Tumgik
#they should talk to the physics department
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Emotions suck, let’s drink instead
CW: alcohol and drug use (THC), Kid and reader suck at feels, Killer being the bestest (trying these characters for the first time!), mentions of not feeling comfortable as self or with own biological gender (fem) - kinda hints at being non-binary but no pronouns used at all.
WC: 5415
Nearly ten drinks in; it’s been a handful of hours at the bar and no one wants to go back yet. You are celebrating your first year with the crew and Heat insisted that you all go out to party since you docked yesterday to reset the log pose. Well, most everyone except Kid and Killer were there. You weren’t sure of their exact reasons but they said they were going to meet up with everyone later and just haven’t showed up yet. Probably enjoying the peace on the ship so Killer can organize the kitchen or sharpen his blades and Kid can work on his newest project in his workroom. You know there are times that they prefer to be alone and they most likely took advantage of the crew being gone.
Though, Kid has been acting weird lately, for at least a few months now. You asked Heat about it but he just shrugged and said he hadn’t noticed much of anything. Maybe you were just reading into things but it seemed like he was avoiding you most days. Unless you went into towns, visiting brothels with the guys and drinking too much, then when you got back in his gaze you would feel like he was burning holes through you. Still, he never said anything to you, just stared with his alluring albeit piercing eyes.
When you first joined the crew he seemed to treat you like everyone else, like one of the guys, which is how you liked it. You’ve never really felt like much of a stereotypical woman, regardless of what you had under your clothes. Being with the men just felt right, and being with women outside of physical relations just got difficult, as if you weren’t speaking the same language more than half the time, it made you recognize you hate being one of them. You felt mentally alien with your own gender. It hurt to spend more than a few hours with anyone not on the crew any more, since they all seemed to understand this about you and treat you the way you appreciated being treated.
You thought you had gotten closer to everyone, including the Captain and first mate, but clearly they didn’t care as much as you wanted them to. They should be here too, you wanted them here. It’s hard to not want to be around them, but especially when you feel the most like yourself. However, drink after drink you started feeling more like you shouldn’t be celebrating. You laughed with the crew but felt hollow inside. You shouldn’t desire the validation of those two this much but something was clawing at you on the inside of your skull, driving you to wish for their presence every moment that passed.
Hitting the 15th drink and barely being able to stand (seeing as you mixed hard liquor and beer all night) Heat sidles next to you at the bar and quietly asks if you’d like to go back and go to bed. You nod and he helps you stand, trying to appear as stable as possible while saying goodnight to everyone left over. Some decided to go back to the brothels about town since you were departing, and others went to stay at inns after the bar closed.
Walking back with Heat got you slurring your words about Kid to him, but he’s used to this from you. You had a tendency to focus on the captain, and ask Heat if he had any new info about what was going on. He always shrugs it off, no news to tell, but states you should just talk to him and ask yourself. Like you’d be able to do that after he makes you feel like you’re made of glass and he can see everything inside you and beyond. Even this intoxicated you wonder if you’d just make a complete ass of yourself trying to talk to him, though it would make it easier, you’d prefer to just slur your words at him and hope he doesn’t understand. At least you would get it out of your system and say you tried.
By the time you reach the Victoria Punk you feel a bit better on your own two feet. You thank Heat as he walks you up the gang plank but urge him to go enjoy the rest of the night; he does, after triple checking with you, leaving you to the cool night air on deck.
The stars are shining, no moon to speak of, and it’s cloudless with the slightest of breezes coming off the sea. You can taste the salt in the air; it’s quiet and tranquil, only insects and waves to be heard as the noises of the town are far from the docks. Before you realize it, you’re lying on your back, staring up at the night sky, just breathing in the harmonious evening.
Now that you’re home, and just slightly more sober than you were a bit ago, you pull a flask from your pocket and drink more. Time to encourage sleep to come; you’re certain no one will be back tonight anyway, so sleeping outside on the deck shouldn’t be a problem. Plus without the booze, your mind would just continue to race about everything and nothing. It never shuts off without help, it’s been like this since you can remember and thank the gods for drugs and booze because without them, you may not sleep until your body forces it.
With your eyes closed you take another swig of liquor from the flask and sigh.
“Hey.” Startled, you tilt your head up against the wood of the deck to see Killer standing near you, mask turned towards the rolling waves over the rails. You can only hum in response now, a bit too drunk for proper words. “Need help getting to your cabin?” You close your eyes and tried to speak, “ ‘mmkay ‘ere fo mow” Killer sighs, “clearly.”
“wewerer y’two?” you hiccup to him, “miss’dcha” He sits next to you, “Sorry.” You hum again and go back to listening to the nature around you. Without warning you feel your head being lifted up and gently put back down on something firm but soft. Looking up, you see Killer much closer now, torso right next to your face, “drink this, please.” He holds water in front of you, now lying against his lap, giving you better angle to drink from. You do as he says then lean back on him, cuddling up to his warmth instinctively after chugging a good portion of water from the canister.
“You should really go to bed, sleeping out here will get you sick in this state. Kid would be upset…” You jump in your skin when you hear Kid’s name and stare at Killer, stopping him mid-sentence with your reaction. “Regardless, we can’t have you getting ill from your own celebration.” He finishes.
“He rare’y s’eaks ta me…” you mutter and look away, towards Killer’s feet and across the deck. You lift your flask to take another shot but Killer stops you, “He will. In the meantime, let’s give up the flask and get you to bed, okay?” you just nod and attempt to sit up a bit, arms bent under you only able to lift you slightly from Killer until the deck is spinning, you close your eyes again and breathe deep. Killer picks you up and rubs your back as you curl comfortably into his chest, holding tight around his neck for stability; he walks you slowly to your cabin, leaving a bucket near your bed just in case you need it. Making sure you are on your side and comfortable, he tucks the blanket around you and pats your head gently. You fall fast asleep.
---
Forever the insomniac, you wake a few hours later, still kind of drunk, to the sounds of birds chirping and metal clanking. The world looks blurry but you manage to get up and go to the kitchen for coffee, maybe a little hair of the dog will help your morning. You find a pot already made, and Killer working on a small pile of breakfast. Clearly not enough for the crew, you bet most are still out in town sleeping off their evening escapades.
A cup in hand, you sit at the counter and take out your flask to empty the end of its contents into the dark liquid. “Really?” you hear Killer ask. You lightly shush him and bring the mixture to your lips, breathing in the aroma of your medicine and taking a long drink. “I need this for reasons.” You finally breathe out. “Sure. Do you want any food in your stomach or just alcohol and caffeine?” you look at him and shake your head with a sour face, “food doesn’t sound like a plan right now, but thank you.”
Slamming back the rest of your drink, you stand to clean your cup and leave when Kid walks in. You can feel his eyes on you but you dare not look at him, still unsure of how to be around him, or why he’s been acting the way he has. Maybe you did something to warrant the silence. Maybe you should just go drink in the shower and hide away until the crew comes back and you can mix in with the group. You clutch your flask in one hand and begin to fast walk to the door but it’s pulled from your grasp.
“Confiscated until further notice. Go take a shower and sober up.” Your captain says sternly, the flask flying into his hand as he sits down to eat. You turn abruptly and briefly look at him with a pout you couldn’t control. He had been looking at you until your eyes met, but he quickly turned his attention to his food and slid the container into his pocket. You let out a childish huff and made your way to do as your captain said.
 You’d be lying if you didn’t think about taking your stashed bottle of rum with you into the shower. Just because he had your flask doesn’t mean he has all the liquor locked up too, but you thought better of going against his word. The last thing you want is to make him any more upset than he probably already is. Without the alcohol though, your head is throbbing with anxious energy, you can’t stop thinking of your captain and what you may have done to make him basically ignore you all these months.
The last real interaction you recall was at a brothel; you had just finished with one of the courtesans and another patron who had flirted with you earlier in the evening at a bar down the road. You and the random guy were coming down the stairs, laughing about something stupid, and your captain was in the bar area when he spotted you coming towards him. You waved at the guy as he was leaving and hopped on a seat next to Kid.
“Did he pay to watch?” he snickered while taking a chug of his glass. “Nope, but I got him to pay for her services to the group, so free three-way!” you laughed and waved the bartender down for a mug. Kid coughed like he breathed in some of his drink, “I didn’t realize you…were into guys too.” He looked down at the bar. “Oh yeah, I’m pretty fluid for whoever. So long as I like the person, I don’t care what they’re packing.” A drink was sat in front of you and you promptly began chugging it like it was water.
Kid slams the rest of his drink back and proceeds to pay for you both before walking away. “Thanks! I’ll see you back on the ship in a bit!” you shout after him and he waves behind himself as his long strides take him out the door.
Now you were thinking back on it, maybe you shouldn’t have told him about the three-way? But what was wrong with that? You knew the crew was filled with raunchy stories like that all the time, it’s not like you were the first. You try to shake the thoughts from your head as you feel the water running cold. “Fuck.” You didn’t comprehend how long you were standing there, just lost in yourself.
---
By the evening the crew had come and gone again, knowing the ship was set to leave tomorrow; they had one more night in town to do whatever they wanted. Heat asked if you wanted to come to the brothel tonight and you said you would meet him there, just have to try to get your comfort flask back from the captain before you head out. He wished you a sincere good luck before catching up to Wire on the docks.
Kid had just finished delegating some instructions to a few final crew members who were tasked with watching the ship tonight when you eyed him across the deck. As they dispersed you meandered your way towards him, attempting to hide your awkwardness. You had hopes you wouldn’t even have to say anything and he would just toss it to you and let you go about your evening, but why would he make anything easy on you?
He watched as you neared him, “Need something?” he asked, patting his pocket where he had the flask. “I do…. A great need, actually, if you don’t mind.” Smiling back at him with a hand out, anticipating the ease you dreamed of. “Too damn bad for you. I’ll be joining tonight: this, and you, will remain with me.” Your mouth went agape at his words and it forced a taken-aback chuckle to emerge from your throat. “If you don’t like that, you can stay here and remain sober, with Killer.” Killer passes behind you and hears this, whispering, “Why am I being punished too?” Kid must have heard that because he flipped Killer off quickly before beginning to walk off the ship.
Clearly you wanted this to go another way and he knew that but your desire to be intoxicated was stronger than your fear of whatever has been going on with your captain lately so you tag along behind him, Killer also in tow. You both stay behind Kid as he walks toward the nearest brothel, “I told you he would say something to you.” Killer quietly says to you. “Yeah, but this was not on my list of conversation ideas…” you push out of the side of your mouth at him.
Once inside the brothel, the three of you sat at the bar, Killer on your right, and Kid on your left; sandwiched between the ones you desperately wanted around you last night. You had the bartender make you two drinks; slammed one and began lifting the other when Kid looked at you with side eye, “what you’ve never watched me at a bar before? Oh wait, I’m certain you have.” You torment as you turn on your stool to check out tonight’s line up of ladies.
Kid used his power on the metal rim of your stool to turn you back around, “If you want your flask back, at all, you’ll stay right by me tonight.” His eyes lock onto yours and you squirm in your seat.
“I’m not the only one who drinks a lot, you know, I don’t see why I’m being punished.” You frown and cross your arms in another childish display of irritation.
“I’m not punishing you for drinking, but I should for your attitude today, brat.” You both take a drink to settle the wave of tension. “I just thought we should celebrate with you tonight… since we didn’t join yesterday, and I took your flask to keep you from running off. And also so you wouldn’t drink in the shower again.”
You looked at him as he stared at his mug, “how do you know I do that sometimes?”
His face was turning pink, “I can sense the metal in the pile of clothes you take in there, it’s not like I’m watching you.”
“No, not watching, just taking notes.” You giggle then think to yourself about other things he could be using his power for. You are now very aware of your nipple piercings basically being on display under your clothes to him as your own face turns pink and you cover yourself with your left arm.
Killer nudges your right arm and just places his hands on the bar, holding his mug, indicating you should do the same; as if he could read your mind and shouldn’t make it more obvious what you were thinking.
 “Anyways!” you start, “Thanks for taking care of me last night, Killer.” He stiffens, “ I can only imagine how much worse off I would have been this morning if I had slept on deck, though those stars were sorely missed, and we could have cuddled a bit more; next time though” you wink at him and see his neck turn a bit red.
“Ah so you weren’t too drunk to remember.” He says. “And it wasn’t really cuddling.” Unsure why he was trying to clarify you lean on his shoulder for a moment, “than neither is this, I guess you’re just my shoulder to lean on.” A prompt pull from your left had you off Killer’s shoulder before you could make a cute face at him to tease him even more; however you were now leaning on the man that pulled you. Adjusting immediately back to sitting straight, you turn your attention back to your mug and chug your second drink, calling the bartender for more already.
“What, are you afraid of me or something?” Kid asks angrily, hand gripping his drink, reshaping the metal mug. Killer excuses himself quietly, brushing your shoulder with his hand; only a mild comfort seeing as your support is running away.
“No… but also… I don’t know.” You can’t look him in the eyes as you finally succumb to your fear of sharing these thoughts. “Maybe we could drink a bit more…” you trail off, proceeding with your feelings makes your mouth dry, every instinct is telling you to get belligerently intoxicated. You just want to turn everything off; your face is betraying you, grimacing at each lost syllable dying to spill from your guts.
Kid slams your flask onto the bar, finishes his drink in one gulp and gets up as well. “You come find me when you do know then; I’ll be in my workshop.” Your head drops to the bar, agony seeping from your pores. You turn your face to the door only to see his broad shoulders turning the corner and walking outside.
“I literally walked away for less than a minute, what happened?” Killer comes back and blocks your view of the empty doorway. “I just…. Can’t bring myself to talk about things, at least not unless I’m super fucked up.” You tilt your head back so your forehead is flat on the bar top, unable to look Killer in his mask right now. He pats your back, “you talk to Heat just fine, drunk and sober.” Hearing this makes you sit up right, “what did he tell you?” you glare, half looking around to see where that idiot was, as if you could see through the walls and locate his position.
“Nothing specific, but I’m also not as oblivious as you and Kid are.” Killer admits and lets out a big sigh. “If you need to drink more to get this over with, than do it; I’ll help you back to the ship.” You just stare at him for a second, taking that in. “If this is truly what we’re doing tonight, then it would be cheaper if we drank on deck… and I also know something extra that gets me to talk, but you can’t get pissy about it.” You hold your finger to his chest, praying he won’t confiscate the only other thing you hold dear. “I wasn’t the one who took your stuff to begin with.” If he ever laughed out loud now would be the moment you suspect he would.
----
Back on the deck of the Victoria Punk, you had your flask full and a little metal case in hand with it. “You wanna share with the group what you have?” Killer motions to your stashed items. A smirk grows on your face as you open the case and show him a couple rows of pre-rolled joints. “Ah, of course.” As you light one up and take a couple hits, you offer to Killer and he surprisingly accepts; being able to smoke through his mask was a fun thing to see as you began your crossfade.
“So, tell me about what you’ve noticed, as a third party observer. Since you aren’t as oblivious as some of us.” You send Killer a glance and a giggle as you continue to pass the joint back and forth.
“I won’t say everything, seeing as you both need to talk about things, but since you’re also both really bad at emotions…. I’ll hint you this; eye contact and honesty would be best from both of you if you can just buck up and bear it for like 5 minutes. I see you being able to get him to crack, if you just let go first.” He passes the joint and motions for you to finish it.
“If I can actually get the words out without vomiting with them, will it be worth it? Or will I find out something I don’t want to know?” you stare into the sea, hoping for the peace you felt the night before to overtake you again.
“It’s in everyone’s best interest if you at least try.” He rubs your back again and just like last night you feel more at ease, “Just know, he doesn’t invite anyone to disturb him in his workroom, but he angrily told you that is where to find him.”
Finishing your toke, you put out the embers and hide the roach back in the case, taking a big swig of rum from your flask and shaking out your nerves you prep yourself for what may come. “Okay. Okay, you’re right. I gotta just grow a pair and get in there and… UGH. FINE! Emotions suck.”
----
Standing outside the workshop door has your stomach in knots. There’s a heavy feeling in the air, consuming your movements, keeping you from knocking, barely allowing you to breathe. Killer clears his throat down the hall, watching you stiff as a board and staring at the intimidating door, the noise jostles you from your trance slightly and you sigh deeply. One last shot from your flask for courage, keeping your crossfade mildly intact.
Knock, knock, knock…. You gently rap against the wood and metal. A stern and loud “What!?” pierces your ears and you see a crack appear, allowing you to come in with a simple nudge. You knew he must have sensed you, must have known who it was the whole time you traced the details of the door with your eyes, waiting for the muscles in your body to allow you to proceed and alert him you were ready to talk.
“Hi” you exhaled out as you slipped through the door and it closed behind you, now trapped in a room with the one person who made your whole body feel like jelly. Anticipation making your heart thud in your chest. Your mind is in overdrive as you watch him turn around and stand to face you completely. How do you start this, how will it end, what of this feeling in your gut, in your chest? How long has this tightness been growing in response to his presence? 
You are much more in tune with your emotions when drunk and/or high and right now, you were feeling something that was buried deep, deep, down before. A desire for your captain; his intimidating aura, the way his muscles dance when he moves even so slightly, the smell of metal that lingers in the air around him, and the sound of his heavy steps as he makes his way towards you. Everything he did was enticing. You may have lost grip of these feelings while he had avoided you, lacking his presence like this was like being in a sensory deprivation tank, floating in silence and nothingness, or maybe they are just now surfacing because you’ve never been in his personal space like this before. This room was meant for privacy; an intimate space that you were allowed to enter for a conversation just as sacred as the walls around you. You were being rapidly pulled from the sense deprived stupor you had yourself in for months and flung into an overwhelming situation.
He was inches from you now, you crane your neck to look into his eyes, trying hard to recall that Killer made it clear to speak honestly and keep eye contact. His beautiful, fierce, and captivating eyes; how could you look away now that he has you here, in his special hideaway, far from anything else that could interfere with what may occur. As if this room was the entire world.
“What?” He repeats himself in a quieter and softer tone, speaking directly to you but still demanding you release the words so anxiously cradled in your throat. You swallow what little saliva was being created in your mouth; you go to drink from your flask again when his hand covers the top of it, holding your motion still in front of your heaving chest.
“You need the booze just to talk to me? Just spit it out dammit!” a relentless tremble came over you, Kid’s words filling you with apprehension that would either shut you down or let the flood gates open. The latter became true when his muscles twitched, almost turning away from you until you finally began to speak.
“I do. I really fucking do need the booze. For so many reasons, but honestly right now, just to get these words out without throwing up from fear, not of you, but of myself. Of the emotions I feel. Of the fear I have that you aren’t even interested in being around me anymore. It’s been months since we have had this much interaction and I don’t know what I did to encourage this…. this…. abandonment I’ve felt from you. I see you constantly but I notice you turn away like you can’t even look at me. I started doing the same because I figured you hated me for something I did or said or…” every word came rushing from you, some slurring together and sounding like they were one, combined into strung sentences of panic that you may not be able to complete the thoughts swirling in your mind, you were just hoping to sound a bit coherent and convey how you need him. You need him to be what he was, at the very least; months ago when you felt he was more than your captain, like he was a friend.
As you tried to continue your quick rant, tears threatening to fall from your grimaced face, you were stopped by a force against your body. Your captain had you wrapped in his arms, pressed against his chest, muscles tight enough around you to feel comfort and safety rather than a need to struggle free and hide. You heard his breath caught in his throat like he was going to speak, just as nervous as you were moments ago, now in a gentle but firm embrace you decide to wrap your arms around him as well, allowing the same comfort to wash over his body, feeling your reciprocation.
“I don’t hate you. I’m sorry you’ve felt abandoned. I just… well I guess we’re much alike in the way we don’t handle emotions well, or at all. I told myself if I stopped trying to get close to you that I could move past what was dwelling in me, something I haven’t felt in a long time and never knew I would be able to feel again…” He stops and you feel his head rest against yours, arms dropping from around your shoulders to your waist. His flesh hand begins to slowly stroke up and down your spine, leaving you tingling at the light touch over your shirt.
“Every time we would dock and I would see you at the brothels, having a good time drinking and…. Doing whatever else… I had this pit open inside me. It was hard to not watch you, but when you would catch me I felt a burning that caused to me turn from your gaze. I didn’t want you see what I’m sure was written all over my face.” You stood stunned in his embrace and pulled back slightly to look at him again. Eye contact; now you needed it.
“Were you… jealous? I’ve been told I was oblivious but am I really that blind?” he dropped his forehead to yours, “I was. And I’m glad that you were.” He let out, eyes just far enough that you could see the need in them; a need for you, a need that you wanted to return. 
Bringing your arms to his chest, you caress his pecs, gliding one up further to his neck pressing and inviting him to come closer as you ready yourself to give in to desire. His body responds and you sense his metal arm lower to your thighs, easing you into a hold, lifted from the ground ever so gently. A more level playing field envelopes you both as your lips finally meet.
Gentle and hesitant for only a moment, the amount of time it took for your eyes to flutter shut. A mutual hunger overtook you both as an impatient tongue pushed its way to your own, you rolled yours against his and openly accepted the unyielding invasion. The hand you had on his neck slid into his hair, grabbing and twirling your fingers in the soft red locks, tormenting a groan from deep within him. The aggressive passion kept you locked to each other until your lungs forced you to inhale. His heartbeat was running wild under your touch, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.
You were pressed against the door at this point; his hand moved to cup your face after parting for air, thumb brushing your cheek while strong fingers wrapped your jaw and graced your ear with a feather light tickle. His metal arm under you is barely holding you up now that your legs are wrapped around his hips, squeezing him between your thighs.
Leaning into his hand, you release a content sigh and smile. Your breathing has calmed and you only focus on the heat being exchanged between skin and clothes, and heart beats that are louder than any storm you’ve ever heard; as if at any second the thunderous roar will lull you to a sweet dream.
Your adrenaline from the moment begins to dissipate and the crossfade creeps back in, causing you to lower your feet to the floor for more stability. “You okay?” Still resting your face in his hand, eyes closed with a grin, you bring your own hand to his and nuzzle the warmth he emanated. “The okayest I’ve been in a long time.” You feel him kiss your forehead, “Yeah? You feeling tired?” you nod in response, “I don’t wanna but I think I should go to bed soon… best to sleep when I can since it often eludes me…”
Already drifting off, you hear him hum and soon you are being lifted through the hallway, cuddled against the broad chest of your captain. You hear a door open and close before being gently placed onto a bed. Something feels off as you finally open your eyes and realize you are not in your own bedroom. Kid takes off his boots and coat before taking off yours as well, covering you up under the blankets and crawling in next to you.
You’ve never felt safer or more comfortable as you curl up against Kid in his bed. This would be the best night of sleep, and first of many to come, that you’ve ever had.
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waltzofcloths · 1 year
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Why is management always so quick to jump to calling their employees lazy? Why do they never actually look at what’s changed as of late to find an actual explanation for the decrease in work achieved?
#julspeaks#obvious answer: it being anything other than employees laziness would require some self-reflection and admittance of fault#feels better to just blameshift and say that they aren’t doing good enough than to admit maybe you aren’t doing good managing#also? the fact ‘management’ never came to tell us directly that we’re doing a shit job tells.#if they have such a problem with how apparently shit of a job we’re doing - they can come tell us directly#not that anything’s going to change anyway. I know I’m doing literally everything I can already anyway.#there physically isn’t anything more I could be doing.#I do (at the very least) 6 hours of work in 3 hours. I take every call - phone or in-store.#I assist others/cover people’s breaks (even though I am incredibly short on time)#I don’t take any breaks unless my coworkers are INSISTENT that I do#and you’re going to look me in the eye. stare at me for 90% of this ‘meeting’ - as if I’m stupid or the reason behind it#and tell me that management is disappointed in us and we aren’t doing enough#and that we should be doing detailed work#I don’t know WHAT problem you have with me. I don’t know WHY you seem to think I’m so stupid#so much so that even after the ‘meeting’ concludes#you WALK with me back to where I was working CONTINUING on the topic#I know I’m the second-youngest in the department I’m in but you seem to think I am Severely lacking in intellect#don’t get me wrong - I’m by no means smart; but you seem to talk to me like I have no idea. You talk Down to me#Oh! I went on a bit of a ramble down here. Ignore It I am still Emotional it seems.
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hoodielord · 3 months
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Green eyes in the fear fog.
For half a second, Steph thought today would be a decent day. But no, not in Gotham.
Steph's current events professor, who was also the head of student affairs, had offered extra credit to help give college tours. Look, she had to take the extra credit she had to, even if it meant that she had to be a tour guide. It wasn't hard, just annoying.
The group was small, only five people, but two of them stuck out. A brother and sister. The brother was the definition of adoption bait blue eyes, black hair, vigilante tendencies withholding. The sister was at least as tall as Jason. She had orange hair just like Babs, you'd think they were related.
Anyways, Steph's new mission was to make sure the kid and Dick never met. The kid would not stop making puns. Some of them earned him a laugh but some earned him a smack from his sister.
"Aw, come on, Jazz, it was funny."
"You can do better." she shrugged.
" Sounds like a challenge." A wicked smirk appeared on his face.
" Danny, please don't."
"Challenge accepted."
Yep, I'm definitely keeping him away from Dick.
But something was off about them other than looking at the crime capital's university. They could probably be metahumans. Their eyes seemed to slightly glow blue. They carried themselves as they had already expected danger. I mean, it pays to be prepared, especially in Gotham, but they aren't from here.
If the siblings weren't already on a list B has they should be now. Jazz had been almost ecstatic when we were moving through the psychology department. Danny was practically bouncing off the walls when it was time to go through the engineering and physics departments. Definitely should keep an eye on them.
It was reaching the end of the tour in the cafeteria. Another weird thing about the siblings was their reaction to food. They seemed to have this sort of optimistic curiosity like they were happy to have food to eat, but at the same time, they were poking to make sure it wouldn't attack or something.
Talking with the siblings was interesting too. Danny was buzzing about the engineering department. He went into a great rant about a project that Wayne Enterprises was working on in the aerospace engineering division. Maybe she should keep him away from Tim, too.
The conversation died quickly when a shriek rang out from down the hall. Steph turned quickly to see green fear toxin fill the cafeteria. Swarms of people ran for the exits knocking each over. She quickly dug through her bag and pulled out her gas masks, one for her and her backup.
"Jazz? Jazz, where did you go?" Danny called. They must have gotten separated.
Damn, she needed another one for the siblings. She shoved her spare into Danny's hands.
" Put the mask on and head for the exit."
"But I need to find Jazz."
"I'll find her. Put the mask on and go." Steph yelled as she went further into the fog. Quickly, she sent an alert to Oracle. Signal is on patrol right now, but more bats might show up.
It was dense she could barely see in front of her. There was some noise up ahead. Someone was screaming. The yelling grew louder as she rounded the corner.
"Stop! Get away!"
It was Jazz. She was practically growling. Her fist slammed into the concrete wall, leaving a deep impact. She was clearly affected by the Fear gas. A meta affected with fear gas, not good.
"Stop! Don't hurt him. He's not a monster! He's my little brother!" Jazz had gone from fury to sadness as she practically begged for her hallucination to stop haunting her.
If it wasn’t the meta thing it was whatever she was hallucinating that caught Steph’s attention. Definitely on B's list now.
"Isn't it interesting what fear does to the mind?"
Steph saw Scarecrow emerge from the fog.
"I saw you in the psychology department. Your eyes lit up like a fire. But now they are clouded with fear."
A chill went up Steph's spine. She quickly checked her mask for leaks but didn't have any. Turning her attention back to Jazz and Scarecrow, she saw something. Green eyes shifted inside the fog. They looked like a predator hunting its prey. For a second, they look like Jason's.
From behind Scarecrow, the eyes stopped, and a figure emerged. A baseball bat slammed into Scarecrow's face, knocking him to the floor. The figure came into full view now. It was Danny his eyes were glowing green.
He knelt down to Scarecrow.
"You really don't have any brains. Do you Scarecrow? If you did, you wouldn't have hurt my sister." His voice was downright, frigid.
He turned and rushed over to Jazz who was still trying to convince her hallucinations to stop.
"Jazz, it's okay. Come on, I'm fine. It's okay." His voice was soft and gentle as he helped her up. Jazz mumbled a little as she stumbled down the hall.
Steph quickly caught up to the siblings slinging Jazz's arm over her shoulder.
"Sorry, I couldn't help earlier," Steph spoke quietly.
"It's fine. Not everybody can be a hero."
Steph wanted to laugh at the irony of that statement, but she just nodded.
"Sorry about the tour too."
"It wasn't all bad."
" Oh, the rouge attack and poisoning wasn’t bad?" Steph asked sarcastically.
" Our hometown is haunted and our community college is funded by my godfather. And he is a rich fruit loop.”
‘Ghosts?’
“You know Gotham University is funded by Wayne Enterprises right?”
“Annoying crazy fruit loop or weird himbo? Hmmm. Yeah, I’m going to have to go with the himbo on this one.”
Steph laughed at that one. Bruce is going to want to hear about this but she’ll keep him away from these siblings for a little while.
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popponn · 1 month
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boyfriend hcs | isagi yoichi.
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notes: im done pretending to be sane. "things and hcs about isagi yoichi" post because world hard and cold isagi yoichi soft and warm. this time, really mean it when saying no brain just isagi big love. please don't look at this too closely, other than that: no warning.
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the "natural rizz" type who is honestly not really good at being purposefully suave. if he tries, it will either go boyfailure route or cute babygirl route. if he doesn't, it's a full package bf who will get your whole family & friends' approval.
at first, he tries really hard, but the moment you get him to calm down and kick the nervousness away, you will get: casual affection, unconditional support, a cuddly & clingy bf on weekends, etc.
looks at matching keychains once and the metavision is telling him it will be cute if you two have that.
he seems like the type who is not obvious when he is in love. at first. the moment his friends accidentally stumble upon your dates and see his smile, his smile is fooling no one.
somehow could make the most mundane unromantic activity cute as long he does it with you. accidentally. somehow.
when he starts dating you, his clothes will reflect your taste because: 1) he will shop for those clothes with you and ask for your opinion; 2) if you are a sane human with a bare minimum level of taste you should know his fashion sense level is in minus already—please do a favor to mankind and get him away from that neon orange trousers and bright green jumper; 3) he just wants to see you happy; 4) despite his humble look and usual demeanor, he likes showing off that he has you and you have him.
doesn't mean he can pick your clothes. do yourself a favor and think thrice or ten times if he suggests clothing or god forbid a mix match. love makes people dumb but it has to have a limit. your man is not trustworthy in the style department.
getting his parents' approval should be the least of your worries. his blue lock fellows and noel fucking noa should be your concern. good luck, high chance you have to verbally fight people like michael kaiser and barou shohei.
your phone is guaranteed to have at least 5 country clocks in it because yoichi is an international sensation. and when he is not busy practicing, you barely leave his mind at all.
it ranges from "oh, they will like this as a gift" to longingly gazing at his phone because while he is an understanding & secure attachment-style boyfriend, it doesn't mean he can bear with you not contacting him for three days. call your man. text him.
his favorite songs will be that cm song and whatever you often listen to around him—"it just sticks". his favorite movie will be totoro and your favorite movie. attachment and fond memories are the main driving force for his favorite stuff.
is pretty independent and self-sufficient that is not clingy most of the time. unless when he is sleepy. he hugs his pillow when he sleeps, now that he has you get ready.
if your main love language are acts of service and words of affirmation, it will be an instant match. "i do this for you, you do this for me" without any talking needs to be done, just like second nature. and he likes to be praised.
in case of quality time and physical touch, it will take some time to get used to, most probably. while he clearly enjoys time with his closest ones, isagi also enjoys his alone time and thinking time too. and he used to be a shy boy who doesn't share touches with people much. but believe in his adaptability, as long as the parties involved are willing to figure this out it will get figured out.
made a whole post about this once like a besotted fool, but is a really good listener who likes listening to you. it's like you "giving him a piece of you"—especially if it is a part of you that you don't share much.
please do listen and try to figure him out though. moving on soon and focusing on the present's solution is good but in some cases, it really might lead to what people call "pent-up emotions". isagi doesn't enjoy looking or being "weak", but really understanding the emotions he doesn't say out loud will benefit both of you in the long run.
keep the balance in everything—because isagi as understanding and adaptable as he is, still sometimes has a lapse in judgment.
before this gets into angst territory let's stop here. moving on.
is canonly described as poetic in one of exhib dialogues—which means this man is scientifically proven to be cheesy as hell.
sheepish, boyish, cute, sometimes nervous, very boy next door yes. but when he is in the moment, aka the romance flow is kicking, get ready for the most heartfelt, the most sincere profession of love under the sunset. an "i'm glad you are in my life", an "i will happily choose you again", etc.
learn to kick a soccer ball if you can't. 1) good for self-defense; 2) he sometimes brings the ball to sleep and if you don't want it, really think of it as self-defense. (not kidding, check his PWC sprite and that one sleeping anime official art merch)
at first gets bashful at pet names, but if someone makes fun of him—especially during a match—that's just asking for it.
remember his habit of being unable to say "no"? In a very loving manner, it comes back in full force with you. he will spoil the hell out of you even when you don't ask him to. what you want, isagi will get.
you have to be his #1 supporter. because he is yours. sometimes he can give advice and help for you, sometimes he can't. but if anything, he will always be there.
has a soft spot for you smiling while hugging something. in other words, while his gallery is full of your photo with plushies, animals, etc—the number of mirror selfies with the two of you hugging each other is enough to make anyone blink in astonishment.
if someone badmouths you or tries to harrass you, oresagi aka on field persona comes out without any hesitation. and while isagi's appearance doesn't come in the most intimidating form—we have seen him. hold him back, please.
even after everything, is honestly a pretty simple guy who thinks a simple breakfast with you worth much more than expensive dinners. home dates with him is always the coziest thing on earth, no matter whether under a sunny sky or rainy clouds.
when he is dedicated to you, he is dedication itself. certainly still have to do pr and fanservice when he meets some fans in the street, but before he leaves he will always squeeze your hand like asking for permission and he always does it with such efficiency that some of his friends wonder if he is trained to return as quickly as possible to your side. (yeah. isagi values efficiency and like how he wants a goal, he wants to enjoy his date with you.)
comfort hcs tho, when you feel insecure or down in some ways talk to him. he might pick up the bad mood but he isn't the type to try and overstep when you don't want to tell him. and as said before, he is a really good listener who is always there for you, so it will really do you good.
sometimes protest but he loves it when you play with his hair one way or another. ruffle it, pat it, style it—do as you wish. bonus if you are in front of him, in his lap, in the comfort of your shared abode. clingy isagi coming out again.
he hugs in the same way he kisses. they are long and heartfelt. one could use "passionate" to describe them, if it isn't for a certain chaste-esque mannerism that is almost always there.
the only time it is not is when the two of you are in private but because this is a family account. not going there.
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unpretty · 4 months
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:O can you tell us about your How To Do My Job document? I need to make one and I have no idea how to break it down
keep in mind that my advice is very specific to my very specific job, which for many normal people with normal jobs reads like going back in time to an age before computers. it's stupid. so how applicable is this to other people? i don't know.
i have a onenote binder full of notes which i also print out and keep in a physical binder that says HOW TO DO MY JOB. i write everything as if i might wake up tomorrow with amnesia and need to hide this from everyone. my goal is that if i disappear into the woods tomorrow a sufficiently competent person could pick up right where i left off. if they can't find a sufficiently competent person that's a them problem.
step one is to break your job duties down into categories (for example mine are accounts payable, payroll, receipting/reconciliation, general ledger, and The Website)
second, break them down into how often they need to get done
actually wait, opposite of that maybe. i don't know. i don't think the order matters. the categories are for your actual notes/binder, the dates/times are for the breakdowns.
i have a master "to do list" page that i keep on hand that looks like:
Daily:
Check voicemail
Check email for invoices
Check bank accounts for entries for the reconciliation sheet
Check for EFT receipts
Enter deposit slips into the reconciliation sheet
Sort invoices
Enter ready invoices into AP system
Weekly:
Monday: AP (first and third), Payroll (every other), EMS reports
Tuesday: AP Filing, Payroll
Wednesday: Payroll
Thursday: Payroll Filing, Reconciliation
Friday: Building Schedule, Agenda
Monthly:
Print Statements [1st]
Utility Ledger [approx 5th]
etc etc etc very boring whatever i just want to give you an idea of what my list looks like. it includes shit that seems obvious like 'check voicemail' because i will absolutely forget to look at my phone. especially if i'm busy with a specific task that does not involve phones or email. an easy way is to just go through your day and write down every single dumbass thing you do if it's something you have to do regularly.
then in my to-do app i have each item broken down into a summary checklist, even the things that don't seem like they should need a checklist. i'm talking like
Check voicemail:
If the light is red on the phone, hit the voicemail button
The password is XXX#
Write down anyone that needs a call back
To forward a voicemail hit the forward button and then the extension number
Delete anything you don't need ASAP or it will sit there forever
Check email:
Open Thunderbird
Check for urgent emails from department heads requiring a response
Download any invoices and print two copies, one to hold and one to forward to the correct dept head
etc etc etc boring stuff, i didn't do these all at once, i'd pick one at a time to add checklists to while i was doing them because that makes it easier to figure out what the steps are.
THEN in onenote i took those checklists and added even more clarification wherever possible, such as screenshots of software at each stage of the process, copies of different reports and forms with different colored highlights to indicate which reports numbers go where on which forms, etc
for instance on my payroll checklist i might have one item be "check that the first employee is still present", which on my extremely detailed checklist looks like this instead:
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so i'm not just explaining what i'm doing, i'm explaining why i'm doing it, and the reasons if applicable. sometimes my reasons are 'you don't actually have to do this is you're not worried about the above'.
or like, that above one about deleting the voicemails, i might have a sub-point of "our phone system is old and busted and the supervisor never deletes his voicemails so it's up to the rest of us to keep storage from filling up". because understanding why you're doing things is important.
shift+win+s to copy screenshots of software and then pasting them into onenote is a lifesaver
the cover of my binder also specifies that there is a more up-to-date resource in onenote on my profile but the chances of anyone at this particular employer being able to use that are nil
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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 4 months
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The Golden Ratio - Part One
Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader Warnings: Derogatory language, angst, mentions of parental death, mentions of infidelity. Word count: ~4.5k
Chapter summary: Her relationship strains under the pressure of long distance, though she has her classmate, Michael, to help distract from the worst of it. Series masterlist.
Author's note: For @assortedseaglass. No tag list. Please follow @ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.
She is sweaty and exasperated as she drags her suitcase over the cobbles of Holywell Street. One of the already precariously wonky wheels had finally given up the ghost and broken off as she’d dragged it up the stairs of Oxford train station, making the fifteen minute walk to her accommodation more tiring than it needed to be.
But she was here, finally. Oxford University.
Her dad had sold the car to make sure she had money to live on until her student loan and maintenance grant had been paid to her. He didn’t want her taking a part time job to make ends meet, she’d worked hard to earn her place here, her focus should be on her studies. Coming from a low income family meant she had qualified for the maximum amount for both maintenance loan and grant, but her first set of application forms had been misplaced by Student Finance, so she’d had to send in a second set, meaning there would be a delay with her first payment.
An unfortunate consequence of her dad not having a car is that she’d had to get the train to London Victoria, a tube to Paddington, then another train to Oxford. But it is not the fact that she is seemingly the only student whose parents aren’t obstructing the pavements with their cars in order to drop them off that makes her feel like an outcast, there is something deeper, more sinister feeling.
She sees it as she struggles to get her bag across the lawn of the Halls, people grouped in little clusters, as though they’ve been friends forever. They dress in Juicy Couture velour tracksuit bottoms and brand name Ugg Boots, while she wears her mum’s old Dr. Martens and a tartan skirt she’d bought in a charity shop for one pound fifty. She doesn’t fit in. She feels she may as well wear the word “poor” across her forehead like a scarlet letter.
Having checked in at the Porters’ Lodge and been given directions to the accommodation, it’s lonely as she unpacks her things, her room feeling empty and quiet. The only sounds are muffled talking and laughter coming through the closed window from outside. She feels lonelier still when she pulls out the framed photo of her and Rich. They’re both smiling, his arms wrapped around her waist as she leans her head against his. It had felt like their relationship would last forever when that picture was taken. That seemed like much less of a possibility over the last couple of weeks.
She had met Rich at the beginning of sixth form. Having attended Chatham Grammar School for Girls, she had decided to stay on there to do her A levels. The mathematics department was decent, and she had heard Russell Group universities were more likely to consider applications that came from grammar schools. Rich had transferred over from Robert Napier School. Where she was shy, quiet and reserved, he was lively, outgoing and sociable. His zest for life had shone a bright light on an existence that was, for her, otherwise dull and grey.
They were an unlikely pairing. She was logical, analytical and studied maths and physics. Rich was creative, free spirited and guided by emotion. He studied art and music. They had been together for two years and she had thought he was the one. But then it came time for UCAS applications, and where she had applied to Oxford, Cambridge and York, Rich had applied to Leeds, Brighton and Glasgow. It seemed that no matter where they were accepted, they were destined to be apart.
When she had received an unconditional offer from Oxford she had been elated, however, the crushing devastation upon hearing Rich had been accepted into The Glasgow School of Art with a conditional offer had quickly dulled her excitement.
She had never felt like an outsider or a loner when she was with Rich. Basking in his sunny disposition had felt effortless, she never felt alone. He was going to take all of that away, and she was unsure of how to cope with it.
“We’ll make it work long distance, don’t worry,” he’d told her, and she’d believed him.
But then he had actually gone to Glasgow. Fresher’s week in Glasgow started a week earlier than it did in Oxford, so Rich had moved away first. It didn’t take long for the texts and phone calls to dry up into nothing. She had heard from him once in the last few days.
She sighs as she slides up the screen of her beaten up Nokia. Still nothing. She had text to let him know she was leaving for Oxford today and he couldn’t even be bothered to reply. She knows it’s his first week at university and he’s likely busy and having fun, but how was long distance going to work if they never actually spoke to each other?
Despite the loftiness of the dining hall, it feels stuffy as she moves through it later that evening, taking a seat at a long table crowded with other students. She had hoped that the Fresher’s welcome dinner would be an opportunity to make friends, but everyone seems to be deep in conversation already. The chatter hums loudly like white noise, until it comes to a sudden stop.
“FUCKIN’ ASK ME A SUM THEN!”
She turns, mouth agape, to look at the pair of boys sitting a few places up from her. One is darked haired and seems nervous and uncomfortable, shifting awkwardly in his seat. The other is blonde, an angry, intense expression on his face, shadows cast across it from the lamplight on the table, as he stares in wide eyed anticipation. It was him who had shouted, clearly.
“Four hundred and twenty three times seventy eight,” the dark haired boy asks quietly.
Instantly his friend replies, without missing a beat, “thirty two thousand, nine hundred and ninety four.”
Involuntarily her eyes widen in surprise. She sits there and does the calculation in her head, though much more slowly than he had. 
Carry the two, eight times two is sixteen, plus two is eighteen, carry the one…he’s right. How is it possible that he came to that answer so quickly?
When her gaze lifts he is looking at her, observing her doing the working out in her head. He holds her stare, a smirk curving the corners of his mouth. He knows she knows he is right, and it’s clear he feels smug about it.
Quickly looking away, she reaches for her water glass, wanting something, anything, to distract her. There was something about the way he looked at her that made her feel uneasy.
God, I hope I don’t have any classes with him.
She holds her timetable for the week in her hands as she moves her way through the corridors towards the lecture hall the following morning. The first week looks to be fairly light touch, with an introductory lecture for each of the courses; algebra, analysis, probability and statistics, geometry, dynamics and multivariable calculus. Today is the introduction to analysis, and she is excited to study under the tutelage of Professor Helen Byrne. Her research focuses on the development and analysis of mathematical and computational models that describe biomedical systems, with particular application to the growth and treatment of solid tumours, wound healing and tissue engineering. Professor Byrne is someone she has admired within the field for as long as she can remember, and she is very much looking forward to her tutorials with her.
Her excitement fades when she enters the lecture hall and immediately sees the angry guy from the previous evening.
Just my luck.
The only available seat is next to him, so she sits down, dropping her bag to the floor by her feet.
A hand extends out towards her in her peripheral vision, taking her by surprise and she turns in her seat towards it, shrinking back slightly. 
He seems utterly unperturbed by her reaction, keeping his arm extended. “I’m Michael Gavey.”
She blinks, regaining her composure as she leans forward, shaking his hand and introducing herself in return. His palm is clammy against her own, and she can still feel it there even after having let go and wiped her hand on her jeans.
“I saw you last night,” he says matter of factly, pulling his arm back and resting his elbow on the desk in front of him.
“Oh, yeah,” she says with a tight smile, nodding, “so you and your mate…is that like a party trick or something?”
“No, no party trick,” he says with a demure smile. “I’m a genius.”
She forces herself to laugh politely, assuming he’s making a joke, but she stops, her brow furrowing slightly when she sees he doesn’t share in the humour. He’s being serious.
Opening her mouth to ask a follow up question, she’s interrupted as Professor Byrne sweeps into the room. Her and Michael both face forward in their seats as she introduces herself to the class.
Over the next hour they are given an introduction to the course and what to expect in their first year, including an overview of the papers they will need to write and examinations that will be sat. She pays rapt attention, scribbling furious notes, until the lecture begins to wrap up.
“As it’s the first week, I will go easy on assignment setting,” Professor Byrne tells them all, “but there will be an assignment nonetheless.”
A loud, collective groan echoes around the lecture hall. Her and Michael are the only two not to join in.
“Now, now, settle down,” she chastises, “it’ll be fun. I’m sure you’re all aware of the Fibonacci Sequence, a series of numbers where each number is the sum of the two preceding numbers. Mathematically we can describe this as–”
She turns and scrawls xn= xn-1 + xn-2 on the chalkboard, before facing the students again.
“--I’d like you all to find an example of the Fibonacci Sequence in real life and present it back to the class during next week’s lecture. You’re to work in pairs, so buddy up, and see you all next week.”
Professor Byrne places the chalk back on the desk before striding back out of the lecture hall. The room is instantly a buzz with chatter, as people move between seats to find a partner.
She stays rooted in place, suddenly wishing Rich was here. It’s in moments like these that he flourishes, allowing her to take a backseat as he effortlessly navigates them through social interactions. Instead, she is alone and the space around her feels bigger and scarier with every moment that passes.
It’s only when she turns her head that she notices Michael has yet to move too. Gathering all the courage she can muster, she clears her throat and speaks to him.
“So…er…did you wanna partner up for this thing then?”
“I don’t like to work with others,” he says matter of factly, keeping his gaze fixed ahead.
“I’m not exactly thrilled about it either,” she says with a sigh, “but for this assignment we have to.”
“You’ve picked me because I’m a genius. You’ll expect me to do all the work while you get pissed with your mates.”
He fixes her with an accusatory stare, and she feels the heat of anger prickle her skin.
“Haven’t got any mates,” she mutters darkly.
He observes her for a few moments, elbow propped on the desk, jaw resting against his fist, and she fidgets self consciously in her seat. No wonder the other boy from last night had looked so uncomfortable. It feels like he’s studying her.
“Let’s go to the library,” he says simply, standing and picking up his bag.
“So, you’re a genius?” She asks, opening her notebook once they’re seated opposite each other at a table in the library, nervously tapping her pencil against the page.
“Hmm,” Michael nods, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his index finger, “I don’t even like maths, really. I can just…do it. Anything. In my head.”
She’s struck by how blunt he is, sucking in a breath as she considers what to say next. There is something so disarming about him, she gets the sense he’s analysing her every word and action.
“Right,” she begins, “so, er, for this assignment I was thinking about how Leonardo Fibonacci used rabbits to prove his theory. One hundred and forty four pairs of rabbits can be produced from a single pair of rabbits in a year, based on the sequence.”
“That’s fucking stupid,” Michael replies with a sigh.
“What?” She asks irritably, annoyed by his dismissal.
“What are you expecting us to do, go to a pet shop and buy rabbits? We’ve only got a week to do the assignment, we need to be more practical.”
She rolls her eyes. “I was using that as an example, not saying we do that exactly! Come on then, genius, what’s your suggestion?”
“Spirals,” he says with a slight shrug. He leans across, placing the tips of his fingers on her notebook and sliding it towards himself, before picking up her pencil. “There is a special relationship between the Fibonacci numbers and the Golden Ratio, a ration that describes when a line is divided into two parts and the longer part - A - divided by the smaller part - B - is equal to the sum of A + B divided by A, which both equal one point six one eight. This is represented by the Greek letter,” he stops to scribble a φ on the pad. “The ratio of any two successive Fibonacci Numbers approximates the Golden Ratio value.” He stops again, scrawling 1.6180339887 on the page. The bigger the pair of Fibonacci numbers, the closer the approximation. From there, we can calculate what's called the golden spiral, or a logarithmic spiral whose growth factor equals the golden ratio.”
She is stunned into a silence for a moment, a combination of his audacity to simply take her belongings, and awe at the rapidity with which his mind works. Collecting herself, she blinks a few times, looking up into his eyes.
They’re so blue.
“So…er…how do you propose we present this data back to the class?”
“A simple table is sufficient, look–”
His hand moves rapidly over the page, a complete table there on the paper when he drops the pencil into the gutter of the notebook and sits back in his chair.
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“We present that,” he tells her, his eyes fixed on the page. “Using the values of the sequence as the edge length of squares arranged in the table, a spiral is generated.”
She leans over, sliding the notebook back to her side of the table, marvelling silently at his work. He is fascinating to watch. He’s right, he can just do maths.
“It’s good,” she says, eye flitting up to meet his, “solid. But it’s fucking boring.”
This time it’s his turn to be annoyed. “What?” He asks, eyes narrowing.
“Everyone is going to present something like this, because it’s easy,” she explains, “Don’t you want to stand out to Professor Byrne? We should do something outside of the box.”
“Hmm. Go on then, what are you thinking?” He rests his cheek against his fist, leaning against the table as he stares at her.
She feels herself grow warm under his scrutiny.
Does he always have to be so bloody intense?
“There are loads of examples of Fibonacci numbers appearing in nature. We could look for some? Flowers, perhaps.”
“I’ve got hayfever,” Michael states simply.
She sighs.
Of course you do.
“Then we’ll get you some Piriton! Come on, there are studies that show seed heads, pinecones, fruits and vegetables all displaying spiral patterns that when counted express Fibonacci numbers. This fits perfectly with the brief of the assignment and will leave a lasting impression.”
He moves his hand away from his face, resting his arm flat on the table and quietly drumming his fingers against it for a few moments. “Alright then,” he finally concedes.
“Great,” she grins excitedly, tearing out a page from her notebook and writing on it hurriedly. “Here’s my number, so we can meet up to work on it, and also my Hotmail address, in case MSN works better for you.”
He huffs through his nose as he takes the paper from her, a soft laugh escaping him. “The countess at hotmail dot co dot uk,” he reads with amusement, “very droll.”
“Shut up,” she grins back, “I made that in secondary school. Thought it was funny.”
Back in her room that evening, she’s excited to see she has a text from Rich, finally.
Hope ur enjoying it. Having so much fun here!
She sighs, throwing her phone down on the bed side table. No kisses, not even an “I love you”. 
Watching out of the window, she sees the giggling groups of students making their way out into town, readying themselves to spend the night drinking, making friends and having fun. Just like Rich is doing, not giving her a second thought, while she stays cooped up in her room without a friend in the world.
Suspicion nags at her, so she turns on her laptop, loading up MySpace. Rich takes number one place on her top eight friends, and she clicks on his profile. It looks much the same as it always does, but she decides to snoop further, clicking into his friends list. She can see he has recently friended a girl named Sophie.
Sophie is pretty, bright pink streaks in her hair, and a nose ring. Exactly Rich’s type. Her most recently uploaded photos are of groups of people, clearly all taken during Fresher’s week. A pit forms in her stomach as she sees that in almost all of them Sophie and Rich have their arms around each other. Worse still, Rich occupies space eight in Sophie’s top friends.
She closes the browser, blinking back tears. Surely, she is just being paranoid. They’re just friends. Friends have photos together, and it was normal that he would make new ones when he went away to uni.
Opening MSN Messenger, she hovers over Rich’s username. Unsurprisingly, he’s offline, he always is these days. She smiles when an add request from [email protected] pops up. Of course he’d have Tau, the mathematical constant, in his Hotmail address. She clicks accept and he immediately appears in her online contacts. Looks like he isn’t out tonight either.
Double clicking his username, she chuckles to herself upon seeing his display picture is of Pythagoras. Such a dweeb.
“Want to work on our assignment tomorrow?” She types to him.
Barely a few seconds pass before she sees him typing back. “Yes. When?”
“We could meet at the Water Meadow at lunch time?”
“See you then.”
Straight to the point, no idle chit chat. She shakes her head and closes the messenger window, though finds herself strangely excited by the thought of seeing him tomorrow. She reasons that it’s because Michael is the closest thing she has had to a friend since arriving at Oxford.
She visits the nearby Tesco Express the following day, buying a meal deal for each of them and a packet of hayfever tablets for Michael. She has no idea of what Michael even likes, so plays it safe by buying a bottle of Oasis, a Crunchie bar and a ham and cheese sandwich for them both.
At precisely noon, Michael stands at the entrance to the Water Meadow waiting for her. She smiles as she looks at his t-shirt; maroon with a diagram of a circle on a gradient with a downwards acceleration of 9.81 meters per second, with the slogan “that’s how I roll”. A mechanics pun.
“Like your shirt,” she says as she approaches him.
He grins. “Thought you might, considering your email address.”
She averts her gaze. There is something about the fact that he’d thought of her when he’d chosen what to wear today that makes her tummy flutter.
Stop it. You’ve got Rich. Michael’s weird!
“I got you some hayfever tablets,” she tells him as they start to walk along the pathway that’s flanked by green space on either side. “Do you wanna have lunch first and then start looking for flowers?”
They settle, cross legged on the grass, Michael already having taken one of the tablets, chased with half a bottle of Oasis, and she spreads out the food between them.
She watches in fascination as his eyes widen at the sight of the Crunchie bars, snatching one up and tearing off the wrapper. Her mouth falls open slightly as she sees him hold it sideways, biting into it from the side, before devouring each of the pieces it inevitably breaks into.
“You like Crunchie bars then?” She asks, a little grossed out, but curious nonetheless.
He swallows, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Mother didn’t allow me to have sweets growing up, bad for your teeth, she said.”
She nods, a feeling over pity replacing the disgust that had roiled her stomach just seconds ago.
“So, is it your mum that pushed you into studying maths?” She asks, fiddling with the lid of her drink bottle.
“Sort of,” he says. “Mother never married, but she wanted a child. She used a sperm donor - a physicist, apparently - and was artificially inseminated to have me. She was thrilled when I showed a natural aptitude for maths, and has always encouraged me. It’s why I do it, why I accepted the scholarship, to make her proud. She’s been through so much to have me, it’s the least I owe her.”
Her face falls, a feeling of sadness overwhelming her, making her heart ache for Michael. There is something so tragic about the fact that he has lived his entire life adhering to the expectations of the person who had created him for their own selfish want of a child.
“What about you then?” He asks. “The bank of mummy and daddy paying for you to be here?”
She shakes her head. “I earned my place, just like you did, with straight As, though I don’t have a scholarship. Have had to take out loans to cover the cost. It’s just me and dad since mum passed away.”
“Oh,” Michael says, blinking rapidly, obviously surprised. “Apologies, I’d assumed a pretty girl like you would be the same as the rest of the vapid cunts studying here, if you can call it studying.”
She hums in acknowledgement, considering his words, turning her own Crunchie bar around in her fingers, focusing on the way the foil wrapper slides against her skin. His compliment makes her heart beat more rapidly, even if it is backhanded. “Like I said yesterday, I’ve got no mates. It was always Rich that was better at that sort of thing.”
“Rich?” Michael asks curiously, cocking his head.
“My boyfriend. He’s at uni in Glasgow.”
“Three hundred and sixty two point nine miles,” Michael states simply.
“Pardon?”
“That’s the distance between Oxford and Glasgow,” he explains, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “How are you planning to make a relationship work with that sort of distance?”
“We’re doing long distance,” she argues, feeling herself growing defensive, scowling at him.
“Yeah, I bet that’s gonna work out great,” he scoffs, eyes widening, clearly mocking her.
“The Glasgow School of Art was the best choice for Rich to study what he wants to,” she retorts.
A grin spreads across his face. “Art?! I suppose you should be grateful he’s hundreds of miles away then, he sounds like a moron.”
She huffs, hurriedly shoving her things back into her bag. “Let’s just look for these fucking flowers and get this over with.”
The pair work for the rest of the afternoon in silence, the atmosphere is tense and angry, but they are productive nevertheless, settling on a patch of sunflowers to use for the assignment.
They look at the spirals of seeds in the center of the sunflowers and observe patterns curving left and right. Counting these spirals, their total is a Fibonacci number. They then divide the spirals into those pointed left and right to get two consecutive Fibonacci numbers.
Cutting down a couple of sunflower heads to use as examples, Michael also makes a diagram in his notes for them to present with their findings.
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She feels satisfied by the time they part ways, but an uneasy feeling has settled over her that has dread gnawing into her gut as she thinks about Michael’s criticism of her and Rich’s long distance relationship.
Unsurprised to see she has no missed calls or texts from him when she goes back to her room, she opens up her laptop and logs back onto MySpace. This time when she looks at Rich’s profile her blood runs cold as she sees that Sophie now occupies space number three in his top friends. He’d had time to log on and change the position of a girl he’d met a couple of weeks ago, but couldn’t be bothered to send her a single message?
Before she can stop herself, she’s pulling out her phone and calling his number. She doesn’t care if this wastes all of her credit, she needs answers.
It rings for ages, and she anticipates being sent to voicemail, until he eventually answers, sounding breathless and distracted.
“H-hello?”
“Rich, it’s me,” she says quietly.
There’s a pause before he answers. “Oh…how’s my little nerd? Everything okay?”
She ignores the familiarity, keeping her tone neutral. “I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me.”
Not giving him an opportunity to respond, she pushes on. “Has something happened between you and this Sophie girl I’ve seen you on Myspace with?”
Another pause, except this time she hears him inhale a deep breath. “I was going to tell you when we came home for Christmas break. It felt wrong to break up with you over the phone.”
It feels as though the bottom of her world has been ripped away, her heart twisting painfully as her vision blurs with tears. She swallows thickly, anger bubbling alongside her devastation, so that her tone is venomous when she replies “So, you were just gonna keep stringing me along for two months, so you could look like a good guy?!”
“Babe, no, I didn’t mean for this to happen, I just–”
“You’re a piece of shit,” she cuts him off, “fuck you!”
She hangs up, chucking her phone down onto the bed, and immediately bursts into tears, holding her head in her hands as hot tears stream down her face, her shoulders shaking as her nose grows snotty.
Two years. Two fucking years and he’d chucked it all away for someone he’d known for two weeks.
She walks towards the sink in her room, looking into the mirror and sighing at her reflection. Her eyes are red and puffy, she looks a mess. Splashing cold water onto her face to rid herself of the worst of it, she then flops down onto her bed, opening her laptop.
Immediately she is met with her MSN chat window with Michael from the previous evening. He’s online.
Without thinking, she types out a message to him.
“Do you have any alcohol?”
Within seconds he’s typing a response.
“Would you like me to have alcohol?”
586 notes · View notes
damagdsnow · 1 month
Text
Fix my reputation
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Pairing: young!Coriolanus Snow x fem!reader
Summary: You and Coryo are together for mutual benefits, he needs a well known woman by his side to look vulnerable and loving during the presidential elections and you need your reputation to be fixed after your unforgivable scandal.
Tag: fake dating, slow burn, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, manipulative/soft Snow, strong and independent reader (as she should), fluff, angst, power play, smut, fingering, thigh riding, switching sub/dom, degradation, denied orgasm, piv, dirty talk, overstimulation, oral (fem/male receiving), praise
Chapter 1, chapter 2;
aesthetic chapter one, aesthetic chapter two;
Tw: Snow being Snow, mention of alcohol, panic/anxiety attack, mention of blood, mention of parent death, physical aggression (not detailed and not from Snow)
Word count: 11.3k
note: before reading this I recommend you to read the first chapter here. Also, thank you so much for all the love and support on chapter one I didn’t expect all of this, I love you guys ❤️
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He is the forbidden fruit, I shall not fall in temptation.
The first time you had met Coriolanus was when Dr. Gaul had announced he was going to be her apprentice Gamemaker during the next Hunger Games.
At that time, you got a job as a health advisor, essentially you monitored tributes' vital signs and whether they were injured, you formulated unique medicine so mentors and sponsors could help their favorites heal faster and be a step ahead of the others. You were used to stitch wounds, examining patients, making prescriptions. This was a whole new thing to you. Dr. Gaul said to you that you were one of the most qualified doctors in that department, this is the reason why she pressured you to ‘amaze’ her.
”When I read your qualifications I was shocked to learn you were looking for employment,” was the first thing Dr. Gaul said to you when she requested to meet you.
You were in her laboratory, a bright room filled with gruesome creatures, dead and alive. She was standing in front of you, with her voluminous curly hair and her reddish long tunic, while she was feeding some sorta of genetically modified fish.
“I was looking for some thrilling experience,” you started fidgeting your fingers, “making me useful for the good of Panem.”
You practiced saying these words many times before meeting her, what were you supposed to say? That you desperately needed a job? That as soon as you found another position you would quit immediately?
”Your idea to formulate a drug that would help tributes in the arena?” With a long tweezer she dropped a pink cube in the small pool, ”so original,” she smiled while feeding the fishes with more cubes.
“You know what it means right? The games will last longer, people spending money on their helpless and injured tributes, mentors fighting to get the best sponsor,” she continued, her icy eyes were staring at you, “this is going to revolutionise the games.”
“I’m glad you liked my proposal,” you looked down, wondering if it was better to make eye contact with her or watch those horrific creatures with long fangs and thorny tails.
“Liked? I absolutely adore your way of thinking,” she put the tweezer back on a metal tray. “No one was able to surprise me since–” she paused and you looked back at her, ”do you know Coriolanus Snow? You two would get along well.”
At that time you wondered who he could be. Coriolanus Snow? His name sounded familiar to you. Only when Dr. Gaul introduced him to the department as an apprentice, you recognised his face.
You both graduated from the Academy, he was just a year older than you, and during the tenth annual Hunger Games his name was popular amongst students. Even though you went to the same school, you had never talked to him. Until a couple of months before the reaping, Dr. Gaul let you and other members work in her lab to do research. Of course he was there too, and chance had it that you were paired up with Coriolanus, sharing the same desk in the library section.
You could see him sitting opposite to you, his side was impressively tidy, just a black leather notepad and a book. Your half was full of microbiology volumes, agar plates and creased post-it. Coriolanus was too focused on his writing that he never gazed over you, on the other hand you were distracted by his presence. You remembered him differently in the Academy, his hair was slightly longer than before, his facial features were more defined, but the same cold aura surrounded him.
You felt kinda intimidated by him.
You’ve heard colleagues saying how brilliant he was: he won the Plinth prize in his senior year, he graduated with honors at advanced military strategies and he now had a high position as the right hand man of the pretentious Head Gamemaker.
He intrigued you.
You thought you were not the smartest person in the room. There was something in him, probably his confident behaviour while he was writing on his notebook, as if he was superior to you. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him, you thought of ways to start a conversation, not a small talk, but something smart to impress him.
Your heart was beating fast and you finally figured what to say, “Mr. Snow I found a better technique for–“
“What makes you think you can talk to me?” He cut you off while still writing in his notebook.
His words stunned you. The conversation you imagined in your head was now gone, what could you say at this point? “I just wanted–” you stuttered
“Don’t bother, I don’t want to know.”
Your admiration for him slowly faded each day. The way he corrected you every time you had a proposal, pointing out your mistakes in front of everyone, or when he made you work till night in the laboratory to perfectionate your research. You tolerated that, you were used to hard work and mean teachers in your university years, but sometimes he didn’t even show the slightest remorse on things he would say about the districts. About you, indirectly.
Every year on reaping day you thought that it could have been you. Your name in that little piece of paper, read out loud changing your destiny. If it wasn’t for your father’s role in the Dark Days, you could have been in that arena yourself, instead of having the privilege to control tributes’ lives in a cozy chair.
Your dad was an engineer, more a genius mastermind who designed and built high tech weapons. Specifically incendiary bombs, which were crucial to stop the rebels from invading the Capitol during the last year of the war. The project was so successful that he obtained an honorary medal from President Ravenstill himself. He was able to buy a place in the Capitol, for the only purpose to give you and your sister a better future, and you actually lived in luxury compared to your old life back in the districts. However, your father did not side with the president’s political view, still he had to conform to it or he would probably be considered a rebel.
He played the game, to stay alive. Until he was not part of that show anymore.
“I only did it for you and Darla, I don’t care about heavens or hell. As long as my family is safe, I regret nothing of the atrocities I’ve done,” were the words your father wrote to you in a letter, before being killed.
They had never been clear about the dynamics of his homicide, but you were sure it was not an incident as someone would say. The Capitol killed him, they took your dad away from you, the only person you admired, that never let you down.
Your blood was from the districts, even if you’ve lived all your life in the Capitol, you couldn’t change your origins. Coriolanus reminded you of that, with his despicable comments about how ‘horrible and disgusting’ the people from the districts were. As if you didn’t exist to him, you were not a person from his perspective. But he did not know that, no one knew you were not from the Capitol, it was only written on your official documents.
“The games are meant to remind us all who we truly are,” was something Coriolanus often said, bullshit you thought, for you the Games were an insult to humanity and civilisation, cruel entertainment for empty people.
Coriolanus Snow, such a brilliant mind but wicked thoughts.
At the same time, you were not better than him. You worked for the Head Gamemaker and indirectly supported the unnatural destiny of those children. It was easier blaming the government, the bad guys, than admitting to be part of the corrupted system you truly despised. Your excuse was that you had no choice, and partially it was true, but can money win over your beliefs? Were you so desperate to bend your morality just not to be jobless and not respectable? You were acting as your father: were you a fighter or survivor?
Little did you know that your worst nightmares were going to haunt you soon. After the incident you were unemployed, with a bad reputation and with a man you hated.
Check, check, check.
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You woke up at lunch time for the third day in a row, it was like being a child again. But there wasn’t your mom taking care of you, your dad making your favorite dish or your big sister spoiling you with presents. You couldn’t ignore your responsibilities and let the adults do the big things for you. You were the adult now, but if you kept self destroying your life this way, it was like everything you’ve done vanished away. Giving up was not an option, or to put things clear, it was the easier possibility amongst the other challenging beginnings.
One of these included him.
Coriolanus was not a beginning, he was more like someone you bump into when you are in a rush, someone who wasn’t supposed to be there but that let you miss the train, made you change your destination. However, the end of the journey was a mystery, with him nothing was clear from the start.
The gala was proof that you couldn’t handle that world, it felt like everything you did made your situation in a much worse position. If it wasn’t for Coriolanus, you would’ve busted into tears on live tv, he was used to that world, lying so naturally that he convinced them.
Cameras, flashes, interviews. Not exactly what you have been preparing for all your life.
You didn’t want to remember what happened that night. Your mind replayed memories as if it was a film, but you were trying to stop it. The dancing? The photographers?
No, the kiss.
The thought of his hands on your skin, his hair on your hands, his lips against yours. The more you pushed that image away, the less it faded from your mind. How could you let him do something like that? You knew that letting him in again would only bring more chaos into your life, but at the same time, you needed to fix your mess and he was your solution.
Also, you didn’t want to acknowledge that all the attention was something you needed. Not the bad press, the misleading articles and intrusive photographers. It was the care for you, the way he defended you, the warmth you didn’t feel in a long time. You knew it was fake, just a facade, but that pretending was healing an empty spot you have been hiding for ages.
When you checked your mail, you recognised the reddish envelope. It was from Snow manor.
"Be ready at 7 pm, someone is going to pick you up.’ signed by Iris Davebonn.
Of course it was not over.
He had a plan, and he didn’t give up easily. You also had a plan, he was not the only one with something to prove, but was he the only way out to your hell? Or was he another villain in your tragedy? You had nothing to lose but everything to gain.
Coriolanus is the forbidden apple, the fruit I shall never be tempted to desire.
You opened the fridge, still sleepy but hungry. For your breakfast you had a couple of options: water and rotten eggs or rotten eggs and water. So as always you decided to steal from your neighbor’s tangerines tree, you could easily pick the fruits from your window, the advantages of living on the first floor. You knew that the old lady next door noticed your thefts, but she hated you either way so at least you gave her a reason to. Since you didn’t have a monthly paycheck anymore, you had to live with your remaining savings, but soon you were left with nothing with bills and rent to pay.
Actually, Dr. Gaul never fired you, she wasn’t as upset as Capitol people, she even congratulated you because this way The Hunger Games were discussed more on tv and newspapers. For her, the incident was a perfect strategy to make the Games popular. She even thought you did that intentionally, because in her distorted view,”it was funny seeing their faces when for the first time, a 12 years old boy from district eleven won”. Against all odds, the unknown tribute without sponsors and hope to make it alive, won the games because “I killed everybody else.”
Not as funny as she thought.
Eventually, you couldn't handle the pressure anymore and you quit. The last time you saw her she persuaded you to be by her side the next year, “if you did that by accident, I wonder what you could do purposely.” You never considered that offer, you didn’t have to work there in the first place. If only you could go back, maybe… Maybe, everything would’ve gone differently.
The world fell apart when you heard the sound of cannon in that room. Everybody was cheering for that girl from district two, the favorite, the one that won Capitol’s heart during the interviews. The lovely Rea, the brave tribute that was bit by an horrific dog. That creature cannot be defined as a ‘dog’, more like a venomous lion with a crocodile mouth. Your role was to make a medicine that could heal her wound. Sponsors asked it, her mentor was willing to pay whatever price to save her, the Capitol was betting every penny on her.
The pressure was such that you mistakenly switched two drugs and gave her the other for the boy from District three. Fatal mistake.
You were their only hope but you became the death of them.
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Relying on somebody else was the last thing you wanted, especially if it was Coriolanus Snow. You didn’t want to need him. But there you go, on your way to his house. Again.
An avox opened the door for you and silently you followed her to the living room. Iris and Coriolanus were both standing near a star shaped glass table surrounded by small couches, you wondered what their conversation was about because they stopped talking the moment you walked in.
“Speaking of the devil,” Coriolanus said looking at you, he was wearing a white shirt and black pants, his hair was messy as if he woke up a couple of minutes ago.
”There she is,” Iris stepped towards you, opening her arms, “the new star of Panem,” she hugged you like you were an old friend she hadn’t seen in a while, it didn’t feel as awkward as you thought, it felt sincere.
”I think you meant a fallen star,” you laughed hugging her back.
”Honey, the gala was a success!” She said with a warm smile.
You perceived his blue eyes gazing at you, the same look he gave you when you were walking with him arm by arm at the gala.
Why is he staring? Am I wearing something inappropriate? Or is it just the indecipherable look he always has?
“Did you read the newspaper?” Iris pointed at the glass table in front of you but you were distracted by a bowl full of pastries to even pay attention to her.
You leaned forward to read the page but your sight was too blurry. The tangerines were the only thing you ate since this morning, not really an energetic meal. You sat on the small couch and you put the newspaper close to your face, nose almost touching the page, squinting to have a better view.
“Are you blind?” Coriolanus said with an annoyed tone, he tore away the paper from your hands.
”I don’t have my glasses with me,” you lied, you have never worn glasses in your entire life.
You rubbed your temples trying to see clearly again and you swiftly took what seemed to be a pink cookie from the tray on the table. What flavour was that? You tried to make a straight face while chewing that sugary stuff, at least your body was eating something.
“To make things short— they think we are the couple of the moment,” Coriolanus started while reading the page, “that everybody was shocked— bla bla,” he rapidly said, “oh and they mentioned my name four times!”
“No, Mr. Snow, if you have to do something you have to do it right,” Iris intervened, taking the newspaper from his hands.
She sat down on the couch near yours and started reciting the article, reading word by word.
“Is love in the air? In Capitol City probably is.” She read the first line,“what a great title isn’t it?” Iris commented
“Go on or we are going to stay here all night,” Coriolanus said.
You looked at him, he was standing up making you feel inferior, like a shadow looming over you.
“After the unsettling events happened in the last Hunger Games, there is finally some hope in our community. The aspiring president Coriolanus Snow showed up with someone not-so-new in the latest gala before the presidential campaign.”
“ ‘not so new’ so kind of them—” you said and he shushed you. How dare he?
“She studied medicine and has worked with the Head Gamemaker for the past year. Rumor has it that for some kind of incident, she was the cause of the premature death of two tributes.”
Iris took a breath. “Unexpectedly, last night Coriolanus proudly walked with her for the very first time in public. Both dressed in white, representing the noble Snow name, they conquered the attention of the media and the crowd. Are they the couple of the moment?” She smiled while looking at you, “the best part is about to come.”
“If we are basing the answers on the way they look at each other, they definitely stole our hearts. We are looking forward to seeing how this unexpected love will grow.”
You laughed, that was too corny for you, was it possible that they truly believed that little show you made?
”Will Coriolanus Snow win the election the same way he won her heart? Right now we are in love with both of them.” Iris finished.
“Did they really write an article about our possible love story?” You took another cookie, green this time, “they really are bored people.”
”You should be happy they didn’t talk about what happened in the arena,” Coriolanus said but you couldn’t see him, he was standing behind you.
“Well, they mentioned it anyway,” you said while chewing that lemon pastry, or was it mint? For a moment you thought it was better starving than eating whatever thing it was.
”Thanks to me they probably will give you a chance,” he said.
”The tone they used– it was like they think you are doing charity by being with me.”
“Well it kinda is–”
”Oh shut up,” you stand up, turning to him, “your name has never been this many times in a newspaper.” You were close to him, and even if you were not sitting anymore, you felt small standing there facing him.
His eyes were still examining you, as if you were a book written in a language he couldn’t read.
“You two look like siblings fighting over meaningless things,” Iris said, stepping in, getting in the middle of you.
“See? Even Iris thinks you are being overly dramatic.”
You fought the urge to answer back, did he just call you over-dramatic?
“Honey, look who's talking,” Iris said pointing a finger at him, “you are not really easy to work with,” then she turned over to you, “in just one day people fell for your fairytale, imagine what you can do in a month.”
“Do you really think this can work?” You avoided looking at him behind her shoulder.
“They don’t care about what you did, you are just another distraction from their empty life,” she explained to you, “they need something else to talk about.”
“The world doesn’t revolve around you, there are more important things,” Coriolanus said, “such as the presidential elections.”
”Is there something else you can say instead of politics and fame?”
”What do you want me to tell you? My sad story about when I mixed some drugs in the laboratory?” He stepped closer, ”oh no, that is something you always talk about.”
”I liked you better when you ignored me,” you said remembering the first time you tried to have a conversation with him.
“Stop please,” Iris said, “you two should bond more, this atmosphere is making me wanna retire early,” she touched her hair, orange this time, “maybe you will like each other.” She walked away from your sight.
“It's going to be tiring enough pretending to like him in public,” now there was just the glass table separating you from him.
“So this is a yes, you are going to do this,” his face lightened up.
“It seems this charade it’s working,” you said convincing yourself that was your best chance of getting your reputation back.
Did you just sign a pact with the devil?
He is the forbidden apple. But it doesn’t mean I can’t just play with it.
“Before I forget,” you heard Iris voice coming from the door entrance, “next week dinner with the Holdens and Suncots,” she was putting her yellow coat on, “they gladly accepted the invite here,” then she put her gloves on, “see you tomorrow—oh and try to bond you two,” she pointed a finger at him before closing the door and leaving you alone with Coriolanus.
You looked at the clock above the coat hanger and it was getting late, but you had nowhere else to be at that moment. No one waiting for you at home, no one expecting your call, nothing to do the next day.
“Tigris is going to design another dress for you,” he said referring to the dinner.
“Can’t I just wear something I already have?” The thought of him deciding what color and style your dress had was not something you tolerated.
“Of course not— do you dine here or?” That didn’t sound like an invite, more as if he was suggesting you go home.
“So kind, I’ll pass,” you said with a sarcastic tone.
”I asked because you almost devoured the entire jar of pastries.” He smiled, waiting for your reaction.
”For the record, they are tasteless.”
He rolled his eyes, “the car is waiting for you outside,” he turned his back and walked towards the kitchen.
”I can walk, I don’t need your personal driver,”
Your words stopped him right in his tracks, ”what if you get lost? How could I do without you?” He said jokingly, turning over to see you, “and it’s fifteen minutes away, in the dark— don’t be a child and go by car, you’ll get used to it.”
You didn’t answer, not like you had something to say. Of course you would’ve accepted the ride, your apartment was too far from his house, you just wanted to irritate him. Maybe you were not so different from Coriolanus, you were playing the same game.
Car rides make you recall only good memories. Your dad got a car when you were little, it was gray and smaller than this one, and he used to drive you to school everyday. Until you got into university and you moved to your current house, it was ten minutes from university so you got used to walking.
The engine stopped and you stepped out of the car, it was cold outside and you wished you had heating at home, a luxury you couldn’t afford anymore.
You fumbled with the keys trying to open the door, you were freezing and you rushed because you heard some steps. You didn’t want to have a conversation with your neighbor, she’ll probably just scold you about the stolen tangerines and how loud you shut the door when you go out, the old same story. You finally walked inside  but someone blocked you from closing the door. It was a young man, probably in his thirties, he had a tiny recorder on his hand and you immediately clicked. 
“Hi, I’m from Capitol’s People Magazine, I wanted to ask you some questions about your relationship with Coriolanus Snow,” he said pointing you to the black device.
”I’m sorry— for interviews, talk to my manager,” you said with a kind tone.
Iris suggested that every time journalists asked you questions you did not want to answer, you had to say those words, and now was the case. You slowly closed the door but the man put his feet in between.
”How could the heir of one of the most influential figures be with a corrupted woman like you?” He looked at you with eyes full of anger.
Corrupted woman, this was new to you. What was the correct answer to that? 
“It was a pleasure to meet you,” you smiled while trying to close the door by pushing it against his feet but he was not intending to leave you alone.
He aggressively tried to wedge his foot into the door, forcing it to stay open while he continued to badger you with invasive questions about the gala.
”Are you planning on ruining his image while stealing his money?” He reached your arm and grabbed it. 
“What’s wrong with you?” His grip was getting tighter as you tried shoving him. 
He was strong enough to smash the door open, stepping inside your house. With his hand on your wrist, he roughly pushed your body against the wall, your back facing him as he stood behind you, your heart pounding outside your chest.  
“You are just a crazy bitch,” he whispered, “you think you can fool them but are a disgrace for Panem,” he pushed your head against the wall, one side of your face hitting the coarse plaster making your skin burn. 
“Get off me! ” you shouted, struggling against his grip.
In response he hit your head again against the wall. You squinted your eyes in pain as a tear streamed down your face, you felt powerless, everything happened so fast.
“Tell me what you want from me,” you said with a weak voice.
“After all you did, you should shut the fuck up and do what you are asked to do,” he put his hand on your scalp as he pushed you harder against the wall. 
You screamed like you never did in your entire life, someone had to hear your cry for help, right? But he was quick to cover your mouth with his palm and that was the perfect occasion for you to bite his skin. He kept his hand on your mouth while he choked on his own screams. 
Your muffled howl echoed in the room but no one seemed to hear you. Or so you thought. Someone grabbed the man from his collar and pushed him away from you. It was the driver, his tall figure was now beant down to beat that man. You were paralyzed, now your back was against the wall and your lungs finally breathing, but your body was unable to answer your brain’s orders. 
”Run!” The driver screamed at you while punching the man one more time, “go in the car! Run!” 
You ran towards the car but your legs felt weak and your head too heavy. You opened the car door and you laid down in the back seats. What the hell just happened? 
What if he came back? What if next time there is not someone to save you? Your anxiety grew inside your chest and you kept yourself from crying. 
“Are you okay, Miss?” The driver asked breathlessly as he violently closed the front car door with a rush, “should I take you to the hospital?” He was looking at you, he had an old scar on his cheek that you didn’t notice before.
You shook your head, “I just need water” you mouthed, trying to maintain a regular breathing.
“Thank you for saving me,” you whispered.
You looked at him through the rearview mirror, his eyes reflecting the street lights while he was driving as if nothing happened, as if his bloody knuckles on the steering wheel were not hurting.
After minutes that seemed hours he talked, “It is my duty,” he said, “Mr. Snow wouldn’t have forgiven me.”
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Coriolanus was in his study preparing a speech for the next interview, he had to be careful to pick the perfect words, to speak with the right tone, and to make the adequate facial expressions. Nothing was left to case. Every single action had to be meticulously studied and calculated.
It was his specialty. Playing with words and making people fall in love with his charm. He did it naturally, molding people the shape he wanted. Because he had to have everything under his control, his power, his eyes.
For the first time he was struggling. He was stuck on the opening line and he didn’t know how to continue. Sleepless nights and alcohol were the usual in the past week. This was one of the nights. Locked in his study until he wrote something of that speech, depriving himself from sleep.
Coriolanus was walking around the room, fidgeting with a pen on his long fingers. Until his mind-wandering was stopped by a firm knock on the door, annoyed it could be an Avox, he ignored it. But the knocking didn’t stop.
He let out a sigh as he unlocked the doorknob, “how many times do I have to tell–” to his surprise, the driver showed up at his door, “Virma, what are you doing here?”
Coriolanus soon found the answer to his question by looking over the driver’ shoulder. You were hidden behind his back, like a hurt animal scared of its fate. You didn’t want to come here, like a lost child brought back home. But where were you supposed to be? What place instead of his?
Your ruffled hair, your smeared makeup and your empty look. It didn’t take long for him to understand something happened. A sense of anger grew inside of him. This was not written in a script, it was not meant to happen and when things did not go according to plan, Coriolanus lost his composure, he could have been unpredictable.
His face darkened. He grabbed your arm and he dragged you in his study, along with Virma. You felt his hand on your wrist, his touch was something familiar to you, maybe gentle, as if he was actually worried about you. He pushed Virma to the side and closed the door behind him, casting you both in the dim light of his opulent study.
You were now facing him, his expression was different from an hour ago. His hand traveled to your face, his fingers lifting your chin as he leaned to have a better view of you. The left side of your face was scraped, fresh cuts burned on your temple as droplets of blood trailed your skin. Coriolanus traced his fingertips on your bruised skin and you flinched, instantly regretting the movement as a flash of pain shot through your head, but he was not rough like that man. He loosened his grip on your arm, his eyes softening as he took in the sight of your injuries. He was delicate, as if he was touching something fragile. 
You were too focused on his expression to even pay attention to your sore skin. His knitted brows, his parted lips and his concerned look.
“Who did this to you?” His voice barely above a whisper, he glared down at you as he inspected your figure, as if he was looking for other scratches he missed.
You could almost feel the tension radiating from him.
His hand was now on your neck, fingers touching the back of your head, “a journalist, I don’t–” you looked down, “he was asking questions but I–"
“Mr. Snow, I think I know who he is ,” the driver said and for a moment you forgot he was in that room, “he is Lucius Cliffhard' son.”
"Cliffhard' son? The father is running for president why would he–” Coriolanus didn’t finish his sentence and he looked back at you, “thank you for your service Virma,” his hand left your neck leaving a warm spot, “we will talk about it later.”
You heard the door closing and now you were left alone with him. You could barely stand up, your adrenaline was leaving your body and your anxiety was taking its place.
“Tell me exactly what happened,” he walked towards the opposite side of the room, looking for something in the small bathroom of his study.
You were standing in the shiny black floor, your heart was pounding so loud you could not hear your weak voice, “he probably was waiting for me to come home because the moment I opened the door he uhm—“ you stuttered, "started asking questions but I didn't answer, so he pushed me against the wall and his hand was on my mouth—“ you paused, ”he hit my head and—“ you felt a lump on your throat and you hoped he didn’t hear you.
His steps were again echoing the room, his figure walking closer to you. He had a piece of cotton wool in his hands and without a notice he held it against your scratches by cupping your face with his other hand. It was burning your skin, his fingertips were slightly brushing your neck while he dabbed gently the cotton to clean the wounds on your temple.
”Continue talking,” he said nonchalantly as he tilted your head to have a better view of tour left side of the face.
You stopped breathing in that moment, maybe because of the nauseating smell of the disinfectant or maybe it was because he was inches away from you, his focused look on the bleeding cut, “I think he just wanted to scare me,” you managed to say in a steady tone.
The blonde snapped his head at you, his blue eyes now on yours, “he is a psychopath,” his scent reminded you of that night at the gala, “he hit you because you didn't want to be interviewed, he could've killed you."
You reached his hand where he was pressing the cotton wool and for a moment your fingers brushed before he removed his hands from your skin. “you are exaggerating– he just needs help, ” you said.
Coriolanus closed his eyes, he clenched his fists and the knuckles turned white. He walked towards the desk and he poured himself a drink, taking a long burning sip. You watched him in silence as you inspected the reddish cotton on your hands.
“Do you trust him so much you want to come back to your house?” He was behind his desk, arms resting above the chair, “I told you, here you could have been safer from the media,” he raised his voice, “but you are stubborn, you risked your life and– if it wasn’t for Virma who knows what could have happened,” he said nervously while pouring himself a drink.
“So now it’s my fault?” You bawled at him.
“You don’t understand that now whatever happens to you affects me,” he said, “what are they going to say when they see your bruises and god forbid— he writes an article saying who knows what lies of what happened.”
“See? You don’t care about my safety, you only care about what they think,” you stepped closer to him because he wasn’t even looking at you, “you want me as your puppet, so you can have me under your control— your house, your peacekeepers, your scripts— it’s all part of your plan,” you said.
”You are free to go back to your pathetic life if that’s what you want," he took a sip of his drink, still looking down, “I can’t save you from yourself, after all– you were miserable before and now too,” it was like venom coming from his lips.
A tear streamed down your face, “this is what I hate about you,” you scoffed, “you are a selfish and heartless man, I was right from the start.”
You have called him only good names: uncaring, unaffectionate, disrespectful, selfish and heartless. The list was getting longer.
“What did you expect? I thought it was going to be easier with you but you are getting on my nerves,” he stood up walking towards you, “you should be grateful— but no, you like acting so superior to me,” his chest was getting closer to you.
You scoffed, “why? Who are you?” You looked up at him through your lashes, “just a rich spoiled kid who is playing at being the next president of Panem.”
“And you fucking need me,” he said against your cheek, “this is why you didn’t leave, you don’t want to admit that without this ‘heartless man’ standing in front of you who knows where you could be right now,” his eyes were consuming you.
”Look who's talking,” you pointed a finger at him, “the Capitol's favorite toy who needs a ‘miserable girl’ to make him popular.”
Coriolanus placed his free hand on your wrist, squeezing it lightly, “you like this am I right?” He licked his lips, “talking back at me, uh?”
His nose was touching yours, his grip was burning your skin and you could feel his hot breath mixing with yours. The blonde was dangerously close to you, but you missed that feeling. Have you already erased what he has said to you? Was he so powerful to make you fall for his spell?
He is the forbidden fruit, I shall not fall in temptation.
His lips brushed yours, memories flooding back to you. You didn’t know if he was about to bite you or kiss you. It would have hurt you either way.
“Tell an Avox to prepare your room,” he said, “or freeze in the streets, I don’t care— your choice.” Coriolanus let your arm go and he walked away from your sight.
It started to be just for show but the backstage was even worse than the real life. At the same time you could not give up on this play, you had to change your rules, your morals, to keep being with him.
So you were alone in the dark in the hallway, thinking about running away or staying.
Coriolanus could not win this way, you hated to admit you still needed his presence to fix your reputation. The darkness seemed to swallow you as you hesitated, torn between your principles and the pull of his influence. He had too much power right now, but you were willing to wait, by making things your own terms.
As you stood there, unwilling to give in to his manipulations, the lingering memory of his touch warred with the sharpness of his words. You slammed the door shut for him to hear you, he would have to do better to get you away from him. 
Coriolanus could have touched your face as if you were the rarest creature on earth but the same lips once brushed yours, could tell the most hurtful things to you.
But you did that too. You were both craving the same sin. But too proud to admit on your faces.
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“Is everything okay now?” You were in Tigris room, a colorful space barely illuminated by the outside light. It was in the basement, not really a cozy place to work.
You were talking about the aggression that happened a couple of days ago, nothing you wanted to recall actually, especially your conversation with Coriolanus, but you didn’t tell her that.
”Yes, the bruises are healing over,” you answered, touching your temple.
Tigris smiled at you while taking your measurements. She didn’t look like her cousin, apart from the blonde hair, she was pure and kind hearted. Why was an angel like her on earth with people like you? Like him?
“Why are we doing this again?” You asked “Didn’t you already have my measurements?”
You were standing on a stool, only wearing your undergarments while Tigris was putting the tape measure around your chest.
”Coryo sent me a note telling me that last time the dress was a little loose,” that was the last thing you could ever expect to hear from her, because it was in fact true, he noticed that.
“He did what?”
“I know, I was surprised too,” she smiled, “anyway, I read the newspaper.”
Oh no, you didn’t want to talk about that too.
“You two look great in the picture,” she handed you a wrinkled page where you could see a black and white photo of you and Coriolanus at the gala, he was looking at you while holding your waist.
You didn’t know about the existence of that picture until now. That night you were too starved to even pay attention to the newspaper, how could you miss that?
“It was so strange seeing him with a woman,” she commented while looking for some fabric.
“What do you mean? Has he ever had a girlfriend?” You knew the answer to that question but you wanted to hear from her.
“More like ‘girls’ than ‘girlfriends’, ” she laughed, “I’ve never met one of them,” Tigris wrapped a red cloth around your waist.
“Well, not that I’m special,” you looked at the mirror in front of you, “it’s just a stupid show.”
“What a shame,” she folded the excess fabric on your side and put a needle, “I liked you,” Tigris whispered.
You wished you could do something for her, she deserved more than a molded little room and a cousin like Coriolanus.
“So we are seeing each other more often, am I right?” she broke the awkward silence.
“Yes, Iris forced me to stay in this house,” Iris was really in apprehension when she saw your bruises, she lectured you on how people are vicious and in your ‘situation’ it was better not risking more.
“How lucky, aren’t I?” You added.
“I know my cousin can be– difficult to understand but,” she walked behind you, “there are some things that brought him to be this way,” her fingers tighten the fabric on your back, “and of course he’s not a saint, he just needs something– someone perhaps, to make him remember who he really is.”
“I can’t fix him,” you glanced at her reflection in the mirror, “I’m broken as much as he is and– we are incompatible.”
“As the sun and the moon?”
“Maybe.”
The comparison did fit well.
One is the star planets gravitate around, the only source of light at the center of the solar system. The moon is a small satellite whose only purpose is to spin around the earth, showing only one face and depending only on the planet's gravitational field.
Coriolanus wanted to appear like the sun, bright and powerful but he only displayed one face like the moon. You felt small, needing for something to orbit around as the moon did, but you didn’t know how radiant and capable you actually were, exactly like the sun.
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Since you moved in his house, nights were longer than the others. It was getting harder to fall asleep because of your intrusive thoughts keeping you awake.
Is the door locked? Am I safe here?
The positive side was that your new room was probably bigger than your whole apartment. Then, you were not freezing anymore and you were finally eating food, not stolen fruit and smelly milk.
Even though you were living in his house, you tried avoiding his presence: by not having lunch the same hour as him, by going out your room only when you heard his door locking or having your usual meetings with Iris before him. That was your way of saying that he could not control your life, especially when he treated you the way he did.
However, that was still his house.
Red silky bed sheets, roses scent, his gold engraved initials on objects.
Coriolanus was not easy to forget. It was as if he had poisoned the air you were breathing, everything reminding you of him. The good and the bad. You promised yourself to not be tempted anymore, he was mercilessly manipulating you into believing he was the person he wanted to appear at the Capitol. But other than his mesmerizing eyes, his golden curls and delicate hands, there was another man hiding in his shadow. You had to picture that side of him every time he teased you, or you could be a sinner.
You were laying on the bed, leafing through the pages of the brand new script it was sent to your room. This was even worse than the other. Not only you had to remember some political matters regarding the current campaign, but you had to pretend again how good of a man Coriolanus was. How he supported and cared for you and how bright your plans as a couple were.
“I was extremely lucky to meet him, he is the sun to my dark days,” what an irony, “I am looking forward to living this exquisite love fully by his side.”
So cheesy for what?
“You can’t avoid me forever.”
You heard a muffled voice coming from the hallway, you walked towards the door but you didn’t answer. It was him of course, after the bad there was the good. He surprisingly tried talking with you on other occasions, but you had walked away before he could even finish his sentence, running away was easier, or god knows what you could’ve done.
“I can hear your heavy breathing,” he said close to the door, “open the door or I will,” he was waiting for your response, thinking about what he could say to get your attention. “Please?” Good manners are always the right answer, right? Right?
You let out a sight as you unlocked the door. Coriolanus was standing close to the room’s entrance, his arm was leaning against the wooden jamb and you noticed he was wearing his coat, as if he was about to go out.
“Oh so you’re alive,” he said, “I was worried about you.”
You couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not, but it didn’t matter either way. Right?
“What do you want?” You were still holding the doorknob, not letting him step inside the room.
“Come with me, we have to go somewhere,” he said with a rush in his tone.
“I kindly refuse your invitation,” you were about to close the door but he put his hand in between. I could squash his fingers, you thought, nothing he could not recover from.
Coriolanus rolled his eyes, “sooner or later you will have to pretend to like me,” his face was partially illuminated by your room light, making his eyes brighter.
You looked at his long fingers keeping the door open, he had his usual shiny ring on his index finger and for a moment you thought you could really squash his hand, “I think it’s better we have less interactions possible apart from the social events.”
“It’s been days since people saw us together, yesterday they asked about you at the debate,” he hissed, “see? Instead of asking about my political project they were– nevermind, just come with me.” His eyes were begging you, such a satisfying image.
“I’m not dressed up, what a pity,” you said mockingly.
He peeked at your figure, “you’re fine.”
You did not feel fine. You weren’t even wearing your clothes, you did not had the chance to pack up your things from your apartment and you had to ask Tigris for some piece of clothing that could fit you. She gave you some of her designs, a green matcha wool skirt matched with a cotton white top. At least you were about to wear pretty clothings, not your old unironed shirts.
“Just for show,” you said while grabbing a jacket.
“Just for show,” he echoed.
You realised that in this game of power and appearances, keeping your distance wasn't an option anymore. You knew that you were now entwined in a dangerous dance with Coriolanus, one that could lead to momentous success or catastrophic ruin. The stakes were high and your mixed feelings towards him could not interfere with your plan, he was not the only manipulator anymore.
“Where is he bringing me?” you asked Virma after fifteen minutes of silence in the car. It was better not talking directly to Coriolanus when possible.
“Miss, isn’t this a date? Enjoy the ride,” the driver said with a smile.
You and Coriolanus laughed. Date? The only date you were looking for was the date this show would end. The car stopped and from the window you immediately recognised the place. It was not a fancy restaurant, a loud club or someone’s wealthy mansion.
First date with Coriolanus Snow at… the Citadel?
That was not what the script said.
You heard the car speeding away as he walked towards the huge grey entry, he unlocked the door and he stepped inside. You stood on the sidewalk, not sure if you wanted to follow him, it was too late to change your mind and too dark to be alone outside.
At least ten peacekeepers were guarding the entrance but Coriolanus walked towards the grey corridor unbothered. The first time you were there, you were searched as if you were a prisoner, as if you could hide a bomb inside your small pockets. This time they did not even consider you, because you both spent months working day and night in that cold laboratory.
The elevator plunged down at least twenty floors, the dark walls were so thick you could strain your vocal chords for hours but no one would hear you. You were standing beside him, waiting for the door to open as soon as possible. The only sound echoing in that place was the loud machinery that was slowly moving down.
“Did you miss this place so much you wanted a guided tour by me?” You asked, breaking the silence, “or is it a surprise party for me?” Five floors left, “tell me now so I put my best smile for the cameras,” you said mockingly, but he didn’t even look at you.
Couldn’t this man laugh for once? So boring.
The elevator doors parted and you finally stepped inside the laboratory. It was an open space divided into three areas. The center was where Dr. Gaul did experiments with animals, occasionally it was also where she did her lectures and exams; one side was the sterile area where the researchers did surgical operations and medical trials where they often experimented with new drugs on genetically modified animals; on the other side, there was the library and research tables, where you mostly spent most of your time studying advanced biotechnology methods.
“How romantic– I guess what people are going to say when I tell them for our first date you took me to see these sweet and lovely creatures,” you said as you looked at the wall glass with dead beasts inside clear yellowish cases.
“You should keep the bar low with me— and I just need to find some documents, you know this laboratory better than me,” he removed his coat and stepped towards the library on the other side of the room.
“You tricked me– you just wanted a favor from me,” your voice echoed and you were not sure he heard you. You walked through the library looking for him.
“I’m in the archives section,” his voice was not far away.
The library was arranged in a circular pattern, as if the bookshelves were layers and in the very core there was a large space with study desks, the ones you had slept on many nights back when you worked there. Soon you found the blonde leaning over a desk while reading some pages in an orange envelope.
“Did you find it?” You asked in an annoyed tone.
“Here there is– this is your file,” he said while standing up.
“My what now?” You walked over him, intended to grab the envelope with the 'confidential' print on the cover.
Coriolanus stepped back, leaning his back on the bookshelf behind him, “given your precedents, I thought it was better to check your past before they did,” he had already read your file a long time ago, but he didn’t tell you that.
He started reading the first page, “you uhm graduated with honors in medicine– bla bla bla first student in your class, —okay here, you specialized in general surg— oh no you did not” he paused, “yet?” Coriolanus looked at you with a puzzled face, suggesting you to say something.
“I will this year,” you looked at your fingers, fidgeting with the ends of your jacket.
“Lie number one, here it says you didn’t pay the tuition,” he pointed at the paper.
Fuck. You couldn’t afford paying for electricity, imagine the university fees, in the most expensive city in Panem. You stuttered something but he continued talking.
“Anyway, you got a place in the Ranvistill Clinic —impressive— and then you mysteriously asked for a transfer after two years, and this is how you got here,” he looked at you, “what happened?”
Was that a tricky question? This conversation was making you uncomfortable. You felt under trial, as if you were accused of crimes, Coriolanus was the judge and you were the only one defending yourself.
“Is this an interview? I didn’t know that apart from being interested in writing scripts you also were a human resource guy,” you tried switching the topic, the conversation was getting too personal.
“Do you have something to hide? I must be prepared for anything they can ask me,” he frowned.
You had many secrets you hoped he didn’t already know, “I changed jobs, that’s it.”
“You failed my test,” he chuckled, “you lied straight to my face in a serious matter –this is lie number two.”
“A test? What the hell Coriolanus.” You sighed as you walked over a desk, sitting on it.
“See? This is why you don’t have my trust.”
The man that cannot be trusted was really talking about trust?
“If you already know every detail of my life, why are you talking with me?”
“Oh, I knew it was going to bother you —anyway no, there’s just something that does not add up.” His eyes went again on that file, hands leafing through pages.
“Which is,” you said with a passive tone.
“Clodius South, head of the surgery department —or I should say, your umh— ex boyfriend?” He closed the folder and put it carelessly on the shelf behind him.
Your heart skipped a bit, “I’m done,” you stood up but he came closer to you.
“Answer just one question, I'm curious– why did he fire you? I mean, officially you transferred but I know it wasn’t voluntary,” he didn’t seem to give up, his look was pleading for answers, “so strange, you had been together for a year.”
“Why are you so interested in my sentimental life? You don’t have a chance with me, you know that right?” You laugh, feeling the tension in the air.
“There is no such risk, I’m not attracted to you,” his figure blocked you from walking away, “I just need your popularity, so I can fix it to something good.”
“You were the one kissing me in the car,” you bit your tongue, that kiss was something you didn’t want to bring up, it was better to forget about it. However, the other option was talking about your past, not something you were proud of.
“Oh please as if you didn’t want to,” he tilted his head, eyes locked on yours.
You laughed at his words, “you wish,” your back leaned against the desk.
“Then why did you kiss me back? I remember you didn’t let me breathe for a moment.”
“That was part of the show, Coriolanus Snow.”
“Now you use my full name? Last time I checked you called me differently,” he rested his arm on the desk you were lying on, making his height the same as yours.
You damned the only time it slipped from your lips calling him Coryo, a nickname you promised yourself to not say ever again.
“Why? Did it turn you on?”
His other hand was near your leg, slowly moving closer to your exposed skin.
“You can’t even imagine,” he swiftly looked down to your lips then back to your eyes.
The room did not feel cold anymore. Your breathing was getting slower, his parted lips warming your skin, his arm grazing your leg.
“So tell me, what happened with him?” Coriolanus insisted, but you had other plans in mind.
He was in power right now, he brought you here just to humiliate you with your deepest secrets. Weren't you just a miserable girl? It was your turn to make him feel miserable.
“You say you’re not attracted to me but you always find an excuse to touch me,” you whispered to his ear, his curls brushing your nose and his hand slightly brushing your leg.
This would have made him back off, telling you how stupid you are to think something like that, gaslighting you about the fact he never did such things like touching you.
“If it bothers you so much why you never push me away,” his hand traveled up to your leg, “go on, I’m waiting,” his fingers were now brushing your thigh and you felt his cold ring against your skin.
Fuck. That was not your plan.
You can always get back to it.
“I know your limits— I bet you barely touched a woman in your life,” you knew it was not true, you only said it as a provocation, to hurt his fragile ego as you planned.
I won.
”I don’t have limits, and we both know you would lose your bet,” his hand went under the hem of your skirt, making you shiver in surprise.
His index finger traced the outline of your panties, slightly playing with the waistband. Coriolanus didn’t break eye contact with you, his pupils were wide, you couldn’t see the blue that usually painted his iris, he was breathing slowly with parted lips, as if he wanted to control his heartbeat. And his hand felt so warm and familiar, so close to your core.
You knew that look, the one that he gave you when he let his guard down. The same look Coriolanus had when you came in his study a couple of days ago, his other side that he rarely showed to anyone.
His palm rested on your bare naked thigh.
“You don’t talk now?” His voice soothed your face, “tell me to stop and I will.”
That was the perfect occasion to slap that smug from his face, but you couldn’t even make up a coherent sentence. His voice was a gentle whisper cutting through the tension, but all you could manage was to stare at his eyes, trying to calculate his next move.
You knew what it was. It was a dangerous game you were playing, one that could shatter your plan. Did you have something to lose? You have already bent your morals, risked your life and crossed lines you never thought you would. Coriolanus would have been another crime to add to your list.
He is the forbidden fruit, I shall not fall in temptation.
But what if I took just a bite? A taste of mortal sin.
“Why did you bring me here?” You managed to say trying to control your breathing.
“You once asked me why did I chose you,” Coriolanus whispered to your ear, “and I told you that it was for the presidential campaign,” his hand moved up again, “publicity, press and interviews— I only care about that,” his fingers were covering your clothed cunt.
You took a deep breath and swallowed, your back was still leaning against the desk edge, his other arm on your side. His words were not making things easier for you, not because you were listening to what he actually was saying, but because his tone of voice was something you could only hear in these moments. When he acted good, for the cameras, for the show. But there was no one in that room.
Coriolanus kept talking, “but my point is, why didn't you leave?” His index finger circled around your covered core, “I mean— I could list a few reasons why, considering also how wet you are right now,” he pulled your panties to the side, exposing your wetness. “But you always say you hate me, that you despise me, why are you here then? Are you so desperate?”
Your eyes were closed, your mind wandered prohibited thoughts while his hand was painfully too far away from what your body needed. What could you say to him? That he was right about being so desperate to pretend to be with him, so you could clean your image? That despite his selfish behavior he was tempting you into falling in his game?
Coriolanus brushed your soaked entrance with his fingertips as he massaged your clit with your own wetness. You shamefully spread your legs giving him more access to your folds, his digits that once touched your face were gently rubbing your needy center.
Your silent whimpers were enough as an answer for him to slide one finger inside you.
Your hand was now on his biecep, grabbing his arm so tightly or you could fall. There was something in you that was holding you back from punching him to his face. Was this the charm everyone talked about? Was this the version of him everyone adored?
“Given that you prefer remaining silent— I can tell you why,” his hand moved inside you, “you like the attention,” your cheek was against his, while your other hand rested on the nape of his neck.
Your reaction to his movements made him close his eyes in bliss, but you were too focused on not making sounds that you didn’t notice his expression. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction that he was making you feel good.
“I bet you’ve barely been touched by a man,” Coriolanus echoed.
It’s just one bite of the apple.
You looked at him this time, and you wished you did it before. The blue in his eyes, his plump lips, the glistening on his forehead covered by his falling blonde curls. An angel.
No, no, he is the devil, not an angel.
“Wrong,” you breathed and his pace fastened, “actually they were better than you,” you whispered and his eyes widened.
“Lie number three,” he slid another finger, “I can tell when you’re pretending and when you’re not,” he brushed your clit with his thumb.
Oh.
You bucked your hips to make some friction, Coriolanus was painfully slow as if he was taking all the time in the world. He leaned his head to your left temple, where small reddish bruises were fading away from your skin, and he planted feather kisses on it. Coriolanus slowly traced a trail of wet kisses alongside your face. His soft lips were healing your bruises, his hand was igniting your core.
His fingers moved faster, pumping in and out your hole and slightly curled to hit exactly your sweet spot. Your little moans echoed in the room along with the sloppy sound of his hand never leaving your cunt. Coriolanus stroked your bundle of nerves once more, his lips sucked a spot behind your hear, slowly moving down your neck, marking your delicate skin with his warm kisses.
That was it. You were sure your high was coming in a matter of seconds, your mouth curved as pleasure began flowing through your body.
“But wasn’t I an uncaring, disrespectful —and what was that—oh, selfish and heartless man?” His hand stopped moving, “well I guess you were right,” his fingers were slowly pulling out your unfulfilled hole.
What was he doing?
“Did you really think you could do whatever you wanted? Having meetings without me, eating locked in your room, ignoring me for days— I have the control here.” Coriolanus looked down at you with a satisfied expression, believing that he finally asserted his dominance over you.
Your mind raced for a response, but before you could gather yourself, his words hung heavy in the air.
That was his revenge.
You thought you could teach him a lesson but he was a step ahead of you. Coriolanus humiliated you, exactly as he planned. His intent was to make you feel ashamed of your past but you gave him a better opportunity: he made you feel needy for him.
Self sabotaging.
“They are here,” he said in a calm tone, as if you were not almost buckling in that very moment.
Five seconds ago you were close to your orgasm and now you were feeling the emptiness growing inside you. You looked around confused, adjusting your body so now you were standing up, your weak knees begging for rest.
Who?
“They?” You stuttered as you watched him stepping back.
“Yes, I called them before,” he smirked, ”put your best smile for the cameras.”
Coriolanus acted like he did not just had his fingers inside you, but his body was telling another story, his bulge was visible from his pants and you noticed that as he swiftly covered his erection with his hand.
He walked towards the elevator where two peacekeepers were waiting for him. You fixed your skirt, probably too ruined and sticky to ever wear it again.
Fuck him.
You followed him, making sure to walk properly or he would’ve noticed how flustered you were. The thick doors closed, it was you, two peacekeepers and the blonde. You were sure he could smell your arousal, you still had traces of his saliva on your neck and a little bruise on your skin. A new one.
Coriolanus took a handkerchief from his pocket and he carefully cleaned his hand from your wetness, like he was cleaning his hands after a crime. Yours. The cloth wrapped around his fingers, as your walls clenched around him moments ago.
Then he caught you staring at his hand, “are you okay? You look flushed.”
You sick bastard.
Your cheeks were painted in a crimson color, of course he could see that, he was the cause of that. The same cause that made you cream your panties and shake your legs. If it wasn’t for the peacekeepers, you would have probably strangled him. But that was his lucky day.
He won.
After an infinite amount of time where your mind couldn’t stop picturing the sloppy sound from before, the elevator’s door parted. Coriolanus grabbed your shoulder as he was directed toward the exit. The silence in that room was now replaced by loud voices coming from the outside.
“Who did you call?” You tried pulling away from his grip but he kept you close.
“I told you, they haven’t seen us in a while.”
He opened the entrance and you heard someone shouting, “they are here!” A group of unknown faces were pointing microphones towards you, asking questions you didn’t bother to listen to.
You walked through the crowd side by side to him, his arm around your waist as you covered your face from the blinding flashes. The car was waiting for you in the exact spot it left you, Coriolanus let you enter in the car first as he followed by closing the door, blocking the loudness outside.
You sat on the back seat, heart racing outside your chest, forcing yourself to completely ignore his presence.
Coriolanus was again back in your thoughts as your wetness slid down your legs.
He is the forbidden fruit.
I am tempted by thee.
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A/N: finally it’s out!! It has been so hard writing this chapter, I had so many ideas that I couldn’t mold them together into a coherent text lol. Anyway, as always tell me if there are grammatical mistakes because another difficulty was my limited vocabulary (a special thanks to wordreference.com or I wouldn’t be here today.) Every day I’m trying my best to improve my English so have mercy on me! Let me know if you want to be tagged next time!! 💌
Thank you so much for all the love and support!! Your comments mean a lot to me ❤️❤️ I love you all
ask me questions here 💌
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chloeangelic · 4 months
Text
the paper salesman
Brother's best friend!Jim Halpert x f!reader Rating: 18+ My masterlist I Max's masterlist
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Summary: You spot your childhood crush at a birthday party and end up in his room together.
Warnings: Smut, AU where Pam does not exist, alcohol, oral (f receiving), handjob, semi protected PIV, creampie, squirting.
A/N: Well, well, well, if it isn't me and my froggy friend @macfrog back with another fic. But this time, it's not satire - this one is actually serious, and we are taking full advantage of everyone's teenage crush on season 2 Jim.
Word count: 6k
You pick at the edge of your wine glass, nodding along as the sound of your brother’s girlfriend talking about work turns into a low, buzzing sort of hum, indistinguishable from the other voices in the room. It seems that turning thirty was the catalyzing event for your older brother’s birthday parties to turn from all-nighters at clubs to barbecues at his new house. The attendance changed too — what used to be a crowd of girls in tight, short dresses has been replaced by a landscape of coworkers and childhood friends that he has reconnected with over the past year. 
There’s a couple people singing karaoke by the TV across the room, and although neither of them are singing in tune, you cheer them on as you half-heartedly listen to your future sister-in-law’s story. People are scattered around in groups of two, three, or four, chatting amongst themselves against the tapestry of multicolored string lights and framed photos. You can’t imagine your brother had much to do with the interior design choices, and assume Stacie took him to the department store and filled a shopping cart with lights and lamps and frames that would make the living space for two thirty-year-old men a little less bland and sterile. 
But still, despite the obvious decorative touch of Mark’s girlfriend around the room – you can’t help but wonder which parts were chosen by his roommate.
Jim Halpert – your brother’s best friend for as long as you can remember. Six-foot-something, polite and awkwardly charming. Lingering on your front steps to walk with Mark to school, backpack slung over one shoulder, or waiting patiently in the kitchen doorway while your brother finishes eating dinner, a basketball sat in the ‘c’ of his elbow. Making a whole lot of nothing conversation with your mom about school, about how his brothers were doing, growing bashful when she’d bring up girlfriends.
He’s five years older than you, but that ten-year-old ghost of yourself would sit twirling the fork in her fingers, mindlessly dragging mashed potato around her plate. Watching the way he’d toss the flicks of fringe from his eyes, cross one foot over the other as he answered every incessant question of your mother’s with the dutiful respect of a well-raised boy. Your crush was obvious back then, easily spotted by her whenever Jim stayed for dinner. You’d look away, bite back your smile and try to stifle your laugh at his jokes, hoping he wouldn’t notice. That little crush stayed with you, despite the boys you went on to date in high school, and the ones you slept with and tried to get serious with in college to no avail. Every time you came back from the holidays, Jim would inevitably show up for dinner one day, and you would revert back to that shy ten-year-old, sitting in the same seats as you did back then. 
You watched him become a man in front of your eyes, and by the time you started getting physical with your first boyfriend, little thoughts began to weasel themselves into your mind about Jim. It was entirely inappropriate, and that curiosity should have directed itself exclusively to the boy who had taken you out to the movies, to prom and to homecoming, but you wondered what Jim looked like shirtless, you wondered about his experience, about the size of his cock. One weekend in your freshman year of college, with nothing else to do but to visit your parents, you tagged along with Mark to his basketball game, and sat on the bleachers with your eyes glued to Jim, to the sweat that darkened his jersey and the undeniable bulge in his shorts. He came up to say hi after, his brown hair drenched with sweat as well, looking at you through stunning green eyes as he asked how school was going. You made him laugh with a story about a professor, and the sound of his chuckles echoed in your mind the rest of the night. He had moved out of his parents’ house by then, and started working as a salesman at a paper company in town. 
He still works there – as far as you know, at least, based on what he told you the last time you saw him, picking him and Mark up from their high school reunion two years back. 
Mark had drank a little too much and had needed Jim’s steady arm around his shoulder to direct him to your car. You swallowed down the butterflies which quickly took flight in your stomach as you watched the two figures stumble towards your Honda, the taller of the two lending you a small smile as he slotted your brother into the front seat. You kept your composure right up until he closed the front door, and then you sped all the way home with your heart racing and your blood pumping.
“Some people are just allergic to receiving help,” Stacie announces, yelling a little over the screeching of the karaoke mics. She’s rambling to one of Mark’s coworkers – Hal? Sal? – about one of her co-workers, some new kid fresh from college who can’t work the printer by himself and refuses to let her show him.
You’re about to get up for a refill when a weight slides onto the couch by your side, nudging you with a sweatered elbow.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he mutters, and when you turn, your breath catches at the sight of those familiar green eyes and flicks of brown hair.
“Hey,” you reply, fingers awkwardly lifting to tuck some hair behind your ear. You feel a heat flush into your cheeks and pray it doesn’t show in an embarrassing dewy glow to Jim. “Cool party. Karaoke’s a nice touch.”
“Eh,” he shrugs, giving you his signature smirk. His voice is so deep, a little husky even, as he sits close, “It’s an easy way to keep the guests entertained without me having to do much of anything, or your brother, for that matter.” 
You hum in response, reluctantly annoyed that Mark is already at the front of his mind when he sees you. “Are you still working that paper job?”, you ask, raising an eyebrow and hoping that your nerves don’t come across, that he’ll simply consider you as flirty to everyone if your attempts don’t land.  
“Yeah,” he says, nodding, picking at the label of his beer bottle for a moment. 
“Salesman of the year?” 
“Well,” he chuckles, his head tilting to the side, a little unsure, “Maybe sometimes.” Is he embarrassed? Shy? You watch his eyes as they flicker up and scan the room. “What are you up to these days?”, he asks when his eyes land back on you, flaring open for a split second before they settle on yours. 
“You know,” you shrug, eyes looping once around the room, “Working, the usual.” You feel your chest tighten with an urge to come up with something more fucking interesting than work. Your fingers hooked behind your ear again, you sputter, “Got my hair done last week.”
Jim smiles, reassuringly so. “Yeah,” he says, nodding, “I can tell. It looks good. I like the, uh –”, he points a little haphazardly, “The way you styled it. Suits you.”
“Thanks,” your cheeks swell in a genuine smile, averting his gaze as the compliment seeps into your skin. You twirl the stem of your glass in your fingers, and Jim knocks a knuckle against the rim.
“You need a top up?”, he asks, standing up.
“Yeah, actually,” you reply, taking his hand when he offers it and pulling yourself to your feet.
You follow him through to the kitchen, dodging the erratic arm movements of some guy chittering to Mark about stocks, and over to the fridge. You lean your hip against the counter, watching as Jim carefully refills your wine and slides it back across to you.
You take a tentative sip under his watchful gaze, and raise your eyebrows, nodding subtly in approval as you swallow, “This is pretty good. What’s a guy like you doing with decent wine in his fridge?” 
He lets out a nervous laugh and looks around, takes a sip of the glass he poured himself. “I actually got it for a, uh- a date, a couple weeks ago,” he doesn’t look at you as he speaks, looking out through the dining room, “She said it was good so I figured I’d get some for tonight.” 
Oof. A tinge of jealousy makes your stomach curl, and you take another large sip, forcing it down as you think of what to say. You can still hear the out of tune melodies from the living room, though the silence between you and Jim drowns out the noise. “What did you do?”, you ask, hoping you can mask your jealousy with a sneaky tone. 
“Took her to dinner a few times, walked around a bit, came back here and had some wine.”
You want to gag, just a little bit. “And how come she’s not here tonight then?”
“Didn’t really, uh– didn’t really work out, so…” 
“So you’re just sitting here day in and day out with her wine in the fridge, waiting for her to come back?” 
Jim breathes a laugh, pushing the air from his cheeks, “Alright. Wow. That one stung.”
You giggle, taking a step closer, “I’m just messing with you,” you say into your glass. Each splash of alcohol over your tongue filling you with more courage.
He tilts his head, eyebrows cocked, “Tell me about your love life, then, up on your high horse.”
You stifle another girlish giggle, using it to mask your reaction to the awkward question. Your love life – if you could even call it that – has been even more miserable than Jim’s sounds. Messages left on read, painful first dates with jocks still stuck in their high school eras, with uptight career men who only cared to talk about themselves, or with guys who had weird hobbies and left you to pay the bill for a date they asked you on.
You’ve gotten good at avoiding the topic with your mom, turning it instead into conversation about Mark and Stacie, framing it into a question of, When are they thinking of getting married? Having kids of their own, right, Mom?, but standing in front of the one guy you’ve been shamelessly crushing on since you were ten years old – it becomes a little harder to divert.
“Uh,” you mumble, the rim of your glass balanced on your bottom lip, “I’m – I’m just taking some time to myself right now, you know? Focusing on me.”
He grins, almost gleeful. Electricity pulses through your veins. “Nice save,” he tells you, tipping his glass towards you, “I hear what you’re really saying.”
“Oh?” 
“Yep,” he says, matter-of-factly, “You also got dumped at Red Lobster.”
You snort, then apologize, closing your eyes and trying to stifle your grin as you try to collect yourself. “Red lobster,” you clear your throat, “That’s pretty bad. At least it wasn’t Chili’s. And I would know, cause I got dumped at Chili’s.” 
The two of you keep it together for a few moments, looking at the floor, until you meet each other’s eyes and burst into laughter, having this absolutely pathetic little thing in common. The sound of his laugh makes your chest flutter, the sight of his smile and his hand running through his hair. He wipes the tears from his eyes as he looks at you, and you bite the tip of your tongue, trying to halt the uncontrollable giggles that make your stomach hurt. 
When you’re composed, a couple more swigs of wine down your throat, you settle back against the counter and say, “So. When’s the tour leaving?”
Jim’s eyebrows lift, “The tour?”
You nod, “House tour. Mark hasn’t shown me around yet. The most I’ve seen is your downstairs bathroom.”
He scoffs. Pushes off from the counter, the wine in his glass splashing, “He’s a terrible host. C’mon, I’ll show you around.”
Your heels click along the tile floor as you squeeze between bodies, heading for the hallway where Jim pauses. “Bathroom,” he says, nodding to the door right by the stairs, “But you already knew that.” He steps back against the wall at the first step, holding a hand out to usher you up first. “Ladies first,” he says, smiling genially.
You snort, but waltz by his body, holding onto the handrail as you climb the stairs carefully, the alcohol mixed with your shoe choice making it a dangerous feat. Jim’s close behind, footsteps slowly echoing your own, and you can’t help but think of the tight, short skirt of your dress, the way it hugs your thighs, the placement of his gaze as he wanders up behind you.
Reaching the top of the stairs, you look around at the assortment of doors, waiting for Jim to tell you which room serves as the first stop. You can sense him right behind you, slightly to your side, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him looking down at you, swallowing slowly. “Mark’s room,” he says, nodding to the right and waiting until you look up at him before he takes a step over and opens the door. He lets you peek inside, look around until you nod and step back, before he urges you forward, towards another door. 
“Upstairs bathroom,” he remarks, and you give the room a similar examination, noticing the streak-free mirror. 
“Looks… clean,” you say, as if there’s anything better to say about a typical bathroom. He gives a muttered thanks in return, then points to the last door. 
“And that’s my room.” 
“May I?”, you grin, then step fully inside, looking around at his bed, his dresser, and finally, his desk. You sit down in the office chair and give it a test spin, before your attention is caught by the art on the wall. “What’s this?”, you ask, while he steps in as well, hesitating for a second as he looks at the door, opting to leave it open before he comes over and sits down on his bed. 
Jim’s head wobbles as he searches for an answer. “It’s – well, it’s – you know. It’s…a print that I…liked.”
“You have no idea, do you?”
“Not a clue,” he responds, quick as a bullet. “I saw it at a yard sale – thought it went with the colors of my bedsheets. That’s how interior design works, right?”
You smile, “Sure. You’re no Stacie, but – sure.”
Jim nods. Your eye is drawn to the dip in the bed where he sits, the weight of his wide frame on the mattress. His open thighs, his elbows resting on his knees, wine swirling as he slowly rocks the glass. He slowly lifts it to his lips, taking a sip without breaking your stare.
You cross your legs by instinct. Your skirt rides a little higher. Jim glances down, and then straight back up. You can feel your blood thrumming through every limb, every part of your body sensitized and alight. It doesn’t help any when he stands from the bed and wanders over, towering over you as he looks at something on the desk.
He reaches over your shoulder, and you can smell his cologne on his sweater, sharp and fresh, a hint of something sweeter. He pulls a photo frame from the shelf behind you and turns it around.
“Graduation,” he says, and your eyes are drawn down to the cheesy grins of him and your brother, donned in black mortarboards and sweeping gowns.
You nod, pretending you’re paying attention. But he’s so close that his jeans rub against your bare legs, so close that you’re staring up just to meet his eye. Your palms begin to perspire, his voice turning into a blur as he points to a couple other frames, photos of people you didn’t recognize in places you couldn’t quite place. The rest of your wine is downed in a single sip, the glass carefully placed behind you, on the surface of his desk. 
Jim seems to have finished recounting memories to you, but he doesn’t move. Stays stood over you, his own drink forgotten on the floor by his bed. A silence falls between you – but not the thick, awkward kind of silence you’re used to around guys. It’s lighter, it’s breathable. It swirls around your limbs like the fluttering feeling in your belly, wraps tightly around them and pushes you to your feet, the back of Jim’s chair rocking against his desk.
You’re eye-to-eye, your chest pushing gently against his. He glances down to your lips, wet with wine and the dabbing of your tongue, and then back up. He leans in, curving around your shoulders to set the photo frame still in his hand back on the desk. When he straightens up again, your hands find his chest.
You stare at one another, seemingly a thousand words exchanged between your soft, drunken gaze and his – and yet, none of them pass your lips. There’s a weight on your waist – Jim’s hands either side of your body, squeezing the tight fabric of your dress. You tilt your head, moving closer, lips parting. And he leans in.
He kisses you, slow at first. Your hands lift to cup his jaw, steady yourself on the weight of him. All of your past selves begin to bubble to the surface, each one lighting your skin, pulling on every nerve. Jim feels warm, his lips wet and sweet from the alcohol. Your nails sift through his hair, tugging gently as he pushes his tongue deeper into your mouth. He groans lightly, seemingly as hungry for you as you are for him, holding himself back, handling you with a care and gentleness you hope he might set aside. You’ve wanted him for so long and you’ll let him do anything, you want all of him, you want him to ravage you and fuck you until you stumble down the staircase and until you can never look your brother in the eyes. 
There’s a smashing sound from downstairs and a squeal, followed by a chorus of disappointment from the other guests. It splits the two of you apart, bumping teeth as your lips disconnect. You’re both panting, hot breath occupying the space between you. You can feel the hardness of his bulge pushing against you, and your arousal building, spreading to the tips of your breasts as your nipples harden. He’s huge, you can already tell, and you swallow around a lump in your throat, trying not to think of how long it’s been since you felt a man inside of you. 
Jim smiles, still holding you close to his body. Your hands wrap around his wrists, and you lean into him again to whisper, “I think we should close the door.”
He nods, and steps back to let you by. You close the door slowly, letting it thud into place as quiet as you can, despite the obvious chaos happening downstairs. When you step back towards him, his eyes are on yours, hands reaching out to pull you closer, one around your waist and one around the nape of your neck, letting you melt into his hold while he locks his lips with yours. You hope he can’t feel the rapid beating of your heart or the dampness of your skin, letting your hands fall to the edge of his pants and starting to fumble with the button. 
You start to unzip his jeans while he walks you back towards his bed, licking into your mouth and nibbling on your lower lip. You slip a hand down over his clothed cock, carefully palming it and feeling the girth and contours against your skin. He lets out a slight grunt at your touch, moving his hand down to squeeze your ass cheek through your dress, his large hand grabbing your flesh and kneading it with the aggression you’ve been hoping for, just a hint of it coming through in the firmness of his grasp. 
He reaches the bed as you draw your hand out of his pants and dip your fingers behind his waistband, feeling the goosebumps spreading across his skin, grabbing hold of the stretchy fabric and lifting it up, over his erection, pulling it down alongside his pants to see his cock hanging free, flushed and wet at the tip. You bite his lip before you pull back to look, and can’t help a whimper escaping your throat as you brush your fingertips along his length. It feels endless, long veins bulging out that you trace with your nails. He's so thick, wide at the root, all the way to the tip. He can't possibly fit inside but you clench at the thought of him trying. Another pearly bead of precome spills out from his slit at your touch, and with his hands still grasping your neck and the meat of your ass, you gently rub the pad of your thumb over this head, feeling the slick slide of his spend beneath your finger, then wrap your hand around him, fingertips not even close to meeting, and stroke him slowly.
Your breaths are shallow, rapid, and when you feel your mouth start to water at the sight of his cock sliding through your hand, Jim pulls you back in to kiss you, grunting and groaning while your hand slides rhythmically up and down, making him throb with arousal. He moves his hips, fucking into your grasp with hushed moans that send your head spinning, your cunt pulsing.
Jim begins to peel the dress from your shoulders, slipping the fabric down until your breasts are exposed, the chilly edge of the air hardening your nipple. He pauses, watches the rhythmic movements of your soft, supple tits as your hand pumps up and down, the rise and fall of your chest with each breath. His fingers dig deep beneath the ruffled fabric, tugging it lower and lower until he’s lifting your hips, disturbing the lace of your panties as he discards the dress to the floor.
You pause as he strips the sweater from his shoulders, tossing it to some corner of the room before he’s back on you, the slick tip of his dick leaving sticky trails on your lower stomach.
“You’re so, so good at that,” he murmurs against your lips, sentence broken in two by another hot, wet kiss. Your eyes roll at the taste of him, the strength of his tongue against yours, the hunger with which he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and sucks, letting it go only to fill your mouth with himself again. You push at the edge of his jeans and boxers, bunching them up in your hands and tugging at them until he takes over, bringing you with him while he takes them off, leaving him bare and you in only your little scrap of fabric you call your panties. 
He pulls you in as he sits down on the bed, placing you on his lap, letting you wind your hips, dragging the silky lace of your thong up along his hard length while you lick across his tongue, while you swallow his saliva and feel the ridges of his cock bumping against your clit. At the sound of your whimpers, he picks you up in his arms, lays you down on his bed, and settles between your legs, leaving wet kisses up and down your neck, trailing down to your chest, taking your nipple into his mouth and licking it slowly. Your back arches, the slick of your arousal beginning to seep out into the panties he teases with his fingers, hooking them under the thin straps and slowly pulling at them as his lips trail down between your tits, slowly over your stomach, reaching the very top of your mound before he drags the straps over your thighs to reveal you for him. 
You open your legs and Jim presses into the underside of your thighs, pushing them wider. His eyes focus on the sight of you, spread open in front of him, his tongue lifting to run along his lips. You sit up on your elbows, glossy eyes watching as he leans in, a trail of kisses dotted along the seam of your thigh, until his lips are hovering over your throbbing cunt.
“Jim,” you whisper, sifting your fingers through his hair, moving it from his face.
He looks up and you share a glance, a message sent wordlessly from your eyes to his. A smirk pulls across his lips, reading your mind instantly. He lowers his jaw and his tongue drags a long, soaking stripe up your slit.
Your grip tightens in his hair, head thrown back to the blue sheets. Your throat catches a lewd moan before it has a chance to cut through the air, exposing you both to the guests downstairs. Sorry, you whisper, but he shakes his head. “You don't have to be quiet,” he reassures, leaving his gaze on you as he leans back and gives your clit a few wet licks, kicking up your sensitivity and making you clench. He must be able to tell, because just as you tilt your head back into the pillow while he kisses and licks at the part of you most sensitive and needy for his attention, he pushes two fingers into your pussy, stretching you gently as he curls them. He presses into a spot so tender you can't catch the moans spilling out between your lips, begging for more when you're already so close, having fantasized about this for years – his tongue on your clit and his fingers inside of you, softening you for the inevitable stretch of his cock, so much thicker and longer than you could imagine, big and hard and bound to let you feel him tomorrow.
He begins to suckle, swirling his tongue until you grip his hair and moan that you're close, so close, and he releases you from his mouth, still sliding his fingers slowly in and out, moving to place kisses to the inside of your thigh. You let out a huff, and hear a faint chuckle from between your legs, licking and kissing at your skin, right beside your outer folds, close to where you need him. 
Another wave of arousal crashes through you when he makes contact with your clit again, a wet drag of his tongue making you whimper and pull at his hair harder, trying to keep him right where he is until he lets you come. Jim pulls around your clit, lips sucking and tongue flicking as his fingers pump in and out, winding your orgasm like the tide withdrawing, only to let it crash forward in a flood of pleasure.
Your back arches, breath freezes to nothing in your throat until your climax passes, washing over you in heavy, shuddering ripples. You pant, your chest heaving as you look down at the smile on his face, the evidence of your satisfaction glistening on his lips.
Jim pushes himself up from the mattress, knees planting firm between your open legs, fisting his cock over you. You blink the room back into focus slowly, feeling the bed dip by your ear. He settles on top of you, looking down to guide his cock to your needy and spent sex. His tip presses against your hole, sensitive and soaking, and he glances back up. 
“Jim?”, you whisper, chest heaving when you feel the subtle intrusion at your opening.
“Yeah?”
“I want you inside me, I want you to fuck me.” 
Mhmm, he teases the tip around your entrance, lets the thick head of him slide up to your clit before he glides back down, gently pushing in, a tiny little bit of pressure, not enough to make you wince but groan instead, hating and loving how he teases you. Another push, his tip lodged inside, stretching you open further than you thought possible, while your pussy drools down his shaft, sucking him in and covering him in your wetness. He grunts quietly, not immune to the wet, warm clutch he’s sinking into, inch by inch, while you wrap your hands around his jaw, looking into his bright green eyes, lids hooded, breaking the eye contact to glance down at where he enters you, letting out a breathy moan when you suck him all the way in and he reaches your cervix. He hisses when he retracts, gliding out so slowly, covered in your shiny slick. 
You arch your back when he reaches the end of you again, leaning down onto his elbows so his lips can press into your neck, kissing you like he has all the time in the world, little licks to your skin while he glides out and presses back into you, letting you adjust to his size, making space for himself and soothing you as you’re overwhelmed by him. Your legs come to wrap around his waist, tilting your hips slightly upward to let him reach deeper, moaning his name and incoherent curses, grabbing the back of his neck and his broad shoulders, feeling your clit rub against his pelvis, bringing you closer so slowly you barely notice it happening. 
You lower your arms, slipping your hands under his and lacing your fingers. Your knees bend, resting against his ribcage. With each brush of his hair against your clit, he moves faster, thrusting harder, pushing deeper. Tiny yelps leave your mouth the more he fucks you, the more the bed rocks, the headboard knocking against the wall. Your head turns, moaning delicately into his ear as he sucks on your skin.
“I know,” he whispers against your pulse, “You feel so good, sweetheart. So tight around me.”
“Jim,” you’re whining, gasping for air each time he pushes all the way in. You let go of your grip on him and drape your arms over his shoulders, fingers toying with his hair, slowly dampening with sweat. Each glide of his cock inside you ends with a sweet bite of pain, his tip hammering roughly into the edge of your cunt.
His teeth graze the sensitive skin below your jaw, leaving behind marks you’re silently hoping will still be visible in the morning. His hands travel downward, taking hold of your waist and lifting you up to his body like you weigh nothing at all.
“Here,” he says, slipping out of you, thick white thread dribbling between your pussy and his cock. He motions for you to sit up, beckoning you with a flick of his fingers. “Come here, put your feet on my calves.” You oblige, planting each foot behind his thighs as he kneels. “Now lay down, just relax,” he coos, wrapping both hands around your waist to pull you up into a bridge, letting you dip your shoulder blades onto the sheets. He lifts one hand away from your side and guides his cock back into you, giving a few slow strokes with his palm, pushing gently on your stomach. 
Then his hands grip your hips tightly, he pulls you back onto him and gives you a moment to stabilize before he fucks into you even deeper than before. Your tits slide up and down your chest with every single one of this deep thrusts, and you watch his eyes as they stay glued to your body, his mouth hanging open, panting, grunting, digging his fingers into your flesh, trying to hold back while you squirm and writhe, moaning and whimpering, not giving a fuck who might hear it, trying to keep his name out of your mouth in case someone needs to use the bathroom next door. 
He pounds into you, hitting the softest, most tender spot inside of your body, your head rolls back on his pillow, tiptoeing the line between pain and pleasure, feeling him in your stomach. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, fuck, fuck,” the words are forced out of you just as a warm stream of liquid squirts out of you, drenching his groin and making him groan. Your orgasm is so intense you nearly howl, feeling more and more of your arousal dripping down his shaft and spurting onto his pelvis, soaking the sheets beneath you, getting wet and sticky with your come and his sweat, watching his hair stick to his forehead while he continues to fuck you, needing every last drop of your climax. 
You’re fucking spent, but he won’t relent quite yet, flipping you over and onto all fours, yanking you back by your hips. He enters you from behind and you groan in satisfaction, needing him right there, just like that, feeling your eyes roll to the back of your head. His hand twists in your hair, wrapping it around his palm and tugging at it while he grunts, rough and loud in your ear, nearly drowned out by the lewd smacking of your ass against his hips. 
Your hand dips between your legs, fingers rubbing messy circles around your swollen clit, thinking how many times you’ve dreamt of this exact scenario with your fingers buried inside, bringing yourself to the brink of orgasm by the mere thought of Jim. And now, feeling him, the tug on your hair, the ache between your legs, the hoarse cries jumping from your throat.
“Not gonna last much longer,” Jim grunts, wet slaps cutting between his words, “Fuck, sweetheart, that feel good?”
“Yes, Jim,” you whine, your hand jerking with each meeting of his hips on your ass. Come dribbles down the seam of your thigh as you feel your second high begin to wind, white heat flooding downwards. “So – fucking – good. Ah, I want you to come inside me.”
“You sure?”, he pants, holding on by a thread. 
“Yeah, I – I’m on the pill.” 
Jim pulls you upright by the hair, flush against his stomach, and places his hand over yours to rub your clit together. You lean your head back against his shoulder, body freezing as you come for him again. He groans when you pinch around him, movements becoming sloppy.
“Oh – oh, fuck, I’m – I’m coming, I’m coming,” he moans, lips pushing hard into your neck as he twitches and then stills, and you feel the warm spurts of his come deep inside. The two of you groan, strangled and drawn out, collapsing on the bed with his arms around you and his cock softening inside. You listen to the sounds of the party downstairs, the two of you trying to catch your breaths, and he kisses along the back of your shoulder, brushing his thumb back and forth where it rests over your waist. 
“What are we gonna tell Mark?”, he asks.
You pause for a beat, then turn your head to him, “We’re telling Mark?”
“Yeah, I mean, you’ve wanted it, I’ve wanted it. I don’t want this to be a one time thing, I want it to be more than that, so at some point–”.
“More than what?”, you respond, your heartbeat returning to its heightened state earlier in the night. 
“More than just sex.” 
“Oh.” 
“I’m really into you,” he whispers, “I didn’t know if you felt the same way about me but it seems like you do, so–”. 
You shift around to face him, push his sweat damp locks away from his face and look into his eyes. Shy heat floods your face as you smile at him and nod carefully, biting the inside of your cheek. 
“You wanna go back downstairs?” he asks, fingertips ghosting down your spine before he reaches your thigh and hooks your knee over his leg, “We have Islands in the Stream on the karaoke machine, I know you like that song.” 
“Sure… In a bit.”
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sluttywonwoo · 1 year
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aemulus. (noun) latin for rival or competitor. thought to be the origin of the name emily.
park seonghwa is in no position to ask you for a favor. but being underqualified for something has never stopped him before.
pairing: academic rival!seonghwa x fem!reader
details: grad school/nursing school au, fake dating
word count: 8.1k
warnings: swearing, food allergy, smut (18+ mdni), oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, discussion of birth control methods
a/n: for @sluttywoozi's birthday <3 (just a month and a half late)
playlist
“I need a favor.”
“From me?”
Seonghwa tongues his cheek and looks around. “Is there anyone else in the room?”
You scoff. You aren’t friends with Park Seonghwa. You don’t even particularly like Park Seonghwa. You know the feeling’s mutual so why was he asking you for a favor?
“If you want something from me you should try being a little nicer,” you mutter, turning your attention back to the textbook on the desk in front of you. 
You hear Seonghwa sigh beside you before he tries again. “Sorry, yes, I need a favor from you. I need a date to this event Dr. Harvey is hosting for all of his graduate mentees next weekend.”
Date? You? Your face must be scrunched up into an expression of confusion and concern because Seonghwa puts his hand out to stop you before you interject. 
“Yes, it has to be you. I-I’m trying to secure a position on his research team next semester and I need an extra edge.”
You raise an eyebrow. “And I’m the extra edge?”
“Exactly! Dr. Harvey loves you. If I show up with you on my arm, the spot is mine for sure.”
“You really think it’ll be that easy? I haven’t taken one of Dr. Harvey’s classes since undergrad.”
You’re not even a student in Seonghwa’s program, the one Dr. Harvey was the head of. There just happened to be some overlap between your field of study and his that required you to take some of the same courses. 
“But you were his TA last semester, and you’re the top student in the department, after me-” you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes, “he brings you up in almost every meeting we have,” he continues, sounding more than a little annoyed, “when we’re supposed to be talking about my dissertation.”
Despite the non-case Seonghwa was making on his behalf, you couldn’t help but feel a little curious. “He does? What does he say?’
“Usually, it’s little comments about how you would do something differently, which is not-so-subtle code for better. If you ever decide to write a dissertation on microbiology, let him know. I’m sure he’d love to be your mentor-” Seonghwa stops himself there, taking a deep breath as if to physically shake the bitterness from his demeanor. “Sorry. The point is that he thinks very highly of you and it would really help me out if you were my plus-one to this thing.”
“And what exactly does ‘this thing’ entail?”
“It’s a little appreciation banquet for all of the students he’s mentoring. He said it’s at this hotel, I think it’s downtown, and it’s a dinner and drinks in the evening and a brunch the next morning-”
“Wait, it’s overnight?” You hadn’t meant or intended to interrupt him but the prospect of spending the night in the same room with Park Seonghwa was enough to make you panic and forget your manners. 
Seonghwa looks annoyed that you cut him off but holds himself back from responding with something snippy. Instead, he lets it go. Unheard of for him.
“Yes, but it’s just one night.”
“One night?” He nods. “And I just have to show up with you?”
“Well, you’d pretend to be my girlfriend. ”
Right. That had sort of been implied when he asked but you were hoping that wasn’t the case. It honestly sounded like a nightmare, but the idea of having something to hold over Seonghwa’s head was tempting. 
Doing him the favor was one thing. The execution of said favor was another. Were you going to be able to put on a believable act as Seonghwa’s girlfriend? It certainly wasn’t going to come naturally to you... but you were friends with a bunch of theatre kids. You could pull it off. Probably. 
“Okay, well, what’s in it for me?” you ask.
He blinks, clearly caught off guard by your question like he hadn’t expected to get this far. 
“What do you want?”
Oh fuck. You scramble to think of something worthwhile that he could be of use for, coming up short in pretty much all aspects.
“My dad’s getting married in a couple of months. Our little duet can have an encore then.”
Seonghwa grins and offers his hand for you to shake. “Send me the details. Pleasure doing business.”
-
It isn’t until Seonghwa’s already left the classroom that he realizes he doesn’t even have your number. He’s known you for years now but has never had to contact you outside of the context of school. Never had reason to. He could turn around right now and go back and ask for your phone number. You’re still in there. 
He lets his pride get the better of him, and with a quiet groan, he shoves his hands in his pockets and keeps walking. He’ll just email you later to ask for it. 
-
You iron out the details over text, once Seonghwa finally gets your number. You had made fun of him in your reply email for forgetting to get it back when he begged you to come with him in the first place, which only reassured Seonghwa that he had made the right choice that day. It would’ve been way more embarrassing to have you say that to his face. 
He asks you to meet him at a cafe the day before the event so you can iron out your story together. You look nervous, he notes, so he tries to break the ice. 
“Thank you for agreeing to meet here. I would’ve had you over to my place, but my roommates are kind of obnoxious.”
“That’s okay. Thanks for the coffee.” You gesture with your cup, shaking the ice around before taking a tentative sip. 
“Least I could do, considering.”
You shrug. “You’re already repaying me by going to my dad’s wedding with me, but I’m not one to turn down free coffee.”
“Fair enough.” He clears his throat. “So, how’d we fall in love?”
-
Seonghwa picks you up at five pm on Saturday. He makes some comment about you looking nice that you don’t really believe he means, but you return the compliment anyway. He does look good. Annoyingly so. He had told you it was a formal event but you hadn’t expected him to show up in a fucking three-piece suit. 
His hair is slicked back on the side to show off his undercut, and wire-rimmed glasses sit on the bridge of his nose, the reflection of traffic lights and street lamps shining in the lenses. It’s a little intimidating to be on his arm for the night when he looks like that, not that you didn’t also dress for the occasion, he just... looks so sharp. 
“Do you have everything you need?” he asks as you climb into the passenger seat. “Pajamas? Toothbrush?”
“I think so.”
“If you forget something we can probably grab it at the kiosk they have in the lobby,” he assures you.
You groan. “Yeah, but we’ll have to pay a small fortune for it.”
“That’s the price of convenience.” He puts the car in drive and navigates out of your apartment complex’s parking lot onto the main road. “You can pick the music,” he offers after a moment of silence. 
“But you’re the one driving.”
“Is that a rule?”
“Yeah, the driver picks the music. Have you never heard of that before?”
He shakes his head but hums thoughtfully. “No, but I don’t mind. I’m not picky.”
“Shocking,” you mutter under your breath. 
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
You plug the aux into the lightning port on your phone and scroll through your playlist until you land on something you deem to be neutral enough to play in the background. You can feel Seonghwa watching you out of the corner of his eye but you willfully ignore it. 
“Do you remember the story?”
You nod. “We only got together officially a couple of months ago. You asked me out by waiting outside the door of one of my classes last semester-”
“Which class?”
“Um...” you frowned, trying to remember. 
“It was pharmacology.”
“Right. Sorry.”
“Just be sure to remember that.”
“I don’t think anyone is going to be interrogating us about our relationship,” you scoff. 
Seonghwa takes a deep breath. “You’re right, I’m sorry. This is just important to me and it needs to be believable. If anyone were to find out that I tried to pull this shit off just to get on Harvey’s good side... I don’t even know what would happen to me. Like, would I get expelled? I definitely wouldn’t get the position, I-”
“Woah,” you cut him off before he can spiral any further, “we... don’t have to do this. You can drop me off back at my apartment and pretend like it never happened. I won’t make you go to the wedding...”
“No, no I need you,” Seonghwa insists, panicked. “It just... didn’t occur to me how stupid this idea was until now.”
“If you think it’s a bad idea we shouldn’t do it,” you reason.
“It is a bad idea,” he agrees, “but I don’t know what else to do. Jung Wooyoung is vying for the same spot and he’s way more likable than me.”
“That’s not true, he’s just more of a kiss-ass.”
“Same thing. Either way, I already told them I was bringing a plus-one so I can’t show up without you.”
You nod, holding back from suggesting other alternatives. Seonghwa seemed resolute on going through with it and it wouldn’t do any good to try and convince him otherwise. He was like you in that way. Stubborn to a fault. Trying to “fix” the problem would only start an argument and that was the last thing you needed right now. So you let it go, and it only killed you on the inside a little bit. 
-
Seonghwa checks into your room as soon as you get to the hotel. Since it’s late in the afternoon, it’s already ready, and you go up to drop off your things before navigating to the ballroom together. 
You try to ignore the single king-size bed in the middle of the room but it’s like it’s glaring right at you, taunting you in the reflection of the vanity mirror as you reapply your lipgloss. If Seonghwa notices your apprehension about it he doesn’t say anything. 
“We don’t have to go over the top,” Seonghwa reminds you in the elevator. “You don’t have to kiss me or be super touchy if you don’t want to. Some hand holding and familiarity should do it.”
“Are you sure?” 
He smirks at you. “I mean, if you want to kiss me, you’re more than welcome to. But it wasn’t part of our agreement.”
You stare at him. He had never said anything like that to you before. It felt like it had come out of nowhere. The smirk falls when he sees your reaction and he side steps away from you, clearing his throat awkwardly. 
“Sorry, I was, uh, I was kidding. It was, I wasn’t-”
The elevator dings to signal its arrival on the first floor before Seonghwa can finish whatever excuse he was stuttering through. He motions for you to exit first, putting his arm in front of the door to keep it from closing. When you turn back to look at him, he’s all calm and collected again like nothing even happened. The only evidence of ruffled feathers was the pressed set of his lips and the pink tinge of his cheeks. 
“Ready?” he asks, straightening his tie. 
“As I’ll ever be.”
He offers his hand to you and you take it, entwining your fingers with his. His thumb finds the back of your hand and draws absentminded circles. You’re not sure if it’s supposed to be comforting but it is. 
There are already a few people mingling when you and Seonghwa make it to the ballroom. You don’t recognize any of them but that was to be expected. Seonghwa had said that it was an intimate event, just Dr. Harvey, his mentees, and their potential plus-ones. Not everyone is here yet from what you can tell. You can’t hear Jung Wooyoung’s loud voice echoing throughout the hall so you figure he must be one of the late ones. 
The way the room is decorated reminds you a bit of Christmas with the opulent chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and the ivy garlands laid across the tables. All that's missing are the trees wrapped in lights and potted poinsettias in every corner.
Dr. Harvey is in the middle of a conversation with a couple of other students when he spots the two of you. He excuses himself and approaches you with a smile. 
“I’m glad that you both could make it!” he says, greeting you with a hug. 
He hugs your fake boyfriend next and claps him firmly on the back. Seonghwa coughs at the unexpected hit but plays it off easily with a chuckle. 
“When Park told me he was bringing you, I thought he was kidding. I couldn’t believe he finally got the guts to ask you out.”
Seonghwa stiffens next to you but keeps the smile plastered on his face. You, on the other hand, can’t mask your surprise. 
“What do you mean?” you press. 
“Oh, just that I sort of wondered if you kids would get together,” he explains. “You used to argue in my class all the time as undergraduates, but whenever we had group activities you would pair up anyway.”
“That’s because we didn’t trust anyone else with the work,” Seonghwa points out. 
You squeeze his hand urgently, trying to tell him to shut the fuck up before he ruins his chances with his big mouth. Thankfully, he seems to get the message and relaxes a little but you can tell he still wants to protest.   
“You didn’t even trust each other with the work,” the professor corrects. “You would bicker about every little thing under your breath when you thought I couldn’t hear even though you always sat in the front of the classroom.”
“I guess we are a little competitive,” you admit with a grin, looking up at Seonghwa with what you hope comes across as affection. 
“That’s an understatement, my love,” he agrees.
“Well, it’s nice to see that you’ve been able to turn that energy into something positive,” Dr. Harvey says. “What changed?”
“Well, we’d been seeing each other for a while and finally decided to make it official,” Seonghwa muses. 
And by ‘seeing each other’ he meant fucking. When you decided on your story that day in the cafe, Seonghwa had said it would make the most sense if your fake relationship budded from a friends-with-benefits thing- or acquaintances with benefits, whatever the two of you were. But of course, you couldn’t tell your professor that so you had to more so imply it by talking around the subject.
“Well, I hope that you being together means I’ll get to see more of your face. Park, you need to bring your girlfriend around the department some time. I’m sure the other faculty miss you too.”
Seonghwa nods. “I’ll be sure to do that, sir.”
“Great! I think some more people are starting to trickle in so I should go say hello, but please help yourselves to drinks while we wait for dinner.”
You both thank him and wait before saying anything else to each other. 
“I think that went okay,” Seonghwa sighs.
“Could’ve been worse,” you agree. 
He takes a quick look around before turning back to you. “Do you want something to drink, baby?”
“God, yes.”
At the bar, Seonghwa orders you both a glass of wine. It’s an open bar but there’s a little fish bowl for tips balanced on the edge of the counter so he deposits a couple of bills in it as he thanks the bartender.
He holds one of the glasses out to you with a half-smile. “Cheers.”
“To getting through the night,” you propose. 
“To getting through the night.”
-
Dinner is a choice between a chicken pasta dish, a beef and potatoes dish, and ratatouille that could be made vegan upon request. 
“Does the pesto have pine nuts in it?” Seonghwa asks the server when he reaches your end of the table.
“No, all of our options tonight are nut-free,” he replies. 
“Perfect, thank you. Did you want the pasta, then, baby?” 
“I- yes please.”
“And I’ll get the beef and we can share.”
“Sounds good,” the server says as he jots down your orders on his little notepad. 
You wait until he moves on to the next guest before leaning over to your date and whispering “I can’t believe you remembered.”
“Hm?”
“You remembered... I’m allergic to tree nuts.”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal and murmurs, “you almost dying in the middle of chem lab our freshman year is pretty hard to forget.”
He had a point. Still, you were surprised he remembered the girl that collapsed to the floor and had to be stabbed in the thigh with an EpiPen all those years ago as you. You’re not sure if you’d remember the details so clearly if it were the other way around. 
All of the dishes were pre-prepared by the hotel’s event catering staff so they were served almost immediately after the orders were taken. 
Dr. Harvey led the conversation, engaging each of his students about their studies and personal lives. He was even sure to include the plus ones at the table, making an effort to get to know them as well. That was why Dr. Harvey had been one of your favorite professors, why you’d agreed to TA for him when he asked. He genuinely cared about his students, wanted them to succeed and was willing to go the extra mile to help them do so. You still remember crying in his office over a failed lab report, remember how he had patiently walked you through what you’d done wrong until it finally clicked for you, how he ended up giving you half of the credit you missed back just for following up and showing how dedicated you were to learning the material.
Even now as he listens to his mentees talk about everything under the sun, he doesn’t want anyone to feel left out. 
A hand on your thigh startles you out of your zoning out. You had been trying your best to pay attention but it’s just so hard to stay attentive when Wooyoung opens his mouth. He’s been talking about algae for what you estimate to be the past twelve minutes- so in your defense, you never stood a chance anyway.
“Do you want another glass of wine?” Seonghwa asks, low enough for only you to hear.
You hadn’t even realized you’d finished your first one. It had probably happened sometime in the middle of Wooyung’s rambling. 
“Yes please.”
“Okay, be right back.”
He stands from the table and takes both yours and his empty glasses in one hand, using the other to push his chair back in. Thankfully, he’s back before you can be cornered by the others at the table. You can feel it, the curiosity your presence invokes from your peers. You only recognize a few of them but all of the sideways glances make you wonder how many of them suspect why you’re really here. Maybe you’re being paranoid. Maybe they’re just surprised Seonghwa managed to pull anyone at all... no, that couldn’t be it. He’s too hot, his personality alone wouldn’t be enough to deter anyone from going out with him. 
“What’s wrong?”
You take a sip from your newly refilled glass of wine and try to play it off. “Hm? What do you mean?”
“You’re making a face.”
“What face? This is just my face.”
“No, you’ve got that wrinkle in between your eyebrows. You’re worrying about something. What is it?”
You sigh and lean over to whisper in his ear. “I feel like your... friends think it’s weird that I’m here.”
“These people aren’t my friends.”
“I know. I didn’t know what else to call them- is that really the part of what I said that you think is important?”
“Why do you think they think it’s weird?”
“I don’t know, I just keep noticing everyone looking at me.”
“It’s probably because you’re pretty,” he suggests, which makes you want to change the subject entirely. 
He thinks you’re pretty? Does he think you’re pretty or does he think other people think you’re pretty? What would possess him to say something like that?
“That- no, it’s not that.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I know what a dirty look is and I’ve been getting a lot of them. Do you think they’re onto us?”
Seonghwa makes a displeased sound in the back of his throat. “I don’t know. Maybe I underestimated the number of people applying for the same position as me.”
“Maybe, and maybe they know we haven’t always gotten along and are suspicious of why this is the first they’re hearing of us dating.”
“I guess we need to turn it up, then,” Seonghwa muses under his breath. 
“Wha- that’s not what I-”
-
After dinner, there’s a bit of mingling. You get the opportunity to formally introduce yourself to the guests you’ve never met before and answer the burning question on everyone’s mind as to why you’re there in the first place. 
Seonghwa’s hand is warm on the small of your back, making you wish you had decided against wearing a backless dress. Although, you suspect you still would have been able to feel the heat of his palm through the silk had it offered more coverage. 
“Didn’t think you had it in you, Park,” Hongjoong, you thought his name was, says as he wraps an arm around his own date. In her heels, she’s taller than him by an inch or so, and somehow it only makes the man more intimidating. “Thought you were too busy for dating, or was that just an excuse?”
“I am busy. But when you meet the right person, you make time. You of all people should know that.”
Hongjoong narrows his eyes almost imperceptibly and grins. “You’re right, we’re all fools for love, aren’t we?”
“It certainly seems that way.”
Seonghwa and Hongjoong continue exchanging semi-polite small talk until the latter’s date tugs him away, mumbling something about needing another drink. 
“I didn’t realize you were so popular,” you say under your breath once the two are out of earshot.
“Yeah, you’re not the only one who hates me,” he mutters. 
“And here I thought we had something special.”
Seonghwa gives you a half-smile. “Sorry to break it to you like this.”
“For what it’s worth, I don’t hate you,” you clarify, voice lowered. 
He can’t hide his surprise as his eyes widen. “Wait, really?”
You nod. “I wouldn’t lie about something like that.”
He straightens up a bit, stiffening, and you wonder if you’ve said something wrong. “Good to know.”
You each have another drink before the night ends. Champagne is served with dessert and Dr. Harvey proposes a toast to all of his students once everyone’s gathered around the table again. 
You clink your glass to Seonghwa’s and take a sip. The bubbles soothe your throat, making the lies you’ve been telling all night easier to swallow. 
You’re not drunk, you haven’t had that much to drink, but the alcohol is definitely making you feel lighter. People have started filtering out of the ballroom to go to their rooms but a few linger a little longer, taking advantage of the free booze and relaxed atmosphere. Your professor flits between the remaining students, continuing conversations that had been cut short during or before dinner. 
Soft music is playing over the speakers and a few couples are dancing to it. Seonghwa hadn’t said anything about dancing, it probably wasn’t on the actual itinerary, but he draws you out to the floor without warning. You want to protest but his hands are already on your hips and your chest is already pressed to his. You don’t think you’ve ever been this close to him, save bumping into each other in labs and accidentally spilling samples down your coats. Based on the number of times that had happened, you don’t expect Seonghwa to be particularly graceful. But he seems intent on proving you wrong as he leads you to the rhythm. 
“I didn’t know you could dance,” you murmur. 
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he quips back. 
You quirk an eyebrow. “Yeah? Like what?” 
He seems to think about it for a moment before answering. “I love Star Wars.”
“I already knew that.”
“What?”
“You used to bring a Darth Vader thermos to class. The lid was his helmet.”
“Legos?”
“Lego guy keychain.”
“Animal Crossing?”
“You’d literally play it in class.”
Seonghwa smirks. “Wow.”
“What?”
“I just didn’t realize you were obsessed with me.”
“Wha- I’m not obsessed with you!” you sputter. “I’m just very observant! And you make your interests too obvious.”
“Sure, whatever you say,” he teases, making you roll your eyes. 
He spins you before you get the chance to argue again, extending his arm all the way and then whipping it back so that you’re stumbling into his embrace. 
“My turn, then?” he asks. 
You feel your face scrunch up in confusion before you can stop it. “What do you mean?”
“Your favorite color is pink,” he whispers, as if it’s some kind of secret. “You love The Lord of the Rings. You quote it all the time. You like to cook. You always brought your leftovers for lunch and everyone would ask how you made whatever it was because it smelled so good.”
You’re staring at him now, lips slightly parted in surprise. His gaze flickers down to them and then back up. He smiles. 
“You’re not the only observant one.”
A song is still playing but you’ve stopped dancing. It’s like you’re standing in the eye of a storm, surrounded by music and conversation that blurs and distorts around you. It all sounds muffled, but that might just be the ringing in your ears. You realize what’s about to happen a moment before it does but you’re still unprepared when Seonghwa kisses you. 
His lips are softer than you expected, not that you’ve imagined kissing him before... not that you ever wondered. His arms are still around your waist and he pulls you in closer, deepening the kiss. 
You’re stiff at first, unsure of what to do with your arms or your own lips, but you relax when you feel his tongue swipe at your bottom lip. He makes a contented sort of sound in the back of his throat when you open your mouth for him. It’s just slightly, just enough for him to get a taste, but he seems pleased nonetheless. 
Distant cheering in the background startles the both of you out of your daze, pops the little bubble you’d somehow found yourselves in. It’s then that you remember that you’re in public, and that you probably shouldn’t be sucking each other's faces off in the middle of this very nice ballroom in front of your peers. 
You part, both a little breathless. 
“I hope that was okay,” Seonghwa whispers against your cheek. 
“It was, yeah. It was okay. More than okay.”
“Good. I’m glad.” He grins, the upturn of his cheeks pushing his specs higher on his nose, making glimmers of light from the chandelier dance in the reflection of the glass like stars falling from the sky. One of his hands strays from your waist to take your own.  “Wanna get out of here?”
You’re nodding before your brain can fully process the question. “Yes please.” 
-
The journey back up to your room is a blur. You vaguely register bidding Hongjoong, Dr. Harvey, and a couple of other people whose names had long since slipped your mind goodnight. You’re not sure what you said, Seonghwa probably took the lead. 
Your cheeks are warm with embarrassment as you make your way out of the hall hand in hand. You feel like everyone knows what you’re about to do. And with a kiss like that in a crowded room, it wouldn’t be hard to figure out.
But did it really matter if they knew you were about to get your back blown out? It would only help sell the story to them even more. At least, that’s what you’re telling yourself, still not ready to admit that you’re not playing pretend anymore. 
The clicking of your heels on the marble sounds entirely too loud as you walk through the lobby to the elevator bay. The lights have been dimmed for the night, emulating the darkness outside. Only a few employees remain behind the desks, stationed for any late check-ins. The rest had surely clocked out hours ago when the rush ended.
“Do you have a key?” Seonghwa asks you, eyeing the purse you’d somehow remembered to grab on your way out. 
You did, but, “there’s one in your pocket.”
His hand comes to the front of his pants, feeling for the plastic card. “Right. Sorry.”
He uses the key to activate the elevator and then he uses it again to open the door to your room. The ride up had been silent, and a little awkward, both of you standing on opposite sides of the tiny room, avoiding eye contact.  
You wonder if the energy has shifted, if the moment has passed. Had he suddenly come to his senses? Was he already regretting kissing you? 
You don’t get the chance to ask either of these things, however, because he’s kissing you again as soon as you stumble into the room. It’s dark, so everything is a little uncoordinated, but it almost seems fitting for you and Seonghwa. 
He presses you up against the door, fingers fumbling with the ties on the back of your dress. It’s hard for him to undo them when he can’t see what he’s doing, too occupied with kissing his way down your neck. 
“Fuck this,” he gasps, breaking away. “Lift up your arms.”
You do, gasping as Seonghwa tugs the silk up and over your head. It’s the kind of dress you can’t wear a bra with so you’re left completely bare from the waist up. 
“Fuck me,” he breathes, running his hands over your body. 
“I’m trying.”
A beat lapses before Seonghwa lets out a quiet chuckle. You’re the one to pull him back this time, tugging at his suit jacket as you kiss him in an attempt to get it off his shoulders. 
“Let me, um,” he mumbles against your lips, feeling along the wall of the little hallway you’re standing in for something. “Let me turn on a lamp or something. I want to see you.”
The comment makes you feel shy but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to see him too so you let him go and only laugh a little bit when he trips over his suitcase on the way over to the desk.
“Oh, would you rather have it off?” he asks, noticing the way you’re holding your arms over your chest. 
“No, no, I want to see you too,” you assure him. “I just feel kind of weird being the only one naked.”
“Well that’s an easy fix.”
He makes his way back over to you, loosening his tie as he does. He leaves it hanging around his neck so that you can take it off for him. The satin feels heavy in your hands and you wonder briefly how it would feel tied around your wrists- another time, maybe. 
Seonghwa focuses on unbuttoning his shirt while you lift the tie over his head, hands brushing together as you work in tandem. 
You reach for his belt but he ducks out of your grasp with a grin, shrugging off the button up as he sinks down onto his knees in front of you. You barely register the feeling of his hands on your thighs. You’re too caught up with the way he’s looking up at you. He’s taken his glasses off, though you don’t know when- or where he’s put them for that matter, and is gazing up at you like painted the cosmos themselves. Like he fully intends on worshiping you. 
Park Seonghwa on his knees. What a sight. 
“Can I?” he asks, fingers gently wedging themselves in between your legs to part them. “Please?”
You nod. 
“I need you to say it.”
“You can,” you whisper. 
“I can... what?” Seonghwa presses. “I haven’t even said what it is I want to do to you.”
He’s taunting you now. It’s obvious what he meant when he asked you but he just loves pushing your buttons too much to stop, even when he’s on the verge of begging to taste your pussy. 
“You can do whatever you want to me,” you breathe. 
“Fuck.”
You nearly lose your balance as Seonghwa lifts one of your legs over his shoulder but he plants both of his hands on your ass and pulls you onto his face before that can happen. He groans at the first taste of you, even though it’s over your panties. You’re not sure whether he meant to leave them on to be even more of a tease or if he had just simply forgotten to take them off in the rush to get you on his tongue. 
They’re the seamless kind, the kind that aren’t supposed to show through thin material. You’d chosen to wear them with your dress instead of suffering through the discomfort of a thong all night. The comfort was a benefit. The sheerness was a drawback. You might as well not be wearing anything with how form fitting they were, especially considering how wet you already are.
Your hands are in Seonghwa’s hair and you’re trying not to pull too hard but you have to anchor yourself to something or you’re afraid your knees will buckle. 
“That’s it,” he praises, nose nudging your clit as he licks into you. It’s muffled but you can still make it out, if just barely. “Harder, baby.”
“Are you s-sure?”
He nods and the motion makes you want to cry out. “I won’t break. Promise.”
You decide to trust his word and tug a little harder. He moans and rewards you by pushing his tongue inside of you. He can only go so far with the fabric of your underwear restricting him but it’s enough to get you to whimper his name. 
-
God, you sound so pretty, it’s almost too much for Seonghwa to handle. You taste just as good as he’d always imagined, better even, and he’s losing all sense of control because of it. He can tell he’s making you feel good but this won’t be enough to get you to cum, at least, not as hard as he wants you to before he fucks you... if that’s where the night ends up going. He would be more than happy to have you cum on his tongue, kiss you goodnight, and then fall asleep beside you if that’s what you wanted.   
He manages to get your panties out of the way and to the side with his teeth before diving back in and sucking your clit into his mouth. You make a little surprised sound and melt into him even more. 
He wants to get his fingers inside of you too, but it would be difficult with the way the two of you are positioned so he pulls back and jerks his head in the direction of the bed. You help him to his feet and pull him in for a kiss, moaning at the way you taste on his lips. 
Seonghwa didn’t think it was possible for him to get any harder than he already is but you’re always going and proving him wrong. 
You release him after another moment and fall back onto the mattress, calling to him like a siren. You don’t actually say anything, but you don’t have to. The sight of you on the bed you’ll share with your legs spread and your thighs still glistening with your arousal and his saliva is all it’d take for Seonghwa to throw himself into the sea and drown in you. 
He takes off his slacks finally, just to give himself a bit of relief, and joins you on the bed as fast as humanly possible.
“Can I take these off?” he asks, running his fingers over the soaked patch of your underwear. 
“Please,” you laugh. 
You lift your hips so that he can pull them off of you and then he’s back in between your legs with your thighs clamped around his head so tightly he can’t hear anything aside from your desperate pleas for him not to stop. 
He doesn’t even realize he’s been grinding into the mattress until you’re cumming on his tongue and it takes everything in him to hold back from falling over the edge with you. 
“Hwa...” 
Your voice is so distant he doesn’t hear it until you repeat it. The nickname makes his heart do a little somersault. You’ve never called him that before. It makes him want to smile like an idiot and not fight so hard to suppress those pesky feelings he’s been harboring for you for God knows how long. He wants to kiss you all over and make love to you and give you a little house on his Animal Crossing island even though he’d have to rearrange the entire layout. He actually brought his switch with him, it’s in his bag and he could go get it right now and-
“Hwa!”
Fuck. Right. He pushes the aforementioned feelings down again, clears his throat, and plays it cool. “Hm? What’s up?” His voice cracks on the ‘up’ because of course it does. So much for playing it cool. 
“Can you fuck me, please?” 
He feels like he could fall through the floor. How the fuck could you sound so polite asking to get your back blown out like that? His dick twitches against his thigh and Seonghwa has to take a deep breath to steel himself before answering. 
“You sure you want to keep going? You want this?”
“God, yes,” you whine, leaning forward to try and pull him on top of you. “Are you going to make me beg for it?”
Tempting, but, “no, it’s just... I have to tell you something.”
Jesus, was he really doing this now? It felt like the worst possible moment to bring it up but he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he slept with you without coming clean. He’d already gone further than he probably should have, judgment clouded by lust and alcohol and the lingering scent of your perfume on your neck. 
You face falls, making Seonghwa realize he definitely should have worded it differently. 
“It’s not anything bad! I don’t think...”
“Just tell me,” you say flatly. 
“Um, remember in the car earlier today when we were going through our story, and you couldn’t remember what class I asked you out after?”
“And you yelled at me about it?”
“I didn’t yell at you-” he pauses, and squeezes his eyes shut. This was why he kept going back and forth over what he was about to say, why he was hesitating even now. “I reacted the way I did because... I actually was going to ask you out that night after your pharmacology class got out.”
“What?”
“I was there, waiting outside and I-I chickened out.”
You blink in disbelief. “You don’t... hate me?”
“Hate you? I never hated you!” You give him a look. “There was a bit of... animosity between us, but it was never hate! At least, not for me! Did you hate me?”
It’s your turn to feel exposed. That’s what Seonghwa thinks you feel anyway, from the look on your face. 
“No... I already told you I didn't! It was... what you described.”
Seonghwa narrows his eyes at you. “I don’t believe you.”
“I mean, like you said, it wasn’t hate. I just didn’t particularly like you. And I thought that was a mutual thing.”
“It was!” he agrees quickly. A little too quickly, maybe. “It was. For a while. And then it wasn’t. But I never said anything about it because I kept thinking it was just a phase I was going through. I thought I’d get over it and you’d never have to know.”
“But that never happened?” He shakes his head. “But you built up the courage to show up and ask me out that day. You had to have accepted it then.”
He sighs and rolls onto his back. “I guess I did, but like I said, I was a coward. When I peeked through the window on the door, I saw you laughing and joking around with your friends and I just thought about how it’s never been like that with us. And I thought it’d never work out because we’re... us. We bicker all of the time. We’re always competing. That didn’t magically go away when I realized I had feelings for you. So I thought you deserved someone who you’d actually get along with.” 
“Well, that should have been up to me to decide,” you say. 
“I know,” Seonghwa admits with a groan. Then, he bolts upright. “Wait, would you have said yes?”
“Probably.”
“What do you mean probably?”
“I mean, I would’ve liked to see where it went. I’ve always thought you were attractive.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, it’s one of the things about you that annoyed me.” Seonghwa scoffs. “Just being honest.”
“Well, if I’m being honest,” he counters, propping himself up on his elbow. “I kind of like it when we bicker.”
“Don’t tell me it turns you on.”
“Only sometimes.”
You roll your eyes at him. “You’re sick.”
He shrugs. “It’s only because you’re so hot when you’re mad at me.”
“You must be really horny right now, then,” you mutter. 
“You’re mad at me?” 
“Yes, I’m mad at you! You’ve been keeping your little crush on me a secret all this time! And you chose now to tell me?”
“I know, I’m sorry. I have the worst timing.”
“Understatement of the year.”
Seonghwa figures he deserves that one so he lets it slide even though it chips at his pride. “Wait, so... what does that make us? If we feel the same way, shouldn’t we give it a real shot?”
You groan, putting your hands over your face. “Can we talk about it after you fuck me stupid? I’m still so wet I can’t think about anything else.”
“Oh yeah, right.” He sits up and rolls back on top of you, caging you in. He presses his thigh between your legs so that you can grind on it as he kisses you again. “Are you sure arguing with me doesn’t make you horny?” he teases. “Can feel you throbbing against me, baby.”
“I’m horny because you’re hot and your dick is hard.” 
And because you like him, Seonghwa thinks giddily. 
“We can talk about it later, then,” he surrenders, reaching down to pump himself a few times. “As long as you’ll say you’re mine.”
You tilt your head to the side as you process his request. “Yours?”
“Mine.”
“You want me to be yours?”
“If that’s something you want.”
“It is something I want.”
“Then say it.”
“I’m yours.”
“Fuck,” Seonghwa hisses, grinding against you. He’s not even inside of you yet and he feels like he could explode.
“Please, Hwa,” you whisper and reach down to line him up yourself.
“Wait fuck, I don’t have a condom.”
“I have an IUD. It’s okay,” you assure him.
“Are you sure?”
“As long as you’re clean.”
“I am, I haven’t been with anyone since last year, and I’ve been tested.”
“Me too.”
“Then we’re good?” he asks. 
“We’re good.”
“Perfect. Deep breath, baby.”
Seonghwa’s arms threaten to give out the instant he begins to push himself inside of you. He should have been the one to take a deep breath. He already knows how you taste so he really should have been more prepared for how good you would feel but then again Seonghwa had always been a bit Icarian in nature so his overly ambitious attitude is pretty par for the course in light of everything. 
“Hold on, just... just give me a second,” he stutters.
He swears you clench around him purposefully, playing it off with a meek “sorry, it was an accident” when he glares at you. He wouldn’t put it past you to turn this into a competition too, but he wants to remember your first time together as something special. He wants to be in the moment with you, wants to make you cum over and over and over on his cock until you can’t say anything but his name. He wants to make tonight all about you. He wants to make every night about you, but he’ll have to start with tonight. 
“Are you okay?” you ask him, voice so sweet he almost has to pull out so he doesn’t end what’s barely started. 
“You feel too good,” he admits, dropping his head into the crook of your shoulder. 
“If you cum now, we can just go again, right?”
Right. He forgot about that. He needs to stop thinking with his dick. 
“Yeah, right. Right.”
“Fucked out already?” you tease, brushing his hair out of his eyes. 
“It’s you,” he pants weakly. “How can I not be?”
You open your mouth, probably about to say something smart in reply but he rolls his hips just as you do, pushing himself deeper inside of you. The words seem to dissolve on your tongue, your mouth falling open in a moan instead.
“What was that, baby?” he asks, moving even faster now.
You answer in mumbled nonsense. Seonghwa smirks down at you and leans forward to kiss the point where your neck meets your collarbone. He thinks about what a hickey would look like there, what kind of attention it would draw from everyone tomorrow morning. 
He can’t dwell on it for too long, though, because you’re yanking him back up by his hair, warning him that you’re about to cum.
“Already?”
“It’s you,” you repeat his own words back to him, and he feels his own stomach tense up in anticipation. “You and your perfect dick.”
Okay, so, less romantic than his sentiment but the structure was still there. It made him feel warm inside nonetheless. 
“Can I cum, please? Please?”
“Do you think you can be quiet? We don’t want a noise complaint, remember?” 
“I c-can be quiet.”
You’re lying through your teeth and Seonghwa can tell, he’s known you for so long now that he;’s memorized all of your tells. But he’s right there on the edge too and he wants nothing more than to cum with you.
“I’m close too, baby. Shit, can I cum inside you? Please?”
“God, yes- please, give it to me...”
He kisses you as he cums, managing to swallow some of your moans and cries of his name as you cum even harder than you did the first time. He’s sensitive by the time you finally come down from it but he doesn’t pull out. 
“Can we lay like this for a second?”
You nod easily, letting out a soft laugh when Seonghwa drops his weight on top of you. “I don’t think I can move anyway.”
“Not with that attitude, you can’t.”
“Oh my god, get off of me.”
“Sorry, what was that? Couldn’t hear you.”
“You’re the worst!”
“The worst at what?”
“Everything!”
“You didn’t seem to think that a few minutes ago,” he points out. 
“I’m having post-nut clarity,” you mumble, pushing weakly at his shoulders. 
“I didn’t know that happened to girls,” he muses. 
“There’s a lot you don’t know about women,” you snap, still struggling underneath him. “Maybe if you talked to one once and a while you’d be more knowledgeable on the subject.” 
“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”
“That’s because I- are you getting hard again?” you ask in disbelief. 
“I told you that bickering with you turns me on!”
“You are unbelievable!”
Seonghwa kisses you and rolls his hips experimentally. You moan, relaxing under him immediately. 
“Fuck, that feels good,” you sigh against his lips. 
“Yeah, we’re definitely going to be late to brunch tomorrow.”
happy birthday emily!! i'm so lucky to call you my bestie and i hope you enjoyed your very late present :)
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ukiyowi · 5 months
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What does the universe want you to know right now?
Piles read 1 -> 3
Notes: Hey loves! How it resonates, take what resonates and leave what doesn't. Reblogs help a lot!! Take care and have a lovely day~ If you want more you can check out the paid readings list/tip Jar!
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⭐ Pile 1
A lot of messages coming towards you pile 1. With the Ace of Pentacles as the very first card, one message is related to you needing to budget and find yourself become more stable with the end of this year. There is a new financial beginning coming towards you and you will be entering a phase of financial growth however with the death rx, you need to change your ways before this is possible.
This can be related to your spending habits or maybe you spend a lot on others and not on yourseld? You may be someone who is big on gifts or showing affection through material objects and may not think twice before spending on others, but the universe is asking you to think if they would do the same for you.
With the Empress card here, you need to start caring for yourself more, give the affection and care you give to others, to yourself as well. I think with the aforementioned energy here as well, the universe is asking you to spend more on yourself. Treat yourself better, treat yourself like you would others, be unabashed in your self love, and indulge more in self care. Another strong message here is that you may have been going through a rough time lately and by rough I mean ROUGH, the eclipse may have done a number on you, and you may have found yourself in the midst of conflicts with friends and families.
You could also have been subjected to learning things that may have been hidden from you earlier. Someone lied or backstabbed/betrayed you and it has either come to light, or it is slowly coming to light and although it seems extremely sudden or uncalled for and although it sounds extremely cliche, it is a blessing in disguise. The person, who these secrets are being revealed about is someone who should have been cut out of your life a long time ago, this could be a close friend, and because you did not cut them out, the universe is taking measures to do so for you. This individual could have heavy virgo energy and could be someone who likes staying alone and loves their solitude, definitely more introverted.
With the Star card here as well, the universe is telling youi to stay hopeful, good things are coming your way VERY soon, the unhelpful and "bad" things that do not serve you anymore just need to be eliminated to make the transition easier and have this be an entirely new emotional beginning soon, where you will feel your inner turmoil calm down and also be faced with doing shadow work with the help of the people around you.
They could act as a reflection to yourself and help you go through tough times, a lot of new people coming in as well as an old friend who you may have departed from physically could be coming back. They may help you close a cycle and gain closure which will help you start your new chapter in its entirety.
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⭐ Pile 2
The universes main message thats coming through extremely strongly is that you need to make a decision. You are in 2 minds right now, and although the indirection is warranted, you have been given enough time to come to a decision as harsh as that might sound. You need to make a choice, and you know what the right choice is, the only thing holding you back is that you keep talking yourself out of it. The eclipse really ironically shone light on a lot of things. So just like for pile 1, there are secrets and lies coming to light for you as well pile 2. People who you thought were close, really close, either friends or someone who could be a romantic connection of yours (or potential romantic connection) may have betrayed you and although it has come to light, you are unsure of what action you need to take.
Some harsh advice coming though but I will say it as it is, you have also been lacking when it comes to working to your absolute potential, you have dreams that are very attainable and ones you are passionate about are right around the corner, within your grasp, however you are not able to execute it. You are not able to work towards it because of reasons, one of those could be that you feel like you are going to be judged or that potentially you are already being jjudged by people whos opinions you truly care about. There could also be a lack of will here, not with regards to you wanting it but more with regards to you wanting the end and final state and the rewards before putting in the effort for the same.
With the Empress, Judgement and Death coming out consecutively, the universe is telling you a story here. An older woman or someone with feminine energy and a lot of warmth and maternal energy could be giving you unlimited emotional support and guidance. They could be giving you a lot of support also when it comes thorugh navigating through your own emotions internally. With the judgement they are also guiding you to be fair in your decisions as aforementioned in the reading. This can also be with regards to them helping you with self-criticism and self-judgement, they could be helping you be kinder to yourself as well thorugh helping you self-affirm with more positive verbage. The death also brings about changes, and the tides will be turning to better days through this journey of developing a better self-concept.
The universe is also telling you to be more selfless, be more giving with your time, resources and energy, share it with your loves ones and try to have more fun. Reward yourself for the smallest reasons and do not feel like you are doing something wrong when you celebrate your wins just because they are relatively "smaller" when you compare them to the wins or progress of others; you only need to "compare" yourself with yourself.
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⭐ Pile 3
Babes you need strength because oof. Okay so where to start with this. The universe is telling you to tap into your spiritual self and your intuition, what do you really want? what do you really desire?? What is it which will calm the greed within you? These are not superficial things, you will not find it in meaningless romantic relationships that are fleeting, you will not find it when you try to quiet things down by letting yourself and your responsibilities go. The universe is telling you to sit with yourself and get a grip.
You may be going through a hard time right now, something is lost, but you are not looking at your other cups that are already overflowing. Sure things may have gone south at work onve, but how long will you let that hold you back and not look at the good things in your life too. It is okay and even healthy to sulk or feel bad, negative feelings need to be felt and let go of rather than completely ignorring them, but stewing in it for too long can make you lose sight of what is really important.
Grab and grasp the opportunities that are laid out on the table for you, and you will be offered with a lot of opportunities specifically in romance and finances soon, let go of your tunnel vision and be open to newer experiences. It may not fit the bill completely of what you want but it may be something that you need.
Further, with the 2 of swords, again you are avoiding doing somehting because it may end up hurting your feelings or someone elses feelings whos close to you, thus inadvertently hurting you. You are unwilling to acknowledge something going on around you as well, this could be with regards to not moving forward from something this could als obe physically like moving away. You have opportunities to leave where you are right now and it could be the "right" or more favorable decision but you could be in denial with it.
Your behaviour right now could be veering on self-sabotage, you could be going through extreme heartbreak as well with the 3 of swords, damn life is not giving you a break right now, I'm so sorry darling. This heartbreak could result from your meetings, conversations or discussions with an older woman, or someone who has very motherly energy, these conversations may have veered into them being a little strict with you and telling you to be more responsible and to take charge, organise your life and being overall just more aware of things going on around you.
Lets move on to some good news now though phew, so the good news is, you have completed most of your shadow work, even if it is unknowingly, the denial could however be prolonging your period of completing your shadow work and moving on to lightwork. You could be someone who is energetically very easily influenced, like maybe an empath who does not have a lot of protection for their energy which leads to a lot of other peoples energies seeping into your own, so you will be learning how to be in control of this as well, as time goes on (side note but intuitively got that someone with masculine energy who is a little older could help you with this).
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hard-candy-writing · 1 year
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deal with the devil
eddie munson x cheerleader!reader
fic summary: you want to piss off your parents. eddie wants to pass his classes. so you make a deal with each other: he'll date you, you'll tutor him, and you'll both end the year happy. the catch? no falling in love. slow burn romance, enemies to friends to lovers, fake dating, don't fall in love. fic takes place in 1984-85. inspired by 18 by anarbor.
chapter summary: another year at hawkins high, another year with your parents on your back, another year single. or so everyone else thinks. you've come up with a plan over the summer that you think will solve your problems. there's just one problem: getting eddie "the freak" munson to agree to date you.
warnings: this series in 18+, minors dni! afab reader. reader is 18 with an august birthday, eddie is 19. reader has a controlling father. sfw, however there is some nsfw language and mentions of sex. bullying towards eddie. reader mentions being in a physical fight in the past and having to go to a counsellor over it. mentions of eddie's drug dealing.
a/n: i'm addicted to this dynamic, so now you all have to suffer with me! here's to a new fic!
want to be on the taglist for this fic? reply below!
chapter one: the proposal
Tuesday, September the 4th, 1984. You'd drawn pink and red hearts around the day in your agenda. It was the day after Labour Day, the first day of your senior year.
And the last day you'd be single.
When Eddie Munson had stormed out of the school, cussing up a storm and kicking a trashcan to the ground, you knew he was being held back for another year. He should have graduated in '83, this year being referred to as his "victory lap" by his friends to keep him from feeling like a failure. There wasn't a clever nickname for being held back a second year in a row, though.
Your father, who had picked you up from school that day, had shook his head as he watched Eddie call the principal every name in the book and then some he'd obviously crafted himself. He hurled a packet of papers to the ground and kicked them to shreds with his boots.
"Failing Spanish? How do I know the teacher's a maldita puta, then?!"
"Jesus," you father had grumbled. "Is that Wayne's boy? I haven't seen him since his real father shaved his head. You know he's been in jail for the past six years."
"So?" you had sighed, idly watching as Eddie yanked his van door open and slammed it shut so hard the whole vehicle shook.
"I want you to stay away from that boy, Y/N. He's trouble, and a sweet girl like you deserves far better than him."
You'd perked up, ready to tell him that Eddie was nothing more than the Freak of Hawkins High, that you'd never even given him a second glance, and that Eddie hated girls like you. But then he'd said those three words.
"You hear me?"
And your whole brain had shut down. You'd ground your back teeth, all the other times he'd ordered you around resurfacing in your memory. No hanging out with your cheerleader friends outside of school and practice; no going to this Halloween party or that Spring Break trip; no using the car, no dating until you were eighteen, and certainly no boys at the house. Whenever you were on the phone, he'd get on the line and ask who you were talking to.
"Yes, sir," you'd said.
Eddie had started his car then, revving the engine as loud, angry music blared from his speakers. His tires had screeched, leaving black marks on the pavement as he ripped out of the parking lot, cut off another student, and vanished onto the road.
And slowly, over the course of that summer, you'd pieced together a plan. It was just a silly daydream at first. Something you thought about as you lounged around the house or worked at the department store with your mother. What if you disobeyed your father? What if you dated Eddie Munson? You would turn eighteen that August, and you'd be allowed to date -- his rule. Just the thought of pissing him off made you giggle. And after he got over it, he'd have no choice but to let you make your own decisions. You'd be an adult, preparing to go off to college where he'd have zero input on your life.
Whenever you could, you stopped by the grocery store where Eddie's uncle had apparently forced him to work over the summer. Allegedly, his paycheck was going right to his uncle as payment for all the bullshit he'd been putting him through. You'd scoped him out while he was stacking boxes and working the checkout. He wasn't ugly. You wouldn't have been able to pull it off if you weren't even able to look at him. No, he was actually kind of good looking. His eyes, his smile, the soft slope of his cheek. He helped an old lady reach a cereal box, and you saw him feeding a stray cat on his lunch break. So at least he wasn't that mean, scary metalhead you'd thought he was.
There was just one problem: he hated cheerleaders.
Cheerleaders, jocks, honour students, and people who were more popular than he was. Which, technically, you were. Cheerleading was a sport, so that checked two of the boxes. You were a straight-A student, and were on a direct path to an ivy league future thanks to your parents' credentials. And you had heaps of friends who invited you out everywhere, the final nail in your coffin. You were Eddie Munson's enemy, and you weren't even sure he knew your name.
But you were hot. You knew it. The only reason your father had implemented the "no dating" rule was because you'd been inundated with dates the second your boobs developed. And they wouldn't have made you a cheerleader if you were ugly. It was that simple. Maybe Eddie could hate you for your personality, or your friends, or whatever else he could come up with -- but there was no way he could hate you with his hands full of your tits. Which you'd give him, if he agreed to date you.
Today was your first step: proposing the idea to him. If you didn't have a class with him, you decided you would corner him after school. That morning, you put on your best hip-hugging jeans and paired them with a hot pink bodysuit tucked into them and a pair of white sneakers. You didn't tease your hair; you didn't want to scare him off with too many trends. You pulled your hair up into a pink scrunchie and put on wristwarmers you knew you'd take off by the time it was noon and summer reminded you it was still very much present. Your eyeliner was perfect. Your lips were glossy and kissable. There was no way he would be able to resist.
\
Eddie rolled into your shared science class fifteen minutes late, reeking of cigarette smoke. You'd made sure to shoo away anyone who dared to sit beside you at your lab desk. He had no other choice but to slump down onto the stool next to yours. He didn't even look at you. Just tossed his bag to the ground and watched the teacher as he droned on about what that semester would entail.
"Hi," you whispered when he was settled.
His eyes flickered over to you, then back to the board.
You cleared your throat. "Hi," you said a little louder.
"I heard you the first time."
Oh. This was going to be more difficult than you expected. When the teacher handed out a worksheet and set the class loose, you turned to face him with a smile.
"I guess we're lab partners!"
"Guess so." Eddie opened up his notebook to the first page, where there was a half-finished sketch of a dragon. At least, you were pretty sure it was a dragon. Maybe a dinosaur. He bent over the desk and began to shade it.
"Okay, so the first question is pretty obvious." You looked at him, waiting for his input. He just kept scribbling away. "Uh, Eddie?"
"If it's so obvious, then maybe you should answer it."
You stiffened, then jotted down the answer. "Well, maybe you can help me with the second question?"
He lifted a shoulder. "I doubt I'll be much help."
"I mean, you could try. Can you do that?"
Eddie's gaze rose to the chalkboard as he worked his jaw. When he looked to you, his dark brown eyes were cold and hard.
"Yeah. I can. But it didn't get me anywhere last year, so what's the point?" He turned back to his notebook. "It's not to late for you to switch partners, y'know."
As he went back to his sketch, you felt frustration burning up inside you. It threatened to come out in the form of an insult. No wonder you fucking failed, you don't even care! But that would ruin any chance you had with him. So instead, you slid the worksheet over so that it bumped his elbow and he had a good view of it.
"Okay, second question," you said, and read it aloud. It was easy enough; just a review of what you'd learned last year. You slowly went through your answer and how you came to it. Then, you did the same with the next question.
The rest of the period went on that way -- you, reading the questions and spoonfeeding him the answers; Eddie, huddled over his drawing, showing no indication that he even heard you. When the bell rang, Eddie slapped his notebook shut, shoved it into his bag, and stormed out without a word.
Okay, step one was turning out to be a stumble. But you still had lunch.
\
Eddie was the first person at his table. You hurried over to where he sat and stood there until he turned to look up at you.
"Can I help you?" he drawled, looking bored of the conversation already.
You pointed to the space beside him. "Is this seat taken?"
He narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, it is."
"But... But it's empty."
"Then why are you asking if it's taken?" He sat up a little taller. "Actually, better question: why do you even want to sit here? You gonna read me my English textbook?"
"I was just trying to help."
"I never asked you to."
"You didn't have to --"
"Y/N!"
You turned at the sound of your friend calling your name. Even without their uniforms, you could recognize the cheerleaders and jocks by the way they flocked together. How they stood with their shoulders back, chests out, acting as if they owned the entire school. One of them waved you over.
Eddie let out a bitter laugh that drew your attention back. He was shaking his head.
"There it is. Listen, Princess, just because last year's seniors had their fun with me doesn't mean you get free reign. So why don't you go back to your friends and leave the Freak alone, huh?"
"I didn't know you knew so much about last year's seniors," you fired back without thinking. "But you were supposed to graduate with them. Oh, wait! It was the year before that, wasn't it? Maybe someone should read your textbooks to you."
Eddie got up and ripped the tray from your hands. He had the entire cafeteria's attention when he stomped over to your friends' table where they were just beginning to sit down and slammed your tray in front of an empty spot. Bits of your lunch were launched into the air, and your drink (with the cap luckily on) fell onto the table and rolled onto the floor.
"There," he snapped. "This seat's free."
"Asshole!" one of the jocks yelled after him as he walked away. Eddie just gave him the finger without looking back.
He nearly knocked you over when he returned to his table. You trudged to your table and sat down -- making sure to move the tray so that you weren't sitting where he'd placed you, not that it mattered. You tried to cool down. You tried calming breaths, counting down from ten, everything that stupid student counsellor told you to do after you'd gotten into that fight last year. But you just felt yourself getting more frustrated.
When lunch was over, you went to the washroom to try one more time to calm yourself down before your next class. But as you approached the door, you spied Eddie strolling into the men's room.
This wasn't at all going the way you wanted it to. And you always got your way.
You ran after him, grabbed him by the back of his stupid jacket, and yanked him into a stall. You locked the door and grabbed his lapels, jamming him up against the wall.
"You're a real dick, you know that?" you snapped.
"You're not supposed to be in here."
"Really? You sell ketamine; don't quote the rules to me. I was trying to be nice to you!"
Eddie spat out a laugh. "That was you being nice?"
"I meant back in class, idiot."
"And now she calls me an idiot." He grabbed your wrists and gently forced you to release his jacket. "Listen, I don't know why you have some weird obsession with me all of a sudden, but you need to calm down. I don't even know you."
"I'm Y/N."
He nodded once. "Right. And that matters to me... why?"
"Don't you know who I am?"
He released your wrists. "Uh, cheerleader, honour student, belongs on a magazine cover..."
"Oh, my God, you think I belong on a magazine cover?" You couldn't help the sheepish smile, though you knew he was right.
"Didn't you get into a fight with that girl last year? You pulled a hunk of her hair out."
You twirled a lock of hair around your finger. "That was me, yeah."
"Oh, wow, it is so fucked up that you're proud of that."
"Listen, that doesn't matter. I have a question for you. A... proposal. It'd benefit both of us for the rest of the year."
"I'm not letting you sell drugs."
You blinked. "What?"
"You're the second person today to ask me for help getting into the business. Firstly, I'm not letting you poach my customers, and secondly, there's no way I'm letting Hawkins' answer to Shirley Temple sell drugs."
"I'm not Shirley Temple."
"You're right, she'd never tear out a girl's hair over... What was it again? Some guy on the baseball team?"
"I don't know why you keep bringing that up; it isn't even on my record."
Now it was his turn to be surprised. "What?"
"Due to my excellent grades, and a quick word from my parents, I was able to get that unfortunate incident wiped from my record in exchange for counselling." You shrugged as if it were nothing. "That's just what good grades will get you. Don't you want that?"
"Well, sure."
"Well, that's the benefit for you. I'll spend the rest of the year helping you pass every class. I'll even help you apply to colleges, for bursaries, jobs, anything you want. I'll make sure that you graduate."
Eddie's smile was disbelieving. He gazed down at you as if you were some four-year-old who had just claimed to own a unicorn.
"Is that so? Okay, what's the catch?"
"You date me. Which isn't really a catch, it's actually also a benefit for you..."
He would have doubled over laughing, if the stall weren't already so cramped. You rolled your eyes.
"If you're done...?"
"Sorry, sorry, I shouldn't laugh," Eddie gasped. "I just... Are you seriously bribing me into dating you?"
"It isn't like that."
"Then what's it like?"
You glared up at him, crossing your arms. "I wanna piss off my parents. Well, mostly my dad. He thinks you're trouble and demanded I stay away from you."
"Aw, you wanna scare them?"
"Exactly!"
"And I'm the scariest guy you could think of?"
"Well, you're not really scary when you're helping old ladies buy cereal."
Eddie shot you a goofy grin. "Were you spying on me this summer? I thought I noticed you a few too many times."
"Ew, no, I wasn't spying. I just wanted to make sure I could look at you without throwing up. And besides, you're the one who noticed me."
"Kinda hard not to notice you when you're wearing the tiniest shorts and tank tops I've ever seen." He wrinkled his nose. "Oh, God, you're eighteen, right?"
"Just had my birthday."
"Did daddy buy you a car?"
"No, actually. You'll have to drive me around."
"Great, a drain on my time and my gas money." He gestured between the two of you, one hand on his hip. "So, what is this? You want to actually date, or are we just putting on a show?"
"Just a show. You don't have to take me out anywhere or spend any money. Literally just make it look like that to my parents."
"Right."
"And my friends."
"What? Why them?"
"They're assholes, which means the second they see the opportunity to take the wind from my sails, they will -- and they'll rat me out to my dad. That's another thing: if you agree, I'll make sure they leave you alone for the rest of the year."
His eyebrows shot up. "You drive a hard bargain, Princess. What, do I have to hold hands with you? Kiss you?"
You nodded. "And go to parties. Maybe even prom."
"No. Absolutely not going to prom." He bit his lip. "Let's just get this out of the way right now: sex? On or off the table?"
You rolled your eyes. "All men are the same."
He put his hands up in defense. "Okay, I was just trying to draw the line somewhere!"
"We're fake dating, Eddie. It's just for show. So unless you're planning on fucking in front of everyone, no, you don't get access to me below the belt."
"Right."
"But if you behave, I may let you touch my tits."
"That's the cherry on top of the deal, is it?"
You nodded, the knot in your back finally undoing. He'd taken this a lot better than you'd expected. Still, he bit his cheek, deep in thought.
"I date you to piss off your parents," he said, "and you help me pass, keep your friends away, and let me grope your tits? I mean, how can I refuse?"
"Do we have a deal?"
Eddie nodded and offered you his hand. "You got it, Princess."
You took his hand and shook it. Then, you reached into your backpack and pulled out a notebook and pen.
"Give me your number and I'll call you tonight to go over the details."
"Details?"
"We have to make it believable! And we were just seen arguing in the cafeteria; it'd be ridiculous if we all of a sudden started dating. We should wait at least a week."
"Okay, one week. No need to call me."
"No, there's more than that!" Eddie frowned at you. "For instance, you need to start wearing cologne or something. You stink of cigarettes and weed."
He chuckled as he jotted down his number. "You wanted a bad boy, and now you're complaining about it?"
"We'll hammer it out tonight. My list of conditions is short, I promise."
"Mine might be a little longer."
Your gaze darted up to meet his. "You have conditions?"
"I might. We'll see." He shut your notebook and handed it back to you. "Now, are you gonna let me piss in peace, or as there something else?"
"Nothing else. Talk to you tonight!"
You unlocked the door and walked out. A couple of boys stood nearby, but you didn't pay attention to them as you left. You heard Eddie's voice behind you.
"Sorry, guys. When her mouth gets going..."
"Edward!" you snapped back.
"Sorry, Princess," he laughed.
This was going to take some work. Yes, you wanted him to be his typical bad boy self, but he needed to be bearable or this was going to be a long year. You got out your notebook, flipped to your conditions list, and wrote down a new one.
Don't speak crudely about me.
\
That night, you had your list laid out in front of you when you called Eddie. You sat in bed, your father reading the newspaper in the living room while your mother did laundry downstairs. You'd told them that you and your friend wanted to chat about the first day of school, and to expect you off the phone by nine at the latest.
"So let's get through this quickly, because we don't have much time."
Eddie scoffed. "Can't believe you have to lie that much to your old man just to get half an hour on the phone. My uncle doesn't care who the hell I call."
"That's exactly why I have you. Maybe this'll scare him into letting me have a little more freedom. Now, let's get started. I have five conditions."
"Okay, shoot."
"Number one: you have to take care of your hygiene. That means showering often, wearing deodorant, spritzing a little cologne, brushing your teeth and keeping some gum on you to get rid of the taste of cigarettes."
"Already done. Next?"
Could've fooled me. "Number two: absolutely no flirting or hooking up with other girls. You can talk to them, obviously, but for all intents and purposes you're my boyfriend."
"Ooh, possessive. So you're telling me I gotta be celibate the whole year?"
"Sorry, did you have plans?"
Eddie was silent for a second. "Next condition."
"Number three: don't cop a feel unless I say you can."
"No shit! Why would I ever do that? I'm not an animal. Next."
"Number four: No falling in love with me."
"Hah! I'll try my best."
"Last one: don't talk crudely about me."
"Crudely?"
You shut your notebook. "You know, like the way you spoke about me in the bathroom today. No sexual innuendos about me to other people, okay?"
"So you want me to pretend that I'm fucking you but deny that I'm fucking you to all who ask?"
"I doubt anyone will ask."
"Oh, they will, Princess."
"Then just... Just tell them yes, we're together, but you'd rather keep that part of our relationship just between us. No sharing."
"Got it. Is that all?"
"For now. If you fuck around, you may make me come up with a new rule."
"Then can we move on to my conditions?"
You heard a paper crumpling in the background. You laid back into your pillows with a smirk.
"Okay, let's hear it."
"One: Do not touch the stereo in my van. That isn't just a rule for you, either, that's a rule for everyone who sits in the passenger seat. All you get to adjust is the volume. Okay?"
"Fine."
"Two: no calling or coming over before noon. I'm not functional."
"You do need your beauty sleep. How else will those luscious curls grow?"
"Oh, why, thank you, I'm so glad you've noticed." You giggled, and you could hear the smile in his voice when he went on, "Three: I got band practice every Saturday, a gig at The Hideout every Tuesday, and Hellfire Club every other Friday. That means no dates, no calls, no nothing while I'm busy those days. You're welcome to come to The Hideout if you want, and band practice is usually done by four, but Hellfire goes until late."
You wrinkled your nose. "Like I'd hang out at that dump. Any more?"
"Yeah, one more. No low blows."
"Low blows? What, is that a euphemism for sucking you off?"
"No, it's -- That's a good one. Just... No more jokes about me not graduating, okay? I heard it every day from my uncle this summer, and I'm really fucking tired of hearing it from people at school. Okay?"
"Fine by me. I guess that's everything?"
"Looks like it." The paper crumpled up again. "So, do we start dating next week or something?"
"Yeah."
"We'll just... pick a day and start hanging out?"
"How romantic."
"Oh, sorry, let me try that again: Hey, Y/N?"
You smirked. "Yeah, Eddie?"
"I've been thinking... Maybe we could go out some time? I could, with your permission, grope your tits, and in return you could really stick it to your dad?"
"Oh, Eddie, that sounds amazing. Yes!"
"Boy, aren't I the luckiest guy in the world," he said flatly. "So... See you tomorrow?"
"Yeah, see you then. Night."
He hung up without saying goodbye. A weird trait, but it wasn't on your list of conditions. You smiled to yourself as you returned the phone to its cradle and pulled your blankets over yourself. You could hear your dad turning the page of the newspaper downstairs. He was going to lose his shit when he found out. Everyone was.
It was the perfect plan.
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lazycats-stuff · 6 months
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Can you do a batfam x baby bro reader? Where Bruce puts reader in a Batman onesie and it was cute and when they boys see it they all start fighting, which turns physical quick, over who’s costume reader should wear a onesie of next
There would be murder in the manor anon, not just a fight. Couldn't find a gif with a Batman onesie so have this baby hippo. Also, a short fluffy story for melting hearts.
Summary: Bruce buys (Y/N) a Batman onesie. It ends up in a fight.
Warnings: Brothers fight for their baby bro.
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It was started on a Saturday morning. Alfred had to go to the grocery store and Bruce decided to tag in. (Y/N) was too and Bruce thought it wouldn't be a bad idea to take (Y/N) with him. Alfred didn't oppose to it and (Y/N) needed to see a little bit more about the world.
And that's why Alfred, Bruce and (Y/N) were in Target just browsing for groceries. Bruce and (Y/N) in his arms were just walking around. Bruce stopped at the clothing department. (Y/N) had a lot of onesies, but what caught his eyes was a Batman one.
Bruce smiled at that, walking to them. He took one, showing it to his (Y/N).
" What do you think? Should we buy it? " Bruce said and (Y/N) started laughing. " You got it. " Bruce said, adjusting (Y/N) in his arms and started walking back to Alfred.
" Hey Alfred, what do you think? " Bruce asked, showing him the onesie. Alfred chuckled, pushing the cart.
" This will cause a fight back home. " Alfred said and the two started moving to the register.
" Oh come on. It's just a onesie Alfred. " Bruce said and Alfred shook his head.
" Say that to them. " Alfred said, waiting to be checked out. " I mean, why would they fight over a onesie. "
" Because they love their brother very much. " Alfred pointed out.
" I know, but still over a onesie? "
" Master Bruce, they will fight. Trust me on this. "
They came home 30 minutes later and Bruce quickly changed his son into a Batman onesie. Alfred quietly shook his head at the sight. He loves his grandson, but this was going to be messy.
After 10 minutes, everyone started pilling into the kitchen. And each one stopped, starring at their baby brother. They would usually run up to their brother, pick him up and just kiss his head.
(Y/N) was the anchor of the family and the brothers wanted to protect him and kill for him.
" I'm sorry, why is he wearing a Batman onesie? " Jason asked, pointing at his baby brother.
" Why not? " Bruce retorted and the brothers started glaring at each other.
" He should wear a Robin one. " Damian said and that has started a big argument. Bruce glanced at Alfred who just smirked in response. Jesus Christ.
It was all kind of good until somebody threw a first punch. Bruce had to step back, but the four brothers moved to the living room, away from (Y/N).
" Hey! " Bruce yelled out, but he wasn't heard at all. The tornado of four boys continued outside to the garden. There were grunts and one of them is going to end up breaking something.
" What have I done? " Bruce asked himself. (Y/N) just watched in wonder tilting his head in wonder.
" Interesting noises huh. " Bruce talked to his son, who giggled and reached for Bruce's nose.
" Yeah, I know. Alfred, holding him while I make sure that those idiots don't kill one another. " Bruce said and Alfred took his grandson gladly.
" Master (Y/N), I have told him so. " Alfred said, listening to Bruce yelling. He shook his head at his other grandsons. " Hopefully, you will be more calm than them when you grow up. "
(Y/N) just started giggling.
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slayfics · 9 months
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Muichiro reminds you you’re his Tsuguko.
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A crow flew overhead alerting you and Muichiro of some Kanoto ranks in danger from a demon nearby. You both took off immediately to help them and take care of the demon.
Upon arrival, Muichiro let you handle the demon while he moved the lower ranks out of danger.
The demon wasn't challenging so it was the perfect time to try out some new techniques you just learned and had been practicing with Muichiro.
Muichiro observed taking mental notes of how you were doing when he overheard the lower ranks talking behind him.
"Wow, they are incredible," one said, watching you battle the demon.
"Not to mention beautiful too, think I could ask them on a date?" The other asked.
"Yeah right like they would ever give you the time of day," the first one replied laughing.
Muichiro scrunched his nose up in disgust but didn't turn around to face the Kanoto's. Of course, you wouldn’t be interested in any of those swordsmen he thought.
Or would you? The thought of you accompanying one of them on a date suddenly made him feel ill. He blinked hard, forcing the image out of his mind, and focused back on how you were doing. The lower ranks were right, you were doing amazing and it was stunning to watch.
You finished off the demon and made your way over to Muichiro and the other swordsmen.
"Are you all ok?" You asked them.
"They are fine with only minor injuries," Muichiro answered before any of them could speak to you.
"Oh, that's great! Do any of you need help getting to your next destination?” You asked, but again Muichiro spoke for them standing in between you and them.
"Their next destination is a Wisteria House not too far from here. Surely they can make that journey on their own. If they can't, they should quit the demon slayer corps now." He said sharply, turning his head to side-eye them. "Ask for us, we have much more work to do today and should be off." He said, and motioned for you to follow him in the opposite direction of the Kanoto ranks.
"Ok bye then, safe travels!" You said waving at the Kanoto ranks and following Muichiro.
"Geez, the Hashira are all real pieces of work aren't they?" You heard one Kanoto say as you departed. If Muichiro heard, he didn't care to dignify the lower rank with a response.
"How did I do Tokito?" You decided to ask, pushing the Kanoto's statement out of your mind.
"You did great, excellent work using your breathing techniques. We just have to work on getting you faster." He replied.
"Oh wow really! Thank you!" You said beaming at his praise. Sure he had some notes of improvement, but Muichiro always did. The fact that he had anything nice to say at all meant you must have done exceptionally well.
"I'm not the only one that thought so either," he said.
"Hm? What do you mean?"
"Those lower ranks seemed to be captivated by you. One wanted to ask you on a date."
"Oh!" You exclaimed, feeling a blush creep onto your cheeks.
"You should know though, you're my Tsuguko and you don't have time for trivial matters such as that," Muichiro stated.
This caused you to process the scene just now. Specifically, the way Muichiro refused to let you speak to the Kanoto's, and how he ensured to stay physically between you and them. A small smirk found its way to your lips. Was Muichiro really just trying to keep you focused on training? Or was something else going on here, you wondered.
"That's fine. I wouldn't be interested in any of their company anyway." You said teasingly.
"No?" Muichiro asked and turned to face you.
"Nope. I'm only interested in one swordsman's company."
Muichiro's eyes widened in curiosity, "what swordsman is that?" He asked.
"You of course." You said, and Muichiro swiftly turned back around, but you could have sworn you saw his face flush before he did.
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Tagging those that asked~
@aeolia18 @plvuii @muichirouswife
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itshype · 1 year
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Work Experience (DC x DP)
Before he can take his place as King, Danny has to familarise himself with his peoples' cultures. Most ghosts are made knowing all sorts of things about ghost law (for example the Christmas Truce), ghost etiquette and ghost history. Danny got none of that because he's not technically dead.
He spends a year working on maintenance for the Ghost Colosseum in Pandora's Haunt. She offered for him to do exhibition matches as a gladiator but he knew all he needed to about fighting already, he really wanted to learn something in his time here. He didn't know it but that had constituted the passing of Pandora's little test.
He spends a few months working as an Orderly for the Far Frozen as it would take far to long to learn enough to substantially contribute to healing even a single blob ghost.
He spends one week with Undergrowth and Nocturne examining the forces that governed the natural world. Unfortunately, Danny was physically incapable of seeing 'the threads connecting all things across all dimensions' and they kicked him out. Undergrowth filed an official petition to take Sam as his apprentice after her death. Danny said he would consider it and put it aside to show her next time he was 'topside'.
He was slated to spend the greatest amount of time as a Grim Reaper. Unlike humans thought, the dead could get to where they needed to be without any difficulty. It was the not-quite-dead who needed more help. Help to decide if it was worth going back, help to cross the final line if that was what they really needed, help coming back again and again for metas and aliens with preternatural healing.
Once Danny figured out there was a whole species of Ghost who should have helped him through the portal incident, he'd reached out to CW demanding answers as to why he'd had to muddle through on his own. The god of time was ironically, ghosting him, though.
Funnily enough, the Grims are thrilled he's there. As never-alive ghost beings, they often struggle with the best way to complete their work - they've never felt the pressures of being alive or confronted the fear of death or had to assimilate the truth of the afterlife into their worldview. So they basically immediately give Danny all their hardest jobs.
People who really, really should be moving on, their time is up but they just won't let go? People who are ready to depart but their body won't let their soul depart? That one asshole who's soul is cursed to be immortal? Those are Danny's cases. He handles it with as much humour and compassion as he can.
In an unrelated matter, several months into Danny's newest jobs, at a Justice League casual event, several heroes get to talking. Turns out several of them have had near-death experiences recently and they all shared the same hallucination as they went towards the light. Time to investigate.
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karteinss · 5 months
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Co-workers.
Top Male! Reader x Sub! Scara
Unreliable Narrator/Outsider's perspective, original female character, and male reader.
Cw: bottom scara & slight nsfw.
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M/n and Scaramouche were polar opposites, nothing of them matches up but they did have one thing in common; Wanting to become the Employee of the year.
M/n was a bright handsome young man, always loyal and obedient (or so their boss thought), almost never missing a day at work. He was loud but generous, a fun guy to hang out but he could also have a serious side to him.
Meanwhile, Scara was a rather cold but pretty man, a quite intimidating figure in the office. Though he holds no authority of a higher figure, his face and cold tone was intimidating enough for anyone to look away, afraid to make him angry.
The only way they would "interact" was through their rivalry. Insane, right? That's what Celine thought when she first entered their department.
It really was a tiring job, not only did she do overtime often but she has to do it with those 2, making it even more struggling and painful.
She really wishes she could've been put in another department, to do overtime in peace at least.
She was tired and absolutely annoyed at both of them in the first year of her job but as another year passed by, she got used to it.
But it didn't mean that she didn't get tired of listening to their bickering, it could lead to “physical” fights if they go far enough which she herself had to stop..
She was just like their nanny, an underpaid one to be exact.
For those who are asking: No, the HR doesn't know a thing about this since they always fought at places where the security cameras couldn't see.
And none of the other employees decided to snitch on them— Let's just say that they were too afraid.
The amount of stress she gained was abnormal from just listening to them bickering!
She should get paid for doing such a job so torturous.
.
.
.
Celine was just doing some work peacefully, writing documents and other things an average worker with a minimum wage salary would do. Well, her peaceful and quiet atmosphere was short-lived when she suddenly heard a loud crash in the Janitor's closet.
Ah, fuck, they're at it again.
Celine walked towards the Janitor's closet and she was right— Inside, there was M/n on top of Scara, their clothes were slightly messy.
God, when will they ever stop fighting?
Celine just sighed, “What are you both doing? You should be doing your work, not fight. Stand up” Celine commanded, her voice sounded threatening but there was barely any intimidation in her voice.
As they both stood up, she saw red-blue marks on their skins.
Damn, how far did those bastards go? Celine was confused, they would always fight “Physically” but they were never badly injured.
As she was still rambling inside her head, M/n talked first.
“He started it first.”
The accusation made Scara's eyes widened as he yelled.
“WHAT!? NO I DIDN'T!” Scara responds with a loud yell, which made M/n smirk. “Yes you did, you dragged me here first, no?” He said calmly, meanwhile, Scara looked so angry and red— red from embarrassment, maybe.
Scara tries to respond back but he stays silent, he just walked right out of the Janitor's Closet with his ears and cheeks painted a light red.
He must've been embarrassed.
As Celine watched Scara walk out, M/n suddenly whispers; “Don't tell the HR or anyone about this, it was just a friendly fight, no worries.” M/n whispered but a small smirk was visible on his face as he too went out of the closet.
Well, AT LEAST M/n was slightly better than Scara in terms of personality.
Though, she often questions if their dynamic was healthy or not— They get into physical fights often, isn't that too extreme?
She lets out an exaggerated sigh as she too left the Janitor's closet to resume her work—
She wonders if they truly hate each other.
“Celine, they're fighting again...” Her colleague pointed out, it was in the middle of the day, it was only 1pm and this was the 3rd time today! Not to mention it was a goddamn Monday! Could her day just get any worse?
“I know, just let them be” She responds calmly, too tired of their bullshit as she continues writing a document.
“M/n is dragging scara somewhere—”
A slam could be heard from Celine's table as Celine immediately walked over to them, grabbing Scara's arm to pull him back.
“You will NOT fight in this office, fight elsewhere.” Celine said to M/n as she dragged Scara from M/n's grasp and dragged him back to his chair.
“Work, don't fight, this is an office.” Celine said as she left both Scara and M/n stunned.
“We're not fighting! I just wanted to talk to him privately—”
“Is it work related?”
That seemed to stun M/n as he went quiet.
“No...It isn't.” M/n says truthfully, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Find an appropriate time to do it, then. Office hours aren't supposed to be time for you both to start a petty fight” Celine was getting more and more tired of them, she was hoping this was the last time they'll fight for such petty reasons.
“Right, sorry..I won't do it again” M/n apologizes as Celine nods. “You too, Scara.” She also told him, Scara just silently nodded she finally went back to her seat in peace.
Hopefully this will be the last time they fight.
A few weeks have passed since then and one day, M/n didn't come to work which was unusual since he never missed any days of work. But the more unusual thing is that Scara didn't come to work either— This should've been an advantage for Scara but apparently, he too didn't come to work.
“Weird” Celine thought to herself, maybe it was just a simple coincidence.
Well, atleast she would have some peace for a day.
No, it was just a coincidence.
Every goddamn time one of them gets sick, the other doesn't come to work either.
It can't just be a mere coincidence, right?
Curiosity killed the cat as Celine finally decided to ask both of them why they don't come to work when the other was sick.
And all they answered was;
“I want to make the rivalry fair”
That didn't stop her curiousity at all!
It seems out of character for those two bastards who literally fight every goddamn time they even lay their eyes on each other.
But hey, at least Celine has the peace she always longed for on those days.
It was just a normal Friday night for Celine, overtime in the office again, stuck with those two bastards and some other colleagues which Celine thanked God for.
The good thing is she gets paid for this shit, which is a good thing but she secretly wishes for more pay— A fee for taking care of those delinquents who kept trying to bite into each other's necks.
It was always; “He started it first!” this or “He doesn't deserve to be employee of the year!” that, well turns out none of them were employee of the year, Celine was.
At least her efforts paid off but it was a headache of trying to comfort an upset M/n and an annoyed Scara...God, those two were like the Sun and the moon.
As Celine was rambling inside of her head, she didn't notice how the sky became darker. She glanced at the office computer and saw how it was already time for her to leave, she looked at the left and right sides of her to notice how both Scara and M/n were both gone.
Oh no, those fuckers were probably at it again.
She hurriedly tries to look for them in every nook and cranny, she couldn't find anyone to help her as she realized her other colleagues had already left as she panicked.
They could be in a massive fight, oh god. What if they try to kill each other and one of them tries to kill her too???
All those negative thoughts were making Celine's head spin, but she still tried to look for them despite her fear of possibly getting killed by one of those psychos.
She searched and searched and finally— She stood in front of the Men's bathroom, there's no way she's going to do this right? Celine was reconsidering her decision, will it be like those true crime documentaries where she'll get brutally killed in the bathroom!? This was the men's bathroom, what if someone saw her and thought she was a huge ass pervert?
All those thoughts kept running throughout her head, but she stopped to listen into the bathroom as she heard a...whimper?
There was definitely someone there.
She placed her ear next to the door, trying to hear what was happening inside.
She heard...sounds of pain? Moans? Groans?
Then, she heard a voice like Scara screaming and begging to do whatever the other person was doing to him.
“M/n..! S-stopngh—”
Oh my fucking God.
M/N WAS A MURDERER.
What if she barges in and gets killed too in the process?
What if M/n found out she was eavesdropping and was brutally murdered?
What if..
What if!?
All of those “What if” questions kept repeating inside of her head as if she was back in 5th grade studying about WH-Questions.
God, she didn't like Scara but she didn't want him dead...
There's no other choice but to barge in.
As Celine starts to bang on the door, trying to communicate with Scara by screaming— She stopped when M/n finally opened the door and to her surprise; He wasn't covered in blood, rather, he was covered in sweat and some sort of...liquid? Not to mention, his clothes were messy like it had just been put on.
Did...did she misunderstand the situation?
She was speechless and embarrassed, as M/n suddenly coughs and talks.
“Hey um..do you mind leaving us alone? I..I promise you I'm not a murderer”
That's something a murderer would say!
“And why should I?” Celine responds back, leaving M/n sweating nervously. He stepped aside to show a somewhat perfectly fine Scara but he too was drenched in sweat, his clothes were a mess though.
“Oh...”
Did Celine interrupt something?
“Y-yeah uh...Please leave us alone...I want to talk to him privately”
Oh...
“Yeah...uhm, sure. Sorry.” Celine apologized as she quickly took her leave in embarrassment, so she misunderstood everything!?
They looked like a mess, and they were drenched in sweat. Were they exercising?
What the hell were they doing in there?
All those thoughts were repeating again and again as she quickly packed up her bag and turned off the office lights.
As she passed the same men's Bathroom, she could've sworn she heard a loud moan.
She doesn't want to know what they're doing.
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honeybeezgobzzzzz · 1 month
Text
How to Unintentionally, Get An Endless To Marry You EXCERPT!
An excerpt from one of the 1-shots I am working on:
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“Please be my husband.” You stated boldly. For a few moments silence stretched between you, and finding it uncomfortable, you spoke again. “I need you to be my husband. My mother won’t stop harassing me about getting married and I really need her off my back. She’s making me visit for the weekend and I can’t show up without…” You trailed off.
“A husband.” Morpheus finished for you, unblinking to your demand. It was a rather, simple, demand for the great debt he owed. Nonetheless he would do so to his best ability. “Very well, I shall be your husband.” The relief on your face caught the endless off guard as the stress seemed to slip free from your facial features and you physically relaxed.
“Oh thank you, thank you,” You breathed out. “You have no idea what she is like and I just need her off my back about this. She keeps trying to set me up with these mediocre guys I’ve never met before. She doesn’t understand that I don’t want or need her help in that… department…” While you trailed off, Lucienne came striding into the throne room.
“My lord, your presence is requested—” She paused mid sentence at the sight of you standing so intimately close to Morpheus. “I was not aware you had an audience, shall I return?”
“No,” Morpheus replied, his eyes not once straying from yours. “We have finished our business.” You tilted your head to the side, wondering what would happen now.
“So should I leave?” You asked, looking around in confusion. Wherever you were, was positively beautiful! But you had no idea how you had ended up there in the first place.
“That will not be necessary,” He reassured you, “I am sure you are curious about this place. It is only right that you are shown our realm.” You blinked off his word choice, thinking that he was referring to him and the lady. “Matthew, will you please introduce Y/N to the realm?
A raven popped up from behind Morpheus’ shoulder and cocked its head at you.
“Sure! Hi! I’m Matthew and Morpheus’ raven!” The bird chittered, much to your surprise. Then again, this was a dream! Dream of the Endless. You should probably try to figure out more about him.
“Uh, sounds good, lead the way,” Following the talking raven, you headed out of the throne room while Morpheus and Lucienne had a stare down you were not privy to. The moment you were out of earshot Lucienne’s eyebrow went up.
“May I ask who that was, sir?”
“My wife,” Morpheus answered simply.
“Your wife,” Lucienne repeated slowly, making sure she had heard correctly. “And when did this happen.”
“Three minutes ago.” Three minutes ago?? Lucienne was going to need to hear how exactly this came to be. Immediately.
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