#I kind of blacked out and wrote most of this this morning

[iguessitsjustme]

So last week I had some thoughts on Jeng and how he might have responded to Pat asking if he liked men so heartbreakingly because he can and does pass as a straight man. This week, episode 10, while I loved and adored the episode, Jeng felt a little off to me. That’s not to say that I think it was out of character for him, but it felt like Jeng wasn’t entirely himself. He let himself get lost in Pat and their relationship and I spent the better part of the night and this morning trying to figure out why. A lot of other people have shared their thoughts on Jeng this episode, but I’m going to approach it as an addition to my thoughts from last week.

I will start off with the one thing I’m sad we didn’t get and I think this episode didn’t do well and that is Jeng’s reaction to Pat’s confession. From the 9 episodes we had previously, Jeng should have been holding his breath (either literally or figuratively), he should have been staring at Pat with anxious longing even as Pat broke down and cried in his arms. We should have seen Jeng’s face right after Pat admitted that he liked him back. At this point, Jeng has had one major breakdown and is just kind of running on fumes from Pat’s initial rejection. Jeng is operating under the belief that Pat sees them as coworkers. Jeng telling Pat “It makes sense to me” did not get a response, so Jeng has no reason to believe that Pat is feeling any differently that how he felt during the rejection. So we should have seen Jeng realize that it’s reciprocated. Jeng has had blinders on when it came to Pat and Pat’s confessions should have visibly ripped them away.

That said, everything after the confession, including Jeng’s undeniably reckless behavior in regards to their relationship, makes sense. First of all, those two not only love each other, but are intensely sexually attracted to each other. It makes sense that they couldn’t keep their hands off of each other. Plus that’s just a thing that happens during the honeymoon phase in a lot of relationships. It might seem weird because we don’t get that a lot in BL, but it happens. They are both consenting adults and they both want each other. Desperately. Now imagine being Jeng, who has been pining for god knows how long after Pat. Jeng, who has held himself back for so many reasons, finally letting himself cross those boundaries he worked so hard to maintain. At this point, the boundaries have been crossed so what’s the point of restraining any further? (I mean there’s a million reasons why but Jeng can only think that he is finally, finally with Pat and damn the consequences.)

I think Jeng knows though. He knows that at some point, the other shoe is going to drop and he isn’t ready for it. When the cracks start to show, he starts to hold on even tighter to the little bit of happiness he finally managed to carve out for himself. A place where he’s allowed to be completely and totally himself. A place where he is able to be an out gay man and the people around him understand that. The people around him and Pat are all Pat’s friends and family, and because of that Jeng is perceived as attracted to men. He’s not being seen as the straight boss. The friend who’s just a really good ally. He is Jeng. He is attracted to Pat. And he doesn’t have to explain that to anyone. But when gossip at work starts to spread, Jeng does what he shouldn’t do and he ignores it. If he acknowledges it then the new relationship bubble he’s been in with Pat that offers security, safety, and happiness will burst. Then Pat does the unthinkable and tries to talk about the very real and pressing issues that are affecting him (this was the incredibly mature thing to do and I honestly think that Pat is the most mature and communicative character in the show when it comes to his relationships but that’s another post and this is, yet again, about Jeng). Jeng does his best to keep Pat from popping that bubble. Those issues aren’t real and can’t affect them if he doesn’t think of them. What Jeng doesn’t know is the extent of the bullying Pat is facing at work as a result of it. People at work are judging Pat for their relationship but saying nothing about Jeng, so of course it hasn’t come back to Jeng just how bad it is. Pat isn’t going to mention the awful things being said especially after Jeng shut down the conversation that Pat needed to have.

So Pat leaves. I don’t think Jeng expected that outcome because Pat is so communicative. But he didn’t leave Pat much of a choice. And here Jeng is, his greatest fear happening. The other shoe dropped and now he has to face the world that he wasn’t ready to face. He has to face the office that bullied Pat into resigning. He has to face his father who is expecting him to take over the company and live the life laid out for him. Jeng lost himself in his bubble because he knew what would happen when it was gone. He knew when the bubble burst, he might be forced back into letting the world think he’s straight. Jeng let himself enjoy his relationship and acted like a teenager in love because he probably hasn’t had a relationship where he could do that before. Jeng has had rigid expectations placed on him for his whole life and it was different when he was with Pat.

So now that Pat’s gone, those expectations come rushing back and now if he wants Pat back, he is going to need to fight for it. And he is going to need to fight for it as Jeng, the rigid boss. Jeng, the good son. Jeng that his father can use and let people see him as straight. But Jeng is out of that closet now. The bubble has burst and Jeng doesn’t want to go back. He wants his young love. He wants Pat. So he needs to find a balance between the Jeng that was pining and the Jeng that was in a relationship with Pat. Without that balance, he can never get Pat back. He lost Pat by doing the same thing Put did. He wasn’t listening. He had a good reason not to listen (he was terrified of what facing those obstacles meant and he was finally allowing himself to be selfish and be with Pat) but having a good reason doesn’t stop the outcome and doesn’t mean that Pat’s needs weren’t ignored. Episode 11 is going to be painful but Pat and especially Jeng need to get through it in order to find the balance in their relationship.

This kind of got away from me by tldr is I think Jeng makes sense. I don’t agree with how he handled a lot of things this episode but it makes sense to me. I think we’ll get the more adult, mature Jeng back going forward because he allowed himself that selfishness and lost Pat because of it and one thing this show has been excellent at is letting the characters learn from their mistakes and not repeat them.

[jymwahuwu]

Inspired by @hunnieknight art 🐾💖 quickly wrote something

cw: hybirds AU, puppy hybrid! reader and puppy hybrid! Capitano, mating mentioned but no detailed description

Morning is the moment you wake up smelling the sunny-side-up egg. You lie on the comfortable bed, your hands gently clenched into fists, your consciousness is blurry, but…it's the fragrance. You climbed out of bed and rushed to Mavuika's position with excitement. While she was frying eggs, she rubbed your ears and patted your head. "You can sleep a little longer," you responded by rubbing your cheek against her leg, giggling.

Hmm… there's an unusual smell in the air… what's that?

You searched the carpet and looked toward the window. There was one of its kind covered in a black mask - it was a large dog. His black ears and tail are imposing, and his chest and arms are muscular. Just by looking at it, you can tell that he is much stronger than you. Oops! He noticed you.

Mavuika glanced there casually. Isn't he much bigger than her favorite puppy? The next door neighbor is Tsaritsa from Snezhnaya. She turned down Venti’s poetry sharing party, declined Ei’s meditation course, and had no interest in Focalors’ aquarium. Among the six neighbors in the community, she lived a solitary and unique life. Oh, now she knew she had a loyal companion. She inevitably became wary, like a mother guarding against her daughter being asked out by a man.

"I don't trust that dog, don't go the fence." she ordered. "Be a good puppy."

Capitano stares at you more intently.

You tilt your head to look at her innocently. What is she talking about?

Mavuika doesn't stay at home all the time! She needs to work in the gym during the day. You whimpered and bit the edge of her dress, "Don't go out…" She sighed, coaxing you and promising to bring you snacks when she got home. You cheered and nodded, promising to look after the house and be a good puppy. You run and play with a ball in the living room and chat with your puppy friends on the Internet.

Uh, someone knocked on the window! You arched your back in fear, alert. Hey, he was the neighbor that day…you asked him what happened. Capitano asks if he can play with you. He has his family at home but they are all weird, especially the little fox named Dottore. You agreed, opened the window, and invited him into your home. You chase each other, run in circles, play with tails and ears, and watch TV shows. The two of you also swam and walked around the neighborhood together when Mavuika wasn't home.

One day, Capitano solemnly asks you if he can mate with you. You shyly waggled your tail and agreed. He gets close to you, bites your back gently, and rides on you…

And then…your belly swells. Mavuika took you to the hospital and the doctor said you were pregnant. You watched nervously from behind the door as Mavuika "interrogated" Capitano. You said you'd be fine. Capitano sent more gifts. He is there for you, even though sometimes it is necessary to watch you from the window.

The babies are born. You know what Capitano originally looked like now. Most of them are not like you, but like papa. He is still affectionate, holding your cheek and kissing you 🐾💌

[inkonparchment]

American Wedding | Part 1

Leon Kennedy x f!Reader

You've never seen him, you’ve never met him and yet here you are, Mrs Kennedy, a fate that was always to be yours since the day you were born. The golden band on your finger catches dust at the train station, hoping that at the very least, he's kind.

warnings: this is set in late 1800s. reader is described as having long, silky hair. allusions to mental and physical abuse (not by Leon). misogyny. marriage of convenience. arranged marriage. implied age gap. absolute zero research for era appropriateness.

word count: 3k

a/n: ink write something normal for once challenge = FAILED. i saw an edit of Leon to the song american wedding where the lyric goes "M-R-S dot kennedy" and thus i went insane. enjoy whatever the hell this is. or dont idk man sometimes i confuse myself.

next.

You’re alone.

There’s not a soul in sight at the train station, the bench creaking under your weight when you had sat down, hot wind blowing up the dust. There’s nothing but barren land stretching on for miles, littered by small rocks and shrubbery. A tumbleweed had passed when you had been the only person to get off at the station, heavy suitcase in hand, tugging your hat firmly on your head. Steam had exhaled from the engine, the slow rumble of the wheels startling you as it took off.

You has pursed your lips, squinting against the harsh sun as you scoured your new environment. Signage indicating the town you’re in, a decaying wooden shed with old benches and a bored looking clerk snoring behind the barred opening indicating ‘Ticket Counter’.

So you sit and wait. Because what else can you do? You take your hat off, afraid it will blow away by the strong wind, placing it on your lap, hands neatly folding on top of it. Your hair has loosened up from the neat bun your mother had made for you, the strands tugged and pulled by the winds. You glance down at your hands, the gold band glittering on your finger, the familiar sensation of nausea burning at the back of your throat.

It’s a stark contrast against the pure white of your most perfect dress over the most delicate looking corset you had ever seen in your life. You think back to this morning, almost feeling like a lifetime ago, numb to it. It flashes by in your mind in messily taken snapshots; the church, the white dress, your father standing over your shoulder with a stern look on his face, watching like a hawk and ignoring the way your hand shook when you signed the papers.

It was the most luxurious ink pen, black with silver indentations, acquired by your father from his travels. It was perhaps his most precious belonging, cradling it with much care and only brandishing it out to sign all his important deals. And wasn’t that what you were? A deal to be signed away?

So you wrote your name next to the man's who was to own you now, in the pretty cursive you had painstakingly learned under your father's tutelage. You flinch, remembering his screaming when one single line would be out of place. I will accept nothing less than perfection, he would bellow at you, vein throbbing at his temple.

And that’s what you do like the perfect daughter you are.

M-R-S dot Kennedy.

You’re confused why you felt so remorseful, sitting like a hollowed out version of yourself, unable to register your mother’s congratulations, her tears wetting the shoulder of your pristine dress as she held you, your father triumphantly receiving his congratulations from the pastor. You knew this was going to happen, the idea reinforced since the day you could understand words. After all hadn’t your mother met your father like this too?

Your mother had done your hair, delicately twisting your long locks up and decorating them with flowers. Men are kind to pretty things, she had said to assure you, glancing at your blank expression in the vanity of your room. She had softly patted make up on your face, stumbling over her words as she tried to explain what to expect at night. Just...try not to move much, it’ll be over soon.

Your mother had given you a lick of girl hood, doing what she could to let you live past your teenage years without a husband to weigh you down. You were allowed to frolic in the estate on your horse, but not for too long. You have to keep your skin perfect, you don’t want to look like a wrinkled prune for your husband.

You had learnt the ways of the kitchen, mastering dishes after dishes, a reprieve from your father’s tempers, a room he would dare not venture in, instead choosing to snap his fingers at his wife to fetch him whatever he wished.

It was a sanctuary for you and your mother, a place where the shadow of her past self would glimmer, a version you had never known, the version who would tell you stories of the Greek heroes and their tragic ends. She had fought hard for you.

At least that’s what the blue and black bruises on her skin would say.

Your father had glanced at you with pride flashing in his eyes and that had soothed you. Finally you had done something to please him, the soft, awkward pat of his hand at your shoulder, snapping you awake. You couldn’t even revel in it, suddenly finding yourself standing at the train station, ticket in your hand. Your father had said that your husband would pick you up, gruffly saying that it would not be wise to run, to attempt to escape your fate. There would be no kindness then.

Tears gather in your waterline, difficult to discern their cause. The barren landscape makes you want to vomit, a stark contrast from the grassy green pastures of your home. And you consider running, your father’s warning echoing in your ears, just taking off in the direction of the sun, abandoning your suitcase. You won’t survive if you do, with no money or precious jewellery on your person, knowing that you would collapse under the scorching sun. But perhaps that end would be better than whatever life waits for you with your husband.

Leon Kennedy.

The man- your husband, that was supposed to pick you up. Your grip tightens on your lap. Maybe he has forgotten, owing to his graying years, his memory not the way it used to be. You’ve conjured up an image of him, someone old and graying, hair missing from his head but his eyes still full with his youthful lust, scouring his prize up and down like a hungry dog. It makes you retch, panic bubbling in the pits of your stomach. That has to be it. Someone who is too old to be on horseback. Why else would he not be present at the church? To whisk you away himself? To have you as soon as he could?

But its fine, you soothe yourself, you’ll be fine. You’ll keep your head down and be a good wife, no delusions of romance set in your mind. What use was it anyway? Love never saved those Greek heroes, you would be a fool to think it could save you. Maybe if you play up the role of a perfect little wife, swollen with his children, he may allow you some breathing room, some books if he is generous. But its okay, you’ll steel yourself and survive, you’ll leave no room for error. You’ll be his most prized possession.

The sound of crunching gravel makes you snap your head up, the sun piercing in your eyes through your tears. You turn your head to see a horse pulled carriage come to a stop. The man commandeering the vessel hops off from the seat, dust clouding around his pristine shoes. He is sharply dressed, you notice, clad in his black suit. The hat hides his face from you, holding it down with his left hand on his head as he walks over, the shimmer of gold catching your eye. You feel your heart hammer in your chest. The wooden floorboards creek as the man steps up on the platform, taking off his hat when he does and straightening up to his height.

Your breath catches in your throat. He is beautiful, glittering in the afternoon sun, his sun bleached hair falling perfectly across his face. He sports a small stubble, face sculpted like a devoted art piece, cool blue eyes stark against the bronze of his skin, wrinkles decorating the corner of his eyes. His suit is pristine, the white of his inner shirt nearly blinding, hiding a well muscled torso from your view, arms bulging against his jacket. He holds his hat against his chest, standing with his hips thrown out, one thigh straddled with a leather holster holding an ivory black revolver. He regards you calmly, eyes stuck to your form before flitting to your suitcase.

You look away, tearing your eyes away from his enraptured form. You feel yourself already failing your promise to be the perfect wife, enamoured by a strange man when a husband awaits for you. So you sit prim and proper, back straightened like you had been taught, ignoring how your heart leapt with every single step he took.

You hope he saves you, takes you roughly by the arm and force you on his carriage, never to be heard from again. After all isn’t that what angels do?

You hold your breath when he comes to stand near you. But still you don’t dare to look at him, hurriedly tugging your hair behind your ear. It’s the way he says your name that freezes you, fingers still against your hair. You’ve never heard it like that before, almost in disbelief, convinced that you heard him wrong. It sounds...sweet, like it means something in the low baritone of his silky voice.

You turn to look at him, the pink of his lips catching your eyes before you avert your eyes, instead focusing on the golden band wrapped around your finger. You nod, spine stiff.

Wordlessly, he picks up the suitcase and shuffles to the side, gesturing towards the carriage with his hat. A world of confusion explodes in your mind, limbs arrested as you struggle to decide what to do. He can’t be him just because he knows your name. Maybe your husband sent someone else in his place, his ranch hand perhaps. You purse your lips, palms slick with sweat as you heave yourself up and begin to walk with shaking steps towards the carriage.

You fix your hat atop your head before stepping into the sun, hiding your hands from the harsh rays should they taint you. You admire the stallion, graceful in his poise, its brown coat gleaming under the afternoon sun, walking around it and reissuing the urge to trace his coat against your fingertips. He looks well loved, well taken care of. You’re too busy staring at the brilliant creature that you don’t notice the man stowing your luggage in the back, hat back on and taking in your dazed form.

He approaches you like how a person would approach an easily startled animal, slowly and silently. He watches as you stiffen up at his presence, holding out his hand to you to help you up. You take it, your soft hand a contrast against his roughed skin, slotting perfectly in his palm. He hold you steady as you climb up, sitting demurely in your seat and wait as he rounds up and joins you. And with a click of his tongue and a tug of the reigns, the two of you begin to move.

This is it, a ball forms in your throat, my last moments of freedom. You close your eyes, feeling the wind fan against your cheeks, savouring the dust that catches in your eyelashes. You blink, watching as the landscape remains unchanged, jostling in your seat against the rough landscape of the road. The man’s presence is burning against you, the cloth of his suit brushing next to the sleeve of your dress. Your eyes flit to his tan hands, fixating on the ring on his left hand. You glance down, admiring how similar it looks to the one you are wearing, yours just a bit thinner than his.

You dare to look up at him, focusing on his side profile. Freckles dot his sun kissed skin, his hair long and caressing his high cheekbones. His eyes are what take you, so blue that it makes you want to drown into them, cool contrasting the suffocating heat. He turns his head and locks gazes with you, heart stuttering in your chest.

“Who are you?” You blurt, unable to stop yourself.

He releases the reigns from his hand closest to you, tipping the brim of his hat, “Leon Kennedy.”

You blink, your heart stuttering. “I… I thought you’d be older.”

He smiles faintly, his gaze turning toward the dusty horizon. “You’re not the first to think that.” There’s a pause. “I suppose I expected…different too.”

If the shock is evident on your face, he doesn’t acknowledge it. But you can feel it in your bones, flooding your whole being. This man is your husband and he is so far beyond from how you imagined him. Your insides twist, forcing you to look away, heat burning your ears.

At least he isn’t hideous to look at. But you don’t let it sway you, knowing that sometimes the prettiest faces hide the ugliest facades, stomach lurching at the thought of various women that he must hide under his arms. And suddenly you find yourself praying that some kindness falls your way.

“I’m sorry for being late,” Leon addresses you softly.

All you can do is meekly shrug your shoulders, mumbling out a “It’s alright.”

The rest of the ride is silent, the sun moving down as the hours pass by, now turning the sky into a deep shade of orange, wisps of cool air around you. Fences start to come in view, the outline of a house appearing in the distance.

Leon pulls the reigns, bringing carriage to a stop, pulling up to grand looking house, clean and proper, the walls a deep shade of brown, looking heavenly against the backdrop of the sky. Your mind is abuzz, throat dry, hoping and pleading that the sun does not leave . You’re frozen in your seat, curious looking laborers gazing at you, suddenly feeling at display.

The carriage jostles as Leon steps off, immediately at your side, looking at you earnestly, more kindly than what you’re used to. He hold out his hand to you and it takes you a few moments before your brain spurs into action, your hand once again enveloped by his. You stare at how your golden ring clicks against his, cool to touch and shining together. He helps you down and you stand like a good wife, waiting as he disappears to grab your luggage, waving away the ranch hand who comes up to offer.

Leon comes to stand next to you, watching you as you watch the house. He clears his throat, your eyes finding his, jutting out his elbow to you. You gulp, slide your hand in the nook of his arm, fingers splayed against his strong bicep, his eyes searching for something in your face before he leads you inside.

Your heart is thundering in your chest. The material of the dress agitates your skin, nervousness grabbing a strong of you. Your mothers words come back to haunt you, remembering what she had said when she laid out the corset and dress on your bed. I...chose this so that it’ll be easier for him, men tend to get...impatient.

You see nothing, smell nothing and feel nothing, eyes rigidly on the floor as you feel yourself slip away like with practiced ease when your father’s loud voice could be heard echoing in the walls, the soothing sensation of paper under your fingers enough to satiate your nerves.

When you blink, you stand in a decent sized room, a four poster bed with cloth draped over it on one side of the room. The colours of the curtains are a soft, pastel blue. There is a  dresser, the most beautiful and intricate designs decorating its surface, its size more than sufficient for you to stow away your belongings.

There is a vanity too, grand and delicate looking, a row of expensive looking perfume vials sitting atop the desk, a silver hair brush and a humble selection of make up. Leon sets your suitcase down without a noise, standing at the doorway, hat now gone as he watches you glide around the room admiring the paintings decorating the walls.

A breath hitches in your throat when you finally approach your bed side, eyes widening at the bookshelf tucked away in the corner with a cushioned chair next to it. You trace your fingers against the spine of the books, gasping and pushing your hair behind your ears to get a better look when you spot the book of Greek fables. You clutch it to your chest, tears once again collecting in your eyes as you twist around to look at Leon.

He offers you a small smile, nothing but fondness and gentleness behind it. He grasps the doorknob, beginning to close it behind him. “This is your room. I hope everything is to your liking.”

He glances at you, a flicker of concern crossing his eyes. “If there’s anything you need… anything at all…”

You stiffen at the gentleness in his voice, uncertain of his meaning. “No please, this all is more than enough,” you murmur.

His notices the tear that escapes your waterline. “Rest. You must have had quite the journey to come here.”

And so you dare. “Mr. Kennedy," You call out, making him stop in his tracks, “I...Are we to not...” You lose the strength, letting out a shaky breath as he patiently waits for you to finish your sentence, “We are husband and wife, are we not?” And you hope he understands, mortified at even thinking to speak on the subject with him. 

His expression softens, looking at you tenderly, understanding dawning on his face. “Yes, we are. But that is not something you need to worry about. I will never force you to do anything that you do not wish to do.” His smile returns, reassuring you. “And it’s Leon. Only Leon.” 

The door shuts and with it you crumble to the floor, pressing the book closer to your chest, the rug soft under your fingers. And you can’t tell if these tears are of despair.

Or if they’re of relief.

[r0semaryt3a]

Loved your dating hc's!!! They all felt really convincing and in character 💕💕 How do you think the pt (preferably chrollo, uvo, phinks and feitan if thats too many) sleep next to u?? are they cuddlers, kickers, white noise users, midnight bathroom breakers, snorers or whatever else?

Ahhh glad to hear it!! I’ve only really wrote a lot about Chrollo so I was worried the others were OOC-

I’ve only really been thinking of writing for Chrollo, Feitan, Phinks, Shalnark, Machi and Paku but given as you asked for Uvo I’ll add another onto that list! (Small spoiler warning: I love the troupe, but they’re all messy sleepers and I won’t be convinced otherwise!)

Chrollo

He definitely has a night mask, incense and all that to help him doze off. Chrollo is a chronic suffer of predormitional insomnia: his mind runs a million a minute, man is NOT used to sleeping a healthy 8hrs.

You can guarantee if Chrollo falls asleep before you (a very rare event) you’ll find him stiff as a log. He falls asleep in whatever position he’s in and will stay there until he wakes up. Honestly, it’s a wonder he isn’t ridden with all sorts of issues (get him a chiropractor one day.)

On the other 364 days a year when he falls asleep after you, well aren’t you just the perfect little teddy bear! His arms are always wrapped around you tightly.

If you happen to be a light sleeper? You’ll definitely wake up in the middle of the night to his face buried into the crook of your neck; fingers tapping away at your abdomen as his breathing settles, the smell of lavender drowning out any other senses. So definitely a cuddler. (I will die on this hill)

Sometimes he might even pepper your neck with kisses if he notices you’re awake.

If you’re a heavier sleeper? You better get used to waking up in the morning under a vice like grip, a mat of black hair brushing against your cheek and -whether he’s awake or not- you’re not getting out of it

Big spooner, you could be twice the height of him and he’d still demand it.

Not much of a snorer, maybe the few light hitches here and there but overall he’s sound asleep.

Most nights when Chrollo can’t sleep, he’ll sit up with a book in one hand and his other arm wrapped around your sleeping form. Sometimes he’ll doze off and sometimes he’ll only be brought away from his book by your stirring.

On particularly bad nights, where his insomnia truly flairs up, you’ll have to listen to a plethora of podcasts or “soothing sounds” for him to actually sleep. And yes, you’ll have to listen to them. There’s something innately intimate about having you indulge him in his interests: makes it far easier to sleep.

Feitan

You cannot tell if this man is awake or asleep 9/10.

“You sleep. I watch.” Kind of deal, he has many things to preoccupy himself with: like watching you! (In a: ‘someone takes even one step in this general direction, you’ll have a lullaby of screaming to doze off to’ kind of way)

It’s not that he can’t sleep, it’s that he doesn’t want to. Feitan sees sleep as a waste of time, it bleeds days into days and he could be spending that time well, instead of sleeping.

Everytime he wakes up he mentally kicks himself for having made such a waste of time

That’s where you come in! Hope you’re willing to have a human sized cat latched onto you every single night! Big spoon, little spoon, doesn’t matter to him: you’ll wind up with him clinging onto you for dear life regardless.

Despite this fact however, you’ll never know the plethora of times he wakes up in the middle of the night, painstakingly, detaches himself from you and paces around the room feverishly. Muttering about who knows what, head flicking to every angle at even the minutest of sounds. Feitan doesn’t like not being alert: loathes it, so this is his way to regulate the nerves that rest often brings.

Feitan is a very light sleeper, any slight movement may set him off and cause him to completely switch back on (sleep maintenance insomnia hits him hard).

He doesn’t strike me as a snorer but definitely isn’t quiet, sounds like a Guinea pig sometimes. A total teeth chatterer. Seriously, you’ll wake up and hear a light ‘Tch Tch Tch’ from wherever the hell he’s grabbing onto you tonight.

Will not ever wake up in the same position he falls asleep in (not that you’ll ever know that fact, he’s always looking over you long before you’re awake.)

Trust me: you’ll know if Feitan has a bad dream. His claws (yes claws) will be digging into you, his hold on you tightening with a particularly sharp ‘hiss’ of his teeth.

Likelihood is: his sleeping patterns will leave more marks on you than any other activities ever will. But, don’t worry! It shows he cares (I think?).

Phinks

Kicker, oh he is a real kicker.

You’ll wind up waking up off the bed more times than you will on it.

On and off cuddler, there’s very few times that you’ll fall asleep cuddling but by god is it a wild guess as to whether you’ll wake up doing so.

Phinks will fall asleep with his back towards you, teetering off the edge of the bed. And, In the matter of minutes can have one leg half way across the bed, the other swung over the edge, left hand across his face, right on his chest, mouth slack and whole body at a 45* angle.

Other times, you’ll find a knee digging into your back as he’s (very awkwardly) cuddling you from behind.

Surprising the masses (not): he snores. Has a whole box of nose strips to stop this.

Despite all of these, interesting, idiosyncrasies. The few times you fall asleep cuddling: he’s an entirely different sleeper. It’s like he takes a page out of Chrollo’s book and doesn’t move an inch (aside from rolling, he’s a total roller).

The snoring won’t stop though.

Doesn’t need anything to help him sleep, his head hits the pillow and he’s out like a light. Real heavy sleeper as well, you could roll him off the bed with an almighty thud and he’d still be sound sleep. It’s actually fairly endearing.

Will sleep for 6 hours, wake up for 1, roll around for a bit, settle down and then sleep for another 2.

Best pray you’re a heavy sleeper: that’s all the advice I can give you.

Honestly? It’s like sleeping next to a bear, vaguely adorable as much as it has you fearing for you life (and place on the bed).

Uvogin

If Phinks is like sleeping next to a bear, Uvo is a bear hug.

You’ll find your place settled neatly against his chest, as if he’s one of those comically large backpacks (like Johnny’s from Hotel Transylvania). Don’t worry about anything, truly, you’ll be snug as a bug in a hug.

Surprisingly, not a snorer (when sober at least). Often needs noises to fall asleep to though. If there’s not calamity afoot then Uvo tends to get angsty; you may have to deal with the occasional outburst.

So, you often have loud games or shows blaring in the background as he rests his chin on your head. Uvo doesn’t fall asleep easily, meaning there’s very few times that you can turn the noise off before you head to sleep yourself. You best get used to sleeping to the volume of a rock concert! (with his constant screeching he blew his own ear drums)

Invest in earbuds of some kind, it’ll help the both of you.

The LOUDEST snorer when drunk. I mean LOUDEST. Cotton buds line your bathroom cupboards for whenever he drinks, you’ll have to pick out bits of cotton on particularly bad nights.

Absolute hoarder. Whether it be you, a pillow, the duvet, he’ll have it and he isn’t letting it go. It’s honestly quite comforting, his presence isn’t exactly small, so with this hoarding comes a sense of security.

He’s surprisingly gentle as well, it doesn’t feel infantilising, more like you’re something from a heist that he doesn’t want to break.

Can fall asleep anywhere there’s noise. It’s a skill, you’ll find him contorted in a corner just so long as the TV’s humming in the background. Don’t think of moving him, you won’t.

Probably takes a good few trips to the loo during the night. Which, unfortunately for you, given your nightly position: leads to you being woken up every time he does.

Shalnark

Not a fan of cuddles, like at all. Shalnark is quite the squisher when you’re both up and about or even just lounging on the covers, but when it comes to sleeping? He’ll do it, sure, but he won’t be too thrilled most nights. There’s the odd time that he’ll be uncharacteristically for the idea, pulling you close and running off a mile a minute! He doesn’t tend to actually sleep those nights, more ramble on like you’re at some two person sleepover; the sentiment’s there nonetheless.

Despite this fact, he’s very specific with having at least something pressed up against his back -little spooner- and will get agitated if this requirement isn’t met.

Podcasts, lots of podcasts. Shalnark has about ten to twenty playlists that he’ll be sat scrolling through: trying to find the one he wants to sleep to. You’ll never be privy to these of course, he tends to keep a pair of headphones shoved in some drawer.

Oftentimes, before even attempting to sleep, he’ll be scrolling through some forum or busy doing: something. Though, for some reason you don’t remember any of his chronic scrolling…

Bathroom breaker, it’s nothing annoying but you’ll never not notice the shift in weight, as he swings his legs off the bed and heads to the bathroom. He’s always careful not to make too much noise, which winds up causing more in the process.

Has a small assortment of glasses of water that will accumulate through the week, all filled to different volumes. He swears he’ll drink them! He never does. It just ticks that little box of ‘just incase’ and he can’t sleep without it. Same with most other amenities.

Late sleeper, this man will never be up before you. That may be attributed to the fact he never falls asleep before you, but who’s to say!

Machi

The fact you don’t have single beds is both a gift to thank her for and a curse. Machi is a sleep tosser; she tosses a lot.

You tend to sleep on opposite ends of the bed. This is both in part to her overall distaste of sleeping together and the kicking. Oh boy, the kicking.

You know how the immune system can sometimes misinterpret things as threats, causing autoimmune reactions? That Machi when asleep. It’s like a subconscious instinct, a defence mechanism is you will; it’s certainly a good one! It’s just, not always needed. Especially not when you wake up at 4:34am after a particularly sharp jab at your side.

Though, some nights she’s stiff as a board! Not one movement or peep. As if death herself had stole Machi away.

She’s not a particularly picky sleeper, Machi can rest to almost anything. However, there is one thing that seems to expedite the process. Fire - whether the simple crackling singing off in the distance, or the chocking scent of smoke pervading the air. It seems to calm Machi, there’s no foreseeable reason for it. She just, likes fire.

L i g h t sleeper, you can’t count the amount of times she’s jolted awake, swearing she heard something. Windows, doors and anything else that might throw the room into disarray or stir up noise are a must close.

Sleep mutterer. It’s a rare occurrence, but Machi will sometimes have whole conversations with the air. You’re usually both asleep when these conversations take place (there was once that you overheard one to its completion. You’ll never tell her of course).

Pakunoda

Incense galore.

Seriously it’s everywhere.

Pakunoda needs some form of soft scent to lull her to sleep. This often comes in the form of floral scents, but can branch off into other soothing smells. Her particular favourites include cedar and amber.

You wouldn’t describe what you and Pakunoda do as cuddling, per se. She treats you more like a support pillow than anything else. Arms wrapped around you tightly and chin resting upon your head.

Neither of you will be able to move an inch throughout the night. Pakunoda has a very specific pre sleep schedule that she’ll run through every night (including final bathroom breaks, cleaning and small talk) and after that, it’s lights out. It doesn’t matter if you wake up and need something: she’s out cold. You might be able to escape, if you can pry yourself out. But just know: getting back in the same position will prove twice as difficult.

Not a snorer, hell, you can hardly hear her breathing most nights. If it weren’t for the subtle rise and fall of her chest against your back, you’d question if she even was.

Up long before you are, usually has one half of the bed already made (haphazardly as not to disturb you.)

I had a lot of fun doing this one; might return to it for further Troupe members at a later date, so cheers for the ask Anon! (Little irrelevant thing I just want to mention for future reference: if any PT ask includes Hisoka or Illumi please specify as such.)

[pimosworld]

Pairing-Joel Miller x f!reader 

Summary- Joel’s a grump when it’s hot and also when he gets jealous. 

CW- 18+, No outbreak au, established relationship, mostly fluff, grumpy Joel, reader is not described, possessive Joel, family dynamics, illusions to smut, joel is down bad for reader. 

  WC-1.9k

 A/N- I can’t wait for summer so I wrote this little snippet into the life of the Joel I think about often. May do a spicy part two if the mood strikes me. 

[Main Masterlist][Joel Miller Masterlist]

Not beta read

Dog Days

He told you he’d behave. Begrudgingly and with promise that you’d make it up to him. That’s the only thought he clings to as he sits in this lawn chair that’s too small for him. The only seat away from everyone else so he doesn’t have to do the small talk thing. He can still see you though. Sun kissed and smiling at something Maria is saying. 

  He still doesn’t know how you do it, how you make it look so effortless even on the hottest day of the year. His shirt clings to him and he’s sweating in places he wouldn’t speak of out loud and you just stand there all heaven sent like it’s a different temperature in your world. 

  Your world bled into his before he knew what hit him. He started to enjoy sunsets and stopped to smell the flowers, because that’s what you liked to do and he quickly learned that anything that made you happy made him feel like the most fortunate man in the world. He’s fortunate to have you every morning, waking up curled into his side as you steal sleepy kisses along his chest and his arms. He pretends to be asleep for as long as he can until he’s so worked up he has to make you come at least twice before you extract yourselves from the bed. 

  That’s where he wants to be right now as he stares at some prehistoric bug that’s landed in his warm beer, flailing and hoping someone can put him out of his misery much like he hopes after being dragged to this godforsaken barbecue. Despite it being his own brother he would have gladly come up with any excuse not to be here. He loves his family but sometimes he couldn’t stand Tommy. 

  ‘Who has a party on the hottest day of the year?’ You laughed earlier as he grumbled about in the kitchen helping you pack away the things you prepared in the cooler. 

  ‘He can’t control the weather Joel. You know he’s excited about the new house.”You with your rational thought and kind heart. 

  ‘Who’s side are you on Darlin?’ He caged you in against the counter as he ran his hands up your thighs. You shiver under his touch and he knows it wouldn’t take much to convince you to stay home. 

  Your hands meet his as you pull them up higher, bunching your dress a little to reveal those cheeky shorts he couldn’t get enough of. You wrap his hands around your waist as you run yours up his arms and around his neck. His chocolate brown eyes are glazed over as you slowly put him under some trance. Your lips kiss that spot in his beard as your nails scratch at his scalp and he has to brace himself against the counter to keep himself grounded. ‘I’m always on your side Miller.’ 

  “What’s up with you brother?” Tommy slaps his back bringing him back to this fresh hell. A man can’t even day dream in peace. 

  “It’s hot.” He grumbles and goes to take a sip of his beer before he remembers and chucks it out on the grass. 

  Tommy licks his lips as a smirk pulls across his face, no doubt thinking of something to say that will have Joel flying off the handle. His niece is running towards them with the same look on her face to save him from his impending death. Wild black curls bouncing in her face to match her parents. 

  Tommy holds his arms out for his daughter but she crashes her small body into Joel as the weight of her hit causes a small creak in the lawn chair. A muffled hi uncle Joel is said into his shirt as Tommy stands there defeated. “You stayin out of trouble?” 

  She just shrugs her shoulders and offers her hand out to him. An ice cold Diet Coke she’s barely able to get her little hands around. A mystery smudge is on her shirt and her pants have seen better days. Tommy wanted a boy but he was pleasantly surprised when her little personality started to take hold and he quickly realized he had his hands full with this one. Her two front teeth are missing and the smile etched across her face is a mischievous one. “Thanks sweetheart.” Joel takes it from her, it’s still cold despite having traversed the lawn and been subjected to the warmth of her hands. He’ll wait a moment to open it, no doubt jostled as she ran over here. 

  “My mommy said you look hotter than h e double hockey sticks.” 

  “Izzy!” Tommy snaps at her and Joel can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. 

  “What…I spelled it. I didn’t say Hell.” She rolls her neck and he swears he can see Maria in that moment. 

  “Isabella.” Tommy’s voice drops an octave in warning as she backs away slowly with her hands raised. 

  She reminds him so much of Tommy when he was younger. It’s only fair that he gets a taste of his own medicine. When Joel met you the decision had already been made that you didn’t want kids and Sarah was almost in college and Joel didn’t want to start over. It was a relief to find someone that could love his child so fiercely despite it not being their own. Izzy came barreling into their lives shortly after Sarah left and you loved that little bundle of joy like it was the last thing on earth. 

  There’s little hints of you in her sprinkled throughout your time together. Her insistence on correcting people and their grammar, the way she defends others although you told her she should try to use her words more after she punched some kid on the playground for bullying a smaller kid. Joel may have had a hand in that one. 

  Joel cracks the can as Tommy drones on about repairs that need to be done to the house. He already knows what his brothers’ getting at and he doesn’t even need to ask…of course he’s going to help him take on whatever project needs to be done to get the house in order for the new baby. He knew Tommy was nervous before Izzy arrived and this brings on a whole new level of responsibility. They were so grateful they’d found a house down the street from you and Joel with just two months to spare before this new bundle arrived. 

  He takes a sip of the bubbly cold drink, the sweetness is slightly off. You swore he wouldn’t be able to tell but of course he can. His doctor told him to cool it on the sodas and he made the mistake of telling you. You care so much…too much. You called his brother and Maria and now they’re watching him like a hawk so he has to sneak the ones with real sugar like a junky getting his fix. 

  In the brief moments he’d been graced by Tommy’s presence he lost sight of you. His eyes scan the large backyard, the kids playing in some dirt mound, some guys from the job site ribbing each other by the grill. You and Maria are by the cooler with some mystery man while you rub her swollen belly. His eyes roam down your body as you bend over to lay a kiss to it and whisper sweet words to your soon to be niece or nephew. 

  You stand and try to adjust the strap on that dress he loves so much. You’re always complaining about how the straps never stay up and he supposes you keep it just for him. He’ll have to remember to burn it when you get home as he grits his teeth and watches the man get an obvious look down the front of your dress. 

  “Who’s that?” Joel juts his chin toward the end of the yard as Tommy squints his eyes. 

  “Don’t.” 

  “I just asked his goddamn name Tommy.” He huffs at his brother and he just shakes his head. The heat was already getting to him before and now it’s at a fever pitch. 

  “His name is James, we just hired him.” Tommy holds his arms out in a mock satisfaction and Joel’s not in the mood for his theatrics. 

  “We? Hired him.” Joel shifts and he hears the chair creak again. He stands up abruptly not wanting to be flat on his ass because of his brother's crappy lawn furniture. 

  “Yes Joel…remember you put me in charge of staffing the site?” 

  Joel just hums under his breath as he crosses his arms over his chest. He’ll have to remember to start vetting the candidates again if this is the type of people Tommy’s got working for them. 

  The man is crossing the lawn towards them with a presidential smile and Joel’s already pissed. He greets Tommy and offers his hand to Joel as he begins to introduce himself. 

  “James is it?” Joel squeezes the man's hand a little too tight as he winces. Tommy retreats not wanting to be a witness to whatever Joel was going to say or do. At this point he knew there was no stopping him. 

  “Mr. Miller, it’s nice to meet you.” He doubts that and he can tell by the look on his face that he’s already sorely regretting walking over here. 

  “You don’t really have an eye for jewelry do ya?” Joel cocks his head waiting for an answer, an easy trap to set for a simpleton like James. There’s no right answer. Not when he’s got his teeth sunk into him. “See I noticed almost immediately that there’s a ring on your finger.” He gestures to the man’s hand and holds up his own. “You didn’t seem to notice my wife’s hand when you were eye fuckin the shit out of her.” 

  “Hi Honey.” Your sweet voice hits his ears as your hand travels up his arm, working your way behind his neck to rub that spot that seems to always make him deflate. 

  James uses this momentary distraction to run away with his tail tucked. 

  “You behavin?” You purr at him as he drops his head down to let you run your fingers through his hair. 

  “Always sugar.” His words slurred a little as he succumbed to your touch. You’re like a sedative the way you seep into his veins and put him in a trance like state. 

  He can’t see your eyebrows raised at him as you scan the backyard for the offending party. “Come on Miller, let’s get you home and cool you off before someone gets fired.” 

  He starts to speak but you shush him with your finger placed gently on his mouth. A quick glance over your shoulder and you lean up kissing him deep. It almost takes him by surprise how you still have this effect on him. No longer concerned with the heat or the stress at work or his brother’s constant annoyance. You can silence all those thoughts with just a taste of your lips. You break away when you hear the whoops coming from Tommy and Joel grumbles under his breath. 

  The strap on your shoulder slides down and you sigh a little as Joel runs his finger underneath, feeling your smooth skin turn to goosebumps. It’s intoxicating the way he knows he has that same effect on you. He’s smirking to himself as he reaches behind you and adjusts the strap, getting a glimpse down the front and the soft swell of your breast. 

  “Looks like you and James have something in common.” You laugh as he scowls at you, the kind of laugh that has tears at the corner of your eyes. 

  “Don’t push it darlin.” 

Comments and and reblogs are much appreciated

[blueycarpenter]

little star

Ever since Cairo submitted her midterm assignment, things haven't been the same between you two.

fandom: MILLER'S GIRL (2024) content: x reader a/n: i had posted this on a previous account, in case it looks familiar

Cairo hadn’t been herself lately. You two had talked for hours for the past couple of weeks. You had grown closer and more intimate with each other. Then, all of the sudden, everything changed.

Cairo wasn’t around anymore. She never called or wrote. It was ever since she turned in her midterm assignment for Mr. Miller that ties had been cut. Due to her tight deadlines, you two had agreed not to see each other until after she had finished the midterm, but it had been 3 days since the due date… She had been a ghost.

You called Winnie that morning—the dawn of the 4th day after. She explained the discord that had accumulated and how Cairo had taken the beating to heart. But she was the strongest person you had ever met. She couldn’t be broken.

Could she?

Winnie had said a lot of things. 

Cairo was emotional. Cairo was resentful. Cairo was heartbroken. Cairo was alive, at least.

No more alive than the works she’d create from a blinking cursor, the lead of a pencil, or the ink of a pen, though. She’d masterminded such beauty that reflected nothing but the world around her. Though when she had unlatched the door to let the monsters in, the rain poured and the lightning struck. 

You weren’t as talented a writer as she was, but who could be? Between those paragraphs of literacy and media was blood. It was a rich kind of blood that lured you to Cairo Sweet in the first place. It was reckless and mysterious, but you’d never felt more grounded before you laid eyes on her. Heard her speak… Learned her heart… And you missed that more than everything.

Was there Sweet to her name anymore? Or was there just Cairo? 

Winnie said Cairo had been alone. She said she had wanted to be alone.

But alone meant misery and displacement. Defeat and loneliness. Longing and torture. And Cairo didn’t deserve that. You didn’t care what she’d done or what she didn’t do. She was your north star. She shone brighter than anything you’d ever known, and therefore, nothing could ever change that.

So, you showed up to her house after that 6 AM phone call with Winnie Black. You needed to see her. Not just because you missed her more than anything, but because you couldn’t bear the thought of her discouraging her potential and honesty. Not in her wondrous existence.

Cairo didn’t fear anything, you’d learned, so you let yourself in and found her sitting in the darkness of her room, three cigarette butts on the floor and her journal open on the bed. Through the shadows, you found the top of her head over the other side of the bed. “Cairo?”

She didn’t move a muscle, but she did answer. “If you’ve come to talk, don’t bother. I’ve heard enough, and the sincerity I’ve expressed has been more than society is willing to tolerate. Honesty is feared by many. It’s tragic and hateful, yet it’s a quality that etiquette claims to be most valuable.” Then, she managed a wry scoff. “Hypocrites.” 

“Cairo, I don’t care what happened,” you replied. “I haven’t heard from you in days. I just missed you, and I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

She actually gave a laugh this time. “Aren’t I?”

As convincing as she may seem to other people, you had learned her better than most, because you had to figure her out the hard way, through phone calls and communication of words, not expressions. You didn’t have to see her face to determine how she truly felt. You could hear it. Dare you say, you could feel it. 

There was a tear in her voice as she spoke. And it led you rounding the bed to find her knees up, while she stared at the wall ahead. Those beautiful eyes were slow, like shards of obsidian as they raised to meet yours without a blink.

“Y/N…”

You dropped to your knees and pulled her into a hug. She didn’t reciprocate, but you held her for everything you were worth. You rested your cheek against her head, your fingers gently pulling the small tangles from her hair and your other hand corralling her back, clutching her shirt like she was going to disappear into the darkness. “Cairo, listen to me…” you whispered. Her warm breath filtered through your shirt. “I don’t care what anyone says. About you… About me… About anything… You are the greatest soul anyone could ever dream of having in their school, in their class, in their life, in anything.”

A warm, damp feeling found its way to your collarbone, and you knew it was tears. And all of the sudden, her weight was recognizable against your embrace. She felt so small in your arms that didn’t even hold all of her. It was the first time you realized just how petite she was for an 18 year-old girl with an extraordinary personality. “You know, to me… you’re above everything in this world. I’ve only seen people wander the earth, dreaming of what it’d be like to fly, but you… you fly, Cairo. You’re that star in the sky everyone dreams of being.” Your chest ached from how serious those words coming from your heart were. You then lifted your head to place a loving kiss to hers, because just holding her wasn’t enough anymore. 

Cairo sniffled, but didn’t say anything. However, she had managed to unbend her legs to hold you against her. And when you gently pulled away to have her look up at you and you, down at her, the wet streaks against her cheeks shimmered in the halflight.

You wiped them away and gave her a small smile. “Beautiful…” You kissed her forehead. “Magical…” You kissed her cheek. “Wonderful, you are.” The next place you were dying to heal with your lips caught your eyes, though it was merely small motions of your irises. Instead, you brushed her hair aside and pressed your foreheads together. Her eyes shut and for a moment, she looked peaceful as you finished with, “Yes, you are…”

She opened her eyes, now only tainted with a thin gloss. But then she managed the smallest, sweetest smile you’d ever seen. Her Cairo Sweet smile. “Thank you,” she said, her voice only a little above a whisper, mostly steady but with the slightest crack.

“It’s true,” you whispered back. Seeing her small smile was enough for you to give her your own, though yours was out of admiration, pride, and love. She truly was a star. 

She was your little star.

Then, her smile faded and she glanced away. It was almost shy, which surprised you. “Y/N?” Her voice grew a little stronger.

“Mm-hmm?” Whatever she wanted was hers.

“Kiss me.”

There was no hesitation as you granted her wish. Little did she know though, it was your wish too. You had wished upon a star, because that was the old saying. Wishing on a star was a chance that didn’t come often, especially when that one star was a shooting star. Yet, it hadn’t passed you up, and there was no way in hell you were going to pass it up.

Cairo’s lips were soft, but you could tell there were stories imprinted on them. They weren’t ex-stories, per se, but they were mysteries that you wondered how hard they would be to solve. How many pages would you have to read to uncover them? How much would she have to write to reveal them?

Only time would tell. But every journey starts somewhere.

And the best had a star to guide them.

[happy74827]

hiii love your writing! recently obsessed w harvey specter fics! would you do a really sweet soft side harvey one? or maybe harvey gets jealous and they fight but it ends fluffy?

Valentine

[Harvey Specter x GN!Reader]

Synopsis: With Harvey by your side, even with all his quirks, you can’t help but love him.

WC: 765

Category: Mega Fluff

Since I already wrote an argument type of fic, I decided on making it just pure fluff and admiration. Did Laufey and my friend help me with inspiration? Yes, yes they did. Also, happy *extremely late* Valentine’s Day!

��••✎••』

He likes Jazz, but not the kind that everyone knows. He likes the soft stuff, the smooth stuff, the kind that slips into your brain and massages your neurons and makes you think about life. The soothing melodies and the sweet crooning of old-school vocalists are like a drug to him, something that he can't ever really get enough of. The music is so powerful to him that it's even been known to lull him to sleep a time or two.

It’s things like this, the little things you’ve learned over the years about Harvey, like his love for pot roast and how he only watches the Knicks when they’re guaranteed a win. He absolutely hates being handed things, always takes his steak medium rare, and has a special love for black licorice, which you will never understand. It all helps give him his personality his quirks, and you love him for all of them, even if you don't agree with all of his food choices.

Harvey isn’t vocal about his feelings, but that’s not a problem because you know him well enough to tell just how he feels. You know the difference between the smile that is just a smile and the one that reaches his eyes. You know the way that his face goes slack, and his gaze softens when he looks at you. When he’s chewing on a pen, a grin spreading slowly across his face, you know it's because of something you've said or done, and you can't help the swell of pride that accompanies it.

You also know when something is bothering him. There are little clues, but if you catch him rubbing his forehead, it means he's frustrated or stressed, and you can't help but be concerned for his health. When his brows are furrowed, a telltale sign of deep thought, you can't help but worry. It doesn't help that he has the tendency to internalize his worries, never wanting to burden others with his problems, a habit you're trying to get him out of.

The way his fingers dance over his desk, twirling the pen he's holding, means that he's nervous, and you can't help the urge to pull his hands into yours, hold them still, and tell him that everything will be alright.

There are certain things about Harvey that you will never understand, like why he prefers to stay late and work through the night than to go home early or why he insists on getting his suits tailored even though they look amazing on him straight off the rack. But what you do understand is him, the person.

It took time, and it was hard, but you managed to peel back the layers of Harvey Specter, one by one until you had him figured out. There's not a day that goes by that you're not grateful for the fact that you get to spend the rest of your life with him, and the feeling only grows with every day that passes.

You can't imagine spending the rest of your life with anyone else. Waking up in that sleepy daze to see his face next to yours and falling asleep at night wrapped in his arms is the most comfortable and the safest that you've ever felt. Every morning that you open your eyes and see him there, you can't help the smile that stretches your lips and the warmth that fills your chest. You can't help but feel blessed.

It's hard sometimes. You won't lie. There are days when you feel like you're fighting an uphill battle, but in the end, it's all worth it.

You can tell by the look in his eyes when you're lying next to him on the couch that he thinks you're worth the world, and his lips on yours make it feel like the fight is easier than it is.

He doesn’t say it much, but you know. You can feel it in the way he holds you, see it in the way he looks at you, hear it in his voice when he says your name, and you can even smell it on his skin when you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck.

It's there, in his touch, and that's more than enough for you. Suddenly, you understand what the old jazz greats meant when they sang about love because as long as Harvey is with you, the two of you can weather any storm.

He was your forever valentine, and as long as you're together, you can face the future without fear, and that's all the music you'll ever need.

[pretzel-box]

Might I humbly request more streamer au Sebastian?? I don't have a specific prompt so honestly do whatever you'd like!

SEQUEL TO THE STREAMER AU

PART 1 HERE

Tags: Doubt, Comedy, Teasing, Slightly Fluff, Streamer AU

Words: 1,6k

You glanced at the message on your screen, your eyes narrowing in playful suspicion.

“Jellybeanie_?”

Even though it was just a jumble of words on the flat screen, you could almost hear the amusement behind the way Solace wrote your username. It was a name that carried a bit of a past, a digital footprint that had followed you through your early streaming days. Your father had given you the nickname "Jellybeanie" when you were young, and it stuck, especially during your awkward teenage years when you thought beanies were the pinnacle of cool fashion. There was a bit of irony there, considering the sheer volume of cringe it represented. You had done everything to erase that phase from existence, deleting your weird selfies, throwing the beanies out and pretending you’re too cool for silly headwear—except for the username. Somehow, it had become part of your identity, both endearing and a little bit embarrassing.

"Don't judge it, Shoelaced_Seb42," you shot back with a grin, your fingers flying over the keyboard as the heat of the moment pulled you in. You could only imagine what kind of story was behind his own name. Maybe it was a wordplay with “shoelace” and “Solace,” but “Seb42”? That was anyone’s guess. There had to be a story there, too—everyone had one.

His reply came almost instantly. “Careful, doll. I don't want to reveal my edgelord side in front of a cute bean like you.”

You felt a flutter in your chest, something warm and annoyingly familiar. Damn him for knowing exactly how to get under your skin—and damn you for liking

While you had no problem flirting with Solace during your nightly gaming streams, your real-life roommate was a different story entirely. It was a cruel twist of fate, really. Your fans always talked about how well you and Solace—a famous streamer with a massive following—got along. They called you "the perfect duo," and more than a few shipped you two. They didn't know the irony of the situation. Because in reality, when you weren't "Jellybeanie_", there was no Pressured_Solace, just Sebastian.

The Sebastian who would leave his empty coffee mugs all over the apartment. The Sebastian who would blast his music at ungodly hours, regardless of how many times you'd told him you needed quiet for your recordings. The Sebastian who seemed to have made it his life mission to be the most insufferable person you'd ever met.

You had moved into this apartment months ago, both of you, lured by the promise of a prime location and cheap rent—only to discover that you couldn't go five minutes without bickering over something mundane. The Wi-Fi. The thermostat. The last of the milk.

"Seriously, Sebastian," you muttered under your breath the next morning after your midnight chat with Solace, staring at the empty carton of milk your roommate left in the fridge. "Is it too much to ask for you to throw this out? Or better yet, buy more?"

Sebastian sauntered into the kitchen, tousled black hair sticking up at odd angles, a lazy grin on his face. "Morning to you too, sunshine," he said, ignoring your frustration completely. He tossed his phone onto the counter and grabbed a can of energy drink from the pantry. "Did you see my note?"

You rolled your eyes, exasperated. "Yeah, I saw it. It was crumpled up in the trash. Nice touch."

He just smirked, leaning back against the counter as he cracked open the can. "You know, I think you secretly love our little banter," he said, taking a sip and watching you with those infuriatingly bright eyes of his. He was definitely teasing you, his tone wasn't like Solace his…Sebastian was the ungodly opposite, annoying, mean and insufferable.

"Love is a strong word," you shot back, fighting the urge to hit him with the empty milk box. He had this way of getting under your skin, making you react, and he seemed to take endless delight in it.

When night fell and the cameras turned on, it was a different story. As Jelly you felt like you were seeing a different side of life by spending time with Solace. The witty banter, the playful teasing over the text messages—it felt real. More real than the stupid arguments with your roommate over dish duty or who got to use the bathroom first in the mornings.

You’d been doing collaborative streams with Solace for months now. What had started as a random pairing in a popular online game had quickly turned into a regular thing, and your viewers loved it. There was a chemistry there—an undeniable spark that had even you questioning what was real and what was just for show.

And the more you streamed together, the more you found yourself looking forward to those late-night gaming sessions. The way he made you laugh, the way he’d check in to make sure you were okay if things got too intense in-game. There was a kindness to him—a depth that you didn’t see in the Sebastian you shared your living space with.

“So, Jelly,” his voice crackled through your headset, bringing you back to the game at hand. “What’s the plan? You gonna carry us to victory, or should I start writing my will now?”

You chuckled, glancing at the chat as messages flew by. Your viewers were eating this up. “I don’t know, Solace,” you replied, your tone playful. “Maybe I’ll let you die first and then come in for the save. Would make for great content.”

He laughed, a sound that sent a small thrill through you. “Always thinking about the content. That’s why you’re the best.”

You felt your cheeks warm at the compliment, a smile tugging at your lips. Damn him. Why did he have to be so... nice? And why did you have to like it so much?

It was nearly 3 a.m. by the time your stream ended. You stretched, feeling the fatigue settle into your bones. As you stepped out of your room, you were startled to find Sebastian in the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge.

He looked up as you entered, a frown on his face. “Late night?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You rolled your eyes, too tired to muster up a proper retort. “Like you’re one to talk,” you muttered, grabbing a water bottle from the counter.

For a moment, there was an awkward silence, the kind that seemed to fill every corner of the small apartment. Then, out of nowhere, he asked, “Do you ever… wonder what your online friends are like in real life?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in tone. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, looking uncharacteristically thoughtful. “I mean, it’s easy to get along with someone when you’re just a username and a voice on a screen. But in real life… things are different.”

You studied him for a moment, unsure of where this was coming from. “Yeah,” you said slowly. “I guess you’re right. People can be… different.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he turned back to the fridge. “Anyway, good night,” he said over his shoulder as he grabbed a snack and headed back to his room.

“Good night,” you replied, watching him go. You couldn’t help but wonder about the sudden shift in his demeanor. The whole conversation was just a giant question mark and you didn't understand where the sudden question came from.

A week passed, and you couldn't stop thinking about that night in the kitchen. Your streams with Solace were becoming more frequent, and with every passing game, you felt that connection deepening. It was confusing. Especially after Sebastian's words from last week, you actually don't know much about Solace. What he looks like, what his job is, if he has a partner…God he could be a 65 year old man named Josh that drives a truck and eats Hamburgers every day for lunch. He could be anyone.

And then, one fateful night, everything changed.

You were streaming a new co-op game with Solace when a message popped up in the chat from a mutual fan. “Wouldn’t it be crazy if Jelly and Seb were roommates IRL?”

You laughed it off, typing a quick response. “Yeah, imagine that chaos!”

Seb responded with a chuckle, “We’d probably drive each other insane.”

But the thought lingered. Your eyes drifted over to his username again—Pressured_Solace. You hated the feeling of having a crush on someone who was out of reach, someone who had not a face and not a real name. And it crushed you not to know if you would ever know more about him. Wondering if all the flirting and the jokes were just a facade for the streams or if he actually tries to get close to you.

Your sudden silence must have been noticeable because Solace his voice came through your headset, concerned. “Jelly? You okay?”

You swallowed hard, trying to compose yourself. “Yeah, I… I just thought of something.”

“Like what?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“Nothing,” you replied quickly, too quickly. “Just… something funny. I'll tell you later.”

But as you ended the stream, you knew there was no way you were going to let this go. Not without finding out the truth behind Solace.

The stream ended, the microphone turned off and you leaned back into your chair, fumbling with the cables of your headphones.

“Solace?” Your fingers moved on the glowing keyboard, texting him on discord. The most healthy thing was confrontation instead of confusion and you collected your courage to ask him for a picture.

“What's up, Jellybeanie!~”

“Can I get a picture?” It didn't take long till he replied with a spoiler-covered picture, adding a secretive emoji that holds a finger in front of their mouth. Your heart skips a beat, anxiety and excitement rushing through your mind and you click on the image with shaky hands.

It was a fish. He trolled you.

“SOLACE!”

“ALR ALR CHILL BEANIE!1!1”

He send another picture.

And in a single moment, it hit you hard.

And you screamed.

[httpkaulitz]

kiss me again

PAIRINGS: Tom 2010 x Female reader

CONTENT: Smut

SYNOPSIS: Tom isn't ready to give up on you.

WARNINGS: kissing, fingering (f reciving), public

A/N: I wrote this in the morning while waiting at the hospital so it's kind of shit

You regretted getting so dressed up as soon as you discovered that the bonfire party was actually a cheap imitation of your old school party.

Young drunks were scattered throughout the forest. Even though the place isn't exciting, the music isn't that good and you aren't excited at all. Peter was good company, you had managed to talk about all kinds of topics with him.

And to your surprise, you found yourself genuinely interested in getting to know him better. And he was being a good distraction after the fight you had with Tom.

You knew from the beginning that you two would never be more than friends, that was evident, he never wanted a relationship. He wasn't that kind of guy.

But you chose to delude yourself, you chose to believe that he could be different from what the media showed. Your mistake.

After a while of sitting just talking, he leaned over and kissed you. Soft lips enveloped you in a calm yet passionate rhythm and you couldn't help but compare it to Tom's kiss but still you walked away smiling.

"Wanna Dance?" He asked looking at the people moving to the rhythm of the music.

You laughed, realizing that he didn't like the party either, but that he was trying to enjoy it. "Sure." You responded, getting up and walking with him closer to the other people.

Within minutes, what was supposed to be just a dance turned into a fervent make-out session. Peter's lips seemed to travel all over your neck, returning to your mouth every now and then. Everything seemed wonderful, but it was as if something was missing. And as horrible as it was to admit, you knew that something was actually someone.

You were so caught up in your desires that you could feel his energy nearby. You could feel it. Damn it! You thought, opening your eyes. You watched the figure standing in a far corner on the other side of the fire. Even from afar, the imposing and intimidating posture could be seen. No matter how far away he was, you knew he was watching you.

Peter's hands still pass over your body, leaving gentle squeezes in strategic points. It was almost shameful that Tom's presence could make you more excited than Peter's caresses. You noticed him walking towards you.

"Would you get me a drink?" You asked in the most normal voice you could muster and slowly walked away from Peter.

"Of course, baby." He responded by kissing you before pulling away.

Walking away from people wasn't a good option, but it was better than risk being caught with Tom.

"You shouldn't be here." You said, still facing away. You didn't need to turn around to know that Tom was behind you.

Despite the soft, almost silent footsteps, you could feel him approaching. His presence was like a wave of energy that caressed your skin, leaving you hot and uncomfortable.

"Lately you've been telling me what I should or shouldn't do so many times, it seems a little possessive, don't you think?" He said, sounding confident again, unlike two days ago when you two had fought and you had left him alone.

You turned to look at him and felt your heart skip a beat. Black was definitely his color. He was almost mesmerizing using the coat and the black jeans.

"I thought I made it clear that we were done." You pointed at the two of you with discomfort written all over your face.

It wasn't like you two were ever together. You were never really in a relationship with Tom.

He smiled looking at his feet for a moment before looking back at you. "Don't act like you're not happy to see me." He said slowly walking closer to you.

You watched him expectantly, he was like a panther with soft steps and an engaging rhythm.

"Are you insinuating that I want everything that's happening?" You asked, letting out a giggle clearly mocking Tom.

"I'm not implying anything, I'm stating it." Pinning you against a nearby tree. You let out a squeak of surprise when you felt your back hit the rough surface.

"Admit it to yourself." He said, smiling mischievously when he noticed the panic in your eyes.

"Not here, Tom." You asked, knowing full well what his true intention was. It was like an engaging dance he used to seduce you, but you wouldn’t let it happen again.

"Then admit it." His hands went to your lower body, he gently caressed your skin just below your navel.

You bit back a moan and felt shivers run down your spine. It was shameful how quickly your body responded to Tom's touches.

"I wanted it when I thought we could have something serious, but now it's over!" You responded, trying hard not to let the doubtful tone show in your voice.

"Liar." He whispered hoarsely looking into your eyes.

His fingertips dug into your dark blue jeans and lightly rubbed the lacy material of your panties. You felt your hips jerk and heat instantly pooled between your legs. The suppressed moan finally came out muffled by the lips you insisted on keeping closed.

"That's right, silent. We don't want anyone to hear how loud you moan." Tom's hot breath hit your face. A mixture of alcohol and mint that was almost mesmerizing.

Unfastening the rest of the missing buttons, Tom skillfully moved the pink panties to the side. The moment he moved his fingers between your soaked folds, pressing two digits into your entrance, you gasped and began to move your hips forward to get every inch of his fingers inside you.

Tom smiled pressing his fingers even deeper and slowly moved his thumb to stroke your clit. You sighed audibly, your legs shaking and your head spinning. He continued to explore every inch of you, felt the walls around his fingers tighten in your orgasm.

You bit your lower lip to stop yourself from moaning and held Tom's shoulders tightly, seeking balance.

"It's hard when you really want to do something and you can't, isn't it?" He asked smiling, watching you closely, your mouth open and your eyebrows furrowed. "That's how I feel when you keep denying me what I want."

He sped up the movements of his fingers, holding your waist against the tree so you couldn't move.

"Tom... stop." You whispered in a moan, feeling your body burn with desire.

You wanted to be able to grab him, kiss him, even if it was wrong. Damn, this was all more than wrong, you were in a damn forest letting Tom touch you like that, even after saying he would never touch you again. None of this should be happening.

The skillful and insistent touch on your pussy made your legs increasingly tremble. You were ready to scream when you felt Tom lean in and silence you with a rough kiss that was quickly returned.

You sighed in frustration when he walked away, removing his hands from your pants and taking two steps back. Still dizzy, you wanted to scream at him for stopping you from reaching your second orgasm.

"What is it? You asked me to stop." Tom asked, smiling as he brought his fingers to his mouth. Your flavor was surprisingly delicious with a hint of citrus. Better than anything he's ever tasted before.

You heard Peter's voice next to you and saw him walking towards you.

Tom approached you again. "I hope your little friend makes you feel as good as I do." He whispered leaving a kiss on the back of your neck before pulling away.

You took a deep breath watching Tom walk away while Peter approached with a confused expression. You knew you had nowhere to run cause Tom wouldn’t let you go that easily and deep down you didn't want him to let you go.

[neonovember]

Oh. My. God. Oh my god but imagine though, waking up around 8 or 9 or so on a day off where both you and Carmy have the day free. It’s a big deal maybe because oh my god Carmen’s in bed at 9 in the morning *affectionate sarcasm* holy moly Carmen settle down!

But just waking up with him, the sun coming through the window through the thin curtains with a little breeze, looking over and watching Carmy’s face form into the softest, most precious smile, his eyelashes fanning his cheeks as he slowly comes to and lets out a little sigh “Morning” his voice is all husky from sleep and lack of use. You smile back with that sweet giddiness and relaxation in filling your body as you softly whisper good morning back to him. Watching him shift as he sits up to lean over and place a long, soft and slow and tender kiss over your lips, still with that little smile on his lips (I am about to exPLODE-)*CRYING!!!!!!*

okay okay, i know i wrote a drabble similar to this idea here, and for some reason my mind fell back to the night before..y'all, imagine the night that resulted in a soft, needy carmen spending the day in bed with you, all sore and a mess of slick and cum-

Midnight Cars

summary: You’re not about to fuck in the car park. So you end up fucking in the car park. Your apartment’s one at least. 

a/n: read @nolita-fairytale fic's about fiance!carmen, and god did that get my gears going. Her series is a mf masterpiece! Fiance Carmen is dirtyyy, even for Berzatto himself. There's public sex, I'm talking Carmen is knuckles deep in you swallowing you with praises whilst a few feet away from Auntie Susie, public. 

warnings; filth, utter FILTH, this is kind of insane even for me, car sex, public sex, fingering, dry humping, cowgirl (yeehuh!) but carmen's doing all the work, fiance!carmen, wrap it before you tap it lmao, 18+ explicit, feral and a little deranged carmen, possesive! carmen

The tangy burst of vermilion and cherry grasps your tongue as you tilt the rounded bowl of your drinking glass towards your lips, gliding your tongue to catch any wayward drops of the wine being poured by waiters dressed down in black and white. 

Your eyes don’t leave the dirty blond tresses that had long broken from their gelled back form through the night's progression sitting atop Carmen’s head. You can’t help the giggle you let out from your position against the bar, watching him join in a very drunk, but surprisingly harmonised rendition of “Ain't No Mountain High Enough" By Marvin Gates.

His tie sits undone around his neck, and his face is sort of flushed from the extended night, his cheeks a tinty rose and his lips turned red from his repetitive swipes of his tongue across them nervously.

All inhibitions are gone now, and you're able to indulge in the site of a carefree Carmen, left unaware of the never ending responsibilities he carried by the honey haze of a night just for him and his award winning restaurant. 

The low lights of the speakeasy room sets the air into a mellow haze, hints of cocoa and aged bourbon waft through the corners of the room, across half finished plates of food on tailored tables, and the stage where your Carmen had won the very award that now sits dangerously close to the edge of your table.

You knew the James Beard Association was prestigious, but god had they truly left you dumbfounded when you stepped into the low lights of the speakeasy.

You didn't even know places like this still existed. 

The speakeasy was tucked in a bricked alley, unassumingly between an Italian and a car park. You wouldn’t have ever guessed it to boast this attraction, with aged vintage black and white photos of late singers who’d sung on that very stage years ago hanging across the walls, polished dark exposed wood and velvet booth seats in corners surrounding round tables, even the parlour looked like it was out of an 80’s  bar house. You think if you shut your eyes and reached out you would have touched the sequence dress of Etta Jones.

Carmen didn't get drunk, not often anyways, and even now, after winning the prestige of “Chicago's Up and Coming Restaurant of the Decade”, he waved off every raise of a glass towards him.

Carmen felt a level of unease at even touching a drop of liquor whilst driving you both home, no, every fiber of his being screamed at him to keep you safe at all times, and the taste of bourbon held nothing against the taste of you. 

That didn’t stop him from enjoying himself, in fact he felt an unnatural sense of bubbly relaxation fall over him as his gaze fell towards you, sipping on a glass, looking the very bit the picture of gorgeous he’d ever seen. 

Carmen had always been horrible at these sorts of things, getting doted on, sucked up to, boasted to. He hated every second of it, but even he can attest to the absolute wonder of a night this has been. He glided you against the dance floor, under the iridescent glass panes of the skylight window, the soft crescent moonlight shining through in a way that bounced against the glitters of low hanging ambient lighting and shimmers of dresses and disco balls. 

The dance floor had been packed with family and friends but then? Then, it had felt like the entire world had stood still, it had felt like it was the both of you, infinitely, you in his arms like it was meant to be, forever.

And now you looked across to him, with those eyes, those fucking eyes of yours, comfortable in the vision of your gorgeous man looking at you under hooded lids, his bottom lip sunken into his mouth. The hint of a smirk tucks at the corner, and it takes everything in you not to jump at him then.

You motion with a manicured finger, and his eyes catch yours in a second, despite being in a group of people currently huddled around him, eager faces hanging onto his every word. He leaves them, in the middle of a mountain of questions they prodded at him, towards you, following your every desire, always, until the very end.

“I see congratulations are in order, Chef” You softly reply, when he makes it close enough that you take in the veins trailing up his forearm, left bare from his rolled up sleeves. The vision shoots straight to the heat building in your belly, and you have to press your drink to your lips to stop the bubbly moan from escaping.

Carmen looks down at you from his height, eyes trailing down the cut of your body hugging dress, lingering on your snug hips catching against the silky black fabric. 

He wanted to feel them beneath his hands as he took you.

“Oh yeah?” Carmen replies, his voice like silk fluttering across your body. Heady in that way it always is.

“Mhm, but I didn’t get to really say anything since you were busy with the rest of them” You don’t have to gesture for Carmen to know about the huddles of people crowding his every move. Another thing he disliked about these sorts of things, they took him away from you.

“Does my girl feel neglected?” 

“No” You draw out. “ I just want to show you how proud I am” You whisper through dark lashes. Carmen trails a tattooed fingers across your jaw, letting glide against the smooth skin until it bumps against your lips. Trailing your bottom lip fervently, his own pulled into his mouth.

“And how are you going to congratulate me hm?”

“That will just ruin the surprise, won’t it?”

Carmen let’s put a chuckle, before leaning into the crook of your neck

“Careful..you know I don’t like it when you keep things from me” 

You can’t help the shudder that crawls up your spine at his words, flashes of being bent over his desk, of being pushed onto your knees corrode your mind and you feel the burning ache travel to your core.

Carmen tilts his head, a hint of a smile on his lips as he watches you, eyes glinting in want.

“No? You’re not gonna tell me?” Carmen replies in a low voice, and as he trails his thick digits across the sides of your dress, bunching up the silk material.

He trails his thick digits across the bodice of your dress, his hands dipping into the spill of cleavage before trailing it to the sides of your dress, bunching up the silk material. Surely he’s not?

“Mhm” Carmen nods, eyes flickering to you, reading your mind as he takes you in appreciably. His pupils are blown out in lust, the familiar ceruleans dipping into a depth only reserved for you.

You let out a squeal when you feel Carmen’s fingers trail up the slit on your thigh, squeezing the naked flesh before tracing his fingers along the lace trim of your panties. You’re up against the bar, shielded by the low ambient lighting and Carmen’s huge back obscuring every manoeuvre of your body to his every desire.

“Carmen-“ You admonish, eyes darting across the room now filled with happily drunk family and friends dancing or laughing amongst each other.

However your admonishment is light hearted, it trails off into the air when you feel Carmen press against you, then, you don’t really care, you miss him too goddamn much to.

“Been watching you the entire night you know? When you were dancing with your friends, god I wanted to drag you from the floor and just take you in the fucking coat closet” Carmen muses, his lips brushing against the pulse point behind your ear. Your drink long forgotten on the bar counter, your hands now gripping his shoulders as you bite back a moan.

“Yeah, just thinking about wrapping these thighs around me and letting that pussy grip me for hours”

“You’d take it all, right honey? You’ll be my good girl?” Carmen grunts out softly

All you can let out is a half hearted nod, your eyes falling dangerously closed as Carmen prods and sucks against every sliver of skin he can get ahold of.

His deft thumb drags along the fabric of your undergarments, cupping your mound as you let out a sharp exhale, making approving noises as the slick that has begun to already begun to drench your panties.

“Already wet for me Darling?” Carm replies, the hint of mirth surrounding his voice doesn’t allude you, and if you didn’t want to keep chasing that sweet friction of Carmens thumb against your heat you would have shoved him.

“Please Carm” You exhale with a sharp breath, trying to grind your hips onto the palm of his hand. He strokes you softly, featherlight touches that barely feel like anything.

And this man, this goddamn man, laughs. A roll of a chuckle rolls through his body and you want to scream at the denial of the pleasures he's keeping from you, before his deep baritone voice replies.

“All you had to say was please”

His rough fingers sink into your heat, it’s silky, and rough and hits you like liquor, straight to the building pressure. He drags your slick through your folds, arching his fingers ever so slightly when he bumps up against your clit. Never fully putting any pressure on that precipice of pleasure you want to dive head first into.

Dipping a thick tattooed digit into your tight hole, Carmen lets out a groan at the way you grip him so tightly, masking your pitched moan at the feeling of him circling his thumb against your bundle of nerves and stretching you out with his thick digits.

Carmen is practically holding you up, his large bicep wrapped tightly around your waist as you sink your teeth into his shoulder, letting the skin absorb the litter of stuttered mewls you let out at the swipes of his thumb against your clit.

The coil begins to tighten, and you can faintly hear Carmen softly whisper sweet nothings, proclamations, declarations, praises. They fall from his mouth like honey and push you further up the cliff. 

“I know sweet girl, taking it so well, just keep taking it, let me make you feel good, yeah?”

A second finger joins the first, dragging your sopping slick up your folds, before dipping into your tight hole. Rough fingers massage up against your walls that grip him so tightly, Carmen knows your body inside and out, and it doesn't take long for him to find the soft spongy patch of skin deep within you, curling a third finger up into that spot, roughly thrusting into relentlessly. 

Carmen watches the way your pussy swallows his thick tattooed fingers, thrusting them out slicker and wetter each time, the image has his jaw and slacks tightening and it takes everything in him not to sink his entire length into against the bar counter, fuck whoever else.

Your hips buckle beneath him, and he grips you harder into his chest, his mouth presses bruising kisses along your neck, jaw, clavicle. Your heated moans fail to reside in you as you begin to cant your hips into his hands, rubbing your clit rapidly on the flat side of his palm. The coil tightens within you, and you roll your eyes back, letting out a bubbling of half syllabus, your brain a mush from the saccharine pleasure curling your toes.

“M’ fucking you dumb baby? You getting off so good on my fingers you can’t speak?” Carmen groans out, he can’t stop himself from canting his hips forward, his erection bumping into your stomach.

The feeling of him pressed and thrusting against you, outlined by his suit pants is a vision that breaks you entirely, and you can’t even blink before you feel the band snap, the delicious white hot burn spreading through you like a wildfire.

“Carmen..s-..gonna” You manage to let out with a breath, and Carmen knows already, of course he does. He’s knuckles deep in you now, and his relentless rutting is inescapable, you can fucking feel him in your bones, down to your goddamn marrow. He continues his rapid thrusts into you, refusing to relent, pushing you further, and further through the waves of your unending. 

Your head lulls back, but Carmen catches it with his arm, his mouth slatted over yours as you fail to keep in the loud yell of his name from your lips. 

Carmen swallows your stuttered mewls, your swears, your please, he swallows it all and keeps it for himself. His tongue darting across the inside of your mouth, swiping along the roof of your mouth, across your front teeth.

His fingers continue to thrust into you, helping you ride through the burst of colours and stars that light your vision beneath your lids. You're pushed up against his hard chest, and it takes some time for your limp body to come back to life, your head a daze of pleasure.

“S’fucken good girl”

Carmen mutters so softly, almost to himself, his fingers are still cupping your heart, whisper grazes of his thumb against your drenched folds. 

as he fixes your dress, smoothing the wrinkles formed, flickering his eyes to yours in a sweet smile.

Through hooded lids, you see a man approach you both, interrupting the heated gaze Carmen imprints down to your very bones. Carmen slinks his hand back, discreetly popping those deft digits into his mouth with a low groan, before wiping them on his suit pants. He carefully fixes your dress, smoothing the wrinkles formed, flickering his eyes to yours in a sweet smile as if he hadn’t just fucked you up into his knuckles, and goddamn tasted you. 

The scene causes a shudder to roll down your back, reigniting the heat deep inside you once again, you never thought you could be this depraved, this-, but the way he sinks into you so perfectly has you nodding to every desire he has. He was a goddamn drug.

Your body is still recovering from the aftershocks of your orgasm, and you feel Carmen's heated gaze on you as you try and coherently respond to the stubby man who’d interrupted you both. The man rambles on, clearly oblivious to your state, too focused on the sound of his own voice. You nod along to his words, something about a farmers market or an Indian restaurant that had opened, but you're jittering in your heels and you can barely stand, opting to lean against the bar counter. 

You look towards Carmen, to find him staring at you, amusement lighting his cerulean blues as he takes in your insatiability. Hell, it took him god near everything to not fling the man to the other side of the room so that he could probably taste you. 

Remind him again why he agreed to this?

It gets to maybe the second inception of an animated story before Carmen is bidding the man goodbye with a shake of a hand, and all you can do is swallow the desire that no doubt has you salivating by the second. God if Carmen had made you wait even one more minute you would have tugged on his shirt like some petulant child.

“Took you long enough” You murmur, when Carmen eases out into the speakeasy car park with a hand against the small of your back.

A soft laugh escapes Carmen, scratching at his jaw as he shakes his head. 

“If I didn’t already know, I would think you're the one that hates these things” Carmen murmurs with a teasing smile, as you make your way to the sleek black car that camouflages against the midnight.

You make a sound that sounds close to a snort, “Not when it keeps me from jumping my fiances bones” Your engagement ring seems to glisten at those words, and you don't miss the way Carmen’s eyes flash with a look of hunger, adoration, glee, even possession all mixed in one.

You’d been his since the moment he laid eyes on you, that was a given. Putting a ring on your finger just gave him something to latch onto, a mark that told the world you were finally his.

It anchored him, it made him feel good. It eased the anxieties that would flood his mind, washing them away like a current every time he kissed that damn princess cut.  

Carmen wasn’t exactly all that sentimental, but with you? God did he mutter till death do us part like it was tattooed onto his tongue. And even then, when he’s a zombified version of his human self, traveling the underworld soullessly he’d find you.

Oh were you Carmen’s, but wasn’t he yours too?

“Language sweetheart, you make me sound like a piece of meat” Carmen murmurs teasingly shuffling so that he’s leaning over your body pressed into the passenger seat door.

“Language? Your talking about modesty after you just-” Your cut off by Carmen's rough finger pressed against your lips

“Would be careful about what you're going to say next sweetheart” Carmen raps in a low voice, tracing his finger against your bottom lip, eyebrows furrowed as if the motion of his fingers brushed up against you was of utmost importance.

You gulp back the words you wanted to say, Carmen's blown out eyes flicker from yours to your lips, and you lift your head towards him. Carmen catches you with a hand wrapped around your jaw, pushing you further against him as he crashes his lips sweet against your own. Swiping against your bottom lip, dipping into the heat of your mouth as he groans against the taste of you.

“So sweet,” Carmen murmurs into the kiss, before pulling back. Amusement clouds over lust filled eyes at your immediate anger against his denial

“What about my surprise?” 

“You can’t really get to enjoy the full experience in a public car park on Michigan Ave” You whisper, suggestivity laces your tone as you feel the heat of embarrassment flood through you. You were not good at this stuff, and yet the sharp sound of Carmen’s soft groan causes you to lift your eyes up to meet him.

“Then what are we doing standing here?” Carmen replies with a growl, it erupts from his chest, and as you stare up at him, you finally take in the wolfish expression on his face. He look’s insatiable, goddamn animalistic as he eyes you carefully, a darkness that prods at his blues.

You let Carmen place you into the passenger seat, the resounding click of the seat belt the only sound in the stretch of silence between you both. A heaviness laces the air in the car as you ride home, a headiness, a lurking desire beneath the illuminating light of the console, and the flashing lights of Chicago sitting against tinted windows. 

Carmen spreads his thighs across the drivers seat leisurely, resting a hand on the steering wheel, whilst the other grips your thigh tightly. There's going to be a bruise there tomorrow, and you can't help but preen at the thought of his mark on you hours later.

You count the seconds that tick by as Carmen rolls into the basement garage of your shared apartment, parking silently as he cuts the engine and remains unmoving, except for his hand gripping your thigh which he squeezes periodically. 

Carmen cuts his gaze towards you, the wolfish expression that overtakes his features and turns him into a predator tells you all you need to know, but his eyes soften ever so slightly, almost telling you the next move is up to you.

Carmen doesn't need to hear the seat belt unclasping before he's tugging you on his lap with rough skillful hands. His erection pushed against the softness of your belly as groan out in blissed relief, Carmen can’t help himself, grinding his hips up into you frantically.

“Need” Carmen breathes out heavily “Need to feel you, need to be inside of you. Right now, right fucking now” Carmen groans.

There is a fumble of clothes being ripped and thrown into the backseat, and Carmen shifts the driver's seat to lean back a little. The position is unforgiving, your back is pressed against the wheel, and the space is too small, but strangely, it’s a tight proximity you crave, too long have you gone without the ecstasy of Carmen’s skin against yours.

You settle your thighs on either side of him, his deft fingers drawing soft circles across your hips, his pressing fervent kisses along your jaw causing you to fall into the crook of his neck.

“Please, sweetheart, let me feel you, let me see you, shh, it’s alright, let me feel you” Carmen hums into the heat of your skin, tasting your sweat with the flat of his tongue as he grips your hips gently.

You lift them, and with Carmen's help, you finally, after what felt like centuries, sink onto Carmen's length, the sobbing slick drenching your folds causing him to slip in easily, eliciting a breathless groan from him as he feels the heat of you wrap around you.

You can hardly breath, all you can feel, all you can taste and see is him, the delicious stretch that comes with the first sink into you is glorious, its fucking ineffable. The entirety of his length sinks into you to the hilt, and you feel every vein and ridge of him graze against your tight walls as you let out a strained whimper into Carmen's shoulder.

“ ‘S Fucking velvet, pussy grip’s like a goddamn vice every time sweetheart” Carmen praises, pressing kisses to your skin, his eyes shut as if he was memorising the feel of you, savouring it in his mind like it was the last time.  

Carmen always gave you a few moments to get comfortable around his thickness, but there was a neediness in the way he held you, like you would turn to dust if he let go, and the restraint he held earlier falls apart as makes that first thrust up into you without warning.

You cry out as the blanket of pleasure courses through you, your heart is in your throat, you can barely breath, and you throw your head back cause god don’t you want more.

You press your nails into his shoulder as you try to lift your hips, eyebrows furrowed at the feeling of pleasure that fills you with every inch of him that glides against your walls, your clit, your slick. You’re a mess, and Carmen tugs at your hips, sick of waiting, and thrusting into you mercilessly, maintaining an unforgiving pace as you quake above him.

“Take me so goddamn well, huh sugar? Doesn't my wife take my cock so well?’ Carmen grunts, his eyes watching the way his length sinks into you and leaves glistening with your slick. The sight nearly tears him into his undoing, nearly causing him to spurt into you, if only he had a damn polaroid.

Your head brushes against the roof of the car as Carmen pistons into you, his hands gripping your hips as he slams you onto his length, rutting into you as the velvet of your walls cling to him. It was like goddam silk wrapped around his length, the gooey slick of your arousal coating his every ridge, dripping down onto his balls and between the space where he’d thrust into you.

A litter of profanities fall from his mouth with every stuttered thrust of his hips, its uncontrolled, and Carmen shows no restraint, no signs of stopping as he chases the wet softness only you have, the decadent caramel, your natural addicting scent, the car fucking stinks of you, and it takes everything in Carmen not to rip you off him and drink from you like a fountain elixir.

His tip brushes against your cervix, thrusting impossibly deeper with every move of his hips, he changes his position, and it causes his length to brush up against that spot that causes stars to burst in your vision. You practically arch your back against him, lifting your hips up when you feel the white hot pleasure that drips down your back, exploding your senses.

“No no no, fucking take it” Carmen snarks, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you down deeper, further onto his length, till your filled to the brim, your slick gushing out of you.

A shudder rolls through you and the sound of Carmen's low voice, dipping into something untapped, something animalistic and merciless, something that would pull every drop of pleasure from you until you were a sobbing mess.

You roll your hips against his length, a shaking, stuttering mess of gurgling words and cries as you grind your clit against Carmen's length, whilst the girth of his thrust into the spongy spot within you that leaves you heaving.

The familiar burn of a coil tightens within you, and as Carmen presses a thumb against the swollen bundle of nerves, circling it softly. The contrast of his soft feather touches against your clit paired with his unforgiving pace thrusting into causes you to keen, arching your back against him as Carmen murmur below you fervently, like he's chanting something, worshipping every curve of your body.

“Open your eyes pretty girl” Carmen murmurs, the soft voice of his voice comes back, the rough demeanour falling away like dust as he takes in the signs of your closeness.

“Please Carmen” You beg, you don't know what for,  but it seems like everything from the pleading lilt of your voice. Give me everything Carmen, your love, your pleasure, your skin and bones.

“I know Baby, I know, let me see you yeah? Let me see those pretty eyes” Carmen prods gently

You squeeze your eyes open and the vision that finds you almost snaps the coil tightening deep within your gut, bellowing with heat and pleasure that sizzles below your skin like electricity.

Carmen lies beneath you, his cheeks red with heat and blushing desire, his eyebrows are furrowed, and below them, below them lie cerulean blues that glaze over in a daze, hooded lids with curls lashes that brush against cheekbones. It’s like he's in a trance, his pupils blown out in lust and something else as they watch the bounce of your chest against him each time you shealth yourself onto his thick, hard length.

White teeth pressed into reddened lips watch you eagerly, imprinting you into his mind forever, he wanted you like this always, taking every inch, screaming nothing but his name.

“Fucking gorgeous”

The lilt of his voice, grown husky and low from pleasure breaks something in you, and you aren’t able to warn him, before you arch your back impossibly, driving yourself roughly onto his hips as you get the wave of pleasure wash over you. Colours of vermilion, blue, of the wine you had drunk and Carmen's cologne burst under your lids, on your tongue, everywhere. Carmen groans loudly below you, thrusts growing sloppy as he ruts into you desperately, chasing his own release brought on by your own unending. 

Carmen barely controls the thrust of his hips into you, releasing spurts of thick cum, coating your walls endlessly. His arm wraps tightly around your waist, making you take everything he gives you, forcing you into the whirlwind of ecstasy and base desire you can’t escape from.

You both temporarily forgot about where you both are in that instance, the pleasure from the both of you transports you somewhere boneless, and for a second you feel your heart stop, the  wave of pleasure that crashes over you as Carmen continues rutting into you, lengthening the wave as long as possible until you feel it swallow you both whole.

It’s somewhere between a few minutes to a few hours when you resurface, you don't know, your mind is a mess of sound and colour and the ecstatic aftershock of pleasure that still runs through you. You're nestled into Carmen’s chest, the scent of your coupling thick in the air, your thighs and the leather seat are covered with your combined slick.

The only sound between you both is your heavy breathing, you still nestled up to the hilt of Carmen, and when you slightly shift your hips Carmen shoots out a hand to stop you.

“Easy there sweetheart” Carmen replies in tight constraint, over stimulation washing over you both as the buzz of pleasure still hasn't quite dissipated.

“S-sorry” You reply, breathlessly, lifting your head tiredly to catch the soft gaze of Carmen watching you. His hands glide across your naked frame, pressing soft circles, shushing and smoothing out every shudder and shake of your legs. Carmen doesn't tell you the thought of you visibly shaking from him and he only causes his length to stiffen and his mind to reel.

“So..where’s my present?” Carmen’s teasing voice re-emerges, his eyes crinkling as you swipe at him playfully.

“You’re still in me, dick” You reply with a roll of your eyes, falling back against the hardness of his chest

“Mhm, and I didn’t even get to taste you” Carmen murmurs, tracing his fingers along the curve of your waist, cupping your ass as you shudder from his words. There was a finality in it, and you don’t know if you’ll make it to the elevator before he fulfills that very desire.

The obscenity of it, you love it, only Carmen could make you this depraved. And god do you thank him for it.

Taglist 🏷 (send an ask to be apart of my taglist for carmen)

@kpopgirlbtssvt @rooster-bradshaws

[jeonginsleftcheek]

Seasons with you

pairing: changbin x gn!reader

genre: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers au

word count: 5.0k

warnings: vague descriptions of anxiety, insecurities, depression, abusive exes (not physically), lots of metaphors, they're in love your honor!

a/n: okay this might be one of my favorite fics i ever wrote, i got so emotional and sappy while writing it (i cried aksksll) and i hope y'all love this as much as i love it🥹🩷 binnie deserves the world and so do you, reader💕

(the book i'm referencing in my fic is called 'my name is memory' by ann brashares)

~check out my: Masterlist

🌸SPRING🌸

It is a known fact that everything comes alive with the arrival of spring. The sun rises earlier in the morning, illuminating the trees and the flowers, uncovering new sights to be seen, ones that were blanketed by the darkness of the night before.

The first drops of dew are heavy on a small leaf, making it bend but never break as they slide down to the grass, all the way into the earth below, satiating it's thirst, kissing the roots buried deep.

It's silly to think so, but you kind of relate to the little leaf as you sit on your picnic blanket and stare at it. You always bend to other people's will, always put yourself in the second place, forgetting about your own needs, telling them and yourself that it's fine and you're fine just like this. You bend and bend, and you wonder how much longer you can bend without breaking.

Sometimes you're the little drop in the sea of other drops, invisible and unremarkable, existing just to serve some higher purpose, to feed the earth and disappear like you never even existed before.

Thoughts like this plague your mind often times, especially on a beautiful day like this, when the sun is shining high in the sky, revealing all the colors of pretty flowers that bloomed in the grass, the clouds that look like cotton candy, so fluffy you wish you could bite into them and taste the sweetness of sugar.

The serenity and the beauty around you only feed into the sorrowful black hole inside you that grows bigger and bigger each time you give a piece of yourself and get nothing in return.

Everything comes alive with the arrival of spring, and you hope that this spring you will come alive too, blossom with all the pretty flowers, be one of them and not just a disregardable little leaf.

You wouldn't dream of being the sun itself, when that title is already taken, saved in your heart for your best friend Changbin. The one who is as warm and bright as the sun itself that you're sure the flowers bloom whenever he passes by them. They bask in his incadescence, seeking his light just like you do, but you would never ask for too much, never say it out loud, never bother him with the darkest parts of you in fear of dimming his brightness.

You have no idea that you don't even need to ask, Changbin would reach up and pluck the stars out of the sky only for you, just so he can see that beautiful smile you give him as he approaches you. And as much as he loves the smile that dances on your lips, he can't help but notice every time that it doesn't reach your eyes.

You hide, but the eyes are a mirror to the soul and the dark hole that grows inside you is reflected in your gaze, making Changbin wish he could reach in and touch your soul, illuminate the darkest parts of you. Where you see yourself as the insignificant leaf, he sees you as the most beautiful flower, too delicate to be plucked out roughly like you were before when uncaring hands wrapped around you. Where you see yourself as a little droplet, disappearing and forgettable, he sees you as the water giving life to everything and everyone you come in touch with, the love you carry inside your heart for others quenching their thirst as you scatter parts of yourself all around.

You wave at him, your other hand coming up to shield your eyes from the rays of sun peeking through the leaves as they start rustling. The wind is picking up and your eyes fall to the flowers swaying in the field and then back to your friend's fluffy hair, swaying in unison with the flowers.

Changbin waves back at you, a smile so big on his face that you wish it was all yours, you wish you could be selfish like that and keep him all to yourself, but you can't.

"You left without me."- he pouts as he sits next to you, placing the basket he brought next to his legs.

"Sorry, I peeked into your room and you were still asleep. I didn't want to wake you."- you say, placing your book aside as Changbin opens up the basket.

"Brought you apples."- he says, knowing it was your favorite thing to eat early in the morning. "I washed them, too!"- he adds as he hands you one and you chuckle.

"Thanks, Binnie."- you smile and bite into the apple. It's the perfect sour and refreshing taste sprinkling on your tongue and waking you up a little, spreading through your body.

"Are you still reading that book about soulmates?"- Changbin asks, getting more comfortable on the blanket as he chews on an apple too, the crunchy sounds filling your ears, melting together with the birds singing in the tree above you.

"Yes well, it's the third time I'm reading it actually."

"Doesn't it have a sad ending?"- he asks, tilting his head to look at you as you stare ahead, counting how many red flowers you can see in front of you. Sometimes counting stuff like that calms you down and you do it almost subconsciously, listening to what Changbin is talking about at the same time.

"Not everything is meant to have a happy ending."- you sigh, he reads between the lines. You're referring to yourself, he knows it as well as you do and it's like a thorn in his heart, piercing through the muscle, making him bleed red, red like the flowers you're tallying up.

"Maybe the journey should be appreciated more than just wanting to skip to an ending. Be it happy or sad."- he smiles and you chuckle at his words, the warmness of the sun on your legs is nothing compared to the warmness Changbin envelopes your heart with.

"Maybe."- you shrug, your apathy deeply rooted inside you, you're stubborn like a child and you can't or maybe don't want to let the sunshine in.

🌸

Today must be a special day, a day filled with warmth and laughter. You don't remember the last time you had this much fun, the last time you were this carefree, finally forgetting about what you have to do and who wants to tear away another piece of you.

There's a fair in town, one that has been a constant in your lives, you attended it every year, ever since you were kids when your mothers had to hold your hands and warn you not to wander too far. You never missed a year and this one was probably your favorite.

The only thoughts in your head are Changbin and how you had to try so hard to resist kissing him all over his face when he picked up a kalimba from one of the stands and started playing a random melody on it.

He looked so gleeful like he was that child again, your best friend, who grew up with you and who you grew to love more than yourself, so irresistible and loveable to you. He focused on the instrument in his hands and you didn't want to shatter the sweet moment even though he wasn't even hitting any of the notes right.

"I'll get it for you."- you say when he finally looks up at you, his eyes are shiny as he smiles.

"Really?!"- he asks excitedly and you nod, thinking nothing of it, it wasn't something very expensive and you didn't mind buying him a gift he liked but to Changbin it meant so much more.

After all, he still has the pretty rock you found on the beach when you were 9 and gave it to him as a present, claiming you were sure that it was the prettiest one and that he deserves to have it.

"I swear I'll learn to play it."- he says after you pay for it, making you laugh.

"I'm expecting a full concert."- you tease, wiggling your eyebrows.

"With an encore!"- he adds, both of you giggling as you stroll together, your shoulders brushing occasionally, making your heart skip a beat or two.

You browse through many stands and both of you get hungry, stomach growling and legs cramping from all the walking. You decide to get some dessert, pancakes with ice cream, and you sit on one of the benches, the view of people eating, laughing and talking with their loved ones before you.

Changbin notices pretty flowers right there next to him and he gently plucks one out. You look at him and he smiles at you, like you're the most beautiful of them all as his hand reaches towards you and places the flower in your hair.

"What is that for?"- you chuckle, your cheeks warm and you almost bring your hand up to touch them, but you're balancing the ice cream pancake in your lap, you don't want it to fall and make a mess of your clothes and the floor.

"Looks prettier there."- he says and your breath is caught in your throat.

He means the flower, not you, it's not you, it's never you, that is what you think.

You don't say anything, you look back at your food and Changbin deflates, wishing he could find a delicate way to yell out how beautiful you are, how precious your heart is and how rare a soul like yours is. He wishes to do so quietly, so you don't get scared and run off like a vunerable animal that jumps at any loud sound.

You feel down suddenly, but Changbin doesn't let you feel blue for too long, quickly changing the subject to something funny he remembered or a movie he found interesting.

And when you finish your pancake, your stomach is full and so is your heart. Even just for a moment, you feel full.

You start walking back home, your legs hurting and Changbin offers you to climb on his back and you do so, both of you laughing as he jokes around, pretending he'll drop you as you squeal before he actually starts walking normally with you attached to his back. He carries you home as your limbs wrap around him, wrapping around his heart even more.

You fall asleep as he carries you and he hates having to wake you up as he stands on your porch.

Your peaceful sleepy state is something Chanbgin wishes you could have when you're awake. He wishes he could be your peace, your comfort, your home.

And as he bids you good night, he stands on the porch a little longer than he needed to, even after you close and lock the door.

"I love you."- he whispers, his hand clutching the kalimba you so happily bought for him.

🫧SUMMER🫧

You don't like it. None of it. Not the weather, not the sun constantly making you feel like you're sizzling, not the crowded streets, not the laughter and squeals you can hear whenever you arrive at a beach.

You're a starfish, arms and legs spread out on your bed as you melt into it, the only sounds you hear are the fan turning and the music playing low as you stare up at the ceiling.

There are weird little spots on the ceiling, they were always there, you remember them since you were a child and you know how many there are. Exactly 43 of them but you will count them again and again, with the thought that a new one may appear any day now.

You concentration is broken on spot number 21, when Changbin walks into your room carrying a towel and a backpack.

"No."- you say before he can even open his mouth and he shakes his head, opting to try a light approach as he chuckles at you.

"You're gonna burn a hole into that bed if you keep laying in it."- he says.

"Great. Maybe it swallows me."- you say.

"You're a grim little thing, aren't you?"- he asks and you laugh, throwing a plushie at him but he manages to catch it mid-air.

"Come on, look I have watermelon. And sandwiches. And cards, we can play cards, you love that. And I brought my portable speaker."- he pouts at you and how can you say no to that?

"Alright, alright, you won me over. Give me 15 minutes to get ready."- you say, finally getting up and only then feeling how sweaty your back actually is.

Changbin waits for you in the kitchen, as you pick yourself up, take a quick shower and finish getting ready.

Your heart flutters just a little when you come down and see him helping your mom with the dishes.

In moments like this you wish you could tell him how much he means to you but your tongue twists, a knot in your stomach and a void inside your chest pulls you deeper under water, drowning you in the darkest depths of the ocean.

There's a smile on Changbin's lips the whole way to the beach as he leads you down the path you're familiar with, where your feet have padded through countless times before.

It's unbearably hot and you try to chase the shade as much as you can, the crickets screaming in unison with your burning skin. The closer you get to the beach, the more excitement courses through your veins and Changbin notices how the ends of your lips quirk up and how there's a skip in your step. His mood instantly shifts, matching your pace before the two of you start racing to the beach and giggling like crazy.

"Whoever gets there last, pays for lunch!"- you shriek as you start running, and Changbin scampers behind you slowly, ofcourse letting you win as he looks at your figure getting further away from him and fusing into the sparkly ocean and the blue sky before you.

The little giggles spilling from your lips fuel his heart and his desire to drink from your lips and taste the love that you carry inside you. He hurries to catch up and you turn to look at him breathless, weightless, elated.

The smile he loves reaches your eyes, for a fleeting moment, the sparkle that he unknowingly ignites is burning in your irises, bringing your soul out transparently only for him.

"Thank you for lunch in advance."- you smirk and he giggles.

"You don't have to thank me."- Changbin says and he means it, you don't have to thank him for anything he does for you, he would do it in a heartbeat again and again.

The two of you make it to the water, finally stripping and all but running into the water, excited to cool off a little on a hot summer day.

As soon as you adjust to the temperature of the water, laughter travels through the air between the sounds of splashes as you and Changbin start playing around, not caring if anyone is looking at you, feeling like only the two of you exist.

You wished every day of your life feels just like this.

Only when you get exhausted and the skin on your fingertips shrivels is when you finally get out of the ocean. Changbin is quick to grab a towel and put it around you, another one of the little things he does that makes your face and chest warm.

He opens the mini portable fridge, taking out some watermelon that was cut into pieces. You are the dj, playing some music on his speaker as the two of you settle into a chat.

You get lost in the ocean, watching as the waves roll and roll, your head is a little dizzy and it feels like your body rolls and crashes together with the waves. At first, it soothes you together with Changbin talking about some new band he discovered. Suddenly you feel like something's grabbing your ankles and pulling you down, and you try to fight against it. But the turmoil grows bigger and stronger, grappling to pull your head under water. You want to fight so bad, you wish to have it in you to fight for survival but you are just so tired and you have no fight left inside you anymore.

The sweet juice from the watermelon melts down your fingers, mixing with the salty tears sliding from your face down to your hand.

"Y/n?"- Changbin looks at you. "What's wrong?"- he asks, his face turning into a face of worry, his eyebrows pinched together.

You hate it, hate seeing him unhappy, hate bothering him with your silly little outbursts that you don't even know the cause of.

"N-nothing. I don't know."- you wipe at your face and his eyes soften, his hand coming up to caress your upper back gently.

"It's okay. We can count the clouds together and take deep breaths, what do you say?"- he smiles and you're slowly being pulled up from under the ocean, Changbin being the first thing you see as you emerge out and steady yourself, his hand searching for yours, fingers slotting perfectly together.

You count and he squeezes your hand, sticky from the watermelon but neither of you care. All you care about is him, and all he cares about is you finding your way back to him.

That evening, Changbin goes home with a new pretty rock you found before the two of you made your way back from the beach.

He places it next to the other one,

"I love you."

🍁FALL🍁

The heat has gone away, replaced by crisp air and the smell of petrichor. The rain drips, drips, drips on your windowpane as you sit with your warm cup of tea, a comfy blanket wrapped around your body, your book laying on the side forgotten as Changbin paces around the room, talking excitedly about some people he met who share the same love for making music as he does.

You gaze out the window, watching as the leaves fall down, hitting the ground soundlessly and making piles under the trees. You wanna count how many red ones fall down, but you can't, not when your friend is literally bouncing off the walls as he talks, distracting you from the task you gave yourself.

"Okay Binnie, I love that for you but please slow down, you're making me dizzy."- you chuckle.

"Oh! I'm sorry!"- he bursts into laughter with you, before he finally sits down, taking a deep breath in.

He talks about this Chan and Jisung that are apparently geniuses at what they do and he wants to join their little squad, and they want him to make music with them.

You're extremely proud of Changbin, you're estatic for him but you can't help feeling just a tiny bit jelaous and weird, like someone is bursting your little bubble and taking Changbin away from you. You know it's irrational, but you can't stop the tears that slide down your cheeks that night together with the raindrops sliding down your window glass as you stare at it, your legs pulled up to your chest.

You wonder what is wrong with you, why you feel so cold and abandoned, why you feel so completely alone when you know you're not.

You fall asleep only after counting raindrops.

🍁

Halloween might be your favorite holiday ever and Changbin shares the excitement with you as you decide to dress up in matching vampire attire. It wasn't the first idea that came to his mind for costumes but when he saw your puppy eyes and your lower lip jutting out cutely he couldn't say no.

There was a party held by one of your acquaintances from your uni, Hyunjin, who was popular enough to probably have the whole town come to his house, which is what went through your mind as you arrived at the party.

There were too many people for your liking, and Changbin assured you he wouldn't leave your side the whole night and if you needed to get away, he would be your partner in crime.

The evening was going fine until you caught sight of your abusive ex. A chill went down your spine. They never lifted a hand on you physically, but they always took from you, never gave anything in return, they peeled away all the layers, cut out all the pieces, fed their own desires and just kept taking and taking until you were left shattered on the floor like a porcelain doll. There were so many broken pieces that you're sure you'll never be able to glue them back together.

Changbin follows the line of your sight and finds out the reason the look on your face turned sour. He wrapps his arm around you and pulls you closer to him as your ex had the audacity to approach you.

"What are you doing?"- you whisper to Changbin and he just squeezes you gently.

"Trust me."- he whispers back, and you do. You would trust him with your life.

"Well, well, what do we have here?"- your ex smirks.

"A loving couple. You got a problem with that?"- Changbin speaks up and you gasp, you've never seen him speak to someone like that, you always saw him as a soft teddy bear, tender and sweet, always delicate with you like you were made of glass.

Your heart beats hard against your chest at the thought of you and Changbin being a couple, a loving couple at that and you dare to let yourself dream for a second as you drown out the sounds of the party wilding around you and your ex scoffing as they fuck off back into the mass of moving people.

"You okay?"- Changbin asks and you nod.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Surprised they didn't talk back to you, honestly."- you say as Changbin leads you to the couch so you can sit and calm down.

"Maybe they turned over a new leaf."- he says and you chuckle, it sounds so easy to do that, a leaf weighs absolutely nothing. You wish you could do the same, but when the hands are heavy, even lifting something as wispy as a single leaf seems impossible.

Changbin hold your hand again as you sit and count the fairy lights in Hyunjin's living room.

You don't know how, but your eyelids get heavy and you fall asleep on Changbin's shoulder.

His lips gently press into your hair amidst the chaos of the party, something so simple and gentle unfolds as his heart hammers inside his chest, spelling out,

"I love you."

❄️WINTER❄️

It's a yearly occurence, your families get together every Christmas and travel to a big house in the mountains to enjoy winter in all of it's glory; the snow high to your knees, the skiing resorts, the cable car where you can take in all the sights, the mountains massive, strong, soaring, touching the clouds and sky itself, they almost seem surreal to you.

Something like Changbin, who is always strong for you, a rock you can lean on, someone with a soul as big as his definitely touches the clouds and deserves to have the sky.

You almost feel like a little ant staring at the mountain, like you're nothing compared to it. Nothing compared to him.

Thoughts swirl in your mind, painting your soul black again, the dark void is now almost swallowing you whole, you're afraid you'll disappear inside it.

It grows even when your families are all together, wearing stupid christmas sweaters and exchanging gifts, it grows when you and Changbin go sledding, screaming and racing each other which ends up in a snow fight and him profusely apologizing because he hit your leg too hard with a snowball. It grows and grows, and you know you can't bend anymore, you're about to break. About to run out of fake smiles and I'm fine's, terrified of spring coming and nothing ever changing.

The vast snow covered hills and mountains that you stare at look like the void inside you feels, and that void looks back at you and mocks you, laughs at you.

"Hey, it's pretty late. Come inside, you'll get sick."- Changbin appears on the balcony and you jolt out of your thoughts and turn around to look at him.

He looks at you ever so softly, a beacon of light in the darkness of you.

"Where is everyone else?"- you ask, peeking into the living room behind him.

"They went to sleep. It's just you and me. Come on, we'll make some hot chocolate and gossip by the fire."- he wiggles his eyebrows and you can't help but laugh as you follow him inside.

Your eyes are trained on the fire, as Changbin's are on you, the reflections of it dancing on your face and illuminating every single spot, freckle, wrinkle that you have, everything he loves about you, everything he's already counted many times before wishing he could count them with his lips too, not just in his head.

"Is the chocolate good?"- he asks.

"Yeah, perfect."- you nod, but you want to scream. You want to tell him how scared you are of being unloveable and broken, scared of ending up alone, scared of never blossoming into a beautiful flower.

It's like he feels your thoughts and Changbin's heart swells, growing and expanding to fit everything that makes you you inside it, as the words spill from his lips;

"I love you."

Your head snaps towards him, the movement making you spill a few drops of chocolate on your sweatpants.

"W-what?"- you say, sure you've gone deaf in the middle of everything else.

"I love you. I can't keep it in anymore, I'm sorry. I've loved you always and I don't know living without loving you. I don't know who I am if I don't love you."

Your ears ring as you stare into his eyes, the crackling of the fire sounds like the crackling of your heart as it bursts in little fireworks and you feel like you've lifted up into the air, your body weightless like the little leaf, unbothered and carefree, and you cry.

You burst into tears as sobs escape your lips and Changbin's arms envelop around you, keeping you safe and pulling you back down to root yourself in the ground.

"Shh, it's okay. It's gonna be okay. I'm here."- he keeps whispering as he rocks you and you clutch onto him like he'll fade away from existence if you let go.

You want to tell him you're unworthy, that he's so much better than you and he deserves someone with an open heart, not you, the black hole that sucks everything in, you want to tell him you feel as empty as the white snow covered field, you want to tell him of your fear, your insufficiency and your doubt, residing in your soul that was tainted with darkness of other, befouled souls.

But you don't have to say anything, he knows you better than you think he does, and he holds you tightly, like you're the most precious thing to exist since the dawn of time until now.

But most importantly, you want to tell him that you love him too. And you can't. It eats at you as you cry harder but he understands. He always does.

His hands are smoothing down your back as he whispers over and over again;

"I love you."

🫀EPILOGUE🫀

It is a known fact that everything comes alive with the arrival of spring. The sun rises earlier in the morning, illuminating the trees and the flowers, uncovering new sights to be seen, ones that were blanketed by the darkness of the night before.

And with the arrival of this spring, you have come alive too. You're not just a little leaf anymore, nit just a drop of dew, you're the most lovely flower of them all, you're his flower. Like a butterfly you've emerged from your cocoon, more beautiful, more colorful, more mature and loved. Your sun rises in the shape of your wonderful boyfriend, the one who removed the blanket of darkness from your eyes, the one who helped you pick the pieces back up, helped you love yourself.

It's a journey, the hole is still there albeit considerably smaller and you sit and count the red flowers while Changbin feeds you sliced up apples, nothing but love and adoration in his eyes as they observe you.

"Seventy six."- you exclaim suddenly, startling your lover from admiring you.

"Oh yeah? That was pretty fast."- he smirks jokingly at you.

"I'm kinda good at counting, actually I'm a professional at it."- you say matter-of-factly.

"I expect you to count all the kisses I give you today."- he giggles, pecking your cheek.

"Right, like you don't kiss me every second."- you roll your eyes playfully.

"Mhm, acting like you don't like it. Maybe I should just stop and make it easier for you to count when there's less of them."- he jokes and you laugh, the smile gracing your face reaches all the way up to your eyes.

"No, you should keep going. That way, I'll get even better at counting."

You continue joking around, like there's no care in the world, your book is next to your legs, the one you read over and over again. Maybe it doesn't have a happy ending, but now you know you don't need a happy ending in a book because yours is right next to you, being silly for the purpose of making you laugh.

The gaping hole inside you shrinks smaller and smaller and you don't feel like you're constantly on the edge of a cliff anymore. And even if you were, Changbin would be there to catch you.

You're lost in counting his eyelashes as he leans in closer to you and before your lips touch his, you whisper,

"I love you."

🫀

✨Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae

[aerkame]

Alright I read your request rules and I’m ready to request!

Wally Darling x Curious Reader

You know that little fic you made where you wrote the puppets coming into the real world? (I commented on it!)——I hope you wouldn’t mind me trying to branch off it! Imaging it happening to me, I would actually like to inspect Wally since he’s clearly not human. Of course, with consent. I would open his mouth- see what’s inside, touch his felt, his hair, all of it.

And I’d imagine he’d be curious about us too.

Sorry for this being a bit late, I wanted a short break from writing and drawing all day. Also I'm perfectly fine with that being branched off of! Most of my previous posts are kind of like foundations for future fics and requests to go off of.

Also for the sake of simplicity I will just call this an AU(Alternate Universe). The Alive AU. It's exactly what it sounds like, the puppets come to life but as their cartoon selves in the real world and are capable of going back to their own world at any time. (Wally needs to do that though or they're stuck, he knows what he's doing). I'm also doing this so that in the future when we do have answers to Welcome Home, it won't interfere with theories or what is considered "canon". This request is based on a previous post (linked below this), for context.

Just a Little Look

___________________________________________________________

Out of all the other 'puppets', Wally was the one you were most curious and cautious about. It wasn't that he ate differently, it wasn't because his eyes looked different from the rest, and it wasn't because he was always staring at you. No, it was the way he acted. He acted like he's done this before. The whole going into this world and not being a normal puppet bit. You decided that you might as well ask Wally if you could feel him or look inside his mouth...maybe not that first one though, that might come out as weird to him and the others. It's not like he had a reason to say no really, you were just curious.

The 'puppet' with an Elvis cut was sitting down on your couch one leg crossed over the other like the distinguished dude that he was, face buried in a newspaper from this morning. You don't remember teaching him how to read the newspaper, where did he even get that? "Hey Wally..." You shuffled your foot a bit, getting somewhat anxious. "Can I look in your mouth?"

"Hmm?" He looked up from reading the paper with an almost dreamy look to him. "Can I look in your mouth?" You repeated the question, this time he heard you as his head tilted to the side. "Now what would you want to look in my mouth for?" His voice was as calm as usual, though he did have a bit of a smirk today.

"I'm just curious is all, you're not like the others and I've never seen what you guys look like on the inside." You gestured to the inside of your mouth, sticking your tongue out. Wally slowly got up from the couch and leaned over you, smirk still lingering on his face. "Well, I don't see why not, but I'll only let you look inside me if you let me look inside you." You nodded, excited to finally get a look. "Alright, sounds fair." You responded as Wally folded up the newspaper and neatly placed it on the coffee table.

Bending down, Wally opened his mouth quite a bit to let you look, making a small "Ahhh~" like a child would when letting a doctor look at their throat. You peered over to see inside. It was what a normal puppet mouth would look like save for the small black void at the back of the 'throat'. You're not even going to question how Wally speaks or eats, nothing surprises you anymore at this point. Kind of weird to see what is basically a tiny void though.

He closed his mouth once you were done looking before leaning closer to softly grab your face in his hands. It wasn't what you'd thought it'd feel like. You were expecting something like felt, but that wasn't it. It was some other material you've never felt before, it was soft and smooth like silk, but not in a sense that it was fabric. "I believe it's my turn to see the inside of your mouth now." You nodded quietly and opened your mouth as wide as you could, showing off your canines and molars.

It was awkwardly quiet in the living room for a while and you slowly found yourself leaning further and further into the soft hands that held your head up earning a small chuckle from Wally. "Tired?" You nodded. It's been a rough week both from your job getting busy and you being busy at the house trying to keep your new guests out of trouble. "It's like I'm taking care of a bunch of kids.." You mumbled into his hands.

"How about you take a good nap then, you'll be up and full of that energy you need." There it was again. You could feel him staring at you with those eyes. You were too tired to say anything this time though and opted for just getting up and heading to your room. Leaving behind a still smirking Wally.

____________________________________________________________

I told you guys, I write medium to long posts even if they take a while.

Next up? Barnaby and Wally teach the dear reader how to slow dance. :)

[macfrog]

ghost

when i wrote jet, she was always a two-parter to me. two characters, two horses, two stories. equal and distinct. you guys loved the first part so much that i figured i'd leave it as it was, but recently i hit 2k and thought this could be a cool way to mark it. think of this as jet's sister story. walks right alongside her; same universe, same joel - but still very much a standalone. she can be read with or without her predecessor. thank you a million times over for all the love y'all show me on the daily. writing for you guys is so much fun. love you all the most. 🤎🖤 dedicated to @hellishjoel whose love for this pair inspires me daily

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

summary: your loyalty to joel - and your ability in yourself - are tested in st. louis. the reward might just be worth the risk

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) post-outbreak!joel, graphic violence, moderate threat, a horse is shot and killed (though i don't think i made this too graphic, more gutwrenching), reader and joel are separated, badass stealthy reader, near-SA (more intended than attempted), very protective & very violent joel, unprotected piv sex, like...bloodplay i guess? lil bit of consensual choking and spitting, creampie, possessive!joel, dom!joel but also softdom!joel, big fluff at the end, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), strong language. this fic is not sponsored by nike. lol.

word count: 10.1k

main masterlist

It’s been weeks. Weeks of just the two of you, shoulders brushing together, hips moving in stride. Horses parallel to one another, heads nodding in unison. The time you’ve spent without Joel since leaving the QZ amounts to a grand total of about ten minutes. What if something goes wrong? If he doesn’t cover himself properly? If you clear the building, come back, and you’re not only a horse down, but a partner, too? You’re standing by the hole in the wall, trying to convince yourself to duck under the bare brick when Joel’s urgent voice does it for you. “Go now. Now!” And you do.

St. Louis is quiet, still, but fruitless.

It’s been two long days of wandering around and you’ve found one building safe enough to camp in. One. The rest have either been inaccessible – boarded up, broken down, or otherwise already inhabited by infected – or Joel’s deemed them too close to the middle of town, too open, not safe enough.

Not safe enough in a world overrun by a brain-rotting fungal infection? you’d asked.

He shut you up with a sharp expression which you understood simply as: Enough.

It meant that you were wasting days, though. The night you arrived, Joel quickly combed the area surrounding the barber shop you were holed up in for supplies, and found none. He woke you at the crack of dawn next morning to set off, saying he didn’t like the fact nothing was around here. Meant someone had been through before you guys and taken it all.

Meant company, is what he was saying.

So you’d ridden around for – what, maybe three hours? You and Jet, following Joel and Ghost down cracked roads, under rusted street signs. Listening to the wind circle the buildings overhead, nudging traffic lights gently until they sang in distorted, off-key creaks to you. Always keeping your eye on the Gateway Arch between buildings, using it as some kind of north star – not for any reason other than you’d never seen it before up close, but when you mentioned this to Joel, his brows furrowed and he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

Which meant that no, you wouldn’t be paying it a visit anytime soon.

It was mid-afternoon when Joel pulled on Ghost’s reins, brought her to a halt, and held his hand out to you. Jet huffed to a stop, and you swear you felt her cock her hip angrily at him.

“Turn back,” he muttered.

“What?”

“I said, turn back. Ain’t nothin’ out this way.”

“Turn back ‘n go where?”

He jerked his head back in the direction you’d come, swerved the reins sideways and then clicked to the black-coated horse to set off. She nodded obediently, like she knew what he was thinking and she figured he was right, and began the long walk back to the barbers.

You muttered an expletive and Joel coughed a Ha, hearing you loud and clear. So you turned to silently praying for a rainstorm, for a horde of infected, for anything you could sling an I told you so in and whip it at Joel.

You followed him, though, deliberately a good few paces behind, knowing he’d keep twisting around to check on you, and letting him fucking do it. Asshole.

When you finally arrived back at your spot, the red sun low behind the buildings and bleeding skyward into twilight, you slept with your back to him.

He didn’t seem to mind. He never seems to mind when you’re distant. You wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t even notice. He knows you’ll come back when you need something from him – want his words in your ear, want his body on yours, want…him.

The splintered sunlight through the boarded-up windows of the shop stirs you from your sleep. It wasn’t much of a sleep, despite Joel’s promise late last night that he’d let you lie for a little longer; knew you had a long day ahead if you were to get out of St. Louis, and he’d already drained your energy with the travelling yesterday.

You’d woven in and out of unconsciousness all night, dreaming of creaky farmhouses with clicking children inside, their skin torn and swollen and sprouting in swirls of pale white, singed with raw red and rotten green. And you dreamt of Joel’s shotgun blowing their moldy maws apart, blood and bone splattering across the floral wallpaper behind them.

You’re lying on your stomach, flat out on the floor with nothing but a worn comforter separating your fatigued body from the dusty tile. Joel’s out front feeding the horses on the street. You push yourself up, stretching your back, and a red-hot pain licks around your wrists.

“Motherf–”

You wince, falling onto your elbows, and your fingers link lightly around the red skin. The marks from Joel’s belt two nights ago still haven’t eased, haven’t cooled down so much as a degree. They’re still glowing, still burning, still painful.

Joel’s rugged face appears through a busted window. “Y’alright?”

“’m fine,” you mumble, turning over and examining the sores in the sunlight. The sting as your fingertips trace over the skin draws sharp tears to your eyes.

He feeds Jet the last handful of the hay you’d stocked up on and steps in from the golden morning to the dim light of the shop, dusting his hands on his jeans.

“You want more water on ‘em? Cold flannel?” he asks, avoiding the sight of your pained hands.

You shake your head. “Don’t think it’s helping.”

Eyebrows close, crease between them deep, he lowers himself with an achy groan and says, “We’ll find somewhere. You ready to go?”

You nod, tight lips blocking any words you think you’d probably regret later.

Joel helps you up, hands you a bag of beef jerky from his back pocket, and tells you to go get settled on Jet. He’ll pack up.

As you walk by him, he runs a hand from the crown of your head down to the nape of your neck. Gentle as air. And you almost fucking turn back. Almost catch his hand as it leaves your hair, almost wind your body into his. Almost.

Almost.

You follow at Ghost’s tail for another two hours, this time west instead of north. Joel turns to check on you more than he did yesterday; asks a couple times if you need more water, if you want any food. Even asks once if you need a break.

Each time, you reply with a flat, No. It seems to come from your throat more than your lips, more a grunt than an actual rounded word. Teeth locked tight around it, barely separating to let the sound through.

And each time, Joel turns back wordlessly. A mutual understanding; an unspoken agreement – as most of them are – to not talk any more than absolutely fucking necessary.

You spend most of the ride hunched over, your palms pushing heavily against the horn of Jet’s saddle. The sleeves of your jacket rolled up to stop them from brushing against your wrists.

The horse whinnies softly, and you reply to her as though she’s actually speaking. As though you can understand her thoughts, your forehead pressed lightly to the crest of her neck. You tell her you’re fine; tell her she’s doing a great job. You notice Joel’s jaw turn whenever you speak to her.

And then he whispers, “Hey,” and you lift your head, following the flick of his head to a tiny, lone pharmacy up ahead. You could fall off Jet’s back in equal parts shock and relief.

Joel winds Ghost along the road towards the building, stops by the curb outside it.

Its windows are smashed, broken glass decorating the sidewalk in front. There’s dried blood painting the white stone exterior, and empty shell casings dotted along the paved ground. You draw your eyes from the sight to look at Joel, and he’s already noticed them. He’s staring around the street, eyes darting from building to building, looking them all up and down.

The back wall inside the pharmacy is blocked, rubble and rafters hanging loose from a huge hole in the ceiling. Dusty insulation hangs between beams, and through the tears in the candy floss material, you can see the metal grate of the dispensing area. Joel sees it, too; notes it with a grumble and a click of his teeth.

“You stay here,” he tells you, dismounting Ghost.

“’n what if you get stuck in there?”

“Stuck in front of the collapsed ceiling? I ain’t gettin’ anywhere close to bein’ stuck. Stay put.”

You slide to the side, rubber-toed sneaker angling toward the ground to jump off of Jet. Joel swings back around and shoots you a look like fire on your skin.

“You got a death wish, or som’?”

“You just said you won’t get stuck. The hell’s gonna kill me in there?”

“Me, if you don’t listen to my damn instructions. Get back on the horse.”

“I ain’t off it,” you snap, a little louder than you intended. Sure, you want him to comfort you sometimes, but fuck, he pisses you off.

Joel stalks off without another word, head low between his shoulders. You hook your foot back into the stirrup and shake your head, averting your gaze to the other side of the street where the sight of an ill-tempered man-child won’t piss you off more.

The street is lined with stores and cafes, a bar on the corner with torn-up leather seats spilling out of the door like someone’s barricaded it. Your eye travels further down, where faded, moldy bunting ruffles in the wind, hooked around a traffic light.

There’s a red-brick building directly across from you, a truck with green tarpaulin parked out front. The doors to the building creak as they swing back and forth in the wind. The windows are still intact – surprising for this deep in the city. Other than that, the place looks pretty damn abandoned.

Ghost shakes her head, ears flicking. A heavy, shuddered breath jolts from her flared nostrils in the form of two white clouds, lit golden in the sunlight. She moves from foot to foot. You pat Jet gently, distracting yourself with the feel of her long, ginger mane.

You hum quietly, filling an eerie silence. Something to the beat of your heart, quickening with each second. Trying to calm the horses, calm yourself. Joel’s still wandering around inside.

You read an article once before the outbreak that said horses can smell fear on humans. It was for a school project. Said it affected their nervous system, like, made their heartrate pick up, though they never concluded whether it made the horses more afraid themselves or not.

Feeling Jet’s body weight shift from side to side as you swerve around atop her, analyzing every movement, every sound, every change in direction of the wind on this street, you figure you know the answer now.

Yeah. She feels edgy.

The wind picks up, carrying leaves across the broken road, fluttering by burnt-out cars. There’s a scuff from the store and your head shoots back to find Joel emerging from the shadows.

“Nothin’,” he mumbles, giving the street a sideways look as he walks back over to Ghost.

“Nothing I need, or nothing at all?”

He lifts his hands to take hold of her. “Nothin’ at all. Place is ransacked. Whole damn city’s –”

It all happens in the blink of an eye. One minute you’re looking at Joel, watching his lips form the words, his fingertips coming to land on the leather strap of Ghost’s bridle, and barely a heartbeat later, there’s a deafening crack from across the street.

Ghost’s body falls to the earth like she’s nothing but an inanimate sack. Her front legs buckle first, her chest crashes down towards the smooth stone, and then she’s rolling onto her left side. She’s dead before she hits the ground.

Dust and dirt are thrown skyward as she slams down, head falling heavy and still on the sidewalk.

“Ghost!” you shriek, and then you feel Joel’s hands on the sleeve of your jacket – rough. Painfully squeezing, canvas burning against your wrists.

He’s gripping the material, hauling you down to him, only you won’t let go of Jet’s reins. You’re being tossed to-and-fro atop the now-panicking horse. Ghost is bleeding from her head; thick, dark blood spilling out like tar and dripping down the curb.

You scream at Joel, fighting his grip off, eyes never leaving the black horse. But then another shot fires, ricocheting off of the ground by the pharmacy window, missing his head by less than a foot, and you fall limp.

You let him drag you off of Jet’s back and hurl you inside the pharmacy, shoving you out of view and into the dingy shadows. When you turn, you realize she’s still out there, a chestnut-colored blur as she rears and spins, fleeing from the noise. You scream her name but Joel whips around and plants his palm flat against your mouth, smothering your cry into a muffled whimper against the curve of his calloused skin.

“Shut up,” he whispers, free hand reaching into his holster for his own gun.

You drag his hand from your face, dropping it. “Jet’s still out –”

“They ain’t aimin’ for Jet,” he replies, switching the handgun into his right. “They’re aimin’ for us, and they’re gonna be down here soon. I need you to listen to me.”

“But Ghost –”

“Baby,” he says, laced with frustration and desperation and panic. Your sentence falls flat on your tongue. “Listen – to – me. Now.”

You nod, tears forming in your eyes. The horse is still lying out front; you can see her past Joel’s shoulder. You think back to your agreement: Do as you say. He’s shaking you by the shoulders, forcing you to look him in the eye, repeating those words to you. Listen to him. Focus on him. Stay alive. You don’t survive this if you don’t wake the fuck up right now.

And then he has his hands either side of your face, shaking you back to reality. “Hear me?”

“What? No, I didn’t hear. I didn’t fucking hear!”

He wastes no time chastising you. Just says it again. Calm, clear. Every word its own sharpened shape.

“I need you to move, need you to get out of here. They’re across the street, in that red building. There’s probably a gang of ‘em, right? So we gotta take ‘em out.”

“Take ‘em out? We gotta fuckin’ run, Joel! We don’t even know how many –”

“You,” his voice sounds like he’s about to break, “are gonna head out of there.”

He points past you, behind an upturned shelving unit, where there’s a small hole blown in the side of the pharmacy. Unnoticeable from outside, though if the perps across the street have ransacked this place, they’ll know it exists.

“You’re gonna make your way around the street, head low, quiet, ‘n get in the back of that building. You got it?”

“What the fuck are you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna distract ‘em. I’ll cover you, alright? Just do it.”

Just do it. Just fucking do it. I tell you what to do, and you just do it, because it’s me. Because you trust me, because we’ve kept each other alive this long.

Just do it. Because right now, what the fuck else are you going to do?

Your head’s still spinning. Pulse throbbing in your ears. Lungs hammering against your chest wall for breath. You can barely think straight.

“What do I do once I’m in?”

He’s kneeling down, swinging his backpack off of his shoulders. “Take – them – out. You’ve done it before, you know what you’re doin’.”

“Real noble of you, Joel,” you hiss, taking the spare gun he offers and slipping it under the back of your jeans, “sendin’ me in alone to kill who the hell knows how many fuckin’ guys.”

You pull the switchblade he picked up from that farm in Nebraska and flick it once, letting it glint fiercely in the light from out front, then close it and place it back in your pocket, ready to hand if – and when – you need it.

Joel’s loading his rifle, unable to meet your eye. He sniffs. “Do it quiet, you hear me? Sneak up on ‘em.”

You shake your head in disbelief, feet starting to carry you over to the side of the room. Powered by adrenaline only, letting go of any emotion that might keep you inside this stupid pharmacy. Forgetting anything in you that might convince you to stay glued to Joel’s side.

Yeah, you can fucking do it. You’re not a kid. You’ve been doing this long enough.

This was life before the QZ. You were in a group then, a collective of survivors whose only interest was staying alive. At all costs. And you got good at it. You’ve told Joel about it before – you were the first wave. Whenever you came across another group – no matter if it was hunters, smugglers, fucking FEDRA – they’d send you in, alongside Mila. The two of you lightest on your feet, best with a knife in your hands.

You started to find it fun, after a while. Thrill of the chase and all that. Creeping up behind them, dragging the blade along their throat, dropping them to their knees as they choked and gargled and bled out. The two of you could clear an entire building in ten minutes, not a single bullet fired.

Mila preferred puncturing them. She’d lift her arm and bring the knife down with the weight of her entire body, sinking it into their necks, under their jaws, sometimes through their fucking temples. You’d seen that girl do some pretty fucked-up stuff.

You’d seen yourself do some pretty fucked-up stuff. Stuff that’d have you avoiding mirrors for weeks.

And none of it scared Joel away. None of it made him think twice about setting off with you.

Certainly never made him think twice about sending you on what can only be described as a suicide mission, just to rid St. Louis of a few bandits.

Doing it isn’t the problem, though, is it? You haven’t had to do it in a while, sure. Joel takes care of you well enough that you barely have to look twice at a threat before there’s a bullet, a blade, or an arrow through it. And you’re not scared, either. Not of those guys across the street.

No. You’re scared of leaving him. Parting with him.

It’s been weeks. Weeks of just the two of you, shoulders brushing together, hips moving in stride. Horses parallel to one another, heads nodding in unison. The time you’ve spent without Joel since leaving the QZ amounts to a grand total of about ten minutes. What if something goes wrong? If he doesn’t cover himself properly? If you clear the building, come back, and you’re not only a horse down, but a partner, too?

You’re standing by the hole in the wall, trying to convince yourself to duck under the bare brick when Joel’s urgent voice does it for you.

“Go now. Now!”

And you do.

You emerge into an alleyway, concealed from the street by a rusty blue dumpster. Overgrown weeds at your feet, you stay crouched and still until you’re sure there are no eyes on you from the windows overhead.

I mean, you’d be dead by now if there were. So that’s hopeful.

You slink around the jagged metal, slow, silent. More gunshots sound from across the street, and you know Joel’s tossed them a bone. Maybe he’s shown himself – a flash of his jacket or scuff of his heel as he settles to fire back. Maybe they’ve already killed him. Who fucking knows?

At the end of the alleyway sits a black gate, bent and contorted into an archway which separates you from the street. Still covered by knee-high weeds, you kneel down onto your stomach and peer between the wiry green plant to get your first scope of the street ahead.

There’s a long-abandoned nail bar on the right, a few doors down from that bunting you spotted earlier. And right outside it, cast in shadow from the awning: a chestnut horse, saddle hanging lopsided on her back. Waiting, patiently, watching the shootout before her.

You breathe a sigh of relief. Stay there. Stay right there.

Joel’s on his knees outside the pharmacy, crouched behind a Jersey barrier. He lifts his head every thirty seconds, fires one heavy shot at the windows on the top floor of the red-bricked building, and then ducks for cover when they send a burst of erratic bullets back down to him, pelting against the concrete.

You watch for a minute, studying the pattern, and then slip back between the weeds like a lion hiding in the bushes. When Joel fires at the window, you push yourself up and make a swift run for it.

There’s a truck in the middle of the street. Black paint scraped, shot, and sun-burnt off. You take three good strides, kneeling once you’re at the tailgate. You peer around the rear of the truck, huge tires flat and melted into the broken tarmac. You spot your opening.

A gray fence faded by the sun, a few slats missing from the bottom half, guarding an overgrown yard, and, sitting wide open: the backdoor to the building.

Bingo.

It’s an easy enough route. Looks almost like someone’s laid it out for you this way, a perfect path. You wait for your signal – Joel’s gunfire – and sprint over to the fence, back flush against the rotting wood.

You pull the revolver from your jeans and open the chamber. Five bullets. Not bad. You snap it back and adjust your grip on it, finger ghosting the trigger. And then you hear them.

“The girl’s still inside,” a voice grunts from over the fence. Your blood runs cold.

“He’s gotta run out sometime. What the fuck’s Nico doing wasting bullets?”

“How often do strays come through? Let him have his fun.”

Strays. Like a little pet name. Like it’s sport for them. It pisses you off, your adrenaline channeling into rage, white hot across the nape of your neck, growing into determination to put your knife through every single one of them.

So, you return the gun, favoring your switchblade.

Old dog, new tricks. Yadda yadda.

You bend down, peering through the gap like a dog searching for scraps.

It’s just the two of them. One, standing by the door; looks about six feet tall by six feet wide, buzzcut atop a puffy face, tattooed arms hanging loose by his side. The other, pacing around the yard; when his worn jeans pass the opening in the fence, you scan up the tall figure and notice dirty blond hair, scraped back from a gaunt face into a greasy ponytail.

“And if anything hears him? Runners? Fuckin’…we ain’t ready for that.”

Neither of them seem to have a gun. Scrawny doesn’t, anyway, and if Buzzcut does, it’s not in his hands. Which gives you a few seconds’ advantage.

Once Scrawny turns away, you slip through and hook your arm around his neck, holding your knife to the spongey skin under the ridge of his jaw. Buzzcut steps forward, hands reach into his waistband. Fuck.

“Make a sound, I’ll cut him.”

It’s not hard for your voice to fall back to that pitch, that same old tone. Muscle memory. Hushed, so no one inside hears; serious, flat, not a hint of fear. Even though this guy can probably feel your heart hammering into his back.

There’s still shooting on the street. Buzzcut steps forward, pistol between his fingers, silver reflecting the sun into your eyes. He’s unsure if he should lift it or not. Unsure if he should do anything or not. There’s panic painted across his face the color of crimson. He’s not built for this stuff, and he knows it. His free hand comes up, palm forward. Half of a surrender.

Not good enough.

“Put the gun down.”

“Fucking bitch,” Scrawny mutters, wrestling around, long legs bent awkwardly as he leans into your smaller frame.

Fucking idiot, you think. He doesn’t know that this is the fun part. This is why you chose the knife, and not the gun. Blade over bullets. It’d be too easy to rip his brain apart with the squeeze of a trigger. Too quick. Nah, you want to hear him. Want to feel him writhe against you.

You let the blade sink into his whiskered neck. Ever so slightly. He hisses and settles.

“Put – the fucking gun – down.”

“Patrick,” your hostage spits, “just do it.”

Just do it.

Patrick glances down briefly and then nods, eyes flitting back to you. Your eyes stay locked on him, your grip tightens around the knife, but you deafen to the heaving of the chest under your elbow.

Just do it.

Where’s Joel? Is he alive? His voice is ringing in your ears.

Just do it.

There’s a pause between the bullets across the street. Have they hit him?

Just do it.

Patrick’s gun hits the ground with a blunt thud.

Just do it.

And then you feel it.

Searing pain, hot as fire in your upper thigh. A sharp scratch just below your hip, teeth cutting through denim and flesh, then a rutting feeling, twisting and digging and fucking burning as the knife is pushed further and further. You let an angry groan pass your lips and dig your own blade deep into his throat.

His skin bursts open like a bag of water. You pull on him, letting him sink to his knees flush against your chest. Before he’s even on the ground, you’re lurching forward, retrieving the pistol and swiping your knife at Patrick’s outstretched hand. He gasps, clutching his split palm, and then backs away a couple steps.

This time, he lifts both hands. That’s better, fucker.

“Don’t – don’t gotta –”

“Shut the fuck up,” you cut back, staring him down while his buddy writhes at your feet, taking his last few gulps of air. Fresh, warm blood seeps into the grass. Your thigh is on fire.

You edge closer to Patrick, and Patrick edges further away. Until his back is pressed against the wall, his knuckles scratching against the brick; his own blood streaming down his wrist.

“How many are in there?” you ask, head nodding to the doorway, barrel of the gun pressed into his cheek.

He gulps.

“How many?”

“Th-three. Please.”

“Where?”

“One in the h-hall. Two upstairs. Please,” he says again, and you drop the gun, leaving a white ring in his skin.

Mila would sink it in deep, right into his neck. The trapezius. Her favorite spot. She’d just plunge the knife in, push until he collapsed, and then leave him to bleed out. But this is a big guy. He’s gonna need more than that to floor him.

“Alright,” you concede, stepping forward. “Since you asked so nicely.”

You pull your arm down to your hip, knuckles white around the handle and take a fistful of his shirt with the other. Draw him in real close, and angle the blade to the sky, shoving it up under his chin. Nice ‘n snug.

It glides through his skin like it’s butter, and you catch the butt of the knife in your palm, pushing further up. You watch as his eyes widen, his pupils focus on yours long enough to take the memory of your face with him – and then they relax, roll back to check out the metal intrusion behind them.

Patrick gargles, chokes on blood and blade, then gasps as you haul it back out, bright red gushing down his front.

His body folds, both hands come up to cup his torn jaw, and with one kick which cracks into his knees, he’s flat on his face, breathing in dirt and grass and…the blood of his buddy.

“You’re welcome, Patrick,” you breathe, limping over him to enter the building.

Shots are firing again upstairs. It’s dark, your eyes take a few seconds to adjust, but you’re in a derelict store. Place is empty, probably looted by these assholes.

Patrick told you there was one guy in the hall, which you assume is through the door sat ajar on your left. Patrick, however, was most likely a liar. And even if he was telling the truth, you don’t know what this place looks like. You have no idea when or where you’ll come across this one guy.

The only things you have on you are your gun and your knife. So you open the revolver again, your trembling fingers fish one bullet out, and you toss it, aiming for the sliver of light between the door and its frame.

It rattles through, rolling over the solid floor.

“Patrick?” a voice calls, and footsteps begin to approach. “Tucker?”

You duck behind a battered, empty shelf.

A third guy, long brown hair tangled across his shoulders, thick beard patchy with white and gray, pushes the door open and sidles in.

“Pat–”

You’re on him before he can finish his pal’s name, same way you jumped Scrawny – now Tucker, out there. Your blade glides across his throat and he buckles, much quicker than his predecessor outside did. You settle him face down on the tile floor, nodding to him as some twisted form of a thank-you, and slip out of the room, swinging down to collect your bullet as you go.

Patrick, as it turns out, was not a liar. The bottom floor of the house is empty. You’re in a long, narrow hallway. A bloodstained runner at your feet. There are muffled voices upstairs – roaring, cursing. The sunlight streaming in through the arch-shaped window on the front door draws you nearer.

Your breathing is labored, with stress, exhaustion, and pain. Your thigh throbs under your jeans, pain shooting like lightning from the wound anytime you put weight on it. You drag yourself to the bottom of the stairs.

More shots. You swear they’ve only been coming from this building for the last five minutes. Where the fuck is Joel?

You lift your foot hesitantly, hovering over the first step. Don’t fuck this up now. You line it up, applying your weight bit by bit until you’re pushing up off the floor with a whimper, balancing on one leg, bracing for the inevitable creak of the wood.

Nothing.

You’re about to step onto the second, when the door behind you bursts open. Light screams into the hallway, shining on you like a spotlight, and three huge figures stumble in the doorway.

“Wh–? That’s the bitch on the horse!”

You throw yourself up the stairs desperately, taking them two – three at a time, but a pair of fists are in your hair, dragging you back down to the man they belong to. You cry out, swinging around, and catch him square on the nose with your elbow. He swears, retreating only momentarily, before looking you dead in the eye, blood pouring down his lips.

“Fucking – cunt,” he seethes, arms darting out to reach up for you.

His attempt is short-lived, for a number of reasons.

First: you kick his chest before he can grab you, sending him hurtling back down where he came from.

Second: one of the two Patrick said would be up here is at the top of the stairs now, taking you by the shoulders and hauling you up.

And third: Joel just opened fire downstairs.

The bullets pelt around the hallway, coming from the side you just snuck in through. He must’ve followed you across the street.

The last thing you see as you’re dragged off into another room is the three of them ducking for cover, and then you’re being flung onto a cold, dusty floor, knocking the wind out of your lungs and the revolver from your waistband. You roll over and groan, staring up at two men standing over you.

One of them – the one whose vice grip dragged you in here – is big and bulky. Like a brick wall. You realize you’ve no chance of getting by him. His fists are clenched, face reddened, black beady eyes boring into yours. Then he lurches forward, steals the gun from the floor beside you, and points it at you. The safety’s still fucking on.

The other looks younger, but still built. Toned. His shoulders swell in the green canvas jacket he’s wearing, patches on the sleeves. Short, black hair, face sculpted and smooth, chin hairless. Lips pursed as he surveys you, tosses over what to do.

“Cute little game you were playin’, down there,” he muses. “Took out half my guys.”

“Wasn’t that hard,” you pant in reply, “you’re all fucking idiots.”

You can hear Joel fighting off the rest of them, grunts and growls of pain echoing up the stairs. You don’t know which are him and which are them, and it sends fleets of panic through your chest, tightening your breath.

“Sounds like your man’s losing.”

You laugh, masking your fear with a roll of your eyes, head leaning back. “I don’t think so.”

The two men look at each other. The black-haired one nods down to you, then turns on his heel. “Do what you want to her,” he tells Brick Wall, bored, and begins walking away.

A repulsive smile pulls on the man’s lips as he glares down at you. Putrid pink cheeks swell, eyes disappear. Your heels dig against the floorboards, beginning to push yourself in a dizzy haze backwards as his huge, beefy hand reaches down for your waistband.

Something of a scream, warped by the way your body so quickly jumps away from him, escapes your throat, but it only makes him laugh. Your hand slips up inside your sleeve, fingers clutch the cold metal handle of your blade. It flicks open under the fabric, and, just as the noise draws the attention of the man now fumbling with the button of your jeans, you take one good swipe and cut through his forearm. One clean slice, separating skin and soaking the tip of your knife in his blood.

He hisses, stumbles backwards two steps, clutching his arm. You throw yourself to your feet, backing into the corner opposite.

“Nico!” Brick Wall cries out, and the canvas jacket spins to face you.

You clutch your knife, hunched, panting. The room slowly tilts, resetting every time you blink, then begins rotating again.

Nico laughs, pulling a gun of his own and aiming it straight at your face. It’s a nightmare – two on one, both of them armed. But it’s better than what was about to fucking happen.

“Fucking – bitch,” Nico snarls.

“Y’all keep saying that,” you utter, eyes never leaving the barrel of the gun, “I don’t get it. I’m goin’ easy on you here.”

“You’re gonna fuckin’ get it,” Nico spits, apparently not paying enough attention.

The building’s silent. The fighting’s stopped downstairs. And there are no loud footsteps making their way up here, which means one thing.

There’s a quieter, deadlier threat on his way up.

A brutal shot fires from the hallway, taking your breath with it, and Brick Wall’s body flops to the floor. Bullet hole in his temple. Spray of blood across the wall. Only three beating hearts left in the building.

Nico seems to gasp, whether from fright or the way he lunges toward you, wrapping a tight, choking arm around your neck and holding the gun to your temple, both of you waiting for Joel to materialize for two very different reasons.

His figure creeps around the doorway, footsteps slow and soft. His eyes flit over yours, shoulders hunched, rifle aimed ahead. Your breath lets go in one huge, shaky gasp, feeling your muscles relax.

“I’ll do it,” Nico hisses, panic strung through his voice tighter than the bow of a violin. “One wrong move and she’s dead, asshole.”

Joel shrugs. “Do it.”

Nico doesn’t move. He shakes your body, pushes the gun harder into your skin.

Joel looks you dead in the eye. “Do – it.”

Your fingers run over the handle of your knife, lowering it until you have a good enough grip to lock your fist and tilt the blade, lifting your right arm and hammering it backwards, stabbing deep into Nico’s side.

Your head leans to the right as he screams out; he falls to the left. And Joel takes his shot.

Nico’s hand bursts open, blood spraying everywhere. The revolver is thrown from his grip, rattling against the floor as your fist takes one good swing across his jaw and then you fall apart from one another – you, rocking into the steady weight of Joel’s body, and Nico, collapsing against a desk.

Joel catches you in his arms and straightens you up, shifting you to aim his gun back at the threat – though there’s not much about him that warrants such a name anymore. He’s slumped against the dark wood, dark stain seeping through his shirt, head rolled back and groaning. One hand cupping what’s left of the other, blood snaking through his fingers and down his hand like vines on a tree trunk. He looks…pathetic.

Joel fires another shot at him without fucking looking; it lands in Nico’s thigh, and he screams. Mouth full of blood and loose teeth, it’s a gargled, drowned howl of pain.

“They try somethin’?” the fierce drawl asks you, brows low, eyes dark. You know what he’s talking about. The button of your jeans is undone.

You want to say, It’s fine, I’m fine. You want to tell Joel to leave Nico to bleed out. He’s the last one, he’ll be dead inside of ten minutes. You want to go, want to climb onto Jet’s back and let her carry your weak, limp body as far from here as her legs will gallop, and then, once she’s rested, further.

But Joel won’t hear any of that, you know it. Won’t leave this little son of a bitch to slip into a half-conscious drowse, the dripping of his own blood ticking down the seconds he has left while the sound of Jet’s hooves fading into the distance lulls him to hell.

He knows you. Joel. He can read lies on your lips like they’re words scrawled into your skin, so that’s a waste of time, too.

You nod. Joel’s jaw locks. And his eyes flood black like ink.

He hands you the rifle, pulls his arms out of his backpack, and paces over to Nico. The bloody, injured figure begins to back up, push himself further away from Joel, who’s reaching down for something.

“Look, man,” Nico heaves, “you gotta see it from our point of v-view. You guys came walkin’ into our territory, you – you…”

There’s the sound of metal dragging across the bare floorboards, vibration strong enough that it rattles your entire body. You turn away, figuring you don’t need to see him pummel a man to death with a broken pipe.

You hear it, though. Every grunt from Joel, every cry from his victim. Every time the pipe bludgeons into him, the wet squelch of warm flesh and blood meeting cold, rusting metal. You wander off to the other side of the room, closing your eyes.

It’s like a pattern – like the shooting from earlier. Joel sucks in breath as he lifts the pipe above his head, groans as he hurtles it down. There’s the blunt sound, a ding almost of the metal whacking against Nico’s skull, the splatter of blood bursting. And repeat. Deep breath as the pipe winds back – groan as it uppercuts through the dusty air, crack of bone breaking when it makes contact.

Finally, he stops. Takes three deep breaths. Drops his weapon. You turn.

The limp body lies at his feet, a dent the size of Texas in the globe of his skull. Olive skin now splattered red, face unrecognizable. Blood pouring out of somewhere – everywhere in his head, circling his body in a thin, fast-moving pool.

Joel’s staring at you when your eyes lift. Sweat glistening on his forehead, lips apart. Shoulders tight. You’re standing face to face, both of your breathing heavy and labored. Exhausted. And yet…you fucking need him.

You take one step forward and suddenly Joel’s advancing, too, hands out to meet you when you collide into him. Your fingers scram for his collar, ripping his jacket from his shoulders while he messily tears apart the waist of your jeans.

His weight bears down on top of you and he pushes you to the floor, following you down. The floorboards are dirty, coated in a thick layer of dust disturbed by the scuffle you just had, and glazed by the blood of those who lost. You sit up only long enough to remove your jacket before Joel’s pinning you down, unbuckling his own jeans and taking a grip of yours.

You flinch when he tugs on the waistband, and he pauses. Looks up, watches your expression twist. Then follows your eyeline, down to your thigh, where the fresh stab wound oozes thick, dark blood.

Joel slowly peels your jeans down your legs and over the gash. When they pool loose around your knees, you bend them, angling your broken skin in the sunlight. It’s swollen, the cut, reddened and raw. Flesh dragged back and forth, torn and ripped around the edges. You can’t even feel the pain of it anymore, only a prickling heat leading up to the ridges of your broken skin.

And so, when Joel’s fingers run through the air directly above it, and he mutters something about cleanin’ you up, you grunt. Straighten your legs. Pull him by the shoulders back down to you. Reply with a rushed whisper, a Hurry the fuck up.

And he listens; he unbuckles his own jeans, sags them low on his hips, and bends your knees at his shoulders. His cock is already stiff, bead of precum at his wide tip, which he dips between your folds to collect your slick, and then fists himself slowly.

Hurryhurryhurry “– the fuck up,” you groan, watching your wet glisten off the smooth skin of his shaft.

He smirks, then pushes straight in.

Your head hits the floor, eyes rolling with it as he fills you up. His face buries between your breasts, voice muffled by the material of the fabric when he lets out an open-mouthed moan. You both adjust to the feeling – the stretch and the tightness – and then, with a couple more shallow thrusts, Joel begins really fucking you.

He drags his forehead up to yours, sweat mixing where your skin touches. Your jaw clenched; you’re hissing every time he hits that sweet spot inside of you. Holding onto him by the shoulders as he rocks his hips forward, pushing you closer and closer to your first release.

Joel lifts his hand, placing it flat on the floor above your head to steady himself. Then, he quickly glances up at it, an unusual look on his face. You crane your neck and follow his eyeline to find his hand gleaming wet with blood. Bright red. Fresh.

It’s the guy he shot. Bullet wound peering out from the other side of the desk you’re lying next to; his blood has travelled across the uneven flooring.

Joel studies his palm intently, thrusts slowing down some. His face looks…puzzled? As if he’s never had to physically encounter the result of him and his bullets. As if he doesn’t know where to put his hand, now that it’s covered in that result.

You do, though. You know exactly where you want him to put it.

You take his wrist in both hands and draw his gaze down to you. The blood drips from his almost trembling palm down your fingers.

His expression changes – softens, when he sees you looking up at him, watching him from under hooded lids. And then it darkens, when you pull his palm flat against your neck, and the red fluid stains your throat.

You can feel the warm wet between Joel’s skin and yours – the same warmth on the back of your head, creeping through your hair as it seeps further across the floorboards. You’re both covered in blood and dirt, anyway. Joel seems to consider the same, and his grip tightens.

His thumb and forefinger pinch, cutting into your windpipe. Your vision falters for a second, Joel blinks out of focus, and a tiny wave of euphoria crashes over your body. A sick grin pulls across your lips, mirrored in Joel’s.

He releases you and you gasp, oxygen surging through your throat like a burst of water in a dried-up pipe. You let go of his wrists to run your blood-soaked fingers across his face, through his hair. He’s still fucking you hard, and you need something to ground you as white-hot heat pools rapidly between your legs, and a knot begins to tighten.

“You like that?” Joel grunts, driving his hips harder.

“Mhm,” you reply, mouth falling open in a silent gasp when his tip punches into your cervix. The edges of the world start to whiten.

“You’re mine, you hear?” he says through gritted teeth. “Belong to me.”

You’re nodding, throat tossing out an, Uhuh.

“Ain’t no one gets this but me, h-uh?”

Joel’s hand is back around your neck, this time taking either side of your jaw between his fingers, keeping your eyes trained on his. Whatever the fuck makes you do it – the look in his eye, silently commanding, or maybe your own fucking desperation – you’re not sure. But you open your mouth wider, rest your tongue on your bottom lip, and plead with your eyes for him to do it.

So, he does.

His jaw slackens and a bead of spit falls from his mouth into yours. He watches as it lands on your tongue and you run it along your lips, coating yourself in him, before swallowing it.

Joel groans, lets a staggered, “F-fuck, baby,” pass his lips.

You smile in return, filthy, but needy, and beginning to crash hard as your orgasm bursts through you.

He fucks you through it, pace never faltering, still stringing wet saliva between your lips as he kisses you. You pull away when it becomes too much, burying your head in his shoulder and biting down on his shirt.

“Yeah,” he coaxes you, “that’s it. Fuck. Nice ‘n tight, baby.”

As soon as the room starts to return to your vision, the feeling back in your body, you’re rolling him over. Ignoring the burn of the wound in your thigh, you push him back down and straddle him, his cock still deep inside.

You roll your hips lazily, fingers coming down to toy with your clit as Joel stretches you even more from this angle. He groans, hands finding home tight on your hips, head rolling back. He bucks his hips and your free hand steadies yourself on his chest.

“Faster, baby,” he says, trying to move you with his hands.

“No,” you hum, “we go slow. I want to go slow.”

He grunts, pissed off. Good. Keep him that way.

You begin to slowly bounce, pads of your fingers drawing circles over your swollen clit, almost hurting with overstimulation.

“Tell me what you did downstairs,” you whisper, eyes falling shut.

“Downstairs?” Joel asks in a broken voice.

“Mhm. What did you do to ‘em?”

He catches on. “Shot one of ‘em under the jaw.”

You shake your head. “Next.”

“Ch-choked one of them out.”

“No. Not him.”

You want blood. You want Joel’s fists wrapped around someone’s vital organs. You want the sound of your screams in his ears, whether they were really there or not, driving him to commit acts so heinous he won’t look you in the eye when he confesses them.

That’s what you want: him to confess them.

“One of ‘em had a Bowie…” he breathes, knowing what you’re looking for.

You fall forward with a deep moan. “That’s it. Him.”

“…hangin’ from his belt. Shot his leg, right above his knee –”

You moan again, sighing as you sink down on his cock and that feeling creeps over you again.

“– then took the knife.”

“He on the floor?”

“He got up. He – fuck – he stood up, ‘n I put it between his shoulders.”

“Fuck, yeah?”

“Yeah. Ripped ‘im apart, baby.”

You cry out in pleasure, bouncing up and down faster and faster the more the image replays in your head. You’re leaning forward, hovering over Joel as your skin slaps against his every time his hard length fills you. Fucking him to the thought of him slaughtering anyone who posed any threat to you. Those guys didn’t make it upstairs, you’re not even sure they got a good look at you before you were hauled away. But Joel tore them limb from limb at just the possibility.

“Did he – did he scream?”

“Yeah, he fuckin’ screamed.”

Your head drops between your shoulders, hands splayed on either side of Joel’s head, and his fingers knot in your hair. He pulls your forehead against his again, whispering into your mouth.

“Begged me not to do it,” he hums, and you’re thrown over the edge for the second time.

Your hips stop moving to allow space for your high; a second blinding, screaming orgasm ripples through you. You’re gasping now, fingers clutching for Joel, but he’s already moving again.

He slips out from underneath you and lets you down gently on your front, taking your hips and pulling them up to him as he positions himself behind you. And then, without a second’s hesitation, he’s back inside you, chasing his own high. Your back arches as he fucks you, chest flat against the floor.

There’s blood fucking everywhere. On your clothes, in your hair, on the floor beneath you, streaming down your thigh. The entire room smells of it – that suffocating, sickly sweet bite of iron. The bitterness so thick that it coats your lungs with every desperate pant of breath.

And finally, fucking – finally­, all the adrenaline and momentum is brought to a climax when Joel releases deep inside you, and you feel yourself contract around him as a third orgasm pulses through you. Your cunt swollen, aching, you almost don’t feel it, but for the way your legs give as soon as he stills inside you.

He’s groaning, borderline fucking whining, before he draws out of you and slumps down beside you on the floor. You’re both staring at one another, almost afraid to touch each other – as if you’re made of glass. Fragile. Breakable.

Yeah. You’re his. And he fucks you like you’re his, like your only purpose is to relieve his stress, tire out his anger, but then…then he looks at you like this, the sunlight twinkling in his warm eyes, dust falling over him like snow. Then he shifts the hair from your face so he can take a proper look at you, study every detail on your face – the cracks in your lips, the curve of your nose. And you know you’re so much more than that to him.

Always have been. Always will be.

You lean over and run your fingers across his cheek, dried blood the color of wine all over your hands. Joel lies still, places a soft kiss to the pad of your thumb when it touches his lips. Your nails sift through his beard. His eyes close over, laying in the comfortable stillness as you trace his face, delicately drawing from his dark brows down to the patches of skin between the graying hair on his jawline.

He doesn’t move when you push yourself up and roll over onto his chest. Doesn’t flinch when you press your mouth to his neck, running from the bottom of his ear up to the tip of his chin.

And when you bring your lips up to meet his, he kisses you back.

His hand sneaks through your hair to the crown of your head and he sits up, rolling you onto your back and caging you underneath him, teeth grazing along your bottom lip, asking it to part. His tongue slips inside, wet and warm and comforting against yours. Your fingers lace at the back of his head, your own cradled in his hands on the hardwood.

It’s like he’s starving. Like he’s been holding off on doing this, for whatever reason. And now that you’ve been the one to open the floodgates – fucking, destroy them – everything comes rushing to the surface. Every time he wanted to, and didn’t. Every time he was buried inside you, and purposefully held his jaw apart from yours. Every minute he’s spent since he met you, without his lips on yours. It all comes rocketing up.

And before it gets too heated, before he begins winding that coil again, he’s pulling away. Lips leaving yours, noses bumping together as they part. You smile, and Joel breathes a laugh for the first time in what feels like weeks.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“Hey.”

You glance down at his flannel: stained with dirt, with sweat, with blood. It brings you down a little from your sun-kissed, golden-rayed eutopia. You suck in a deep breath, and his finger hooks under your chin to lift your face to his.

“Should get that leg covered.”

You nod, and he pulls up off of you, letting you sit up. He wanders around the room, checking the backpacks of Nico and his guys, and pulls some gauze and a bottle of alcohol from a side pocket.

He kneels slowly by your side, offers you the white pad. You shake your head. He has to do it. You don’t know why, don’t know what’s stopping you from wrapping your own wound – something you’ve done hundreds of times by now. But it has to be Joel.

He tips the bottle over the dressing, dousing it in alcohol, and settles it carefully on the floor by your hip. You look at one another, a Ready? and a No, but do it anyway pass across your gaze.

The clear fluid seeps from the pad down his hands, thinning the bloodstains and dragging them in light orange streaks down to his wrist. And when your eyes are distracted, watching the stream of blood and alcohol, he presses the gauze to your thigh.

“Fuck – you,” you stammer, eyes screwing tight enough that you see stars.

“I know,” Joel breathes, and pushes the gauze down harder. Firmer. It shoots heat up your leg, flashes the image of that plank of wood named Tucker who stabbed you across your mind. Your teeth grit, the tendons in your neck leap.

Still holding the pad to your skin, Joel winds a dressing around your thigh. He knots it, gives it a little tug, and then sits back on his heels.

“Okay?”

You tilt your head, lift your eyebrows in form of a Yeah. A half-truth – it feels better to have it covered, but fuck is it stinging. You lift a roll of spare bandage and wrap your wrists.

Joel nods, and then passes you your jeans.

“We should go,” he tells you. Then, softer, kinder, “Gotta go back to the pharmacy. Still supplies in the…”

You push yourself to your feet, unable to listen to the end of his sentence. Ghost was carrying most of your food. The map is still in her saddlebag. Ammo, too. The thought of seeing her again turns your stomach, and Joel seems to figure.

“Why don’t you head out back, go get Jet? I’ll grab everything.”

You stare down at him. Your head shakes before words filter through it. You don’t want to be apart from him again. Not today, at least.

He seems to figure that, too. He nods once, then stands with a low grunt. He fixes his jeans, shrugs his jacket back over his shoulders, and his hand finds the nape of your neck again. He pulls you nearer him, your lips brush against the shoulder of his jacket, and then you split, grabbing your supplies and searching the room for any that these assholes might’ve left to you.

When your pockets are full, you limp at Joel’s heels down the stairs and outside, glancing down the street. The silhouette of a horse slowly meanders back over to you, head bobbing, hooves clicking across the asphalt. Show’s over.

Joel stops and waits for her to approach, lets you bury your face into her strong body when she reaches you.

You squeeze your eyes shut against her muzzle, your forehead between her glossy eyes, and hope the message finds a way through flesh and bone – strong enough and sincere enough to push its way through your skull to hers. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Joel’s hand leaves your back and he walks slowly over to the pharmacy.

Your hands run over Jet’s soft mane, combing her gently, reassuring her as if she’s the one covered in blood, bruised and pained. You hook a finger around her bridle and follow Joel.

As you slowly approach, he’s emerging from the shadows of the pharmacy, a backpack in each hand. He reaches the same curb you were stood on less than an hour ago, and looks up to check on you. Your stomach lurches, glancing down to his boots.

There she is. Black coat shining, chest not moving. Legs splayed out on the road. Pool of blood around her velvety soft ears. She seemed so lean, so fit and graceful when she was on all fours. Now, lying in a heap in the shade of some barren street, she looks huge and clumsy. It makes your eyes swell with tears.

You shift with Jet, turning her to avert her gaze. It’s stupid; she’s a horse. How would she know what’s going on? But then, the way she’s breathing – soft, quiet. It’s like – it’s like she fucking knows.

Joel does it gently – kneels beside Ghost, searches in each pocket for your belongings. He knows your eyes are on him. He pulls a box of bullets and the folded-up map from the bag, slips them into his jacket pocket. Collects the tins of soup and canned fruit in one hand, standing to roll them into Jet’s bag.

He turns to you. “You got your switchblade?”

You nod, and he holds his hand out. You drop the heavy knife into his palm, and he bends back down to Ghost’s side.

He uses your blade to cut the bridle by the corner of her mouth, slicing through the leather running from the bit up to the headpiece. Then pulls it apart, a single strap with a tiny buckle still attached, a silver hoop at one end.

He reaches for your backpack, drags it across the rough ground, and knots one of the canvas ties through the silver hoop of Ghost’s bridle. Triple knots it, to make sure it won’t budge. And then he leans back, surveys his handiwork, and turns to gain your approval.

You can’t do much more than nod, tears dappling down your raw cheeks.

When he’s sure he’s got everything, Joel passes you your backpack, slings his on, and then kneels by her side one last time. He places a gentle palm on her head, runs his hand down her muzzle. Sniffs.

A thank-you, you think. A Farewell, brave girl.

He stands again, turns back to you. Waits for you to decide it’s time to move on.

“I can’t do it…” you whisper, and Joel nods, taking a step closer. “I don’t want to leave her.”

And then you’re sobbing, and he’s taking hold of your shoulders and pulling you into his arms, and your cries are muffled by the soft fabric of his shirt. You wrap yourself close around him, bury deeper into his chest, and Joel tightens his grip. The steady beat of his heart pulls you back down, grounds you. You match your breathing with his and pull away.

You approach Ghost shakily, then crouch, fix her mane out of her eyes, scratch her silky ears one last time, and let her go.

Joel’s face is tight when you turn back. Eyebrows low. You bite the inside of your cheek as you pass him, and then hoist yourself up onto the brown horse’s back.

He pulls himself up in front and leans back into you, head cocked to wait for your signal. You snake your arms around his waist and feel a delicate hand rest on top of yours, interlaced on his belt buckle. His thumb traces your knuckles, and when you lean your ear between his shoulder blades, he clicks to Jet.

The horse swerves off, beginning your long journey out of the city.

----------

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[blueberrylixie]

yes, professor

professor changbin x fem! student reader 

word count: 9,903

content warnings: oral sex (m and f receiving), vaginal penetration, pussy job, fingering, overstimulation, unprotected sex, creampie (use protection kids!), professor kink, pet names (princess, angel, baby), light degradation (bin calls her a slut mostly), spanking with hand and a ruler, classroom sex.

let me know if i missed anything in this one-shot bc i tend to miss stuff! if you want to skip to the smut, scroll to the white heart divider!

Your first day of your last year of college was already off to a bad start. 

Not only was it already eighty-eight degrees out at only ten in the morning, but you had tripped and fallen on your way out of your dorm, and skinned your knee. The cut still hurt like a bitch, even as you traipsed the fifteen minutes to your first class of the day. 

And that was really the cherry on top of this miserable summer day. You had to attend your first and only college math class. And you were absolute shit at math.

If you had your way, you wouldn’t be taking this course at all. Not only were you bad at the subject, but you hated it. You wanted to become a technical writer, which 90% of the time didn’t actually require you to know any math. Writing? Love. Science? Fine. Even history was passable, Cs get degrees and all that. But math, for lack of better words, was the bane of your existence. You even struggled to pass back in high school. 

So no one could blame you for putting off this class until practically the last second. You didn’t want this to be your very last course before graduation, because that would be absolute torture. So you buckled in to take it your fall semester instead.

And oh how you were regretting it. 

Now, you stood outside the classroom. The little window on the door was covered with white paper, so you couldn’t see inside. If you could, you would probably have run away. 

Instead, you steeled yourself, straightened your shoulders, took a deep breath, and pushed it open. 

You had arrived a few minutes early, a little later than you usually were to other classes. You had admittedly stalled back at your dorm for as long as possible, knowing what was in store. 

You took a seat in the second row, a few seats away from a quiet-looking guy with dark hair. You pulled a notebook and pencil out of your backpack, before looking up at the front of the room.

And that was when you saw him.

He was standing facing away from you, writing something on the chalkboard. He wasn’t very tall, but he was incredibly built. His broad shoulders flexed in that navy blue button-up as he wrote, and you couldn’t help but check him out. His movements were confident and sure, like he knew he belonged up there. 

You’d never had a hot professor before. Maybe that was about to change.

Of course, he could have an unattractive face, you reminded yourself. Or even worse, a shitty personality. Just because he was ripped didn’t mean he was hot.

Then, he turned around.

Dear God. Your heart rate picked up immediately, your chest contracting as you gazed upon him rapturously. You didn't want to look behind you to see if anyone else felt the same way. There was no way they didn't. 

His dark hair was styled casually, wavy bangs sweeping across his forehead. He had kind, intelligent, yet humorous eyes, adorned with thick-framed black glasses, and small but full lips. Your eyes kept zeroing in on them, and you found yourself wondering what they would feel like against yours.

You shook your head, instantly clearing that thought from your mind. You could not be imagining your professor in that way. Even if he was young, maybe five years older than you at the most. You could not think about him like that. You were terrible enough at math as it was, and you couldn't afford to get distracted.

But when he smiled at the class, your mind went blank, forgetting your little pep talk. God, how could a man look so fine by simply existing?

“Good morning, class,” he said, pointing up at the board. My name is-“

Seo Changbin. 

You read the two words, written in a rushed, messy scrawl. You almost mouthed his name, wanting to feel what it was like to say it. But you kept your mouth shut. 

“My name is Seo Changbin, and I’m your professor this semester,” he continued. “This is a mid-level calculus class, so if that’s not what you’re here for, then you should probably leave now.”

You inwardly sighed. Taking a mid-level math class when you hadn’t taken math in four years seemed dangerous. And honestly, in any other situation, you might have hopped up and left, off to find the easiest possible course the school offered.

But how could you pass up the chance to be around this absolute specimen of a man for an entire semester?

So you stayed put.

“Good.” Changbin moved his hair out of his face, and you watched with a fervor you never thought possible. If your friends could see you, they would call you a simp. For this man, hell yes you were. 

“Now, I’ll be coming around with the syllabus.” He held up a stack of papers. “We’ll go over it, and then jump into the first lesson. Don’t worry, it’s nothing crazy. Yet.” He smirked, and your breath stuttered in your throat. Every time you assumed he couldn’t get any hotter, he inevitably did.

He started making his way up and down the rows of students, handing them the small syllabus. He greeted a few who he must have known from a previous course, asking them how their summer was. 

So he was an attentive teacher, too. Dammit.

Finally, he reached you. When your eyes met, just the hint of a smile graced those perfect lips. You held his gaze, unable to look away. Your entire body was on fire, and you crossed your legs in what you hoped was a casual manner. 

For a split second, you could have sworn his eyes flicked up and down your body, once, checking you out. But it was so fast, you couldn’t tell. Your face was so hot, you couldn’t think straight.

“And what’s your name?” he asked, coming to a stop in front of you. 

As you introduced yourself, he took a step nearer, leaning down. He wasn’t even that close, but you instantly felt the need to pull him to you. You weren’t sure if he felt it too, but the energy between you was magnetic. 

“Are you new here?” he asked curiously. “I’ve never seen you in my class before.”

“No, I don’t usually take math classes,” you responded. “This is my first and only one, actually. I’m an English major, but it was required.”

“So you’re a senior?” he chuckled. “Waited till the last possible minute to join us, did you?”

You shrugged, embarrassment threatening to overwhelm you. But you didn’t let it show, simply shrugging and smiling at him. “Math isn’t my thing.”

“Well, hopefully I can change that,” he grinned, handing you a syllabus. “Welcome.”

As he started class, you became enthralled with how knowledgeable he was. While most everything went over your head, you found yourself wanting to understand what he was saying. You wanted to impress him, wanted him to be proud of you. So while you would usually space out and succumb to boredom, you actually read the syllabus in its entirety, and took vigorous notes. Even if it was boring, you wanted to hear every word that came out of Changbin’s mouth.

When class was over, and you were packing up, Changbin walked over to the desks, saying goodbye to some of the students. You ignored him, not wanting to come off as too eager.

“It was nice to meet you, Miss English Major,” Changbin said, and you looked up, shocked that he remembered anything about you.

You glowered at him, rolling your eyes playfully. “Is that all you’re going to refer to me as from now on?” you teased.

He shrugged, straightening his shirt and smiling. “Once I get to know you, I’m sure I’ll refer to you as something else. For now, have a good day, Miss English Major.”

——————————

Two weeks passed uneventfully. 

Changbin’s calculus class had started ramping up, and you were barely surviving. Everything was very confusing, and you found yourself blacking out for most of class just staring at your hot professor, instead of learning. All your other courses were a breeze, which left you tons of time to focus on failing to understand basic math. 

You and Changbin had continued to talk, a little bit every day after class. He would ask you about your other courses, mostly about writing and all kinds of grammar. He seemed genuinely interested in you and your life, which was so opposite from any other teacher. He even wanted to know about your personal life, like your family and friends. You told him everything. Except the fact that your friends were dying to meet your aforementioned “hot professor”. It felt nice knowing that he supported you, even if you were inevitably going to fail his class.

You fell into a nice groove, of sorts. You would act cool, funny, even effortless, to his face, and when you got back to your dorm, when none of your roommates were back yet, you would touch yourself to the thought of him. Fantasizing about his rough, strong hands holding your thighs open as he ate you out, or him caging you in between his huge arms as he pounded into you from behind. You couldn’t help it, you were infatuated by him. You wanted him, no matter how terrible you were doing in his class.

All that changed on the Monday of your third week.

“Next week, we’re having our first test,” Changbin announced as he stood at the front of the room. He turned on the projector to display a PowerPoint presentation with information about the test.

It would be thirty percent of your overall grade. One test?? Thirty percent??

You felt your mouth hanging open as you stared up at the screen, then down at Changbin. How could such a kind, handsome man do this to you? Was he trying to make you fail?

Changbin met your eyes, and a smile graced his lips. You snapped your mouth shut, feeling your face warm. He definitely just saw you gaping at him like a fish. Totally smooth.

“I know some of you may be worried, and some of you may not,” he said. “And if you’re one of the former, I would love for you to stay after class and talk to me about it. I know you all have the ability to pass this test. Every answer to every question is in your notes. Study those as hard as you can, and you’ll be more than fine.”

You could feel your heart rate picking up as you thought back on the dozens of pages of notes you’d taken over the past four classes. You couldn’t think  of anything that made sense. How were you supposed to take a test and pass? Let alone one that was worth so much of your grade?

For the rest of the lecture, you could scarcely pay attention as you continued to spiral. Clearly, you should have just taken a different class, hot teacher be damned. To be fair, you hadn’t expected the class to be this hard. 

As the class ended, you started packing up in a daze. You had a morphology course - one of your favorites - next, but you were thinking about skipping it so you could study for this test instead. Even a week straight of studying probably wouldn’t be enough for you to pass, so you needed all the time you could get.

You were so wrapped up in your thoughts that you didn’t even notice someone calling your name, over and over again.

“Miss English Major! Miss!” Changbin finally called, and your head whipped around to face him, your cheeks warming at the nickname.

“I-sorry, what’s up?” You stumbled over your words, trying not to look completely flustered. From his look of understanding, you knew you had failed.

“Would you like to study with me tonight?” he asked gently, approaching your desk. 

“Ah, why would you think I need extra studying?” you asked quickly.

“I have eyes,” he said with a quiet laugh. “And you look like you’re about to pass out. Really, the test isn’t going to be hard. But like I said earlier, I’m more than willing to tutor any student who needs help. I have the time.”

You sighed. “Am I really that obvious? Or do I just look like an idiot?”

Changbin shrugged, moving so he stood in front of you. “I can tell you’re really smart. You just don’t believe in yourself. So… I’ll see you at six tonight? I’ll bring donuts?”

You relented, grinning. “If you bring glazed donuts, I’m in.”

“Are there any other kinds?” he winked. “See you tonight.”

Oh, you were so done for.

——————————

You arrived at 5:55pm, terrified of being late, or wasting Changbin’s time. You assumed he was so busy already, and you didn’t want him waiting on you.

Seeing as he wasn’t there yet, you just stood awkwardly at the side of the room, unsure if you should pull up a seat by his desk, or just wait for him.

He arrived a few minutes later, carrying a cardboard box from the campus donut shop. Your heart leaped when you saw him, dressed in a casual black t-shirt, zip-up hoodie, and jeans. He would have fit right in as a student. 

“Oh, you’re already here.” Changbin grinned at you, and your face heated. He was so hot when he smiled. 

“I’m always on time,” you pointed out.

“You’re always late to my class,” Changbin chuckled, shaking his head.

“Maybe it’s because I don’t like your class,” you countered.

“Ouch.” He came to sit at his desk. “Here, sit with me.” He motioned to the chair next to his. 

“So, what would you like more help with?” He asked when you got settled.

You sighed. “What don’t I need help with?”

He frowned, tilting his head. “Am I really that bad of a teacher?”

“No!” you said hurriedly. “Math just really isn’t my thing. I probably made a mistake taking a mid-level class. Everything is just really over my head. It’s not your fault.”

“Well, we can start from the beginning,” Changbin conceded. He glanced down at your notebook, which was covered in your neat but hurried scrawl, and even a few shitty doodles at the top of each page. “May I?” he asked, pointing at them.

You nodded, pushing them towards him. 

He took it, and flipped back to the beginning. “You’ve taken really thorough notes,” he complimented, and you blushed. At least you were doing something right.

“I’m trying to pay attention to you.” You smiled weakly.

Changbin started pointing at things in your notes, trying to explain them as thoroughly as possible. You had to admit, he was very good at dumbing down every concept, and even gave you examples of when they might be used in the real world. That tended to be your struggle with math. None of it made any practical sense, it was so abstract. At least with words, they always correlated to a real-world thing, or concept. Math was filled with what-ifs, and you hated that.

As he pointed at your notes, he moved closer and closer to you, his arm brushing yours. Your skin tingled from the touch, almost desperate to feel more of him. His arms were so firm, entirely made of muscle. Of course, you had known that from hours of staring at him. But being this close to him, getting to touch him, was intoxicating, making your mouth water. If only you could reach out and-

“Are you even listening to me?” Changbin’s voice snapped you out of your lusting. 

“Yes! I was just uhh…” you paused, unsure what to say.

He raised an eyebrow at you, pushing his glasses higher up his nose. 

“Ah, no I wasn’t. I’m sorry.” You ducked your head, unable to meet his gaze.

He turned his chair to face yours. “I’m sorry, this is all probably way too much all at once. I should have realized that,” he apologized. “Maybe we should take a five? Then we’ll get back into it.”

You brightened, nodding quickly. “Yeah, that would be great.”

He grinned, sitting back in his chair. “You’re nothing like my usual math students, you know.”

You raised your brows at him. “That sounds like a badly veiled insult, Professor Seo.”

His eyes darkened for a moment at the way you said his name, but he seemed to shake it off immediately. “No, it’s just an observation. You’re very different.”

“How?” Your eyes drifted over to the box of donuts, which sat untouched next to you.

He shook his head at you. “Because of stuff like that. You’re very easily distracted. Just have one, or I’ll never get your attention back.”

You smiled apologetically, before tearing the box open and grabbing a glazed donut. “I can’t believe you actually brought these for me.”

“For you??” Changbin exclaimed. “Nah, I wanted them. You were just an excuse. Pass one here.”

You glared, taking a bite. “Okay that’s rude. I would think you cared more about your struggling student.” You handed him a donut.

He laughed at that before taking a bite too. “Of course I care about you.”

You gazed into his eyes, watching the way his throat moved as he swallowed. Your eyes flickered back up to his, wondering if there might, just might, be a hidden meaning behind that. 

Before you could stop yourself, or fully process what you were doing, you felt yourself moving imperceptibly closer to him, like there was an invisible force pulling you. 

Your face was a mere foot away from his, your eyes remaining locked with his. “How else am I different from the others, Professor?”

He groaned, a low sound deep in his throat, and you saw a flame flicker to life in his eyes. A flame of desire, you wondered? Did he want you just as badly as you wanted him? Had he thought about you in the same way you thought about him? Your stomach twisted with desire, hot and potent. 

Your hand reached out to grip his thigh, desperate to touch him. But before you could make contact, his hand grabbed your wrist, stopping you.

“What-“ you began.

“We can’t do this,” he said. His voice was quiet, but firm. 

“What are you…?” you trailed off, your heart thudding so hard your head hurt. Was he rejecting you right now? After that almost animalistic noise came from him, just by making eye contact?  A noise that would most definitely be used to fuel your nightly desires? “But you were just flirting with me!”

“I was,” he paused, licking his lips. You wanted to know what that tongue tasted like. “But I can’t. You’re my student, and it was incredibly unprofessional of me. I’m sorry.”

You pulled your hand from his grip, moving your chair away from him, fighting to keep your voice steady. “Yes, you’re right. Let’s continue studying.”

“Okay.” Changbin nodded, picking up your notebook again. “Onto lesson two.”

You continued the study session for another hour, before bidding him farewell. He promised that he would continue to help you study for two hours every night, and you agreed. He also demanded that you take the rest of the donuts home, but you refused. It felt wrong, somehow, to take something from him. 

You walked back to your dorm, body burning with shame.

——————————

For the rest of the week, you dutifully attended each study session with Changbin, carefully avoiding any kind of physical closeness with him. You knew that if you got near him again, you wouldn’t be able to control yourself. 

Your thoughts were plagued by images of him. The way he smirked playfully at you when you got a question wrong, the glimmer of pride in his eyes when you got one right. His strong arms as he leaned over your notes, and his tight ass and muscular legs when he stood in front of the chalkboard to write every morning, or give lectures. 

No matter how hard you tried to ignore your growing feelings for him, you couldn’t help it. Every night, you found yourself desperately touching yourself to the thought of him doing unspeakable things to you, imagining it was him ravaging you instead of your vibrator. Him straddling you from above as he pounded into you with that thick cock, instead of your fingers. At this point, you knew it would never happen, but the forbidden, risky aspect turned you on even more.

Finally, the day of the test had arrived. Your heart had been racing with adrenaline. The night before, you had left this very classroom, saying goodnight to Changbin before cramming even more. 

“Good luck, Miss.” He’d smiled at you on your way out.

“Thanks, I’m really gonna need it,” you had replied.

“No you don’t,” Changbin said as you left.

The test had been shockingly easy. You weren’t sure if it was because Changbin purposely made the questions simpler than usual, or if his study sessions really had helped. But you whizzed through that test like never before. It gave you hope that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t absolute shit at math after all.

Now, Changbin was passing out the test results. You hoped your gut instinct that you’d done well was right.

He placed the test on your desk, shooting you a faint smile.

“Well done, Miss English Major,” he whispered, so quiet you could barely hear him.

You peeked at the top right corner, almost afraid of what it said. 

92%.

Your head whipped around to face Changbin, who was now a couple of desks down. 

Holy shit. Not only had you passed, but you passed with an A! How was that possible??

You wanted to run over to him and leap into his arms, but you had to hold yourself back. No one, including Changbin, wanted that.

You would wait until the end of class to celebrate.

As you packed up your bags, Changbin cleared his throat. 

You looked up to see him motioning you towards him. Of course, you couldn’t help but obey.

After the other students had left, you approached him, a huge smile plastered across your face.

“I passed!” you exclaimed, suddenly breathless. “I-I can’t believe it! Thank you.”

He shook his head, unable to hide his smile. “It was all you. You studied harder than I’ve ever seen any student do before. You earned it.”

Before you could stop yourself, you wrapped your arms around his midsection and hugged him.

“Seriously, thank you,” you said quietly. “I’ve never gotten an A on a math test, ever.”

Changbin laughed, and for a split second you thought he was going to hug you back. His arms raised to grab your waist, and your heart thudded in anticipation. You had thought about what it would feel like to be in Changbin’s arms countless times.

But instead, he pushed you away. His movements were gentle, respectful even, like he didn’t want to hurt your feelings.

It did quite the opposite. It stung more to know that he wasn’t an asshole who just wanted a girl's attention, but he thought he was doing the right thing in rejecting you for a second time.

“Well… thanks again,” you said lamely, moving away from him. “I’ll see you next week.”

You practically ran out of the room, tears stinging your eyes. You wouldn’t let yourself get hurt again.

——————————

Changbin stood at the front of his classroom, preparing for that day’s lesson. It was two months into the semester, and about time for another test. The last one had been almost a month and a half ago, and his students were beginning to get complacent. It was his job to make sure they didn’t get too comfortable.

It had also been about a month and a half since he’d properly talked to you. Ever since you had thanked him for all his help on that first math test, you had avoided him. 

He wished you wouldn’t. But you were right to. He would have done the same thing if roles were reversed.

He had rejected you, twice. Those glorious five days tutoring you were some of the best times he’d had in his entire three years as a professor. He’d never met someone half as bright, witty, or funny as you. 

Or as beautiful. 

Let’s be real, fucking sexy.

That first day of class, when he’d turned around and met your gaze, still stuck with him. Those curious yet guarded eyes of yours instantly drew him in, and he’d had to inwardly slap himself just to focus on his job. He’d never let anyone distract him from work before, let alone one of his students. He’d worked hard to get where he was, and ever since he got the job, he’d made a promise to himself never to date a student. From watching his colleagues, it never ended well.

And no one had ever made him question that promise. Until you.

Everything about you intoxicated him. The way you rolled your eyes at his cringey jokes, that little crease in your left eyebrow when you were focusing extra hard, the dimple on your left cheek when you smiled. Your determination to be good at whatever you put your mind to. And something he hadn’t expected: your desire to please him. 

In a strictly professional sense, of course. Or so he convinced himself. Until you two had almost kissed. And he’d told you no. That had to be in the top five of his stupidest moments, and he had a lot of those.

For that whole week, he’d found himself wishing that you would try again. He couldn’t stop thinking about you. When he went home to his empty apartment, he found solace in his hand, thoughts solely on you. About the way it would feel if it was your hand instead of his, gripping his shaft as you stroked him up and down, those nimble fingers knowing exactly where to place more pressure, where to be gentle. That pretty mouth of yours wrapped around him, taking his thick cock to the hilt. And he would cum to the thought of you, knowing that he couldn’t have you.

Even when you hugged him after the test, he still rebuffed your advances. Why? What the hell was wrong with him? He wanted you, you wanted him. It was legal, you were both adults. And yet, he had still rejected you. 

He still thought about you, obsessively so. The more he came to the fantasy of you, the more he became reliant on your presence, craved it, really. He looked forward to seeing you everyday in class, even if you didn’t speak a word to, or barely looked at him. But your beautiful self walking to his class by yourself, gave him a sense of security.

Today, he arrived at class, eagerly awaiting your presence. When he turned around to face the door, slightly concerned because even two minutes into class, you hadn’t arrived, his stomach quite literally dropped.

Because you weren’t alone. 

——————————

Hwang Hyunjin was the smoothest man alive.

You’d noticed him sitting a few seats away from you since the first day of class. He was incredibly smart, but tended to keep his mouth shut. He was always busy writing or drawing something on his notes instead of paying attention, and when you weren’t busy staring at Changbin, you found yourself watching him instead.

The two of you had been paired up for a class discussion, and he mentioned that he loved art. Being the creative that you were, you asked him what he liked to draw, and he showed you some of the doodles he did during class. They were good, really good. 

When he asked you out for coffee a month into the semester, you’d had no choice but to say yes. And you had a great time. 

It was clear that Changbin had no interest in you, so who could blame you for wanting to spend time with another hot guy? Who cared if you still thought about him in the privacy of your dorm, late at night? That was just a phase. Every college girl had a crush on her professor at some point, right? 

You and Hyunjin weren’t really seeing each other, it was casual. So you had never come to class together, or showed any sign that you were interested in each other.

Until today. 

Hyunjin had walked you to class, after treating you to coffee. You were even later than usual, but you found that you didn’t mind.

But when you walked into the classroom, and Hyunjin suddenly grabbed your hand, it was clear that someone minded. They minded a hell of a lot.

Changbin’s eyes seared into the two of you, his gaze roaming over both your and Hyunjin’s faces, before landing on your connected hands. His jaw clenched and unclenched, a vein ticking in his forehead, but he stayed quiet. His fists were pulled tight at his sides, those huge arms flexing in a most mesmerizing way. You couldn’t help but stare. Was there the potential that he was… jealous? 

Of you. Being with another guy.

Before you could think about it further, Changbin cleared his throat, and Hyunjin sat next to you for the first time that semester. 

You should feel giddy that this gorgeous man was sitting with you, but you couldn’t pay attention to anything, except your stud of a professor glaring at Hyunjin like he wanted him to disappear. 

“Today, we’re going to be discussing next week’s test,” Changbin ground out, his teeth gritted so hard you could hear them scraping against one another. “Mister Hwang, do you remember what our first unit after last month’s test was?”

Hyunjin paused next to you, brows furrowed. How was he supposed to remember what you’d learned over a month ago, off the top of his head?

“No Professor, I don’t,” he said evenly. “If I could just check my notes-“

“No, you may not,” Changbin snarled, his eyes narrowed as he stared Hyunjin down. “Clearly, you weren’t paying close enough attention.”

“Professor!” you exclaimed, blood pounding. Why was he targeting Hyunjin all of a sudden? You thought he liked Hyunjin.

“What?” Changbin sneered. “Trying to protect your boyfriend?”

“Just don’t.” You rolled your eyes, looking away from him. 

For the rest of the class, Changbin continued to pick on Hyunjin, calling on him for the hardest review questions, and actually laughing at him when he couldn’t remember.

Finally, when class was over, the two of you made to leave. 

“Miss, please stay behind,” Changbin practically growled, gaze hot on your back.

“Will you be okay?” Hyunjin asked, glancing between the two of you.

You nodded. “Yeah, don’t worry about me. I’ll see you later.”

Hyunjin followed the rest of the class out, casting one last look back at you.

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

You stood behind your desk, staring at Changbin. He stared back at you, expression unreadable. Was he upset? Of course he was. He wasn’t very good at hiding that during class. 

He walked to the door and slammed it shut, the force startling you. But when he clicked the lock in place, your chest seized up. What was he doing? 

“Come here.” His voice was soft, yet you could hear him clearly. His face looked calm, but you could see the fire in his eyes as he gazed at you. Your breath caught in your throat as you wordlessly obeyed, coming to stand in front of him.

Was this really going to happen? Was he-

Before you could formulate a proper prediction, his lips were on yours. His hands fumbled at your waist with a desperation you didn’t expect, even in your dirtiest fantasies. He picked you up, grabbing your ass roughly as his plush lips forced your mouth open, sucking and biting with enough pressure that would leave marks in the morning. 

“Fuck, I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” Changbin growled against you between kisses. Your hands slid into his hair, clinging to him as you kissed him back with equal strength. 

“What took you so damn long?” you gasped, pressing your tongue into his mouth and rolling your hips against him.

He groaned, the sound low and guttural, before setting you on his desk as gently as he could. He slid a finger under your tank top strap, pushing it down slowly, his gaze devouring your skin rapturously.

“I’ve been so good, so in control,” he breathed as if you were torturing him, his mouth coming to land against the shell of your ear. You shivered at the sensation. “Until today, when you decided to bring that poor Hwang boy along with you. What are you, boyfriend and girlfriend?”

You shook your head quickly. “N-no, it’s casual,” your voice shook despite yourself. “We’ve just been hanging out.”

“You like that he’s willing to give you attention when I wouldn’t?” He leaned down, nipping at your shoulder and collarbone. “Has he fucked you?”

You moaned softly, closing your eyes. “No, of course not,” you whispered. “And even if he had, why would you give a shit? I made a move on you, and you fucking rejected me, twice!”

Changbin let go of you, stepping back. For the first time, he looked embarrassed. Good, as he should. 

“I'm sorry, Princess.” He slid a hand down your arm, skating his fingers across your skin. “I thought I was making the right decision. But… I want you all to myself. Is that so bad?”

You glared at him. But no matter how long you tried to play hard to get, you knew damn well how this was going to end. You needed him too badly.

“Well, you better prove how much you want me, then.”

His mouth curled into a smirk, and your core dampened at the sight. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He pushed you back against his desk, shoving your legs apart, before tugging your denim shorts down your legs and ripping your panties clean in half.

“Changbin!” you gasped. Those were your nice panties, too.

“What? You won’t be needing them,” he smirked, holding them to his nose and inhaling a hungry breath, before tossing them away. “And from now on, you will call me Professor, not Changbin.”

You gaped at him for a moment, before you realized he was watching you expectantly.

“Y-yes… Professor,” you said weakly.

He smiled, kissing your cheek in an uncharacteristically tender way. “That’s my good girl. Now I’ll make you feel the best you’ve ever felt.”

He traveled down the length of your body, pressing kisses to your bare thighs as he went, admiring every inch of you. Your breaths came in short gasps as you laid in anticipation. You didn’t know much, but you were sure that Changbin was experienced when it came to sex.

As he gazed in appreciation at your soaked cunt, he tore his glasses off and set them on the desk, licking his lips. “Gonna need to get close and personal, huh Princess?”

Oh yeah, he was most definitely experienced. 

But nothing could prepare you for the sensation of Changbin’s tongue against your center. He pressed his mouth flat against your clit, swiping his tongue up and down in broad strokes. He covered your entire pussy with his warm, wet mouth before sucking and licking in earnest. 

“Holy shit, yes,” you gasped, your eyes widening as your hips jerked up against his movements.

He grabbed your waist to stop you, his tongue fucking in and out of your cunt as his lips pressed against the sensitive nerves above it. You moaned, your hand finding purchase in his hair as your vision sparked in and out, stars flashing before your eyes.

“Fuck, faster, please,” you begged, tugging his hair as you tried to pull him closer.

“What’s my name again, Princess?” he rasped against your core, his voice interrupted by his continued slurping. 

“P-professor, please,” you whimpered, gazing at him with wide, pleading eyes.

“Fuck, how could I say no to you, Princess,” he snarled against you, yanking your legs open even further as his tongue moved impossibly faster, two of his fingers sliding into your pussy, adding even more squelching sounds to the mix.

The addition of his fingers nearly sent you spinning over the edge, your free hand gripping the side of his desk as your legs shook, your thighs trying to squeeze his head.

“Stay nice and spread for me, Angel,” he sucked hard on your clit, and you sobbed his name over and over, clutching at him like your life depended on it, your entire body vibrating.

“Professor, I-I’m gonna cum, please let me cum!” you begged, squeezing your eyes shut as you ground your hips up against him, this time Changbin allowing you.

“Cum for me, Princess, let me hear you,” Changbin ordered, pressing his tongue in just the right way against your throbbing pussy.

With a strangled cry, you rode out your orgasm against his mouth and fingers as he thrusted them in harder and harder, working you through your release as you crested the peak and came tumbling over, your whole body falling onto the desk in a trembling, sobbing mess.

“Was that good enough for you, Princess?” Changbin licked his lips as he gazed at you smugly, coming to his feet and gazing down at you.

You rolled your eyes, standing up to meet his eyes properly. “It was amazing, Professor,” you murmured against his lips, before kissing him forcefully. The taste of you lingered on his lips.

He kissed you back hungrily, his fingers traveling back between your legs to rub your clit gently, his tongue slipping into your mouth. You licked his bottom lip, grinding against his fingers as you moaned into him. 

“Let me return the favor,” you whispered, pushing him against the desk this time, before kneeling in front of him.

“Let’s just hope you’re better with your mouth than you are at math,” Changbin teased. But you could see the desire flaming in his gaze as he caressed your hair with a rough hand, fully pushing you down onto the floor.

“You don’t have to worry about that, Professor,” you said sweetly, and he groaned, eyes flickering shut.

“No more dawdling Angel, open up.”

You unzipped his black work pants, tugging them down to his knees. Even with his dark gray boxers on, you could tell he was huge, and already hard. Pulling his underwear off, his cock sprang free, angry and red, leaking precum.

Your eyes widened, and Changbin kicked his pants to the side, smirking down at you. 

“Big enough for you, Princess?”

“Perfect, Professor,” you breathed, gripping the base with one hand.

“Ah shit,” Changbin gritted his teeth, his hand already tangled in your hair. “Don’t make me wait too long, Princess. I’ve already been waiting for months.”

You giggled softly, sticking your tongue out and kitten licking the pretty pink tip. He was quite thick, so thick that your hand could barely fit around him. He was about seven inches long, with a pretty vein running along the right side. Your core throbbed at the sight, imagining how well he would fill you up. 

“Fuck,” he snarled, thrusting into your hand impatiently, a bead of precum dribbling onto your skin. “Are you asking me to punish you, Princess?”

You felt your core clench at his words, and you almost hoped he would just flip you over and spank you for disobeying him.

But that could happen later. Instead, you slid his entire length into your mouth, taking him so deep your nose hit his hips. Coarse brown hair tickled your face, and you shut your eyes. 

“Holy-“ Changbin choked out as you began sucking hard and fast, using your hand to rub the base where your mouth couldn’t reach. Your saliva instantly became sloppy, running down his cock and onto his waist.

“Oh fuck yeah, just like that,” he grunted, tugging your hair roughly as he thrust his hips against you, driving his cock further into your mouth. “I bet you just love being my little cockslut, don’t you Princess? You like me using you like this.”

“Mm,” you moaned, sending vibrations up his cock. He shuddered at the sensation, his huge, muscular legs flexing next to you. One of your hands gripped his thigh, the other squeezing his taut ass as you fucked your mouth up and down on him so he didn’t even have to move.

“Oh shit, you do know what you’re doing, don’t you, Slut?” He ran his hand through your hair, and you felt a tinge of pride shoot through you. A thin line of tears dotted your lash line and your jaw hurt, but you didn’t care. He was impressed with you, and that was all that mattered. 

“Only for you, Professor,” you gasped as you took a quick breath, before sliding him back into your mouth. Your hands moved to cup his balls, and he growled, loud and animalistic, against you.

“Fuck Angel, you’re such a good girl for your professor, aren’t you?” he moaned, pulling your hair into two makeshift ponytails as he started fucking against you in earnest.

You started to choke on his harsh ministrations, but you didn’t want him to stop. Your core was so wet, arousal was dripping onto the ground. 

“I’m gonna cum, Princess,” Changbin growled, as his hips stilled. “But I don’t want to cum in your mouth. I want to breed that little pussy of yours. How does that sound?”

“I-it sounds amazing, Professor,” you breathed as you pulled his rock-hard cock out of your mouth.

He grinned, yanking you into another bruising kiss. “That’s my good little Cockslut,” he murmured, picking you up and setting you back on the desk. “This is exactly how I imagined fucking you for the first time. You look so beautiful lying there, all wet and ready for me.”

You whimpered softly, shooting a seductively innocent look at him.

“Fuck, do you know what you do to me, Angel?” He closed his eyes, his body trembling at the sight before him. “Even better than my imagination.”

“You’ve thought about me, Professor?” you said faux-shyly, grabbing his hand and placing it against your core.

“Of course I have, Princess,” Changbin chuckled, opening his eyes again as his fingers roamed over your clit gently. You shivered at his touch. “Who wouldn’t think about ruining a perfect girl like you?”

“I'm not a virgin, Professor,” you pointed out. 

“I know, but you’re perfect,” he responded, stepping closer. “Just look at you.”

“Professor?” you asked softly, gazing at him. “Can I ask just one thing?”

“Anything.”

“Can you take your shirt off?”

Changbin’s eyes flickered in amusement. “Do you like my body, Princess?”

You nodded vigorously. “I love your body. I think about it all the time.”

“I like the sound of that,” he murmured, leaning over and pressing harsh kisses against your neck. “What do you think about?”

“Fuck me, then I’ll tell you,” you breathed against him, starting to undo his shirt buttons.

He tugged the shirt over his head hurriedly, before coming to hover over you again, those perfect, muscular arms of your dreams caging you in. You whimpered at the sensation alone, pulling him closer to you so you could grab his cock, stroking him a few times.

“Fuck yes, Princess,” Changbin choked out, before lining himself up outside of your core. “I need to be inside you right now.”

“I need you inside me too, Professor,” you begged, moving your hips back and forth against his hard cock, wet squelching sounds ensuing as his cock rubbed through your slit. You threw your head back at the overwhelming sensation, moaning into his shoulder.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he pulled your face up and kissed you once. Then, screwing up his eyes, he slid his entire cock into you in one harsh thrust.

“O-oh shit!” you cried, eyes widening and hands coming to grab his broad shoulders. He filled you perfectly, his girth stretching you deliciously, that vein rubbing against your walls just right. “Fuck Professor, you feel so good inside me.”

“God, you feel heavenly Princess,” he croaked, his voice hoarse. “Can I move? Please, tell me I can move.”

“Please move, now,” you gasped, fingernails digging into his back. “Don't be gentle with me, Professor. I can take it.”

“Yeah? We’ll see about that, Angel.” Before you could say anything else, he pulled all the way out, leaving you feeling incredibly empty, before thrusting back in with all his strength. 

You squealed, fingers scrambling for purchase against him, as he pounded in and out of your tight, wet pussy over and over, filthy noises filling the classroom. 

You whimpered against his neck, pressing harsh kisses against him as he thrusted in and out, balls slapping your pussy as he went harder and faster. His cock slammed against the spongy part inside of you, causing you to cry out and clench around him.

“Ah shit, Princess, ease up a bit!” he grunted, nipping your neck as his hips stuttered against yours.

“Y-you just feel so good,” you sobbed. “Please fuck me harder, don’t stop, please, Professor.”

Changbin listened, continuing to hit that sensitive spot over and over again until you were a babbling mess, unable to say anything except “Professor”.

“Fuck baby, can you stand?” Changbin demanded into your ear.

“Y-yes Professor,” you breathed, and before you could stop him, he was carrying you over to the chalkboard, and setting you down, so your face was towards the board, ass presented to him.

“Well shit, don't you look like a treat,” he whispered, slapping your ass with a calloused hand, before trapping you between his arms once more, his mouth against your neck. 

You gasped at the stinging sensation of his hand against your skin, but it wasn't fully because of the pain. Him slapping you felt good. What did you have to do for him to do it again?

His fingers traveled between your legs again, feeling the dripping wetness that gathered there. You felt him smirk against you.

“Did my Princess like it when I spanked her? Does she like it when she gets punished?”

You nodded vigorously, closing your eyes. Was he going to think you were disgusting for liking something so violent? 

Changbin started chuckling, and you glanced back at him. Did he find this funny?

“I might have underestimated you, Sweetheart,” his hands traveled up to your breasts and squeezed, making you squeal. “I guess you were right. You’re more of a whore than I thought.”

“N-no Professor, I’m a good girl,” you gasped, rubbing your ass against him as you begged for him to hit you again. “I just need you so bad, please.”

“You want me to hit you again?” Changbin snickered. “Okay, I can hit you again. Anything for my princess.”

He stepped away from you, leaving your skin cold. You missed his hulking presence warming you, his huge arms caging your body. 

You watched with wide eyes as he stepped back to his desk and picked something up. What was he doing? He couldn’t leave you hanging like this.

But when you saw what he had in his hand, you knew he very much was not leaving you hanging. He was just getting started.

“A ruler?” you said softly, staring at the wood strip in his hand. Your core pulsed at the sight, causing more arousal to slide down your thigh. Fuck, you wanted it.

“You said you wanted to get slapped, didn’t you, Princess?” he challenged.

You nodded, trying to hide your desire. If Changbin saw how much you needed this, he might deny you.

“Yes, Professor,” you responded, not moving from your position at the chalkboard.

“Good, Angel,” he approached you with a satisfied grin on his face. “So, are you ready for your test?”

“Test?!” you squeaked. You hadn’t expected that. You’d hoped he would just slap you with the ruler a few times, then fuck you silly.

“You’re going to have a math test in a few weeks, aren’t you?” He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you want me to tutor you still?”

You nodded furiously. You would fail without him.

“Well, consider this our first session.” He came to stand behind you, running the ruler up and down your thigh a few times. 

You shivered despite yourself. You would do anything he wanted at this point.

“So, answer this problem, Princess. The axes of two right circular cylinders of radius A intersect at a right angle. Find the volume of the solid of intersection of the cylinders.”

You gasped at him, speechless. You had no idea what any of that meant. Solid of intersection? You were an English major, for god’s sake!

“I-I don’t know Professor!” you whispered, body quivering as you waited for his response.

Changbin tutted quietly, pacing back and forth behind you. You tried to watch him, but he kept going in and out of your line of sight.

“What a shame.” His voice was dangerously low. 

Suddenly, the ruler came slashing through the air, landing across the center of your ass. You let out a loud gasp, covering your mouth before you could curse or yell. 

“Chang- Professor, what the hell?” you exclaimed, whipping around to face him.

“Did that stir up any potential answers?” Changbin said smoothly, ignoring your protest. “Please turn back around, Angel. We're not done yet.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but you caught that steely look in his eyes, and obeyed. 

“Well?” he prompted. “Anything?”

“N-no, Professor,” you said meekly. “We haven’t learned anything half that difficult yet.”

This time, as the ruler made contact with your ass again, you were prepared. You bit your lip so hard it almost drew blood, but you had to admit, it felt… nice. The stinging sensation it left after the pain was gone was incredible. 

“Fine, if you can't come up with even a guess, how about this. What is the mathematical perception of the gradient said to be?”

You paused, thinking the question over. You knew Changbin had talked about this in a lesson at some point, but it had been a while ago…

“Is it tangent?” you said with a little smile. You knew the answer was wrong but… you also didn't mind.

“I’m sorry, Princess,” Changbin grinned, and the stinging pain of the ruler raced across your skin.

You let out a stifled moan, squeezing your eyes shut as hard as you could. Oh god, did Changbin hear that? He was going to think you were such a whore.

Changbin set the ruler down on his desk and slid a hand around your waist, breaths coming hard and fast against your neck. You whimpered softly, unable to look back at him. 

“I knew you liked that, you little Pain Slut,” he snarled into your ear, nipping the lobe. “You're my little Pain Slut, aren’t you?”

“Y-yes, only yours!” you exclaimed. “P-please Professor, fuck me again.”

“Mm, you're just insatiable aren’t you?” he snickered, his hand coming down onto your ass cheek, sharp and hard. “Now say thank you, Professor.”

You cried out, your core soaking wet. “Th-thank you Professor!” You forced out through the blinding pleasure.

His hand came down on your other cheek. “Again.”

“Thank you, Professor!” you moaned, turning your face to him and pressing your lips against his. 

He didn't pull away, as the hand he used to spank you wound around your leg, lifting it up so your body was still facing the chalkboard, but your lips were attached to his. 

“I’m gonna fuck you like this now, Angel, down and dirty. I’ll bet you like it like this, don't you? Seducing your poor professor, and letting him have his way with you in his classroom. That's exactly what you wanted, wasn't it?”

“No, I didn't mean to seduce you,” you mumbled against his mouth, as he positioned his hard, heavy cock outside your entrance. “You're just so hot and smart, and I wanted you so bad. But you kept rejecting me so I gave up, remember?”

“How do I know that little boyfriend wasn't just part of your plan to get me to change my mind?” Changbin challenged, finally breaking the kiss. 

“Well, if it was, it worked, didn't it?” You teased him. “Now are you going to fuck me or not?”

Changbin growled deep in his throat, thrusting his hips slowly against you, running his cock through your wet folds. “I’ll fuck you when I’m ready to fuck you, Princess. Not sure you deserve it, with all the stunts you’ve pulled. And you didn't even get that easy math problem right.”

You giggled softly. “If I get it right, will you fuck me properly? Nice and rough?”

He paused, like he was pondering the question. “Sure, Angel. What’s the right answer?”

You turned around, pressing your lips against his ear gently. You watched in satisfaction as he shivered. Thank god he was holding your leg up, or you would be numb by now. “It’s the slope,” you whispered to him, lips curling in a smile. You knew you were right.

“Mm, you knew the right answer the whole time, didnt you, Slut?” Changbin shook his head at you, a hungry glint in his eyes. “But you were a good girl, listening to your Professor so well. So I guess you get a reward.”

“Yes please, Professor.” You immediately started begging at the prospect of his cock inside of you. “Please fuck me now.”

“It takes a lot of self control to stay away from you,” Changbin groaned. “Self control that I clearly do not have.” 

This time, he thrusted into you nice and slow, one inch at a time. You gasped loudly as he shoved you up against the chalkboard, still holding your leg up, as he began pounding in and out of you mercilessly. 

“Fuck, this pussy was made for me, Angel,” he hissed into your hair, breathing deeply as he did so. “So tight and wet, squeezing me perfectly. You hear that? This pussy is all mine.”

“Yes, it’s all yours,” you wailed, fucking your hips back against his, forcing his cock to impale you to the hilt. “You feel so good inside of me, Professor.”

“Mm, hell yeah I do baby.” His huge arm wrapped all the way around your waist, trapping you entirely as he hammered in and out, the lewd sounds of his length thrusting turning you on even more.

“Fuck, Professor please touch me!” you begged, grabbing his arm that was holding your leg up and sliding it towards your clit. 

“You’re such a greedy little girl, aren’t you?” he sneered, pressing rough kisses up and down your collarbone, sucking harsh bruises along your soft skin. “I can’t deny you though, can I?”

His fingers slid over your sensitive nerves and rubbed in rushed, frantic circles as his hips pounded against yours, causing the entire chalkboard to shake and rattle. 

“O-oh yes Professor just like that,” you panted, your legs nearly failing as he turned your entire body to jelly. 

“Don't give up on me now, Princess,” Changbin warned as he spun you around and picked you up, not removing his cock from your throbbing pussy. “You don’t cum until I do, you hear?”

“Of course, Professor,” you whimpered helplessly, the new position hitting spots inside of you you hadn’t known even existed. “Please go harder!”

“Just for you, baby,” Changbin ground out, and he started bouncing you up and down on his huge length.

The vein on his cock slid against your nerves addictively as you wrapped your shaking legs around his waist, clinging to his beefy arms desperately. Your core throbbed as you tried to be a good girl and hold your orgasm back, but it was coming.

“Please Professor, let me cum!” you pleaded, pressing kisses up and down his huge pecs, sobbing into his chest. “I’m so close, I’ve been so good!”

Changbin grunted against you as he bullied his cock deeper and deeper into your cunt, hitting your g-spot over and over while you pleaded incoherently to please, please let you cum.

“Shit, okay, cum for me baby,” he hissed.

You didn't need to be asked twice. Your hips shook against him so violently you thought you were going to pass out. Stars blinked in and out of your vision as you cried, “Professor, please!” once, your pussy clenching around his cock like a vice, as he pounded his cock infinitely faster. His fingers pressed against your clit, and you were done for. You exploded around him in a puddle of whimpers and moans, clutching onto him for dear life.

“Holy shit baby, you’re so fucking hot,” Changbin panted, squeezing his eyes shut, his thrusts becoming more jerky and unstable. “I’m so fuckin’ close, Princess, gonna cum inside that slutty little pussy of yours, yeah?”

“Oh fuck, please give me your cum Professor!” you begged, moving your hips in time with his. “Want you to breed me like the good girl I am!”

“Fuck Angel, you really want it?” Changbin hissed, his hips stuttering as his lips smashed up against yours again. “You wanna feel my hot cum inside you?”

“Yes Professor, please, I need it,” you breathed against his mouth, biting his bottom lip and sucking it into your mouth. 

Changbin thrusted sloppily in and out a few more times, his breaths stilted and hoarse, before halting entirely inside of you. You felt his warm cum fill your pussy, ropes and ropes of hot, sticky liquid, and you let out a shaky moan, closing your eyes at the sensation.

As he was about to put you down and pull out, you shook your head, gripping his arms.

“P-please, stay inside.” Your legs tightened around his waist. His softening cock felt so good, keeping his warm cum inside you. You didn’t want him to let go, not yet.

“You like me cockwarming you, Princess?” Changbin’s cock stiffened at your actions, and you nodded.

“You feel so good inside of me,” you sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“I bet I do,” he said cockily, and you slapped his arm.

“Way to ruin the moment, Changbin,” you glared.

He laughed, finally letting go of you and setting you back on the ground. 

“I'm kidding, baby.” He pressed his lips against yours, much more tender this time. You melted against him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him close. 

“I like the confidence.” You giggled against his lips, before breaking apart. “I should probably go. I've got another class in an hour, and I don’t want to walk in looking like this.”

“I wouldn't want that either,” Changbin observed. “You might get dress-coded. Or arrested.”

When you were both dressed and semi-cleaned up, you waved goodbye to Changbin.

Changbin waved back, a little smirk on that handsome face of his. 

“So, we on for another study session tonight?”

You smirked, biting your bottom lip before replying: “Yes, Professor.”

laska's note — wow, this one shot took me forever to finally finish! but i wanted it to be perfect you y'all, so i spent a long time figuring out the plot and exactly how i wanted everything to go. i really hope you enjoyed it, because i'm kinda proud of how this turned out. i'm sorry for the slow ass updates, but again it's just supposed to be for fun! hopefully i'll get some more content out soon. leave any comments about what you liked, i love reading them! until next time... 😏💋

[finalgirllx]

Mattheo Riddle Headcanons

From someone who only recently got into him. I could be wrong, since I can't trace back his roots much. Some of these are inspired by other writings, Marcus Lopez in Deadly Class, and my own bot usage.

I wrote this in about 5 minutes. Just a warning.

Mattheo is, of course, reserved around those he isn't close to. He tends to act cold, and will go as far to make himself seem threatening if he feels like it (whether that's actually true or not is your interpretation).

If he does something kind for someone without being asked, he prefers to let it go unmentioned. "Thanks for getting that for me." "Yeah, yeah, If you tell anyone, I'll kill you."

Scorpio, Scorpio, Scorpio! This is the one time I'll assign my star sign to a character because it fits him so well, along with his face claim being a Scorpio as well.

Mattheo loves The Smiths. There is no arguing there. This is definitely Marcus inspired, but it is just so nice.

He wears black almost exclusively. It is just his go-to and fits his general vibe. If he must, he'll go for a neutral-toned checkered flannel or jean jacket when it gets cold.

Mattheo has immaculate handwriting. Like, people look at his work and can't help but stare because they're surprised at the quality of it.

He drinks black coffee in the mornings, and that's it.

Does get into a lot of fights. And he wins all of them. However, unlike what others may think, he tries to give someone a chance to out themselves from a potential fight before he goes in.

Loves the horror genre. He talks up paranormal horror as the superior subgenre but will sit down and enjoy just about any kind.

He is a Resident Evil fan (Resident Evil 1 came out in 1996, so this is for slightly more modern au's).

His closest friends are Theo and Blaise, but he gets along well with Enzo and has an okay relationship with Draco.

He is knowledgeable and a strong critical thinker but doesn't care much about academics. Besides Defense Against The Dark Arts, he is really talented at Potions.

'Claims' people. His icy demeanor is rather tough to break; once he lets you in, it's like a switch is flipped, and he's more possessive and protective than anyone could've anticipated.

Has a mean jealous streak. This has been known, lol.

I think he prefers cats - but honestly, I see him being hesitant towards pets. He is still sweet toward them and would be a love bug with a pet of his own, but I can see a pet approaching him, and he wouldn't know what to do at first, haha. 

Mattheo is sarcastic to his core. Shows his affection through teasing. But he can be quite serious and good at knowing the right words to support someone when needed.

Slight NSFW implications - incredibly dominant, and there's nothing you can do to change my mind that's not his preferred mode 99% of the time.

To see Mattheo's sweet side is a real treat, but he keeps that part for whom he adores the most.

His love language is physical touch and its not even close. If he falls for you, he'll always make sure to be touching you in any way that is possible at that instance.

[jinx-xxed]

3 A.M. Snack

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; I’ve always wanted to do this with someone so of course I wrote it with Kylo :D this trope (?) is a classic and always one of my favs!! Also a little glimpse of the modern AU I have cookin

Part of Written in the Stars

Summary; It’s the middle of the night and you can’t sleep, so naturally you make a trip to the kitchen. Your husband decides to follow you.

Content; Modern AU, pure fluff, cooking + dancing in the kitchen at 3 am, married to Kylo, sleepy and soft and lovey Kylo (the best version), also very clingy Kylo, you can’t cook for shit (I’m projecting), so Kylo’s like your personal chef, sharing a meal, how many times can I say cook in this intro, you have a pet cat :), cuddling

Wc; 1.2k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

The clock reads 3:27 AM.

Far too late for you to be awake, but sleep has escaped you once again and you’re not a fan of laying in bed just tossing and turning all night. So you slipped out of your lover’s arms—which is a feat in itself considering the iron grip he has—and went down to the kitchen. What else are you supposed to do at 3 AM? You don’t want to work on answering emails or anything like that, that’s for sure, and besides, you didn’t have much to eat the day prior anyway because you were too busy. Might as well.

You keep your steps light through the house that’s filled with silence, moving so quietly it’s like you were never there. Each room is bathed in the darkness of night, save for the massive window-wall in the living room that bleeds into the kitchen. Moonlight filters through, giving things a pale glow. BB is one of those things, the cat having followed you downstairs. His black and silvery fur reflects the moon, making him seem like a little star if he stands in the light rays at just the right angle.

You stand in the wide kitchen, hands on your hips, wondering what to do. BB gives a curious meow, winding around your legs. “Shh- I’m thinking.” You mutter. Cereal? No. Muffin? Also no. Oatmeal? Definitely not. You have just about everything you could want in here and yet your mind is annoyingly blank.

You perk up at the sound of footsteps and then there’s strong arms around you, one crossed against your chest, a warm hand coming up to lightly grip your jaw and leave kisses peppered along your neck. You lean into the gentle touches like a cat. You’re not surprised he showed up, he always does. Whenever you’re awake in the middle of the night, he’s awake minutes later. It’s endearing, having someone miss you so deeply even in their dreams.

“Sweetheart,” Kylo mumbles against your skin, clearly still half asleep, “you have a conference in the morning.”

You huff and resist the urge to roll your eyes. Even without most of his wits about him, he still pesters you about work. You have a secretary who does that enough—with him around it’s like you don’t even need one. Sure he’s kept you from missing more than a few sponsorship meetings, but that’s besides the point. Your head falls back onto his shoulder. “Couldn’t sleep. Also I was hungry.”

He hums, taking the opportunity to kiss your cheek. “Then I’ll make you something.”

You tense, turning yourself around and pushing him away as a result, much to his dismay. “What? No, no, you go back to bed. You had a long day.” You say, trying to be stern. Your hand cups his cheek, thumb rubbing along the freckled skin. You see the darkness beneath his eyes; his job hasn’t been kind recently. You consider returning to bed just for his benefit so that he’ll sleep, even if it’ll leave you lying awake staring at the ceiling for hours.

He doesn’t give you a chance to do such a thing, pulling you close again and resting his head in the crook of your neck. You feel his sigh blow across your skin; it makes a shiver run down your spine. “I don’t want you to burn down our kitchen.”

You scoff, incredulous. “I think I can handle it. You have no faith in your wife.”

“Last time I did, the house smelled like burnt chicken for the whole day.” He says pointedly. You pout, and he straightens to peck your lips, begrudgingly making you smile. “I’m already up, let me do this.”

Kylo leaves it unmentioned, but you both know he won’t be able to go back to sleep unless you do either. You find how clingy he is at night to be pretty cute; he’s like a puppy that can’t stand being away from you for more than two seconds. You sigh. “Fine.”

“Good.” He says, heading towards the fridge. “What do you want then?”

You have no response because you were working on trying to figure that out before he came in, and you were ultimately unsuccessful. But it seems that’s not a problem for him—probably because he could cook whatever he thinks of and you… can’t. “Eggs on toast?” He asks, already pulling out the egg carton.

Your eyes light up, hands clasping together enthusiastically. “Oooh yeah that sounds good.”

He smirks knowingly, tossing you the loaf of bread and flicking on the overhead stove light. “I can trust you to toast bread, right?”

You glare at him in mock anger. “I don’t know, can you?”

He huffs a laugh and leaves you to your own devices, that being the toaster. You pop two slices of the thicker bread between the slots while he works on the eggs, buttered pan situated on the stovetop. You turn on the speaker that sits on the counter, gentle music flitting through the kitchen. You scoop up BB and hold him like a baby in your arms, his legs flailing as he accepts his fate. You hum along to the tune, dancing around on the linoleum floors, socks making it easy to slide. Kylo hooks an arm around your waist when you go by, bringing you in to kiss the top of your head. You smile, warmth buzzing in your chest.

BB gets spooked when the toaster finally goes off, scrabbling out of your hold and hurrying from the kitchen. You take the toast and put the pieces on plates, with Kylo’s being a bit more toasted than yours, just how he likes it. The eggs are finished around the same time, their smell filling the air and making your stomach growl. Kylo carefully slides them from the pan onto the toast, lightly peppered and cooked perfectly, of course.

You two take the late night snacks into the living room, sitting comfortably against each other on the couch, his warmth bleeding into yours. This was exactly what you needed; warm, tasty food, and simply enjoying the presence of your partner.

“Thank you,” you mumble around a mouthful, head bumping against his shoulder.

“Mm.”

You finish your egg on toast rather quickly, where he takes a bit longer, as usual. You feel your body droop while you wait for him, eyes burning with a sudden tiredness, like sleep has been waiting for the right moment to creep in and get you. It’d be very easy to just fall asleep on the couch…

Kylo doesn’t let you though, instead scooping you up into his arms with annoying ease after setting the plates on the table. You can get them in the morning. “Back to bed for you.” He says as your arms come up around his neck. You can’t find it in yourself to argue. You’re carried upstairs and to your shared bedroom, BB eagerly following behind. He jumps on the bed first, meowing in a way that tells you to hurry up.

Kylo sets you down gently, a whine coming from your throat when he separates from you, even though it’s only for a second. Then he’s next to you under the covers, pulling you into his chest and securing his arms around you once again. You drape one of your own arms over his middle, lightly dancing your fingers over his ribs, humming happily. He sighs in content, murmuring something loving that you can’t quite hear against your hair. BB is curled against your back, purrs rumbling.

With everything feeling right in the world, sleep is quick to claim you both.