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saiidahyunie · 26 days

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ballroom extravaganza

minatozaki sana x f!reader || cont. of fake and true ! pt.3 here

synopsis: you scored the date with the girl from the bar, things are shaping up for the better (maybe/maybe not), and your cousin mina is starting to raise some suspicions.

warnings: fluff ; smut!! ; sana giving/recieving ; reader recieving/giving ; fucking in the car/office/bedroom (freaky deaky) :D ; sana being needy ; sana praising ; cursing ; anything else i didn't let y'all know ; might be proofread

a/n: dang y'all really like sana don't ya? (bias wrecking me ill never recover) hope you guys enjoy this second part as much as the first one!

you’re basically jumping out of your own skin when you hear the knock on your door, and twirl around to see the bedside clock.

8:29

a minute early. you’d be impressed to keep the hefty lunch in your stomach to not vomit it out.

“coming!” you cry out, before taking a second to fuss with your current appearance. you played it simple, the flashiest part of the red dress that shuhua loaned you. like the black one, it’s slim-fitting and short, the neckline cutting above the swell of your breasts. your lips are a stained deep red, just to match. tzuyu always said to you that the color was striking for you to pull off.

after straightening the dress, you step out of your room and walk towards the entryway of the door, taking a second to toe on your black pumps. and then, with a steady exhale, you open the door.

sana stands on the other side of it, one hand in her pocket of your black slacks and the other carrying a bouquet of roses that she promptly shoves at your chest. you take them, cradling to your body, and look up to find her already gazing at you, eyes raking from the top of your head and down. again and again.

“hey.”

“hi.” you smile at her. “these are really beautiful, thank you.”

sana jerks her head in acknowledgement, and you can see the faintest flush of pink spreading to the tips of her ears. you bite your lip as you set the flowers down, staving off the rare urge to giggle.

she’s still standing by the door, holding her arm out. “so are you ready to go?”

you take it, curling a hand around her bicep, letting her lead you out. “please.”

—

“alright,” sana says, laying her menu flat on the table, staring at you with grave seriousness. “speak.”

“huh?” you look away from the giant, crystal chandelier hanging above you two. the restaurant she’d take you to was only slightly less fancier than the one at the four seasons hotel.

slightly.

“i can tell you want to say something.”

you smile nervously. “yeah, about your driving, maybe. i thought we were gonna—”

“y/n.” she says firmly; it has the same affect as dumping a bucket of ice water over your head. “no bullshit. you might as well say what you wanna say.”

“fine.” and this is easy to sink into, your mode of no-nonsense: the compartmentalization of what stresses you. “why did you give me the money?”

“because i wanted to.”

“i know, but why? did you feel bad for me?”

“a little.”

you grit your teeth. “did you pity me?”

“no.”

“then what?”

“i’ve been in your position before. kind of.”

“what do you mean.”

“struggling college student, a shitty job, caming from harebrained ways to get money. everyone who’s gone on the path to grad school, doesn’t matter if it’s med, law, blah blah blah whatever, knows how fucking hard it is to survive.”

your cheeks flush from sana’s words, picking at the white table cloth. “so you empathized with me?”

“basically.” sana says, sitting back in her chair, smiling at you. your eyes follow along the lazy draw of it. “i didn’t expect you to be so difficult about it.”

“it’s not like it’s common to give strangers hundreds of dollars within an hour of meeting them. forgive me for being concerned.”

“do you still want to give the money back to me?” sana asks.

“yes.”

“okay. then let’s change the subject.” diverting to the basic cookie cutter icebreaker in existence. “what are you majoring in?”

“sana—”

she reaches across the table and grabs your hand, squeezing it slightly. dazzling brown eyes swallow up your field of vision as she leans into you. “what are you majoring in?”

you bite your tongue. you don’t want to relent into sana’s charms; mina would have your head if she knew that sana was running away with it. but she’s making it so so easy, smiling when you answer, “i’m finishing up my bachelor’s in child education. aiming to get my masters in child’s psychology.”

“you like kids?”

“yeah,” you reply, visibly softening to sana. “last summer i did my internship at a local kindergarten and i love it. kids are…easy in a way that people aren’t.”

“what do you mean?”

“they don’t expect anything from you. not anything beyond food or water or playtime. you know, nothing super sophisticated or adult. and they’re easy to talk to. they don’t care what you say to them or if you don’t talk much in general. they’re not judgy and it’s nice.” you hit that right out of the ballpark, and sana stares with lips parted as the facts are laid out for you.

“i’ve never thought about them that way,” she says, her hand shifting atop your own. her thumb skims across your knuckles. “it sounds nice.”

your heart thrums like a hummingbird against the walls of your chest. every languid caress pulls a shiver from you. “you don’t like kids?”

“i don’t dislike them. i’m neutral, i guess. i know i’d like to have my own.” sana replies.

“do you have any siblings?”

“nope. i’m an only child.”

“i would’ve never guessed,” you say dryly.

“ha! has anyone told you you’re funny?” sana inquires, and you’re stifling a laugh while she’s smiling at you, gaze fond. “what about you?”

“well, i’m an only child.” you reply. normally you’d leave it at this. you don’t really like the notion of getting into the nitty-gritty of your past, but sana’s presence robs any reticence from you. “my parents passed when i was younger so i was raised by my aunt and her cousin.”

“oh.” sana slips her fingers into the spaces of your own and squeezes gently again. “i’m so sorry.”

“it’s okay,” you say, smiling awkwardly. “it happened when i was little. i’m kind of accustomed to it now.”

“can i ask you a question?”

“a personal one?”

the corner of sana’s mouth quirks. you want to trace it with your fingers.

“if you were in that desperate of a situation, why didn’t you ask her for help?”

“i can’t afford to take any money from my aunt or cousin. she can’t afford it.”

“did you try asking?”

“i’m not saying she would’ve said no. but if she tried, i wouldn’t have accepted it.”

“sounds startlingly familiar.”

you pull your hand from hers with a smile and an eye roll before picking up the menu in front of the table, raising it up high enough to cover sana’s face.

“can we order something now?”

—

when you get back in the car, you’re warm, languid with a stomach full of risotto and red wine. sana’s hand rests on the gear shift between you, the other one on her wheel. you like watching the motion of them as she drive, like the curls of sana’s knuckles and the rasp her palm makes against the wheel when she turns it. you wish to feel the warmth of it against your leg.

well, in a city like new york, it’s nothing more than unpleasant.

“you know i wasn’t kidding when i told you that you’re a horrible driver.”

“do you own a car, y/n?”

“i usually take the subway.”

“okay. pro-tip if you ever do drive in these streets, better to be offensive than dead. or stuck in traffic for two hours. which, believe it or not, is fucking worse.”

but despite sana’s words, she seems to listen to you. the drive stretches longer, and you lean into the plush leather seats as you stare out the window, dreading the sight of every familiar building, the street signs that you know lead to your apartment. for a moment, you debate asking to get ice cream, or go to the park, a movie theater–-anything and everything to extend this. you don’t want to leave the pleasant warmth of her car.

“y/n?”

you look over to see her smile. “i thought you were asleep.”

“i’m not tired.”

she takes her hand off the gear shift, thumbs a lock of your hair without breaking your gaze. unwavering.

“neither am i.”

when she pulls into your squat, little apartment complex, you’re gripping the edge of your seat, nails squeaking against the buttery leather. she smoothly pulls into an empty space, parking backwards—what a show off—-before turning to you. with as huddled into the seat as you were, her hand is behind the headers, arm bracketing you, you feel consumed. surrounded by her scent, in her car, the engine humming beneath them, with her so close. you can’t breathe without inhaling her.

sana’s noticed it too. her eyes have gone dark, swallowed by her pupils.

“i had fun,” she says.

“me too.”

her mouth twitches. “you gonna try giving me the money back now?”

you jolt at the reminder, bending to snatch you purse, but sana’s hand flies from her headrest to your hand, hot over your knee.

“i was kidding. i don’t want it back. i don’t need it.”

“sana—”

“y/n.” she interrupts firmly. “i don’t need it. and in my opinion, i think you can do a hell of a lot more.”

your defenses waiver before they crumble completely, and you feel your chin wobble. to your horror. “you’re too nice to me.”

she grabs it, pressing her thumb into the plush of your bottom lip. your stomach clenches as sana’s eyes flicker down, anticipation making your headlight.

“i don’t think i’m nice enough,” she whispers, but it barely registers. you’re already reaching for her, mouth open to beg; hand on her wrist, and she meets you half-way, swallowing your muted please.

sana’s kiss is desperate, intense like the rest of her. one hand buried in your hair while the other presses against your knee, a searing, overbearing heat that sinks into your insides, coiling tingly in the pit of your gut. despite your furious protestations to tzuyu, you haven’t felt this in a while, the wet-warmth of another mouth against your own, the life of someone else’s tongue, opening you up further.

you press closer, so frantic you almost climb over the armrest, but sana pushes you back down to your seat. she breaks away from your mouth to kiss down the line of your throat, flicking her tongue out to taste your overheated skin, smiling when you sigh. your hips jerk beneath her hold when she sucks at your pulse point.

she grins, teeth nipping at your jawline. “you like that, sweetie?”

there’s a shock-wire running from the heat of her mouth to her clit. sana’s barely touched you and you’re already keyed-up, on the cusp of euphoria. if you touched yourself now, you’d be so far gone, but you’re not sure she’d let you.

sana returns to kissing your throat, pausing to suckle at it with teeth and tongue, laving it against your skin in soft, wet strokes. she uses the hand in your hair to tilt your neck towards her, directing you like a puppet on strings. her other hand roves up and down your exposed thigh in gentle motions, more exploratory than anything, as if she can’t keep from touching you. and the thought sends a jolt of electricity to pass through you, sparking between your legs. it makes your hips can’t, makes the desperate need for friction a burying, voracious thing, primed to consume you.

when she kisses the swell of your bottom lip, it comes out of you in a breathless pant, nails biting the seat. “p-please touch me.”

“where?” sana asks, thumbing the hem of your dress, close enough to be a physical pain. “where, baby? here?”

“n-no.”

“then where, y/n?” your eyes are black, eager with predatory intent, and you hate how much you love it; the consuming weight of her attention, like she wants to eat you whole.

without much coronation, you take sana’s hand and shove it between your thighs, spreading them wide. you’re initially afraid that she’ll keep teasing you, that she’s lost in the power trip, but she surprises you when she groans and kisses you roughly, fingers tracing up your slit.

“so fucking wet you are,” sana raps when she breaks away, almost crazed. she dips her hand beneath the waistband of your panties, the sensation of her fingers against your sensitive skin sending your eyes rolling. your hips buck, demanding delicious friction, and she surges in, laughing into your mouth.

“you can cum just like this, can’t you?” she asks, voice rumbling against your cheek. her thumb slides up and down the seam of your cunt, the heel of her palm adding the barest pressure to your clit, but it’s good. the mere taste of it almost enough to send you over the edge, just for the sweet torture.

her knuckles pull against the gusset of your panties as two of her fingers center over your clit. her pace at first is light, slow, exploratory like the way it’d been on your leg. her eyes on your face are focused. she wants to know what’ll take you to the edge, and you know it isn’t this. so you grab sana’s wrist and raise your hips to force pressure.

“faster,” you pant, liquid gaze cutting to her. “h-harder. i like it–”

she steals the words from you, kissing again with a mouth full of bite. the motions of sana’s fingers quicken, slide down to the tease of your e trance while you grind frantically into her palm. you’re so wet you easily accept the glide of her first finger, and when she pushes in the second, the stretch is sweet, a welcome thing. you thrust onto them, wishing vainly that she’d toss you into the backseat and fuck you with something more.

the thought makes you clench around her, and she curses loudly, burying her face into your sweaty neck.

“are you always this depsrate when you’re getting fucked?” sana hisses, thrusting her fingers into you harder, without relent. “you always feel this good?”

you choke out a sob, feeling the familiar swoop in your belly, the swelling tide that welcomed euphoria. as you clutch her wrist, chasing it, sana rests her head atop your shoulder, her voice going soft, reverent.

“you’re so good, y/n,” she says in a frantic stream, mad with want. “so good. so, so fucking good. my perfect girl.”

you keen when it washes over you, that white-hot heat that robs you of sense. you shudder beneath sana’s grip, clutching her wrist as you ride it out. she helps you come down from it, kissing you languidly and keeping her pace inside you slow. when you can breathe again, she pulls them out of you. you flush hotly when she sticks her fingers in her mouth, but the embarrassment doesn’t linger long. you surge toward her, hands flying towards the button of her pants. meets her in another frantic kiss.

“i wanna make you feel good now,” you whisper, palming her. “i want—”

sana uses her hand in your hair to bind you up against her and kisses you again, long and full enough to make the words melt from your tongue. you’re hazy when she pulls away, pliant.

“i think,” she says. “that there’s always next time.”

“next time?”

“next time,” sana repeats, rubbing your cheek with her thumb. “it’s late anyway. you should go to bed.”

“oh,” you say blankly. “okay.”

sana kisses you again, twice on your nose, before leaning over to open your door. you stumble out of her car, binding your purse tight against your chest. you wave at her from the entrance of her building before you step inside, and see the shadow of sana’s hand as she waves back, driving off. when she turns onto the street, you rush inside, a hot, sharp balloon swelling in your chest.

your hands shake when you slot the key into your door and turn the knob, switching on the lights. you kick your shoes off and toss the purse onto the couch, moving on muscle memory. you can’t think beyond the warm, floaty haze that’s clouded your mind, and when you shut the door behind you, you laugh.

over and over. carelessly. all the while remembering the firm grip of sana’s hand and the scent of her, clogging your nose even now, a smell you want to bottle up and keep.

next time, you think, giddy, nearly dancing in the small space. she said there’d be a next time.

just then, you hear the high trill of your phone and dart to the couch, yanking open your purse to fish it out. you flush a pink when you notice the notification next to sana’s name– a text that reads, goodnight- and as you go to type your response, another notification pops up. one from venmo.

a cold spike of adrenaline shoots through you when the app opens, fingers trembling. you almost drop your phone entirely at the number attached: $1,000 dollars.

“for school,” it reads.

your breath quickens. the hot balloon in your chest expands and expands until it pops, a physical pain against your ribcage.

i thought— your eyes burn. the realization sinks into your like molasses. i thought she—

the night you met sana, she expressed concern when she learned why you were there. she’d condemned jihyo and implied that you deserved something more, something better. she’d left you money as a gift, to be kind.

a gift, sana told you. you don’t owe me anything.

so why is it, then, that you have the distinct impression that jihyo had been simply outbid.

—

you’re thinking about next time. sana said that there’d be a next time.

that next time would come, then twice.

then a third.

and after.

the day after that, and the day even after that.

the room is reverberating the echoes around you, loud with the sounds of heavy pants and wet slaps of skin. you’re clinging to the sheets beneath you, pushing yourself up, moving your hips to meet the frantic pace of sana's fingers curled up inside you. sana then buries a hand into your hair and hitches you up for a kiss that never takes. it’s broken quickly, leaves both of your swollen mouths parted and breathing of each other’s oxygen. you’re relishing the intimacy of the moment.

when the building pressure at the base of your stomach grows to become too overwhelming, you fall back on the mattress, unmoored without sana’s presence, but she follows you as she always does. she’s binding her arm around your waist and raises you up, hand cupping your cunt while she’s all over your neck again.

“c’mon,” sana says, voice wrecked, torn from her. “c’mon, honey, one more.”

you gave sana the opportunity to sit on her face earlier, brown eyes flashing dark and predatory at you while you grind all over her mouth. the hot curl of her tongue relentless against you, reducing you to a living nerve ending. sana wrung out two splintering orgasms out of you, flipping you on your back before you could even recover. you loved it, and you still do, seeing all the ways that you can challenge sana.

her slender fingers dip down to your clit again and causes you to moan loudly, rocking into her as she circles it firmly: rough, fast motions that she’s learned that you love. to bring you back to that edge quick.

sana kisses you again, her other hand slipping to your breast above and squeezing. she’s groaning into your core, it’s making you fall deeper into the madness of your situation.

“you’re so—” she barely mumbles out, her hand on your breast slides down to clamp the divot in your hips. sliding the pillow under the arch of your back in one seamless motion. she’s too good with her hands. “fucking unreal, and perfect.”

her mouth against your other mouth starts the chain reaction. you’re moaning out more strain behind it. a star-burst of affection igniting in your chest. sana continues to swipe her tongue, the unyielding pressure that makes your vision swimmy, and you let go.

you’re sobbing out while your hands are trying to find what’s left of the comforter as ecstasy steals over you. sana continues to drive her fingers and tongue into you, letting you feel it: in the air, at the base of your throat, between the rapid, uneven pacing of thrusts from her fingers. when you’re all tuckered out, the clenching fading out from your cunt, soaked with slick while it gets on different parts of your skin; from the leg, to one of your obliques, to the small peak of your boob.

“o-okay, that’s e-enough.”

“you taste so fucking good,” sana murmurs, mouth hot against the column of your neck. her hands trailing up and down your stomach. “when you clench around my fingers is just—”

fucking shit this woman. “sana, please.”

she sits up with a chuckle, and you’re at the same level too, instantly resting your head on her shoulder, kissing it. sana wraps her arm around your waist, kissing the top of your head, her fingers are tapping away at the v-line. you look up and she kisses you, grinning with delight.

“will you stay over?” you ask, too plaintive when she pulls away. sana’s smile falters and you feeling the realization, disappointment inbound.

“i can’t.” a spike lances through you. “my department has a meeting early in the morning. i can’t skip.”

“oh.” you hate yourself for being upset—she’s a doctor, of course she’s busy—but the feeling rises up anyway, along with the insidious notion that she’s gotten what she wanted and so has little use for you now. without thinking, you start to drift away from sana in slow little increments that she catches, and she pulls you up tight against her, pressing her lips to your hairline.

“i wish i could say,” sana whispers. “if it were up to me, i’d be here with you everyday.”

the words are cruel, considering what they are–what you are—but the pain is stamped down. masking it with teasing. “how would you work then?”

“i’m sure my supervisor could find someone else to fill my place. someone as equally ecstatic to dig their hands into some guy’s intestines.”

“you’re so…casual when you talk about your job.” you say out of respite.

“are you worried?” sana asks.

“no.” answering while tracing fingers across sana’s chest, over her still-racing heart, before tapping her chin. “but it makes me wonder if i should be.”

“is the child psychology major going to psychoanalzye me right now? when i’m twenty-nine years old nearing thirty?”

“you know the issues of childhood can be far-reaching. you never stop feeling the effects of it.”

“incredible.” you laugh when sana dips her head and takes your finger in her mouth, biting it gently. “but i’ve always been this way.”

“which is?”

a half-feral grin spreads across sana’s face before she abruptly flips you over. you yelp into her mouth as she kisses you, long and slow, and settles over you. she breaks away, still grinning. “crazy about you.”

you’re flushing hotly, which makes her bark out a delighted laugh, and sana kisses you again. over and over and over. her lips trail from your fluttering eyelids to the tip of your nose to your chin, every nook and cranny of your face that she can reach. when her lips meet yours again, you can taste the sugar on her tongue.

“god, i wish i could stay,” sana rasps, breaking away, and you cling onto her.

“then stay.”

“if i did, i’d have to leave at 5 to get ready at my apartment in order to be at the hospital on time. also you have an early class tomorrow. chances are i’d wake you up and you wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep.”

your jaw tightens, and teeth catch your tongue. you don’t want to accuse sana of making excuses, because you know she’s right; it’s happened before. and that’s what burns you, the idea that your angst could have no standing. the operating off of your injured feelings and nothing substantial. this is transnational after all.

“okay.” you say, coolly. “guess this is goodbye then.”

“bye y/n.” sana says, kissing your mouth. “goodnight.”

sana kisses you several times, smothering you in affection. she only stops after you simple, nipping at your nose once before rising off the bed. you watch as sana peels away off the bed, walking around your room, picking up her clothes from the floor and pulling them on. when she’s done, she strides over to you and slides a nick of your hair back, kissing your forehead.

“i’ll call you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

“okay.”

sana ducks down, skating her nose along the edge of your hairline, keeping her mouth close to your ear. “i’ll see you later.”

you move your head and catch sana’s lips. against them, whispering. “mn, see you later.”

you notice with some satisfaction that sana’s eyes are fevered as she pulls away, dark with wanting, and you shove your face back into the pillow, clinging to it. sana mutters a soft curse and makes her way to the door, only to immediately jam the knob when she goes to close it. she mutters a curse again, much louder.

“just give it a little wiggle,” you say, sitting up. “it gets a little tight sometimes when you twist it.”

“how long has it been like this?”

“since i got the apartment.”

“what the fuck?!” sana exclaims. “did anything else come broken?”

“sometimes the water pressure in my shower is really low.”

“jesus christ, y/n.” sana says again, louder, angrier. “why haven't you told your landlord?”

“trust me, i have.” you say shrugging your shoulders. “if i said anything more than that he’d just shut off the water entirely.”

sana sounds pressed, jiggling the knob harder. “i’ll kill him then.”

“it’s really not that ba—”

“i’m coming back next week with a repairman,” sana interjects, tone brokering no argument. “i can fix the doorknob myself but i’ll get a plumber for the shower.”

you duck your head, embarrassed. “you really don’t have to do that, sana.”

“i want to,” she replies, eyes softening when she looks at you. “i don’t want you living in some shit-hole with no running water.”

“i have running water.”

“we’ll see what the plumber says.” and with that, sana gives up on fixing the jam and breezes past the doorway. a few seconds later, you can hear sana at the front door shut behind her. with a deep sigh, you fall back into the bed and reach for your pillow, thick with her scent, and curls around it to fall asleep.

in the morning, you wake up to a ten dollar venmo notification for coffee and the contact information of the plumber sana mentioned.

—

“why haven’t you got my calls or texts?” is the first question that mina asks when you answer the phone. you stifle a laugh.

“well, good to hear your voice mina.”

“you haven’t called me,” she says again. “is everything okay?”

you sigh and sink into your loveseat, socks skipping over the fractured leather. your fingers cradle the coffee mug. “nothing’s wrong.” you say. “i’ve been really busy.”

“with what?”

“school,” is what you reply with. “not sure if you’ve kept up, but i’m in my last year now. i’ve been getting most of the important work done as much as i can.” a second passes before you add, “and communication is a two-way street. you haven’t been calling me either.”

“busy with work.” is what mina says in defense.

“see?” you quirk, a sip of coffee passing through your mouth, tapping your fingers on your knee, waiting for mina to speak. neither of you are particularly verbose, so the shared calls usually play out like this: tense silence, quick updates, the voids that harbored resentment. but you’ve grown far from the desire of mina to be soft for you (she has, doesn’t want to admit it) and you’re just accustomed to the dispassion.

for the final question on the script: “do you need any money from me?”

“no, mina. i don’t need money from you or auntie.”

“i assume the tips are good at your job then?”

“even better.”

she hums, like this was real answer, saying, “if you ever need anything, call me.”

“you know it when i do.”

��okay then.”

mina hangs up with a click before the goodbye is even truly articulated on the tongue.

—

your ears perk up when a knock is heard on the door, moving from your kitchen to walk to the entrance. curious, you open it, only to be swept up into sana’s arms before you can even say hello. she kicks it shut behind her and pins you to the old wood, lips roving over your face.

“what—” she kisses your mouth twice in quick succession. “—are you doing here?”

“left the hospital for my lunch break,” sana breathes, hitching you up so that a leg is wrapped around her waist. she dips to suck your collarbone, mouth curling when she hears you mewl. “decided to come here.”

“d-did you eat?”

“no.”

sana’s hand slides up from the curve of your ass to your breast, squeezing gently. you moan softly, head thumping against the wood. “you—you should.”

she separates from your throat to shoot a sly grin. “i’d rather eat you out first.”

mindless, spurred by sana’s passion, you surge down to kiss her. tightening your legs around her, thighs squeezing as sana’s hand cups your clit. with every pass of the hand, you can feel the shift of your underwear, panties clinging.

sana buries her hand into your hair, yanking back to expose your throat. she ducks her head to you for another kiss, trailing her lips up and down the line, tongue darting out to taste. her other hand dips down to your ass to bind you up against her, rolling until your toes curl. you sigh and slide your hand into sana’s hair. it would be so easy to just cum from this, but you’d rather put sana’s mouth somewhere else.

you pull her up by her hair, stomach clenching at the naked want on sana’s face. her eyes, half-lidded and hazy, are trained on your open mouth. when you lick them, her thumb catches your bottom lip.

“please,” you gasp, moving against sana’s hips. arching. “we need to go to my—”

sana grins, almost madly, and kisses you hard enough to steal your breath. “what? you’re afraid your neighbors might hear me fuck you again?”

you blush hotly and sana laughs, but ultimately decides to appease you, heaving you off the wall. she seeks out your lips again and stumbles into the room. impatient, sana kicks open the door, heedless when it slams loudly into the wall.

you hardly notice also, giddy when sana pushes you onto the bed. it’s a race to get clothes off, pairs of hands fulmbling with the zippers and buttons until sana bats her pants away, you yanking your sweatpants off, meeting for another kiss as she lowers herself over you. you moan loudly when her fingers tease the opening between your legs, feeling the wetness in an instant.

“my god,” you sigh out, clinging to sana, blood burning beneath your skin; every movement a siren call to your own pleasure. “please, just—just touch me, sana.”

sana grins rakishly, eyes glittering with mirth. ever the eager observer to your own demise.

“you’re always so polite, sweetheart.” sana says, and moves down to kiss you. you yourself arch to meet her, pulse skittering at her proximity, at the heady invertibility of mindless pleasure, and—

the lights go out.

sana stills above you. at first, you’re surprised, waiting for them to flicker back on. this happens sometimes. i mean—the building is old as in 1920s red stone–faulty wiring and out-dated, but nothing comes to fruition.

“fuck,” you spitt, arousal plummeting to now nothing. you move from under sana. “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“what’s wrong?” sana asks. you rise from the bed and she follows you to the kitchen. you snatch a pile of envelopes from your counter to dig through them, only to stop when you notice that the lighting outside is too dim to see. you sigh heavily, marching over to your couch to read by the flickering candles. sana sits down beside you, eyeing cautiously. “what’s wrong?”

“the light bill,” you croak. “the rental agency upped the price recently but i must’ve paid the old amount without ven thinking. god, how could i be so stupid?!”

“you’re not stupid. don’t talk like that,” sana snaps. she then takes a deep breath, voice much calmer when she adds, “and this is an easy fix. if you pay it now, it’ll be back on in a few hours. this shit happens, y/n.”

“but i don’t–” have the money. you clench your jaw tight, forcing the words down, but sana can see the pain on your face, can hear it lingering in the air, unsaid.

“i’ll help you—” you shake your head; you don’t like this, the reminder—” let me help you.”

“no, sana.”

“it’s not a big deal. i want to.”

“i can’t ask you to—”

sana suddenly shifts closer and grabs your face, cupping it between her palms. she looks int your eyes, gaze probing.

“let me,’ she cajoles. “you don’t have to bear the burden of this all on your own. if i’m offering to help you, let me help you.”

your heart swells. with relief. with dismay. “okay.”

she pecks your lips before standing up, thumb trailing down your cheek. “where’s your laptop? if your account is set up online, i can pay it now. i still have about forty-five minutes until i have to get back so i can wait with you until then.”

“it’s on my desk.”

sana nods once, turning on her heel to march into your room. the second she’s out of sight, you bury your face into her hands, burning with shame.

—

right after class ends, your phone vibrates.

you pick it out of your pocket, thumb grayling over your cracked screen to see sana’s contact photo flashing up at you; it was the one taken three weeks ago, with her smiling while you pressed a kiss to her cheek. you’re clicking the green button.

“hello?”

“i just realized you’ve never been to my apartment,” sana says, surprising you. “we’ve been together for almost two months and you’ve never seen my house.”

“oh.” your cheeks flush, pulse skipping at together. “you’ve never really brought it up before.”

“like a fucking idiot. do you wanna come over?”

your body warms in a near–sudden response, to your eternal horror, and with a bite of your lip. “sure.”

“cool! i’ll pick you up right now.”

“you're not working today?”

“no. i worked eighty hours last week so they gave me a day off. i’m on call, though, which is shitty anyway.”

“i’m sorry.”

“it’s fine,” sana dismisses. “so you’re still on campus?”

“yeah. i just got out of class.”

“alright, i’ll be there in twenty.”

“okay. bye.”

“bye.” sana says, but lingers on the line. for a moment, you think she’s forgotten to hang up, and moves to do it for her until she adds, softly, cutely you might think.

“i’m excited to see you.”

your heart thuds, and she hangs up before you can even say something back.

for twenty minutes, you wait near the entrance of the school, fiddling with your phone until sana texts you to come meet her. finding the car quickly, walking towards the sleek, gray two–seater of her vintage mercedes, and opens the door to see sana grinning at you. a pair of dark sunglasses sit on the bridge of her nose.

“hi,” sana smiles.

“hi.” you say back, hating at how shy you still get around her, considering. sana, though, always appears to take a bit of pride to it.

she chuckles, leaning back in her seat and shifting the car into drive, pulling into the main road. you settle in to watch the hypnotic motion of her hands as she turns the wheel—it almost makes you nostalgic for some reason.

“so,” sana says, turning onto the street. “how was class?”

“fine. just sat through a lecture.”

“about?”

“well, just the study of psychosocial development of erickson. how the different stages can be embedded by sociological challenges. you don’t want to hear the rest from me.”

“ah.” you suck a smile in; seeing the cogs in sana’s brain turning. “sounds interesting.”

“it’s a lot to cover. my professor was telling us about how some guest speaker that’s gonna be presenting next month. apparently she specializes in existential psychotherapy so i’m thinking of seeing that when it comes.”

“that’s really cool. do you know the name?”

“no.” you appreciate the effort that sana is showing. elizabeth, as wonderful and cool she was, tended to block you out sometimes: on the occasion she ever needed to. “what about you? how was work?”

sana groans. “terrible. a guy was rolled in with a bullet wound and was hemorrhaging like crazy. i was able to stop the bleeding and get the bullet out, but the anesthesiologist almost od’d him and killed him. idiot.”

“wow,” you say. “is he okay now?”

“yeah. but i’m never having that dumbass with me at the table again.”

“you might have to, though. you’re a new doctor, sana, i don’t know if you have the luxury of writing off your co-workers.”

sana smirks. “i might.”

flicking the blinkers on, she turns on the road that leads them deeper into the upper west side. sana drives into a small parking lot behind a tall building before pulling into a space. once the car shifts into park and the keys are yanked out, you step out, mouth parting as you take in the veritable skyscraper in front of you.

“you live here?!”

“yeah,” sana says, taking your hand. seeing the stupefied expression, grinning and leading you inside. a red-headed doorman greets sana as you make your way across the lobby. the elevator didn’t even feel like an elevator and once you got past sana’s front door, you’re in full flabbergasted mode—eyes open like saucers. sana smiles at your gasp but when her eyes flicker to you they narrow.

“i thought it would be a penthouse of sorts.”

“trust me, it is but at the same time it isn’t.”

sana’s apartment may not be as lux as you initially thought, but it’s still nice regardless. you can tell that it was costly, dark furniture andwide, open spaces and tall windows. the walls are painted with a light grey. a flat-screen plasma tv hangs in her living room, mounted over a fireplace. the black velvet leather couch is in front of it, clearly brand new.

her voice echoes the walls. echoes. you’re left marveling. “are you hungry?” sana asks from the dining area, “i have some food from the other day.”

“what do you got?”

“some leftovers from this dimsum place, pretty good actually.”

you giggle. “i thought you would have a much more sophisticated diet to fall back on.” meeting her at the kitchen island while she opens the box of food, tossing a bite into her mouth while you’re scanning through the dumplings.

“this is delicous.” you say in between bites, sana leaning over pressing a kiss to your temple. “you’re not eating as much, not enough craving?”

“i had some food earlier.”

“how earlier are we talking?”

“before i scooped you up.”

you hum while she feeds you another bite of the warm dumpling that melts so tenderly into your mouth.

the relaxing downtime with sana felt like a completely different world in her house. you got to know sana’s rough run down backstory of how she got to some form of power when it comes to dealing with which practitioner helps with her or not. being well-connected in her line of work was something to be fortunate with, but sana doesn’t like the idea of wealth being wrapped around her. sure, her clothes may be nice, demeanor brash and language abrasive at times, but she sees the world in a more different light compared to tzuyu and elizabeth on the topic of privilege.

as for how she got into her career of being a surgeon, she signed up for dual-enrollment in the last two years of her high school to graduate early. the calling of med school already being long in terms of time, so the sooner she could get out, the better.

“i like that,” you say. “i like how your mind works. i like—”

you. you almost say it. and it aches to not project it, the sudden sting of yearning. you, you, i really like you.

but catching yourself tripping up was something more of a simple defensive mechanism. “the story,” you finish. “pretty funny.”

“i have better ones.” sana says, grin lighting up her face, more radiant than sunlight. and her obliviousness burns twice as hot. “do you wanna hear about the time my friend bang chan and his best friend felix got mutual restraining orders back in college?”

—

you’ve read the name of tobio kageyama for probably the thirtieth time in two manga volumes before your mind decided to call for a needed break.

sitting upright from the couch, stretching and popping joints across the body. a look at the clock shows that it’s a little past eight, realizing that you’ve studied for roughly about two to three hours. too bad you didn’t notice it before because your brain is already bugging and battered into mush.

so you head to the kitchen, glass cup filled before drinking it once or twice before noticing that sana hasn’t drank any water since she took up a fortress in her office two hours ago, claiming that she had a work call. you fill another glass again, dropping a few ice cubes, before making your way towards her office door–knocking once, “hey, you busy?”

sana’s voice sounds muffled, weary. “no, come in.”

entering the room, hesitant like you were intruding on some sacred space. like the rest of her house, sana’s office was nice, richly-furnished. she has a tall, wooden desk in front of her, several files and stacks of paper placed on top. there’s a bookshelf behind in the corner, thick tomes marked by names that you don’t even want to try to read or recognize. the walls are also painted in a dark gray, and there’s a leather couch off to the left side with a blanket placed over it. even sana needs to have her naps sometimes.

sana then calls for your attention, glasses perched on the bridge of her perfect nose. “did you need something?”

“no,” you say, inching closer. raising the glass, “i just wanted to get you some water.”

she smiles in thanks, taking it from you while she approaches with an outreaching hand, grabbing the glass downing it in one gulp. frowning with a mild concern once she gave you back the glass, “were you thirsty?”

“a bit. i didn’t feel it until now.”

“are you hungry?”

“not right now. i’ll eat when im finished with this.”

“you should take a break,” you say, stepping towards sana. you lean back with your butt to the edge of her desk, half sitting. up close, you can see sana’s stress more evidently, eyes low with exhaustion. “sit on the couch with me. we can watch something together.”

“i can’t do that, y/n.”

“why not?” would a short film be better?”

“i have paperwork. a lot of paperwork. not to mention forms, test results, patient files. i want to try to get through them by tonight.”

“and you will,” you reply softly, stepping between her legs, resting your hands on her shoulders. “just ten or fifteen minutes of your time, please.”

“no way we’re watching a movie in ten minutes.”

“not the movie, you idiot. i was gonna say food instead, you should eat.”

“‘m not hungry.”

“not even a snack?”

sana lets out a smile, placing her hands on your hips. “i appreciate you for being concerned, baby, but i’ll be done soon. i promise. then we can go get something to eat together.”

looking down at the ground, hands still on shoulder. you’re smoothening the crinkles of sana’s large shirt, fingers brushing up from her neck up to her hair. you lean down and kiss sana fully on the lips, slowly, once, twice, a few times, and rest your knee on her chair between her legs. you break away a bit to pepper languid kisses across the slope of her jaw.

“relax,” you croon. “take a break with me.”

sana sinks into you, sighing like she’s expelling a pressure from deep within her chest. her eyes flutter closed, hands twitching around your waist, and when you dip down to kiss her throat, you feel the flushing heat rising from her body.

desire races to the forefront like a freight train, bowling over you with its inteistiey, and you’re running a hand up her thigh towards the center. sana gasps sharply into your parted mouth, fingers clutching around your waist. you’re nearly smiling.

“you’ve eaten me out before,” you whisper. “but you’ve never let me do the same for you.”

sana laughs but it’s off, brimming with echoes of a dark promise. “i find it more enjoyable when i eat up your pussy then have you eat mine. better for me to see you cry the way i want you to.”

there’s a thrill pulsing through your body, throbbing dully in your cunt. you’re ducking down to kiss her again, practically panging into sana’s open mouth as you palm her through her pants. her face is screwed up with a tight coil of pleasure, eyes shut. her fingers dig into the leather armrests at her side.

“let me,” you whisper again, almost begging. “i want to.”

sana’s eyes crack open, solely, regarding you as though you were something to be consumed. i want to, you think with a sort of nameless, desperate sense of urgency. i want you to.

she nods, and you kneel at her feet.

you’re kissing through her jeans first, soft, affectionate little pecks that make sana groan, fingers sliding up her legs again. you help sana clumsily unbutton her pants, shucking it down and off her thighs. the panties are quick to follow, only first with a trail of your lips over the black-laced fabric, soaked with her wetness that fills up your nose. sana is wrecked with the effect you have on her, just some light kisses and heavy petting, making your cunt fucking clench; you don’t think you’ve ever met anyone who’s wanted you even half as much.

when sana’s panties are gone left with her shirt; the scent is intoxicating. her folds are glistening. she sighs of pure bliss when you lick up her slit, mouth lingering on her clit. her hips twitch from the initial contact. you stifle a smile when you shower a few more kisses, and she groans loudly when you part her legs, squeezing her inner thighs tightly the more you shove your face into her cunt.

you’ve eaten out girls before, but sana was more of an anomaly. to play it safe, you experiment, trying to see what she likes best. licking at her, teasing her walls with a finger, leaving teased kisses to the area outside of her pussy. sana can’t contain herself when she pulls your head back in with her hand, moaning into her core, the vibrations too overwhelming coming from your mouth to her legs.

“fuck,” sana moans. “fuck, y/n–baby, fuck. i’m gonna—”

nodding at her, you don’t let up the pace of tearing up her cunt. fingers in walls and grunting into her. she doesn’t even let you breathe. the heels of her feet on your shoulders as her hands are on the back of your head, nails scratching the scalp the more you’re lapping her up. only then you pull away as she coos out locking eyes with you, the sight of licking your mouth lean with your tongue from her slick almost makes her lose it from the seat.

“i’m gonna ruin you,” sana promises, snarling, gaze devouring, mad with want. it sends a deep vibration into your cunt while she looks up to the ceiling. “you won’t be able to walk.”

you could’ve just came right then and there, vision whiting out at the edges. somehow you kept your sanity in check, ducking your head for more fully. humming and sliding your tongue over her cunt, nibbling on her clit and with a sudden jerk followed by a sharp groan, she cums.

a whole assortment of papers, files, pens, and pencils are scattered to the floor as sana digs her hand beneath your shirt and rips it off of you. your lips meet hers for another frantic kiss, laying back as she’s settling over you.

she shoves your sweats down along with your panties, letting them dangle from your feet. sana then moves back to your chest, hands moving like a firebrand, searing your skin with every touch. desperate to feel more of it, you sit up slightly and unclasp your bra. the second you’ve tossed it, sana’s hands are quick to palm, mouth hot against your own as she swallows your keening sigh.

“you have the most perfect tits in the world,” sana breathes, thumbs circling your nipples, forefingers roving down to pinch. the sweet pleasure-pain sparks a heavy throb in your core, and she arches into you, spreading your legs wide. you moan when sana’s mouth is around your breast, the other hand folding you.

“god, sana, please,” you beg, clinging to her. your hips are twitching, the emptiness inside you turning into a physical ache.

“what is it, baby?” sana switches over to your other mound, tongue laving over your nipple. your eyes fluttering, mind spinning at the sight. “what?”

moaning helplessly, and her hand slides down to your cunt, thumb sliding up the wet gusset of your panties to find your clit. when she presses down, your hips jerk forward, shrieking. she’s laughing around your boob.

“yeah, there we go,” sana sighs out, rubbing at you languidly, moving slow with the roll of her hips. “that feels good, doesn’t it?”

“ye—ah—yes, yes it feels good.”

“i know.” sana kisses up to your throat, sucking the soft spot beneath your jaw, lips deceptively sweet. “but you want more, don’t you.”

more.

your stomach seizes at the thought of it, the promise. you grasp at her wrist and sana hisses, dipping her hand beneath underneath your underwear to slide a finger inside you. keening when she adds another digit, stretching you open—another sounds leaves your mouth and sana laughs when you’re clamping around her fingers.

“you feel so good like this, y/n. so good.” she watches as she fucks her fingers in and out of you, transfixed by the sight. almost resentful of her own body. “i wish i could live in you. i wish—”

“you could,” somehow croaking that out when she has four fingers inside. “i’d let you.”

sana lets her intrusive thoughts get the better of her, growling while she surges down your body. your panties are up in the air as she raises a leg up, thumb petting your clit. you’re rearing up with a shout, a splintering sound, bursting, but sana doesn’t give you any breathing room. next thing you know, she has the flat plane of her tongue swiping upward that pushes your undoing even faster.

it’s good enough to cry, you can feel the salt on your tongue when sana leans up again for another kiss before trailing down to your pussy. there’s a malformation with how the kisses are sloppier on your lips above and below, but the pleasure is good. she makes you feel like euphoria is an ever-present force that is kept within you, and it’s much deeper than the sex. the sprawling root of it is happiness, and sana.

“c’mon, y/n, my lovely girl,” sana says tightly, jaw clenching when she breathes over your clit. her eyes hazy like she might be the one to cum again. “give me another.”

you wrap your legs around her, canting up so that her mouth and tongue go deeper, and you both moan from it. sana’s finger finds your clit again, so wet the sound is purely obscene, but it only strokes the fire of your pleasure, makes it build higher and higher.

“that’s it. there we go. t-there—”

sana stops short. a bitten-off cry, and she doubles down on your clit. her fingers clench around your walls, and there’s a gentle wave—mouth parted to sigh.

she stays for a second, pulling her hand out examining the slimy fluid between the fingers, licking them seductively that makes you roll your eyes and look away. sana just laughs at you, “fuck you, for making me like this.”

your head hits the desk, “not sorry. i like it when you’re needy for me.”

she huffs out, “little minx. when i’m done with you—”

“what? i won’t be able to walk?”

sana’s face falls flat, but her eyes spark with lurid determination as she leans in and whispers, “everything i’ve gotten in life, i’ve had solely because i wanted it badly enough. you think that doesn’t apply to the things i wanna do to you?”

your heart hammers like a jack-rabbit. red-hot heat slowly consumes your face. “i—”

she moves off of you but keeps her arms bracketing your hips. “we’re moving to my room,” she interjects. “i need a bed if i want you to sit on my face.”

eyes were wide open while you managed to slip out of sana’s hold, scurrying to the bedroom down the hallway. sana’s signature laugh echoes as she chases you down behind.

—

it’s a bit chilly outside when mina calls you, the autumn weather creeping beneath your new coat to settle into your bones. hitching the collar up your neck for cover, and the phone is out from your pocket to see your cousin’s name. you’re repressing a sigh, picking up,

“hey.”

“yo.” mina has many greetings. “where are you right now?”

“i got out of class, walking to the subway.”

“are you by yourself?”

“yes,” you say. “obviously. why wouldn’t i be?”

“you usually have that slightly taller girl tagging along with you. the one with the model face.”

“tzuyu.” you correct sharply. “and you’re not wrong, but she has her own life. you know? a girlfriend?”

“and you? you got anyone?”

frozen, stumbling in your tracks. mina could be asking for curiosity, but you know your cousin too well; she’s not the kind to be asking unnecessary questions.

“no, i don’t,” you answer cautiously.

“are you sure?”

“why even bother asking me?” you retort, voice clipped. “even if i was seeing someone. i’d mention it right away, even with thanksgiving around the corner.”

“i don’t see what thanksgiving has anything to do with it.”

“most normal people introduce their partners to family, mina. not everything personal is some dirty little secret.”

“don’t you dare try to get snippy with me. i was just asking a question, not cuffing you to a table for an interrogation. chillax.”

you’re cringing with knitted brows, stepping down the stairwell into the subway station. it’s a lot warmer, “whatever. i just wanted to know why you were asking.”

“i was asking because you haven’t been calling me lately. i figured that someone else was taking up all of your time besides auntie.”

your jaw tenses. there’s this wave of guilt that makes your clinch your lip, voice much gentler when you follow up, “i’ve just been busy, mina. you know that.”

“yeah?” the customary ten seconds of loaded silence pass before mina adds, “speaking of busy, don’t come down for thanksgiving this year. i’m gonna be busy with work.”

work. the nameless occupation mina had never bothered explaining to you, not since you were in your teens. you’ve had your own suspicions and theories, but you never even had the frame of mind to confirm them yourself.

even with the disappointment; it’s actually comforting in a weird sense. “that’s fine. i have finals to get ready for anyway.”

“you’re not upset by this?”

“no.”

“and you’re not lying to me about anything, right?”

“no, mina.” you say, smiling ruefully. “why would i? when have either of us ever lied each other about anything?”

good as dammed, but there’s no care for it. i wouldn’t even matter anyway. it comes as a concern for how little tinges of that feeling is there still.

mina sighs out. “talk to you later then, if you do call me.”

you hang up after. the lasting thought of mina doesn’t even come afterwards.

—

not even more than two steps into the entrance hallway when the doorbell calls you.

you’re freezing, eating away at the fragile patience, but when you look through the peephole. you don’t think twice about opening the door. “tzuyu?”

she’s standing across from you, arms folded, foot tapping, and pouting. “you’ve been neglecting me.” she accrues.

“huh?” you ask stupidly while blinking in a fast state.

tzuyu rolls her eyes and breezes past you, chilling air carrying the rich scent of yves saint-laurent. you follow her into the living rom, watching her shuck off her louis vutton jacket and tosses it onto the seat.

“well?” she demands, whirling around to face you. “tell me what did she do to you?”

“what?”

“your little sugar mommy-doctor-girlfriend.”

“tzuyu–”

“whatever she did, she’s good enough to keep you from calling or texting your best friend for a week.”

“what?” you’re gasping out again. “a week? i haven’t…”

with a rush of the phone, you’re pulling up messages only to notice that you have, in fact, been ignoring tzuyu’s texts for the better part of a week. all of your besties messages. the only person you’ve kept consistent contact with is sana, and the last text you sent her was–

well—best to the imagination.

“i’m so sorry,” you breathe out, throwing your phone off to approach tzuyu, taking her mittened hands, gently directing her to sit on the couch. “i’m so sorry, tzuyu. i didn’t mean to ignore you or shuhua or irene or anyone, i just—”

“you’ve been preoccupied with your new girl?”

“yeah,” you admit, bit of shame hanging, but adding, “and school. dooyoung–the guy editing my thesis—says it’s coming together really nicely, so.”

tzuyu whoops, reaching out to shake your leg. “and you’ll be presenting it next semester! how do we feel about that?”

“pretty good.”

suddenly, her eyes soften, shifting closer. “i was mostly kidding, by the way, about you neglecting me. i remember how i was when i first got with shuhua. you couldn’t get me away from her.”

“it’s different, though.”

“what makes you say that?”

“because shuhua is your girlfriend and sana is my—”

you stop, horrified by the abrupt burn of tears. you turn away to conceal yourself, blinking hard, but tzuyu was always quick to notice. she wraps her arms around your elbow, leaning into your shoulder. “your sugar mommy,” she finishes gently, but you flinch like it’s a slap.

“yeah. that.”

“if it bothers you so much, then why are you staying with her?” i’m sure she’s given you enough that you have time to figure out another way to get money. it’s not like you need her.”

“yeah,” you reply dully, still not meeting eyes with tzuyu. your mind is playing the denial aspect a lot more tougher now. “you’re right. i don’t.”

—

with all things and struggles, you compartmentalize.

you’re refusing to think of the blooming feelings for sana more than you have to, and in the even that you can’t, distraction was the solution: school, work, friends. and on the rare occurrence as crazy it would seem, shopping.

“an IKEA drawer?” sana asks, baffled. you keep your phone between shoulder to ear. “why the fuck did you go to IKEA?”

“i needed to,” you answer, pushing the giant box inside of your apartment, leaning against the wall as it’s on the wall. “my other drawer was broken. i’ve had it for like, seventeen years, so i figured that it was time for a change.”

“and you could afford it?”

a rhetorical question. what sana’s really asking if the two bundred she sent you last week was a decent enough amount that you could splurge on. clenching your teeth, flushing.

“yes.”

“y/n, baby. i sent you the money so that you could go shopping.”

“i did. and i shopped at IKEA.”

“are you gonna build the drawer now?”

“yeah.”

“let me come over. i can build it for you/”

“sana, it’s fine. i’ve built furniture before.”

“so have i. in fact, i bet i could have it done in half the time it takes you to read the instructions.”

“oh really now?” cocking a brow in disbelief. “how soon can you come over?”

—

time didn’t really pass, staring at sana from the bed, chin resting on your palm as you watch her hiss and curse to herself, pink screwdriver in hand. the sweat rolls enticing down the hard ridges of her abs, her hair is up and out of her face in a knot. the most exhilarating part in all of this was watching him use her shirt as a sweat rag.

“are you sure you don’t—”

“i’m almost done,” sana snaps, eyes flashing with indignation. “just give me ten more minutes.”

true to her word, she was nearly done. the drawer stands tall in front of her, most of the pieces already constructed and put into place. all that’s missing is the top set of the drawers, which she has in her hands right now.

still, it’s only mildly entertaining just to watch sana. you debated studying to pass the time, but the focus wasn’t enough on your book to make it stick. reading was also out of the question, and texting irene went nowhere after she revealed that she was on a date and couldn’t speak. the news that things with her and seulgi were going well and exciting to hear, but not long after. sana’s shirt was off.

“it’s really fucking hot in here,” had been the excuse mainly.

“is this supposed to keep me distracted? you ask.

“i’m not trying to do anything. if you’re distracted, that’s your prerogative.”

liar. she’s been annoyed the second you stopped foching on her long enough to try facetime tzuyu.

you sigh, spitefully debating on what you can do to fluster sana. the limited options, though, tend to lean more in one direction and the idea of willfully doing any of them was embarrassing.

suddenly, she whoops. “i finished!”

you roll over on your stomach to see sana sliding the drawer into the top slot, circling it, pulling on different knobs to test the tightness and checking for smoothness of the pulling out and pushing in of the drawers. she grins at you, triumphantly. “i told you i could do it.”

“i never said that you couldn’t.”

“it was in your tone.”

you smile, and sana straightens up to bend something in her body. a loud crack sounds, followed by a pained sigh, and her eyes open more glazed. “fuck.”

soon after sana is laid flat on the mattress when you motioned her, face turned towards you with a look that says are you okay?

“my back. it’s been annoying me since work—fuck.”

you nick your head as you cautiously glide your hands over her skin, kneading the muscle softly, and sana just hums with relief. “keep doing that.”

straddling on sana’s ass, languidly moving your fingers up. she just melts. sana perks up when you giggle. “what?”

“nothing.”

“tell me.”

“i think it’s kinda bad for you to have back pain at your age, and it’s kinda mindblowing how active you are.”

“don’t be that dramatic, i’m not that old.”

“for someone that’s near thirty.”

“that’s a bit harsh.”

you giggle again before leaning down, lips skimming sana’s ear lobe. “i’m just teasing you.”

“you’re so fucked up for saying that, i’m only twenty-nine still.”

“don’t be so sensitive.” you say pressing a kiss to her nape. “not bad if you're in your early late twenties early thirties while i’m in my early twenties.”

sana sinks into you, like clay in your hands. when you move to the ridge of her cheekbone, she leans into you, turning her head to catch your lips. a languid kiss is shared, tongues melding, unhurried, but that fire is sparked between your hips and it becomes urgent. it’s a slow grind that’s rolled out, eyes fluttering at the friction.

you pull away while sana breathes out, “fuck,” and flips you over now that you’re straddling over her front. your hands are on her waist, and sana moves her leg up between your legs, doubling down on the notice that you’re not wearing anything underneath the shorts, lips parting.

she leans up to kiss you. sana always kisses you, mouth consuming like she wants to suck you inside. “i didn’t know you watching me build furniture would get you so hot.”

“everything you do gets me hot.”

sana moans and binds you up against her, hips bucking, delicious friction sending stars behind your eyes. you wrap your arms around her neck, panting into her mouth, so euphoric that you want to weep. so happy.

when she breaks way to squeeze your breasts, a loud knock sounds at the door, startling you. sana, however, is unmoved.

“ignore it,” she says, breath hot on your neck. “ride me.”

your eyes flutter and you’re grasping at her hair, already picturing it, the slick coming out of you on her leg, the fruition and contact deep enough to send you reeling. and then you hear it:

“y/n!” another loud knock, more insistent. “open the door!”

shit, you think, cursing, the word flying form your mouth now. “shit, shit.”

sana pulls away from you, concerned, but you’re already beating her in the scramble. she watches you rush to the mirror to fix your hair.

“what’s up? who is that?”

“mina,” you breathes, cold panic pulsing through your veins. “my cousin.”

“oh, well—”

“it’s a bigger deal than you think,” you snap. “and stay here. she can’t see you.”

sana’s eyes widen. “what–?”

“stay here, sana.”

you rush out of the room and hurry towards the front door. through the peephole, you see mina on the other side, arms crossed and expression stoic. you exhale deeply before opening the door, forcing a smile.

“hi, mina.”

she hums in greeting, shoulders knocking as she walks past you. when she spots the IKEA box, she stops short.

“you bought furniture?”

“yes,” you answer hesitantly, clammy fingers clasped behind you. “i needed a new drawer.”

“why didn’t you tell me?”

“i need to call you every time i buy furniture?”

“no. but these things sell for three hundred bucks. it’s expensive.”

“this one was on sale. one–fifty.”

mina makes a deep sound in her throat, unsatisfied, but her journey is continued throughout your apartment.

“so, uh. what are you doing here?”

“it’s thanksgiving tomorrow.”

“oh. i thought…you told me not to come. you said you were busy.”

“some time opened up in my schedule,” she says, and finally stops long enough to look at you. her eyes were shrewd, filled with knowing. it only raises the sirens going off in your head louder. “i decided to come see you.”

“ah,” you breathe. “well, um. i didn’t buy any food. maybe we can order–?”

“why are you so flustered? mina interrupts. “is there something going on?”

“what? no, no, of course–”

“mina?” icy pinpricks poke your skin, and you slowly turn around to see sana standing in the hallway. her clothes and hair have been fixed, and she smiles at mina with a polite curiosity.

your cousin’s expression sours instantly. “who the fuck is this?”

“mina!”

“who is this. why is she in you apartment?!”

sana walks towards mina, unphased by the insult. she sticks her hand out, “my name is minatozaki sana. nice to meet you.”

mina peers at sana, neck tilted at an angle that would be comical if not for the fact that you feel like throwing up. finally, she looks at you again.

“we need to talk.”

#hyunie #sana x reader #twice x reader #kpop x reader #kpop imagines #twice sana #sana #minatozaki sana #minatozaki sana x reader #twice x you #twice imagines #sana imagines #sana minatozaki #twice fluff #twice smut #sana smut #sana twice

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evilminji · 2 months

Text

Speaking of Summoning?

We don't see people fuck it up enough. Or CAPTIVES deliberately fuck up their captor's work. Like? Yeah, you are hogtied so tight you look three parts chain to one part man, but you can still WIGGLE.

Aggressively wiggle over that rune until it's too blurry to function! Kick at it with your heel until you scrape the paint! Smear that shit around! You're not here because you WANT to be! Fuck being a polite hostage. Make their life difficult!!!

Or BETTER?

The "$4000 bucks for chalk" take!

It's not the MATERIALS that make John "fuck you" Constantine a force to reckoned with. It's the DECADES of time, training, mistakes, fuck ups, FIXING those mistakes and fuck ups, then surviving the resulting fires.

Any idiot with a voice and some poor impulse control, can use most of those books.

John is GOOD at what he does, because he SURVIVED it. Knows when to stop. What to fuck up on purpose. HOW to do it. And what the results will be.

You're not impressive because you can light your dick on fire with magic.

You're just an idiot.

And when some "you are held back by your FEAR~!" Delusions of grandure fucko, one AGAIN crawls out of the muck like he's something God damned special, and not on the quick bus to a gory unspeakable end? Plays fast and loose with things that SHOULD NOT be let free? Yeah, John exhausts himself keeping millions of people from learning what the inside of Hell looks like.

Wakes up here.

Honestly surprised he wakes up at all.

Most of Dark is here. And Every Single One looks UNSPEAKABLY pissed. Like they got chewed on by a tree thrasher. That was probably on fire, given half the burns he's seeing.

The bastards monologuing, probably thinks they're hanging off his every word. Arrogant prick. Mostly though it's just intense eye contact and eyebrow charades over gags. Head gestures. Seeing who has what and if anyone's concussed. Honestly? You get good at shit like this, after a few too many times bound and gagged.

First mistake always is and has been, not killing them when you had the chance.

But... Zatanna is looking way too pale. And when she sharply gestures with her head? He sees WHY.

Blood on the floor. Not random. Just shitty, shitty writing and no binding agents. Oh sweet merciful fuck. It's not even CHARGED. No grooves to HOLD the blood in a way to keep most of it away from the air. Just splatter painted with some cheap brush on the unscrubbed floor, mixing and contaminated by god knows what, IN LAYERS.

Because it keeps drying.

Because OF COURSE IT KEEPS DRYING, YOU FUCK.

You are DOING IT WRONG.

Is he using THEIR blood? Oh sweet fuck he is. Are you ser-!? One of them is a CHIMPANZEE! Blood's blood literally changes! John's is fucked up! This idiot really things you can just slap it down like PAINT and trot off on your merry lil way, doesn't he? Why don't you just throw "Chemicals" at it next! Big ol bag of whatevers on hand!

At least he has people to share his outrage and horror with.

Oh god, is he STILL talking? Really. REALLY? How long has he...?

Wait. WHAT.

Crazy pants has "found" (more likely was lead by the nose too) a way to True Name Summoning people?! As in "kidnap from literally anywhere and bind them to your will, because unlike normal Summoning Targets they can't fuck off back home under their own power, so it's either submit or stay trapped until you die"??! Oh fuck. Oh shit, oh fuck.

And, OF COURSE, he's going to TEST his new fun trick?

On the Justice League.

Fucker, turns and starts chanting. John is closet, but everyone throws themselves forward. Even though none of them can really move, they have too TRY. His eyes shoot around the shit writing. Trying desperately to make out familiar symbols. Anything. Something. THERE!

He never thought he'd be grateful for all those far too drunk nights and pounding morning hangovers. But he is FAST wiggling across the floor, scrunching and swinging himself around, too sharply scrape the heel of his boot at the concrete floor, just inside that omenious off color Summoning. The layers of blood, painted down again and again to keep the "fresh", stick together like paint chips. Are raised just enough, his shoe tred catches, and all but pops the rune he's aiming for clean off.

Power surges as the spell completes.

He yanks his foot back before he runs the risk of losing it.

The light flares. And between one moment and the next? There are white hazmat boot standing just on the other side of the writen line, from John's face. He looks up into a young, pallet swapped, face. Nightwing, younger then he should be, wrong colors, different uniform. Confused look on his face quickly melting to that familiar "someone's about to get their ass kicked" look as he assesses the situation.

John grins like the MEANEST lil shark. (And yes, he DID steal this look of an ex.)

It WORKED.

Because half the people behind the kid? Not THEIR League. Hero's, yeah, he left that rune alone. But the "civilian identity" that was tied up in the "of this reality" one? Whoops! Guess it was forced to grab any applicable version of the Hero, from the Multiverse, who WASN'T currently off duty. Sure hope your bindings work on THEM!

AND it didn't tip off every single hero OFF duty!

The kid steps over the binding line, bends down, and snaps the chains around John with his bare hands. Offers him a hand up. He takes it. Gets a front row view of alternate versions of his colleges testing to see who is and isn't able to step out. Quiet a few are. Oh dear~, oh dear~. All these Heros! What's a lad to do, huh chucklefuck?

They would like a word.

@nerdpoe @the-witchhunter @hypewinter @hdgnj @mutable-manifestation @lolottes @babbling-babull

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #minji's writing #the And Find Out Summoning Au #john has trauma related to this EXACT MECHANISM #it is BRANDED into his trauma centers #he will not be forgetting any time soon how to fuck with a Summoning #every SINGLE WAY it can go wrong #he knows it now #he has too

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f1byjessie · 3 months

Text

A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS ━━ LN4.

sometimes the right words are hard to come across, and sometimes everything you need to say can be captured in an image.

( lando norris x photographer!reader )

━━ part two.

Friday evenings are typically spent in the comfort of your flat. Normally, you’re half paying attention to reruns of whatever shitty reality TV happens to be on and half scrolling through social media to keep up with the ever-fluctuating trends of content as per your job requirements, all the while eating your body’s weight in takeaway. It’s not the dream, but it’s certainly a dream.

Tonight, you plan on amending things to include going through the pictures of Bali’s stunning beaches that Lando’s been spamming you with throughout the day, but beyond that, you have no intentions of deviating further from your norm.

You’re actually really looking forward to it. Though you’d rather cut off your own hand than admit it to his face and give him new ammunitions to tease you with, you miss Lando during the winter breaks. So much of your year is spent having him nearby━ a near-constant presence buzzing with the inability to slow down let alone stop━ and when he isn’t around, the silence seems louder. There’s no one else who manages to annoy you the way he does, and it’s just not the same without him.

To make matters worse, between your new job, Lando’s travels, and the scheduling conflicts that have arisen in turn, you haven’t had a chance to catch up with him beyond a few back-and-forth messages about his current escapades. So you really, genuinely, truly are looking forward to it.

Garrett Ward throws a wrench into things.

You have mixed opinions of Garrett. He can be very sweet, and he’s gone out of his way to make you feel incredibly welcome in your first week with the Manchester City team. He makes good conversation and seems genuinely interested in what it is you’re doing, often asking questions about your equipment and process, which is a nice change of pace from most other clients you’ve worked with in the past who rarely give two shits about anything beyond the final product. But his reputation is… concerning.

Garrett Ward is infamous in English tabloids for being a notorious womanizer.

There are several articles that come to mind, but the most damning of which is from 2019, before his trade to Manchester City, detailing with very incriminating photos how he’d been seen entering a club with two women and then leaving just a few hours later with a completely different pair. You don’t want to assume he’s the same man now as he was back then, nearly a full five years ago, but you’ve been working in the sports industry long enough to know that athletes can have anyone and if they want then they will have anyone━ there is no shortage of temptation.

And you are not arrogant enough to assume you would be the outlier.

Which makes his interest in you feel less like friendly curiosity and more like something you need to be wary of.

It’s also why━ as you make the trek through the Etihad Campus car park━ you feel dread begin to pool in your stomach as you answer your ringing phone. “Hi, Garrett.”

“Y/N!” He exclaims excitedly, sounding like he hadn’t just seen you barely ten minutes ago in the weight room. “I meant to catch you before you left, but you were outta there so fast I wasn’t able to.”

And there’s probably a reason for that, you want to say, but you hold your tongue. “Yeah, I usually try to be pretty quick about it.”

There’s an awkward pause left open as if he expects you to say more, and when you don’t he clears his throat. “Erm, well, I was actually just calling to see if, perhaps, you would like to grab dinner with me this evening.”

You don’t. At all. It’s one of the last things you would like to do. There are plenty of other hellish things you would willingly rather subject yourself to before sitting down and sharing a private meal with this man━ jumping into the Thames is one of them, and letting Lando drive you around on the autobahn in his Spider is another. Both could very easily result in death, permanent disfigurement, or any other number of horrible outcomes, but neither includes Garrett.

Your hesitating silence must be an answer enough for him, because he chuckles again and adds on quickly, “No strings attached, I promise. It’ll just be two friends getting dinner.”

All you want to do is get cozy on your couch in your pajamas with a kebab from the place down the street and watch pretty people deal with their pretty people problems on TV. You don’t think that’s too much to ask for, but apparently, some higher power does.

“I suppose that’d be alright then,” you agree tentatively, speeding through the stages of grief as you mourn the initial plans of your Friday evening━ the easy, simple, comfortable plans. “Shoot me a message with the time and place and I’ll meet you there.”

“Awesome!” Garrett cheers. “See you later then.”

The peaceful silence that awaits you after you hang up feels like it’s mocking you. Too bad you can’t flip off silence.

“Look, the truth is, City is looking at trading me at the end of the season if I can’t clean my act up.” Garrett’s voice is quiet as he admits the reality of his future to you, but it breaks the silence of the world around you like a gunshot. “And not just loaning me out━” he adds, a twinge of something akin to anger noting his tone, “━but fully trading me. They’re saying that my image makes things too hard for them and the only way they’ll consider re-signing me is if I can either keep my name out of the tabloids or try to clean myself up.”

In Garrett’s defense, he technically did hold true to his promise of just two friends getting dinner. Things were actually going quite well, too. The restaurant was a little more high profile than you would’ve expected for a casual meal, but that can easily be passed off as the luxurious lifestyle and expensive tastes of a pro athlete who can certainly afford it. Expenses of your meal aside, he’d been good company, asking after the ways of working in Formula One and then finding similarities in his football career that made it easy to chat about the struggles and stressors of professional sports.

But you can recognize that this is where it’s all beginning to go downhill.

He’s announced it completely out of the blue as you’re walking back to the garage where you’ve both parked your cars. On top of that, his pace slows and you’re forced to slow down as well to match it until you both eventually come to a halt in the middle of the pavement.

You feel for him, in all honesty. You understand the difficulties of contract negotiations and how easily they can fall apart. The fragility of Formula One contracts is its own special brand of tricky and you’ve seen many friends move on to other teams in the blink of an eye just as they’ve begun to settle down and make their mark where they are. You can’t say for certainty that you understand the mechanics of football contracts to the same degree, but you can imagine they have their own fragile fine print.

But the chill of a January night in Manchester is brutal, and you’ll be the first to admit that your outfit does not protect against it. You don’t really want to be having this conversation in general, because you’ve known Garrett for all of a week which makes you acquaintances at best, but you especially don’t want to be having it now, out here in the cold when all you want to do━ all you’ve wanted to do since this afternoon━ is curl up in something warm and comfortable and pretend the world outside your flat doesn’t exist for a few days.

“I’m not sure what this has to do with me if I’m being honest, Garrett.”

He shrugs. “I just thought you might be able to help.”

You shove your hands in your pockets in a desperate attempt to keep your fingers from going more numb than they already are and shake your head at him. “I don’t know how exactly you think I can help you with that. I’m a photographer, not a PR officer.”

“My agent thinks it would be a good idea if I showed the media that I could hold down a steady relationship. Prove to them that I’ve changed my ways, and have matured.” He shrugs again, nonchalant despite being the one to bring this up in the first place.

“Have you?”

He makes a face, something between a flirty smirk and a suggestive wink, “Well, I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Garrett.”

“Look,” he crosses his arms and levels you with a look that fills you simultaneously with more rage and annoyance than a single person has ever made you feel before. “It would just be for a couple of months, and then we could stage an amicable breakup and that would be that! It just has to be long enough to show everyone that I’m not the same as I used to be.”

You give him a look right back, hoping it conveys how appalled you are by his audacity. “Okay, but why me of all people? Christ knows you probably have a list of women in your contacts who would jump at the chance to pretend to date you for a few months.”

His face pinches up in disgust. “Yeah, but they’re all former hookups, and I mean, they’re kinda psycho about me to be fair. If I tried to end things, they’d probably go to the tabloids themselves and smear my name with the worst things they could come up with.” He shrugs again, and you’re starting to find that you hate it when he does so. “I need someone willing to just play along for the time being and who will be discreet when things are over.”

“And you think I’m that person?” You scoff. “You’ve known me for a week!”

Your voice echoes and it reminds you once again that you’re having this conversation in the middle of a random street in Manchester. It’s cold and dark, and you’ve been attempting to bite back your frustration since the moment Garrett called you. You’ve been as nice as you possibly can be for this man, shy of bending over backward to worship the very ground he walks on, and you’re so close to your limit that you think if he shrugs one more fucking time━

He shrugs. “Well, yeah, but you know how this industry works. So I know you can be trusted.”

You take a deep breath to try and retain what’s left of your quickly slipping composure, before you say, “Garrett, this goes beyond unprofessional. I could potentially get into a lot of trouble for this. You’re technically my co-worker, if not my client by proxy. It’s not a good look for me to be getting with the athletes I work with, considering my entire career is based on working with athletes.”

He makes a befuddled face as if asking what that has to do with anything. It occurs to you that he’s probably never had to worry about the ethics of hooking up with someone when most of the women who are interested in him would do everything in their power to spend a night by his side whether it’s morally just━ or legal, for that matter━ or not.

“That doesn’t seem to stop you from being all cozy with that Nor-whatever guy,” he grumbles.

“What?”

“That driver,” he repeats. “You post him all over your socials, like, all the time.”

You tear your hands from your pockets and throw them up in the air, “Because that’s my job?!” The stupidity of the man before you is genuinely baffling. He’s been asking about your job all week long but the way he’s talking now makes it seem like he didn’t catch onto the fact that your entire career is centered around media and the creation of content made with the explicit intention of being shared.

“I am quite literally paid to take and post pictures of him per my contract with McLaren,” you continue. “And even if I wasn’t, he’s my best friend?! I’ve been working and traveling and spending the majority of my time with Lando since 2019 so of course I’m going to be close with him. Do you not post your mates every once in a while?”

“Yeah, but it’s different. All my mates are guys, so nobody thinks I’m dating any of them when I do it.”

You scoff in disbelief. “I cannot believe this right now. You know, for a moment, I briefly considered helping you. But you’re actually exactly the type of prick the tabloids say you are.”

He takes an intimidating step closer, and his voice drops an octave lower. “I would reconsider if I was you.” You’re not short, but Garrett isn’t either. He’s one of the tallest players on the Manchester City team, and the way you feel now with him staring you down makes you wonder if this is what it feels like to be his opponent on the pitch.

It’s fucking terrifying.

But you’re fucking livid, too.

Your jaw clenches and you bite out sharply, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“What it means,” he starts, “is that if you don’t help me, maybe I slip a word about something or other to my boss who slips a word to his boss who is, also, your boss, and suddenly, whoops!” He gives you a cocky smirk, so sure of himself that it makes you feel like your blood is literally boiling. “He’s not your boss anymore. In fact, nobody is your boss anymore, because your ‘slip in conduct’ was very inappropriate and made several players uncomfortable, which doesn’t look very good when trying to get jobs elsewhere in the industry.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Well,” he fucking shrugs. “When you say it like that, yeah. I guess I am.”

You cross your arms, your hands clenched into fists so tightly that you can feel your nails digging painfully into the flesh of your palms. “You’re a real bastard, you know.”

“You’re not the first person to tell me that, love.”

If only it were legal to kill a man━ Garrett Ward would be six feet under and picking worms from between his teeth.

You weigh your options, though. You’re not sure how much weight his word actually carries. For all you know, he could tell his boss, they could bring you in to discuss things, and then you could explain it all from your point of view. Garrett is a notorious flirt and you doubt it’s the first time he’s tried to pursue someone who isn’t interested in him. You doubt it happens very often, but it has to have happened at some point. Not to mention, his reputation regarding women is bad enough that Manchester City is already giving him an ultimatum, so you probably have a chance, and the worst-case scenario is that you amicably part ways with the team and that’s that.

But realistically there is a worse worst-case scenario, and it’s pretty damn close to what Garrett is threatening. Losing this side gig wouldn’t really be too much trouble. It would put a dent in your savings, and you’d have to be a bit better about how you ration out your groceries and other necessities around the flat, but losing your job at McLaren? Being blacklisted from the industry entirely? That’s life-destroying. You would lose everything━ all the blood, sweat, and tears you shed to get where you are would be for nothing.

All because of a prick in sky blue.

“Fine,” you utter from between gritted teeth. “I’ll help you. But I won’t post you on my account. I won’t bring you home to my parents. I won’t go round to your flat and I certainly will not have you round to mind. You get one kiss to make it official to the paps, and then nothing more.” You take your own threatening step toward him, and a vindictive part inside you shines with malicious glee when he shifts ever so slightly backward. “If you try anything else, I will run to the papers and drag you through the mud worse than any of your little psycho groupies ever could.”

He scoffs, “You’d ruin your career.”

“But I’d tear you down with me,” you reply.

He takes a moment to think, staring into your eyes and weighing how serious you are. Whatever he sees staring back at him must be convincing enough because he sniffs, nods, and smirks.

“Deal.” He leans down, “I think I’ll be taking that kiss now. Make sure to really sell it, yeah?”

━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette @leclercsluv @f1luvur @formulaal @a-disturbing-self-reflection @starlightpierre

━━ a/n: i feel like i say this every time, but i am seriously blown away by how well the first part of this was received! like, seriously, thank you so much for the kind words everyone said about it! hopefully this second part lives up to the hype of the first, it's a little denser, but the events are important to establish for the rest of the story so it needed to happen!

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #social media au #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #ln4 #oscar piastri

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kagakuoniryu · 2 months

Text

Alastor x reader I've written randomly to vent about a shitty situation I'm currently living

Summary : a new guest you knew from your past life arrive at the hotel, she was that one person who bullied you throigh high school, but she mooks too angelic to be guilty

Code : E/n (ennemy/name)

Tags : fem reader, etablished relationship, angst for the most part, there will maybe be a part 2, mentions of bullying, reader is TRAUMATIZED, english is not my first language, may have some inaccuracy about the show since I'm just projecting, and of course probably ooc characters

It wasn't a bad day, at least not in a place like hell, it was even quite nice, charlie was babbling about a new team bonding activity as usual, and it was nice being with your friends, until around 2 pm...when a new guest arrived...

Oh you remembered her...from high school, so pretty, so popular, she was you best friends ! You should have been overjoyed to see her down here !

Well...not exactly, because she wasn't your best friend anymore, you hardly bear to be in the same room as her, of anger, from your history and how your friendship ended...but also of fear and dread...

You were both teens back then, you and eager to have many friends ! You had your own group of friends, and she was a separate individual, spending her time with her boyfriend often, that's okay by you, you were happy for her, and when that boy left her you welcomed her with open arms ! You became best friend soon, even inseparable ! You heard her badmouth you to your friend group from time to time, but she told you it was okay, it was "to know who was fake" then, one by one, your friends ghosted you, but you had her, she was there at least, making new friends, each time you introduced her they left soon enough, you thought that maybe you were the problem and stopped trying, your best friend was there after all

Until a boy came along, love at first sight for you, he had everything ! He had so much...your best friend wanted him too...and with that, she had him, when you called her out she called you an homewrecker and a toxic friend getting in the way of her relationship, that ended badly and an argument followed, while you stayed on the down low, she texted your few friends left, and any new friends you managed to make telling them how awful you were, so you ended up closing your media althogether, moving away, and never hearing about her ever again

And there she was, she didn't really looked different from her time on her, a round face and blond hair, she didn't looked like she fitted in hell, but you you were different, your body jointed like a doll, mocking your life as the puppet of those who wanted to play you, but if not your appearance, your personnality changed, you were more confident, your boyfriend was a powerful overlord too ! No, not boyfriend, he proposed a month ago after all, he was your fiancee now, and you had friends, through thick and thin, you knew they wouldn't buy into her lie at least !

Having an hard time to breath you sucked it up, maybe she wouldn't recognize you ?

Wrong

How wrong

"Hello ! Welcome to the hazbin hotel ! Guys this is our new guest !" Charlie started with her usually cheerfulness

"Hi everyone ! My name is E/n, I barely arrived in hell ! And I figured that if I could, I would want to be redeemed ! After all everyone deserves second chances !" The girl said back

Her voice hasn't changed, neither her tone, that fake nice tone you used to hear every day, here, one again in flesh and blood, not through a phone, not through class, but..here...

Breathing harder than ever, you only went back to reality when husk called out to you

"Hey ? You seem weird, like you've seen some ghost ?" His tone nonchalant as always showed half concerns, but for him, it was a lot

"A glass, of whiskey, or vodka, whatever you got, strongest you got please"

"Wowowo...alright, that's not your type to drink, what's up...?"

"I-I...I know this girl...she...listens, I can't be in her presence sober, I knew her from where I was alive...we had...some bad conflict...she did some awful things to me, and I got bad issues after that...I said some mean things to her too, we were kids, but since then I'm scared I'll lose all my friends again !"

Husk just nodded at my whispered rant, trying to calm myself, I didn't even insisted on a glass and went straight to my own room since alastor and I didn't shared one yet, not before marriage he said

Later that day, angel vaggie and charlie passed by my room, concerned by my absence, I told them everything, how I ended up abandonning the notion of making friends when I was alive, the calls, the insults, they looked at me with compassion, charlie said she believes that she could have changed, and even if I doubted it, I wanted to believes it

Alastor arrived to spend some quality time with me, dancing on old jazz music far from my time, reading a book, basking in silence with each others

After a while, I thought I could talk about E/n with him, he was my fiancee after all ?

"Al ?" I started, unsure

"Yes my dear ?"

"You know about that new guest at the hotel ?"

"Ah yes, what a cultivated lady, quite entertaining, she was really into songs from the 1980s not my style at all, we had a long discussion about music genres, she's actually quite against modern technology and that picture show"

"Oh...so...you like her company ?"

"She is not insufferable if that's your question"

Finally you decided against your first idea, perhaps she had changed in the end ? Perhaps a new friendship was possible ? With healthy fondation, you could get your bestfriend back !

Wrong again

You revealed her the next day who you were, well, used to be, what linked the two of you back in the living realms, for others, nothing changed, but for you it was subtle, for exemple she never interrupted anyone, but when it came to you each time your mouth opened she would cut you out

She was such a charmer too, a quality you envied her, her audience was captivated, and soon even alastor was her aquaintance, he presented her rosie of course ! Just like he did for charlie !

And just like he did for you...

Rosie found her delightful, and from your tea parties at 3 with her and alastor, became 4, adding E/n

A comment about your appearance back in high school, an embarassing moment you had, a silly crush, every single detail of your life was used to mock you, even your crush on a video game character

Soon you always found excuses to avoid going to the tea party, and spend most of our time outside of the hotel, feeling akward in her presence

You tried talking about it to charlie or maybe vaggie, to no avail, they said how nice E/n was and how much progress she was making, if they weren't saying you sounded silly thinking that in these 3 weeks she took your place, you still felt like it...

And it all confirmed when, after a whole day of searching for everyone, they finally came back to the hotel from shopping...without you

"Finally you're here toots ! We tried searching for ya before going but you weren't anywhere !" Angel started, holding many bags in each arms

"What do you mean ? I was in my room all day ?"

"Wait you weren't out ? E/n told us she saw you leave ?"

"Oh I'm sorry my eyes deceived me...next time I'll still check your room !" As everyone looked sorry I couldn't help but see it, even for a second...

She smirked...

Of course she did, she never changed

This started becoming common occurence, either the others left you behind, or you could leave the entire day without them noticing, and at some point, angel, husk and sir pentious started to distance themselves from you

"Hey angel, hum...you wanna hang out...? Go to a club, or drink with husk, just spend some time betweens pal ?"

"Sorry sweet cheeks, but we're partying with E/n tonight and...she doesn't feel comfortable around you..."

"Wha ? Angel what are you talking about ?"

"She told us about it, about the two of you, hos jealous and manipulative you were, you even tried to make her dump her boyfriend, that wasn't cool of you, I don't want to take side on this, but if I hang out with one of you, I'd rather not force her to be with the other for both your sanities"

"Oh...ok"

That's all you could have mustered, because what was there to muster, you were in hell, all the proof you used to have were on your previous phone in the living realm, but even if angel and the other favored her, mayne your fiancee could understand your side ?

Gently you knocked on alastor's hotel room as he called you to come in, he was currently eating his dinner, a...fresh venison...but you shook your head lightly, taking a sit across the table

"Al, can I vent to you for a bit...?"

"What is it my dear ? But please, spare me your story with E/n, as much as I love a good gossip, the young lady did you a favor by never taking vengance in the living realm, I wouldn't want the two of you to get in troubles once again"

"Al, please it's serious, she's telling lies about le ! And you believes her ? I'm your fiancee ! She's in hell as well !"

"And so are you, and so am I, I am not interested in knowing the why who is were, but I admit your little querrel is...quite entertaining !"

"So your fiancee see her ex bully...and all you think about is entertainment ?"

"Well, ma chère (my dear) as far as we are all concerned, without proof, both of you could be the liar, it's about, who's able to convince the public, just like on a stage"

Alastor's half sadistic smile didn't amused you, you just sighed, getting up, wamking slowly toward the exit of his room, if even your own fiancee, the man you loved refused to believes you, who would ?

You couldn't see alastor's curious expression as you left, he just wanted to prolounge the fun and not outright gives you the solution, but seeing you give up almost made him that for once he screwed up badly

#writing #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #angst #alastor angst #x reader #x reader angst #hazbin hotel x reader

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nicromancytarot · 28 days

Text

WHAT IS YOUR STRONGEST PSYCHIC ABILITY

This is a general reading based on a collective of people. Take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. If you don’t feel the pile resonates with you, don’t be scared to try another, if it still doesn’t feel right, that’s ok! Maybe our energies aren’t as connected and my readings are not for you.

I do these strictly for fun and educational purposes. I don’t change for these readings and I do not fake readings. I would tell you the cards I got but I pull like 20-30 cards each reading and that just slightly a strenuous task to write them all down lmao.

PICK A CARD

I asked my spirit guides what your strongest psychic ability is, pick a pile and find out what they had to say.

Pile 1 ———> Pile 2 ———> Pile 3

PILE 1

Alchemy.

Alchemy is the act of turning metals into silver and gold, it was created in hopes of being able to find cures to diseases and therefore extending the longevity of life. Now obviously I’m not saying that you are able to physically turn a base metal into silver or gold, however I am saying that you mentally have the ability to turn something dull, into something great. You might find yourself to be an incredibly positive person, or perhaps you are very optimistic, this is due to your ability to fix whatever is going wrong in your life.

I am getting the message that you need to learn how to harness this ability so you can use it intentionally rather than on accident.

An example of this ability could be shown when someone is super depressed, everything’s going wrong for them in life, but all the sudden they rise like nothing even happened, they are able to turn a shitty situation into one of their greatest accomplishments, and all it takes is their mind and soul.

Extras: The Weeknd, The moon, Green, White, America, Bisexual

PILE 2

Clairaudience.

Clairaudience is the act of being able to hear things that exist in a paranormal matter. An example of this could be your own voice in your head, like a little internal narrator which is talking to you and telling you random things, perhaps they are reminding you of something you forgot, or maybe they are telling you not to do something. These voices can sometimes appear from outside of your body, you may hear them as though they are existing within the physical realm. However, do not get this confused with other mental health issues, if these voices tell you something disturbing or uncomfortable, those are not to be mistaken as an awakening or guide trying to reach you.

Now that being said, since you have the ability to hear things, you may go to a location that has unknown paranormal activity, and you could possibly hear something that no one else does, like footsteps, a scream, a screeching chair, the list goes on.

Your greatest ability is to take in those messages in which you receive, and using those to your greatest advantage to learn and understand more. This is one of the best ways to communicate with the higher beings (Spirit guides, The universe, God, etc)

Extras: Stars, James Marriott, Chicago, Boxing, Yellow, City man

PILE 3

Mediumship.

Mediumship is known for its ability to be able to see beyond the physical realm. It is greatly understood for being able to see spirits and even communicate with them. It may be that you can see those spirits clearly as if they are like real people who you can interact with. Or it could be that you see them in your minds eye, as if you can describe them, but they are just a projection of a thought that has been placed into your brain.

The ability itself is certainly one of the most interesting, you may find yourself able to beckon upon these spirits, you may feel as though they are called towards you or vice versa.

You could even have the chance to speak to and meet yours, or others higher selves, having introspective conversations with them to learn more about what you need to know for the future.

This could be something you grew up aware that you could do, or possibly something that comes to you with time. It may not appear obvious at first, perhaps it’s just shadows in the corner of yours eyes, or visual premonitions, if so, you can totally begin working on it, if that’s what you desire.

Extras: loud, Blue, Blueberry, Saturday, Molly, Beer, Madison Beer, Montell Fish

#tarot #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #tarot witch #free tarot #tarot reading #tarot cards #pick a card #pick a pile

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rongzhi · 6 months

Note

Hi! Love your TikTok translations, they help me learn so much. Sorry if you've answered this before already, but as a language student myself, I was just curious about how you got so good at Chinese - is it a native language for you, or what's your background in using/studying it? Thank you!

I think I answered this a long time ago (like 2021 maybe) so I will just tell it again. It's kind of a longwinded boring post that's very self-centric (😬) and also probably not going to have any helpful advice to the average language learner, so I'm going to put it under a read more!

Background

My family is Chinese so it's my heritage language. I did learn it before English as a baby but then forgot a lot of it. My parents speak Chinese at home but I always replied in English growing up. Part of this is because I have a twin sibling and because we spoke English at school, we also started speaking English to each other at home.

We went to Chinese school on Sundays growing up (this is like a community/cultural school; it included other courses like math, Chinese dance, art, pre-SATs (lol), etc, depending on who in the community was available to teach), but I didn't really pay attention so my Chinese was pretty shit for a long time—like broken conversational level shitty, although I have always had a strong comprehension ability. My dad's side is from Sichuan so I grew up understanding a bit of Sichuanese.

The beginning of my "studying"

I don't actually have much of a background studying Chinese in a formal setting. I took Chinese 101-103 in college as part of a language requirement (specifically chose to start with 101 so I could relearn basics, even though my teachers kept offering to place me in higher levels). I really credit my Chinese 101 prof who was also the college's calligraphy teacher for making us focus on brush stroke order and recognising characters and understanding semantic components, which is something other profs did not emphasise (they were more focused on building conversational skills).

Anyway, that was only my freshman year of college because I ended up changing majors and not having a language requirement anymore (boo). I continued studying a bit of Chinese in the intervening years, but I am not a very disciplined person when it comes to self-study, so much of it was just translating song lyrics for my own amusement. During this time, I also started watching some cdramas, but mostly just Chinese web shows, which maybe helped? (I don't think I was watching enough for it to really make a difference).

Fast forward a couple years to 2020 and I started watching more cdramas during lockdowns, including watching 成化十四年 (The Sleuth of Ming Dynasty), which I was super invested in for about two years (this used to be a fandom blog lol). Basically, hyperfixation led me to rapidly improve my Chinese; I started translating a few behind-the-scenes videos for fandom friends. In order to keep up with Chinese fans and gain access to more material about the show, I started venturing onto Chinese sites such as weibo, bilibili, and eventually, douyin, which I downloaded around October of 2020 (so this was 6 months into my increased interest into Chinese things). At first, I translated a couple of douyins to share with fandom friends as I had done with behind-the-scenes materials, but for whatever reason I felt like some of the videos I wanted to translate would just be annoying to spam into the chat... I couldn't figure out a way to connect them to the blorbos, but I still wanted to translate them, so I started posting them here on tumblr. That's how my douyin translations started out. This was the height of covid-19 related sinophobia, too, so at some point I started realising how important it was to continue translating douyins, and that motivated me to continue even beyond it just being a fun thing to do. On that topic, it was through this blog that I realised how poorly understood China and Chinese people are, specifically on this site. I feel like that has changed a lot, or maybe that's just a comment on insular online spaces, but I have to think not; since I started translating douyins, I've seen a noticeable decrease in sinophobic comments and messages (not that I don't still get them, but it's lessened), and I think that's also thanks in great part to other blogs on here that were posting/have started to post more content from China to help increase exposure to tumblr users.

Improving

In any case, in the beginning, I did a lot of translations mostly by ear rather than reading captions because my Chinese reading wasn't that good.

It's kind of slowly improved with time and repetitive reading, and over the last three years now, I've also gone through periods of taking notes and actively seeking out some vocab lists or grammar explanations... but it usually comes in the process of trying to translate something. My motivations in "studying" (it's more like "figuring out") Chinese is largely based on the simple desire to know what people are talking about... what they're joking about... what they're ranting about and roasting. Related: I also started reading fanfics in Chinese about a year ago. Some fics have been easier to read than others, but some of the best ones I've read were also the ones that challenged me the most, and which I had to take a lot of notes on while reading. I'll admit! There have been times where I just took a fic and dumped that sucker in google translate and have it read the Chinese to me, so I could just listen to it like a podfic. But even so, I would take notes, because I think my improvements in Chinese are heavily connected to my Chinese literacy.

Reading douyin comments and forums on douban or comment sections on bilibili has been one of the main ways that I've picked up on common phrases and characters. I often write things down but I do so more as a muscle memory practice, because I have never really been the sort of person who reads back notes (this was also how I studied in school, iirc). Branching out and translating things that are written in formal or non-colloquial styles is also a way I challenge myself from time to time, and I do like to look up the etymology of Chinese characters from time to time because it helps me pick up patterns of semantics and phonetic hints when I'm reading (this makes it easier to guess what a character might mean or sound like, even if you've never seen it before). Overall, translation has been the great learning tool for me. I think maybe it comes down to learning styles? I have always learned better from trying to teach others, and I feel like translation works a similar muscle in the mind; translation is about figuring out ways to efficiently communicate a message, and in order to do so, you must be able to grasp the essence of what it is you're relaying.

All this said... And to try and return to your original ask after all my usual Wawa rambling... I actually don't think my Chinese is that good, lol. In fact, there's probably people who follow this blog who are studying Chinese in a more conventional and methodical manner whose Chinese is objectively much better than mine 🤷🏻‍♂️ I mean, if you crunch the numbers, I have really only be self-"studying" for three years. Three years of what is really just vibe-based learning. There's a lot of vocab I still don't know (I mean my English vocab is pretty limited too, sooo.... 😭), a lot of areas that I can still improve on, and am improving on, and try to improve on... when the mood strikes. Again, I am not a very disciplined self-study type.

Maybe this will give any other Chinese diaspora hope, though. I feel like it's never too late for us to start learning. There is probably a seed or language foundation within you already which will make it easier for you to start, and then after that, I think it sort of comes down to finding what interests you and will keep you motivated.

Most of the stuff I talk about on here when it comes to culture or folk art or what have you, I did not know even five years ago! I learned about it because I was interested to find out more. (That's another reason I have to laugh when I get some of the asks I do in my inbox... The stuff I don't answer is dumbfounding at times. You translate a couple of funny videos and people think you're some kind of Tripadvisor cultural ambassador guy! I swear...)

The "study" resources I use regularly are the following:

Pleco

Zh-En browser extension

Yellowbridge (usually to check brush stroke order, since I have Pleco)

Baidu etymology pages / Chinese etymology dictionaries such as hanziyuan

#text #answered ask #about me

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macabr3-barbi3 · 15 days

Note

Hey! I saw your oneshot requests post on AO3. I hope I'm not I'd love to make a request, hope I'm not too late! Could you please write a oneshot with Alastor catching the reader masturbating and give him a breeding kink? It's cool if you're not into it though and would only prefer to write Alastor catching the reader before having sex, lol. *gives you a massive smooch on the forehead* thank you smm

did I go a little crazy with this? maybe. I had fun though, that's what matters! I struggled a little with the breeding kink part but I hope you still like it, anon! <3

Tags: vaginal sex, possessive sex, masturbation, biting, a bit of scratching (I like Al's claws what can I say)

2.4k words

<3<3<3<3<3

Another shitty day in Hell, you think to yourself, coming home from the shit job you held at the news station. You’d think Katie Killjoy could get her own fucking coffee and fetch her own scripts from the producers but no- she needed you to do it so she could spew shit down your throat when her day wasn’t perfect. Which, you know, it was Hell- every day was shit.

You collapse back onto your bed, limbs tense and head pounding. Katie just never shut the fuck up and her shrill voice sounded like a dentist drill in your head. You’d kill a man to be able to relax- it wouldn’t be the worst thing you had done in Hell. But it had been a long time since you had done anything like that; not since Alastor had disappeared.

Alastor. Even now, thinking his name brings a pulsing heat to your core.

In hindsight, of course, trading your soul to the Radio Demon for your boyfriend’s to be free had been stupid. So, so stupid, and you realized it as soon as the bastard had broken up with you to fuck off to another area of Pentagram City. Leaving you and your soul in the clutches of one of the most dangerous Overlords that Hell had ever seen. Your job was simple at least- you spent time with Alastor in Cannibal Town almost as an assistant for a while, managing his schedule (when he could be bothered to follow it), checking in on other souls he owned (when he cared enough to check on them), and just generally being at his beck and call.

You were perhaps the tiniest bit infatuated with him at the time. You did whatever he asked of you- his tasks and errands, his housework, the organization of his radio studio when he got too into ripping someone apart. It wasn’t long until he was asking you to assist him with the deed, pushing a blade of angelic steel into your hands and guiding you towards a rapidly beating heart.

The way he had said “good girl” that day lived inside your head, would twist wickedly around your thoughts when you were trying to focus on anything.

It did now as well, and despite the fact that you hadn’t seen the demon in seven years- having just up and vanished one day- it still held the same power. Your heart raced, cheeks flushed, and you could feel yourself growing damp between your legs at the thought. You didn’t allow yourself to indulge in the memories often, but today felt like an especially shitty one. You think you could be forgiven thinking inappropriately about your old boss long enough to get a quick orgasm in before passing out for the day.

With a quick glance to the window, just to make sure the curtains were drawn, you slide your fingers under the band of your panties and run your fingers through the slickness that you find, gently circling a finger over your clit and huffing out an exhale at the sensation. Thinking of Alastor never failed to make you a mess, pleasure curling in your brain and your gut. It was a wonder you had managed to work for him so long without trying to make a move but he had always seemed so uninterested in anyone else when they tried. You wouldn’t imagine that you were special enough to change his stance on that, but your imagination wasn’t hurting anyone.

You shift on the bed, raising your hips up far enough to slide your bottoms off and shove them to the side. You freeze when you hear something that sounds like a creaking door, but brush it off as something from a lower floor, bringing your other hand under the covers.

One rubbing lightly at your clit you let your other hand reach further, slipping first one finger and then a second into the wet warmth of your pussy. You whimper and close your eyes, wishing that your fingers were longer, wishing someone else was at the other end of them and causing the stretch.

“Good girl.”Alastor’s voice slithers like a tendril through your mind, and you can’t help the groan that tumbles from your lips in the darkness of the night. “Alastor,” you breathe out, indulging yourself, the sound barely audible. It’s going to be over too quickly but you’re too wound up to care, the thought of the Radio Demon alone threatening to send you hurtling over that edge.

“Yes, darling?”

You yelp at the shock of his voice, not just in your head but echoing in the room. Eyes flying open, impending orgasm fading, you see his eyes glowing in the darkness of a corner, his grin coming into view as he steps into the faint light of your bedside lamp. “A-Alastor. What are you doing here?”

He had been gone for seven years. What were the chances he would show up here? Now?

“Can an Overlord not simply pop into the home of a soul in their possession when they choose?” He steps closer, head cocked to one side as he looks at you, and you realize that your hands are still fucking touching yourself and you rip them out from under the blanket. “I must say, this is quite the welcome home.”

“I- I didn’t-” He crouches at the end of the bed and your brain stops working for a moment. “I obviously wasn’t expecting you-”

“Hmm, that doesn’t sound quite like the truth! You said my name, did you not?” When you falter his grin widens, reaching a hand out and snatching the blanket away, exposing your bare skin to the room. “My my, what do we have here?”

“Oh god- Alastor, I’m so sorry,” you say, and try to scramble up the bed away from him before he wraps a hand around your ankle and yanks you back down. Your heart is pounding, threatening to beat straight out of your chest with the look that he’s giving you.

He gives a hum of acknowledgment. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, darling,” he murmurs, trailing his fingers up your leg to settle on your thigh. “Except, perhaps, starting without me. Do tell, did you miss me terribly while I was gone?”

You open your mouth to speak and all that can escape is a choked out moan when he slicks his fingers through the wetness he finds between your thighs. “That’s not quite an answer but I suppose it can be forgiven.” Miraculously blunt, he presses a digit into you, followed quickly by another as he shifts so he’s crouched above you, face a mere breath away from yours.

“A- Alastor, fuck,” you manage to gasp out. “Where have you been?” It should be the farthest thing from your mind when he’s got those dexterous fingers inside you, stretching and preparing you for something more if the bulge in his trousers is anything to go by.

Alastor shrugs, “oh you know, just here and there. Doing a bit of this and that.” Eyes lidded he takes in your form beneath him. “Nothing quite so interesting as what I’ve stumbled onto here.” His free hand fumbles with his belt buckle, the clinking of metal drawing your eyes to his exposed erection in his fist. “Won’t you show me how you’ve missed me?”

In answer you lift a leg to wrap around his waist, delighting in his dark chuckle and throwing your head back with a groan when he growls “good girl” against your throat.

He lines himself up with your heat and pushes in slowly, giving you time to adjust; once he’s reached the hilt he braces his hands on your headboard and pulls back, slamming back forward with a vigor you’ve only ever seen from him in his studio. You cling to his back, fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt in a desperate bid to get closer.

Alastor leans down far enough to lick into your mouth, sharp teeth nipping at the sensitive skin of your lips. You bite back in retaliation, perhaps a bit too hard in your eagerness and confusion at the situation- his lip splits and you taste the metallic tang. He pulls back for a moment, manic grin on his face in spite of the bead of blood welling on his mouth. He releases the headboard and shifts, one hand twisting up into your hair and dragging your head up to meet his. The other slides between your bodies, thumb grinding into your clit and the rest of his claws gripping your hips where he could reach them.

You had already been so close to orgasm by the time he turned up- the pressure on your clit and the feeling of him inside you, his hands gripping at your body and head while he kissed you and railed himself inside you. You tear your mouth away from his to gasp his name, winding a hand up into his locks as well and striking against something hard.

Your body is shaking with the attempt to hold back, trailing your fingers to the base of his antlers and giving a soft squeeze.

He groans into your mouth, a broken sound. “Do you mean to make me spend myself already, darling?” He drops your head back onto the pillows, licks down the column of your throat while pulling your other leg up around his hip to press closer to you, deeper. “We’ve hardly begun! I thought you missed me- you’d wish it over so quickly?”

“God, Alastor,” you whimper, and his thumb increases its speed, pressing you into the mattress and digging his fingers into your skin. The release is so close, your legs tensed around the demon’s middle, fingers shaking where they grasp at him. “Fuck-”

“I’d prefer to take my time with you, but I suppose there’s nothing to be done for it if you’ve yearned for me so.” He redoubles his efforts, pounding into your tight heat while you moan and quake around him. A particularly hard thrust has him glancing off that sweet spot inside of you, and combined with his efforts on your clit you’re breaking, everything inside of you clenching and releasing in a rhythm that has him snarling into the skin of your neck.

“I can feel how much you missed me,” he hisses in your ear. “So responsive and greedy in how your body pulls me in- wishes for me to release myself within the grip of your body, to fill you with me.” Another hard thrust and you whine into his hair, grip still tight on his antlers. “Is that what you wish? To be filled? Marked as mine not just in soul but body?”

Your voice trembles out of you, “god, Alastor, yes.”

“There will be no part of you that I have not touched,” he growls, and post orgasm you gasp at the sensation of tightening around him involuntarily. “All of you will be mine- mine-”

Alastor reaches orgasm with a broken cry, clutching your body to his as tightly as he can while spilling inside of you, tensing walls seeming to be trying to pull him deeper despite being buried to the hilt already. He bites you in the moment, a push of teeth into the skin of your shoulder just under your shirt, sucking and running his tongue over the mark as he pulls back.

He leans back far enough for you to see his face again, crimson eyes lidded and smile dangerous. There’s blood on his lips, from where you had bit his and from sinking his fangs into you as he went over the precipice of pleasure. Finally he releases his grip on you.

You collapse back into the pillows, sated and exhausted, while Alastor stands from the bed and situates himself, dragging his thumb across the bite you had left on his lip and smearing the blood across the pad of the digit. He sucks it into his mouth with a crooked smirk. “Well, this was quite the enjoyable detour, darling!”

“Detour?” You sit up against the pillows again. “You’re not staying?”

“I’m afraid not- but don’t worry your pretty little head about it! Neither are you!” He snaps his fingers and your bottoms are back on your body, Alastor holding a hand out to you and hoisting you up from the mattress. He takes a moment to pat your head, smoothing down the stray hairs that had escaped your ponytail from your combined efforts before he bangs his cane on the ground.

“I am?” You look around your apartment. “But- I have a job? And my apartment, who will water my plants?”

“We’ll bring your plants with us! Do you truly care about such trivial matters when you’ll be with me?” A claw tipped finger under the chin, he makes you look up at him. “That’s what you’ve wanted all this time, yes? So help me with this little project I’m working on.”

The floor opens below you, Alastor throwing an arm around your shoulders as you shift into the shadows and reemerge in some kind of lobby.

“What the f-”

“Salutations, everyone! This is one of my associates- I’m happy to offer her services! Please feel free to use her as you see fit, Charlie- she’s quite eager to please.”

“Oh my gosh, HI!” The Princess of Hell steps forward- you recognize her from her interview at the news station a week ago, Katie hadn’t stopped bitching for hours after that shitshow. She violently shakes your hand and arm before the shorter woman, her little one-eyed girlfriend, forcibly pulls her away from you. “I have SOOOOO many ideas for what you can help out with- do you have any experience with cooking? How about cleaning? Maybe Niffty could use some help-” Charlie reaches back and grabs your arm, dragging you away from Alastor who gives you a little wave before slinking back into the shadows.

You spot Husk behind the counter of a bar, Angel Dust of all people draped across it with his head dropped into his arms. The cat lifts an eyebrow at you, another one of Alastor’s souls apparently roped into helping with this ‘project,’ and raises his glass in acknowledgment. A healthy amount of fear and anticipation fills you- you would be working with Alastor again, which would be a nice change of pace from the news station. But when Katie found out her little assistant was going to working with the young woman who made a mockery of her live on television she was going to be pissed.

#hazbin hotel #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor the radio demon #x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #requests <3 #my stuff <3

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slutforln4 · 9 months

Text

libertine — joel miller.

synopsis. you've been having sexual fantasies about the substitute professor at your college. when the opportunity to get a better mark on a shitty essay you wrote arises, you take it. quite literally take it.

pairing. professor!joel x student!reader/fem!reader

warnings. smut, a smidge of fluff at the end, masturbation in a public bathroom, joel's got a southern accent that i tried to make obvious in the fic (if it's crappy, 'm sorry), oral (m receiving), unprotected piv, inexperienced and virgin reader, age gap (reader is in their early 20s and joel's in his late 40s), dom/sub dynamics praise kink, dirty talk. idk what else there is...

goes without saying but this is 18+, MDNI. i'm not responsible for what typa media you consume, but beware for your own good.

word count. 2.6k

author's note. i haven't written smut before so here's my shot at the self-indulgent professor!joel hc that i have... hope you enjoy ❤️ part two in the makings if this does well!!

Classic literature didn't come easy to you, but fucking your professor did.

It started off as every normal day at college did— you flow through your entire schedule, some free time here and there, during which you manage to take a nap or catch up on missing assignments, and at the end of almost every day, you were met with the class you hated, but also loved, the most… Classic literature.

The class itself is fairly easy. All you had to do was read some novels, write essays based on topics from said novels and also write a thorough analysis of it. Easy stuff. But you struggled with the essay writing, it just wasn't your thing.

However, you can't say that you didn't enjoy the class. The most interesting part of it being that substitute professor, Mr. Miller, that just transferred in. Him and that Texan accent of his, those deep, brown eyes, that salt-and-pepper hair trailing down his jaw, those luscious thighs and whatever's hiding behind the zipper of his jeans… You can't stop thinking about it.

It’s been occupying your mind for however long he's been working at your college, and you can't help but have those thoughts when it comes to him. From the way he looks, down to the way he talks about love, he’s attractive inside and out. The way he talks about women, though, was the thing that caught your attention the most. He speaks so highly of them that it almost seems like he worships them, which makes you want to fuck him all the more.

The day you decided to put your mind to rest and have your body do the work, Mr. Miller had put up another assignment.

You dreadfully open up your email at the beginning of class, and groan when the body of it reads “Essay about the importance of expressing love in current youth based on your analysis of Romeo and Juliet due next week Thursday, midnight.”

Turning off your phone, you assert your attention back to your professor. He stood there, in his suit and all, looking more delicious than ever as he reminded your class to check their emails. The stern tone in his voice made your insides flutter, and the way he held onto his waist… God, you can't help but rub your thighs together to hide the throbbing between your legs, already feeling the wetness in your panties.

“Alright, pull out ya laptops and open up that website I told y’all about,” Mr. Miller says, and you’re the first one to obey his order. He gives you a look and when your eyes lock with his, he smiles at you. “As I already mentioned in the emails, we’ll be readin’ and analysin’ Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.”

The more he spoke, the less you could pay attention. Your eyes travelled all over his face, his chest, down to his crotch. Even without a hard-on, there was an imprint in his dress pants. Mr. Miller was the type to speak with his hands, resulting in you ogling at the way his fingers move in the air.

Mr. Miller begins talking about how love is portrayed in the tragedy, his tone changing with each point he makes. You stare at his lips, silently wishing they were on your body, somewhere. Anywhere would be fine as long as all his attention was on you. On all the parts that long for his touch.

You try your best to focus on what he’s saying, writing down what you need to remember. Your thighs are clenching together again when Mr.Miller scratches the back of his head, his bicep visible through the sleeve of his jacket. That’s about as much as you can take.

You hesitantly get up from your seat, mumbling a quiet “excuse me” as you walk out through the doors. It must've looked weird, since you ran out the door in such a rush, but you didn't care. Your main concern was finding a bathroom before all the thoughts about your professor fucking you into oblivion could make you cum on the spot.

You hurry past all the staff that are scattered across the halls and barge into the women’s bathroom. It's quiet and you’re sure you're alone, but you still check. “Hello?” No response. You hurry yourself into a stall and lock the door.

You don't even lift the toilet seat when you sit down on it, your skirt and panties on the floor. You spread your legs and put your fingers into a V shape, spreading your lips open. Using your other hand, you gather some of the arousal that’s been leaking out of you for the past twenty minutes and use it to coat your clit as your finger slowly rubs circles on it.

"That’s it,” you can almost hear Mr. Miller talking in your ear. “That’s my girl.”

“Fuck,” you mumble to yourself, feeling yourself getting more horny with the flood of thoughts that won't stop. Your finger rubs circles on your clit, increasing the pressure from time to time. Subconsciously, your hand unbuttons the shirt you’re wearing to reveal your bare chest and begins twirling your hard nipple. You imagine it's his hands, that he’s the one pleasuring you. Your finger’s now working at a pace you can't keep up with, quietly moaning out your professors last name when you use the hand that was rubbing your clit to finger yourself.

One finger in and you’re already gasping at the image on the back of your eyelids. You’re imagining it's his fingers in you, his cock in his other hand as he jerks himself off. You put a second finger in and start thrusting it in and out, when the image changes to his hips clashing into yours as his dick hits spots your fingers could only dream of. Your hips jolt against your fingers at the image of his veiny cock so vividly throbbing in your imagination.

You bring your other hand down to your clit, rubbing the throbbing nub once again. “Fuck,” you whimper as you feel your climax nearing. Your fingers curl inside you, and you’re about to let go.

“Attagirl,” the voice in the back of your head says and that’s the last push for you to cum all over your own fingers, your juices leaking out onto the toilet seat. You continue rubbing your clit until your climax wears off.

When you’re back in the classroom, everyone's already left, only Mr. Miller’s sat at his desk, typing away. His eyes look up at you when you enter through the door. “Oh, hey. I kept your stuff safe, since ya left in such a rush.” A comforting smile decorates his face. He’s so considerate it makes your clit throb again.

“Uh, thank you, sir.” You mumble shyly, packing your stuff into your bag and getting ready to leave. Mr. Miller’s eyes are on you when you turn back towards him.

He clears his throat. “I also wanted to speak to ya ‘bout somethin’.”

“Oh,” you nod. “Alright, what is it?”

“Listen, sweetheart. Y’know the last essay I assigned you to write?” He asks, eyebrows raised in question. You bite your bottom lip as you think back on what the last assignment was. When you remember, you nod. “Alright, well… You didn't do too good on it.”

“I know,” you laugh awkwardly, trying to hide the shame you feel. “It wasn't my finest work.”

“Yeah.” He laughs with you in an attempt to ease the situation. “But, uh. You can rewrite it and I’ll raise your mark. Whaddya say?”

You think it over for a moment, before shaking your head. “I think I could…” You’re not sure where this confidence is coming from, but you’re suddenly approaching him. “Get my mark up another way…” Your eyes glance down at his crotch and you bite your lip. When Mr. Miller realises what you’re insinuating, he shakes his head, but his eyes say different.

“Honey, it goes against teacher-student policy, you know that.” He reminds you, but you’re already on your knees in front of him and under his desk, batting your long eyelashes at him to get your way. His bulge grows right in front of your face and you don't think anymore, you just do. Your fingers are unclasping his belt, unzipping his pants and pulling them down. “Sweetheart-” he gets cut off by his dick springing up after you pull his boxers down, precum already leaking out of it. “Fuck.”

You look at him, not sure of what to do. You’ve never sucked a dick before, and the one in front of you would surely end up somehow fucking up your throat. You contemplate just sitting down on it, riding it like you did to your pillow when you woke up from a wet dream about him. That is, until he speaks. “You gonna stare at it or suck it like you wanted to?”

The tone in his voice changed from formal and sweet to deep and dominant, and you’re wet again from just the sound of it. “I’ve never, uh… done this before.”

Mr. Miller nods his head towards you. “Put your lips on the tip,” you do as told, your lips wrapping around the tip of his cock. “Just like that,” he says, his voice wavering. “Now put it in your mouth,” you hesitate to do so, instead wrapping your fingers around the base of his large cock. “Don't be shy, you want your mark up, don't ya?”

You nod, slowly opening your mouth to put more of his cock in. When it hits the back of your throat, you gag a bit. “Breathe through your nose, babygirl.” You do as told and the gagging goes away. “Now, slowly bob your head up and down. Yeah, just- just like that, fuck.” You're bobbing your head up and down on his dick, your fingers working at the base of it. His hips buckle and his dick thrusts deeper in your throat. A moan rumbles in your throat and vibrates on Mr. Miller’s dick, and he has to refrain himself from shoving his whole dick down your throat.

“Fuck, just like that,” he moans. “Good girl.” The praise makes you that much more wet, and you moan against his dick again.

Suddenly, the door swings open and Mr. Miller sits up, looking at whoever entered his classroom. Your mouth doesn't leave his cock, you simply thrust it in your mouth harder, using your tongue to caress his shaft. “Good evening,” he greets the janitor who came in to clean the classroom. “I, uh, I still got some,” Mr. Miller balls his fingers into a fist as he holds back a moan, trying his best to focus on the conversation with your mouth still sucking him off. “I’m still workin’, gimme thirty more minutes.”

The door closes behind the janitor and Mr. Miller leans back against his chair, his eyes half-lidded and looking down at you. He feels his orgasm nearing when you begin pumping the base of his cock again, along with thrusting his dick into your mouth. “I’ll be cummin’ in your mouth if you don't pull away right now, sweetheart.”

Your mouth leaves his cock, but your fingers still jerk him off. A deep moan leaves his lips as a string of hot cum shoots out in loads onto your clothed chest and neck. You’re still pumping his dick when he motions for you to get up. You stand up from under his desk and he’s immediately pulling you closer to himself. You're sat on his lap, dick still hard and rubbing on your belly as his lips connect with yours. He can still taste himself in your mouth and he smirks at that.

His hands are on your knees, but with each kiss, they inch closer and closer to where you need him the most. When he reaches the wet spot on your panties, he grins against your mouth. “So ready for me, hm?”

You nod, whimpering at the soft contact of his finger to your clothed clit. “Yes, Mr. Miller, please-”

“Call me Joel,” he mumbles as his fingers wrap around the waistband of your panties and tug them off of you. He slowly grabs you by the waist and aligns his cock with your dripping cunt.

“Wait-” you pause kissing him when you feel the tip brushing up against your folds. “I haven't- Y’know…”

Joel smirks. “You a virgin, baby?” You nod, slowly. “I’ll take care of ya, I promise.” You feel his finger rub over your hole, gathering some of your slick to rub it on his dick.

His hands slowly lower your waist down, his cock slipping past your folds with ease and you gasp at the feeling of him filling you up. It’s everything you’ve been dreaming of. He’s so big that it feels like you’re being split open. “You okay?” He asks you with a kiss to your collarbone. You nod, your bottom lip between your teeth and hands tightly gripping onto his shoulders. “Good, ‘cause this ain't all of it yet,” he says, voice low and taunting, before lowering you all the way down. You whimper as you feel his cock brush against your cervix.

“Fuck,” you whisper, leaning up to kiss his lips as you adjust to the size of him. Joel just holds you there, not moving you until you’re ready. His fingers find your throbbing clit and start rubbing it, your lips still connected. “Mmh,” you moan, your hips jolting towards his fingers and moving his dick deeper inside of you.

You begin pushing yourself up and slipping back down, a string of moans leaving your lips. “Attagirl.”

You’re riding his cock, feeling each and every inch of him filling up your insides. You can feel every throb of his veins pulsing inside of you and you catch all his moans with your lips. His hands are gripping your hips, pulling you down with more force. The classroom is filled with sounds of skin clashing on skin. You’re moaning and whimpering, his cock threatening to tip you over the edge. “I’m… I-” you can't even speak.

“You what, baby?” He asks, his thumbs digging into your hips with the intensity of your thrusts. “You gonna cum for me? You gon’ be a good girl and cum all on my dick?” You can't manage to speak so you nod, tears spilling from your eyes as you feel your climax approaching.

He’s thrusting up at you, now, his climax approaching him again. You're a moaning and whimpering mess, begging him to make you cum with the broken words you’re mumbling. “Ple- Please… Fu-uck, Joel…”

“Let go for me,” he coaxes, his lips right by your ear. “I got you, pretty girl.”

With a loud moan, you’re cumming all over his dick and you feel his hot liquid fill up your insides with a couple more thrusts of his hips. Joel kisses you again. Like a starving man that hasn't eaten for days on end. He kisses you with passion, with more than just lust behind those eyes.

When you both pull away, he makes sure to clean you up. “You were so good for me, sweetheart.” He praises. “So good.”

You’re not sure what to say, so you just kiss him again. And again. And one more time. Until he’s kissing on your neck again, but he inevitably stops and leans into your ear. “I gotta get to work, baby.”

“Okay,” you say with a sigh. “Thanks for helping me with the essay,” your lips pull into a small smirk as you open the door to his classroom.

“All thanks to you.” He returns the same smile. “Couldn’t have finished it without you.”

You shake your head with a laugh. “You’re so unfunny,” and close the door behind yourself.

#joel miller #the last of us #pedro is daddy #joel x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #professor!joel #student!reader #pedro pascal fic #joel miller x you #praise

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blushweddinggowns · 8 months

Text

It had started as a rough few weeks. A rough few weeks that turned into a rough few months. It was weird, because in all honesty when it came to social standings, Will was doing a lot better here than he ever did in Hawkins. There were no Zombie Boy stories following him here, and he even managed to get a few girls to have a crush on him. He…still wasn’t quite clear how that worked out and he really wasn’t a fan of it. But they were also the only people he could talk to at school. He was way too paranoid of getting close to any guys. God forbid he got another crush on a friend, having none of them just seemed like the better course of action.

It didn’t help that Mike had basically stopped acknowledging that he existed after they moved. He didn’t write to him, he didn’t call him, and it felt like the only time he heard his voice was when he politely asked for El over the phone. And it hurt. It hurt a lot. Especially when he still put in so much effort to get ahold of El all the time. He’d resent her for it if he could, but the only one who was having a worse time than him with the move was her. Maybe Mike was a shitty friend to him, but at least she had someone to talk to.

But whatever. Lucas and Dustin cared, and so did Eddie and Steve. And when Jonathan wasn’t busy being high as hell, he had him too. Even Max called him more often than Mike did. Even when she was just trying to get ahold of El she’d take the time to ask him how he was, a courtesy that his best friend from freaking kindergarten couldn’t even offer anymore.

So maybe Will didn’t have many friends in California yet, but he didn’t feel very lonely.

Just a little heartbroken.

But he could get past it. Especially when some of his favorite people were only one phone call away. Sometimes it made him feel a little guilty, that Steve and Eddie were his go to for talking about his problems. Especially since Jonathan was always trying to get him to open up. Even when he was zoinked out of his gourd he never failed to ask Will how his day was. Though…he did have a hard time following the plot when Will told him.

But that didn’t change the fact that Jonathan always wanted to help. But what could Will say? I’m depressed because I’m in love with my best friend who doesn’t care about me? And oh yeah, I’m gay? Yeah, no. That wasn’t going to happen. If Jonathan of all people hated him for that…he’s not sure he could recover. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t think about it.

It was kind of pathetic, but he’d fantasize about it sometimes. Coming out to his family, everyone smiling and saying they’d love him anyway, no matter what. And if he was being honest with himself, it was technically possible, right? His brother had never said a bad word about Steve and Eddie. His mom never failed to shut the homophobic crap down when his crappy sperm donor had still been around. But it was different when it was your own kid, right? Will wasn’t quite sure. But he did know that he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

So he called who he always did when he had a problem. It only took a few rings before someone was picking up, Steve’s familiar voice on the other end, “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me,” Will sighed, flopping face first into his bed, the phone pressed to his ear.

He could hear the smile in Steve’s voice, “Hey kiddo, what’s up?”

God, he was such a dad. Will wouldn’t be shocked if he started wearing socks with sandals by the time he hit twenty-three. He went straight to the point, “Do you think that living happily ever after is like a real thing? For people like us?”

Steve laughed, “It better fucking be after all the shit we’ve seen.”

“I don’t mean the Upside Down stuff,” Will sighed, “I mean like…y’know. The gay.”

Steve snorted, “The gay? I’m going to have to tell Eddie that one.”

Will rolled his eyes at the redundant statement. He had learned a long time ago that telling Steve something meant telling Eddie something, and vice versa. He sighed a tiny smile on his face, “Oh what, like he’s not already next to you listening in?”

“...touché.”

Will laughed, turning over to stare at the ceiling, “I’m serious though. Like…is it even possible? It’s not like everyone gets to magically find their soulmate at eight.”

“Is that such a bad thing though?” Steve asked, “Because no offense dude but honestly? I think you could do a lot better than Mike-”

“Be nice,” Will interrupted, torn between being defensive for Mike’s sake and amused at Steve never failing to find a way to come at him.

“I will when he starts being nice to me.”

“Well that’s just not going to happen,” Will laughed, “I’m starting to think Eddie’s right to call you a brat.”

Steve gasped, loud and scandalized. He’d been hanging out with Robin too much, “Me?! Never!”

Will could barely hear it over the receiver, but he could hear Eddie’s faint voice coming through, Yes he is!

And it was making him laugh even harder. Will missed this, so much. He missed having a place where he could just say whatever he wanted, with no worries. Even now he was looking over his shoulder, anxious at the chance that his mom or a sibling could come bursting in at any moment to catch him in the act of being comfortable. It was a confusing and weird feeling, and probably a little unfair to assume they’d prefer him to be sad and quiet over happy and queer. But he still did.

But for now he was safe. And he might as well take the chance to speak on all the things he couldn’t with anyone else, “But what if I don’t want to do better than Mike? Like…it’s stupid but do you think that um, I would ever have a chance?”

The answer was a strong no, but sometimes Will just needed a reality check from someone else’s mouth.

Steve sighed, “I think the odds are pretty low bud. All jokes aside, even if he was playing for our team, I’m not sure if he’s the type who could even accept it. Y’know?”

Will did know, unfortunately. And if he’d never met Eddie and Steve there was a solid chance he’d be that guy. The truth stung a bit, but it was necessary, “I know, I know. But…do you think he would accept me? If he ever found out?”

“He fucking better. Otherwise I’ll-”

Will heard a shuffle on the other end, paired with something that sounded suspiciously like whining before he heard Eddie’s voice, “Will? You there? Sorry about that. I had to take the phone away before he started talking about beating up a child.”

Will grinned, happy to hear Eddie’s voice, “You made the right call. Do you think they’ll ever get along?”

“Not in this lifetime,” Eddie sighed, “And I know Mike’s not perfect, but if he’s okay with us why wouldn’t he be with you?”

“But it’s different when it’s a friend, isn’t it?” Will asked, “I’m not even sure if my mom would accept it, let alone him.”

“Well first of all, you don’t have to tell anyone shit, okay? But I can promise you that Joyce would be fine with it. And so would Jonathan for that matter. And I don’t even know if El is aware of what homophobia even is.”

It all sounded a lot more believable out of Eddie’s mouth than what was going on in his own head. But still… “What if they don’t though? What if I tell them and they kick me out or something? Or make me go to therapy?”

“Okay, on the off, off chance that you tell them and Joyce suddenly became a monster overnight, we’ll go to plan B. Steve and I will drive up there to kidnap you and you can live in Indy with us.”

Will grinned. He could live with that, “Can’t we just make that Plan A?”

“No, because your family loves you, as they should by the way. And this won’t bother them, I swear. Plus, telling them on your own terms is a lot less awkward than getting caught in the act.”

Will didn’t even want to know what Eddie was alluding to with that one. Poor Wayne, “But what if we’re wrong?”

He wanted to believe him, he really did, but stranger things had happened outside of gay people being disowned.

“Will, listen to me,” Eddie said, his voice confident enough to make Will perk up, “I swear on Steve’s life, okay? There is no way in hell anyone in that house is gonna reject you for this.”

Will blinked, a little shocked at just how much faith he had in his family. More than he did, “Really?”

“Really. Trust me on this man, you’re going to be fine.”

They hung up pretty soon after that, mostly because El started knocking on his door for the phone. The conversation made him feel a bit better, but also…nervous. Could he really tell them? Would it all just work out? Just like that? Will wasn’t so sure.

He decided against doing it right away despite Eddie’s own confidence. But he did start to drop a few feelers. He started with Jonathan, waiting until he was high enough for him to forget the conversation if it didn’t go well. And that wasn’t a long wait.

He found him and his new friend sprawled out in his room, Fast Times playing in the background as they both stared into space. Though Will wasn’t quite sure he could count what Argyle was doing as staring. He’s eyes were barely open, and Will was 90 percent sure he was passed out. But that was good for him, now was as good a time as any.

Jonathan smiled at him as he wandered in, his words kind but slurring, “Hey! What’s up? You never come in here. You wanna watch something or…?”

Will shook his head, his heart aching a little at the way it made his brother frown. Maybe he really had been neglecting him, too caught up in his own head to spend time with the closest thing he had to a Dad.

It made him feel a little bad, but that wasn’t what he was here for, “No thanks. I just wanted to ask you something.”

“Sure!” Jonathan said, way too excited at the prospect of a simple question, but maybe that was the weed, “What’s up?”

Will shrugged, casually leaning against the door. Or at least he hoped it looked casual, because his heart was beating a mile per minute, “Steve said that his and Eddie’s anniversary is coming up soon. Do you think I should send them something?”

Jonathan tilted his head up to look at him, his eyes bloodshot with a tiny smile on his face, “That’s like…so nice dude. You’re always so nice. How are you so nice?”

“You don’t think it’s weird?” Will pressed, hope fluttering in his chest, “To be, y’know, celebrating them like that?”

Jonathan shook his head, “Nah man. It’s like…romance. Y’know? It’s sweet.”

“Yeah dude, gay guys are cool,” Argyle agreed out of nowhere, his eyes still closed, “Good for Stu and Eggie. Gay people got like, the best hair.”

Will didn’t really know what to do with that one. But Jonathan was impressed. He jerked his head back to stare at Argyle, his voice in awe, “How’d you know he had good hair? I never told you he had good hair.”

“I bet they both have good hair,” Argyle sighed, “They alway do.”

“Are you like, psychic?” Jonathan asked, like that made any sense at all.

“Shit, you think I could be?”

Will watched as the two of them started to debate the idea, his brow raised. God, weed sure was a hell of a drug. He left them to it after that, deciding to slowly back out of the room. But he was going to chalk it up as a positive.

preview for the next chapter (kind of) of this fic

#steddie #stranger things #will byers #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #the universe trapped in your skin #she's coming along #so fucking slowly #but she's coming #just a little preivew to prove she still exists

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harmonictechnicality · 1 year

Text

Eddie's Memory Log: Day 30

part 1 here | part 2 here | part 4 here | part 5 here | part 6 here

(ao3 link here)

After one whole month of documenting Eddie Munson’s semi-fucked memory levels, Steve has come across a few crucial bullet points:

Eddie never forgets his own name.

If Eddie’s pain levels are bad, so are his memories.

Eddie likes the lime jello better than the chocolate pudding, except he always forgets.

Eddie’s memory is worse after the weekend, but it gets better throughout the week.

Eddie can hum the theme songs to all of the shitty soap operas (even on bad days).

Eddie’s memory is at its best if he’s had multiple visitors the day before.

And maybe the most important bullet of them all:

Eddie always remembers three people (Wayne, Dustin, and Steve).

Memory Log: Day 31

It’s Monday, which means Steve hasn’t seen Eddie all weekend. The knuckleheads and Hellfire lemmings take the weekend shift since they don’t have school. Steve should be grateful for the time off, but he can’t help but wonder how Eddie is feeling - if he’s throwing hissy fits or being confectionery sweet to all of his guests.

The curiosity and concern has settled its way into Steve’s routine during his days off. That’s just how it is.

And that’s exactly why Mondays are becoming Steve’s (secret) favorite day, despite Eddie’s brain managing the slightest soft-reset after the weekend.

“Is he a Hyde or a Kathy today?” Steve asks the nurse at the visitor check-in counter.

He knows the majority of the staff by now, and they’ve all adopted his Eddie Behavioral Lingo. Steve is getting far too cocky about being the hospital trendsetter.

“He’s um…” the nurse's gaze drifts up to Eddie’s door.

Shit. Steve bursts into the room because he already knows exactly what that translates to.

It’s a high-pain day. Eddie affectionately calls them Grendel Days - he finally decided to play along with their lackluster literary references.

Oh yeah… Eddie remembers Beowulf

“Hey, hero.” Steve speaks in a lower volume because loud noises are brutal on days like this. “I heard that Grendel crashed the party today, huh?”

Admittedly, Steve had Dustin retell the important chunks of Beowulf to him cause there’s no way in Nerd Hell that Steve was going to read that fantasy bible of theirs.

Eddie squints one eye open to look at Steve. “That son of a bitch is trying to slice open my goddamn kidneys, I swear.”

“Should I get my nail bat?”

“You’re what?”

Damnit.

Eddie remembers zero fucking percent about their monster battles (and it’s probably best to keep it that way while he’s still recovering).

“Not important.” It is but whatever. Best to just change topics. “Can I interest you in any pain distractions?”

“What are you gonna do exactly - open your letterman jacket and offer me a lollipop?” Eddie snorts at his own joke before slumping over, holding his sides.

Steve wags his finger at him. “See, that is karma for being so mean to me all the time.”

“That?”

“All this pain you’re having.”

“Actually, I think it’s because I’m some type of Demonic Tinker Bell.” Eddie offers, fake coughing into his hand. “If not enough people are calling me freak, I start to die.”

It’s just a joke, but Steve is not so keen on his friends joking about things like Mortality anymore.

Still, he laughs. Plays along easily. “All hail the freak.”

Eddie stops his fake coughing fit.

“And just like that, my wings of darkness have returned.” Eddie flicks his wrist theatrically, giving Steve the weakest smile. “See? Much better.”

But it’s not Much Better. Eddie spends the rest of the visit seething with internal pains. Switchboard style - one area inflicting jolts of throbbing agony, then another. Eddie grabs wherever it hurts the most. Sometimes he can’t touch every pain point, it’s just too widespread.

Maybe Steve should… No. He’s not sure his hands could stop the hurt any better. He’s not a doctor and he’s not fucking magic. Steve is just the guy that wears offensively bright sweaters and watches Eddie’s torture spectacle from a front row seat.

They don’t talk much after that.

Eddie can’t talk through the pain. And apparently… neither can Steve.

Memory Log: Day 35

The pain has been monstrous all week long. They’ve had to plug Eddie’s heart monitor back in because his heart rate tends to skyrocket when waves of pain hit. It used to be easy to forget that Eddie suffered anything other than head trauma.

Not anymore. Not with his room beeping like a terminal metronome at all hours.

Steve stops asking Eddie’s novel-based behavior levels because he already knows the answer. Wishes he didn’t.

“Munson?” The lights are off, which helps with Eddie’s headaches. That’s good. Less pain in his head, behind his eyes. Small victories.

“Go home.” Eddie’s breathing sounds labored.

Steve settles into his chair anyways. “Can’t.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“Me neither.”

“Steve, I swear.”

“Like a sailor.”

Eddie chuckles. “Hurts to laugh.”

Seeing Eddie like this is god awful. He should be shredding on his guitar or mocking Dustin senseless for his clashing pattern combinations. He shouldn't be wrapping his arms around his torso, confining the pain that’s mangling him from the inside out.

“We’ve gotta find a way to get Grendel out of your system, man.” Steve bends down to Eddie’s eye level. “Cause this fucking blows.”

Eddie opens both eyes this time - they’re so sunken in. “… Grendel?”

Shit no.

If Eddie’s pain levels are bad, so are his memories.

Steve tries again anyway. “You know… from Beowulf?”

“Sounds cool.” Eddie eye’s close again. “Are they a band?”

Eddie doesn’t remember Beowulf.

“You think everything sounds like a band name…” Steve mumbles, ignoring the disappointment pinging in his mind.

Eddie reaches for the guitar pick on his neck - one of his bandmates brought it by a couple weeks ago. He rubs his thumb over it as if he can transfer memories through fingerprints.

“Hometown Slut.” Eddie sends a sideways smile over towards Steve. “Snatching virginities and record deals.”

Okay. Fuck. Eddie remembers inside jokes. That seems like a big fucking deal.

Steve attempts to not overreact with this revelation. Avoid another hair ruffling/thumbs-up situation. “Did you have to use the word ‘snatch’ in your weird little slogan?”

“Oh the word choice was very unavoidable, Stevie boy.”

Steve shuts the notebook, focuses on keeping Eddie distracted from his pain. “What about your band?”

“What about it?”

“Do you remem…” Steve searches for another phrase. “Do you think you can tell me the name?”

“Alright, please stop treating ‘remember’ like it’s a dirty word.” Eddie whines. “I’m not the fucking cable version of Breakfast Club. Stop censoring yourself around me.”

“Right.” Steve opens the binder back up.

Eddie doesn’t remember…

“Corroded Coffin.”

Phew. Eddie does remember his band.

“Do you remember what instrument you play?” Steve puts emphasis on the un-censored word.

“Accordion.”

“Be serious.”

“Polka is dripping in sincerity.”

Steve pinches the skin between his eyebrows. Truly, it’s impressive that Eddie can still manage to be a massive prick, even when he’s writhing in pain. It’s like he’s going for the goddamn gold medal of assholery.

“Guitar.” Eddie dangles the pick around, somewhat peeved. “Now can we chill with the third degree for today, officer?”

Steve notices Eddie’s monitor is beeping faster than it was when he first entered the room. That sobers him up from his irritation.

“Yeah, sure.” He sighs. “No more questions for today.”

Eddie cuts him a devious look. “Well I didn’t say that now, did I?”

“Huh?”

“Oh the vapid look is not nearly as cute as you think it is.” Eddie lifts himself up slightly from his stack of pillows. He flattens them out and into a pillow wall as he sits upright. “How about I ask the questions today?”

“Why? I’m not the one who’s struggling with brain stuff.” Steve walks over to give him a hand. Eddies seems to be struggling with his strength, which is to be expected after becoming a fucking bat buffet.

“That’s debatable.” Eddie mumbles.

Steve’s close enough to feel his breath as he pushes the pillows comfortably around Eddie’s new sitting position.

It’s not weird, the close contact or the breath. Steve has been helping Eddie with gross shit for a month - holding his hair when he starts puking or coughing up blood. Unraveling him from tubes and cords because Eddie is notorious for twisting himself into a medical straight jacket with this shit.

It’s not weird… it’s just weird how aware Steve is of Eddie’s breath. How warm and jagged it feels, even through his layered clothes.

Maybe Eddie is aware too, because he starts breathing through his nose the longer the silence is drawn out between them. Steve finally takes a step back, creates a non-breath-touching distance once again.

“Humor me then.” Eddie fills the tense pause.

Steve crosses his arms. “Don’t I always?”

“No. Usually, you aggravate me.” But see, why do Eddie’s eyes get all shimmery when he says snarky shit? And why does Steve suddenly use words like shimmery to describe Eddie Munson?

Why does it remind him of those sequined dresses that girls wear to homecoming dances when Eddie’s eyes do that shimmery thing? It’s like his mind is taking the insults and turning them into compliments, which is so bizarre.

“Steve?”

Shit, right. Say something instead of thinking about Eddie’s sequined eyes, goddamnit. “Yeah?”

Real original, asshole.

“Just… look.” Eddie taps his fingers against this side of his bed. “There’s sharp pains shooting through every fucking limb on my body right now. I just need a distraction today - not a pop quiz.”

Yeah, Steve offered the distraction idea at the beginning of the week. But really, that’s not what he’s here to do. He’s here for the kids. He’s here to fill his jobless life with a meaningful task. Help Eddie the way he couldn’t help him in the Upside Down.

But the kids have no idea what it’s like every day. How some days, they are friendly and comfortable with one another. How some days, there’s a verbal boxing match between them - and on those days, they’re both the losers.

How some days, Steve is the one getting flustered instead of Eddie (who’s usually being called out for staring at Steve’s hair or arms or whatever else his eyes decide to fixate on).

Nobody else knows how many climates this hospital room can hold. Nobody besides Steve and Eddie.

“Fine.” Steve decides after mulling it over for far too long. “I’ll be your distraction.”

“Careful, Steve.” Eddie breaks the non-breath-touching distance, poking Steve’s wrist. “You almost sound flattered.”

“Hardly.” Bad time to bring up the word hard - when they’re seesawing between taunts and flirtations. Thank god for the binder Steve’s holding, obscuring any part of his anatomy that could potentially betray his coolness at the moment.

“Go ahead, Munson.” Steve backs away from Eddie’s touch. “Ask your questions.”

Eddie runs the entire thing as if he were a late night talk show host. Uses his hospital side table as his interview desk. Pretends his empty jello container is his microphone. Calls Steve his ‘special guest’ the whole time. Steve scoots his chair right next to Eddie’s bed, just to keep up the talk show charade.

An hour into it, they’re both feeding off one another’s energy and attention. Steve can tell by the way Eddie’s fingers unclench from his sides and his teeth stop gritting together, that his pain is subsiding - or perhaps it’s no longer at the focal point of his mind. His heart monitor is at a tempo that seems ideal - less fast and less choppy. More like a ballad than a pop song.

Eddie’s questions range from common to outright strange. He asks Steve shit like, ‘what’s your favorite breakfast food?’ And then follows it up with, ‘okay - but if you could only eat scrambled eggs for dinner, would they still be your favorite breakfast? Or does time of day play a vital role in your food preferences?’

“Does it fucking matter?” Steve rolls his eyes. More than annoyed by Eddie’s constant need to play devil’s advocate.

“Nothing matters, Harrington.” Eddie replies. “And please stop answering my questions with more questions. This isn’t a goddamn improv game.”

Eddie remembers how to be a pain in the ass.

Steve doesn’t write it down, doesn’t really need to. “What the hell is an improv game?”

“I swear to Johnny Carson, I’ll kick you off my show.”

“Whatever.” Steve isn’t any less confused, but what’s new. “I guess time of day does matter a little bit.”

“Ha! Knew it. You’re so predictable.”

“And you’re a fucking handful.”

“That’s high praise coming from such an esteemed guest of the show.” Eddie’s hand is splayed over his chest, over his heart. The heart that’s beating like a ballad and not a pop song according to his monitor.

Okay stop.

Steve knows this is a game. A shtick. So why is his face heating up? Why are his palms sweatier than they were twenty minutes ago? Why does Steve keep wondering what Eddie’s eyelashes feel like against his cheek when he flutters them in that overly dramatic way?

The clock interrupts his questioning. Probably for the best.

They exchange goodbyes. Eddie always gets a little concerned that Steve might not show up again. Steve always tucks his bitchiness away to reassure Eddie that he’ll be back on Monday.

It’s their routine. Not just Steve’s routine. It’s theirs now.

Memory Log: Day 38

It’s Monday. Soft-reset day. Steve’s new favorite day.

“Hey, Steve.” One of the nurses stops him on his way to Eddie’s room.

Her name is Sam - Steve likes Sam the best because she lets him stay longer on days when Eddie feels his shittiest. She also gives him gum to help with his nerves.

Hospitals do that sometimes. They just activate his nerves like glow sticks. Snapping and crackling the radioactive colors that make his stomach churn.

Anyways, the gum helps.

“What’s up?” Steve asks.

“Just wondering,” Sam gives him a pleasant smile. “Do we have a code for Eddie’s good days?”

“Good days?” They don’t hear that phrase often around here. “I don’t think so.”

“Maybe you should think of one.” She starts flipping through some files. “He’s been in great spirits for three days now.”

Three days? Steve rarely gets three hours of Eddie being in great spirits. The guy is a perpetual ghoul, so this is definitely something to celebrate.

Steve makes a pit stop to the vending machine. Grabs them a couple of root beers and candy bars for the occasion. Look, it’s not champagne and hors d’oeuvres, but it’ll suffice. Besides, Eddie doesn’t strike him as a ritzy kind of dude anyways. He’d probably make some joke like, ‘you mean to tell me that a whore made these d’ouevres?’

Jesus christ, Steve’s been hanging out with Eddie for too long.

“There’s my favorite lady killer.” Eddie is already grinning as Steve walks in the door.

Still remembers Steve is a Hometown Slut (of all the things that would stick to his brain… why that?)

“Seriously, you look sharp today.”

Steve’s knees lock at the compliment. “Um. Thanks. So do you.”

And the crazy part is, he means that. There’s a peachy color returning back to Eddie’s skin. The bags under his eyes are a faded gray instead of an Almost Black.

And his hair. Eddie’s hair is actually untangled. His curls are fluffed out, sort of feathery at the ends. Maybe somebody trimmed all of the dead pieces off because it looks... Well, it looks nice.

Steve kind of hates to admit that.

“Guessing your pain levels are better?”

“You guess right.” Eddie nods. “Whatever meds they gave me Friday night finally kicked Grendel’s lousy ass.”

Eddie remembers Beowulf again.

“Glad to hear it.” Steve is trying to process how great things are going. Eddie’s complexion. Eddie’s memories. It’s never this clear on Mondays. Steve tries to just be grateful to have a day like this, but he can’t help but wonder why.

Why now?

“Eggs for breakfast?” Eddie is fiddling with his necklace again.

Steve jerks his head up. “You… didn’t forget?”

“Don’t get too excited.” Eddie gestures to Steve’s pants. “Because I wish I could forget those ridiculous khakis that you always wear on Mondays.”

“Shit, really?”

“What’s the deal with that anyways?” Eddie’s nose scrunches up at the question. “Laundry day or something?”

“I…” Yes.

“Or do you think your ass just looks better in lighter colors?”

“Well…” Also yes.

Eddie winks. “Looks like your ability to complete a sentence is just as fucked as my memory, huh Stevie?”

Steve nervously runs his hands through his hair. “This is just a lot to process, sorry.”

And it is. Steve starts jotting everything down before he starts to forget:

Eddie remembers Steve’s favorite breakfast food.

Eddie remembers Steve wearing khakis on previous Mondays.

Eddie remembers Steve’s Memory Fucked inside joke.

Eddie remembers a shit ton about Steve.

Eddie remembers.

Very lightly, Steve scribbles on the corner of the page:

Eddie notices Steve’s ass…

The rest of the visit is pretty awesome, one of the best ones they’ve ever had. Eddie recalls practically everything from Friday, which is blowing Steve’s mind. They talk about his visit with Dustin on Sunday, and how excited Eddie is to see Wayne on Thursday. Steve doesn’t even bother with taking more notes because Eddie remembers it all.

They talk like real friends today. Friends that occasionally notice other friend’s asses or get lost in their sequined eyes, but still. It’s somewhere in the ballpark of friends, right? Whatever it is, it’s better than ripping each other apart with insults. That’s gotta count for something.

Eddie falls asleep an hour before visiting hours are over. He falls asleep still smiling from the last joke he told before dozing off. Steve studies his facial features because he can finally see more of them (Eddie’s bangs were trimmed too, thank god).

He’s still pretty banged up. Cuts that overlap and bruises that change gradient the further up they spread. As if the softer parts of Eddie are still freshly wounded. That’s not how it works, Steve has been beaten up enough to know that people don’t bruise like fruit. Not really.

Steve can just see more of Eddie now, which is proving to be a dangerous road to travel down. Way too many detours to let his mind wander. Think. Overthink.

He thinks Eddie is attractive. That’s the detour he’s taking tonight. And if this person didn’t already occupy so much space in his mind, that detour might be more shocking to him. But it’s barely registering on the shock-meter.

Eddie’s unharmed features are highlighted in attractiveness against the purples and grays and reds. It’s almost impossible not to notice that he’s attractive when his face has this many colors. This much character.

Steve doesn’t know what’s going on. This could all be his exhaustion kicking in. Or maybe Eddie’s great spirits has twisted Steve’s outlook on things. Or maybe it’s an illusion from the Better Day they’ve shared together.

The only clear answer that Steve has right now is that Eddie remembers him. And that fucking means something.

Steve stops by to tell Sam the good news on his way out.

“I think he’s getting better.”

Sam nods once. “He definitely feels better, I’ll give you that.”

“Sure, but…” Steve begins. “I think his memory is getting better too. He remembers the littlest details about me.”

“Steve.”

“That’s huge, right?” Steve is so awestruck. “Like… I don’t know, Sam. Maybe he’ll get to go home soon.”

She doesn’t respond right away. Her eyes just keep shifting between Steve and Eddie’s door.

“I think I need to show you something.”

That can’t be good. Her tone is very, ‘speak with me after class, young man.’

They quietly walk back into Eddie’s room. Sam motions her head for Steve to approach Eddie’s bedside. Cautiously, Steve does.

She gently pulls back Eddie’s thin blanket, and Steve feels the air vacate his fucking lungs.

Eddie’s arms. There’s tape and IVs and tattoos and scars - all of the usual stuff.

But then there’s writing. Eddie is covered in black ink, scribbled notes filling in all the gaps of his pale skin. Steve can’t make out most of the words - it’s all messy.

But there’s one word he spots over and over again.

‘Steve.’

It’s all messy, sure. But it’s all about him.

“Holy shit.” Steve whispers, quickly looking towards Sam. “Sorry, didn’t mean to swear.”

“No, that’s an appropriate response.” Of course she’d be cool about him swearing.

Without waking up Eddie, he begins to decipher the notes as best as he can:

Scrambled eggs. Extra hold hairspray. Hyde or Kathy. Yellow sweater. Khakis on Mondays.

There are notes on things they haven’t talked about as well. Things that Eddie has just observed:

Steve visits Mon-Fri.

Steve laughs at all of your jokes, even the mean ones.

Steve applies chapstick when he’s nervous.

Steve will untangle your wires without making it weird.

The name Steve no longer sounds the same after reading it fifteen times over.

“I’m so sorry, sweetie.” Sam places a hand on Steve’s back. “It’s not that he’s remembering everything again.”

“Oh.”

“He just doesn’t want to forget you.”

No. That can’t be right. That can’t be possible. Of course Eddie knows who Steve is. Of course he does.

Steve finds a shitty excuse to get the hell out of this place. He’s polite about it because Sam is a kindhearted person, but this is so fucking unfair. Every last bit of it, down the last ink stain on Eddie’s nondominant arm.

Max isn’t awake. Eddie still has a skim-milk memory. Nothing has gotten better?

Well that shit ends today. Because whatever detour Steve’s mind discovered tonight, it’s leading him down a fucking freeway of tenacity. He’s fueled by whatever attraction or feelings he’s developing for Eddie. Whether it’s friendship or something more, it really doesn’t matter. Not after tonight.

Steve just cares about Eddie way too much to let his mind rot away like this. He’s too close, too connected to the problem to let it go unsolved forever.

As soon as Steve gets home, he calls Robin.

“Really, dingus?” Robin answers the phone like that. Annoyed and groaning already. “It’s late and I’m neck-deep in a John Hughes marathon.”

“It’s about Eddie.” Steve gets right to it.

“Is he okay?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh fuck.” She exhales loudly. “How can I help?”

“You’re friends with his bandmates, right?”

“Yeah, kinda. Why?”

Steve flips through the memory log. Locates one of his crucial bullet points:

Eddie can hum the theme songs to all of the shitty soap operas (even on bad days).

“I need you to ask them to make a mixtape of Eddie’s favorite songs.” Steve requests. “And it should be in chronological order. From stuff he liked as a kid, to stuff he’s into now.”

“Okay…” Robin pauses. “And you think this will help?”

“I don’t know.” Which is true, it could be a big waste of time. “But I’ve gotta try something.”

This might be dumb. But music helped them defeat(ish) Vecna. So there’s a possibility it could massage the knots in Eddie’s mind. Relax him enough to remember his life. All of it.

“Oh, and one more thing.” Steve adds before hanging up.

“What?”

Steve hits the accelerator on his freeway of tenacity.

“I need my fucking car back.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie ficlet #these are getting longer than I ever thought they would be I'm sorry!#but things are gonna get way more flirty next time 😏#oh and I’ve read this too many times to know if it’s decent anymore #so if it’s mush… that is why 🙃#and please bonk me on the head if I forget to tag you please xx

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