This is why I have no sympathy whatsoever for anti-intellectuals who complain when discussion posts use too much academic language. "You can't expect me to whip out a dictionary every time you post—" BITCH I LOOKED UP "AHEGAO" FOR YOU. OUT OF THE GOODNESS OF MY HEART.
No lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while I gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, backwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, the the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling, teeth jitterbug, mind blogging, soul snatching, overstimulating, vile, sloppy,moan inducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious,gushy, creamy, beastly, lip biting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark worthy, can't walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail scratching, back cuts, spectacular, brain cell desolving, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, slendid, phenomenal, mouth foaming, heavenly, awakening, devils tango ever bro could cause a nuclear bomb inside me and I'd still ride.
Does the IKEA warranty covers this? | sonar x coworker!reader - dispatch
warnings: monsterfucking, megabat!sonar sex, smut and feels, first time, not in a virginity way, but like first time y'all hooked up, speaking of, hookups, drunk sex, references to drinking, blow jobs, vaginal fingering, piv sex, creampie, descriptions of nonhuman gentials, but hey they're compatible, slight scent kink, biting, light blood drinking,
word count: 5k | check out part 1 or 2 or 3 (very loosely connected)
summary: In which you bond with a friend and a night is relived.
"So, how exactly did you and Vic get together?" Malevola asks, tearing into a bagel with a simply massive amount of cream cheese. It's a cold morning, but she's warm at your side.
It's your first time hanging out one on on, but it feels a bit more like meeting the in laws. If your in laws were just one very large lady with horns and a penchant for slicing guys in two.
"You know this story," your own breakfast is cooling in your hand so you take a bite, talk around it. Mal doesn't mind seem to your bad habits. You suppose that's how she and Victor stay friends. "He broke into my house and confessed his undying love for me. Brought a boom box and everything. Even composed a ballad for my hand."
"Ha ha, no. I know you finally pulled your head out of your ass like a month ago," she shifts closer on the bench you've parked at. This bonding brunch time is really not going how you expected. She's important to Victor—and you'd like to be closer—but god at what cost? "Except, you forget, I caught you ruining my couch way before that."
Mal laughs at the look of abject guilt on your face. The wood of the bench is just as hard and unforgiving as she'd been making you disinfect that upholstery.
It was not your proudest moment.
"You mean like, what? The first time we hooked up?" you ask, watching a couple wander by, hand in hand. They glance at Mal and scamper off faster down the path.
Their cloud of breath left behind floats like a specter, observing.
"Obviously," she's got that look on her face—little quirking half-grin, eyes hooded—which indicates you'll cough up the good shit one way or another. "C'mon, he won't tell me."
"Oh, yeah, uh. I think I know why."
She's practically jumping in her seat, arm inching around the bench behind you, sat on her side with pointed ears pricked to attention.
"Well, now you have to tell me," she says, and you deliberate.
Victor hasn't exactly sworn you to secrecy, so it's really a toss up.
Which is worse, incurring his wrath or Malevola's diabolical determination?
Really it's an easy choice. Only one of them has a big ass sword.
It's very convincing.
"Mm, fine," you acquiesce. "But this stays here."
"In the park?"
Another figure drifts down the path. Until this point you weren't aware that the trail you'd chosen was a stop on the walk of shame. He's wearing a button down which is not entirely buttoned down. The tie around his neck is askew. When he passes, you can almost smell the whiskey and desperation. His hair is a familiar shade of grey.
"Do you wanna know or not?"
Mal rolls her eyes and flops back on the bench. "Continue."
---
"Thanks for the, uh, ride," you say, stumbling on your feet after the flight home.
It's dark in your bedroom. The setting sunlight almost completely blotted out by the mass of fur and wings perched on your open window sill. His back is arched, half inside while his claws leave deep scratches in the wood.
You'll look at them later and think of them on your skin.
Ruby eyes peer at you through the shadows.
"Yeah, no problem," Sonar replies like it's the truth.
But he lives on the other side of town and you're doing your best not to read into that. It's no small feat. You're pleasantly tipsy, heat pooling in the high points of your cheeks, the center of your forehead.
Liquid courage seeps through your pours, whispers how nice it would be if he was angling all night for an excuse to come over. Wasn't just being polite, offering you the lift home cause it's late and you're a little unsteady on your feet.
Then again, Sonar's not exactly known for his overwhelming politeness and gentlemanly manners.
"You want a drink before headin' out?" you ask before you can think better of it.
You're making it fucking weird. He's a coworker and you don't even know his real goddamn name. The whiskey high is fading fast as the surge of regret rolls over you—
"Sure, sound good."
There's a soft fluttering and when you glance behind, Sonar's there on two legs this time, straightening his tie in the middle of your bedroom. While he's distracted you punt a dirty pair of pants into the open hall closet. His ears twitch towards the noise and your brain helpfully supplies the image of those same ears ghosting across your bare thighs.
God, you should have just walked home.
You need a cold shower.
"Oh, awesome, uh," you trip toeing off your shoes and ignore the chuckle from behind. He decidedly does not follow you out of the room. "I'll be right back."
It's easier on the eyes not to flick the overhead lights on, so you feel your way to the fridge grabbing two cans. You're not really sure what he drinks. Robert got the first round and after that you were far too enamored with the way Sonar looked lining up a shot bent over the pool table to pay much attention. He probably likes some kind of IPA microbrew bullshit. You can see him ordering that from a mustachioed bar tender, surrounded by other guys all in the same suit.
It's enraging how much that imagine turns you on.
Is he like, subliminally messaging you through inaudible soundwaves?
Oooo the bigger bitch I am, the more you'll want to fuck me, ooooo.
When you pop back in the room, there's a flurry of movement and he's standing in front of a shelf. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a drawer open that definitely wasn't before. A pair of underwear hanging over the side.
Before you can mention it, those ears swivel towards your figure in the doorway, but his eyes—almost luminescent in the dim light—stay where they are, studying an old photo.
It's you in the center surrounded by some friends you barely speak to anymore. You're about three old boyfriends and one ex-husband removed from them all now. You didn't even go to that wedding. The invitation is still pasted on the fridge, sun-faded flower decal wilting at the edges.
Is it better or worse that Sonar's got a faint smile on his face when he taps the glass frame?
You don't look much like yourself in that picture anymore. Or maybe you look less like yourself now.
Hard to tell. Depends on the angle. The mirror. How much you've had to drink.
"You should smile more," that droning voice breaks right through your thoughts. Even if only to piss you off. It's odd how much you appreciate that. "You're kinda cute when you do."
He says it like he's really only just noticing that for the first time. But you've been trading stares and numbers and some more than work-related texts for weeks.
There's a hint of something though that makes you feel like maybe this is the first time he's being honest about it.
Admitting it to himself.
"Uh huh," you toss the can and roll your eyes when he catches it without turning his head.
He sets the drink down on your nightstand, unopened. Manicured fingers drift up to fidget with his tie. Loosen, tighten, loosen tighten.
"It's a compliment," Sonar says, stalking towards you. It's almost completely dark in the room now, sun set behind the skyline of tall buildings. Blood and pavement dulled by the soft, clean light of the moon. "You're supposed to thank me."
"Right, you certainly said that out of the goodness of your heart."
He's nearly toe to toe with you now. Fur a little windswept, ears pricked, alert and pointed right at you. When he inhales you get the distinct impression he's scenting the air.
Sonar shrugs. "I gave you a lift too, ya know."
"I already thanked you for that," you try to keep your eyes on him, but they snap down to his hand when it reaches out, rubs lightly over your hip. "What did you think the drink was for?"
"Hey, I'm not a fuckin' Uber," he grins and those white teeth flash. "I don't carry around just anybody. That's a special honor."
There's another palm joining in on the party. He get's both on your waist and squeezes light enough that you could slip away if you wanted.
Just enough so that he knows you're staying right where you are on purpose.
"What do you want, then? A tip? Five stars and a review?"
"Oh, you're gonna give me five stars," feeling no resistance, those hands pull you in, get you both pressed up against each other. There's something hard and pulsing against your thigh. "But I think it's you who's getting the tip. Maybe more if you ask nice."
You're going to hit him. Toss out the third story window, listen for the splat. Pull his fur. Make sure he never looks at anyone else like this.
"Get out."
He grins and it's all teeth. All promises made to keep.
"That sounded a lot like 'kiss me.'"
---
"Wait, did he seriously say that shit?" Mal's eyebrows are nearly to her hairline. "And it worked on you?"
"Okay, I'm not going to keep going if you're just gonna give me live commentary the whole time."
Your face is too hot to blame on the chill. But she's laughing and it's as contagious as ever. When you toss your head back, the sky is grey, like it might snow. You hope it does. The soft flakes are a vision, littered across Victor's fur. Forming little pearls of condensation that glittering in the cold light.
"Yeah, yeah, but like, did he really?" she's elbowing you in the ribs hard enough to bruise.
Eyes rolling you let your gaze drift to the pavement, to the sparse trees that line the trail. Two figures are weaving their way towards the park gate. They stop at the arch, pulling in close enough you think for a moment they might kiss before parting ways. In opposite directions they walk.
Both glance back just seconds out of sync.
There's a distinct tugging somewhere between your ribs and your spin.
"It was something like that," you mumble after a moment, watching the lovers until they disappear behind parked cars and traffic signs. "I mean, back then I was just so enthralled he was giving me the time of day. He could have said anything and I'd have eaten that shit up."
"You guys are fucking idiots," Mal says, golden eyes fond and crinkled at the corners. "Keep going then, I'll shut up."
---
Sonar's lips are strange at first, firmer than you're used to and the fine hair of his cheeks tickles your skin. It's different and delicious and you're just drunk enough not to care if you seem desperate for it.
He's got you pressed together, one thigh worked up between yours, feeding you his tongue. It's thick, wet and traces all the edges of your blunt human teeth like they're foreign and just as exciting as you find those fangs.
The hand on your waist urges you to grind against him, encouraging groans filter out in the small breaks you take to breathe. Air is growing warmer in the room by degrees. Sonar's let is grinding the seam of your pants right up against your clit and its maddening. He's hard too, you can feel the length of his dick prodding against hip. In your hazy state, the idea that you're getting a guy like that so hard for you is invigorating.
As he says, Sonar's got some high standards.
And maybe you're ego's just as big, cause it's a new kind of high watching him chase your mouth when you finally pull away.
"We doin' this?" you ask, wanting to move things along and also needing to hear it.
He looks so pretty when he wants something.
"Fuck yeah," comes the response, so close to your mouth you can feel his lips form the words, muzzle sliding along your cheek to draw a long, wet stripe up your throat.
It's all a flurry of hands after that. You don't recall who took off what and where it all ended up, but Sonar—naked and splayed out for your viewing pleasure—is mouthwatering. He seems to preen under your gaze, flopped back on the comforter as he is with you knelt above him. He runs a hand through the fur on his his chest, milky white eyes watching intently as you take him in.
Sonar's got fur in all the right places, and he fucking knows it too.
The pretty grey waves extend past his neck to his biceps, down the center of his chest making a sweet little vee to his navel where it tapers down into a happy trail you wanna ride all the way to the gorgeous bush he's got going on. The fur dips from his lower belly down his inner thighs and resting so sweetly right in the nest of grey tufts is his cock.
It's somewhat human looking in general shape and size, though the skin is much redder and slick all the way down. The head is slightly tapered and curves up at an almost wicked angle. Saliva pools in your mouth as a bead of pre-cum buds at the tip and drips down into the hair on his belly.
Sonar hums while you take him all in, that hand playing with his chest slides slowly down, cards through the patch of hair between his legs and grips the base of his dick. He gives it one slow pump, a little punched out breath escaping when he gets to the head like it's especially sensitive there. You watch in delight when he circles his thumb over his slit, his jaw slack, pink tongue peaking out between those fangs.
When he catches your eye again, he smirks but his ears twitch down, droop back and stay pinned at the side of his head.
"Wanna taste?" he asks and it's softer than you've ever heard him. Like he thinks he knows the answer and for once in his life wants to be wrong.
You wonder briefly if this isn't something people do for him often. If the newness, the strangeness of it is hard to look at so close up. Too much for them to put their mouth on.
But you wanna bury yourself there, grab handfuls of soft fur and cling. Get him in your mouth, under your nails, on your skin. Drink him down so that when he's gone, there's something left.
"Yes," you nod twice in quick succession, eyes flicking back up to Sonar's face.
He's got this look that's one part disbelief, two parts awe. Those ears prick up in a flash, the soft pink skin inside flushed red. Under all that hair you bet his cheeks are burning.
The hand on his cock drifts back to the base, fingers pressing down till it's angled towards you, an offering to gorge yourself on. You take it gladly. Shuffling around, you get yourself more comfortably between his legs, pushing up on his hips so he scoots back, props himself against the mass of pillows with you on your belly.
In moments those furry thighs are over your shoulders, arms wrapped around and massaging his hips where the hair tapers off and pale skin is revealed.
He makes an odd sort of high pitched chirp when you run your hand over his. It's got some power behind it, ringing through your chest in the same way a bass beat might. You hum, dropping down to nuzzle against the fur at the root of his dick, breathing in to catch that dark, fresh scent. There's hints of night air and sweat, something deeper you can't place.
The muscles of his belly twitch when you run your cheek up the full length of him and finally pop the head in your mouth. It leaves you pleasantly full and he tenses further, grunting when you suckle at his tip, letting the salt taste of him pool on your tongue.
Sonar's hips jump up, sinking you down a few more inches and you have to swallow around him, breath deep through your nose to avoid gagging. Your eyes flick up, aiming for a disgruntled glare, but that all melts away the second you see him. The hand that's not over yours in his lap is fisted in the fur over his chest, thumb circling lazily over a nipple. His eyes are glazed, drool dripping from the edge of one fang.
Damn if it isn't more than enough to persuade you deeper onto his cock.
"Oh, shit—" he groans and you hear the thunk of his head hitting the wall, thrown back when you sink down, taking him until the hair at the base tickles your nose.
He stretches your jaw sweetly, pouring more slick down your throat when you start to bob up and down in earnest. Every few strokes you pull back enough to circle your tongue at the head, pulling out all the old tricks you've picked up to make his thighs quiver by your ears and coax more of those pretty noises from his mouth.
Sonar's dick is twitching on your tongue and you're guessing he won't last much longer, so when a hand cups the back of your head, pulls gently, you pop off with ease.
"You wanna cum like this?" you ask, teasing a bit with your finger circling his tip just to see him squirm. "Or did you have something else in mind?"
There's nothing but a growl in response, a surge as his legs slip from your shoulders, hands with a bit more strength behind them than anticipated yank you up the mattress. When you get reoriented, you're sat on his lap, getting nipped and sucked and licked at roughly.
"God, I gotta fuck you," he gasps against your lips, tongue sliding in to tangle with yours while a hand works it's way between your legs, pausing to swipe through your folds and pressing roughly at your entrance.
Two fingers bully their way inside, scissor and pump and work you over. It's zero to sixty in just seconds, disorienting and so fucking good. He's got no problem finding that spot on your front wall and getting you to grind into it.
"I can fuck you, right?" he's murmuring into your neck now, catching the skin between his smaller teeth and applying just enough pressure to bruise. "You're so wet for it—gonna let me inside, yeah?"
There's a thought at the back of your mind that says perhaps it's a terrible idea to let this go any further. You're swiftly passing the point this could be labeled as any kind of accidental drunken thing. The voice whispers that's he's a coworker—kind of a dick—and more importantly, you like him way more than you should.
But, it's easily drowned out by the wet sound of Sonar's fingers pumping into your pussy. Buried beneath his groans into your chest, your own little sounds drawn out by the onslaught of pleasure.
You were always going to give in.
Take whatever you can get.
"Holy fuck, yes, Sonar, yes—" you whine when the fingers leave you empty, stained hand coming up to your hip and lifting until he can get his dick between your bodies.
You grind over the hot length of him once, twice, getting him wet with your slick until the tip nudging your clit is too much to take. When his head catches on the next pass, you bear down, let him pop inside and try to relax the tension of your lower body.
Sonar's arms weave themselves behind your back, tugging you close, the flats of his fangs pressed against your shoulder. Your face is pillowed in the soft fur of his throat, senses overwhelmed with the smell of him, his cock carving out a space inside you. It's exactly what you've tried not to dream of every night since you got hired.
When he bottoms out, you stay like that for a moment. His cock pulses against your walls and he holds you tighter, inhuman whines muffled against your skin. You card a hand through the dense fur at the back of his head, dig until you can just feel the hint of skin below and stroke there.
The first shallow roll of his hips has you gushing. He relaxes his arms slowly with the next thrust, deeper this time and you feel it in your belly. Behind you, Sonar gets his feet up, knees bent so he can rest you back against them. When he drives up into you again, your tits bounce at the force, hands scrabbling for a hold until he grabs them in his own. Your fingers lock together, panting in unison as you finally get your shit together and move with him, rolling down on his upstroke to make you both groan.
It's a strangely intimate position. Traps you under his gaze. Traps him under yours. Those eyes like vintage glass are hooded and hot and flashing red each time he blinks. There's beads of sweat dripping down his chest, the fur damp where it meets skin.
The hair below you is practically soaked, tortuously ghosting over your clit when your hips meet.
"Goddamn," Sonar grunts above you, knees at your back tensing like the bones are shifting below his skin. "So fucking good."
All you can do is hum in agreement, words gone and head lolling as he thrusts up and you do your best to take it. Your eyes drift closed, trying to focus on the warmth that's building in your belly, wanting to get to the edge and tumble off it with him right behind.
It's so distracting you almost don't notice when the stretch grows more intense.
Then suddenly you roll your hips down and there's a lot more of him left than there was before. Your eyes fly open in time to catch the moment his go crimson, when flesh and bone starts shifting under you. Hands fall from yours and fly to either side of the bed, massive, fleshy wings flung across the blankets. Dark fur has swallowed up all that pretty skin. Sharp teeth flash in the moonlight through your window.
Sonar's fully changed in seconds, monstrous form dwarfing you instantly.
And buried inside, you can feel his cock morphing, growing to match this new body. Now larger, longer, and impossibly thick. If he wasn't already filling you up, you wouldn't believe something like that would ever fit.
It's dizzying to look at where you're stretched over him, a deep almost nauseating feeling overtakes you as you feel how far he's reaching. Like he's in your throat. Hollowing you out.
It's horrifying.
You've never felt more alive.
"Holy shit, what—?"
Sonar doesn't respond. He's got that far away animal look in his eye right before he rolls, pinning you under him—speared on his cock. The mattress is warm from his body heat under your back. Hot breath huffs in your face. There's a question there, a pained look before he snuffles at your neck, licking at the skin. Like he's lost control and is scrambling to get it back. His voice is deeper when he speaks.
"Fuck—I didn't, ah—don't move, I gotta..." he trails off, brow pinches like he's trying to concentrate on something.
He growls so low it shakes the bed when you squeeze the iron hot length of him inside you.
"Keep going," you whisper, tracking the flick of one massive ear. You should be angry, hit him where it hurts at all his breaking points. Dig your puny human teeth in until you hit bone. But there's a haze over your mind. Nothing in your head but the dark, unbridled urge to take him deeper. Take everything he'll give you.
Ruin him for anyone else.
Offer yourself up as collateral.
"Are you fucking serious?" his voice is strained and lodges in all your joints. Makes you ache for more.
"You heard me."
Your voice doesn't sound like your own. It's smoother, surer than you've ever been in recent memory. Sonar locks eyes with you, some sort of battle going on you're not privy too. A moment later, there's a massive paw nearly the size of your torso shifting slowly, claws on either side of your neck, pinning you to the mattress.
Red garnet eyes bore into you. You can see him deliberating, want and wonder and perhaps a bit of fear there too.
"I can take it, Sonar, please?"
And maybe it's the disbelief in his eyes, the thought that you, of all people, get to be here. Prove yourself to be different and real and wanting this thing you think he's had to keep tucked away until now.
Maybe it's hubris, the classic human blunder.
Maybe it's something you're not ready to admit to.
But you ask and Sonar—for all his faults,—believes you.
The first thrust nearly makes you scream. It's thicker than anything you've ever taken in your life, and as he surges forward a gush of something more than just your own wetness spills out of you, stuffed full and soaking the sheets. He chitters and growls by your ear, claws almost certainly shredding the sheets by your head and hips shaking the bed frame.
You're drunk and lost in the feeling of him, fur everywhere lighting your nerves on fire as it brushes every inch of you. He's clearly holding back, but you don't care. It's almost too much, and not nearly enough. He bucks and grinds in as far as he can safely go, just a few scant inches left outside the warmth of your folds while his paw holds you in place.
"Touch yourself," the rough words startle your brain from its fog. He sounds fucked out and desperate, hips stuttering. The room echoes with the wet sound of your bodies joining and hard cracks as the bed hits the wall with every thrust.
He's built up to a rhythm now, working himself over inside you, pre-cum scorching hot and absolutely coating your thighs.
You'll never be able to get him off your skin.
Why would you want to?
Mindless, you nod and let a frantic hand drape over his talons to rub at your folds. Your fingers find a familiar pattern and Sonar's ears brush your chin as he dips his head down to watch.
It doesn't take long.
You get a few good circles in before that warmth is spreading like a wildfire from your core, rushing through your veins and working it's way out in spasms through every limb. He must feel the way your walls contract, milk his tip, body coaxing him to fill you up.
There's a roar as you float above the room on a cloud of endorphins. Something razor sharp presses into the skin of your neck and adrenaline floods into your bloodstream taking you higher than ever before. You barely register the massive thud as the bed frame crumples like cardboard under the force of Sonar driving into your limp form one last time and finally letting go.
Amongst the moans you catch your name and something like gratitude, warm and washing over you. Your belly feels tight as he pulses inside, release spilling out in hot gushes as he twitches in the aftershocks. The wound at your neck stings when he dislodges, tongue laving over the open skin to stop the trickle of blood, taste it one last time.
In increments the pressure between your legs ebbs away. The paw on your chest shrinks until it's nothing more than a human hand, cupped over your right breast. There's a rush as Sonar's cum drips back out around his softening cock. It's still lodged inside and you're glad he hasn't moved.
You're not ready to feel the emptiness quite yet.
He's laid half on you, half on the ruined mattress, eyes all glassy white and staring at your face, regarding you openly. It makes you squirm, try to hide away.
"Was that a good enough thanks for you, then?" your voice is hoarse and comes out in a whisper.
It feels wrong to disturb this new quiet, as though it might shatter in like glass in your palm. Slice the raw skin there.
You feel a puff of air from his laugh against your cheek.
"Yeah."
Below you the bed whines on it's broken frame. The sound of the city drift through the open window—cars passing, muffled sirens, and airplanes overhead. Life, going on right outside, but the air of your room remains untouched for a moment.
You take the time to breathe it in.
Catch the scent of night air, of fur and blood.
---
"Hold up, so he hulks out the first time you fuck and neither of you thought anything of that?" Mal groans, gold eyes rolling so hard you think they might clip out of existence. "I mean, shit, I knew he had a thing for you, but I didn't know it was that bad."
"I don't know that he really liked me then," you shrug, breakfast long grown cold and abandoned on the bench. Your toes are going numb in your boots. "I think it more of a physical thing at that point."
There's a sharp pain at the back of your head as Malevola swats at you.
"I can't fucking believe either of you," she shakes her head and tosses the rest of her bagel in the trash.
"I know."
The telltale glow of a portal swirls in the air by the sidewalk as she stands, one hand on a hip above you.
"Well, I gotta get goin'," Mal grins, mischievous and already halfway on the other side of wherever she's going. "Say hi to your dumbass boyfriend for me."
Something tells you, she's going to get to him first.
