out for your phone; before either of you can second-guess yourselves, he takes the phone and smiles shyly, typing in his details. Handing the phone back to you, you take a look at his contact before pocketing your phone as Jisung starts to speak.

You scoop a spoon of your ice cream into your mouth to hide your smile, but from a light chuckle that emits from your left side, you don’t think your efforts amounted to much.

You stretch your arm to reach the end of your leg, warming up your body before the mass class warmup, more so to have something to do instead of staring at Jisung who’s also here early and is also doing his own unique sets of warm-ups. 

Nothing about badminton is sexy; there’s nothing sexy about moving your wrist just in time to deliver some sort of groundbreaking delivery with the shuttlecock. Even the word shuttlecock grosses you out, as you suppress the urge to shiver at this very moment. 

So you’re not sure why the act of playing badminton with the wall is such an attractive sight to you; as Jisung grunts every now and then, seemingly surprised and unprepared by his own backhand delivery against the wall, which makes him take quick steps back and forth and side to side to meet each hit. His quick movements allow for his loose clothing today to move around freely, exposing toned skin every now and then. It takes a lot of your willpower to have you not to drool right then and there, as if you were back in high school once more.

One hit, in particular, bounced off high and far from the wall, the sound of the shuttlecock smacking against the wall echoing louder as it heads for Jisung’s left side, a direction that you’re situated in although with a safe amount of distance. The tall player retaliates by turning his body a whole hundred-and-eighty degree, facing away from the wall and essentially towards you as he tries to continue his streak of hits. Briefly, you see his eyes look at you and back at the shuttles descend, but his focus on the said thing falters when he looks at you again, realising that you’ve been watching him play. 

The shame of being caught should’ve arrived by now, as your shoulders stiffen with being onslaught by Jisung’s intense gaze. But before the chagrin could fully settle in, Jisung has completely passed the point of positioning his racket, causing the shuttle to fall and bounce off of his head and onto his feet. Gently clasping your hand at your mouth, you stop your giggles at the warning glare that Jisung sends to you; although his flushed cheeks aren’t making it any better.

“Say something and see what happens,” He points at you with the tip of his racket. You remove your hand and open your mouth, curious to see where this goes.

“Are you really gonna say something?” He steps closer to your figure, which is now sitting cross-legged on the ground with both hands placed on top of one another in front of you. He drops his racket on the ground, as if it doesn’t cost a limb, and instead places his hands right above his knees, looming over your figure. You can’t help it this time when your gaze follows towards the gap in the collar of his shirt, showing the sharp cut of his collarbone peeking through. It’s when your gaze is caught on his chain necklace dangling from his neck that the sound of a basketball bouncing echoes closer, as both of you look towards the direction it’s coming from. Not long after, a boy no older than ten shuffles in with his shoes squeaking against the floor, looking shocked at the fact that the two of you are here. 

The ball lightly hits Jisung’s calf, who simply picks it up and passes it back to the boy who’s seemingly frozen in place. As soon as the ball arrives at his own feet, he quickly picks it up and dashes out of the place. 

“Do you wanna bet to see who can reach past their toes?” Your question snaps Jisung out of his thought. The boy chuckles and sits down to your right, stretching out his legs and shaking them out as a form of warm-up.

“You’re so on,”

Your hands are clasped behind your back as you strut up to Jisung, who’s at his bag, taking out his needed items. With a tap on his shoulder, he turns to face you, giving you a smile as a greeting before scanning you.

“What are you doing this time?” You gasp in mock offence.

“This time? I haven’t even done anything yet?” 

“But you’re going to,” He points his fingers at your hidden hands. “You’re either gonna scare me or pull the lamest prank ever known to date.” Your smile drops and a scowl replaces it instead. 

When Jisung fully turns to face you, you smile once more and lean your shoulders in. “I actually brought you something to thank you. Again.” You shift the item from your left to your right hand, feeling nervous and embarrassed for saying it all out loud. “Because of you, I can hit a backhand serve and not smack myself.” The boy stands taller with your gratitude, a blush sporting on his face as his eyes look anywhere but at you. You must look like high schoolers confessing to one another with the way you’re both flustered and shy, which isn’t a thought you’re fully opposed to.

He nods his head, still avoiding looking directly at you, as he reaches his hands out, ready to receive what you’ve brought for him. You giggle slightly as he shuts his eyes and shakes his hands in anticipation, “Since you said electrolyte drinks don’t really help, and you like your proteins after class, I thought of a better third option and brought you,” You reach your hands out and place the gift on his palms, urging him to open his eyes.

Cold and dripping with condensation, the plastic water bottle perched on his hands seem small as his hands close around them to keep from falling. His eyes fall as he looks dimly at the bottle in his hands, and you look away briefly to keep from laughing straight in his face.

“Now I know what that kid felt like when he got gifted an avocado for Christmas.”

“Wait,” Chenle plops down next to Juda as he says this, but is quickly shoved to the other end of the couch with a complaint ‘It’s too hot for you to stick your gross body next to me’.

“What’s his deal then?” 

“What?” You turn to look at Juda first as if to check that you’re the only one confused. The furrow of the girls’ eyebrows proves the fact that you aren’t alone, as you both look at Chenle with visible empty thought bubbles surrounding you.

“Well, he’s a badminton prodigy according to you. Seems to have surprased all the basics and is just a step away from being a professional.” The initial shove and retort from Juda barely set him off, as he goes back to his original position and maybe squeezes himself even more to her side and pulls a spoon out, digging into her tub of ice cream.

“Why is he still coming to class if he’s qualified enough to teach you?” Unfortunately, for once Chenle does have a point. You’ve thought about this a few times at the beginning of the semester when you were a little more than irritated by the fact that he joined the class and made you rank down a notch; ever since he agreed to lend you a hand, you’re sometimes even happy when you see him come in.

“He has a point sadly,” Juda waves her spoon towards Chenle’s direction. “If he’s as good as you say he is, why bother coming to class?”

“Maybe you should ask him that on your next date,” The boy wiggles his eyebrows at you, squealing out a laugh when you pull your fist back in a threatening manner. 

“Maybe I will,” you blurt out, attempting an aggressive tone. Before you could let anyone, even yourself, comprehend what you said, you pressed play on the tv and snuggled up to Juda’s arm on her right, with Chenle leaching off of her to her left. 

“The things I put up with,” She huffs as she stabs her spoon into her ice cream tub, feeding you diligently.

[WEDNESDAY; 10:37 PM]

you: you

jwisung: ?

jwisung: what happened to hello

jwisung: ‘how was your day’

jwisung: wheres ur decorum

you: shut up you dont even know what that means

jwisung: :(

you: >.<

you: are you free this saturday at 9

jwisung: you mean

jwisung: the saturday 9pm where we just finish our badminton class?

jwisung: idk i gotta check my schedule to see if i have a badminton class around that time 

jwisung: omg wait are you gonna spoil me 

you: 😐

you: yes but not anymore

you: bye

jwisung: WAIR

jwisung: pleahse im soreu

you: not forgiven <3

you: i know this place that actually has good mint choc ice cream

you: not too minty not too chocolatey 

jwisung: you rmbrd that i like mintchoc?

you: dont do this to me

jwisung: okay i wont 😁

you: good boy

jwisung: …

you: ?

you: oh! 

jwisung: no

you: ill remember this too 😋

Your bag is bigger this time when you go to class, having packed an extra set of clothes and a towel to have a quick rinse after class before your not-date with Jisung. Arriving just in time for the warm-up session, you’re met with gloomy faces left and right. Plopping your bag down next to Soojin’s, you whisper when you ask, “Why does everyone look like they’ve been kicked?”

She looks up to you with a pout adorning her features. “Coach declared today a ‘cardio’ day. Something about wanting to boost our stamina or whatever the fuck.” She sighs as she shoves her stuff back into her bag, sadly shuffling across the court to do her designated warmups. You grimace as you follow, hoping your travel-size soap is enough.

Turns out Coach’s definition of cardio was way more intense than what you remember your gym friends raving about, as you put your hands on your knees to keep yourself from collapsing. A whistle from the coach signals a shift in your rep, making you change stations and do the next cycle of workout.

“Coach, how much longer are we gonna do this—”

“Until I start sweating, Jaemin. Now keep up!” Coach demands, which is absurd, because he isn’t doing anything but watching you do push-up planks and try not to collapse.

“Okay, stop,” He blows the whistle once more and you fall to your hands and knees, with everyone else modelling a variation of your position. Haechan’s high-pitched groan startles you, but not as much as the coach’s yelling that follows after.

“Don’t sit down guys! Sitting down after exercise is terrible for your stamina,”

“This sounds like some facebook myth my mom would tell me,” Ryujin pants as she shoves her fringe out of her face.

Coach smiles as he claps this time around. “You guys were great today, well done! As a gift, you can only do the stretching cool-down activities and I’ll finish class earlier today,” At that, the class erupts in out-of-breath cheers and barely lasting claps. 

You look to find Jisung, just to see how he’s holding up after this exercise round from hell, and you find yourself more than relieved to see him affected for once. Halfway through class, he’s opted to take off his hoodie, which left him in a white shirt and navy sweatpants, with sleeves bunched up to show his biceps and their carvings. The sight of him adorned with sweat and panting sends a twist to your stomach, and you’re quickly reminded that you’re supposed to go out with him after this.

Shuffling to your bag as quickly as you can with the ache pulsing through your legs, you’re about to head for the courts' public showers when you’re met with Jisung’s figure. 

“You can’t leave that easily, I have to try that ice cream,” He murmurs with a crooked smile. You smack at his shoulder.

“I wasn’t gonna leave, I wanted to take a quick rinse before we go out. That cardio really did a number on me,” Jisung falls a bit quiet at your words, as you visibly see him suddenly deep in thought. Before you get to question it, he beats you to it by straightening up and looking directly at you with an idea in mind.

“Why don’t you come to mine?” You blanch at his words but aren’t allowed to react more than that as he continues. “I live really close, and you can just use the shower before heading out. You have your stuff with you and I need a rinse too.” He points at your bag behind you, making you flush and subconsciously move to cover up your efforts. His idea doesn’t seem too bad, and you think this could be another excuse for you to make up to him. Let’s go out one more time because I used up all your hot water. Couldn’t think of a better idea. 

With a nod and a smile, you’re quickly guided out of the building shoulder to shoulder.

Jisung’s apartment really wasn’t far at all, as you arrive at the complex within a five-minute walk from the sports grounds. Living in a two-bedroom apartment with his roommate, who Jisungs said to have gone home this winter season, the place looks relatively clean with the effort of one person living in the area. He directs you to his room, where you place your bags and pick up your clothes before he points towards the bathroom.

“You can use my shampoo and soap, they’re both in some type of white bottle. Don’t use the blue ones because they’re my roommates’ and he has a sixth sense when it comes to these things,” You salute him and shuffle to the bathroom, trying your best to be as quick as possible to not leave him waiting and to not actually use up all his hot water. The bathroom was just slightly messy, with towels stacked on one another in a haphazard manner and shaving bottle caps abandoned and soap remnants staining the sink, you feel warm with the idea of getting to see this side of Jisung. A university student trying his best, not some badminton prodigy.

Rinsing your body one last time, you close the water tap and open the glass door of the shower, reaching out your hand blindly to retrieve your towel. After a few seconds of mindlessly flinging your arm and only coming back with a bang of your knuckle against the metal towel holder, you don’t really recall pulling out the towel from your bag, much less hanging it anywhere near the bathroom.

“Oh my god, why today?” The cold of the world outside the shower cubicle washes shivers over you as you open the door wide enough to fit your head around, scanning to see if there’s any alternative you can use instead. All you’re met with is bundles of toilet paper rolls stacked on top of one another and used toilet paper rolls dumped into a basket haphazardly. Your panic settles a bit quicker as your mind blanks from solutions, but not before a knock is heard through the door with your name being called.

“Yes?” You hide the waver in your voice as best as you can, closing the glass door just a bit more.

“Is everything okay?” Jisung’s voice rumbles through the door. Your hand flies to your body, suddenly feeling exposed with the reminder of Jisung’s presence. Slipping back into the shower, you raise your voice as much as you can to be heard through the door; “Yup! Everything’s fine. Just . . .” It’s just I’m dripping and naked in your house and the only remedy is a towel, which I don’t have.

“I noticed you forgot your towel,” The muffle of his voice cuts you out of your trance, “I can give it to you— I mean of course I won’t look! I can just— maybe I’ll stick my hand in?” You laugh slightly at the fact that he’s just as flustered as you, before replying with an agreement. 

As he opens the door with the smallest gap to fit the towel and then his wrist, the cold air of the outside reminds you again of your stark nakedness, one hand going across your chest as you reach your other to grab at the towel. With a skim of your wet fingers against his warm and dry ones, you retrieve your towel with a shy thanks, as Jisung quickly goes to close the door.

While getting ready as quickly as you could in the bathroom, your mind was filled with thoughts of how you were supposed to face Jisung after that whole incident. You couldn’t think if it was better to joke about it and get it over with or forget about it and have to come back one day for some form of closure. You hoped there was no need for closure.

But before your overthinking could get to you, Jisung regarded you like he would any other day when you stepped out of his bathroom — with a shy look and awkward hands — and you immediately relax, shoulders slumping as you go up to him, slinging your bag over your shoulder. Jisung’s eyes flit towards it, but not for long before he opens the door and lets you lead the way.

The trip to the ice cream store was a short one, requiring only a train ride to the han rivers’ skirts where the shop is situated. The store itself was busy with people sitting all around snacking on its offerings, but once you get your respective ice creams and head out back towards the river, it’s a bit quieter; a breeze slips past you as you wrap an arm around yourself. With spring in the air, the trees’ full bloom flowers scatter around the pavement and are imprinted by the soles of your hoses as you walk by.

Finding a bench by the tree, the two of settle down on it, as you turn and face Jisung in anticipation of his first try.

“It’s really good, trust me. And it’s like a bit thicker with its mint rather than the chocolate bits which is a bit hard to do when you eat mint chocolate ice cream because it’s always the chocolate that's richer and you get si—” a spoonful of your ice cream is stuffed into your mouth, spluttering you to a stop as you glare at Jisung whos laughing at your expression.

“I had to shut you up one way,” You fist your hand at him in faux aggression, pulling out your spoon and placing it back into your cup.

“Just eat it quickly before it melts,” You exclaim with a hurried expression, feet bouncing up at down in anticipation. Jisung glances at you while he picks up his spoon, prodding at his ice cream before he picks up a spoonful of his ice cream, slowly bringing it to his mouth as he looks at your expression. He only laughs and detours his spoon once, bringing the spoon back up to his lips when the expression on your face shifts to a deadpan.

The pink of his lip contrasts with the mint colour of the ice cream dripping slightly from the spoon, as he finally fits the ice cream in and gives it a taste. Looking at his eyes with suspense, Jisung’s default expression of scepticism is what you see first, before it shifts into surprise, into confusion, and finally into the same expression as a kid getting candy. The glint in his eyes shines bright in the dim lighting that you’re in, as Jisung points to the ice cream while he continues consuming the ice cream.

“It’s good,”

“Of course it’s good. I wouldn’t bring you to try good mint chocolate if it wasn’t actually good mint chocolate,” You stifle a giggle when Jisung throws you a glower.

“You know what I mean,” At his positive reaction, you comfortably dug into your own ice cream, a comfortable silence blanketing you two with background noises of cyclers whizzing by and people talking in the distance.

“You’re doing really well,” Jisung starts with his eyes darted away, suddenly shy to look at you as he says, “In badminton, I mean. Your overhead shots are cleaner than mine.” Eyes still averted, he elbows you lightly with his compliment. You preen at his praise, leaning forward subconsciously to him with a thank you.

“It’s all thanks to you. If you weren’t as good as you are I wouldn’t even know that there are two methods of serving the shuttle.” 

Jisung’s laugh sounds less humorous, “Yeah, it must’ve been weird seeing me play alone during class,” There's a heavy pause as you visibly detect the boy sort through his next words. “I didn’t think you guys were . . . fond of me. When we first started,” You feel your stomach go white, colours flush from your face from his words. Did he know? Were you that blatant? You feel bad, remembering how isolated the boy was at that time as everyone distanced themselves since learning his level of expertise. You weren’t any better, the bitter feeling you harboured when you got ranked into the third group now coming back to you after three months of attending practice.

At the glum expression on your face, Jisung quickly goes to wave his hand. “Ah, it was— it wasn’t your fault or anything. I secluded myself too, so of course it would’ve been hard to talk as comfortably.” He rests his hand on yours that’s pressed against the bench, comforting you as if you’re the one whos been wronged, and not the other way around. Frowning at his consolation, you don’t know what comes over you as you flip your hand around, making your palm face his as you clasp his hands in yours.

You avoid looking at his expression as you make your bold move, looking at the river as you start. “If it makes you feel better, Jaemin always talks about how jealous he is of you whenever you do a smash,” Gathering the courage, you squeeze his fingers as you look at him, another question popping up in your head.

“Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to, of course, but—” You cut yourself short when Jisung nods his head at you, looking at you with a calm demeanour.

“Why do you still come to class if you’re already so good? I mean, I swear you’re at national levels at least,” Jisung snorts at your words, growing shy from your praise.

“I’m being serious, don’t laugh!” Even as you say your words with furrowed eyebrows, your efforts barely last as you smile at his bashful posture. Puffing his cheeks, he ponders a bit on how to answer your question; you’re about to tell him to just forget it, not wanting him to answer something so personal, when he straightens his posture and stares ahead with a determined expression.

“The first time I played badminton was at a family gathering for new years, and I might’ve been four or maybe five when my dad put a racket in my hand and swung my arm around to hit at the throws my cousins would send my way. Then when I got older and was forced to play actual sports in school, the only thing that I was willing to play was badminton. I didn’t try hard in the beginning and was there because I heard that the teacher conducting it didn’t really care,” You snort at the picture of young Jisung barely lifting his hand to play, or letting the shuttle zoom right past him while flinching away entirely.

“But when the interschool competitions came around and I was ranked in the last group to play, I had won by pure luck,” He rubs his hands up and down his pants as he reminisces, shoulder rubbing against your subconsciously. “And then everyone started cheering me on because apparently, my accidental win had helped us accelerate to the next round. It made me feel good that I was the cause of such a thing, so I tried a bit harder the next time. Then I asked the higher ranking kids to help me with my serving, and then my mom to admit me to a badminton class, and I ranked up from F to D, and then to B and then A. My class started to admit me to local competitions outside of school hours, and then it had become such a big part of my life that I was determined to get to a national scale.”

“Did you?” Your voice was quiet when you spoke, ending with a bit of a rasp from its lack of use. You were on the edge of your seat if your position meant anything, arms wrapped around your knees, thighs pressed to your chest, making the waistband of your shorts dig a bit higher. Jisung’s smile is a sentimental one, reminiscent of a win resulting from years of effort.

“I was fifteen when I was cast by a racket sports centre, which focused on training people ranging from kids to young adults to get to national competitions and even more. I was over the moon and became one of those kids you barely see in class and when you do, they’re just sleeping through the subject. My first competition was scheduled three months after my admission, which was unheard of; even kids who have been learning at the place for two years would struggle to pass the first rounds for the entry.” Your eyes move along Jisung’s hand, as he comically explains his words through the movement of his fingers, expanding and collapsing joints onto one another.

“I didn’t win the first one, but I won the second, and the third, and built a streak - although short, just four months into training. In the beginning, it was all so exhilarating, the thrill of winning the title of first place with all these people who were just as gifted, if not even more. And so I would win because I was capable, I didn’t win because I was it was expected of me.”

“But,” You murmur as Jisung halts, bringing his hand down as his fingers fiddle with the texture of the bench. 

“But,” His excitement has burnt down to a sort of nostalgia, and you reach your hand down and clasp your hand over his again, before he looks down and turns his hand, palm facing yours as he links your fingers together. “But then, when I was seventeen, I had passed the initial rounds for the national Olympic competition. It was big news; our centre hadn’t had someone do that in decades, and that was when the pressure was tangible.

“My parents would schedule my day down to the minutes, and my coach made my diet strict, telling me what exactly I should eat each day until the competition. I loved the order and agenda that was set for me; I didn’t have to think what’s next? I just had to keep doing what I was good at. But then came the first round of the match, and the people were ruthless. No one was there to watch two teenagers play badminton, but instead fight for their lives. I didn’t think much about it until my third round that day when the kid I was playing against deliberately tried to hit the ball to my face.” 

You couldn’t help it, your laugh had spilt out before you could even think of stopping it, but Jisung’s squeeze against your hand assured you that it was fine, as he chuckled with you.

“Who the fuck practices hitting the ball at someone's face?” Your voice was pitched higher with exasperation. “Do you reckon he had a cardboard cutout of you to practice on? I doubt someone can do the calculations of face-hitting range that quickly under pressure.” Jisung contemplates your idea teasingly, tilting his head and measuring random angels with his free hand. Seeing that, the weight of your hand held against his now weighs tenfold, as the butterfly in your stomach flutters with the subconscious squeeze of his fingers. You bump at his shoulder as you squeeze yourself closer, bringing your linked hands to rest against your stomach, wanting to hold him closer. 

“It was definitely weird, but it didn’t set me off my rhythm, I just thought that it was a way to rile people up. But my coach was the one irritated, and when the boy had almost hit my eye, that was when my coach started to interfere,” You can only imagine the noise surrounding seventeen-year-old Jisung, his coach stepping forward to halt the game and talking to the referee to take some sort of action, pointing accusing fingers at the opponent and their mentors. 

“The place that we were competing at was big, bigger than what I was used to back then, and there were a lot of people and so it was noisy;  but the noise that my coach and the kid were making was something else. When my coach came back to me, all riled up, I couldn’t do much but take in his energy. I remember being very tense, thinking that I should just step my ground a bit more next time ‘round so they wouldn’t think of doing something like aiming the shuttle at my face.

“I think it was either the fifth? Or the sixth round, when I was in the zone of playing ‘professionally’ rather than doing what I was already good at. I would do overhead deliveries and front-hand serves even though I’d rather do a simple back-hand. Then there was an opening for a smash, it was a weak point for the guy— and I was over the moon with the opportunity. I’d only done the smash successfully maybe enough to count off of my fingers, but I knew that if I timed it right I would get it,” Dread fills your stomach at the direction that Jisung is going, You’re sure if you clench your fingers any harder there would be an imprint left of the poor boy's hand, but Jisung either doesn’t notice or simply doesn’t care.

Jisung’s chuckle drifts lightly in the air, “I was too enthusiastic, and I bunched up all my energy into hitting the ball that I’d missed the perfect time and instead had delivered a simple overhead. It would’ve been okay otherwise, I mean, I was able to deliver something instead of losing a measly point, but before I could recover, the shuttle had travelled to the back end of the court, and in my attempt of getting it, I’d tripped and landed pretty badly,” While telling the story, Jisung’s free hand had been wandering over his clothed knee, fingers fiddling with the fabric and one another. Bunching up the fabric at the end of his pant, he pushes up the lax fabric up and over his knee, where a pink and slightly faded surgical scar paints the inner side of his knee. Your hand clasps over your mouth once met with the scar, and your heart fills with admiration as you see him trace his healed gash with sentimentality. Bringing your linked hands to rest on your knee, you prop your cheek against it while looking at him, sparkling eyes encouraging him to continue.

“I couldn’t play anymore after that, not with the same vigour I had before. Suddenly I had to go back to class regularly and didn’t have to do any sort of reps just so I don’t fall behind on my weekly plan. My schedule had more free time than anything, and so I had enough time to get to thinking; what if I hadn’t misstepped? Would I have won? But I knew that all of that thinking wouldn’t do me any good. So when I was watching the Olympics months later, I remember seeing the camera pan onto the coaches, and how happy they were to see their student playing. I missed the joy of playing for the thrill and adrenaline of moving around, and so I thought, why not become a coach?” Understanding fills you as you realise why Jisung is going through all this effort of attending a class that he’s exponentially overqualified for. His cheeks go red as he realises your gaze settling over his figure, now looking away from you and onto the still water. 

You can’t help it, you find it simply so endearing that he’s set his time into achieving something to allow people to have fun with badminton. Feeling overwhelmed with affection from his story and words and actions, you lean over and place a peck on to his cheek. 

The contact was brief, as your lips barely took in the smoothness of his skin before you’re coming back with a start. “Oh my god, Jisung. That’s so cute, you’re generous and you’re going out of your way to do such good things, and you didn't deserve to go through that at such a young age—” Your words were smushed together as you barely reach the end of your sentence, the cause being Jisung’s big hands gently attacking your cheeks at once. His wide eyes stare straight at yours as his colder hands warm against the puff of your cheeks; and you are seconds away from voicing your confusion before you see his gaze settling on your pouted lips, glistening and redder from the ice cream. 

You couldn’t even smile teasingly at him, as his hands refrain you from doing so. The nervous adrenaline running in your vein might be another reason too, but you don’t get to ponder on that for long before you see Jisung’s tilted head leaning closer, hooded eyes glancing at your eyes before focusing back on your lips, wanting to imprint it’s cute pouted shape.

The warmth of his lips lands on your cold ones, sending a wave of warmth to wash over you. You can feel his desire through the pressure of his lips against you, his soft lips fitting over yours lovingly. You mourn the loss as soon as Jisung pulls back, but not for long before he presses another close-mouthed kiss, this time with his hand tilting your head the other way, fingers slipping and cupping your jaw gently. Your stomach warms as you feel the fervour within Jisung, from the tip of his cold fingers on your heated cheeks to the push of his body towards you, wanting to get closer with each passing second. 

When he pulls back, his eyes are clouded with the haze of your kiss and a bit of timidity. Your giggle bubbles between you, causing him to smile along with you, his shyness catching up. Not wanting his hand to stray far as they fall from your face, you clasp at his palm and lace your fingers, pulling down to get his face closer to yours, placing a peck at his nose first, scrunched from being bashful, and then one on his lips. And another, and another, then it’s him who’s leaning in and slotting his lips against yours, and you’re pulling your linked hands behind your back and let go, opting to slot your hand behind his neck.

After two, three, and four more kisses to the cheek, forehead and lips, you tuck your head into the junction of his shoulder and neck, feeling shy from doing all of this in public. Jisung’s laugh is sweet to your ears, hands rubbing up and down your back before brushing at the ends of your hair. 

“Give a warning next time round, will you?” You tease as you pull back, hand falling on his forearms, eyes looking everywhere but at his.

“Sorry, you just looked too cute. I felt this sudden urge to either bite you or kiss you,”

You pull back even more, hands coming up to shield yourself in mock reservation. “I don’t know if I should be thankful you chose the second option or fear for when the first option will happen,”

Jisung hums, “Maybe both?”

Your pinkies are linked as you walk along the river, basking in each other's presence as you talk, shoulders brushing every now and then. It’s when you’re both childishly debating about who had fallen first when Jisung suddenly points his finger at you accusingly.

“Is that why you forgot your towel?” His question comes out more genuine than anything, as he tilts his head quickly in thought. With a light gasp, you smack at his shoulder before your arm falls back and crosses on your shoulders, scandalised. “I didn’t!”

“Was that how you were gonna seduce me? By forgetting your towel and having me bring it to you? What was next, you wanted me to lotion your legs for you too?” You can tell he’s teasing this time around, as his tongue pokes at his cheek ever so slightly to withhold the grin that was blooming across his features.

You point your finger at him, catching on. “You probably distracted me with your whole ‘which bottle of shampoo’ debacle just to make me forget it.” Poking at his chest with eyes squinted in suspicion, “You wanted to see me naked on the first date? That’s not very decorum of you.”

Jisung scoffs and rolls his eyes at your accusation, shoulders squaring to better defend himself. “I don’t need to go through all of that just to get to you,” He throws you a quick glance from the corner of his eye, a rush of giddiness washing over him with the look of your flustered expression.

“You’re right,” This time, you’re looking at his lips as you say this, catching Jisung off-guard with your compliance. Moving closer, you rest your hands on his arms, pushing yourself up and closer to his body, chests brushing. Your voice, barely above a whisper, brushes against his ear, “It’s gonna take a lot more than that to get to me, baby.” 

You know the smile on your face is menacing if Jisung’s gaze on you is anything to go by, partly annoyed and part timid. Ghosting one of your hands down his arm, you slip your fingers in between his and give them a squeeze, giggling as you swing your arm back a forth a bit like a school couple.

Jisung’s next sentence takes a bit of effort to say if his demeanour is anything to go by. With his gaze settled on your intertwined hands and a slightly open mouth— as if to say something, you give his hand another gentle squeeze to encourage him. 

The gleam in his eyes looks more assured as he straightens his posture and looks directly into your eyes, giving your hand a squeeze back. “Do you wanna go back to mine?”

Leaning in, you give another peck on his cheek, his scent pleasantly wafting through your nose. “I’d love to,”

You can feel the tension grow with the sound of the door closing and sounding its locking chime, toeing off your shoes as you look up at Jisung. He reaches out a hand towards you once you straighten up, pulling you close and guiding you towards the door of his bedroom.

Like the rest of the house, Jisung’s room is clean but still spotted with signs of use, with his desk having papers and laptop wires strewn around while a plethora of empty hangers are placed at the foot of his closet. As he sits on the bed, with his hand still holding yours, he tugs you forward, his free hand going to your thigh, clasping above your knee. 

His eyes glisten as he looks up at you, “This okay?” his touch ghosts on you as he asks this. You nod your head, wanting him to touch you, needing him to touch you more. His fingers grow bolder and heavier in weight, as his hand clasps at the back of your thigh, bending your leg and resting it next to his thigh. Understanding his movements, you follow suit, settling yourself on his thighs with your linked hands resting on his stomach. He leans in and presses a soft kiss against you, easing in with feathery light touches. The slot of your mouths against each other starts a small fire in your stomach, as you push yourself onto him more, needing him to know that you crave more. 

He sighs against your lips as you settle down more, the pressure not far from where he wants it the most. He kisses you feverishly, the smack of your lips growing louder with each plant of his lips. His touches grow heavier as his fingers go from grazing against your knees to tracing lines up your thighs, barely a touch away from settling under the seem of your skirt. Knitting your fingers in his hair, his hand flies to your love handles, squeezing them in an attempt to ground himself. A sigh leaves his lips when you separate just the slightest bit, taking a breather as you kiss the corner of his lips, hands falling from the ends of his hair down to his collarbones and at the bottom of his shirt. Your spread your fingers on the skin of his stomach, nails skimming ever so slightly making Jisung’s breath hitch, his stomach tensing under your touch, eyes still closed as he takes in your touch, his stomach knotting from finally being able to do this with you.

With his grip already tight on your waist, he maneuvers you off his lap and sits you on his bed, crawling between your legs, making you open them and welcome him in as you lie down on his bed. He kisses you again, his hands now staking claim everywhere he can, pushing your shirt up to your ribs, fingers grazing against your bud form under your bra before he brings his hands down and kneads at your thighs.

“Jisung,” You sigh when he swipes his tongue against your lips. He takes your tongue in his mouth, humming against it at your call, its vibration sending hot waves down your body. His touches on your body take you higher, but you need more.

And so you say just as much, “More, give me more.”

“Fuck,” He sighs against your lip, “Yeah? Okay, I’ll give you more, anything for you,” Pressing one last peck against your lip, you see his body slide down your figure, his fingers going to unhook your bra as you arch your back. He groans at the sight of your breasts free from your bra. “I love your tits, so much,”  His hands are big against you, but they fit perfectly against the cup of your breasts, squeezing them together as he smothers himself against your cleavage. He licks a stripe of each bud, before focusing on your left one with his mouth, tongue lapping around the swell as he sucks, opting to circle his fingers on your other tit before pinching it harshly, making you keen against him.

You rake your fingers in his hair, petting him. “Such a good boy, you make me feel so good,” Your words make him whine against your breast, making his hip stutter against the mattress,  for some sort of friction. He releases one hand from cupping your breasts, opting to use one hand while his now free hand dances its way down your torso, unzipping your skirt and taking it off, before meeting the seam of your panties. With his pointer finger, he hovers a line ever so slightly on your slit, eyes wide as he glances at the pleasure breaking out on your face and the wetness of your underwear spreading.

He keeps his touch light, drawing circles on your clit through the fabric of your underwear, frustrating you. You huff when he uses the point of his fingers and presses the slightest amount into your hole, the fabric refraining you from feeling his direct touch. You pull at his hair that’s winded through your fingers, urging him on; he moans at the pull, getting the memo once he looks up at your face with an eye squeezed closed from pain or pleasure. Or both.

He licks at your entrance briefly through your panties, the heat and wetness making you moan, before his fingers finally fit themselves into the seam, sliding them down your legs. You feel more than see his gaze on your core, hooded eyes watching it squeeze around nothing as his fingers tease around it. He comes back up to you and presses his lips against yours, lips slotting together briefly before you feel his thumb rub against your sensitive nub, his middle finger prodding at your hole, eyes watching your face as he pushes the pad of his finger against you. You keen when his finger fills you, as he pushes his finger back and forth, his thumb following by pressing into your clit and pulling away rhythmically. He brings his head against your neck, licking a stripe against you before his teeth catch on your skin, lips wrapping themselves around you straight after, sucking into you before parting and finding another part of your skin to taint. He quickens his pace with his one finger, but it’s not enough, you can barely get enough of him.

Hugging his head that’s still tucked at your neck, you scratch at his scalp soothingly before pulling at strands of his hair. “Jisung,” You pant, “Another one, fill me up, please,”

“You want more?” He bites at your jaw lightly, before he pecks your lips lovingly, as if he isn’t trying to have you come undone with his fingers alone. You nod your head, “Please, I’ve been good, haven’t I?” You beg as your cup the side of his face, your eyes looking at his blown-out pupils, probably no different than yours.

Jisung gronas at your words. “You’ve been so good, such a good girl.” He pulls his finger out so just the tip of it hangs onto your gaping hole, before he joins in another finger, two fingers now filling you. You whimper out a thank you, hands clutching at his shoulders as he picks up the pace, hand now slapping against your cunt, fingers curling inside your sopping pussy. Your body feels like it’s floating and coiling into itself all at once, with Jisung’s unrelenting fingers contrasting his gentle pecks and scrape of teeth against your skin. Every few thrusts and squeeze against his fingers have his hips grind down, sometimes grazing against your leg, making you feel his hard-on.

You bring your hand down from his shoulder, curling it at the bottom of his shirt before tugging at it, mumbling the word off. He pulls back slightly and pulls his shirt off with his free hand while you help with getting it over his head. You scratch your nails against the lines of his stomach, eliciting a hiss out of his before you palm at the outline of his cock through his sweatpants. “You listen so well, don't you? Always doing your best,” You pant out, testing the waters as you tuck the tips of your finger under his waistband. His moan comes out higher in pitch with your words, hips jutting forward and into your touch.

“Good for you,” he breathes against your cheek, eyes squeezed shut at the brush of your fingers against his clothed cock, muttering another fuck under his breath, rutting into your palm for more. 

You’re losing your patience, as Jisung speeds up his hand even more, the pleasure bordering with pain from his pace and harsher bites Jisung plants on you, too far gone with pleasuring you to be mindful of his strength. 

You can feel your orgasm reaching, breath hitching and your stomachs coil tightening further and further. You wrap your hand around Jisung’s wrist, slowing him down slowly before prodding them out of you. You whine at the emptiness briefly but are soothed when Jisung plants wet kisses against your collarbone. You push yourself up onto your shoulders, making Jisung shuffle back slightly in order to not lose touch with you, Reaching over, you dig through your bag and pull out a condom, shaking it between your bodies to bring Jisung’s attention to it.

The sound of the plastic wrapper catches his gaze, “You’re gonna let me put it in?” He grabs the packet from your hand before gently pushing you back down. He kisses you again, seeming to not get enough, as he pushes his pants and boxers down in one go, his tip smacking against the soft lines of his stomach and leaving a glisten. The rip of the packet sounds before he rolls it on, and you shift closer when you feel the tip of his cock lined up with your pussy.

The sheets ruffle around you as Jisung comes down and places a kiss on your cheek before looking into your eyes. “Ready?” He asks, and with a nod of your head, you feel him slowly ease himself into you. The stretch feels amazing, as you both moan into each other mouths, your hands squeezing and wandering everywhere around Jisung’s shoulders, back, torso. 

Jisung sighs, “Fuck,” His grip on your waist tightens, the pressure turning you on even more, squeezing around his cock. “You feel so good, so tight,”

“Fuck, Jisung,” You groan out as he quickens his pace, the sound of his hips slapping against your skin picking up. “Fuck, you’re doing so well. Stretching me out so good,” Jisung throws his head back, eyes squeezing shut at the pulse of your pussy around his member. He looks back down, wanting to see the join of your bodies, pulling out till his tip, before ramming himself back in, losing himself to the blissful feeling.

The knot in your stomach tightens. “Jisung, I’m close—” You’re cut off by your own moan as Jisung starts rubbing at your clit again, building a rhythm to his thrusts into you. 

“Yeah? Fuck, let go baby,” He grunts as he bends down, his cock twitching inside of you as he kisses your lips before tucking his head back into your neck, lapping at your skin as he keeps up his speed with his fingers on your clit and his thrusts inside you. Your body curls up as your orgasm crashes into you, hands hugging at Jisung’s shoulders tighter as your thighs squeeze around his hips, keeping him in your pulsing core. Panting, you release your grip from his hip, bringing your leg down and patting Jisung’s head, wanting to kiss him again. 

As he pulls away from you, you lean up and plant a kiss on his lips, chest bursting with the affection you feel while coming down. Jisung pulls his cock out from you, going slow as to not overwhelm you. He pulls off his condom, not having cum yet as his cock smacks against his stomach, the precum from the tip joining the light sheen of sweat covering his body. He fists his hand around his cock, tugging and pumping himself to a finish. You’re too spent to give him a helping hand, but you decide you haven’t spent your mouth enough.

“Pretty boy, you’re doing so well,” He hunches over your body at your words. “Looks so good fisting your own cock like that,”

“Fuck,” He groans, “If you keep going I’m gonna—”

“Cum baby, make a mess on me,” You run your hand up his thigh, before pulling up and grabbing at his hair and combing through the strands. His moan comes out high pitched as his hips stutter into his fist, before a spurt of come shoots out and lands on your stomach. He twists his fist around the head of his cock as he milks it out, before heaving a sigh and slumping down, placing a kiss on your shoulder before he lies by your side, cupping his body into yours. You continue running your hand in his hair as he settles on your shoulder, his cheek poking out which makes you poke at it. A giggle is shared as the giddiness of you two being together in the moment settles in, and when you go to place a kiss at his forehead, you’re reminded of the wetness of sweat all over your body and the slowly drying cum on your stomach.

“Oh, let me go get something,” He gets up and goes to his bathroom, coming back with a few paper towels and a wet cloth. Rubbing down your spent body, he pats you dry with the paper towel before putting them away and plopping down next to you, wrapping his arm around you and tucking himself close.

“I didn’t know you were the cuddly type,” You say as you hug at his shoulders, hands rubbing up and down as a faux massage.

“Well, I mean, I can let go?” Jisung’s nervous front grows again, as he goes to put some distance between the two of you. But before he could get far, you wrap your arms tighter around his shoulder as you hook your leg around his, stopping him from pulling away.

“I never said it was bad; I like this girlfriend bonus.” Jisung’s hair bounces as he pops his head up to look at you.

“Girlfriend bonus? Does that mean you’re my girlfriend now?”

“Only if you agree to my boyfriend bonuses,” You shrug. He laughs as he places his head back on your shoulder. “What are these so-called ‘boyfriend bonuses’ of yours?” You tap at your chin mockingly as you think.

“You can fuck my boobs next time?” You shrug again. His head whips up faster this time ‘round.

“Are you serious? Don’t joke about it, because if you are I won’t be—” You smack your hands on his cheeks, squeezing his lips into a pout. His shoulders slump at your attempt of shutting him up, eyebrows drooping as he gazes at you, making you laugh at his expression as you squish his cheeks repeatedly.

“Okay, good job guys, take a water break.” Coach Son claps, as everyone shuffles to their bags and grab at their bottles. Jisung’s elbow brushes against yours as he grabs his bottle from his bag next to yours, taking a few light sips before he places it down, looking at you with his cheeks full of water. It takes all his might to not spit the water out as you elbow him back and raise your fingers tauntingly, moving closer as if you’re about to tickle him.

Before you can successfully begin your quest, Coach lets out a sound as to gather you guys back ‘round, clapping his hands twice before waving you guys in.

“Since we’re coming to the end of the semester and you guys have proved to work really hard, I’m gonna conduct one last test to see how much your levels have changed since the beginning of the semester!”

“Oh my god,” You whisper out to Jisung as your hand cups your mouth, wide eyes looking at his as his eyebrows raise in surprise. This could finally be the moment that you can prove yourself, advancing onto a higher level to have an overall better ranking.

“Who wants to go first?” Jaemin steps up and raises his hand, confidently wanting to prove his skills. 

He plays a round with the coach, showing signs of trying his best and knowing how to play, but his reaction speed comes a bit too late as he misses the shuttles by a step. Sometimes two. Sometimes he mixes up his left from his right, but that’s just occasionally. Minji and Ryujin play a round each, and show good improvement throughout the semester.

“You should go next,” Jisung leans into as he whispers, both of your gazes settled on the coach and Ryujin going back and forth with clears being delivered. Your blood rushes quicker at the thought of playing an official round, thinking of all the mistakes you can make that would cost you. 

Sensing your nerves, Jisung places his hand on yours, grabbing it before giving the palm of your hand soothing rubs. “To help with the nerves,” He says when you look at your joint hands questioningly.

“Alright, next player?” Giving your hand a light squeeze, Jisung lets go and ushers you forward onto the court, as you raise your hand slightly, grabbing at your racket once Coach nods you in.

Arranging yourself, you pick up the shuttle left at your side and get into your serve position. You hit the shuttle and serve, commencing the game. You are able to reciprocate most of coach’s deliveries, stepping left and right when needed and angling your racket to optimise your own delivery, but it’s when you’re halfway through the game with Coach Son’s and your score being eleven and ten respectively, coach starts playing with a more advanced method. The drops become more frequent, catching you off guard as you have to run from the back to the front of the court in order to make it to the shuttle, as well as the clears going in different angles making you almost trip a few times as you attempt to make it to them.

Jisung has his fist at his mouth as he watches you from the side, with everyone else in awe at how quickly you’re moving compared to the last time they played officially.

“How did she get so good?” Haechan questions with his hand pressed on his racket. The whole class shifts their head from left to right at the sidelines as they watch you battling it out with their coach, the shuttle relentlessly being delivered with neither of you wanting to lose touch of it.

“It’s the perks she gets for having an almost professional-level badminton player of a boyfriend.” Ryujin’s smile is devoid of any callousness, patting at Jisung’s shoulder as she says this. Jisung can feel his cheeks grow red as he splutters into his sleeve, hiding his flustered expression as the rest of them shout out their reactions.

“All credit goes to her, she’s just a diligent student.” 

“I can be diligent too,” Jaemin bats his lashes as he leans in from Jisung’s other side, but flinches and clutches at his shoulder when Soojin smacks him.

Back on the court, you’re starting to lose your breath when Coach delivers another serve to the back of the court, shuttle going straight as you attempt to create enough distance to successfully hit back. As he does a clear delivery, you position yourself at the back fo the court in order to meet his hit, before quickly centring yourself, preparing for his next move. From a steady pattern of his serves growing in your head, you were more than ready to reciprocate his short hit of the shuttle near the net, as you step forward and hit back.

Usually, you would’ve stumbled to hit the shuttle back at maximum velocity, sending it flying up and giving Coach more than enough time to think of his next move. But from your extra hours of playing with Jisung, you’re picked up the knack of delivering a short end with another short end, making the shuttle travel only the slightest bit over the net and plummeting down into the court. Coach Son is caught off guard when you do this, but his reflexes from years of practise kicks in, and before he could process his actions, he delivers a lob, sending the shuttle high in the air. Jisung gasps from the sidelines, making everyone alert.

He calls out your name, “Smash! Do a smash!” 

With your eye settled on the descending shuttle, you think back to the one class you had with Jisung.

“You hit a clear when the shuttle can meet your hand at twelve o’clock. You have to wait for it to drop to the same level that you’re hand would be at a ten o’clock position to be able to deliver a smash; but remember that you have to keep going with your delivery until your hand reaches six o’clock.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

You’re still not sure what he meant, but with the fall of the shuttle, you’re not really at the privilege of recalling things for a long amount of time. 

Positioning your hand at the first base, you wait for the shuttle to be at least a few inches from your head before you reach out, smacking at the shuttle and aiming at the bottom of the court. Coach, who was ready for you to hit the shuttle to the back of the court like you usually do, was not ready for the shuttle which was arriving at a quick pace. In a blink, the shuttle lands just past his ankles, and you’ve officially scored a point.

“Jisung!” You scream once the shuttle lands, looking at your boyfriend who was staring intently at your match. A look of victory glows across his face as his mouth drops in disbelief, eyebrows raised and fists clenched, over the moon at what you had just accomplished.

“I smashed! I did it! I smashed so hard oh my god, I think my arms gonna fall off,” The game is far from done for you to be celebrating like this, but you’re without care when the rest of the class cheers for you, Minji running up to you to give you a hug. You both start jumping with giddy while the rest join in, all while the coach looks at your huddled bunch with a smile on his face.

“This is Juda and this one is Chenle.”

“Why’d you talk about me as if I was a dog?”

“Because you are,” Juda shrugs before she plucks out a Yakult bottle from the packet in her hand, swingin it above Chenle’s face. “Who wants a treat? You do! Who’s a good boy?”

“Nice to . . . meet you guys too?” Jisung’s wave hangs mid air as he looks at Chenle slowly shift from a expressionless face to enthusiastically nodding his head up and down, wanting the drink.

“What did I tell you? You’ll fit just right in with us,” You link your arm through Jisung’s elbow, pulling him into your shared house with Juda before sitting him down on the couch. Juda and Chenle follow after, with the latter having his own bottle open and already emptied halfway. Juda offers Jisung yakult bottle, and goes to pick up the remote, going through the movies to put something on. You quickly grab a few snacks from the kitchen and come back, settling yourself right next to Jisung, leaving no space between the both of you.

“Wait,” Chenle turns to look at you from his positon on the ground, grimacing a bit at the sight of you two cuddled up, before continuing. “What happened with the new ranking then?” Your smile is shy when you look at him and Juda looking back at you expectantly. 

“I got into group B.”

“YES!” Chenle whoops, grabbing Juda and shaking her by the shoulders. “No more whining and complaining and whinging about the class!” You chuckle as you cheer alongside him, with Jisung looking at your interactions with raised eyebrows. 

Laughing, you tuck yourself into his side, linking your arms again as you rest your head on his shoulder. With Juda and Chenle bickering about settling on what movie to watch, you press a quick kiss on his cheek in appreciation.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” You smile at him, to which he grins shyly at. “Even though I lost, the smash pulled me through. Your smashing abilities were so flawless that even I, a young duckling was able to smash through,”

“Okay, thank you for the compliment but maybe don’t say how good my smashing abilities are—”

“You just smash so hard and so well—”

“Please—”

“Jisung the smash master!”

if you liked this, dont be afraid to tell me !

#park jisung x reader #jisung x reader #nct jisung #park jisung smut #park jisung fluff #nct dream smut #nct jisung fluff #nct jisung x reader #nct jisung smut

[another-lost-mc]

haiiii <3 i hope u're doing well! if u don't mind, can i request hcs for the brothers on how they would react to a mc (i don't mind whether it's female or gender-neutral so up to u!) who's a high achiever in human world but struggle a lot and probably fail their classes in devildom? thx so much!! feel free to ignore if u don't feel like writing this <3

When High Achiever!MC Struggles at RAD Headcanons | THE DEMON BROTHERS 2.4k words | SFW | gn!Reader | Hurt/Comfort | Fluff A/N: I resonate a lot with this prompt because I struggled with perfectionism as a student. It would've been a disaster if I was suddenly dropped in the Devildom and expected to do well somehow. lol

You stare at the paper in your hands. Your professor hands back this week’s quiz stating that the class scores are excellent, for the most part. There are a few muffled giggles around you, and you stare at the failing grade circled in red and resist the urge to cry in front of your classmates.

In the human world, you were an excellent student. You studied hard, completed your homework every night, finished all your assigned readings, and always left yourself an extra day or two to proofread your written work for errors and accuracy.

In the Devildom, you still do all those things but it doesn’t matter whether it’s a quiz or an assignment - your marks are horrible. Not just horrible by your standards, either.

Some of the professors approach you quietly after class and suggest remedial classes or private tutoring to help you. Other professors, the ones who are less sympathetic to your struggles, sneer when they hand back your work like you’re a perfect example of how humans are so weak.

The walk home from RAD is a blur. The demon brothers chat animatedly around you, but you aren't paying them much attention.

“We’re gonna order takeout for dinner tonight,” Mammon grins when you walk through the front door behind him. He waves his credit card in your face. “My treat. Whatcha want from Hell’s Kitchen?”

“I’m not hungry,” you mutter when you brush past him. You move through the clump of demons in the hallway and head to your room. Your bag slips off your shoulder to the floor, and you fall face-down on your bed and finally let yourself cry.

You don’t know how long you sob into your pillow, cursing yourself for your failures and wishing you never came here, until there’s a soft knock on your door and a familiar voice calling your name.

LUCIFER

Lucifer knows about your poor grades. Your professors have spoken to him and Barbatos more than once, since they’re the ones in charge of overseeing the student exchange program at RAD. Compared to the other exchange students, your consistently below-average or failing grades are a concern.

He’s going to consider your poor marks as a reflection of their program’s efficacy and not a personal failure on your part. Solomon and the Angels score higher in classes than you, but that makes sense - they’re all more familiar with the fantastical concepts you’re learning about for the first time.

He looks over your recent tests and written work to figure out the best solution. It’s obvious that it’s the overwhelming amount of Devildom knowledge and history you’re lacking, not your technical writing skills or your ability to comprehend the stacks of textbooks on your desk.

He reminds you as gently as he can that you’re part of an experimental program, and it’s not perfect. He asks for your input because your unique perspective and experience can make the program better for future students. It’s your chance to help improve the school’s image, and Diavolo’s reputation, so that hopefully the three realms can truly have a harmonious future.

In the meantime, he tries to keep a better eye on your well-being and your academics. It’s a difficult task because his time is already split between student council responsibilities and keeping his brothers in line. He knows that his brothers cause as much mischief for you as they do for him.

He offers you the use of his private study where you won’t be disturbed if you want peace and quiet. You don’t have to ask permission, either - you can use it whether he’s there or not. He shows you his collection of records you can listen to if you’d like to play some music while you study. (He puts the dangerous cursed records away where you won’t accidentally use them.)

If there happens to be a new kettle and a porcelain tea set and tin of your favourite tea on a shelf nearby, it’s just a coincidence. You’re welcome to use them as much as you’d like, though - he insists.

MAMMON

Mammon has a hard time believing that your grades are as bad as you say they are. You’re so smart, and he knows you work so hard. You’re the one shooing him away from your room when there’s an essay or big test coming up, telling him that you need to focus. He doesn’t like it, but he understands. The worst part is, you do all that and his grades are still better than yours - and he’s not even trying!

He’s going to blame everything and everyone except you for your academic difficulties. Diavolo and Barbatos should’ve anticipated this when they designed the exchange program, the professors shouldn’t be such assholes about it, Lucifer should’ve been helping you more, his brothers should leave you alone…

(He ignores your snarky comment about how demons shouldn’t be kidnapping random humans to begin with.)

Unfortunately, he doesn’t have a solution or a quick-fix to offer you. If such a thing existed, he would’ve gladly bought and paid for it by now. He knows he has a carefree approach to school, so he’s not going to pretend he’s got good advice for you.

No, Mammon is going to focus on being your friend instead. He’s going to keep those bully classmates off your back and keep you company between classes. He’s going to visit your room and make sure you take breaks and let yourself have a little bit of fun, because he doesn’t like seeing you stressed and unhappy. He’s going to remind you every way he knows how that he fuckin’ adores you no matter what your grades are.

LEVIATHAN

Leviathan isn’t surprised that you’re struggling. He thinks there’s too much homework, and he knows a lot of the content and history already. It’s no surprise that a normie human like you might be flunking out. 

Since he’s taken some of RAD’s classes online, he’s giving you his notes and study guides. There’s some online study groups he’s going to invite you to in case you'd like to talk to other students learning the same material you are.

Watching you struggle reminds him that it would be so much easier to do everything online. If you prefer to learn or connect with your classmates virtually, then he’s going to advocate for more investment in RAD’s remote learning capabilities. Wouldn’t it be fun to stay home together and do that instead?

He tries not to bother you when he knows you’re stressed about a test or a project, but he misses his Henry when you lock yourself in your room all the time. He hates that you’re so unhappy with your grades. So what if you’re not exactly a booksmart here in the Devildom? You’d ace every test if it were about things that actually mattered, like TSL or your favourite anime series.

He’s not as motivated to do well in school, but he is motivated to help you, in his own way. That usually means inviting you to his room so you can do homework together between matches of Super Smash Devils. Games are a great way to relieve stress, after all!

SATAN

Satan is aware of your poor grades, but he’s not going treat you like Lucifer does and make you go to him like some sort of supplicant begging for help. He’s going to invite himself to your room, or drag you to the library, or drag you to his room, and you’re going to succeed with him as your tutor.

He knows that a proper foundation is crucial to helping you learn about Devildom history, culture, and magic. Satan is going to look over your work and go over the basics with you after he figures out how the school’s curriculum is failing you.

Perhaps exchange students should be placed in modified introductory courses?

That might be a solution for future students but for now, he’s taking you back to basics. He guides you through the fundamentals you’re missing so that the more advanced topics actually make sense. He soothes your frazzled nerves when you struggle with remembering certain historical events. When you start to improve, he praises your correct answers so that he can finally see the radiant smile on your face, the one that he loves so much.

When you're both in desperate need of a break, he invites you to join him on his bed, or on the sofa in the library. He has a book open in his lap -a lighthearted story, something easy to follow - and reads to you. You can hear the smile in his voice as you drift off to sleep.

(Later on, when one of his brothers find both of you asleep, Satan's arms wrapped gently around you, they throw a blanket over both of you and dim the lights.)

ASMODEUS

Asmodeus is going to gather you in his arms and hold you close while he brushes away your tears and tells you how much he adores you. You’re too hard on yourself. He thinks you’re focusing too much on all the things you struggle with and not enough on the things he admires about you. 

He can see what happens when you get frustrated and depressed about your grades. You don’t smile as much anymore, the dark circles under your eyes become more prominent, your clothes fit a bit looser and it hurts him when you treat yourself badly like this. You didn’t do anything wrong and it's not your fault.

It just so happens that he loves pampering you any chance he gets, so don’t be surprised if he’s dragging you away from your desk for a mandatory R&R break in his room. You wince when his fingers dig into the knots in your back and shoulders, but he can feel the moment when you finally stop fighting and let yourself relax.

He’ll talk to you about school, but only if you bring it up first. Otherwise, he’s keeping your mind off things by talking to you about something he saw on Devilgram, or he’s asking your opinion about a new Majolish collab he’s designing.

Oh, how about a shopping spree tomorrow, just the two of you? No objections! He’ll let you choose where to go for dinner since he’s not picky. Afterwards, there’s a new boutique he wants to check out - the clothes they have are stunning, and he’s in the mood to spoil you.

BEELZEBUB

Beelzebub won’t lie and say he understands what you’re going through, because he doesn’t. Not exactly. He struggles with school sometimes, but that’s because 90% of the time he’s distracted by hunger or food, and the rest is him getting caught up in his hectic club schedule. 

You’re kind to him and so thoughtful when it comes to asking what he’s like for dinner, or if he wants some of your leftovers. He doesn’t always have the right words to say like Lucifer or Satan, and he’s not as adventurous as Mammon or Asmo, but he’s going to work hard to distract you and support you the best he can.

His biggest concern is whether you’re eating enough, and he’s not going to let you skip meals or rush from the table after a couple bites. He reminds you that being hungry and undernourished is going to make it even harder to focus. He makes a conscious effort to control himself when you're cooking - he doesn't want to stress you out even more.

He also asks you to join him when he works out. He wants to make sure you’re taking time to care for your body. He doesn't care whether you do some yoga or light stretching on a mat nearby, or if you want to listen to music while you walk on the treadmill - he watches you out of the corner of his eye while he trains. When you're both finished (or when you're done and he pretends he is too), he makes sure you both get a proper snack from the kitchen.

BELPHEGOR

Belphegor surprises everyone when he aces a test after rushing through the answers and napping for the rest of class. He doesn’t realize how it makes you feel only a few seats away from him, scribbling as fast as possible even as the professor slides the paper out from under you, and you end up with a barely passing grade to show for it.  

He’s not going to dwell on his feelings about the exchange program. What he is going to do is share his criticisms loudly, and meanly, with his oldest brother and Diavolo whenever he gets the chance. It’s their fault you’re here, stuck trying to learn thousands of years of history and culture about a place you’ve just learned exists. Of course you’re struggling - they’re asking too much of you.

He’ll offer to help you study, if that’s what you want. You don’t have to rely on Satan for that, you know. But what he considers more important, what he wants to focus on, is helping you with your disturbing lack of sleep.

You might not know this, but he knows how late you stay up at night trying to study. He knows how your mind is constantly racing with thoughts of failure and self-loathing and regret. You get up before your alarm after a restless night of tossing and turning. You sleep so badly, he can’t sleep properly either.

He’s going to start visiting you shortly before your usual bedtime, and he’s going to keep you company while he helps you put your books away. (Stop trying to argue, it’s for your own good.) He’s going to push your pajamas into your arms and nudge you towards the en-suite to change and shower and whatever else you need to do to get ready for bed.

When you come out looking cozy and a bit more relaxed and so damn cute, he’s going to ask which bed you’d prefer to sleep in - yours or his? Because he’s going to ward off the negative thoughts while you fall asleep, and he’s going to give you happier dreams. When you wake up tomorrow, you’ll understand what he already knows: none of that other stuff matters, so long as you have each other.

#obey me demon brothers #obey me lucifer #lucifer x reader #obey me mammon #mammon x reader #obey me leviathan #leviathan x reader #obey me satan #satan x reader #obey me asmodeus #asmodeus x reader #obey me beelzebub #beelzebub x reader #obey me belphegor #belphegor x reader #obey me x reader #omswd x reader #obey me x mc #obey me x you #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me fanfic #omswd fanfic #x reader #gn!reader

[nicoline1998enilocin]

Bare it all | Part 2

PAIRING | Boyfriend!Tony Stark x Girlfriend!Avenger!Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT | 6.2K

SUMMARY | Your relationship with Tony has been a fairytale, but when you unexpectedly become pregnant with his baby, your entire world is turned upside down. You're not sure how he will react to the news, but you will always have your best friend Natasha by your side, no matter what.

RATING | Explicit (E)

WARNINGS/TAGS | Age gap, use of nicknames, established relationship, secret relationship, referenced near-fatal accident, accidental pregnancy, morning sickness, pregnancy test, referenced infertility, referenced anxiety, Natasha's past in the red room is referenced.

SMUT | Dirty talk, praise, daddy kink, innocence kink, size kink, slight breeding kink, teasing, back-scratching, nipple play, oral (F&M receiving), fingering, handjob, deepthroating, facial/cumming on the face, cockwarming, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), cream pie, aftercare.

A/N | This one-shot is written based on this request. While writing this story, I kept getting more and more thoughts and ideas to add, so I decided to turn this story into a four-part mini-series! I cannot thank @ccbsrmsf1 enough for the endless support, supply of ideas, and proofreading you've done for me. You're an angel, and I love you 🩷

EVENTS Masterlist | @fandombingo | Road Trip with an Unexpected Companion Masterlist | @fandom-free-bingo Wild | Hair Pulling Masterlist | @mcukinkbingo | Free space

Banners: Yours truly | Divider: @firefly-graphics | Photo: @ccbsrmsf1

Main Masterlist | Tony Stark Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 3

The moment you were recruited to join the Avengers after working through SHIELD's most challenging programs, you were paired up with Iron Man to show you the ropes. Your super soldier strength combined with Tony's intelligence was perfect because you two have become inseparable on the battlefield, already knowing what the other person is thinking before they even have to say it.

However, during all your work together, something happened that neither of you expected. You started developing crushes on each other, though you were both too stubborn to admit it out loud, let alone to the other person. When Tony finally gathered his courage to tell you about his feelings, you suffered a near-fatal accident, which served only to bring you closer together.

That moment was a year and a half ago, and the relationship is nothing short of a fairytale - even though you have to keep it a secret from the world. Because of this, Tony ensures you are sent on many missions together so you can have quality time together without having to sneak out of each other's rooms in the middle of the night.

Today, you're supposed to go on a mission alone, and most of the Avengers are ready to wave you goodbye since it'll be one where you will be gone for almost a week. They're all there except one: Tony. Little do you know, however, that he has a plan up his sleeve, and he will surprise you with it in less than a minute after saying goodbye to everyone.

"Have a safe drive-" Steve can say before he gets interrupted by Tony running into the garage, panting slightly with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His cheeks are red from the exertion, making him look cute as you look at him with a small smile. The only times you're used to seeing him like this is when you've worn him out completely in the bedroom, making a flurry of butterflies go wild in your stomach.

"Fury told me to go with you, Y/N. Something about needing an extra pair of hands," he said quickly as he opened the trunk of the car, throwing his bag in and winking at you when no one could see it. You raise your brow as you look at him, a smile simultaneously tugging at the corners of your lips.

From the corner of your eye, you can see Nat shake her head slightly, a smile playing on her lips, too. Neither of you knows she has had a slight suspicion about the two of you being together, but she never talks about it, figuring you will speak to her when the timing is right.

Over the last year, you've been visiting Tony's lab more often than you used to, and Nat has started to take notice. Paired with the fact that you're going on more and more missions together and the downright flirting as you've both had a couple of drinks during parties - it all adds up to only one thing for her. You and Tony are a couple, and she couldn't be happier for the two of you.

"Alright, I'm driving!" Tony tells you before grabbing the keys from your hand. A jolt of electricity goes through your body. You look at him to see if he's felt it, too, and based on his face, you know he has. After being together for the time you have been, you two can read each other like an open book.

"Just consider this a road trip with an unexpected companion, and you'll be fine. Let's go, we have a mission to get to," Tony tells you as he gets in, and you can't help but laugh out loud at his comment. He always makes you laugh, and you wave the rest of the Avengers goodbye before getting into the car's passenger side.

Tony quickly pulls the car out of its parking spot before speeding out of the garage and off to your mission. As soon as you're out of sight, his hand is placed on your thigh, squeezing it softly as you put your hand on his.

"Thank you for coming with me, but I am pretty sure I would have been fine on my own, Tony," you say to him, raising your brow as you look at him defiantly. A mischievous smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he looks back at you for a second before concentrating on the road again, squeezing your thigh again.

"But that wouldn't be any fun, now would it, Babygirl? You don't think I will let my girl go on a solo mission when our anniversary is in two days?" those words make you realize his true intentions of coming on the mission with you. He trusts you to go on missions alone but also wants to be with you on your special day.

The two of you have about a three-hour drive ahead of you, but because of the nature of the mission, going by Quinjet was off the table, so you had to make the drive out there not to raise any suspicion to yourselves. During this trip, you and Tony share a lot of sweet moments, jokes, and flirty comments, and if it were up to you, you'd want this drive to last forever.

"I believe we're here," Tony says as he parks the car in the driveway of the safe house that Fury arranged for you to stay in. It's a simple house in a quiet suburban neighborhood. Nestled among the trees and manicured lawns stood a row of charming houses with white picket fences. The streets were lined with colorful flowers, and the sound of children's laughter filled the air.

You're standing on the porch overlooking the street, where kids ride their bikes and play games. Tony stands behind you, looking at them over your shoulder, his hands placed on your hips, and you sigh softly, closing your eyes for a moment. You have pictured yourself in this scenario countless times, with your kids running around and playing games as your husband, Tony, stands there with you. Unfortunately, you will have to do with the moment you're sharing now, as this idea will be far in your future.

"What's on your mind, Beautiful?" Tony asks you in a soft tone, and you shake your head. You're not ready to discuss your ideal future with him yet, seeing how you're a bit afraid he won't like it or not see you in the same way.

"Nothin'. Just enjoying the sun while I can; I doubt it'll be up for much longer," you tell him, which isn't a lie, but it's not the entire truth either. You allow yourself to melt into his hold as he wraps your arms around your waist, pulling him closer. He doesn't respond, and even though he knows you're holding something back from him, he decides not to push for it. Instead, he opts to enjoy the moment with you - the love of his life - in his arms.

The first two days of the mission have gone well, especially with the help of Tony, and now you're in the kitchen as you're preparing dinner for you both. Tony just finished his shower, and soft music fills the house around you, making the atmosphere quite relaxed.

As you finish the last touches to simple seafood pasta, Tony walks into the open kitchen, and you almost drop the pan you're holding at the sight of your boyfriend. He's wearing tight, black sweatpants that perfectly highlight his bulge, and of course, he decided now would be the perfect time to go without underwear.

Today, you and Tony are celebrating your 1.5-year anniversary. He started the day by surprising you with breakfast in bed and a beautiful bouquet of roses on the kitchen island. A small box and a card accompanied the bouquet. In the box was a necklace with the letter T, which made you chuckle.

"I love it, Tony, thank you. But you'll have to wait for your gift until we're back home tonight," you told him before kissing him deeply. The promise of what's to come later has been buzzing around in both your heads all day whenever there was a spare moment to think about anything other than the mission, and you were both eager to come home tonight.

"So, when will I be getting my present? Before or after dinner?" Tony asks as you put down the pan you're holding. He pushes his chest against your back, allowing you to feel that he's already getting hard at the thought of what's about to happen.

"I was planning on giving it to you after dinner, but I can give you a little taste of what I'm planning for later if you want it," you tell your boyfriend as you turn in his hold, your hand mingling in the hair on the nape of his neck as you pull him close.

"I would love nothing more, Babygirl," Tony whispers against your lips before closing the gap, his soft, pink lips gliding with yours effortlessly as you fully give yourself to him. A soft tug on the hair you're holding has him smirking as he pulls away, his eyes half-lidded as he looks at you with a love-filled look.

Without saying a single word, you push Tony so he's standing with his back against the kitchen island, and your hands roam over his chest, your nails dragging softly over his nipples, making him moan ever so softly. You take your time sinking to your knees, all while never losing eye contact with him as you pull his pants down just enough to free his hard cock.

"It's so big, Daddy! I don't think it'll fit in my mouth," you tell him in a semi-innocent tone, and you can see his cock twitch at your words. From the moment you found out Tony has a colossal innocence kink, you like to act the part now and again, much to his delight.

"Hmm, I think it'll fit perfectly in that perfect, tight mouth of yours, Babygirl," he tells you, his hand cupping your jaw as he looks down at the way you're sitting on your knees before him. His thumb slides over your bottom lip before sliding into your mouth, and your lips close tentatively around it before suckling softly.

"Good girl," Tony whispers before pulling his thumb away, grabbing his cock instead. Your gaze is immediately pulled to the way his veiny, pink shaft is slowly worked up and down by his large hand, his fingers curling around it just the way he likes. A small bead of pre-cum gathers at the tip, and you immediately lick it up, moaning lightly as the taste hits your tongue.

His free hand pulls you closer to it, and you open your mouth instinctively. Your lips wrap around the tip, and your eyes slip shut as you feel the comforting weight of it glide over your tongue. As you take everything Tony gives you, your hands grip his thighs, your cheeks sucked in with every inch Tony gives you.

"That's it, Babygirl, you're taking me so well in that beautiful mouth of yours," your boyfriend grunts out, and you feel your pussy clench around nothing as your arousal builds quickly. Once his tip hits the back of your throat, your eyes shoot open, and they immediately lock onto Tony's.

He pulls back a little bit before repeating the action, and this time you're prepared as he guides you further onto his cock. With a few more strokes, you're taking all of him as your nose is pressed against his pelvic bone, right between his Adonis belt. Tony groans deeply as he keeps you there for a second or two, quickly pulling out before doing it again and repeating this over and over again.

It doesn't take long for Tony to throw his head back, and he groans your name through his teeth as he's on the edge. Without warning, you pull off his cock with a loud pop before stroking his cock in tight strokes. As a result, Tony is surprised when he cums, and every last drop of his seed is on your face and outstretched tongue, making you look filthy.

"Look at you, Babygirl; here I was thinking you're such a sweet, innocent little girl, but all you want is to be painted by Daddy's cum, huh?" Tony asks before scooping some cum from your face and feeding it to you, making you swallow it with a content smile on your face.

"But I am your innocent little girl, Daddy," you say with a small pout and big doe eyes as Tony helps you up. You're still trembling a little from sitting on the tiled floor, but you're more than okay with that. He leans in to place a soft peck on your lips before sending you to the bathroom with a soft swat on your butt. He quickly cleans himself off before finishing dinner for you both, plating it beautifully right when you walk back.

"Thank you for that taste, Babygirl; I cannot wait to see what you'll have in store for dessert," Tony whispers before kissing your temple. You smile at his words, as he doesn't even know half of what you have planned for him later.

"C'mere, Babygirl," Tony says as you're seated on the couch, gesturing to your feet. You're enjoying a glass of wine, and there's a TV show playing that neither of you has heard of before, but it's nice enough for some background noise. With a soft groan, you lift your feet on his lap, and he takes off your socks, tickling the bottom of your feet.

"Hey! Not fair!" you tell him with a large smile. He nods before grabbing hold of one of them and massaging carefully - you can feel the tension seeping out of your feet with every move of his skilled hands, his long, thick fingers massaging every inch of them until you're fully relaxed.

As you give yourself over to your boyfriend's touches, you slowly feel his hand sliding up your legs to massage your shins and calves, making you groan at the comfortable feeling settling in your body. It doesn't take long for him to find your most sensitive spot, though - your inner thighs. He can spend hours planting countless kisses and loving touches there and take his sweet time as he marks them with hickies and soft bites.

"T-Tony," you plead softly as his fingers glide over the soft, sensitive skin there, goosebumps rising after his fingers take their time mapping out every inch of them, driving you insane.

"What's on your mind, Babygirl?" Tony asks, acting as if he doesn't know what his touches do to you.

"More..." you whisper, and as soon as you've put your glass down, Tony pulls you onto his lap smoothly. Before you know it, you're chest to chest with him, your lips mere inches away from each other, panting slightly as it dawns on you what just happened.

"More... what?" Tony's mouth curls into a mischievous smile, and your heart beats faster as you look at it. Moments like these have your mind racing and your heart beating out of your chest because he knows how to push you to the edge. Whichever one that may be at that moment.

Instead of answering him with words, you cup one of his cheeks with your hands, the other gliding into the hair on the nape of his neck as you close the distance between you two. Tony's hands move from your thighs up and under your shirt, and their warmth makes you melt into him even more.

The kiss is slow but filled with love and nothing short of perfection. This time, you decide to take the lead for a moment as you lick the seam of his lips for the entrance you're craving so desperately. Before your wish is granted, Tony pulls away to remove your shirt, leaving you in only your pants and a bra.

"So beautiful," he whispers against your skin as his lips find your neck and shoulder, placing small kisses that have you squirming on his lap. As you do, you can feel him getting hard again, which only spurs you on more.

"Let's take this party to the bedroom, Babygirl. I want to make nothing but sweet love to you for the rest of the night," Tony tells you, but before you can answer, he gets up, and you wrap your legs around his waist to steady yourself, a squeal escaping your lips. His face is filled with nothing but love as he looks at you. He's head over heels in love with you, and he cannot get enough of telling you - and you can't get enough of hearing it from him.

"Okay," you whisper to him. Within less than a minute, Tony made his way upstairs and to the main bedroom, where he carefully placed you on the bed before stepping back and removing his sweatpants. His cock springs free as it's fully hard, and it slaps against his abdomen with a soft splat from the pre-cum that had gathered at his tip already.

You bite on your lower lip as you look at him. Your gaze slides from his broad shoulders to the arc reactor in his chest, surrounded by his soft, dark chest hair, and from his toned abdomen to the happy trail leading you to the place you love more than anything: his glorious, thick, long cock that manages to split you open perfectly every single time. Combined with his beefy thighs and muscled calves, the sight is complete, and the man looks like the God of Perfection.

"You like what you see?" he asks with a raised eyebrow, and you nod as a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. You've never been shy about checking him out when the two of you are alone, and he enjoys taking his time to adore you and your beautiful body as well.

"I always do, Daddy," you tell him as you ogle him for a few more seconds. When you've finally had your fill of looking at him, you lie on your back, allowing Tony to crawl over your body before leaning on one of his arms, the hand on his other one moving to caress your face. Tony takes his time to commit every inch to memory, thinking about how beautiful you are.

"I love you so much, Babygirl; I'm the luckiest man on earth because I'm calling you my girl," he whispers, his hot breath ghosting over your lips as his eyes flick from your eyes to your mouth and back. He can feel his heart beat faster at seeing your smile, as he can never get enough of looking at it and listening to your laugh. Before you get a chance to answer him, he closes the gap between you two, kissing you gently, taking his time to explore the kiss. You two have to do just that all night, and he plans to make every second of it count.

Your hands glide through his hair before pulling on it, not hard, but just enough to make him groan softly into your mouth. Meanwhile, the hand caressing your face moves your neck and over your shoulder before moving over to your bra strap, curling his fingers around it as he slides it off your shoulder.

"Let's get this off, hm? It'll be a lot more fun if I'm not looking at a bra the entire time," Tony says with a wink after pulling away from the kiss. You feel the warmth spreading over your cheeks at his words. His eyes are immediately pulled to the blush on your cheeks, and he doesn't hesitate to pepper both of them with a generous amount of kisses, making you giggle.

"Stop it! You're tickling me with your facial hair!" you protest, but instead of having mercy, he places kisses all over your face, making you squirm under him while you laugh at his ministrations. You're definitely enjoying yourself right now, and being on a mission with Tony during your anniversary only made things even better.

When Tony finally decides to have mercy, he places one last kiss on your mouth that leaves you wanting more, and you follow his mouth when he pulls away.

"Not fair," you pout, and Tony chuckles at your words, shaking his head.

"You want to know what's not fair, Babygirl? The fact that you're still wearing this bra, even though I distinctly remember wanting to get it off," he says, his eyes narrowing at the offending fabric. He shifts so that he's sitting on his knees while straddling your thighs, and he quickly unhooks your bra at the front.

The moment your nipples are exposed to the air, they perk up, and Tony moves down to wrap his lips around one of them, suckling softly as he listens to the soft moan tumbling from your lips. He uses his fingers to give attention to the other, and your hands tightly hold onto his hair as he plays with your sensitive buds.

The constant stimulation has your hips rutting up to seek friction, but every effort is fruitless, as Tony is situated in such a way that he can give you all the pleasure he wants to give you. After a few more minutes of this torturous pleasure, he switches, giving your other nipple the same care and attention as the first one.

He's taking his time to give you the most immense pleasure you've ever felt by someone playing with your nipples. You moan loudly as he carefully bites down on one of them, and your panties are practically ruined from your arousal. At the same time, you pull hair on his hair, and Tony groans against the plush flesh of your breasts, which sends shivers down your spine.

Once he's finally satisfied with the way your nipples look - red and puffy from all the time he spent playing with them - Tony moves down to the button of your pants to pull these down as well, but he ultimately decides to leave your underwear on. He wants to have a little playtime with that first.

"My God, I can smell how turned on you are, Babygirl, and it makes me so hard for you," he whispers as he noses your soaked panties, taking a whiff before letting his tongue glide over the fabric. Your back arches as the feeling of the fabric combined with his skilled tongue has you feeling everything as your sheets are fisted in the sheets to ground yourself.

"Such a sweet, tight, and perfect pussy," Tony whispers as his fingers slide the panties to the side, exposing your dripping and puffy folds, which he spreads to have a look at your fluttering entrance. It clenches around nothing as he blows on it, and you bite on your lip to supress the moan that wants to escape.

Tony looks up at you through his lashes at the sound of your muffled moan. If there's one thing he's always insistent about, it's that he wants to hear you because there's nothing more beautiful than the sound of you falling apart like that because of him. His brow is raised as you look down at him, wondering why he stopped.

"I want to hear you, Babygirl. I want to hear you fall apart on my fingers, my tongue, and my cock," Tony tells you in a stern voice, and you nod in response. With a content smile, he returns to his earlier position, this time latching onto your sensitive clit, making you moan loudly.

He smiles against your pussy as his tongue takes turns to pleasure your clit and your entrance, building your orgasm up quickly. Your chest rises and falls quickly, the pleasure quickly building to an almost blinding high when he surprises you with two of his thick, strong fingers as well. With a loud exclaim of his name, you cum on his tongue and fingers, and he works you through it carefully.

"That's it, Babygirl, let go for me! Good girl, you're a perfect girl for Daddy like this," he says between your trembling thighs, his thumb still working your clit as he laps up every last drop of your arousal. He hums in appreciation at the taste of it; his eyes closed as it coats his tongue again.

"Thank you, Daddy," you say in a breathy voice when you've come down from your high. It didn't take much for you to cum after Tony's teasing and the nipple play, but it was most definitely worth every second of anticipation. He knows your body better than you know your own, and he can play it as if it's an instrument that he took years to master.

"You're more than welcome, Babygirl, but I'm not done with you yet," he tells you between the kisses he places in a trail over your stomach and through the valley of your breasts. You sigh contently as he noses along your jaw, his facial hair feeling prickly yet lovely against the soft skin of your neck.

"I love you," you whisper as he's hovering over you, his cock achingly hard between his legs from the anticipation. He's been ignoring it for a long time, but it's finally time for him to have his fill now, too, and he's getting impatient.

"I love you too, Babygirl, so much," Tony practically purrs before capturing your lips in a heated kiss that catches you off-guard, but you quickly catch up as you pull him closer, and his cock is now resting on your belly. A small puddle of pre-cum gathers there, and you snake your hand between your bodies to give him a few strokes, getting him ready for what's about to come.

"Hmm, do that again, Babygirl," Tony says, his voice dropping almost an octave as you squeeze his tip softly, and he grunts into your ear as you do exactly as he asks. He ruts into your hand at the feeling of your small fist around his cock, your fingers barely touching as you're wrapped around him. He groans as he keeps fucking your hand, but before it's too late, he quickly pulls away, leaving you with a slight pout on your face.

"Don't worry, sweet girl, there's plenty of time to do that later, but I can't wait any longer to be buried in your tight, pink pussy." Your heart races as his words sink in, and you involuntarily clench around nothing but air, your pussy eager to be filled by your boyfriend's thick cock, splitting you open just the way you like it.

A few seconds later, Tony lines up with your entrance, a loud moan tumbling from your puffy lips as the tip breaches your entrance. Your hands are fisted in the sheets as you allow him to fill you up completely, short strokes ensuring he doesn't hurt you in the process. Grunts fall from his lips as he works his shaft into your squeezing, tight pussy.

"That's it, take my cock, such a good girl for Daddy." You will never get used to the feeling of Tony sliding, but you welcome it nevertheless. From the moment you two stopped using condoms, and you started birth control, your sex life has changed completely. Where you were always ready for each other before, you have become insatiable after that.

The second his cock hits your sweet spot, you arch your back into him, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him even closer. His face is nuzzled into your neck as a comfortable silence has fallen over you both. Your fingers trail abstract figures on his shoulders and back as you enjoy each other's feelings. All you have to think about is each other and your love.

Once Tony cannot take it any longer to stay still, he starts with slow, shallow thrusts that have you whimpering softly and a smile tugging at Tony's mouth.

"So good, Babygirl, you feel so good around my cock, I can't wait to fill you with my cum and watch it leak out of you when I'm done. God, my balls are so full for you," he whispers in your ear, his hips thrusting into your welcoming pussy faster and faster with each stroke. The sound of your combined moans and skin slapping against your skin is like the chorus of your love, and you never want this song to end.

"I'm close, Babygirl, 'm gonna fill you up," he groans, and you're so far gone you cannot even form coherent sentences anymore. Your moans are becoming louder, and your nails are now digging into his back instead of tracing lazy figures, and red welts are appearing where your nails are raking down his broad, muscled back.

As his high is quickly approaching, Tony moves his face from your neck in a way that has your foreheads touching, making this moment even more intimate than it already was. The brown of his eyes has been completely replaced by his dilated pupils, lust being visible in them.

"Cum with me, Babygirl, please," he begs, and you nod as your bodies move together perfectly, your highs both building rapidly. The second Tony's hand moves between your bodies and reaches your clit, and you're squeezing him like a vice, your legs trembling as you cum for him, shortly followed by Tony.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! Squeezing me perfectly, Jesus! Can't wait to fuck you so full of my cum that it has no way to go but inside you, get you nice and round with my babies," Tony grunts through his orgasm, the long, slow strokes replaced by short and quick ones as he spills every last drop of him inside you, the warmth filling you up completely.

Tony takes his time to ride out both your orgasms, but as soon as you're both too sensitive, he pulls out, leaving you feeling empty yet satisfied after everything that happened. With a smirk, he keeps hovering over you, your faces mere centimeters apart. You reach up to kiss his lips softly, making your heart flutter at the feeling.

"I love you so much, Babygirl," Tony whispers before placing one more peck on your lips and taking his place beside you. As you curl onto his side, you hook your leg over him, and your arm lies on his stomach, your hand tracing circles over his arc reactor. You two stay in the comfortable silence for a few minutes before getting up for a much-needed bath.

"You can stay in bed, Babygirl. I'll run a bath for us both and get some of your favorite fruits to eat as we're relaxing," he tells you, and you nod at his words. The second he slips out of the bath, you miss him and his warmth, but that is quickly forgotten when he's ready for you to get into the tub's warm water.

"There you go, such a good girl," Tony says as you sit in the bath, a blush creeping over your cheeks. His praise will always make you feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. Your boyfriend quickly joins you in the bath before pulling you onto his lap, his fingers massaging your sore muscles as you nibble on the sweet fruit he brought up in a bowl.

"Happy anniversary, Daddy," you tell him right before popping a piece of the fruit in his mouth, and he smiles contently as he chews it.

"Happy anniversary, Babygirl. I hope there will be many more just like this one," he says, sealing his promise with a soft and loving kiss.

It's been about eight weeks since you and Tony celebrated your anniversary on the mission, but now you're lying in bed with a cold compress on your head and your trashcan nearby in case another wave of nausea threatens to come back. You were supposed to be training with Natasha, but you had to cancel due to how you're feeling.

Instead of being in the training room with you, Natasha sits on your bed to keep you company, talking your ear off about her crush on Bruce. While you're usually all ears about it, you can now only think about one thing: the birth control pill you forgot all those weeks ago.

"I think I might be pregnant," you croak out when Natasha is waiting for an answer to a question you didn't catch.

"You're-"

"Pregnant, yes. Or so I think," you tell her with a groan as you slide the compress onto your eyes to shield them from the light in the hopes that you're saved from your next wave of nausea, but to no avail. While Nat usually chats to her heart's content, she's silent as the news sinks in.

"It's Tony's, isn't it?" she outright asks, and you sit up too quickly, which is a bad idea, as you grab the trashcan once more.

"H-how did you-" is all you can say, but she just gives you a reassuring smile.

"I'm not blind, Detka; you and Tony have been hanging out more and more together, and believe it or not, you're not as subtle as you both think you are. While I doubt any of the others would pick up on it, I have had my suspicions for quite a while," Natasha tells you, and you nod.

"We've been together for a little over a year and a half; we started dating after the mission that almost cost me my life," you tell her with a smile. He makes you truly happy, but the thought of being pregnant also scares you.

"On the one hand, I'm hoping it's true, that I am indeed pregnant, but on the other hand, I'm not sure what to feel if it's true. We never even talked about having kids, and even though I'm more than ready to take the next step, I don't know about him! What if he leaves me and doesn't want the baby? Do I take care of it by myself or put it up for adoption?" The words are all coming out in a long stream as tears gather in the corners of your eyes.

"Why don't we start by calming down and taking a test before jumping to conclusions? I understand it's scary, but before we take a test, there's nothing to worry about, okay?" she tells you, and you nod. This is how you find yourself sitting on your bed, staring at a timer after taking a test.

The moment it goes off, you turn the test over, and it shows a clear positive. You're carrying Tony's baby, and mixed feelings are swirling through your body. Happiness and anxiety are at the top.

"I'm having a baby," you whisper as you show her the test. Without saying a word, she pulls you into a hug, and you let your emotions go for a moment. Sobs are tearing through your body, and she's there to comfort you through it all. Natasha has been there for you through everything since you became an Avenger, and this won't be any different.

"I'm so happy for you, Detka," Natasha says as she lets her tears fall. During her time in the red room, the ability to carry children has been brutally taken away from her, but that doesn't mean she won't be there for you. She will live the pregnancy vicariously through you, and you're more than happy to share it with her.

"You'll be a great Mom, Detka. They're lucky to have you as a Mom," Nat whispers, and you nod in her hold. When you've both come down from the initial shock and emotions, you stare at the test some more, and the worry immediately makes way for happiness. You're going to be a Mom, and you can't wait to meet the baby growing inside you.

Eventually, Natasha has to leave for an appointment, and you go to the kitchen, though your bounds of nausea are most prevalent in the morning. As you stand by the counter, you hear Tony's footsteps come into the kitchen when, and you close your eyes, gripping your glass as he comes to stand beside you.

"Can we talk for a moment? I have barely seen you for these past two weeks, and I'm worried about you," Tony asks. The worry in his voice is evident, and you know you don't have a choice other than to talk to him. With a soft sigh, you nod and follow him to his office, the closest private space where it's normal for the two of you to talk.

Here goes nothing, you tell yourself as you close the door behind you, the pregnancy test still in your back pocket as you step into the ample space. Tony's about to discover your recklessness, and you're 99% sure you will be single after this conversation. However, nothing could be further from the truth.

#anyfandomfluffbingo #fandombingo #mcukinkbingo #tony stark #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark fanfic #tony stark one shot #tony stark request #tony stark imagine #tony stark x female reader #tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #tony stark fluff #tony stark smut #iron man #iron man fanfiction #iron man fanfic #iron man one shot #iron man request #iron man imagine #iron man x female reader #iron man x reader #iron man x y/n #iron man fluff #iron man smut

[precious-little-scoundrel]

A little devil’s lettuce

Sarge 2nd Gen, Summer 1983

Elvis Presley fanfiction

Summary: In the hustle and bustle of the day before Jesse’s wedding to Donna, Elaine finds time for a little bonding with her eldest boy and then her husband

Warnings: Fluffffyyy Mcfluffy! but really this is just goey soft, warnings being diaper changes, some heavy/smutty flirting between Elvis and Elaine, the sneaky use of marijuana by Jesse and Elaine, stoned silliness talking about mermaid holes and “little scarves” and making a baby at 42

Graceland is abuzz with wedding preparations, every flat surface seems cluttered with tulle or flowers or programs, and every table not full of that sorta rubbish is supporting refreshments for the out of town friends and family swarming the place.

Only Elaine Presley would think entertaining people for a week ahead of a wedding was an easy thing to do.

Despite it being preparations for his own wedding, Jesse finds himself mildly overwhelmed by the sheer abundance surrounding him. Abundance of noise and people and flowers and shit lying about. He made one attempt to squirrel away upstairs in his old room and was summarily dragged away from that attempt by Marie who wanted to take pictures of him and Donna. Then take pictures of him and Jack, citing what a rarity it was to have the whole of them together. Jack had a ugly black eye on him, he cites a bar fight in california but oddly, no story of victory is forthcoming so Jesse assumes he got licked and made no further inquiries.

Donna is now preoccupied with Ella and with Tracey Cooke, laughing and squabbling over choosing boutonniere combinations like it really matters how much baby’s breath gets pinned to a fella’s chest. With Daddy, all large belt and white pants and glowing tan presiding over the floral squabble, Jesse has little doubt that Donna will win by choosing whatever he decides would suit her cheeks best.

Thicker than thieves those two already.

Jesse sees his chance and he ducks out of the living room and books it through the kitchen, receiving a taste test of some icing from Mary as he goes, and finally lets himself out the back door.

He slumps to a seat on the garage steps, and knowing time is precious, he lights up the blunt he stashed in his pocket for times like these. A harmless little pastime he’d probably get decapitated by Daddy for if he found out, but it does the trick and it don’t hurt anyone while he’s homebound and off the road.

A few minutes later the door cracks open behind him and Jesse goes to smash the blunt beneath his boot until in an air conditioned gust he sees it’s just his mama. Elaine smells the stink of grass and makes a little sympathetic noise before closing the door behind her and sitting down next to him.

“But Mama -your shorts!” Jesse protests, her pale blue linen getting soiled by the steps.

“Eh, it’ll brush off.” she grins and bumps his shoulder in that way he knows she’s about to conduct a check up on him. Sure enough after watching him take a few puffs she asks sweetly, “You alright, Butnin?”

He grins at the nickname and his laugh is a cloud of green tinged smoke, “Yeah mama, just tired, took awhile to get to sleep last night.

“What kept ya up?” Elaine asks, knowing with the wedding there might be all sorts of nerves to account for. But Jesse has never exhibited even the slightest hint of unsurety about marrying Donna. He’s had to wait four years and now he’s finally getting what he wants and there’s never been a more lackadaisical groom about his hitching himself to the old ball and chain. Elaine reaches out and ruffles his long hair anyway and smiles at the way there’s a sheen of reddish chocolate amongst the black locks when she tousles them just so.

He hands her the blunt and to be perfectly frank, Elaine has been feeling that old craving for champagne to dilute all the craziness and so she draws on it, letting the smoke burn her lungs and rush to her head.

Jesse’s been puffing for a good bit by now and feeling uninhibited in a way he’d never be even two puffs in -which is sorta the point of the smoke anyway- but it serves to loosen his tongue until he answers her without prevarication, “Mermaid holes.”

It’s true, it’s kept him up. Probably brought on by a chat with Jack and furthered by Jesse’s confusion over his brother’s lack of dating since the Great Gardener Debacle. He knows the kid isn’t embarrassed, not as much as the rest of them, so it serves to reason he’s got a dolphin harem to keep him occupied or else…mermaids. But then, how do mermaids…work?

Elaine glances at the blunt she’s already puffed on and wonders at its strength, wonders if a little relaxation is gonna turn her into seeing pink elephants or talking like an idiot.

“Mermaid holes?” she repeats, the subject suddenly a little more intriguing that it was before her last puff. Her head feels light and her aching toes are a removed sensation and suddenly everything seems quite fascinating, even the beetle crawling up Jesse’s jeans and the curiosity of mermaid anatomy.

This stuff is way better than champagne, she thinks.

“Yeah mama, where do they go?” Jesse insists with his cherubic face puckered up in grave contemplation.

She stares at him concerned while taking another hit before passing it back. “Where normal holes go?” she mutters but even to herself it’s a flimsy speculation.

“Maybe they grow legs n’shit.” Jesse decides. “Like when ya pull ‘em outta the water, maybe they grow legs.”

“Ah that makes sense.” Elaine nods, her face puckered too, and if anyone caught them at this moment it would be like finding carnival twins, so mirrored are they in expression and carriage. “Or maybe it’s higher up!” she suggests eagerly, “Like a belly button.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Or- maybe the scales pull back.” Elaine warms to the theory.

“Ooh,” Jesse draws his exclamation out with admiration for his mama’s sharp mind, “like daddy’s scarf, or some shit.”

“Yes!” Elaine gushes, entirely baked alongside him and utterly unrestrained, “they’ve got shiny little scarfs to keep them safe! Keep out the sand and salt, keep them safe from being aggravated and chafed.”

“Oh lord, mama,” Jesse laughs suddenly, “do you ‘member that time daddy got sand in his scarf? At the beach?”

They both start snickering at the memory from ‘62. “Yes!” Elaine agrees, carefully running a finger below her eyes to collect the smearing mascara as her eyes fill with tears of mirth, “I do but…he caught that frisbee, didn’t he?” she giggles.”And he looked so good in those red shorts. Tiny little things.”

“Mhmm, but at what cost?” Jesse agrees and mother and son lapse into another fit of laughter, not at Elvis’ expense but in that fond way of sensible people who humor their insane beloved ones.

“And Rosalee wantin’ to cut it off so it didn’t hurt him no more!” Jesse wheezes beside her in reminiscence.

“Daisy had a k-bar from Rex, she was ready.” Elaine recalls.

“And Jack was hopin’ it was fatal.”

“He was not!” Elaine slaps Jesse’s arm lightly even as she giggles, “You all act like he was a terrible child but he wasn’t! He was sweet!”

“To you.” Jesse clutches his belly. “To the rest he was pretty fuckin’ scary for awhile there, made ‘Elvis’ shit himself sometimes.”

“Language!” Elaine reprimands without any heat, “Y’all didn’t see all the mornings that little darling would wake up and laugh his heart out with Daddy playing shark under the covers. They loved each other…at times.”

“Hmm, Mhmm, i’guess.” Jesse concedes, “Jack’s a lot more tolerable now he’s got his own thing going.” he adds.

“Yes, always good to establish yourself, especially with someone like that, so headstrong both of them.” she murmurs with a sigh, “No house was built for two Elvises.” and she starts snickering again at that thought or whatever scenario it inspired inside her head.

“Maybe he’s chilled out ‘cause of the mermaid harem.” Jesse suggests because Jack is still Jack and having his shit straight ain’t in his wheelhouse. Not all of it, at least. Something’s gotta be up, Jesse can feel it, clear as the kid’s black eye.

“Those dimples would make any mermaid grow legs.” Elaine giggles.

“No mama, it’s a scarf, we decided it’s a shiny scarf.” Jesse reminds, nearly falling off the stair that he’s seated on from his wooziness.

“Yes a little scarf.” Elaine recalls as the door behind them opens and Jesse’s soon to be wife, Donna, steps out and observes them and the skunk grass fumes wafting around them.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me -Ms. Elaine!” Donna gasps in glee at this little rebellion in her otherwise entirely circumspect mother in law.

Elaine spins round with the blunt still between her painted lips and pulls it out in a gust of smoke, a wavering grin on her face. Donna’s not sure she’s ever seen her look so young, though she gets that way around Jesse, like he takes her back to her early mothering days.

“Don’t tell daddy!” Elaine vacillates between a beg and a threat but her smile grows and Donna wonders how the stoned lady intends to keep this a secret but she makes a motion of zipping her mouth anyway.

“Won’t hear it from me!” she swears, “But Elvis is asking for you, he’s halfway through a diaper change and can’t find any wipes. He swears you’ve got the disposable kind somewhere. Johnny tried to find them but he’s given up, too.”

“Oh lord, little Desi uses them to ‘remove her makeup’ so- who knows where they might be.” Elaine refers to her eldest grandchild, Ella’s little girl who likes to mimic her grandmother in all ways. Elaine stands up with a wobble that is steadied by Jesse’s shoulder and Donna’s waiting hands. “Wait, who’s getting their diaper changed?” She asks, suddenly confused by the request, “Did Danny soil himself? Thought we were past that.”

Danny is three and potty trained and as independent as he is loving, and much as Elaine is proud of her toddler’s successes, she misses having a baby, a true baby, in the house.

“It’s one of the neighbor kids, Danny’s friend-“ Donna explains, “-they brought their baby sibling along, no more than a year old I bet. The mom’s at work or something.”

“Oh, alright then.” Elaine shrugs, accustomed to strangers in the house, and she opens the door.

“You’re going in?” Donna asks in some surprise and a little alarm.

“Yes, Elvis needs me.” Elaine answers and that’s not something anyone can argue against and so Donna steps aside and makes certain her mother in law doesn’t trip over the threshold in her heeled sandals.

“Do you really give a damn about those boutonnieres?” Jesse asks his girl as soon as mama has closed the door

“Oh not really.” Donna murmurs, “They’re gonna be gorgeous either way. Elvis is seeing to that.”

“Then don’t go back inside.” Jesse suggests with a drunk grin and his blue eyes beg with such softness as he pats his lap that Donna has no choice but to plop atop his legs and stay with him in the muggy heat.

Miss Mary watched Elaine sashay through the kitchen with narrowed eyes, she’d not seen such a hip swinging gait to the lady of the house in years. A decade perhaps, not since the house used to rock with parties and before the champagne had been used like medicine.

“Lordy Miss Laney, you alright there?” she asked carefully, amusedly watching Mrs. Presley stand atip-toe and rummage in a cabinet, pushing aside spray oil and vanilla.

“Yes, grand, just needing that emergency stash.” Elaine assured over her shoulder and Mary paused in whipping the icing lest she be needed to catch a teetering boss lady. “Aha.” Elaine pulled out a package, “Of these!” she explained as she turned round, presenting the new fangled package of disposable wipes.

Stashed behind the cooking oil. Sure, why not.

Miss Mary grinned back and shrugged, “You’ve got dirt on your behind, Miss Elaine.” she pointed out and the elegant lady of the house was swatting at her plush derrière with a bashful grin as she traipsed out of the kitchen in search of Mr. Elvis, still swaying and jovial.

Entering the somewhat crowded dining room, Elaine found a group of people congregating with outstretched hands and feebly helpful concern around her Ella’s Johnny who had Rosalee standing on his shoulders, switching out a bulb as if they couldn’t afford ladders.

“ ‘Lee?” Elaine questioned it with even less reproof than usual, fully used to such bizarre occurrences and entirely baked by this point, Jesse’s weed having turned everything to middling interest and zero concern, even the picture of Rosalee a good ten or more feet in the air and swaying precariously with feet planted on Johnny’s broad shoulders.

“The bulb’s out!” Rosalee explained with a face red from straining to reach the high mansion ceiling despite her human stepstool and her inherited long limbs.

“Oh, the bulb’s out.” Elaine repeated softly, processing as she stared out the dining room windows at the bright sunshine glaring through.

“Hey Mrs P!” Johnny, tried to turn his neck to face her but Rosalee wobbled from the movement and so he went back to parade rest. “Elvis was looking for ya, needed the wipes for a diaper. I couldn’t find them anywhere, I swear Desi buries them in the potted palms or somethin-“

“Oh I’ve got some right here.” Elaine smiled and waved her package in front of his face enthusiastically.

“Oh. Great.” Johnny’s frown lines deepened in confusion at her enthusiasm. “I uh, I tried looking behind the dog food, Elvis said you keep one there.”

“This one was behind the cookin’ oil.” She whispered conspiratorially and Johnny gave his brief, aborted giggle that had made Elaine like him the instant Ella paraded him through the doors.

“Behind the cooking oil. Naturally.” He quipped and Elaine swatted him with the package causing Rosalee to shriek and beg for stability. “Hey Ella. Mama’s found some wipes!” Johnny called to his still searching wife.

“Where were they, mama?” She asked, coming into view and pushing her hair from her face, not even surprised by the bulb changing.

“Behind the cooking oil.” Elaine tapped the side of her nose and giggled while Johnny and Ella shared a bewildered look between the two of them.

“Where’s my fella?” Elaine purred, looking around the semi crowded room as if it were possible to overlook Elvis Presley. Only at Graceland, during one of Elaine’s parties and surrounded by a horde of children was it possible for Elvis to be anything but the center of attention.

“He’s in Rosalee’s room, mama.” Ella informed her, which in turn had once been Gladys' little lilac refuge. It had taken ten years for Elaine to ease Elvis into using it but eventually a long succession of single, halfway liberated teenage children ended up sleeping in it before moving out to seize life by the horns and pave their own lives and pay their own rent.

It would be quite a few years before Marie had need of it, if the sweet little girl ever even needed it, so devoutly home enjoying as she was, Graceland or Circle G, Texas or California, it all was the same to Marie so long as she was with family. Graceland would sooner be seen giving Marie Presley the boot than Marie Presley voluntarily taking leave for good.

Elaine moved her way through her crowded home with a pleasant smile on her face and a discrete hunch to her shoulders that enabled her to slip past the various conversations wishing to clutch at her, an old art of being able to get from one end of a crowded place to the next when needed by husband or child, that she had honed to perfection.

She felt dizzy and tasted a strange surge of anticipation the closer she got to the tucked away little room downstairs, it might seem silly, but she missed him. Everything had been so very busy the past few days that she had seen her own husband about as much as everyone else had, across crowded rooms or smashed together on sofas, wonderful instances that were topped off every night with a bed crowded with children and grandchildren and adopted God sons and daughters.

There had not been a moment's peace practically, and in a girlish moment of someone newly assured of affection, Elaine felt her fingertips tingle when she reached for the knob and opened the door.

He had pulled the shades and the blindes, which with the glare of the rest of the house was hardly a surprising choice, and only the lamp was turned on in a room that was now no longer Gladys’ soft lilac but now Rosalee’s light sage painted walls, copious English ivy plants spilling over the tops of wooden bookshelves lining the walls. The floor was a plush ivory carpet and Elvis sat on it with one leg tucked in and the other stretched out, his white linen shirt and pale blue slacks looking perfectly at home in Rosalee‘s habitat, blending well with the academic and whimsical atmosphere. Elaine leaned on the knob and appreciated the sight of a stranger's little baby, no more than a year old surely, laying on its back in the vee of his long legs, disposed of diaper safely out of reach, midway through a process that had been stalled by lack of wipes.

Not to be thrown by such unforeseen occurrences, Elvis had waited it out until his Tink came for him as he always expected she would, and in the meantime he was making earnest conversation with the infant about the Christmas list, even though it was currently summertime. They were weighing whether or not a chainsaw could be made to size for such little hands, Elvis’ own lean, tan and long fingers squished a doughy bicep playfully and insisted that the child was almost capable.

“Awww looooook at youuu.” Elaine cooed, leaning heavily on the door knob and clutching her chest at the sight, the raucous outside the room having disguised the sound of her opening the door to Elvis’ ear.

He looked up with a disoriented look as if having quite forgotten the world outside him and the baby’s Christmas plan until his eyes landed on Elaine in the doorway and his grin flashed, the old natural one, all cheesy teeth and lips tucked in. “You got my wipes?”

“I do.” She preened.

“Well, hand ‘em over woman, I’m bout ready to gag over here.” he beckoned, rings still glittering on his hand and Elaine didn’t doubt that one day the baby would tell stories about how Elvis Presley changed their diaper without even taking off his bling for it.

Elaine closed the door behind her and traipsed over to him on jelly legs, her heeled sandals sinking precariously into the deep shag of the carpet, she steadied herself on his shoulder and handed down the wipes.

He looked her up and down with curious amusement, as if something was amiss but he couldn’t place it, yet with diaper stench so close he didn’t spend time on it. Elvis took the wipes and began to complete his task, Elaine sank down to her knees beside him and put her chin on his shoulder, watching him work, wrapping her arms around his waist like a clingy little koala to his back.

“Who is he?” she asked her husband about the baby he was tending so naturally. It wasn’t uncommon, their house being constantly full of strangers and friends of friends and their children’s buddies. She had seen Elvis caring for a kid or two like this before, or else baths or a good hosing off or, without fail, he provided them snacks at the least suggestion of hunger or even boredom. But she didn’t know this little one and something about seeing Elvis at this task when their Danny was too grown for it -it made her sentimental and she held on a little tighter, squeezing her appreciation for the sight into his flesh.

“Kid brother of Clarke, the kid two blocks over?” he explained, “The one Danny invites? Yeah, apparently their mama’s workin’ double shift today and the babysitter stepped out and Clarke thought he’d come on here since the house was empty. Poor little feller must’ve been scared stiff.”

“You mean little Clarke walked all that way carrying a baby?” she gasped.

“Yeah,” Elvis grunted. “I sent Sammy H. to go stay at the house and let the mama know her kids ain’t been stole by that trash sitter. Poor woman.”

“Poor woman.” Elaine echoed, neither of them ever quite getting used to the tales of hardship they were uniquely situated to hear of day after day. “Well, you tell her Elvis, tell her we’ll watch him from now on, Clarke too. Danny needs more friends his age besides. -What’s his name?” she asked after a minute of babbling to him herself.

“Dunno, but he responds well to buddy.” He shrugged, “Ain’t that right, buddy, huh? I ain’t forgot about lettin’ you play the piano, Buddy, no I haven’t, Uncle Elvis keeps his word, yes he does.”

Elvis could feel her grin grow behind his back and like clockwork her anticipated finger came and scritched at his right sideburn with her nail. “I’ve missed seeing you with babies.” she whispered with a giggle.

“We have a baby.” Elvis let out that staccato, huffing laugh of his.

“Danny is three.” Elaine pouted.

“And you’re four—ty…twooo.” Elvis goofed as he propped the newly changed and docile little boy up on his roly-poly legs.

“I’ve already had a baby as a grandmother.” Tink mused and she cocked her head to the side and watched the baby wobble towards Elvis with his entire little hands clutched onto Elvis’ index fingers like handlebars. “But I married such a pretty boy.” she sighs as if out of nowhere and drags her hand admiringly right down the length of Elvis’ bicep, in appreciation for the flexed muscle beneath linen.

Elvis let’s out a little squeak of surprise and turns on his ass to give his wife a more searching once over. She stays grinning on her knees, long tanned legs tucked beneath her in those light blue shorts that coordinate with his trousers, loopy grin on her face.

“Lord have mercy,” he falls back a little, taking the baby with him in his scramble till they look like little lambs being watched by a ready to pounce cat, “Aunt Delta spike the punch again?”

It’s not that Elvis doesn’t appreciate when Tink gets…admiring…but she sure does pick the queerest times for it, in his mind. The hell was so dreamy about wiping shit? He’s yet to understand her in many ways but from over twenty years of marriage, he knows those glossy eyes ain’t from eye drops.

“No, nobody’s touched the punch.” she giggles and begins to crawl closer, dyed auburn hair falling forward in large, barrel rolled curls.

The baby boy begins to laugh, thinking she’s playing tiger. Effortless Elaine switches into the role he wants and raises a hand like a claw and makes a dive for the baby's round little belly and Elvis ducks and rolls, taking him with him.

“Careful, careful, Laney, there’s a diaper -“

-somewhere.

He’s not sure where, it’s a mercy his back doesn’t squash it or his head thud in its foamy fullness as he rolls away from his wife, a stranger's kid giggling like mad while braced to his chest. He throws a halfhearted karate kick at her and the angle is awkward with being mid roll and on his side, she grabs his leg anyways and proceeds to tickle his ankle and he aims his kicks in earnest in response. Elaine straddles his leg as he lays on his side and she crows like it’s some victory, then sways in confusion, like she’s second guessing her own success.

He can practically see the slow as molasses thought process in her airy little head. The hell did his wife take? There’s no liquor on her breath and she swore -they made vows to each other, each giving up the drugs and booze that had gotten them estranged from each other and themselves. He knows she wouldn’t. “What now?” he asks her in dry amusement and after much thought and no production, she shrugs and slips off his leg, landing with a wince inducing thump by his side.

“I dunno.” she admits and closes her eyes, small smile on her lips as they lay panting on the floor, the clink of Elvis’ rings the only immediate sound as the baby plays with them between the married couple. “I just missed you.” she says.

“Well, I missed you too.” he melts, throwing his arm out and running his fingers through her splaying hair. She leans into the touch, grin fully breaking out.

“Our boy is getting married.” she murmurs, as in the production of the whole thing, the significance has dwindled except for the quiet moments.

“Strangest thing, that it’s time for that.” Elvis agrees, softly. “I ‘member him just this age, rollin’ ‘round with me on the floor in Bad Nauheim, got more carpet burns than him. Now…Gettin’ married.” he let out a long whistle and scratched at Elaine’s scalp. “I don’t feel that old.” he admitted after awhile.

Whatever mood Tink was in, whatever goofy laziness had imbued her with such sangfroid about her duties and her guests, it served for a much needed little heart to heart and Elvis snuggled closer to her on the shag carpet and let the baby climb over his shoulder and pull at his hair, wincing at the small tortures but determined not to be a wimp.

“I don’t feel old either.” she agreed and her eyes popped open, the grin suddenly going from dreamy to having a decidedly vampiric quality. Elvis had often seen that look on his wife right before he got eaten alive.

“Sweet Jesus -no, simmer down, simmer down. Tink!” he tried to avert the plans swirling in her glossy eyes.

“Doesn’t my pretty baby wanna make me happy?” she cooed to him and between the actual baby tugging at his hair and the wife patting his cheeks it was all a guess to Elvis whether he was a father of a twenty something son or Elaine Presley’s pretty boy, ever at her disposal.

“Mamas, if you needs…some…tenda lovin’ care…” he gave her a significant look of expectation to understand his child-proof code, “then we can go find ourselves a little space in this house and uh…tend to it. Bed’s been real full, I know.” he soothed.

Elaine clutched her heart dramatically again and sighed, staring at the ceiling before propping up on an elbow again and gripping his chin with her hand, she put her face next to his and whispered with throaty care, “What I want, pretty daddy, is to maul you.”

And with that she laid back down beside him, after having watched her words register and the punched out moan of his gust over her lips. She stared back at the ceiling and sighed. “It’ll have to wait, but…soon.”

Elvis licked his dry lips with a tongue that had suddenly gone equally arid. “O-o-okey mamas.” he stuttered out in a whisper that ended with a wheeze as the baby hoisted themselves to dance on his belly like it were a trampoline.

“I’m very wet right now.” Elaine began again after he thought they’d shelved it.

“Laney!” he begged.

“I am!” she hissed petulantly, kicking up a leg and shaking her foot at the ceiling, “It’s making sticky noises when I walk.”

“I-I-I highly doubt that.”

“It is!” She insisted.

“Alright. It is. If you say so…ok.”

“Nothing to do about it though.” she sighed.

“No.” he agreed warily.

“What would you name him.” she asked suddenly, turning on her side and offering her hand as stability for the baby balancing on Elvis’ stomach. Good thing he had muscles of steel or else he’d be a mess right now with the digging little footsteps.

“Name who?“ Elvis sputtered, bewildered by the changes in topic.

“This baby. If he was ours.”

“Oh.” He sniffed. “I dunno, actually. Baron, maybe?”

“Hmm..” Elaine was unenthused.

“Who says we’d have another boy though?” he argued suddenly, “I mean who says this hypothetical baby we ain’t gonna make -no we ain’t mama’s, you’re crazy- would be a boy. What if it was a girl.”

“I’d name her Peace.” Elaine didn't skip a beat.

Elvis pondered that, fingers back to stroking the curls splayed on the carpet, “Mm. Shiloh.”

Hope y’all enjoyed! I’ve missed these babies and I’m grateful for y’all’s patience. Your “bugging” and “screaming” is music to my ears, fuel to my fire and keeps me writing, please never hold back -this is a safe space for feral little Elvis loving rodents…like you and me. 💋

@prompted-wordsmith

@powerofelvis

@crash-and-cure

@elvisabutler

@heartbrake-hotel

@stylespresleyhearted

@thatbanditqueen

@crazymadpassionatelove

@myradiaz

@ash-omalley

@steph-speaks

@burningloverdoll

@angelface-555

@lookingforrainbows

@missmaywemeetagain

@coolgirl462

@kingdomforapony

@18lkpeters

@richardslady121

@from-memphis-with-love

@lillypink

@artlover8992

@pennyroyalcreep

@notstefaniepresley

@ellie-24

@waiting4brucewayne2adoptme

@presleyenterprise

@marriedtopresley

————————-

@dkayfixates

@vampireindistress

@ashtag6887

@i-r-i-n-a-a

@obsessedvibee

@peskybedtime

@goth-cowgirl-03

@stephthestallion

@fav-fanficssss

@loving-elvis

—-

@honeyorangess

@soloangel

@xenaspace3-blog

@60svintage

@dragonkingsdaughter

@presleysgirl6

@that-hotdog

@mydarlingelvis

@presleysweetheart

@50sexyshadesfashionista

@sexystarfish

@whatstruthgottodowithit

@suraemoon

@lialocklear

@elvispresleywife

@presleysgirl6

@ipostwhtifeel

@jaqueline19997

@queenheartz

@starryschoolgirl

@elvisalltheway101

@azzypog

@ab4eva

#elvispresley #elvis fans #elvis fanfiction #sarge #archive #mine #elvis presley #elvis presely smut #elvis fluff #elvis imagine #elvis x reader #elvis x oc #austin butler elvis #austin butler #austin butler fanfiction #Jesse Presley

[homestuckreplay]

Week 1 Retrospective: Who Is John Egbert?

It’s official - Homestuck is one week old today! And while a week is not a long run for a comic, it’s already got more pages than the author’s earlier work Bard Quest, so maybe it’s something worth recognizing. So I wanted to mark a week of Homestuck by doing a deep dive on what we’ve learned about our protagonist John Egbert so far. It’s some fact collection, some wild speculation, and some ongoing questions. It’s over 3000 words, so it’s under a readmore for anyone who’s interested.

If that doesn’t sound like a fun time to you (or even if it does), you can take the John Egbert Big 5 Personality Test to see how you score on John’s five key personality traits. It’s 14 multiple choice questions, so a much quicker read.

We’re introduced to John on page 4, where we’re given five key interests of his: bad movies, programming computers, paranormal lore, amateur magic, and gaming. I’ll take these one by one and use them as a framework for John’s character so far.

“You have a passion for REALLY TERRIBLE MOVIES.”

John has eleven (11) movie posters on his walls. Of these, three star Matthew McConaughey and two star Nicolas Cage. More notably, six have a Rotten Tomatoes rating below 50%, and two of these are below 10%. I haven’t seen any of these movies, but as far as I can tell, here are the one sentence summaries [broad spoilers for all these movies].

Little Monsters: A boy befriends a monster and visits the monster world, where they try to convert him into a monster too.

Con Air: A paroled man disrupts a gang of prisoner’s escape from a prison transport plane.

Deep Impact: Earth tries to prepare for extinction after a comet is found on a collision course with Earth.

Ghostbusters II: After going out of business, the Ghostbusters reunite to combat a negative energy slime monster.

Mac and Me: A boy befriends a young alien who gets separated from his family and lost on Earth.

Contact: An Earth scientist successfully discovers alien life and travels to an alien world.

A Time to Kill: A father is acquitted in court for killing the perpetrators of racial hate crimes against his daughter.

Failure to Launch: A 35 year old man’s parents hire a woman to persuade him to finally move out of their home.

Face/Off: A terrorist and a FBI agent go through facial transplant surgery and temporarily swap identities.

Armageddon: A group of space workmen go on a mission to stop an asteroid from destroying Earth. 

Ghost Dad: A man temporarily dies but is able to interact with his children in ghost form.

From this we can see that John really likes science fiction movies related to aliens, ghosts and monsters, as well as action comedy. We also know from page 21: ‘Films about impending apocalypse fascinate you’. A Time to Kill and Failure to Launch are the only ones that don’t fit his taste. The implication here is that John really loved Matthew McConaughey in Contact and so watched his other movies even though they were things he wouldn’t usually watch.

I’m curious if these movies are intended as clues to John’s character, the future of the comic, or both. In terms of his character, they make me see him as someone who’s imaginative and goofy, young and carefree, not concerned with other people’s opinions, more interested in watching movies for their surface meanings and exciting stories, maybe wants to escape to a different world, might be a little bit gay. 

In terms of the future of the comic, it could be that we’re going to see literal aliens or monsters - they could even be already here, keeping John ‘homestuck’. Slime monsters are particularly highlighted, with Slimer from Ghostbusters appearing on John’s shirt and computer background, and his chumhandle, ectoBiologist, relating to slime. Slime invasion honestly feels too obvious, and anyway, several of John’s movies are about befriending a more benign supernatural force - could John’s Pesterchum friends be something other than human? Or maybe it’s a more metaphorical meaning, referring to John having a very different life to his friends? 

Two of these movies feature Earth extinctions by giant space rocks, but there’s absolutely no indication of this being a real world threat John is dealing with. Again, it could refer more generally to a sudden, life changing event that’s about to happen to disrupt John’s current state, something that would fit thematically with this being John’s 13th birthday, a milestone age.

There’s also a theme of crime and the legal system in several movies, including Con Air, the one that’s been most highlighted. The most obvious interpretation of John’s dad right now is that he’s a clown or performer, but there’s an outside chance he could be in law enforcement, or a criminal. It’s even possible that he’s currently in hiding or some kind of safe house. This would explain John being ‘homestuck’ and sick of spending time with his dad.

Speaking of John’s dad, I’m concerned for him based on the Ghost Dad summary - the comic keeps teasing his presence, but we haven’t actually seen him yet. Could he be a ghost? Or become one at some point? Alternatively, we know John has an already dead relative - could his nanna be a ghost? Did John dropping her ashes release her ghost? Family is a really common theme in movies, so I don’t know if a large number of these movies being about family (especially fathers) is relevant, but I’m noting it all the same.

“You like to program computers but you are NOT VERY GOOD AT IT.”

John claims he ‘likes to program’, but it actually seems to make him angry. We first learn ‘[y]ou were never all that great with data structures and you find the concept [of the stack modus] puzzling and mildly irritating.’ We then see three files on John’s desktop, two in ^CAKE - ‘pff.^CAKE’ and ‘FUCK FUCK FUCK.^CAKE’ and one in ~ATH - ‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH.~ATH’. These tell a clear narrative of John trying to work on his programming and getting increasingly more frustrated with his attempts, until inevitably giving up. Both of the programming languages are puns, too. ^ is often called a carat (carrot cake) while ~ is a tilde (til death). 

I know this is wild speculation, but… John started off coding in a harmless programming language, was already struggling, then for some reason switched over to the most ominous possible sounding language, screwed it up even worse, and now… he’s constantly haunted by the ghost of failed programming attempts in the form of his sylladex, which he appears to be new to using (he had no prior understanding of it on page 7 - although this could be handwaved due to video game tutorial logic), and which operates similarly to a computer program and seems to cause John endless frustration. He’ll have to figure out how to exploit the inventory system in ways that help him, which involves actually figuring out some stuff about coding, in order to partake in some real life ghostbusting, or monster hunting, or dealing with whatever threat he’ll have to deal with by using inventory hacks.

“You have a fondness for PARANORMAL LORE,” (...)

By far the interest of John’s that we’ve seen the least of so far, John’s love of the paranormal is mostly inferred through his movie preferences, and we don’t see any direct evidence of an interest in lore. However, I can’t stop fixating on John’s chumhandle: ectoBiologist. The comic’s first act was to draw attention to giving John a name, and for many 2009 kids, the names they go by online are more meaningful and representative of them than their real world names. 

‘ecto-’ means ‘outer, outside, external’ according to dictionary.com, and it’s actually a common prefix in a variety of fields of biology, but there’s no such thing as ‘ectobiology’ as a field, or an ‘ectobiologist’ - neither term has any search results prior to Homestuck. I think it’s way more likely that this refers to ectoplasm, a term from both cell biology and spiritualism that was popularized by Ghostbusters to mean any substance secreted by a ghost, in practice often manifesting as green slime. Slimer, who we can guess is John’s favorite, is a benign ghost made of pure ectoplasm. I love the idea that John loves this dumb ghost so much that he’s memorized all the lore about them in their appearances throughout the franchise, and devised this username based on being an expert on these ghosts right down to their biology (or at least thinking he is). 

The only catch is, ‘fondness for paranormal lore’ is very passive and doesn’t even imply much knowledge, much less action, while ‘biologist’ implies that John has been doing actual experiments. The idea of John trying to create a real life Slimer the same way other kids make slime in their kitchens is really entertaining, if an off the wall theory. Does ‘homestuck’ just mean John is grounded for an unethical science project? 

(...) “and are an aspiring AMATEUR MAGICIAN.”

The magic chest is one of the biggest, most eye catching and most colorful objects in John’s room. We see its contents on page 8, which lean more into joke store items than things a magician might use, except for the trick handcuffs and perhaps the collapsible sword. The narration on this page states that John is neither a skilled magician nor a cunning prankster. I’m nitpicking definitions here, but everything John has done so far has been way more about pranks than about magic. 

John’s uses of the magic chest to date are…

various putting things into his inventory and removing them (funny, but unintentionally)

combining fake arms with cake (p.36) out of necessity, which ‘makes the cake at least 300% more hilarious’

merging hat with beagle puss to create a clever disguise (p.45) and wearing it for 25+ pages, which he acknowledges is a ‘shitty disguise’

attaching fake arms to harlequin doll (p.65), which makes it ‘AT LEAST a million percent funnier’

All of which are definitely not magic tricks, and honestly not even pranks. Arguably John’s best and most successful prank so far has been when he pretended not to have arms for the first six pages, before revealing his arms after the interface had gone to the trouble of moving the cake off his magic chest to get him some arms.

John keeps thinking about reading Colonel Sassacre’s Guide to Magical Frivolity and Practical Japery, but always finding some excuse not to. He can’t read it until he captchalogues it, but once he does that, it gets buried in his inventory. He assumes that the book can tell him the exact percentage increase of hilarity a prank leads to, but it’s too big for him to actually look anything up. 

An outside theory for this that I don’t think is likely simply because it’s so much darker than the comic has been so far, is that John loves this book, but since the incident where his nanna was killed by a copy (perhaps even this copy?) he hasn’t been able to bring himself to read it. A far more likely theory is that while John is an aspiring amateur magician, it’s more of a big idea, and he hasn’t actually done any magic yet. This also tracks with his weaksauce pranks above. And if that’s true, then it says a lot about John that he defines himself by a hobby he aspires to but doesn’t actually practice - he’s someone with big dreams and less motivation, just like his big dream of going to collect the mail from his father despite the lack of motivation that’s kept him messing around for 70 pages. 

“You also like to play GAMES sometimes.”

Potentially most important of all is Gamer John. We get a list of games John likes to play from inspecting his CD tower the same way we get a list of movies from looking at his posters. 

Bard Quest

The Caper Havers

Problem Sleuth

And It Don’t Stop

What Pumpkin?

Ghostbusters II MMORPG

Little Monsters (for Nintendo)

Harry Anderson: Call My Bluff!

The first five games all reference previous work by the author of Homestuck, and as such probably don’t need in depth analysis. However, the fact that within the world of Homestuck, these are all games (instead of comics) is one of several suggestions that we should think of Homestuck as a game, something that needs further analysis. 

The next two games are video game adaptations of movies we know John likes, and the last is a branded video game from Harry Anderson, whose book we’ve already seen in John’s magic chest. Notably, none of these are real video games in our world either. It says a lot that John plays game versions of things he already likes (he’s put ‘countless manhours’ into this assortment of quality titles). 

However, it’s undeniable that the most important game in John’s life right now is Sburb. The poster is behind his head in the first panel, placed centrally with one of the only two splashes of color in the panel. The beta release is the only thing marked on his calendar for April besides his birthday, and the Sburb logo is even the picture printed on the calendar - perhaps it’s a calendar themed around new game releases? There’s clear delight on John’s face when he thinks about getting the beta, and his quest to fetch it from the recently delivered mail is the closest thing to a story this comic has so far.

Unfortunately, we know almost nothing about Sburb, so we don’t know what it says about John that he wants to play it. It’s publicized as the Game of the Year, and according to GameBro, the game may be about houses and the player may not get to thrash anything, although these details are provided by someone who hasn’t played the game so I’m not taking them as expert opinion. It might be multiplayer - TT has been pestering TG all day about playing it with her. Maybe John just wants to share a game with his friends.

Speaking of GameBro, John can’t stand the magazine, although he for some reason has a copy on his desk. He describes the publication as ‘a joke’ to TG, and he makes the effort to take it downstairs to the fire and burn it, presumably releasing asbestos fibers into the house and causing serious lung damage to himself and his father. Does he read this because it’s the only games magazine that exists? Or did he like it just fine until now, when it trashed the game he’s excited about, and now he’s furious with it? Either way, it tracks with John’s overall fondness for critically panned media that he would be angry about contrarian critics. 

–

All of this has left me with a few questions about John as our main character. These are the things that I’m keeping an eye on and trying to answer as the story continues.

What is John good at?

We hear so much about what John is bad at. He’s explicitly stated to be bad at programming, pranks, and magic. He’s bad at using his sylladex. He’s clumsy and knocked over his nanna’s ashes. He’s got bad taste in media. He’s funny but only when he doesn’t try to be, and even then he’s sometimes the butt of the joke, where the joke is how not funny John’s joke is. He was tempted to squawk like an imbecile and shit on his desk. He has like six different prankster props and he doesn’t even use all of them. I’m saying all this with love and kindness because he also just seems like such a sweet kid, but so far he doesn’t have any defined strengths or skills. 

Is he going to turn out to be really good at gaming and kick ass at Sburb? Are we going to get a curveball where it turns out John is an amazing baker, and he hates the cakes in his room and the smell of Betty Crocker because he can do so much better than that packet mix? Or is he starting off from this low point so he can develop skills as time goes on?

What is John’s relationship with his dad really like?

John doesn’t want his dad to monopolize his time and feels trapped in his room, despite his dad baking cakes and leaving notes on gifts telling John he’s proud of him. John’s dad gets his son one great present that John’s really appreciative of, and one terrible present that John immediately hates. All of this feels very reasonable and normal for a teen feeling misunderstood by a parent who’s trying their best. 

And then there’s the clowns.

John can excuse magical frivolity and practical japery, but he draws the line at harlequins. He’s an aspiring magician, but his dad’s figurines are ‘fucking garbage’ and his dad ‘sure can be a real cornball’. John seems like somebody who gets angry at ultimately unimportant things, like bad reviews of games, too many cakes, and harlequin figurines, but because of the subject matter it reads like an intense rivalry between two highly specific subcultures that outsiders would group together. John is really making a huge deal of needing to disguise himself and mentally prepare himself to go down and face his dad, and I want to know if there’s any genuine reason behind John’s fear, or if it’s solely the overdramatics I’m starting to think are typical of him.

Is John ‘Homestuck’?

‘Sometimes you feel like you are trapped in this room. Stuck, if you will, in a sense which possibly borders on the titular.’ (p.30)

John clearly feels like he’s stuck at home, but is this the extent of the title’s meaning? His dad has recently returned from getting groceries, so leaving the house is in theory possible. Reasons why John might be homestuck include: he’s not allowed to leave the house (for example, he’s grounded, or his dad is very controlling), he can leave the house but there’s nowhere to go (he lives near major roads, bodies of water, farms, or other obstacles, and there’s no public transport to get anywhere), or he can leave the house but it’s not safe to do so (there’s some sort of external threat, either supernatural like a monster or alien invasion, or mundane like a criminal or bomb threat). Seeing out of John’s window and into his front yard does not provide any clues; it looks like an extremely average front yard with a tree, swing and mailbox, and we know the mail was recently delivered, so there can’t be anything too world-ending happening in the neighborhood. Right now John’s goal (the Sburb Beta disc) is inside the house, so this might not get answered right away - in fact, my running theory is that the game itself might hold the answers, as its logo is a house.

What’s the differentiation between John and the narrator?

My biggest question of all, and one that probably deserves its own essay. I’m fascinated by the lines ‘In a kid's yard, a tree without a tire swing is like a proper gentleman without a monocle.’ (p.27) and ‘In a home, a FIREPLACE needs a fire, because that's what FIREPLACE is for.’ (p.50). These lines carry so much opinion, but because the narrator is constantly addressing John with the second person ‘you’, I don’t think these are John’s opinions. The narrator does have a window into John’s thoughts, so the line between them can be blurred, but there's clearly a distinction somewhere, because there have been pushbacks and disagreements between the two of them. 

One theory is that John’s dad is the narrator - John’s at home a lot for whatever reason, and so the constant and overbearing presence of his dad means that he can’t get him out of his head even when he’s alone, the commands at the top of each page reflecting John’s dad’s level of control over his son’s life. But I think this question is open ended enough that I’m not willing to commit to one theory yet. After all, we ‘examine 3rd and 4th walls of [John’s] room’ which is a directly meta allusion to the comic’s audience that only really makes sense if the narrator isn’t a character in the comic itself. 

–

I think John Egbert has been really well characterized so far. He feels like a real kid, one who keeps getting off track and forgetting what he should be doing, but one who it’s enough fun to get to know that I don’t really notice. While the main character in media often doesn’t end up being the most interesting character, I do want to keep an eye on John because I think he has a lot going on to analyze. Above the style and the world and the mechanics, John as a character is the aspect of the comic I’m most interested in right now.

#homestuck #john egbert #analysis

[upat4amwiththemoon]

Unwanted animal | part 2

Summary: Because that unwanted animal wants nothing more than to get out.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x female!reader

Warnings: cursing

Word count: 1990

a/n: as you probably saw from the first part, this doesn’t follow really the MCU timeline/events

Tags: @thought-of-you-and-me @rafecameronswhore @sayah13 @strangegardentaco @natashamaximoff69

masterlists | guidelines

Previous parts: part 1

A week has passed since the Avengers brought Y/N to the compound. During the week she has been there, she has met most of the Avengers, those who work on Earth, and complied with any tests or questionings they wanted her to do. They all have been fair and easy on her, trusting Natasha’s judgment and believing Y/N is answering their questions truthfully. However, she has yet to get any of the privileges of a free woman, but she isn’t too bothered by it.

The Avengers haven’t actually found any of the other prisoners nor the new HYDRA facility where everything was moved. It seems like they’ve disappeared to thin air. They clearly upped their secrecy. Luckily, the information Y/N has given them hasn’t gone to waste. They have learned more about HYDRA’s doings, some of them things they were completely unaware about, like capturing former Black Widow agents and making them comply to their wants and needs. The Black Widow agents are an easy target after all, most of the girls and women have lived in there their whole life and they follow commands due to the mental programming, besides, all of the training has been done already. HYDRA only has to tweak their minds to follow their orders, everything else has been done for them.

A loud thump echoes through the training room as Natasha’s back hits the floor. She throws Y/N over her body in an attempt to get her down, but she lands right on her feet. The two stare at each other, both crouched down, watching the others moves. They’ve been training for a while now, but neither of their breaths have changed from the normal.

Natasha grins slightly when she notices Y/N’s leg twitch right before she moves to attack. Because of that, she’s able to dodge it and counter attack quickly. Her leg sweeps near the floor, finally bringing Y/N to the floor with a bang. She straddles her waist, immobilizing her legs and arms so she won’t be able to get out of her hold.

“I win.” She smirks.

Y/N scoffs and rolls her eyes, “only because I let you.”

Laughing, Natasha stands up and offers a hand to Y/N to pull her up with her. They’ve been training almost every day together to get Y/N back to her original strength. The starvation and dehydration she had to go through at HYDRA did take a toll on her physical wellness, but given her history, she’s able to overcome it more easily than someone else would.

“It’s okay, I get that you’re still a bit rusty.” Natasha comments before taking a sip from her water bottle.

“That’s a low blow.”

They laugh. The other team members have heard that sound from Natasha a lot more since Y/N arrived. They’re all surprised, but haven’t said anything about it, mostly because they’re sure Natasha would kick their asses.

Glancing at the clock, Natasha pack her bag. “Are you joining us for dinner?” She watches Y/N pack her own bag next to her. During the first two days at the compound, Y/N preferred to stay in her room during eating times. Being around all of the Avengers at once felt too overwhelming to do so soon. On the third day, Wanda made the initiative to ask Y/N to join them, having cooked Russian food just for her and Natasha’s sake, hoping it’d ease the transition even a little bit. After that, Y/N started eating with the team.

“Would you like me to join the dinner?”

“Of course.”

Y/N smiles, her bag now resting on her shoulder as she looks at Natasha. “Then I’ll be joining you.”

“I’ll save you a seat next to me.”

The two start walking out of the training room, going to shower in their respective rooms. “How sweet.” Y/N throws Natasha a playful look before opening the door to her room. “I’ll see you at dinner.” She closes the door after her, leaving Natasha to stare at the closed door a moment longer, before going into her own.

Y/N opens her hair from the ponytail with a sigh. She walks over to the bathroom, locking the door right behind her. She has never gotten the luxury of privacy or a space that’s her own, so she is using all the benefits she has. Choosing to lock the door is one of those. The main door of the bedroom is still unable to lock, as the Avengers need to have access to her room because of the whole trust thing, but Y/N is very happy to just be able to lock her bathroom door. And having a proper bathroom.

Taking off her clothes and folding them before putting them into the hamper, Y/N steps into the shower. She turns it on, a smile appearing to her face when the warm water hits her skin. Showering has become one of those things to her that bring comfort. Whenever she’s feeling lost or overwhelmed, she takes a shower, not feeling comfortable with talking to anyone about her worries. It’s cleansing, in more ways than one, the water droplets hitting her skin empty her mind.

It’s peaceful, not having to think about her duties or next steps.

Y/N follows the conversation going around her with a smile on her face. She has already finished eating her dinner, as her appetite is still messed up from years of starvation, but she enjoyes listening the team talk, hearing all the gossip and what’s going on in each of their lives.

Listening gets her up to speed on the team. Obviously she has heard about the Avengers before, having been locked up with their enemies her whole life, but there are a lot of things she doesn’t know, personal things.

“I hope everyone has treated you well.” Steve states with a smile on his face, bringing Y/N into the conversation.

“Yes, they have, thank you, really. You had no obligation to treat me so well and let me stay this long.”

“I believe Natasha mentioned to you, you have a possibility of staying here, for good.”

She glances at Natasha, who nods with a smile. “She did.”

“I think I speak for all of us, that we would be very happy if you accepted the offer. Of course, making it official means going through a basic lie detector test, but that’s just protocol.”

Y/N nods with a quiet hum. “Of course.”

“How has training gone?” Steve turns to Natasha as he speaks.

“Very well, she’s getting back to her strength quickly.”

“Then I don’t see a reason to delay the final part.” He moves his head back to Y/N, a smile on his face. Steve likes her, she’s polite and helpful. She clearly wants to help them. He trusts her.

“As you see best.”

Sitting on a small chair, Y/N stares straight forward as Natasha attaches the wires to her body. Her touch is gentle, her fingers touch her skin lightly when she moves sleeves out of the way. She keeps glancing at her, but Y/N’s gaze doesn’t meet hers.

After setting up everything, Natasha takes a step back, “agent Maria Hill will be doing your test, but I’ll be right on the other side of the door.” They decided to bring someone from SHIELD to do the lie detector to have someone who doesn’t know her personally, someone unbiased.

“Alright.” Her voice is light. Finally she turns to look at Natasha. Nothing shows up on her face. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

With a grin, Natasha nods and leaves the room, holding the door open for Maria. “I’m agent Hill, pleasure to meet you.” She sits down to the chair opposite of Y/N. There files in front of her to get her up to speed on the situation. “This test is designed to tell us if you’re lying with 100% accuracy, if I find you to be untruthful, there will be consequences. This is private, no one else will hear your answers. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

Agent Hill nods, “lets start with simple questions. What is your name?”

“Y/N.”

“No last name?”

“I don’t know my last name.”

“How long were you in the Red Room?”

“Since I was born, I got out once it was destroyed.”

“Then you worked with Hydra?”

“Yes.”

“Do you still affiliate yourself with HYDRA or the Red Room?” As Maria asks the question, her eyes are tightly locked to the panel in front of her.

“No.”

The readings stay the same. Without showing anything on her face, Maria continues asking questions. Some of them are more obscure than others, like what is the difference between an egg and a rock, but Y/N answers them all the same. Her readings don’t move, until the final question, “why do you want to be part of the Avengers?” Y/N’s pupil moves the tiniest amount, making Maria lift her head up to face her. “Why are you here, Y/N?”

Y/N doesn’t blink. She doesn’t tighten her hold on the armrests. She doesn’t swallow. She just breathes in and out, like she has all her life. “I am here to be with the Avengers, to complete missions and make up for the things I’ve done.”

Maria’s gaze is sharp like a hawk as she looks through the statistics in front of her. Nothing flashes red. “Alright,” she walks over to Y/N and starts taking the wires off of her, “you’re all clear.”

“Thank you, agent Hill.” She gives the agent a nod in respect and leaves the room with a smile on her face.

“I’m guessing things went well since you aren’t handcuffed.” Natasha is the first person she sees out in the hallway. She has a teasing grin on her face as she leans against a wall, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Were you nervous?” She asks, her voice light and playful.

Chuckling, Natasha just shakes her head and starts walking towards their rooms by Y/N’s side. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t nervous. But, that’s something she isn’t going to say out loud. “Congrats then, you’re an official Avenger.” She sets her hand to Y/N’s shoulder, squeezing in lightly.

“That’s it? I don’t have to do anything else?”

“That’s it. You’d really think there was a more complicated way joining, but most members got in easier. Of course, we always tend to do background checks, but that’s a little difficult to do to spies who technically aren’t supposed to exist.” They stop in front of their doors. “Today’s movie night, are you joining us?”

“You guys do movie nights?” She smirks, making Natasha roll her eyes.

“Every once in a while, Peter kinda dragged us to keep them, and now we have them even when he isn’t here.”

Y/N smiles and nods, “I’ll join.”

“I’ll reserve us a blanket then.”

“We’re on blanket sharing basis now?”

Natasha stares at the teasing look on Y/N’s face with a small smile. “Yeah, we are.”

The grin on her face slowly turns to a genuine smile. “Okay, can’t wait.” She says, her voice quiet. The two stand on the hallway, staring at each other with dopey smiles on their faces.

Something inside Natasha sparks. She feels her heart beat little bit faster than normally and her face suddenly radiates heat. Suddenly her palms are clammy, she has to wipe them to her pants discreetly. Her breath starts going irregularly, like she has suddenly forgotten how to breathe properly. She wants to break eye contact with Y/N, but it’s almost like her eyes are locked to with hers. All of these feelings are bubbling to the surface so quickly, and it scares the shit out of her.

#marvel #mcu #mcu imagine #marvel imagine #mcu fanfiction #natasha romanoff #fluff #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x female!reader #natasha romanoff x black widow!reader #natasha romanoff fanfiction #black widow x you #the black widow #black widow x reader #black widow imagine

[tkwrites]

Before I Meet Your Parents... - Quinn Hughes x Sarah (ofc)

Photos from Pinterest

Title: Before I Meet Your Parents…

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Quinn Hughes x Sarah (OFC) 

Warnings: Crying, Grief, Smut (18+ only), oral (m receiving), fingering (f receiving)

Summary: As Sarah prepares to meet Quinn’s parents, she’s bombarded with new feelings and situations, as well as trying to manage her own life. A very worried Quinn helps her get to the bottom of it and does everything he can to make it better. 

Word Count: 4,600

Comments: I began writing Sarah meeting Quinn’s parents and realized I was missing this crucial step. Stories like these help me process my own grief, and I hope they can be helpful for you, too, even if you’re not experiencing a big loss. Taking care of ourselves can be difficult sometimes. Please remember that self care isn’t selfish - nor is it selfish to ask for what you need. 

The holidays have been…an experience, and while I was writing, I wasn’t finding the solid chunks of time I’ve had in the past. With the busiest holidays done, I was able to finish this, and hope to write a lot more with the break from work between holidays.

Thank you for your patience and support and love for Quinn and Sarah and my writing. I hope you enjoy.

Before I Meet Your Parents…

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot

The week Quinn’s parents were coming into town turned into a total clusterfuck. 

First, there were the Canucks standings. Quinn point blank refused to talk about their position, not wanting to jinx anything. “It’s bad enough that I have to talk to the media about it after every game. I'm not talking about it at home.”

Even without his commentary, Sarah knew enough from reading and following the league stats, to know the Canucks were headed to the finals, bringing playoff hockey to Vancouver for the first time in nine years. It was a huge deal, and if all went to plan, they were expected to clinch a spot in the bracket in the next two games. 

His parents wanted to be in the arena for the historic occasion when their son led his team to the Stanley Cup finals in his first year as captain.

In addition to the will-they-won't-they stress of the finals, Lexie Demko had called and left a message for her about getting WAG jackets. Sarah had to look up what they were, and the idea of showing up as an official “WAG” to any game, let alone a playoff game, was incredibly intimidating. 

She and Quinn weren’t even officially official yet. She’d been thinking of him as her boyfriend for a few weeks and had no interest in dating anyone else. Unless he was seeing someone while she was in school, she knew he wasn't seeing anyone else either, but they hadn’t formally defined anything about their relationship.

On top of all this, she was prepping for her own finals. Although they were more than three weeks away, the two tests and publication project were looming over her like an albatross. She had to get a B or better, or she would be out of her program, and back home with her education visa voided.

The prospect of the work it would take to finish her semester well, and the possibility of stepping into the world of a WAG and meeting Quinn’s parents had her discombobulated and spending long stretches of time at the aquarium with Walter, trying to wrap her mind around everything. 

As she left a couple of nights before his parents were set to arrive, Rick stopped her, “I think your man is at the front desk.” 

It felt like she had to suck her mind from a thick fog to even register his words. “Hu?”

“I’m pretty sure your man is up front,” he repeated, “they wouldn’t let him back. Are you okay?” 

She waved off his question and walked to the front of the building. Quinn was indeed there, looking distressed. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Can I give you a ride home?” 

“Sure, if you want.” Didn't he have plans with one of his teammates tonight? 

Anxious thoughts dripped into her mind. She knew she hadn't been very communicative lately. Was he breaking up with her? 

Quinn took her hand and led her to his car. 

Once tucked inside where people couldn’t overhear, he asked, “is something wrong? You haven’t come over to study the past three days, and you didn’t answer any of my texts today.” 

She looked at the bag at her feet, feeling far away. “I'm sorry. My phone’s been buried in my backpack all day,” she confessed.

“I just feel like you’re…” he stopped himself, not even wanting to voice that thought. “Is it because you’re nervous to meet my parents?” 

A heavy feeling took up residence in her stomach. “No,” she said slowly. 

It wasn’t quite the whole truth, but also wasn’t a total lie. Logically, she wasn’t that nervous to meet them, but her emotions ran themselves into dizzy, knotted up circles whenever she thought about it. Things weren’t making sense. God, she felt so… she felt so off. There was more to this mood she was in than nerves, but she couldn't put her finger on what it was. 

His hand, warm and comforting, covered her knee. “Sarah, what’s going on?” 

All at once, she was choking back tears.

“Can we go to your place?” she asked, very much not wanting to lose it in his jeep in the middle of Stanley Park, or in her bedroom where Eunice would jump to conclusions and tell her she ought to break up with Quinn if he was making her cry. 

The way her voice shook made Quinn gulp. “Yeah, of course,” he said before starting the car and going home. 

When they got there, her steps to the elevator were heavy, as if she were dragging some heavy sledge he couldn’t see. 

“Sar, what’s going on?” he asked. 

Shaking her head, she pursed her lips and willed the tears not to fall until they were in his house. 

Just as she suspected, someone joined them once they reached the lobby level. They shared a tense, silent ride for 12 floors as Sarah mentally recited the anatomy of the stingray to keep her tears from falling in front of a stranger. 

“You’re kind of scaring me,” he said gently as the door swung shut behind them. 

On top of everything else, now she was letting Quinn down. Her hands fluttered up to cover her face as her tears finally broke free. 

“What’s wrong?” he repeated, taking her arms and gently trying to pull her hands away from her face. 

“I don’t know.” 

“You…don’t know?” he repeated, a little dumbfounded. 

Her hands dropped in defeat. “I don’t know,” she repeated, finding more tears falling. What was wrong with her? 

Heart beating faster with worry, he took her backpack off, leaving it in the entryway before guiding her to the couch. 

“Are you upset with me? Did I do something?” 

“No.” 

“I don’t…” he started, then stopped. “I don’t know what to do,” he whispered. He was really scared now. If he didn’t do anything, and she didn’t seem to be injured, he couldn’t understand what the problem would be. 

“Can you hold me?” 

He drew her into his arms. 

After a few comforting moments - focusing on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat  - she was able to voice something. “I’m so overwhelmed.” 

“With what?” he asked, running a hand up and down her back. At least they had a clear direction. He could work with that.

“With everything. With school and WAG jackets and…” oh, fuck. Of course this was what this was about. She should know by now. “And your parents,” she finished, breaking into more tears. 

“Are you that scared of my parents?” he asked, pulling back trying to see her face. 

He knew meeting the parents was a big, intimidating step, but she’d handled meeting Brady, and that first uncomfortable call with Luke and a very guarded Jack with so much grace, he hadn’t expected her to be nervous, let alone so upset. “I think they’ll love you. I can’t guarantee how they’ll react, but they’ve always been nice to girls they’ve met in the past.” 

Her head shook slowly. 

“I don’t - Sarah I don’t understand.” 

To add insult to injury, she had to say it out loud. 

“I’m meeting your parents,” she said, looking into his eyes before her face crumpled and she stared down at her hands, knotted in her lap, “but you won’t get to meet mine.” Her voice was a desperate kind of wailed whisper. 

Shit. He should have known. Of course that would come up with something like this. His dad once told him every major occasion was tinged with grief, knowing someone was always missing from the celebration. The fact that this would be hard for her hadn’t even crossed his mind. 

Letting herself be pulled into Quinn, Sarah wept into his shoulder. His hands were heavy, warm and grounding on her back. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said into her hair. 

He’d never seen her so distressed. Even when she’d cried the first time he’d seen her tattoo, it hadn’t been like this. Then, it was no more than a minute of soft tears hitting his shoulder. This was so much more intense. He would probably be weeping too if he was in her position.  

She pulled back suddenly, her hands braced on his shoulders, “don’t you have stuff with Brock tonight?” 

“I canceled it when I hadn’t heard from you,” he admitted. “I was worried something had happened.” 

“Oh,” she said, body relaxing. 

The impact of what he said finally hit her. “Oh, Quinn, I'm sorry.” 

He shook his head, “don't be. I can have dinner with Brock any time.” 

“But, weren't you helping him pick out a ring or something?”

“Sarah,” he said, grasping her shoulders, “it's fine. We're doing it tomorrow after practice.” 

“I'm sorry,” she said again, shaking her head.

“You don't need to apologize. When it comes to being moral support for Brock or making sure you're okay, I'd rather be with you.”

She gave him a watery smile, hoping it conveyed how sweet she thought that was.

“I’m sorry I didn’t even think about how hard this would be for you,” he said.

Shaking her head, Sarah reached up to wipe her cheeks. Her fingers came away smudged in black. “Oh, God. Now I’m a mess.” 

He laughed a little, “do you want to go wash your face? I know you don’t have your stuff, but you can use mine.” 

A shaky breath rattled through her lungs. “Could I actually take a shower?” 

“Of course.” 

“I’ve kind of been putting things off.” 

She hadn’t washed her hair in four days, and couldn’t remember if she’d showered at all that morning. 

Even though she’d talked several times with her therapist about coping strategies and patterns to look for, when she couldn’t identify what she was feeling, her first instinct was still to shut down. It was so totally different to talk about it than it was to actually do it. The time it took to realize what was wrong was getting shorter, at least. That was a good thing. 

“Do you want some of my stuff to change into?” he asked. 

“That would be really nice.” 

Her stomach gave a sudden, loud grumble.

A surprised laugh flew out of Quinns mouth.

“I’m not sure I’ve eaten today,” she confessed. 

Another part of what had her feeling so terrible. It was all interconnected, no matter how much she tried to pretend it wasn’t. 

Quinn’s eyes widened. How did someone forget to eat?

“What do you want?” he asked, jumping onto the problem he could physically solve. 

Sarah closed her eyes and tried to think. 

“Pancakes,” she said, finally, thinking about how pleasant the fluffy breakfast food would feel in her mouth. 

“I can make pancakes. I don’t have any syrup though, I don’t think.” 

“That’s okay. Do you have peanut butter?”

He nodded.

“Thank you, Quinn,” she said, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth.

He patted her hip, “let's go then. I'll cook while you're in the shower.”

The fact that he was being so sweet and nice made tears well up in her eyes as she stood. 

Leading her into the bathroom, Quinn asked if she needed anything else. When she said she didn’t, he told her he would put some clothes for her on the counter. 

The prospect of washing the day off made her breathe a sigh of relief. 

The big, walk-in shower was so bright, and opulent. Creamy white and blue tiles made a Moroccan style mosaic on the floor, and white subway tile was in the rest of the…it wouldn't be that much of a stretch to call it a room, that wasn't occupied with the thick glass sliding doors. There was even a tall, thin window right in the shower with a view of the northern skyline and the soft evening light winking off the harbor. 

Pushing worries of wasting water or draining the heater out of her mind, Sarah allowed herself to enjoy the rare luxury of a hot shower with no roommates demanding the bathroom. 

The water here got so much warmer than it did in her house. Quinn probably had his own water heater, not just access to the building boiler. 

Standing under the water, she breathed the humid air and allowed the dam to break.

It was always strange, how giving something a name made it easier to feel and let run its course. Voicing what was wrong was always half the battle. 

It had been a long time since she’d felt grief like this. Since it had been so triggered. Things with Quinn were so, so good. Far better than anything she could have ever dreamed up for herself, but being in a relationship still brought up new experiences, and new ways she hadn't yet missed her parents. 

Thinking of Quinn made the big emotion in her chest ease. A soft swell of gratitude displacing some of the sadness. She’d never dated someone like him - someone so willing to try to understand. Someone who took her where she was and wasn’t put off by how much she missed her parents. 

When Kaleo, her boyfriend in Hawaii, had confessed he didn’t understand why she brought up her dad so much, it had been a slap in the face, and made her feel so alone with someone who was supposed to be her partner. He had basically run away when her mom died, not willing to make the trip to the funeral, despite their dating for more than a year. It had been the final crack in the foundation of their relationship, and a big part of why her return to the islands lasted only three weeks before she moved back home. 

Quinn was so refreshingly different - kind and compassionate, and willing to listen. The universe had been keeping track of all the sad, frustrating things in her life and finally gave her the good things she was due all poured into one person. 

Though she never heard him come in, a pair of blue sweats and a yellow Michigan shirt were waiting on the bathroom counter for her.

When she walked into the kitchen, Quinn felt his eyes go wide. Now was not the time for him to get all lustful over Sarah in his clothes, but it was impossible not to. She was braiding her wet hair, and it made her breasts, so obviously out of a bra, jostle under the Michigan logo stretched over them.

Forcing those thoughts to the back of his mind, he asked, “did you have a good shower?” 

She’d been in there a long time - nearly 45 minutes. When he dropped the clothes off, She’d been crying, so he supposed not all of that time was actually spent bathing. 

She tied off the end of the braid as she walked up to him. “I did, thank you,” she said before pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

His arm wound around her waist, and pulled her against him. “Good. I hope these are up to standard. The recipe had good reviews.” 

“I thought you said you could make pancakes?” 

“I can,” he said, gesturing to the stove where the last of them was cooking in the pan, “I just didn’t have a recipe. At home, we always make them from a mix.” 

“And you didn’t have any here?” 

A sheepish smile spread over his face, “pancakes are one of my guilty pleasure foods, so I try not to have it in the house.”

She giggled, and a sigh raced through his veins. 

A whiff of his own soap hit him, and he remembered what he’d been thinking when he first heard her walking down the stairs. 

“Hey, will you message me the kind of shampoo you like and whatever else you need? I’ll order it so you can have the stuff you like here.” 

Sarah took half a step back from him, eyes wide. 

Maybe he’d overstepped. “Not that you can’t use mine. You’ve just showered here a few times and it seems kind of silly to not have the things you like.” 

Also, he was tired of her smelling like his soap. He liked her smell so much, he’d do anything to keep it around. 

“Oh,” she said, feeling watched over and considered. “That would be really nice.”

They sat down at the bar counter with pancakes, peanut butter, butter, jam, and a tiny bottle of maple syrup Quinn remembered he had from a gift basket when he'd moved in.  

“Thank you for this,” she said, knocking her shoulder into his. 

“You're welcome.”

“It’s just been such a shit week, and you’re so…” she paused, thinking and put a peanut butter and syrup coated piece of pancake in her mouth. “You’re so good.” 

He blushed and tried to deflect the praise, “so what else are you overwhelmed with? School, and something about jackets?”

A flush flew into her cheeks. “Lexie called me about WAG jackets.” 

“Oh,” he said, not really sure what the big deal was. 

“I’m just,” she paused, setting down her fork. “Do you want me to wear one?” 

“There’s no one else I’d want to wear it.” 

“But, are you ready for that?” 

“Ready for what?” 

“For me to be so obviously… I mean, we’re not even official yet.” 

“Right.” 

“But you want me to wear a wives and girlfriends jacket?”

“We’re headed that way, aren’t we? I mean, I’m not seeing anyone else.” 

Even though she felt the same, a huge wave of relief swept through her. “I’m not either but, if I wear a Jacket to a playoff game -” 

He winced, not liking her to talk about it like it was a foregone conclusion. 

“Or any game,” she amended, “people are going to wonder. Do you know what comes up when you google NHL WAG jackets?” 

He shook his head. 

She went to dig her phone out of her backpack, finally seeing the ten texts from Quinn, along with a missed call from her brother.

She really needed a pair of airpods or a watch or something she could wear while her phone had to stay in her bag in the lab. 

Pulling up the search, she handed her phone to him before going back to her pancakes, now deliciously infused with syrup. 

“Go to the reddit listing,” she suggested. 

He scrolled down and clicked on the link, already turned gray from her previous visit. The whole page was speculation about which woman belonged to which player. 

“If I go with a jacket, and someone posts pictures, that’s going to throw our relationship into this, and I just want to make sure we’re…ready for that.” 

“Are you ready for that? Because it’s okay if you’re not.” 

She bit her lip, “I’m not sure. It makes me kind of uncomfortable. It makes it feel like I belong to you or something,” she admitted.

Quinn grimaced.  

“I can see how you got there,” he said, setting the phone face down. “You don’t have to get one and as far as I’m concerned, you never do, but I think you might want to talk to Lexie about it first.” 

“Why?” 

“The wives and girlfriends have a kind of support group. They hang out, and they help each other a lot. Lexie had a baby in October, and I know the other partners were really helping. Organizing meals and stuff like that. From what I know, the jackets are more about being part of that club than about -” he didn’t even want to say it, “belonging to someone on the team.” 

She hummed. Sarah had sat with some of the wives and girlfriends at games a few times. They were always nice and very welcoming, but she didn’t feel this kind of camaraderie. 

“Lexie asked me if you wanted one, and I didn’t know, so I gave her your number. I’m sorry, I should have warned you about it.” 

“I just didn’t know what it meant,” she confessed. “Or if you were, like, trying to hurry things along through Lexie somehow.” 

He laughed, “no. I just didn’t want to make the decision for you. I’m sorry if it heaped more stress onto your plate.”

“It’s okay, it’s just new, you know?” 

“Yeah. It took me a while to transition. If I didn’t have Tanev, I don’t know what I would have done.” 

“Who’s Tanev?” 

“He was my defensive partner my first year. He was traded to Clagary, but he and his then fiance, Kendra, really helped me find my feet.” 

“Maybe I’ll ask Emma about it.”

“Yeah? You guys talk?” 

“Sometimes, we’re not besties or anything, but she checks in.” 

Quinn smiled, relief filling his bones. 

“Do you want me to take you home? Or would you rather stay here?” Usually, he wouldn’t have even asked but she looked so tired and comfortable, he wasn’t sure she’d want to make the trek. 

Relief swept through her. She didn’t want to overstep - but the last thing she wanted was to go home. The idea of leaving to sleep in her cold, empty bed seemed like a terrible one. 

“I’ll let Eunice know I won’t be home,” she said as an answer. The last time she’d slept over, Eunice had called three times in a row to break through Sarah’s do not disturb, worried she had been abducted in the middle of the night. 

As they settled in bed, and she scooted herself close to him, he tried to pull in some calming breaths. It didn’t really work. He’d been half hard all night seeing her in his clothes, and now that she was scooting up against him, he slid way beyond half.  

“Sorry,” he coughed. 

Sarah turned over, “for what?” 

Cheeks flaming, he wondered why he’d said anything at all. “I just…sorry,” he gestured down. “You in this shirt is a real turn on.” 

“Really?” 

She and Quinn were relatively similar sizes overall, but he was far more rectangular than she was. She felt like this shirt pulled over all of her soft bits in the most unflattering way possible, not to mention the yellow color made her look pale and washed out. 

“Yeah,” he said with an earnest nod. 

Sarah had been wondering all night how she could properly thank him. Now that the opportunity was here, she had to seize it. Capturing his mouth, she rolled on top of him. 

His hands went to her hips as a groan fell out of his mouth. 

Every time she went to pull away, he followed her, nipping her bottom lip, or stroking his tongue over the roof of her mouth; he didn’t want to let her go. 

She broke away all together and sat up, so she was straddling his hips. 

Quinn, who was already out of breath from the kissing, felt his chest hitch as she reached for the hem of her (his) shirt, and began pulling it up. She was even doing that arms crossed skin-the-cat kind of move. God, this was - she was a dream come true. 

Watching her ease the blue M over her chest, knowing his name was on her back made him dizzy and he felt his erection press more urgently against her. 

He wanted to save this vision of her stripping off his shirt into permanent, long-term memory. 

“Shit, Sarah,” he moaned into her mouth when she let the fabric fall next to her and leaned down to kiss him again. 

She smiled, happy to be getting the response she’d been going for. She didn’t want to have sex, but there were other ways she could thank him. 

“Do you want my hands or my mouth?” she asked. Even though he hadn’t come close to going down on her, she was willing to let that rule slide for now.

“God, Mouth, please,” he practically begged.

She really was a dream. She’d never gone down on him before. He figured it wasn’t something she really enjoyed. Maybe she was just saving it for a special occasion. He wasn’t entirely certain what made this evening so special, but he’d take it.

Her lips ghosted over his chin and onto his chest as her hands pushed his pajama pants down. He lifted his hips, eager to please. She didn’t push them down all the way - just enough to let his hard cock spring free. 

Taking a straight journey to where he wanted her, there was no preamble or teasing before she was wrapping her lips around him, and taking him deep. 

Her mouth was hot and soft, her tongue skilled as she traced the vein on the underside, ending with a flick at the base of the sensitive head. 

She pulled back and sucked on the tip like some kind of lollipop. A soft snick sounded through the room when she released the suction to start again. 

His left thigh began to tremble. A few more seconds and he'd be done for. 

“Oh, fuck,” he said as she took him deep again, making his eyes roll back. 

This was a dream save for one thing: her hair was braided back. He wanted nothing more than to sink his fingers into the soft tresses. He wound them in the sheets instead.

Hollowing her cheeks, she pulled back to the tip. His guttural groan had a deep sense of satisfaction curling in her belly. 

Stroking her tongue over the slit, licking up his salty precome, she smiled when he swore again. 

“I’m gonna come,” he warned. 

A small whine left his mouth when she pulled off him, but her hand kept moving, pulling his orgasm out all the same. 

When he came, she shielded herself with her other hand, managing to catch most of his release before it splattered all over her. She was too tired for another shower. 

Leaving him a panting mess, she went to wash up and wipe off the splatter that snuck past her hand. 

Once she was back in bed with his shirt back on, Quinn gathered her against him, “that was amazing, thank you.”

She hummed and scooted a little closer. 

“What do you want?”

“A good night's sleep,” she murmured. 

“You don’t want me to return the favor?” he asked, humor in his voice. One of his hands was making a slow expedition down her stomach.  

"No, you can do that," she hummed.

She felt his laugh against her skin, and his fingers snuck under the waistband of his sweats.

 The pleasure that swam into her veins was comforting. She felt so contented and supported, spooned up against him as he stroked her sensitive pearl. She reached back to grab his hip as the sparks became more intense.

He was an attentive student, learning the patterns and pressure she liked as if he needed to ace this test to pass the class. Even going so far as to work his knee between hers to give himself a little more room without making her uncomfortable.

“Quinn,” she whispered. 

God, the way she said his name made him feel like he could do anything - hike Mt. Everest, take on the whole Eastern conference, fly to the moon. He’d do anything to hear it again.

He began to kiss her neck, switching his fingers to circle clockwise. The sudden change in pattern made her clench down and a whine escaped her throat. 

“Are you close?” 

“Yes. Put your fingers inside me,” her breathy whisper made his fingers tingle with power and purpose. 

He obeyed.

After a few strokes, she adjusted his wrist so the heel of his hand pressed gently against her clit. 

Her hips moved with him, and she let out a little moan, “just like that, Quinn.” 

She began to pulse around his fingers and she felt him smile against her skin as he worked her though the orgasm. 

She slept soundly that night, curled up with Quinn, awed by the once improbable and yet very real prospect she might not have to face anything totally alone again. 

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

#quinn & sarah snapshots #quinn hughes #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x oc #quinn hughes fan fic #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes smut #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #tw greif #hockey fic #hockey romance

[mothdruid]

The Physics of Love - Prologue

series masterlist | part one

pairing.

robert 'bob' floyd x afab!reader

warnings.

insecurities, previously experienced misogyny in STEM, self-doubt. this content is meant for those who are 18 and older.

authors note.

professor coleman (hondo) is a real one who loves his students. but let me know what you think so far! i will be doing a tag list for this series, so if you would like to join that, let me know.

The red ink stared back at you menacingly. Every minus one, minus two, minus three points marks taunting you. Sixty-eight out of one hundred. It wasn’t the worst you had scored in the class, but it was too far into the semester for you to drop. If only you had actually considered it a few weeks ago. That foolish woman in STEM mentality got the better of you though.

“If there are any issues with scores, let me know after class.” Professor Coleman announced.

It was as if the whole classroom failed, many students hanging back to talk with Professor Coleman. And you were no exception, slowly packing your bag while leaving your test on the table. You flipped through it a little bit as you waited after packing. It wasn’t that you were embarrassed, you just weren’t sure what to do from here on out.

“Issue with your score?” Professor Coleman asked.

You shook your head, letting out a soft chuckle.

“No, I just,” your hand tightened on the marked up papers, “don’t know what to do.”

Professor Coleman gave you a questioning look. You watched as he adjusted his glasses, staring at you with an odd kindness. The tension in your shoulders started to dissipate, your body finally relaxing enough to let your frustration sift into worry.

“If I don’t pass this class, boom, bam, degree gone,” you set the packet on the table. It was annoying to think that this class would potentially make it or break it for you. Stripping you of that geology degree you had yearned for since junior high. Math? A struggle but doable. Chem? Not too bad. Physics? The bane of your existence.

“It’s not like the final is next week. You have passed both exams so far.”

“Barely,” your hands were starting to clench up. It was a nervous habit, one you couldn’t seem to shake.

“Still passed though,” Professor Coleman offered you a smile.

"My degree requires a C plus, something that looks impossible right now," you sighed, tightly running your forefinger and thumb across your forehead to block your vision. It was beyond frustrating.

"Have you thought about looking for a tutor?"

A tutor? Was he being serious? How could anyone help you learn this cursed subject? Let alone get you to retain the information. Plus, you had tried it last semester. It ended in a bit of a failure, on your part and the tutors.

"Yeah, last semester. Tutor got frustrated because I couldn't pick it up, and I got frustrated about not picking it up quickly and it was just," you removed your hand only to be greeted with a soft frown, "it didn't work."

"Would you be willing to give it another try?" Professor Coleman asked, pushing his hands in his pockets.

"I uh… I don't know. I'm not a huge fan of the tutor program here, especially after last semester." You looked over at him with a frown and shrugged. "Maybe this is the universe's way of telling me to give up on geology."

"Hey, some of the best things in life are hard to get, and this might be one of them." Coleman smiled softly at you.

Doubt with a hint of shame swirled around your mind. A storm cloud that didn't want to dissipate. As much as you wanted to believe his words, it was hard. It was hard enough to make it in this field anyways. Hell, any STEM major was hell to get into. It was exceptionally worse though being a female in the field though. You had had classmates and professors act as if you didn't belong among them. And now, it felt like it was all true.

"What if I found you a tutor? Hand picked by me," Coleman shrugged, his words catching your attention.

"Oh, you don't have to do that, I can just fail and go about taking it next semes-"

"I don't want to see you fail."

The two of you stood there for a moment, staring at each other. Coleman had been the first professor that had seemed to actually care about how you did, which was rare for a STEM professor. Most of them had a sink or swim mentality with their subjects, but not him. Not good ole Hondo.

You had heard about Professor Coleman through a few of your other classmates in your program. He used to be an astrophysicist for NASA but then decided to pursue the field of teaching. Or at least that is what you heard through the grapevine. He taught a collection of undergrad students and grad students. You heard Professor Mitchell call him crazy one time for teaching so many students, but you didn't think that Professor Mitchell had much room to talk.

"I don't know if anyone you pick will put up with my incompetence for physics," you hate to admit it, but it was true. You were incompetent at the subject, basically hopeless.

"You're not incompetent, we all have areas we struggle with. I have the perfect person in mind anyways," Professor Coleman said with a smile while leaning back against his desk, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yeah? Who?" You gave him a curious look.

"It will be a surprise," Coleman said as he pushed up off his desk. He took a few steps over to you. "He will be helpful and patient, because it sounds like you haven't had much of that so far."

"But what if–"

Professor Coleman held his hand up to stop your words.

"No buts, and please just trust me."

"Fine, but if this doesn't work out," you grabbed your bag and slung it over your shoulder, "you're paying for my second semester of Physics ll."

Professor Coleman grinned, holding his hand out for you to take. The two of you shook hands, sealing the deal. As much as you didn't want to, there was an overwhelming feeling about you failing flowing through you. It felt like the only outcome, all your insecurities about your place in the world bubbling to the surface. But somewhere, deep down inside of you was a bubble or two, telling you that this tutor would help you survive the rest of the semester.

#bob floyd #robert bob floyd #robert floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x afab reader #bob floyd fic #bob floyd fanfic #the physics of love #tutor!bob floyd

[topgun-imagines]

One Beer

Requested: Yes

Summary: You have to tell Ice life changing information.

Word count: 1.2k

Note: Based on ‘One Beer’ by Hardy.

Warnings: mentions of drinking, pregnancy, angst.

Pairings: Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky x fem!reader

The test on the counter was taunting you. You stared at it with your hands shaking by your side. For the past few days, you had been puking up your breakfast. You had tried everything; taking a nausea pill before breakfast, changing what you were eating, and skipping the meal altogether. The thing that pushed you over the edge was your missed period. The second your period was late, you knew exactly why you had been vomiting up your breakfast lately.

You stared at the clock, holding your breath as the three minutes came to an end. You were frozen in your spot, unable to move forward to grab the test. It was face down on the pristine countertop, right next to your boyfriend’s cologne. The sight almost made you cry.

You weren’t sure whether Ice wanted kids or not. Even though you had been going out for almost two years, the discussion of children had never come up. You knew Ice loved you, and you loved him just the same. But the thought of him not ready to have a child with you sent your mind reeling. After all, he was at the height of his career.

Right now, your boyfriend was at Top Gun. He was the best of the best. And because of some drunken mistake, you may be taking all of that away from him. As you shuffled forward and reached for the pregnancy test, you missed the sound of Ice’s front door opening.

You flipped the test, hand instantly darting up to your mouth to conceal the sob bubbling from your chest.

Ice was wearing a large smile as he stepped into the housing that the military provided him during his time in Miramar. You were only staying with him for a few weeks, only having a small amount of vacation time left. He was grateful for every single day that you were with him. Ice knew that Top Gun would be challenging the minute his commanding officer told him he was headed for the program, but having you there made everything easier.

“Honey, I’m home!” Ice called with a smile. When he received no response, that smile dropped slightly. “Babe?” He tried again. This time when you didn’t respond, Ice began searching the small house for you. First, he checked the living room, then your bedroom, and finally the kitchen. His eyebrows furrowed. You were nowhere to be found.

It was then that he heard muffled cries coming from the bathroom. His heart dropped into his stomach. Your boyfriend rushed to the bathroom, twisting the nob and cursing when he found it locked. Knocking his head against the door, Ice sighed. “Honey? Can you please let me in?”

You gasped through your tears, not expecting Ice to be home so soon. A few shaky breaths later, you were wiping your eyes on the sleeve of your sweater and stuffing the positive pregnancy test into the pocket of your jeans. You could hear Ice pleasing through the door, begging you to let him in. Before you unlocked the door, you made sure to wash your face with cold water. Even though you were sure Ice already heard you crying, you tried to hide any evidence of the fat tears that were rolling down your cheeks seconds ago.

The second Ice heard the lock click he was yanking open the door, eyes scanning over you to make sure you weren’t injured. He pulled you to his chest within seconds, sighing in relief against the crown of your head. “What’s goin’ on?” You instantly shook your head into his chest. The tears began flowing again seconds later.

Ice cooed quietly. “Honey, you know that you can tell me anything,” That made you cry harder. The blond pilot immediately froze, unsure of why his words that were supposed to be reassuring only made you cry harder. “It’ll be okay,” He tried again. “I promise, whatever it is, we’ll get through it together.” You could only hope that he would still believe that after you gave him the news.

“I think we should go sit down for this,” Your words were watery and you blinked rapidly to stop the tears welling in your eyes. Instantly, he nodded. His thumbs brushed the wetness from your cheeks. Ice held your hand as the two of you headed for the living room, sitting down on the lumpy blue couch. “I’m not exactly sure how to tell you this.” How were you supposed to tell your boyfriend that you were pregnant? That was life-altering news.

Ice squeezed your hand softly. He could tell how important this news was to you. You took in a few deep breaths and pulled one hand back to reach into your pocket. You pulled out the positive pregnancy test. “I’m pregnant Ice.” Your words were almost quieter than a whisper. The room was silent for the next minute as your boyfriend glanced between the positive test and your anxious expression.

Suddenly, Ice was standing and lifting you off the couch. He lifted you off the ground and spun you around. As you squealed and giggled, your arms wound around his neck. You kissed him softly and Ice slowed until he was setting your feet back on the ground. When you broke the kiss, both you and Ice were breathless. “You’re okay with this?” You whispered, forehead pressed against his as you played with the short hairs on the nape of his neck.

“Am I happy about this?” He questioned, as if he couldn’t believe what you were saying. “Honey, I’m gonna be a daddy. I’m ecstatic.” Words couldn’t describe how you were feeling right now. On one hand, you were so excited to be having this baby with Ice. But on the other, you weren’t sure if he truly understood just how much this was going to change your lives.

“Are you sure we’re ready for this? What about your career?” You whispered. Ice’s face softened. Pulling you onto the couch gently, his arms wound around you to pull you into his chest. You could hear his steady heartbeat under your ear.

His hand ran softly up and down your back. “I know that this is going to change a lot,” He started carefully. “But I know that we can do this. And as for my career, you know that you’ll always come first. And so will our baby,” His hand settled on your stomach, where in a few short months, there would be a noticeable bump. “We’ll figure it out as we go. I promise Honey, everything will be okay.”

And even with every worry that you had before, with every doubt that you and Ice wouldn’t be able to handle this or that he would want to be with you after you jeopardized his career, you believed every single word he said. The two of you would make it work. You could get through this. Together.

a/n: I hope you enjoyed! Requests are open <3

Tagging: @t0kyoreveng3rs @topguncultleader @soulmates8 @there-goes-thefighter @supercatgirl006 @blueoorchid @dreamgirl3300 @alexxavicry @bradleybeachbabe @chaoticassidy @ice-doc-val @nyx2021 @aviatorobsessed @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @oliviah-25 @cassiemitchell @classyunknownlover @shelbycillian @khaylin27 @bruher @sunsetsimpsblog @lovelywiseprincess @fandom-life-12 @emmza63 @iceman-kazansky @your-local-crzy-lady @dakotakazansky @kmc1989 @sarahjoestewy-blog @butterscotchcookies @ducks118 @xoxabs88xox @eternallyvenus @keileighr @lt-spork @callsign-ember @zombi3wh0r3 @nyctophilic0vitnir @labellapeaky @skylineskyler @callsignharper @lemonflavoredsock @schreksdoubledeckerhomechecker @ChristinaPaulette @purplelye

Join my taglist!

[just-an-anon-reader]

When nerds come together…

Summary: April finally introduces her “normal” friend. Although, she’ll have to redefine her definition of “normal”.

When Donnie first met you, he had his doubts. Apil introduced you as her "normal" friend. But this was April. "Normal" for her was in the 0.0001 percentile. Not impossible, but you might as well have thought it was. You, being introduced as such, was within reason of suspicion. In his initial observations, you were shy and borderline introverted. It was evident with you hiding behind April as you greeted them all. You spoke with so much uncertainty that you even stammered. To put it simply, Othello Von Ryan was not impressed.

"You're going to get along great," she said. "You both have so much in common," she also said. You told April prior that this wasn't going to work out. Not because of this whole...situation. Okay, so maybe a little. Luckily, she briefed you a week before heading down to the lair. But it was mainly because of who you were as a person. You weren't exactly a people person. You often find them loud and messy, and even illogical. For example, pineapple on pizza. An abomination of the truest kind. It's for reasons like this that you preferred being cooped up in your laboratory. It's quiet, spotless, and promotes a higher level of thinking. Hence, the creation of your darlings. Beautiful works of art made from metal, programming, and a boatload of caffeine.

Of course, being a genius, people aren't fans of you as much as you are of them. The teasing, you could handle. After all, you had an armada of anti-bullying technology made by yours truly. It was the social interactions that got to you, i.e., April. Who somehow barged into your life. She found you working on your tech in the library once, and ever since, she has been your self-proclaimed best friend. She mentioned her turtle buddies only recently. When she walked into the same place, and saw you tinkering with your oozequito tracking goggles. She knew she had to introduce you. Particularly to a certain purple-clad turtle genius. Of course, you wouldn't say yes immediately. But after saying the words “mystic” and “mutant” in the same sentence, she had your attention. So that's how you found yourself here, in the NY sewers. Being scrutinized by four color-coded mutant turtles with epic ninja skills.

Mikey, being the overly-friendly orange turtle, hugged you in greeting before asking you for your pizza preference. A large Cheesy Supreme. Leo was next, laying on the charm thick. The cringe was real. Raph went third. The eldest, the leader, and whose mission plans always start and end with punching like a boss. And lastly, and somewhat reluctantly, was Donnie. Eyeing you over with his goggles, rather than offering his hand to shake like a normal person, a robotic one popped out of his battle shell instead. Carefully, you shook it, admiring the intricacy and sophistication of the details of the automaton.

...

"Is this t-titanium grade 4 alloy?"

The words came out of your mouth before you could stop them. April, quite desperately too, wanted you to be friends with her...teenage mutant ninja turtle gang. And, from experience, nobody like a smartypants. You were definitely not making a great first impression. But at least you tried. It's the effort that matters, right? You could feel the beads of sweat rolling down your back and, most likely, drenching your shirt. When he replied, it definitely wasn't what you expected him to say.

"Well, of course! Only a miscreant would use anything but the best quality!"

He isn't going to laugh at me? Or look at me weirdly? Could this turtle, in all of his purple glory...be a nerd? Description-wise, April had only revealed that “you two would get along” and refused to clarify any further. There is only one way to put a theory to the test.

"You know, i-if you used uranium as an e-energy source, you could level up these darlings b-big time."

...

You saying nerdy stuff? Donnie definitely didn't expect that. You didn't look the type. And, not to be judgmental, but you didn't seem the type. But you were. And you understood his sentiments exactly. He couldn't help the excitement that bubbled up inside him.

"I know, right?! Think of all the upgrades I could do with even just an iota of uranium! I would be unstoppable! But sadly, papa rat won't let me have some.”

Donnie got a good tail slap to the back of the head for that. Feeling a bit more comfortable now, especially with the science talk, you bravely continued. A smile slowly starting to spread on your face.

"What if you had more than an iota of uranium?"

At this, April’s head did a 160 from something Leo had said to you.

"Wait a minute, didn't you say that your nuclear stable thingy was in beta? Which, you so thoroughly said, meant that it was 'Off Limits'."

Pulling up air quotations as she quotes you saying the same thing to her no more than a week ago when she bugged you about your oozequito goggles. Smugly, you smiled at your best friend as you reached into your bag and pulled out the glowing device.

"You mean my beautiful portable nuclear stabilizer? Yes, yes it was. 'Til now. "

"You brought uranium to the lair?!"

"No, I brought uranium to the school, April. Which ended with you dragging me here before I could stow it away in a safer location. A.K.A., my lab."

You hear the gasp of horror behind you as you turn to face Donnie once more. The device in your hand had an ominous green glow that eerily illuminated his face. It was quite beautiful. The turtle in question had stars in his eyes with how excited he was. He made gimme-gimme hands before coming to some sort of realization at the last minute. Taking a deep breath, he recomposed himself.

"You're just going to hand me the uranium? That sounds suspect. What's the catch?”

The small shy smile that had adorned your face before spread wide. Almost menacingly.

"As I said, uranium is a wonderful energy source. If I am to give you some of mine, it must be for a worthwhile cause. So, I want to be co-creator. From frame, to wiring, to programming, alpha, beta, and testing. Think of it as means of securing my investment."

“And if I decline your conditions?”

“Then prepare to say your sweet farewell.”

"I see. Begrudgingly, I accept. However, I will have to demand that you keep my lab as prestine as possible."

With a gleaming and potentially dangerous device in hand, you marched alongside the turtle as he led you toward his beloved laboratory. The other five, completely forgotten and left out of the conversation, looked at you two in confusion.

"What just happened?"

"I think Donnie just made a new friend!"

"Ugh, April! You said that this one was normal!"

￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣P.S. School has been so hectic lately (°▽°) I haven’t written anything almost 2 weeks. Here is some platonic? Rise!Donnie x reader. Might make a more romantic part 2 if y’all like this. And again, thank you so much for all the love my stories have been getting! Please enjoy!

P.P.S. The gif isn’t mine

#rise!april #rottmnt donnie #rise!donnie #rise!donnie x reader #rottmnt donnie x reader #platonic #Uranium babyyyy! #in the name of SCIENCE #nerds being nerds

[anarchotahdigism]

Reminder that Genocide Joe ended all of Trump's paltry COVID mitigation efforts and subsidies, then buried pandemic data and had regime officials declare to press pools that the deaths of the disabled were encouraging Then when COVID finally surged enough again to affect the comfortable, gave out expired but still usable tests and after a handful of months, ended that again. Keep in mind these tests have never been sufficiently accurate and that everyone should be testing twice every single day. COVID is infectious 5-10 days before it might show up on a test and you remain infectious until a few days after your last negative. COVID is infectious days before you show symptoms; many people don't experience what they think of as typical COVID symptoms for their first 1-3 infections. COVID symptoms include (but aren't limited to): GI distress (upset stomach, diarrhea), runny nose, reduction/loss in taste and smell, headaches, fatigue, fever, joint and muscle aches, loss of appetite, insomnia, cognitive difficulties and it may present in any combination of these symptoms or even none. If you think it's "bad allergies," it could easily be COVID. If you think it's "just a cold" or "a mild or severe flu" it could easily be COVID. COVID doesn't stay positive on tests; that is, you may test positive a day or two prior and then test negative for days before testing positive again. To know for sure, you have to be testing frequently and swabbing the back of your throat, cheeks, and nasal passages. Biden's normalized the mass murder of thousands of disabled people of color a week but blue maga only cares what red maga might be up to one day instead of the very real suffering and deaths Democrats are causing now. Wear a mask the entire time you're out in public every time. Give up COVID-spreading activities. If possible, help others upgrade their masks and resume masking. Anything less is killing people. Show real solidarity and commitment to anti-eugenics. Wear a mask.

#genocide #anticapitalism #anarchism #eugenics #wear a mask #covid #ableism #death to america #genocide joe #blue maga #anarchotahdigism

[girlymtfboy]

Noticing more people like me on here who, while they are into this kink, don't want to be fully pushed into being a masculine man. Would instead rather be a girly male of some sort~ Soo, hoping people might like this idea my brain suddenly hit me with!

The people who want to detransition you, they want you to be a good traditional example of your true gender. It's such an ideal goal after all isn't it? Not a bit of that female life of yours left. However sometimes it's obvious that someone just can't do that. The fighting, the resistance is simply too much.

The thing is, in cases like this, it would be silly to simply give up. So, if it's impossible to have you in your traditional reproductional role, impossible to have you dress and present as you should, well why not try and go as far as possible~? How about some good old fashioned conditioning <3

So, overtime, you're brought to a room. Maybe you get put in a trance, maybe not. The process is the same regardless. Over the course of this "session" you'll get shown images and videos of people identifying as your true gender, but instead, wow this looks much better! This guy looks just like a girl, and his voice is so cute, maybe it'd be okay to be just like him? After all if he identified as a girl, no one would ask a single question!

They'll ask, would you like to be him? You can answer however you want, however answering positively is a very good idea. You'll be praised, and maybe just maybe even get gifts. Maybe even a dose of estrogen, or a cute girly outfit to wear. You've been desperate for such things for so long right? So it makes sense to eagerly exclaim "I'd love to be him!" So you can get your E, good boy~

As time goes on though, these images and videos will become more and more masculine. Testing you, easing you in. Don't worry, it'll be gradual. Maybe the second guy will just have a noticebly masculine aspect or two. Maybe his voice will sometimes expose him as male. Just simple things! So again, you'll get asked. "Would you like to be him?"

It's tougher this time, it's tougher to say yes. However the rewards are so good, what are the consequences of saying yes anyway? You could risk it, you probably should. These guys look so cute after all! Eventually though, they show you someone you just couldn't be. You shake your head, and the session continues for a little bit longer, showing you a few more people before ending.

This process happens so many times, day after day, week after week. Some are there for longer of course, but everyone that is taken into this program is there for a decent while. Sometimes the same, sometimes different people are shown to you, but each time, gradually building up in masculinity. The person there keeping an eye on it all, analyzing what exactly is making you hit your limit.

The thing is, how far you're willing to go, keeps going further and further. At first it was just really cute and girly guys, who would absolutely pass as women if they chose to! Now though? You just said you'd happily be this obviously male crossdresser. He's not manly, not by a long shot, but he has various masculine features. And you're okay with looking like that? You want to look like that? You told them you did, but sure, you just really wanted more E, more praise, more cute clothes. God imagine looking like him and wearing that dress they gave you~!! <3 <3 <3 Ahem, no of course not. You just really needed the benefits of saying yes..

Maybe you're more of a fighter though, or just much more reserved. Not willing to go further than the absolute girliest and most feminine of guys you see. Problem for you is, that they measure even the tiniest of twitches inside that underwear of yours. So, all you're doing is losing out on the rewards, but they know how masculine you're willing to have your body become. How masculine you'd LOVE your body to become.

At a certain point it all reaches a limit. You simply can't go any further, you're put off by the final men they show you day after day. It's just too much. It's okay~ You've done so well, and you've improved so much~! The most masculine men you responded positively towards are recorded, and then the real fun begins~

Overtime, your body is made to look just like them. Just as masculine, as masculine as you can go in every single way you responded positively to. "God I wish that were me~" Well now you get to look just like that. From head to toe, such a good boy!

As a final "graduation" gift for your detransition. You're given a book of your progress through that process you went through. There on the first page, is something that makes your heart jump. On one side, are the guys who were your limit on day 1. On the other, are the ones who were your ultimate limit. The ones you look just like on this so very important and happy day. Your cock can't help but twitch twitch twitch, looking at it, knowing that you'll never ever look as feminine or girly as those first guys ever again, but... would you want to? <3

#detransition kink #mtf detrans kink #detrans kink

[sapphicromanoffxo]

hiiii, just saw you started to write and i really liked your first wandanat headcanon so what do you think of sugar mommy!nat X sugar baby!wanda? 👀

Aaahhh I screamed with I got this request because I loveeee sugar mommy Nat so much. I also got carried away on this one and this might be a multi chapter fic. Let me know your thoughts! 🤭🫡

Lucky Ones | i. Chance meeting

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: specified legal age gap, Nat is 35 while Wanda is 21 (nothing much as of yet? 🤭)

Rewritten 03/19/2024

»»-----------► Series Masterlist

In recent weeks, college life has been hectic, but a welcome break has arrived in the form of Engineering convention week. This week-long event offers students a break from their regular studies, providing a platform to delve deeper into their field through different seminars and workshops. Beyond the confines of classroom theory, students seize the opportunity to expand their knowledge and get the chance to interact with other students as well. Amidst the event, quirky competitions like the pasta stick bridge-making challenge add a dose of excitement, prompting a laughter among participants as they witnessed their own creation fail.

Among the throng of students revelling in this educational event is Wanda, a sophomore in the civil engineering department. She was one of the fortunate students who had been granted a scholarship, though it was never easy to be one of the scholars since she took multiple tests in order to be included on the list. The delight and relief that she felt when she received an email regarding the scholarship was a weight off her shoulders since she would work as a barista in a cafe and would tutor kids for extra income, just enough to sustain her basic necessities.

At the end of the event, a lecture will be held and the chosen speaker was a well respected and sought-after engineer. Natasha Romanoff, CEO of a big construction firm that is very well-known and popular in the engineering industry.

Wanda was so excited to attend the lecture since the woman was the engineer who had provided a scholarship program to the students who are in need of one. She's also hoping to meet Natasha and give her thanks in person.

Wanda found the lecture highly informative and was thoroughly impressed by Natasha's presentation skills. Natasha adeptly explained technical concepts in structural engineering, providing practical examples to illustrate theories.

"I'm grateful for the invitation to speak today, and it's heartening to see so many people sharing my passion for this field. Best of luck with your educational endeavours."

A round of applause rang out throughout the room as they praised Natasha for her wonderful lecture. Wanda was disappointed when it concluded after two hours, wishing it could have been longer to absorb more insights from Natasha.

As Natasha stepped down from the elevated platform, Wanda stood and walked to the side of the room to greet her. Her hands grew clammy with nerves at the prospect of meeting Natasha, so she wiped them on the side of her pants before approaching.

"Um, hi, Miss Natasha. I'm Wanda," she stammered, her nerves evident in her shaky voice. "I just wanted to introduce myself since I'm one of the recipients of your scholarship offerings."

Wanda's words tumbled out in a rush until she finally came face to face with Natasha. Oh, the woman was stunning. Her emerald green eyes shimmered under the lights, her face adorned with a delicate layer of makeup, and a lop-sided smile gracing her lips. It sent a flurry of butterflies fluttering in Wanda's stomach, causing her to trail off momentarily in awe.

"Hello, Wanda. I do recall your name from the list of potential grantees," Natasha greeted warmly, extending her hand. Wanda eagerly clasped it for a handshake.

"I wanted to personally thank you for the opportunity to study at this prestigious university," Wanda expressed her gratitude sincerely to the woman before her.

"You are most welcome, dear. I hope you enjoy your time here and make the most of your learning experience. I'm eager to see what the future holds for you," Natasha replied graciously, her voice laden with warmth at the same time with power. Without hesitation, she offered her personal calling card to Wanda and added that she can call her if she needed help.

After several days of their initial meeting, during which Wanda found herself repeatedly glancing at the card Natasha had given her, she finally summoned the courage to send a message to the other woman. Despite the initial nerves, both Wanda and Natasha quickly agreed to stay in touch, eager to get to know one another.

Natasha's curiosity about Wanda was obvious, as she frequently inquired about her life and interests. Wanda, accustomed to solitude with few friends to confide in, soaked up Natasha's interest with open arms, grateful for the opportunity to share even the simplest details about herself. She would find herself daydreaming about the woman and would always think about the fiery eyes that once looked at her.

Wanda had revealed that she works at a cafe near the university and Natasha began visiting Wanda, initially keeping things friendly and casual. However after a few days of exchanging messages, Natasha's intentions became clear as she expressed her desire for Wanda to work for her, albeit with certain conditions.

Natasha offered to alleviate Wanda's financial burdens, but in return, Wanda would be at Natasha's beck and call. Intrigued by the prospect and Natasha's wealth and beauty, Wanda accepted the proposition, gladly.

Their relationship started slowly, with Natasha's first demand being that Wanda quit her job to focus solely on fulfilling her needs and wants.

After a while, Natasha provided Wanda with a credit card with no spending limit, encouraging her to make purchases that pleased her. This newfound financial freedom was overwhelming for Wanda, who had grown up in an average family and struggled to comprehend the costs of clothing she's been buying, which often equaled her rent expenses.

Natasha didn't rush into inviting Wanda to live with her, understanding that the young woman was still in the process of adjusting to her new environment. Instead, Natasha took a more gradual approach, fostering a close working relationship with Wanda. She even offered Wanda a temporary position, since she is still a college student, within her company to further develop her skills, a gesture that reflected Natasha's genuine interest in helping her grow.

Their daily interactions were filled with stolen kisses, though their affection was only limited to innocent touches and loving gazes. They both understood the need to keep their relationship discreet. After all, Wanda was still a student, just 21 years old, while Natasha, at 35, had already established herself in the industry. Despite the significant age gap, Wanda embraced the dynamic and, in fact, preferred older women, anyways.

While their relationship continued to progress, Wanda occasionally found it frustrating to witness the persistent attention men directed toward Natasha. These men were driven by either a desire to win her affection or to secure business partnerships. Wanda, in these moments, had a front-row seat to all the effort and charm these individuals put into their attempts to impress Natasha.

However, Wanda couldn't help but be captivated by Natasha's commanding presence. Natasha's innate dominance seemed to effortlessly exude from her, especially when she was fully immersed in her professional space. For Wanda, this aspect of Natasha's personality was not only alluring but also a source of pride.

As the months passed and their connection deepened, Natasha decided to invite Wanda to move in with her, a proposition that Wanda enthusiastically accepted without a moment's hesitation.

When Wanda moved in with Natasha, it was a big step forward in their relationship. Natasha was determined to make Wanda feel truly involved and committed to carefully planning how to keep their relationship strong and growing. Natasha laid out her honest and thrilling intentions to Wanda.

"From this day forward, you belong to me, as I belong to you. I am committed to fulfilling your needs, desires, and wishes. In return, I do hope that you will obey and respect my demands, as long as you're comfortable with them."

Upon hearing Natasha's confession, a shiver ran down Wanda's spine. It was the moment she had been both anticipating and fearing. She couldn't resist the pull of her emotions, surrendering her inhibitions willingly to the woman who had consumed her thoughts, day and night.

In return for her commitment, Natasha offered Wanda more than she had ever dared to dream of – a stable home and financial security. These were luxuries that had seemed out of reach, especially considering her past. However, this newfound comfort came with a significant price tag: her freedom. The demands of Natasha's commitment meant that Wanda would have limited independence. Yet, in Wanda's eyes, this trade-off was more than acceptable. The burden of financial worries was lifted from her shoulders, allowing her to focus entirely on her academic pursuits.

"You, Natasha Romanoff, a woman who took me by surprise. To this very moment, I find myself wondering what it was about me that captivated you so dearly. You went through the lengths just to get me close to you. Even if you don't have all this luxury and wealth, I think, I would still be into you."

"Well, it's all because of your good looks and enchanting mind, I can help but to be intrigued. It also didn't help that you look like you are begging for someone to put you in check and tell you what to do. Tell me I'm wrong, detka," Natasha says with much confidence, while looking the young woman right in the eye.

"It all became clear that I do want to be controlled by someone and you are the only person in this world that I would trust to do that."

Natasha smirks at Wanda's admission.

Everything that she planned is falling into place.

#natasha x wanda #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #wandanat #wandanat fanfiction #wlw #marvel #black widow #scarlet witch